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K it and his small group of servants had stayed the night in Alnwick and got a late start in the morning. It would not do to arrive at Rose Hill too early. After luncheon should be time enough.

God knew he didn’t want to spend any more time than was necessary under the same roof with the female pretending to be his wife.

He’d had a great deal of time over the past week to plan how he would arrive.

In the end, he decided to do so in as impressive a way as possible.

That ought to convey to the woman that he was serious about recovering his property.

All his life he had worked hard to avoid scandal, and he refused to have one touch him or his family now.

He would give no quarter. If she would not willingly pack her bags and leave by morning, he’d help her out the door.

He glanced at his pocket watch again. For the past half hour he had been waiting on the outskirts of Rosebury for Piggott to catch up with him.

Finally he spied a carriage being led by his father’s coachman.

Of all the bad luck. The wheeler had gone lame.

At least it wasn’t one of his father’s horses.

Since they’d left York, he’d been on his own for cattle.

He’d have to get the poor animal looked after.

He hoped that Rosebury would have a decent hostelry.

He would be damned if Dent had to lead the carriage all the way to Rose Hill.

“Sorry, sir,” Robins, the coachman, said as he approached. “He threw a shoe. Shouldn’t be too bad once we get it fixed.”

“There’s nothing you could have done to prevent it, but time is of the essence. We’ll have to find a replacement.”

After they made their slow way to the center of the town, Kit located the blacksmith, while Dent went off to ask about a stable where he could board the horse and hire another.

Kit stepped into the large stone smithy, peering through the dim light until he located a figure. “Good day. I have a horse that’s thrown a shoe. Can you help me?”

A large, middle-aged man with coal-black hair materialized from the dark interior. “Aye, gimme time t’finish here.” He retreated back into the darkness, and the next sound was the sizzle of hot iron being put in water. “Passin’ through?”

“Here on business. Name’s Featherton.”

The smith stopped what he was doing and turned. “Be ye the Featherton what owns Rose Hill?”

Kit smiled. “I am.”

The other man scowled. “See here, ya not plannin’ on causin’ trouble for our Lady Mary, are ya?”

Good God, what had that blasted female been doing? He wondered if Mary was even her real name. “Not at all. I’m just making sure she is doing well.”

Not exactly a lie.

“We don’t hold wi’ wife beatin’ here aboots.”

“Why would I want to . . . ? No, of course not. I don’t know who would. Can’t a man visit his wife?”

Why the hell had he said that? He should not have given credence to her lie.

“Took yer sweet time,” the smith said in an only slightly less belligerent tone.

Kit opened his mouth to respond in kind, then thought better of it. He had no wish to continue this conversation. “When you’ve finished, my groom will be outside.”

What the devil had he walked into? Had that fraud been slandering him? He paced impatiently as he waited for the man to appear.

Five minutes later Dent ambled toward Kit with a sour look on his face.

“No horses?” Kit asked.

“Nah, he’s got a horse. Interestin’ thing, though. He asked what your plans with your wife are. Last I heered, you ain’t got one.”

Irritation flared through Kit. He wanted to shout out loud that he did not have a wife, but he had the distinct impression that if he renounced her, word would travel and the entire town would rise up against him.

Unless, that was, Dent had already let the cat out of the bag. “You didn’t tell him that, did you?”

“Nah, said my master don’t talk about his private doings to me.” Dent speared Kit with the same glare the groom had turned on him when, as a child, he’d attempted to jump his pony over too high a wall. “Ye goin’ to tell me what’s goin’ on?”

Kit could barely stop himself from spearing his fingers through his hair. “Yes, but not here. Do you know the way to the house?”

“My memory ain’t failed me yet. I remember the road.”

“Then tell me we have a wheeler.”

“Aye, we got one, and he’ll see the other gets shod. Gimme a minute and I’ll tell the smithy.”

“Good.” One problem was settled. The sooner he got his conversation with his impostor of a wife over with, the better. “Let’s go.”

As Kit was about ready to climb into his curricle, a gentleman who looked to be in his late forties approached.

“Good day to you, sir,” the stranger said.

Kit put his foot back on the ground. “A good day to you . May I help you?”

The man had a pleasant smile on his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m Mr. Doust, the rector. I understand you are Mr. Featherton of Rose Hill.”

Doust. That name sounded familiar. Nevertheless, Kit did not want or like the interference. He inclined his head. “I am, sir, and I am anxious to reach my home. It has been a long journey.”

“I was just on my way there. I shall do myself the honor of showing you the way.”

The hell he would. “I’m sure I can find it without assistance.”

“No problem at all.” A young boy brought over a mare.

“You see? My horse is already saddled. I’ll not delay you at all.

” The rector put his foot in the stirrup.

“We are very protective of our ladies at Rose Hill. Lady Eunice and Lady Mary, your wife”—the man paused as if waiting for Kit’s response, then nodded—“have done a great deal for the town and your dependents. I don’t believe the estate has ever been in better shape. ”

“Have they indeed?” Two females ? There were two of them? No matter. They had probably done nothing more than knit scarves for the poor. “I’m sure the credit is due to my steward, Mr. Stuttart.”

Which was deuced odd as it was.

Doust raised one brow. “I would have thought you knew that Mr. Stuttart has been ill since last summer. In fact, if it weren’t for Lady Mary, he would probably have died. He is only now on the mend. ”

“Indeed.” How else could Kit respond? Whatever the devil had been going on at Rose Hill, he’d better get to the bottom of it. “Let us be on our way.”

He climbed into his curricle, while the rector mounted his horse. A deuced fine one at that. Doust, horses. Damn, that was the Earl of Marnly’s family name. No wonder the rector had a sweet goer. The family bred some of the best horseflesh in the kingdom.

Ten minutes later, they turned off the main road and onto a well-maintained drive.

The windows of the old sandstone house sparkled in the sun.

Roses in pink and red climbed in an orderly fashion up the building.

Kit noticed that the high stone wall at the entrance was in good condition, as well.

He had to admit that the adventuress had maintained the property well, but if she thought to continue passing herself off as his wife, that was another matter entirely.

The front door opened as he came to a stop. Even the knocker gleamed. He tried not to clench his jaw as the rector came up beside him, a moment later, as they climbed the shallow stairs.

A servant—the butler, he assumed—bowed. “Good afternoon, Mr. Doust. The ladies are in the morning room. May I ask the name of your friend?”

Doust slid a look at Kit.

This got worse and worse all the time, Kit thought chagrined. His own servants didn’t even recognize him. Why the devil had he waited so long to come here? He was beginning to feel as if he was the wrongdoer. “I am Mr. Featherton. You must be Simons.”

The merest flicker of distaste passed over the butler’s face. “Indeed, sir. I shall escort you to the ladies straight away.”

As they followed the butler down a long corridor, Kit couldn’t help noticing that the carpets were clean and in good repair, the woodwork gleamed, and the wall sconces sparkled. The walls appeared recently painted, as well.

Simons opened a door, and bowed as Kit and Doust entered the room.

“Lady Eunice and Lady Mary,” the rector said, “how are you doing this afternoon?”

The older woman rose. “We are quite well, Mr. Doust.” When her gaze lit on Kit, a line appeared between her brows, then disappeared. She smiled as if she’d been expecting him. “Mr. Featherton, how good of you to bring our dear friend with you. ”

A younger woman standing in front of the French windows started, then stared at him with the same silver eyes that had haunted his dreams. Her golden hair was dressed in a simple knot, loose curls framed her oval face, and her countenance had changed from a friendly smile to a mask of fear.

What, by all that was holy, was Lady Mary Tolliver doing pretending to be his wife?

Of all the females in England, she was the last one he expected to see at Rose Hill.

Something was vastly wrong with this situation, and he had many more questions than answers.

Prime among his concerns was why in the bloody hell she was here in the first place.

Almost no one outside of his family even knew he owned this property.

A rage he’d never experienced before rose within him.

What a fool he had been, spending the past couple of years mooning over a fraud.

Had she planned to trap him into marriage?

Keeping his eyes fixed on her, he set a pleasant smile on his face and strode toward her.

When he was no more than a foot away, he took her hands, raising one then the other to his lips and placing lingering kisses on each palm.

Damn the butler for having left the door open and Doust for being there at all.

There was nothing for it but to play his part.

“Aren’t you happy to see your husband, my dear?

” Lowering his voice so that only she could hear, he added, “And are you prepared for the consequences?”