Tristan sighed and leaned his arms on his thighs, his head hanging down, and he didn't appear eager to tie the knot. In fact, he looked miserable.

James hadn't yet broached the issue of Miranda. There hadn't been an occasion for private conversation, and James wasn't certain what to do.

He kept recalling that night in the garden when Miranda had tried to force him into a compromising situation. Luckily, the drama of the moment had quashed any loud demands that James wed her, so he'd evaded her trap, but her shenanigans were disturbing.

She had a previously unnoticed aspect to her character that James couldn't abide, and he was having second thoughts about Tristan proceeding with the union.

"I have a confession to make," James said. "About Miranda."

"What is it?"

"While you were away..."

James's voice trailed off, which fostered the implication of scandal.

"Oh, for pity's sake," Tristan cut in, "don't tell me you've been s.h.a.gging her. It would be too predictable."

"Give me some credit, would you?"

"What is it then? What has she done?"

"She's merely decided that she'd rather have the earl than the earl's brother."

"It's a common opinion for a girl to hold. How does the earl feel about it? Should I step aside? Have you been swept away by amour?"

James glared at him. "Would you be serious?"

"If you're not anxious to wed her, what are you trying to tell me?"

"I'm not sure she's the person we a.s.sumed she was."

"What woman is?"

"She has a very devious side to her nature."

"Really? I wouldn't think she was smart enough to be devious."

"Ooh, a low blow."

"Wasn't it, though?"

"Helen warned me about her," James muttered, "but I wouldn't listen. I'm positive Miranda was the reason she left."

James hadn't realized he was going to mention Helen, and of course, Tristan was surprised, too.

"Who the h.e.l.l is Helen?"

As Tristan studied him with a keen eye, James flushed with chagrin.

"She worked for several months as Miranda's companion."

"Have you started tumbling the servants?"

James flushed an even deeper shade of red.

He couldn't talk about Helen, couldn't describe the wonderful summer he'd pa.s.sed with her. It was the only time he'd ever been truly happy, but he'd squandered her affection, and at the first opportunity, she'd fled.

Could he blame her? He'd bribed her with chattels, hoping the gifts would convince her to ignore his bad behavior, but they hadn't. Why would she have stayed?

He missed her. He missed her every minute of the day, and he was worried sick about her. Where was she? Where had she gone?

The sole contact he had for her was Mrs. Ford, and when he'd spoken to her, she'd claimed that she hadn't heard from Helen, so Helen could be anywhere.

James was dying to discuss the situation with Tristan, but he was very ashamed of his conduct, so he changed the subject.

"Who was the woman on the island with you? How did you meet her?"

"She was a stowaway."

"She wasn't a prost.i.tute? The entire city has been speculating."

"Gad, no. She was in some sort of trouble and running from someone when she sneaked on board.

"What sort of trouble?"

"It must have been dire, because she wouldn't confide in me."

"How silly of her. She was aware of who you are. She should have understood that you could help her."

"I know, but she never asked for any a.s.sistance for herself. Just for her sister. Apparently, she had a twin who'd gotten into a jam with Bentley Struthers. Poor girl! Can you imagine? Struthers had tried to-"

James had just taken a sip of brandy, and it went down wrong. He began to cough and sputter.

"What did you say?"

"She had a twin sister who was-"

"Yes, yes, I heard you. The woman on the island...what was her name?"

"Harriet."

"Let me guess," James said. "She's twenty years old, slender and pretty, with glorious golden-blond hair and the biggest green eyes you've ever seen?"

Tristan scowled. "How did you know?"

James stood and walked over to rest a hand on Tristan's shoulder.

"Brother, you and I need to have a long talk."

James dismounted and gazed up at the mansion known as Brookhaven.

It was a fine house, with large windows and chimneys at either end. The yard was meticulously manicured, the trees trimmed and beautifully arranged. In the summer, it was probably lovely, but it was November, so the leaves had fallen and blown away. The gra.s.s was dry and brown.

Angry clouds teemed overhead, a cold wind whipping at his coat, and he was curious as to why he'd come so far on what-most likely-would turn out to be a fool's errand.

He'd meant to let Helen go without tracking her down, but after discovering that he and Tristan had both been involved with the Stewart sisters-at the same time-he'd changed his mind.

It seemed that Fate had pushed the twins into their paths, and they should have taken more care in recognizing that they'd each been given a gift. Instead, they'd both behaved like total a.s.ses.

He didn't want Helen off on her own, didn't want to be fretting over where she was and if she was all right.

Finally, he'd acknowledged what had been staring him in the face all along. He couldn't live without her, and he intended to find her and bring her home, but not to be his mistress. They would have no more clandestine trysts, no more denial and pretending. He was eager to marry her, and why shouldn't he? With his being an earl and a peer of the realm, he was one of the most powerful men in Europe, and he could do as he pleased.

He and Tristan had led a very lonely life, had been shuttled from property to property and raised by nannies and tutors. As a result, he never grew fond, never cherished or adored. It simply wasn't in his nature, or at least he'd a.s.sumed it wasn't until he'd met Helen. He was anxious for her to come back so he could recapture the joy she'd so easily generated.

Braced for anything, he marched to the door and knocked.

He hadn't a clue as to Helen's whereabouts, but Nigel Stewart might know, and James viewed it as a mark of his desperation that he would approach the annoying, useless dandy.

If he had to grovel, if he had to beg, he would learn where she was. If he could locate Helen, he could probably locate Harriet too, so he and Tristan could both begin to make amends.

A footman answered and ushered James into the front parlor. Soon, Stewart's strides clacked down the hall, and James watched as Stewart entered and gestured for him to sit on a nearby sofa. Stewart perched on the chair directly across.

"Westwood," he said, "this is a surprise."

"Stewart," James responded, struggling to sound cordial.

"What brings you by on such an awful day?"

"I'm sure you're very busy, so I'll get straight to the point."

"I'd appreciate it. How may I help you?"

"Your cousin, Helen Stewart, had previously been employed by me."

"I remember it well."

"While I was out of town, she resigned her position. She didn't provide a forwarding address, and I doubt she had much money. I've been concerned about her."

"Have you?"

"Yes, and I've been wondering if-perhaps-you might have heard from her."

Stewart was silent, glaring, his angry expression easy to read.

"Yes," he ultimately admitted, "I know where she is."

He added nothing further, and James prodded, "Where is that?"

"She's here."

"May I speak with her?"

"No, you may not."

"No?" James repeated the word as if he was a dullard. It was a rare occasion when anyone refused him anything, and it was the last reply he'd expected.

"No," Stewart echoed very firmly.

"And why is that? Has she told you to deny me an audience? What?"

"She has no say in the matter." Stewart's posture was rigid with fury. "It is a decision I am making as the head of the family."

"She's an adult and fully capable of choosing who to receive as callers."

"Yes, but that was before and this is now."

"What do you mean? Stop talking in riddles."

"I will not let you meet with her, because-you see-she is my wife, and I don't want the two of you conversing."

"Your...wife?"

James felt as if he was choking, as if all the air had been sucked out of the sky. He was so astonished that he could barely stay seated on the sofa. His bones had turned to rubber, and he nearly slid to the floor in a stunned heap.

"Yes, my wife," Stewart said as if James didn't understand the definition of the term. "She confessed much of what pa.s.sed between the two of you, and I wed her anyway."

The impertinent fop!

James cheeks heated with outrage. "Let her tell me to my face that she doesn't wish to see me."

"No." Stewart stood. "This appointment is concluded. May I show you out?"

James rose too, more incensed than he'd ever been.

"Why?" he spat. "Why would you marry her?"

"Why does any man marry? For money."

"Helen doesn't have any."

"Doesn't she?"

Stewart's grin hinted at secret information that James didn't possess, and he was disturbed by Stewart's c.o.c.ky confidence. His entire manner seemed suspicious.

"I demand to speak with her!" James hissed, determined not to depart until he saw her.

"Haven't you done enough?" Stewart queried. "You forced her to work for you, and she remained-even though your ward was extremely vindictive. She begged and pleaded to quit the post, but your answer was to ruin her."