Chapter Two

S taring at his bearded reflection in the mirror, Edward Sinclair considered the dispiriting task ahead, unable to escape the memories connected to the unruly growth. Raising the blade, he could almost hear her cajoling words envelop him, taking him back to that last day. The last time he had held her in his arms. The sound of Lizzie's voice was as clear as if she were speaking to him now. A wave of longing swept over him. Lizzie's teasing tone and the mischievous glint in her eyes had lightened his mood like no other.

"Come on, Edward, it's so ratty. I'll bet you have a handsome chin under those scruffy whiskers. At least allow me to shave you and rid you of the beard. You'll feel more comfortable," she had said. Her words echoed in his mind.

He'd shaken his head. "No, it's better to keep the beard where I am going," he recalled saying, a choice that now gave him a heavy heart. The beard would have grown back by the time he'd reached New Orleans.

Wordlessly, she'd stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek tenderly. He felt the wetness of a tear as her lips touched his skin.

Never had he met anyone like her, and the desire to see her again had grown into a palpable ache. By the time he'd returned and located anyone who knew anything about her, it had been too late. She had sold everything of note and booked passage to England—but what ship and when? The man who told him the news had been unsure of any details.

Sin was desperate to find her. She'd probably left to find her brother, as he was her only remaining family. The man's name danced in the periphery of his thoughts. He thought it began with a D, but he wasn't certain, and his head throbbed from memories clouded by the persistent fever that had gripped him. He recalled Lizzie saying she had not heard from her brother in years and did not know where to look for him.

He didn't know her brother's name or anything else about him, but Lizzie was unforgettable. If her missing brother was the only clue to her whereabouts, he would visit every military office in London. If she had visited one of them looking for her brother, someone would remember her.

"God's oath, I miss you," he murmured, staring at his reflection, absorbing the look of regret and resolve in his eyes. Inhaling deeply, he gripped his blade, determined to cut away the growth and shed the weight of lingering regret of a time he longed to reclaim. "I will find you, Lizzie. I promise."

Two hours later, Baron Edward "Sin" Sinclair leaned back in the brown-leather-upholstered armchair in front of an enormous hearth in his favorite room at White's. He'd only just returned to London, and it had felt good to shed himself of that shaggy beard and don clean, dry clothes. He primed his cigar, leaned forward, lighting it from the dancing flames, and returned to his relaxed position, warming himself by the fire while he waited for his friends, Viscount Hugh Wright and Lord Matthew Romney, the Earl of Romney.

As he stared into the crackling fire, he thought of her —the only woman who filled him with longing and regret. Lizzie. God, how I miss you, Lizzie. Once he'd completed his mission, he returned to her as soon as he could, but the cottage where she had been living was locked and empty. He'd searched everywhere for her, making inquiries throughout the surrounding area and the town of Boston. But her widow's status and beauty had most likely made her a threat to the women in the small community, and no one seemed to know her whereabouts. Finally, he found the owner of the cottage where she'd lived, who said she had sold everything and left. But to where? Sin recalled Lizzie saying she had an older brother named Michael who was in the British military service. Although the man's last name continued to escape him. He knew it wasn't Pritchett, but… Damn and blast! He couldn't recall the man's name or the military branch he served.

Frustratingly, he'd forgotten much of their conversations because of the fever and its lingering remnants he had experienced with the yellow jack. Miraculously, he had survived when many didn't, thanks to Lizzie's ministrations.

He was a tracker, by God, though he had been unsuccessful in finding a slip of a woman. But in no way was he ready to give up on locating her. If she had returned to England, he would find her.

Heaving a deep sigh, he flagged a footman to refill his brandy. "Lords Wright and Romney will be here soon. If you see them, point them my way."

"I'll see it done, my lord," the footman said.

"Thank you," Sin said, accepting the glass of brandy and taking a sip. The warm liquid coated his throat as it went down. "I don't recognize this one. Is it new?"

"They've just promoted it to our house brand, although we've had it for a while. It's St. Remy, my lord," the footman replied.

"Excellent. I have some space in my wine cellar to restock, and this is a perfect blend."

"I'm pleased to check, my lord."

"And if you would be so kind as to bring a bottle of this fine brandy and two more glasses for my friends, who should arrive shortly."

"Very good, my lord." The footman nodded.

Sin leaned back in his chair and sighed as he took another sip of the amber liquid. Its heat chased the chill away from yet another bleak day. The gloomy weather appeared to be a continuation of last year's unusually cold and damp climate. Most days had been sunless, wet, and cold. With the famine, disease, and uprisings throughout the kingdom, he was rarely in London. But when he was, he enjoyed relaxing at White's.

Thoughtfully, he slowly swirled his brandy in the glass and watched the familiar dark-red legs of alcohol ease down the sides.

"Sin! I see you're in your favorite chair with your favorite drink," Romney teased, taking the matching chair next to his.

Sin sipped his brandy and smiled. "I am, and this brand may become my new favorite."

"You've got influence here, my friend. Or does no one else wish to claim this warm seat for themselves?" Viscount Asher Wright said, moving to the other seat across from Sin and Romney.

Laughing, Sin said, "If you refer to how I managed to find this seat waiting for me when I arrived, I thought of it as my good luck. That there were two empty chairs was good luck for you."

The footman returned with the brandy and glasses and closed the door to the room as he left, leaving the three men alone.

"Speaking of special treatment, I ran into the Widow Louisa Parker. She asked that I give you her regards," Wright said with a puckish laugh.

"Code for ‘come see me,'" teased Romney, using the fireplace to light a cigar. "I thought you dashed her hopes years ago?"

"Correction, Romney. I never gave her hope in the first place." Sin snorted. "Are you sure she extended regards to me , Wright? When you saunter into a room looking every bit the rogue pirate, every woman practically contorts herself trying to catch a glimpse of your pretty face—including Lady Parker."

Wright shrugged and grinned. "I've heard she has a sword fetish," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Sin and Romney hooted.

"I had heard that as well," drawled Sin. "But I'm not sure I'm interested in swordplay with her ladyship."

"And she's also a fan of a fat purse," Romney added. "Bethany has complained about her flagrantly feline prowling of every ballroom she steps into. She vowed to give her a piece of her mind— American style ."

"I'm sure it took something outrageous to get your sweet wife peeved. Tell us what happened," cajoled Wright.

"You're right. At a recent event, the widow approached me and, placing her hand on my arm, asked me to dance with her. As an enticement, she rubbed her leg against mine—and refused to accept no . Unfortunately for her, Bethany, who was standing nearby, noticed as well, and smoothly removed the widow's hand from my arm and inserted herself between us. With a no-nonsense smile, she said, ‘My husband has an aversion to stray cats.'"

Sin nearly spat out his brandy. "Your little lady has gumption."

"Oh, she has that and more," Romney said with a sly grin.

"She held me off for weeks in the bayou," Sin added, "and from the look in her eyes when I first met her, I knew she wasn't afraid to employ that trusty shotgun she was holding."

The three men roared with laughter.

It had been a long time since Sin had shared a hearty laugh with his friends. Romney's praise of his American wife reminded Sin of another strong-willed beauty—Lizzie. If it hadn't been for her, he would have certainly perished from yellow fever. He'd never been jealous of his married friends in the past, but ever since meeting Lizzie, he could not help but feel a heightened sense of what was missing in his life—love, a wife, children, a warm hearth to come home to.

"That reminds me," Romney said. "As I was leaving, my wife reminded me of the party at Lord and Lady Armstrong's tomorrow evening. Please tell me you plan to attend."

Sin nodded. "Of course. My sister would never forgive me if I failed to attend a ball she hosted. I'm certain she has meticulously planned the guest list and counted me among the eligible men."

"And I'm assuming my invitation was for the same," Wright added, quirking a brow.

"Knowing my sister, she's probably already chosen your future bride," Sin said with a chuckle. "She's the consummate matchmaker. She's learned from the best—dear Aunt Millie."

"Your aunt will never forgive you if she finds out you're in town and don't show," Romney said. "My mother adores her and mentioned your aunt has spoken of your homecoming several times to her set. She'll be thrilled when she finds out you're back in London."

Sin groaned, imagining his aunt rubbing her hands together in glee. She was forever trying to marry him off. "I stopped by to visit earlier in the week, and she was away visiting a sister in Bath. At this late date, I've decided to surprise her at the party."

Romney blew out a breath. "It's nice to be married and not have to worry about marriage-minded mothers."

"Speaking of which, I'm surprised Lady Romney will be attending," Wright said. "Most women would be resting at home during their final months of pregnancy."

"Ah, well, there's the rub. My beautiful wife is American and unused to the mores and manners of the ton . Despite her station, she refuses to surrender her Creole ways."

Sin knew Bethany well enough to agree.

"You may recall my telling you she was gathering herbs with her dog on the plantation just before the Battle of New Orleans began. Confinement seems out of the question. I doubt I'll be able to get her to sit, much less lie in until the birth," Romney said.

The men laughed.

"Speaking of that courageous canine, how is Dandie?" Sin asked. "She is a perfect blend of brave, loving, and fierce."

"Agreed. She has been extremely protective of Bethany throughout the pregnancy. I've given up on coaxing Bethany to slow down before giving birth. My wife believes in adhering to the same schedule until her due date arrives, which, as you can imagine, drives the biddies of the ton crazy."

"Ha! One can imagine," Sin said. "She's been well trained in healing and herbs, and no doubt that helps frame her thinking on the subject."

"You are correct." Romney nodded. "While she respects doctors, she disapproves of bleeding a patient or using leeches and is forever peppering the doctor with questions. Luckily, our family physician is young, well trained, and patient. Having served on the battlefield, he respects her knowledge, and the two get along famously. He's even asked her opinion on certain matters."

"Most impressive," Wright said, swirling the brandy in his glass.

"How long will you be in town?" Sin asked.

"A few more weeks, most likely," Romney replied. "Bethany is due in late April or early May, so we won't tarry long in London. She wants to give us time to catch up with family and close friends and attend a few Society functions before we return home to Graceview Manor. Mother adores Bethany and plans to accompany us to Kent. She cannot wait to meet her grandchild. But while we are in town, we'd love to have you both drop by Romney House."

Sin nodded, looking forward to visiting his friends at their townhouse in Mayfair. "Bethany will be a wonderful mother," Sin said. "I remember her as extremely protective as she cared for you—before she had even gotten to know you. All she knew was you were a wounded British soldier who needed help. Had she been discovered housing you, she likely would have been arrested for treason."

"Yes, I am a most fortunate man. She is those things and more. After our shared experiences in America, you know her better than most," Romney murmured as he raised his glass of brandy to his lips.

Sin smiled. "She's a force of nature. Will Bethany's Great-Aunt Theodosia and Grandmere be coming for a visit?"

"The short answer is yes. The long answer is that I'm working on getting them here. Since travel is slowly resuming between America and England, the voyage won't be as adventurous as it was for Bethany and me."

"Few would want that adventure," Wright said. "You spent a year getting here."

"Yes," Romney agreed. "The storm that forced our ship onto an uncharted island left us with little hope of repairing it. I am forever in your debt, Sin. Thank God you had the navy send a search party. It was our good fortune you had people watching out for us."

"I promised your father before he died that I would find you," Sin said in a somber tone, "but I failed to get you there in time."

"My father went to his grave knowing he could count on you." Romney cleared his throat. "He was taken too soon. I miss him."

The men raised their glasses and shared a silent toast in memory of the late Earl of Romney.

"My apologies. I didn't mean to spread melancholy. What did you wish to discuss?" Romney asked, leaning back in the leather seat and lighting another cheroot.

"Your observation skills only sharpened when you spent those first few months blinded, after the battle. I've never failed to be impressed with your resourcefulness. There aren't many people who could have accomplished what you did without sight." Sin leaned forward and patted his friend's shoulder. "Few people could have survived, Romney."

"I had help," Romney said. "Bethany was my eyes."

Sin noted out of the corner of his eye a man walking in. Tall with long black hair and beady black eyes, the stranger took a seat at the far end of the long room. "Do either of you know him?" Sin asked his friends in a low voice, his instincts on high alert.

"Baron Percival Blackwood," Wright whispered. "Slick bastard, that one. He was recently accused of attempting to ravish a young woman from Sussex who had come to London for the Season with family friends."

"Bethany heard of the sad tale and reached out to offer assistance to the girl," Romney added. "Her family holds little influence in the ton . And while there were witnesses, including a footman and a maid, their testimony was largely discounted in Blackwood's favor."

Sin clenched his jaw at the story. Men like Blackwood used their power to hurt and demean those weaker than them, especially na?ve and innocent girls. He'd crossed paths with many such men over the years.

"Despite this fine brandy, I'm sure you didn't just bring us here to polish off this bottle," Wright said as he refilled their glasses.

"Too true." Sin gave his friends a rueful smile. "I'm here on a favor from Wellington," he added in a low voice. "He requires sharp individuals to work for intelligence on this side of the channel, and he asked me about the two of you. Unfortunately, Napoleon was not our only threat. Given this cold and rainy weather, the effects have been dire on crops, as you both know. People are starving in many areas throughout the realm."

His friends nodded in understanding. "Unfortunately, this year bodes the same," Romney added.

"Indeed," Sin continued. "The Crown is anxious to prevent revolutionary ideas from taking hold in England. If either or both of you are amenable, Wellington would like to speak to you."

"I am honored," Romney said. "While I can offer some assistance from the sidelines, unfortunately, I cannot be part of the team. With a child on the way and after everything Bethany and I went through to get here, I'm not sure I want to sign on for any more adventures other than the kind that my darling wife provides every day."

Sin chuckled. "I understand, my friend. I thought that would be your answer, but I promised the duke I would ask."

"I, on the other hand, have nothing to hold me back," Wright said. "Father is in good health, but should he take a bad turn, I'd have to assume the earldom. Not something I'm looking forward to, as I much prefer travel and adventure."

"And winning the hearts of all the ladies you meet, I wager," Romney said with a wink.

Wright grinned. "Well, I have always held a soft spot for a damsel in distress."

"I don't know how if that is one of the direct duties of this assignment," Sin quipped.

"However, I don't want this to be my life's work, as you've done," Wright teased him. "But my life has become rather humdrum of late, and I would welcome a change of pace."

"Good. We expect much of the time you would be in London, but I cannot promise there won't be danger or travel," Sin said.

"As you know, I have one of my ships and crew in port. After a few weeks in London, the crew may get eager for a bit of adventure," Wright added good humoredly.

"Sinclair, Wright, and Romney! Three of my favorite people," a deep voice said from behind them.

Sin and his friends turned to see Evan Prescott, the Earl of Clarendon, approaching.

"Good to see you, Clarendon." Sin indicated an empty chair next to Wright. He'd noticed Blackwood had gotten up to leave. "Join us for a brandy."

"Was that Blackwood that left after I walked in? I wonder if I offended the poor chap?" Clarendon said sarcastically. "What was he doing here? He doesn't usually frequent White's."

"Couldn't say—but from what I've heard, he seems to prefer darker pursuits," Sin said grimly.

"Unfortunately, the man seems to have more lives than a cat," Clarendon said.

"Or a snake?" Wright added.

"Do snakes have many lives?" Romney asked.

"I'm not sure, but aren't they good at shedding their skin when they want to escape somewhere?" Wright said.

A footman approached, carrying a tray. "Would you care for a drink, my lord?"

"Lord Sinclair recommends the brandy," Clarendon said.

"Very good, my lord," the footman said, offering him a glass.

"I thought I'd find one or more of you here and came to ask if you'd like to help me pick out some horseflesh at Tattersalls," Clarendon said.

"Aren't you and your lovely bride attending the Armstrongs' ball tomorrow evening?" Wright asked.

"Oh, yes. Apologies. I meant the day after Lady Armstrong's soiree. I've heard Tattersalls has several new Arabians." Clarendon gave a sly laugh in Sin's direction. "Does your aunt know you're back in town?"

Sin laughed. "You're not the first to ask. She doesn't know yet. My sister and brother-in-law know. We thought to surprise my aunt at the party."

"Splendid idea. I cannot wait to see her reaction. You came back from America and went straight to Paris. My wife told me your aunt was crestfallen. She's quite the life of a tea, according to Charlotte. She thinks of you and your sister as more than a niece and nephew and seems intent on arranging a match for you."

He recalled his sister's letters to him while he was in France saying the same. As much as he loved his aunt, he could do without her meddling. "And similarly, no opportunity will be afforded this visit," Sin said. He raised his glass and toasted his friends. There's only one woman for me, and Aunt Millie cannot help me with that.