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Spencer Dauntsey?

      All the fright of a split second before faded into the background as she stared up into that face with frozen disbelief, weeks and months scrolling backwards in her memory until clicking to a halt on the last day she had seen him. Because it had to be him: eight years might have passed since she had watched in dismay as the identical, newly fatherless Dauntsey twins swung up on to their horses and turned for the long road to York, but there could be no mistaking that dark hair or the masculine cleft in a well-shaped chin. Only Spencer’s nose ever made it possible to tell which brother was which; healed badly after a break, its crooked line had always struck Grace as strangely attractive. The irregularity gave him—in her eyes at least—an advantage over William, whose pristine profile somehow hadn’t made her younger heart beat faster beneath skinny ribs in quite the same way. It had been a sad day for Grace’s mother when Mrs Dauntsey left Lyme Regis following the death of her husband and headed north with her sons to settle near their first posting, as well as spelling the end of Grace’s wistful fancies. The pair of matriarchs had kept up a warm correspondence afterwards, trading news of the twins’ military progress and other triumphs, although for the past two years Mrs Linwood’s letters had been unable to find their recipient and all attempts at tracing the Dauntseys had failed. In the absence of anything else to do Mrs Linwood hoped her old friend was well, wherever she was, and her two fine sons likewise...which had been Grace’s hope, too, until evidence that was not the case stood in front of her, glowering and showing not the faintest glimmer of recognition for the girl he had last seen as a blushing child of thirteen, now before him a grown woman of twenty-one.

      ‘What the devil were you thinking?’ Her grudging rescuer glared down at her, a pair of dark eyebrows drawn tightly together above warm brown eyes—the colour of which was presently the only pleasant thing about them, so filled were they with unconcealed ire that it made Grace blink. ‘To be so foolish as to stray that close to the edge in this weather? Don’t you know the sea is particularly vicious in winter?’

      Grace looked up at him, still not yet able to form a suitable response to his bewildering anger.

       What is he doing here? When did he arrive?

      It seemed so unbelievable that she hadn’t heard even as much as a whisper to suggest the Dauntseys had returned to town after such a long time. She could hardly credit it, although a half second later she realised the unpleasant truth.

      It’s no wonder, really. Who would have told us? Nobody wishes to associate themselves with us any longer, or stop to speak—we have no friends left to tell us news.

      It was just so jarring to see a shadow from the past so unexpectedly before her. His frown only deepened as he waited for her to find her tongue and she could have cursed herself—if she’d known any curses—for allowing her wits to escape her so completely. For any other man she could have formed a response immediately, she was sure—but he was an altogether different prospect.

      The recollection of how her cheeks used to burn whenever Spencer as much as nodded in her direction returned now to prick at Grace’s insides, a memory—given her current circumstances—she had no desire whatsoever to revisit. Spencer had seemed so much more mature when he had left to escort his grieving mother halfway across the country, an almost grown lad of seventeen, so it was hardly surprising Grace hadn’t had a similar effect on him. It was all too easy to imagine what he would have seen as he’d happened to glance at her all those years ago: a mousy child with her nose stuck in a book, far too shy to return the easy smile the Dauntsey boys had for everyone they met. There was no trace of that trademark grin now, however, and the difference less than a decade had wrought in the first man who had ever made Grace blush was startling.

      She gave a small shudder of apprehension at the glint of danger in his narrowed eye, more unfriendly than she had ever seen before and shocking in its coldness. It would have been difficult to think what to say anyway, having stumbled across an acquaintance she’d never thought to see again; the fact he had morphed from a laughing youth to this granite-faced man only made her confusion worse, rising to mingle horribly with the unhappy weight Henry had forced into her chest.

      Managing to at last bully her brain into working, Grace swallowed down her unease. Spencer towered above her, his powerful build barely concealed by the expensive cut of his clothes, but there was a touch of something like reluctant concern in his expression where moments before there had been only displeasure and it was enough to help her gather her courage and attempt to muster a reply.

       His mama and mine were such friends. Perhaps he might look less severe if I remind him who I am.

      ‘I’m so grateful to you for your help, sir.’ She peeped up at him from below the brim of her bonnet, gauging his reaction. He stared back, silent and stony-faced, and her courage faltered a little. ‘Even if you don’t recollect we were once acquainted.’

      For a long moment Spencer said nothing, the silence between them stretching out unbroken but for the insistent patter of Grace’s rapid pulse and the relentless crash of waves breaking over the rocks that could have been her demise. The pinch of his brows tightened, but still no light flickered in the flinty eyes as they swept from the top of Grace’s sodden bonnet to her ruined shoes, their chilly scrutiny sending a curious shiver through her jangled nerves. His face was as handsome as ever, but the new hardness she saw in every line somewhat tempered the admiration she had felt as a young girl. Only Henry’s features were burned into her mind like a brand, a face that with a pinch of pain she remembered she would never touch again.

      ‘You’re correct, madam. I don’t.’ Spencer answered flatly, as though barely able to summon any interest, and Grace wondered again at the change in the individual she remembered. That version of Spencer would never have been so brusque, but this one evidently was and she was left with no other option but to answer his indifference.

      ‘My name is Grace Linwood. Your mother and mine were close friends before you left for York—do you recall?’ She tried to force a smile, but her cheeks felt rigid with cold and frank discomfort. ‘It’s so pleasant to see you returned to town! Are your mother and brother with you?’

      Grace felt a flicker of relief as the first hint of recognition sparked in Spencer’s expression, although it did nothing to thaw the coolness that remained.

      ‘Miss Linwood. I didn’t recognise you.’ He gave a short nod, the closest thing to a greeting she might have expected from this strange new creature. ‘My mother asked I bring her here in search of a warmer winter. Her health has not been good of late.’

      Determinedly ignoring the mechanical tone of Spencer’s voice, Grace persevered in her quest for a convincing smile. ‘My mama will be so pleased to see her! And William? Will he be joining you later?’

      It hardly seemed possible, but Spencer’s face managed to draw into an even tighter mask that sent dismay skittering at the back of Grace’s neck. Evidently she’d made some grave error, although what she had said to make the firm jaw clench she only realised once it was far too late.

      ‘He would find that difficult. He’s been dead these past two years.’

      A cold trickle of dread crawled down Grace’s spine, drenching her with wordless horror that made her lips part in a silent gasp.

       William? Dead?

      It was unthinkable and for a sickening moment Grace wondered how Spencer could make such a tasteless joke. Surely the idea of him without his matching other half was impossible? Wherever one twin went the other had always been sure to follow, their identical mouths quirked into charismatic curves and long-legged strides so eye-catching it was hardly surprising Grace’s cheeks had warmed with heat she hadn’t understood. There was no way in the world one could exist without the other, yet the tension in Spencer’s broad shoulders was the proof he did not lie.

       Whatever could have happened?

      She couldn’t exactly recall the contents of Mrs Dauntsey’s final letter, but surely there had been no mention of the tragedy that now made Grace’s

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