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Her inner turmoil heightened, her head swirling with doubt. “Do not stare. That will only encourage him.”

“I shall persuade him to ask me to dance,” Eliza said, fluttering her fan. “I will rid you of him in a thrice.”

“Do nothing of the sort, Eliza,” she hissed. “He is not a trustworthy man.”

But it was too late. Unaware of the danger, Eliza pretended to look besotted, earning Samuel’s broad smile as he approached, forcing Lora to reluctantly admit that her cousin appeared handsomely turned out in his regimentals.

Lieutenant Samuel Hawkesbury presented himself to all and sundry as a hero, and luxuriated in the resulting praise.

Nauseating. Unless war had dealt him a jarring reality and transformed the tyrant, she’d bet her life that his soul was still as black as the dead of night.

He drew closer, unmistakable derision radiating from his eyes, quickly putting to rest any ideas of alteration.

His smug disdain for others stirred her instincts, warning her to stay on her guard.

From his hessians to his lean, lithe figure, to his broad-shouldered epaulettes, high stock and perfectly tied cravat, it appeared the militia recommended the spiteful brat who’d vowed to make her regret rejecting him.

“Lady Lora.” Her cousin’s dignified air and his mockingly suave bow assaulted her senses.

Watched by a gaggle of witnesses, she dipped a quick curtsy. “Lieutenant.”

“Come now. Are we not family? Surely, after all this time, you will use my given name. We Hawkesburys are immune to formality, are we not?”

“You are correct in one regard. It has been a long time.” Not long enough.

She detected a twitch in his lower lip before his attention shifted to Eliza. “And who is this lovely confection by your side?”

“Do you not remember?” Instinct advised against introductions, but decorum prevailed. “Lady Elizabeth. This is my cousin, Lieutenant Samuel Hawkesbury.”

“We have met previously, though you may not remember, as it was five years ago.” Performing an elegant curtsy, Eliza added, “How do you do?”

“Lady Eliza,” he said, infuriating Lora by using her friend’s nickname.

“A woman grown. You are a delight in this veteran’s eyes.

The pleasure is mine, I assure you.” Yielding another gallant bow, he brought Eliza’s hand to his lips, then peered at Lora with contrived importance and an indecent amount of tomfoolery.

“Forgive me. I could not help but notice you from across the room. If you are not otherwise engaged, may I request to have my name written on your dance card?”

The dye cast, Eliza’s wide-eyed enthusiasm sealed her fate. “M-My card?” she falsely stuttered.

“The very one.” His broad, slithery smile rippled through Lora like an advancing tide, filling her with multiple misgivings.

Given all that had occurred between them in their youth—the competition and jealousy—she had good reason to harbor distrust for her cousin.

In truth, the sensation consumed her entire being for far stronger reasons than she could fathom.

But were her assumptions wrong? Festooned with military honors, Samuel’s uniform practically gleamed with pageantry.

She had to consider whether it was possible that he had come home a different man, given that war had changed men for better or worse.

“I would be honored to have the next waltz.”

“As would I.” Eliza’s sigh ground through Lora’s ears. If her friend didn’t tone down her feminine wiles, Samuel would quickly catch on.

“Delightful. Only Lady Eliza just mentioned that she needed a drink. We were just about to?—”

“Is that so?” Samuel bared his teeth, bent near, and whispered something only Lora could hear. “Be a good girl and get your friend a drink, and have it waiting for her when the music ends, eh? And while you’re at it, see that my father gets something to drink too. He looks pale, if you ask me.”

Alarmed, she shot a look at her uncle. From across the room, he appeared to wobble but was quickly put to rights by the man at his side. By the time she recovered from what she’d seen and sought out Eliza, her friend produced a theatrical parting smile.

Oh, Eliza. What have you done? It never boded well to encourage Samuel.

She watched their retreating figures and wondered how far Samuel would go to get what he wanted. Would he hurt her blameless friend to get back at her as he’d done so often with innocent animals or the tenants on the estate?

“Lady Lora, are you unwell? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Startled from her nightmarish musings, she cast a worrisome glance at the tall man who appeared at her side.

Oh, why did the duke have to be so handsome?

His chiseled brow and sculpted jawline housed the finest set of lips she’d ever seen, setting her heart aflutter.

“You are mistaken. I was speaking briefly to my cousin.”

“I’ve been told some men are returning from Waterloo behaving like ghosts of themselves.”

Heartbreaking. In Samuel’s case, however, she knew he would never put himself in harm’s way. He was a coward, through and through. “My cousin appears unchanged.”

“That, too, can be detrimental. If I have learned anything in my sessions in parliament, it is this. A man hides many faces.”

A woman does too. “Are you suggesting that Samuel is hiding something?”

“Only you can answer that. I do not know the man.”

I have every reason not to trust him. She flipped open her fan to cool the flush creeping into her face, desiring to hide any emotion she might unwittingly expose at the mere mention of her cousin. “What is there not to know? His embellishments are there for all to see, Your Grace.”

He cleared his throat. “I did not come to interrogate you. You have my word as a gentleman. Rather, I came to apologize.”

“What do you have to apologize for, Your Grace?”

He peered at her intently. “My previous conduct.”

“I suspect it is I who should apologize to you.” She fanned her face faster.

She regretted jumping to conclusions, but she would never regret his touch, his nearness, or his leather and sandalwood scent.

She met his stare, feeling an unreasonable desire to unburden herself of these feelings for reasons which beggared belief.

“You have not offended me, nor do I believe you are capable of doing so. It takes a great deal more than a dance to bend my will.”

An instant wistfulness stole his expression. “Be that as it may, allow me to explain.”

She nodded, hesitantly. “Very well.”

He shifted on his feet and searched the crowd where friends and acquaintances mingled, his size making it unlikely he missed a thing taking place. “There is . . . That is to say?—”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, a sudden urge to shift the conversation gripping her like a vise. “It just occurred to me that I have neglected to offer my condolences, Your Grace.”

Raucous laughter and snatches of music filled the air, a stark contrast to the serious turn of their conversation. “You heard?”

“News of this nature is hard to conceal, especially in Kingston.” He, of course, alluded to the death of his butler, but she did not.

Rather, she intended him to believe that she was offering condolences for his father’s death.

She clutched her neck, assuming a look of innocence, at odds with herself for tricking him into revealing what he knew about the thieves who tried to break into his home.

“Since your brief return for your father’s funeral, I have not had the opportunity to extend my sympathies and?—”

“You misunderstand, Lady Lora.”

She had him. “What is there to misunderstand?”

The look he gave her filled her with dread. “So, you have not heard.”

“Heard, what? Is there something I should know? Has something happened to threaten our gathering?”

He led her to a potted palm. “There is no easy way to say this. Thieves broke into my estate several nights ago.”

Wearied by indecision, she asked, “Was anyone harmed?”

“Yes.” Muscles ticked in his jaw as he studied her. “Stuart, my butler, did not survive.”

She no longer had to pretend. The sounds of the wood, the hunt, the urgency of that night flooded back, reminding her how fragile life was.

“No.” The word barely escaped her mouth before guilt overwhelmed her. Thankfully, the duke attributed her distress to the murder. He escorted her to a nearby chair and sat down beside her. “How?” she asked, fearing the blame he would undoubtedly lay at her feet.

“I did not mean to upset you with this news, Lady Lora. I only speak of it to warn you that the countryside isn’t safe. To understand why, I am determined to learn as much as I can about the area and its people.”

“I am terribly sorry about your butler. Had he been in your employ long?”

“Most of my life. Stuart dedicated himself to my father, but he also meant a great deal to me.”

“What happened to him?”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t discuss this. I do not want to frighten you.”

“I must know,” she insisted.

He breathed in a long breath. “Upon my recent return from London, I arrived to find my estate in chaos. Staff were scrambling to search the woods for thieves that had broken into the house. Later, I discovered that Stuart had been stabbed while trying to stop them.”

“Did he suffer terribly . . . in the end?”

“I cannot say.”

A tight knot within her begged for release. “Was he able to tell you who stabbed him?”

“No. But I almost caught one villain,” he said grimly.

She pressed on, eager to find out what he knew. “What did this villain look like?”

“She rode a white horse and wore a red cloak.”

“She?” Her composure nearly cracked. Good God! He blames me for his butler’s murder!

“Yes.” He rose in one fluid motion. “She will not be easy to trap, but capture her, I shall.”

She raised her fan, swallowing with difficulty.

Samuel desired Nicholas’s inheritance. She wanted to avenge Nicholas. And the duke plotted to unveil her identity.

What was she to do?