Luke was well aware of Jack studying him. He also knew his friend wouldn't ask what had prompted his latest fall, so Luke was surprised when he heard himself blurt, "I had a visit from Lady Catherine Mabry."

Jack furrowed his brow. "Mabry?"

"Daughter to the Duke of Greystone."

One of Jack's eyebrows shot up. "My, my. Aren't we keeping distinguished company of a sudden?"

"She wanted me to kill someone."

His other brow shot up. "Who's the unlucky bloke?"

"She wouldn't say."

"I a.s.sume you declined to do her bidding."

"You a.s.sume correctly."

"Were you bothered that she had little doubt you could carry out her request?"

He was bothered by the fact that she thought he would carry it out. With no explanation, no justification as though he was a man accustomed to washing blood off his hands. But he wasn't going to confess all that to Jack so he held his silence.

Jack slapped him on the shoulder. "Don't be troubled, my friend. They're no better than we are; the only difference is we know it, recognize our faults, and readily admit to having them."

"I'm supposed to be one of them, Jack." But he'd never felt comfortable around them, never felt as though he belonged.

"But we both know you're not."

Jack was the only one who knew the truth of Luke's deceptions, knew he'd pretended to recall what the old gent wanted him to.

"No, I'm not."

"Don't know why you feel so d.a.m.ned guilty about it."

"I grew fond of the old gent. It didn't seem quite right to deceive him."

The old gent had loved Luke because he'd thought Luke was his grandson. It was one thing to fool someone into giving him a coin so his stomach wouldn't ache when he went to sleep that night. It wasn't quite as easy to swallow the notion that he had tricked someone into giving him his heart.

"You made him happy, Luke. It's not often that we're able to do something that causes a person to die as the old gent did, content and satisfied, knowing that his kingdom was safe in your hands-and believing that in your hands it rightfully belonged. Draw some comfort in that."

He tried. He really did. "I'm taking Frannie out for a while."

Jack grinned c.o.c.kily, but then everything about him was c.o.c.ky and self-a.s.sured. He'd even swaggered when they were in prison, as though it were all a grand joke, when Luke had never been more terrified in his entire life.

"Finally going to do it, huh?" Jack asked.

"I think you've made enough money off me."

"I'll never have enough, but you're right. I'm tired of collecting on this wager. It's grown boring. Go make her-and yourself-happy."

That was Luke's plan as he strode through the establishment, briefly acknowledging those of his acquaintance, until he made his way to the back where he knew he'd find Frannie. She did her good works during the daylight hours, but at night she saw to Jack's books. She was sitting at the desk, with her hair pinned up in a no-nonsense type of bun. She wore her usual non-enticing clothing and yet he was enticed, as always.

"Good evening, Frannie."

She glanced up, without being startled this time. He'd no doubt caught her before she'd immersed herself fully in the numbers.

"I expected you to come by sooner for an accounting of how I spent your donation."

"I was occupied with other business. Besides, I told you that you didn't owe me an accounting. I was wondering, however, if you might be willing to take a ride with me in the coach."

"Whatever for?"

"I just thought it would be nice to get away from Jack's books for a while. There's no fog yet and London at night can be quite breathtaking. I'd like to share it with you."

"You sound so mysterious."

"We've not had much time together of late, and I always enjoy your company, as you well know."

"I could show you the children's home. The building is almost completed."

"I'd like that."

As she stood, she gave him the same sweet smile that always warmed him. He s.n.a.t.c.hed her shawl from the hat rack near the door and draped it around her shoulders. Then he extended his arm. Shyly, she placed her hand on his forearm. Neither spoke a word until they reached his coach and the footman opened the door. She halted as Luke was a.s.sisting her inside. Her smile bright, she looked back over her shoulder at him. "It's filled with flowers."

"Yes, I thought they'd bring you pleasure."

"They must have cost you a fortune."

He heard the gentle scolding in her voice. She didn't believe in frivolous spending, and her att.i.tude only served to diminish his pleasure at giving her a gift.

"I can well afford it, Frannie."

"You're far too generous, Luke."

Sometimes he didn't think he was generous enough. She climbed inside, and he followed, sitting opposite her, the fragrance of the flowers almost nauseating. An abundance of bouquets were arranged on either side of her. He'd have his footman carry them to her living quarters when they returned.

As the coach rolled along the street, the dim light of the lantern inside allowed him to have a shadowy view of her. He always took such delight in watching her, and the confines of the conveyance created an intimacy that he'd not been able to achieve while she sat at her desk with her ledgers before her. Leaning forward, he took her bare hands in his. While he knew it was improper for his bare skin to touch hers, it somehow seemed appropriate at this moment. He'd memorized Shakespeare's twenty-ninth sonnet to recite to her, but he suddenly felt that he should rely on his own words, as inadequate as they might be. "Frannie, I adore you. I always have. Will you honor me by becoming my wife?"

Her smile withered, her fingers tightened around his. She shook her head jerkily. "Luke, I can't," she whispered hoa.r.s.ely, and he heard the terror in her voice.

He closed his hands more firmly around hers. "Frannie-"

"Luke, please-"

"Frannie, allow me to finish."

She nodded.

"I know your only experience"-how to say it without terrifying her more-"with a man was nothing short of brutal, but I a.s.sure you that in my bed you'll find nothing except tenderness. I will be as gentle as a man can possibly be. I will never force you, nor will I rush you. I'll wait until you're ready. It will be good between us, Frannie. I swear to you."

He saw tears br.i.m.m.i.n.g in her eyes. "Please don't cry, sweetheart."

She lifted his hands and pressed her lips to his knuckles. "I know you would never harm me, Luke, but you are a lord and I"-she released a bitter laugh-"I don't even know my real name. Do you think there is actually a family somewhere in London named Darling who has no idea what happened to their daughter? I'm Frannie Darling because that's how Feagan referred to me. 'Frannie, darling, rub my feet.' 'Frannie, darling, fetch me a cuppa gin.' And so when your grandfather asked me my name, I said Frannie Darling. I was a child. What did I know?"

"I don't care about your origins," he said roughly.

"You know who your family is. I have no idea, and a lady who becomes a peer should know."

He could confess to her that he didn't know who his family was any more than she did hers, but to know of his deceit wouldn't endear him to her. If anything it could cause him to lose her completely. While she'd always known he harbored doubts about the old gent, she'd never known that his doubts were justified, that he'd done all in his power to convince the old gent he was his grandson. She'd never known that he'd lied, deceived, tricked the old gent into seeing what he wanted to see. Death waiting in the shadows was a powerful motivator, but even then he didn't think she'd forgive him for taking so much that didn't belong to him. But he was spoiled now from having. He didn't want to give it back. He wouldn't give it back.

"Frannie, don't think of yourself as becoming a peer. Think of yourself as becoming my wife. That's all that matters to me."

"How can you say that, Luke? Good Lord, you sit in the House of Lords. The responsibility that comes with your position is overwhelming. And it falls to the wife to know all manner of etiquette and rules. When we have people over for dinner-"

"We won't have dinners."

"And when I'm presented to the queen? Do you know how I am to dress? Do you know what behavior I must and must not exhibit?"

"You could learn. The old gent gave you lessons. He hired tutors."

"They taught me to read, write, cipher, and speak properly. But dear G.o.d, Luke, your grandfather never expected me to become a peer. He saw that I was taught to serve, not to be served.

"Please don't ask this of me. I owe you everything. You saved my life." Tears rolled along her cheeks. "But please don't ask this of me. Please don't ask me to step into your world. The very thought of it terrifies me. It would be such a lonely place."

The very reason he wanted her there. Because he was so d.a.m.ned lonely. There were times when he thought he'd die of the loneliness, times when he could imagine no worse h.e.l.l than to be caught between two worlds. To live in one, but belong in the other.

"Frannie-"

"Please, Luke, I don't want to hurt you, but I can't marry you. I simply can't. It will destroy me."

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for."

"But I'm not as strong as you. I could never do the things you've done."

Sometimes, he thought that he'd have been better off letting them drop the noose around his neck.

"Is there nothing I can say to sway you?" he asked.

Slowly she shook her head.

With a sigh, he released her hands, leaned back, and gazed out the window. The fog was rolling in. It somehow seemed symbolic. "I hope you don't mind if I'd rather not go see your children's home."

"I'm so frightfully sorry-"

"Don't, Frannie, don't keep apologizing. It only makes matters worse."

"I do love you, you know," she said softly.

Which only served to make everything all the more unbearable.

Luke lined up his little soldiers, grateful for the bottles of whiskey that Jack had seen delivered tonight as promised. Then Luke sat in his chair and began gulping the contents of the first bottle.

Frannie had refused him and cut him to the core by doing it. He'd put off asking her to marry him not because he'd thought she'd deny him, but because he couldn't quite convince himself that he was deserving of her-that he was deserving of any woman.

But to have her refuse him because she feared this life...Had living here been that hard on her?

The old gent had taken her and a few of Feagan's lads in when he'd discovered Luke sneaking them into the house to feed them and give them a warm place for the night. He'd watched them closely, not quite trusting them. He'd hired tutors. He'd seen that they were taught proper behavior.

So what was Frannie afraid of? What did she think she didn't know? Or was there more to her refusal than he wanted to accept? Was it the darkness that resided within him that she couldn't live with and she was simply too kind to admit it?

Luke tossed the empty bottle aside. He reached for another and something beneath the far chair caught his eye. He stood and the room spun. Dropping to his knees, he crawled to the chair, reached beneath it, and folded his fingers around the object. Turning, he put his back against the chair and studied the clasp.

Lady Catherine's clasp. It must have fallen from her pelisse. One of his servants wasn't taking as much care with the floor as she should, but he wasn't particularly upset about her shoddy work. He felt the smallest movement of his mouth as though a smile were forming as he remembered Catherine's bravado, remembered her surprise that he knew her name.

Oh, yes, he'd known who she was. He'd uncovered that little truth the first night he'd set eyes on her. Even the most loyal of servants favored their pockets over their masters. Offering a few coins, he'd found someone willing to hide in the bushes, peer through the window with him, and identify the lady Luke pointed out.

He'd not been surprised to find her in his library. He'd been surprised only that it had taken her so long to make an appearance. That night at the ball he'd felt an immediate attraction, the intensity greater than any he'd experienced before or since.

He'd always a.s.sumed that if he'd first met Frannie as a young woman, his attraction for her would have hit him as hard, if not harder. But they were children when they'd first been introduced and they'd grown into affection.

He rubbed his thumb over the clasp. Catherine was different. Catherine was- He heard the laughter echoing around him, only vaguely aware that he was responsible for the sound.

Catherine was the answer to his acquiring what he wanted more than anything else.

Chapter 4.

Very deliberately and carefully, Catherine dipped the gold nub of her pen into the inkwell. Her father wouldn't be pleased by her actions, but she didn't see that she had any choice.

My dearest brother, I hope my letter finds you well- I hope it finds you at all, she thought wearily.

-and enjoying your travels.

However, I have desperate need of you at home.

Her hand was shaking when she again dipped into the inkwell. She had Sterling's traveling schedule, but she had no idea if he was following it diligently. Still she didn't see that she had much choice except to try to get in touch with him. But then the doubts surfaced.

How could she even consider asking of her brother what she'd asked of Claybourne? He didn't possess Claybourne's dark soul. Her brother was kind and generous. She loved him dearly-except for the fact that being several years older he seemed to be of the opinion that his was the only one of any importance. That att.i.tude had no doubt led to the row with her father, bless him.

How might her request change Sterling? Would it turn him into a man like Claybourne? Did she want to be responsible for turning an angel into a devil? But she was so worried that the next time Avendale took his fists to Winnie he'd kill her.

Claybourne was right. She should see to the matter herself. But oh, dear Lord, where would she find the strength? And how would she do it? A pistol? A knife? Poison?