Robert had heard Leila's story too many times. And each time, he felt she was telling the truth. The only thing that stopped him from believing the girl was the fact that she was from Belcourt. While the Circus had two women from Belcourt, both of whom married to Royals, this was a different matter.

Leila was a child. And she was too smart to be one. It was unnerving how she could speak and act as if she was more capable than anyone in the room. If she was indeed the former High Priestess, they groomed her for the role.

While she recuperated, Robert heeded Ellise's orders to keep the girl where she could be watched—Blackwood's villa.

"You refuse to be sent to an orphanage, and since your life may still be in danger, this place will be safe for you. Two of my servants will stay with you here. Should you need anything, call for them."

Leila looked around. "Do you own this villa?"

"Yes," he lied.

"I will feel safer in your villa."

"I like my privacy, Leila. And if Belcourt thinks I am part of the Royal Circus, you most definitely are not safe in my home."

Her lips pursed. Then she broke into a smile. "Thank you."

He nodded and started to leave, but stopped. Turning around, he found her staring at him. "Do you have any plans?"

"What do you mean?"

"Once you are healed, do you have any plans?"

Suddenly, he saw a glimpse of the child that she should be. She looked lost, her brows fused into a fretful frown. "No."

"Do you know if you have family outside Belcourt?"

"No. I was dropped outside Belcourt."

He nodded.

"I cannot stay with you?"

The question sent a shiver down his spine. "No. I do not intend to be around children."

"You mean children who are not your own."

He opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again, afraid to say the wrong thing. "Good day, Leila. I will come visit you soon."

*****

Leila watched through the window as Robert climbed into his carriage. Her arms resting on crutches, she leaned forward and stared at the villa across the street.

After some time, she turned and found a petite young maid enter the parlor. "Hello, young miss. I brought you some sandwiches and hot tea. And what are you doing walking around? You should rest!"

Leila blinked at the woman. "What's your name?"

The blond woman, her curly hair tied at the nape, broke into a big smile, her gray eyes glimmering with natural vivacious spirit, and said, "Arabella, young miss. But you can call me Bella."

Arabella jumped and helped her to a nearby chair when she started walking. "From where I come from, we have Belles."

The maid nodded. "I have heard of them Belles, Miss."

"You have?"

"Yes," Arabella said. "Are they all always so beautiful?"

Leila nodded. "They are." Arabella continued to smile at her and Leila frowned. "Do you need anything?"

The woman blinked and color flushed her face. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to overstay. Please, ring for me if you need anything. Or I can come by and check on you from time to time. Would you like that?"

"That would be all right," Leila murmured.

"Mr Jarvis, the footman, will also stay with us here in the villa. You can also call for him if I am not around—when I am in the market, or if when I'm cooking. Although I believe a cook will come by every day to prepare our meals, which is perfect because I cannot cook—"

"Thank you, Bella," she interrupted with a tight smile.

The maid clamped her lips and scurried out of the parlor.

Once alone, Leila looked to the window and wondered if Robert Dior would buy her a doll.

*****

Three days later, Robert navigated the vibrant marketplace near Coulway's city center. Like his many trips in the past, he entered the alleyway that led to a quaint saloon. The barman offered a slight nod in greeting before pretending to have not seen him. Through a crowd of working people, mostly men, he reached a door, turned right, and took the flight of stairs that led to another room. The same room was occupied by three men, all of whom looked him up and down before one of them opened the door that led to Sheridan Garmont's small office—one of many, of course.

The petite woman was already waiting behind her desk and smiled. A few strays of curly blond hair framed her face. "You know, before I inherited my uncle's fortune, and before I acquired both the Sutherland Post and The Grimes, I abhorred these places. They are filthy. I still hate them, but this feels more tolerable than serving a child as a bloody maid."

Robert nodded and said, "No, thank you," when the lady motioned to the seat nearby. "As you said, this place is filthy." His eyes went to a package sitting on the desk. "What is that?"

The woman rolled her gray eyes. "She wants a doll."

He frowned at the woman. He barely knew Sheridan Garmont, but he knew of her uncle. He was there when Terence Garmont died in Everleigh after they delivered Prince Leo to Herst. And while the Soldiers of Belcourt fired at them in the open field from the woods, Robert froze on the ground and watched Oliver St. Vincent and Terence Garmont get shot.

On the man's funeral, he saw Sheridan Garmont, her entire petite form veiled in black.

"Is she faring well?" he asked.

"She is fine. She keeps asking when you will return for a visit."

"A little impatience will not hurt. It may push her to do something."

"She is from Belcourt, my lord. All they do is wait. I doubt her impatience will lead us somewhere. Has your friend Lord Darcy sent requests?"

"Lord Darcy enjoyed your last article and wishes for more."

She nodded. "Once I get into this child, my lord, there will be more interesting stories. For now, you might have to bear the tedious tone of my articles."

"Lord Darcy does not find your writing tone tedious."

"I would love to meet this Lord Darcy. I believe we shall be friends."

Robert did not comment. "You called for me."

"Yes," said Sheridan. "I received a very important letter from someone you might know. It was delivered straight to my office in the Sutherland Post."

"Who?"

"A woman named Ruby."

Robert stiffened. "Ruby."

"Yes. She claims to be your friend."

"She is a Belle."

"Yes, I know. My men say so. Can I trust her?"

"Ruby is a very complex character. I do not think I can trust her, but that is only because she is from Belcourt."

"She says she wants to help."

"How?"

Sheridan shrugged. "She did not say."

He regarded her quizzically. "You are going to meet her."

"That's what I do, my lord. I get stories. Yours is getting quite boring, if I must be honest. Or mayhap it is just you being dull—no offense, of course. Perhaps you can send Lord Darcy over. I may find him far more entertaining."

"Lord Darcy is an acquired taste."

"You know, I will keep pestering you about him. I want to meet him."

"That will be impossible, Miss Garmont. The Circus will die before you meet Darcy."

"Well, then, I will meet this Ruby."

He nodded. "I cannot stop you. You know how to protect yourself. But do not be like the many fools Belcourt and its Belles had fooled before. Be very careful."

Sheridan tilted her head to the side. "Is this Ruby beautiful?"

"All Belles are."

She broke into a smile. "Then I shall enjoy her company."

*****

Ellise was sitting behind her desk, tapping her fingers on the table, frowning at her thoughts, when Robert found her. He sat on the chair before her, crossed his leg, and asked, "Do you have problems with your little groups of weapons?"

She blinked and met his gaze. "My weapons are quite in excellent condition, although I do not agree that Trent should join Harrow's team."

"Why?"

"Harrow paid Caroline special attention in the past. It may pose as a problem."

"Elle, that was too long ago. Harrow did not know Caroline was betrothed."

"You men can be quite petty."

"And why are you gossiping? You hate gossips."

"Not when they are true," she retorted. "And I have another one that involves you."

He frowned. "What?"

"I talked with my mother and we discussed the settlement agreement for the marriage."

Robert blinked, taking a long pause. The look on her face told him she was waiting for him to decipher her news. "What marriage?" he asked.

"Ours."

He nearly fell off his chair. "Who said we are getting married?"

She leaned back against her chair and sighed. "Oliver."

His mouth fell open. "I do have a lot to say, but please elaborate."

"Apparently, he gossiped about our apparent discussion on marriage and dowries."

"To whom?"

"His wife, of course."

"And?"

"Aliya told Caroline in the Coffin during the opera three days ago. Lady Winthrop heard about it."

His face paled. "Was my mother with them?"

"Of course, she was. And she immediately came to my mother the morning after."

"You mean to say that your brother, Oliver, gossiped about our conversation and now everyone assumes we are planning a bloody wedding."

"Yes. My mother, along with yours, and a few other people, now believes we are engaged." As Robert remained motionless in his seat, Ellise added in her stoic face, "If you wish to throttle my brother, who is the source of the gossip, wait until he is back from his stroll with his daughter. I will take the child so she does not witness."

Ignoring her quip, he frowned. "Surely you corrected your mother's wrong assumptions."

To his great surprise, she mirrored his frown, but hers had an etch of incredulity. "Why would I?"

He uncrossed his legs. "For one, because we are not getting married."

"Yes, but my mother did not ask me. She said she simply wanted to discuss my settlement agreement."

"You could have saved yourself the trouble—" he paused and wiggled a finger at her. "You are taking advantage of the gossip so your mother does not drag you around this season."

She smiled. "If you do not mind, would you like to pretend we have agreed to be engaged?"

"Elle, once it is announced—and I tell you my mother will most definitely announce it—it will be a disaster."

She shrugged. "We are only engaged, Robert, not married. There are many couples breaking their engagements nowadays."

"We are not engaged!"

"Well, we are lovers."

"We are not yet even lovers."

"We will soon be."

He ran his fingers through his hair, and he blinked, realizing an advantage. "This will stop my mother from pestering me."

"Yes. She is currently pleased with our upcoming union."

He scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. "You are incredible."

"Many have said so. Do you still wish to throttle my brother?"

Robert sighed. "No, I wish to drink."

She pushed away from the chair and bent down, opening a side drawer. When she emerged, she placed a bottle of brandy halfway filled. In one hand, she was holding two empty glasses. "I would offer the bourbon, but we have already emptied that one. And I want a report on Sheridan Garmont."

Later, the two of them were in her bedroom, sitting at the foot of the bed, holding a glass each. Facing the faded blue damask wall, Robert relayed his encounter with Sheridan.

"Ruby. Interesting."

"Sasha was hoping to get Ruby on our side."

"No, she was hoping Ruby would make a choice and act on her own."

"I can see that happening. She is a free spirit as she would claim."

From the corner of his eye, he saw her study him. "You know her well," she commented.

"I know her past and her fears. I know her enough to have used them against her."

"You feel guilty using her past against her." Robert did not comment. "As you are guilty over Garmont's death." His jaw twitched. Quietly, her voice slightly gentle than the usual, she said, "Things happened and you cannot change them."

"I'm quite aware of that."

"I know guilt."

He scoffed. "You do now, don't you?"

"Of course. Whenever I make my niece or Mason cry, I feel it." He let out a dry chuckle. "I tell them I'm sorry and that we should all move on. And I give them toys because I think they are too young to argue or fight for their rights."

"Stop trying to appease me. You are awkward whenever you try."

"But it must be working. You look a tad better now than when you first walked in."

"It must be the brandy."

"Then thank me for the brandy."

He smiled. "Thank you."

"You are welcome. Are you ready to discuss something else?" Without waiting, she asked, "What does Leighton say?"

She emptied her glass and Robert filled it halfway, just as she liked it, before he refilled his. He stole her a glance. Her cheeks were flushed from the spirit, but her hazel eyes were clear. She could drink an entire bottle and still beat him in chess. It was one of their favorite games apart from fencing. They would drink and play chess, and the least foxed would always prove to be the winner. Robert never won. And he had always tried his best.

"Esther is still looking for a way to lure Arielle out of Belcourt."

"And Arielle?"

"She had not shown herself to him for weeks."

She stood, walked to her closet, and slid the clothes aside. He joined her, and they both studied the display on the wall at the back. "She has not gone outside Belcourt," she said, pointing at Arielle's name, then at Leila's. "And she appeared out of nowhere. Sasha said Arielle delivers messages for the High Priestess."

"She works closely with the High Priestess. Even the previous one," he said, pointing at Albert's name.

"If Leila is telling the truth, she is who we are looking for. She fits the profile."

"And if she was the High Priestess, she must have had a regent."

"Arielle. With Leila gone, she is the new High Priestess."

He nodded. "And Esther is out to get her. Two sisters fighting against each other. How domestic."

She scoffed and closed the closet door. Then she stilled. "If we cannot get to Arielle, then perhaps we should get to the princess."

He frowned. "That is not part of the plan, Elle."

"She can be useful because she is the princess."

He sighed. "I dislike where you are going with this."

"Sasha had a plan should things go a certain way. And things seem to be going that way. Do you question us?"

"No, but this is the princess, Elle. How do you get past her guards?"

"Leighton will do it for us." She turned and sipped from her glass.

Dior closed his eyes, fighting a smile.

"You like my plan."

"I hate that I like it." He opened his eyes and found her already staring at him with the faintest of smiles. "I want to kiss you."

He saw her eyes darken, saw her cheeks flush with more color. "It is not Monday."

"Are you busy, Darcy?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Without taking her eyes off him, she emptied her drink. He did the same and took it. In a few strides, Robert managed to place the glasses on the table beside her bed, locked the door, and traveled back to where she remained standing in front of her closet.

She moistened her lips as he neared; the anticipation vibrating in the air with each step, humming through his veins. The brandy helped loosen his nerve, and he was taking advantage.

"This is rather awkward," she said when he stopped in front of her. She gulped, eyes wandering down to his mouth.

"We are both terribly awkward," he replied, stepping closer. "You smell of brandy."

"No, you smell of brandy."

His heart was thrusting a force up his throat. Her breath was coming in slow, soft pants. Good. At the very least, he was not the only one having trouble breathing. But as he bent down, and his nose touched hers, as his brandy moistened lips ever so lightly brushed against hers, a different calm settled in his chest.

"Does it have to feel odd?" she asked, moistening her lips again. The tip of her tongue almost touched his lips, sending tingles down to his fingertips. "I feel odd."

"You are overthinking," he murmured, raising his hands to cup her face. They were soft as he imagined, a contrast to the soul it encased. "Can I?"

She nodded in his hand, her eyelashes floating halfway as she peered at his lips.

He dipped lower and kissed her.

His breath hitched in his throat, riveted by the spiral of sensations. The calm was short-lived as it gave way to thunder. By how she took her breath, her hands snaking between them to grasp his collar to pull him closer, and how she rose to her toes because closer was not enough, Robert knew she was as astonished.

Somehow, they may have both thought it would not be as rattling. They have not expected to be struck by such force. And it was a force, both warm and heady with a pledge of unruly destruction.

She tasted like brandy, and she tasted just as he wanted—familiar, exciting, and equally unforgiving. There was no hesitation when her mouth opened to welcome his tongue, no shame when she let out a moan that could only belong to Ellise St. Vincent.

She was a powerful kisser, a warrior out to conquer. When their lips finally parted, they were both panting, their eyes opening wide at each other, discovering something... different. He scoffed, realizing her hair had come loose and his fingers were buried through the tresses. And he was leaning against the closet where she had pushed him.

"That is not the kiss I remember," she said, pressing against him, eyes on his mouth. "Would you like—"

"Yes," he rasped, cradling her skull, bending low to catch her mouth for another scorching kiss.

And as feared, they heard the familiar heavy footsteps from the other room and the squealing laughter of a child.

Robert deepened the kiss, fisting a handful of Ellise's hair in his hand, and with a groan, he pulled away.

"Where's your aunt? Where is she?" Oliver's voice playfully asked. "Can you find her?"

Ellise was still pressed against him and as they caught their breath and listened to Oliver play with his daughter in her study, Robert smoothed her hair. She swallowed, tilting her chin, coaxing him for another kiss.

"Elle, no—"

"He plays with her like he is the child," she murmured against his mouth, her hand sliding beneath his shirt, which she had pulled out of his trousers sometime earlier. "He can go on for hours."

"You want to walk, darling?" Her brother's muffled voice.

"I thought she cannot walk?" he asked, trailing open kisses along her jaw, then her neck, his hand unbuttoning her shirt.

They heard a loud thud followed by Alannah's squeal of delight or horror. "Oh-oh, we cannot tell your mother about that," Oliver said. "How about crawling? You can crawl, darling. No hurry. The longer you can't walk, the longer I do not have to deal with suitors."

Robert buried his chuckle against her neck. Then his laughter froze, replaced by a growl. His hand found no other fabric beneath her shirt. "Good God," he groaned, kneading her breast. It was not the size most men preferred, but he was not like most men, and this was just perfect. The mound fitted his hand perfectly. She arched against his hand. "No shift?" he asked, returning to her mouth, biting her lower lip.

"I was not expecting to leave Sinclair today," she replied with a surprised gasp when he bent down and took the peak into his mouth. Her hand fisted his hair, the other twisting his shirt in a fist.

His groin was burning. Good Lord, what in the bloody hell were they doing? Clearly, this was not going anywhere today. But he could not stop, not when she was making soft sounds in his ear. And most definitely not now when she whispered, "We should have done this a long time ago."

That might have been his undoing. He pulled away from the closet and whirled her around, reversing their position, to crush his mouth back on her.

Oliver was laughing from the other room, and there was another thud. And this time, Alannah cried. "Now, now, don't cry. That was your fault. Can you see my fingers? How many fingers? Good God, you will be the death of me. Your mother will murder me if she—this will bruise, darling. Your Papa is a dead man."

By the time Oliver said the word fingers, Robert had unbuttoned Ellise's trousers and slipped a hand inside. He swallowed her strangled moan with his mouth, and he felt a shiver run up his spine when his fingers found her ready.

He would have given anything to have her at that moment, to bury himself in her and discover if it would be as marvelous and soul-shattering as the kiss.

She elicited the most arousing sounds as he pleasured her, her hands punishing every slide and probe of his fingers by digging into the muscle and sinew of his shoulders. And when he guided one finger into her, she curled and buried her face in his neck, ordering him to stop and then more when he showed her more.

He pulled her head back with one hand and kissed her, straining and ignoring his own needs because seeing her crumble with her eyes hazy with searing passion was just as satisfying. The moment seemed surreal. He had Ellise St. Vincent in his arms, afire and unguarded, sighing his name.

Her mouth opened in a silent cry, her eyes locking with his as they fluttered halfway and close, then back again. Her beautifully flushed face crumpled as she whispered, "Dior." His mouth captured hers for another searing kiss, murmuring soothing words, telling her he was there, asking if she was reaching it. He knew she was.

But then Oliver said, "Do not go anywhere. Papa's going to fetch you pillows. Or would you like to build a tent? I can do that. We need linens. Or the curtains? But first, pillows!"

Robert jumped away in panic. When he heard her strangled cry, he cursed under his breath and stepped back and kissed her deeply. "I'm sorry," he whispered, nuzzling his nose against her temple, righting her clothes as he murmured in her ear.

"Yes, darling, I know. I will get your pillows." Oliver's heavy footsteps thudded from the other room.

Robert leaned back and studied Ellise. She had her eyes closed, her teeth gritted shut. She looked defeated, abandoned in a void. "I'm sorry," he murmured again, kissing her mouth just as the door rattled.

Ellise shuddered, but she let him pull her away from the closet to close her trousers. Once done, Robert tucked his shirt back into his trousers.

Oliver knocked on the door while Ellise tied her hair back in place.

He raked his hair with his fingers and, with nothing to do, rushed to get the empty glasses, snatching the bottle of brandy along the way.

"Ellise," Oliver called from the other side. "I need pillows."

"I need brandy," she said, reaching for the glass Robert was handing her. She downed the drink and swallowed, wincing at the taste and heat. As she recovered, she glared at him and in a low voice said, "You owe me."

His lips twitched into a smile. "I'd gladly pay double."

"Ellise—" Oliver's statement hung in midair as Ellise flung the door open. His eyes darted to Dior. "What—why do I keep seeing you in my sister's bedchamber, Dior?"

Robert cocked his brows high. He lifted his glass at St. Vincent and said, "I am debauching your sister."

Oliver, the giant in the room, could easily throw him out the window. But the man merely laughed and said, "If you can say that with a tinge of fear in your face, I might just believe you." He turned to his sister who was already holding the pillows, then added, "Opera is over, Dior. Go home."

Robert finished his drink and looked down at his trousers, which had gone tight. He looked up and found Ellise also staring. Fortunately, Oliver was focused more on the pillows to have noticed. She threw him his coat.

As he shrugged into it, their eyes locked.

"Monday," she said, almost an order, her hazel eyes darkening as she said the word.

It could be any bloody day, he wanted to say. "Monday," he said as goodbye.