Chapter 2

      Bella’s first instinct had been correct. James Devlin was not a member of the nobility, but a criminal.

      She swallowed hard, lifted her chin, and boldly met his hard stare. “I assure you, I’m not lying. Whoever you are—and I doubt that you are a duke—I demand you leave at once.”

      His hand dropped from her throat. He stood inches away, and she felt the heat emanate from his body through her cotton nightdress.

      There was a lethal calmness in his eyes. “You demand?”

      Her pulse beat erratically at the threatening undertone in his deep voice. She knew she was in a precarious position, but instinct told her if she backed down or showed the slightest fear, he would swallow her whole.

      “I will summon the constable,” she insisted.

      “The constable? And pray tell me, Miss Sinclair, just how would you accomplish that?”

      “It’s Mrs. Sinclair.”

      “Ah. Where is your strapping husband?”

      “Bella?” A voice sounded from the top of the landing. “I heard noises. Are you down there?”

      No, not Harriet!

      Anxiety spurted through Bella as an old woman dressed in a blue robe carrying a heavy candelabrum slowly descended the stairs.

      “Do not trouble yourself, Harriet,” Bella called out. “It is only a lost gentleman, and he was just leaving. You may go back to bed.”

      Bella turned to the stranger, her gaze imploring. “She is just an old servant. Please, if you are who you say, you will not harm her,” she whispered vehemently.

      His brows drew downward in a frown. “I never intended to harm anyone.”

      Harriet reached the bottom of the stairs and started across the vestibule. “A lost gentleman in the middle of the night?” She came close, holding the candelabrum high with both hands. Candlelight fully illuminated the man’s features.

      The chiseled planes of his face were arresting and elegant at once. His dark curling hair was cut short, and his lips were firm and sensual above a strong chin. His eyes weren’t as dark as she had initially thought, but an extraordinary indigo. He needed to shave, but it was the middle of the night and most men would be in need of a razor, and the dark bristles only added to his rugged appeal. He was dressed in formfitting trousers and a white shirt that molded to impossibly wide shoulders.

      Bella realized he was intently regarding her as well. His sharp eyes seemed to strip her of her nightdress, and she was thankful her unbound hair covered her breasts.

      He bowed to Harriet. “Pardon the late hour. My name is James Devlin, the Duke of Blackwood. I had no idea the house was temporarily occupied.”

      Harriet’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, and she looked to Bella.

      “Temporarily?” Bella said.

      “The previous owner never mentioned renters.”

      “Renters?” Bella said.

      “Do you have a tendency to repeat people?” James asked.

      “Only when they make little sense,” Bella snapped.

      “You think I’m a burglar?”

      “What else am I to think of a man breaking into my home in the middle of the night?” Bella retorted.

      Harriet gasped; Bella held out her hand to silence her and confronted the man.

      He drew his lips in a tight smile. “I didn’t break in. I lit a lamp and used a key. Have you ever heard of a burglar using a key?”

      “You could have stolen the key,” she accused.

      “I purchased Wyndmoor Manor yesterday morning. In my excitement to see the place, I rode here straightaway.”

      “You must be mistaken, sir.” Bella refused to address him as “Your Grace” when he was as far from being a duke as she was from being a duchess. “I purchased Wyndmoor Manor three days ago.”

      “From whom?” James asked.

      “Sir Redmond Reeves,” Bella said.

      “Interesting indeed since Reeves sold the property to me as well.”

      “Again I insist that there must be a mistake. Why would Sir Reeves sell Wyndmoor Manor twice? Surely you purchased another property in Hertfordshire. Legal documents are complicated. Perhaps you misinterpreted them.”

      His laughter had a sharp edge. “Now that is highly unlikely. I’ve been a barrister for over ten years. I can interpret a legal document while intoxicated.”

      “A barrister! You said you were a duke. And to think, you accused me of lying!”

      James sighed. “What I said was true. I am a barrister. I recently inherited my father’s title.”

      “Hmmm. You really do think me a fool. What sane man would trouble himself by purchasing a small property such as Wyndmoor Manor so soon after inheriting a dukedom? Don’t you have more pressing matters to attend to in London?” Bella asked.

      A bright mockery invaded his stare. “Indeed. But my reasons do not concern you.”

      Bella stiffened and placed her hands on her hips. “Prove what you say.”

      “I shall return tomorrow morning with the deed to Wyndmoor.”

      “Why did you not carry it with you?”

      His voice carried a unique force. “As I said, I had no idea the house was occupied. Do not fret, Mrs. Sinclair. I left the deed at a local inn—known as the Twin Rams—as I was in need of a hot meal and a fresh horse. I will return tomorrow with the proper documents.”

      He opened the door and turned back to glance at Bella. “I suggest you locate and procure your deed as well because this is the first and last night I will spend elsewhere. Starting tomorrow, I will sleep in the master’s chambers of Wyndmoor Manor.”

      “He may truly be the Duke of Blackwood,” Harriet said.

      Bella shook her head. “I cannot believe his story. It makes no sense.”

      Bella sat on the edge of her bed in her nightdress as Harriet rubbed her shoulders. After Bella’s mother had died when she was just a babe, Harriet had arrived as Bella’s nursemaid. She had soothed Bella in the same manner when she had cried over a broken toy or a stubbed toe. Bella closed her eyes and tried to relax as Harriet’s fingers worked a knot between her shoulder blades. Only this time, Bella remained tense.

      “Bella, luv, there was something about the man that makes me believe his story. I’ve known frauds before, including your late husband, but I don’t believe James Devlin is one of them,” Harriet said.

      Bella’s deceased spouse had been the most talented of frauds. Roger had easily convinced Bella’s father to consent to their betrothal when she was seventeen, and Roger had concealed his evil nature from the rest of the world.

      Only Harriet had remained loyal to Bella, for she knew Roger as the monster he had been.

      “We must be prepared in case Blackwood shows up tomorrow with a deed to Wyndmoor Manor.”