Nicholas had been left speechless merely a few times. The first was when he learned of his father's death, the second when Margaret shared that she was a Leaguer, third when he was informed by his brother Levi that their youngest sisters were friends with bandits, and the latest was when he learned that his valet was a woman and that she was marrying Maxwell.

But this time, as he stared at Sophia's blank face, as he took in her splendor, he was not merely speechless. He was rendered astonished, his mind staggering with such discovery.

His nostrils flared as he gazed into her pale olive eyes. He had the sudden urge to count each strand of her long, thick lashes that hovered above. Her slim nose perfectly aligned with her face, her full lips parting as if inviting him to lean closer so she could whisper her secrets.

Without realizing it, his fingertips lightly ran over her cheekbones and Sophia closed her eyes again, craning her neck to the side as his hand dipped lower down her neck.

With the faint light, he watched as her mouth twitched into a small smile before she said, "Slow?"

Bloody hell.

Nicholas swallowed. He could even attain slow. He could barely move as it is.

Slowly, Nicholas reached for the lamp behind her, looking at her face before he cleared his throat to cover the sound of the switch.

It seemed that he had to act harder this time. He forced his surprise aside and grinned despite himself, pressing his lips against her temple, smelling her scent. Bloody tarnation! Now that he had seen her face, his senses were at full throttle.

"I must beg your pardon, my sweet," he rasped in her ear, shutting his eyes closed as her hands clasped behind his neck. "It has not crossed my mind that I ought to be somewhere of import tonight."

She went still against him. He groaned in frustration, but he could not very well continue after what he discovered.

"I'm sorry," he harshly whispered in her ear before he stepped back. He swayed, staggering on his feet, for his body desired to step forward and return to where it was seconds before. Clasping his hands closed into a ball, Nicholas cleared his throat once again. "I promise to return on the morrow."

There was a short pause before she said, "I am starting to question your true motives, my lord. You did not woo yourself into my chamber simply for the challenge, yes?"

"No, of course not!" he savagely denied. "Believe me, Sophie, I would want for nothing but spend the rest of the night with you." It was true, he thought.

But not this night.

No, perhaps on the next, but not tonight. "But a big hindrance is currently giving me agony," he said, "and she is called Mother."

Her chuckle was music to his ears.

Ah, bloody hell. He was doomed.

*****

"What the bloody hell is the matter with you?"

Nicholas snapped his head up and found Maxwell glaring at him. They were in the drawing room, waiting for the ladies to come out of the gardens.

Maxwell brushed his long hair away from his face and narrowed his eyes at Nicholas. But it was Ralph who asked, "What is it Nick? You had been staring into air like a total fool that you already are."

He looked around the room and found his two brothers-in-law giving him the same curious look as his brothers.

He returned his gaze on Maxwell since he was the only person in the room Nicholas knew could be very honest. "What would you do if you—"

"Ah, bloody hell," Ralph interrupted with a frustrated sigh. He raised his palms as if in defeat. "You are smitten with the woman, are you not?"

"Which woman?" Wakefield asked.

"The one he is spying in Rock'oles," Cole provided, giving Nicholas an assessing gaze.

Wakefield was the least of the men in the room who knew about the slavery case Cole was working on with the help of his wife, Margaret. And he was also the only person in the room who did not know Margaret was part of the League of Founders.

But to give the man credit, he never attempted to dig further, merely took what he could from such conversations.

Maxwell was the first to ask, "What was it you wish to ask?"

Nicholas sighed and shook his head. "Bother not," he snapped. Glaring at Ralph, he added, "And I am thoroughly smitten, yes, but I still manage to keep my head together."

"Then do it often," Ralph said.

"Why would I when I can spend more time with the woman and enjoy myself before I ruin it all?" he taunted.

"In case you forgot, Nick," Ralph said, "there are women and children desperately waiting for us to break this case."

Nicholas groaned inwardly. "You put too much pressure on a dandy as what you would call me. And a rake as what most of Wickhurst would agree." He pointed at the floor with emphasis, throwing Cole a glance as he did so, "And this matter of spying on a lovely woman is not my expertise. I was born to love them, not betray them."

"Betray who?" Emma's voice asked as she sauntered into the room with Ysabella. Both sisters were referred to as twins but they were really not. Emma was born two months earlier than term, falling into the same year Ysabella was born. But at that very moment, as the two of them stood near the doorway of the drawing room, arm in arm, giving the men a curious glance that could very easily morph into potential trouble, there was little doubt that they were twins. "Mother sent word that dinner is to be served in the dining hall, but you cannot leave this room without answering my question. Betray who?"

The men looked at each other.

"You," Nicholas quickly replied, jumping to his feet.

"Me?" Emma asked.

"Yes."

"How?"

"We were talking about marrying you off," Ralph nonchalantly provided, following Nicholas out of the door.

"You cannot surely be thinking it," Emma said, chortling in disbelief. But the laughter in her green emerald eyes slowly died as she took a good look at Maxwell who had risen to his feet and was now making his way toward her. "You are not serious, are you?"

Maxwell shrugged and patted her cheek. "We were discussing the amount of dowry."

Cole and Wakefield chuckled as Emma scowled after her brothers, disengaging herself from Ysabella who tried to stop her by saying, "Em, they are not serious!" but Emma did not hear her.

"You cannot marry me off!" She shouted, storming after them. "I will never marry! You will beat the man to shambles if one comes about and I would gladly pay you all a handsome townsend if you do!"

"We already have one in mind, Em," Ralph cried over his shoulder.

Nicholas clucked his tongue as he entered the dining room where the rest of their family was waiting.

"Nicholas! Ralph!" Emma shouted behind them, causing both men to snicker as they took their seats around the long dining table.

"I told you, Maxine, dear," their mother, Lady Alice Everard, said to Maxwell's wife, "that there is no need to check where they are. They always have a way of making their presence known." She watched her children settle in their respective seats. The husbands sat with their wives while Nicholas, Ralph and Emma sat at the end of the table. "Now, children," their mother said sternly, "do settle down. And I meant all of you. The real children are upstairs having their own picnic as we speak and they are far less boisterous than the lot of you."

"And I do wish to be with the children than these horrid ones!" Emma started, pointing at Nicholas and Ralph. "And you too, Maxwell," she added.

"Come now, Emma," Ralph said, feigning boredom. "We all know you must be wed soon. You cannot forever live with a cat that disappears every month and our dear mother deserves her freedom. And have you not been matching couples since you were ten?"

"Twelve," Ysabella corrected.

"And what does it have to do with me being married?" She glared at Nicholas. "And who is this man you claim to turn into my husband?"

Nicholas shrugged. "One you do not know, I swear."

"You mean one I shall have hanged before he can make an offer!" She snapped her head at the black-haired woman at the head of the table. "Mother, please do tell these gentlemen that I have the right to—"

"You ought to know by now, Emma, dear, that your brothers live to torment you," their mother said dismissively.

"So," Nicholas said, ignoring Emma's murderous glare, "who has the happiest news?"

Everyone looked at Cole and Margaret.

Margaret sighed. She threw Emma a look. Emma raised her hand in defense and said, "I merely told Nick and no one else."

"I never told anyone," Nicholas said.

Margaret turned to Ysabella who then turned to Wakefield. Wakefield's eyes widened as he stammered, "Mother told me the news."

Margaret closed her eyes and sighed. Everyone turned to Lady Alice who let out a chuckle. "Oh," she said, clearing her throat. "I might have told a few of my dearest friends and Lady Hayward is amongst them. She is practically family, see?"

"By few you mean also sending a hasty letter to Lady Theobald," Maxwell wryly uttered.

Maxine turned to Margaret with an amused smile. "My mother sends her felicitations, Maggie."

Shaking her head, turned to her husband and said, "Then perhaps we might as well call the children and tell them the news. They do not—"

Cole cleared his throat with a guilty look.

Margaret groaned.

"I might have slipped the news to Faye and Fiona," Cole admitted. "They are very perceptive, Meg."

Margaret raised her hands in defeat. "And should I ask who shared the happy news to those in Devonshire and Standbury?"

Everyone around the table looked at each other.

"Oh," Ysabella cheerfully jumped in her seat. "I sent Agatha a letter. I might have added a post script, Maggie."

Margaret turned to their mother who gave her a sweet smile. "Of course, dear, I had to tell Levi. He is your brother, after all. And Tori is your best friend!"

Margaret chuckled in disbelief and frustration. Cole reached for his wine and said, "Then let us all assume the happy news is delivered and cheer for the new addition to the family."

Everyone except Margaret took their glasses.

Lady Alice clapped her hands together as dinner was being served a moment later. She turned to Maxwell and Maxine with an expectant look.

Without sparing his mother a glance, Maxwell droned, "What is it, Mother?"

"Happy news to share, son?"

"None," was Maxwell's fast reply. Maxine nudged him by her elbow and he sighed. "Maxine and I are enjoying marital bliss. That is one happy news as it is. As to a child, mother, I promise that you shall not hear the news until the babe is born for I shall not have my wife's pregnancy be published on the Herald."

Maxine started to say something but her husband stopped her by saying, "And perhaps you would like to ask Nicholas," Maxwell said, expertly diverting the topic. "He does fancy someone."

Nicholas almost choked on his food. He could see Emma and Ysabella leaning over their plates to gawk at him with great interest. "No, I do not fancy—"

"The woman in Rock'oles?" their mother asked and it was everyone else's turn to choke on their food and simultaneously reach for their wine.

"Mother, please," Nicholas groaned, kicking Ralph under the table when his brother appeared to be enjoying the torment.

"I demand to see this woman," their mother insisted.

"Perhaps you must consider the fact, Mother," Margaret calmly uttered, "that she is Nicholas' mistress."

"Why? Can a man not marry his mistress? McKenzie Haverston did, did he not?"

"Mother!" Ysabella said, choking with laugher.

"And were we not there when he begged her to marry him?" Lady Alice added with an innocent tone.

"I do not believe she will wish to meet you, Mother," Nicholas said simply for the sake of ending the conversation. "And I am certain she has no desire to see any of you for she simply cannot. It is just not done."

"If you change your mind, we can arrange for tea," Lady Alice offered. "I have always wondered what these Rock'oles women are like."

The men around the table cleared their throats in discomfort.

"My friends said that you simply have to imagine a woman from any brothel dressed in the most expensive gowns," their mother continued. "But I do not think that it is the best description. We cannot simply judge these women—"

"Mother, please," Nicholas said, this time his tone serious. "Women in Rock'oles stay where they are for they know their place in society. There is no need for us to begin to imagine them outside of their world. We shall merely be causing them further perdition."

His mother appeared stunned for a long while before she blinked and smiled. "Oh, very well, then," she said with a shrug. She turned to Margaret. "Now, dear, tell me what you wish for this babe. Do you want another boy or a girl?"

Nicholas did not realize he had gotten tense until Ralph threw him a look. He gave his brother another kick under the table but heard Emma cry out in pain instead.

"Who was that!" Emma demanded, turning to Ralph. "Was that you?"

Before Ralph could muster a reply through his laughter, Emma smacked his arm.

"Now, now, children!" their mother cried out, breaking her conversation with Margaret. "Goodness, you will be the death of me, I swear! I have said it many times and I am utterly certain of it now!"

"It was Nick, Em!" Ysa said over the ruckus. "Simply look at his face!"

"How I do miss Ben at a time like this," Maxwell was heard saying to his wife.

Nicholas snorted and reached for his wine, spinning to the side to save his leg from Emma's kick.

And that was how he liked his family dinner.

*****

Nicholas carried a sleeping Fiona into the carriage, depositing the child beside Faye and said to Margaret and Cole, "Felicitations, you two. You are terrific parents."

His sister smiled and blew him a kiss before he closed the carriage. Ralph joined him, both of them also ready to depart.

"If what you say is true," Ralph said in a serious tone, watching Ysabella and Wakefield board their carriage, "that this woman is blind, then she is the perfect person for Durley and his slavery trade." Nicholas' jaw tightened. "She cannot see the men who enter her chamber. She is the perfect messenger."

Their mother was approaching them with Emma beside her. "You mean she is the perfect slave," he muttered to his brother before he smiled to accept his mother's embrace of goodbye.

*****

Sophia was playing with the smaller lamp on her bedside table as she waited. She had flicked it on and off a few times, her vision still in total darkness.

For seven years since she arrived in Rock'oles, she had always wondered how it was like for her visitors to merely have such small amount of light. Or was it small indeed? Perhaps it was enough for them to study her from head to foot without the help of the brighter ceiling light, that she was simply too blind to not realize that she was the only one who found the need for more.

When she heard the lock turn from outside, she turned off the bedside lamp and stood to her feet. With great ease, she found her spot in one corner. Brigid jumped on her lap and she petted the cat as she waited with a smile.

"Hello, Sophie." Nicholas Everard's voice was far from the strained one she last heard, reminding her of that odd moment. "I am praying you are not naked," he added, his voice getting nearer. "For I expect to talk before we continue where we left off."

Sophia swallowed her anxiety. The thought of being bedded by Nicholas Everard was both exciting and scary. There was no encounter with Nicholas that she was not reminded of the men who had taken her in the past. But his nearness also reminded her of what she had never experienced before, thus the excitement.

Yet for now, despite how she liked how his touch made her feel, the fear and constant desire to preserve and protect herself was prevailing. It was a pattern too hard to break, a habit too strong to replace.

But she could act. She could act as though she needed him. She did want him in a way, yes, but she did not need him because Marcus had already given her what she needed most and she could not ask for more.

She was surprised when Nicholas fell beside her in the settee, causing Brigid to jump away in alarm. "Now," his teasing voice said beside her ear, "where do you wish to start?"

Sophia swallowed. "Stripping?" she teased, planting her palm over his thigh.

He jerked in reaction and she smiled. At the very least she knew he desired her. She could work on that.

"I truly meant it when I said I expect to talk first, darling," he said, taking her hand into his. "Tell me something. How did you come to be in Rock'oles?"

She frowned. No one had dared ask her that question because no one truly cared. Since there was no use lying, she decided to tell Nicholas the truth. "Someone kind found me in a brothel where I grew up and took me here."

She hitched her left leg over the settee and turned to face him. He did the same and they faced each other in the darkness—in her darkness.

Without thinking, her hands raised to his shoulders. He was a broad man, even larger than Marcus. Nicholas Everard could very easily overpower almost all her visitors.

"And you like it here?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"I merely have one place to compare Rock'oles with, my lord," she whispered, her thoughts already drifting away as her fingers lightly moved over his face, etching each curve and edges into her mind, "and I can tell you that this is like heaven."

*****

Nicholas did not know what had gotten into him but the moment he entered the chamber, he blindly found his way to the bedside lamp to turn it on, covering the sound by saying, "Hello, Sophie."

And then his chest expanded as he took a deep breath in awe at the sight of her sitting in her corner, petting a black cat. He cared not that the dog was at one corner, following his gaze, or the fact that the cat looked utterly familiar. He cared not for his attention was solely on her.

And now, as she traced his face with her fingers, and knowing that she was probably trying to make a picture of him in her mind, he was overpowered with an intense desire to give her something—anything.

He wanted to show her what was beyond her walls, beyond her eternal darkness.

For the first time since his first visit in Rock'oles, Nicholas did not bother to stare at what a woman was wearing. He cared less that she was wearing a thin nightgown because the color of her eyes were far more interesting. And as he studied them he realized that he wanted to see more of her, probably even more than her desire to see him.

And for a brief moment, he felt utter grief which was soon replaced with guilt. How could he have lived his life ignorant of these people? They were beautiful and they deserved a glance, even a second one.

He had seen merely a few colored people in his life for they were often not seen and when he did, he would always look away. He could not ignore them as most of his acquaintances could for he simply could not. All he could do was look away for that was what was expected—it was etiquette.

If colored individuals were around, they were expected to disappear as fast as they came. They were not considered a part of anything, especially in a town such as Wickhurst. They were the people who worked the harder labor, the unseen forces behind the easy lives of the privileged. Never had Nicholas conversed with a colored individual for their race was silent and unseen, because that was what society expected from all classes.

And so it was with great and utter amazement that Nicholas found himself saying to Sophia, a woman of color, a woman he barely knew, a woman he was expected to use to betray the man who saved her from her past, the very words he had never dared ask a woman before. "Sophie, come away with me."