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M erritt was in the main parlor at Cliffstone, watching out the window again.

She’d got up early this morning, and when she went to the new windows, she thought she’d caught a glimpse of a strange man at the cliff’s edge, watching the house.

It might just have been someone on the coastal path, of course, but she’d warned Linwood, and she kept peering outside at intervals, nonetheless.

Sighing, she went to sit at her desk, where she was updating her list of remaining repairs and projects.

Across the room, her collection of students spread out, each busy with a project of her own. Their number kept growing, despite her protestations that her school was not yet ready.

“There is no help for it,” one of a pair of newly arrived sisters had told her. “We are all in correspondence, and we simply could not allow Julia and Pearl to have all the fun. Our parents are attending a summer-long series of house parties, and we’ve tired of being home alone.”

“Once our mama heard that the Duke of Belmont lived nearby, she was happy for us to come,” her sister said.

“My mama wanted me to befriend some younger ladies and gentlemen,” the latest arrival had said, yesterday afternoon. “Her own gentlemen friends were too eager, trying to tempt me from my books.”

So here they all were, keeping busy as their interests dictated, which was also the first stage of Merritt’s assessment of them all.

“What shall you call your finishing school?” Lady Charlotte Dunly asked as she carefully stitched a line of trim along an overskirt. “I wish to be correct when I write my friends.”

Merritt set down her pen. “It’s not a finishing school I have in mind, exactly.”

“But that’s what Mama agreed to,” Charlotte’s sister Caroline said, looking up from her correspondence.

“It’s a beginning school,” Julia said calmly.

She was painstakingly painting tree bark on a stage backdrop.

“We are all to attend the Season next year, to find a husband. We have been rigorously prepared to be successful debutantes. But finding a husband is not the end. It is the beginning. The start of our lives.”

“Exactly.” Merritt was touched that Julia understood. “It would be wise to think about what you would like your life as a wife to be.”

“But how can we know, if we don’t yet know our husbands?” Miss Mary Griffith asked, looking up from her book.

Merritt closed her eyes for a moment, then fixed the girl with an encouraging look. “You are your own person, Mary, not just an extension of your husband.”

The girls looked doubtful.

“Consider that thinking about your interests and needs now might help you choose the right husband. One that will share or encourage your passions.”

“It’s all very well for you, a widow now. And for Julia, who has always been mad for everything related to the theatre,” Lady Charlotte declared.

“We’ve decided Julia will clearly attract the attention of some great patron of the arts,” Pearl said fondly.

“Yes, but my husband has been chosen for me,” Charlotte continued. “My father is already talking to the Earl of Stratham.”

“Is he? Well, the earl seems a perfectly reasonable young man,” Merritt said thoughtfully. “Perhaps you should discuss his interests and share yours as well. What do you imagine and wish for, when you picture yourself as his wife?”

“I want to be a leading lady of fashion,” Charlotte announced. “I want to design and wear my own stunning gowns, ensembles that will set tongues to wagging, be described in the newspapers, and copied in the fashion magazines. I want to go to France and show them that Englishwomen have style, too.”

“Perhaps you should share those dreams with the earl? Ask him if he would like to travel? I seem to recall he sponsored a bill in Parliament to assist English silk merchants. You could champion his causes by showcasing them in your designs.”

Charlotte blinked. “What a grand idea.”

“But what of me?” her sister asked. “All I wish to do once I’m married is to be a mother.”

Merritt watched the girl. “What sort of mother do you dream of becoming?”

“A real mother.” Caroline’s face softened. “Not like our own. I want to cuddle babies and chase little ones and teach my children to sail boats along the creek. I want to soothe their hurts, listen to their lessons, and sneak them gingerbread from the kitchens.”

“Then perhaps you should try to find a gentleman to whom family is also important?”

“Mary is always attached to a book,” Charlotte said. “She could start a literary salon.”

“I want to help people,” Mary declared. “I told my mama I wanted to volunteer with Hestia Wright at Half Moon House, but she expressly forbade it.”

“Find a husband who will think it a noble cause,” Julia suggested.

“Or start your own charity,” said Merritt.

“Or become a political hostess and support men who embrace your causes.” She gazed around at them all.

“The point is to think now about what you would like your life to be like, so that you can discuss, plan, and make appropriate choices. Do not allow yourself to be bargained away with no idea of what might come after. Shared expectations are far better than shattered dreams.”

Movement fluttered at the open window again.

She looked away from their thoughtful faces to catch the drift of a blue coat disappearing past the terrace door.

She stood, hope flaring instead of worry this time.

“Do excuse me, ladies.” She strode outside, left the terrace, and paused on the path before the stairs down to the theatre, in a spot that couldn’t be seen from above or below.

As she’d hoped, Belmont arrived within moments. He didn’t pause but came right up to her and gripped her shoulders. “What happened?”

“What?” she asked, confused.

“After your marriage to Beving?” His grip was not as gentle as his tone. “I heard you speaking to the girls. What happened?”

She pulled away. “I would rather not discuss it.”

Following, he took her hand and pulled her down to sit on the grass at the side of the trail.

“You were magnificent in there.” The admiration in his gaze warmed her heart.

“You gave those girls sound advice that will change their lives for the better. You gave them a gift—one born of your own caring spirit—and your own experience.”

She looked away, toward the blue expanse of the sea. “There’s no use dwelling on it.”

“Was it so horrible?” He looked and sounded grim.

“It was bad,” she said. “But it is over.” She turned back to smile into his dark eyes and touch a finger to the sharp line of his jaw. “And there are so many other things I would rather focus on.”

His gaze darkened. He leaned into her touch. “Such as?”

“Such as you,” she whispered. With her other hand she reached to pull him down to her.

How large he was. How strong. Awareness of his size and power tingled all through her.

Tense excitement skimmed along her surface, raising the hairs on her arms and nape, yet when it burrowed in to reach her center, she stilled.

She was not afraid. Not in the slightest. Joy and relief filled her.

It was a gift, that certainty, and so she leaned in to give him one in return.

She kissed him warmly. Firmly. With determination. She had chosen this. She was strong and independent. But when he kissed her back, when mouths parted and tongues tasted and tangled, she let herself forget.

And the forgetting was so sweet. Like honey.

Like a luscious dream. She reveled in the feeling of shelter, of protection.

It was this that she’d missed, longed for.

She let her hands slide up, over his shoulders and into the dark tangle of his hair.

His chest was wide and hard and heated, but it wasn’t a threat, nor a cage.

His mouth trailed along her jaw, down the curve of her neck, spreading fire. His breath came harsh and fast and she reveled in it, knowing that she’d done that.

His hand covered her breast. He made a sound, a growl deep in his throat, and still she felt no fear. Nothing but shared heat, and want, and impatience.

“Merritt,” he groaned, his hand moving to her other breast.

“Yes,” she whispered. More. She wanted so much more, only from him. From this man who made her laugh, who made her feel wild, and safe, and utterly wanton—all at once.

But it wasn’t his voice she heard now.

She stilled. Voices. Linwood and Evans. Coming up the stairs.

He heard them too. He pulled away, and she rushed to straighten her hair and smooth his. Standing, he pulled her to her feet and turned to meet the men as they reached the top. “There you are,” he said. “Stay a moment, won’t you? Here, where we won’t be seen.”

He told them about his discovery of the cigarillos. “Keep hidden as much as you can, Linwood. Inside the house or backstage.” He glanced at the solicitor. “You too.”

Merritt spoke up. “We’ve been careful. I thought I saw a man this morning, leaving the theatre and taking the coastal path.”

“Stay together, perhaps,” Belmont suggested. “There is no sign that this intruder has seen anything. If we keep it that way, he should move on and look elsewhere.”

“Perhaps I should keep the girls home from Mr. Chesil’s gathering tomorrow,” Merritt said.

“It might appear odd if you don’t go,” Evans pointed out. “Everyone must act as normally as possible.”

Pursing her lips, she nodded.

“But someone must watch over the young ladies,” Linwood objected.

“I will do it,” Belmont said. “But I should leave now. I don’t want to be seen here.”

Merritt nodded, but all she wanted was for him to stay. He was the first man in all her life who made her feel warm and safe.

“Tomorrow, then,” he said, giving her a look that spoke of temptation, promise, and intent.

“Tomorrow.”

*

That evening, Cart sent Whiskers to Cliffstone to make the acquaintance of the young ladies, and so that the colonel could make the offer to escort them all to Chesil’s groundbreaking the next day.