Finishing off the brandy, taking comfort in the lethargy it brought her, she set aside her snifter and shoved herself to her feet. The room tilted, righted itself. Her face felt immobile from the salt of the tears she’d wept, tears that had long since dried, leaving only their remnants. Because of her failings, a title would be declared extinct. And the ruination of her family would be her legacy.

Slowly she made her way from the library into the hallway, following a path she knew by heart. She would become an old maid, living alone in the dower house. She would do what she could to see her sisters well married, but without dowries, it was unlikely they would find happiness.

Trudging up the stairs, she felt as though she were striving to ascend an impossibly high mountain of rugged terrain. She couldn’t recall how much brandy she’d sipped or how long she’d sat in the library wallowing in despair. An hour? Two?

She could barely think, put her thoughts in order, but she would find a way to see her sisters married well. “Tomorrow,” she whispered. “I’ll worry about it all tomorrow.”

For now a keen sadness and sense of loss made her want to cry out. Never again would she see Aiden Trewlove, taste his kiss, grow warm from his smile, have her heart soar as his laughter circled her, be brought to her knees by his gentle caresses. Never again would she share confidences without fear of judgment.

Opening the door to her bedchamber, she welcomed the shadows emerging from the corners, the lone lamp on the bedside table burning too low to effectively hold them at bay. Then she noticed the toes of a pair of shining boots near the chair in the corner. Her brother, damn him. She was not in the mood to deal with him tonight. “Winslow—”

“You left me bound to the bloody bedposts!”

Her heart fairly jumped into her throat, her lungs froze. Not Winslow. Not Winslow at all. She watched in horror as a darker shadow slowly rose from the chair, tall and broad and menacing. When he stepped into the light, she knew she’d never seen such rage.

“You left me bound to the bloody bedposts!” he repeated, as though perhaps she hadn’t heard him the first time.

“Lower your voice. My sisters are down the hallway.” It wouldn’t do at all for them to discover this man in her bedchamber. She closed the door, locked it, leaned against it for support as though it could save her from his wrath.

“Do you think I give a bloody damn? You just left me there. With no explanation, with no way to free myself.”

His appearance had chased off her lethargy. Her heart was beating so rapidly, it had no doubt pounded the effects of the brandy into submission. “Yet, you managed it. I knew you were a man of resource.”