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“Her embroidery isn’t nearly as intricate or accomplished as yours, of course,” Noel told Eve, “but when I pointed out that I would inform the queen about her copying your design, she knew she was caught. Then she said she would just claim that you had copied hers. She is certain that the queen would never believe ‘a nobody who lives next to a dyeworks in Hatton Garden.’ She thinks to convince Her Majesty that I’ve been taken in by some ‘grasping harpy’ and seems to believe that saying such a thing will somehow prompt me to return to her.”

“That unconscionable, lying wretch!” Maman exclaimed.

“My sentiments exactly,” Noel said. He looked at her stepmother and his mother. “But I think we can salvage this. There’s still enough time that I can go home and bring back one of Eve’s other pieces. We can even use Mother’s apron as the submission. The queen is always late anyway, or so Mother says, so—”

“No,” Eve said quietly.

He blinked at her. “What do you mean, no?”

She steadied her shoulders. “These slippers are the best thing I’ve ever done. I’m not submitting something else.”

“And surely, son,” his mother added, “the queen will realize I would never champion a thief and a liar. If I speak on Eve’s behalf—”

“Look,” Noel told his mother, “if the queen realizes that two women have very similar submissions and you champion Eve, Margaret will merely use that to blacken your reputation.”

Oh, Lord, Eve hadn’t thought that possible. She would cut off her hand before she’d let his mother suffer.

“Let her just try,” Lady Cokesbury said stoutly. “The queen knows my character. We may not be intimates, but—”

“Damn it, Mother, this is more important than any of you realize!” When she flinched, Noel groaned. “You see … well … I didn’t just go to meet with my attorney. I went to meet Eve’s uncle, who summoned me to my attorney’s office. And I have invited him here tonight.”

That momentarily stunned everyone to silence.

“He agreed to come?” Eve finally asked, her heart in her throat.

“Only because I insisted. Apparently, he’s been very ill for the past several months, too ill even to come to London to look in on all of you. He admits he should have sent for you, Eve, at the very least, but his servants kept the information about your situation from him for fear it would impede his recovery.”

He grabbed Eve’s hands, making her heart leap in her chest. “His attorney has had a man following you, so discreetly that none of us noticed. But the fellow reported to your uncle of James’s pickpocketing and your mother’s work as a seamstress. Those things are what convinced him that your stepmother couldn’t possibly be worthy of being Lady Archer and that James should certainly never become baron. He still thinks your father was taken in by a schemer. He has come to London to determine the truth for himself.”

Eve could already tell where this was headed, and her heart sank even further.

“I told him that once he saw how ladylike and accomplished you are, some of which is due to your stepmother’s guidance, he would realize that your father married Lady Archer for a good reason. So, if he comes tonight and thinks that you have stolen some other lady’s design—”

“But I haven’t!” Eve said.

“It won’t matter to him! He’ll assume that it’s under your stepmother’s influence that you’ve done so. He already means to separate you from her in any way he can. I convinced him that your family is not what he thinks, but if he sees otherwise …”

Why was he pushing this? Why not just let the two ladies both put their slippers out, and see what happened?

She could think of only one reason, especially in light of Lady Margaret’s smug look. She pulled her hands free of his, feeling all her hopes die. “You’re afraid that your future wife’s thievery will be exposed if both sets of slippers are submitted. It’s not me you’re protecting. It’s her.” The woman who would give him the peace he craved.

The bloody woman stole your design for the slippers.

She swallowed. Had he meant to call her a “bloody woman”? And if so, why was he fighting so hard to have Lady Margaret present her counterfeit slippers and Eve not to present her own?

“You can’t possibly believe that,” he murmured with a stricken expression. He searched her face. “May I talk to you privately? Please?”

With a terse nod, she took the arm he offered. But they had no sooner ventured out of hearing of her family and his mother than she said, “If you’re merely going to keep arguing for me standing down to allow Lady Margaret to get away with …” She caught her breath on a sob.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath and dragged her into an empty room nearby, then shut the door. He caught her head in his hands and kissed her with a thoroughness that fired her blood. When he drew back, he said, “I shouldn’t even have let you leave my room last night before I had the chance to say how I felt. I don’t care about Lady Margaret, especially not now. It’s you that I love, you that I want as my wife, you that—”

“You love me?” she whispered, hope flickering to life again in her chest.

“Are you daft?” He scattered kisses over her cheeks and nose and forehead. “Of course I love you! Do you think I make love to respectable females every day? I assure you, I do not.”

She dropped her gaze from his. “You said you wanted peace. You said you could never find it with me, only with her. As recently as last night, you told me, ‘I want a boring, commonplace marriage.’ ”

He groaned. “I said a lot of idiotic things last night in my attempt not to risk my heart. But that was pointless. Because I lost a piece of my heart the first time I saw you chastise your pickpocket brother. I lost another when you called me ‘noble’ for being by my sister’s side at the end. By the time you gave me a speech about how many good things I still have in my life, my heart was wholly yours. It will always be yours.”