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Chapter One

"Nicholas, what is the meaning of this? Your intrigues have grown quite tiresome as of late," the Marquis of Wilkenshire said with a snort as he lifted a forkful of mouth-watering ham to his lips.

Nicholas Brooke, the seventh Earl of Winterhaven watched his former guardian take a long sip of wine from the crystal glass he held and return it to the dining room table. He'd waited to approach the subject of his betrothal until William had indulged in several glasses of wine, but the dinner was quickly coming to an end.

He cleared his throat and prepared himself for the outburst to come. "Lady Elizabeth and I are no longer betrothed. I thought you should know before some insipid member of the ton deems it their duty to inform you."

Nicholas darted his gaze across the table to his younger brothers, Blake and Colin, to catch their reactions to his announcement. Blake, the older of the two at twenty-two years, idly fingered the end of his unfashionably long black hair and stared at his wine glass while Colin, only two years younger than Blake, set about plucking invisible lint from the sleeve of his coat. Neither seemed interested in the extravagant feast before them or the drastic turn in the conversation. In fact, he was quite certain they would escape if given the opportunity.

"Oh Nicholas," William's wife whispered from her seat directly to his left. "You must be devastated."

Nicholas met Anne's sympathetic gaze and sensed his heart tug in response. Days after he'd turned six and ten his mother and father had been killed in a brutal carriage accident. While he'd been old enough to understand that life was tenuous, his younger brothers had not fared as well. Anne and William, his parents' closest friends, had welcomed them into their home with open arms and loved them as though they were of their own blood. He would always be beholden to them for everything they'd done to ease their pain in such a trying time.

"I am greatly sorry, darling," she continued as she rested a delicate hand over his. "Is there anything I can do?"

William slammed a meaty fist down on the table. The jolt sent wine glasses, silverware and a stack of painted china crashing to the carpet. "Stop coddling him, Anne!" William roared, his plump face turning scarlet.

Anne's blue eyes narrowed. "I am not coddling him. I am simply showing compassion for what must have been extremely painful. If you were not such a beast, you would do the same."

William flicked his jeweled hand in a dismissive gesture. "Bah! Whatever happened between them is incidental. The decision was made and both he and Elizabeth will deal with the consequences."

Nicholas ignored William's outburst and squeezed Anne's hand. "Thank you. I knew you would understand."

"Bah," William grumbled again. "I did not raise you to be so bloody foolish. Her father will issue a challenge and rightfully so. I have a mind to do so myself for the shame you have brought to our name."

A footman rushed to Nicholas's side and refilled his empty wine glass while another began cleaning up the mess William had made on the carpet. Nicholas took a slow drink of wine to calm the raging anger that threatened to overwhelm his better judgment. If he couldn't control his emotions, he'd resort to William's tactics and roar his displeasure while shoving the rest of the china off the table. Honestly, he didn't wish to face Anne's wrath at having her best set of china ruined or he might have done so by now.

"I can assure you that Elizabeth's father will do no such thing," Nicholas replied evenly. "He is well aware that doing so will ruin Elizabeth's reputation. We have an understanding."

Nicholas emptied his glass and welcomed the fire that burned a path down the back of his throat. He closed his eyes to prevent the memory from surfacing but was unsuccessful. The images were as vivid as any nightmare he'd ever had the misfortune of experiencing and chose any moment of solitude to haunt him.

In the deep recesses of his memory, he saw his hand on the brass knob of the door to Elizabeth's bedchamber, heard the groan of the hinges as the door swung open, and felt the crippling shock of the vision before him. Elizabeth astride the man in her mahogany bed. Elizabeth in all her naked glory, her golden hair flowing down her back, her breasts rising and falling with her labored breathing while she rocked her hips against her lover. Her deception had been painful but not as blistering as what had followed.

The image of her lover's face flashed behind Nicholas's eyes. He clenched his hands beneath the table and bit back the anger that instantly surged up his spine. Had the man been a stranger, the night would have ended in a challenge. Unfortunately, it had not been as simple as that.

Nicholas had stood there like a fool, watching them for what seemed like hours. If he hadn't witnessed their deceit with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed his best friend since childhood could have hidden such hatred for him. Why else would he have coaxed Nicholas's betrothed into bed? A better man would have resisted.

Once Nicholas's presence had been discovered, Elizabeth and Randall had hurried into their clothing. As he'd watched, the urge to strangle them both had been strong, but he'd simply walked out the door and climbed into his carriage. He'd wanted them to believe their indiscretions had been inconsequential when in reality, he doubted he would ever trust again.

Nicholas opened his eyes as one of the footmen refilled his glass. At the time, he'd found satisfaction in the regret he'd glimpsed in Randall's eyes but even that had faded by morning. He was left only with the knowledge that he would never forgive or forget. Randall was dead to him.

"I will have a word with you in my study, Nicholas," William's quiet voice commanded as he rose from the table, his gaze deadly.

Nicholas dipped his head in acknowledgement and lifted his glass for one last drink. The wine never made it to his lips. Instead, he sensed a peculiar wetness around his neck and glanced down to see that his white cravat was now stained crimson with spilled wine. His mother had always believed his clumsiness was a facet of the curse that had supposedly tormented his family for years, but he wasn't so certain. He was clumsy, plain and simple.

"Bloody hell," he muttered beneath his breath as he slammed the glass on the table. He pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed it around his neck before the wine fell upon his waistcoat.

A strangled gasp drew his gaze to the other side of the table. What he saw infuriated him beyond imagination.

Blake and Colin, the siblings he'd nurtured, supported and purposefully set a good example for were slumped in their chairs while their faces were identically contorted in silent laughter. Nicholas gritted his teeth. He would never grow accustomed to amusing people with his clumsiness and could not turn a blind eye to the pain he felt when he was unable to overcome his impediment. He knew that one day he would be forced to accept that this was how he would live the rest of his life, but that day had not come as of yet.

"Blake, Colin, enough," Anne scolded with a reproving gaze. "I did not see Nicholas as amused when you tripped on your cane, Blake, or when you walked into the door and broke your nose, Colin. You are not a true gentleman unless you can show the same kindness."

Blake promptly sobered and swept the tears from his eyes. "I am sorry, but he's four and thirty. Surely he is capable of rising above his impediment by now."

Anne's eyes narrowed in an expression similar to the one she'd given her husband earlier. "I could say the same for you. Now, leave me. You may go as well, Colin. I have had more than I can take this night."

Satisfied that Blake and Colin had been sufficiently chastised for their behavior, Nicholas left the dining room and walked down the long, dimly-lit hallway to William's study. He was not looking forward to the confrontation and wondered whether he could avoid it all together if he left. Somehow, he knew William would simply request another meeting on his next visit and decided to stay.

He passed through the heavy oak door and faced the room. The crackling fire blazing in the hearth chased the chill from the air and cast dark shadows on the burgundy velvet curtains and large bookcases lining the walls. Off to the side a large mahogany desk was piled with stacks of papers and books. Nicholas could not count the many times he'd found William slaving over his finances and wondered if he was still spending hours locked away in his study.

Nicholas saw that William was preparing drinks and took a seat on the rosewood sofa near the fireplace to wait for him. He did not wait long.

Moments later, William handed a glass tumbler of brandy to Nicholas and lowered himself into an overstuffed chair across from him. "Why have you not attempted to mend your relationship with Elizabeth? You said not too long ago that she was the one."

Nicholas had expected such a question, but wasn't certain how to answer. He downed the brandy in one gulp and leaned his head against the back of the sofa. Though he had not loved Elizabeth, he'd thought she would make the perfect wife due to her simplistic nature and standing in society. He'd cared a great deal for her, as evidenced by the pain he felt at her betrayal, but his feelings had never grown to love. Truthfully, their friendship had suited him just fine. After all, few in the ton married for love.

"You are pale. Are you well?" William asked, his voice concerned.

Nicholas met the older man's gaze and sighed. "Our relationship cannot be mended."

"Surely you are being too rash! I am certain that whatever happened between you can be mended by an apology."

Nicholas swallowed the bile that instantly rose into his throat. "Elizabeth would not have come to our bed innocent. Believe me when I say that nothing can mend our relationship."

William widened his eyes. "How can you be certain?"

"I saw the indiscretion myself."

William sank back in his chair, his face devoid of color. "Obviously she is not the woman I expected. Who was her lover?"

"He," Nicholas replied bitterly, "was Randall."

William's face reddened. "Bah! Randall would never betray you in such a way. Are you certain it was him?"

"I had all the proof I needed."

William jerked to his feet and paced the room, his gaze haunted. "This can't be happening," he muttered. "Not now. Not..."

Nicholas stiffened. He was too shocked by William's reply to do anything but stare numbly at his former guardian. William had not spoken of the curse in over a year and Nicholas had assumed they were finally rid of the silly superstition. Obviously, he'd been foolish to think so. Bloody hell! Why did William continue to believe such a farce?

"It's Mathilda again, Nicholas. Your father warned me to be cautious, even when it seemed you were safe. I should have known. I should have taken precautions."

Nicholas heard the panic in William's voice and rose to his feet. If he didn't do something to calm William, the older man would have another spell. He crossed the room and rested his hand on William's back. "You devote too much energy to the curse. Yes, I am two months from five and thirty but that hardly means anything."

William's eyes narrowed. "Do you mock me?"

"Of course not."

"Then you know what you must do."

Nicholas's mind floundered under William's burdening request. William was demanding that he find a woman to love and marry in less than two months. The request was impossible and so unwanted that he found the idea suffocating. He cleared his throat and allowed the words to fall from his tongue. "Have you ever wondered if the curse is merely a façade created by a jealous woman to frighten her lover?"

William clutched the gold cross around his neck and stared at Nicholas as though he'd suddenly lost his mind. "Proof. You need proof. I cannot blame you. I asked for the same when your father confided in me about the curse."

Nicholas nodded. Yes, proof would do nicely.

"Do you remember your cousin John?"

Nicholas nodded. "He was the one who limped."

"No, he was the one who stuttered. Albert was the one who limped. However, their impediments have little to do with my point. Two years ago, he died in a carriage accident. Do you remember what I told you?"

"I remember the accident, but little else."

"When he died, he was four and thirty," William replied, his lips forming a grim line. "He was unmarried and that is no coincidence, Nicholas. The curse is true. The same happened to your great grandfather soon after he'd wed your great grandmother. Theirs was not a love match."

Nicholas blinked incredulously. "You are basing the proof of the curse on two loveless marriages?"

"That and the poem. Your father told me he'd allowed you to read it. If you cannot remember, I will fetch it from my desk. Frankly, I find the message quite clear."

Nicholas blinked twice and promptly burst into laughter.

"This is not a laughing matter!" William bellowed. "You are foolish to m-mock something you cannot disprove."

Nicholas noticed William's labored breathing and sudden gray pallor. The laughter promptly died in his throat. He reached forward and took William's hand. "You take this much too seriously."

William shook his head, his face pasty, his eyes dull. "You do not take the curse seriously enough. I fear you will realize your error much too late."

As William lurched forward, Nicholas grabbed his arm to offer support. "You need to rest."

William gasped for air as beads of sweat welled on his forehead. He squeezed Nicholas's hand and grabbed his chest with the other. "G-get Anne," he wheezed, his eyes luminous.

Nicholas led William to a chair and promptly left to find a footman or Anne, whomever he saw first. He had witnessed his guardian in this state before but knowing that he had survived then and would most likely do so again did not ease his mind. Their physician had warned Nicholas to refrain from upsetting him, but he hadn't listened.

He stormed down the hallway to the dining room and attempted to ignore the nagging guilt that seemed to pierce his chest with each step. He would rather do just about anything than marry, but he knew William's condition would only worsen as he drew closer to his birth date. He had no other choice than to disprove the curse to save himself from marriage and William from death.

Yet, he wasn't certain how to begin. Who was Matilda of Avonlea, and why would she curse them?

An image from one of his childhood memories flashed behind his eyes. He'd wandered into his mother's drawing room one day to see that the Duchess of Bastian had called on her. They hadn't noticed his arrival and had continued whispering back and forth, their eyes wide with fear. Before his mother had caught sight of him standing in the doorway, he'd heard her whisper something about the curse and how it had taken another life. The Duchess of Bastian's face had paled, but her expression had not been surprised.

Nicholas's veins pumped with determination. The Duchess of Bastian knew something about the curse. He would attend the Waverlys' ball that night and begin his search for the truth there.

* * *

Emma Cartwright gazed longingly at her reflection in the large looking glass above her dressing table and did not recognize the beautiful woman with golden hair and dove gray eyes staring back at her. She was about to attend her first ball in London since her coming out and while she should be thrilled, she was a bit apprehensive.

She gazed down at the perfume bottles on her dressing table and chewed on her bottom lip. What if Uncle Alfred was attempting to marry her off even though she was not fit to join a man in matrimony? The idea was so distasteful, so frightening, she quickly rejected the possibility. Uncle Alfred was a kind man and simply wished to show her a glimpse of London society before they returned to their home in Bath. She shouldn't think such horrid things about him.

"Here you are, miss," her lady's maid said as she came around the chair with a pale pink ballgown in her hands.

Emma rose from her chair and fingered the silk material. "Oh my. It is lovely, isn't it, Mary?"

"Yes, miss."

She ran her hand over the tiny black beads embroidered at the low neckline and hem of each puffed sleeve. Though she'd attended balls in Bath, she'd never worn anything so exquisite. When she had tried it on at the dressmakers, the bodice had cupped her breasts like a second skin only to flare at the empire waist in long ribbons of luxurious fabric to her matching slippers. When her aunt had described how fetching Emma had looked in the gown the previous night at dinner, Uncle Alfred had insisted they return to the shop in the morning and purchase it, no matter the cost.

"If you'll step into your gown, I'll fasten it in the back for you," her maid whispered.

As her maid helped her into the luxurious gown, she stared across the room at the looking glass and could not stop the smile that curled the corners of her lips. She'd never thought herself becoming but the image reflecting back at her said otherwise.

A buzzing sound rang in her ears and grew louder with each moment that passed until she could hear nothing else. An imaginary knife pierced the back of her head and a dark cloud inched from the corners of her eyes. She swayed as she was thrust into the vision.

Mary! No! her mind screamed. But it was too late. The images were already upon her and there was no stopping them.

Emma watched helplessly from a distance as Mary stepped down from the carriage the servants were allowed to use when they traveled into Bath for necessities. The young girl turned and waved at Jonas, their coachman, before she strolled past the many stores lining the streets.

Emma darted her gaze along the storefronts and wondered when and where it would happen... or worse, how it would happen.

As she scanned the street for danger, she saw a man step out of the alleyway and thought the mere sight of him would make her wretch. He searched his surroundings with wild eyes and ran his hands down his soiled clothing as if to smooth the wrinkles from the worn material. When he saw Mary cross the street, his face hardened and a sinister glint burned in his gaze.

Emma tried to open her mouth to warn Mary, but she was frozen and could do nothing but watch. She despised her inability to move and prayed she was strong enough to witness Mary's death without succumbing to the horror.

As Mary passed, the man sprang forward and covered her mouth with his hand. Mary kicked at his legs and clawed at his hands to no avail. He pulled her into the alleyway, and with a meaty hand, he delivered a brutal blow across her cheek. Mary's head lolled and her gaze grew distant. She stared sightlessly at the back wall as the man lifted the hem of her dress with one hand and unbuttoned his breeches with the other.

Emma did not have the luxury of turning her gaze away from the scene before her. As always, she was forced to watch the vision in its entirety. She dreaded this part the most. The moments between living and dying were always horrific and frightening.

When the man had finished ravaging Mary, he turned his back to her, righted his clothing and whistled a lively tune that caused bile to burn the back of Emma's throat. Mary had not moved since the man had climbed on top of her and Emma feared she had died with the man's first painful thrust.

She swallowed hard and swept her gaze over the young girl to search for signs of life. When Mary opened her eyes and slowly rose to her feet, a glimmer of hope ignited in Emma's soul. She knew the visions never ended favorably, but she wanted to believe that Mary might be the first to escape death. She needed to believe survival was possible.

Mary stumbled down the alley as though the hounds of hell were nibbling at her heels. Emma prayed with all her heart that the girl would make it to safety. She should have known escape was impossible.

The man's whistling stopped, drawing Emma's gaze to him. He straightened his coat and turned, a smile curling the corners of his lips. When he discovered Mary was not where he'd left her, a strange light simmered in his gaze and his face clouded with rage. He retrieved a large rock from a stack near the building and tore down the alley after the young girl.

Emma stood frozen in terrifying anticipation and prepared herself for the horrible death to come. The man caught up to Mary, whirled her around and slammed the rock into her skull. Mary's eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she fell like a rag doll to the ground.

Emma had only to look into Mary's lifeless eyes to know that she was dead.

As the vision faded, a paralyzing fear twisted Emma's heart and strangled the breath from her lungs. The roaring in her ears quieted to a soft hum, and the pain in the back of her head dulled. She reached down and grasped the back of the chair for support.

"Mary," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Why are you not wearing your gloves?"

In the looking glass, Emma saw Mary's eyes widen, and her face lost all color. "I am s-sorry, miss," she sputtered. "I helped your sister refill her perfume bottles and must have left them on her dressing table."

She stared at Mary's hands and blinked back the tears that pricked the corners of her eyes. If Mary had worn her gloves, Emma would have successfully avoided witnessing the girl's horrifying death. Blast! Why hadn't the girl listened to her? Emma had given her strict instructions to wear gloves at all times when she'd promoted her from the kitchens.

Emma took a deep breath to calm the pounding in her temples. She should not blame Mary for an innocent mistake. After all, she had not informed Mary about her visions and should not expect her to completely understand the necessity of the gloves until then.

Emma forced a smile to her lips and faced Mary. "Do not be frightened. I am not angry with you."

Mary's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. "Thank you. I did not mean to forget."

Emma pressed her palm against the bodice of her gown and willed her heart to stop beating so erratically. "Do you shop alone when Jonas drives you into town?" she asked, determined to right the situation and prevent Mary's demise.

Mary blushed. "Jonas is the only one who accompanies me."

"But he stays in the carriage while you shop?"

A shadow of panic touched Mary's face. "Have I done something to vex you? If I have, I will not do so again."

"Wait right here."

Emma retrieved a pair of gloves from her chest of drawers and handed them to Mary. "Please put these on. You may keep them."

Mary's bottom lip quivered. "They are too fine a pair for a servant."

"You are no longer an ordinary servant, Mary. You are a lady's maid and it is appropriate that I give you a pair of my older gloves."

A thin line of tears welled on Mary's lower lashes. "Thank you, miss."

Emma waited until Mary had pulled the gloves on before she reached for her hand. "Always take one of the other servants with you when you travel into town. I don't care what Uncle Alfred says about wasting money. If he gives you any argument, send him to me. Do you understand?"

Mary nodded. "Yes."

Emma turned and, afraid her legs would not support her any longer, she dropped into the chair positioned before the looking glass. "You are excused, Mary. Thank you for your assistance."

"Of course, miss. I hope you enjoy yourself tonight at the ball."

Once Emma was alone, she reached for the handkerchief she'd left on the dressing table and clutched it to her breasts. Tears welled in her eyes, and the sliver of control she'd managed to keep instantly shattered. She had witnessed too much of the brutality of Mary's death to remain unaffected.

Emma squeezed her eyes closed to stop the vision from repeating in her mind but no matter how hard she tried to forget, her memories would not cooperate. The image of Mary's ravaged body left a gnawing ache in the pit of Emma's stomach that would not relent. She doubted she would ever forget how hard Mary had fought for her life. Mary's death would join all the others she had witnessed to haunt her in the years to come.

She crossed the room to her bed, carefully lay down to prevent wrinkling her dress and pressed her face into her pillow. She cried until Mary's death was not as vivid and the pain not as excruciating.

Chapter Two

A half hour after Mary had left Emma's dressing room, Emma heard a soft knock on her bedchamber door and opened her eyes.

"Emma? It is Uncle Albert. May I come in?" he called, his voice warm and encouraging.

Emma sat up on her bed and squinted to see her image in the looking glass above her writing table. The puffiness around her eyes had diminished, and she hardly appeared as though she had been a witness to such a vile and horrible death. No one would even suspect she'd spent her day doing anything other than embroidery.

She rose to her feet and pinched her cheeks to add color to her pale face. "You may come in, Uncle Albert."

Uncle Albert walked into the room and closed the door behind him. When he turned to her, his dark eyes danced with awe as his gaze swept from her tightly coiled coiffure down to her stocking-clad ankles. He crossed the room and took her hands into his. "You are breathtaking. I wish your father could see you."

The mention of Emma's father caused a tiny prick at the base of her spine. She did her best to blink back the tears that promptly welled in her eyes and forced a smile to her lips. "As do I."

Uncle Albert did not seem to notice the pain his comment had caused and continued his appraisal of her attire. "Florence was correct. This gown is perfect for you. I dare say, my dear, that you will have most, if not all, of the bachelors vying for your attention."

Emma's heart dropped into her stomach. "I highly doubt it, Uncle. I imagine I will remain standing while everyone else is asked to dance as usual. I do not mind. I enjoy watching."

The corners of Uncle Albert's lips dipped into a frown. He idly swirled one of his perfect black curls around his index finger and eyed her quizzically. "Oh no, that will never do."

Emma arched an eyebrow. "What will never do?"

Uncle Albert took her hand and led her over to the furniture positioned before the fireplace. Once she'd taken an overstuffed chair, he lowered his plump body on the settee across from her and pressed a finger over his lips as though he were deep in thought.

Emma could not allow another minute to go by in light of such intrigue and leaned forward. "Will you not say something, Uncle?"

"I wanted to speak with you in private and knew announcing my visit at dinner would vex your sister. It is best Charlotte not hear our conversation."

Emma widened her eyes. The serious tone of her uncle's voice sent a chill down her back. "Is something amiss, Uncle?"

"I would like you to enjoy the ball tonight, dear. You would please me greatly if you could garner a gentleman's attentions and begin your search for a husband. You are four and twenty...well past the age to marry."

Emma choked back a cry as fear and anger knotted in her stomach. Uncle Albert knew what fate he was forcing on her. How could he betray her so easily and still keep a smile on his face?

She gritted her teeth and braced herself against the pain. Had he forgotten so quickly? She would live as a prisoner in any marriage. Surely he would listen to reason.

"Uncle Albert," she whispered, her mouth suddenly dry. "You know that I cannot marry."

Uncle Albert stiffened. "Whyever not? Your father left you a large dowry. Any decent gentleman would consider you a fine choice."

Emma closed her eyes against the panic that was inching up her spine. When she met her uncle's gaze again, she knew what needed to be said. "How can I enter into a marriage when I am cursed never to touch my husband? There would be certain expectations that I could never meet. And if I did, I would go mad with the visions."

"Enough!" Uncle Albert roared, his face tight. "I will not allow such talk. You will marry and you will marry well."

Emma lurched to her feet and stood trembling before him. "Have you forgotten what happened here nine years ago? I saw their deaths when Mama kissed me and if I were to touch you now, I would see your death. Do not force this on me Uncle. Please."

Uncle Albert rose to his feet and grasped her hand in his. Tears of regret welled in his eyes. "I cannot take care of you any longer, Emma. The money your father left is almost gone, and I have none to spare. Your dowry has remained untouched but not for long. You must marry or search for work as a governess or companion. Do you understand?"

Emma blinked numbly as her uncle's words resounded in her head. She had no other choice. She had to marry or be damned. "And what of Charlotte?"

Uncle Albert's shoulders relaxed. "I have managed to save enough of the money that was left for her to allow another two or three years to pass before she must make her choice."

Emma swallowed hard and prepared herself for the answer to come. "How long do I have?"

Wrinkles of worry appeared on his forehead. "You must make a choice by the end of this season. I wish I could give you longer but my finances will not allow for more."

* * *

"The dance was splendid, Lady Marguerite. Perhaps you will grant me the pleasure of another later this evening," Nicholas said with practiced charm, his gaze remaining steady on the stunning beauty he'd escorted to the side of the ballroom when the dance had come to an end.

Lady Marguerite batted long black eyelashes over ocean-blue eyes in a ritual as old as time. A coy smile curled the corners of her rosebud lips. "I would be delighted, my lord."

"Splendid. Until then," he said as he slowly backed away. "Until then."

Needing an escape, Nicholas headed for the seclusion of the lantern-lit gardens. He darted his gaze from one side of the ballroom to the other to make certain no other well-meaning mother with her daughters in tow had set her sights on him. He'd already been accosted three times in the last half hour and did not wish to chance any additional annoyances.

"Nicholas! Good God. I thought you'd sworn off attending balls."

At the sound of a familiar man's voice, Nicholas turned and immediately recognized his cousin, Anthony. He smiled at his good fortune and crossed the room to greet the cousin he adored before all others. As only a month had separated their births, they had been encouraged by their parents from an early age to seek solace in each other's company and from the age of ten, they had done just that. In fact, Nicholas had always thought of Anthony as more of a good friend than a relative.

"Anthony! By God, it is good to see you," Nicholas replied, clapping his cousin on the back. "Did you enjoy your travels?"

Anthony nodded, his brown eye filling with warmth. "Bath was exquisite. Perhaps you will travel there one day."

"Perhaps, but Scotland is far more interesting at the moment."

"My Lord!"

"Do not turn around, Nicholas," Anthony warned ominously. "Lady Stimpson is on her way over with her three daughters in tow. You must leave immediately. Perhaps I will see you at White's?"

Nicholas nodded. "If not tonight then tomorrow. Now, if you will excuse me, I intend to escape to the gardens before Lady Stimpson sinks her claws into me."

Nicholas stepped through the French doors at the far end of the ballroom and walked out onto the terrace. He breathed a deep sigh of relief and followed the stone path into the heart of the spectacular gardens that decorated Waverly Hall. Flowers of every kind and color dotted the green plants lining the path and filled the air with an aroma so pleasing he could not help but breathe deeply. He headed toward a delicately carved wooden bench to his right and took a seat.

Nicholas gazed at the sights around him with a tired sigh. He'd attended the ball to speak with the Duchess of Bastian, but due to an illness, she was not in attendance. He would be forced to pay her a visit the next afternoon and discover the answers there.

A nearby cricket chirped suddenly in the silence and pulled Nicholas's attention from his thoughts. He lifted his gaze to the sky and smiled at the beauty he saw there. The stars glinted like a million diamonds pressed into black velvet and lit up the heavens. He relaxed against the bench. The night was beautiful. No rain. No clouds. Just beauty.

A soft breeze ruffled his hair and stirred the leaves on the trees behind him to a frenzy. Longing pierced his chest, surprising him with its strength. In the past he'd found great pleasure in sitting in such a garden for hours without interruption. As of late, however, the solitude only succeeded in making him feel utterly alone.

"Let me go this instant. I agreed to a breath of fresh air, nothing else."

"A woman who agrees to a walk in the garden with a man is agreeing to much more. Do not play innocent with me."

Nicholas darted his gaze in the direction of the voices and squinted through the shadows to the lantern-lit clearing in the middle of the garden. He gritted his teeth. Randall. He would recognize that voice anywhere.

"Oh, you do think highly of yourself, don't you? You could not possibly know what I am thinking. I am quite certain I was not agreeing to anything more than a walk. Let go, or I will scream."

"You will do no such thing or ruin your reputation. Silly girl. Though I lured you to the gardens, a woman alone with a man is the only proof the gossipmongers will need to shun you. I might as well have my way with you and be done with it."

Nicholas turned on the bench but was unable to see the woman's face from his position. However, he could make out certain things about her appearance. She wore a long gown of pink silk and her golden hair was pulled tightly into a chignon. He recognized her as the woman he'd briefly watched in the ballroom before he'd danced with Lady Marguerite.

"You insult me, sir, and I will not listen to anymore of your chatter."

The woman yanked her arm out of Randall's grasp and turned away. Though she was quick, she was not nearly quick enough. Randall lunged at her, spun her back around and forced his lips on hers in what must have been an extremely painful kiss. The brutality of it instantly sickened Nicholas and forced him to act.

Nicholas shot to his feet and hurried through the foliage toward the couple. As he drew closer, he saw that she had gone limp in Randall's arms. She did not appear to be enjoying the kiss but neither was she fighting him. He couldn't see her eyes. Perhaps she'd fainted.

Nicholas paused to step carefully over a rose bush and avoid its damaging thorns before trudging back through the bushes. When he glanced up to check on the woman, the scene before him stopped him cold. Randall was sprawled out in the grass and the woman was standing over him, her reticule swinging heavily from her hand.

"Why didn't you listen to me? Oh dear. I hope I haven't killed you," she said, her voice tinged with indignation.

Killed him? What the hell!?

Nicholas jumped over a bush and into the shadows lining the clearing. He blurted the first words that came to his tongue. "What is going on here?"

The woman whirled around, her hand held out in such a way that Nicholas knew she would do battle with her reticule if provoked. He could not help the amused smile that curled the corners of his lips.

"Who is there?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Come out so I can see you."

Nicholas swept his gaze over the woman's face and gritted his teeth as something quite peculiar lurched in his chest. He had never met the woman before so he could not blame the odd sensations swirling in his chest on a prior rendezvous. Instead, he passed it off as mere nervousness. After all, it wasn't every day that a gentleman would see the most beautiful woman in London standing before him.

As he watched, several strands of blonde hair pulled from her chignon to softly float about her slim neck in the breeze. He darted his gaze over her softly arched eyebrows, pert nose and full lips before gazing into her gray eyes. There, he saw something that stirred his soul.

In the smoky depths of her eyes, a pain so heartfelt, so consuming softly smoldered. He was drawn to her for a reason he could not understand. There was something captivating, something ethereal, about her that made him long to spend more time in her company.

The breath streamed from Nicholas's lips. He gazed into her eyes and knew in some innate sense that she would understand him as no one ever had before. He knew her pain and she knew his.

He stepped out of the shadows and into the light.

* * *

Emma pressed the tips of her fingers against her bruised lips and tried to still the images flashing behind her eyes. Despite her protests, Mr. Dudley had kissed her and had unknowingly forced her to witness his death. The only difference in this vision and all the others was that the man's death had taken place at the Waverlys' ball that very night.

She closed her eyes as the memory of the vision continued to repeat in her mind. Mr. Dudley had met another man in the Waverlys' dark library and while she had been successful in picking him out of the shadows, she had been unable to recognize his guest. They had argued about a woman and an ensuing struggle had taken place. The stranger landed a powerful punch to Mr. Dudley's chin. He fell back, struck his head on the fireplace and did not move.

Emma shook the vision from her mind and glanced down at Mr. Dudley's limp body. When she saw his chest rise and fall, she sighed in relief. She'd used her reticule to stop his assault, but she hadn't wished to permanently harm him. Yet, she supposed she had saved his life by doing so. Mr. Dudley's incapacity to attend the ball meant the stranger in the vision would not be able to find and kill him.

Emma saw movement out the corner of her eye and turned to see the man enter the clearing. He had black hair that had a slight curl at the ends, devastating green eyes that pierced her with curiosity, a noble nose and a chiseled chin that held the slightest shadow of a cleft. She'd seen the man in the ballroom earlier that night and while she'd watched his every move until Mr. Dudley had asked her to dance, she'd known not to expect any interest from him. Nearly every mother attending the ball had her eye on him and that could mean only one thing: He was a very important man.

"Do you speak?"

Emma realized the man had asked her a question and hurried to answer. "Y-yes," she stammered.

"What is going on here?"

She lowered her reticule to her side but kept her fingers wrapped tightly around the strings. If this man was a rake, she was prepared to deal with him in the same way she'd dealt with Mr. Dudley. "He attacked me."

The man pressed his lips into a thin line, his gaze sympathetic. "I had the unfortunate privilege of witnessing his behavior. Are you well?"

Emma's hand flew up to her lips. They were swollen and painful but she wouldn't admit as much to a stranger. She dropped her hand back to her side and forced herself to smile. "I am fine. Thank you."

He crossed the distance between them, pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and held it out to her. As his gaze dropped to her lips, he winced. "Your lip is bleeding."

Emma glanced at the cloth the man offered and did not miss the painstaking embroidery that was nearly covered by his thumb. "I couldn't possibly," she replied. "It will be ruined."

The man smiled, his gaze tender. "I have another. Please."

Emma knew she could not reject the man's offer a second time and accepted the handkerchief. "I must thank you for coming to my aid."

The man chuckled. "You didn't need my help. You'd taken care of him quite fine on your own by the time I arrived."

"Yes, but your intentions were very clear so I thank you. Most would have returned to the ballroom without offering their assistance."

The man glanced down at Mr. Dudley. His gaze darkened, and the muscles in his jaw clenched. He leaned over the horrid man, pressed his hand against the man's purple cheek and straightened.

"Will he be all right?" she asked, afraid of his answer. Her reticule had been much heavier than she'd thought.

The man met her gaze, and the corners of his lips curled. "He deserves far worse than what you inflicted upon him. He will wake in the morning with a dreadful headache, but nothing more. By the by, how did you knock him unconscious?"

Emma pulled several stones from inside her reticule and held them out into the moonlight. "It was my uncle's idea. A precaution of sorts."

His eyebrows arched. "Your uncle is a very smart man. It is best to protect yourself at all times and never agree to walk in the gardens with a man."

"I am in the gardens with you," she whispered.

Their eyes locked and an undercurrent of electricity seemed to pass between them. The man stood a mere two feet from her, yet she felt her body warm at his nearness. There was something about him that made her knees weak and her heart long for something magnificent to happen between them. It was a dangerous wish indeed.

His face brightened with a smile that made her heart flutter. "Never walk in the gardens with me."

"It is a little late for that, wouldn't you agree?" Emma replied.

His lips curled into a full-blown grin. "Indeed. However, since we have already stepped beyond our social constraints, might I do so again and ask your name? I know we should be formally introduced but this situation does call for a bit of familiarity, does it not?"

Emma found herself charmed by the dashing man and sensed heat rise to her face. She held her gloved hand out to him and when he accepted it, she smiled. "Yes, I do believe so. I am Miss Emma Cartwright."

He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand and continued to hold it. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Cartwright. I am Nicholas Brooke, more commonly known as Lord Winterhaven. I do not attend balls such as this very often, but I am certainly glad I did so tonight. To see your crafty wielding of that reticule was worth it alone."

At the man's announcement of his name, Emma snapped her gaze from their entwined hands to his eyes. She'd heard his name mentioned a time or two at the balls she'd attended. He was an earl. She wasn't entirely surprised but found she was quite intimidated by his standing in society.

She cleared her throat and forced the uneasiness from her mind. "It seems to me that an earl would have plenty to occupy his time. You have tenants to visit, horses to ride and grounds to explore."

"I do have that," he replied, his gaze thoughtful. "But lately I have been restless. Nothing pleases me. The books I love cannot even garner my interest."

"Truly?" Emma asked, finding herself more and more intrigued by Nicholas. "A library full of books would keep me entertained for years."

The sound of voices interrupted their conversation and sent ice careening through Emma's veins. She froze. Should she run? Should she hide? Blast! She couldn't just stand there and be ruined!

Emma searched the clearing to her left for a suitable place to hide but the voices, growing louder with each minute, paralyzed her. Fear knotted in her throat and struck the breath from her lungs. In moments, she would be ruined and all chances of finding a suitable husband would be destroyed.

"Miss Cartwright, hide behind a tree. I will join you as soon as I deal with Dudley," Nicholas hissed before he trudged through the gardens.

The urgency in Nicholas's voice snapped Emma into action. She hurried into the deepest part of the garden and turned to watch him pull Mr. Dudley's body behind a bush. The very existence of such a man left her giddy and lightheaded. He was handsome, charming...everything she could never have in a husband. Yet, she saw no harm in forming a friendship with him. She was certain he would introduce her to many aspects of life that she'd never experienced before.

Nicholas left Mr. Dudley safely concealed in the shadow of a tree and headed in her direction. As he neared, he slipped on the wet ground and flung his arms out to catch his balance. Emma forced down the urge to leave her hiding place to help him and watched him smooth the wrinkles from his coat before he joined her.

The scent of peppermint and soap assaulted her senses as he grasped her hand and tugged gently. "Over here, Miss Cartwright," he said, the husky tone of his voice sending a shiver down her back.

Emma allowed him to lead her from the shadows at the corner of the gardens and wondered if she was leaving one man's indecent clutches only to be ensnared by another. Some innate sense told her Nicholas was different, and she should not be frightened.

He led her past the gardens into a clearing that was lit only by the moonlight and faced her. "We will be safe here."

Emma allowed the muscles in her shoulders to relax. "Thank you."

"I saw you in the ballroom earlier. Why were you not dancing?"

Emma was thankful the shadows concealed the blush that burned her cheeks. "I am afraid the gentlemen do not find me interesting."

"You mean you do not have a large enough dowry to suit their needs."

Emma smiled. The earl was a very intelligent man. "Precisely."

Nicholas wished he could see Emma's face, but the shadows were unforgiving. He could make out the white of her teeth when she smiled but nothing more. It was a bloody shame. He rather enjoyed looking into her eyes, for they were a deeper shade of gray than he'd ever seen before.

Nicholas realized he would be extremely disappointed if this was the last he would see of her. Unfortunately, he wasn't comfortable calling on her when they had only just met, and he couldn't force himself to attend another ball without the assurance that she would be in attendance. Yet, what was his alternative?

The perfect solution flashed behind his eyes.

He cleared his throat. "Perhaps I can help you, Miss Cartwright. I have an idea that will ensure you as many suitors as you can fit into your day."

"I don't believe in miracles, my lord," she replied in a jaded tone.

Nicholas chuckled. "And I am no saint, Miss Cartwright, but I do have many friends in the ton."

She arched a brow. "What will you do?"

"You shall see. I will arrange for a formal invitation and ask you to dance. Now, go."

Emma paused for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "I do enjoy a good intrigue, my lord, but really--"

"Go!" Nicholas interrupted with a laugh. Emma was not only fascinating, she was downright amusing.

Emma hesitated again, a worried frown transforming her face. "And Mr. Dudley?"

Nicholas gritted his teeth. "I will look after him."

"Right. Good day, then," she said before she hurried down the path and disappeared inside the ballroom.

Nicholas walked back through the foliage to where he'd hidden Randall in the bushes. He wrinkled his nose at Randall's loud snoring and stepped back onto the path that led to the ballroom. He would deal with Randall later. First, he had to lend his assistance to a certain golden-haired beauty that had managed to bewitch him in less than an hour.

Chapter Three

"Emma, dearest, what could have possibly kept you so long? I nearly sent Albert after you," Emma's aunt said, her wrinkled face stricken with motherly concern.

Emma joined her aunt by the refreshment table and instantly regretted causing the older woman to fret. "I am greatly sorry, Aunt Florence. I was not feeling well and escaped to the library."

Aunt Florence tapped the edge of her fan on Emma's arm. "If you spent as much time practicing your French as you do reading those books of yours, you would have found a suitable husband by now."

Emma pressed her lips into a thin line. Though she loved her aunt, she despised how easily her mother's sister and her husband overlooked her visions. They cared only that she marry and did not give a single thought to her happiness.

"I doubt that learning French will increase my number of suitors, Aunt Florence," she replied. "I have come to realize that only a larger dowry would accomplish such a feat."

Aunt Florence's smile dipped into a frown that deepened the wrinkles around her lips in a most unattractive fashion. "You should not speak of such things. It isn't seemly," she hissed.

Emma noticed how tightly her aunt was grasping her fan and relented. First she'd attacked a man with her reticule and now she was straying from propriety. What was next...an elopement to Gretna Green?

She rested her hand on her aunt's shoulder and patted gently. "I am sorry, Aunt Florence. I do not know what has come over me."

The older woman's face softened. "Would you like to go home, dear? I am certain your illness is to blame."

Emma frowned. If she left, she would not see Nicholas again. She decided rather quickly that leaving was not a possibility. "I am enjoying the ball, Aunt Florence. I am certain the discomfort will pass."

"Excuse me, Lady Wetherington, Miss Cartwright, I do not mean to intrude but I wonder if you have been introduced to Lord Winterhaven. If not, it would be my pleasure to do so."

Emma turned to see Lord Stinley, the Viscount of Bradford, standing before them. Nicholas had wasted no time at all! She darted her gaze to her aunt.

Aunt Florence's eyes widened quite dramatically. She snapped her fan open and flapped it back and forth in front of her face. "We would be delighted."

Lord Stinley led them over to Nicholas who was looking at the refreshment table as though he could not decide on which of the tasty morsels he would try next. When he turned to glance at the other items on the table, his hand hit one of the trays and sent several bonbons plummeting to the floor. Emma swallowed hard to keep from gasping in mortification. She found his clumsiness rather endearing but she could tell by the pained expression on his face that he wished he would disappear.

"Lord Winterhaven, I would like to introduce you to two delightful women I had the good fortune to meet last night."

As Nicholas turned and faced them, a tingle of excitement swept down Emma's spine. She couldn't imagine what he intended to do once they were introduced. Would he ask her to dance or was an introduction reason enough to call on a woman?

Emma gritted her teeth. Why hadn't she listened to her aunt when she'd spoken of such things? Knowledge of the etiquette required with courtship would have been rather helpful at a time like this.

She lifted her gaze to Nicholas and sensed a shiver of anticipation coil at the base of her spine. His green eyes were lit with a warmth that made Emma's heart flutter beneath her breasts. The secret of a shared intrigue, and the familiarity she saw in his gaze caused her lips to curl into a smile. She'd longed for a sensational experience, and he had certainly fulfilled her expectations.

"Oh dear," Aunt Florence whispered as she snapped her fan open again and began flapping it to cool her suddenly flushed face.

"Winterhaven," Lord Stinley said, "I would like to introduce Lady Wetherington and Miss Cartwright. As I said, I had the great fortune of sitting next to Miss Cartwright at the Drivers' dinner. Lady Wetherington, Miss Cartwright, this is Lord Winterhaven."

"Good evening, my lady. It is an honor to meet you," Nicholas said as he pressed a kiss to the older woman's hand and then turned to Emma.

Emma presented her gloved hand and curtsied. "It is a pleasure, my lord."

He pressed a lingering kiss to the back of her knuckles and straightened. "I assure you, Miss Cartwright, the pleasure is mine."

Emma's aunt snapped her fan closed. "My lord," she said, a calculating gleam in her eyes. "I have traveled to London on many occasions but this is Miss Cartwright's first visit."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? How are you finding London, Miss Cartwright?"

"London is very agreeable, my lord," she responded politely. "I am quite taken with the gardens."

"We share a similar passion then. I suggest you return to Waverly Hall and explore its gardens when you have more time. They are quite magnificent."

Emma widened her eyes and then quickly collected herself before someone noticed her odd reaction to Nicholas's seemingly polite suggestion. He was the devil himself to tease her in such a way. "Thank you. I will do that."

Nicholas turned to Aunt Florence and smiled in such a way that a splotch of pink promptly burst on the older woman's cheeks. She snapped her fan open again and flapped it so hard the curls framing her face blew flat against her head with each gust. Emma could hardly contain her laughter. She had never witnessed her aunt so flustered before.

"If I have your permission," he said to Aunt Florence. "I would like to ask Miss Cartwright to dance."

Aunt Florence's fan immediately stilled, and Emma could almost see wedding bells in the older woman's eyes. "Of course you may, my lord! Emma, dance with Lord Winterhaven."

Emma frowned at her aunt's hasty reply, but did not reject Nicholas's offered arm. She knew her aunt wanted her married as soon as possible but her enthusiasm was quite insulting. Had she been so horrible to care for?

Emma pushed the unpleasant thought from her mind and turned to Nicholas. She was determined to enjoy herself that night and would think of such depressing matters at another time. "Shall we, my lord?"

"I do believe we shall, Miss Cartwright," he replied amicably, a handsome smile on his face.

As he led her to the center of the ballroom, Emma thought back to their formal meeting only moments ago and could not stop the giggle that slipped from her lips.

Nicholas met her gaze. "What, may I ask, is so amusing?"

"You wasted no time, my lord."

As they came to a stop among the other couples that were waiting for the next song to begin, he turned to her. "In garnering an invitation? Did you doubt me?"

"Of course not, but you are quite efficient aren't you?"

"If you are meaning it as a compliment, of course I am. If not, you are mistaken," he replied, a boyish grin striking the breath from her lungs.

Their conversation ended as they were thrown into the complicated dance steps of the reel. Emma realized it had been ages since she'd danced with a man and was pleased she still remembered how. In fact, as she and Nicholas danced with the others in her group, she couldn't remember another time when she'd enjoyed herself so much at a ball.

When the song came to an end, Nicholas took her hand and led her from the dance floor. Emma sensed the heat of his fingers penetrate her glove and wondered what his skin would feel like against hers.

Emma closed her eyes and fought the pain that swelled in her chest. She knew dreaming of such was useless. She would never know another's touch without facing the consequences. She might as well quit torturing herself.

She darted her gaze to Nicholas. "May I ask you something?"

He slowed their pace. "Of course."

"How will dancing with you insure that I will have many suitors? I do not understand."

Nicholas smiled. "You danced with an earl, my dear. That I found something interesting in you will intrigue the other gentlemen and urge them to find out what it was about you that captivated me. Of course, that will take time. One dance will hardly accomplish such a feat."

Emma stiffened. "How much more time?"

"A month or two should be sufficient."

Emma shook her head. If she spent two months concocting such a scheme there would be little time left to learn anything about her prospective choices. "That will not do. Can we hurry the...process?"

Nicholas stared at her incredulously. "Surely you would like to make the right choice and not one decided in haste. Two months is hardly long enough as it is."

Emma swallowed hard. "You do not understand. I must marry by the end of the season. If I follow your plan, I will hardly have enough time to choose a suitable husband."

Nicholas's brows rushed together. "Three months? Why only three months?"

Emma cleared her throat. She was uncomfortable with the direction their conversation had taken. It was not proper to speak about such things. "I do not have a choice."

He gaped at her. "Surely you are mistaken. Your uncle and aunt--"

"My situation is as I suggest, my lord."

He pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed. "Well then, I suppose we will be forced to work quickly. I will call on you tomorrow, of course."

"You will?" Emma asked, her heart leaping at the thought of seeing him again.

"Of course. If a man is truly interested in a woman, he calls on her the very next day. We must play this game for at least a week and then you will have what you desire."

A sickening sense of dread knotted in the pit of her stomach. A week was all she would have with Nicholas and then he would vanish from her life. The idea seemed tragic, but she passed it off as a silly notion. Though he seemed intrigued by her, he was obviously not interested in anything more than offering his assistance.

Emma knew she was fortunate that his intentions did not span beyond friendship but some hidden part of her soul wished the circumstances were much different. Still, her life was the same as it had been the day before. She would find it far easier to enter into a marriage with someone she didn't love because the vision of his death would not be as excruciating.

"Miss Cartwright. I demand satisfaction this instant."

Ice coiled through Emma's veins. She turned and met Mr. Dudley's gaze as he lurched to a stop before them, his eyes wild and his face reddening. Her heart slammed against her ribs. All he had to do was mention their walk in the garden, and she would be ruined.

Nicholas patted Emma's hand and stepped in front of her, his gaze deadly. "I will have a word with you in the library, Randall. Do not make a scene," he whispered quietly.

Randall pierced Nicholas with a withering glance. "I will speak with you as soon as I deal with this thief."

"Thief?" Emma sputtered in outrage. "I did not steal from you. You are a miserable cretin--"

Nicholas held his hand up, silencing her. "Miss Cartwright, I will deal with him. You need not fend for yourself."

Emma realized her mouth was hanging open and quickly snapped it shut. No one had ever offered to deal with something unpleasant for her. Nicholas was her savior, and she found herself quite taken with him for it. "Thank you, my lord."

The muscles in Nicholas's jaw worked hard beneath the skin as he turned back to Mr. Dudley. "I was there, and I saw everything. Miss Cartwright refused you and this is your way of seeking revenge."

Mr. Dudley's cold brown eyes narrowed. "Are you questioning my character? I ought to challenge you--"

"Watch yourself," Nicholas interrupted with barely contained fury. "Wielding a pistol is not one of your finer talents. I, on the other hand, have used a pistol quite efficiently since I was a boy. I would hate to kill you."

Mr. Dudley's face paled. "I will meet you in the library, Winterhaven. Be quick about it."

Once Mr. Dudley was gone, Nicholas turned to her. Though he tried to force a smile to his lips, she saw a depth of anger and disappointment in his gaze. She wondered what had happened between the two men to have hurt Nicholas so deeply and found she could despise Mr. Dudley for that alone.

Nicholas escorted her to her aunt's side and smiled. "Miss Cartwright, it was a pleasure. Might I call on you tomorrow?"

Emma ignored her aunt's gasp and nodded. "You may."

"Until then," he said with a smile that made her heart leap.

"Until then," she replied.

As soon as Nicholas disappeared through the doors, her aunt grabbed her hand and pulled her down onto the settee next to her. "I do believe you have bewitched the most eligible bachelor in London! Tell me everything. What did he say to you? What did you say to him? Does he seem kind? What did he say?"

Emma did not hear what her aunt was saying because at that exact moment, the vision she'd had of Mr. Dudley's death earlier that night had begun to repeat in her mind. She saw Mr. Dudley and the mysterious man arguing, and then Mr. Dudley's death. It had happened in the library and that was exactly where Nicholas and Mr. Dudley were meeting at that very moment. Dear Lord, Nicholas was the other man in the vision!

She rose to her feet on shaky legs. If she didn't intervene, Nicholas would unintentionally kill Mr. Dudley. She had to do something. But what? If she stormed into the library, they would wonder if she'd lost her mind. And if she didn't...

"Emma, are you ill? What is wrong?"

Emma met her aunt's gaze. "I am fine, Aunt Florence. I see Uncle Alfred and must speak with him. I will tell you all about Lord Winterhaven when I return."

Aunt Florence's face crumpled in disappointment. "Oh, Emma. Must you?"

"Yes. Right this moment. I won't be long," Emma replied hastily.

"All right, dear. Do hurry."

Emma nodded and slowly made her way over to her uncle. When she was nearly there, she turned to see that her aunt was speaking with Lord Stinley and quickly slipped through the same doors Nicholas and Mr. Dudley had just passed through. Nicholas had saved her from ruin. The time had come to repay the favor.

She raced down the hallway and hoped she would find the library before it was too late.

* * *

Nicholas entered the Waverlys' library and gently closed the door behind him. He'd vowed never to speak to Randall again but the confrontation in the ballroom had left him with little choice. He was not the type of man that stood idly by while a woman's reputation was ruined at the hands of someone like Randall. He despised the man, and he'd rather be the only bachelor in a room of debutantes than allow Emma to become Randall's latest victim.

His gaze rested on the many bookshelves lining the walls and then swept to the settees positioned in the center of the woven rug. The window next to the cold fireplace was curtained in a heavy damask fabric but the maid had not returned that night to secure the covering. Instead, a beam of moonlight streamed across the library and lit the room in a dusky light.

The scent of aged leather and lingering dust wafted through the air and reminded him of his own love of reading. He doubted the Waverlys' had read any of the books they'd purchased, for he knew they were far more interested and entertaining than such worldly pursuits. He, on the other hand, would have spent hours leafing through the many volumes lining the shelves if he was not there to confront Randall. He sighed. This was sure to be one of the most unpleasant experiences of his life.

"Winterhaven."

Nicholas glanced in the direction of the voice and saw Randall standing in the shadows next to the fireplace. He prepared himself for the unpleasant moments to come and joined him.

"Your speech in the ballroom was quite touching. I had no idea you knew the chit before tonight," Randall said, his voice thick with disdain.

Nicholas gritted his teeth and reminded himself of the situation at hand. Randall was attempting to upset him and while he was doing a fine job of it, he would not admit as much. Randall had betrayed him, and he was not likely to forget the injustice anytime soon.

Nicholas cleared his throat. "I did not ask you to join me because I wished to share stories like old times. I asked you here because of Miss Cartwright. Stay away from her. If you are searching for another conquest, search elsewhere."

Randall barked a mirthless laugh. "Do I sense a tinge of sentiment in your voice, Winterhaven? If I didn't know better, I would think you fancy her."

Anger and frustration erupted at the base of Nicholas's skull. He lunged forward, clenched his hands in Randall's cravat and looked deeply into the man's eyes. "I have had enough of your games. Stay away from Miss Cartwright," he ordered, amazed at the chill he heard in his voice.

When Randall let out an audible gasp for air and clawed at Nicholas's wrists, he loosened his fingers. He knew he would regret his actions later, but at that moment, he found great pleasure in forcing such discomfort on his former friend. In fact, he hated to release him. A moment of pain was the least he deserved.

"I do love a challenge, Winterhaven," Randall said, his voice hoarse. "I rather thought Miss Cartwright dull earlier but now that I know you find her intriguing, my view has changed. Perhaps I will call on her tomorrow."

"She would never see you," Nicholas sneered.

"Are you certain? A woman enjoys a man who dotes on her and I, with candy, flowers and jewels, will most definitely dote on her."

Nicholas did not think Miss Cartwright was as shallow as Randall portrayed. Still, his words stung. "I won't allow you to ruin another woman. Wasn't it enough that Elizabeth chose you?"

The corners of Randall's lips curled into a sinister smile. "I want everything you have, Winterhaven. Only then will I be satisfied. Elizabeth was a whore but you coveted her so I knew I had to make her mine. It was surprisingly easy. I spent less on her than any of my mistresses, and she opened her legs within two days of my courtship. She was a whore, Nicholas, and one day you will realize that I did you a favor."

Nicholas slammed his fist into Randall's face and barely noticed the pain that swelled in his knuckles at the impact. Randall fell against the window and grunted in pain. "You've got a powerful right hook, Winterhaven. Can't say I expected that."

"How can you be so heartless? You ruined Elizabeth. It was clear that she loved you and you betrayed her. Do not speak of her as though you were another of her conquests. Her feelings were genuine. I can't say the same of yours."

"Elizabeth was never genuine unless she was yelling for me to stick it in her harder," Randall spat.

The anger that had previously ruled Nicholas's emotions was instantly replaced by something cold and hard. He stared at Randall and sensed the power of such indifference coarse through his veins. When his fist connected with Randall's jaw, he did not feel anything. Not anger, not justice...nothing. The pain was gone and in its place was revenge.

Nicholas brought his hand back to follow the first blow with another. He didn't intend to seriously harm Randall, but he wanted his former friend to understand that nothing would ever be the same between them. That sort of understanding did not come easily.

A stream of light swept into the room and blinded him.

"Lord Winterhaven! Stop! You will kill him!

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