He broke away, stepped back, breathing harshly in the pre-dawn stillness. "Our bargain is complete. Nothing else is required of you."

He spun on his heel and strode to the coach. She stood as she was while the driver cracked the whip, setting the horses into motion, and the coach rumbled by. When she could no longer see it, she opened the gate and walked inside.

After closing the gate behind her, the pain of lost love overtook her and she dropped to the cool gra.s.s and wept.

Nothing else is required of you.

He was mistaken there. One more thing was required of her: to survive the breaking of her heart.

22.

It was a lovely day for sitting in the garden, and Catherine took advantage of it, having her father brought down and settled in a chaise longue while she sat in a chair beside him.

It had been nearly a month since Catherine had stood in the pre-dawn with Claybourne and watched as Avendale boarded what was certain to be a ship bound for h.e.l.l. She should have slept well, knowing that Winnie and Whit were safe for all time. It wasn't guilt that kept her from peaceful slumber. It was worrying over her father, whose health was diminishing rapidly now.

And it was longing for Claybourne to be there to ease the burden that was weighing on her.

Catherine scoured the papers every morning searching for the announcement of Claybourne's betrothal to Miss Frannie Darling, but she had yet to see it. No matter. It would come, and when it did, it would be like a knife through her heart.

One morning she'd told her father the tale of the Earl of Claybourne. He'd seemed as entertained by the story as he was by Oliver Twist. As feeble as he seemed, she suspected he was well aware that Claybourne was the man she'd been silly enough to fall in love with. But she saw no condemnation in his eyes.

The focus of her life had narrowed to her father, enjoying his company as much as possible during what she was certain were his final days. She'd written to her brother, beseeching him to return home. Lord only knew if the letter would find him in time.

Now she read the final words of Oliver Twist and very gently closed the book. She smiled at her father. "So Oliver found a home. I'm glad of it."

He blinked slowly. She combed her fingers through his hair. "My heart did go out to the Artful Dodger, though. I was sorry he was transported. I hear it's a very harsh life, although I suspect there are those who deserve it."

His gaze shifted past her, and his eyes seemed to fill with gladness. She glanced over her shoulder where he looked, halfway expecting to see Sterling there. Instead, she saw a beautiful white lily.

"Where did that come from? I'd not realized the gardener had planted lilies. It's rather late in the season for one to bloom." She turned her attention back to her father. "Would you like me to pluck it for you, bring it nearer so you might enjoy it a bit more? I know they're your favorite."

He gave her a very small nod. She rose, leaned over, and kissed his cheek. "I love you, Papa. I'll be right back."

She walked to the table where she kept her slender cutters. She was often nipping off blossoms to share with her father. In a way she hated to cut the lily, knowing it would wither that much sooner, but she was willing to do whatever would bring her father joy.

"I do believe this is the most perfect lily I've ever seen," she said, turning back to her father. Her heart caught, tears welled in her eyes. Even from this distance she knew. And she was left to wonder if it was truly the lily that had caught his eye or if he had seen something more divine.

She walked back to where he was, kissed his cheek again, and knelt beside him. "If I'd known you were going to leave, I'd have not left you to take that final step alone. Sleep in peace, Papa. Your journey is done, and I have a feeling mine is just beginning."

Luke thought he'd always known the comings and goings in London, but since the night he'd gone to Dodger's and confronted Jack, it seemed he was privy to a good deal more. Fitzsimmons had to purchase a larger bowl for the table in the entry hallway, a bowl large enough to hold all the invitations that Luke was suddenly receiving: to b.a.l.l.s, dinners, and afternoon recitals-as though he cared whether or not a man's daughter could play the pianoforte. People acknowledged him on the streets now. Women asked his opinion on the selections they were considering in the shops if he happened to be in there perusing possible gifts for Frannie.

And they shared their gossip.

So it was that he knew Lady Catherine Mabry had spent the past month in seclusion with her ailing father. He also knew, within hours, when the dukedom had pa.s.sed to her wayward brother.

Not calling on Catherine had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done, but he'd not risk her reputation further. Speculation was rife that Lady Catherine Mabry had been spied in Dodger's gaming h.e.l.l. Conflicting rumors also abounded-that no indeed, it had simply been Claybourne's latest mistress, a woman he had so little respect for that he dressed her as a servant. Luke never commented on either argument, in hopes that in time both would die a quiet death.

Marcus had a.s.sured him that was the best approach. Lord knew their family had suffered enough scandals that the man was fairly an expert on how to lessen the damage.

But still, Luke couldn't ignore the death of her father.

The shades were drawn when he arrived at her residence late that evening. The butler led him to the withdrawing room where the casket rested. Catherine sat on a chair near it. Several people were there. He recognized a few of the lords, the others he a.s.sumed were family, paying their respects. Catherine was dressed in black, her face haggard. She looked as though she'd lost weight.

He realized how hard the past month had been on her, and he cursed himself for caring more about society's expectations than hers. In striving to protect her, he'd failed her. He'd never known a deeper regret.

She rose as he approached and he took both of her gloved hands in his.

"My Lord Claybourne, it was so kind of you to come."

"My condolences on your loss. I know your father meant a great deal to you."

Tears welled in her eyes. "He died in his garden, surrounded by the flowers he loved so."

"I suspect you were the blossom he loved most of all."

She released a tiny bubble of laughter, and quickly covered her mouth while those surrounding them raised brows. "My lord, I'd not realized you were a poet."

"When the situation warrants, I can rise to the occasion."

He held her gaze for longer than was proper. He didn't want to leave, but he knew that etiquette dictated that he go.

"Truly, Lord Claybourne, thank you for coming. Your presence here means more to me than you'll ever know."

"I wish I could do more."

She smiled softly. Something must have caught her eye, because she turned her attention elsewhere. Her eyes widened, and she grew pale, as though she'd seen the ghost of her father. She pulled her hands free of Luke's and took a step away from him. "Sterling?"

Luke turned to see an impeccably dressed man with blue eyes as hard as stones standing near. His hair and thick beard were a dark blond, the bronzed hue of his skin reflecting a man accustomed to the outdoors.

Suddenly out of the corner of his eye, Luke saw Catherine's head loll back, her eyes roll- As her body went limp he caught her and swept her into his arms.

The man took a step forward. "I'm her brother. I'll take her."

"I think not. Simply show me to her room."

"That, sir, would be inappropriate."

"I don't give a b.l.o.o.d.y d.a.m.n."

Luke edged his way past him. In the hallway he found a servant whom he dispatched to fetch Bill and another whom he ordered to show him to Catherine's room. His legs were feeling so weak that he wasn't certain he'd make it up the stairs.

All these weeks of striving to preserve her reputation, and he'd managed to undo it all in a matter of seconds.

But it didn't matter. All that mattered was Catherine.

Catherine thought she should have been embarra.s.sed being examined by someone she knew as other than a physician, but Dr. Graves had the uncanny ability to put her at ease.

One moment she'd been moving toward Sterling, and the next she was in her bed, staring at her canopy. Now she was resting on that bed, in the dressing gown Jenny had helped her change into.

"Lord Claybourne insists that you be examined," Jenny had told her.

As though Claybourne had the authority to issue such a demand. Oh, her heart went out to Frannie. The woman would no doubt find him impossible to live with.

While Catherine was fairly finding it impossible to live without him.

"Well?" Catherine asked now, watching as Dr. Graves began putting instruments back into his bag.

"You swooned, which isn't unusual when one is dealing with grief."

"And the unexpected arrival of my brother after so many years certainly didn't help," she added.

"Quite so, but I suspect your fainting had more to do with your condition."

Catherine swallowed. "Which is?"

"You're with child."

Sliding her eyes closed, she unconsciously pressed her hand to her stomach. Then she opened her eyes and met his concerned gaze. "I feared as much," she said. "No, that's not true. I rather hoped as much."

With his arms crossed over his chest, he leaned against the bedpost, no longer the physician, but a friend. "Are you going to tell him?"

"You say that as though you know who the father is."

"I have my suspicions. He'll want to know."

"There's no need for him to know."

"You don't think he'll hear of it?"

Oh, he would. Claybourne knew everything that involved the aristocracy.

"Not until after he's married. I'll do what I can to conceal my condition until he's married."

He nodded. Straightened. "Very well then."

"Promise me you won't tell him."

"I won't. Although he'll probably take a fist to me when he finds out. As Jack learned, Luke doesn't take well to discovering secrets are kept from him."

"Mr. Dodger was harboring a rather large secret."

"And you don't think this is?"

"I'll not deny him his happiness with Frannie."

"As you wish."

A few moments after he left her, she wished she could call him back. Apparently Sterling had insisted that Claybourne take Dr. Graves's word for it-that grief had caused Catherine to swoon-and had refused Claybourne admittance to Catherine's bedchamber. She'd always known Sterling's absence had allowed her a measure of freedom she'd not have had otherwise. She simply hadn't realized exactly how much.

"That was quite the spectacle," Sterling said now, pacing beside Catherine's bed.

Dr. Graves had insisted she remain there at least until tomorrow morning.

"After all these years, your first words to me are chastis.e.m.e.nt?" she asked, insulted, hurt, and infuriated.

"I'm afraid they're deserved, Catherine. I've heard that you were spotted at Dodger's gaming h.e.l.l. That you danced with Claybourne, that you took a turn about the garden with him. And now this? Carrying you to your bedchamber as though he were accustomed to ravishing you at whim? Your reputation is ruined."

"Are you saying you engaged in no mischief while you were out gallivanting around the world?"

"No man is going to take you to wife."

"Which works out wonderfully well as I have no intention of taking any man to husband."

"You will marry. I'll see to it. It shall be my first act as the Duke of Greystone, to secure you a proper husband."

"I don't want a proper husband." She wanted an improper one: Claybourne. And if she couldn't have him, she'd have none at all.

"I don't care what you want. I'm lord and master here."

"You're not the young man you were when you left here. What happened to you?"

"We're not here to discuss me. We're here to discuss you and your abhorrent behavior."

If she weren't suddenly feeling lightheaded again, she might have charged out of the bed and smacked him. Instead, she forced herself to calmness and leaned back against the pillows. "Father is dead."

"I'm well aware of that."

"Yet we don't seek to comfort each other?"

"We each grieve in our own way."

"Are you grieving, Sterling?"

He did nothing except clench his jaw.

"Where have you been all these years?" she asked.

"That is not your concern."

"How is it that you managed to hear about all these rumors in so short a s.p.a.ce of time? How long have you been in London?"

He suddenly seemed very uncomfortable. "A while."