When Victoria awoke the next morning, she was only slightly surprised to find Mercer standing by her bedside, arms folded calmly across his chest. He grinned at her as her eyes fluttered open. "Good morning, Lady Beckett," he said.

She groaned, grabbed her pillow, and hurled it at him. "Don't call me that wretched name!" she ordered.

He deftly caught the pillow with one hand and immediately threw it back at her. "Why is it that you always end up tossing the nearest object you have at me?" he asked in amusement.

"Because you see fit to mock my pain!" Victoria said, outraged. "And you never leave me alone!"

"Believe you me, milady, if I had a choice I'd be doing something else," he said dryly. "I've much more interesting tasks assigned to me normally. I'll be damn happy when Beckett has you wedded and bedded."

"Bastard." Victoria shuddered slightly at the thought of being 'bedded' and quickly changed the subject. "I take it Rosemary returned home last night?"

"Yes," Mercer said, the smile evaporating from his face and a grimace replacing it. "She's been safely deposited back into her father's care. I really hate that wench."

"I don't believe she's very fond of you, either," Victoria said with a sigh. She looked up sharply. "Where's Cutler?" she asked.

"Lord Beckett is out for the day," Mercer said calmly. "He won't be back until the evening, unless one of his numerous appointments happens to be cancelled. He had some… business to take care of."

"What sort of business?" Victoria cried in alarm. She could well guess what he might be doing, and none of it boded well for her.

"Not your business," Mercer said, cocking an eyebrow at her.

She glared at him. "Does it have something to do with me?" she questioned.

"I'm not at liberty to divulge that information," he said, a wicked grin flashing across his scarred face. "Are you going to get dressed, or do you plan to lay in bed all day?"

"The latter, if you won't tell me what he's playing at," she threatened.

Mercer leaned casually against the wall. "I can stand here all day," he said easily. "In fact, you'll make my job that much simpler if you stay here."

Victoria glowered at him, threw back the covers, and rose. "God forbid I make your job simple," she said, calmly striding past him despite her state of undress. She had long ago lost her modesty before Mercer; she had found that he cared relatively little about her and had no sort of sexual interest in her – possibly because of his employer, or just because of his nature. At any rate, the sight of her in a chemise did nothing to change his stoic and menacing presence around her, and after nearly five months of being under constant guard she no longer cared if he saw her. "At least tell me if it has something do with me," she pleaded.

"It may," Mercer said shortly. "And then, it may not. Mary!"

At Mercer's shout, a maid pushed open the door and shuffled inside, head bowed. She dropped a curtsy to Victoria and then pulled her behind a screen to dress. Victoria did so in angry silence, glaring through the screen at the shadowy silhouette moving about her room. "If you're looking for my diary, you're not going to find it on my bookshelf," she called to him when she noted that he was intently studying the shelf on the right wall.

"Pity," he said, "It would be the perfect place to put it. Better, in fact, than on top of the canopy of a four poster bed."

"Damn," Victoria muttered, more irritated than astonished that he'd found her diary again despite the cleverness of her hiding spot. "How do you track things down, Mercer?"

"I have many methods, none of which I intend to share with you."

"Humph," Victoria huffed, then gasped sharply as the maid Mary tugged on her corset laces. "I truly despise corsets," she said with a grimace. "Why is it that women have to wear such painful clothing?"

"I've no idea, milady," Mercer answered her.

As the maid finished buttoning up her dress, Victoria suddenly recalled the first day Mercer had been her guard. "Mercer," she said as she stepped out from behind the screen, an evil smile on her face, "Do you remember helping me pick out bracelets for Cat's first visit?"

He turned on her with the most malicious glare she'd ever received. "Don't even think about it," he hissed.

"Well, I can't very well meet my friend without the appropriate accessories," Victoria pouted. "And I've no one else to assist me."

"I am not your personal maid," he snarled.

"You know, Mr. Mercer, at some point in your life you will probably find yourself assisting some woman in getting dressed," Victoria told him, a glint in her eye hinting that there was something more to her words than her innocent tone implied.

Mercer snorted at the insinuation. "I'll have you know, Miss Thorne, that when bedding a woman, the only part a man helps with is the undressing – in case you hadn't noticed from prior experience. I highly doubt Orson was gentleman enough to dress you once he'd finished with you."

"He was asleep," Victoria said defensively.

"Exactly," Mercer smirked. "We sleep, you put your own damn clothes on and get out."

"You're a pig," Victoria said disgustedly. She turned to Mary. "Don't you think he's a pig?"

Mary flushed and mumbled something, then fled the room.

Victoria shook her head and turned back to Mercer. "Why is everyone so bloody afraid of you?" she asked. "I'm not."

"I've never given you reason to be afraid," Mercer pointed out.

"And I suppose you've given that poor girl reason to be afraid?" Victoria said, pointing at the door.

"Looking at me isn't enough of a reason?"

"Not for me." Victoria sat before her mirror and began arranging her jewelry. "Well, since Mary's run off, I'll be leaving my hair down," she sighed. She brushed it out until it was smooth and shining, then let it be as she slipped the pearl necklace around her neck and several bracelets around her wrist. She paused to study her left hand, as though considering what a ring would like on her finger.

"There'll be a ring there soon enough," Mercer told her, noting her stare.

She flushed and put her hand down. "There was supposed to be a ring there from a different man," she said darkly, "Until you saw fit to imprison him."

Mercer rolled his eyes. "You would have been sorely disappointed if you'd held out that hope," he said.

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?" she demanded.

Mercer shrugged. "It would have been impossible for him to keep his promise," he said. "You can be assured of that."

Victoria was ready to argue, but at that moment Oscar the butler opened the door. "Miss Whitlock's arrived," he announced with a bow. "I've shown her into the drawing room. Shall I send for some tea to be brought?"

Victoria leapt to her feet in delight. "Show her into the dining room," she ordered. "I've not had breakfast yet. We'll be down shortly."

Oscar bowed again and then walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.

Victoria turned calmly to Mercer. "Would you mind entertaining Cat for a few minutes?" she requested politely. "I've a few more things to do before I'm prepared to greet a guest."

Mercer shook his head rapidly. "No," he said forcefully. "No, absolutely not!"

"Don't be rude," Victoria said, biting back a smile as she returned to studying herself in the mirror. "Just tell her I'll be down in a minute. You can at least make small talk until I arrive, can't you?"

"I don't make small talk in my line of work," Mercer said, looking stricken.

"Well, what do you do when you encounter an associate you were sent to meet?" Victoria asked crossly.

"On a typical day, I kill them."

She grimaced. "That won't do," she said. "You might not want to mention that to Cat."

"I don't intend to," Mercer said fervently. "In fact, I don't intend to speak to her at all."

"I'm not giving you a choice," Victoria said firmly.

"You can't order me about!" he said furiously.

She stood, eyes narrowed into icy green slits, and said directly into his face, "Mr. Mercer, as Lady Beckett I have full authority over this house in my husband's absence and I am commanding you to visit with Miss Whitlock until I myself can be present!"

"You're not married to him yet," Mercer growled, but despite this protest he turned to leave. He paused just inside the door. "By the way, I'm going to tell Beckett that you not only referred to yourself as 'Lady Beckett,' but also called him your husband."

She had her hairbrush in her hand and ready to toss at him, but he had run from the room before she could throw it. "Bastard," she said angrily, and set about finishing her preparations.


When Victoria arrived in the dining room, Mercer and Catherine were actually having a conversation – a fact so astonishing that Victoria literally stopped in the door and blinked several times to make certain she wasn't seeing things. True, the conversation was mostly held up on Catherine's end, but Mercer was contributing… slightly…

Victoria coughed politely, biting back a wide smile as her friend looked at her. "Tori!" Cat cried in delight, jumping from her chair and embracing her. "How are you?"

"I've been worse," she admitted, "But I've been better, too." She raised an eyebrow at Mercer, who merely glared back at her. "I see you've been enjoying each other's company."

Catherine didn't notice the amusement in Victoria's tone, but Mercer did. "Miss Whitlock was telling me some very interesting stories about your childhood," he said with an impish little grin.

Victoria's eyes widened and her face colored. "Such as?" she said in a strangled voice.

"Oh, nothing serious," he said, a malicious gleam in his eye. "She told me that you found your way into the wine cellar once when you were twelve and got royally drunk, then tried to kiss the stable boy. And that when you were fourteen and attending your first gala you caught your skirt on a nail and it ripped all the way up the back. And that – "

"Catherine Whitlock!" Victoria cried, turning on her friend. "How could you?"

Cat giggled. "He asked how I knew you," she said with a shrug, "And one thing led to another. You aren't cross with me, are you?"

"Not with you," she said, staring daggers at Mercer.

"Lord Beckett will find it interesting that you planned to marry him when you were eleven," he interjected.

"You told him that?" Victoria shrieked. "Dear God, Cat, is nothing to remain secret between us?"

"What?" Catherine asked in an injured tone. "I thought it was ironic, seeing as you're to marry Beckett soon."

"That's what Cutler thinks," Victoria said through gritted teeth.

"Well, at any rate, whatever feeling you had towards him died the instant you heard he'd had a man hung for piracy," Cat said, waving a hand carelessly. "You always did love pirates overmuch. Be glad I didn't tell him about that little trinket of Beckett's that you snitched once."

"What trinket?" Mercer asked. If he had been a dog, his ears would have perked up at those words.

"Well, Beckett was visiting the Thorne house one day –" Cat began.

"Catherine Josephine!" Victoria said sharply, as though she were her mother, "Don't you dare!" She drew in a deep breath to calm herself, and then ordered Mercer, "Those stories don't leave this room."

"Of course," Mercer said mockingly. It was obvious to Victoria that he had no intention of keeping such a promise; he was merely agreeing to please Catherine. No doubt he would snitch to Beckett the instant he had the chance.

"Well, since you pair have become so chummy, why don't you explain what I've been up to these past months here, Mercer?" Victoria advised, her eyes challenging.

"Sit down and I will," he retorted; then, with a glance in Catherine's direction, politely pulled out Victoria's chair for her, and motioned that she ought to sit.

She sat with a huff and immediately began serving herself breakfast. She noted with a small smile that Mercer rushed to pull Cat's chair out for her, too, with far more sincerity and a chivalrous little bow.

As she ate, Mercer told Cat of a few of the adventures Victoria had had while staying at Beckett's manor. All of the stories were carefully edited to hide Beckett's manipulation and the general discord that had ruled the household since Victoria's arrival. He also kept them brief and to the point; Mercer was not a man who liked to talk when it wasn't absolutely necessary, unless it gave him the chance to slight someone. Cat listened raptly, smiling and laughing at exactly the right moment, which encouraged him. Despite his terse nature he kept Cat entertained until Victoria had finished her breakfast.

The rest of the day was spent wandering about Beckett's expansive property. Victoria showed Catherine around the house and gave her a tour of the gardens until it started pouring rain, at which point they fled to the cozy little cottage that Beckett had gifted to her the day before. Mercer built them a fire and they huddled around it until they were dry and the rain had briefly stopped. While he had been preparing the fire, Victoria had searched anxiously for Excalibur, but neither it nor its companion articles remained on the table. She thought she saw Mercer staring at her as she looked in vain for the ancient sword, but she convinced herself that it was merely her imagination.

Finally, they managed to find their way into the house just before it began to rain again. They stationed themselves around a fire in the drawing room, talking and laughing, until dinner was served. They had a lively dinner, as Mercer entertained them both with stories of the various criminals he ran across in his line of work. He had become increasingly talkative as the day had progressed, and by the end of the evening Victoria had determined that he was quite a good storyteller and that she would have to find some way to pry more tales of his life in the slums from him.

After dinner, the trio retired to Victoria's private library for tea, tired but generally happy with the day. It was then, when the sky was beginning to grow dark and the servants were rushing about lighting the lamps, that Cat began to relate what had been occurring in London, outside the safe boundaries of Beckett's manor.

"I wish you could hear the rumors flying about you," Cat said once they were comfortable. "You'd laugh at them all."

Victoria wrinkled her nose. "I highly doubt it," she said. "It probably has something to do with Cutler and I."

"But of course," Cat said, laughing musically. "Everyone wants to know what's been happening between you two. After all, no man's ever lasted nearly this long courting you. They say it must be love."

"Or pigheadedness," Victoria said derisively. "Believe me, Cat, Cutler and I hold no love for each other."

"You hold none for him, at least," Cat sighed. "I'm not so sure on his part."

"Then allow me to be sure for you," Victoria said flatly. "It isn't love that drives him, just the desire to possess me. I'm like another valuable item he pursues in the hopes of adding to his already massive collection. Am I right, Mercer?"

"For the most part, yes," Mercer said with a small smile. "He does harbor some affection for you, though – if only a little."

"You see what I've put up with for the last few months?" Victoria cried. "I think I shall go mad if I can't return home soon!"

Cat smiled sadly. "We do miss you very much," she said, "But we're happy that you're safe. We don't want you to be harmed."

"I could come to far more harm here than I ever would outside this place," Victoria said in disgust.

At this Cat grew very grave. "Most people believe he's already had you, you know," she said severely.

"Well, he hasn't," Victoria said firmly, "So you needn't worry about that."

Cat looked immensely relieved. "I'm glad," she said. "I was very concerned for you for a time."

"Cat, please," Victoria said, "We both know that it hardly matters at this point anyway."

Cat glanced at Mercer in surprise. "Does Beckett know, then?" she asked.

"The bastard's known from the beginning," Victoria said. "It's Orson who was imprisoned for attempting to kidnap me, you know."

Cat gasped. "I had no idea!" she said. "I'm so sorry!"

"Don't be," Mercer growled from the corner. "That disease-ridden whore's son deserves a far worse fate than the one he faces now, and he bloody well does not deserve Victoria."

"He always says things like that," Victoria said, rolling her eyes. "He's far too loyal to Beckett. Sometimes I suspect that if Beckett ordered him to slice off his own head, he would do it."

"I would," Mercer said shamelessly. "Is there something wrong with loyalty, Miss Thorne? I believed it to be a virtue."

"And we all know you are not possessed with many of those," Victoria laughed.

Cat lightly slapped Victoria's arm. "And neither are you," she said, glaring at her friend. She turned to Mercer. "Does she always treat you like this?"

"Oh, no," Mercer assured Cat. "Normally she's far worse."

"You have my sympathy," Cat told him sincerely. "You must be near a god to put up with her every day as you do."

Mercer seemed to blush at the compliment, but it was difficult to tell from the shadows in which he stood. "I… uh… thank you," he said lamely.

Victoria chuckled and poured herself a second cup of tea. "I imagine the aristocracy has been saying far worse things about me than what you've related," she said, saving Mercer from further humiliation.

"Not really," Cat said with a small shrug. "Everyone knows you're engaged, after all."

Victoria shook her head. "But we're not," she said in confusion.

"Oh, don't be so literal," Cat said with a huff. "You may not be yet, but for all the time Beckett's spent the last few weeks negotiating with your father you might as well be. Rumor has it they're sealing the agreement today. Are they?"

"They what?!" Victoria repeated, mouth dropping open.

Cat looked astonished. "I… didn't you know?" she asked.

"No, I obviously didn't!" Victoria snapped. She turned to stare at Mercer. "Is it true?"

Mercer shrugged. "How should I know?" he asked irritably. "Beckett doesn't include me in all of his plans. He has been going out a great deal since Rosemary's gotten here, but he never told me where he was off to – merely that I should make sure you stayed here."

"Liar," Victoria said icily. She turned back to Cat, who was looking rather embarrassed.

"I… ah… didn't realize that you didn't know," she said softly.

"That's apparent," Victoria said sharply, then regretted it. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm just in shock. I didn't realize my father was selling me off like he would a ship's cargo."

"He's been driving a rather hard bargain, if it comforts you," Catherine said. "Of course, Beckett's been fighting equally hard for you. Your father and brothers kept changing the terms of the agreement. It was beyond ridiculous, actually. Beckett must be stubborn as hell."

"You've no idea," Victoria said wryly.

"He has to be, to court this one for as bloody long as he has," Mercer added. "Not to ruin the surprise, but I believe he intended to formally ask you for your hand tonight."

"I may tell him that you revealed that fact to me," Victoria threatened.

Mercer shrugged. "I don't see the point in hiding it from you," he said simply. "You'd probably have guessed, anyway, what with this new information coming to light."

Victoria harrumphed. "I hope Beckett is prepared to get an earful when he returns," she said heatedly.

"And why on earth would I deserve such a thing?"

The trio in the room turned suddenly to face Beckett, who had just opened the door. "I trust I'm not interrupting anything?" he said, raising an eyebrow as he entered the room. He stopped behind Victoria's chair, laying his hands at its top.

"Oh, no," Victoria said sweetly. "You did, however, miss an absolutely fascinating conversation on what's been happening in the outside world. Cutler, you quite neglected to tell me that you were entering into negotiations with my father for my hand!"

Beckett didn't even flinch. "Did I, now?" he said. "How forgetful of me."

If Victoria hadn't been slightly more mindful of her company, she might have leapt to her feet and slapped him. "How much did my father sell me for?" she asked a bit harshly, lifting her teacup to her lips and tossing the tea back as though it were a glass of brandy.

"Nothing," Beckett said simply.

Victoria choked on the tea she had swallowed only moments before. "Nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing," Beckett said, calmly adjusting his frock coat. "I have his permission to wed you, and I receive, out of the deal, you."

"And…?"

"That's all."

Victoria stared at him in disbelief. "I had a very extensive dowry – "

"I am aware of it," Beckett said, a note of anger creeping into his voice. "Unfortunately, your father saw fit to spread that inheritance to your brothers. Keep it in the family, you know."

"And you accepted this?" Victoria cried. "That's the most horrendous agreement I've heard of!"

"Then you sorely underestimate your own worth, Miss Thorne," he said.

"Or you sorely overestimate it," she said, unable to keep a touch of admiration from her voice. "Why would you accept such a pitiful offer?"

"It's not the money I want out of the arrangement, it's the woman." He bent over her chair and snatched her teacup, taking a sip. "Forgive me," he said with a little smirk, "It's cold and wet outside."

"All I'm ever going to do is give you hell," Victoria said, too amazed to protest. "You know that, don't you?"

"You've certainly made that plain enough," Beckett said dryly.

"I'm not going to change just because you married me."

"I know that too."

She looked at Mercer in disbelief. "He's gone mad, Mercer," she said.

Mercer nodded his agreement with such sincerity that Victoria took a cushion from the chair and threw it at him. "Will you stop it?" he said in irritation.

"It could be worse," Victoria pointed out. "I could have thrown the teacup."

At this Beckett uttered a very uncouth curse. "Don't you dare break those teacups!" he exclaimed. "They were a gift from King George himself! The tops of the bloody things are lined with gold!"

"Are they really?" Catherine said, picking hers up and studying its edge. She ran her finger across the slender gold line at the rim. "Tori, they are!" she cried in childlike delight.

"Yes, that's all very well and good," Victoria said angrily. She turned on Beckett once more. "Why the bloody hell didn't you propose to me?"

"I was going to yesterday, actually," Beckett told her, "But there were… ah… complications."

Victoria turned a very bright shade of crimson. "Ah," she said. "That."

"Yes. That." He set the teacup down on the table again as an awkward silence descended amongst them. Finally, he said, "Your youngest brother wished me to inform you that if you accept he will never speak to you again."

"And was his the only message?" Victoria asked.

"Your mother will never speak to you again if you don't accept, and neither will Byron or Charles. Your father did not make it clear whose side he was on in this matter."

"Typical," Victoria said nastily. "I don't suppose you saw Rosemary today?"

"I did not, thank God," Beckett said, "Nor do I intend to see her until Wednesday."

"Wednesday?" Victoria repeated. "Why Wednesday?"

Beckett raised an eyebrow. "Because you turn eighteen on Wednesday, and there's to be a masquerade ball in your honor," he said. "Or didn't you hear?"

"A masquerade?" she gasped. "Where?"

"Here, where else?" Beckett said.

"You're arranging it?" she said in amazement.

"Consider it a birthday and engagement present," he said loftily.

"We're still not engaged," Victoria informed him. "You haven't proposed to me and I certainly haven't accepted."

"Miss Thorne, will you marry me?" Beckett asked, his voice never changing tone.

Cat, it was plain, was totally surprised by the deft way in which the proposal was delivered, but Victoria was prepared for it. "Name one reason why I should," she said skeptically.

"Because you will be taken care of for life," Beckett told her. "Because I am wealthy and desirable and can give you everything you will ever need or want."

"No, you can't," Victoria said frigidly. "You can't give me my freedom."

"Neither can Orson," Beckett retorted. "No matter what you believe, he could never have given you that."

"You know nothing of Orson," Victoria said through gritted teeth.

"More than you, apparently," Beckett fired back, his temper rising.

"Why does everyone presume to think they know more than I do about him?" Victoria cried in frustration. "None of you have ever spent any time with the man! You can't begin to understand –!"

"He's married, Victoria," Mercer interjected. "Has been for five years. His wife lives in London's slums and he has three children."

"What?" Victoria said, head whipping to face Mercer. "No, he isn't!"

"Yes, he is," Mercer said flatly.

"No, he isn't!" Victoria repeated stubbornly. "Either you're lying or you have the wrong information."

"Do you really think I'd ever have the wrong information, Miss Thorne?" Mercer questioned incredulously. "I am quite capable of lying to you, but in this matter I'm speaking the truth."

"I don't believe you," Victoria said furiously, heat rising to her cheeks.

"That's your choice," Mercer said with a shrug. "But it won't be my fault when you discover that I've told you the truth."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Victoria said certainly. "Cat, tell him he's wrong."

Cat looked at Mercer, considering him carefully – so much so that he began to look uncomfortable. "I don't think he is," she said after a moment.

"Oh, you would say that," Victoria said crossly, rising from her chair and starting to pace about the room. "You always believe the best about everyone."

"You can see in people's eyes when they're lying," Cat said certainly. "I've always known. And he's not lying."

"Prove it to me," Victoria said, her voice rising along with her temper. "Prove it to me, and maybe I'll believe you. Until then, I'm going to bed. This evening has quite overwhelmed me and I may go berserk if I spend any more time with you three!"
With that, she turned and stormed out of the room, literally running down the hall to the room that now belonged to her.

Catherine blushed and hung her head. "Was I wrong to tell her that?" she asked.

"No," Mercer rushed to assure her. "It's not something she's ready to hear. That's all."

"It's terrible," Catherine said sadly. "She does love him, you know."

"Oh, yes," Beckett said enviously. "Believe you me, Miss Whitlock… I know."

She cast him a sympathetic glance, then rose from her seat. "I should go," she said with a sigh.

"I'll send for my carriage," Beckett told her. "Mercer will bring you home. I'm sorry the night ended so… unpleasantly. I trust the rest of the day was better."

"Much better," Catherine told him. "I'm glad I could see her. She wasn't meant to be shut away."

"No, I don't suppose she was," Beckett agreed. "Good night, Miss Whitlock. I'll send Mercer with you to ensure your safety, if you don't mind."

"No, I'd like that," she said eagerly. "Thank you for your hospitality, my Lord."

"Any time," Beckett said with a small grin. He looked curiously at Mercer as he passed, raising an eyebrow as though to question Catherine's anxiousness to spend time with him. Mercer grinned lopsidedly and then continued walking past. He stopped, however, when Catherine paused in the door.

"Did you ever lose a gold ring with your initials on it, my Lord?" she questioned.

Beckett blinked in surprise. "Well, yes," he said with a frown. "Quite a while ago, actually."

"Six years ago," Catherine said with a nod.

"Yes, about," Beckett agreed, looking even more perplexed. "How in the world did you know?"

She smiled mysteriously. "You might want to ask Tori where it went," she said casually.

Comprehension dawned on Mercer's face. "Ah, I see," he said.

"I don't," Beckett scowled. "What's Tori have to do with it?"

"Good night, my Lord," Catherine said, waving her hand in parting. Before Mercer could explain, she caught his hand and tugged him after her down the stairs.

Beckett shook his head as he watched the duo depart; then, he turned and followed Tori's path down the hall. He and his future bride had some matters to discuss…