She looked up at the sound of his deep, masculine voice, coming softly from beside her. "The hour grows late, Jocelyn. I should like a moment with you, if I may, out on the terrace."

She smiled and nodded, hoping he would speak the words she wished to hear and her future would be secured.

He took her gloved hand and settled it on the sleeve of his black dinner jacket and they walked out the French doors into the cool night air, careful to stay well in sight of the guests in the drawing room. Royal removed his coat and draped it round her shoulders.

"It's colder out here than I thought."

"It's all right. Your coat has absorbed the heat of your body and it is keeping me snuggly warm."

Something flickered in his eyes at the mention of his body and she thought that perhaps he was imagining their wedding night. Royal was a virile, masculine man and Jocelyn had always found the notion of bedsport intriguing. She was looking forward to it herself.

Royal took her hand and turned her to face him. "During the time you've been at Bransford, we've come to know each other a bit. Enough, I believe, that if you are willing, we might take the next step toward a future together." He went down on one knee in front of her. The torches burning near the balustrade illuminated his high cheekbones and gleamed on his thick golden hair.

"Miss Caulfield, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

She smiled brightly, overcome with relief. It was going to happen. She was going to become the Duchess of Bransford. She couldn't wait to tell her mother! And her father would be utterly thrilled!

"I would be honored, Your Grace."

He came to his feet, lifted her chin with his fingers and looked into her eyes. Leading her into the shadows, he bent his head and very softly kissed her. It was a very proper kiss that lasted only moments but still she felt a faint rush of heat.

A second shot of relief swept though her. At least Christopher Barclay wasn't the only man who could make her feel like a woman.

Royal led her back into the light of the torches, where they could once more be seen. "Once you are back in London, I shall come to the city and speak to your father. We'll go over the marriage settlement and decide when to formally announce our engagement."

"Mother is going to be so excited!"

He studied her face and she wondered what he searched for. "I had better get you back inside," he said, "or we shall surely create a scandal."

Before they went in, he removed his coat from her shoulders and shrugged it back on, then took her hand and led her back into the drawing room.

Across the way, she caught her mother's eye and beamed. The signal was read correctly and her mother grinned broadly.

"The guests are beginning to leave," he said as he walked beside her. "I need to find my aunt so that we may bid them farewell. I shall see you in the morning."

He returned her to the group of women in conversation with her mother and she gave him a last warm smile.

"Good night, Royal," she said as he bent over her gloved hand and pressed a kiss on the back. Bidding a polite farewell to her mother, he went in search of his aunt. As soon as he was out of sight, her mother whirled to face her.

"So he asked at last!" Her mother looked radiant, her plump face wreathed in a smile.

Jocelyn grinned. "Everything is set. As soon as we get back to London, Royal is coming to speak to Father."

"Oh, that is splendid news. We shall plan a grand affair. We can make the announcement while the duke is in the city."

"It truly is exciting," Jocelyn said, getting caught up in the joy on her mother's face.

"Isn't it, though? My daughter a duchess! Henry will be so pleased. And you will be the toast of London!"

Her Grace, the Duchess of Bransford. It was like a true-life fairy tale. Jocelyn surveyed the Gold Drawing Room, noticing the signs of aging. "Tomorrow, I think I shall wander about the house, begin to think how we should manage the restoration."

"Good idea. I believe I'll join you."

Jocelyn nodded, glad for her mother's help. "I think we should leave for home the day after. One can only stomach this dreary country life for so long."

Her mother nodded, moving her double chins. "I couldn't agree with you more, dearest. And the sooner we get back, the sooner His Grace will come. Once that happens, your engagement will become official and the Ton will know you've been chosen to become the next Duchess of Bransford."

Jocelyn glanced toward the doorway where the duke had just disappeared. For an instant, her gaze snagged on Lady Serafina Maitlin. Jocelyn gave her a catty, triumphant smile.

Satisfaction rolled through her. Along with Serafina, soon all of London would know. Jocelyn could hardly wait.

Ten.

The deed was done. Only the formalities remained. Royal sat at the desk in his study, contemplating his future as a married man. The woman his father had chosen was beautiful and desirable and yet she stirred him little.

She had left just after first light, along with her mother, grumbling at the early hour but obviously eager to get home. Lily had accompanied them.

Lily. He'd had no time alone with her since the day he had kissed her in the maze and for that he was grateful. After last night, he could never speak to her again as other than a friend, and friendship was the last thing he felt for Lily. The women were gone and Royal was relieved.

"I am sorry to interrupt, Your Grace, but it seems you have a visitor."

At the sight of Greaves's tall, bony countenance standing in the doorway, Royal straightened in his chair. "Who is it?"

"Mr. Morgan, sir. Shall I show him in?"

He hadn't expected the investigator to return so soon, but he was anxious to hear what the man had to say. "Yes. Thank you, Greaves."

Chase Morgan strode into the study, lean and black-haired, his hard, carved features reflecting the sort of work he did.

Royal rose behind his desk. "Have a seat."

Morgan complied and Royal sat back down.

"Your visit comes as a surprise," he said. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

"The task wasn't as difficult as I had imagined. Once I began digging, the pieces of the puzzle all seemed to fall together." He lifted his black leather satchel and set it on the desk, slid out a sheaf of papers. "If you dig deep enough, it's amazing the things you can learn."

"And exactly what have you found?"

Morgan separated several sheets of paper from the rest. "This is the list I brought with me the last time I was here, names of people who owned the companies in which your father invested, or at least owned shares." He looked up. "I couldn't discover the whereabouts of a single one of them."

Royal frowned. He leaned over the desk to examine the names on the list. "You are saying my father put money into companies that didn't actually exist?"

"I'm afraid I am. The corporations in which he purchased shares were also nonexistent. The documents were forgeries."

Royal took a moment to digest the information as he sank back down in his chair. "Then there really was no Randsburg Coal Mining Company, no Southward Mill or anything else."

"No. Your father was too ill to visit the companies himself. He never delegated anyone to investigate, so he never knew the truth."

"If the companies weren't real, who got the money?"

"The bank drafts from your father's accounts were written to a single person, a solicitor named Richard Cull. It was Cull's job to distribute the funds to the various companies. Cull's office closed and the man disappeared around the time your father died."

Royal could hardly believe what the investigator was saying. It was all a total scam to divest the ailing duke of his fortune and it was managed brilliantly. Royal's jaw hardened. "I'm going to find him."

"Perhaps you can," Morgan said, "but here's the interesting part. According to my sources, the bank drafts were written to Cull, but ultimately the money went to a man named Preston Loomis. He's the fellow who convinced the late duke to invest in these projects. He is also the man who invented them. Ever heard of him?"

Royal's hand unconsciously fisted on the top of the desk. "He was a friend of my father's. My brother Rule mentioned him in a letter he wrote to me several years back while I was living in Barbados. He said the two of them were becoming very good friends."

"If I am correct, that would have been not long after your father's first stroke."

"About that time, yes. None of us really knew how severe it actually was, not until we arrived home just before he died. At the time it happened, we all assumed he would fully recover. I remember when I read the letter, I was glad my father had a friend to keep him company during his convalescence."

"Did your father ever personally make mention of the man?"

"After the stroke, he had trouble using his right hand, so his valet wrote his letters for him. Loomis's name wasn't in any of the letters." He sighed. "He was extremely perceptive. If it hadn't been for his illness, he would never have fallen prey to a charlatan like Loomis." Royal glanced back down at the papers. "How did you find out Preston Loomis was the man behind the swindle?"

The ghost of a smile curved Morgan's hard lips. "I have my sources. It's amazing what one can discover when the right palms are greased."

"Where is Loomis now?"

"In London, living like a king. If you had simply accepted the estate's financial losses at face value, merely as your father's poor judgment, none of this would ever have come to light. In town, Loomis is considered quite an astute financial adviser, though he claims to be mostly retired and extremely selective in his clientele. Undoubtedly, this isn't the first time he has taken advantage of an infirm individual, nor will it be the last."

Royal raked a hand through his hair, barely able to contain his anger. "I see no choice but to go to the authorities."

"With what? We can prove there was a fraud since none of the companies exist, but all of the evidence points to Richard Cull. Cull has disappeared as if he never existed. He may not even be in the country, and even if he were, he would be using a different name."

"What about the people who told you about Loomis?"

"Blacklegs and sharpers. Not a one whose word would hold up against a staunch citizen like Loomis. Even if you went to the authorities, you would never see a farthing of the money returned. Loomis would see it squirreled away until he was cleared of the charges-which he undoubtedly would be."

Royal leaned forward in his chair. "If we don't have proof, we'll simply have to dig until we find some. I refuse to sit by and let a man like that get away with the Bransford fortune."

Morgan eyed him with speculation. "You may be throwing good money after bad, but if you are certain that is what you want, I'll keep looking, though I warn you, it will likely be a waste of time. The man hasn't got as far as he has by leaving a trail that will send him to the gallows."

Royal said nothing. What Morgan said made sense, yet he refused to give up without a fight. He owed that much to his father. Finally he rose from his chair and Morgan stood up as well.

"Keep searching," Royal said. "Look into his background. Perhaps you will find something there."

"I intend that to be my next effort."

"We need solid evidence against this man. Let me know when you find it."

Morgan made a faint bow of his head, collected his things and left the study.

Royal thought of his father and felt sick inside. Sick and unbearably guilty. He should have been here. If he had come home, his father would never have been cheated. His family's fortune would have remained intact. He clenched his jaw. He would find a way to make Preston Loomis pay for what he had done.

Somehow, he would make him pay.

Lily heard the news with a sinking heart. Royal was coming to London to meet with Jocelyn's father. It had been nearly two weeks since she had left Bransford Castle. In that time, she had forced thoughts of the duke to the back of her mind. Then this morning, a messenger had arrived with a note informing Jo of the meeting Royal had arranged with her father to take place at the house at three o'clock day after the morrow.

Lily had no right to feel morose, to feel as if she was losing something precious that was meant to be hers. She had known from the beginning that Royal belonged to Jo-and they were a perfect match, both sophisticated and beautiful, both with a presence so powerful, so magnetic it made them the center of attention the moment they stepped into a room.

Not like Lily, who preferred to remain in the shadows. In time, she hoped for a quiet life filled with the love of a husband and children, though that was a distant dream, a hope that somewhere down the road she would meet her own handsome prince who would sweep her away on his magnificent white charger and they would live happily ever after.

In the meantime, she would take care of herself, support herself with the money she earned from her millinery shop. It was a different, more immediate dream, and in that regard, she was on an errand now she hoped would begin her future as a businesswoman.

Walking down Bond Street beneath an overcast sky, her wide-brimmed bonnet and woolen pelisse shielding her from the first light sprinkles of rain, she turned off onto Harken Lane, a small street also lined with fashionable shops: a clockmaker; a china shop; Winston's, the chairmaker's shop. A well-known modiste had a shop just round the corner.

She reached the small, empty, mullion-windowed store, and paused for a moment to collect herself. Taking a breath, she turned the knob, found the door unlocked and walked into the narrow, recently repainted space that would be perfect for what she intended.

A bell above the door rang as she entered. She started to call out when a tall, big-boned woman came toward her with a smile.

"May I help you?"

"I do hope so. My name is Lily Moran. I'm a hatmaker. I happened to notice the For Lease sign on the door when I passed through the neighborhood yesterday delivering some of my hats. No one was here at the time, but the monthly rent posted on the sign seemed reasonable, so I came back today hoping I might find someone to speak to about leasing the space."

The woman's smile broadened, splitting the wide circumference of her face. "A milliner, are you? I'm Hortense Siliphant. My husband and I own the building. I am very glad to meet you, Miss Moran."

"A pleasure meeting you, as well. Then the shop is still available?"

"It is. You're aware there is a small furnished apartment located upstairs?"

"Yes. I should very much like to see it."

The woman hesitated. "Are you planning to live here alone?"

"My current situation is changing. My cousin is getting married, which means I will have to find a place of my own. I can get you a letter of good character from my cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Caulfield. I assure you I would be quite a respectable tenant."

"Henry Caulfield owns the bank just down the block, does he not?"

"Why, yes, he does."

The landlady nodded, seemed satisfied that Lily wasn't going to open a house of ill repute or take in disreputable boarders. "If you will please follow me, I will show you the living quarters. They are small but adequate."

Lily climbed the stairs at the rear of the shop, following Mrs. Siliphant's wide, swaying hips. The apartment had a cozy sitting room warmed by a coal-burning hearth. There was a horsehair settee and matching chair in a dark rose hue, and a kitchen at one end furnished with a round oak table just large enough for two.

"The bedroom is through there." It was tiny, the bed filling most of the space, but there was a nice oak chest of drawers and a dressing table with a mirror. The smell of fresh paint still hung in the air and the Aubusson rug looked newly beaten.

"It is very nice."