All those years she’d spent in the stews had not been for nothing. She’d known he didn’t intend to leave witnesses afterwards, whether she obeyed him or not. So she had fought for her life. Rose came to help, hit him over the head with a frying pan. At eight years of age, just like Estelle, Rose had seen what men could do.

And now she kicked and struggled just as furiously. She had her scissors in her hand—

A strong hand pulled them out of her grip. “I wouldn’t like those stabbed into my privates, thank you.”

Lyan. He turned her to face him. “You wretch!” she spat. “You terrified me. You could have woken up Rose. She went through this before and it almost frightened her to death. I—”

“What do you mean, ‘she went through this before’?”

When she didn’t answer, he kissed her. Just like that. His mouth devoured hers. All her fear and rage tumbled around inside. But even as furious with him as she was, she became hot. Scorching hot. So much so, she feared her simple work dress would melt to her skin.

“Tell me, or I won’t stop there.” Then he grimaced at his words, and he brushed his hand over her cheek. “No, no threats. Threatening you with kisses won’t work any more, will it? Because you’ve known worse. Tell me what happened, Sal. I’ll kill anyone who hurt you or your daughter.”

Through the heat rising inside her, a heat that fogged her mind like steam upon glass, she remembered the painful truth. She had abandoned him in a panic ten years before. Why should he care about her now? She had put her security above all else, and the simple fact he still gave a damn made her throat constrict. “Well, then,” she managed to say, “that is exactly the reason why I can’t tell you.”

His hands traced the simple neckline of her dress. Her breasts leaped up, under her shift, as his fingertips skimmed over them. Then, shock of all shocks, he cupped them.

“I want all your secrets, Sally. Every last one.” He breathed the words against her ear. The fire he’d ignited inside her consumed another piece of the wall around her soul. Just this, his hands on her breasts, his mouth nuzzling her neck, could leave her utterly defenceless.

No. She would be like her mother then. Vulnerable. What was a woman in the throes of passion but a woman waiting to be destroyed?

“You know who Lady Maryanne ran away with. This afternoon, I interviewed families of young ladies who have been your customers. Four of them ran away to Gretna Green with men.”

“And those marriages are all successes,” she said tartly. She tried to pull away, but he held her too tight.

His tongue ran up and down her throat. Her mind was becoming as mushy as porridge. “S—stop,” she whispered.

“I will if you give me a name. A man’s name.” His grip changed and he stopped kissing her. He faced her, his eyes glittering with determination. “I fear Cavendish arranged for Maryanne to disappear. He found out about her plans to elope, and he had her killed so he would not lose control of her money. By the will, he gets it all if she dies without a husband or children.”

Estelle gulped. “Oh yes, he could do that, Lyan. He is more than capable. He is a fiend.” She knew she had to give him the name. For Maryanne’s safety. “Her beloved was the owner of a small bookshop on Charing Cross Road. Mr Samuel Peabody.”

His dark brow shot up. “He sounds like a little, fat, middle-aged merchant. Why would you help the girl elope with a man like that?”

“I did not help her. She simply gave me a name. As for the others—”

“You’re lying, angel. I could prove you helped her — if I found the hackney driver who came to the rear of your shop and who saw you escort a young woman who matched Lady Maryanne’s description into the cab. A man who saw the young lady clutch your hands before she left and thank you for everything you had done.”

Her heart sank.

“You helped her run off with some scoundrel,” he ground out. “Some man who might have killed—”

“No! I promised to help her. And that meant ensuring she was marrying the right man.” There, she had admitted her guilt. And she knew why she’d done so. Deep down, she still trusted Lyan. She would always believe in the goodness of this man’s heart. Carving her way into respectability and security, she had encountered some of the “gentlemen” of the ton. The ones who pressed their attentions on any women they believed beneath them. Who were willing to rape because they believed themselves to be untouchable. She had soon learned that birth meant nothing. Lyan Foxton had grown up in the stews, but she had learned how special, noble and wonderful he was.

Yet there were also good gentlemen. Peabody was one of them. “He is the third son of the Viscount Marlborough, and he has a love of books. He is tall, thin, but very handsome. And I realized, when I went to his shop and spoke with him, that he truly loved Maryanne.”

He frowned. “How could you know that for certain?”

“I … A woman can tell.” She did not want him to know how she knew. That she’d compared how Peabody looked when she spoke of Maryanne to the way Lyan used to look at her.

“Thank you,” Lyan said. “I pray I’m not too late.”

“What are you going to do?” She knew she had to be quiet, but her voice rose in fear. “I went out this afternoon. Peabody’s shop is still closed up. And I spoke to his employee and his neighbours. He hasn’t come back.”

“I think if Cavendish arranged for his ward’s death, it would be known by now that she was killed. He’d want it done fast. It would be easy enough to make it look like a highwayman attacked her on the way to Scotland. I think the fact that she hasn’t turned up dead means she is still alive. I think he wants her back to marry her himself, which gives him both the lady and control of her fortune. Hell, I have to believe that.”

Stark pain showed on Lyan’s face. How harsh and sharply cut his features were, now that he’d matured from a youth to a man.

“Why would he hire you, if he was the one to arrange for her to disappear?” she asked.

“To make it look like he’s innocent. Or because she escaped his trap. He might genuinely have no idea where she is. I’m going to trace the route to Gretna again, now that I know who her suitor is. I hope they are hiding somewhere along the way and I can find them.”

“I would like to come with you.” She had to know Maryanne was safe. And she could help Lyan. For a start, she knew what Peabody looked like.

“On one condition,” he growled. “I want you to promise you won’t help my sister, Laura, if she asks you to help her elope.”

She swallowed hard. Nothing had escaped him in the past. That hadn’t changed. “Of course not. But why do you think she would run away rather than ask your permission?”

His brow rose sharply. “Because sometimes women do damned illogical things.”

“All right. I agree. But I have conditions for you.”

“Indeed?”

“No more kissing. No more touches. That’s behind us, Lyan. There can never be anything between us again.”

“Why did you do it, love? Why did you run out on me before I came back for you? I thought — apparently like a blind fool — that you intended to be my wife.”

Estelle jerked her gaze from the carriage window, where she had kept it fixed for several hours. Lyan sat across from her, and he had looked out the opposite window ever since they had entered the carriage together. Each time she’d stolen a surreptitious glance, she’d discovered he was not looking at her.

Which was for the best. To feel anything else, any sort of girlish pang, was a stupid and irresponsible thing. She had long stowed away the desires and foolish fantasies that always began with the words “what if”. From the moment she’d made her choice to run away, then discovered she was carrying Rose, Rose had been what she’d lived for.

Her future had been mapped out. Decided. It was not to be changed. But what she could do was help shape the futures of others.

She did owe him some sort of explanation, but although she’d had ten years to think about it, she had never come up with an account that satisfied her. “I did it so I could have what I have now.”

“What do you have now?” he asked, and she wondered if Lucifer sounded like this — like smooth-flowing brandy and chocolate when it bubbled in a cup — when he promised dreams in return for souls.

She cleared her throat. As though just a little more time would clear away the heat wrapping tentative fingers around her heart, the yearning blossoming between her thighs. “My business. Enough money upon which I can survive. My daughter. I suppose what I have is success and security.”

“But you have no husband. No one to protect you.”

“I protect myself.” She managed a smile. “You, of all people, must remember I am capable of that.”

“Aye,” he answered with a breathtaking grin of his own, one that carved dimples deep enough to make her knees quiver. “I still bear a few scars to prove it.”

She had forgotten what this was like. For ten years, she had worked every minute of the day. Her needle would flash through cloth late into the night, while she would be desperately blinking to keep her eyes open. Hour upon hour. Day upon day. She had carved out a formidable reputation amongst the ton for her gowns. But she had not had a friend. And from behind a mound of fabric and patterns, she had watched Rose grow into a beautiful, quickwitted girl.

“I’ve never forgotten our wedding night,” he said softly. “For ten years, I’ve considered myself married to you.”

That startled her. “But you have the reputation of a rake.”