Whirlwind Wedding

Elizabeth felt the onset of the numbing fatigue that sometimes followed a vision. She wanted desperately to sit down, but the suspicion blazing from the duke's eyes held her pinned in place.

'You will tell me everything you know that makes you claim my brother is alive,' he commanded in an icy tone. 'Immediately.'

Dear God, why did I say anything? But even as she asked herself, Elizabeth knew the answer. A young woman's face flashed in her mind… the beloved friend she'd never see again… all because Elizabeth remained silent about a premonition. It was a mistake she'd vowed never to make again.

And the fact that this William was alive-surely that was joyous news? But the hostility and distrust in the duke's eyes indicated she'd spoken too hastily. Yet surely she could convince him she spoke the truth.

'I know your brother is alive because I saw him-'

'Where did you see him? When?'

'Just now.' Her voice dropped to a whisper. 'In my mind.'

His eyes narrowed to slits. 'In your mind? What rubbish is this? Are you daft?'

'No, your grace. I… I am able to see things. In my mind. I suppose some might call it a second sight. I'm afraid I cannot really explain it.'

'And you're saying you saw my brother. Alive.'

'Yes.'

'If that is true, where is he?'

A frown puckered her brow. 'I do not know. My visions are most often vague. I only know he did not die as everyone believes.'

'And you expect me to believe this?'

The icy disbelief in his tone chilled her. 'I understand your doubts. That which cannot be explained scientifically is easy to dismiss as fiction. I can only assure you that what I am telling you is true.'

'What did this man you claim was my brother look like?'

Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, forcing her mind to empty then focus on what she'd seen. 'Tall. Broad shouldered. Dark hair.'

'How convenient. You've just described half the men in England, including the Regent himself, who, as I'm sure you know, is very much alive. And it would not be difficult to describe my brother when there is a large portrait of him hanging in the gallery.'

Opening her eyes, she said 'I have not seen a portrait. The man I saw looked like you, and he had a scar.'

He stilled and she sensed his sudden tension. 'Scar? Where?'

'On his upper right arm.'

'Many men bear scars.' A muscle in his jaw ticked. 'If you think to convince me that you possess some sort of magical powers, you've picked the wrong man to ply with your schemes. Gypsy thieves have roamed Europe for centuries, claiming such powers, lying, hoping to trick foolish people into parting with their gold, and stealing it if they failed.'

Anger shot through her. 'I am not a gypsy, a schemer, a thief, or a liar.'

'Indeed? I suppose next you'll tell me you can read minds.'

'Only occasionally.' Her gaze dropped to his mouth, which was set in a disdainful line. 'I read your thoughts when you touched my hand.'

'Did you? And what was I thinking?'

'You… wished to kiss me.'

He merely raised his brows. 'It would not require any special powers to hazard such a guess. My attention was momentarily fixed on your mouth.'

In spite of his casual reply, however, she could feel his tension, his wariness and suspicion-feelings she was well used to discerning. But underneath those, she felt something else that, in spite of her anger, called out to her.

Loneliness.

Sadness.

Guilt.

They surrounded him like a dark cloak and her heart pinched in sympathy. She knew those feelings all too well, how much they hurt the spirit, ate at the soul.

She, too, had regrets she wished to atone for. Could she, perhaps, help him? Would that ease her own guilt?

Determined to convince him she wasn't crazy and that he had truly desired her for a moment, she whispered 'You wanted to kiss me. You wondered what I would taste like. You imagined leaning forward, brushing your lips over mine, once, twice. Then you deepened the kiss…'

His eyes flickered, his gaze darkening then dropping to her mouth. 'Go on.'

Heat curled through her when she imagined what he'd thought next… his tongue caressing hers. 'I believe I've proven my point.'

'Do you?' Austin regarded her through narrowed eyes. It was one thing to hazard a guess that he'd thought about kissing her, but it was damned odd that her words had so exactly mirrored his thoughts.

Jesus, what if she were right? What if William was alive? Impossible, illogical hope rushed forward with such force he nearly staggered, but sanity quickly returned. Several soldiers had witnessed William going down in battle. Even though the gunshot wound had destroyed his face, he'd been positively identified by the engraved timepiece found under his body.

There was no mistake. William was dead. If he wasn't, he would have contacted his family and come home.

Unless he were a traitor to the crown.

His mind reeled. It was damned suspicious that Miss Matthews made this claim on the heels of the disturbing note he'd received a fortnight ago, a note that confirmed his worst fears regarding William's loyalty to the crown. Could she know something about that letter or William's war activities? Might she know something about the Frenchman he'd seen with William?

How had she known about the scar? William had a small scar on his upper right arm, a trophy from a childhood riding mishap. Could she have known William? Intimately enough to know his body?

Softly illuminated in the moonlight, her disarranged hair teased by the summer breeze, she certainly did not look like a spy, a murderess, or a seductress, but he well knew that looks were deceiving. Some of the most beautiful women he knew were vicious, conniving, and heartless. What sort of person lay beneath her innocent facade? He didn't know what game she was playing, but he was determined to find out. And if it was necessary to play along with her 'visions' ploy, he would.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word she said 'I'm not playing games, your grace. I want to help you.'

Damn. He was going to have to be very careful around this woman. While he discarded her claims of visions- what sane man wouldn't?-she was uncannily, eerily perceptive.

If he didn't watch his step, he suspected she might somehow learn his secrets-secrets that could ruin his family.

'Tell me what you know about my brother,' he said.

'I don't know anything about him, your grace. Until I touched your hands, I hadn't known he existed.'

'Indeed? How long have you been in England?'

'Six months.'

'And you expect me to believe that in all that time, no one has mentioned my brother?' A mirthless laugh escaped him.

She hesitated then said in a quiet voice, 'I'm afraid I haven't been what one would call the social success of the Season. I find I am most often talked about rather than talked to.'

'Surely your aunt keeps you abreast of the latest on dits?

A wry, half smile curved her lips. 'To be perfectly honest, your grace, my aunt speaks of little else but the