Mary Duvall stood over the open casket of her grandfather David Duvall. Tears burned the back of her eyes but she kept them in check. Very conscious that Grandfather David wanted her to always be composed in public. That's why she'd closed the doors to the viewing room and entered it alone.

The old Mary would have wept loudly and cried her grief with sobs and moans. Doing everything in her power to get those emotions from inside. But now she buttoned them down. Ignoring everything but the need to touch his face one last time.

She touched his cold, make-up covered skin and shivered inside. She felt so alone. She was all alone now. Her parents had died years ago in a car accident, not that they'd ever been close. And her younger brother, their perfect child had been in the car with them--also gone.

She liked the new life she was carving for herself in Eastwick at her Grandfather's behest. She'd come back from Paris when she'd learned his health was failing. He'd offered to keep her as his heir if she proved she was no longer the rebellious wild child he remembered.

"I'm going to make you proud, Grandfather. No more embarrassment over my behavior."

She leaned down, brushing her lips over his dry forehead and wishing for just one second that he could embrace her. Her childhood had been difficult to say to the least and Grandfather David had been as disapproving as everyone else in the Duvall clan but he'd always given her a hug before she left him.

He was the only one to ever do anything like that. She would miss him more than she'd realized. There was a knock on the door.

She glanced at her watch. Damn, it was almost time for the public viewing. No doubt her cousins would be outside demanding some private time with a man who they cared about only for his money.

Mary wanted the Duvall inheritance to start go into a trust that would be used to create neo-natal units at hospitals in lower-income areas. She also hoped to use part of the money to sponsor an art-focused summer camp for underprivileged children. She had never been encouraged to paint as a child even though her earliest memories were of having a paintbrush in her hand. She loved to create new worlds on canvas.

Her work was garnering attention in Europe and she enjoyed the money she'd made selling the serial rights to several of her pieces for a print series.

She had a small note she'd written to Grandfather last night in her room and she tucked it into the breast pocket of his suit under his handkerchief right over his heart.

Then she wiped the moisture from beneath her eyes and confronted her second cousins who'd entered the room. Channing and Lorette Moorehead were the children of her grandfather's sister.

"How touching. I almost believe you cared for the old man," Channing said, escorting his sister Lorette to the casket.

"I did care for him," Mary said.

"Then why did you spend so many years breaking his heart?" Lorette asked.

Mary swallowed hard, biting back a retort that wouldn't be ladylike. Wouldn't be the image that Grandfather wanted her to portray.

"We made our peace--Grandfather and I."

"You may have fooled Uncle David, but we aren't convinced you've changed. I will be keeping an eye on you," Channing said.

He was almost ten years older than she was and from her earliest memories had always been a pompous ass. She had no fond memories of Channing but Lorette who was only two years old than Mary had been a close friend during their younger years. They'd roamed all over Grandfather's mansion playing games and getting into trouble until Lorette had turned ten.

"I'll leave you two to your private grieving."

The anteroom was almost empty except for a few of her childhood friends. They were now part of a lunching club they called the Deb's Club.

Everyone on in her group was pairing up and getting married or engaged. Something Mary had no desire to find for herself. She'd been deeply in love with a man once and when he'd left her to marry the "right" kind of woman she'd promised herself she'd never have to live with that kind of pain again.

It was just another example of how her wild lifestyle, which wasn't really that wild, had caused her to be alone. It was just that Mary had never wanted to follow the rules. It was as if her parents had decided at her birth by giving her such a plain name that she was meant to be a plain person.

And Mary had come out of the womb a rebel. But not any longer. She'd paid a high price for her rebelliousness and her deathbed promise to Grandfather David meant she'd toe the line from now on.

Mary started toward her friends. They all wore black for mourning and Mary appreciated having them here. Maybe she wasn't all alone. She did have her friends and they'd proven to be a solid support to her in a way that she'd never experienced before.

The outer door opened before she reached her friends and she turned to greet the newcomer. The blood rushed to her head and she heard the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears as she recognized the one man she'd never thought to see again.

Kane Brentwood, English Lord, and her ex-lover.

"Kane?"

"Mary," he said her name. Just her name in that deep voice of his that never failed to send shivers coursing through her body. She couldn't face him now. Not today when she was struggling to keep her composure carefully in place.

Not when she was so close to losing it and all she could thing about was the fact that there were secrets between the two of them. Secrets that if they were revealed would cost her everything. Grandfather's inheritance, Kane's respect and her own hard-won peace.

She tried to regain her composure but she saw stars dancing in front of her eyes as he walked closer to her and then everything went blank.

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