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Relief firmed in Drew’s chest; she was taking his side. He pushed himself off the wall and straightened, looking at Mary.

She glared at her father as Marlow glared at him.

Her father’s timing was perfect; to arrive when they’d been in bed made the situation absolutely clear. He had to let Mary marry Drew now, and marry him publicly to avoid scandal.

Mary’s fingers closed about Drew’s arm as she stood at his side, in only her underwear, defending him like a shield. Her hair brushed his neck where his collar hung loose as her chin lifted defiantly in the expression he had come to know and admire. ‘He loves me too.’

It was surely true, he had lived under her spell for two days; he did not wish it broken.

Her father’s slate-coloured eyes judged Drew a liar and a thief.

Marlow had a hard edge when he wished to reveal it. But Drew was not cowed. He smiled, pride burning like fire in his chest. Mary was standing with him: against them. Say and think what they liked, her family could go to hell.

Marlow’s fist lifted as though he would strike again.

‘Papa, it is not his fault.’

‘Whose fault is this then? Yours?’ Marlow growled at her. ‘Who approached who? Was this elopement your idea? You love him because he wants you to love him! He is playing with you! You have been seduced and manipulated!’ Marlow reached for Mary’s wrist and tried to pull her away.

She yanked her arm free and instead wrapped her arms around Drew’s middle.

Marlow’s palm hit Drew’s shoulder with a hard shove of frustration.

The force knocked Drew back against the wall and Mary fell with him. Drew’s arms surrounded her and held her steady.

‘How can you know?’ he fought back. ‘Have you ever spoken to me? You cannot know!’ Marlow was wrong, he had not abused her trust. He loved her. He had neither seduced nor tricked her, merely convinced her of that fact.

‘I know you,’ Pembroke stated, his silver eyes so like Mary’s but without the softness. They flashed ice-blue fire. ‘I’ve seen you manipulate women. You are a selfish, greedy, bastard!’

The insult hit. It was the one insult that always hit, because it was true. Drew’s hands fisted, but he did not strike. He knew he was in the wrong here.

Pembroke’s arm rose.

Drew pushed Mary out of the way.

Pembroke’s fist hit Drew’s jaw.

His mouth filled with bitter blood.

Mary screamed and her father shouted.

Then Drew was slammed against the wall by the hand Marlow pressed around his neck, the grip throttling him. In that same moment, Marlow thrust a sharp punch at Drew’s side. Drew tried to turn away from it but Marlow’s fist caught his lower back and knocked the air from Drew’s lungs.

Her father could throw a vicious punch. He laughed internally.

Then the hand at his throat shoved Drew away, and Marlow’s fist caught him firmly in the ribs. Drew’s amusement ceased as a snap in his side and a sudden lancing, excruciating pain had him bending forwards and fighting for breath.

Mary screamed.

Marlow stood still, breathing hard, watching Drew double over and fall onto his hands and knees. He spat the blood from his mouth. The first punch would have given him a black eye as well as a cut mouth.

He knew they would hit him, he also knew they would not kill him. That would have left Mary in an impossible position; unmarried and possibly with child. He had planned this for that reason. If they caught up with them on a flight to Gretna and Mary was still a virgin, they would have called him out, or shot him on the spot, but this way, their fate was already sealed.

Regaining control of his breathing and ignoring the pain which roared like a demon, Drew stood. One hand pressed against the pain in his side, the other wiped the blood from his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt.

Beyond Marlow, Drew saw that they had an audience in the hall; other occupants of the inn stood watching. Because Drew only wore a shirt the reason for this argument was loud and clear.

Following Drew’s gaze, Pembroke turned and slammed the door shut in their faces.

Mary’s fingers touched Drew’s side. ‘We are to be married.’

‘And yet he could not wait until then,’ her father said accusingly.

Drew smiled, belittling her father’s judgement.

‘Do you really think he intended taking you to Gretna?’ Marlow snarled, his stare challenging her.

A tear rolled down her cheek.

Drew was a na?ve fool when it came to love – more na?ve than she was in other things; he had known this scene would come and not once considered what this would mean to her. Her chin lifted, defiance shining in her glassy, moistened eyes, as tears streaked her cheeks.

He wrapped his arm, the sleeve bloody from wiping his cut mouth, around her shoulders and pulled her to him.

‘He does not have the money to even get you there,’ her brother said bitterly. ‘The duns were at his apartment when we called there, they had heard he’d disappeared.’

‘Mary, listen to us,’ her father said, suddenly deflated. ‘If he wished to reach Gretna and not be found, why are you still here at nearly eleven?’ He put his hand in his coat pocket, withdrew a card and threw it so it spiralled to the floor at Mary’s bare feet. ‘And why would he leave his calling card at the last inn and ensure you were noticed at every toll gate? He asked the last man to recommend this inn so we would know where you were. He has been leaving a trail, he wanted us to follow. He cannot have the funds to reach the border, and he cannot afford to keep you. He needs me to pay for your wedding…’ He sighed heavily.

Drew fought the pain in his side, standing straighter and holding Mary close. ‘Lacking money is not a crime.’ Except that he owed people, and that was. But Mary knew why they had not hurried to the border. She had wanted her father to catch up as much as he had, albeit for a different reason. Marrying in London would cement his status in the Pembroke family. A hushed wedding in Gretna would only increase the scandal that had surrounded him all his life.

Marlow and Pembroke ignored him.

‘Mary, he does not love you.’ Pembroke’s tone and temper were less harsh now. ‘He loves your wealth.’

She shook her head, but he could feel her confidence slipping as her hand fell away from him. He clung to her with an aggressive desire to keep what was his. This was like standing at one end of a hemp rope playing tug of war, and poor Mary was the rope. He would not let go. They could not pull her free anyway, she must become his wife.

‘But it is pointless us arguing. It is too late. You made your choice,’ Marlow said.

‘He does love me,’ Mary stated in trembling defiance.

‘He doesn’t know how to love, but he does know how to lie,’ Pembroke mocked. ‘You may think him in love with you, but he asked Kate to go to bed with him the same night he danced with you last season.’

Drew felt like he had been punched in the gut again. Damn Pembroke… He had asked her, but it was not a serious offer. If she had agreed he would have declined. It was only because Pembroke annoyed him. ‘It was a joke,’ he thrust back.

Mary’s lips parted as she looked at him with shock and she stepped away.

Drew’s pain intensified, emotional now as well as physical.

If Mary loved him, she should trust him.

Her arms hung limp at her sides, her eyes expressing her confusion. ‘It is true…?’

‘It was over a year ago. I said it to annoy him because he was warning you against me.’

She turned away and picked up her clothes.

The devil take it… He would not demean himself and beg for her understanding.

Mary! his inner voice shouted.

‘It would serve him well if I withheld your dowry,’ Pembroke said. ‘But I cannot leave you in poverty, Mary, which I presume is why he bedded you, to make sure we agreed the match.’

Pembroke walked across the room to where Mary stood with her clothes once more clutched to her chest. ‘Mary…’ He touched her arm. ‘Do not trust him. I’m sure he’s seduced you with kisses and words of love, but they are false. I’m sorry.’

She was as still and pale as a statue.

She was listening to him.

Drew’s muscles stiffened. If it would have gained him anything he would have hit Pembroke. But there was no point, Marlow would join the fight and Drew would end up more bruised and have gained nothing.

Damn her, why was she listening?

You should be loyal!

Drew’s instinct was to reach for her but even begging her physically to believe him and not them would unman him. He would look vulnerable in front of them.

‘I warned you,’ her father said, raising an arm, as Drew had earlier, offering to hold her.

She walked quicker to her father than she had ever walked to him, and embraced him as he embraced her.

Mary! You know they are wrong! Drew gritted his teeth on the words his pride would not let him shout. Her rejection stung even more as she sobbed against her father’s shoulder as though Drew had hurt her. He had tried so hard not to hurt her…

Drew turned away and picked up his underwear.

The pain in his side burned as he dressed. Already there was a vivid red bruise spreading across his side.

He looked at Mary’s father as he secured the buttons of his waistcoat. ‘You will want to obtain a special licence, or perhaps you would prefer to wait for the bans and have a public wedding so that society believes this was not clandestine.’ He picked up his boots without looking at Mary.

Marlow’s expression said, I would prefer to kill you .

‘I am sure you wish to protect Mary’s reputation. But remember, a child may arrive early if we wait for the bans.’ Drew’s voice deliberately thrust their punches back at them. Fuck them and their lies.

Marlow glared.

‘A licence or bans…’ Drew mocked him as he sat to pull on his stockings and boots. Drew could say, I love her . He could promise to protect and care for her. He did not. Why should he make promises to a man who had no respect for him? Let Marlow sweat. Let him fear for his child. Let him believe what he liked.

Drew stood.

Marlow looked at Mary. ‘What do you wish for?’

Drew looked at her too, as he picked up his morning coat. Her pale gaze looked at him as though she looked at a stranger – with doubt, not love.

A sour taste filled his mouth. It was not blood; it was the taste of disgust. He felt betrayed. Yet, he was even more convinced he loved her because it hurt so much. He wanted to be everything to her because she was all to him.

Anger and jealousy twisted inside him as his soul screamed. You should know nothing they said is true! But he would not vocalise it still. He had never begged anyone in his life, for anything. But God, her rejection kicked the hardest of all. He should have known he could not compete against the deep affections that ran like a seam of granite through her family. Not like granite, like gold. Love like that was as precious as gold – he understood that much about love now.

Drew looked away from her.

‘Obtain a special licence, Papa.’

‘I will hire a carriage from this inn. A groom will drive your rig back, Framlington. I want you where I can see you. I shall send up a maid to help you dress, Mary.’ Marlow had taken back control.

Pembroke hovered near the door, watching. ‘None of us can help you now,’ he told Mary.

She said nothing.

Damn it. He looked at Marlow. ‘There is no need to send for a maid. I shall help Mary dress, and we will join you downstairs.’

Her father’s and brother’s heads spun to look at him.

He was to be Mary’s husband. He had learned every inch of her body in the last few days. It was too late for prudishness.

Marlow looked at Mary. She nodded her agreement. There was some hope for him if she did not fear being alone with him.

‘Do not be long,’ Marlow ordered, then he and Pembroke left the room.

Drew walked across and locked the door behind them. When he turned Mary was sliding her dress over her head, not bothering with her short corset. Presumably because she did not want him to lace it.

He wanted to say something to make her feel as she had before her family arrived. Yet what could he say? He was not sorry for anything he had done. He loved her. And this was the only way her father would agree a marriage. At least, no matter what happened now, he would have her money. His heart may be as wounded as his ribs, but his purse would be full. I am not sorry. Everything he told her was true.

What of her? Did she not love him now? Was love that fleeting? Perhaps it was for him; because of who he was.

She turned her back, showing him the buttons that needed to be secured. He sighed and went to her. She stood stiffly as his fingers worked. Last night her body had been pliant like soft clay to be moulded into a beautiful sculpture.

When all the buttons were secure, he went to the washbowl to pack away his razor and brush. He watched in the mirror as Mary pulled on her stockings. She did not look at him.