Edmond Thorne loved his sister.

Granted, this wasn't an altogether surprising thing; the two were close in age and had spent much time together as children. And besides, he was a brother. Most brothers adored their sisters.

But Edmond has always been quicker to note other men's interests in Victoria than his two elder brothers, who treated her fondly but otherwise paid her little heed. Two years his senior, the lovely Victoria began to garner men's attention when he was still far too young to merit the opposite sex's admiration. He saw the way other men looked at her, and he felt a fierce need to protect her from their hungering gazes. Thus far, Victoria had done a fine job of fending off every suitor; he had been required to do nothing.

Now, there was Beckett.

From Beckett's first visit, Edmond had looked into his eyes and had seen that Beckett was determined to break his sister. And there was no way in hell that Edmond was going to permit that.

Until that day, Victoria had still been safely within Edmond's reach. She had lived at home - had, indeed, been locked away there – but now Beckett had stolen her. He had taken her away and locked her up in his home – and Edmond knew what was likely to happen should Victoria be forced to stay with Beckett too long.

Still, Edmond was young; there was little he could do in the face of such a powerful man. He knew he would have to enlist some help if he wanted to save his sister from ruination.

That was the reason he was standing on the doorstep of the Wellington mansion, nervously waiting for the butler to answer the door. If anyone could keep Beckett from becoming too friendly with Victoria, it was Rosemary.

The door to the Wellington home swung open, a tall and sedate man in a long white wig answering.

"I'm here to see Miss Wellington," Edmond said, folding his hands behind his back.

The butler raised an eyebrow, looking Edmond over clinically. Edmond suddenly realized why the butler might be eyeing him in such a way. "It's not… I'm not here to… see her," he spluttered, "I merely wish – I have an issue to bring up with her."

The butler raised both eyebrows and turned away, clearly disbelieving Edmond's words. "Who shall I say is calling, sir?"

"Edmond Thorne," Edmond said quickly.

The butler turned back in surprise. "Won't your sister be a bit displeased with both of you?" he asked, then promptly had the decency to look abashed. "Forgive me, Mr. Thorne, I spoke out of turn," he said apologetically. "Please do enter. I shall inform Miss Wellington of your arrival."

Edmond watched the butler depart the drawing room, glaring nastily after him. He wasn't here to experience Rosemary's lavish sexual attentions – popular though they may have been, and as little as he minded the thought. He had important business to discuss with her…

Fortunately, Rosemary didn't keep him waiting. "Eddie, darling," she said with a broad smile as she sailed into the room. He drew in his breath sharply. Rosemary never failed to stun him with her beauty or her grace. Her dark hair had been left down today – she apparently had no intentions of going out – and she wore a lavender dress that, as usual, was cut scandalously low. "I wondered when you'd finally decide to visit me."

"I hate to disappoint you, Rose, but it's not that sort of visit," Edmond said in amusement.

Rosemary pouted. "Oh, come now, Eddie, you're far and away old enough to be with a woman," she said. "And wouldn't it be best to have that first tender experience with someone you know and trust?"

"Just because my sister trusts you doesn't mean I do," Eddie replied with a lopsided grin. "And anyway, Tori would kill us – or at least you – if ever I were to take advantage of such a generous offer."

"Pssh," Rosemary snorted, waving a hand. "Tori would rather you be with me than any other woman – save Cat, of course. By the way, how is the future Mrs. Beckett?"

Edmond grimaced. "Please don't say that," he requested. "It makes me ill to hear my sister referred to in such a way. They're not engaged yet, you know."

"They might as well be," Rosemary said matter-of-factly. "Not that I like the man any more than you do, but I do have to admire his persistence. I don't believe there's another man alive who could tame Tori's wild soul."

"A husband shouldn't have to tame her," Edmond said angrily. "He should accept and love her for what she is."

"I hate to say it, Eddie, but Tori's wild soul is precisely what makes Beckett want her," Rosemary informed him. "But on to less depressing topics of conversation. What brings you to my humble abode?"

Edmond looked around and laughed. "You believe this place humble?" he said, noting the lavish furnishings, rich carpets, and gorgeous paintings on the walls. Rosemary's father was a Lord, and they were undeniably wealthier than the Thornes. Under typical circumstances this did not bother Edmond, but it struck him full force whenever he followed Victoria on her visits to the Wellington manor.

"Humble compared to some – Beckett, for one," Rosemary replied. "You didn't answer my question."

"Coming to see you isn't enough of a reason?"

Rosemary laughed musically, throwing her head back as she did so. Her bare throat was exposed to him, her long dark hair thrown in a stunning wave over her shoulders. Edmond blushed as he felt an aching want starting to grow.

She stopped laughing, her hair falling like a silky mahogany curtain over her face as she looked at him with a smile. "If you'd really come just to see me, you most certainly would have accepted my offer when I first entered the room," she said, eyes sparkling in amusement. "No, really, Eddie, what do you want? Does your sister send you as an emissary?"

Edmond's eyes darkened. "I only wish she did," he said, "But I've not seen her today. She slipped past our Company guards this morning. Beckett was… not pleased."

Rosemary flinched. "I can imagine," she sighed. "Did they find her?"

"'Course they did. I swear, that Mr. Mercer is deadly," Edmond said, and he couldn't keep the note of admiration from his voice. "He tracked her down within a few hours."

Rosemary wrinkled her nose. "Ah, yes," she said in disgust, "Mr. Mercer. We don't get along very well, him and me."

"Well, it doesn't matter," Edmond said hurriedly. "Once they'd found her, Beckett stopped by our house to speak with my father, and now he has her on house arrest --"

"What's different about that?"

"--at his house and not ours," Edmond finished. "She's to live with him until the whole pirate kidnapping issue settles down."

"What?" Rosemary's eyes flashed dangerously at this news. "Please tell me she has a chaperone."

"Mr. Mercer."

"He is not a chaperone!" she said fiercely. "I won't let Beckett get away with this."

"I knew you wouldn't!" Edmond cried triumphantly.

Rosemary began to pace around the room, slowly and ponderously. "Eddie," she said finally, "You know of my father's house in the country?"

"Yes…" Edmond looked quizzically at her, not sure why her country house would be of any importance.

"I can convince my father to let me visit, so long as I have a male chaperone who is a close friend of the family to watch me," she said. "Do you think your parents will permit you to chaperone two young ladies?"

Edmond looked confused. "I'm not certain," he said. "I don't see how this is going to help Victoria."

"Don't you?" Rosemary asked, quirking an eyebrow. "If you and I – and Cat, of course – tell our parents we're to be gone for a month or so – and if you can forge your father's signature decently enough – we can convince Beckett that we've come to watch over Victoria as extra chaperones. Say your father is afraid that Victoria will be lonely without her friends or something to that effect. While we're present there will be absolutely nothing Beckett can do to Victoria."

"But we'll have to have at least a week to convincingly pack for a trip," Edmond pointed out, "And by the time a week or two has passed… Beckett could have done anything."

"All right, fine," Rosemary huffed, still considering. "I'll go myself, and I'll go at once. I can persuade my father to let me do anything. If it's just my country home I'm to visit he won't mind if I go alone. Just forge me that letter with your father's seal on it and bring it to me this evening. I'll force Beckett to permit me to stay with Victoria, and that will be the end of it." She nodded decisively, then continued, "Of course we'll want Cat to visit frequently."

"We will?" Edmond questioned, dazed by the brazenness of her plan.

"Oh, yes," Rosemary said with an impish grin, "To distract Mercer. He's a bit sweet on her, you know."

"I don't think Mr. Mercer can be sweet on anyone," Edmond said incredulously.

"Shows what you know," Rosemary replied.

Edmond shook his head. "Rose, it won't work," he said certainly. "Beckett won't permit you to just waltz into his house and stay there – not without making certain my father sent such an order."

Rose sighed melodramatically and flopped into a chair. "Well, there's got to be something we can do," she said irritably. "I won't just leave her to Beckett."

Edmond shrugged elaborately. "I leave her care to you," he said. "You will know better than I what to do… but if I may assist you anyway, please let me know."

"I think this is something I ought to do on my own," she sighed, "But thank you anyway, dear." She noted his concerned frown. "Oh, don't worry, Eddie, I'll think of something," she said, rising and kissing his cheek. "We'll get Tori out of this yet. You'll see."

Edmond smiled, enjoying being so close to Rosemary. He was floating on air as she led him to the door and ushered him into the drive, and he remained in a daze until he at last arrived at home again.


Dinner was an extremely awkward affair, for both the servants and the master and future mistress of the house. Beckett continuously shot barbed glances across the table at Victoria, and she returned them with nearly as much venom. She also refused to speak even a little to anyone. Her obstinacy made Beckett's mood the blacker, and by the time the dishes were cleared he was ready to throttle his chosen bride.

As soon as the servants had departed she leapt to her feet and started towards the door, trying to avoid being alone with Beckett for even the tiniest amount of time. Unfortunately for her, Mercer was standing guard by the door, and he stepped swiftly in front of it to impede her progress.

"Going somewhere, Miss Thorne?" Beckett inquired pleasantly.

"The gardens," she said with forced calm, her eyes burning into Mercer. Mercer was not in the slightest bit perturbed by her forthright gaze. "You mentioned earlier that they were quite the sight."

"It will be dark soon," Beckett said, rising and smoothing his frock coat in place. "Surely you do not intend to wander unaccompanied?"

"That is, in fact, exactly what I intended," she stated.

"Well, I'm afraid I can't permit it," Beckett informed her, coming to stand directly beside her. "You could be hurt and it would be long before any would notice."

"Oh, I'm sure you'd notice quite rapidly," Victoria said sardonically.

"This may surprise you, Miss Thorne, but I have other things on my mind besides you." He offered his arm to her, the paragon of a charming gentleman. "Please, indulge me," he said.

Damn him. If she hadn't known what a cold-blooded bastard he was, the almost pleading look he was giving her might have made her heart melt.

She slid her arm through his, her eyes frigid. "As you wish it, my Lord," she said bitterly.

He smirked – once again, he had won. "Mr. Mercer, if you would?" Beckett said, raising an eyebrow.

Mercer bowed slightly and followed them as they departed the room – the chaperone for their walk. Around the servants, there at least had to be some small sense of propriety – otherwise the ludicrousness of this situation would get too far out of hand for even Beckett to handle.

Beckett led her out a back door onto an incredibly lavish terrace – large enough to be outdoor ballroom itself. It was decorated with all sorts of beautiful flowers in lovely planters. There were stone benches neatly spaced around the edges of the terrace, lest anyone should wish to sit. The veranda looked out onto one of the largest and most lavish gardens that Victoria had ever seen. Her breath caught in her throat as Beckett led her across the lawn and into the entrance.

"I chose the plants and their places in the garden myself," he boasted to her as she looked about her.

"I'd no idea that you wished to be a simple gardener," she said absently.

He chuckled. "Not so, my dear," he replied, "I simply like to be in control of all that I own."

That brought Victoria back to earth. "Then I expect you shall wish to be in control of me?" she said heatedly.

"Naturally."

Her eyes narrowed. "You can't rule me, Cutler," she told him.

"You don't think so, do you?" he questioned. "I've bent you to my bidding more than any other aristocrat ever has. Lord Webb, for one, would never have survived two months of courting you. But you see, Victoria, I understand you – because we're alike, we pair."

"I don't believe that for an instant," she said vehemently.

"I am most aware of that," he said regretfully. "However much you may wish to deny it, we are similar."

"Do enlighten me, my Lord," she said contemptuously.

"You're stubborn as hell – as am I," he pointed out. "You don't obey others well but command your own authority instead. You have a head for business, just as I do. You are absolutely unforgiving in your judgments of others. You're obsessed with pirates."

"You're not obsessed with pirates," Victoria snapped.

"Yes, I am," Beckett said irritably. "You're obsessed with living with them; I'm obsessed with killing them."

"And you call that a similarity?" she cried.

"It's obsession, isn't it?"

"And you, my Lord, are obsessed with me," she said, "Whereas I can hardly qualify as being obsessed with you."

"You're obsessed with avoiding me," Beckett commented. "It hardly matters. We're quite the same, you and I. And from the way we fight, we might as well be married."

Victoria jerked her arm from Beckett's with a violent wrench. "I'm going inside," she said frigidly, turning and rushing off in the opposite direction. Mercer glanced at Beckett to see if he should stop her, but Beckett simply shook his head.

"Let her go," he sighed. "She's had enough for one day, and, quite frankly, so have I."

"You'll still have to get her to bed," Mercer noted, raising an eyebrow.

Beckett grimaced. "Please don't remind me," he said tightly.

"You could always let her sleep in one of the guest chambers."

"And allow her to escape again? I think not." Beckett strode purposefully across the lawn towards the house, Mercer loping after him. "I have a great deal of work to do tonight," he said. "Make certain Victoria gets to sleep at a decent hour and ensure she has someone there to watch her until I retire. Do it yourself, preferably, but if you absolutely must get some sleep, send for one of my soldiers. Try to avoid the maids; they'll be sympathetic to her cause and will be more likely to let her out."

"May I assume you'll be in your office, then, sir?"

"You may." Beckett walked through the terrace doors that Victoria had left thrown wide open when she ran in. Beckett closed them firmly and locked them after Mercer had passed through them. "Let's hope that being well-rested will at least slightly cure her of her disagreeable temperament," he said with a glower.

Mercer chuckled. "That I doubt, sir," he said. "That I most certainly doubt."


Mercer proved to be correct. No matter how well rested Victoria may have been, she was as disagreeable as ever and infinitely difficult to manage. When Beckett was at work in his office she would barricade herself in his bedroom, locking the door against him should he choose to enter. Unfortunately, Mercer was her permanent shadow and no matter where she hid away he followed.

Two weeks passed with no sign of rescue from the outside world. Victoria slowly began to fall into a certain routine: she would wake up slowly and lazily every morning, long after Beckett had left the room to work in his office. She would bathe and dress (with Mercer always standing awkwardly nearby); she would eat breakfast; she and Beckett would take a walk through his sprawling gardens; they would get in a ridiculously loud shouting match, which inevitably ended with Victoria storming off to the library and hiding there for the remainder of the afternoon. When both had finally cooled down somewhat, they would have dinner in somewhat chilly silence, and then go for a second walk, which would end once again in a fight. Victoria would storm up to bed and fall asleep after crying for nearly half an hour; Beckett would sit moodily in his office and ferociously work his way through various documents important to the Company. When he was too exhausted to continue, he would go into his room and, after checking on Victoria to make certain she was asleep, he would undress and fall into bed.

And then the process would repeat itself again the next day.

It would have been tedious if not for the constant eruption of their tempers. The servants would stand out of the way but would listen gleefully while Victoria and Beckett shouted at each other about one thing or another and then would quietly continue about their business when the fight was over. Inwardly, of course, they were laughing at Beckett's frustration and Victoria's gall. She was young, so young – yet, even if she feared Beckett, she never harnessed her sharp tongue in his presence.

Three weeks, and the shouting began to tire both Beckett and Victoria. Four weeks, and Victoria had slipped into sullen silence, her eyes downcast at all times. Five weeks, and when Beckett made some small and slightly humorous remark she was quashing a tiny smile.

Everyone in the household knew: she was finally starting to give in.

Beckett's triumph was noticeable in that he did nothing to celebrate it. It was astonishing, considering his temperament, but his was a subtle and quiet victory – perhaps because he, more than anyone, was aware how easily his control over Victoria could be destroyed.

And that destruction began in that fifth week, just as it seemed that he would finally claim Victoria as his – and, in typical fashion and as promised, it was Rosemary who brought it about.


It was storming when Rosemary arrived, the worst downpour of that year. When the butler – a peculiar little man named Oscar Boddie – opened the door, he found Rosemary standing on the step soaked through to the bone, her dark purple dress heavy with water. When she stepped into the parlor, clutching her arms tightly about herself, she brought a great deal of that water in with her, dripping all over the carpet. "Sorry," she said a bit insincerely to the butler. "If this was any carpet but Beckett's, of course, I'd be the sorrier. But it'll dry out; at this rate I think I'll be soaked forever."

Oscar eyed her suspiciously, taking her drenched cape from her shoulders and wringing it out the door as he did so. "Seeing Beckett, hmmm?" he asked, shuffling around her to hand the wet cape to a maid.

"No, I'm here for Victoria," Rosemary said, shivering violently. "My carriage broke two wheels on the road and I've been walking for ages trying to find Beckett's – "

"Rose!"

Victoria hurtled into the parlor and embraced her friend despite her soggy clothes. "Madwoman!" she exclaimed when she took her in. "Did you walk all the way here from your house?"

"It feels as though I did," Rose snorted, pushing some strands of dark hair from her face. "I was staying at our country home for a month. Of course we tried to come back today, in the absolute worst weather, and the carriage broke two wheels. I'm bloody freezing!"

"Here," Victoria said, leading her friend up the stairs. "We'll take you to one of the guest rooms and prepare a hot bath for you. I'm sure we will find you some dry clothing. I'll have the maids start a fire for you, too; it would be terrible if you were to catch a chill."

"It may be a bit late for that," Rose said grumpily, but she followed Victoria up the stairs.

As they passed Beckett's chambers, the door opened and Beckett stepped out. "Miss Wellington?" he said in surprise.

"Her carriage broke down," Victoria explained. "She's freezing; I'll have the maids set up a room for her."

"And I," he said with considerable dislike, "Will send a message to her father informing him of her presence here so that he may retrieve her at his earliest convenience."

"But what if she's ill?" Victoria cried. "We should at least make certain she's not sick before we send her back!"

"Her home is not far from here," Beckett said assuredly. "She'll survive."

"Cutler," Victoria said sharply.

"Tori," he retorted.

She released Rosemary's arm and walked over to him, standing unnervingly close to him. "Cutler, please," she begged, her eyes very wide and innocent. "She's my friend; it would be terrible if she were to fall deathly ill at our hands."

Beckett growled angrily in the back of his throat, but said, "As you wish it, my Lady."

She smiled brightly and kissed him, astonishing both him and Rosemary. Then she flounced off, leading the stunned Rosemary towards a guest room.

"What the bloody hell was that about?" Rosemary hissed as soon as they were out of Beckett's earshot. "I came not a minute too soon!"

Victoria looked at her in surprise. "What on earth do you mean?" she questioned.

"I'm here," Rosemary said, "To rescue you from that bastard's influence, and you should be praising God for that. He's begun to pin you under his thumb, if that little display back there says anything."

Victoria's eyes hardened. "Maybe if you hadn't waited over a month to stage your rescue he wouldn't have been quite so successful," she said, jerking open the door to one of the multiple guest chambers in the house. "You will stay in here," she said formally. "I'll send for a maid to see to your needs."

"Tori, wait!" Rosemary cried, surprised, but Victoria had already sailed out. She stood in the midst of the room, shivering and quite shocked. She had expected Victoria to be breaking, of course – but she hadn't realized how thoroughly Beckett would be able to crush her rebellious spirit in the space of five weeks. Too long, she thought, angry with herself. I should have come sooner.

Of course, there'd been no storm such as this one in which to stage her arrival. She needed the storm if she was to play ill – and being ill would force her to remain here, where she could tear Victoria from Beckett's influence.

It was going to take a great deal more work than she'd expected – that was plain. But she was willing to take that risk. No matter what she'd promised Mercer, Beckett's attempts to win Victoria had gone far past the point of ridiculousness, and she was going to end it before her best friend became the wife of the East India Trading Company's head.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a maid entered the room, head hanging low. "Ma'am," she murmured as she bobbed a polite curtsy. She helped Rosemary out of her sopping clothes as another maid prepared a hot bath for her. Almost as soon as she was free of her wet garments, Rose hurtled towards the bath and leapt into it, sinking into the warm water in relief. It enveloped her cozily, as a warm blanket might, and she reveled in the feeling. She easily forgot about the manifold difficulties of her task – at least briefly – and when she finally slipped from the bath she was filled with a new optimism about wresting Victoria from Beckett.

There were warm and dry garments spread out for her in her bedroom, where a fire was now burning brightly. One of the maids assisted her as she dressed and then departed in completely silence. Feeling considerably better now that she was dressed and dry, Rosemary set off to find Victoria, hoping to remedy her friend's bad mood.

She nearly found herself severely lost amongst the maze of rooms in Beckett's expansive mansion. She might have wandered aimlessly for the rest of the evening if she hadn't heard Victoria's laugh echoing from one of the rooms down a corridor she was passing. She followed the sound of Victoria's voice until she arrived at the door behind which her friend seemed to be standing.

"… and what, exactly, did you tell her?" Victoria was asking. "You'd best have been careful what you said to her; you know what a terrible snitch she is."

"Yes, invaluably so," Beckett agreed. The sound of his aristocratic voice made Rosemary scowl; good God, how she loathed that man! "But I confess I most likely did not watch my tongue as I should have."

"Bloody hell," Victoria groaned. "What did she say?"

"Well, she wanted to know if it was true that I had you in my possession," Beckett said in amusement.

"She said it that way?"

"Yes, exactly that way."

"Oh, God," Victoria sighed. "And how did you reply?"

"With the absolute truth, of course."

"That's not comforting, Cutler."

He laughed. "I simply told her that you were, in fact, currently residing in my house," he said.

"And tomorrow you will be hearing rumors that every night you chain me to your bed and perform all sorts of perversions upon me."

"No such luck, Miss Thorne," he said with a chuckle. "Mercer added that it was for your protection, and that you were kept in a separate wing of the house."

"You told me that you replied with the absolute truth," Victoria said accusingly. "And that was most certainly a lie."

"I wasn't the one who said it; it was Mercer," Beckett retorted. "Anyway, she asked if I intended to marry you, and I told her that I thought my intentions should have been made quite clear by this point."

"So she knows you plan to marry me."

"She knows I will marry you," Beckett corrected.

"You plan to," Victoria said mildly. "I imagine she fell all over herself with excitement to get that little tidbit of information."

"She did," he agreed. "Her friend didn't seem nearly as excited."

"Friend?"

"That dark haired little witch… what's her name? I don't remember. The Harris girl," he said dismissively.

"Charlotta?" Victoria cried. "Charlotta Harris?"

"What kind of a name is Charlotta?" Beckett snorted in response. "Yes, I suppose that's who it was."

"You do know she's had designs on you for months?" Victoria said.

Rosemary couldn't resist anymore; she slowly and quietly opened the door to the room. It was a small, intimate little room, with a couch and several chairs, a fireplace with a roaring fire, and walls lined with bookshelves – a smaller version of the library, perhaps Beckett's most personal collection of works. Or maybe Victoria's, now that she'd become so cozy with the lord of the house?

"Oh, really," Beckett was replying from a comfortable chair, sipping on a brandy and looking utterly bored. "Pity – for her. I've no interest in her."

"Yes, well, she refused to believe it so," Victoria said with a shake of her golden head. She stood in the middle of the room, the firelight reflecting off her hair. "She's practically planned your entire engagement celebration as well as your wedding."

"She'll have to use the plans for someone else," Beckett said, setting down his brandy glass and rising from the chair, "Because my designs remain solely focused on you."

He came uncomfortably close to Victoria and caught her chin in his hand, tilting her face upwards. He's going to kiss her, Rosemary thought indignantly. And she's simply going to stand there and let him!

He was a mere fraction away from touching his lips to Victoria's when Rosemary ahem-ed, loudly and indelicately. Both jerked back from each other, Beckett with a nasty glare and Victoria with flaming cheeks. "Rose," she said, flushing a very brilliant shade of pink. "I thought you might be sleeping."

Rose raised an eyebrow at her friend. "You've no business being here without a chaperone," she said, more to Beckett than Victoria.

"That's hilarious, coming from you," Beckett said hotly, "Considering how often gentlemen find themselves without a chaperone in your presence."

"My choices have nothing to do with what's best for my friends," Rosemary replied calmly. "I was hoping to spend a little time with Tori – I haven't seen her in nigh a month, after all. You've had her holed up in this ridiculously huge fortress for far too long a time, and I imagine she wants some female company. May I borrow her?"

"No!" Beckett said furiously.

"Thank you," Rose said with a beam, walking into the room, firmly taking Victoria by the hand, and leading her out.

As soon as they were far enough away from the room, Victoria and Rose both burst out laughing. "Did you see his face?" Victoria gasped out.

"No, but I wish I had," Rose laughed. "Come on, let's go back to my room; I've so much to tell you! You've missed a great deal since you've been gone…"


Beckett had never liked Rosemary Wellington.

There were an infinite number of gentlemen who disliked her, of course, but this was because all of them were jilted lovers whom she had feigned interest in and then promptly abandoned after her own wild cravings were sated. Beckett had never been the unfortunate victim of her advances, nor would he ever be; the two of them despised each other equally. They were both strong willed and stubborn, but where Beckett was rigid and disciplined, Rosemary was free and ran wild.

It was this lack of discipline that made him cringe each time he saw her. The total abandon in which she lived, her constant flirtations, her rejection of everything society had ordered that she be – it was too much. Beckett had learned how to subtly gain what he wished through subterfuge and manipulation. He acted as though he were constrained by society, lived by its commands, but broke the rules of morality in secret. Rosemary had no such subtlety, and it galled him.

That she and Victoria were friends was most unfortunate. Beckett had hoped to break the bonds of that friendship, but as Mercer had noted from the beginning, the two were nearly inseparable. There was no possible way that he could split them apart; they would always been drawn back together as magnets were.

He would have been able to accept this if Rosemary had generally avoided interfering in his courtship of Victoria (if courtship was even the correct word; 'domination' might have suited better). But it was not in Rosemary's nature to avoid situations that might potentially cause trouble, and she meddled whenever she could in this most important of Beckett's operations.

Her meddling finally shattered the fragile bond he had started to create with Victoria in her five weeks' time at his home. Rosemary, it became clear, had fallen quite ill after her little escapade in the rain, and Victoria insisted she remain at Beckett's mansion to be cared for. They argued for hours over it, the shouting matches that had ceased three weeks before returning with ugly ferocity. Finally, Victoria won – Beckett couldn't afford to appear any less decent than he already did, as he was seriously stretching the limits of society's acceptance by living with Victoria before he married her. The sole reason this was acceptable at all was that there appeared to be pressing need for her to be taken away from home – for her own safety. If not for Orson's attack and Victoria's subsequent flight he would never have had such an opportunity.

And it was beyond painful to him to watch as all his careful work was completely crushed by Rosemary's rebellion.

First, she manipulated him into giving Victoria her own room. Perhaps she did this unintentionally; she had innocently inquired about where Victoria slept, so that if she needed anything she could bother her friend for it instead of trying to find a servant, or worse, Beckett himself. Victoria had been quite ready to tell Rosemary that she was staying in Beckett's room, but Beckett couldn't let word of that get about the upper circles of society. He had quickly interrupted and showed Rosemary to a cleanly laid out set of guest chambers, then promptly moved Victoria there when Rosemary returned to her room for a nap. "This is only temporary," he warned Victoria as the dresses he had had ordered fitted for her were being housed inside the room's wardrobe. "As soon as that whore is gone you will be under my personal protection every single night."

To compensate, Mercer stood guard every night in her room. He slept for a few precious hours in the morning while Beckett kept Victoria entertained; then, mildly refreshed, he would start his guarding duties all over again. Mercer had found learning how to operate on little sleep invaluable in his line of work, and he was no less watchful for lack of rest.

Rosemary found all sorts of subtle ways to insult Beckett, small jibes that left him wanting to beat her into a bloody pulp, or at least watch while Mercer did it for him. Her snide courage – if it could be called that – encouraged Victoria's former aloofness, and she no longer ducked her head to smile when she saw him nor did she pause to speak with him. She regularly cut short their walks with the excuse that she had to tend to her guest, occasionally skipping the walk all together to spend time with Rose. Soon she was like a ghost, flitting through the house, seen only in glimpses and never fully in the flesh.

This had to cease. And Beckett knew just the man to help him…