And despite the histrionics that were her Vaux heritage-the family weren’t known as “the vile-tempered Vaux” without cause-she wasn’t a female who worried unduly.

Which explained why she was there, appealing to him.

To the man she knew him to be.

One who had never been able to refuse her anything. Not even his heart.

She’d held his gaze steadily. Now she simply asked, in her low, raspy-seductive-voice, “Will you help?”

He looked into her eyes, and realized she didn’t, in fact, know how he would answer. Didn’t know how deeply in thrall to her he still was. Which meant…

He arched a brow. “How much is my help worth to you?”

She blinked, then searched his face, his eyes; hers narrowed. After a pregnant pause during which she assessed and considered his true meaning, she replied, “You know perfectly well I’ll do anything-anything-to clear Justin’s name.”

Absolute decision, total commitment, rang in her tone.

He inclined his head. “Very well.”

He heard himself urbanely agree; he hadn’t known he would, certainly hadn’t thought what he might ask of her in return. Wasn’t even sure of his motives in pressing such a bargain on her, but “anything” gave him a wide field.

Revenge of a sort for all the years of hurt might yet be his.

At the thought, he stirred, whether in discomfort or anticipation not even he could say. “Tell me what happened-the sequence of events leading to Randall’s death as you know it.”

Letitia hesitated, then gathered the black reticule that had sat throughout in her lap. “Come to the house.” Rising, she reached up and flipped down her veil. “It’ll be easier to explain there.”

She’d thought it would be easier-having places and things to point out to distract him-but having him by her side again kept her nerves in a state of perpetual reactiveness. Ready to respond to any touch, however slight, to luxuriate in the steady warmth that radiated from his large body, luring her closer.