eriel couldn't discuss Charles's visit at dinner, and it took all her patience to wait until midnight to sneak down the private staircase to Richard's room. She remained fully clothed and vowed to guard against her unpredictable feelings.

She found Richard awake, still dressed, leaning against a window frame and staring at the night sky. She silently stepped beside him and looked out to see a sliver of moon. His face was pensive and sad, and she wanted to hold him, to comfort him. She settled for putting her hand on his arm.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly.

He only shrugged.

"What did Charles want?"

He heaved a sigh and looked down at her, his sad smile worrying her.

"He came to tell me that my brother is dead."

She gasped. "You mean he tried to tell you that you were dead?"

"Not me— Cecil."

After a long pause, she said, "Then he knows the truth about you? But how would he— surely you don't believe him!"

"He had Cecil's valet as proof. I don't see what lying about it would accomplish for him. If he wanted Cecil out of the way, killing him is the easiest way to do that."

"Oh, Richard," she whispered and leaned against him.

When he put his arm around her shoulders, she snuggled in against his body and held him.

"I cannot imagine how you must feel," she said. "If something were to happen to one of my sisters— "

"But this isn't the same," he said, still staring out the window. "Cecil and I were never exactly close, and adulthood further separated us. I maybe saw him twice a year. But…I never thought it would feel this way, to know that he was dead."

With her arm around his back, she felt a little spasm, as if he tried to control himself. When she looked up at him, she saw a tear slide down his cheek.

She whispered his name again and went completely into his arms, holding him tight, wishing with everything in her that she could ease his pain.

He held her for a moment, then gently pushed her away. Turning aside, he brushed at his face, and when he looked back, all his emotion was gone. He looked ruthless, determined— and deadly.

He told her about his conversation with Charles.

"So you don't know how long he's known about your masquerade?" she asked. "He certainly was trying to test you when he was talking about the entertainment at last year's ball."

He shook his head. "Thankfully Cecil always wrote me detailed letters bragging about the masquerade. No, today was all about Charles's love of the hunt. And we're supposed to figure out the target."

"Would that be you? Aren't you the one who stands between him and guardianship of Stephen?"

"That makes sense, of course, but somehow that seems too easy. And we can't forget that Cecil was under his control, for however brief a time. Charles might have forced him to sign a guardianship document."

"But then you wouldn't be in his way, would you?"

His eyes softened. "Now I know why I keep you at my side."

"And here I thought it was for another reason."

She immediately regretted such playful banter, but Richard seemed to appreciate it. Some of the terrible tension went out of him.

He arched an eyebrow. "You mean as governess?"

She blushed. "I'm sorry I mentioned it. So the duke probably didn't name Charles as guardian."

"I don't think so. Perhaps Charles's plan is as simple as guardianship of Stephen, and I'm in his way. He's worried that a sympathetic court might side with me, considering that Cecil and I were raised as brothers. The duke housed and educated me— "

"And Stephen loves you."

He smiled. "I would like to think so. Though my illegitimacy might cost me some sympathy, Charles can't take that chance."

"So how far do you think he would go to eliminate the threat of you?"

Richard's mouth tightened. "If he killed Cecil…then he will dare anything."

"But Cecil was sick; you don't know for certain that Charles killed him."

"No. But if Charles only wanted to get me out of the way, all he has to do is announce my real identity. It will seem like I wanted the dukedom, and killed Cecil to get it. Maybe Charles is just biding his time, waiting to denounce me at the worst possible moment."

"But how do we protect Stephen from him? Heavens, that little boy is now the duke," she said, shaking her head in wonder.

"My first thought was to take Stephen out of England altogether, but it will only look like I'm kidnapping him for my own ends. Hiding him somewhere until this all plays out would mean I'd have to trust someone to protect him."

She studied him. "And trust doesn't come easily to you, I would assume."

He rubbed his hand across his brow. "No."

A part of her felt let down, and he didn't deserve that. She couldn't expect him to trust her unequivocally. She still didn't completely trust herself.

But why was his trust so important to her?

"So we keep Stephen here, and under watch at all times," he said. "The training we've done with the wolfhounds will come in handy now. They'll guard him well."

"Did you train them with this in mind?"

"Not at first, but when the dogs took to Stephen, I realized that they could be invaluable. They're sleeping in his room as we speak. I can't believe Charles will harm Stephen, because power is his goal, and he'll have it by controlling all the estates."

"How can we be certain of that, Richard?" she asked softly. "Just because he told you he wants power, doesn't mean it's true."

"You're right. I really can't assume anything about Charles's goals. But I won't let him harm Stephen."

"That puts you in the most danger," she whispered, startled again by how terrible that made her feel. Was this love— this worry, this want, this desperate need to be with him? She wanted to take all his pain away, to make him— to make both of them— forget for just one night that his own cousin wanted him dead. Her fear of her own emotions seemed meaningless now, with Richard standing before her hurting, but strong and capable and ready to take on a murderer to defend a family and a way of life that had treated him badly.

She didn't realize how long she'd been staring at him, or what expression she wore, until Richard betrayed a new tension by just the line of his body and the way his gaze grew hooded as it moved intently down her body. She remembered the bliss of his embrace, the feel of his mouth on her, and she wanted it all again.

"Meriel," he said, his voice husky, "if you wish to remain a virgin, I suggest you find your own bed."

She only shook her head. If she thought he'd been tense before, she didn't know the true meaning of the word. His body came alert, and a shock of passion seemed to jump between them.

He took a step closer. "You have to tell me, Meriel. Tell me what you want."

She closed the gap between them, and her corseted breasts brushed his coat. "Can't I show you?"

He closed his eyes and shuddered. "Will my heart be able to handle it?"

Her own heart gave an answering ache.

Any thoughts of embarrassment were long gone as she slipped her hands within his coat and placed them on his chest. She slid them up the warm, hard muscles, then pushed back his coat at the shoulders until, with a shrug, he let it fall to the floor. This time she wanted to see him, to know if he took the same wild pleasure in her touch as she did in his. The buttons of his waistcoat were tricky under her trembling fingers, but soon that garment was on the floor, too.

He was breathing heavily; his heart pounded beneath her hands, and his brows were lowered over dark eyes that seemed to burn into her. She felt the tiny points of his nipples, and when she caressed them through his shirt, he caught his breath.

Suddenly impatient for more of him, she quickly untied his cravat and stock and tossed them to the floor. There were only a few buttons at his throat, and then she pushed his shirt up, and he obliged her by pulling it off over his head.

His chest startled her again with how very different it was from hers, all hard, rippling muscle.

"You didn't get this from investing," she whispered, then lifted her head to look at his face. "Boxing?"

"Keeps a man trim," he murmured.

His arms came around her, and he started unhooking her gown in the back. It came loose slowly, but even then she was still restricted beneath several layers of clothing. He pulled it down the front of her, revealing her corset over her chemise, and the several petticoats tied at her waist.

When the gown was on the floor, he said, "It's like opening a Christmas gift."

Her laugh sounded strange, all throaty and deep. "Do you need help?"

"I'll manage."

And he did. Her petticoats came off one by one, and then he was forced to turn her around so that he could unlace her corset. To her surprise, she faced a long mirror, and she could see herself all rosy-cheeked with excitement. He pulled the corset up over her head, and then made short work of the pins in her hair, scattering them everywhere. She watched her own blond curls fall about her breasts and shoulders and back.

From behind, he looked at her in the mirror, gathering her hair gently and drawing it to the back. The chemise she wore dipped into her cleavage, and was just translucent enough to reveal a hint of her nipples.

Richard groaned and buried his face in her hair. "I didn't know governesses wore such fine undergarments."

"Maybe they don't. I bought my chemises when I had no spending limit. I like pretty things."

"Thank God," he said hoarsely.

He knelt down behind her, and she gasped when she felt him lifting her hemline. Sliding his hands up her calves, he removed her shoes, garters, and stockings. All she had left beneath her chemise were her drawers. Richard didn't bother with those. He simply came to his feet, bringing the hemline with him, then drew her chemise over her head. For a moment, he stood still, looking through the mirror at her breasts.

She had once imagined she'd feel like covering her nakedness, but not now. Now she wanted to lean back against him and beg for his touch. She loved the look of admiration and desperation on his face as he watched her.

"There, we match," he breathed, turning her around and pressing her against him.

His skin was hot against hers, both on her chest and on her back, where his large hands held her to him. He leaned down and kissed her, and she put her arms around his neck to keep him with her. As their tongues mated, his hands slid up her sides and cupped the edges of her breasts. She groaned into his mouth. His thumbs moved between their bodies, rubbing her nipples in slow little circles that drove her mad.

"Please," she whispered against his mouth. "I want more."

She put her hands on his trousers and unbuttoned them, just as he unlaced her drawers. They each pushed garments down the other's hips, until their clothes pooled on the floor. She leaned against him, his penis hot against her stomach, caught between their bodies. It seemed to throb, as if it had a life of its own. She had rubbed herself against it the other day, taken her pleasure and denied him his.

Tonight they would revel in sharing their passion.

She tried to pull him toward the massive four-poster bed, but he stopped her.

"Boots," he said apologetically, even as his gaze continued to rove her body with hunger. "I should have thought this out better."

With only one hop, he was able to sit down in a chair. Meriel went to stand by the bed, leaning back against one of the posts to watch him. The bed curtains hung at her back, tickling her bare skin. She felt far too wicked, standing so brazenly before a naked man.

Then he was walking toward her, and she hungrily watched the way his muscles moved in beautiful motion. His penis hung heavily toward her, and she wanted to touch it, but didn't know how to ask.

He didn't give her a chance. He lifted her up and swung her onto the bed. As she reclined amid the half-dozen pillows, he stopped just to look at her again.

"Meriel, the sight of you there— " He swallowed. "Every night I've dreamed of this."

She reached for him. "You've been in my dreams— it's only fair that I've become part of yours."

As he crawled onto the bed, his long body took up so much room. He slid to her side, then pulled her back up against his front. He snuggled in behind her, his erection nestled by her buttocks. She found herself arching back, and he groaned and rocked himself against her.

"Not yet, not yet," he murmured, letting his hand trail up her thigh.

She moaned and shivered as he drew her hair away and kissed the back of her neck and around beneath her ear. He moved his attentions back to her hip, his palm sweeping down over her stomach, his fingertips just brushing the curls between her thighs.

She caught her breath, then almost groaned her disappointment when he slid his hand back up her torso. He chuckled into her ear.

"I'm enjoying myself immensely," he whispered.

And she was enjoying everything he did to rouse her passion. He trailed the back of his hand up her stomach, then circled the lower curves of her breasts with his fingers. She wanted to grab his hand and move it where she wanted it, but that was only her sense of control trying to exert itself. There was freedom in allowing him to do whatever he wanted, in waiting expectantly for each shiver of pleasure.

And he didn't disappoint her. He finally cupped her breast, kneading it gently.

"Yes," she whispered. "Oh please."

His fingers found her nipple and began to tease, circling and rubbing and tweaking. He gave equal attention to both breasts, and soon she was shivering with the rising hunger that was taking over her mind, her very soul. She realized her hips seemed to be moving of their own accord, rocking, circling, and that he was enjoying it as much as she was.

Then he slid his hand back down her body and between her thighs, cupping her, pressing against her. She gasped and held her breath, the tense expectation making her rigid.

"Bend your knee," he said against her ear.

When she did so, he had even more access to the hot depths of her, and he rewarded her by sliding his fingers up and down her wet folds. She cried out, unable to control her panting gasps as the pleasure rolled over her, taking away her very thoughts. She existed in the world he created for her as he played her body.

He delved deeper, circling, plucking at the tiny nub that seemed like a switch turning on her body. Rising up over her shoulder, he pushed her torso flat to the bed. Then he started licking her, up the mound of her breast to the very peak, circling it, sucking it, licking it in long, flat strokes.

She was mindless now, so close to the summit of pleasure that all she could do was concentrate on it.

And then he took his hands away. Before she could even react, he moved over her body, sliding between her thighs. She lifted her knees, trying to fit herself against him, even as he held himself up so as not to crush her.

And then he pushed inside. The pain she'd heard whispers of was only a minor irritation, quickly forgotten in the pleasure of him so hard and deep. He withdrew and surged inside her again, and then she understood it. The pressure of his body against her very womanhood aroused her quickly once again. She held him and moved with the rhythm he taught without words.

And then the sharp stab of pleasure-pain engulfed her again, and she shook with the ever-decreasing tremors. Only then did she watch his face, see his concentration as he joined her in climax.

Richard barely kept himself from collapsing on top of Meriel. His mind was numb, his muscles trembled, but he was aware enough to know that never had he felt so joined to a woman before Meriel.

He didn't want to leave her body, didn't want to imagine the repercussions of this passion they'd shared. He knew he could not even think of losing her, of losing this rare closeness.

Coming up on his elbows, he smoothed the hair from her face. She was studying him, and he smiled.

"Ah, Meriel, you have to examine everything, don't you."

"No, I— " She shook her head, then shrugged. "I don't know what to think. I never thought I would…give in to this temptation."

He rocked against her gently, still feeling the tremors of completion. "Do you regret what we did?"

"No."

He was grateful that she didn't hesitate.

"Although I don't know what to think about it, either," she continued. "But no, never think I blame you, not when I wanted this."

"Don't you think I wanted this just as much?"

She smiled then, squeezing his hips with her thighs. "I can tell."

With a sigh, he slid off her to the side. He wanted to cuddle her close, but instead she sat up and tried to gather the blankets about her.

"I know this is foolish," she said, obviously embarrassed. "You've seen…all of me. But— "

"No, please, a woman's modesty is not a trivial thing. Shall I fetch your dressing gown from your room?"

"No, I can just slide my dress back on. I should go."

"Meriel."

He took one of her hands, while the other held a blanket to her chest. "This was something we didn't plan. I don't expect more than you're ready to give to me."

She smiled and closed your eyes. "Your problem is that you're too good to me, Richard. It makes it hard to keep my distance."

"Then don't," he whispered, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

He could feel her hesitancy, yet she remained still beneath his gentle kiss, almost like a delicate bird caught between fleeing and staying.

"I must go." She met his gaze. "But what is our next move in regard to Charles?"

"We can't move against him, so we remain on guard and wait. He could be playing with me, hoping I might panic and do something foolish."

"What if he goes to the police about your brother's death?"

"That would be too awkward for him, even though I look like the criminal. And besides, he's getting a sick amusement out of his games. We'll give him a chance to make a mistake."

She looked into his eyes. "That's such a risk you're taking."

"I have more guards now. I'll keep Stephen safe. Are you worried about me?" he asked softly.

"Of course." She glanced away. "But right now I have to go. Stephen can't find me here."

"Would you stay otherwise?"

She smiled. "Probably not, even though I've become your mistress in fact now. I can't lie to myself about that."

"Meriel— "

She let the covers drop and went to pick up her garments.

"Let me help you," he said.

"No." She held up a hand. "I don't trust myself."

Richard pulled the blanket over his hips and just watched, unable to play the gentleman and turn away. Seeing that beautiful body covered was almost a crime.

When she had the gown on, it was obvious she usually had a maid's help with all the buttons. She hesitated, and he waited. Finally she walked to him and turned her back, saying nothing.

He grinned and buttoned her up. She gathered all her undergarments over her arm, and after giving him a small smile, she fled up the staircase.

He knew it would be a long time before he was able to sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about her last comment, that she couldn't trust herself. He knew she wasn't talking about his desirability. What had given a competent, intelligent woman such an opinion about herself?

She seemed to trust him more than herself, even though he'd lied to her. Did it have something to do with why a prosperous London family would be forced to send its daughters out for employment?

Unlike Meriel, he was a man who'd only ever had himself to rely on. He'd made his own way in the world, trusted no one but himself.

Masquerading as the duke, a position he once would have thought very solitary, had made him learn to depend on so many people: the silence of servants, the worship of his nephew, and the intelligence of Meriel Shelby. He had more help than he was used to, and he felt humbled by it.

Now he had to help his brother one last time. Richard would have justice, so that Cecil could rest in peace.