Retreat From Love: Brothers in Arms, #5

By Samantha Kane

Brothers in Arms, Book 5

A man with everything except his heart's desire.

Frederick Thorne, Duke of Ashland, has been in love with Brett Haversham for years. If the only way to have him is to give him what he wants Freddy will share him, in bed and out, with the woman Brett loves. The woman who was Freddy's first love.


A man sacrificing everything for the past.

Brett Haversham is in love with two people he's sworn never to touch. But his desires prove to be stronger than his resolve when they both set out to seduce him—together. 

A woman with nothing left to lose.

Anne Goode lost her fiancé Bertie in the war. Now his younger brother Freddy is back, all grown up into the handsome and powerful duke. And he's brought Bertie's best friend Brett with him. Lonely and already ruined, Anne can't resist taking both of them as her lovers. Is the uncontrollable desire between the three enough to heal the wounds of the past and overcome the problems of the present? They must accept love rather than retreat from it.

*Previously Published
*Mature Readers 18+

• Language: English
• Publisher: Samantha Kane
• Release date: Mar 27, 2008
• ISBN: 9781370965854

Samantha Kane

Reviewers have called Samantha Kane “an absolute marvel to read,” and “one of historical romance’s most erotic and sensuous authors.”  Her books have been called “sinful,” “sensuous,” and “sizzling.” She is published in several romance genres including historical, contemporary, and science fiction.  Her erotic Regency-set historical romances have won awards, including Best Historical from RWA's erotic romance chapter Passionate Ink, and the Historical CAPA (best book) award from The Romance Studio.  She has a master's degree in American History and taught high school social studies for ten years before becoming a full-time writer. Samantha Kane lives in North Carolina with her husband and three children. http://samanthakanebooks.com http://twitter.com/skaneauthor http://www.facebook.com/AuthorSamanthaKane http://www.pinterest.com/kane2993 http://www.goodreads.com/SamanthaKane

Book preview

Chapter 1

April 12, 1810

My Dearest Anne,

I have met the most capital fellow! His name is Lieutenant Brett Haversham. I think you would like him, Anne. He’s brilliant, a bang up soldier, and courageous. He’s quiet, but laughs at all my jokes and provides cover when I need it most. Not in battle, but in boredom. I’m forced into inaction too often. You know me, Anne, it leads to mischief. Major Richards says that it is a good thing Lt. Haversham has taken me under his wing else I’d be court-martialed before old Boney waves a white flag.

Not even Brett can make my missing you any better, Anne. I dream of your soft skin and rosy lips each night. The way your blue eyes would shine when you looked up at me in the moonlight. How I long to feel those soft arms about my neck, and those lips against mine again. Was there ever a man as foolish as I, to give those up for the hell of war?

Your Most Devoted Servant,

Bertie

June 1817

Ashton Park, Derbyshire

Hello.

Anne spun around in the tepid water of the pond, her arms instantly flying up to cover her bare breasts. Her gasp was genuine. She hadn’t expected to be interrupted this afternoon. No one ever came to the pond anymore. Just her and her memories.

The stranger smiled slowly from the middle of the small wooden bridge where he sat atop his horse. He leaned forward in his saddle. I can see that I’m interrupting. Shall I go?

Anne quickly got over her initial shock. It wasn’t as if a man hadn’t seen her naked breasts before. And this one was handsome. No doubt he’d seen many naked women in his time. Dark brown hair with a shimmer of fire in the sunlight, broad shoulders, and a devastating smile—oh yes, he was irresistible and he knew it. Alarms rang in her head, but, as usual, she ignored them and smiled back.

I don’t know, sir, she replied with a saucy lilt in her voice, do you have somewhere to go? She enjoyed his surprised expression. He’d probably expected her to simper and blush. Honestly, did men think they were the only ones who got lonely? They always approached cautiously, as a hunter with prey. Anne was not interested in being chased. She was interested in being caught. It had been so long since she’d let herself get caught.

The stranger cleared his throat, and Anne heard the amusement he was trying to cover up. Well, no, actually. I haven’t anything to do today. Except, of course, help you figure out how you’re going to get out of that pond without any clothes on.

Anne idly wondered if he was a friend of Freddy’s. She mentally shook her head. No, not plain Freddy anymore. Now he was the Duke of Ashland. She’d heard he was returning to Ashton Park. The pond was on Park grounds, though far removed from the house itself. It was a logical assumption that the stranger was a guest there.

Miss?

The stranger’s concerned voice penetrated Anne’s musings. She laughed to cover her distraction. Clearly I cannot think of a single thing. I am at your mercy, sir. Have you the key to my warm, wet prison?

She heard the sharp intake of his breath. He was obviously taken aback that he wasn’t going to have to seduce her. She couldn’t have made it any clearer that she was his for the taking. And it felt good, really good, to indulge in the suggestive banter of delicate sexual negotiations again.

He sat up straight in the saddle, and Anne was struck again by the breadth of his shoulders. He looked incredibly strong and virile. Please don’t let it be padding, she thought ruefully. Then he twisted to look around him and Anne saw the play of muscle and bone under his fashionable, tight jacket and she nearly sighed with anticipation. When he turned back his face had taken on the hard edges of desire, and his gaze was definitely predatory. If I were a gentleman, I’d offer you my coat.

Anne felt a little shiver race down her spine at the rough timbre of his voice, at the insinuation that he would not be a gentleman with her. She nodded seriously. Yes, if you were a gentleman you’d bring me your coat.

His smile this time was laced with the same anticipation that fired Anne’s blood. Then by all means I will play the gentleman.

He casually walked his horse across the bridge and over to a flat patch of ground. She got a better look at him then. Strong cheekbones, a long, wide, no-nonsense nose, a generous mouth with sharply defined lips—he truly was handsome. The deep dimple in his chin was the one frivolous feature he possessed but it made him appear more masculine, not less. Anne was watching him so closely that she immediately noticed the awkwardness with which he dismounted. He dropped the reins and turned to Anne, and she noticed he was favoring his left leg. Had he recently been injured? She was about to ask when he began to unbutton his jacket and Anne’s mouth dried up. Was she really going to do this? She’d been with men before, but never a stranger whose name was unknown to her, never outside in the middle of the day. Before pulling the jacket off he paused as if sensing her indecision. He was giving her the chance to end their interlude before it began, and that pushed her onward.

I’m getting rather cold, she told him, her voice pitched low and inviting.

We can’t have that. His tone was light, but his movements rough as he pulled the jacket off his arms. He moved toward the water and his limp was quite pronounced.

Suddenly Anne’s vision darkened as she put the clues together. She saw the stranger walking toward her, his fine boots splashing in the water, as if through a tunnel. Dark hair, wicked smile, Ashton Park, the limp, God, the limp. It was him. Brett Haversham. And he had no idea who she was. He didn’t even care. She felt the blood drain from her face and her hands began to shake.

Her own promiscuity was forgotten as her anger mounted. The cur. He was going to tup some strange woman here, here, where she lived. Where he knew she lived. And he was fine, damn it, fine! He wasn’t horribly disfigured or an invalid. He had a limp, a stupid limp. All these years and she’d imagined him weak and bedridden. And he was fine. Her grief, her relief, her anger, all coalesced into a white-hot rage. She saw him freeze and look at her oddly as she lowered her arms and marched toward him. She could no more stop her advance than Napoleon could stop Wellington. He held his coat out to her and she grabbed it, but she didn’t stop. She marched right up to him and slapped him as hard across the face as she could.

You bastard, she hissed, and Brett recoiled from the venom in her voice. She raised her arm again and Brett grabbed it, stopping its descent.

Anne! he heard a voice cry from behind him, and his world was jerked out from under him. He hit the water hard, his leg buckling. It took him a moment to realize it was Anne snatching her arm out of his suddenly weak grasp that had overset him, and not the devastating revelation of her identity.

Anne! Freddy called and Brett turned to see him throwing himself from his tall mount, racing toward the water. For a second Freddy stood on the shore, indecision written clearly on his face. Should he help Anne or Brett? Because Brett needed the help. He’d landed hard on his bad leg. He wasn’t sure he could stand on his own.

Anne was struggling into his jacket, the front just barely covering her mound and the shock of shining black curls he’d glimpsed there. Her legs were framed in the tails of his coat, long and sleek, with shapely calves and dimpled knees. Her skin was so white it was almost translucent in comparison to the curls on her head, which were so dark they were almost black. Bertie had been right, she was bloody gorgeous. And he’d almost fucked her in the grass like a goddamned whore.

She swiped at her cheeks with both hands and Brett realized she was crying. He’d made her cry. He’d spent five years denying himself because he didn’t want to make her cry and he’d done it anyway.

Anne, my dear, Freddy beseeched her, but she shook her head, cutting him off.

Freddy, she gasped. Oh Freddy. She grabbed the lapels of the coat and pulled them closed tightly, not realizing that it shortened the coat until it revealed the thick curls dripping water between her legs. Brett saw Freddy’s gaze sharpen as he glanced down at her, and an answering coil in Brett’s insides made him angry at himself, at Freddy, at the world.

I mean Your Grace, Anne mumbled as she wiped her nose on his sleeve. The gesture was so heartbroken, so insecure that Brett tried to stand, needing to go to her. But his leg gave out and he splashed down again.

Brett! Freddy rushed into the water to help him stand. By the time he was up and they both turned to shore, she was gone.

Freddy wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. He’d never expected to encounter Anne here. He’d thought they’d call on her at her mother’s house, make formal introductions, follow protocol. When he’d come through the woods and seen her walking naked and wet toward Brett, who was standing mesmerized in the water, Freddy’s heart had leapt with joy and a deep, crippling sense of loss. They didn’t need him to bring them together. And then she’d slapped Brett so hard Freddy had felt the sting.

It had been almost a year since Freddy found the bundle of letters hidden in Brett’s desk among his papers. Twenty of them addressed to Anne but never sent. Freddy had broken every code of honor he claimed to follow by reading them. They were dated erratically. It seemed that Brett wrote her when he was at his most melancholy. The letters broke his heart in so many ways. Brett had never shared those feelings with Freddy. It was what the letters represented, however, that had set Freddy on his present course. Brett was in love with Anne. Apparently since before Freddy’s brother Bertie died and Brett was injured. No wonder Brett had pushed him away all these years.

So Freddy had contrived to bring the two together. He hadn’t mentioned a word to Brett. He’d been dismayed several months ago to find Anne gone visiting distant cousins when he and Brett had come to Ashton Park for a very brief visit. Brett had no idea that Freddy knew his secret. And now the damn fool had managed to drive her away at their first meeting.

What exactly just happened here? Freddy finally asked as he helped Brett lower himself to the ground. Brett was soaking wet and winced as he gingerly rubbed his thigh.

What happened? Brett stopped rubbing his leg and looked up at Freddy incredulously. Then he fell back in the grass and began to laugh. The sound was far from amusement and close to despair. Brett raised both hands and rubbed his eyes roughly.

Freddy had to force himself to stand there and watch dispassionately. He’d been trying to distance himself from Brett, admittedly with a lapse here and there, ever since he’d found the letters. But it was so hard, and Freddy didn’t like things that came hard. He was aware that he’d been spoiled most of his life and he liked it that way. Brett was the only thing he’d ever wanted this much, and the only thing he couldn’t have.

He made himself turn away and then he, too, lowered himself onto the grass beside Brett. Yes, what happened? You must admit I came upon a rather startling scene. Miss Anne Goode stark naked and emerging from the pond like Venus from the shell into your waiting arms. Except she didn’t fall into them, she slapped the brains from your head.

My brains were nowhere near that far north by then, Freddy. If they had been I never would have gotten off my horse.

Freddy was reluctantly amused. He turned and watched Brett for a moment as the other man lay in the sunlight against the green grass and stared at the sky. Yes, well, this being the first time I’ve seen Anne naked I can certainly understand your lack of mental faculties.

Brett choked out a laugh next to him. She’s bloody beautiful, Freddy. Why didn’t you tell me how beautiful she was?

You never asked. Freddy reached down and plucked a long, flowering grass stem and ran the feathery end through his fingers. As a matter of fact, you’ve never asked about Anne at all.

Haven’t I? Brett levered himself up to a sitting position and briskly ruffled his hands through his wet hair, spraying Freddy with cold drops. The move carried a subtle don’t trespass here message that Freddy ignored.

No, you haven’t. I’d have remembered if you had. And you certainly would have remembered my response.

Brett let his hands fall to his lap. He spread his fingers out against his thighs, as if examining the nails. Would I? Why? What would your response have been?

Freddy stood, ostensibly to brush the drops of water from his coat. But the truth was it was getting too hard not to touch Brett, to wrap his arms around him and confess all. To beg Brett to confide in him.

I would have told you that I’d been in love with her since I was five. That she was beautiful with her laughing blue eyes and dark, gleaming curls. That she was intelligent, spirited and compassionate. That she never made an awkward thirteen-year-old boy in the throes of first love feel awkward. Freddy looked down at Brett and didn’t try to hide the guilt and anguish he felt. I would have told you that I was a selfish bastard who never bothered to come back and see her after Bertie died because all I could think about was myself, and all I cared about was you.

For once Brett didn’t rush in with platitudes to soothe. Instead his eyes reflected Freddy’s guilt and anguish. Then I guess we’re both selfish bastards.

Brett held out a hand, and Freddy grasped it, tugging Brett up from the ground. Brett’s leg wasn’t up to holding him yet, and he fell forward into Freddy. Freddy wrapped an arm around his waist and held him tightly to his chest. Brett smelled like linen doused in tepid pond water, which wasn’t that pleasant. But he also smelled like sandalwood and sunshine, which was. Freddy almost reached up to brush a wet lock of hair from Brett’s forehead, but he stayed the movement.

Are you all right? He spoke before he could temper his concern. Brett pushed away gently, refusing to look at him.

I’ll be all right. It’s no less than I deserve.

Freddy walked over and picked up the reins of his horse. And why is that? He heard Brett limping over to his horse, and turned his hunter to watch Brett mount. Do you need any help?

Brett shook his head. When he mounted, his movements were stiff with pain and pride. It took three tries before he was seated, and his expression told Freddy sitting on the horse was excruciating for him. Once he was up Freddy mounted his own horse.

They slowly made their way through the woods toward Ashton Park.

I’m waiting, Freddy finally said.

Brett answered without looking at him. For what?

An explanation. Why don’t we start at the beginning?

Brett sighed. I rode to the pond. She was there. She indicated interest, which I more than reciprocated. No introductions were made. When I dismounted to give her my coat her demeanor changed noticeably. Then you arrived and she slapped me, or vice versa. As you said, my brain was no longer functioning. Then I made her cry.

Brett stopped and it took Freddy a moment to realize that was the end of Brett’s story. He had no doubt there was a great deal Brett had left out in the telling. I see. Or rather, I don’t see. You did nothing to warrant the slap? That doesn’t sound like the Anne I knew.

Brett’s posture was as straight as pain and self-recrimination could make it. I’m sure I did a great deal to warrant it. I hurt her, Freddy. As I said, I never came to see her after I returned.

Yes, well, neither did I and she didn’t slap me.

I guess she didn’t want to see you.

Freddy felt a stab of unreasonable jealousy. Yes, well now you’ve hurt me.

Brett looked bleakly at him then. By God, I’m having an exemplary day. I’ve hurt the two people in the world I’d least like to harm, it seems. Perhaps if I’m lucky I’ll find a puppy or two to kick on the way back to the Park.

Freddy was again amused in spite of himself. "If I’m lucky we’ll find a puppy or two to kick you."

Late that night in her bed Anne turned onto her right side again, the move jerky with frustration. She’d been tossing and turning for hours .

Her mother had known something was wrong the minute she came in the door this afternoon, but said nothing. She could convey more with silence than others could with a thousand words. Anne skipped dinner and went to bed early. She added guilt over not confiding in her mother to the list of things keeping her awake.

He was here. At this moment he slept at Ashton Park. She could walk over to the Park and stand beneath his window right now. Well, if she knew in which of the many bedrooms he’d been housed. And what would she do there, she wondered with a self-deprecating snort as she lifted her head and punched her pillow down. Stand beneath his window and low like a lovesick calf? She fell onto her back with a thump against the mattress. An ignorant cow, more likely. Anne viciously yanked the pillow from under her head and covered her face with it. She hit him. With all her strength, meager though it was. And then she’d run, like a childish little ninny.

He was so unbelievably handsome. Even more so than she’d imagined, and she’d imagined him countless times. But in her dreams he’d never looked as he did today. Thick, wavy dark hair, a devilish smile accented with a deep dimple in his chin, and dark, seductive eyes. And those shoulders! Even with the limp his legs had been long and well-muscled. Anne felt more than her face heating. She’d offered herself to him like the basest strumpet. What must he think of her? No more than she deserved certainly.

How could she have hit him? He had every right to enjoy the company of any woman who offered. She had no claim on him whatsoever. He’d made that plain five years ago when he hadn’t responded to her letter inviting him here. What a fool she’d been to even offer. As if he had nowhere else to go. He was with Freddy, after all.

The thought of Freddy made her uncomfortable. Her reaction to him made her uncomfortable. He was no longer that awkward boy who’d followed her and Bertie around like a stray pup when he managed to escape his tutor and his mama. He was every inch the duke now, a tall, handsome duke with a shock of dark red hair. And yet he was still Freddy, still Bertie’s sweet younger brother, and that connection pulled her to him.

She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of dear Bertie. How she missed him! He had been her best friend. Everyone assumed he was the love of her life—that she had never married because she still loved him. The truth was she had never loved him like that. He had been the best friend she ever had. They had shared everything, every secret. They had dared everything too, including sex. When she became curious about it, who better than her best friend to satisfy that curiosity? But then Bertie had insisted on marriage, and she’d only been able to put him off when it was apparent she was not with child. She’d always planned to tell him after he came back from the Peninsula. But she’d never had the chance.

And now here was young Freddy, all grown up into the powerful duke. Anne had heard stories around the neighborhood, of course. He and Brett had been in Ashton on the Green just a few months ago. But she’d believed the stories were a result of Freddy’s title and the power and influence that came with it. She saw now that they were not. He was as handsome and commanding as everyone claimed. Even her friend Leah Westridge had been charmed by both men, and other than Leah’s husband and their friend Mr. Schillig, Leah did not like men in general.

The thought of Leah and her husband and Mr. Schillig, and what the three were to one another, had Anne getting warm all over again. She pulled the pillow from her face with a gasp as, unbidden, an image of herself and Brett and Freddy locked in an embrace flashed through her mind. Good Lord! What could she be thinking? Brett would never even speak to her now, she was sure. And Freddy? He was the duke now. No matter how infatuated he’d been with her as a youth, he couldn’t afford a liaison with a woman like Anne, a woman with a less than sterling reputation. And she was several years older than him. He surely had beautiful girls in the flush of youth chasing after him, and not just for his title.

Anne sighed and rolled over again. She had to accept the truth of the situation. Both men were out of her reach because of the choices she’d made after Bertie’s death, after Brett never came. She’d been so lonely. She hardly remembered some of the men now, strangers visiting here or just passing through. Anne was honest enough to admit she had a certain charm and more than passable looks that made the gentlemen notice her. She’d used it to her advantage on several occasions. And it had only taken one rumor about one of those encounters to ruin her reputation.

Anne yawned. Yes, she would let her fantasies of Brett and Freddy go. She had an actual offer of courtship from a gentleman new to the area, Mr. Gideon North. She’d be smart to focus on that. But first she would go to Ashton Park in the morning and apologize for her behavior. She would walk to the Park at an unfashionably early hour and leave a note of apology. She needn’t even see them, really. Then she would stay here near the cottage until they left Ashton Park. Surely they wouldn’t stay long. Freddy never stayed long.

Chapter 2

June 5, 1810

My Dearest Anne,

I switched the vicar’s water for wine yesterday. Well, gin actually. Young Mr. Matthews nearly had an apoplexy after he took a healthy swallow, and so did I, I was laughing so hard. He was a good sport, but North put me on guard duty for it again. Brett just shook his head as he pounded poor Mr. Matthews on the back. Afterwards he made me promise no more pranks on the vicar, who is an earnest, well-meaning fellow, just trying to help. Mr. Matthews reminds me so much of your father, right down to his forgiving nature.

I still miss the Goode Vicar, Anne, though it’s been almost two years since he and Father died. I miss those summer days when you and I used to run wild across the countryside all day like the unruly children we were, only to return to the parsonage at night, to your parents and Father. We’d have one of Mrs. Tilton’s excellent meals, and then Father would bring me back to Ashton Park and Reeves. Then he’d return to the parsonage and play chess with Mr. Goode until dawn, and I would steal back to see all of you the next day.

Brett is rereading your last letter even now as I write this. He has no mail of his own. He was at Talavera, though he will not talk of it. We’ve seen some action, but I fear my first major battle. I could tell no one that but you.

Jerome told me in his last letter that you were looking rather fine these days. You must wait for me, Anne. Do not run off with some handsome Captain of the Guard while your soldier pines for you here in the heat of a Portuguese summer.

Brett sends his regards. He says I don’t deserve you. I think perhaps he is right.

Your Devoted Servant,

Bertie

A nne, my dear, you’ll never guess who’s come to call .

Anne turned at the sound of her mother’s voice coming from the doorway. Anne was standing at the sideboard where she’d been pouring a cup of weak tea. She nearly dropped the cup when she saw who stood behind her mother.

How do you do, Miss Goode? The Duke of Ashland sketched a light bow, his smile polite. Only the twinkle in his eye reminded her of the young Freddy who had gazed at her with adoration when they were both much younger. The twinkle in his eye may have reminded her of days gone by, but his fashionable attire and full lower lip reminded her of the way she’d felt when she’d first seen him yesterday. She got a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach that was not altogether unpleasant but entirely inappropriate. It took a moment for his formal greeting to register. So they were going to pretend yesterday hadn’t happened, were they?

He held out a hand to indicate the man standing off to his side and just behind him. May I introduce Mr. Brett Haversham?

With yesterday’s scene at the pond uppermost in her mind, Anne dragged her gaze over to the man who was stepping forward into the small parlor. He was shorter than Freddy, but then most men were. Where Freddy was tall and sleekly muscled, Brett was thick with muscle, broad and solid. The same strong facial features she’d found arresting yesterday mesmerized her today. His eyes betrayed an uncertainty, a melting brown beneath dark slashes of heavy brows.

A slight movement, or perhaps the lack of it, brought Anne’s gaze swinging back to Freddy. The comparisons were impossible to ignore and even more pronounced now that she’d taken a good long look at Brett. Freddy was almost beautiful—only his aura of power and sexuality kept him from being too pretty. His thick, dark red hair curled gently around his face and collar in a fashionable Brutus haircut, and his blue eyes shone from behind a fringe of dark lashes. His nose was a long aristocratic blade above a sensuous mouth, the bottom lip full and pouty. His chin was strong and firm, a sure sign of stubbornness. She did remember that from years ago. She saw his throat work as he swallowed and the play of muscle in the smooth column of his neck was mesmerizing.

Anne? Her mother’s voice contained a concerned question, and Anne realized she’d been standing there staring like a half-wit for an impossibly rude length of time.

Oh! Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just so taken aback. I…let me… Anne turned away and set her cup down, using the moment to compose herself. When she turned back she pasted a polite smile on her face. How do you do, Your Grace, Mr. Haversham? You do us a great honor this morning.

Freddy came forward and took her hand, raising it to those pouty lips for kiss. Anne was shocked at the heat and grip of his fingers, at the velvet soft texture of his lips as they barely rubbed against the back of her wrist. Not pressed, but rubbed deliberately. The heat traveled from wrist to stomach to sex in a matter of seconds. Anne snatched her hand back and then tried to disguise her discomfort, but she saw the knowledge of her reaction in Freddy’s expressive eyes.

Miss Goode, it is delightful to see you again. It has been too long. Far too long.

His voice sent a shiver through her. She knew it was noticeable. How embarrassing! His voice was soft, sinuous, each vowel and consonant pronounced with a carelessness that belied the sharp attention in his gaze. The roll of his l’s and r’s had made her breath catch.

Brett stepped forward. Miss Goode, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last. Bertie spoke very highly of you, and I see that every word was true. Anne blinked rapidly, lost in the glide of his hand against her palm. She was touching him at long last. His hands were rough, calloused. What had he been doing to cause that? His voice was deep, much deeper than Freddy’s, and softer. If she hadn’t been so attuned to him she would have had to ask him to speak up. He spoke slowly, with an odd combination of hesitancy and sincerity that endeared him to her even as she tried to harden her heart. He lightly pressed his lips to the back of her hand, and they were warm and moist and Anne’s knees wobbled. Then he let his hand glide out from under hers and she felt a rapid tattoo beating between her legs.

She’d never had regrets before. Oh, she regretted Bertie’s death, the death of her father, but she’d never regretted her own actions until now. Now she was faced with two men who were impossibly out of her reach because of her choices.

You— Anne had to pause to clear her throat, you are too kind, Mr. Haversham. She turned to Freddy. And you, Your Grace. She purposely walked toward the doors joining the small dining parlor with the drawing room. She opened them and turned to smile politely. Won’t you join us for a cup of tea, gentlemen? She indicated the other room with a sweep of her arm that seemed ridiculously theatrical to her, and she had to stifle a giggle.

We’d be delighted, my dear. Wouldn’t we, Brett? Freddy drawled and he used the same sweeping motion to indicate Anne precede them.

Well, I told Mrs. Tilton to send the tea tray, Anne, Mrs. Goode said dismissively. I’ve a few things I must take care of. She turned to Freddy and Brett. Gentlemen, it was very nice to see you this morning. Do call again later in the week, and perhaps later in the day. She looked at Freddy and the affection in her face was tempered with sadness. It is so good to see you, Frederick. You bring back memories of happier times.

Brett paused as he was walking to the drawing room. I apologize if we have inconvenienced you, ma’am, he said in his deep, soft voice, and Anne felt that irritating shiver race down her spine again. How she wished it would stop. They were going to think she had the ague, for heaven’s sake. We can return at another time.

Mrs. Goode shook off her reverie and her response was firm and perfunctory. Nonsense! You’re here now, and Anne so rarely has company to herself. We are very informal here. Enjoy your visit, Your Grace, Mr. Haversham, and I shall see you soon. She began walking away, talking over her shoulder. Anne, dear, don’t forget you promised to go into the village today. It really must be done.

Yes, Mama, Anne responded automatically.

When Mrs. Goode had disappeared, leaving the doors open of course, both men turned back to Anne.

We don’t wish to keep you from your day, Miss Goode, Freddy said. There was something in his tone that implied just the opposite. When she looked up