Chapter Ten

T horne lengthened his stride to catch up with Lady Blessing as she flew down the hallway with her sister scurrying along beside her. But after a few steps, he slowed, reveling in the vision of the lady as she moved with the grace of a sleek ship with the wind in its sails. Her ethereal blonde curls fluttered with her hurried steps, and the airy muslin of her pale blue gown flowed around her as if adoring the opportunity to caress her curves.

When they reached the observatory door with its sign that still made him smile, she unlocked it with a key tied to a ribbon that was pinned to her gown. Without a glance back, she led the way into the room, waving for him to follow.

"Do come in, Lord Knightwood. You remember the way."

"Indeed I do, my lady."

"I shall take myself to the balcony," Lady Fortuity told them as she headed for the set of doors centered in the wall of windows.

"Be sure to stay on the balcony," Lady Blessing told her while pointing at the windows. "If you risk slipping down the trellis to the garden, Chance is sure to see you and fly into one of his tantrums. He is already as fractious as can be because I defied him. I would not put it past him to interrupt us at his first opportunity."

"His Grace did seem rather nice, though," Lady Fortuity said. She offered Thorne a mischievous smile. "Did you not think so, Lord Knightwood?"

"I am sure the Duke of Hethersby would be a perfect husband for any of the Broadmere sisters other than Lady Blessing."

Lady Fortuity laughed, then hurried out onto the balcony and closed the doors behind her.

Lady Blessing turned and studied him for a brief moment before meandering over to the telescope and peering into the eyepiece as if he wasn't there. Thorne remained silent. Watchful. Something made him feel that this was a test. When she straightened and faced him once more, it bothered him no small amount that she was not smiling.

"I beg your forgiveness, Lady Blessing." The apology sprang from his lips before he realized what he was saying.

Her eyes narrowed as she eyed him with the watchfulness of a hawk about to pounce on its prey. "Forgive you for what, my lord? Sullying my reputation or forcing my brother to make everyone ignore that tasty morsel of on dit by spreading the rumor that my dowry was largest of all?"

The range and severity of her question left him speechless. Before he could form a coherent answer, she snorted a huffing laugh. "You appear confounded, Lord Knightwood."

He lifted both hands in surrender. "That is because I am, my lady. I recall a regrettable stir after we parted at Lady Burrastone's party, but I was unaware I had damaged your reputation. Pray, enlighten me so I might beg your forgiveness more genuinely."

She crossed the room to the desk, picked up what appeared to be one of the more popular gossip rags that his mother always read, and brought it to him. "Front page. Bold type. Right below the banner."

Thorne stared down at it and read:

Is it not strange that the seven diamonds of Broadmere, the beauties claiming to be in search of husbands, do not give so much as a passing glance to those who would gladly take them to the altar? Perhaps these glittering seven are not diamonds after all—but faux gemstones. Dare we say possibly even "used" bits of colored glass? At least one of them appears to be in the market for a benefactor rather than a husband.

Raging fury threatened to consume him and turn him to ash where he stood, making it impossible to speak until he regained control—for the sake of the precious lady's sensibilities. He read the damnable thing a second time. What cruel, unfeeling blackguard would have such a thing printed?

He slowly lifted his head. "Shall we have the first of the banns read this Sunday, or do you prefer a special license? Tell me what you wish, Lady Blessing, and I shall make it so."

She blinked as though waking from a deep sleep. "I did not show that to you to force an offer of marriage." She snatched it back from him and shut it away in a desk drawer. "Were you not aware of it?"

"I was not." He scrubbed a hand across his mouth, damning himself for hurting her. He had meant to defend her honor at that ridiculous party—not destroy it. With a slow shake of his head, he glared at the drawer where she had stowed the horrid thing. "I do not make it a habit of reading such trash." However, he was surprised that his mother had not brought it to his attention—not to besmirch Lady Blessing in his eyes, but to discover whether it was he who had soiled one of the Broadmere ladies' reputations. Mother would be infuriated at such an attack on an innocent young woman.

"Having our banns read this Sunday might repair some of the damage," he said, "whereas a special license could ruin you even more."

Her thunderous expression was not that of a tearful, overset woman but of a lady frustrated beyond belief. "Did you not hear me clearly, my lord? I did not show you that bit of ridiculousness to secure an offer of marriage. When I marry"—she thumped her fist to her chest and jutted her chin higher—"I will do so for love—not because I fear the tongue waggers."

Perhaps now was the time to bare his soul and learn his fate with this priceless treasure who was about to slip through his fingers. He slowly moved closer. "When I received your response to that pathetic excuse of a letter I wrote, I realized something."

"And what was that, Lord Knightwood?" she asked, her demeanor shifting from a warrior goddess to an uncertain doe about to take flight.

"I beg you—call me Thorne."

She stared at him for a long moment, puckering those lips of hers that he hungered to taste. "You realized that you wished me to call you Thorne?"

"Actually, I realized that I wished you to call me husband."

"Husband?" Her nervous squeak as she uttered the word endeared her to him even more.

He nodded, wondering at the range of emotions flitting across her countenance in rapid succession. The aquamarine of her eyes brightened as if she might be on the verge of tears. He prayed they were happy ones.

"Yes, my precious Lady Blessing." He closed the remaining distance between them and gently took her hands in his. "Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

She nervously ran the pink tip of her tongue across her lips, wetting them to an irresistible shine. "It is a rumor, you know," she whispered.

He tipped his head forward not only to better hear her but to breathe in the sweetness of her warmth. "What is a rumor?" he whispered back.

"My dowry is not larger than the dowries of my sisters." Her pained expression and the hurt in her eyes were a dagger to his heart.

"Your dowry has nothing to do with my proposal."

"Does it not?" she asked with a coldness as harsh as a slap in the face.

"No. It does not."

"What about needing time to decide if you are able to develop the self-control to leave other men's wives alone?"

He released her hand with a heavy sigh and bowed his head. "I was a fool to word my indecisiveness in such a way, and that is one of the things for which I beg forgiveness."

"And the other things?"

With a step back, he lowered his gaze to the floor, finding himself too ashamed to look her in the eye. Inwardly, he berated himself. No. Lady Blessing deserved better. He lifted his head, locked his eyes with hers, and lifted both his hands in supplication. "I beg forgiveness for expecting you to wait for me to overcome my fears." He offered her a rueful smile. "For expecting you to wait like a bundle of herbs curing on a shelf, as you so succinctly put it. I beg your forgiveness for expecting you to understand and accept my reservations even though I had yet to find the courage to explain why I felt the way I did."

"And why did you feel that way…Thorne?" An encouraging hint of compassion warmed her tone.

Her use of his name thrilled him, making him swallow hard. "I thought to prevent the continuation of my line's cruelty."

Her fair brows drew together, making her frown lovelier than a frown should be. "Your line's cruelty? I am afraid I do not understand."

"Do you know anything of my family, Lady Blessing?"

"You may call me Blessing—for now, at least. And the only thing I know of your family is that you are a man who prefers to bed them rather than wed them." Her blush belied the boldness of her words.

To hear the truth of his reputation come from such an innocent source shamed him even more. He almost cringed. "Yes… Well, that is part of my story. Thankfully, the other chapters appear to be fading in everyone's memory as time passes."

"What other chapters?"

"My father's humiliation of my mother by openly parading his mistresses for all to see. His belittling of her in public and even worse in private. While he never struck her physically, he battered her with words that left her with scars she still struggles to hide to this day."

"Those are the worst sorts of wounds," Blessing said softly as she clutched a hand to her throat. "I am so sorry. Witnessing such behavior must have made it almost impossible for you to believe that a man and a woman could have a happy, loving marriage."

"I wish it were that simple." Thorne dreaded saying his fears aloud, but she had the right to know before she seriously considered his proposal. "My father's father treated my grandmother just as horridly. It appears that all the men in my line were malicious, hot-tempered bas—" He clenched his teeth and bowed his head. "Forgive me, my lady. Suffice it to say that I fear becoming the next Knightwood monster."

Ever so slowly, she circled him, studying him as though he were one of her constellations. "You do not seem the cruel sort. According to my servants—who know everything there is to know, by the way—your immoral pastimes are your only character flaw."

"I do have a temper," he sadly admitted to her. "But to the best of my knowledge, I have never exhibited the loathsome traits of my ancestors. But then—I have never been married, either."

"You believe marriage is the impetus?"

"I fear it may be."

"Then why risk awakening the beast now?"

"Because, my precious lady, I fear you have made me come to love you."

Without taking her gaze from his, she increased the distance between them, backing away and finding her path by nervously patting the furniture she passed. "But you hardly know me," she said so quietly that he almost didn't hear her.

"What I know, I already love. I cannot help but think that the better I come to know you, the more I shall love you."

She wet her lips again.

He struggled not to groan. "What say you, my lovely Blessing?" He couldn't help but huff a quiet laugh.

She arched a brow.

"Forgive me, dear one—if I may call you dear one. But when I said your name, I realized that if you agree to be my wife, it will indeed be a blessing to me."

"You sound like my parents," she said softly, her eyes shining brighter with a renewed sheen of tears. Then she laughed. "Of course, when I was little, they sometimes teased that I could either be a blessing or a curse , depending on my temperament."

Thorne risked moving toward her, reaching for her with both hands. "Will you be my blessing?"

Tipping her head to one side, she slid her hands into his. "I will…consider it."

"Consider it?" His heart stuttered, but he refused to admit defeat. He tugged her closer, rubbing his thumbs across the silkiness of her bare fingers. Thank heavens she had removed her gloves for the tea that never came.

"I will not be propelled by the gossips, my lord." Her heady scent of sweet lilacs and warm, desirable woman swept across him, making him ache to take her into his arms. "When I agree to marry, it will be because I wish to marry the one I love—not because I wish to silence the ton. "

"Would you grant me the honor of announcing our engagement, at least?"

Her delicate brow rose again to that same judgmental angle that indicated she was weighing his soul. Unfortunately, he felt that this time, she found him lacking.

"And what displeases you about announcing our engagement?" he asked.

"It does not necessarily displease me…"

"Yet…?"

She huffed like an adorably petite bull about to charge. "Society will think I have bowed to them—or that the only reason you, the infamous rake, have finally agreed to a proper leg-shackling is because of that ridiculous rumor about my dowry that Chance stirred into the tittle-tattle swill."

"When we are seen enjoying each other's company at the last of this Season's parties, seen riding in the park, and strolling wherever we decide to meander, the ton will consider us engaged whether you do or not. I do not wish to sound harsh, but the only way it will appear that you are going against the gossips is if you are courted by another gentleman." As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could snatch them back. He did not want her to even consider such a thing.

"That would be a cruel game unless all participants knew the rules."

Thorne had a fair idea as to what the calculating lady was thinking. "I doubt the Duke of Hethersby would be capable of such a farce. Remember his difficulty in remembering names?"

With a wrinkle of her nose, she fluttered her fingers as if shooing the idea away. "I daresay he is also too kind to be a part of such a masquerade. It would be unfair to even ask him." She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and eyed him as though wondering if he would bite. "You truly think you might love me?"

"I do not think it, my lady—I feel it." He kissed her hand, then pressed it to his cheek while keeping his gaze fixed on hers. "Might you feel at least a little twinge of affection for me?"

"Perhaps a twinge," she whispered.

"But you are not certain?" he said softly as he leaned in and brushed the tenderest of kisses across the sweetness of her supple mouth.

"I… Uhm…" She lifted her face and stretched on tiptoe to strengthen their gentle bond.

He deepened the kiss, savoring her with a slow tasting that was both pure pleasure and delicious torture. Never in his life had he wished for a simple kiss to go on forever. But nay, this was no simple kiss—this was a pledge, an oath from his heart to hers. He cradled the soft curve of her cheek, then slid his fingers into the silkiness of her hair.

She ran her hands up his chest, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed closer. Her slight trembling reminded him of her innocence and demanded he maintain control rather than allow the joining to go any further. She deserved the utmost care and respect he could give her.

He lifted his head, his heart soaring at the high color of her cheeks and the yearning in her eyes. "It would be best if I took my leave now, my lady."

Disappointment filled her face, but she nodded. "I suppose so." With a reluctance that thrilled him, she slid her arms out from around him and eased back a step. She ducked her head, then teased him with a glance and a shy smile. "We might announce we are officially courting."

While he wasn't quite sure what the difference was between officially courting and being engaged, he was not about to argue with her. "That would be a wonderful start. Shall we christen our announcement with an evening ride in the park to enjoy the stars? A fitting way to celebrate, do you not think so?"

"I do think so, and I shall see if Fortuity and Serendipity might accompany us."

"I shall speak with your brother on my way out."

Her beaming happiness dimmed slightly. "I prefer to speak with him first. It would be best."

While he wanted to abide by her wishes, he was not about to allow her to face what might be her brother's wrath. "That is not the way this is done, my lady."

"How would you know? Have you courted or been engaged before?"

"Blessing—"

"Do not say my name in that tone, my lord. You will find it most unwise." She jutted her chin to the defiant angle that warned him she was digging in and was not prepared to yield. "I am of age. I do not need his permission to marry. As a matter of fact, my parents' will clearly stated that the only requirement for my union was true love—not my brother's approval."

"It is a matter of respect I should extend to the duke. From what I have seen, your family cares for each other. You are close. I do not wish to be responsible for ruining that."

She glared at him, clearly not pleased.

"I will not mention the word engagement . You have my word I will merely say we are seriously courting, but I owe him the courtesy of speaking to him man to man."

"Gads! Man to man. A more pompous term I have yet to hear!" She hissed like a boiling teakettle as she stormed over to the balcony doors, yanked them open, and shouted, "Fortuity! You may come in now."

Thorne resettled his stance, unsure whether he had emerged victorious in the discussion or lost. "Blessing?"

She turned and stared at him, her face becoming redder by the minute.

"Are you holding your breath?" Was this some sort of feminine tantrum of which he was unaware?

She exhaled with a loud whoosh. "It is sometimes safer for all concerned that I hold my breath and count to ten before I speak."

"I see." He bit the inside of his cheek, knowing that if he laughed at her now, he might not live to tell about it. Instead, he proffered an understanding nod. "I shall take my leave now and return this evening for our ride in the park."

Fortuity popped back inside, looking first at her sister, then at him. "We are going for a ride in the park this evening?"

This time it was Thorne who held his breath, fearing that Blessing had changed her mind. Relief filled him as she nodded and said, "Yes. A ride to announce our official courting. I thought it might be proper if Serendipity joined us as well."

Fortuity grinned. "May I be there when you tell Chance?"

"You may not," Blessing snapped, then jerked her head at Thorne. "Lord Knightwood insists on telling him on his way out."

"Blessing," Thorne said quietly.

"What?"

"You own my heart even more than you did before."

She gathered herself up as though fighting to remain irritated about his meeting with her brother—but failed miserably. "Perhaps my twinge regarding you is somewhat stronger, as well."

"It thrills my soul to hear that."

She marched past him to the door, unlocked it, and set it ajar. After a hard yank on the bellpull, she turned back to him, her face wreathed in the loveliest pout of frustration he had ever witnessed. "I shall ask Walters to ensure that Chance will see you—if you insist."

He joined her at the doorway and, once again, took her hands in his. "I want to do right by you…and by your family."

After a quick glance out into the hall, she upturned her face to his. "Another kiss might convince me to forgive you."

"Essie!" Fortuity gasped.

"Quiet!" Blessing told her, then lifted her face to him again, a sense of daring flashing in her eyes.

"As you wish, my lady." He cradled her cheeks in his hands and returned to the sweetness of her barely parted lips. Then he brushed a kiss across each of her closed eyes and on her forehead. "I look forward to when I may kiss you from the tips of your toes to the top of your crown," he said in a husky whisper.

"Oh my," she replied with a shuddering breath.

"Till this evening, my lady." Reluctantly, he stepped back from her as Walters appeared at the end of the hallway and slowly ambled toward them.

"Yes…till this evening, my lord."

*

"If you would kindly wait here, my lord," Walters said, "I shall inform His Grace that you wish to see him."

"Thank you." Thorne stepped into the parlor but didn't sit. The sense of foreboding within him was too great for sitting. He needed to pace, needed to compose himself, since he was well aware that Blessing's brother did not consider him a proper match for any of the sisters. And truth be told, Thorne didn't blame the man. After all, his reputation as a confirmed rakeshame had preceded him.

Within moments, the butler reappeared. "His Grace will see you now, my lord. But he asked that I inform you it must be quite brief, for he has other engagements this afternoon."

"I understand." And Thorne did. Broadmere intended to be rid of him as quickly as possible and hoped to make it a permanent dismissal. He strode into the library determined to change the man's mind as amicably as he could. He didn't wish to fracture relationships within the family, but neither would he relinquish the chance of enjoying a life with the witty, beautiful, and wonderfully unpredictable Lady Blessing.

At his desk with quill in hand, Broadmere spared Thorne a quick glance but didn't move to rise and offer a proper greeting. "Knightwood. I would have thought you'd be long gone by now. The Duke of Hethersby departed shortly after my sister chose to make a fool of herself."

Thorne took a stance in front of the man's desk, clasped his hands behind his back, and waited. It was just the two of them now. Time to speak plainly—and he would not have Blessing besmirched. "Your sister did not make a fool of herself. She should be admired for speaking her mind and making her own way as she sees fit."

After scratching another line or two on the foolscap in front of him, Broadmere set down his quill and aimed a fierce scowl at Thorne. "All the dowries are the same."

"That is not why I am here, and I believe you know that."

"Your behavior at Lady Burrastone's affair caused irreparable damage to Blessing's reputation."

"Our eventual marriage will repair that."

Broadmere's eyes widened. "Marriage?" He bared his teeth like a cornered animal. "None of my sisters will marry the likes of you, sir. I shall withhold my approval."

"According to Lady Blessing's age and your parents' will, your approval is unnecessary." Thorne didn't wish to antagonize the man, but he would not be deterred. "She did not wish me to speak with you today, but I told her I owed it to you and the closeness of your family. As of today, we are officially courting."

Broadmere snorted. "Officially courting? Ridiculous. If you were in earnest, you would at least call it an engagement."

"I wished to, however, your sister did not, and I promised to abide by her wish on that matter."

"Well, you are too late. The Duke of Hethersby has asked for her hand, and I have granted it. Good day to you, Lord Knightwood. Take yourself elsewhere, and I wish you good hunting."

Struggling to control the possessive fury pounding within him, Thorne leaned forward and propped both hands on the man's desk. "Blessing is mine—soon to be my wife."

"Blessing is not yours. She is my sister, and I do not give a damn what that will says—she will not marry the likes of you when a duke is willing to make her his wife." He pushed up from his chair and pointed at the door. "Good day, Lord Knightwood. See yourself out."

"I love her and will not relinquish her."

"If you loved her, why did you hurt her?" Broadmere rounded the desk. He jabbed a finger at Thorne, coming just short of stabbing him in the chest with it. "You made my sister cry."

Thorne admitted he deserved the man's fury on that count. He hardened his jaw but kept his head held high. "I did at that. I also begged her forgiveness for being such a fool."

His expression filled with loathing, Broadmere pointed at the door again. "She is promised to the duke and will soon be known as the Duchess of Hethersby. Now, get out."

Struggling to remain calm and reason with the man, Thorne remained rooted to the spot. "You wish to alienate your sister's affections for you? Permanently damage the closeness you share with her?" Before the duke could answer, he added, "Take care what you do, Your Grace. A family with the closeness I have seen among you and your sisters is a rare thing that should be cherished and protected at all costs."

Broadmere glared at him, pacing back and forth as if aching to either slam his fist into Thorne's jaw or challenge him to a duel. "Essie will forgive me once she realizes I have acted in her best interest."

"By handing her over to a man she does not love, as if she were one of your hound pups in need of a new home? From what she has told me about your parents, I daresay they would not approve."

"Do not presume to tell me what my parents would or would not approve of." Broadmere jabbed a finger at him again. "Blessing might not be old enough to remember your father, but I am. Well, somewhat. My father used your esteemed sire as an example of what I should never become. How do I know you will not become the man your malicious father was?"

Thorne resettled his stance and chose his next words with the greatest of care. "I understand your concerns and once shared them. But I have taken precautions."

"Precautions?"

"If ever I happen to become the next Knightwood monster, my life is forfeit. I will not share any further details on the agreement I have secured. Suffice it to say, I have ensured that an honorable man will step in and end my ways should my behavior ever warrant it." It shamed Thorne to no end to have to admit he had made such an arrangement, but he truly felt that Blessing's brother had the right to know.

The duke's eyes narrowed, and he stopped pacing. "An honorable man," he repeated in a dubious tone. "Forgive me if I take issue with your revelation, my lord. How could someone like you possibly know any honorable men—much less share the close friendship that such an oath would require?"

Thorne refused to reveal that Ravenglass was the friend who had reluctantly agreed to hand him over to the press gangs because he refused to go so far as to take Thorne's life. But perhaps there was another way to convince the duke of his determination to protect Blessing. "Then you do it."

"What?"

"You do it." Thorne noticed the man's fists slowly relaxing. "If ever I become the cruel tyrant my father was, end my life to save your sister from the fate my mother endured for far too long."

"End your life," Broadmere repeated slowly as if attempting to pronounce the words of a foreign tongue. "You cannot be serious."

Thorne shrugged. "I assure you, I am quite serious." He nodded at the man's desk and the wooden tray of fresh, clean writing paper waiting to be used. "Draw up the agreement this very moment, or have your solicitor do it."

"I daresay my solicitor would advise against such a questionable agreement," Broadmere said. "He would probably refuse because it would make him an accessory to murder."

"Then you write it out, and I shall sign." Thorne held up his right hand and extended the finger bearing his gold signet ring. "I am in earnest here. Your sister is to be my wife, and I shall spend the rest of my days making her happy. If it takes an additional oath to convince you that my treatment of her will never waver, then so be it." He stepped forward, selected a fresh sheet of writing paper, and thumped it down onto the center of the desk. "Why do you hesitate, Your Grace?"

"You do not fear I might abuse the agreement by claiming you an ogre just so I might end you and have you out of the way so my sister might marry better?"

"Would you?" Thorne considered himself a good judge of character. The talent had served him well whenever he'd chosen to make wagers. He read people as easily as books. Well—most people. He was still learning to read Blessing, and that was but one of the many reasons he found her so enchanting. The duke might be young, impetuous, and—from what Thorne had heard—a bit foolhardy with money. But the man was honest to a fault, and not a bad sort when he wasn't trying to be unpleasant for the sake of his sister. Thorne tried not to smile. "Would you abuse the agreement, Your Grace?"

The man turned away and stared out the window, letting an uncomfortable silence settle between them. "No. I would not." He barely turned back and glared at Thorne. "And I daresay you already knew that."

"Then write it out." Thorne settled into the lush leather wingback chair near the desk. "I shall wait so we might have this resolved between us this afternoon."

Broadmere returned to the chair behind the desk, sagged down into it, and scrubbed his face with both hands. "All I want for my sisters is…" His voice trailed off as he dropped his hands to the chair's armrests and leaned back into it. He shifted with a slight shrug. "Happiness. Security. The best in all things."

"I notice you did not mention love." Thorne eyed the young man, seeing a great deal of himself in the impetuous duke.

"I find it hard to believe that another love as strong as the one my parents shared could ever be re-created."

Thorne pondered on that for a moment, then slowly nodded. "I do not think love is a thing to be created. I believe it just exists—like an elusive jewel or a precious secret waiting for us to discover it. It lurks and teases, patiently waiting for those who dare to take hold of it."

"I have as much as promised her to the Duke of Hethersby." Broadmere propped his head in his hand and wearily rubbed his eyes. "Gads, my bed will be full of frogs from now to eternity."

Bewilderment tempered Thorne's jealousy, and Broadmere's resigned tone also gave him enough hope to keep his possessive fury in check. He had to ask, "Your bed full of frogs?"

The young duke lifted his head from his hand. "Essie's weapon of choice, you might say. Ever since she was old enough and agile enough to catch the infernal things, whenever one of us crossed her, we would find our bedsheets writhing with the croaking little bug eaters."

Laughter snorted free of Thorne. He couldn't hold it back. "And what did your parents think about that?"

Broadmere smiled, but only sadness filled his face. "Mama and Papa never interceded in our battles unless one of us picked up a weapon that might truly do the other bodily harm. They wanted us to learn to work out our differences. Negotiate our peace and find a resolution that would work for both sides."

"You were very fortunate to have such parents."

"Yes," Broadmere softly agreed before scrubbing a hand across his eyes again. Sucking in a deep breath and whooshing it out, he frowned at Thorne. "I wish my father was here. He would know what to do about Hethersby."

"What did you say to the man? You noticed that he is not exactly…" Thorne didn't wish to speak ill of the gentleman, but Hethersby was not the average duke. "The man seemed extraordinarily kind, but not always aware of other's behavior or motives."

Broadmere leaned forward and rested his folded hands on his desk. "William—as he asked me to call him—never thought he would be the duke, since he was the youngest of four brothers. He loves the countryside, reading, animals, and, most of all, the Lord God Almighty. He was a vicar until his father and three brothers died. The father succumbed to apoplexy, two of the brothers were killed early on in the war, and the last died of a terrible fever after losing his legs at Waterloo."

Thorne cringed and shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "Poor man. So much loss. And what a shock it must have been to find himself suddenly thrust into the leadership of his family."

"As you said, he is a kind man." With his elbow on the desk, Broadmere propped his chin in his hand. "Truth be told, though, I am not sure he would even remember which one Essie is."

"How could the man be a vicar and not remember names?"

Broadmere shrugged. "Perhaps his flock loved him so much for his amiable ways that they forgave his absent-mindedness." He frowned. "I would let Essie talk to him, but that somehow seems cruel—like placing the lamb in the jaws of the lioness."

"Your sister is not that fierce."

Broadmere snorted. "You have no idea, Knightwood. Just remember—you asked for her of your own free will."