"I'm glad you came back," Antonia said, once they both settled in leather chairs before the hearth.

The sheer familiarity offered some comfort to her wounded soul. Mr. Demarest was frequently away, but when he was home, he'd sit after dinner and discuss the day's activities. Again she considered asking him about Eloise, but really, what could he say in his defense? Just as with Ranelaw's kidnapping of Cassie, no excuse could ever be good enough.

Instead she broached the most urgent matter between them. "I wasn't sure what to do. I can leave Cassie with the Merriweathers but I wanted your approval. If you're here, my departure won't cause comment."

"I was appalled when I got your letter. Left Paris as fast as I could. How dare that reprobate Benton show his face in England?"

"My father is no longer a threat," she said dryly. "I imagine Johnny wants to return to social acclaim and the bosom of his family. He's been away for ten years after all." She sipped her brandy. The warmth trickling down her throat felt alien. As the night progressed, she'd grown colder and colder. As if the life slowly seeped out of her.

Damn Ranelaw. He wasn't worth this agony.

"Have you seen him?"

"I met him by chance in the park." Was it only four days ago that she'd left Ranelaw's bed in a sensual daze? She no longer felt like the same woman. "He recognized me."

"You haven't changed from the girl I took into my house, except you've become more beautiful."

Antonia frowned into her glass. Flattery wasn't Demarest's usual conversation. "Johnny's wife is dead. He wants to marry me."

"I hope you sent him to the devil."

"I was too startled to be so succinct, but, yes, I refused. He hasn't changed either." She struggled to keep the conversation going. She felt as though her head were stuffed with wool.

"Do you think he'll spread scandal?"

"His role in the elopement does him no credit. Discretion might rule. It's still best that I leave Cassie under someone else's supervision. Are you staying?"

"For the moment."

"Good. I'll leave tomorrow."

He rose to lean one arm on the mantelpiece. His eyes fixed on her. "Antonia, there's something I'd like to talk to you about." He sounded unusually serious. "Something I've thought of for a long time."

Oh, no, not today. Grim premonition weighted her belly. Her fingers tightened on her brandy glass. She'd barely dealt with Ranelaw's betrayal. Losing her home as well seemed too cruel, although she'd known this day would come when Cassie entered the marriage market.

Just not so soon.

Demarest stared down at the fire. "I expect Cassie will receive many offers."

"She's beautiful, bright, and rich. Any man would be lucky to take her to wife."

"Serious contenders?"

She shrugged. "Lord Soames seems a suitable match and Cassie likes him." She paused and forced herself to speak the loathed name. The words crammed in her throat but she got them out. "The Marquess of Ranelaw has shown interest."

Demarest didn't react with noticeable guilt. It was difficult to reconcile this urbane gentleman with what she knew of Eloise. But then remorse had never been her cousin's forte.

"I hope you gave that scoundrel short shrift. I'd heard he was sniffing around. Must have decided it's time to set up his nursery. He must be over thirty now."

"Cassie knows what she's about."

Another pause, then Demarest spoke almost idly. "When she marries, what of you?"

Antonia squashed a cowardly impulse to delay this discussion. "She says she wants to take me with her. I suspect her new husband may have different ideas." She swallowed and ventured a hesitant suggestion. "I thought as you're away so much, you might consider allowing me to continue running your estate."

When he shook his head, her heart shrank. Her hand clenched harder around her glass although she struggled for outward composure. Demarest had done so much for her. No reason he must keep her as a charity case forever.

His voice was uncharacteristically somber. "Once Cassie is no longer in residence, that wouldn't be suitable."

Antonia set her glass on the table between the chairs. Her hand shook so badly, the brandy spilled. "You're right." She raised her chin and wondered if she had courage to endure this on top of everything else. "I appreciate all you've done for me and it's been a joy bringing Cassie up. Will you supply me with a reference for another position?" Another position with a family who would indeed treat her as a servant. How would she bear it?

Demarest didn't seem to realize the blow he'd delivered. "If that's what you want."

She frowned. "I can't see an alternative."

His voice was soft and deep. "I could ask you to marry me."

Chapter Thirty.

Her mind in turmoil, Antonia retreated to her bedroom. The last days had been too turbulent, too confusing. Shock and disbelief warred in her over Mr. Demarest's proposal. She twisted in a whirlwind. As though she'd split into a hundred different people and she understood none of them.

The drab chaperone. The passionate lover. The woman who rejected Johnny's proposal. The Amazon who rescued Cassie and threatened to shoot Ranelaw.

Among these myriad identities, should she now include Godfrey Demarest's future wife?

Her belly churning, she sank down on the stool before her dressing table. Her body ached as if she'd trudged a hundred miles through a wild storm. Bewildered she stared into the mirror. Apart from two hectic flags of color high on her cheekbones, she was pale. Her eyes were dark and troubled.

Hard to credit, but in the last few days, three men had proposed marriage. When she'd believed herself utterly ineligible.

Of course the only offer she seriously considered was her cousin's. She'd sat astonished and silent while Demarest explained he wanted her to continue running his estate. Basically nothing would change. Except Antonia would regain the status stripped from her after her elopement. She'd have security at last, a place in the world.

Had he planned this ever since he'd discovered her on the packet from France? It seemed unlikely. She knew from her own experience that her cousin rarely looked ahead to consider consequences. Eloise Challoner's tragic story bore out that perception. He was a man who lived for his own convenience, and Antonia continuing to handle his responsibilities would suit his pleasure, she had no doubt.

Did it suit her pleasure?

While Demarest made no pretense that he meant to relinquish his rakish pursuits, he mentioned his hope for children. It was a delicate way of saying he'd come to her bed if she wished, but he wouldn't enforce his husbandly rights.

Her hands formed claws against the mahogany dressing table. She wanted children. She wanted a family. She wanted a home that belonged to her and wasn't the result of casual charity.

Was she willing to accept an unfaithful husband to obtain those things?

Was she willing to overlook her cousin's sins against Eloise Challoner?

Was she willing to accept Godfrey Demarest as her lover?

She closed her eyes and struggled to forget the transcendent joy she'd experienced in Ranelaw's arms. Because when she recalled the joy, she also recalled the betrayal. The agony made her shake and threatened to send her crawling into a dark hole.

No, she must expunge Ranelaw from heart and mind. All the passion. All the lies. All the sinful, seductive delight. All the choking rage. Instead she must decide her next step with her head, not her heart. Her heart never led her right.

Perhaps she and Godfrey Demarest had a chance of happiness. She knew him well, both the bad and the good. There was good in him when he wasn't too lazy or self-interested to ignore the promptings of his conscience.

Neither Demarest nor she expected grand passion. Bascombe Hailey was her home and she already considered Cassie as a sister. Considering her as a daughter would require no effort.

What choice did Antonia have but to accept this proposal?

Most people would say after her lapse, she was fortunate to have any choice. Strict morality insisted she rot in the gutter. Yet now a settled life as a rich man's wife beckoned.

If she stretched out her hand and seized it.

Mr. Demarest didn't look surprised when Antonia requested an interview after breakfast. He must know she was perilously short of options if he ceased to employ her.

When she entered the library, Demarest rose from behind his desk and came to meet her. His manner when he ushered her into the room conveyed a hint of the proprietary. Clearly he expected her to say yes to his proposal.

In spite of her exhaustion, Antonia hadn't slept a moment. Dry-eyed and as empty inside as an old nutshell, she'd watched the sun rise over London. Briefly she'd wondered where Ranelaw was, then she ruthlessly blocked curiosity. All night, she'd struggled not to think of him. But the ache in her heart and between her legs reminded her she'd once again given herself to an unworthy man.

She didn't cry. This agony went beyond tears. She'd cried an ocean over Johnny. Ranelaw's betrayal surpassed any pain she'd imagined.

If she meant to marry Godfrey Demarest, better to think of him. But over and over, she had to superimpose his pleasant face over the intense, angular features of the man who could destroy her if she let him. Everything about Ranelaw was fraudulent, especially her memories. There was no sweetness and passion. There was just falsehood and manipulation.

Even knowing that, erasing his image proved hellishly difficult. But she would do it. However long it took. However many pieces of her soul she had to slice away to achieve blessed numbness.

Mr. Demarest took her hand and led her to the chair she'd sat in last night. "You're in fine looks this morning, my dear."

Antonia bit back a wry laugh. She looked like a hag. Sleeplessness and anxiety left her pale and drawn. The eyes she'd met in the mirror were dull and sunken, and a pounding headache took up residence in her temples.

They both sat down. Although she'd requested this meeting, she found it impossible to mention the subject of his proposal. She'd never before experienced an awkward silence with her cousin. She hoped this wasn't a sign of things to come. Although of course, if she accepted him, mostly she'd manage the Somerset estate alone, just as she had during the last ten years.

How ironic that she now contemplated marriage with a man who shared so many of her first lover's failings. Like Johnny, Demarest wasn't deliberately evil. He was just selfish and unwilling to consider the repercussions of what he did. She should view him as abhorrent, but in the end, she couldn't hate him. He was a spoiled child, just as Johnny was.

"Have you thought about what I said?" he asked eventually.

She linked her hands in her lap and stared down at them. They were surprisingly steady. Despite what she knew about Demarest and Eloise Challoner, she'd made her choice. The only choice she could make. She'd live with it.

"Of course."

He must have sensed hesitation because his voice deepened into kindness. The same kindness she'd heard when he discovered her on the ship from France. It reminded her just what she owed this man, whatever his sins. "I realize my offer isn't at all romantical."

She smiled without meeting his eyes. "You and I have moved beyond the age of being romantical."

The traitorous memory of how romantical she'd felt in Ranelaw's arms swelled like a tidal wave. The effort of damming it back into the darkness where it belonged made her release a shuddering breath not far from a sob. Her armor of calm threatened to disintegrate. But she must do this. She had no alternative.

She felt Demarest studying her. "You've reached a decision?"

Her hands clung to each other so tightly that her fingers set white marks on the flesh. She must speak, but no matter how she tried, the words wouldn't emerge.

Courage, Antonia. Courage.

She raised her head and stared at him, this man she didn't love but who offered hope for her future. He'd committed transgressions just as heinous as those Ranelaw or Johnny Benton had committed, but to her he'd always been kind and generous. She should scorn him for ruining Eloise, but her desperation for a roof over her head was too pressing for her to be overfastidious.

"Mr. Demarest . " she began in a faltering voice.

"Godfrey, please, Antonia." He touched her poor tortured hands in silent reproof. "I've asked you so often to use my Christian name. You are, after all, family. Now I hope . I pray . you'll be more."

She studied his face and realized he wasn't doing this totally to save her from poverty and servitude. His eyes held a light that she couldn't help reading as genuine fondness, and his grip on her hand was eager. This marriage would be no hardship to Godfrey Demarest.

She sucked in a shaky breath. "Godfrey . "

There was a scratch at the door, and the butler entered bearing a card on a tray. "Lord Aveson to see you, sir."

Demarest's head rose sharply and he jerked his hand from hers. "Damn it, Eames. I said I wasn't to be disturbed. By anyone." Then he frowned. "Who?"

Lord Aveson.

Antonia grabbed the arms of her chair as shock ripped through her and sent her heart crashing against her ribs. Unlike Demarest, she didn't need to question the name. She'd heard perfectly clearly.

Her brother was here.

Ten years and no word. Now he appeared without warning. After the tumult of the last few days, she couldn't muster strength to confront Henry. It was too much. She felt as though she shattered like glass.

The butler remained oblivious to his explosive announcement. "Lord Aveson, sir. I know you requested privacy but he is most insistent that he see you."

Antonia rose on trembling legs. Dread iced her veins. Flight seemed her only choice. "He can't find me."

"Antonia, you're in my house. No harm will come to you." As Demarest stood, the compassion in his face made her want to accept his marriage proposal in a trice. Before she could speak, he glanced at the impassive butler. "Send him in, Eames."

"Yes, sir." The butler bowed and left.

Suffocating shame closed Antonia's throat. The years vanished and she was once again the humiliated seventeen-year-old her father condemned as a whore. "I can't . "

"Yes, you can." Demarest caught her arm to stop her darting toward the door. He used the same voice that had reassured a distraught girl fleeing Italy.

"Let me go. Please." She squirmed to escape but it was too late. When she whirled, her brother stared at her from the doorway with what she immediately interpreted as disgusted disbelief.

"Antonia . "

Henry sounded as shocked as she. She shot a pleading look at Demarest, although he couldn't spare her this painful encounter.

Struggling to revive failing courage, she sucked in a deep breath and drew away from Demarest. Yesterday she'd threatened to shoot her lover. Surely today she had the backbone to face her brother, however much the frightened girl cringing inside her longed to disappear. Godfrey Demarest wasn't the strongest man in Creation, but he wouldn't allow her brother to condemn her as a slut and toss her onto the street.

"Lord Aveson," she said faintly, dipping into a curtsy and rising with her chin at a defiant angle.

Henry still didn't move from the doorway. His face was ashen. "Antonia . "