If Richard hadn't been kind, Laura might have been able to take spirit from self-righteous anger. But his kindness, however gentle, left her with no possible refuge from remorse. Drained of tears, exhausted by emotion, she lay on her bed and wondered bleakly how on earth she was going to live with herself for the rest of her life, every heartbeat, every breath, shadowed over by her own cowardice and mendacity.

It was not an enduring state of mind. She did not have the sort of character that could sustain constant self-reprobation. By the time morning came, she had persuaded herself that there was possible redemption: to be as kind as possible to Richard in however many days she had left here.

She went downstairs the next afternoon determined to do so. It was one of Richard's bad days, when he was in pain, and Laura's resolve was put to test almost immediately by his impatience and peevishness. He did not want her to read to him. He did not want her to play cards with him. He did not want to go to sleep. Calmly, meekly, Laura persisted. At last, she got the reluctant admission from him that he would not consider it a nuisance if she happened to play the piano downstairs and he happened to be able to hear it. Relieved, she went downstairs and played for well over an hour. She only stopped when she noticed a shadow in the corner of her vision and turned to see that Richard was standing shakily in the doorway, holding the frame for support.

"Richard!" She was at his side in an instant. "What on earth are you doing?"

"I decided to go for a walk."

As they spoke, Neil came halfway up the stairs from below. His eyes went first to Richard's face, and then to Laura's hand, hovering at Richard's elbow. Slowly, he came the rest of the way up the stairs. Richard slipped past Laura into the drawing room and began to hobble around the room. Laura wasn't used to seeing him walk without his stick. He could do it, but he had to slide his right foot forward, rather than step, and then hastily hop with his left.

Neil joined her at the door. "Was this his idea?"

"Of course!"

"And could you not have stopped him?"

"Of course not!"

She was angered by his paternalism and the faint, accusing note in his voice. He was always so ready to believe the worst of her. But, remembering her resolution to be kind to Richard, she decided not to pick a fight with Neil. Instead, she went over to Richard, holding onto the back of a chair to rest, and held out her arm to him.

"I'll be your stick."

He gave her the first genuine smile she'd seen from him in months. "Thank you."

After that, Richard began to hobble about the house frequently. His ribs were healing, and Doctor Cavendish said a little gentle walking might help him. Laura was always happy to lend him her arm or, when he was exhausted and back down on a couch, to sit near him and entertain him with talk or games. Soon, he started to join them for dinner, which lightened what had been for Laura the most dreadful meal of the day, alone with Neil's chilly company. The first night she came down and saw Richard waiting in full evening dress at the table, Laura found herself strangely self-conscious of her own faded and shabby morning gown. Neil had always dressed for dinner, but somehow that had never signified.

Still, she was as kind to Richard as she knew how to be. She refused to allow herself to indulge in bad temper or to fall back into the bitter silence she usually retreated into when she was unhappy. And as he responded to kindness with kindness, she found herself warming to him in ways she never had before. In twenty-eight years of acquaintanceship, she'd never thought of Richard as a friend. Now, in the space of no more than a week, he had somehow become exactly that.

It all would have been very pleasant if it weren't for Neil. Whenever he was with them, the air became damp and prickly again. If Laura made Richard laugh, Neil was sure to frown. If Richard leaned close over the piano while Laura played, Neil would sharply tell him to sit down and rest. Laura realized that Neil was jealous. As it was only Richard she was determined to be kind to, she took pleasure in it.

Very often now, Neil would say in her hearing, "Richard, do you think we ought to write to Mrs Prothero about Laura?" Or, "I got a letter from Verity yesterday. She says her grandmother might take Laura for a few weeks."

"Let's wait until Jane's letter comes," Richard would say every time. And as Jane's letter might not come for a month, that was not unpleasant for Laura to hear.

Only once did Neil say something that truly hurt Laura, and that was when he mentioned at dinner one night that he had seen her father.

"He says he wishes for a reconciliation," he hinted.

"No. No I will not do it."

"It would be better to have a distant relationship than no relationship," Neil said. "He's no drunkard, no wife-beater. You're his only child."

"Would you send your only child to an asylum?" She saw the alarmed look in Richard's eyes and softened her tone. "I am nothing to him, Neil. Nothing."

Richard reached across the table and touched her hand. Neil caught the gesture, and Laura caught him catching it. But he dropped the subject and didn't pick it up again.

Later that night in the drawing room, Laura took vicious pleasure in leaning over the back of Richard's armchair and running a hand through his curls. Neil's eyes widened. Richard looked up abstractedly.

"You need a haircut," she said.

"Do I?"

"Yes. Look, it goes all the way past your eyebrows." And she smoothed down the curls to prove it. "Don't you think so, Neil?" she added sweetly.

Neil scowled. "Leave it to his valet, Laura."

After that, whenever Neil was cold towards her, Laura found herself being over friendly to Richard in return, correcting his cravat, or brushing his coat, or making some other excuse to touch him and spark irritation in Neil's eyes. Richard accepted these attentions with a bemused smile but never reciprocated. Sometimes Laura wondered what would happen if she started up these flirtations when she and Richard were alone, but somehow, if Neil wasn't in the room with them to scowl and glower, she never dared.

* * *

About two weeks after she had come to Richard's house, Neil came to her room very late one night and knocked on the door. She was braiding her hair at the dressing table and regarded him through the looking glass. He must have been at his club, because he was in white silk stockings and black breeches.

"Is something wrong?" Laura asked.

"A little. May I close the door so we can talk in private?"

"As you please." She slipped a lace around her hair and tied it. "What is it?"

He shut the door behind but remained standing by it. "I heard a lot of talk tonight, about you and Richard."

"Should we be concerned?"

"As a brother, I'm concerned."

She bit back a twinge of guilt. "A man's reputation isn't as delicate as a woman's."

"But it simply isn't done, to take a woman into a bachelor's house."

"And yet it has been two weeks now since he has done it."

"And two weeks ago he should have sent you elsewhere." Neil bit his lip. "I spoke with Charles Maidstone today. He's offered to let you live in his house near Portman Square for a week or two. He's your brother-in-law. It would be respectable."

The memory of Charles's smug face made Laura's stomach turn. "No. I won't do it."

"Not even for Richard's sake? You do care for him, don't you, Laura?" His coaxing tone irritated her.

"This past week or so, I've rather had the impression that you wanted me to care a little less for Richard." She stood up and came closer. "Why the sudden change?"

"You're mistaken in your impression."

"Ah. Then you wish for me to love him?"

He went silent, and she allowed herself a smile of triumph. It didn't last long, however for he asked a simple and very unexpected question:

"Do you?"

Before she could answer he went on.

"The past week or two, you've been... well you've been flirting with him, haven't you? And I'm not often home. You're alone together a lot. And well, you're very pretty. I've been wondering if perhaps... if perhaps the rumours aren't coming true." He flushed. "Or if they already have."

It was on the tip of her tongue to deny it, but she noticed his flush and rather enjoyed it. She only smiled sweetly.

"I've learned not to kiss and tell."

"Laura." He closed the distance between them and took her hands earnestly in his. "I love my brother."

"And he's worth it." She was just as earnest as him now.

"I want him to be happy."

"I hope he will be."

"You will bring him so much unhappiness." Neil's eyes were soft and troubled. "Can't you see it? He will never make the connections he needs in his party with you here. He needs a Whig wife, not a Tory mistress. He needs someone who can host his parties and entertain his friends and adore him with every fibre of her being. You're not that woman, Laura. You know that. He knows that. The sooner you leave, the happier he will be. He'll always keep you safe. He'll always help you. But he can do that without you living under his roof. And you've already brought him so much sorrow."

If he had left on those words, she might have eventually persuaded herself he was right. Richard was worth loving. Laura wasn't a woman worth loving him, even if she could have. She didn't need Neil to tell her that. But Neil had to clumsily press on.

"And it's not as though you could really enjoy being his mistress, is it? I mean, you're beautiful and he's..."

She yanked her hands from his and went to the door and opened it wide.

"Goodnight, Neil. I think I've heard all I need."

"Then you won't—"

"I will not."

His face fell. "Right. Goodnight, I suppose."

He went, leaving her fuming behind him. For some minutes, she paced the floor, wishing she had thought of something crueler, something cleverer to say. As a child, she had had rather a fancy for Neil, but she had never known him well, and now she knew him better, she liked him less. Conversely, the more she discovered of Richard, who she had never particularly cared for, the more she appreciated his character, and consequently his looks. The idea that she would be his mistress, against her own inclinations, offended her — on Richard's behalf.

She glanced at the clock and saw that it was past midnight. Richard would be asleep, but Neil would still be undressing and washing in his room. And Neil's room was opposite Richard's, and the floorboards in the hallway creaked.

The mischief came to her in a flash, and she acted upon it as quickly. She undressed to nothing, flung a wrapper around herself, and skittered down to the stairs to the men's rooms below.

She traipsed across the floorboards, which groaned, and opened Richard's door. Perhaps she would have shut it again and gone back to her room, content with that, if Neil hadn't at that moment opened his own door opposite and peered out through the crack. She curtsied at him, displaying her bare calves, and slipped into Richard's room and shut the door.

She intended only to sit by the dying fire for half an hour or so, then return to her room and go to bed, but Richard wasn't asleep after all and spoke as she crossed the floor.

"Who is it? Laura?"

"Yes. Only me." She came softly closer. "Don't make a fuss. There's nothing wrong."

"But why are you here?" She had woken him. He had that confused, dishevelled look, his curls tossed the wrong way across his head. "What are you doing?"

"We're having intercourse. If you'll give me leave, I'll moan a few times and pound the mattress. Then we'll be done and I'll go."

His confusion became a sudden smile. "Do explain, properly."

"Well." She sat on the edge of his bed. "I have just had a most elucidating conversation with Neil. Apparently, I am your mistress."

"Are you?" His half-lidded eyes seemed suddenly more awake.

"The idea of you making... making love with me, distressed him. Greatly. And. I confess. I rather like distressing Neil." She had a sudden flash of doubt. "Do you mind very much, my little joke? I thought you'd be sleeping and not notice."

She had half-thought he'd be offended, but he only laughed softly.

"You've been teasing him all week. 'You need a haircut.' 'My dear Richard, let me fix your tie.' Wasn't that enough?"

"No." She absently smoothed his disordered curls. "Did you find it funny? I could never tell."

"He's my brother. I'm fond of teasing him too, as it happens." His lips quirked. "He didn't insult you, did he?"

"Not intentionally." She didn't want to start an argument between the brothers. "He means well."

"And we don't always do well when we mean it." Richard caught her hand and pressed it gently. "He remembers you too well from when you were a child, and..."

"...I was not the sweetest of children. I know. I'm not the sweetest of women either, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I'm beginning to think you're an acquired taste."

"I like that." She bit her lip. "Richard... Are we flirting?"

"Probably." He still held her hand in his. "Now, is it just to annoy Neil?"

"No. Not even a little bit."

His eyes were soft and dark under the dim light and he was smiling. There were shadows at the corners of his lips. She drew closer and kissed them. It wasn't like the first kiss in the library at all. It was gentle and unhurried, lingering and testing. When she drew back, his cheeks were flushed and his hands were at her waist, hot through the silk of her wrapper.

"You are not wearing anything underneath."

"No."

His hands slid around the tie and stopped there. He met her eyes, the questioning in them, she thought, more for himself than her.

She waited.

He hooked the loops in his fingers and pulled. The wrapper came loose and she shrugged her shoulders until it slipped to the bedclothes. His eyes went wide and rather stunned, which made her want to laugh. He ran a hand over her waist and up to her breasts. She felt fire in his wake and breathed in through her teeth.

"Come closer," he said, and she obeyed, bringing her legs up onto the bed and gingerly sitting over his thighs.

"Not too heavy?"

"Here." He pulled her closer. "The left leg is better. Kiss me again."

She did, and his hands moved slowly across her body, exploring, tasting. There hadn't been time in the library in for this. But there was no impatience now, no anger. Only delicate, warming discovery.

Then he was out from under the bedclothes, and she was tugging at his nightshirt. And when it was off and gone, she saw him in his entirety as she had never had before. Slender, with a tapering waist and flaring shoulders, and soft, brownish skin, lightly downed with dark hair. He'd lost weight in his illness, and the ribs showed visible under his fading bruises, but she knew what he'd look like filled out again — just the right type of slender. She kissed his shoulder. Trailed kisses downwards over his chest.

He flinched.

She stopped and looked up. "I'll hurt you."

"No."

"I did hurt you."

"Only a little." He saw the doubt in her face. "It will be worth the hurt. Don't stop now."

She didn't stop. She had long ago forgotten Neil, forgotten her reason for entering the room. Forgotten everything but the present moment and the present touch — and the present yawning ache to be touched deeper. And he satisfied that ache, and she lay in his arms, dizzy, bewildered.

There was no hurry to get away now, no fear of discovery. He seemed to want her there. He had his arms around her anyway.

"I did not mean for this to happen," Laura said softly, almost regretfully. It would be even harder to leave him now.

"Nor did I," he murmured. "I told myself I wouldn't. I was very firm... mustn't kiss... mustn't touch..." His hand slid caressingly the length of her hip and thigh. "I had the best of resolutions..."

He fell asleep soon after. She kissed his temple, slipped out of the bed, and went back to her room. The floorboards creaked in the hall, but this time, if Neil heard, he did not look out.