The Inconvenient Duchess

before she died. But nothing to my brother, or he’d never have had you. And he need never know anything about your past, just as he need never know that we’ve been together, if we are careful. I knowtricks you’ll never learn from my brother, not even from the infamous Cecily. And I’ll share them all with you.’
    ‘For the sport of cuckolding him?’
    ‘Well put, dear lady. It will add that certain fillip to the encounter, knowing that the things I am doing are with my brother’s wife.’ He leaned against her leg and she pulled away, trembling.
    ‘Don’t touch me.’
    He sighed. ‘So cruel. So heartless. You would leave me to suffer?’ Suddenly his voice was all business. ‘You don’t want to be seen alone with me. I’m going to take a refreshing walk in the garden. And in fifteen minutes, I will make my way to the library, which is down the hall and to the left of the ballroom. Meet me there, and we can spend the first of many delightful times together.’
    ‘And if I don’t?’
    ‘Then I will go back to the ballroom and tell all and sundry how you were raised by a whore and broke my heart when you gave me all and then returned to my brother. Choose. And I trust you’ll choose wisely.’
    He hopped over the low balustrade and moved down the garden path, whistling softly, and she turned back towards the house, mind racing.
    Everything had been going so well; the evening was not going to end thus. There had to be a way to stop it. She would find Marcus and beg him to take her home. She doubted that St John would bother to ruin her if her husband was not there to hear the story.
    She searched the ballroom, the card room, and other surrounding rooms, but Marcus was nowhere to be found. Time was running out. She must come up with another plan.
    You could meet him, suggested a small voice in her mind,and let him do his worst and be done. No one might be the wiser. It was what Cici would have done.
    ‘No.’ She said it aloud. She would not meet him, not to preserve any more secrets from her husband. She would die first.
    If someone must die, why must it be you? said the matter-of-fact voice in her head. You are only a foolish girl, trapped in circumstances. But St John—he is the one who trapped you. He is evil. And while he lives, he will be a danger to you, and to your husband, the man he longs to destroy.
    She continued to scan the crowd for Marcus, as the idea blossomed in her head. She could go to the library. She could call his bluff and tell him that there was no chance that she would let him touch her. And she could walk towards the fireplace as she said it. There would be a poker beside it. One swing might permanently solve her problem.
    She shuddered against it. It was horrible. Too horrible to contemplate. She would have his blood on her hands.
    But she could not be faithless to the man she loved. No shame was worth that.
    But what if St John sprang upon her as soon as she entered the room?
    Not likely, she told herself. He preferred to toy with her. He would not force. He would try to goad her to walk into his arms. And it would give her time to find a weapon.
    And what if one blow isn’t enough?
    If he survived, or even if he died and she was discovered, she’d claim she’d done it in defence of her honour. Her lies couldn’t be any less believable than his.

    The clock in the hall said five minutes to midnight. Perhaps, if she arrived in the room before him, she could position herself next to a weapon before he came. She proceeded down the empty hallway. What if she was discovered now? Then the witness must realise that she was only looking for her husband. She opened the door of the darkened room and called softly, ‘Marcus?’
    It was very dark. She had not planned on this. There were no candles lit and the fire was banked low and revealed only outlines of furniture and dim shapes in the gloom. She stepped into the room. And then she felt the man behind her, pushing her forward and shutting the door.
    And he was on her before she could act, pinning her tight against the wall with his body and tangling a hand in her hair.
    ‘Oh, no,’ she managed before his lips closed over hers. The element of surprise had fallen by the wayside. His arms drew her closer, and he whispered, ‘My darling Miranda. I’ve waited so long.’
    Then his lips were on hers again, moving over her as his hands roamed her body. And she remembered the real reason that St John was a danger to her. When he