Once a Rake, Always a Rogue

Prologue

August 14, 1877

Astrid skipped along the beach, turning her face up to catch the sun’s warm rays. The ocean breeze tumbled her unbound hair and kissed the skin of her neck and arms.

At last.

Her entire body sang with relief to be here, at home, away from the madness of London and the strain of her first Season. If she had any say in the matter, it would be her only Season. She had no desire to ever repeat the last few months.

It wasn’t that she hated parties. Astrid enjoyed dancing, and it was always interesting to visit new places and watch the array of ladies and gentlemen in their finery. But night after night of putting herself on display for people who saw her as nothing more than a large chunk of money had spoiled most of the fun.

Today, she was free. No maid had yanked her corset strings too tightly or pinned mounds of false hair to her head. Her clothes were simple, comfortable, easy to move about in. Her feet were bare to the tickle of the grass and the grit of the sand.

Tomorrow, she would return to her studies. She had three new books to read, and a dozen specimens lay in a box in her laboratory, awaiting cleaning and classification. The ancient creatures called to her, but they had been waiting millions of years. They could give her this one day to relax and recharge.

She paused to scoop up an interesting rock, gave it a cursory examination, and dropped it into her purse. The little bag thunked against her hip, loaded down with the day’s collection. Today’s findings were no more than ordinary rocks and fossils, but Astrid never came to the beach without taking something back for her studies. Sometimes a closer look in the lab revealed things she would otherwise never notice. Besides, “I need to return these rocks to the beach,” made a convenient excuse for leaving the house.

As usual, she had promised to be back in time for tea, and it had been long enough since her lunch of fruit, cheese, and nuts for the first stirrings of hunger to set in. Astrid made her way to one of her favorite climbing spots and scrambled up the ten foot escarpment, foregoing the longer walk to the staircase her parents had installed years ago. When she reached the top, she turned, as was her habit, to survey the beach and the sparkling waters of the Channel. The sight never grew tiresome.

“Well, hello there!”

Astrid wheeled around to discover a handsome young man striding toward her. Dressed for sport, in buckskin breeches and riding boots, he looked as dashing as any man she had seen in town that summer. His clothes were perfection, hugging muscled thighs and a broad chest. He wore no hat, revealing hair the color of beach sand, attractively tousled by the gentle sea breeze. He took her breath away.

“Oh! Hello.”

The stunning stranger could only be one of her brother’s friends from University. Cal had mentioned he might stop by with several “school chums” enroute to a hunting party. He hadn’t mentioned those chums would wander down to the beach, startling her so badly her heart wouldn’t stop thumping.

The man had drawn close enough that she could see the smoky gray color of his eyes, and his refined cheekbones. His smile was one of mischievous good cheer. Astrid tried to calm her silly enthrallment by dwelling on his hideous plaid necktie. It was rather sloppily knotted, in contrast to the rest of his ensemble.

His gaze traveled over her, from her unruly hair to her dirty, unshod feet. “And here I thought we had left all the beauties behind in London!”

A hot burst of humiliation flared in her cheeks. She’d heard so many similar, insincere flatteries during the Season. No one thought short, plump Astrid Wembley ethereal. She had heard the pitying whispers saying it was too bad she wasn’t tall, lithe, and blond like her Swedish-born mother. If only the men would say what they really meant: Your enormous dowry is so beautiful! She would prefer an honest fortune hunter to any of the suitors she’d had thus far. 

Astrid pulled herself up as tall as she could manage, prepared to tell him to save his breath for lying about all the things he wasn’t going to shoot on his hunting trip, but he spoke again before she had the chance.

“You live in the area, I presume?”

She jumped, taken aback. Didn’t he know who she was? “Y-yes,” she stammered.

“Lovely place. I’m just passing through, sadly. I’m a friend of Lord Caladay, Whitehaven’s heir. You must know of him, I imagine.”

He’s my twin!

So much for the hope that any of that Swedish beauty had passed on to her. Her brother’s friend couldn’t even tell they were related? Her heart began to race once more. If he didn’t know who she was…

Those gray eyes were wandering again, over her breasts and hips, then rising to linger on her mouth. He closed the space between them. His voice dropped, low and seductive. “I would have asked to stay longer, had I known what a charming companion I would stumble upon here.” 

Astrid could hardly breathe. This gorgeous rogue of a man knew nothing of her title or her money, and yet, here he was, acting for all the world as if he wanted to kiss her. She’d been kissed a few times, by the flattering fortune hunters, and it had been nice enough, but to be kissed—desired!—for her own self? The mere thought was intoxicating. She swayed toward him.

“I’d love to steal a kiss,” he murmured.

Astrid tilted her chin up. “Take it. It’s yours.”

His lips brushed over hers. She sighed and melted into him, her arms winding around his neck, returning the kiss with wanton abandon.

Glorious.

He was eager, but not demanding, welcoming her kisses as much as he offered his. The gentle press of his mouth grew firmer, hungrier, and he dragged her body tightly against his. Hot. Hard. Ravenous.

Astrid gasped in surprise when his tongue teased her lips apart. He plunged into her mouth, exploring and coaxing, urging her to follow.

Her head swam. She reveled in the taste of him.

This. This was how a kiss was meant to be. A wild, greedy, indulgence that made her forget the world and long for more—more of him, more of them—anything and everything he would give her.

A voice in the back of her mind told her she ought to protest when his fingers began to unlace her bodice. It grew louder when he tugged down the loose top she wore underneath, exposing her breasts. Something about impropriety and scandals. His hands felt so good on her, though. So right. She kept on kissing him, letting him touch her and tease her as he pleased.

When he bent his head to her bosom and laved one stiff nipple, she groaned in pleasure and threaded her fingers through his gold-brown locks. This was thoroughly wicked, and yet she couldn’t stop.

And why should she? She refused to marry any of the awful men who had expressed interest. Another Season was out of the question, so she doubted she’d meet many eligible men in the future. Certainly, she didn’t expect to meet any who would leave her to the life she desired. Giving up her studies was unfathomable. She’d rather be a spinster.

But spinsters missed out on kisses and bedroom intimacies. They didn’t get frenzied, passionate embraces. This might be her only chance to…

“Gracious,” she moaned. His hands had come up under her skirts, running over her bare thighs and squeezing her bottom through the thin fabric of her drawers.

“Indeed.” He lifted his head to gaze into her eyes. His own had turned to the liquid silver of mercury. “You are delectable.”

“You too,” she breathed.

He pulled her hard against him, drugging her once more with kisses, grinding his hips into her. The sensation of his rock-hard arousal against her belly made her spring back with a yelp of surprise.

He meant to put that inside her? She knew something of anatomy and the mechanics of copulation from her readings, and she supposed it must fit, given that people did it all the time. Still, it gave her pause. Enough to regain some of her senses. Sexual pleasures came with consequences, risks beyond that of scandal, and she was unprepared to handle them.

“Too much? Too fast?” Disappointment shone in his eyes.

Astrid felt it too. That lack of fulfillment. The hunger to reach out and touch him once more. She forced a nod.

“My apologies. You drove most of what sense I possess out of my head.” He smoothed out her skirts and pulled her top back up to cover her. “Perhaps another time?”

Her cheeks burned, and a grin spread over her face before she could stop it. The thought of a renewal of today’s activities caused excitement to bubble up inside her. It would be thrilling. And dangerous. This time, her nod came eagerly.

For heaven’s sake, she didn’t even know his name! She didn’t dare ask. That would only lead to him asking her name. Even if she lied, if she uttered more than a word or two, he would notice her upper-class accent and make the connection. Then he would tell Cal, who would tell her parents, and everything would turn into an awful mess. No. She would have to content herself with the memory of this one exquisite moment.

“I will look for you when I am next in the area,” he promised. “May I walk you home now? Or wherever you are headed?”

Astrid shook her head. What could she do? Walk him back to Whitehaven Manor? Hardly. He would head there soon anyway, to continue on with the hunting party. She needed to go elsewhere until he departed. She would be late for tea. “No. Thank you.”

His brows crinkled in an altogether too-attractive frown. “If you are certain.”

“I am.”

He sighed in resignation. Then he took up her hand and brought it to his lips. It was enough to send a tingle throughout her entire body. “Until we meet again, then.”

“Until then.”

Astrid hoped they would meet again, someday. She also hoped it would be far enough in the future that she could formulate a sound plan for what to do when they did.

She started off, in the opposite direction from home, trying not to glance back, certain he was doing the same.

After several agonizing seconds, she risked a look. Their eyes met. He, too, had failed in this. She lifted a hand in farewell, then continued on with a smile on her face.

I

Critical Correspondence

September, 1884

“Grace! Grace!”

Astrid flew into the laboratory, brandishing her letter like some plundering pirate waving a sword, proclaiming her victory to all and sundry.

“I have done it!”

She twirled in a circle, the fabric of the well-used carpet soft against her bare feet, the inviting yellow glow of the potion lamps like sunlight on her face, even in the cool basement room.

Her research partner looked up from the pile of fossils she was cataloging. Grace brushed back a strand of wavy, dark hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “Done what?”

“Lord Ayleston is recommending me for membership to the Institute!”

Grace sprang from her seat. The bangles around her slender wrist jingled. Her mother, a metalsmith, regularly sent newly crafted bracelets from India to match every outfit Grace owned. Today, their metallic clinks sounded like music to Astrid’s delighted ears.

“That’s wonderful!” Grace exclaimed.

“All those meetings and letters. Papers. Applications. Begging. It has all paid off! Finally! Oh, Grace, I’m so happy I could just burst!”

Astrid flung her arms around her friend and danced her around the room, dodging shelves and racks of specimens. They careened into a bookcase, which wobbled precariously, dumping a volume of The Comprehensive Guide to Medicinal and Potional Uses of the Flowers of the British Isles on her head.

“Ow! Damned silly, out-of-date book!”

She scooped it up and shoved it back into place, dissolving into giggles. All this excitement made her giddy. Ridiculous, she supposed, for a grown woman of twenty-six, but Astrid never managed to behave as she ought.

“May I read the letter?” Grace inquired.

“Of course!” Astrid handed it over. “It has a rather somber tone, I’m afraid. One of Lord Ayleston’s colleagues died unexpectedly, which is why there is an opening for a new member.”

Grace nodded, reading. “He does sound delighted to recommend you for the position, however.”

“Yes. I feel a twinge of guilt for profiting from a man’s death, but not enough for it to dampen my spirits, as I hadn’t met him but in passing.”

“You should feel no guilt at all. They ought to have voted you in years ago. It’s hardly your fault the current membership is set against increasing its numbers.”

“I think they are set against letting a woman in. But Lord Ayleston doesn’t give a fig about a person’s sex, only about their work. And now he has given me the director’s recommendation. Voting against that is simply not done.”

Grace’s brow furrowed. “Some of those men will do it, regardless.”

Astrid drew herself up as tall as her five-foot-one-inch frame could manage. “Not enough of them,” she declared with supreme confidence. “Too many of them know me and know my work. They will accept me, though perhaps grudgingly.”

Grace grinned. “And I will help make your official application sparkle with such brilliance that anyone who does choose to reject it will feel an acute embarrassment.”

“Thank you. We will make it not only professional, but pioneering. We will use true-color photographs.” Never mind that the last batch developed had a decidedly sickly look to them. Between herself, Grace, and Cal, they would soon perfect the apparatus.

“I made the necessary adjustments to the developing potion,” Grace said. “Has your brother tweaked the machine like he promised?”

“No, but he will. I’ll go pester him now, and give him the good news.”

“And I will get back to work sorting.” Grace gestured at the collection scattered on the desk. “Thus far I’ve only found two specimens worth keeping from this week’s excursions.”

A touch of pink colored Astrid’s cheeks. “I may have been daydreaming on a few of my walks.”

And how could she not? They’d had a spate of unseasonably warm weather, and she’d spent much of it roaming the beaches with her feet bare and her hair flying loose, imagining far-away lands, great adventures, and—she had to admit—mysterious encounters with a handsome stranger. These moments of escape and fantasy were vital to her well-being.

It had been just over a year now since her father had died and her whole world had ground to a sudden halt. Cal had become Whitehaven. Astrid had become the lady of the house when her mother’s nerves had failed to recover from the blow. It had been—was still—hard, but they were coping, and life was improving. The letter from Ayleston was her new beginning. She would travel again, put more effort than ever into her research, and drag her brother into the sunshine with her.

She had just reached the top of the stairs when she spied him rushing down the hall toward her, all but running.

“Astrid! Thank God. I was just coming to find you.”

Cal’s light blue eyes blazed with an all-too-common expression of panic. His fair skin was paler than usual, combining with his white-blond hair to give him a ghostly mien. Once, he had spent hours of every day outside. His struggle to take up the Whitehaven name had left him too often indoors, fading his once-bronzed complexion and leaving crinkles of stress around his eyes.

“I was on my way to find you as well,” Astrid replied, feigning good cheer. Her brother’s distress had quashed her enthusiasm. Sharing her news became an afterthought. Right now she only wanted to hug him.

She couldn’t recall the last time she had hugged him. Ages ago. Months, perhaps. They’d been so close, once. How had it come to this?

Cal’s gaze fell to the paper in her hand. “You received a letter as well?”

“Yes, from Lord Ayleston.”

He blinked in confusion. “Ayleston?”

“Yes. He is recommending me for membership in the Institute.”

“Oh!” A flash of happiness passed over his face before the despair took hold once more. “Oh, Asti, I’m so sorry. Someone is trying to destroy everything you’ve worked so hard for.”

“What?”

“Come into my study. I think we’d best be sitting down.”

Astrid’s heart thudded in her chest. Good heavens, what dire news had he received? Had one of the Institute’s less agreeable members written a nasty letter? She’d been sneered at before. She could take it.

She took a seat in her favorite chair in the study, perching on the edge rather than sprawling as was her habit. Cal took his place behind their father’s big desk, shifting uncomfortably. Somehow all six-foot-two of him still looked like the little boy who used to clamber up into the chair and pretended to run the estate.

“I’ve had a letter.”

Astrid nodded, folding her hands in her lap and waiting for him to continue.

“It comes from Mr. Fawdry at the Cliffsdale Ladies’ Convalescent Asylum.”

“The lunatic asylum? Whyever would he write you?”

“It seems there have been… complaints.”

A heavy dread settled in Astrid’s stomach. “About me?”

“Yes.”

“Bugger.”

Cal’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t let anyone hear you talk like that, Astrid. It won’t help your case.”

Their matching eyes locked. She didn’t need to remind him that he was the one who had taught her most of the naughty words she knew. For a silent moment they shared the bittersweet memory of those mischievous childhood days.

He pushed the letter across the desk. “Here. Read it for yourself. There’s no sense in me reciting it for you.”

Astrid retrieved the paper and gave it a quick perusal. Anonymous complaints, naturally. No one would dare criticize her to her face or confess to their shameful backstabbing. Mr. Fawdry insisted upon an immediate evaluation and threatened legal action. He believed she should be committed at once, “for the safety of her own person as well as that of the public.”

“I didn’t realize I was so dangerous to the local populace,” she scoffed. “One would think I was a well-armed brigand from this report. Little do they know I wield only a pocketful of rocks and fossils.”

“I wish I could laugh it off as you do.”

“I had rather laugh than cry.”

Cal reached out and covered her hand with his own. “I won’t let them take you, Asti, I swear it. They can file all the complaints they want. They can start legal proceedings, charge us with crimes. I don’t care. I’ll find some way to get past it.”

“I could always leave the country.” The thought caused a stab of pain. Leave Cal and Grace. Leave her mother who needed her. Leave her laboratory, her work, her beloved home. As much as she craved adventure, Whitehaven was her refuge, always waiting to embrace her upon her return. She would fight for it. “No, that won’t do except as a temporary measure.”

“We will think of something. As a peer of the realm, I have some influence, but given my age and our family eccentricities… Goddammit!” He shoved his chair backward, raking his hands through his hair. “Who would do this to you? I’d like to pound him to a bloody pulp!”

“I honestly couldn’t say. Everyone thinks I’m strange. I have dozens of disappointed suitors.”

“Bleeding fortune hunters.”

“Exactly. Any of them could hold a grudge. Or it could be someone in town who is having the vapors because I don’t have a constant chaperone.”

She flipped over the paper to examine the list of complaints against her. It was lengthy and spanned the full range of her supposed sins.

“Heavens. I am a menace to society, it seems. Just listen to this: ‘Reads novels in public. Wears clothing unbefitting her station. Shows a disinclination for marriage. Uses technical and/or scientific language. Runs about unshod, like a wild hellion.’ I suspect I’m not supposed to feel proud of that, am I?”

“There is a certain wildness in our blood. We’re not meant for confined spaces and strict rules. I hadn’t thought it so bad a thing until now.”

“Well.” She sat back in her chair, her mind abuzz. “We both know I’m quite sane, despite all this so-called proof. We simply must prove it to everyone else.”

“Easier said than done.”

Astrid winced. “I’ll have to go out in public and follow all the rules, the way I attempted to do when Mother and Father insisted that I at least try to have a Season.”

“I would say you should marry, but I refuse to see you shackled to any of those wastrels who see only your handsome dowry.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Very well, then.” He scooted his chair back into the desk and took up a sheet of paper and a pen. His anxiety had dissolved into determination. “You do everything you can to discover who might be behind this. We will all endeavor to act as normal as possible. In the meantime, I will summon help.”

“Help from whom?”

“Monte. Dr. Montford, that is.”

“Ooh, isn’t he the friend who’s a complete rakehell? The one you said once convinced half-a-dozen young ladies to join him for a naked sporting competition in the style of the ancient Greeks?”

“We have long since grown up, Astrid. He’s a respectable physician now.”

“Oh. That’s too bad. He sounded interesting.”

“Well, now he is proper and boring. But knowledgeable. Go work on a plan. Tell Miss Fairfax about this mess. Her head is filled with ideas. I must write this letter.”

“Tell your doctor friend I don’t do any sporting activities in the nude. There’s too much possibility for chafing.”

“Astrid! For God’s sake. Normal. Act normal.”

“Is there an instruction manual for that?”

Cal let out a choking sort of laugh. “I wish!” He sobered quickly, walking around the desk to help her to her feet. “Better to laugh than cry, eh?”

“Yes.”

He wrapped his lanky arms around her, and for a few moments they held one another, needing no words, easing their worries in their togetherness. Nothing and no one would separate the Wembley twins.

II

(No) Introduction Needed

To: The Honourable Ernest Montford

From: Frederick Wembley, Marquess of Whitehaven, Viscount Caladay

Monte,

It has been too long, my friend, since we have corresponded, and I wish I could say that I write you merely to remedy such failure on my part. Alas, I am not so earnest a friend. I must beg your immediate assistance with a problem of grave importance.

You may recall my twin sister Astrid. Or, rather, you may recall my tales of her, as I do not believe the two of you have met. I do remember there was a time I threatened you to keep away from her under pain of death. Regardless, you have heard me speak of her and joke of her eccentricities. It pains me to say that I no longer consider them a laughing matter.

We have received a letter (A letter! How can I term it such? It is all but blackmail.) from a nearby asylum, asserting that numerous complaints have been made regarding her unusual habits and bluestocking tendencies. I love my sister and would not change her for the world, but her lack of interest in settling down with a husband and her constant drive to join a scientific society mark her as peculiar, and many, I am unhappy to report, take this as a sign of madness. The letter states that for the good of the local population and Astrid’s own safety she must be evaluated and likely incarcerated for an “indefinite duration.”

I am at my wit’s end. I fear I have not given her as much attention as I ought to have done in this year since our father’s untimely passing. She has always tended to wildness, and she has been free and often on her own these past months. I cannot even say what she has been up to much of the time. I also cannot deny that I, too, am worried for her mental state, given my own difficulties and the hysteria and instality to which our mother has succumbed of late.

My own word as regards her sanity may not suffice to keep her here at Whitehaven where she belongs. You, my dearest friend, with your piles of books and dedication to research, may be her only hope. If you could observe her and offer a learned, professional opinion on the soundness of her mind and decency of her habits, it could free us from this sudden and terrible burden. I promise a handsome payment and all conveniences at my disposal.

If you are able, please accept the invitation to my home at once, that we may benefit from your professional advice.

I hope to see you soon, and wish it were under happier circumstances.

Sincerely,

Cal

Whitehaven Manor had changed little in the years since Monte had last seen it. The gardens were a bit different, but the house was as colossal as he remembered. The towering foyer contained the same furnishings, including a peculiar aquarium that had captivated him on his previous visits. Raised on a pedestal in the center of the hall, the open-topped octagonal tank teemed with water-loving plants and brightly colored fish. Monte trailed a finger through the water as he stared down at the circling goldfish, watching them dart in and out of the greenery. Wild creatures, slipping from sight. In the confined space, they would soon appear again. The girl would not. Each time he’d passed through, he’d looked in the village, wandered the farms. She was but a brief interlude, burned in his memory, once flesh and blood, but now insubstantial as a phantom.

“Ah-hem.”

Monte whirled at the sound. Crippens, the butler, stood scowling, an expression Monte remembered from long ago visits.

“If you would follow me, sir. His lordship will see you in the study.”

Monte nodded, chiding himself for letting his mind wander. He wasn’t here to toy with the household pets, nor to reminisce about lost women. He’d left that sort of deplorable behavior behind him. Besides, he expected she was long since married to some unappreciative bastard.

He followed Crippens deeper into the mansion than he’d ever been, admiring the craftsmanship and tastefulness of the decor. The walls and tabletops sported a cheerful clutter of photographs, art, and bric-a-brac. Old candle holders had been replaced by modern lamps that glowed steadily with high-quality illumination potions, brightening the corridors and rooms. Such a massive house could have been ostentatious, but the family had made it warm and inviting. It was a home, and he could see why Cal was so fond of it.

It would be good to see his friend, even under unusual circumstances. They hadn’t spent nearly enough time together in the past year. Only a few, brief visits in London. Cal—Whitehaven, he was now—had new responsibilities as marquess and head of the family. Monte had patients to attend and his research. He’d shoved those to the side. Cal needed him, and Monte had sworn to always be there for him.

The first order of business was to meet the ‘crazy’ sister. Monte had dug through some of his old correspondence to refresh his memory of her. Cal referred to her often, in that loving, teasing way that made Monte envious. His own brother was nine years older and had always watched him with a wary frown, as if he were a bandit, hiding in the shadows, waiting to do him in and inherit in his stead. The good-for-nothing spare. Now that Osmund had two sons of his own, he’d deemed Monte irrelevant.

Lady Astrid Wembley, Monte mused. Free spirited. Obsessed with science. Spends inordinate amounts of time outdoors. Collects and studies rocks.

She sounded like any other Wembley. Eccentric. Descended from madmen, people said. Both parents had been amateur botanists and had written a textbook together. They had educated their children at home, rather than sending Cal to Eton and Astrid to a ladies’ boarding school. Cal had made himself into a champion cricketer at Cambridge by studying the game from a scientific perspective and thought swimming in the ocean in November was perfectly reasonable. 

No wonder Lady Astrid had been declared insane.

“Dr. Ernest Montford here to see you, your lordship,” the butler intoned, waving Monte through the study door.

Cal looked up from a pile of correspondence. His blond hair needed trimming, and his complexion was uncharacteristically pale. His eyes, however, flashed with pleasure, and he sprang from his seat.

“Monte! It’s been an age.” He raced around the desk and Monte found himself subjected to an enthusiastic bear-hug. “I can’t thank you enough for coming.”

A moment later, Cal stepped back and coughed awkwardly, straightening his shoulders in the guise of a stoic British marquess. “Right. Good to see you.”

There was no hiding his roiling emotions behind those pale blue eyes, but Monte had years of practice feigning ignorance of that hot Swedish blood. No need to add to the embarrassment by acknowledging the sentimentality.

“Indeed. Let’s to business. Where is this sister of yours, Whitehaven?”

Cal winced. “Please don’t call me that. Yes, I’m Marquess of Whitehaven, but I’m also still Viscount Caladay. I can’t abide giving up the name I’ve used my entire life, and I haven’t a son to use the title for me.” A mischievous gleam sparkled in his eyes. “And if you insist upon using my proper title, I will retaliate by calling you Ernest.”

“Not even my mother calls me Ernest, as you well know. Now, your sister. Where is she?” 

“Late. She was supposed to be here to meet you, but punctuality is not her strongest point. She gets caught up in things.”

“Her studies?”

“Anything. Work, the book she’s reading, her pets, an unusual pebble in the garden. Whatever sparks her interest.”

“I see.”

“It’s not that she’s incapable of paying attention, it’s just that she doesn’t bother. What much of the rest of the world considers important she considers tedious.”

Monte nodded. “I can see how that would cause trouble. Lithe, blond beauty ignoring one’s advances in favor of a stone on the ground? Bound to infuriate a man.”

Cal laughed. “You really haven’t ever met her, have you?”

“No. Why do you say that?”

“Turn around.”

Monte swiveled just in time to see a woman step through the doorway—a dark-haired, curvaceous, and far-too-familiar woman.

“Oh, fuck,” he blurted.

By some miracle, his profanity was lost beneath Cal’s introductions.

“Astrid, please allow me to present my dear friend, Dr. Ernest Montford. Monte, this is my sister, Lady Astrid Wembley.”

Monte was dead. Deceased. Bereft of life. Cal was going to drag him into the well-trimmed gardens and beat him senseless with the rocks Lady Astrid was so fond of. He would be left for the ravens to pick at. Then the young lady would be sent to the asylum and Cal would return to kill him once again for his failure to help. Maybe he was dead already. This certainly felt like hell.

Why now, of all times, must he reap the reward of his misspent youth? It put not only his friendship at risk, but her future as well. He had envisioned finding her in a hundred different ways, but never had he even considered something like this. This was the price, it seemed, for attempting to seduce an innocent young lady.

It’s been seven years, he told himself. Perhaps she doesn’t remember you.

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance at last, Dr. Montford,” Lady Astrid greeted him, eyes sparkling. Her plump, pink lips grinned up at him. “It feels as though we ought to have met years ago.”

So much for that hope. She not only remembered, but she was taunting him. Her piercing gaze caressed him head to toe, just as it had that day on the beach, sending a rush of arousal straight to his cock. Damn. Thank God long coats were in fashion.

“Yes,” he replied idiotically.

His memory was faulty, it seemed, because she was vastly more beautiful than he recalled. Or perhaps she had simply fully grown into her womanhood. Her face transfixed him, so round and cheery, with clear, wide eyes. Her shapely little nose sported a small silver ring in the left nostril that he found curiously appealing.

And those lips. Lush, kissable lips. Monte remembered the taste of those lips. Crisp, tart, with a deep, subtle sweetness. As perfect as a fruit plucked at the peak of ripeness.

He had to wrench his gaze from her mouth, but only made the situation worse by allowing himself to examine the rest of her body. Someone had forced her sumptuous figure into a rigid, conservative day dress of the type worn by any number of respectable ladies. It did nothing to flatter her, though it couldn’t disguise her generous bosom. Monte would much rather have seen her in peasant dress.

“I understood you to be a dissolute rake,” she said, “but Cal tells me you have become quite respectable and boring.”

Lord, but she was impertinent. Her sass made words like “delightful” and “refreshing” spring to mind. Why did he like that about her? He oughtn’t like that. He glanced over at Cal, because looking anywhere in the vicinity of Lady Astrid caused nothing but rakish thoughts.

Monte steadied himself with a deep breath and addressed the lady, determined to proceed in a calm and civilized fashion. “Er, yes. I admit to a certain foolishness in my youth, but I believe any man can reform himself should he make the effort. I do my best to live by moderate and healthful habits.”

“How interesting.” Her flat tone implied he was the dullest man she’d ever met, but her eyes had lost none of their sparkle. Tantalizing, teasing woman.

He wanted to push her up against the wall and smother her taunts with kisses. His disobedient body took a step toward her. Hell. He needed to escape before the situation got any more out of hand. Before he did something unforgivable. Before Cal began to suspect he already had done.

“You must excuse me, but I need to check that my trunks have been delivered and get settled in. We needn’t conduct any interviews or the like until tomorrow.”

“Interviews?”

He gazed into her eyes, narrowed in puzzlement but deep with curiosity. Sharp, intelligent eyes. Studying him like a specimen in her collection.

“I must conduct and record proper medical examinations if we are to prove you to be of sound mind and body.”

“Ah. So that is how you are to ‘help.’”

“You disapprove?”

“I’d hoped for something more like advice. Ideally better advice than, ‘act normal.’” She cast an irritable look at her brother.

“I will do my best to offer what professional wisdom I possess. Please excuse me. I will see you at tea.”

Assuming he could get himself under control by tea time.

Act normal.

Would that he were able.