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Today the wind raced them, and the sun urged them on. Brook made little use of the stirrups, which had been set for longer legs than hers, and held on with her knees. If Pratt were out supposedly helping look for her, he would, she hoped, stay near the roads. So she headed for the sea.

It crashed its greeting. Waves on shore, clouds skidding overhead as accents to the sun. After days in darkness, she soaked up the warm light with joy.

“Ye are all the children of
light, and the children of the day
.
”
A promise too easily forgotten in the darkness.

The moment they crossed over to that familiar mark where they would always turn around, her heart leaped. And Oscuro put on a renewed burst of speed. He, too, knew home.

Figures appeared, mounted. For a moment she worried that it might be Pratt—but the lead horse was black. He had no black horse that she had ever seen. And given the way Oscuro shifted direction to angle for them, she let her heart leap. It must be Tempesta. No matter who rode her, it meant a friend, and a laugh tickled her throat.

The laugh turned to a shout when she caught the gleam of sunlight on a blond head. Justin. It was Justin.

An echo of a shout came her way too, woven into the rush of water and the cry of gulls overhead. He waved, but she didn’t let go the reins to wave back. Better to hold on and let the stallion run faster than he ever had before.

Justin pulled ahead of whoever rode alongside him on one of the bays—Papa? Brice? Soon she could make out her beloved’s form, his face.

His beautiful, strong, unmarked face. If he had indeed attacked Pratt yesterday, there was no question who the victor had been. She pulled Oscuro up to a halt and leaped from his back to cover the last few feet.

“Brook!” Justin’s feet hit the ground too, and seconds later his arms were around her. “Brook.
Mon amour
. Are you hurt? If he hurt you, I’ll kill him.”

The laughter bubbled up again. Right then, the ache in her head meant nothing. She wrapped her arms tight around him and pulled his head down for a kiss. Quick but hard, exuberant. “I’m fine,” she breathed against his mouth. “I’m home, and I’m fine. And you’re fine. Pratt told me he’d killed you.”

“What?” His arms tightened around her, and he buried his face in her hair. “Never.”

“He had your ring.”

“He has my
ring
?”

“Had. He threw it at me. It’s in my pocket.”

“He must have slipped it off when I shook his hand—right before I socked him in the nose.” He squeezed her, and then he set her back a few inches and traced her face with his gaze. His eyes darkened. “You’re bruised. He
did
hurt you. Tell me that at least it was you who put the scratches on his face.”

“I would have gouged out his eyes had he not knocked me out with his pistol. What was the shot I heard? It set me to
screaming, which got the attention of one of the groundsmen. He just led us out.”

Justin’s grin was boyish, unrepentant. “We had a bit of a scuffle. The constable fired a shot into the air.”

“A bit of a scuffle?” Brice’s voice brought Brook’s gaze up. He dismounted, more leisurely. The usual mirth in his grin couldn’t disguise the relief in it—or the circles under his eyes. “Stafford would have pounded him to a pulp.” He stepped nearer and put a hand on her shoulder. “If I may, Duke.”

Brook wasn’t sure what exactly had changed between these two, but Justin let her go with naught but a lifted brow. Brice gave her a quick embrace. “I knew something bad was going to happen.”

Stretching to her toes, she kissed his cheek. “And you came from London to help. You’re a true friend, Brice.”

“They couldn’t have handled the press without me.” With a wink, he propelled her back into Justin’s arms. “Did you see our article yet?”

“It’s what let me know Justin wasn’t dead.” And being tucked to his side was pure bliss.

Nearly as much as hearing the rumble of Justin’s chuckle. “You should have seen Worthing yesterday when he arrived. Clothes wrinkled. Hair out of place.”

“Extenuating circumstances.”

A metallic sound cut through her laugh, one she recognized only vaguely. A shotgun being pumped. “
Non
.”

They all spun at the same time, even as Pratt stepped out of the trees. He held the weapon at the ready, pointed at the three of them. “Well, well. Look at this lovely target. I bet I could fell all three of you with the scatter shot.”

Before she could even mutter a prayer, Justin and Brice had both put themselves between her and Pratt. Justin kept his hand clamped on her arm—he knew her too well, knew how she readied to elbow her way back up.

“Are you too stupid to know when you’ve been beaten, Pratt?” Justin’s fingers squeezed a warning into her arm. Begging, that pressure, begging her to stay put. “There’s no winning now.”

How could a face look so shadowed in full sunlight? His eyes spewed hatred at them. “You think I didn’t know this was a possibility? I’m about to disappear—and one of you is coming with me until I do, to assure my safety. Worthing? You look like you’re in the mood for self-sacrifice. Spare the lovebirds another separation, hmm?”

“Don’t even think about it, Brice.” Brook kept her voice too quiet for Pratt to hear over the pounding surf behind them and knotted a hand in the back of his jacket to make sure he took her advice. “He could well kill you—and even if not, he’ll only come back. He’ll not give up on the diamonds so easily.”

Brice shook his head. “You would abandon your wife, Pratt? And she with child?”

Brook’s hand nearly went lax.

Pratt edged closer. “Kitty’s resourceful. And she would fare better with an absent husband than an imprisoned one.”

No doubt they already had a plan to rendezvous. No doubt Kitty knew every facet of his plan, had helped him devise it.

The betrayal still pierced.

Justin turned his head a fraction toward her. “I have a pistol at my back,” he said in Monegasque. “Pull it out, Brooklet—you’re the better shot. I’ll get Worthing out of the way.”

“What did you say?” Pratt stomped closer, his eyes wild and his finger twitching. “Don’t try anything. A hostage would be handy, but if I have to kill you all and make a run for it, I’ll do it.”

Father, help us
. When Justin’s fingers loosened, she moved her arm to his back, slid her hand under his jacket, doing her best not to move the fabric. The pistol was at the small of his back, the grip warm under her hand.

Pratt’s gaze arrowed into hers. “Step away from the baroness, gentlemen. Now.”

“Dive,” she whispered. “Both of you. On the count of
trois
.
Un.
”

Pratt brought the butt of the shotgun to his shoulder, his lips compressed.

“
Deux
.” Brook pulled the pistol free. Pratt’s finger moved to the trigger. She brought the weapon up, shouting, “
Trois!
”

The men lunged to the side, but a shot ripped the air before her finger touched the trigger.

Pratt jerked. The shotgun fell. Eyes glazed, he staggered to his knees and then collapsed.

The constable stood behind him, pistol still smoking. Papa was at his side, looking ready to empty his revolver into Pratt’s still form, but the constable put a hand on his arm. “I’ll take care of him, my lord.”

A cloud cleared from her father’s eyes. He passed his gun to the constable and ran forward. Brook handed Justin’s back too and met Papa in a fierce embrace. The moment his arms came about her, a cry took hold of her throat. “Papa. I’m sorry. I never wanted you to go through that again.”

He held her tight, sucked in a deep breath. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters, my precious girl.”

“She thought you were dead.” She pulled away enough to look into his face. “He had Maman’s journal, and that’s what Mother told her. She thought you were dead, thought they would kill me next. That’s why she sent me away.”

Papa rested a hand on her cheek. “I would have gladly gone the rest of my life without knowing why, if it had spared you this.”

She covered his hand with hers. “But I’m safe. And now we know.”

“We do. And praise be to God, you are.” He kissed her forehead.

Hiram ran their way, panic on his face. “Lady Berkeley! Is Deirdre with you?”

A smile tugged. “Following on foot, led by the constable’s cousin. They both deserve a hero’s welcome. She will be glad to see you, Hiram.”

Hiram needed no more urging—he took off at a run in the direction she indicated.

The constable removed his hand from Pratt’s neck and shook his head. “He’s dead, which was not my goal. But Antony helped you?”

“We never would have escaped without him.”

With a satisfied nod, the constable stood. “Good. Now—go home, have a meal, rest. When you’re ready, I’ve questions.”

“And I’ve the answers.”

“When my men get here, I’ll leave them to see to the body. I’ve a conversation to have with Lady Pratt—and no doubt a few servants to arrest.”

Brook’s back went stiff at mention of Catherine. She
had
to have been involved—but Pratt hadn’t once mentioned her. Brook had never seen her. Other than the one time she’d demanded the Fire Eyes, she had, it seemed, kept her hands clean. It had been Pratt who hired Jenkins to attack her, Pratt who killed the major. Pratt who kidnapped her and Deirdre. A sick knot twisted in her stomach. They would have nothing to accuse Catherine of. No proof of her involvement.

She would walk free.

Papa rubbed a hand over Brook’s back, no doubt feeling the tension. “Dust yourselves off, gentlemen, and let’s go home. I daresay the chef has cooked enough for an army as he prayed.”

Brook wouldn’t let Catherine ruin her homecoming. She made herself grin at the exaggerated look on Brice’s face as he brushed the sandy soil from his trousers, and then she turned
to Justin, her hand in her pocket again. The gold of his ring was warm and smooth—she’d cleaned it off with some of the water earlier. As he straightened his jacket, she stepped away from her father and held it out to him.

His grin bloomed, lopsided and mischievous, to match the gleam in his eyes. “Are you proposing, my lady, with that ring?”

She grinned right back and dropped to one knee. “Will you marry me, Duke?”

Laughter rang out all around her. Justin’s loudest of all as he gripped her by the arm and pulled her back to her feet. “Get up, you fool woman. And yes.” He planted a kiss soundly on her lips and snatched the ring from her hand. “I most assuredly will.” The gold back where it belonged, he slid an arm around her and came back for a second, slower kiss. “I’ll ask you properly once we’re back to Whitby Park. I’ve a ring in my room there too. It’s a bit smaller. Has more sparkle. Was my mother’s.”

She nestled into his side as her father gathered the horses’ reins. “Your
yes
was binding, sir—asking again would be redundant. But I’ll be proud to wear your mother’s ring.”

Justin leaned down again, fire in his eyes.

Brice’s hands appeared between them, forcing their faces apart. “I’ve had trauma enough for one day.” He shoved his way between them, grinning all the while as he slung an arm over each of their shoulders. “Am I best man, Stafford? Or will I have to fight Thate for the honor?”

“You’ll have to fight
me
, if you don’t get out of my way.”

“Touchy, touchy.” With a wink, Brice slid his arms free and moved ahead of them as the constable called out a greeting for Antony and Deirdre, safely out of the trees. “Brook will defend me if you try to pummel me. Isn’t that right, my lady?”

“Not this time.” She slid her arm around Justin’s waist and tilted her face up toward his. She knew it, knew every feature
and expression. And loved none so well as the way he looked at her now. As if she were his yesterday, his today. His tomorrow. “
Je t’aime.
”

His smile spoke as much as his words. “And I love you. Always.”

E
PILOGUE

L
ATE
A
UGUST
1911

T
he summer sun beat down hot and glorious upon them. The North Sea wind whipped and refreshed. Justin let go of the hand he held so that he could slide his arm around her waist instead, content to stand in the sand with Brook and do nothing but watch the waves roll in.

She rested her head against his shoulder. “I’m still not sure how I shall survive for months on end without the sea at hand.”

Chuckling, Justin pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll keep you well distracted, Duchess. I promise. And whenever you can’t suffer it anymore, we’ll come back here.”

“If my father will have you, after you stole his footman.” She gave him a cheeky grin and walked her fingers up his chest.

It was nearly enough to ruin a man’s concentration. Justin chuckled and indulged in a long, slow kiss. When he had mentioned before the honeymoon that Peters wanted to move on, out of domestic service, Whitby had been the one to suggest he take on Hiram, so that he and Deirdre could travel together
whenever Justin and Brook did. A fine solution. Justin and Hiram didn’t know each other well yet, but he could appreciate a man who went through each day with such good cheer.