"Why not? I'm your husband, after all," he said lightly. "Also, if your grandfather is the bullying sort, you will feel at a disadvantage if you have accepted his money." Growing up in the household of the Duke of Ashburton, Michael had become an expert on the politics of power and money.

"I hadn't thought of that." She considered. "I would certainly rather be obligated to you than an unknown grandfather, but I will repay you as soon as I can."

"Very well." Michael opened the salon door for her. "I'll take you to the solicitor."

"That's not necessary."

He arched his brows in the way he had used to intimidate young ensigns. "I expect my wife to obey my wishes."

She laughed, looking years younger than when she had come in. "I shall strive to be more conformable, my dear."

"Don't try too hard. I like you the way you are."

For a long moment their gazes held. He wondered if she realized how dangerous this masquerade was. He had sworn to behave honorably where she was concerned, but he was only flesh and blood.

She trusted him. He must remember that.

Feeling equal parts relief and guilt, Catherine climbed into Michael's curricle. Lying to Michael was despicable when he was helping her so much. Yet for the life of her, she could see no alternative. Even to Anne, she could not explain why remarriage was unthinkable. Neither could she chance the possibility that he might feel obligated to solve her problems by giving her his name. He deserved better; he deserved that lovely girl in the park with her shining hair and warm, intimate smile. He deserved a real woman, not a shameful fraud like Catherine Melbourne.

Locking away her guilt, she relayed what she had learned about her parents and Skoal as Michael threaded his curricle through the heavy afternoon traffic.

When she finished, he frowned. "Your grandfather sounds like a tyrant. A good thing you're not going there alone."

She agreed. Spending so much time with Michael might be difficult, but she would feel safer with him beside her.

He continued, "Since the lawyer and your grandfather have so much information on you and your family, you'd better tell me about Colin's background so I don't make any mistakes."

Catherine thought a moment about what Michael would need to know. "Colin's father was an American loyalist who stayed with the British army after the revolution. His mother was also American, so he had no close English relatives. Growing up with the army meant there was no particular place he called home. He went to school at Rugby before joining the regiment. By the time I met him, his parents were dead." She felt a wave of sadness as she recounted the bare bones of Colin's life. Blinking back tears, she continued, "Though you don't really resemble each other, luckily you both fit the general description of being tall, brown-haired, and of military bearing."

"That's a simple history to remember, and since British officers usually don't wear uniforms when off duty, I won't have to find myself dragoon finery overnight." Michael expertly guided the curricle between two stopped drays. "Are you taking Amy to Skoal? I presume your grandfather wants to meet the next generation."

Catherine shook her head emphatically. "I won't take her into a situation that is so uncertain. The laird might be a complete monster. Besides, it wouldn't be right to ask her to participate in a deception."

"Quite right. Deception is for adults," he said dryly. "Do you have someone to look after her? If not, I'm sure the Strathmores would be glad to have her as a guest."

"No need. We're staying with the Mowbrys. Anne and Charles are living with his widowed mother, if you recall." She chuckled. "Amy is delighted to see Clancy and Louis the Lazy again."

He smiled involuntarily. "I miss the beast myself. How is Charles?"

She paused a moment, wondering if she dared ask for more help, and decided that for the sake of her friends, she would dare. "Charles has recovered well from his wounds, but he's having trouble finding work."

"Many former soldiers are in similar straits." Michael's brows drew together thoughtfully. "As Duke of Candover, my friend Rafe owns an enormous range of estates and businesses. Just last night he mentioned that the gentleman who has been a sort of general manager for the last thirty years is nearing retirement. Rafe asked if I knew someone who could work with old Wilson and eventually take over. Besides intelligence, honesty, and efficiency, the position requires someone who knows how to command men, which is why Rafe thought a former officer would be a good choice. I think he and Charles would get on very well."

"That sounds perfect. You are so good, Michael."

He shrugged away her thanks. "Rafe will be glad to find someone of Charles's abilities. I'll tell him to expect Charles to call at Candover House within the next few days."

They had reached their destination. Michael drew up and tossed a coin to a boy to hold the horses, then climbed down and helped Catherine from the carriage. She gave him a nervous smile. "The first act of the masquerade is about to begin."

The mischievous light in his green eyes drew her in, making them partners against the world. "I'll say as little as possible," he promised. "That should keep me out of trouble."

The meeting went smoothly. Mr. Harwell was delighted with Catherine's decision, and he obviously liked what he saw of her "husband." When they were safely in the curricle again, Catherine gave a sigh of relief. "That was a favorable omen, don't you think?"

"So far, so good. Shall I take you home now?"

Uneasily she realized she could not let him meet the Mowbrys. If anyone mentioned Colin's death, her deception would go up in flames and Michael would be understandably angry. Eventually he would learn that she had been widowed, but because of the way the government was hushing up the death, she should be able to obscure the actual date. Dear God, but she was walking a tightrope! "Well, almost home. It would be better if you leave me off a street or two away."

"You don't want Anne and Charles to see us together?" He gave her a slanting glance. "If you're concerned about appearances, it will be difficult to manage this charade."

"Any woman who has crisscrossed Spain with an army doesn't worry overly about propriety," she said lightly. "But the fewer people who know about this escapade, the better."

"Which means no servants for either of us." He shook his head. "That part is easy, but do you have any idea how many potential complications you are setting up for the future?"

Knowledge of the complications was knotting her stomach. Trying to sound calm, she said, "I've thought about it. All I can do is deal with the problems when they appear. That's another thing I learned in Spain-don't worry about tomorrow's crisis until you've solved today's." She offered a tentative smile. "And with your help, today's crisis has been overcome."

"Intrepid woman." He returned her smile, his eyes warm. "It's a mad business, but I must say that I'm looking forward to our marriage."

So was she; too blasted much.

As soon as Michael stepped into Strathmore House, the butler said that the earl wished to see him. Wondering what else would happen on this lunatic day, Michael went to his friend's study.

Lucien got to his feet when Michael entered, saying gravely, "This letter arrived a little while ago."

The paper was black-bordered. Understanding why his friend had wanted to hand it over in person, Michael broke the seal and scanned the message. "It's from Benfield," he said expressionlessly. "The Duke of Ashburton is dead. He must have given up the ghost very soon after I left his house."

"I'm sorry," Lucien said quietly. "No matter how difficult the relationship, losing a parent has to be a blow."

"The end of an era, certainly, but don't waste your sympathy on me." Michael stared at the scrawled lines. Benfield was a responsible fellow; he would make a good duke.

Better than the bitter old man he was succeeding. He had even politely requested a meeting, saying they had matters to discuss.

Unable to think of anything the two of them might say to each other, he touched the corner of the letter to a burning candle on the desk. The paper blackened, then burst into flame.

I would have been your son if you had wanted me to be. His chest constricted as painful regret washed through him. If the old duke had wanted filial love and loyalty, he could have had them so easily. Michael had desperately wanted to love; perhaps that was why later he had loved so unwisely.

Before the flames could scorch his fingertips, he threw the burning scrap into the fireplace. "I'll be going out of town tomorrow, probably for a fortnight or so."

"I presume the burial will be at Ashburton."

"No doubt, but that's not where I'm going. Some other business has come up."

"You're not attending your father's funeral?" Lucien could not keep shock from his voice, but then, he had loved his father.

"My presence would be unwelcome." Not ready to explain, even to Luce, Michael watched the paper crumble to ash. With luck, it was the last connection he would ever have with the Kenyon family.

He raised his head. Lucien had the worried expression Michael had seen before on his friends, though not in the last two years. He wanted to assure Luce that there was no need for concern, but he was too drained to find the right words. He said, "I'm not expecting anything urgent, but if you should need to reach me, I'll be staying on the Isle of Skoal under the name Colin Melbourne."