"You can have fun at someone else's expense." Crossing his arms, Edward fell silent, his disapproval plain.

In unison, the twins sprang off the couch, each one reaching in turn for her hand.

Lawrence went first, bowing low. "I most humbly beg your forgiveness, if my behavior has offended you in any way."

"And I as well," Leo said, sincerity plain in his hazel eyes. "We're thoughtless buffoons sometimes. We know you are to be our sister and are deuced glad of it. Pray say you forgive us so we may begin again."

"There is nothing to forgive," she said, "but you have it nonetheless."

After making her another pair of respectful bows, they strolled across the room and took up places next to the fireplace, dark golden brown heads bent together in consultation.

Edward reached down a hand to draw her to her feet. "Sorry about that."

"Honestly, I wasn't alarmed or offended," she said, as she let him assist her from the sofa. "They just surprised me is all. You need not have been so severe upon them, you know. They are just boys."

"They're a plague, is what they are. A pair of inveterate flirts and scapegraces, who are going to make my life a misery over the next few months. I can only imagine the peccadilloes into which they are sure to land themselves. I probably ought to save myself the trouble and send the both of them packing back to Braebourne."

Without thinking, Claire laid a hand on his sleeve. "I hope you will not. I should hate to be the cause of any discord." At least not the kind that didn't involve her own personal issues with him.

He nodded. "I hope they'll realize and be grateful that they have you to thank for their reprieve."

Her mouth curved into a smile. "You wouldn't really have sent them away, would you, Your Grace?"

A long moment passed before he gave an enigmatic smile. Tucking her hand more tightly against his arm, he drew her into a slow walk. "We haven't had a chance to speak privately since you arrived. How are you finding the house? Is everything to your liking?"

"Yes, very much. You have a beautiful home."

His gaze met and held her own. "I am glad you approve."

For a few seconds she couldn't look away, her skin tingling as she realized precisely how close they were standing together, near enough that she could feel the warmth of his body through his sleeve and catch the clean scents of soap and man hidden in the clothing he wore. She found herself wanting to lean closer. Then called herself ten times a ninny for the impulse.

"My hope over the next few weeks," Edward said, "is that you will begin to think of this as your home. Because it is, you know. Or at least it shall be soon."

Trembling, she lowered her gaze.

"I see that Mallory is making her way to the pianoforte," he observed. "Perhaps you might care to join her for a song? I understand that you have an excellent singing voice."

"It is nothing remarkable, I assure you, Your Grace."

"Edward," he reminded. "And that is not what your mother says. Lady Edgewater informs me that you sing so sweetly you put canaries to shame."

She gave a dismissive shrug. "Despite my mother's praise, I don't believe that canaries have anything to repine over."

"Nevertheless," he said, drawing them to a halt next to the richly polished pianoforte, "I should like to hear you sing. Mallory, what do you say to accompanying Lady Claire in a song?"

Mallory's face brightened. "Of course. Have you any favorites?"

"Your Grace...Edward," Claire corrected. "I would really rather not perform tonight."

"But we are all family here," he said. "I would not ask otherwise, and I think you will find us a kind and generous audience."

"Oh, do say we may make a duet together," Mallory urged. "Your pretty voice will conceal any mistakes I may make in my playing."

Claire chuckled and felt herself weaken. "Very well, since you both insist."

Edward smiled, his deep blue gaze warming in a way that made her feel rather warm in return. With a bow, he excused himself and left her to consult with Mallory. From the corner of her eye, she saw him pause to converse with Lord Drake before he took up a seat at the far end of one of the Hepplewhite sofas.

Paying only partial attention to Mallory as she discussed which song to choose, Claire silently weighed her options. Without his intending to, she realized that Edward had given her an excellent opportunity to shock and displease him once again. Or try to at least.

Her mother was right that she often garnered praise from others for her singing. But what if tonight she sang poorly? What if she sounded like an off-key screech owl, making sounds so horrible they would all be covering their ears?

She smiled inwardly at the notion and were it only Edward in the room, she would definitely have proceeded with the plan. But considering her first failed attempt back home at Marsden Manor, she wasn't necessarily confident of her success. Edward had seen through her ploy then. What if he did again?

Then too, there was the reaction she was sure to draw from her mother. Last time, after having her mother ring a peal over her head, she'd managed to convince Mama that she had only been playing a silly prank on the duke and that he'd found it vastly amusing. But she knew Mama would not condone a repetition of such antics, particularly in front of half of the duke's family.

And then there were Edward's siblings themselves, who had been nothing but kind to her. Somehow it didn't seem fair to torture them in order to extricate herself from their brother.

Should she or shouldn't she?

She was still considering her decision when Mallory took a seat at the pianoforte and played a few practice notes. "Ready?" Mallory asked, sending her an encouraging smile.

Nodding, Claire waited for the music to begin. Nerves writhed like a handful of little green snakes in her stomach, her pulse beating faster than normal. The song began, the notes racing quickly upon her as she tried to keep pace with the beat. And then the moment arrived.

Sing or don't sing? Sing well or make a hash of it?

Pulling in a hasty breath, she decided at the last second to sing well.

Instead, the first note croaked from her throat, a cacophonous sound that erupted like a drunken belch that shot high at the end.

Her eyes widened, along with those of everyone else in the room.

Mallory's gaze flashed upward, despite the fact that her fingers continued to move over the keyboard.

Edward's dark brows drew tight, while the twins' faces froze in mirror images of astonishment.

Lord Drake's pencil fell still.

As for her mother, Claire didn't have the nerve to glance in her direction.

"S-Sorry," she called out, waving a hand for Mallory to quit playing. "I...um...don't know what happened. A case of dry throat, I suppose."

Without asking her permission, one of the twins-Leo, she believed-poured a glass of wine and brought it across to her.

"Thank you," she whispered, giving him a tiny smile.

Eyes twinkling, he winked at her before turning away.

"Shall we try again?" Mallory asked.

Lifting the wine to her lips, Claire took a long drink.

And so here she was with yet another chance to appall Edward. Several more murdered notes and a few remarks afterward about how much she loved to sing and the duke might indeed have second thoughts about saddling himself to a lifetime of potential auditory torture.

But as she gazed around the room at the others, she knew she still couldn't go through with it. Taking another drink, she set the wine aside, then nodded to Mallory. "All right. Let's try."

A hush fell, as everyone waited to hear her next attempt.

This time when she began, her voice rang out clear and strong, each note rounded and sweet. Approval filled the room, along with relieved pleasure, the entire group relaxing to enjoy the music.

From his place on the sofa, Edward watched her, his gaze filled with contemplation and curiosity. And then he smiled, his mouth curving in a slow upward tilt that signaled the depth of his pleasure.

Pride swelled in her chest. Pride and something more, something treacherous that she had no business letting herself feel. Yet there it was nevertheless, an insidious need to earn his approval. To make him like her.

Love her?

Closing her eyes, she fought the weakness as she let her voice soar, intertwining with Mallory's beautiful piano playing.

Seconds after she finished, applause rang out, together with huzzahs from the twins and enthusiastic clapping from Lord Drake. She smiled, a glow of accomplishment spreading through her chest. Then she gazed at Edward and found him not in his seat, but standing halfway across the room.

He was reading a note; the footman, who must have brought it, already exiting the room. Claire watched as Edward perused the missive, then folded the paper in half. She expected him to turn and rejoin the party, to rejoin her. Instead, he tucked the note into his jacket pocket and crossed to murmur some quick aside to Drake. Without so much as a glance in her direction, he strode to the door and out of the room.

Her shoulders sank, every ounce of her previous pride and excitement evaporating. Perhaps the message he'd received was important and his departure could not be helped. But was it so important that he couldn't have spared a single minute to bid her adieu? Or had he forgotten her the moment the note arrived? Was she little more than an afterthought that had instantly slipped his mind?

What a simpleton I am.

Forcing a smile, she gazed at Mallory. "Shall we sing and play another?"

Grinning, Mallory agreed.

Choking down the rest of the wine in her glass, Claire prepared to make merry-even if it killed her.

Chapter 5.

"Where is he?" Edward demanded nearly two hours later, as he stepped out of the frosty March night into a room that was scarcely warmer than the outdoors in spite of the coals burning in the grate.

The senior officer on duty snapped to attention, having clearly been expecting his visit. "This way, Your Grace," he said in a moderate tone. "If you'll follow me, I'll take you to the cell."

With a nod, Edward let the other man lead the way. Their booted footsteps rang loudly against the rough stones that paved the interior of the military prison located nearly twenty miles southeast of London. Dark and drafty, the edifice was foreboding to say the least, light from the lantern the officer carried casting eerie shadows against the heavy granite walls. Despite the prison's bleak atmosphere and lack of amenities, Edward knew that it was luxurious compared to the overcrowded squalor and depravity of places like Newgate, where the gaolers preyed upon prisoners and the prisoners on each other.

They walked down a long hallway, past cells housing soldiers incarcerated for a variety of crimes. With a rattling of keys, the officer opened a heavy iron door that led into a separate section of the gaol.

"This is where we keep the special ones," the man said. "Those interned for high crimes and activities against the state. He's just down here." A few yards later, the officer stopped, then used his key again to unlock a thick wooden door.

Swinging it wide, he pointed toward the figure lying on a narrow bed in one corner of the room, a woolen blanket pulled high over the man's form. There wasn't much else in the six-by-eight cell except for a slop bucket and another that held a couple inches of water. An odor of despair and old sweat permeated the space, overlain by a more pungent, almost sweetly metallic scent that signaled something of a far more sinister nature.

Approaching the bed, Edward reached for the blanket and pulled it back. There, lying on his back with his blond hair tangled around his classically featured face, was Lord Everett. Were it not for the knife sticking out of his slender chest and the huge congealing bloodstain that accompanied it, one might have imagined him to be sleeping.

"How long ago did you find him?" Edward asked, studying the body of the man who had been known in espionage circles as Le Renard.

"Just after dinner rounds. When he didn't take his meal, we came in to check and discovered him like this."

"And you presume he was murdered? He couldn't have come into possession of a knife and done this on his own?"

The officer shook his head. "No, Your Grace. We search the cells every few days for contraband and such. Besides, Everett wasn't the sort who would have taken his own life. Too much of a coward, if you ask me. He may have been called a hero once, but he was nothing but a filthy traitor."

A filthy traitor indeed, Edward thought. A liar and a spy for the French, who had once tortured Cade nearly to death. Because of Everett, his brother would endure a limp and other physical scars for the rest of his days. If not for the fierce devotion of Cade's beloved wife, Edward feared Cade might never have been able to get past the emotional scars he'd carried as well. Thank God for Meg.

The officer was right, though. Everett had been too much of a coward to have killed himself. So who had done the deed in his stead?

As for why, that much was obvious. Everett had information, secrets the British government had been working hard to pry out of him for over a year now. Only recently had he begun to talk. Apparently whoever had done this hadn't cared for Everett's newly loosened tongue.

"Nonetheless, he was a potentially useful traitor," Edward said in response to the officer's last remark. "One who might have given us further valuable information if he was still alive. So, if the knife wasn't his, then whose is it? Did he have any visitors today?"

"None. Weren't many who came to see him as a rule and no one in the past couple of months. He was completely alone in here, Your Grace."

Edward raised a brow. "Apparently not completely, since at some point today someone entered his cell and stabbed him to death. Someone, I might add, who obviously had access to not only the cell, but the key, if what you say is correct."

The soldier blanched and cast a frowning look at the keys in his hand. "None of my men would do such a thing."

"Perhaps you don't know your men as well as you think. When is the last time Everett was seen alive?"

"This morning, I believe. One of the guards mentioned that Everett was complaining about not being allowed to have a newspaper to read."

"Then I'll want the name of everyone who's been in and out of this building since this morning. And I do mean everyone, from your colonel down to the lowliest raw recruit. Civilians, government officials, even the boy who comes by to empty the slops."

The officer nodded.

"I want to see if they noticed anything out of the ordinary, or anyone coming in and out of this section of the prison. Are the men who were on duty this morning still here?"

"A few, yes."

"Good. Find them, then locate the rest, especially the guard who traded words with Everett this morning. I want to question him and the others personally. I presume you can find a room where I may talk to these men?"

"Of course. Everything shall be done as you ask."

"Good."

Instead of leaving, the officer hesitated. "Um, what shall we do with the body?"

Edward's gaze turned toward Everett. "It's cold enough that I imagine you can leave him right where he is for now. We'll need to inspect his clothes and any possessions he may have accumulated. Once that's done, notify his family. I assume they'll want to give him a decent burial despite his crimes."

"Yes, of course, Your Grace. I shall see to it myself."