“I … I want you,” she whispered. “But marriage … I can’t … I have to say—”

“Shh.”

He began to lift up her sensible flannel nightdress. She couldn’t stop him. She couldn’t walk away from him now. One night. She would allow herself that. One glorious night to remember for ever.

He bent to her nipples, teasing and suckling them. Giving her pleasure she hadn’t known for ten years. His hands slid down and he stroked her most private place.

Yes. Oh yes. But she didn’t dare say that word. That dangerous word.

Then Lyan slid inside her, burying his erection deep, and his mouth never stopped lusciously tormenting and pleasuring hers, not for a moment.

She kissed him as they moved together, frantic, wild, just like when they had been young, blessedly young, and in love. She had always wanted to believe it would be easier to face the world if they were together.

She licked his neck. Devoured his mouth. Nibbled his ear. Bit his shoulder. Because if she didn’t keep touching him and tasting him, she would start to think of what she’d lost. And she’d burst into tears that might never stop …

His lips pulled back, and she almost tumbled into the depths of his wild, hot green eyes. “Stop thinking, Sally. Just love me. For right now, this is love. Savour it.”

Then he covered her mouth with his as though afraid she might argue. But she couldn’t any more. And she came, she climaxed, she surrendered to a pleasure she couldn’t begin to control. She burst into a thousand shimmering pieces. She flowed like liquid gold. She soared.

And he cried out hoarsely in a climax. His shout of pleasure sent her heart spinning up to heaven.

As she fell back to earth, to their hot, disordered bed, Estelle was aware of Lyan’s arms around her. He had moved off her, but his embrace held her captive.

“I want to ensure,” he said sleepily, “you don’t run away again.”

You could marry him and make love with him and sleep like this every night. Rose could have the one thing you never had and never will have — a father.

Estelle sat up. Lyan was not doing a very good job as gaoler. His long, large body was still snuggled beside her. But his arm was slack with sleep and rested on her hip.

She needed to think. And needed air. The room smelled of sex and pleasure and was so hot it made her dizzy. As soundlessly as she could, Estelle put on her cloak. While Lyan breathed steadily, she slipped out of the room, then hurried down the stairs and ran outside to the yard.

She wasn’t going to run away. No, this time she had to refuse Lyan to his face. She felt as though she were a gown that was stitched up all wrong. All the pieces were where they should be, but she could never be right until she was taken apart and made up all over again. Yet she didn’t have the courage to pick her stitches away.

A carriage stood in the yard. There was a light within, illuminating a girl’s face.

It was the face of the young woman who had come to her last night. It was Lyan’s sister’s face. He’d told her the girl’s name. Laura. There was one reason for Laura Foxton to be in a carriage at a coaching inn on the road to Scotland.

The girl was alone in the carriage, and she drew back as Estelle wrenched open the door. “What are you doing? Eloping?”

“I—” Laura tipped up her chin. “Yes.”

“What of your brother? I’m sure it will break his heart if he finds out you’ve run away.”

The dark-haired girl glared mulishly. “I’ll go back and see him. I’m not running away for ever. You have no right to tell me what to do. Or tell me what my brother feels. He left me a note before he left last night. In it he told me who you are. The woman who broke his heart!”

Estelle fought the guilt she knew Laura had wanted to provoke. “Well, he doesn’t need another broken heart then, does he? He is here, in this inn. Why not tell him what you want? Why not marry with his blessing?”

“He won’t give me his blessing. I am in love. And I won’t turn back now.”

Estelle clasped the girl’s hand. “If you are happy, then I wish you a lifetime of happiness. Tell your brother, wait for his blessing before you marry. Understand that it is not too late to turn back. It never is.”

She left Laura then, hurrying back across the muddy yard. It was so easy to give advice she would never take. Lyan was offering her the chance to turn back. And she had said no.

Her heart grew heavier with each hurried step back to the bedroom. Lyan still slept. He lay on his stomach and the sheets had fallen down to expose his bare back. Estelle dropped her cloak and sat down beside him. Her nightdress was half open, slipping off her shoulders. What should she do — slip back into bed and betray him by letting Laura escape to Gretna? Or wake him up and betray a young girl who yearned to find love?

She touched his shoulder. Shook him gently.

Click.

Behind her, the door’s latch had opened and she spun around. Laura?

She expected to see the girl in the doorway, but instead she breathed in the choking scent of a smouldering cheroot. Her gaze locked on the dark eyes of a strange man.

But she had locked the door. After she’d come in, she’d locked the door by instinct.

The black-haired man winked at her. He wore a grey greatcoat and gleaming black boots, the cheroot was clamped in his teeth, and his large body filled the doorway. Blocking her escape. An amused smirk twisted his lips.

Then she saw it. The almost extinct firelight glimmered along the muzzle of a pistol held in his hand.

“Who are you?” she demanded, fighting to hide fear.

“I take it you are Mrs Desjardins,” the man said and his glittering eyes mocked her. “I see Lyan has been mixing business with pleasure. Well, I have some business to conclude myself. In the name of Lord Cavendish. Which means, unfortunately, I will have to get rid of you first.”

He swung up the pistol to point at her chest.

Estelle stared at the muzzle, frozen, her heart pounding in wild terror. She expected to hear the roar of the shot and be blown off her feet. Instead, she saw a look of pleasure leap to the man’s eyes. He was enjoying her torment.

She drew on all the bravado she’d clung to when she’d been growing up in the stews. “I will pay you more,” she said, confident and cool. “I will pay you far more to leave us alive.”

His finger paused on the trigger. “I doubt that. And I can’t leave Lyan alive — he’d hunt me to the ends of the earth. But you …” His gaze moved suggestively over her.

“I have a lot of money,” she purred. “I can give you ten thousand pounds.” She couldn’t. Couldn’t. But she prayed he would be intrigued enough to keep his attention on her, to give her more time—

And then Lyan launched off the edge of the bed. His body ploughed into the man, his hand slamming on to the pistol. The weapon exploded with smoke and a flash and the stench of burned powder.

For a frozen second, Estelle expected to see Lyon — or herself — collapse. Then she saw the feathers drifting in the air. The only victim of the shot was the bed.

The man swung the pistol up again, and smashed the muzzle into the side of Lyan’s head. Lyan recoiled and blood flowed down his face from a gash in his temple. Estelle’s heart gave a leap of terror. For her entire life, she had feared being under a man’s power. She’d feared being helpless.

Dear heaven, she was not going to let Lyan be killed.

She didn’t have scissors in her hand this time, but the fireplace poker was in reach. While the attacker had his attention fixed on Lyan, Estelle lunged forwards, wrapped her hands around the iron handle, and struck …!

“Blast!” The man jumped back, avoiding her blow. But it gave Lyan enough time to grab him, snapping back the wrist that held the gun. She heard a sickening crack, then the thud of the fallen pistol. The man’s wrist dangled limply for a second before Lyan threw him to the floor as though he weighed no more than the feather pillows.

He pressed his foot down across the blackguard’s throat.

He had come so close to losing her again, losing her for ever. And he’d known, as Nick Swan levelled the pistol at Estelle’s heart, he couldn’t live without her. He had barely survived for ten years without her, let alone a lifetime. If she died, he knew his heart would die, too.

Lyan increased the pressure of his foot on Nick’s neck. He knew full well he wouldn’t have the Judas beneath his boot if it weren’t for Sal … for Estelle. And, though her chest rose and fell with quick, deep breaths, she was already yanking a cord from the bed curtains to tie Nick’s hands. She definitely hadn’t left behind the woman she had once been. She was still a survivor. His heart was filled with admiration for her.

“Who is he?” she whispered.

“My former partner and Bow Street Runner, Nicholas Swan.” He rapped the butt of the pistol against Nick’s temple. “I take it Cavendish paid you to pursue me.”

Estelle took a sharp breath. She went as white as chalk. Swan emitted a grating chuckle of pure triumph. “He paid me well, but I had another reason to come here, Foxton — the lovely lass waiting in my carriage for my return. I’m sure she’s panting for me—”

“Laura,” Estelle broke in. She glared at Nick. “You are the man she believed was a hero?”

“What?” Lyan began to wonder if he’d been the one thrown to the floorboards. It appeared he’d missed a few things. “Would one of you tell me what is going on?”

“Your sister came to me last night,” Estelle admitted, “and told me she wished to elope — with a Bow Street Runner — because she believed you would refuse the match. I now see why.”