"Maybe Marcus will apologize, too."

He snorted. "Pigs might fly. He's too stiff-necked to apologize about anything. And some things can't be cured with words."

He'd been very badly hurt, she saw. "What did he do to you?" she asked softly.

He gave her a flat look. "You're going to keep on about this, aren't you?"

"It's just that I don't understand. I'll always take your side anyway, you know that. But I would like to understand."

He sighed. "Very well. But get comfortable, it's a long story and not very interesting, so you'll probably fall asleep."

She snuggled in. And he told her the story of his first love, Anthea, who'd betrayed him in the worst way and watched secretly as he was thrashed to within an inch of his life.

Nell was horrified and angry and hugged him convulsively as if somehow she could comfort his youthful self.

And somehow he did feel comforted.

"And then they took me, half naked and bleeding and worse, and dumped me at the foot of the steps of my father's London house-Alverleigh House, in the heart of Mayfair. And of course my father, the Earl of Alverleigh, had to be in," he said bitterly. "My first meeting with my real father and I was half naked and bleeding and unable to stand."

"Why did they take you there, if you didn't know him?"

He shrugged. "No doubt Lord Quenborough took the view that my father should take responsibility for his bastard."

"And did he?"

"He took one look at me and said to the butler, 'Glover, there is a mess on the front step. Have it removed.' I'll never forget those words."

Nell gasped. "So heartless."

"And then my brother Marcus came down the steps and stared at me, those pitiless eyes of his taking in every detail. He didn't say a word to me. Just stared and then followed his father back inside. Like father, like son."

"I understand now," she said, her arms around him. "It would be very hard to forgive such cruelty. And I'm sorry for bringing it all up, stirring up old hurts and opening old wounds."

Harry kissed her, feeling comforted. He'd never told anyone that tale, only Gabe. And then not in such detail.

He didn't feel stirred up, though, or as if old wounds had reopened. Instead he felt . . . healed.

Telling her, lying entwined with her like this, talking in quiet voices into the night, made him realize how young he'd been. It wasn't love he'd felt for Anthea, he suddenly realized. It was infatuation, calf-love, his first serious boyhood crush.

It wasn't love at all.

It was nothing like love.

"Oh Harry," Nell whispered. "I love you so much . . ."

She looked at him with eyes full of love and expectation.

Harry stared down at her. He couldn't speak the words she wanted to hear. They were stuck in his throat. They would remain there, he knew, until he did something, until he was able to give her more than words.

They made love again, and it was slow and tender and bittersweet. The unspoken words hung silent and heavy in the room.

Sixteen.

Cooper put the last touches to Nell's coiffure. She'd tried something different again, plaiting in sections of hair in a continuous circle around the crown of Nell's head, like a coronet.

Nell regarded her reflection with amazement. Who was that elegant young woman? Certainly not Nell, the hoyden who'd grown up in the stables with her skirts hitched up to stop them dragging in the mud and her hair falling down around her ears.

Lady Helen, perhaps? No, she'd never felt like a Lady Helen. Lady Nell now . . .

"You're glowing, m'lady," Cooper told her. "You look wonderful."

"Thank you, Cooper, you've worked miracles."

"I can only do so much, m'lady. 'Tis love does the rest, I reckon."

Nell blushed. He'd made love to her last night with a tender sweetness that had melted her completely.

And very early this morning they'd made love again with a fierce passion that had burned her last inhibitions up in glorious conflagration. She was still a little stiff from it. She didn't mind at all.

He still hadn't told her he loved her. Physically, she felt well loved, but she craved to hear the words from him. More and more she recalled his words back when he had first proposed. It's not love's young dream I'm offering you.

It wasn't love's young dream she wanted. Just love. Harry's love.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," she called.

A footman entered and bowed. "I've been sent to show you to the breakfast parlor, m'lady."

"Oh, thank you. Can you just call Mr. Morant, please?"

The footman frowned. "But he's already left, m'lady."

"For breakfast?" She frowned. It seemed unlike him.

"No, m'lady, he had his breakfast an hour ago. He left for London straight afterward."

"What?" Her jaw dropped.

"Yes, m'lady."

Why go to London without even telling her? She could only think of one reason-that letter. Nell flung open the connecting door and hurried through. She searched but there was no sign of the letter. Nor was there a note from Harry explaining why he'd gone off without telling her.

An ominous feeling grew inside her.

She turned to the footman. "Take me to Mr. Gabriel Renfrew immediately."

"He's in the-"

"Please, just take me. And hurry." She didn't know the layout of the big house yet.

They passed along the corridor, down the stairs, through several twists and turns until finally the man knocked, then threw open a door. "The breakfast parlor, m'lady."

Gabriel was about to sit down at the table, a plate of roast beef in his hand. His brothers, Nash and Marcus, had already started. At her entrance, they rose to their feet, as usual. She tried to catch her breath.

"Lady Helen, what is it?" the earl asked.

Nell looked at him, not quite sure how to begin. The preposterous idea in her head just kept growing.

"Harry has gone to London," she said.

The earl nodded. "Yes, on business," he said.

She looked at Gabriel. "I don't think so. I think-I think he might have gone to kill a man," Nell said. It sounded so dramatic when she said it aloud. But every instinct she had told her he'd gone after Sir Irwin.

"Why on earth would you think such a thing?" Gabriel asked her. "Here come and sit down. Have a cup of tea."

She allowed him to seat her and accepted the tea, but she didn't drink it. "He's been after this man for some time. He-he's very angry with him."

"Yes, but you don't go around killing people because you're angry with them."

"No, but I think he might challenge this man to a duel."

There was a short silence. "A duel?" Gabriel's gaze sharpened. "For what reason?"

Nell swallowed. "Me." She forced herself to meet their eyes. "It's the man who-who-r-rap-"

"We understand," Nash said, cutting her off compassionately.

"But if you're right," Gabriel said, "why didn't he challenge this man before. Why wait till now?"

"He didn't know the man's name until now. I refused to tell him. But I believe the information was in the letter he got yesterday. It would explain his tension afterward."

The men exchanged glances. "You might be right," Gabe said. "I've never known him to challenge anyone to a duel, but over this, any man would."

"I don't want him to fight Sir Irwin," Nell said. "Please, you must go after him and stop him."

"We will," Gabriel said. "But if it did come to a duel, he's a very fine shot and a master with a sword. I'd back Harry against almost anyone in the country."

"There are laws against dueling," the earl said. "I'm a magistrate."

"Exactly!" She wrung her hands in distress. "What happens if Harry kills Sir Irwin? I don't want him to be hanged or transported or to have to flee the country as a fugitive from justice." She loved him. She wanted to marry him and live at Firmin Court and breed horses and have babies with him.

"We'll take care of him, don't worry," Gabriel assured her. "What's this villain's name?"

"Sir Irwin Clendinning."

"And where does he live?"

She looked at him blankly. "Oh no!" she wailed. "I don't know where he lives."

There was a short silence while they mulled over the problem.

"Sir Irwin?" Nash said suddenly. "He's a baronet."

She shook her head. "Yes, or a knight, what does it matter?"

"Debrett's," Nash said. "He'll be listed." They raced to the library.

The book lay open on a table. "Here it is," the earl said. "Open at his entry. Harry must have looked him up, too." He jotted down the address. "Right, let's go."

"You?" Gabriel said in surprise.

The earl gave him a cold look. "Yes. Why not?"

"Oh please, just hurry," Nell beseeched them, and they forgot their differences and went.

Sir Irwin Clendinning's house lay on the outskirts of London on the busy Great North Road. Wagons, coaches, and vehicles of all sorts rumbled nonstop past the house. Harry wondered how anyone could live in such a place. The din was frightful. But this was the address he'd been given.

Harry rode in through the open gate. A chaise waited in the short driveway at the front of a slightly run-down house. A large, nattily dressed, sandy-haired man was about to climb into it: Sir Irwin?

He edged Sabre in, ignoring the man's oath of annoyance as he pushed the big horse between man and coach.

"What the devil do you think you're doing, sir?" Unlike his house, the man was very carefully maintained. The big bastard was something of a dandy. Harry imagined the man holding down Nell's small body and cold rage roiled in him. But he couldn't allow it to boil over. Not yet.

"Sir Irwin Clendinning?" One needed to check that the swine was indeed the swine.

"Indeed, and the owner of this property. Who the hell are you?"

Harry swung down off Sabre. "Harry Morant."

Sir Irwin took in Harry's dusty clothes and sniffed his disdain. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure," he said dismissively and made to step around Harry. "Kindly get that creature off my property."

"Oh, it won't be a pleasure," Harry said with silky menace.