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chain. For an instant, all she could think was that he was austere and forbidding in manner—and in
looks! Long of nose and keen of eye, his hair as dark as ink. But those eyes… They held her as if pinned. She saw in them a haughty condemnation, a cool, dismissive appraisal… and then she saw nothing, no hint of anything at all.
    More memories brushed at her. Of falling into darkness. Darkness and warmth. Of being held in a man's arms…
this
man's arms. She recalled the smell of bay rum, of being carried up a flight of steps, the touch of warm fingers brushing at the neckline of her bodice. On the warm skin of her breast…
    Her hand flew to her throat. "You touched me." The accusation came out in a breathless whisper. This man—this
stranger
—had undressed her. Touched her as no man had ever done, as no man had a right to, not even Nathaniel.
    Nathaniel. Dear God, this was his brother. His
brother
, a man she had never dreamed existed—a man she hadn't
known
existed.
    "Unavoidable, under the circumstances, I'm afraid." He sounded not the least apologetic, she noted indignantly. Her chin came up as he approached the bedside. Then, to her utter shock, he gave as courtly a bow as one would find in London.
    "I do believe we should reintroduce ourselves," he said smoothly. She found her fingers encased strongly within his grip—oh, if only she were wearing gloves! The feel of warm, faintly callused skin against hers disturbed her immensely. "Morgan O'Connor at your service."
    His brows slanted devilishly, he awaited her response. "Lady Elizabeth Stanton," she stated breathlessly. Even as she spoke, she sought gently to tug her hand free. But to her discomfiture, he refused to release her. Years of breeding took their toll; she was too much of a lady to make a scene.
    Thank heaven there was no need to persist. He released her fingers abruptly and stepped back.
    "I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of having your trunks delivered here from the docks."
    Elizabeth raised her gaze. "My thanks," she murmured. Despite the obvious richness of his clothing, there was something distinctly predatory about him that put her on guard. Warily she watched as he proceeded to pull up a chair to the bedside.
    He gave a half smile, a smile that did not reach his eyes. "You must forgive my colonial ignorance, but I find myself intensely curious as to why you are called
Lady
Elizabeth Stanton."
    Did he mock her? She couldn't be sure. Nervously she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, unmindful of the dark gray gaze that tracked its movement. "I am the daughter of the Earl of Chester. As such, I am known as 'lady.' "
    "I see," he murmured. "I confess, Elizabeth, that merely makes me all the more curious as to what a woman of the aristocracy should want with my brother."
    As he spoke, he crossed stylishly shod feet at the ankle. Though the movement was offhand, the omission of
lady
was blatant. Elizabeth had the strangest sensation there was nothing unstudied about the man.
    Her delicate chin angled high. She would be no one's patsy, and it was time he knew it. "The reason is simple, really." She folded her hands in her lap and smiled directly into cold gray eyes. "I came to be his bride."
    "Indeed. And what does your husband think of this?"
    Elizabeth was caught wholly off guard. "My husband," she echoed. Her tone turned indignant. "Why would I wish to marry Nathaniel if I were already married? Why, the question is preposterous, sir! Of course I have no husband!"
    "No?" His hand shot out, encircling her wrist like a shackle of iron. Though his hold was not hurtful, his movement was so sudden and unexpected that she nearly cried out. "Then why do you wear a ring," he demanded, "if you are not wed? Indeed, I wonder if you are truly who you say you are. Perhaps Lady Elizabeth Stanton is just a guise—a means to an end. Well, I warn you now, whoever you are, you'll gain little from my brother."
    Elizabeth gasped and wrenched her