He shuddered, pulling himself back from wherever he had been, raking a hand through his thick golden hair, shoving it back from his forehead. "No...no, of course not." His jaw clenched as if he was in pain. With unsteady hands, he turned her back to him and refastened the small pearl buttons closing up her gown. He drew her pelisse back into place and reached for her bonnet.

Lily took it from his grasp with shaking hands and pulled it on over the disheveled mass of her pale blond hair.

Royal set her back on the seat across from him, his jaw iron hard. "I know I should apologize. I know this never should have happened. But it did, and I cannot say I am sorry."

Lily stared up at him, torn by guilt and despair, trying to hold back tears. "We mustn't...mustn't be alone together again."

A muscle flexed in his cheek. "I know." He started to reach for her hand, then caught himself. "If things were different...if the course of my life weren't already set..."

Lily swallowed. "Please take me home, Royal."

His eyes held hers a moment more, then he nodded. Reaching up, he rapped on the roof of the carriage, then shoved open the panel below the driver's box. "Take us back, Mason. Stop a block before you get to Meadowbrook."

"Aye, Yer Grace."

Lily closed her eyes against the sharp ache in her chest and leaned back against the velvet seat. She had been so happy. How could a day of celebration end up being so full of pain?

Lily wished she never had to see him again. It would be so much easier. But no matter how guilty she felt for what she had done, she had promised to help him and, like the duke himself, Lily wasn't one to break her word.

Dressing early the following morning in a simple gray wool dress, the hood of her cloak pulled over her head against the light wind and drizzle, she set off for an area in St. Giles, a rookery between Farley and Bunbury Lane. She was returning to the small flat above the Fat Ox Tavern she and her uncle had occupied six years ago, before he left her in the care of her cousins.

She had no idea if he would still be living there, but Jack Moran was a man of habit and likely he would be somewhere in the neighborhood.

Lily closed the iron gate in front of the Caulfields' mansion and walked along the street until she came to a corner where she could hail a hansom cab. She waited until she spotted an old horse plodding along the road and waved the conveyance down, then gave the driver directions to the area to which she wished to go.

The man, long-haired with a pockmarked complexion, cast her a look that asked why in the world she wished to go to a place like that, but made no comment, just waited for her to climb in, slapped the reins on the ancient horse's rump, and the cab lurched into motion.

It took a while to get there, traveling at the speed of a snail, but eventually she began to recognize familiar surroundings. A weathered board walkway in front of a line of run-down houses, a gin shop named the Blue Ruin, a blacksmith shop ringing with the pounding of an anvil. It wasn't a very good neighborhood, but it was better than some.

She spotted the sign for the Fat Ox Tavern and asked the driver to let her off in front.

"I'll pay you extra if you wait. I am looking for someone. I am hoping to find him here, but I am not sure."

The driver glanced at his surroundings. A spotted hound sniffed garbage at the entrance to an alley. A light-skirt plied her trade on the corner and a drunk shoved his way out the doors of the Fat Ox and staggered off down the road.

"I'll pay you double your usual fee," she said, reading the man's uncertainty.

"All right, miss, but don't be long."

She nodded. "I'll be right back."

The tavern was as loud and raucous as she remembered, the customers half-drunk and it was not yet noon. By the time she had turned sixteen, she had grown used to it, even knew many of the patrons. After six years away, six years of living in a completely different world, being here now stirred a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Lily squared her shoulders and walked into the taproom.

"Jolly!" she called out, spotting the big man with an even bigger belly who owned the tavern. "Jolly, it's me-Lily Moran."

He gaped at her, slack-jawed, his gaze running over her expensively fashioned garments, the simple woolen fabric finer than anything she had worn when she had lived in the room upstairs.

"God's teeth, gel, I kin 'ardly believe me eyes. Lily, is it really you?"

She laughed. She had always like Jolly. "It is truly me, though I know I am older and I look different. I am here to see my uncle. Is there any chance he still lives in the room upstairs?"

Jolly shook his massive head, moving strands of curly black hair. "Sorry, miss. Ol' Jack moved out just about a year ago." He grinned, and she saw he had lost several teeth. "Got hisself some finer digs a few blocks down the street."

She perked up. "Can you tell me where?"

He gave her instructions and she hurried back out to the street. She climbed into the cab, gave the driver new directions, and the horse plodded, head down, to their new destination, a three-story wooden building with a sign that read, Mrs. Murphy's Boardinghouse.

"I'll be back as quickly as I can," she said as she climbed from the cab, then crossed to the door of the rooming house and walked in.

Worn board floors creaked beneath her feet as she moved toward the staircase. "Room 2C," she said to herself, remembering Jolly's instructions, lifting her skirts as she climbed to the second floor. The lodging house wasn't fancy, but it was far better than their garret room above the tavern, with flowered paper on the walls and an iron chandelier above the stairwell.

She knocked on the door of room 2C, but no one answered. She knocked again, heard footsteps, and a few seconds later, the door swung wide. Jack Moran stood in the opening, lean and wiry, his short, iron-gray hair sticking up all over his head as if she had awakened him from sleep-which she probably had.

Jack liked to gamble and drink, and though he had modified his behavior while he was raising a child, it was likely he had returned to his former style of living. He wore only an undershirt and trousers, and he scratched the gray hair on his chest through the thin cotton fabric.

"Well, now, what's a pretty little thing like you doin' standin' outside my door?"

"Uncle Jack, it's me-Lily."

His eyebrows shot up and his light green eyes widened in disbelief. "Praise God, my little girl has come back to me!" And he swept her into his long, stringy arms and hugged her, and Lily hugged him back, and it felt so wonderful to be with him again after so many years, her eyes stung with tears.

"Well, come on in, my fine lass, and tell your old uncle why it is his good fortune that you've come to see him."

Lily let him lead her into the sparsely furnished apartment and felt a pang of regret that she had not come sooner. But over the years, the past had faded, her memories dimmed and part of her didn't want to relive that time in her life.

She glanced round the room that held a bed, a worn settee and a small wooden table and chairs. The room was tidy, as Jack had always been, and livable enough, she supposed. Uncle Jack made them a cup of tea on the coal burner in the corner and they sat at the table enjoying it while Lily told him about her life with the Caulfields and the plans she had to open her own business.

"I'm going to make hats, Uncle Jack. I've already signed the lease."

"That's my girl! Always knew you'd do all right for yourself. You were a smart little thing, just like your father." The brothers had been close. Though Jack was the black sheep of the pair, he was as well educated as her father. He spoke well and read books in the original Latin, and though he survived by a life of crime, he had always been kindhearted, and being with him again Lily realized how much she had missed him.

"What about you, Uncle Jack? Are you doing all right?"

"I always do, lass. I scored a bit of cash a few months back, enough to keep my belly full and move in here. Been on the straight and narrow ever since." He grinned. "And I've got myself a lady friend. Her name is Molly. She's a pip, is Molly. So I guess you could say I'm doin' just fine." He eyed her with speculation. "You still haven't told me why you're here."

Lily took a breath. Careful to keep her feelings from showing, she told him about the Duke of Bransford and how she had met him, how he had saved her the day the carriage had overturned in the snow. She told him that they had become friends, and what had happened to the duke's late father.

"I am hoping you might be able to help him, Uncle Jack."

"Are you, now?"

"Will you talk to him at least?"

Jack smiled. "Fancy that-Jack Moran rubbin' elbows with some fancy aristocrat-a duke, no less. I'll talk to him, luv. You could ask me for just about anything, sweet girl, and I would do it for you."

Lily reached over and took hold of his hand. "Thank you, Uncle Jack."

But deep inside, she almost wished he had refused.

After his encounter with Lily in the carriage, Royal had postponed the meeting with Chase Morgan until the following day. He'd been too rattled, too bloody aroused, to do anything more than go home and pour himself a very strong drink. Mostly, he spent the balance of the day and half the night berating himself for taking advantage of Lily-again.

Royal leaned back against the seat of the less ostentatious, two-horse brougham he used most of the time when he was in London. He was on his way to Threadneedle Street, to the office of Chase Morgan Investigations.

Yesterday, when he had spotted Lily walking briskly down the street, his intentions had been strictly aboveboard. He had only intended to give her a ride, get her out of the rain. Somehow, the minute she stepped into his carriage, all his good intentions had flown straight out the window.

He sighed as the carriage rumbled along. There was something irresistible about Lily. He knew she believed that her beautiful, vivacious cousin far outshined her, but in her own sweet way, Lily sparkled.

Add to that, an attraction unlike any he had felt for a woman in years, perhaps never, and the combination was lethal. At least for him.

The building appeared up ahead, a narrow brick structure next to Applegarth's Coffee House. The conveyance rolled to a halt and Royal climbed down to the busy street that bore traffic through the financial heart of the city. He knocked briefly on the door. Morgan appeared and invited him inside and the men exchanged greetings.

Royal followed him into a private office with dark oak-paneled walls, a low table and two leather chairs. A big oak desk and chairs sat in front of it. Both Morgan and Royal sat down.

"I appreciate your coming," Morgan began. "I've a couple of interesting things to report."

Royal settled himself in the chair. "And those things would be...?"

"To start with, Preston Loomis is actually a lowlife named Dick Flynn. Word on the street is his mother was a whore, though apparently he was quite fond of her. They say he began his criminal activities almost as soon as he could walk, picking pockets and petty thieving. As he got older, he started running Little Goes-illegal small lotteries. He was an extremely skillful cardshark in his youth and later, a master thief."

"Surely with all of that, we have enough to go to the police."

"Unfortunately, all of this is nothing more than hearsay. There is no way to verify the authenticity. Flynn was never caught, never even a suspect in a crime. Five years ago, he made a small fortune in a jewelry heist and then just disappeared. No one ever saw or heard of Dick Flynn again, but my sources say he's the man who calls himself Preston Loomis."

Royal sat in silence, digesting the information. "Loomis is really a criminal named Dick Flynn," he repeated.

Morgan nodded. "That's right. My people are usually reliable. They don't make mistakes or they don't get paid."

Flynn was a bad sort, but there was still no way to prove it.

"You said there was something else."

"Just that Flynn was a very dangerous man. Anyone who crossed him eventually turned up dead. There is no reason to believe that has changed."

Anger pumped through him. Flynn deserved to be brought to justice, not just for swindling his father, but for the murders he had committed or paid someone to commit. "I'll keep that in mind."

Rising from his chair, Royal extended a hand, which Morgan rose and accepted. "I appreciate all your hard work," Royal said.

"We still don't have enough to go to the police."

Royal's jaw flexed. "I'm well aware." He thought of Lily and her uncle and took heart that perhaps Flynn would be brought to justice in another way.

He looked into the investigator's chiseled face. "Leave it for now. I'll get back in touch if I want you to continue. Send your bill to my solicitor's office."

Morgan made a faint bow of his head. "As you wish, Your Grace."

Royal left the investigator's office and headed back to his town house. He had just enough time to change and travel to Meadowbrook for his meeting with Jocelyn's father. Royal ignored the tightness in his chest and the bitter taste in his mouth.

By the end of the day, he would be engaged to marry.

Twelve.

Royal arrived at his town house to find Sheridan Knowles lounging in a chair in front of the fire in the drawing room. His city residence also needed painting and updated furnishings, but it was in far better shape than the castle. His staff, however, had been cut to the bone: only a butler, a housekeeper, a cook, chambermaid and a single footman. Of course, there was a gardener, a groom and a coachman, but considering he was a duke, his staff wasn't much.

"I thought you were enjoying the country," Royal said to Sherry.

"It became quite tedious after you and your houseful of visitors left. I thought to entertain myself a bit in the city."

"I'm glad you're here. I could do with a bit of company. Unfortunately, I've got to change for a meeting with my future father-in-law."

"I'll come up while you dress, tell you what you missed while you were gone."

As if there was much to miss in the quiet village of Bransford.

Sherry followed Royal upstairs and tossed himself down on the padded bench at the foot of the four-poster bed while Royal changed into pale gray trousers and a velvet-collared navy blue tailcoat over a matching, double-breasted waistcoat. He had left the aging valet he had inherited from his father back at the castle, since he managed just fine without him. He had, however, interviewed the old man in regard to Preston Loomis and the late duke, his father, regarding anything the valet might have overheard, but nothing had come of it.

Sherry's voice drew his attention. "Well, now, let me see," his friend began, "what excitement have we had while you were away? Ah, yes, Mrs. Brown's cat had a litter of kittens and old Mr. Perry's goat wandered into Mrs. Holstein's bakery and ate half her morning's baked goods before anyone realized what was happening."

"Fascinating," Royal said dryly, but his mouth curved as he fastened the front of his trousers.

"Oh, and there was another robbery-a carriage was waylaid on the Pemberton Road. The occupant was divested of his purse but no one was injured. There is no way to be certain it is the same band of thieves, but it seems most likely."

"Not good news."

"At least it happened in another county. Perhaps the buggers will stay over there and leave us alone."

Royal grunted. "Someone needs to catch them."

"Yes, I spoke to the constable about it and he assures me steps are being taken."

Royal made no reply. It was hard to concentrate when his mind was fixed on the task that lay ahead. He would have to play the eager suitor and it wasn't going to be easy.

And he would have to spend time with Jocelyn, which wasn't really so bad as long as her mother wasn't around.

He hoped he wouldn't have to see Lily.

"So...this is the day, is it?" Sherry lounged back on the padded bench. "I hope you know what you are doing."

"I hope my father knew what he was doing. I don't have any say in the matter."