Chapter One

April 1819

"Did I just hear you slander my sister, you vile, pathetic little worm of a man?  Please say that I did, for I would very much like to see you suffer greatly for your disgusting words, you wretched heap of refuse."

Lady Caroline Turner heard the deep rumbling voice before she saw him, her heart seizing in her chest.  No.  It could not be.  She did not even dare to hope.  Gibson had informed her just the other day that Marcus, though recovering admirably, was still not completely well and had not responded to numerous pleas to return to London to oversee his ailing mother's care.  That was the singular reason why she had forged the letter, after all.

Yet that voice could belong to no other.  She had heard it so many times in her dreams, clung to the sound of that deep baritone as if it were a talisman.  On this night, Marcus had returned to London and her heart soared at the realization.

Slowly, she turned toward the source of the voice, vaguely aware of her friend Lady Jane Ashford standing beside her, clearly just as overcome with awe as Caroline was.  Jane's family was hosting the evening's musicale and for a moment, it crossed Caroline's mind that for the second year in a row, the Devonmont musicale was home to some type of grand social spectacle.  The previous year, it was the Duke of Radcliffe's brilliant set down to some chits who were tormenting Radcliffe's future wife, Lady Julia Rosemont.  This year, Lord Marcus Cheltenham, Viscount Breckenright had returned to town and made his first public appearance in three years in Jane's family's ballroom.

Events such as these were the beginnings of legend.  Tonight's very public scandal would be yet another juicy tidbit for Lady X's gossip column the next morning.

All of that flashed through Caroline's mind in an instant and was then gone as if it had never been.  Instead, the only thing she could focus on was Marcus.  He had returned.  Still injured and clearly with some loss of eyesight, but returned just the same.  He was alive.  There had been a time when Caroline had never thought to see him draw another breath.  Now her heart was ready to burst at the sight of him, even though he was walking unsteadily despite the aid of a cane, and looking every inch the murderous brother of the woman who had just been insulted.

In the center of the room, Caroline could see Lady Amy Cheltenham, Marcus' sister, standing stiffly beside Dr. Gibson Blackwell, the man who had been one of Marcus' physicians in Bath and was now currently courting Lady Amy in secret.  The couple was deeply in love, as anyone could plainly see, including Marcus, despite his lack of vision.  It also appeared as if Marcus approved of the potential match, since he was not roaring in disgust at the good doctor, nor threatening him with any sort of bodily harm.  It was just as clear that the viscount did not approve of some of the other guests at the musicale, in particular the man he had just termed a wretched heap of refuse.  Not that Caroline disagreed with assessment.  In fact, she found it rather astute.

Lord Norton Drake stood in front of the assembled group bristling with rage, the very man who had just dared to insult Lady Amy in front of some of the most influential members of the ton, including Lord Radcliffe, Lord Hathaway, Lord Chilton, and many others.  It was also quite clear that Marcus wanted to snap Drake's neck where he stood and simply be done with the matter.  It was also rather obvious that the viscount had the strength to do it.

That was a welcome change and she could not completely hide the relief that swept through her body when she took the full measure of him.  The last time Caroline had seen Marcus, he had been lying in his bed, his body covered in dried blood - pale, weak and emaciated.  Simply put, he had been dying.  No longer.  

Now, he was as strong and virile as she had ever seen him, including the time before she had departed London at her uncle's behest.  Marcus' muscles strained against the sleeves of his evening coat and she could see - as could every other lady in the room - the way his trousers clung to his legs, clearly outlining his muscular and powerful thighs.  It was enough to make a lady swoon where she stood.  Caroline herself might very well have done so if not for the fact that she was so glad to see Marcus alive that she could concentrate on little else.

Well that and the fact that he might well murder someone, probably Lord Drake, before the evening was done.

Words were exchanged and Drake cringed again as Marcus greeted Blackwell warmly, making Caroline wonder how good of friends they had become over the last few years.  Then before anyone could object Blackwell was sweeping Lady Amy out of the room and towards the stairs so that they might depart.  Mere moments later, Marcus, with the help of Lord Radcliffe removed Lord Drake from the room and she could not help but wonder what punishment they had in store for him.

Yet she had little time to wonder much, as her friend Lady Jane was soon enmeshed in a tangle of her own as she physically collided with Lord Sebastian St. Giles, the fifth Earl of Covington, spilling lemonade and tea cakes everywhere.  To compound matters, Jane then disappeared with Sebastian for a very inappropriate assignation in the gardens.  During that seemingly endless hour, it had taken nearly all of Caroline's considerable diversionary skills to prevent anyone from finding them or truly noticing Jane's absence.  When the potential couple had finally emerged from the gardens, Sebastian skulking off into the night, Caroline had set Jane's appearance mostly to rights before leading her back into the ballroom. Then, after she had seen her foolish friend safely ensconced in the ladies' retiring room for further repairs to her gown and coiffure, Caroline had set out in search of Marcus.

Under different circumstances, Caroline would have sought out Lady Amy and conversed with her until Marcus had appeared, but these were not normal circumstances.  Not to mention that after that long-ago day in Marcus' bedchamber, Caroline and Amy's friendship had been tested more than a bit.  They were still friends certainly, but not nearly as close as they had once been.  Despite the fact that Caroline had most likely saved Marcus' life, Amy, known as The Paragon of the ton, could not quite forgive her friend for what essentially amounted to sneaking into the house and conning the butler.

Now, Caroline kept close council with Lady Jane, though at the moment, Caroline was doubtful that Jane would be of much help either, smitten as she was with Lord Covington.  Now that was a match that Caroline could fully endorse and would do so when she next put pen to paper, probably later that night.

Before that, however, she wanted - no needed, really - to speak to Marcus, to see if he was well and how injured he still was.  She knew he had lost some, if not all of his vision in his left eye, though according to Gibson, the viscount had regained more sight than either physician had initially thought would be possible.  Caroline wanted to speak to Marcus about his time in Bath, to hear him laugh again and flash that devilish smile he had been known for.  In short, she wanted to assure herself that he was well and truly returned to London for good.

Then she stopped herself.  Foolish, foolish woman.

Caroline knew she had no right to speak to Marcus, at least not as she had before.  She had lost that right when she had been yanked unceremoniously from London just as Marcus had seriously considered courting her properly.  Or at least she suspected that was the case.  True, she had come back hoping to reclaim some of what she had lost, but then he had been gravely ill.  Shortly after that, he had been gone, whisked away to Bath to recover and once more, the tattered remains of their relationship had frayed even further.

Once, Caroline and Marcus had been true confidants in a way that was rare between men and women of the ton.  He had his clubs and his friends, including the slightly rowdy set he had run with at Eton, but he also had Caroline, for she had known him as a child, during the time when he had been ill and mostly confined to the country in hopes of improving his health.

She had grown up at Heatherton Abby, the Cheltenhams' country seat, almost as much as she had at Grayfield, her own family's estate that bordered Heatherton across a vast field that bloomed with wildflowers in the summer.  It was in that field that she and Marcus had played as children and in later years taken turns reading Mrs. Kingsley and the Black Pirate, a naughty gothic novel that had somehow ended up in Heatherton Abby's library.

Together, they had laughed themselves silly over the widowed Mrs. Kingsley and her constant need to be rescued from near death at the hands of a vile ghost haunting her castle by the rugged and romantic Black Pirate.  She and Marcus had spoken of the future, of what Marcus would study when he left for school and what Caroline would concentrate on as she prepared for her debut.  They were friends, good and true friends, which she knew would shock most of society if they knew.  Men and women, even youthful ones, were not friends.  But Caroline and Marcus were.

As the years passed, the friendship had faded a bit, worn thin with time and change, but it had never broken, at least not truly.  Then, when Marcus returned from Eton and she had made her come out, they had spent time in the same circle of friends.  They were not as close as they had once been, but the bond was still there.  As time wore on and neither of them married, they tended to seek out each other's company at balls and other social functions, confident that they were both safe from his family's and her father's match-making machinations.

In her mind, she had occasionally wondered if they were courting, if Marcus had finally come to see her as a desirable woman, one he would like to take to wife.  For she had long since fallen in love with him.  She loved him with all of her being and would have done anything to make him happy, to see the smile on his face every day.  The closer they had come to the end of that magical season, the more certain she had been that Marcus meant to offer for her and she had been beyond elated.

Then, Caroline's father passed away while visiting Greyfield on business and life as she knew it came to an abrupt end.  Her uncle, Lewis Tollston - who wasn't really her uncle though she referred to him thus because she had no idea precisely what type of relation he was to her - became the new Viscount Redwing.  

Immediately upon gaining the Redwing title, Tollston had taken Caroline away from London and all she knew.  Away from Marcus.  For four long years she had been held a virtual captive in Northumbria before her uncle was killed in a duel and the title passed to his son, her cousin, Norbert.  

Norbert was a very different man than his father had been and had done much to right his father's wrongs, including setting Caroline free.  Free to return to London and the life she had known, all of her expenses paid for the rest of her life once he righted the family's accounts and refilled the coffers.  However she discovered upon her return that much of what she had thought would be the same was really very different - including Marcus himself who had been laid low by numerous fevers over the previous year.  Then her old friend was gone as well, three more long, unending years where life in London passed and changed.  All the while, Marcus remained in Bath in hopes of regaining his health.  And Caroline was alone.

In truth, it had been nearly seven years since they had spoken last.  She had eventually learned from Amy that Marcus did not remember that day in his bedchamber, which Caroline quickly decided was just as well.  She also decided that she would be a true fool to think that they would resume the friendship they had enjoyed in years past.  Not to mention that perhaps - just perhaps, mind you - Marcus hadn't really been courting her all of those years ago.  Perhaps that had only been in her rather vivid imagination.

Perhaps nothing had been how she remembered it at all.

There was, however, one thing that was very, very certain, at least in regard to Marcus.  The man she knew and had loved was, in essence, gone.

Marcus was a different man now; she had known it upon first glance.  Oh, the brandy-hued eyes that glittered with bits of gold, brown and amber were still the same, at least in theory.  His thick, dark hair still fell in soft waves over his forehead, making many a debutante long to push it out of his eyes.  His body was sheer perfection, perhaps better than before and certainly much better than in his youth when he'd been a sickly child.

However as she rode home in her carriage later that evening, the silent streets of London passing by in a dark blur, Caroline thought back once more to the scene Marcus had caused, remembering every movement that was ingrained so deeply in her mind.  She had watched him move about the Devonmont's ballroom, saw the way he had stalked Drake even with his limited eyesight and reliance on a cane for stability.  There was a hardness about him that had not been there before, something angry that rested deep in the heart and soul of him.  Few others, if any, had seen it, she knew.  After all, they were only looking at the surface, just as society always did.  She, however, saw deeper into Marcus.  She always had.  And there she saw unspeakable pain and anger.

This was not the man she knew in her youth.  His body might be the same but his spirit was not.  In less than a moment, she had been able to discern the truth of the matter for she knew him well, probably better than most anyone, even his family.  And she did not like what she saw - a depth of pain and loneliness so deep that it seemed as if there was no end to it.  In fact, she disliked it so much that her own heart ached.  The only question was, what could she do about it?

As Lady Caroline, there was precious little she could do.  Oh, she could pay a visit to Lady Amy and make discreet inquires about Marcus' health.  And she certainly planned to do just that, perhaps even the very next day.  But she would not fool herself into thinking that she could converse with him as she once had.  Not to mention that it was not permissible for her to write to him, not even a letter.  Well, given her advanced age, perhaps one letter of welcome, but not much more and even that was pushing the boundaries of propriety.

Caroline also realized that their time to be together had passed.  She was too old and he?  He was too hard, too cynical.  They were not the old Marcus and Caroline any longer, but newer, more jaded versions of themselves.  Not to mention that both of them now possessed questionable reputations.  As a man, Marcus would be forgiven of course.  Men always were.  But she was a lady with a hidden past.  As long as she did not speak of it, she was welcomed within society, given the title of The Mystery, much her to chagrin.  One misstep, however, including seeking out Marcus' affections, could cost her much.

When she had been younger, her reputation unblemished, other young ladies had envied her relationship with the much-sought-after Viscount Breckenright.  However, Caroline's reputation was so spotless, so impeccable, that no one dared utter a word against her.  Now, shrouded in mystery as she was, her position was much more precarious.

If she sought out Marcus' affections, she would be torn to shreds, and most likely cut by all of those whom she currently called friends.  No, the woman known as The Mystery would not dare such a thing, not if she wished to stay in society.

That, however, gave Caroline an idea.  If she was The Mystery, why couldn't Marcus be the Viscount of Mystery?  She could not call him that publicly, certainly, but there was another who could.

Lady X.

The notorious gossip columnist could do much to salvage Marcus' reputation and make him the toast of the ton once more, return his sought-after bachelor status.  Find him a wife to ease the loneliness she saw in his heart.  Oh, Lady X did indeed have a vast readership that hung on every word and treated the on-dits that she penned as the absolute truth, unlike Society's Lady, who was forever getting things wrong and generally mucking about, undoing all of the good that Caroline attempted to do through her own column.

Still, Caroline knew she would have to tread carefully.  No one, other than the select few that she had taken into her strictest confidence, could know that she, Lady Caroline Turner, was also the notorious Lady X.

If even a whiff of possibility got out that she was the infamous gossip columnist, she would be ruined, with no hope of ever being welcomed anywhere again.  That type of scandal might lead people to question other things about her, about her past and what she had done in Northumbria under her uncle's care.  No, that would not do at all.

Caroline had taken great care to build a perfect life for herself once she had returned to town.  She would not risk it, not even for Marcus.  Still, she longed to erase that look of pain from his face, to give him back the happiness he had so clearly lost.  She wanted him to be whole again, to have a family and all of the things he had given up during his illness.  Now, she had the perfect way to do just that.

Marcus Cheltenham, the current Viscount Breckenright was battling a devil of a headache, not to mention a throbbing right leg.  Though he supposed it could have been worse.  He could have been nursing a bruised or possibly broken hand as well if Radcliffe had allowed him to beat Drake senseless.  The way the maggot deserved.

As it was he had only managed to land one punch to the worm's jaw before Radcliffe had suggested that if Marcus wanted to dispatch the man, doing so outside where it would not stain their hostess' carpets might be a better choice.

His friend's words had been just the right blend of humor and understanding, enough to effectively diffuse Marcus' anger for the moment.  That wasn't to say that he wasn't still furious with Drake for not only attempting to sneak behind Marcus' back to court Amy, but because he had dared to assault her character in front of the cream of society, knowing full well the irreparable damage that would have caused.  Well it would have if he had not been there tonight.

He had considered not returning to London, certainly, a part of him wanting to remain in Bath.  It was peaceful there, quiet, if not a bit lonely.  Still, remaining there was for the best, really.  He was no longer a gentlemen, at least not in the true sense.  Monster might be a more apt description for what he was now, a man with limited vision and a lame leg.  Certainly he felt that way in his heart, and knew he should not be in polite society.  There were times he wondered if he should even still be breathing at all, though those thoughts were never serious.  At least he told himself they were not.

No, despite all of the encouragement from both Dr. Hastings and Gibson, a man Marcus had come to trust with his life, to return to London, including numerous pleas in the last several weeks that both his mother and sister needed him desperately, Marcus had remained firmly where he was.  It had taken the appearance of Radcliffe, Candlewood, Selby, and Hathaway together to dislodge him from his comfortable rooms near the healing waters and spirit him back to London.  Now he was thankful they had.

Had he not been in town tonight, had he not appeared at the musicale when he had, what would have become of Amy, his beloved baby sister?  She had Gibson to defend her, true, and Marcus was now more certain than ever that the man would give his dying breath for her.  Still, Blackwell was no longer a member of the peerage and that meant he could only defend her so much.

In that moment, Marcus knew he had shirked his duties long enough and had done what was necessary to bring the situation well in hand.  Even if Radcliffe had not particularly agreed with his method of doing so.  Nor had Drake but then, all five men had agreed that tossing the whelp out into the streets like so much rubbish was for the best.  With luck, it would teach Drake some manners, though all of them doubted that he would learn much more from the evening's events.

Now as his carriage rolled on towards Cheltenham House, Marcus found himself restless, at a loss as to what to do next.  Candlewood had suggested Marcus return home, but to what end?  He wanted, no needed, to see his mother, but at this hour, she would be abed and he had stopped by the house earlier to let her know he had returned.  In theory Amy should have already returned home, but a tug in his gut told him that was not the case.  He doubted very much that Gibson was at this very moment ravishing his sister, but then again, he had been wrong before.

Back in Bath, Marcus' life had routine and structure.  He followed a plan every day, one designed to strengthen his body and mind, to help re-train his eyes to see, even though his left eye had precious little sight remaining.  That very routine had kept him calm and focused on the task at hand, keeping the hard and angry part of him controlled and tucked safely away.  It was one of the reasons why he had resisted leaving.  

Once he returned home, then what?  Would he be expected to resume the dissolute life of a young buck, just as he had before?  Would he be expected to court proper young ladies and find one to take to wife in order to continue both the Breckenright and Evanston lines?  Would those things be enough to hold his attention, allow him to retain the calm, peaceful feelings he had enjoyed in Bath?  Or would he grow bored and angry with his new lot in life every time a pretty young thing turned away from him in disgust, his lame leg and unseeing eye making him undesirable in her eyes?  Would the monster, the one he had so successfully kept locked up tight for the last two years, come back out?  Worse, would the ton finally see that there was nothing good left inside of him, that he was only the shell of the man he used to be?

Would they even remember him?  Or would they hear his name and think of nothing more than the dissolute rake with a reputation for bedding whores and virgins alike?  He was not that man any longer, but to society, would it matter?  Somehow, he thought not.

Marcus had no illusions about what his return to society would mean.  There would be changes - for everyone, but most especially for him.  But would he be able to hold his tongue and not grow resentful every time a proper young miss swallowed her fear and danced with him just so that she might eventually wed him and claim the title of countess as well as gain access to his fortune?  For he did not attempt to fool himself that it would be otherwise.  No sweet young thing would want him as he was for anything else.  Not his body certainly.  Not like before.

Not like Caroline.

Caroline.  He hadn't thought of her since he had awoken in Bath under the care of Dr. Hastings.  Or rather he tried not to, for remembering her hurt far too much.  That day, the older man had calmly informed Marcus of how he had come to be at the resort town under his care, or an abridged version of it anyway, saying that the Cheltenham butler had discovered a fake physician attempting to kill Marcus with a knife.  In the course of the conversation, Hastings also mentioned that he knew Lady Caroline, and, of course, Marcus had inquired about her.  How could he not?  She had been his world, his best friend before she had been ripped away from him and sent to Northumbria by that beast she called an uncle.

When Dr. Hastings informed Marcus that she had returned to London, his heart had quickened for a moment.  Then, Hastings had mentioned that, according to gossip, she had changed and was not the woman Marcus remembered.  She was frequently alone, often seen in the company of her maid, Glenna, and did not have a proper chaperone, though at her age, few in society seemed to care.  After that, the good doctor said no more and would not divulge another word, no matter how Marcus roared and threatened.  He advised Marcus to leave her be and not think of her.  Instead, the physician wanted his patient to concentrate on healing himself.

Except that Marcus could not stop thinking of her, though he did stop inquiring when it became clear that whatever Hastings knew, he would not divulge. In his mind's eye, Marcus could even now picture Caroline as she must be at that very moment, her thick, reddish-blonde hair tinged with bright coppery highlights and deep mossy green eyes flashing fire as she turned the ballrooms and drawing rooms of London on their ears.  She was probably just as lovely as always, her willowy body displaying just the right amount of curves, ones he itched to hold again.  She was perfect, his Caroline.  Or had been when he had seen her last so many years ago.

He wondered if she still was.

Then, as if merely thinking of her this very evening could conjure her out of thin air, he caught a brief glimpse of her from his carriage window, a lone figure being handed out of her own carriage and up the steps of Turner-Carson House where she had lived for so long with her father.  William Turner, Marcus remembered with a grin, always preferred town to country, much to his daughter's dismay.

"Driver!  Halt!"  Marcus rapped on the roof of his carriage, uncertain as to what he might do next but unwilling to allow Caroline to simply vanish from his sight so quickly.  He wanted to drink in the sight of her, just this once.  Even if he could not speak to her.

A thick mist from the evening's rain swirled around her as she emerged from the carriage, a bit of the sapphire blue gown she'd worn to the Devonmont's peeking out from beneath her thin, midnight-hued cloak.  Her hair was twisted into an elaborate cascade of curls that was secured in place with sapphire studded pins and combs.  A few loose curls caressed the sides of her face, brushing lightly along her cheekbones, and his fingers itched to do the same.  She was still slight, just as she had always been, more willowy than curvy, but also still pleasingly feminine in all the right places.  He had only managed a brief glimpse of her earlier at the musicale, but it had been enough to know that her breasts were still fairly small, though he also knew they would fit perfectly into his hands.  Just as he had long imagined.

This night, she looked like an ethereal creature, one pulled directly from the pages of the books about fairies and other fanciful beings they used to read as children.  She was just as beautiful now as she had been then, perhaps more so.  And she was just as far out of his grasp as she had ever been.  Even when he thought that he might finally capture her, along with her heart, he never truly had.

His best friend.  Odd that she was, but that didn't make it any less true.  Well, she had been once, in a time when he had thought anything was possible and that the world was simply his for the taking.  All he had to do was but reach out and grab it.

He'd thought of having her to wife many years ago, of course, but then, what if they did not suit?  He would loose the person he held most dear to him.  Not to mention that, at the time, he hadn't been quite finished whoring his way through London.  No, the best course of action was to seek another wife, or so he had believed at the time.  Except that he hadn't.  Found a wife, that was.  So that final season in society, he had begun to court Caroline, slowly at first, hoping to discern whether or not she was amenable to the idea.  She had been, or so he had thought, much to his delight.  

Then, William Turner had died and she was gone.  Marcus himself had fallen ill only a year or so later.  Time had stopped.  Well, for him it had.  Had it done so for Caroline as well?  Somehow, he doubted it.

She wasn't married or widowed.  He knew that much from Amy's letters to him in Bath over the years, as well as the bits of information that Dr. Hastings let slip.  His sister was known as The Paragon, at least according to Radcliffe who had kept an eye on such matters for Marcus when he was able.  Not that the duke had done much of that in recent years, especially after his marriage to Lady Julia.  Nor could Marcus blame the man.  After all, when one had that lovely and caring of a wife at home, keeping an eye on another female seemed the height of crassness, not to mention a perfect way to court scandal.  Marcus had, of course, ceased to ask.

Yet he could not put Caroline and her well-being from his mind.  She was now known as The Mystery and had a position of some note within society, though it was a precarious one at best.  She employed a chaperone, one of Lady Berkshire's notorious Gray Ladies, but that was more for show than anything, the chaperone in question, a Lady Mary he thought her name was, was rarely seen at the same functions with Caroline.  More often than not, Caroline was alone and no one, least of all society as a whole, seemed to give a bloody damn.  Those tidbits had come from one of his other old friends, Nicholas Rosemont, the Duke of Candlewood.

At Marcus' behest and after some degree of pleading, Nicholas had grudgingly agreed to keep an eye on Caroline.  It wasn't that Marcus didn't trust someone like Lord Selby, another of his old school chums, to do the job.  Rather, he didn't know quite how he would explain his reason for the request.  Candlewood, on the other hand, was the only man on Earth who knew of the true depth of friendship Marcus had shared with Caroline.  The duke would not question Marcus' reasons, nor would he pry into matters that were not his affair.  He would simply do as asked, a favor for an old friend.

Once Marcus had returned to London, however, Candlewood had warned his old friend to keep his distance from the lady unless he planed to marry her within a fortnight or less.  The duke had done as requested and observed much about Lady Caroline during the time Marcus had been in Bath.  That, Candlewood informed Marcus dryly, gave him some insight into the lady's present circumstances.

At nearly one and thirty, Caroline was old by society's standards, a spinster really, and she held herself aloof from the men of the ton, making it clear that she would not be anyone's mistress or plaything.  She danced with men and flirted with them, certainly, but she did not allow anyone to get too close to her.  Word was out that unless a man was serious about marrying her, she would not tolerate endless weeks of flirtation or courting.  She did not let anyone, or no man anyway, close to her since her return to London three years ago.

On the other hand, Nicholas was fairly certain that Lady Caroline would make an exception for her old friend, Viscount Breckenright.  She would be unable to resist him, remembering the way they had been together.  And Nicholas was afraid that would be her ultimate downfall.

Caroline would take Marcus back into her confidence, dance with him a bit more than was strictly proper and allow him to pay her court.  She would receive his calls and his gifts, perhaps even go riding in the park if he asked nicely or allow him to escort her to the theater.  She would do whatever he asked, when he asked it, simply because it was Marcus.

In short, she would loose that illusion of mystery and intrigue that she wore like a cloak to protect herself from society.  She would no longer be The Mystery, but rather just a woman, one who was no different than the rest.  One who could be bought for the right price, possibly even taken as a mistress, despite her years of refusals.

Once she allowed one man to approach, to get close to her, others would follow, each more greedy and fortune-hunting than the last, eager for the secrets of her past and her rumored vast fortune.  For given her age, there was little else a man could desire from her, or so it was whispered behind closed doors at White's and Brook's.  Just like her friend "Plain" Jane Ashford, herself no raging beauty and rather advanced in age.

If Marcus came near her, Caroline would lose that which made her unique in the ton's eyes and become just another aging beauty that no man had bothered to snap up when there were plenty of other empty-headed chits to be had.  People would begin to wonder what exactly was wrong with her, what scandalous secrets she hid, at least according to the duke.  He had seen it happen before, much to the lady in question's detriment.

After all, Caroline had been absent from London during her prime, marriageable years.  Only the fact that no one knew precisely how she had spent her time while in Northumbria kept her safe in harsh glare of society's unforgiving gaze.  After all, people reasoned, whatever she had done while in the north could not have been that horrible, or else someone would have surely heard of her misdeeds.  That no one had heard so much as a whisper of scandal allowed her reputation to remain unblemished.  Yet there were still questions; there was no escaping them.  That time away was her mystery, the cloak of security that allowed people to view her as intriguing rather than cold and aloof.  It was what kept her safe from society's vicious claws.

If Marcus resumed his friendship with Caroline, he would destroy that illusion of mystery, and that, in turn, would destroy her.  For Nicholas knew well that Marcus had no intention of marrying her.  Not now and not ever.

Unlike Selby or even Hathaway, Candlewood knew the true extent of the monster that now lived inside of Marcus and how hard the other man fought to control his temper.  Radcliffe knew the truth as well, but rarely remarked upon it, perhaps because their friendship was more recent and not nearly so old and battle-tested as the one Marcus shared with Nicholas.  Candlewood also knew of the deep friendship Marcus and Caroline had once shared, one that went far beyond what society would deem proper.  In fact, it was Nicholas that Marcus had sought out for advice when the viscount had first toyed with the idea of offering marriage to Caroline.  Back then, Nicholas had warned Marcus to tread carefully where the lady's heart was concerned.  Now it was no different.

Yes.  Nicholas was right, Marcus decided, thankful that the dark, crestless carriage hid his identity from curious eyes.  It would be best for all if he simply kept his distance.

Yet gazing at Caroline now, her head bowed as if the weight of the world rested upon it, Marcus wanted to go to her and talk to her, to pull her into his arms and offer her comfort.  To assure her that she was no longer alone.  He had returned for good and would take care of her.  She had only but to ask.  

Hell.  Why lie?  What he truly desired was to kiss her, even though he knew that would be a stupendously bad idea.  The last thing he wanted was for her to look at him with the same sympathy and thinly disguised disgust that other women did.  He did not think he could tolerate it, not even a little.  He wanted Caroline to still see him as he had once been.  Strong.  Powerful.  A man not to be trifled with.  A man who was worthy of her.

Then again, that was the talk of a mad man, for Marcus had been gone far too long for them to simply return to the way they had been together, fast friends who defied convention and courted disaster with their closeness.  They were different people now.  He knew it from Rosemont's reports as well as from Amy's letters.  Caroline was closed off, secretive, and no longer the open, giving young woman she had once been.  Even if she had cared for him in a romantic fashion years before, he was certain she no longer did.

After all, what woman could love a monster like him, one that could not walk and could barely see?  He was hardly the catch of the season that he had once been.  He did not think that even his beloved Caroline was that strong as to overlook his flaws.  And he had many.

No, Candlewood was right.  It was best to leave Caroline be and seek out a woman of some sort that could look upon him with some manner of affection.  Or if not affection, then perhaps something less than outright disgust.  He could not hope for love, certainly.  That was too much to expect.  But perhaps he could strive for tolerance.  Yes, that would do and he would be greedy to expect more.  And he would leave Caroline and their closeness firmly in the past where they belonged, a part of his old life that he had been forced to leave behind when the fevers had wracked his body and stolen his health.

It was just a pity that it hurt so much to do so.

Because he did love her.  He had never stopped.  Not in the seven long years they had been apart.  He could not even begin to fathom a day when he would not.