Edward had not understood what was happening, but he had rushed outside and hurtled his way into the closest clump of bushes, where he had vomited for several minutes. He knew after that that he had Rachel in his power. He had never used his advantage, though the had pleaded with him later that same day and watched him out of anxious eyes for weeks afterward. After that she had fawned on him, praised him in his father's presence, bought him gifts. And he had gradually withdrawn more and more inside himself, refusing for the rest of his father's life to so much as recognize her existence. She had married the groom one week after his father's death, five days after Edward had dismissed the man from his service. He could still not understand why they had left that door unlocked.

“Your table is ready, my lord," a waiter said with a discreet cough at Raymore's elbow.

The earl indicated by raising his half-empty glass that he would adjourn to the dining room as soon as his drink was finished. He must have been a slow learner, he thought, a sneer marring his face, to have trusted another woman. But during his first full Season in London, fresh down from Oxford, he had fallen in love with Annette Longford-tiny, vivacious, pretty Annette. He had spent hours dreaming of her, and as many hours contriving meetings when they could converse with some privacy and perhaps touch each other. She was the sweetest, truest person he had ever known. When he gazed into her wide hazel eyes, he beheld perfect innocence.

They had been formally betrothed after three months, and Edward had accepted an invitation to spend the annnmer months on her father's estate. They were to be married at the end of August. The months had been Suss, heaven on earth. As they were betrothed and so soon to be married, they had been allowed more freedom than Edward had ever expected.