"Why are you breathless?" asked the gentleman to his friend who just rushed in.

"I sighted her walking toward the pond," said the friend. "Perhaps I should pursue?"

"Well, do catch your breath first, Luther," the other said with a laugh.

Cole did not wish to hear, but the two gentlemen were in the next gaming table.

"Say, my friend," said breathless man as he settled in an empty chair, "It was rather disappointing of Humphrey to have deprived us of her company last night."

Cole immediately became alert as the conversation progressed. So did Wakefield, who was sitting across the same gaming table.

"I had been meaning to enjoy her company since she strode into the room in that red gown, I tell you."

The statement was met with a chuckle. "You and every man in the room, Luther." A pause followed. "Well, save Humphrey and old Warren—the man was snoring in his seat right after they were introduced!"

Just as when Cole thought that it was merely a casual talk among two friends, that the topic was finally coming to a pass, the man named Luther said, "I heard she has no intentions to marry."

Cole threw Wakefield a sharp look, but Wakefield shook his head just as the other man replied, "I heard the same from my mother."

"Do you reckon she entertains lovers? I would not hesitate to be on the list if she has any."

"And I would not hesitate to share should you be generous enough."

Cole's jaw tightened and the two gentlemen snapped their head in surprise when he intentionally slammed his glass of brandy on the table, making Wakefield flinch. "My apologies," he said in a cold, flat voice.

They tore their eyes from him and Luther stood up.

"Where are you going?" the friend asked.

Luther snickered. "The pond. I heard it is rather a nice day for a walk."

His friend snorted. "Walk, you arse. The Town deprives us of any day, good or bad."

"Well, then I'm glad there will be no rain to ruin it."

"Are you serious?"

"Of course."

"She has five brothers."

"They're not here, are they?" Luther righted his clothes, undeterred. "By the by, wish me luck," he added before he turned away to leave.

Cole's eyes followed Luther to the door. And then he looked at Wakefield. "Are you not going to do anything?"

But the man merely shrugged. "I'm quite certain Margaret knows how to take care of herself."

"She's the sister of your friends."

Wakefield sighed. "Luther is a gentleman. The most he would do is flirt with her. I don't know why you're too concerned." And then he paused, remembering something. "Ah, yes. I forgot. History and all."

Glaring, Cole pushed his chair back.

"Where are you going?"

"Save my seat," he said before he stood and walked out the gaming room to find Luther. He cursed under his breath when he saw him already at the end of the corridor. The man was walking fast, his steps filled with intent.

Cole briskly followed, even considered sprinting, when his prey reached the side entrance of the estate and walked out.

"Lord Luther," he called out as the man was exiting the estate.

A frown crossed Luther's face as he threw Cole a look, but his steps did not slow down. "Yes?"

"I'm afraid we have not been introduced," Cole said in the most neutral tone he could muster, one he often used in the courts.

"Surely there is a much better time," the man replied, turning to the right to enter the garden.

"But it is the perfect time," Cole said, finally reaching the man's side. Luther was taller, but the man was a dandy and would not last a minute in a fistfight. "I could not help but overhear your conversation earlier concerning Lady Margaret. With that, I believe I must introduce myself."

The man finally skidded to a stop in the middle of the garden. Luther narrowed his eyes at him, obviously irked by the inconvenience.

Cole held out his hand. "Cole Devitt of Ashmore, head of the Men of Courts in Wickhurst."

Luther's brows cocked high and merely stared at his hand. "I see why you think you have the right to interfere with my very innocent plans, Lord Ashmore, but do know I do not welcome it, nor do I care."

The man started to proceed but Cole said through gritted teeth, "She is under my care as a friend of the Everards, Lord Luther. Her brothers would not appreciate it should they hear about your intentions, or your unconventional way of pursuit."

That stopped Luther and despite what he told his friend moments ago, it was apparent that the male Everards caused him concern.

Luther's eye twitched. Composing himself, he pulled off a tight smile. "You are quite right. What was I thinking?" Luther looked over his shoulder to where the entrance to the pond was. "Perhaps I should start by asking for a dance tonight. Good day." His shoulder brushed against Cole's rather too roughly as he retraced his steps back to the manor.

Cole shook his head and cursed himself.

What in the bloody hell was he doing?

Placing his hands on his hips, he glared at the ground and started to turn to make sure Luther returned to the gaming room.

But he did what he knew was a mistake and veered to the direction of the pond.

***

"There must be an explanation," Margaret muttered to herself as she paced in front of the manmade pond not far from the garden. A hole was located directly above it and faint sunlight showered down the center of the water. "Did he leave the party?"

She placed one hand on her hip, tapping her fingers.

"And why would he disappear from the gaming hall?"

She paused, turned on her heels and retraced her steps, frowning at the ground.

"He did not wish to be introduced," she concluded. "Why?"

No answer came.

Margaret paused and a growl escaped her throat at the same time her head fell back in frustration.

She must find that young man. He looked too young to be in this party without company.

"He must have arrived with someone." She turned and paced once more. And then she paused, considering her thoughts. Should she search Cole's chambers?

She shook her head.

"No. Absurd. He's not stupid to bring something incriminating."

Margaret ran her palms over her face and sighed. Was it too late to ask her mentor for a different assignment? A personal history with the subject should be enough reason to be dismissed from this mission.

"Ah, bloody hell, Calan," she groaned. "Why me?"

***

He might not hear what she was saying, but he knew she was frustrated.

The sight of Margaret Everard having a monologue transported him back to the day they first met. He did not know then that she was related to his then friend Benedict Everard. Although he had spent most of his summers and school days with Benedict, he never had the chance to meet Margaret Everard until she was eighteen.

Similar to what was happening now, he spotted her by chance in a garden, berating herself for stepping on her dance partner's foot far too often during a dance.

She had been surprised when he could no longer help himself and stepped out from his hiding place to say, "Mayhap you need a good instructor, my lady."

That was the start of their courtship. With those words, Cole was able to capture Margaret Everard's heart. And when she brushed off propriety and asked if he was offering her a lesson in the middle of the garden, he knew he had to.

"Of course. We would not wish for more gentlemen to limp their way home, do we now?" he had said and for the first time heard her laugh. And he knew then he wanted more of that laughter.

The events of the past quickly disappeared as the present Margaret, clad in her light blue gown, turned and spotted him standing not far away.

Certain now that he had been caught, Cole had two choices: retreat or pretend.

He decided on the latter. His feet moved and took him to where she was standing, her face that of surprise and confusion.

"Were you seeking me out, my lord?" she asked.

He fought the urge to smile. Typical Margaret Everard to ask a direct question. But gone was the innocent and eager curiosity in her eyes. It was replaced by something else, something plain inquisitive and taunting.

"No," he replied, eyes on the pond. Why in tarnation was he here?

"Well," she said, walking closer to him. "I was here first."

"And I reckon you do not wish to remove yourself from here merely because I wish to see the pond."

She chuckled, but it lacked the soul that had once filled it. "Are you not going to ask why I'm here?"

His clasped his hands behind his back to keep himself standing straight. "I came to appreciate the view. There is nothing more I wish to do—or know."

"I was plotting something." Her voice was meant to provoke him. "But I cannot tell you."

"Fair enough." For all he knew she came here to vent out her frustrations over her brother or maybe even him.

And before he knew it, Margaret was standing before him, peering at him with a frown. She sniffed, wrinkling her nose. Cole stepped back, surprised.

"Have you been drinking? In the middle of the day?"

"I was in one of the gaming rooms," was his short reply. He stepped to the side but she followed.

"Why will you not look at me, Cole?"

Cole. Just Cole.

It was nearly his undoing, but he forced himself to lower his gaze to meet hers. "I am now."

Bloody hell, she was beautiful.

Her smile did not reach her eyes. "I am glad we can talk now. Like old friends."

He did not answer. He was not glad at all. Did she think he enjoyed the pain?

"Why have you never married?" The words escaped his lips before his brain filtered the words. "You ought to be married by now with children of your own instead of sniffing old friends."

Surprise registered in her face but she quickly recovered. With a wave of her hand, she nonchalantly said, "Oh, you know why."

She turned to face the pond, standing beside him. He dissected her answer and could only come up with one interpretation.

I hurt you, he wanted to say.

He prepared himself to leave. This shall be their last encounter, he promised himself. Whoever would express any desire to court or seduce her in the future should no longer concern him.

"I would like to offer you friendship." It was the last thing he wanted to hear.

"No," he quickly replied.

"Would you not wish to think about it first?" she suggested in a jesting tone.

"You are the last person I would want to be friends with, Meg." He silently cursed in frustration for using that name again. "People who suffered the same fate as us are better off as strangers." He stepped back and gave her a bow. "Good day, my lady."

He turned to walk back to the manor, daring not to look at her.

"Was it easy?" she asked behind him.

His feet froze. Without turning to face her he asked, "What do you mean?"

"Forgetting. Was it easy?"

Something twisted in his chest and he could barely breathe. He finally turned and braved to face her. His brown eyes searched hers. "Was it for you?"

She put up her bravest smile and answered, "That's why I wish to be friends. It was very surprisingly easy."

Slowly nodding, he tried to smile and failed. "Then my answer is the same. Have a good day, my lady."

He walked away knowing they both knew the other was lying.

***

Margaret nagged herself for how she handled the encounter.

Whatever she was doing, she should stop. She was a Leaguer. Calan Haverston had not recruited and trained her to waste her time mending a broken heart.

She had committed herself to the duties for the Town. The Prime Minister was murdered. Her history with Cole Devitt, or what was left of it, was entirely out of the picture.

Reminding herself of Calan Haverston's instructions, she focused her attention on finding the younger gentleman she saw hanging around him. But it was a challenge with a manor this size, with its hundreds of rooms and guests.

Yet Margaret knew there was somewhere everyone always had to go to—luncheon.

There were three halls the Theobalds had transformed into dining rooms for their grand weekend party. Margaret scanned each before her brother and mother arrived to take their fill. Tori was still with her stepmother and had said that Lord Wittlock was escorting her later, a progress to their plans.

She was on her way to the third dining hall when she spotted the young black-haired man. The lad was about to enter the hall and Margaret scurried after him and feigned a trip and crashed against him.

"My apologies!" she said, eyes wide in mock surprise and horror. "It was very clumsy of me," she said.

The young man looked paler in close proximity, his face vaguely familiar, but not really.

"Are you all right, my lady?" he asked in a schooled manner.

She nodded and narrowed her eyes at him. "You look quite familiar. Were you not in the gaming hall last night? I know I saw you." He blinked away in alarm. "Oh, fret not. I shall not tell your guardian. I have five brothers who sneaked into such rooms when they were younger—younger than you, even." She followed her statement with a laugh, one the lad did not bother to return. "We did not have the opportunity to be introduced," she said. "I'm Lady Margaret Everard."

The young man was clearly struggling. It was apparent he wished his name to remain unknown. And she knew what he was thinking. He was wondering if he should lie or tell her the truth. The truth might raise questions, but if he lied, he'd merely draw more attention to himself and Margaret did not take the young man as someone stupid.

And she was right. She saw truth in his eyes before he spoke. And she heard in his voice that he'd rather say another name than the one he spoke. "Edmund Trilby," he murmured.