The Handmaiden's Necklace. Kat Martin

walked over and poured himself a brandy. He was nearly as tall as Rafe, several years older, and thin to the point of gaunt. His face was weathered and hard, the deep lines hinting at the sort of life he led. Thick black hair, always a little too long, curled over the back of his plain brown tailcoat.

      Max poured a glass of brandy for Rafe, walked over and handed him the drink. “You look like you could use this.”

      For the first time Rafe realized that Max was speaking with an American accent. In France, he’d spoken French like a countryman. He was a man who stayed mostly in shadow and he never slipped out of whatever role he played. In Max’s line of work, such talents were invaluable.

      Rafe took a swallow of brandy, grateful for its inner warmth. “Thank you.”

      “You said Danielle came here to be married.”

      “That’s right.”

      “Have you met the man?”

      “Briefly. From what I’ve been able to find out, he’s a very successful businessman, a widower with a daughter and a son.”

      “Is your lady in love with him?”

      One of Rafe’s dark eyebrows went up. “Danielle is no longer my lady, and I have no idea. She wouldn’t tell me.”

      “Interesting…” Max took a long draw on his brandy. “In that case, I suppose it’s something you need to find out.”

      He scoffed. “Why? Lots of people marry for reasons other than love.”

      “You said you wished there was something you could do to make up for what happened in the past.”

      “I said that. As far as I can see there isn’t a damn thing I can do.”

      “If the lady doesn’t love the man she is going to wed, then you might consider wedding her yourself. She could return to England, to her aunt and her family. More important, marrying her would end the gossip, set the wagging tongues to rest and make your lady’s innocence clear once and for all.”

      Rafe’s chest squeezed. There was a time he had wanted to marry Danielle above all things. That time was long past—wasn’t it?

      Or had the thought been brewing in his head ever since he had found out the truth of her innocence? Was that the true reason he had gone to see the Earl of Throckmorton in regard to his betrothal to Mary Rose?

      He had asked the earl that the wedding be postponed and was surprised—and secretly relieved—when the earl suggested the betrothal be ended completely.

      “I believe I have made a mistake where my daughter is concerned,” the earl had said. “Mary Rose is so young, so innocent. A worldly man like you…a man so much older. It’s obvious you’re a virile man of very strong appetites…to put it bluntly, Your Grace, my daughter is completely intimidated by you, and particularly frightened of sharing a bed with you. I don’t believe, even over time, that is going to change.”

      Rafe could hardly believe his ears. The man was giving up the chance to wed his daughter to a duke. It simply did not happen in the world of the ton.

      “Are you certain ending the betrothal is what Mary Rose wants? I would be patient with her…give her a chance to get used to me.”

      “I’m certain you would, Rafael. I hope you understand I am doing what I believe is best for my daughter.”

      It was surprising, and Rafe gave high marks to the earl. “I understand completely. And I respect you greatly for putting your daughter’s best interests first. I’m grateful for your honesty and I wish Mary Rose every happiness.”

      Though he should have been depressed, should have been angry that his plans for the future had been ruined for the second time in his life, Rafe had left the house feeling as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He didn’t understand it. He had imagined a future, a family, with Mary Rose.

      He looked up at Max Bradley, sipping brandy in the parlor of his suite. “Though I admit the notion of marrying Danielle has merit, there is the small matter of her dislike of me. If I asked for her hand, she would most certainly refuse.”

      “I suppose that’s for you to find out. And of course, there is the not so small matter of whether or not you still care for the girl.”

      Did he care? Today he had looked at Dani and seen her as he had five years ago, seen her without the taint of his hatred, a beautiful young woman, intelligent and caring. A woman innocent of the betrayal he had so ruthlessly accused her of committing.

      “I want Danielle to be happy. I owe her that much and I am determined to see that it happens—one way or another.”

      Max clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, then, good luck, my friend. It sounds like you’re going to need it.” Max took a final sip of his brandy and set the glass down on the mahogany table in front of the sofa. “In the meantime, I’ve got a number of things to do. If my information proves correct, I may need your help.”

      Rafe had told Colonel Pendleton he would help in any way he could. “Just let me know what you need me to do.”

      Max simply nodded. Seconds later he was gone from the room, disappearing as quietly as he had arrived, and Rafe’s thoughts returned to Danielle.

      He owed her the chance at happiness that he had stolen from her. To do that, he needed to know more about the man she was to wed.

      Rafe smiled grimly.

      Rising from the sofa, he walked over to the silver salver sitting on the Sheraton table in the entry. He picked up the folded piece of paper he had received that morning, an invitation from Mrs. William Clemens to a small dinner party at her home that evening.

      Sometimes it paid to be a duke.

      Rafe had already sent word that he would be delighted to attend.

      The intimate supper with Richard’s family, Danielle discovered, would be dinner with twenty people, all formally dressed, arriving in expensive carriages at Richard’s mother’s elegant brick residence in Society Hill.

      Richard had his own, slightly smaller but no less elegant home just a few blocks away, as well as a cottage in Easton that he used whenever he was there working, which apparently happened quite often.

      Dani had spent the afternoon with Richard’s mother; Richard’s son, William Jr.; and his daughter, Sophie—their first real time together. Richard had been with them for a while, but the children seemed to prey on his nerves and he made an excuse to leave.

      Dani almost didn’t blame him. William and Sophie had argued and fought and thrown tantrums through most of the day. They were still arguing when Dani prepared to return to Aunt Flora’s house on Arch Street so that she could change out of her day dress and into a more elaborate gown for the evening.

      They were still at it when she and Aunt Flora returned at seven o’clock to join the first of the supper guests.

      “Give me back my horse!” William Jr. was seven years old, Sophie only six. Both were blond, William with brown eyes and Sophie with green. Both looked a good deal like their father.

      “It’s my horse,” Sophie argued. “You gave it to me.”

      “I didn’t give it to you—I only let you play with it!”

      “Children, please…” Dani hurried toward them, hoping she could stop this latest row before more of the guests arrived. Earlier in the day, their grandmother had tried to placate them with gifts, a toy horse for William, a new doll for Sophie, though the bedchamber they used when they came for a visit overflowed with toys she had given them before.

      “Your grandmother’s guests have begun to arrive. You don’t want them thinking you are ill-mannered.”

      William whirled on her viciously. “We don’t have to do anything you say! We don’t like you!”

      They