He stood for a few minutes more, then entered the room and approached Lady Saxby.

"I beg your pardon," he said, "but if I could have a word with you in private, madam?"

Her smile disappeared and was replaced by a look of surprise. "Of course, Lord Hawthorne."

He bowed to the others, then escorted Lady Saxby out of the breakfast room and through the wide doors to the blue drawing room, which boasted the best tapestries in the palace. He gestured toward the two striped chairs facing each other in the corner and spoke courteously. "Please."

She took a seat.

He sat down facing her. "May I enquire without pretense, madam, about your niece?"

"Certainly."

He hesitated a moment to allow her time to comprehend what he was about to ask, then spoke without ambiguity, determined to say what he must, but being careful not to reveal that he had already secured Rebecca's hand, quite irrevocably in fact, in the most dishonorable way possible.

"Has she given any thought to her future? Does she wish to marry?"

The woman stared at him for a moment before a clear understanding reached her eyes, then she spoke with complete discernment. "Yes, of course, Lord Hawthorne. What young lady of good breeding does not desire such a future?"

"In that case, may I enquire about her father? Is he available for discussions on the matter? Can he be reached during his travels?"

Her lips parted slightly, and she hesitated before she answered. He supposed this was an unnerving conversation for any woman in charge of a younger woman's future.

"He could be," she replied, "but it might take some time for a letter to reach him." She shifted in her chair and tilted her head to the side. "But would it be of interest to you, Lord Hawthorne, to know that my niece is only a few days away from her majority? She will be twenty-one on Saturday."

"Ah, that is indeed helpful," he said, for Rebecca would not require parental consent in order to marry. That would speed matters up considerably. "But I would of course still wish to communicate with her father about any important decisions regarding his daughter's future."

"I understand," she smoothly replied. Then she tilted her head again. "But allow me to inform you also that Lord Creighton has left his daughter in my capable hands with the express purpose of attending the Season in London, and shall we say, solidifying her future. As you know, he is not a social person, but he desires his daughter's happi ness. So I have therefore been entrusted with his blessings, so to speak."

Devon studied Lady Saxby's expression with great care. She was eager, there was no doubt about it, but he supposed that was to be expected. Any woman in her position would consider it a great personal achievement to match her niece with a man of his rank. It was a plain and simple fact. He was heir to a dukedom.

He inclined his head at her. "In that case, I wish to appeal to you for the honor of your blessing, Lady Saxby, so that I may request a private moment with your niece this morning and speak to her directly about a shared future."

She appeared to have some trouble speaking.

"If that is agreeable to you, of course," he added.

With a quick breath, she said, "Yes, it is most agreeable, my lord. And of course, you have my utmost blessing with my own assurance that my niece, Rebecca, is very capable and mature and kindhearted. I feel comfortable leaving the two of you alone to discuss any matters of importance, as I trust her judgment entirely. You will find that she is most pleasant to talk to, and very honest and forthcoming."

"You do not have to convince me of anything, Lady Saxby. I have already discovered all of these things for myself. She is an extraordinary woman."

Her expression warmed knowingly, and he had the distinct feeling this woman was very shrewd. "And may I please say, Lord Hawthorne, that I believe you are an extraordinary man. I am delighted we were able to reach an understanding this morning."

He simply bowed his head. "Thank you, madam."

When they arrived back in the breakfast room, he turned his attention to Rebecca, who was still sitting beside his sister. Charlotte looked up at him with wide eyes, as if she knew exactly what was about to happen and was completely astounded by the velocity of it.

He circled the table. "Lady Rebecca, may I request a word with you in private?"

A hush fell over the room, and all eyes turned to him. Vincent walked in just then and stopped in the doorway.

Rebecca cleared her throat and stood. "Of course, Lord Hawthorne."

He glanced across at Vincent, whose expression was impossible to read, then escorted her around the table, choosing not to meet his brother's gaze again as he passed by.

Exactly one minute later, back in the blue drawing room among the fine tapestries, Devon dropped to one knee, proposed, and Rebecca accepted.

"Your aunt informed me that you will be celebrating your birthday on Saturday," he said, rising to his feet but still holding her hand. "Would it please you to celebrate our nuptials on the same day?"

On Saturday? Rebecca's head was spinning. Even though this was exactly what she'd wanted when she'd fled her home in desperation, she still felt uneasy about how quickly everything was unfolding. It reminded her of how she had felt in that runaway coach all those years ago, how she had been thrown backward against the seat. "So soon?"

"I don't see any point in delaying," he said. "Not after last night."

After last night. Yes, the memory of it had swirled amorously through her mind and body and kept her awake and aroused in her bed until dawn.

"You're right, of course," she said. "But this has all happened so fast, I can barely catch my breath. May I ask…" She hesitated, not quite sure why she needed to know this, when she had come here to Pembroke Palace with a clear purpose of her own to make him her husband. "Was it your intention to find a bride so quickly the other night at the ball?"

He took a moment to put together a reply. "It's been my intention to find a bride my entire life," he told her. "I've always known I would marry one day."

She stared up into his striking blue eyes, searching for understanding, needing to hear something more. She wasn't sure what, exactly, but she wanted to feel as if she knew what was in his heart.

Not that she expected him to tell her he loved her. She wanted him to, of course, in time, but it was too soon for that, she knew. She only wanted some truth and honesty.

Somehow he seemed to recognize her need for both those things and kissed her hand. "Yes, Rebecca. It was my intention to search for a wife that night."

She pondered that. "Is that why you came home to England when you did? To settle down and marry? I am not naive, Devon. I understand that as the future Duke of Pembroke, you have responsibilities. You can be honest with me."

Again, he took some time to answer. He seemed to be choosing his words with great care. "Indeed I do have responsibilities, and it pleases me that you have these practicalities in mind. If you must know, my father was exerting some pressure upon my return, and given his age and his rather unfortunate state of mind, I felt it my duty to oblige him."

"I see."

Was she disappointed? Had she truly imagined it was instant love that had moved him to propose? That he had been utterly swept away by his passions, as she had been?

"Rest assured," he said, as if he could read her thoughts, "that I would not have married just anyone. I was drawn to you the other night, no one else. I wanted you in the most basic way a man can want a woman, which I am sure you saw for yourself last night in your bedchamber." He smiled at her. "You have warmth and charm, my family already adores you, and on top of all that, you have been managing your father's household for a number of years, so I am confident you will make an excellent duchess. I am very pleased with this arrangement, Rebecca."

Pleased with this arrangement.

So, she had not been the only one with specific ambitions the past few days. He had been holding the reins, too, controlling their speed and direction toward matrimony.

Not that it mattered, she supposed. She had gotten what she wanted. She should be thankful that the fates had overlooked her shameless, wicked behavior and been so very generous. Her luck had been incredible.

"It appears I chose the perfect time to finally attend a gathering at the palace," she said uneasily. "You were looking for your bride, which is exactly what I wanted to be."

"Yes. Did we not say it was destiny?" He kissed her hand again.

Perhaps it was, she told herself. Perhaps she should even be thankful that her father had betrayed her and promised her to Mr. Rushton. Perhaps she had needed that cruel but firm push to force her to take charge of her life once and for all. Otherwise, she might still be back home reading Lydie's diary, living through someone else's passions instead of experiencing her own. And Devon might be proposing to Lady Letitia this morning.

"That is very romantic," she said. "I shall remember it always."

And she would not fret over the new direction her life was taking, even though it was happening so fast, it was making her dizzy.

The slap across his face came without warning and stung like the devil.

"You, sir, are no gentleman."

Devon stood in the center of his study, allowing Lady Letitia this moment of fury, because she obviously felt she deserved it.

"You used and misled me," she said.