The pain in his chest had spread and become a fire burning through to his back. Silas staggered. Tried to grab a chair and fell, toppling the chair next to him. He lay on his side and felt the flames licking hungrily down his arm and over his shoulder. He smelled ashes from his son's body and p.i.s.s from his own.

"Help me." His voice was a thin trickle.

Someone stood over him. Boots filled his vision.

"Help me."

Then Pye's face was in front of his own. "You killed Mistress Pollard, didn't you, Granville? That's who you murdered. Janie Crumb never had the strength to feed another woman poison."

"Oh, my G.o.d," Bennet whispered in his ruined voice.

Bile suddenly filled Silas's throat, and he heaved, choking on the contents of his own stomach. The carpet wool chafed his cheek as he convulsed.

Dimly, Silas saw Pye step aside, avoiding the pool of vomit.

Help me.

Harry Pye's green eyes seemed to bore into him. "I never begged for mercy when you had me beaten. Do you know why?"

Silas shook his head.

"It wasn't pride or bravery," he heard Pye say.

The fire crawled up into his throat. The room was going dark.

"My da begged you for mercy when you had him horsewhipped. You ignored him. There is no mercy in you."

Silas choked, coughing on hot coals.

"He's dead," someone said.

But by that time, the fire had reached Silas's eyes and he no longer cared.

Chapter Twenty.

"You've gone mad." Tony sat back in the settee as if his p.r.o.nouncement settled the matter.

They were in his elegant town house sitting room. Across from him, George sat stiffly in an armchair, the now-ever-present basin at the ready by her feet. Oscar prowled the room, munching on a m.u.f.fin. No doubt, Violet and Ralph were taking turns pressing their ears to the door.George sighed. They'd arrived in London yesterday, and she seemed to have spent all the time since debating her condition with her brothers. I should have just eloped with Cecil. She could have informed her family in a note and not even have been around to hear the resulting commotion.

"No, I've gone sane," she replied. "Why is it that everyone was against my being with Harry before and now they keep pushing me at him?"

"You weren't increasing before, Georgie," Oscar pointed out kindly. He had a fading bruise high on one cheek, and she briefly stared at it, wondering where he'd got it.

"Thank you very much." She winced as her tummy gave a bubbling rumble. "I think I'm aware of my state. I don't see that it matters."

Tony sighed. "Don't be obtuse. You know very well that your state is the reason you need to marry. The problem is the man you've chosen-"

"It's a bit thick, you must admit." Oscar leaned forward from his place at the mantelpiece and waved a m.u.f.fin at her, scattering crumbs. "I mean, you are carrying the fellow's child. Seems only right he should have a chance at marrying you."

Wonderful. Oscar, of all people, was lecturing her on propriety.

"He's a land steward. You told me only recently that a land steward just wasn't done." George lowered her voice in a fair imitation of Oscar's tone. "Cecil comes from a very respectable family. And you like him." She folded her arms, sure of her point.

"I'm terribly disappointed in your lack of morals, Georgie, old girl. Can't tell you how disillusioning this insight into the female mind is for me. Might very well make me cynical for years to come." Oscar frowned. "A man has a right to his own progeny. Doesn't matter what cla.s.s he comes from, the principle is the same." He bit into his m.u.f.fin for emphasis.

"Not to mention poor Cecil," Tony muttered, "foisted off with someone else's get. How are you going to explain that?"

"Actually, that probably won't be a problem," Oscar muttered sotto voce.

"No?"

"No. Cecil's not that interested in females."

"Not inter-oh." Tony cleared his throat and yanked down on his waistcoat. She noticed for the first time that his knuckles were raw. "Well. And that's another consideration for you, George. Surely you don't mean to have that kind of marriage?"

"It doesn't really matter what kind of marriage I'll have, does it?" Her lower lip trembled. Not now. The last few days she'd found herself almost constantly on the verge of tears.

"Of course it matters." Tony was obviously affronted. "We want you to be happy, Georgie," Oscar said. "You seemed happy with Pye before." George bit her lip. She would not cry. "But he wasn't happy with me." Oscar exchanged a look with Tony. Tony drew his heavy eyebrows together. "If Pye needs to be persuaded to marry you-"

"No!" George drew a shuddering breath. "No. Can't you understand that if he's forced to marry me, it would be far worse than marriage to Cecil? Or no marriage at all?"

"Don't see why." Oscar scowled. "He might balk at first, but I think he'd soon come around once married." "Would you?" George stared at Oscar. He looked taken aback. She switched her gaze to Tony. "Either of you? If you were forced to marry by the brothers of your bride, would you soon forgive and forget?" "Well, maybe-" Oscar began. Tony spoke over him. "No." She raised her eyebrows. "Look-" Oscar started.

The door opened and Cecil Barclay stuck his head around it. "Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt. Come back later, shall I?"

"No!" George lowered her voice. "Come in, Cecil, do. We were just talking about you."

"Oh?" He looked warily at Tony and Oscar, but he closed the door behind him and advanced into the room. He shook out a sleeve, spraying drops of water. "Ghastly weather out. Can't remember when it's rained so much."

"Did you read my letter?" George asked.

Oscar muttered something and flopped into an armchair. Tony propped his chin in a hand, long bony fingers covering his mouth.

"Quite." Cecil glanced at Tony. "It seems an interesting proposition. I take it you have discussed this idea with your brothers and it meets with their approval?"

George swallowed down a wave of nausea. "Oh, yes."

Oscar muttered, more loudly this time.

Tony arched a hairy eyebrow.

"But does it meet with your approval, Cecil?" George forced herself to ask.

Cecil started. He'd been looking rather worriedly at Oscar, slumped in the armchair. "Yes. Yes, actually it does. Solves a rather tricky problem, in fact. Due to a childhood illness, I doubt I'm able to, uh, father a . . . a . . ." Cecil petered out, staring a bit fixedly at her tummy.

George pressed a hand to her belly, wishing desperately that it would calm down.

"Quite. Quite. Quite." Cecil had regained his power of speech. He brought out a handkerchief and blotted his upper lip. "There is only one hitch, as it were."

"Oh?" Tony dropped his hand.

"Yes." Cecil sat in an armchair next to George, and she realized guiltily that she'd forgotten to offer him a seat. "It's the t.i.tle, I'm afraid. It isn't much of one, only a obscure baronetcy that Grandfather has, but the estate that goes with it is rather large." Cecil pa.s.sed the handkerchief over his brow. "Huge, to be quite vulgar."

"And you wouldn't want the child inheriting it?" Tony spoke quietly.

"No. That is, yes," Cecil gasped. "Whole point of the proposition, isn't it? Having an heir? No, the problem is in my aunt. Aunt Irene, that is. The bally woman has always blamed me for being next in line to inherit." Cecil shuddered. "Fact is, I'd be afraid to meet the old bat in a dark alley. Might take the opportunity to make the succession a little closer to her own son, Alphonse."

"Fascinating as this family history is, Cecil, old man, how does it pertain to Georgie?" Oscar asked. He'd sat up during Cecil's recitation.

"Well, don't you see? Aunt Irene might challenge any heir that arrived, er, a little early."

Tony stared. "What about your younger brother, Freddy?"

Cecil nodded. "Yes, I know. A sane woman would see that too many stood between her Alphonse and the inheritance, but that's just it. Aunt Irene ain't sane."

"Ah." Tony sat back, apparently in thought.

"So what are we to do?" George just wanted to retire to her rooms and go to sleep.

"If t'were done, t'were best done quickly," Oscar said softly.

"What?" Cecil knit his brow.

But Tony sat up and nodded. "Yes. You've mangled the quote, of course, but you're quite right." He turned to Cecil. "How soon can you get a special license?"

"I . . ." Cecil blinked. "In a fortnight?"

Oscar shook his head. "Too long. Two, three days at the most. Knew a fellow got one within a day of applying."

"But the archbishop of-"

"Canterbury's a personal friend of Aunt Beatrice's," Oscar said. "He's in London right now. She was telling me only the other day." He clapped Cecil on the back. "Come on, I'll help you find him. And congratulations. I'm sure you'll make an excellent brother-in-law."

"Oh, er, thanks."

Oscar and Cecil slammed out of the room.

George looked at Tony.

He turned down one corner of his wide mouth. "You'd better start looking for a wedding dress, Georgie."

Which was when George realized she was engaged- to the wrong man.

She grabbed the basin just in time.

THE RAIN POUNDED DOWN. Harry stepped unwarily and sank ankle-deep in oozing muck. The entire road was more a moving stream than solid ground.

"Jesus Christ," Bennet panted from atop his horse. "I think I'm growing mildew between my toes. I can't believe this rain. Can you? Four days straight without any letup.""Nasty,"Will mumbled indistinctly from his place behind Bennet. His face was all but hidden in Bennet's cape.

It had started raining the day of Thomas's funeral and continued through Lord Granville's internment the day after, but Harry didn't say that. Bennet knew the facts well enough. "Aye, it's nasty all right." The mare nuzzled the back of his neck, blowing a warm, musty breath against his skin.

The horse had gone lame a mile back. He'd tried looking at the mud-clogged hoof but hadn't found anything obviously wrong. Now he was reduced to walking her to the next town. Slowly walking her.

"What do you intend to do once we catch up with Lady Georgina?" Bennet asked.

Harry turned to peer at him through the downpour. Bennet had an expression of studied nonchalance.

"I'm going to marry her," Harry said.

"Mmm. I'd got the idea that was your overall plan." Bennet scratched his chin. "But she did take off for London. You must admit it looks rather as if she might be, well, unreceptive to the idea."

"She's carrying my child." A gust of wind flung a spatter of icy raindrops playfully against Harry's face. His cheeks were so numb with cold he hardly felt it.

"That part puzzles me." Bennet cleared his throat. "Because a lady in such a state, you'd think she'd be running to you with open arms. Instead, she appears to be running away."

"We've already been over that."

"Yes," Bennet agreed. "But, I mean, did you say something to her before?"

"No."

"Because women can be awfully sensitive when they're in the family way."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "And you would you know this how?"

"Everyone . . ." Bennet tilted his chin down, causing a trickle of water to pour off his tricorn into his lap. "d.a.m.n!" He straightened. "Everyone knows about women with child. It's just common knowledge. Perhaps you didn't pay enough attention to her."

"She got quite a bit of attention from me," Harry growled irritably. He noted Will's brown eyes peering curiously around Bennet's back and grimaced. "Especially on the night before she left."

"Oh. Ah." Bennet frowned thoughtfully.

Harry searched for a change of subject. "I'm grateful to you for coming with me," he said. "Sorry you had to rush Thomas's funeral. And your father's."

"Actually"-Bennet cleared his throat-"I was glad you were there, rushed or not. Thomas and I weren't close, but he was my brother. And it was hard dealing with the succession on top of his funeral. As for Father . . ." Bennet swiped a drip of water off his nose and shrugged.

Harry splashed through a puddle. Not that it mattered. He was already soaked to the skin.

"Of course, you're my brother, too," Bennet said.

Harry shot a glance at him. Bennet was squinting down the road.

"The only brother I have now." Bennet turned and gave him a surprisingly sweet smile.