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my heart, I won’t stop you.”
    “That’s easy enough for you to say now.”
    “A kiss, Princess, that’s all I require to take you to your fiancé in Scutari.”
    She was probably a fool to trust him, and yet—
    “When would we leave?” she asked.
    “When would you like to?”
    “Tomorrow. Midnight.”
    “It shall be done.”
    If he’d given her a cocky smile, a triumphant sneer, she would have left him waiting on the docks. Instead he merely extended a slip of paper toward her. “Instructions for locating my ship at the wharves.”
    “You were rather confident that I would accept your terms.”
    “Not at all, but I believe in being prepared.” He turned and in long strides headed for the window.
    “Captain?”
    He stopped and glanced back over his shoulder at her.
    “You could use the front door,” she told him.
    He grinned, a devastatingly sensual grin that brought out the glimmer in his eyes. “Where’s the challenge in that?”
    Then he was out the window.
    She scurried over to it, leaned out, and watched as he scampered down the towering oak like a monkey she’d observed at the zoological gardens.
    She heard a knock on her door and glanced over her shoulder to see Martha bringing in her warm cocoa.
    “Is everything all right, my lady?” the maid asked, and Anne wondered what her face must show.
    Perhaps a hint of excitement, of anticipation.
    “Begin packing our things, Martha. We’re going to Scutari.”

Chapter 3
    T he following evening Tristan stood outside Easton House, his older brother’s residence. He didn’t have time for such nonsense. He had a ship to ready. But after visiting with Anne the night before, he’d gone to the docks to alert his men they’d be setting sail at midnight tonight. Upon arriving at his ship he’d found a note from Sebastian, inviting—a polite word for commanding—Tristan to join his family for dinner. Obviously going to see Rafe had been a mistake. His younger brother had no doubt alerted the older of Tristan’s presence in London.
    He supposed he could ignore the summons, but during their youth they’d gone far too many years without contact. What was a couple of hours of inconvenience when they had the opportunity to be together?
    He remembered a time when he would have simply walked into the house, but Sebastian had been a bachelor then and the house had seemed to belong to all three brothers. Now Tristan was more a guest, and his brother’s marriage to Mary had changed the dynamics somewhat.
    He lifted the heavy knocker and released it. Just as he anticipated, a footman quickly opened the door and ushered him in. As Tristan was handing his hat, gloves, and coat to the servant, the aging butler appeared.
    “My lord Tristan, welcome home.”
    “Thomas, you’re looking well.”
    “Couldn’t be better, sir. Thank you.”
    “I assume the duke is in the library.” Making use of his well-stocked liquor cabinet if he were smart.
    “Yes, m’lord. Shall I announce your arrival?”
    “No need for such formality.” He strode through the familiar hallways, noting an empty spot or two where their father’s portrait had once hung. Their uncle had destroyed a good many of them. Tristan felt the familiar fury rise with memories of the vile man who’d sent them scurrying for their lives. His death brought no satisfaction.
    As Tristan neared the library a footman bowed and opened the door. Tristan went through without slowing. This room had been his father’s domain. It brought a bit of solace but the sight of his brother standing near the fireplace brought more.
    “Tristan.” The right side of Sebastian’s mouth lifted in welcome, the left side too badly scarred to do much of anything. His brother set aside his tumbler and was soon giving Tristan a bear hug and a solid slap on the back.
    Then his brother released his hold and went to the liquor cabinet as though embarrassed by his warm welcome, one that was no doubt a result of Mary’s