She turned to face him. "Who are you visiting?"

"The Briggehams. Do you remember them?"

Pursing her lips, she considered for several seconds, then nodded. "Yes. There are several daughters and a young son, I believe."

"Four daughters, all married except the eldest. Actually, it's the son, Hubert, whom I'm calling upon. An incredibly intelligent lad. He's made a fascinating laboratory he calls the Chamber, in the old barn. I promised to look at an invention he's working on." He joined her by the window and gently clasped her hands. "Come with me. You'll enjoy meeting Hubert, and his sister and his parents as well, if they are home. I believe you'd quite like Miss Briggeham. The two of you are of similar ages and-"

"Thank you, Eric, but I do not feel up to answering questions about…" Her voice trailed off and her gaze dropped to the floor.

Placing his fingers under her chin, he lifted her face until their eyes met. "I have no intention of subjecting you to pain, Margaret. Samantha… I mean, Miss Briggeham, is not prone to gossip. She's kind, and like you, she could use a friend."

He suddenly froze as in a flash it occurred to him what he'd just done. He'd offered to introduce his sister to his mistress. Suggested they befriend each other. Bloody hell! Never before would he have considered such a breach of propriety toward Margaret, but he simply hadn't considered Samantha in those terms. Damn it, she was his… friend.

The enormity of what he'd done to Samantha crashed down on his head like a boulder dropped from the sky. He'd made her his mistress. As far as Society was concerned, her actions would render her no better than a harlot. Fury rushed through him at the idea that anyone might ever think of her like that. She was a loving, intelligent, kind, generous young woman who deserved so much more than he'd given her.

Just another compelling reason to end their affair. Tonight. But now he realized that in order to retain any of his tarnished honor and not subject her to further disrespect, he'd have to end things before he made love to her again. A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, knowing he wouldn't have the opportunity to touch her again. But what drove a knife of pain through his heart was the realization that by taking her as a lover, he'd destroyed any true hope of them remaining friends. He could not envision being able to go back to the casual camaraderie they'd once enjoyed. Not when he'd want her with every ounce of his being.

Margaret's voice jerked him from his thoughts. "All right, I'll accompany you to the Briggehams'." She searched his gaze for several seconds, her eyes dark and serious. "Eric, I know you do not want my gratitude, but I must thank you. Not only for allowing me to live here, but for not… pressing me for details."

"I won't question you," he said, "but know that I am willing to listen should you care to talk to me."

A single tear slid down her cheek, clenching his heart. "Thank you. It's been so long since…" Pressing her lips together, she swallowed hard. "I do not want to talk about… him. He's gone." Some deep emotion flickered in her eyes. "I cannot mourn him. His death freed me."

Her words, her fervent tone, pumped rage through his veins. Not only at Darvin, but at himself. "I should have killed the bastard," he bit out. "If only I'd-"

She pressed her fingers to his lips, cutting off his words. "No. Then you would have hung for murder, and he was not worth losing you. I made marriage vows before God and it was my duty to honor them."

"He did not. I should have-"

"But you didn't. Because I asked you not to. You honored my wishes above your own, and I'm grateful." Determination fired in her gaze. "I've spent the last five years in darkness, Eric. I want to enjoy the sunshine again."

He grasped her hands, squeezing them tightly. "Then let us go outdoors immediately and frolic in the sun."

The barest ghost of a smile touched her lips, and his heart turned over.

"I believe," she said, "that is the best invitation I've received in a very long time."


Eric and Margaret stood in Hubert's Chamber, listening with interest as Hubert explained his latest invention, a device he called The Guillotine Slicer.

"Several weeks ago, our cook Sarah cut herself slicing potatoes," Hubert said. "The knife slipped right out of her hand, the blade nearly cutting her foot as well when it fell to the floor. With my slicer, this ceases to be a problem. Observe." He stuck a round metal disk studded with a dozen short prongs into the end of a potato. Slipping his hand through a leather strap attached to the disk, he then set the potato on his invention, which indeed resembled a horizontal guillotine set on sturdy, six-inch wooden legs.

"The blade is fixed in place," Hubert explained. "I hold the metal disk so as not to cut my fingers, then simply run the potato over the blade." Holding the slicer steady with his free hand, he demonstrated. Within seconds, a stack of uniformly sliced potatoes sat on the plate beneath the slicer.

Pointing to a knob on the side of the device, he said, "I'm working on adding a feature so you can adjust it here to vary the thickness of the slices. Once I perfect that, I'm hoping to develop a larger version based on the same principles, to cut meats."

"Very impressive," Eric said, examining a perfect slice.

A crimson flush of pleasure washed over Hubert's cheeks. Laying a hand on the boy's shoulder, Eric said, "I'd be interested in purchasing one of these for my own cook."

Hubert's eyes widened behind his spectacles. "Oh, I would gladly give you one, Lord Wesley."

"Thank you, lad, but I insist upon paying for it. In fact, I daresay that if this were available for purchase, hordes of people would buy them." He turned toward Margaret. "What do you think?"

She was clearly stunned to be asked her opinion. "I… I think it's an ingenious invention that would be a welcome addition to any household."

Eric smiled at her, then shifted his attention back to Hubert. "I honestly believe this is a machine with great potential, Hubert. Should you decide you'd like to sell them-"

"You mean like a business?"

"Precisely. I have several contacts in London who I could speak to on your behalf. And I myself would be willing to invest funds should you decide to proceed, with your father's permission, of course."

Eric's offer clearly flabbergasted the boy. "That is very kind, my lord, but I do not consider the design completed. Besides, I am a scientist, not a tradesman."

"Then you might wish to consider selling your idea to a third party. At any rate, my offer stands. Think upon it, discuss it with your father, and let me know what you decide. If you'd like, I'll speak to your father as well."

"All right. Thank you." Hubert pushed his glasses higher on his nose, then shuffled his feet. "Actually, there is something else I wished to discuss with you, my lord." He cast an embarrassed glance toward Margaret.

Margaret, clearly sensing the boy's need for privacy, inclined her head. "Thank you for showing me your machine, Hubert. If you'll excuse me, I'd like to stroll through your gardens and enjoy the lovely weather… if you do not mind."

"Not at all, Lady Darvin." A flush stained his cheeks. "I hope I did not bore you. Mama always warns me not to harangue our guests."

"On the contrary, I greatly enjoyed my visit with you." A tentative smile slowly spread across her features, as if she'd forgotten her face could move in such a way. Seconds later, she offered Hubert a full, genuine smile, and a breath he hadn't realized he held, escaped Eric. God, that show of happiness was a balm to his heart. Gratitude toward Hubert filled him, for giving Margaret a reason to smile.

She slipped outside, closing the Chamber door quietly behind her. Eric turned toward Hubert, surprised by the troubled expression creasing the boy's face. "Is something amiss, lad?"

"I need to ask you something, my lord."

Eric studied him for several seconds. The boy looked as if he bore the weight of the world on his thin shoulders. A trickle of unease slid down his spine. Did Hubert's obvious distress in some way concern Samantha? Damn, could the boy have seen them last night at the lake?

"You may ask me anything," Eric assured him, praying for the best, but bracing himself nonetheless.

Hubert pulled open a drawer and withdrew a black leather pouch. Opening the drawstring, he sprinkled a small amount of a powdery substance into his hand. "This is a powder containing special phosphorescent properties that I developed myself," Hubert said in a quiet voice. "To the best of my knowledge, no one else possesses such a powder."

Relief punched Eric along with confusion. Leaning closer, he peered at the substance. "What does it do?"

"It casts a slight glow that lends it a distinctive adhering quality." Setting the pouch down on the wooden table, he wiped his powdery hand over his black breeches. He then attempted to brush the powder from his breeches, but was not completely successful. "It is actually the glow, rather than the powder itself that cannot be fully removed from the cloth."

Eric stared at Hubert's breeches and recognition shot through him. He recalled recently observing that same odd, dusty glow on his boots.

Straightening, he met Eric's eyes. "The other evening, I sprinkled this powder on the saddle, reins, and stirrups of a certain gentleman's horse."

Something in Hubert's steadfast gaze edged a chill of foreboding through Eric. "On which gentleman's horse?"

"The Bride Thief's."

The name hung in the air between them for several seconds. Keeping his face carefully blank, Eric asked, "What makes you think this horse belonged to the Bride Thief?"