“You want us to confront him?”

“I do, but here, where we’ve got some support and we can keep a close eye not just on Tremaine but on Allie as well.”

“You’re determined to invite him here?” Sara worried a thumbnail between her front teeth. “Is that necessary?”

“I think it is. I wanted to discuss it with you first.”

“I could take Allie away somewhere.”

He understood the impulse to flee but understood as well that it seldom resulted in a real solution—and wasn’t that an insight to be pondered some other fine, long day? “And if he was able to find you here, using your maiden name, what will you do when he finds you there too?”

She glowered at her teacup. “I’ll go to America with the damned snake. It’s my job to keep Allie safe, and I’ll go to the ends of the earth to do that.”

She wasn’t arguing, which Beck took as an indication that she was closer to emotional collapse than even she knew, so he took her teacup from her and wrapped her in another hug. “The ends of the earth are not as worthy of inspection as one might think. It’s time to stop dancing around silences and innuendos, Sara. We’ll get St. Michael here, on our turf, and determine his motives. My brother is an earl, my step-grandmother a marchioness, and my pockets are full to bursting. I’m connected to more damned titles than you can count, and I will bend all of my resources to see that Allie stays safe with you.”

“It’s so complicated,” Sara whispered against his neck. “Why does it have to be so complicated?”

“It isn’t complicated. Either St. Michael ceases his nonsense, or I’ll see him behind bars or in the ground.”

Sara cuddled closer, which might have been a sign of progress except for the realization that if Allie were once again safe, then Beck’s greatest leverage for gaining Sara’s hand in marriage would be gone.

The haying was successfully completed, the barns and sheds and even the house sported repaired or replaced roofs, the walls and fences were again sturdy and straight, and the crops matured in the fields. Summer eased past the solstice and into July, hitting the lull between haying and harvest when life should have been sweet.

At Three Springs, since the evening Beck had explained his intent to invite Tremaine St. Michael for a visit, every adult on the property had lived with an underlying sense of tension. The lack of further destructive mischief only made the anxiety greater.

There was good news, at least for Beck, in that Nicholas had reconciled with his new countess.

“You are still determined to leave?” Beck asked as he and North rode in from the eastern barley fields.

North patted Soldier’s dusty neck. “I am. I thought you’d have matters wrapped up by now, and St. Michael has apparently gone to ground.”

“He’s on his way here.”

“He’s on his way…” North’s scowl was thunderous. “This man puts a little girl in harm’s way, he’s on his way here, and you didn’t think to mention this to me? The women will draw and quarter you, and I’ll sharpen their knives.”

“I got his letter in the village today. Seems he’s been walking the Lake District or some such, and he’s happy to grace us with his presence as of the first of next week. You are duly warned, so what will you do about it?”

“Fret prodigiously.”

“Just so, and I appreciate the warning. But you’ll still go.”

“Soon,” North said, his eyes straying to the back of the manor house. “When you’ve routed the enemy, I’ll move along, so you’d best be looking for a new steward.”

“You were going to stay through harvest,” Beck reminded him as they turned their horses into the stable yard.

“I was going to try, but it isn’t working out that way.”

Beck regarded him as closely as one could regard North, given his ability to mask his feelings.

“Is Polly angry with you?”

North swung off Soldier. “She is not, or not as angry as she should be. She’s… brokenhearted, and that I cannot abide. The sooner I’m gone, the sooner she’ll realize I was a complete waste of her sentiments.”

“Gabriel…” How did Beck, of all people, tell another man that leaving didn’t solve anything?

“There is no good outcome for us, Beckman,” North said as he ran up his stirrups. “The most honorable thing I can do is take myself off and let her get on with her life.”

“You aren’t even giving the woman a chance, North. At least tell her the truth of your situation—whatever that might be—before you go, so she has a reason for your departure other than her own failings.”

“God.” Clearly, this possibility had not occurred to North. He rested his arm over Soldier’s muscular neck and bowed his head as if exhausted. “She’ll blame herself, won’t she?”

“The good ones do. The worthy ones.” Just as Beck had blamed himself for his young wife’s decisions.

The realization went through him like a dose of strong medicine. He felt the relief of it, the absolution of it settle into his soul while North stood braced against his horse.

“I sometimes wish I’d gotten on that ship with the damned snake.”

“But you would have left my flank exposed,” Beck said. “So blame your situation on me, but please consider the terms of your parting. What affects Polly affects Sara and Allie, and me as well.”

“You should have been a vicar.” North loosened Soldier’s girth. “Inducing guilt is one of their most highly cultivated skills.”

“You should have been a marquess,” Beck said, letting instinct have free rein.

North shook his head as he took Ulysses’s reins from Beck. “If I’d been a marquess, I would never have met Polly Hunt, never have built my first snake palace, never have soaked away my aches and worries with you and your nancy damned soap. Being a steward has had rewards being the marquess would never have. I’ve brought in crops I saw planted and tended, cared personally for beasts and buildings, and developed an appreciation for the people closest to the land. It hasn’t been all bad, Beck. In fact, in some ways, I’ve been happier here at Three Springs than I ever would have been as Hesketh.”

Hesketh. Hesketh was indeed a venerable, much-respected marquessate. “And you’ll miss it,” Beck warned. “Worse than you miss Hesketh’s holdings.”

“That I will.” North’s eyes strayed to the house again before he led the horses into the barn. In that single glance, Beck had seen a peacefulness in North’s eyes, an acceptance that boded ill for the man’s future. North was going to leave, and there would be no talking him out of it.

Beck’s situation with Sara wasn’t leaving him peaceful in the least. When he kidnapped her to his bed, she was a sweet and passionate lover. She never sought him out at night on her own, though, and in her embrace, Beck felt an increasing desperation. He reminded her of his proposal regularly, and she renewed her promise to consider his offer if ever she believed Allie in danger.

But that was before Beck had an acceptance of his invitation from Tremaine St. Michael. He broached the topic as lunch was finishing up, when he had Sara and Polly to himself in the kitchen.

“Ladies, we’re to have a guest.”

Sara looked up sharply from where she was sorting the silver back into a drawer. “Your brother?”

“Tremaine St. Michael has accepted our invitation to visit, and he’ll be here on the first of the week.” He was looking right at Sara, so he saw her stiffen and close her eyes. Polly set down the plate she’d been scraping into the scrap bucket and muttered an “excuse me” before leaving the kitchen at a fast clip.

“Let her go,” Beck said softly. “She’ll find North, and I’ve already warned him.”

“I was hoping…” Sara bit her lip and took up the plate-scraping Polly had abandoned.

“You were hoping St. Michael had fallen from the face of the earth,” Beck finished for her. “Apparently, so was Polly.”