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When he had set off that afternoon to speak to Sian, it had been with a heavy heart because he’d known it would cost him every ounce of resolve he possessed to free her from their promise to marry.

The prospect of losing her had been a frightful one.

What had given him courage was the knowledge that he was doing the right thing by her.

Marrying the man he was now would have condemned her to a life of misery.

And it was not just the lack of funds since perhaps her family could have helped with that.

The Hunters were both rich and generous, he knew, and they loved her.

They would have seen to the couple’s comfort if that was what Sian had wanted.

But how would she have dealt with the mockery and scorn?

It would have been hard enough to be Lady Ashton and endure jests about being married to a man who had bedded all the women who had thrown themselves at him for years.

But everyone would have also pitied her for having been trapped by a usurper with no scruples, as people were bound to see him.

They would have made her feel her comedown in the world and looked at her with pity, concern, or ill-concealed glee.

He’d wanted to spare her all that pain and give her a chance to be with a man who could offer her the life she deserved because he’d thought she was a good woman.

But today, he’d seen her true colors, and he wasn’t sure anymore.

She’d not cared to console him after the bewildering turn of events or even asked how he felt.

Instead, she had made it sound as if he had deliberately set out to trick her and complained that he had made her look a fool in front of her precious family.

She had even dared accuse him of deflowering her and leaving her to deal with the consequences.

As if she didn’t have a huge part of responsibility in the whole affair.

As if she’d not knelt at his feet and?—

“You were about to marry? You?” A stunned silence followed the question. Alexander was shocked, understandably. The two friends had often talked about their female conquests and how neither was ready to marry just yet.

“I was.”

But not anymore. And because of his current lack of prospects, perhaps never.

Christopher emptied half his glass in one gulp. Even years after his death, his father could still ruin his life. An impressive feat, he had to admit.

Alexander slammed the flat of his hand on the table, causing the candle to fall and extinguish itself, plunging the room into darkness. Neither man moved to light it again. “By all the saints, how could the old man do this to you? And your uncle? They are nothing more than weasels.”

Weasels, aye. Or slimy fish.

A smile curled the corner of Christopher’s lips.

He’d known all his life that the men in his family were worthless, cold individuals interested only in themselves and their pleasure, so, unlike his friend, he could not claim to be surprised.

His father had not thought of what it would do to him—or indeed Thomas—to be told what the reality was so late in life, and his uncle had hoped to see him die before his time and inherit in his stead.

With no one knowing of the existence of another, older son, the title and fortune would have gone to Lord Ashton’s only brother.

Had he made plans to have Christopher killed?

It was not impossible, he realized.

Hadn’t he jested with Sian that he’d been particularly prone to accidents and mishaps of late?

The broken saddle billets, the fall down the stairs …

Had there been more than met the eye in those events?

In light of what he’d learned in Kent, he was reassessing what had happened to him in the last few years.

As a child or even a youth, he had not been as clumsy.

It was only in the last three years or so that strange accidents had started to plague him.

In other words, since his father’s death.

Had his uncle decided to aid fate? Had he sent some of his men to Throckmorton Castle, charging them with the disposal of the supposed Lord Ashton?

The old man who’d visited from Kent a few weeks earlier could easily have pushed him down the stairs instead of simply tumbling.

The squire who had disappeared so suddenly might have been paid to cut the billets of his saddle.

It was all too possible. Until he’d been struck down by his sudden chill, his uncle had had every reason to believe he could reach a ripe old age.

If his nephew, the sole surviving family member, had died in a tragic accident, he could well have enjoyed the title for another two or three decades.

Should he ask Sian what she thought? She was bound to have some useful insight.

The thought was a punch to the gut. Of course now he would not get to ask her that or anything else.

In all likelihood, they would never meet again.

Their encounter that afternoon had been a disaster.

Would he see her angry face every time he thought of her?

Probably. The prospect was a frightening one because he already knew he would think of her often. Far too often.

She, however, might well forget about him and start her search for a more suitable husband without delay.

“They could do it because the two vile men never considered anyone other than themselves,” Christopher said with finality.

That, at least, was true and made him see that for all his supposed wicked ways, he was no true rogue.

He had never done anything half so treacherous as what his father and uncle had done.

Alexander was silent for a moment. Then he went to light the candle on the fire embers and sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

Christopher emptied his cup in one gulp—the fifth one. Another three to go, and he would be well on his way to oblivion. “That’s because there is nothing to say,” he concluded.

“Are you happy now?” Sian lifted a tear-stained face to her sister.

“Happy?” Jane cried out, tightening her hold around her. “Of course I’m not happy ! Not when you’re feeling so wretched. What do you take me for?”

The two sisters were holding on to one another desperately.

After her encounter with Christopher by the river, Sian had hoped to sneak into her bedchamber unnoticed.

But fate had decided she had not suffered enough for one day.

Her sister had been in the room, and one look at Jane’s face had been enough to make it clear she had better tell her what was amiss.

Unable to contain herself any longer, Sian had thrown herself into Jane’s arms and burst into tears.

Little by little, through her fits of sobs, she had told her everything.

The meeting with Lord Ashton—the real Lord Ashton—the week before, her father’s lack of reproach—which somehow made her feel more wretched than anything else—her encounter with Christopher, and his refusal to get married.

This, of course, was what had broken her heart. She suspected she could have forgiven the deception if he’d given her his reasons for doing such a thing, but his betrayal was too much to swallow.

I cannot marry you now. Surely, you understand.

Oh, she understood all too well that he had never meant for her to be his wife but only to make the most of the pleasure she’d been offering.

“You warned me he was a rogue, didn’t you?” she said once the whole story had been wrenched out of her. “You must at least be satisfied to have been proved right.”

“I’m not.” Jane made a face, betraying both confusion and anger. “And, if you must know, I thought … I really thought he could make you happy. Because from what you told me, with you, he was nothing like he was with me or even with anyone else.”

Well, Sian had thought the same thing. With her, Christopher was not quite the scathing man he could be with others.

She had hoped that it meant something, that he allowed himself to be who he really was with her because she made him feel at ease.

But she’d been wrong. He had seduced her like the callous lover he was and found an excuse to disappear before they could speak to her parents to formalize a betrothal.

Had his uncle really called him to Kent?

Did he even have an uncle? It was far from certain.

Then, a month later, he had reappeared out of nowhere, only to announce he could not marry her, without offering any explanation as to why he had impersonated a nobleman and making it appear as if he was doing it for her benefit.

Her sister was right. The way he had behaved toward Jane had nothing in common with how he had been with her.

He had not lied to Jane, he had not made her fall in love with him, he had not taken her maidenhead, he had not made her believe they would marry and then broken her heart into a thousand pieces.

Old Myfanwy’s predictions suddenly flashed through her mind.

You will fall in love with a man with two identities.

So that was what she had meant then. He indeed had two identities. The usurped one and the real one. The title he’d had no claim to and the man underneath. Lord Ashton and plain Christopher Harrison.

The old woman had been right as usual. Sian had fallen in love with a man who had two identities. A liar, fornicator, and disreputable rogue on the one hand and a whimsical, protective, passionate lover who’d made her feel worthy of attention, interesting, beautiful even, on the other.

Of course, she now knew it had only been part of his seduction plan. How satisfying for the great seducer to see that he had brought her to her knees in a matter of days. Literally.

He would have enjoyed the time spent posing as Lord Ashton and fooling everyone.

The irony was not lost on her. Hadn’t she remarked a few weeks ago that his family’s coat of arms didn’t suit him?

Of course it did not since he had never had any right to it.

The scoundrel! How could she have been so blind?

But there had been so much sincerity in his voice when he had told her the animal reminded him of his estranged father, when he’d shared his story of loneliness …

Surely, that hadn’t been feigned? And he did look remarkably like the man who had welcomed them at Throckmorton Castle.

So was he the late Lord Ashton’s son? Only a bastard one who’d decided to act as if he were legitimate and give himself a title he had no right to, knowing the people down in Kent might never get to hear of the deceit?

Had it been his way of making himself feel better, of pretending he could be someone?

She could almost feel sorry for him if it had been.

Why, oh why was she torturing herself thus? It didn’t matter what his thinking had been, it didn’t matter how happy he had made her feel, since it had been for naught. Who he was or wasn’t was of no import if he didn’t want her.

“I don’t want to hear about or see Christopher Harrison ever again,” she said, bunching her fists.

It did not take her long, however, to see that that was not true. What she truly wanted was revenge. She wanted to make him pay, to humiliate him, to show him he had not hurt her even if he had.

Sian wiped her cheeks clean. She had shed her last tear over the man.

Christopher didn’t want her? Well, she would find others who did—and then she would show him.