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a bit more subdued, even crushed.
    Lady Miranda Rohan struck him as someone extremely difficult to crush. Thus, the challenge was immediately appealing. The Rohan family had a debt to pay, and so far they’d gotten off too easily. Even their only daughter’s fall from grace had failed to disturb their equanimity.
    That would soon change.
    All her watchdogs had finally left town. Every single one of the notorious Rohans were in Yorkshire, days away, leaving her behind. Alone. Unguarded. Vulnerable.
    It had been simple enough to have one of Jacob Donnelly’s men sabotage the young woman’s curricle. He’d run the risk of a dangerous accident, but it was a chance worth taking, and he’d come to her rescue like the proper gentleman he was. She hadn’t suspected a thing.
    And now he was very glad he’d decided to do something about the soiled dove. So far the Rohans had faced disgrace with total hauteur and defiance. As he would have, had he ever been fool enough to get caught in his various illegal and immoral activities.
    Lady Miranda’s brother Benedick had no idea his former fiancée had a half brother living in the tropical islands of Jamaica. A half brother determined to gain revenge no matter the price. Taking Benedick’s sister had perfect symmetry, and Lucien liked symmetry.
    Besides, Lady Miranda had quite caught his fancy. His original plan had been simply to meet her, so he could better decide the best way to continue his vendetta. Vendetta —he rather fancied the word. The raging fury of old Italian families wiping each other out over an imagined slight— that was a similar, albeit more well-bred, version of what drove him.
    One look at her windblown countenance and he knew he’d be a fool to leave it to anyone else to ruin her.
    He should have known better than to delegate the task the first time. But then, he’d never realized that therecould be all sorts of added delight in drawing Miranda Rohan into his web.
    He was halfway to his home on Cadogan Place when the idea came to him, and he laughed out loud.
    He knew exactly how to crush the Rohans, to leave them unable to rescue their sweet, ruined little girl this time, unable to do anything at all about it.
    He would marry her.
    The thought of Lady Miranda in the Scorpion’s hands would drive them mad once they knew who and what he was. They’d protected her from everything, even her foolish disgrace. But they wouldn’t be able to protect her from her lawful husband.
    The more he thought about it the more delightful it seemed. He had no intention of hurting the chit. If he was desirous of inflicting pain there were always the infrequent meetings of the Heavenly Host where like-minded people could happily while away an hour or so.
    No, Miranda would survive the marriage bed with no more than her spirit beaten down. He would drive the laughter from her eyes and from those of all the Rohans.
    It was a very practical solution to a number of issues. He’d been meaning to find a bride these last few years. He was halfway between thirty and forty—more than time to find a wife. Miranda Rohan would do admirably.
    He’d get a couple of children on her, quickly, and if she survived childbirth he’d keep her at his estates in the Lake District, as far away from her family as he could manage. Pawlfrey House was a cold, grim place deep in one of those shadowed valleys that aboundedin the Lake District, and he doubted even a woman’s touch could make it more appealing. It would be a difficult life for any brats she might happen to bear him; he’d most likely bring them to a warmer climate to be raised.
    Miranda, however, would remain at the house. She would never see her family again, and his familial debt would be repaid. Genevieve would at last rest in peace, knowing he’d avenged her, and he might very well return to his travels. Even the sunnier areas of this blighted island were