THE RELUCTANT PURITAN
by
Gail Mallin


THE RELUCTANT PURITAN

Gail Mallin

MILLS &.

BOON8 <^<^

Chapter One

-L/over ahoy!  "

Ly sander Saxon's fair head whipped up at the cry floating from the
crow's-nest.

"At last!"  he breathed, a vivid smile lighting up his fine- boned
face. Breaking off his conversation with a sailor coiling rope, he
hunted across the empty deck to the ship's rail and scanned the
horizon, his heart thumping.

There!  Where the sun had pierced the veil of early morning mist he
could see white cliffs gleaming in the distance.

"Can you see anything, lad?"

Lysander turned as a stout middle-aged man clad in burgundy satin came
hurrying up to him, puffing in breathless anticipation.

"Aye," he replied, his smile broadening.

"We're home, Tom.  Home!"

"God be praised!"  An answering exultation lit Lord Treneglos's face.

"It's hard to believe our long exile is over!"

It had been eleven years since the canting Puritans had cut off King
Charles the Martyr's head and rendered his son homeless.  Eleven bitter
years of poverty and cruel, unfulfilled hope.

Lysander shook off unwelcome memories, determined not to let them spoil
this longed-for homecoming.  The Civil War, which had torn the country
apart, had robbed him and many other Royalists of their youth and
inheritance, but today was not a day to dwell upon wrongdoings.

Today the King was restored to his own again.

"I'll wager Charles means to make up for lost time," he said, a glint
of amusement brightening his cool green eyes as he surveyed the deck of
the Royal Charles, now alive with people shouting and gesturing
excitedly towards the distant shore.

"And every man jack here will gladly follow him in his
pleasure-seeking."

"I suppose so."  Lord Treneglos's smile faded.

"For myself, my first aim must be to seek news of my daughter."  He
sighed heavily.

"If she still lives."

"God willing, you will find her, Tom!"  Lysander gave the older man's
shoulder a swift squeeze of encouragement.

"It's been a long time, Lysander.  She was only a baby when I saw her
last."

"Don't fret."  Lysander spoke firmly and the sound of his deep voice
seemed to steady his companion.

"You will succeed in your quest and be reunited with her."

"I hope so," Tom replied softly, gratefully patting the elegant,
long-fingered hand which lay upon his shoulder.

Deciding Tom might appreciate a moment to recover his composure,
Lysander stepped back and turned his attention seawards.  Staring
absently at the waves, now sparkling in the late May sunshine, he
became aware of an increase in the hubbub fermenting on the
quarterdeck.

He turned and saw that the King had emerged from his cabin.  Charles
was surrounded by a crowd of chattering gentlemen, but his great height
gave him an uninterrupted view across the oaken deck.

"Lysander.  Tom.  Can we see the town yet?"  Waving away his
companions, Charles strode over to join them at the rail.

Bracing himself against the roll of the ship, Lysander bowed with his
usual easy grace.

"There, Sire," he said, pointing.

Someone sprang to hand the King a telescope.  Charles raised it to his
eye.  For a moment he stood quite still and then he lowered the
instrument.

"Odsfish, and there was I beginning to think I should never set eyes on
old England again," he murmured lightly, handing the telescope back to
the waiting naval officer and dismissing him with a sweetly careless
smile.

Lysander knew Charles too well to be deceived by this show of humorous
nonchalance.  Charles was good at hiding his feelings, but they had
been friends for too long.

Ten years, in fact, Lysander thought, remembering how he had finally
persuaded his father to allow him to join the court in exile just a few
weeks after his eighteenth birthday.

Sir James had not wanted his only remaining son to uproot himself from
Melcombe.  Both of Lysander's older brothers had been killed during the
war and he felt that Lysander's place was at home with his mother.

However, in 1650, when Charles decided to try and recover his throne by
force of arms, he had reluctantly given way to Lysander's
incontrovertible argument that the King needed every man he could
muster.

Bidding a jubilant farewell to his mother and little sister, Lysander
had ridden with all haste north to Scotland where Charles was gathering
support.  There was less than two years in age between him and the King
and they had developed a swift rapport.  Lysander had sometimes
wondered if their friendship would have ripened quite so rapidly if the
circumstances Charles had found himself in had been less dire.  As it
was, surrounded by gloom and endless sermons as the Scots harangued him
to meet their stringent demands, Charles was in sore need of someone to
confide in.

"You are looking very serious, Lysander," said the King in a teasing
tone.

"Are you having second thoughts about leaving that pretty little Dutch
widow of yours behind?"

"Aye, she was a cosy armful, lad," Tom chimed in.

Lysander quirked one eyebrow upwards in a characteristic gesture.

"And never so cosy as when she was trying to persuade me to wed her,"
he retorted drily.

Charles grinned.

"But I thought you said you planned to marry and settle down?"

Lysander shrugged.  He had made this rash avowal over supper last
night.

"I may have said something of the sort," he murmured evasively.

"Just the Rhenish talking, eh, lad?"  Tom teased.

Lysander shook his dark blond head.  The generous amount of wine he had
consumed may have prompted the idea, but, now he came to consider it,
it was a sound one.

"I have it in mind to find myself a rich heiress to swell the empty
family coffers."

"Odsfish, no doubt I shall have to do the same!"  Charles laughed.

"But not yet a while.  I think a little enjoyment is in order before I
settle to that particular duty."

His dark eyes twinkled with anticipation and Lysander flashed a grin at
Tom at this confirmation of his earlier prediction.

"God knows, after all we have been through, gentlemen, only the
harshest Puritan would deny us a taste of pleasure," Charles
continued.

The laughter faded from his voice and a small sigh escaped him.

"I

only wish, Lysander, that your father and all those other gallant
gentlemen who died fighting for my cause could be here to share this
day with us.  "Sir James Saxon had fallen at Worcester, the battle
which had seen the end of that campaign begun in Scotland, a campaign
which had been beset with trouble from the start.

Lysander's mind flew back to that bright September day when he had
first fought for Charles.  It had been a hard fight.  Cromwell had
30,000 seasoned soldiers compared to Charles's force of 16,000, but
Worcester had a good defensive position and it was a city renowned for
its loyalty to the crown.

He had been at the King's side as they rode out of the

Sidbury Gate in a daring attack on the parliamentary forces to the
south-east.  At first they had been successful and hope had flared in
his youthful heart that they might snatch victory after all.  This hope
was cruelly dashed when Cromwell had launched a counter-attack, forcing
them to beat a bloody path back into the dubious safety of the city.

Sir James met his death in the bitter hand-to-hand fighting which
filled the narrow streets after this withdrawal.  Lysander saw his
father fall, but was unable to force a way through the carnage to his
side.  Wild with despair, he had redoubled his efforts to kill the
enemy.

All around him other Royalists were fighting with the same fierce
abandon, including the King himself, who could not be persuaded to
withdraw to safety.

The very gutters of Worcester had run red with blood, but in the end
their courage was not enough.

Lysander felt the old familiar sadness well up in his heart.  For a
moment his joy in the day was vanquished and then common sense
reasserted itself.

"I'm sure my father and the others would want today to be a day of
celebration," he said quietly, but with such conviction in his deep
tones that his listeners nodded.

"Aye, you are right."  The King's sober expression lightened.

"Come, let's go and break our fast.  We'll raise a cup of ale to their
memory and our happy homecoming!"

He turned away from the rail and Tom followed, but Lysander lingered a
moment longer, his gaze fastened on the white cliffs gleaming in the
distance.

What would London be like after all this time?

The smell hit Tamsin like a blow to her stomach.  It seemed to be
composed of dirty water, fish and tar overlaid with a ripe stink of
manure.  She choked, took a deep breath and then wished she hadn't as
she almost gagged.

"London not to your liking, eh, mistress?"  A cackle of laughter
escaped the waterman as he skilfully brought his skiff alongside the
steps so that his youthful passenger could disembark.

Tamsin gave him a haughty look copied from Aunt Deborah's repertory
and, bundling up her dusty skirts, prepared to exit from the boat, nose
in the air.  Unluckily for her dignity, the skiff suddenly bobbed about
in the wash from other traffic on the river and she had to make a mad
leap, nearly tumbling to her knees in the process.

Recovering her balance and with the waterman's mocking laughter still
ringing in her ears, Tamsin picked up her cloth bundle and climbed on
to the quay.  She stood looking about her, trying to quell a sense of
panic.

Well, at least she had got here in one piece!  And she knew where some
of the stink was coming from.

Heaps of dung gathered in piles littered the wharf, steaming in the
June heat.  Tamsin's nose wrinkled.  No doubt it was collected from the
streets to be shipped off to some of those elegant gardens she had
glimpsed from the river on the last part of her long journey.

She took a few steps forward and then hesitated.  Which way had Sam
said?  Maybe she ought to ask?

"Get out of my road, you stupid doxy!"

With a squeak of fright, Tamsin jumped aside and the waggon bearing
down on her rattled past with a scant foot to spare.

The noise was unbearable.  Waggons were rumbling everywhere along the
wharf and every single driver seemed to be yelling for right of way.

Dockers shouted, cranes creaked, sails flapped and boatmen were bawling
enticement to passersby.

Dazed, Tamsin sought to gather her wits.

Cousin Samuel had tried to warn her.

"Thee cannot imagine it, Tamsin.

London is vast.  Thee could put all of Chipping Sodbury in one single
parish and still have room to spare.  "

"I've no choice.  I have to go.  If I stay here at Whiteladies, your
mother will force me into obeying her.  You know what she is like!"

Since Samuel Barton knew only too well the strength of his mother's
inflexible will, he had abandoned his protests and consented to helping
Tamsin escape.

Putting aside the comforting memory of Sam's homely face, Tamsin firmly
told herself to stop dithering like a lackwit and ask the way.
Unfortunately, she couldn't spy anyone respectable.

There were plenty of sailors and dockers about, but she was wary of
approaching such rough-looking men on her own.  If she hadn't been so
travel-stained, she might have appealed to that high-born lady waiting
in a gilt carriage over there, but after a single step her nerve failed
her.

The only other women Tamsin could see were clad in gowns of such
shamelessness that a bright blush rose to her cheeks as she stared at
them.

You could see most of their breasts and they were wearing paint upon
their faces.  Could they be.  Surely not?  Not walking around in broad
daylight!

Subduing a sneaking envy of their gloriously untrammelled curls, Tamsin
tucked a stray lock of her own unruly hair firmly back within the
confines of her white linen cap and, Aunt Deborah's thunderous
admonitions concerning the ungodly ringing in her ears, decided to ask
for information once she was safely away from the wharf.

Choosing a direction at random, she soon found herself in a maze of
narrow streets.  Her brisk pace slowed and her eyes darted from side to
side, trying to take everything in at once.  Truly, this was a
different world!

At home at Whiteladies, she'd only had to lift up her head to see the
distant horizon.  Here, there didn't seem to be any open spaces at
all.

Buildings crowded in on her, cutting off the afternoon sunshine.

Carved woodwork and timeworn gargoyles flaunted themselves before her
bemused gaze while, overhead, painted sign-boards swung in the warm
breeze.

"You may send the rest on."

A loud voice caught Tamsin's attention and she stared across the
street.

The woman, who was most respectably dressed in a long dark cloak and a
velvet hood, was standing at the doorway of what Tamsin thought must be
a pewterer's shop since there was a variety of pewter plates and dishes
set out on the narrow stall-board that protruded into the street.  She
was talking to a stout man whose long holland apron proclaimed him to
be the shopkeeper or perhaps his assistant.

Tamsin was just wondering if she could interrupt their conversation
when the man handed over the small parcel he held and with a low bow
disappeared into the dark interior of his realm.

The woman began to walk away.

"Wait!  Oh, please wait!"  Tamsin darted after her.

Her quarry halted abruptly and Tamsin, her left boot suddenly slipping
on a piece of rotting cabbage-leaf, was unable to stop and cannoned
into her.

"God-a-mercy!"  The woman emitted a squawk of surprise and dropped her
parcel.

T beg your pardon, mistress," Tamsin gasped and made a hasty dive to
recover it.

Shyly, she held it out to her victim, a rosy blush of embarrassment
mantling her cheeks.

The woman stared up her and down and then, to Tamsin's relief, her
angry frown eased.

"And where were you going in such a hurry, child?"  she asked, taking
back her property.

"I ... I wanted to speak to you, mistress."

"Indeed?  What about?"

There was a note of intense curiosity in the woman's flat nasal voice,
but Tamsin scarcely noticed it as she explained that she needed to find
St.  Mildred's church.

"Which I do believe is in Bread Street."

"Are you a newcomer to London, my dear?"

Nervous under the woman's sharp scrutiny, which was somewhat at odds
with her dulcet tones, Tamsin hesitated.

She had been taught to be polite to her elders, but an innate caution
warned her to be wary of tattling her business to all and sundry.

"Oh, come."  The rather hard features softened into a coaxing smile.

"If you are new to town, it's hard for me to know how best to direct
you.  You see, the shortest way is not always the easiest."

Deciding that there could be no harm in admitting it, Tam- sin
confessed she had just arrived in town.

"But you have a place to go to?  And people expecting you?"

"Oh, yes, I have a friend who lives near St.  Mildred's."  Tamsin
nodded vigorously.

"Is that so?"  The woman's grey gaze became even sharper.

"Aye, indeed.  She... she knows I am to arrive today," Tamsin fibbed
hastily, hoping her face didn't betray her nervousness.

She was worried it might because she lacked experience in deception.

Aunt Deborah had always punished her and Sam with a whipping whenever
she found them out in a lie, so it paid to be honest.

Still, what she'd told her new acquaintance was near enough the
truth.

Martha Shore had been one of the maids at Whiteladies before she had
wed Ned Croft and gone off to live in London.  She had been Tamsin's
nurse and, after her mother died, she had been very kind to her, so
Tamsin was sure there would be no difficulty in staying with the
Crofts.

Anyway, with luck, she wouldn't need to impose upon them for long.

Once she found her father, everything would be all right.

The woman eyed her in silence for a moment longer and then gave a brisk
nod as if coming to a decision.

"As it happens, I'm going that way myself," she said, a smile curling
up her narrow lips.

"You can walk along with me."

"Thank you, mistress.

"Tis mighty kind of you."

They fell into step and Tamsin's new acquaintance, who was called Mrs.
Cole, kept up the conversation, as seemingly oblivious of the din made
by street vendors crying their wares as she was of the muck that
littered the narrow lanes and gloomy alleyways.  Even when they emerged
on to a much broader thoroughfare, the situation didn't improve.  In
fact, with the addition of carriages and more folk on horseback, the
chaos was worse!

Tamsin found the noise and bustle bewildering.  She had never seen so
many people all together in her life!  Unable to concentrate, she
returned unwittingly revealing answers to the questions fired at her by
her companion.

"Look, there's a hackney for hire."  Mrs.  Cole suddenly took Tamsin by
the elbow and propelled her across the cobbles.

"We'll ride the rest of the way."

Tamsin, who was hot and longing to rest, had no objection to this plan.
However, when she climbed up into the carriage, she was shocked to find
how dirty it was.  It smelt of ancient sweat and the thin leather pad
which covered the wooden seat was cracked and torn.

It was also very uncomfortable.  There were no springs to cushion them
from the jolting as they rattled over the cobblestones and, since the
driver seemed intent on going as fast as he could, Tamsin had to put
down her bundle and cling to the seat to prevent herself from being
bounced on to the filthy floor.

"Never mind, my dear."  Ill-concealed amusement flickered over Mrs.
Cole's expression.

"You'll get used to riding in hell- carts after you've been in London
for a while."

Tamsin didn't believe it, but she nodded politely, anxious not to seem
ungrateful.

She glanced out of the open window and wondered where they were.

Surely they must be almost there?

Perhaps her sense of awe had distorted her perceptions, but this drive
was taking much longer than she had expected.  According to Sam, Martha
didn't live too far from the river.

"Take a boat upriver when you part company with Master Latham and tell
the waterman to set you down at Queenhithe.

Bread Street is only a few minutes' walk from there," he'd said to her
on that last morning at Whiteladies.

He had attempted to give her a few more directions, gleaned from the
single visit he had paid to the capital with his father, and then held
out a small leather purse to her.

"Here, take this," he'd added gruffly.

"It's not much, but there should be enough to see you safely to
Martha's."

Tamsin, knowing how short of money his mother kept him, had been
touched by his generosity.

Without Sam's help, her escape from the awful match Aunt Deborah had
planned would have been impossible!

One day, when I am reunited with my father, I will find a way to repay
Sam.  aye, and Master Latham too, she vowed silently.

If she found him.  Tamsin swallowed hard and tried to quell the anxious
churning in her stomach, a queasiness which had nothing to do with the
lurching motion of the coach or the humid warmth of the day.

"Ah, here we are!"

The hackney was slowing to a halt even as Mrs.  Cole made this
announcement.

Somewhat to Tamsin's surprise, when she descended from the malodorous
vehicle she found herself in a handsome street, containing many large
houses.

"Are you sure this is Bread Street, mistress?"  She could see no sign
of the church Sam had described.

Mrs.  Cole was paying the driver and didn't seem to hear.

Tamsin glanced about her, feeling suddenly uneasy.  Ned Croft had been
fortunate enough to inherit his uncle's shoe making business, said to
be a more prosperous concern than his own little cobbler's in Chipping
Sodbury, but she couldn't believe he and Martha could afford to live in
such grand surroundings.

"Come, my dear."  Mrs.  Cole had finished with the driver.  She
beckoned to Tamsin.

Tamsin stood her ground.

"This isn't the right place."

"Of course not."  Mrs.  Cole gave a cheery laugh.

"I've brought you to my own house."  She walked over to the nearest
dwelling and knocked briskly upon the door.

"I thought you might like to freshen up your appearance before
presenting yourself at your friend's.  You can stay to supper and then
I'll take you round there."

Tamsin hesitated.

"Tis very kind of you, but it is growing late and I think--' " Oh,
don't tell me I've done the wrong thing!  " Mrs.  Cole put an
apologetic arm around Tamsin's shoulders.

"Only you look tired, my dear and..."  her voice dropped to whisper
'very dirty.  " She smiled coaxingly.

"Surely you don't wish your friends to see you in such a state?"

Tamsin bit her lip.  Perhaps Mrs.  Cole was right.  She did feel hot
and sticky and her clothes were streaked with dirt and dust from the
journey.

Scenting victory, Mrs.  Cole drew her forward towards the house and,
before Tamsin could say yea or nay, the door opened and she was whisked
inside.

It slammed shut behind them and Tamsin found herself standing in a
large, well-swept hallway.

"Ah, Peg, show our guest into my closet and then fetch a jug of small
beer."  Mrs.  Cole spoke to the fleshy maid who had let them into the
house and then turned back to Tamsin.

"I'll join you in a moment, my dear, when I've removed my cloak and
tidied myself."

Without waiting for Tamsin's reply, she walked off towards the flight
of stairs leading up from the centre of the hallway.

"This way."

Tamsin followed the maid's squat figure down a short corridor and
entered Mrs.  Cole's closet, a small room which was sparsely furnished
with two cupboards, a few plain stools and a desk tidily arranged with
a sharpened quill, ink-pot and neat piles of papers and ledgers.

Late afternoon sunshine slanted in through the window, which was hung
with green serge curtains.  The golden light burnished the oak
panelling the walls and shone on the well- polished floorboards, but
Tamsin owned to a slight sense of surprise.  She had been expecting
something more luxurious.  Instead, this impersonal room reminded her
of Aunt Deborah's private parlour, where her aunt did the household
accounts, a place of business with everything lined up in its appointed
place!

"Sit down."  Peg, who was eyeing her with open curiosity, pointed to a
stool.

"I'll fetch your ale."

She went out and Tamsin sat down, clutching her bundle in her lap.  For
some unknown reason she couldn't relax.

A moment later a loud shriek of laughter coming from somewhere on the
floor above made her jump.

Nervously, Tamsin settled back on to her seat, wishing her benefactress
would hurry up.  Crazy as it seemed, all she wanted to do was to thank
her for her kindness and get out of here!

A few more minutes ticked by.  What was taking Mrs.  Cole so long?

Tamsin was on the point of leaving when she heard footsteps in the
corridor.

"Oh, it's you," she murmured as the stout, middle-aged maid entered.

"I thought it was Mrs.  Cole."

"Madam will be busy getting changed for the evening."  Careful not to
disturb the papers on the desk.  Peg set down the tray she-carried.

"Do you know how much longer she will be?"  asked Tamsin.

Peg shrugged, plainly indifferent to Tamsin's anxiety.

"Help yourself."  She gestured at the jug and mugs she had brought in
and turned to leave once more.

"Please don't go.  I ... I can't--' Peg halted, but her lined face wore
an impatient frown.

"I ain't got time to wait on the likes of you, lass."

There was a note of rough sympathy in her voice which puzzled Tamsin.

She opened her mouth again.

"Nay, save your questions for Madam.  I've too much work to do.  At
this rate, the first customers of the evening will be here before I've
got the gooseberry tarts out of the oven."

She hurried out of the room, leaving Tamsin more confused than ever.

Customers?  What customers?

Tamsin realised that she had made the assumption that Mrs.  Cole was
wealthy because her clothes were of good quality and she had a big
house in a fine neighbourhood.

"Maybe she has to earn her living running this place as an
eating-house," she murmured to herself, getting up and moving towards
the desk.

Too thirsty to ponder the puzzle any further, Tamsin j poured herself a
mugful of the weak beer and drank it down I quickly.  It was cool and
refreshingly tart upon the tongue, j but her stomach rumbled, reminding
her she hadn't eaten since she had shared a morning draught of ale and
mutton pie with Master Latham.  They had parted company soon after and
she'd had no money to spare for buying herself any dinner.

"Good.  You've helped yourself.  I meant to tell you not to wait for
me."

Tamsin turned at the sound of Mrs.  Cole's voice and almost dropped her
empty mug in surprise.

Mrs.  Cole had removed her hood and her dark hair now rioted in wanton
curls about a boldly painted face.  Gone too were the respectable brown
camlet skirts, swopped for, an extremely low-cut gown of crimson
silk.

Scandalised by the acreage of flesh on show, Tamsin's fingers itched to
pull it up.

"Pray don't look so shocked, my dear."  Mrs.  Cole walked up to Tamsin
and calmly removed the mug from her nerve^ less fingers and set it
down.

"Under that dirt you're quite a pretty little creature."  Her
appraising gaze flicked to an unruly lock of apricot-gold hair which
had escaped Tamsin's cap.

"I'm sure we can do business if you are sensible."

Tamsin got a whiff of her strong musky perfume and sneezed.

"What... what do you mean?"  she sniffed.

Mrs.  Cole's look of amusement intensified.

"Lord, what an innocent you are!  I was sure you would have guessed by
now."

Without knowing precisely why, the uneasiness which had been haunting
Tamsin ever since she got of the hackney cab suddenly doubled.

"I

don't understand what you are talking about.  "

Mrs.  Cole sighed.

"You told me that you intended to look for work," she said impatiently,
aware that there was little time for explanations.

"Aye."  Tamsin vaguely remembered admitting she was short of money.

"I can offer you work.  Well-paid work with good lodgings thrown in."

"What kind of work?"

"Madam."  Peg stuck her head round the door.

"Sorry to interrupt, but Betty wants a word with you.  Says it's
urgent."

"Where is she?"

"In the salon.  Moaning about Annie pinching her new necklace."  Peg
rolled her eyes heavenwards.

"I can't do anything with her."

"Very well.  Leave her to me and get on with organising supper. Peg."

Peg nodded and withdrew.

Mrs.  Cole turned to Tamsin.

"Come with me."

She swept from the room in a rustle of skirts and Tamsin, who was
feeling more bewildered than ever, decided that she had better
follow.

The salon was a large room.  Held up by several gilded pillars, the
ceiling had been painted with garish scenes of half-naked gods and
goddesses whose amorous cavorting made Tamsin blush to the edge of her
cap.  She eyed the furniture with equal disapproval.  Low tables,
fancy-looking chairs and several couches scattered with gaudy
cushions.

It was all very odd!

A blonde girl was lolling on one of the couches.  She jumped up at
their entrance and Tamsin saw that she was wearing a gown that made
Mrs. Cole's look modest.

"That cow Annie has pinched m'necklace," she shrieked,!  the thin blue
taffeta which veiled her plump charms threat-fl ening to give up the
struggle altogether as she waved her| arms in agitation.

"The one Sir Harry gave me last week.  It|| ain't bloody fair!  I had
to work hard enough for it, it ain't easy pleasing that old goat."  She
planted her fists on her hips.

"I wants it back or I swear I'll scratch her bleeding eyes out!"

"Don't shout, Betty."  Mrs.  Cole's response was cool.

"I'll speak to Annie, but remember, I won't have any brawling.  And
keep your tongue sweet.  Our gentlemen come here expecting a little
refinement.  If they want vulgarity, they can find it a lot cheaper
elsewhere."

Enlightenment burst in on Tamsin.

"This is a house of sin!"  she gasped.

Raucous laughter answered her.

"Gawd, who dragged you in?"  Betty eyed her up and down, contempt
obvious in her blue gaze.

"Look at them clothes!  Right little Puritan, ain't she!"

She laughed again.

"Skinny, too.  Why, she hardly looks old enough to--' " That's enough,
Betty.  She'll clean up nicely and some of our customers prefer them
young.  "

Mrs.  Cole glanced at Tamsin with a proprietorial smile.

"One of them will be willing to pay me a handsome sum for the privilege
of deflowering such a fresh little virgin."

There was no time to berate herself.  It didn't matter whether it was
her sheltered upbringing or sheer idiocy which had landed her in this
mess.  Nothing mattered.  except getting out of here as fast as her
legs could carry her!

Tamsin whirled and ran out of the salon, racing towards the front
door.

"Jenkins!"

A thick-set man moved into view, blocking her escape.

Tamsin dodged to one side.  If she could reach the stairs, there might
be a way out through one of the upper windows.  She screamed as she
felt his hand catch in her skirts and heard the cloth tear as he hauled
her back towards him.

"Take your hands off me, you brute!"

Struggling wildly, Tamsin wriggled in his grasp and one of her flailing
fists made violent contact with his ear.

"Let her go, Jenkins.  I don't want her marked."  Mrs.  Cole's sharp
voice cut across his growl of anger.

He stepped back, his small eyes promising revenge as he released
Tamsin.

Tamsin shuddered.

"Come, child.  There's no need for such dramatics."  Mrs.  Cole sighed
impatiently.

"Accept your fate gracefully and I'll make it worth your while."

"I won't become a ... a whore!"  Tamsin spat the word out as if it
burnt her lips.

Betty laughed.

"You ain't got a choice.  Mistress Puritan."

"Be quiet, Betty!"

Mrs.  Cole turned her hard gaze back to Tamsin.

"I meant what I said earlier about being able to provide you with
employment."  A note of pride entered her nasal voice.

"This is one of the best brothels in the city.  My prices are high, but
my girls are pretty and I serve only the finest wines and ales."

Her frown softened.

"Be sensible, my dear.  Now that the Cavaliers have returned, we are
busier than ever and I need new girls.  You will live in comfort and
have fair wages, I promise you."

"I won't do it!"  Fear was making Tamsin's knees shake, but her
expression was defiant.

"No, not even if you beat me!"

A grim smile touched Mrs.  Cole's thin mouth.

"Oh, don't worry!  If necessary, I shall have you whipped senseless."

"Will you have done.  Jack!  I told you, I'm in no mood tonight to
visit a brothel!"

"Great Jove, Lysander!  Anyone would think you had turned Puritan!"

Lord Fanshawe cried.

Lysander Saxon laughed.  That's the first time anyone has accused me of
that particular failing!  "

He set down his empty wine glass and stretched his long legs, settling
more comfortably into his chair.

"However, I do have an important appointment I must keep in the
morning.  To meet Mistress Godolphin."

Jack Fanshawe whistled.  Jane Godolphin was a wealthy young widow,
newly come to town.

"I've heard she is in search of a new husband."

"So have I."  Lysander's tone was dry.

"And you want to keep a clear head for tomorrow."  Jack nodded his
understanding.

"Another time, perhaps."  Lysander smiled to soften his refusal.

"Truly, Lysander, you would enjoy it."  Jack's brown eyes shone with
enthusiasm.

"The wine is excellent and you can play a hand of cards if you tire of
the wenches, though I promise you they are uncommon attractive."

"No doubt."  Lysander inclined his dark blond head in
acknowledgement.

"However, I've no mind to sample their charms this evening."

"Or any other evening, if I know you!"  Jack snorted.

"Too much success with ordinary women has given you a peculiar aversion
to consorting with whores!"

Lysander shrugged his broad shoulders, not troubling to deny the
accusation.

Jack poured himself another glass of sack and sipped it, his normally
cheerful face gloomy.

"It won't be as much fun without your company," he complained.

Lysander eyed him thoughtfully.  Jack Fanshawe was a cousin on his
mother's side, another of the down-at-heel Royalists who had nocked to
London in King Charles's wake.  A few years younger than Lysander, they
had played together as children before the war had put an end to visits
between their two families.

They had met again in exile when they had both served under the Spanish
flag.  Charles had sent a force commanded by his brother, the Duke of
York, to help his new ally, Spain, tight the French.  As Jack's elder
and his senior officer, Lysander had slipped into the habit of looking
out for his cousin, a habit which lingered when they had rejoined
Charles's court after Marshal Turenne had defeated Spain at the Battle
of the Dunes in the summer of 1658.

Perhaps he ought to go along to this place in Lime Street.  Although
they were not much alike, he counted Jack as a good friend and his
cousin had spoken of gambling for high stakes there.  Unfortunately,
Jack had little skill at either cards or dice.

S'death, he had better check it out!  By nature, Jack was too trusting
and he had a poor head for drink.  Worse, he couldn't afford a
fleecing. Like most of the returned Cavaliers, he was already deep in
debt and living on borrowed credit.

Since their arrival in London three weeks ago, life had been a whirl of
celebrations and entertainments.  Everyone Lysander knew had spent
freely, buying new clothes, new furniture for their rooms, horses,
carriages and every other kind of luxury.

He surveyed the littered table, spread with the remains of a dozen
dishes.  He was as bad as the rest.  He had rented this stylish house
in Wych Street, situated in the fast-growing suburbs to the west of the
city, and purchased a smart new coach.  He'd'even had tonight's supper
sent in from Chatelin's, the fashionable French eating-house patronised
by the royal household, when the cook shop round the corner could have
furnished a good meal at a quarter of the price.

And his purse was as near empty as Jack's!

Mentally shrugging off his vexing lack of fortune, Lysander gestured
towards a platter which held a few remaining venison pasties.  Jack's
favourite, and said, "Are you still hungry, coz?"

"Nay, I've done."  Jack shook his brown head mournfully and pushed
aside his plate.

Lysander stood up.

"Then let's be off."

"You'll come to Madam Sarah's?"  Jack's expression brightened
instantly.

Amusement gleamed in Lysander's green eyes.

"Aye, providing you buy the first drink, dear coz!"

The warm summer twilight was fading as Lysander's coach with its four
matched greys drew into Lime Street.

Lysander tossed his coachman up a coin.

"Have yourself a drink, Nat, and then wait for me here.  I won't be
long."

Nat, a burly-shouldered individual with a tender love of horses, gave
him a broad, disbelieving grin.

"Aye, sir."

They entered the house and, by the time they had handed their cloaks to
the waiting attendant, a dark-haired woman in her late thirties was
hurrying into the hallway to greet them.

"Lord Fanshawe."  She swept a curtsy, her crimson silk skirts
rustling.

"Good evening.  Madam," Jack responded with a nourish and promptly
introduced Lysander.

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, sir."  Sarah Cole dipped
another curtsy.

"You are most welcome."

Lysander nodded silently, noting her hard eyes.  She had a veneer of
polite manners, but he'd wager she could be a harpy if crossed.

She led the way into the salon.

"I'll have one of the girls bring you some wine, my lords, and then, if
you wish, we can discuss what entertainment" might best please you
tonight," she said and quietly withdrew.

Lysander's left eyebrow quirked.

"Not as bad as you feared, eh?"  Jack wore a smug grin.

It was true.  The place was decorated with a florid abandon that
offended his discerning eye, but the atmosphere was surprisingly
restrained.  A fiddler was playing discreetly in one corner and several
men and women stood or sat in small groups, drinking and chatting.  It
could have been any ordinary party, except for the extremely revealing
outfits the girls were wearing.

"The gaming tables are through there."  Jack indicated a curtained
alcove.

"Do you fancy a hand of cards?"

"Why not?"

They took their places at one of the tables and Jack asked a
serving-wench to bring them wine.  A game of tarocco was in progress.

Lysander kept a close eye, but could detect no cheating.  During his
wanderings, he had struck up a friendship with a French highwayman who
knew all the tricks of palming, slurring, and knapping.  Thanks to
Francois, he could spot a swindler at fifty paces.

Jack, as usual, lost.

"Damme, Lysander, how is it you always win?"  he demanded when Lysander
picked up the twenty pounds which intelligent concentration had brought
him.

"I have the Devil's own luck," Lysander replied sweetly.

Even more importantly, he knew how to stop before it ran out, though it
didn't seem politic to say so to his reckless cousin.

They returned to the salon and Lysander called for a bottle of
claret.

The same attractive serving-wench brought them an excellent Haul
Brion.

"I commend Mrs.  Cole's taste," Lysander remarked, sipping it
appreciatively.

A full-bosomed redhead wearing naught but a wisp of green silk came up
to them.

"Evening, mi lords

Jack greeted her by name and with a cheeky grin she sat down in his
lap.

Lysander came to the conclusion that he could safely leave.  Jack had
no further need of a nursemaid.

He set down his glass and rose to his feet.

"I'll see you tomorrow, perhaps."

Jack tried to persuade him to stay.

"Some of the girls are going to perform an Eastern dance."  He
winked.

"Without their clothes."

Lysander grinned.

"Too much excitement for my old bones, coz!  I'll leave such delights
to you young lads."

Accepting defeat.  Jack laughed and bade him farewell.

In the hallway, Lysander asked the attendant to bring him his cloak.

"Leaving so soon, my lord?"  Sarah Cole appeared at his elbow.

"I'm afraid I have an early appointment tomorrow, Madam."

"Are you sure I can't tempt you to change your mind?"  She smiled at
him ingratiatingly.

"My girls cater for all tastes."  Her nasal voice dropped to a
whisper.

"No matter how... unusual."

Lysander shrugged.

"My taste does not run to whores."

Surprise registered upon her face.

A nicker of amusement flowed through Lysander.

"And no, before you ask, I don't want a boy."  He collected his cloak
and tipped the attendant.

"Goodnight, Madam."

It was rare in Sarah Cole's experience to find a man so fastidious.

Maybe with those good looks he could afford to be choosy!

Her professional pride injured, a determination to get the better of
him invaded her.

"Wait!  What if I offered you a girl fresh from the country?"  A look
of sly triumph gleamed in her hard eyes.

"Pretty, no more than sixteen and innocent as a newborn."

"Madam, I ceased to believe in fairy stories at my nurse's knee."

"I don't cheat my customers, sir!"  Stung by the lazy amusement in his
deep voice, Mrs.  Cole drew herself up.

"I warrant you she's a virgin.

So, if you baulk at other men's leavings, why not walk up those stairs
and enjoy her maidenhead?  It will cost you only ten pounds.  "

Lysander laughed.  Ten pounds would pay his household expenses for a
month!

Not that he had any desire to accept her outrageous bargain.

"Thank you for the offer.  Madam, but I should not like to take
advantage of the poor creature."  His velvet voice hardened.

"You see, I prefer my women willing."

"Oh, you needn't worry, sir.  She's obedient, I promise you--' A loud
shriek of defiance cut off the rest of what Mrs.  Cole had been about
to say.

Looking up, Lysander saw a young girl struggling with a thick-set man
in a doorway on the upper floor.  Suddenly, she broke free and ran for
the stairway.

"Come back here, you little minx!"

Ignoring the cry, the runaway flung herself down the stairs, taking
them two at a time in her haste.

Halfway down, she suddenly seemed to become aware of their presence
near the foot of the stairs and froze, a look of horror on her pale
face.

Even at that distance Lysander could see she had the most amazing
turquoise blue eyes.

"Come back, or it'll be the worse for you!"

Casting a look over her shoulder, the girl saw her pursuer closing
in.

With a little cry of despair, she resumed her flight.

"Take care!"

Lysander leapt forward just in time to break her fall as she missed her
footing and tumbled to land in a heap of white petticoats at his
feet.

Chapter Two

Q^nps^Q

Allow me to help you.  "

The sound of a deep but gentle voice penetrated the numbing fog of
terror which surrounded Tamsin.  Gathering her courage, she lifted her
head and saw that the man who had broken her fall was holding out his
hand to her.

She stared at him, her heart pounding.  His dark blond hair fell in
gleaming waves to his broad shoulders and he was dressed more finely
than any man she had ever seen.  The short jacket of his dark-blue
velvet suit permitted a glimpse of snowy white linen and it was trimmed
with costly silver braid.  Expensive lace foamed at his neck and wrists
and a sword hung at his hip.  Silver buckled shoes and a wide- brimmed
hat, decorated with swirling feather plumes, completed his elegant
appearance.  "

With a jolt, Tamsin realised he must be a Cavalier.  Perhaps he even
knew her father!

Hope flooded her veins, drowning out her terror, and, eagerly, she put
her hand in his and allowed him to draw her upright.

"Ouch!"  She winced involuntarily as a twinge of pain shot through her
left ankle.

"Are you hurt?"  the deep voice enquired.

Gingerly, Tamsin wriggled her foot and then, realising it was only
bruised, denied any injury.

"Good."  He released her hand, but remained close.

A moment ago Tamsin had been inclined to put his impressive physique
down to the fact that she was viewing him from an odd angle.  Now,
standing next to him, she realised he was even taller, and broader in
the shoulder, than she had first thought.

She'd heard it said that the new King was over two yards high.  Surely
this man must run him close?  Certainly, he was much taller than any of
the men she knew back home and she suspected he might out match them in
strength, too, for his lean figure was superbly muscled.

He was smiling at her.  Tamsin caught her breath.  Gemini, but he was
handsome!

She stared at him with frank curiosity.  His features were clear cut
and regular with a deep brow, arrow-straight nose and a firm, strong
chin. He must have spent a lot of his time outdoors for the sun had
darkened his skin and there was a thin scar running along his right
cheekbone, which only added to her impression of uncompromising
masculinity.

In contrast, his well-shaped mouth held a hint of tender sensuality and
his vivid eyes were framed by long black lashes any girl would have
envied.

Against his bronzed skin, their colour was that of spring leaves in the
forest.

Tamsin was unable to understand why she suddenly felt so hot and giddy.
What was the matter with her?  She couldn't stop staring at him,
although she knew he was bound to think her manner less

"I'm glad to hear you are all right."  His deep voice, tinged with a
note of amusement, interrupted her agitation.

"It would have been a pity to injure such a pretty ankle."

Coming to her senses, Tamsin blushed the colour of a corn poppy.  How
could she have forgotten her state of undress?  Peg had wrestled her
black bodice and skirt off her.  All she was wearing was her linen
shift and a petticoat, which must have flown up to reveal her legs when
she had fallen!

The laughter in his green eyes vanished abruptly as she hurriedly
crossed her arms in front of her bosom to cover herself.

"Pay my thoughtless remark no heed, young mistress."

Tamsin wondered if he was sorry for having teased her, but before she
could decide Mrs.  Cole intervened with an angry snarl.

"It would have served you right, you stupid jade, if you had broken
your neck!"

Tamsin's stomach gave a sickening lurch.

Incredibly, for a brief moment, the stranger's smile had made her
forget her dreadful predicament, but now she could feel her skin begin
to crawl with fear again.

"Let me take her back to Peg, Madam."  Jenkins had reached the foot of
the stairs.

"I'll see to it she does as she is told this time."

His piggy little eyes glared at Tamsin and with a shudder of revulsion
she shrank back.

"You'd better."  Sarah Cole's tone was still sharp with annoyance.

"And no more mistakes.  Make sure Peg dresses her in the green
satin."

"No!  I won't wear that lewd garment!"  Tamsin let out a shrill
protest.

"Be quiet or I'll whip you myself!"

Her mouth drying with fear, Tamsin fell silent.

The brothel keeper withdrew her basilisk glare and waved her henchman
forward.

"Hurry up!"  She flicked a glance towards the salon.

"I don't want a scene in front of the customers!"

Jenkins took a step towards Tamsin.  Instinctively, she turned towards
the man at her side, her expression pleading.

"Hold back, you rogue!"  Damning himself for a fool, but unable to
resist the look of appeal in those lovely turquoise eyes, Lysander put
out an arm to bar the other man's advance.

Jenkins growled threateningly.  Lysander ignored him and directed his
attention towards the brothel keeper

"I've changed my mind."

His announcement wiped the frown from Sarah Cole's face.  With an air
of satisfaction, she gestured her henchman to back off.

"Shall we adjourn to my closet, my lord, while my servants make her
ready for you?"  she invited, giving Lysander a honeyed smile.

"As you wish."  Lysander nodded carelessly.

"Though I've no desire to dawdle all night, settling terms with you."

Mrs.  Cole let out a bawdy laugh.

"Jenkins, tell Peg to forget about the green satin.  Just clean her up.
His lordship is in a hurry!"

Tamsin gasped aloud as the implication of this order sank in.

Flinching away from the man at her side, she exclaimed, "You want to
to... Oh, you are as bad as all the rest!"

She swallowed down the tears of disappointment which were rising in her
throat.  Lack-wit, why else would he visit a brothel except to satisfy
his lusts!  Just because he had shown her a moment's kindness, there
was no reason to suppose him a paragon.

"Don't worry.  I promise you it will be all right."  Lysander injected
all the reassurance he could muster into his voice.

"Just go upstairs for now."

The turquoise eyes widened.

Watching the jumble of emotions chasing each other across her
expressive little face, Lysander knew she was trying to work out if she
could trust him.

"Very well."  Coming to a decision, she gave an abrupt nod and began to
mount the stairs.

Jenkins turned to follow her.

"Leave her be."  Lysander rapped out the order and, responding to the
authority in his crisp tone, Jenkins came to a swift halt.

He threw an uncertain look at his employer.

"Go back to your post."  Mrs.  Cole nodded affirmation.

"I'll ring for you if I need you."

She led the way into her closet.

"Be seated, my lord."  she said, waving Lysander towards a stool.

"May I offer you a drink?"  She fluttered her eyelashes at him, her
expression flirtatious.

"I have a fine French brandy that you might enjoy."

"Thank you, but no," Lysander replied coolly, making no attempt to
sit.

Sarah Cole shrugged.

"To business then," she said, abandoning her attempt to charm and
becoming brisk.

"Hand over the ten pounds we spoke of and the wench is yours for the
next hour."

"I want more than that."

"Several of my gentlemen like to hire the services of their favourites
for a whole night."  An avaricious smile curled the thin mouth.

"I'm sure we can come to some arrangement."

"You misunderstand me.  I want to buy her from you."

The brothel keeper emitted a low whistle of amazement.

"Do you, indeed?"  She moved to seat herself behind her desk.

"May I ask why?"

Lysander smiled, but the warmth did not reach his eyes.

"That's my business, ma'am."

"Of course."  Mrs.  Cole decided it was futile to attempt to pursue her
curiosity.

"You do realise, however, that I won't give her up unless you can make
it worth my while?"

"Naturally."  Lysander pulled out a leather purse and, loosening the
drawstring which held it shut, tipped out a pile of gold coins on to
the surface of the desk.

Mrs.  Cole eyed it greedily.

"Twenty pounds," Lysander-said.

It was the money he had won at the gaming-table an hour ago.  A
much-needed windfall he'd had plans for until he'd let foolish
sentiment get the better of him!

"A handsome sum."  Sarah Cole couldn't resist reaching out to touch the
gleaming heap.

"However, it's not enough."  She withdrew her hand and sat back in her
chair, her expression hard.

"I want fifty."

A frown tugged Lysander's brows together.

"I think you jest, ma'am."

"I never make jokes about money!"

An unwilling laugh escaped him at her shocked tone.

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me!"

She gave him a puzzled look and, sobering, Lysander decided to try
another tack.

"Has it occurred to you that you might get into trouble by keeping the
girl here against her will?"  he asked silkily.

"I have friends in high places," she retorted, unperturbed by his
veiled threat.

Lysander's patience snapped.

"Much as I hate to boast, I think you will find my influence outweighs
your own.  Unless you count the King amongst your protectors?"

It wouldn't have surprised him in the least to learn that she had
supplied Charles with a pretty slut or two, but to his relief she let
out a gasp of dismay and turned pale beneath her rouge.

"Come, let's not brangle."  Satisfied she had taken his point, Lysander
allowed his harsh tone to soften.

"Sell me the girl and I promise you there will be no trouble.  Of any
kind."

The threat of violence hung unspoken in the air and a cold shiver ran
down Sarah Cole's spine as she met his unwavering gaze.

"Twenty pounds, you said?"

"Aye."

She rubbed her neck, thinking rapidly.  It irked her to be outsmarted,
but he was offering a fair price.  More than fair, in fact, for she'd
lay odds that the wench wouldn't make a good whore.  Some women never
did.

What's more, to judge from that glint of steely determination in those
cool eyes, he'd make good his threats if she refused!

"Well, mistress, what say you?"  Lysander demanded impatiently.

With a quick movement of her hand she swept the coins towards her.

"She's yours."

Lysander acknowledged her capitulation with a brief nod and, strolling
over to the bell-pull, rang it.  Jenkins appeared with such suspicious
promptness that he suspected the fellow had been listening outside the
door.

"Fetch the wench."

"Do as he says."  Mrs.  Cole endorsed Lysander's order.

"But tell Peg she's to wear the clothes she arrived in."

She wasn't going to waste good silk on the little baggage.  Let her new
protector trick her out in fancy duds if he'd a mind to!

"Make sure you return all her belongings," Lysander added in a manner
that brought an obedient mumble from Jenkins.

When he had lumbered out, Mrs.  Cole rose to her feet.

"Will you take that glass of brandy with me now, my lord?"

There was a placating note in the nasal voice and, hearing it, Lysander
hid a smile.

"Aye, I'll drink to our bargain."

Her jaw clenched at his pointed remark, but her unctuous smile remained
in place as she moved to one of the cupboards and extracted a bottle
and two glasses.

She didn't like him any more than he liked her, Lysander mused,
watching her pour the brandy.  Not that it mattered.  She had the wit
to realise that a dispute would be in nobody's interest.

Although he had been quite prepared to use force to wrest the girl from
the brothel keeper clutches, Lysander was very well aware that he had
let a momentary impulse, and his innate dislike of being beaten, lead
him into folly.

Looked at logically, his behaviour tonight had been absurd.  What the
devil was he to do with the wench?  He didn't want her maidenhead!

"Your good health, sir."  Mrs.  Cole handed him a glass and raised her
own to her lips.

"And yours, ma'am," Lysander responded with equally insincere
civility.

They drank in silence for a moment and then Mrs.  Cole said, "When you
tire of her charms, my lord, and wish to be rid of her, I might see my
way to taking her off your hands."

"I'll bear your offer in mind," Lysander retorted drily,

knowing he would roast in hell before he allowed such a thing to
happen.

Goddamn it, those lovely turquoise eyes must have him bewitched!

Why else did the idea of that skinny little waif earning her bread as a
whore disturb him so much?  Or perhaps it was her youth which aroused
his pity?  For certes, she didn't arouse him in any other way!  His
taste in women ran to ripe brunettes, not underdeveloped adolescents!

The door opened and the cause of his uneasy reflection entered,
clutching a cloth bundle to her thin chest.

"This gentleman has bought your freedom.  You are to go with him," Mrs.
Cole announced as her captive advanced into the room with wary
caution.

The wench gasped aloud.

"You have no right to sell me to anyone!  You don't own--' " Silence! 
" Mrs.  Cole ignored her protest.  Ricking a malicious glance at
Lysander, she added sweetly, " I wish you joy of your purchase, my
lord.  "

Lysander scarcely heard her mocking gibe.

The startling apricot hair had vanished into the confines of a chaste
white coif and her slight figure was robed in coarse black homespun,
its austere severity relieved only by a broad white collar: the dress
of his former enemies.

"You are a Puritan!"  Lysander stifled a groan of dismay.

This impulsive rescue was turning into an even greater act of folly
than he had imagined!

"Wake up, young mistress.  We've arrived."

Reluctantly, Tamsin opened her eyes.  For an instant she stared
sleepily at the man seated opposite to her and then, memory returning
with an appalling clarity, sat up in haste.

"I'm ... I'm sorry."  Hopefully, the interior of the coach was too dark
for him to discern her embarrassment.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"No matter."  He waved aside her apology and, opening the carriage
door, jumped down.

"Come, let's go in."

Tamsin remained frozen to her seat, a dozen alarming images racing
through her brain.

"My dear young woman, this is no time to be having second thoughts!"

Impatience fringed the velvet tones.

"What do you intend to do with me?"  In spite of her best efforts,
Tamsin's voice shook.

If only she wasn't so tired, perhaps she could think straight!  But it
was very late and she had been up since dawn.  Relief on escaping from
Lime Street had buoyed her up for a while, but she had been unable to
resist the rocking motion of his comfortable carriage.

"Don't fret.  I mean you no harm."  In the light shed from one of the
nearby windows Tamsin saw his impatient frown soften.

"But I don't know if I can trust you," Tamsin blurted.

"Rest assured that I have absolutely no interest in making love to
you."  There was a ghost of amusement in his voice.

Tamsin remained where she was.

"Come," he repeated.

"Nat needs to put the coach away and see to the horses."

Knowing she had little alternative other than to hope her instincts
were correct, Tamsin clutched her bundle to her and rose.  In the
doorway of the coach she hesitated.  It was too dark to see the ground
clearly.  The last thing she needed was to trip and make a fool of
herself for a second time that evening.

He muttered something inaudible under his breath and, clasping her
around the waist, lifted her out of the carriage and began to carry her
towards the house.

His unexpected action caught Tamsin by surprise and her senses reeled
from the sudden impact of his nearness.  The warmth of his tall body,
the masculine smell of him and the controlled strength in his arms were
so strange and alarming it took her a moment before she recovered
herself enough to snap, "There is no need for this, sir!"

He shrugged.

"I'd no mind to wait all night," he retorted,

continuing to hold her with one-handed ease whilst hammering on the
door for admittance.

Deciding it would be undignified to struggle, Tamsin contented herself
with glaring at his averted profile.

The door opened.

"God save us.  Master Lysander, what's to do?  Banging fit to wake the
dead--what have you got there?"

A middle-aged man dressed with sober neatness stood open-mouthed on the
threshold.  Under his shocked scrutiny, Tamsin strove for composure and
tried not to think about her dirty face.

"And a good evening to you, too, Matthew."  There was a wealth of irony
in Lysander's tone as he greeted his faithful manservant.

Matthew Cooper sniffed, disapproval writ plain on his blunt features as
he ushered them inside.

Lysander hid a grin and, cheerfully bidding his longtime mentor to go
and light the withdrawing-room candles, deposited his burden upon the
black and white marble tiles of the hallway.

"Thank you!"

Disregarding this pleasantry, Lysander called after Matthew to fetch
them some wine as soon as he'd finished.

Tamsin hugged her bundle anxiously to her.  Wine?  Why was he asking
for wine at this late hour?  He .  he didn't mean to try and get her
drunk, did he?  According to Aunt Deborah, it was a favourite ploy of
the wicked to debauch a girl by first fuddling her wits with strong
liquor!

"This way."  Lysander gestured her to accompany him.

Tamsin shook her head.

"Nay.  I will not budge from this spot until you agree to tell me why
you have brought me to this place."

"This is my home.  Where else would I have brought you?"

Disconcerted by this unexpected reply, Tamsin bit her lower lip.  Was
he mocking her?

"My dear young woman, in case you hadn't noticed, it is nearly
midnight.  No doubt I ought to place you in the care of some
respectable dame, but I am damned if I am going to stir myself to try
and find you a chaperon tonight."

Lysander took a long breath and reined in his temper.

"Look, we can't stand here arguing all night.  If you insist on
cross-examining me, at least do it where we can be comfortable."

He strode off and, her knees quaking, Tamsin followed.

The man named Matthew had been generous with the candles and the
withdrawing-room was near as bright as day.  Tamsin had never seen
anything like it.  In spite of the anxiety churning in her stomach, she
couldn't help goggling at the splendid yellow brocade panelling the
walls and the deep blue sarcenet curtains hanging at the tall
windows.

A brightly patterned carpet covered the centre of the floor and there
was an ornate gilt-framed mirror above the carved marble fireplace.

Awed by such luxury, Tamsin kept silent as she watched her host divest
himself of cloak, sword and hat and toss them casually on to a
velvet-upholstered couch.

"Would you care to sit down?"

Lysander, who thought she looked weary enough to collapse, was
surprised to have his offer refused with another vehement shake of her
be capped head.

Good manners kept him standing.

"Then, instead of talking, would you prefer to go straight to bed?"

Tamsin's pulse began to race.  Did he really mean to let her sleep
undisturbed?  He'd denied any interest in her, but could his word be
relied upon?  Aunt Deborah vowed that all Cavaliers were liars.

She had to make sure!

"I cannot rest, sir, until I know your plans for me."  Tamsin met his
gaze resolutely, unaware that her fingers were clenching her bundle so
tightly that her knuckles shone white.

Lysander, who had noticed, was impressed by her determination.  She was
obviously scared and exhausted, which was why he had offered her the
chance to postpone this discussion, but she was sticking to her guns.

"To be honest, I haven't given the matter much thought," he confessed
gently.

Tamsin gulped.

"Mrs.  Cole said that you had bought my freedom," she managed, her
voice shaking.

"What exactly did she mean?"

"I paid her twenty pounds to secure your release."

Twenty pounds?  It was a fortune!

"But why?  I don't understand."  Tamsin could feel her heart hammering
fit to burst.

"You just said you didn't want to bed me!"

"I don't!"  Lysander's control slipped.

"You are much too young and skinny!"

Tamsin swallowed hard.  Did he have to be so brutally frank!

She has a very expressive little face, Lysander thought, running a hand
through his hair in a gesture of suppressed irritation at his own
ineptitude.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude.  I know this is difficult for
you, but, really, you must stop imagining that I am about to pounce on
you!"

He essayed a slight smile.

"It is quite insulting, you know, to keep on implying my efforts to
help you are motivated by lust."

Abashed, Tamsin hung her head and mumbled something that might have
been an apology.

To her relief, his servant arrived at this point with a tray of
refreshments.

"I took the liberty of bringing some milk as well, sir," he
announced.

"I thought the young person might prefer it."

He placed his burden down carefully upon a small oak side table.

"And a little food in case either of you were hungry."

There was a note of curiosity underlying Matthew's helpful efficiency
and Lysander knew he would be lucky to escape an interrogation before
he retired for the night.

That was one of the troubles with-employing servants who had known you
since you were in swaddling clothes!

"Thank you, Matthew, that will be all for tonight.  You can go to
bed."

Lysander dismissed him firmly.

Matthew gave him a baleful look and withdrew.

Tamsin hardly noticed this exchange.  Her attention was fixed upon a
plate of cold chicken and, seeing her longing look, Lysander said
lightly, "I'm famished, but unless you agree to sit down and share some
of this with me, manners will oblige me to return it untouched to the
kitchen."

Deciding that there was nothing to be gained by cutting her nose off to
be revenged upon her face, Tamsin graciously consented to put her
bundle down and take a seat near to his.

"Here, try one of these."  Lysander handed her a venison pasty which
had escaped Jack's ravening appetite.

Tamsin took a hungry bite.  It was delicious!

For the next five minutes she ate with gusto, savouring the rich
savoury tastes on offer, so different to the plain fare she was used to
at home, and then, remembering her manners, blushed crimson.

He would think her a greedy savage!

Such criticism was far from Lysander's thoughts.  He had gone hungry
himself too often not to recognise her need and, besides, there was
something quite charming about her silent, childlike appreciation of
his hospitality.

Tamsin put down her empty plate and tidily brushed the last lingering
crumbs from her chin and fingers.

"Thank you.  I feel much better now."

Her frank admission amused -Lysander but, wary of spoiling their
current harmony, he kept his smile to himself and said easily.  Then it
seems a good time to introduce ourselves.  "

Tamsin nodded shyly.  She had been so anxious about his motive in
rescuing her that his actual identity had seemed immaterial.

"Lysander Saxon.  At your service."  He raised his wine glass to her
with a flourish.

Tamsin scrambled to her feet and bobbed a curtsy.

"Tamsin Barton, sir."

"And where do you come from, young Tamsin?"  Lysander waved her to
resume her seat.

"I'll warrant you are no Londoner."

There was a slight soft burr to her speech which made him suspect she
was from the West Country.  He was also convinced she had run away from
home, but, rather to his own surprise, he wanted to hear the story from
her own lips.

For some strange reason, she intrigued him!

Tamsin hesitated.  He had been amazingly kind, but he was a stranger.

Until she had some idea of how he might react to her confession, it
might be better to keep her reasons for coming to London to herself.

"Did that grasping harpy discover you were a runaway and promise you a
good home?"  Lysander asked and Tamsin stared at him, her eyes
widening.

He seemed to have the uncanny knack of hitting on the truth!

"Come, you can tell me."  Lysander injected a jovial note into his
tone.

"I won't scold, no matter what you've been up to."  He grinned.

"I only eat country maidens for breakfast."

Tamsin was aware of a flicker of resentment.  He was treating her as if
she were seven years old!

"I may be fresh up from the country, sir, but I hope I am not so green
as to be taken in by such an obvious trick!"  she asserted
indignantly.

"No, Mrs.  Cole cozened me by offering to show me my way when I asked
her for directions.  Instead, she took me to her own house and ...
well, you know the rest," she finished, her voice dwindling to a
whisper.

"Does it bother you that I was a witness to your humiliation?"

Lysander put the question carefully, feeling as if he trod on eggs.

She "had glared at him like an angry cat a moment ago when all he'd
meant to do was put her at ease.

She nodded wordlessly, a bright shine of tears glittering in her
eyes.

Lysander's irritation vanished.

"Then we shall not speak of what happened tonight again."  He smiled at
her reassuringly.

"There is no need.  You are safe now."

Tamsin swallowed her tears.

"Thank you," she muttered, knowing that the matter could not be so
easily dismissed.  She owed him a great debt and not only for his
kindness in helping her.  Somehow, she would have to find a way to
repay him the money he had spent to secure her release.

The thought was so daunting that she took a hasty sip of milk to
distract herself.  Finishing it, she set her empty mug down.

"Would you like some more?"

Tamsin shook her head.

"Thank you, but my hunger is quite satis--' To her dismay a sudden urge
to yawn swallowed up the rest of her polite disclaimer and she was
forced to cover her mouth to try and conceal it.

"I think it's time we found you a place to sleep."  Lysander rose to
his feet, a faint grin playing about his well-cut mouth.

Tamsin gave an embarrassed murmur of assent and, collecting her bundle,
followed him from the room.

They mounted the main staircase to the next floor and traversed a long
corridor.  At its end, Lysander halted arid threw open a door.

"We don't use all the rooms in the house," he remarked.

"But you should find this one reasonably clean and well aired."

He held up the candlestick he carried to illuminate the bedchamber and
Tamsin got a shock.  Her benefactor might have spoken in a somewhat
disparaging tone, but the room was many times more luxurious than her
own tiny Spartan chamber at Whiteladies.

"Gemini, everything is as fine as five pence she exclaimed.  Having
expected to sleep in a garret, she couldn't keep a delighted grin from
her face.

Her enthusiasm made him smile in turn.

"I'll leave you the candle.  Is there anything else you need?"

He looked much younger when he smiled like that with real warmth in his
eyes and no cynicism spoiling the curve of his mouth.

"A nightshirt, perhaps?"  Lysander prompted.

"Mine will be too big for you, but you are welcome to borrow one."

Tamsin pulled her idiotically wandering wits together.

"I have a night-rail of my own."  She indicated her bundle.

"However, if it's not too much trouble, do you think I could have some
hot water?"

He eyed her dirty face.  She could certainly do with a wash!

"I'll see what I can do."

He turned and strode off, seemingly oblivious to the darkness which
filled the corridor beyond the candle's reach.

He must have eyes like a cat.  They are certainly green enough.  and
unusually compelling.  Just like his voice, they add to the magnetism
of his personality.

Becoming aware that her thoughts were meandering again, Tamsin gave
herself a reproving mental shake and entered the bedchamber.

It was a large room, half-panelled in some dark wood, with the walls
above painted in a warm shade of ochre which glowed where the
candlelight caught it.  Tamsin set down her candlestick on a candle
stand by the bed and closed the raspberry-red calico curtains at the
window.

Turning round, she studied the bed.  It was enormous and the mattress,
which she proceeded to test with an experimental hand, seemed twice as
thick and soft as the simple pallet on which she slept at home.  A
tester, supported by four posts, towered up towards the ceiling and was
finished with red embroidered curtains.

A pair of simple back-stool chairs, a carved chest and a small oak
clothes-press completed the furnishings.

Tamsin unpacked her bundle.  In addition to her night-rail, it
contained a clean smock, a spare pair of stockings, a clean white cap
and collar, a little pot of toothpowder and her comb: her mother's
pearl necklace and her few remaining coins were safely stowed in the
pocket hanging beneath her petticoat.

She placed everything on the bed and surveyed her belongings with a wry
smile.  Pitifully little with which to start a new life, but she didn't
have much else to bring!  Indeed, the only thing she regretted having
to leave behind was Sam's cheerful face.

"Here's your water.  It isn't very hot, I'm afraid.  The kitchen fire
was almost out."

Tamsin whirled round and beheld her host standing in the doorway.  He
was carrying a jug and there was a linen towel tucked beneath his
arm.

"I've also brought you some soap."  Lysander advanced into the room and
set the jug and towel down on top of the oak chest.  He fished the bar
of Castile soap from a pocket and laid it on top of the towel.

"You'll find a basin stored away in the press."

"I ... I didn't expect you to bring ... II ... I thought you would send
a servant," Tamsin stammered.

"Matthew has gone to bed.  Apart from Nat and a woman who comes in to
do the cleaning, I don't keep any other servants."

"Oh, I see!"  Tamsin nodded in belated comprehension.  It seemed a
rather odd way of running a household to her-Aunt Deborah had always
kept plenty of hired help--but perhaps city dwellers had different
ideas? Not that she was in any position to question his domestic
arrangements!

"I'm sorry to have put you to so much trouble," she continued shyly.

"You must be wishing me at Jericho."

Lysander denied it.

There was a slight awkward silence.

"Well, if you have everything you need, I'll say goodnight."  Lysander
fought a ridiculous urge to stay.

"Goodnight, sir."  Tamsin dipped a respectful curtsey.

Lysander moved to the door.

"Sleep well, little mistress."

The door closed quietly behind him and Tamsin collapsed in a boneless
heap upon the bed, feeling strangely forlorn.

It was foolish of course, but she hadn't wanted him to go!

In spite of her exhaustion, sleep eluded Tamsin; when it finally came,
she was plagued with bad dreams.  The result was that she overslept,
waking much later than usual.

Bright sunlight filtered in through the curtains and for a few seconds
she lay there, groggily confused, before sitting up with a gasp as
memory returned.  Flinging back her coverlets, she jumped out of bed
and hurried to the window.  A glance at the sky confirmed her fear that
the morning was well advanced.

They would think her a slugabed!

Biting her lip in vexation, she dipped the end of the towel into the
remaining inch of water in the jug and hastily scrubbed her face and
hands.  Fortunately, she had managed to remove the worst of her grime
last night.

Before retiring, she had also done her best to shake the dust and
creases from her clothes.  Scrambling into her sole remaining smock and
clean linen thread stockings, she pulled on her bodice and then her
skirt before turning to the problem of her hair.  As usual, it was a
tangled mass of rebellious curls and her eyes were watering by the time
she had subdued it with her comb and bundled it safely beneath a clean
cap.

Her boots were scuffed, but she lacked the means to polish them, unlike
her teeth which she rubbed vigorously with a fingerful of toothpowder.
Scorning to buy such an item from an apothecary.  Aunt Deborah made it
herself from salt, ground cuttlefish bone and orris-root and insisted
that the whole household use it daily, claiming that it kept the teeth
white and healthy.  Since Tamsin's teeth were excellent--she had never
been pained with toothache in her life--she thought her aunt must be
right.

She was ready to brave the world, or at least as ready as she ever
would be, she decided, trying in vain to crush the butterflies swarming
in her stomach.

The house seemed very quiet as she emerged from her room.  Perhaps it
wasn't as late as she had feared and her rescuer was still a-bed?  He
had indicated his room last night as they had passed it by, but Tamsin,
who had no intention of knocking on his door to find out if he was in,
gave it a wide berth.

Descending the stairs, Tamsin peered nervously into the
withdrawing-room.  It was empty.  So was the smart dining room,
panelled in gilt leather.  Beyond this lay a small closet, which bore
the hallmarks of being the private retreat of the master of the house,
where she drew another blank.

She was just pondering her next move when she heard a door slam
somewhere down below on the ground floor.

"Hello, is anyone there?"  Tamsin, who had followed the sound, stuck
her head round the door of what turned out to be the kit chert and was
rewarded with an answer at last.

"Don't just stand there, young woman.  Come in."

Tamsin obeyed, a little scared of the testy snap in Master Cooper's
voice.

"I suppose you want some breakfast?"

"If it's not too much trouble, sir."  Tamsin bobbed an apologetic
curtsey.

She risked a glance from beneath her lowered lids and saw that he was
frowning.  A tremor of dismay quivered down her spine.  She had wanted
to make a good impression!

"Do you know what the time is?"  Matthew sighed impatiently.

"Sir Lysander left hours ago and I'm too busy to wait on table twice in
a morning."

"I'm very sorry.  I overslept."

Something in his shrewd hazel eyes and upright bearing warned you that
Master Cooper-was not a man to be trifled with and Tamsin was so busy
trying to apologise that it took her a moment to register exactly what
he'd said.

Sir Lysander.  It seemed her rescuer was a gentleman of title!

"Aye, well, I suppose you were late to bed so I'll make an exception
this once."  Appeased by her meek apology, Matthew gestured towards the
large scrubbed deal table which occupied the centre of the room.

"Sit yourself down, lass."

Tamsin drew out a stool and, while Matthew bustled about fetching her
bread and cheese and a mug of small beer, she glanced around the
kitchen, admiring the pristine lime washed walls and the bright pots of
aromatic flowers which adorned each window-sill.

They used the same device at home to discourage flies and Tamsin
thought they gave the kitchen a cheerful air.

She began to eat her simple meal with relish, but her appetite
disappeared when Matthew said, "My lord told me something of what
happened last night.  He said you might be staying with us for a
while.

Is that right?  "

Tamsin set down her mug.

"I'm not sure," she murmured hesitantly, hoping desperately that her
befriender had not revealed how he had found her in a brothel.

In fact, much to Matthew's aggravation, Lysander had been deliberately
vague in his explanation of how their unexpected visitor had come into
his care.

"Don't fuss, Matt," he'd said cheerfully when his mentor had demanded
to know what they were to do with the wench.

"I'll speak to her when I get back.  Until then just treat her as you
would any other guest."

A guest, forsooth!  Matthew frowned.  The lass was a Puritan and,
unless he was very much mistaken, penniless to boot.  Her manners were
pretty enough, which indicated good breeding somewhere in her
background for all her current friendless state, but she didn't belong
here.

Matthew knew Lysander too well to imagine that he intended to debauch
the girl.  Beneath that mask of rakish cynicism the lad had a heart of
gold.  It was typical of him that he should befriend a waif in
distress, but in his opinion it could only lead to trouble.

"I've finished, thank you, sir.  Shall I clear these pots away and wash
them?"  Tamsin asked nervously, wary of intruding on his brooding
silence.

"Nay.  Mrs.  Finch can deal with them when she comes in."  Matthew
forced a smile.

"Go sit yourself down in the parlour.  Sir Lysander ought to be back
soon."

Feeling distinctly in his way, Tamsin removed herself with all possible
speed.

She was just crossing the hallway when she heard a knock at the front
door.  Not wishing to appear forward, she hesitated.  Master Cooper
might object to her taking it upon herself to answer this summons, but
when the knock sounded again, more urgently this time, and still he did
not appear, she opened the door.

"Can you tell 'em Mam can't come no more?"  A ragged urchin of some
eight summers stood hopping impatiently on one leg, his grimy face
anxious.

"She's sick."

"Is your mother the cleaning woman here?"  Tamsin asked, struggling to
understand his strong London accent.

"Aye.  Mrs.  Finch."

"And she's too ill to work, you say?"

He nodded.

"Midwife says she must stay abed."

"She's having a baby?"  Tamsin exclaimed.

He nodded, but before she could question him further he darted off.

Tamsin debated running after him.  Coming to the conclusion it would be
a waste of time, she closed the door.

However, instead of continuing on her way, she stood stock-still, her
mind busily turning over the information she had just received.

That young boy had given her an idea!

Chapter Three

Q^TQTS^Q

Dy the time Lysander returned it was almost noon and Tam- sin was in a
fever of impatience.  Hearing his footsteps in the hall, she rushed
into the hallway.

He was speaking to Matthew, whom he dismissed as he caught sight of her
hovering expectantly.

"Good day to you, Mistress Barton.  I hope you slept well."

"Yes, thank you, my lord," Tamsin answered with more politeness than
truth.

She thought he looked rather preoccupied, but found it impossible to
contain her eagerness.

"May I speak with you?"

"What... now?"  After a morning spent paying elegant compliments to
Mistress Godolphin, Lysander was sorely tempted to refuse.

"Oh, please!  It's very important."

Lysander thought he could guess what she wanted to talk about.

"Very well," he agreed, deciding obligation took precedence over
inclination.

"Let's go into the parlour."

Less fashionable than the withdrawing-room, it had a cosy air with its
set of verdure tapestries, some well-polished furniture and a matted
floor.  Since it faced south, it also caught the sunlight.

"I think this is the nicest room in the house in which to sit during
the day," Lysander remarked lightly, breaking the sin lence which had
fallen once they had sat down.

"And one can always admire the tapestries if the conversation
falters."

Aware that she was annoying him with her dithering, Tam- sin gathered
up her courage.

"I have something to ask of you, sir, only I cannot think how to phrase
it."

"Spit it out."  Charmed by her candid confession, Lysander felt his
scratchy ill-humour fall away.

"I promise I won't shout at you."

Now that her face was clean, he could see a spattering of tiny freckles
across the bridge of her neat little nose.  Most people would regard
them as a blemish on her otherwise clear skin, but his sister, another
redhead, had freckles too and he rather liked them.

She was younger than Corinna, of course, but occasionally something in
the way she moved, all coltish grace and energy, reminded him of his
sister.  The resemblance was slight and totally irrelevant.  Yet, oddly
enough, it had niggled at him last night when he had retired to bed,
depriving him of sleep until he had solved the puzzle.

"Your maid is ill.  She can't come in to work."  Tamsin paused and then
added in a rush, "I wish to take her place."

"The devil you do!"  Lysander abruptly collected his wandering
thoughts.

"What maggot put such an idea in your head?"

"I owe you twenty pounds, but I have no money."  Tamsin.  gestured
apologetically.

"I thought I could repay it by working for you."

"Your desire to pay your debts is laudable."  Lysander's frown faded
and a gleam of amusement lit his green eyes.

"You do realise, however, that you would have to act as my servant for
the next seven years?"

Tamsin's mouth fell open.

"Mrs.  Finch gets three pounds a year.  Oh, and a daily meal and her
aprons, I believe."

A rosy blush mantled Tamsin's thin cheeks.  How stupid of her not to
have thought of this difficulty!

"Matthew tells me that it is the going rate."

The deep voice was level, but Tamsin sensed his underlying amusement
and resentment flared in her breast.

"You think me a fool, sir," she exclaimed hotly.  He shook his head.

"Not at all.  However, you are young and inexperienced.  Too young, in
fact, to be let loose on the world at all."

"I am sixteen!"  Tamsin bridled.

"Many girls are married at my age and mistress of their own
households."

"True," Lysander agreed.

"My own mother was no older."  Appeased by his admission, Tamsin's
voice resumed its usual soft tones.

"I can handle your housekeeping."

"No doubt," he retorted drily.

"But I don't believe you have been bred to the life of a servant."

Tamsin bit her lip, wondering how to answer him without giving away too
much.

"You are right in thinking my station up to now has been higher than a
servant's," she admitted.

"My family is a well-respected one, but..."  She paused uncertainly.

"Go on," Lysander encouraged gently.  Tamsin took a deep breath.  He
deserved an explanation and she didn't want to lie to him.

"As you guessed last night, I am a runaway.  You see, my mother died
when I was a small child.  My uncle and aunt became my guardians, but
my uncle died three years ago."  She shrugged awkwardly.

"My aunt and I don't see eye to eye.  In the end, I had no choice but
to run away!"

Lysander's flicker of satisfaction at having his suspicion confirmed
was rapidly replaced by consternation as he realised that her
confession presented him with a moral dilemma.  The proper course,
undoubtedly, was to return her immediately to her rightful guardians.

"Did you leave without warning?"  he asked thoughtfully.

"My cousin Samuel knew, but he will not betray me."

"Do you think your aunt will search for you?"  Tamsin nodded.

"But not for long.  I wrote her a note saying I preferred to seek my
own fortune rather than accept her plans for me.  She will be furious."
She shrugged.

"Not that she cares for me.  All that will really concern her is
silencing any wagging tongues."

Whether or not she was correct in thinking that her aunt disliked her,
Lysander decided it was not his place to interfere.  He could claim no
authority over her--sheer chance had brought them together.

The chiming of the walnut long case clock, which stood near the window,
as it struck noon pierced the tense silence which had fallen.

"I dare say you thought you had just cause for escape."

There was a somewhat mocking edge to his tone, but to Tamsin's relief
he did not appear to be disgusted by her confession.

T believe I had, sir," she answered quietly.  T know my behaviour must
seem disgraceful, but I beg that you will not let it influence your
decision.  I was brought up to know the value of work.  I can keep a
house clean."

She met his gaze with a challenging look.

"And I don't like being obligated to strangers."

Lysander rose to his feet and took a swift turn about the room.  Coming
to a halt by the fireplace, he rested one elbow upon the carved wooden
mantelpiece and surveyed her with an exasperated expression.

T salute your determination," he said at last.

"However, in this case, you are mistaken.  You owe me nothing.  I
undertook your rescue without your knowledge or consent."

"But it cost you a fortune!"  Tamsin protested.

A wry smile twisted his mouth.

"True, but it would have left a more costly stain on my self-respect to
leave you there."

Tamsin realised that honour was important to this gentleman.  Smoothing
her skirts with a mechanical gesture, she tried to regroup her
arguments.

"It isn't that I am ungrateful, sir," she said shyly.

"I appreciate your kindness more than I can say, but it seems very odd
that you should be willing to spend all that money when you didn't know
anything about me.  You didn't even know my name!"

Bewilderment troubled the turquoise eyes fixed on his and Lysander
curbed an urge to curse.

How on earth was he to answer her when he himself didn't truly
understand the impulse which had driven him?

"I didn't need a formal introduction to realise that you didn't want to
become a whore," he replied slowly.

"And, as someone who was until recently trapped in a hateful exile, I
suppose I felt a kindred sympathy for your plight."

It was as good an explanation as any.

Tamsin nodded her understanding, but her expression remained
unconvinced.

"Do you have friends here in London you could go to?"  Lysander decided
it was time to change the subject.

Surreptitiously crossing two fingers beneath the concealments of her
skirts, Tamsin shook her head.

"I thought you said you were entrapped by Mistress Cole when you were
asking for directions?"

Tamsin's pulse skipped a beat.

"I wanted to know the way to the nearest church.  I intended to ask for
help there," she fibbed hastily, inwardly praying that her distortion
of the truth would be forgiven.

She would have to be more careful.  He was too quick!

"So you always intended to seek work?"

Knowing that it might not be easy to find her father, Tamsin had indeed
planned to find employment to avoid becoming a drain upon Martha's
purse, so she was able to answer with a clear conscience, "I did,
sir."

Lysander stroked his chin thoughtfully.  The fact that she was
completely friendless put an entirely different slant on the situation.
He could hardly turn her out into the street!

"Wouldn't you prefer to go home?"  he asked hopefully.

"I'm sure your aunt will welcome you back.  Your absence is bound to
have given her a fright and she might be willing to overlook whatever
quarrel caused you to leave."

Tamsin shook her head so hard several unruly curls escaped the confines
of her cap.

"I will not go back!  She wants me to marry a man I detest!"

 n

Lysander let out a low whistle of surprise.  She had reminded him just
now that she was well past the age of consent but, for all that a girl
could be legally married at twelve, she didn't seem old enough to him
to wed.

"I am going to stay in London."  Tamsin's voice was filled with
determination.

"Whether or not you let me work for you."

"Are you trying to blackmail me, young woman?"  Lysander demanded.

The turquoise eyes widened.

"I ... I wouldn't dream of such a thing, sir."

Her stammering reply held a note of true conviction and Lysander's
sudden anger cooled as rapidly as it had arisen.

Too long an association with the ladies of the court had rendered him
unfit for the company of an innocent, he reflected ruefully.  He was
used to women lying and scheming to get what they wanted!

"Forgive me," he said lightly.

"I should have known better."

Tamsin didn't entirely understand him, but she was so pleased to see
his frown disappear that she gave him a sunny smile and exclaimed, "I
am so glad you aren't cross with me!"

"I'm glad too, Mistress Barton."  He laughed before continuing firmly,
"However, I'm not going to let you persuade me into agreeing to your
scheme.  If you don't want to go home and you haven't any friends here,
I shall have to think of another solution.  A bachelor's residence is
no place for any gently born maiden."

An ironic curl twisted his mouth.

"Particularly when the bachelor in question is a member of his
Majesty's court, a court not noted for its morals as I'm sure you must
have heard."

Tamsin had.  Aunt Deborah and the other respectable matrons of Chipping
Sodbury had lately engaged in numerous whispered discussions about the
depravity of King Charles and his followers.  Tamsin rather thought
they all enjoyed being shocked by such wickedness!

"I'd already guessed you were a Cavalier, sir," she declared eagerly.

"But do you really know the King?"

Lysander ignored the awe which rounded her eyes.

"Aye, but that's not the point at issue," he retorted, doing his best
to make his expression stern.

"It is not seemly for a young unmarried girl to live without a
chaperon.  You will have to leave."

Tamsin's face fell and his tone softened.

"There's no need to fret.

I'll find someone to look after you properly.  "

He straightened and briskly shook out the cuffs of his dark green moire
coat.

"I'll begin the search this afternoon after I have dined.

Now, is there anything else?  Dinner must be almost ready.  "

Recognising her dismissal, Tamsin swallowed her protests and rose
obediently to her feet to pay him the respectful farewell curtsy good
manners demanded.

On the point of leaving the room, Lysander suddenly changed his mind.

"Should you care to join me?"

Tamsin was startled.  She had expected to eat in the kitchen.

"Are you sure that's wise, sir?  After all, I'm not a proper guest,"
she blurted.

Lysander's brows rose.

"I think I am the best judge of what is proper in my own house," he
replied with an unconscious arrogance.

"Of course, my lord," Tamsin apologised hastily.  He had been so kind
to her that she had almost forgotten his rank!

Lysander wasn't entirely sure why he had invited her to dine with
him.

It went contrary to all he had just been saying!  The absurd idea
having entered his head, however, he was determined not to be
thwarted.

"I'll give you that the situation we find ourselves in is somewhat
awkward," he announced with a faint smile.

"But no matter how you came here, you are my guest for now and it would
delight me to have your company over dinner."

Tamsin coloured, flustered by the unexpected compliment.

"I should be honoured, sir," she murmured, bobbing another curtsy.

"Good.  Matthew will summon you when it's time.  Now pray excuse me."

Tamsin sank weakly into a chair after he had gone.

Trying to ignore the tingle of excitement that thrilled through her
veins at the thought of him wanting her company, she forced herself to
concentrate.  The interview had not gone as she had hoped and she must
think of a way to reverse his decision.

It was all very well for Sir Lysander Saxon to say in his high-handed
way that she owed him nothing, but she hated the thought that she was
the one responsible for him losing such an enormous sum.  She simply
had to find a means to pay him back!

But how was she going to persuade him into letting her stay?  He was
intent on packing her off to lodge with a more respectable chaperon.

Tamsin chewed her lower lip, a frown tugging her copper brown eyebrows
together.  She had the depressing feeling that it wouldn't be easy to
find an inducement which would change his mind.

It might have been better if she had been honest and explained that she
had friends in London who would take her in.  Instead, she had denied
Martha's existence in the hope of coaxing him into allowing her to
remain in his house.  The ploy had failed and she had landed herself in
a worse mess!

Aunt Deborah always said that liars suffered for their sin in the
end!

They sat down to dinner in the elegant gilt-leather panelled
dining-room.  The long table was covered in a fine white damask cloth
and laid with delicate glass goblets and silver spoons and knives.

Forks had been set out too, a novelty they had lacked at Whiteladies.

Tamsin had no idea how to use one and decided she would have to try and
copy her host.

She was amazed too at the number of dishes on offer.  A leg of roast
mutton, beautifully carved into neat slices, a loin of veal, a dish of
pullets, a neat's tongue, a sallet and several vegetables.  Even on
feast days the table at Whiteladies had never been so lavish!

"For the second course, there's a baked marrowbone pie, a cheese, a
dish of prawns and some sweetmeats," Matthew announced with a low
bow.

Lysander thanked him.

"We shall serve ourselves, Matt," he added, correctly guessing from her
expression that his guest was feeling rather overwhelmed and would
prefer as little ceremony as possible.

"Just try what you fancy.  Mistress Barton," he said gently as Matthew
bustled out.

"You aren't expected to eat everything."

Tamsin grinned.

"I don't think I could!"

She cast him a sparkling look, her turquoise eyes brimming with
laughter, and Lysander caught his breath.  She had a lovely smile!

Startled by his own reaction, Lysander reached hastily for the bottle
of wine that Matthew had placed within his reach.  What the devil was
the matter with him?  Why should he suddenly notice how sweetly red her
lips were?  She was just a child!

"Can I offer you some of this claret?"  he asked without thinking.

Tamsin hesitated.  She had never touched anything stronger than small
beer which, given that water was often tainted, everyone, even fervent
Puritans like her aunt, drank.

Her silence brought Lysander's mind back into focus.

"Would you prefer something else?  I don't want to offend your
principles."

"You think me a Puritan, don't you?"  Tamsin watched him pour the wine
into his own glass.  It was a lovely rich red colour and she wondered
what it would taste like.

Lysander eyed her thoughtfully.  There was an oddly strained note in
her soft voice.

"I made that assumption.  Was I wrong?"

Tamsin stared down at the tablecloth.  What would he think of her if
she told him the truth?  Lifting her gaze to his she met his enquiring
look with a perplexed frown.

"Yes and no."

"What a very enigmatic answer!"  Lysander replied lightly.  He picked
up the nearest dish, the carved mutton, and held it out to her.

"Would you care to elaborate?"

Tamsin helped herself to the meat, her appetite sharpened by its rich
aroma.

"It's complicated," she prevaricated.

He quirked one eyebrow at her and Tamsin suddenly realised how rude her
reluctance to answer must seem.  It was cowardly of her to hedge just
because she was afraid of losing his good opinion!

"I come from a Puritan family, but I must confess I am not a good
Puritan," she announced rather breathlessly.

"How so?"  Intrigued, Lysander paused in the act of spooning peas on to
his plate.

"I am too vain, too fond of pretty things and I don't pay enough
attention in church."  A rosy blush coloured Tamsin's face.

Lysander struggled not to laugh.

"Who told you this?"  he asked gravely.

"My aunt."

"She sounds a most disagreeable woman."

"She is... I mean... oh, I know I should not say so, but you are right,
sir!"

"Is this the aunt who wishes you to wed a man you detest?"  he asked
curiously, ignoring his food.

Tamsin nodded.

"She says marriage to Master Hardy will steady me."  A glum sigh
escaped her.

"He is a neighbour of ours and a strong " Older than you, I suppose?  "
Lysander hazarded.

"By more than thirty years."  Tamsin took a bite of her mutton.  It
seemed petty to mention that she found the man ugly, but something
about his broad, florid face and bulky figure repelled her.

"He's a widower twice over with nine children, some of them older than
I am.  He beats them if they disobey him."  The mutton seemed to stick
in her throat as Tamsin remembered how savagely Gideon Hardy had
punished his youngest son, a boy of only seven, for taking an apple
without permission.

She set her cutlery down abruptly, her appetite vanishing at the
thought of little Robert's bruises.  It wasn't so much her suitor's age
or looks which bothered her as his merciless streak!

"For all his talk of God, I think Master Hardy a hard man with little
kindness in him and I refused his suit when he first asked for my hand
in marriage last March," she continued, unconsciously lifting her chin
with remembered defiance.

"Unfortunately, he proposed again a few weeks ago and this time he
offered to take me without a dowry."

A wry twist distorted Tamsin's pretty mouth.

"Aunt Deborah insisted I accept him.  She said I should be grateful for
my good luck."  Tamsin hastily pushed aside the memory of the other
announcement her aunt had blurted in her fury and finished by saying
lightly, "She is always reminding me, you see, that I live by her
charity since God has sought fit to render me a penniless orphan."

Lysander was silent for a moment.  It was not unusual to find a big
difference in age between a groom and his bride, but it wasn't ideal in
his opinion, particularly if the man was as insensitive as this fellow
sounded.

As for Aunt.  Deborah, he had met her like before, all canting piety
and a spirit meaner than a heathen Turk's!

"I am beginning to see why you felt you had to run away," he commented,
an unspoken sympathy in his eyes.

Tamsin gave him a grateful smile, her spirits rising.

"I was worried you might think me an undutiful ingrate," she murmured
shyly.

"Duty works both ways."  Lysander took a sip of his wine.

"Your aunt should have found you a better match."

"She just wanted to be rid of me."  Tamsin shrugged and then suddenly
grinned at him.

"Even as a child I always had the impression that she regarded meas a
thorn in her side."

"Were you a saucy brat?"  Lysander grinned back.

Tamsin confessed it.

"I'm sure her arm must have ached from punishing me!"  She saw a frown
touch his brow and added scrupulously, "I was only beaten when I had
done wrong and never worse than her own son.

She is very strict, but not needlessly cruel.  "

"I dare say her motto is spare the rod and spoil the child."  His tone
was ironic.

Tamsin giggled.

"In that case I must be a paragon of virtue!"

"Undoubtedly!"

The glint of answering laughter in his eyes convinced Tamsin that he
did not censure her for refusing Gideon Hardy and, her appetite
restored, she picked up her cutlery again.

Lysander copied her.  However, as he chatted lightly of the sights of
London, he was assimilating what he had lea mt of her history.

It was good to have his gut instinct that she was no fanatical Puritan
confirmed.  Brought up by her strict aunt, she was bound to have been
infected by their ideas, but her independent streak would make life
easier if she was to share his house.

Despite his confident words earlier, Lysander had a feeling it might
take some time to find her a suitable chaperon.  For one thing, the
respectable matrons of his acquaintance would look askance at his
patronage of the girl.  Even if they didn't suspect his motives, it
would take a liberal donation, which he didn't have, to soothe their
ruffled sensibilities.

He might have better luck asking Nat, who was familiar with half the
shopkeepers and traders in London, if he knew anyone suitable who might
be prepared to take her in.

To Lysander's surprise, distaste flickered through him and he realised
that particular solution disturbed him.

Sheer sentimental folly!  It was the only sensible way to deal with the
dilemma.  Such an arrangement would not strain his purse and, while
life in a tradesman's household might not be what she was used to, she
would at least be safe.

And yet.  no matter how much he told himself he was not responsible for
the girl, that indeed he scarcely even knew her, the thought of her in
some cheap lodgings was abhorrent.

Maybe it was because of her elusive resemblance to his sister or, more
likely, because his sympathies had been engaged by her story.  She
hadn't sounded in the least bit sorry for herself, but to his ears it
had been clear that her life up to now had not been an easy one.

It was a tribute to her resilient nature that she was not bitter.

Instead, she seemed to possess a cheerful, determined optimism, which
was as admirable as it was attractive.

"My lord."  Her softly accented voice interrupted his musing.

"Did you hear something?"

Lysander shook his head.

"I thought I heard... there it is again!"

This time the faint cry reached Lysander's ears and he sprang to his
feet.

"That sounds like Matthew.  Something must be amiss."

Tamsin followed as he raced from the dining-room.  Hampered by her
skirts, she was slower and by the time she reached the kitchen he was
already bending over the supine form of his servant, who lay sprawled
upon the stone floor.

"Is he all right?"  she gasped, hurrying forward to see if she could
help.

"He's lost consciousness."  Lysander finished running his hands over
Matthew.

"No bones broken that I can tell."  His eyes narrowed.

"See that nasty bump on his forehead?  I suspect he fell and banged his
head."

Tamsin knelt down at Lysander's side, carefully avoiding the scattered
pastry crusts oozing gravy all over the floor.

"He must have been carrying the marrowbone pie at the time," she said,
pointing to a broken china platter at Matthew's feet.

"He's coming round."  Matthew's eyes opened and he let out a groan.

"Easy, old friend."

"What ... oh, my head!"  A spasm of pain crossed Matthew's
blunt-featured face as he struggled to rise.

"Can you recall what happened?"  Lysander asked, survey n ing his
servant carefully as he assisted him into a sitting position.

"I think I slipped.  I remember noticing earlier that there was a patch
of grease on the floor."  Matthew's clouded gaze grew clearer as he
spoke, relieving Lysander's anxiety.  He touched the bump on his head
gingerly.

"Serves me right for not cleaning it up."

"You have too much to do without taking on the task of cleaning as
well."  Lysander sat back on his heels, a flicker of guilt creasing his
brow.  Sometimes, without even realising it, he took his hard-working
retainer for granted!

Matthew bridled.

"I hope you aren't saying that I am getting too old to look after you,
lad!"

"I'm sure Sir Lysander meant nothing of the sort, Master Cooper,"
Tamsin intervened gently.

"He is merely anxious about your welfare."

"Aye, let's get you up off that cold floor before you catch an ague,"
Lysander said, hastily seizing this olive branch.

Tamsin hurried to pull out one of the stools from beneath the kitchen
table and Lysander helped the older man to his feet.

"There.  You rest a moment.  Matt," he ordered, settling him onto it.

"I'll fetch you a cup of ale to restore you."

Matthew grumbled, but since his fall had shaken him more than he was
willing to admit, he was quite happy to obey.

While Lysander disappeared in the direction of the larder, Tamsin
decided to make use of a broom lying propped in one corner and began
sweeping up the broken china.

"You don't have to do that!"  Lysander exclaimed as he emerged carrying
a mug of ale.

"Who else is going to do it?"  Tamsin cocked her head to one side,
amused by the look of consternation which appeared on her host's
face.

"She's got you there, lad."  A burst of gruff laughter from his servant
made Lysander swing round and glare at him.

"Well, shall I carry on or not?  Or do you intend to sweep this floor
yourself?"

A cheeky grin robbed her words of their sting and Lysander laughed, his
exasperation vanishing.

"Please do," he invited cordially.

"I'm sure you'll make a better job of it than I could."

Keeping out of her way he went to hand the ale to Matthew.

"Here's your... damn!"  Lysander made a quick lunge and caught the
heavy mug as it slipped from Matthew's hand.

"I'm sorry!"  Matthew had gone white.

"I couldn't hold it."

"No harm done."  Lysander brushed splashes of ale from his moire
breeches.  Luckily, he'd been quick enough to prevent most of the
contents from spilling.  He set the mug down.

"Let me see your wrist," Matthew extended his right arm and Lysander
carefully pushed up the sleeve of his serviceable brown stuff jacket.

"I think you may have sprained it."  He turned his blond head and
called over his shoulder to Tamsin, "Do you have any knowledge of
healing. Mistress Barton?"

"A little, sir."  Tamsin came hurrying to join them and inspected
Matthew's wrist.

"It looks like a bad sprain to me," she murmured, echoing Lysander's
diagnosis.

"I'll fetch a doctor," Lysander announced, but before he could make a
move Matthew spoke up.

"I'll have no damned leech prodding and poking around me," he exclaimed
vehemently.

"I will do well enough if you strap it up, Master Lysander."

"But-" Nay!  Let be, lad!  I don't want a fuss.  "

Lysander bit back an expletive and nodded curtly.  It was no use
arguing.  Matt hated doctors and it would probably do more harm than
good to insist.

"I'll need something to strap up your wrist and make you a sling."  He
turned to Tamsin.

"Can you fetch a clean sheet while I escort Matthew to his room?"  he
asked.

"Of course."  Tamsin dusted her hands against her skirts, glad to
help.

"Where will I find the linen-press?"

The next half an hour was busy as they endeavoured to make Matthew
comfortable.  He objected to wearing the sling

Lysander fashioned for him and then refused to lie down upon his bed
and rest until Lysander swore at him, causing Tamsin's eyes to almost
pop out of her head.

Deeming it best to remove herself, she escaped back to the kitchen and
finished cleaning up the mess left by the ruined pie.

"A difficult patient, our Master Cooper," Lysander commented drily as
he strolled back into the kitchen.

"Indeed, my lord," Tamsin agreed.

She accepted his invitation to retire to the parlour to recruit their
energies after their exertions.  Lysander waved her towards the sofa
and took a seat nearby.

"The trouble is, Matthew forgets he is almost fifty.  He thinks he is
still a young man and insists on doing too much.  He hates being
idle."

Tamsin nodded.

"Anyone could see that he was in pain, but I thought he would never
agree to your suggestion that he take a nap."

Lysander coughed, suddenly uncomfortable.

"I should not have lost my temper in front of you," he muttered.

Tamsin coloured.

"My aunt says all Cavaliers curse," she murmured, staring with rigid
concentration at one of the tapestries.

"Doesn't have a good opinion of us, does she?"  Lysander's tone was
wryly ironical.

"She hates you."  Tamsin shrugged awkwardly.

"When the King's Declaration of Breda was read out in our parish church
last month, I thought she would burst with fury."

Lysander had helped Charles compose this momentous document, named for
the town in North Brabant where they stayed during the final days of
their exile.  It was a statement of Charles's good intentions towards
all his subjects, promising pardon and tolerance for everyone except
those directly involved in the execution of his father.

Obviously, it had not helped soften some hearts!

"Do you feel animosity towards Cavaliers, Mistress Barton?"

Tamsin hesitated.  She had never had occasion to question her family's
views until the day she had learnt that her unknown father had fought
for the King.  But how was she to explain her recent change of heart
without revealing the shameful secret of her birth?

"Well, I dare say you have your reasons."

He had misunderstood her silence.

"I don't hate anyone--' Tamsin began anxiously, but was swiftly
interrupted.

"Don't apologise.  You have every right to your opinion."  Ly sander's
tone was careless, but a strange disappointment ran through him.

Tamsin hung her head, her fingers twisting nervously together in her
lap.  Oh, why hadn't she had the courage to speak out?  Now she
couldn't think of a way to retrieve her mistake without it sounding as
if she was trying to curry favour!

Too flustered to look up, she didn't see how his gaze softened as he
took in her agitation.

"Don't be embarrassed."  He left his seat and came to sit next to
her.

"I should not have asked you that question."

"I... I didn't really know any Cavaliers until I met you, my lord,"
Tamsin whispered, her eyes still fixed on the tips of her boots.

"I

hope you will not think me discourteous.  "

Lysander stretched out one long-fingered hand and gently tilted up her
chin so that she was forced to meet his gaze.  T think you a brave and
honest girl," he said softly.

Tamsin's heart began to hammer so violently she was sure he must hear
it.

Lysander stared down into the blue-green depths of her lovely eyes and
experienced a fierce urge to gather her into his arms and kiss her.

Shaken, he released her.

"I fear you flatter me, sir, but thank you."  Tamsin managed to find
her voice.

"On the contrary, it is I who should be thanking you for your help with
Matthew."  Lysander had recovered from whatever madness had afflicted
him and his expression was as smoothly bland as cream.

"And, indeed, for your sterling efforts in setting the kitchen to
rights."

"I enjoyed being able to repay a little of your kindness," Tamsin
replied simply.

She paused and then, greatly daring, added in a rush, "You are going to
need assistance in the house now that Master Cooper is
incapacitated."

"Don't tell me."  A resigned look appeared on Lysander's face.

"You want to take over Matthew's duties."

"I know you think it a harebrained notion, sir, but won't you at least
let me try?  I could act as housekeeper until Master Cooper is
better."

Lysander considered her request.

"You are right.  We can't manage as things are now," he admitted
slowly.

"Matt and I contrived perfectly well during our exile without anyone to
wait upon us, but this house is too big to run without servants."

The house had been understaffed before he lost the services of Mrs.
Finch.  Matt had exacting standards and it was difficult to find honest
and reliable help who met with his approval.  It was usual to hire
servants for a full year, but none of the applicants had lasted longer
than a few days.

There was a shortage of trained servants in London, made worse by the
influx of the Cavaliers wanting staff.  Not being one to stand upon his
dignity, Lysander had been content to manage without the usual plethora
of maids, footmen and butlers demanded by many men of rank.

In the end, as there were other, more pressing, demands upon his
attention, the problem had fallen into abeyance.

"Very well."  Lysander decided that since Fate seemed determined to
take a hand in his affairs he might as well give in gracefully.

"You can stay until Matthew's wrist is mended."

Her vivid little face lit up.

"You won't regret it, sir.  I will work hard, I promise you."

"Remember, this is only a temporary arrangement!"  Lysander warned
her.

"Of course, my lord."  Tamsin dipped an obedient curtsy, her expression
demure.

Predictably, Matthew objected when Lysander informed him later that
evening that they had acquired a housekeeper.

"I'm not saying the wench isn't up to the job," he grumbled, twitching
at his bedclothes.

"She seems capable enough, but we don't need her.

I'll be up and about tomorrow.  "

"Nonsense," Lysander retorted briskly.

"You are staying in bed for the next couple of days at least, Matt, and
that's an order."

"My wrist will feel better in the morning," Master Cooper protested
indignantly.

Lysander fixed him with a disbelieving look.

"Even if that were true, you still need to rest.  You took a nasty
knock to the head and I don't want you collapsing on me like young
Coyle."

Ensign Coyle had served under Lysander's command when the English
Royalists had fought on the side of Spain against the French.  During
an engagement to defend the town of Mardyke from Marshal Turenne's
forces, the ensign had suffered a blow to the left temple which had
rendered him unconscious.

Lysander had rescued him from the field and the young man had later
recovered his senses.  He had seemed perfectly fit and healthy, apart
from complaining of a headache, but two days later, without any
warning, he had suddenly dropped down dead.

"Aye, well, but--' " No more arguments.  Matt.  Mistress Barton stays.
Now, eat your supper and go to sleep.  "

Lysander thrust out the soup spoon he was holding and with a sigh
Matthew abandoned his objections and opened his mouth.

The next morning Lysander took.  his new employee on a tour of the
house.

"If there is anything you require, now is the time to tell me," he
informed her as they descended the main staircase after their
inspection of the upper floors was completed.

"There seems to be a sufficient quantity of bed-linen and towels, sir,
but I shall need to visit an apothecary's and purchase some oil of
spikenard to deter the moths or else all those woollen hangings will be
ruined," Tamsin replied gravely.

Lysander hid a grin.  Her solemn air put him in mind of his sister
playing house with her dolls in those far-off childhood days at
Melcombe.

Not that he doubted his new housekeeper's competence.  She had made
several sensible suggestions already and seemed to know exactly what
ought to be done to keep a home running smoothly.

They entered the kitchen, the final call on their tour of inspection.

"We need to order more sand for scouring the pots and I noticed that
the broom I was using yesterday could do with new bristles.  Oh, and we
require some horsetail.  Most of the pewter is sadly in need of a good
burnishing."  Tamsin stood in the middle of the room, ticking off items
on her mental list.

"I think you can buy all of those things from the street vendors.

They'll come to the back door if you hail them.  "

Tamsin was impressed.  London had advantages in the war against dirt,
which Chipping Sodbury lacked.

Mind you, she reflected, the inhabitants of this city needed all the
help they could get.  When she had opened her bedroom window this
morning there had been a pall of grimy smoke hanging in the air.

"It's from sea-coal," Lysander had explained in response to her
mentioning this disagreeable cloud to him when he had strolled into the
kitchen soon after six in search of a morning draught.

"Why do people use it?"  Tamsin had sprung up from her stool to pour
him some ale from the jug she had been consuming for her own breakfast.
 She set the tankard down on the table-top.

"It leaves sooty black smudges everywhere."

With the casual informality Tamsin still found slightly shocking,
Lysander rested his lean hips against the edge of the table, stretching
his long legs out in front of him, and picked up his tankard.

"There's not enough wood to go round these days," he answered.

He declined the offer of food.  Tamsin, who was always hungry, had
already eaten, but she hadn't finished her drink.  She reached for her
mug, careful to avoid tripping over her employer's outstretched legs.

They were clad, she noticed, in a pair of knitted silk hose and
garnet-red farandine breeches.  A gold-laced coat in the same material
completed his outfit and Tamsin thought he looked wonderful, if wildly
out of place.

"I have never cooked on a coal fire before."  A faint look of alarm
creased Tamsin's brow as she contemplated-the prospect.

"I'm sure you'll manage," Lysander replied blithely.

Tamsin wished she shared his confidence.

"Will you be home for dinner today, my lord?"

He shook his head.

"I have arranged to meet a friend of mine this morning at Whitehall. He
is leaving London tomorrow and we will probably dine at a tavern."

Lysander firmly dismissed a foolish impulse to change his mind and stay
at home to keep an eye on his protegee.

Tamsin experienced a faint nicker of relief.  His absence would give
her a chance to get settled in before she had to produce a meal for
him. After yesterday's magnificent feast she didn't want to let him
down.

"Or I could bring Lord Treneglos home with me instead," Lysander
continued casually.

Tamsin's gaze flew to his.

"Don't look so worried.  I'm only teasing."  Lysander grinned at her.

"You will be too busy, I expect, to bother preparing very much
today."

Tamsin thanked him coolly for his consideration, a militant gleam in
her eyes.

"Of course, if I ever do spring unexpected guests on you," Lysander
offered repentantly, 'you can always send out to a cook shop

"Cookshop, sir?"  Tamsin stared at him.

"You mean you sometimes buy your dinner?"

Her scandalised tone revealed how shocking she found this notion.

"It's a common practice in London, I'm afraid," Lysander replied
meekly.

Tamsin's face took on an expression of suspicion.

"Did Master Cooper cook that lovely meal for us yesterday or not?"

This time Lysander couldn't restrain a chuckle as he shook his head.

"Matt can manage a few plain dishes.  For that matter, so can I. Life
as a soldier in exile teaches you self- sufficiency, but neither of us
have the talent to create fancy fare."

He took a swallow of his ale.

"Just do your best, Mistress Barton.  We won't complain if on occasion
you serve us bread and cheese."

Tamsin silently vowed to do better if it killed her.

"Would you like me to show you around the house?  Normally, Matthew
would do it, but he is still asleep and I. needn't leave just yet."

Tamsin had accepted his offer' with alacrity.

Now, remembering their earlier conversation, she glanced around her new
kitchen, relieved to note that it was very well equipped.  The windows
faced north, giving excellent light, and a big fireplace, flanked by
two brick ovens, took up most of one wall.  There were brine-tubs, a
dough trough and a salting-table all handily placed while a multitude
of pans, kettles, skillets, skewers and trivets hung up in gleaming
readiness.

She would have no excuse to blame her tools!

"Do you want to inspect what's available in the larders?"

Lysander asked.

"Matthew usually orders the provisions, but it might be better if you
took over for the moment rather than bothering him."

A thoughtful look passed over his handsome features.  Matthew also
managed the day-to-day household expenses and Lysander knew him well
enough to be sure that his faithful retainer would be indignant if he
asked anyone else to handle the task.  On the other hand, the wench
wouldn't be able to obtain everything on credit.

"Remind me to leave you some money before I set out for Whitehall," he
announced.

"You might need to buy something urgently."

Tamsin swallowed hard.  She wasn't used to handling coin.

"Yes, my lord."  She would manage somehow!

They examined the larders.  Ale, wines, milk and butter were kept in
one and in the other joints of meat and fowls were hanging up in the
chilly air.  Tamsin was delighted by the unexpected plentiful ness of
the provisions, but she was puzzled by the cold until she realised it
was coming from the mouth of a large well.

Lysander grinned at her exclamation of surprise.

"The well at home is some twenty yards from the house," Tamsin
murmured, colouring slightly.  He would think her a complete rustic!

Still, she wouldn't have far to carry water here and even more
conveniently, the house had its own privy out in the walled garden,
which lay to the rear of the property.

Tamsin had already discovered that most inhabitants of the city had to
rely on lay stalls for disposing of their various household wastes.

These basket tubs were dotted about the streets and their stench was
overpowering, to say nothing of the way they encouraged flies, rats and
scavenging cats.

Lysander led the way back into the main kitchen.

"I think that's everything," he said, preparing to depart.

"If you have any questions or need advice, ask Matthew."

Tamsin hadn't realised that the tour was over.

"Where is your laundry, sir?"  she asked, puzzled.

"And your brewhouse?"

"The laundry is sent out and we buy our ale in," he replied.  Tamsin
felt more like a country bumpkin than ever.  It was rapidly being borne
in on her that her new life was going to be very different from her
previous existence at Whiteladies.

"Don't worry.  You'll soon get used to city ways."  Tamsin nodded, her
faltering confidence restored by the warmth of his encouraging smile. 
4 "I am determined to do so, sir," she said firmly.  The sooner she
found her feet, the sooner she could begin searching for her father.

Chapter Four

Q^z^s^Q

1 he sound of laughter reached Lysander long before he arrived at the
palace tennis court.

"Come and watch with us.  Sir Lysander," a dulcet feminine voice
invited as he joined the spectators.

"The King is thrashing Lord Buckhurst."

Lysander strolled over to the speaker, a tall, full-bosomed brunette.

"Your servant.  Mistress Godolphin."  He bent with elegance over the
hand she extended to him.

"I see I need not ask how you are keeping this fair morning," he said,
straightening up to gaze into her eyes.

"Your radiance outshines the sun."

Jane Godolphin laughed and ran her fingers lightly over the bodice of
her bright yellow silk gown.

"Why, thank you, sir, but I fear you are mistaken.  It is only the
colour of my gown that shines so brightly."

Playing in accordance with the rules of flirtation, a game as intricate
as the one taking place on the court before them, Lysander promptly
shook his head.

"Nay, lady, even a blind man could discern your beauty.  It needs no
aid to dazzle the eye."

"Marry, come up, sir!  You flatter me."  She rapped him lightly on the
arm with her painted fan and gave him a roguish smile.

"Still, you do it so prettily I feel obliged to forgive you."

Lysander returned her smile and turned to greet her companion, an
elderly man with a surprisingly foppish mode of dress.

"My uncle was just saying that we must invite you to dinner.  Weren't
you.  Uncle Edward?"

Lysander saw the warning glance she flicked at Edward Fielding.  So,
the wealthy widow was interested, was she?

Mr.  Fielding took the hint and immediately claimed that nothing would
give him greater delight than to welcome Sir Lysander to the house they
had taken in Lady Court, off fashionable King Street.

Wryly aware that the man could say little else, Lysander thanked him.

"I should be honoured to dine with you," he said with a graceful
inclination of his head that set the red- dyed feathers on his
wide-brimmed hat a-tremble.

The tennis match was reaching its climax.

"Oh, we must stop talking and watch now!"  Jane exclaimed.

She made a pretty show of cheering on the King, but Lysander was
conscious of the covert glances she threw in his direction when she
thought she was unobserved.

Satisfaction flickered through him.  At their first meeting yesterday
he had done his best to make a favourable impression and it seemed he
had succeeded.

The match ended and the players came off to receive the.

congratulations of the crowd.

"Ah, Lysander."  Charles hailed him with one of his lazy smiles.

"I am glad you are here.  I want to show you the newest addition to my
collection of timepieces."

"I should be delighted.  Sire."  Lysander shared his friend's taste for
horology.

"If I had known you meant to visit the palace this morning, I should
have challenged you to a game instead of Buck- hurst," Charles said
easily.

"He is out of practice."

Lysander grinned.

"You usually beat your opponents."

Charles laughed.

"Not you, my friend."  They were so evenly matched that few would wager
on the outcome.

An attendant hurried to hand the King his hat and coat, which he had
removed to play tennis.  Charles donned them, his manner as informal as
ever, but there was a lively curiosity in his black gaze as it swept
over his friend's handsome companion.

"My reason for coming to Whitehall, your Highness, was to meet Lord
Treneglos," Lysander explained.

"Unfortunately, he seems to have been delayed."

"Poor Tom.  He is fair distracted over this quest of his, I fear,"
Charles replied with a sympathetic sigh.

Lysander nodded and then, aware of the tense anticipation vibrating in
the woman at his side, continued in an apparently casual manner, "May I
present Mistress Godolphin to you, Sire?  Her family were ever loyal to
your father's cause."

Jane immediately sank into a deep curtsy.

"Your Majesty!"

Charles flashed Lysander a knowing grin, which quickly vanished as she
rose from her obeisance.

"Let me welcome you to Whitehall, Mistress Godolphin," he said
affably.

"I am always pleased to meet those who support the Crown."

"My first husband was killed at Naseby," Jane murmured a little
breathlessly.

Charles, who had already grown weary of petitioners clamouring for
reward for past services, adroitly changed the subject.

"I understand you are newly come to London.  Is this your first
visit?"

Jane quickly denied it, but Lysander noted that she was careful not to
mention that her previous trip to the capital had been undertaken in
the company of her second husband, a former major in Cromwell's
Ironsides.

From the gleam of amusement in Charles's dark eyes it was obvious that
he knew all the gossip and had spotted this omission too.  Not that
Lysander blamed Jane for her discretion.  She wasn't to know that
Charles was a tolerant man.  It wasn't in his nature to be
vindictive.

"Be sure to come to Whitehall again."  King Charles's glance was
admiring as he brought the conversation to an end.

"It is always a pleasure to see lovely ladies gracing the court and
I'll warrant Sir Lysander would be happy to escort you here whenever
you wished."

He turned to Lysander to arrange a time for his friend to inspect the
new clock and gave him a secret wink.

With a final smile for Jane he moved on.  The crowd eddied in his wake,
all eager for a crumb of royal attention, and Ly sander's small group
was left behind.

Thank you for the introduction.  " Jane Godolphin's rather narrow grey
eyes were brilliant with triumph.

"Aye, it was well done of you.  Sir Lysander," Edward Fielding chimed
in excitedly, breaking his awed silence.

A member of the Sussex gentry, he had accompanied his niece to London
to lend his support to her venture.  They had arrived a week ago,
knowing no one of influence, but already Jane's money had opened
several doors.  One of these new acquaintances had suggested they visit
Whitehall, the place to be seen for any social aspirant.

It had proved an easy matter to gain admittance to the palace, the
guards allowed any well-dressed person to enter, but mingling with the
fashionable crowd was not the same as being part of it.  Without
connections at court, it was difficult to gain the introductions
necessary for advancement.

Well aware of this, Mr.  Fielding had been impressed by the friendship
shown by the King to his niece's new suitor.

"His Majesty liked you, niece!"  he exclaimed.

"Your social success is assured!"

"Indeed."  Jane's expression was smug.  She glanced at Lysander
hopefully.

"I would be even more grateful, sir, if you could bring yourself to
follow the King's advice and offer me your escort here one evening."

"I would be happy to be of service," Lysander answered sweetly.

"There is a reception on Sunday.  Perhaps you would care to attend?"

"I should like that."  Jane paused and added in a slightly nervous
tone, "Will you come to dinner with us beforehand?"

"Gladly, ma'am."

Surer now of her conquest, Jane patted her elaborately curled ringlets
with an air of satisfaction she didn't trouble to hide.

When a woman was looking thirty in the face she was a fool not to know
her own mind.  Lysander Saxon was one of the most handsome men Jane had
ever met and, since he seemed as agreeable as he was well born, she had
decided to encourage his suit.  True, he had no fortune to recommend
him, but few of the newly returned Cavaliers were rich.  More
importantly, he had the friendship of the King and could offer her
entree into the elevated circles of society she craved.

After two forced marriages, neither of which she had found congenial,
she was determined to make her own choice this time!

"My uncle and I are going to take a dish of syllabub at Harper's before
returning home," she announced, mentioning a fashionable tavern in King
Street.

"Can I tempt you to join us.  Sir Lysander?"

Her bold invitation confirmed Lysander's instinctive feeling that she
found him attractive.  He was not coxcomb enough to imagine his looks
alone had ignited her interest.  Their acquaintance had been short, but
he already knew there was a ruthless side to her nature.  He thought
her perfectly capable of using him merely to further her social
ambitions. However, unless he had mistaken his guess, she genuinely
liked him.

"It would give me great pleasure to accept, Mistress Go- dolphin," he
replied, allowing a note of regret to seep into his tone.

"However, I am promised to Lord Treneglos."

"But he isn't here."  Jane cast him a languorous look, fluttering her
eyelashes in her most seductive manner.

At that moment, as if to give lie to her words, there came the sound of
heavy footsteps hurrying up the path towards them.

"Lysander!  I beg pardon for my tardiness.  I hope you haven't been
waiting long."  Lord Treneglos halted, panting a little, the high
colour in his plump cheeks vying with the orange tabby of his
fashionably beribboned suit.

"Tom."  Lysander greeted him with a warm smile.

"There is no need to apologise.  My time has been most pleasantly
occupied."

Jane acknowledged this compliment, hiding her disappointment behind a
polite smile as Lysander proceeded to introduce her and her uncle to
Lord Treneglos.

After a few minutes of affable conversation she noticed that the
Comishman was beginning to look restless.  Having no desire to outstay
her welcome and spoil the good impression she had made, she judged it
time to make her exit.

"Until Sunday then, my lord," she said, holding out her hand to
Lysander.

He kissed it, his lips lingering just long enough to invest the
formality with significance.

"I shall count the hours.  Mis;

tress Godolphin.  " ?

He stood and watched her walk away on her uncle's arm, | her elegant
bell-shaped skirts swaying gracefully, fl "A handsome piece."  Lord
Treneglos's tone was approving.  ;|1 "And they say her fortune is
enormous.  You could do a lot | worse, my boy."  ^jj The faint smile
curving Lysander's well-cut mouth grew^ cynical.  T know, which is why
I intend to snap her up bef6re^j| some other rogue beats me to it.  "

Tom laughed.

"I wish you a fair wind to speed your comA^

Lord Treneglos had bespoken dinner at the Turk's He^^ in New Palace
Yard.

"How say you we go by river?  I kao^J it's only a short walk to
Westminster, but I fancy some cle^^^ air.  These damned smoky streets
do my chest no good at Lysander readily agreed.  Tom suffered from a
wheezii^AM in his lungs and his condition had become worse since t^Al
return home.  London was a great city--to Lysander's knoM)^^ edge, only
Paris and Constantinople were bigger--but it WA^ a dirty place.

A faint smile touched his mouth as he rememberedV^AH little waifs
complaints about sea-coal, but household n^^B weren't the only source
of pollution.  Small bus il abounded cheek by jowl with ordinary houses
in the narrow city streets.  Brewers, soap-boilers, glue-makers--he
could think of a dozen noisome trades which belched forth clouds of
foul smoke.

Small wonder, then, that Tom's cough was more troublesome lately!

They began to stroll in the direction of the river and Lysander said,
"Speaking of fair winds, how goes the preparation for your journey?"

Tom shuddered, his heavy jowls quivering in mock horror.

"I am beginning to wish I had elected to travel overland.  The Venus
leaves for Bristol on tomorrow's early tide and I still haven't found a
suitable present for my daughter."

He sighed.  T wish I had some idea of what she liked, but I know
nothing about her.  "

"How old will she be now?"  Lysander asked gently, careful not to
question Tom's optimistic assumption that the girl was still alive.

"Sixteen," Tom replied with a promptness that revealed how often he had
thought about it.

"Her birthday was in February."

A reminiscent smile softened his gaze.

"She was a premature babe.  At first we didn't think she would live,
but she was a tenacious little thing."

He shook his iron-grey head with a sudden violence.

"God, how I wish ITiad not sent her to my wife's relatives!  I thought
an army camp was no place for a newborn, but I should have kept them
both with me!"

"You were wounded at Marston Moor, Tom."  Lysander had heard the whole
story from his father, who had been one of Lord Treneglos's closest
friends in spite of the twelve-year age gap which separated them.

"You were too ill to protect anyone and the situation was dangerous.
You did what you thought was best."

"Aye," Tom agreed heavily.

He fell silent and, reluctant to break in on his thoughts, Lysander
held his tongue as they crossed the palace grounds and made their way
towards the Garden Stairs, but anger on his friend's behalf stirred in
him.

The damned war had torn Tom's life apart as it had so many others.

With no close relatives of his own in Cornwall to look after his wife
and infant daughter, Tom had been forced to send them to Bristol to
seek refuge with Lady Treneglos's family, who, unfortunately, abhorred
his support of King Charles.

The ravages of war and the duty he had unfailingly rendered to the
royal family had prevented Tom from reclaiming his womenfolk before he
had been forced into exile.  Then, one day in Paris, the latest of his
endless letters to his wife had found its way unopened back to the dire
lodgings he was sharing with Lysander's father.  A brief note from his
in-laws had accompanied it, a few brutally curt lines declaring that
Lady Judith and five-year-old Thomasina had died of the plague.

Devastated, Lord Treneglos had had no suspicion that his sister-in-law
might be lying.  However, two years later during the ill-fated campaign
to recover the English throne by force of arms, a chance encounter with
a former servant of Judith's family had revealed that his daughter had
survived her illness.

In the disastrous aftermath which followed the battle of Worcester, Tom
was unable to discover if the man had spoken the truth.  Back in exile
once more, he had sent an increasingly furious stream of letters to his
in-laws.  Every one was ignored.

Was it any wonder, Lysander reflected, that he was anxious to seek out
the truth for himself?

They had reached the Garden Stairs and the fresh breeze blowing off the
river seemed to disperse Lord Treneglos's anxious melancholy.

"Forgive me," he said, attempting to look cheerful.

"I wanted us to meet today so I could say farewell, not to burden you
with my problems."

Lysander shrugged.

"What are friends for?"  he retorted lightly, masking his concern with
his usual veneer of humour.

Tom had known Lysander since he was breeched and he recognised the
tactic.  During their long exile the boy had grown a hard shell to
disguise his emotions, but beneath that protective carapace there beat
the kindest of hearts.

A wherry approached the stairs.  A single passenger disembarked and
Lysander and Tom got in.

"Westminster Stairs, if you please," Lysander requested.

The waterman grunted and thrust out his hand for their fare, which
Lysander, refusing Tom's offer, proceeded to pay.

"Ain't you got anything smaller?"  the waterman grumbled, frowning at
the coin Lysander had handed him before reluctantly handing over the
correct change.

"A surly fellow," Tom remarked as they took their places.

Lysander shrugged.

"We've been home almost a month now and I have yet to meet a waterman
who can smile."

Tom chuckled.  Some things didn't change.  Watermen had always been an
abusive breed.

The wherry swung out into the river and Lysander sat back to enjoy the
view.  As usual, the Thames was crowded with small craft and larger
boats plying their trade and he thought that they made a brave sight on
this sunny morning.  In the distance he could see several of the fine
buildings which lined the river bank and beyond them, framed against
the skyline, the spires belonging to some of London's hundred-and-odd
churches.

His spirits lifted.  It was good to be alive on such a glorious day!

"What are you thinking about, Lysander?"  Tom asked curiously.

"You got an expression on you like a dog in a butcher's yard."

"I'm counting my blessings," Lysander replied with a grin.

"One, here we are back home again, a miracle indeed.  Two, the
would-be-merry Widow Godolphin has taken a fancy to me, which means my
prospects are looking up.  Three, even a threat of domestic chaos has
been averted thanks to a little wench I rescued last night."

Tom's sandy eyebrows rose.

"I scent a mystery."

"I'll tell you all about it when we are comfortably settled with a pot
of ale," Lysander promised cheerfully.

Who knows?  With one or two name changes to protect Tamsin's
reputation, a courtesy she surely deserved, it might divert Tom's mind
over dinner and prevent him fretting about his long-lost daughter.

Tamsin hummed an old tune cheerfully under her breath as she laid her
spare cap, smock and stockings out to dry, draping them carefully over
a rosemary bush in the walled garden at the back of the house.  The
afternoon was well advanced, but it was so warm that they should be fit
to bring in before darkness fell.

Thank goodness she'd had only to wash these few items.  At Whiteladies
it took all day to do a proper wash.  Once a month, weather permitting,
the pile of dirty linen would be collected and laid at the bottom of
the buck-tub and soaked in a lye of wood ash and urine or bran water.

Then the dirty water was run off by a spigot into the under buck tub
and the process repeated until the clothes appeared clean.

Stubborn patches of dirt had to be scrubbed away and then everything
could be rinsed, an exhausting business of vigorous shaking and
stirring of the water-heavy linen.  When it was all wrung out as hard
as tired arms could make it, the;

laundry could then be taken into the garden to be dried.  ",i Today she
had been too busy with other household tasks|| to wash more than her
change of underwear.  Still, everythin^^ had gone well and she felt
satisfied with her day's worfc^ Master Cooper had even praised the beef
pudding she h served for his dinner.

"If the Devil makes mischief for idle hands, you must in a state of
grace.  Mistress Barton."

Tamsin, who had been too preoccupied to hear him i the garden, whirled
round at the sound of Lysander's tones.

"My lord."  She bobbed a hasty curtsy.

"I did not you were back."

Lysiinder surveyed her.  She had discarded the broad linen collar she
had worn earlier and pushed up her sleeves, exposing her bare
forearms.

"You look uncommon warm.  I hope you haven't been working too hard," he
said.

Her cap was awry.  Several apricot-gold curls had spilled on to her
neck and her thin cheeks were flushed with pink.  It suddenly occurred
to him that, dressed in more fashionable clothes with her hair properly
arranged, she would look decidedly pretty.

It was a disturbing thought.

Tamsin shook her head, laughing.

"I am used to hard work, sir.  There is always something needing doing
on a farm."

Lysander suspected her aunt had been a hard taskmaster.

"Aye, but we must find you some help," he protested lightly.  This
house is too big for you to manage on your own.  "

About to object, Tamsin paused.  Working hard to pay off her debt was
one thing--skimping tasks from sheer lack of time was another.

Much as she hated to admit it, he was right.

T can manage the cooking on my own, but I could do with someone to help
with the cleaning," she agreed, smoothing down her apron briskly.

"And you'll need a footboy to run your errands and accompany you when
you go marketing," Lysander declared.

"Nat could' do that, surely?"

"Not when I need his services myself," Lysander pointed out.

"And I don't want you going out alone."

"I'm a servant, not a fine lady," Tamsin protested.

"Gallants don't always make a distinction."  Lysander's tone was dry.

He didn't want to scare her, but it wasn't unknown for a pretty girl to
be snatched off the streets by some drunken bucks, raped and thrown
back into the gutter when her attackers had done with her.

"It can be dangerous for a Woman on her own.  Until you are better
acquainted with the city and its ways, you must not venture far without
an escort."

Tamsin was accustomed to walking freely anywhere she wished at home,
but her bmsh with Mrs.  Cole had already demonstrated the need to be
more wary here so she nodded obediently.

Not that she believed she would draw any gallant's eye.  Did his
warning mean that, despite his avowal that he found her too thin, Sir
Lysander actually thought her attractive enough to invite attention?

The thought sent an inexplicable warm glow rushing through her veins
and Tamsin almost missed what he was saying about seeing if any
acquaintance could recommend a housemaid.

"Beg your pardon, my lord," she interrupted hastily, 'can we not
enquire if Mrs.  Finch's daughter is free to work for you?  "

Ly sander's eyebrow quirked.  He had been unaware that Mrs.  Finch even
had a daughter.  How the devil had she found that out and so quickly?

"Nat told me," Tamsin answered demurely when he asked.

Lysander had gone by river to Whitehall that morning, leaving the
coachman free to help out in his brother's livery stables round the
corner in Bell Yard.  Nat preferred to live there than lodge in Wych
Street, but he was accustomed to eating his dinner in Lysander's
kitchen.

Today he had shared the beef pudding with Tamsin.  Friendly and
loquacious, he was a mine of useful information.

"He also said that they would be hard hit by Mrs.  Finch losing her
position," Tamsin continued.

"I thought that, if the girl was suitable, it would be a good solution
to both problems."  She searched his expression anxiously.

"That is, if you have no objection to the idea, sir?"

"None at all.  Hire the girl if you think her capable."

"And the errand boy, sir?  Nat did mention that she had several
brothers."

Lysander laughed, amused by her coaxing tone.

"I leave it up to you.

All I ask is that they can do the job.  "

"Thank you!"  Tamsin beamed at him.

"I shall go to see them tomorrow.

Nat knows where they live.  "

She rolled down her sleeves and picked up the empty basket wherein she
had carried her wet clothes out into the garden.

"I will leave you to enjoy the air in peace, my lord."

"Wait!  Don't go."  Lysander discovered he was reluctant to lose her
company.

"Stay and talk to me for a while."

Tamsin took a step back, clutching the basket tightly to still the
sudden trembling of her hands.

"I ought to get on with preparing supper," she murmured.

"Surely you can spare a few minutes?"

Tamsin hesitated.

"I thought we agreed yesterday that the usual rules did not apply?"

Lysander said softly.

"You have offered your services as housekeeper, but that doesn't mean
you have to behave like a servant.  As far as I am concerned, you are
still my guest."

Unable to resist the smile which accompanied his words, Tamsin nodded
and put her basket down again.

"Let's sit over there."  Lysander pointed to a bank of camomile and
violets, which had been fashioned into a seat, the latest elegant
whim.

Tamsin eyed it dubiously.  The weather had been dry, but damp might
still linger in such a flower-covered spot.  Informal as ever, her
benefactor was in his shirtsleeves, both hat and coat removed in
response to the heat, but his breeches were made of farandine, an
expensive mix of silk and superior wool.

"You might stain your fine clothes, sir."

He grinned.

"The cost of being fashionable, I'm afraid."

They sat down and Tamsin cast an admiring glance about her.  Although
somewhat long and narrow in shape, the garden was a pleasant place.

There were formal beds of flowers carved into rectilinear patterns and
edged with thrift, paths of gravel, decorative shrubs and elaborate
swirls of coloured sand outlined with silver-leaved plants.  A small
arbour covered in honeysuckle and roses, both red and white, added
perfume to the air.  There was even a grass carpet-walk for the taking
of exercise, although it stood in dire need of scything.

Lysander stretched luxuriantly.

"Long may this fine weather continue," he remarked with a sigh of
content.

"Do you feel stifled being indoors, sir?"

He was surprised by her perceptiveness.  For someone so young, she had
an unusual ability to show empathy with others.  Her championship of
Mrs.  Finch's family revealed the same fellow-feeling at work.

He ought to have thought of hiring the girl himself.  He had already
sent Mrs.  Finch the wages she was owed for this week, although,
strictly speaking, he need not have paid her anything.  Guessing that
the family might be in difficulties, he had even added a few extra
shillings on top, but Tamsin's solution was a much better one.

A long time ago his father had taught him that a master was responsible
for the welfare of his whole household down to the lowliest servant.

"Be firm, but always temper discipline with benevolence, my son," Sir
James had advised.

"The ability to treat people well is one of the signs of a man's inner
strength and maturity.  Just as a braggart needs to puff himself off,
so will a weakling take out his frustrations and fears on those beneath
him.  A good man thinks of others as well as himself."

It seemed that his little waif had already absorbed this valuable
lesson.

Tamsin coughed awkwardly, wondering if she had annoyed him with her
curiosity.

Seeing her discomfort, Lysander made haste to break his silence.

"I do prefer being out in the fresh air," he said lightly.

"A morning spent paying courtesies at Whitehall tires me more than a
day in the saddle.

The result of a country upbringing, followed by service in the army, I
suppose.  "

A look of interest brightened the turquoise eyes fixed on his.

"Did you fight for the late King, sir?"

"I was too young, at least according to my father, but I have fought on
behalf of his present Majesty," Lysander replied.

"Will you tell me about it?"  Tamsin begged.

Lysander complied, relating some amusing experiences while avoiding the
more unsavoury aspects of a soldier's life.

Tamsin listened avidly and, forgetting all reserve, pelted him with a
multitude of questions.

"S'death, perhaps you should have been a boy," Lysander laughingly
exclaimed at last, amused and a little startled by the depth of her
curiosity.

Tamsin blushed.

"I would have gone for soldier if I could," she agreed shyly.

It was on the tip of her tongue to explain that his words had made her
feel closer to her mysterious father, but caution intervened.  She had
already confessed to the shaming fact of being a runaway.  What might
he think if she told him the whole truth?

Unwilling to dwell upon why his good opinion was so important to her,
Tamsin hastily cast about for another topic of conversation.

"This garden is so different to the one we had at home," she announced
brightly.

"My aunt grew herbs and vegetables, not flowers.  She said that she had
no use for such frivolous things."  A giggle escaped her.

"In fact, I think she found their bright colour sinful."

"Really?  You surprise me."

There was a wealth of irony in his deep tones and Tamsin giggled again,
realising that he disliked her aunt's narrow viewpoint as much as she
did.

"I think God was in one of His better moods when He created these," he
remarked lazily, picking a violet from the bank on which they sat and
offering it to Tamsin.

"How could anything which smells so sweet be sinful?"

Tamsin buried her nose in the velvet soft petals and inhaled deeply.

"It's lovely," she exclaimed.

Her uninhibited enthusiasm made Lysander smile.  She had an aptitude
for enjoyment, at once both refreshingly innocent and curiously
sensual, which might explain why she was such a reluctant Puritan!

He found it enchanting.

Tamsin wondered why he was smiling.

"Have I said something silly?"  she asked anxiously, putting the flower
down.

He shook his head.  Sunlight caught in the deep waves of his gleaming
hair, turning it to pure gold.

Tamsin's breathing quickened.  She became aware of how close together
they were sitting.  The sunlight seemed to have turned the faint scar
on his cheek into a fine ribbon of silver.  Tiny laughter lines
crinkled up the corners of his brilliant eyes and she could see that
his long dark eyelashes were tipped with bronze.

In response to the warmth of the afternoon he had loosened the strings
of his neck band so that his shirt lay open at the throat.  Against
that trimming of snowy Venetian point, his skin was very brown.  If she
reached out she could touch his flesh.  She jumped up, horrified by her
wanton thoughts.  Aunt Deborah had often accused her of being a
daydreamer, but until this moment her imagination had never led her to
wonder what it might be like to be held in a man's arms!

T had better go and put on that leg of pork I am roasting for supper,"
she muttered, panic fluttering along her veins.  She scarcely
understood what had just happened to her, but she was aware of an
urgent need to put distance between them.

"Of course."  Lysander curbed a selfish urge to keep her talking.  She
was conscientious about her work, which, no doubt, explained why she
was suddenly looking uneasy.

Thankful he appeared to have no notion of her inner turmoil, Tamsin
dipped a hasty curtsy, picked up her basket and fled.

Tamsin was just drying her hands after washing up the breakfast pots
the next morning when she heard Lysander calling her name.

"Are you ready?"  he demanded as she hurried into the hallway.

"To visit Mrs.  Finch?"  She stared at him in astonishment.

"I thought Nat was taking me?"

"I need his services."  Lysander clapped his hat upon his head.

"You'll have to make do with my escort."

Delight trickled along Tamsin's veins, but she schooled her expression
to neutrality and obediently removed her apron.

Lysander flung open the front door.

"Come on, we've an errand to perform first and time is short."

Grateful that her appearance needed no further tidying, Tamsin scurried
after him.  Nat was waiting for them and Lysander bundled her up into
the coach.

"The New Exchange, Nat.  As fast as you can."  Lysander leapt into the
vehicle and it rattled off at high speed.

Tamsin clutched the seat in some alarm.

"Do you always travel so fast, sir?"

"Only when I am in a hurry."  Lysander grinned at her.

"Don't fret.  Nat is an excellent coachman.  He won't overturn us."

To Tamsin's relief, this somewhat alarming reassurance proved
justified.  Nat wove skilfully through the heavy traffic along the
Strand and they reached their destination after just a few minutes.

Lysander jumped out.

"Wait for us here, Nat."

He took Tamsin by the arm and swept her into the ornate building, which
had been erected some fifty years ago in imitation of the older Royal
Exchange within the city walls.

Inside, there were two long double galleries filled with dozens of
small shops.  Fine candles burned everywhere to better illuminate the
items on offer and well-dressed attendants stood ready to lure
passersby.

Tamsin's eyes widened.  In spite of the early hour there were plenty of
richly clad strollers.  She had never seen so many fashionable outfits.
or such a display of luxury goods in her life!

Lysander was amused by her shocked expression.

"Don't you like what they are selling?"  he teased.

Tamsin came to the conclusion that she did.  Though I probably
shouldn't," she added with her usual candour.

"Forget you are a Puritan," Lysander begged.

"I need your advice in choosing a present."

"My advice, sir?"  Tamsin couldn't imagine what possible use her
opinion would be.

"It's for a girl of your age.  Like you, she is country-bred." 
Lysander smiled at her briefly and waved a hand to encompass the
gallery.

"Given a free choice, what would you select?"

"I... I don't know."  Tamsin stared in confusion at the nearest stall,
which was selling bottles of perfume and elegant vizard masks.  Taking
a deep breath, she tried to collect her wits.

"Do you know her tastes, sir?"

Lysander shook his head.

"I know nothing about her.  She is the daughter of a friend I wish to
honour."  There was a slight edge of impatience to his tone.  Tom would
be leaving his lodgings soon.

"Let's try some of the other shops," he suggested.

They moved along the gallery and Tamsin tried to ignore both the noisy
cries of the shopkeepers puffing off their wares and the disdainful
stares she was receiving from other strollers.

This must be a fashionable meeting place, she decided, feeling
uncomfortably out of place in her Puritan garb.  They probably wonder
what I am doing here.

Giving herself a mental shake, she dismissed the harebrained wish that
she too might be finely dressed.  She had no time for such foolishness,
she had to concentrate.

"These perfumed gloves are lovely, but getting the right fit might be
difficult," she murmured, pausing to examine the goods at one stall.

Lysander nodded agreement.

"What about this fan?"

"It is very pretty, but those feathers look as if they might break
easily."

It was hard to decide.  There were so many lovely things on show.  She
liked nearly everything, but what would the unknown recipient prefer?

The next shop sold jewellery and Tamsin quickly passed it by, her
aunt's warnings about Jezebel ringing in her ears.

"We must choose quickly or Nat will miss my friend, who is leaving on
this morning's tide."

Tamsin nodded.  Wishing that the gallery was not so noisy and
wit-addlingly hot, she cast a last desperate look around.

"Over there, my lord."  She pointed to another stall with a little cry
of excitement.

The shopkeeper specialised in cosmetics.  Lysander raised his
eyebrow.

"I'm not sure if she is allowed to paint and patch," he commented as
they walked over.

Tamsin laughed.

"She might like to try," she replied mischievously.

She pointed to the object which had caught her eye.

"But this is what I had in mind."

"A most discerning choice, mistress."  The stall's attendant, a smartly
dressed young man, picked up the silver toothbrush and held it out to
Lysander.

"Newly in from France, sir.  The very latest in fashionable novelties,
but useful too.  It will keep the teeth most excellent white."

"How much?"

The shopkeeper named a price which made Tamsin gasp.

"We'll take it."  Lysander counted out the money while the young man
wrapped it in a square of fine linen.

As soon as the gift was handed over, Lysander took Tamsin by the elbow
and swept her out to where Nat was waiting for them.

"Take this to Lord Treneglos at the Mitre in Fenchurch Street as
swiftly as you can."  He handed over the little parcel.

"Tell him to give it to his daughter with my compliments."

Nat grunted acknowledgment.

"And afterwards, my lord?  Do you wish me to meet you somewhere?"

Lysander shook his head.

"Return home when you are done."

Nat acknowledged this command with a flourish of his whip and, with a
cry of encouragement to his horses, set off at a spanking pace.

"I hope your friend's daughter will like the gift," Tamsin murmured,
staring after the coach.

"I'm sure she will."  Lysander smiled at her.

"It was a very clever choice of yours."

Tamsin basked in his praise, her guilt at the exorbitant cost receding.
Having a professional interest in the latest novelties, Master Latham
had spoken of these newfangled toothbrushes to her on their journey to
London.  She doubted if she would have recognised them otherwise, but
now she knew why the elderly pedlar didn't carry any himself--they were
far too expensive for his humble customers!

"Shall we hire a hackney to visit Mrs.  Finch?"  Lysander enquired,
gesturing towards the cabs waiting at the nearby stand for trade.

"I would rather walk an' it please you, sir," Tamsin replied.

Lysander nodded.

"As you wish."

He thought she might want to stretch her legs because she missed the
exercise she was accustomed to at home, but Tamsin's reason was even
simpler.  She could see much more on foot than cooped up in a coach and
London, for all its noise and stinks, fascinated her.

Luckily, the thoroughfare was wide, making it easier than usual to
avoid the evil-smelling open kennel that ran down the street.

"Take my arm," Lysander instructed, positioning himself so that he
stood between her and the wooden posts which separated those on foot
from the carriage way

Tamsin obeyed, swallowing a nervous lump in her throat.  Beneath the
smooth indigo broadcloth of his coat, she could feel his hard
muscles.

Other pedestrians were also trying to hog the space closest to the
walls, the safest and driest place, but one look at her protector's
broad shoulders prevented anyone from attempting to jostle Tamsin out
of the way.

"Am I walking too fast?"  Noticing her slight breathlessness, Lysander
shortened his long stride.

Tamsin thanked him for his consideration and, made bold by his evident
good humour, began to ask him about the handsome buildings which lined
their route.

Lysander obligingly pointed out the great houses of the nobility.

"That one is Somerset House.  It used to be the official residence of
Queen Henrietta-Maria.  I expect she will take possession of it again
when she returns from France."

"The Queen is coming to London?"

Lysander heard the uneasy awe in her voice and reflected that she had
probably been taught to hate the King's Papist mother, who had
possessed such a strong influence over her late husband.

"Aye, she will arrive sometime in the autumn, I understand," he
replied.

Tamsin silently wondered if she would still be in London.  Perhaps she
would have discovered her father's whereabouts before then.

The first step was to seek out Martha.  Her former nurse might have
some helpful information.  When the new servants were settled in she
would ask Master Cooper if he could spare her for an hour or two.

"Can you sew?"

Her benefactor's question roused Tamsin from her speculations.

"Sew, my lord?"  she echoed, wondering if she had missed some vital
part of the conversation.

"I was thinking of our errand," Lysander explained.

"It is customary to provide new servants with a set of clothes, but
from what I've heard all the tailors in London are snowed under with
orders since the King was restored.  Everyone wants new outfits to
attend all the celebrations."

Tamsin nodded her understanding of his dilemma.  Dinah Finch and her
brother could not be expected to possess any garments befitting life in
a gentleman's residence.  They were too poor.

Clothes were very expensive items.  Tamsin knew their purchase could
easily eat up a great portion of even a prosperous family's earnings.
Gideon Hardy had paid twelve pounds for a good cloth suit in which to
come courting and he boasted an income of one hundred pounds a year.

Only the rich could afford to own an extensive wardrobe.  She herself
had never possessed more than two gowns to her name at any one time.

Admittedly, this had more to do with the fact that her aunt discouraged
profligacy than a lack of money at Whiteladies.  However, since all her
gowns had come in the same plain style and black homespun for the past
eleven years Tamsin had scarcely felt her lack.

On the rare occasions she had ventured to ask for something
different.

Aunt Deborah had tartly pointed out that she was lucky to receive any
new garments at all.

"Three pounds and eight shillings I've just paid for a new gown for
thee, Mistress Ungrateful," she had snapped last February when Tamsin
had finally grown out of her old winter dress.

"Go and ask in the village if any girl there is so well treated. Bah!

They think themselves fortunate to receive old cast-offs!  I don't know
why I bother to be so generous with thee!  "

Tamsin suspected her aunt's motive had been to impress Master Hardy,
but she'd had sense enough to hold her tongue.

"My aunt taught me to sew," she informed Lysander, answering his
question.

"I could make their new outfits if your tailor is busy."

Lysander thanked her.

"I hope I shall not have to trouble you.  The fellow may have something
in stock which will do."  He saw her look of puzzlement.

"Many tailors keep a selection of made-up garments which need only a
few alterations to fit.  It's useful if clothes are needed in a hurry,
particularly for something like mourning."

Tamsin had never heard of this practice.

"At home everything was made to order if we could not sew it for
ourselves."

"Patience is not a virtue much praised in London."  Lysander grinned at
her.

"You mean you are all too spoilt to want to wait for any 5

thing?  " Tamsin enquired, widening her eyes at him innocently.

Her teasing sally made him laugh and Tamsin was so pleased with her
success that she forgot to look where she was going and almost trod on
a rotting, squelching onion which was littering the thoroughfare.

"Careful!"  Lysander quickly steered her clear.

"You'll dirty your gown."

Lysander eyed Tamsin's modest raiment, his expression growing pained as
a belated realisation hit home.

"You could do with some new clothes as well."

Misunderstanding that it had been directed at himself, Tamsin bridled
at his critical tone.

"There is nothing wrong with this dress!"  she declared, coming to an
abrupt halt and removing her hand from his arm.

"That's a matter of opinion," Lysander retorted with more honesty than
tact.

"It makes you look like a skinny little crow."

Tamsin glared at him.

"It is obvious that you do not approve of Puritans, my lord," she said
hotly, 'but I see no reason for you to be so rude!  I know my attire is
plain, but I am not one of your Court ladies, who sit around idle all
day.  Or do you expect me to dust the furniture prinked up in silks and
satins?  "

Her sarcastic tone brought a flush of annoyance to Lysander's clear-cut
features.

"You misunderstand my concern," he said coldly.

"It is my duty to provide for you.  Board, lodgings and clothes are a
normal part of a servant's wages."

Tamsin sucked in her breath.  So that's what he really thought of her
in spite of his fine words about her being his guest!

Lysander saw the hurt flickering in her eyes.

"Let's not quarrel," he said in a more conciliatory tone, realising his
irritation with his own lack of foresight had led him astray.

"I didn't mean to offend you.  You brought so little with you to London
that I thought you would welcome the offer."

He essayed a slight smile.

"Wouldn't you like a new gown to wear?  Something in a brighter colour,
perhaps?  You could choose the material yourself."

"I do not need your charity," she said through gritted teeth, spuming
his olive branch.

Ly sander's smile faded.

"No?  Then perhaps I should have left you in Lime Street.  Your lack of
manners might have gone unnoticed there."

Tamsin paled.

"How... how dare you accuse me of being unmannerly just because I
disagree with you!"  she spluttered.

"I speak as I find," Lysander snapped.

"You are behaving like a silly child insisting on taking offence where
none was intended."

Tamsin had the uneasy feeling he was right, but she was too angry and
upset to acknowledge it.

"Don't call me a child!"  she shrieked furiously.

"Then stop acting as if you were seven years old."  Lysander folded his
arms and surveyed her calmly.

"Otherwise, I suggest we terminate this expedition.  Mrs.  Finch has
problems enough, I imagine, without having to deal with your
tantrums."

Stung by this accusation, Tamsin blenched.  So he wanted to ruin her
plan to help the Finch family just because she wouldn't do as he
ordered!

"You are nothing but an arrogant bully, sir!"

"If I were a bully," Lysander retorted, wrath darkening his green eyes
at the insult, "I should turn you over my knee and spank you as you so
richly deserve!"

Chapter Five

Q^rys^Q

JVlay I tempt you to some of this salmon, my lord?  " Jane Godolphin
smiled at her guest.

"I fear my appetite is unequal to the lavishness of your hospitality,"
Lysander declined.

"Perhaps another glass of hock, sir?"  Mr.  Fielding encouraged,
directing a slightly anxious sideways glance at his niece.

Lysander forced a smile and allowed the older man to refill his
glass.

"Thank you.  It is an excellent wine."

Mr.  Fielding beamed at the compliment.

"I received a supply of it from my merchant yesterday.  You are very
welcome to take a cask home with you."

"You are too kind."  Lysander deftly avoided a more direct reply.

Mr.  Fielding raised his glass.

"To friendship."

They all joined in the toast and Jane signalled her steward to remove
the mostly untouched dishes of the second course.  Nuts, fruits and
comfits were brought and fresh wine.

"Shall I withdraw?"  Jane enquired with a coy smile that sat oddly upon
her strong features.

"No need to be so formal, my dear.  Eh, my lord?"  Mr.  Fielding
answered with a promptitude that made Lysander think the pair of them
had planned the exchange.

"Please stay, ma'am."  Lysander was aware that he was being cynical.

He stirred restlessly in his comfortable chair.  Admit it, man, you've
been in an irritable mood for the last forty-eight hours!

It annoyed him to concede the fact, but he regretted the quarrel with
his little waif.  Despite his best intentions, he could not entirely
dismiss it from his mind.  In the two hours he had sat at this
well-polished table, Tamsin's piquant little face had floated through
his mind on several occasions, blotting out his hostess's richly clad
figure.

Jane had chosen to wear a low-cut gown of vivid red taffeta and a
necklace of rubies and pearls blazed around her white throat.  Her dark
brown hair had been arranged in fashionable ringlets on either side of
her head and a star-shaped patch accentuated her grey eyes.

Her uncle had also rigged himself out finely in a handsome coat heavily
laced in silver and they had both been extremely attentive ever since
Lysander had stepped over the threshold of the smart house they were
leasing in Lady Court.

They had plied him with the finest food and drink, but it had been an
effort to respond with the correct pleasantries.

"I shall take a glass of Florence wine with you," Jane announced.

"Allow me."  Determined to shake off his stupidity, Lysander roused
himself from his introspection to pour the rich sweet wine for her.

"Thank you, my lord."  Jane fluttered her eyelashes at him.

They sipped their wine and Jane asked Lysander if he had attended the
touching for the King's Evil on the previous day at Whitehall.

"Lady Crewe invited us to join her party.  Her young nephew is
afflicted and she thought we might be interested in the ceremony."

"Nay, ma'am, I spent the day with my cousin.  Jack Fan- shawe.  He
wanted to buy a horse and I promised to give him my opinion."

"Ah, that explains why we did not see you."  Jane laughed prettily.

"There were so very many people present I thought we might have simply
missed each other."

"Aye, I heard it said that more than six hundred souls wanted the
King's blessing," Mr.  Fielding chimed in.

"It was a very impressive service with prayers offered for the sufferrs
who were each given a golden touch piece to hang around their necks."

Lysander, who had no faith in the notion that scrofula could be cured
by the royal touch, smiled politely.

"The King believes it is his duty to help his subjects."

Jane cocked her dark head on one side in a thoughtful pose.

"Do you think his Majesty's sense of responsibility will extend to
restoring property which was stolen from his loyal subjects by
Parliament?"  she asked coolly.

Lysander set his glass down.

"It is difficult to know how the King can satisfy everyone," he replied
smoothly.

"And yet surely there are many Royalists who expect to be rewarded with
the return of their lands?"  Jane persisted, disregarding her uncle's
embarrassed expression.

Lysander wondered what she was leading up to.  Her manner had lost its
usual veneer of feminine charm.

"Many people were forced to sell their homes to pay the fines imposed
by Parliament," he agreed.

"However, given that some of those properties have changed hands
several times since the war, resolution of the problem cannot be
simple.  No matter how much he would like to, Charles cannot afford to
reimburse everyone who suffered for the Stuart cause.  There are bound
to be losers."

"You display great stoicism, Sir Lysander," Jane's bold smile lost none
of its determination.

"Or perhaps you have advance knowledge of the solution the King will
decide upon?"

"Melcombe Manor was confiscated by Parliament," Lysander answered,
suddenly understanding her purpose.

"In the end I believe that all such properties will be restored to
their rightful owners, but I have his Majesty's personal promise that
Melcombe will be mine again before the summer is out."

Jane's smile assumed the contentment of a cat who had got at the
cream.

"Thank you for satisfying my curiosity, my lord."

"I am happy to have been able to oblige you, ma'am."  Lysander hid his
amusement.

She could not have made it plainer that she would reject any alliance
which would not add to her consequence.  Clearly, no matter how much
she liked him--and she had made it obvious that she did--she wanted the
solid backing of a good estate behind the title her money purchased.

As he had suspected earlier, there was more to Jane Go- dolphin than
first met the eye.  She might appear to be a flibbertigibbet, hellbent
on pleasure, but, unless he was mistaken, she had a practical mind and
firm ideas about what she wanted from life.

"Shall we retire to the withdrawing-room, gentlemen?"  Jane rose
gracefully to her feet.

"I thought we might have a little music, unless you object to such a
pastime on the Sabbath, my lord?"

"Not in the least."  Lysander stood.

"We have several song-books in the house and a pair of virginals, a
bass viol and a flageolet."  There was a hint of pride in Jane's voice
as she listed this impressive choice of music-making.

"I enjoy singing, but I am more proficient on the virginals."

"Nay, my dear, you have a great talent for both," her uncle
protested.

Blushing prettily, Jane quickly turned to Lysander.

"Do you play an instrument, my lord?"

"The lute for preference, but I can play the flageolet."  Lysander had
attained some competence with this whistle-flute when he was in
France.

"Though I must warn you my skill is somewhat rusty."

"Then, if you prefer, you may turn my music for me."  Jane gave him a
caressing smile.

"I should be delighted to do so."

He met her seductive gaze steadily, his own eyes cool and faintly
amused.

Now she was sure of his prospects, it appeared that the lady wanted to
encourage his wooing!

Tamsin stretched her arms and yawned.  It was gone ten and she was
tired.  She would be glad to see her bed, but she still had a few tasks
to perform.

She bent over the small cooking-pot which she had hung over the kitchen
fire to check its contents once more.

"Shall I take that caudle in to Master Cooper for you.  Mistress
Barton?"  piped up an eager voice at her elbow.

"I thought I told you to get off to bed, Dinah."  Tamsin turned round
to behold the newcomer, a smile softening her scolding tone.

Dinah Finch bobbed an awkward curtsy.

"Beg pardon, mistress.  Only I didn't like to leave you to finish up on
your own."

"Thank you, but I can manage.  Besides, you will need to be up betimes
in the morning.  We have the marketing to do and Master Cooper tells me
that it pays to get there early."

"The first two hours are reserved for housewives before the street
traders are allowed to buy," Dinah confirmed.

"You have to be quick to get the best stuff."

Tamsin had already lea mt that all of London's markets were owned by
the City authorities who enforced strict regulations.  Only perishable
items were sold and produce was segregated so that each market
specialised in one type of food.

"I swear I will be up early," Dinah added earnestly.

Tamsin hid a smile.

"I'm sure you will.  You are as good a worker as your mother
promised."

It was only two days since Dinah and her brother Luke had arrived, but
Tamsin was already wondering how she had managed without them.  At
twelve Dinah was as almost as tall as she was herself and, although
underfed, her wiry frame was strong and tireless.

Luke, a year younger than his sister, possessed the same lanky body and
fair colouring.  Tamsin had insisted on both of them taking a bath when
they had arrived and to her surprise, once the ingrained dirt was
washed out, their hair proved to be com-yellow.  Luke's eyes were a
paler blue than Dinah's and his expression was more mischievous, but he
was equally eager to prove to his new employer that he was worth
keeping on after their trial period ended.

"I shall engage them both for a month," Sir Lysander had said to their
mother.

"Here is ten shillings on it and after that we shall see."

Mrs.  Finch, who was desperately anxious that her two eldest should
have a chance to better themselves, had nearly wept with joy.  In a few
minutes best garments were donned, last kisses exchanged and the
excited pair were waved off with fervent instructions to behave
themselves.

Tamsin could readily understand Mrs.  Finch's desire to give her
children a better life.  She had been shocked by the filth and squalor
of the narrow alley off Long Acre in which they lived with their
parents and seven siblings.  There was poverty a-plenty in Chipping
Sodbury, but this was much worse than anything she had seen before.

Although only a stone's throw from more respectable areas, Long Acre
had gone down in the world since the reign of the last King and
brothels, coach makers and decaying houses abounded in its wide
street.

The alleyways running off it were worse, full of wretched hovels and
tumbledown taverns.

Greasy-haired women clad in tattered gowns stood in the open doorways
of some of these dwellings.  They turned to stare at Tamsin and her
tall companion, muttering to one another.  Cackles of laughter from a
pair of heavily painted girls who, clad in tawdry finery, lounged on
one doorstep taking swigs from a squat black bottle reinforced Tamsin's
uncomfortable feeling that her appearance was being discussed in
unflattering terms.

Half-naked urchins tumbled in the dust where lean cats prowled sniffing
the heaps of rubbish.  There were few men about, apart from one group
loitering halfway along the alley.  Badly dressed and blue-jowled,
their hard eyes followed Tamsin, making her shiver involuntarily.

"Don't fret.  They won't bother us."  Lysander's hand touched his sword
significantly.

Tamsin gulped and nodded, reassured by the confidence in his voice.

She was still angry with him, but honesty compelled her to admit that
she was glad of his company.  She wouldn't have felt half so safe under
Nat's protection.

Lysander asked an urchin to point out where Mrs.  Finch lived.  He
tossed the child a halfpenny and knocked upon the door indicated, which
was answered by the same young boy who had brought the message about
his mother's illness to Wych Street.  Recognising Tamsin, he ushered
them inside.

"We lives upstairs," he announced, leading the way.

The hallway stank and Tamsin was glad to get out of it.  She was aware,
stepping inside the Finches' two-room apartment, that the air was
cleaner and she noted that some attempt had been made to sweep and tidy
the main room, but it was dingy and depressingly bare.  A
rickety-looking table and a few stools were all the comforts on
offer.

Their guide's younger siblings stared in silent awe at the visitors
until he herded them into the back room.  A few moments later Mrs.
Finch, a faded blonde in her early thirties, emerged.

Timidly, she welcomed her unexpected guests and Tamsin explained their
errand.  A husband who drank most of his wages as a porter and a baby a
year had extinguished her looks, but her weary face had lit up when she
had grasped Sir Lysander's generous offer.

"They knows how to behave and they'll work hard for you, sir," she had
promised.

"Will your mother be all right now that you are working here?"  Tamsin
asked Dinah, remembering the glint of tears shining in Mrs.  Finch's
eyes as she had waved goodbye.

"Don't be anxious on Mam's account.  Mistress Barton," Dinah reassured
her.

"We have a good neighbour next door and Audrey, she's the next eldest,
knows what to do."

Carrying the cooking-pot over to the kitchen table, Tamsin reflected
that twelve was the normal age for girls to go into service and Dinah
had already been working three days a week in the kitchen of a nearby
cook shop to supplement the family's income.  Mrs.  Finch must have got
used to relying on ten-year-old Audrey to look after the little ones
when necessary.

"You can go and visit her whenever I can spare you," she promised,
carefully tipping the caudle, a thin gruel made with wine which was
said to aid sleep, into a bowl.

"Now, since you are here, you can fetch me a spoon from that drawer."

Dinah scurried to obey.  Tamsin thanked her and put both items on a
wooden tray.  She picked it up.

"When I get back I don't want to see you still here."

A grin split Dinah's face and she nodded happily.

"Come in," Master Cooper called in response to Tamsin's knock at the
door of his chamber.

He had not gone to bed, but had changed into a loose dressing-gown and
was sitting in a chair by the window.

"Are you feeling any better, sir?"

"My headache is improved."  Matthew Cooper shrugged.

"I wish I could say the same of my wrist."

Today he had risen from his bed and attempted his usual routine, but by
evening he had been feeling wretched and had retired early.

"I thought you might like this," Tamsin said, setting down her tray by
his elbow.

"You barely ate anything at supper and it's hard to get to sleep on an
empty stomach."

"Thank you.  Mistress Barton."  Matthew's stern expression softened.

Wary at first of the waif his master had brought home, Matthew had been
impressed by her capacity for hard work.  Her efficiency was matched by
her unfailing cheerfulness.  No matter how difficult or disagreeable
the task, she always had a sunny smile.

He had also noticed her kindness to the two youngsters now employed in
the house.  She never shouted at their mistakes, but encouraged them to
do better.

"You know, you are a very unusual Puritan, mistress," he remarked,
leaning forward to pick up the bowl of caudle.

Tamsin blushed.

"I went to church twice today," she murmured defensively.

It wasn't what Matthew had meant, but she was looking so uncomfortable
he decided to drop the subject and spoke instead of the provisions she
must be sure to buy in the morning on her trip to the white and herb
markets in Newgate Street, which sold poultry and garden produce.

By the time this discussion was over Matthew had finished the caudle,
so Tamsin bade him goodnight and carried the tray back into the
kitchen.

Drawing a bucketful of water from the well she heated it and washed the
last remaining pots.  This task finished, she damped down the fire and
carefully covered it.

She glanced around the kitchen to confirm that everything was tidy and
then checked the hearth a second time, a habit acquired from her
aunt.

Some years ago there had been a destructive blaze in the parlour at
Whiteladies caused by a loose spark flying from the unguarded grate.

Afterwards, Aunt Deborah had forcibly instilled caution in the whole
household, administering beatings to anyone who showed any sign of
carelessness in dealing with candles or fire.

Removing her apron, Tamsin hung it up on its hook by the door and shook
out her creased skirts.

"Oh, no!"  she exclaimed, spotting a tear near the hem.

She was too tired to sew it now, but she would have to mend it first
thing tomorrow.  She had spilt something on her sleeve too.  Somehow
she would also have to find time to sponge it clean.  Fresh clothes had
been delivered last night from the tailor for Dinah and Luke.  They had
been thrilled to receive new outfits and worn them proudly all day.

She could not set them a bad example by appearing in a stained and torn
gown.

"You wouldn't be in the suds if you'd had the sense to accept his
offer!"  Tamsin muttered to herself with a twinge of exasperation.

It was very irritating to have to admit it, but Tamsin knew she had let
temper get the better of her the other day.  She had always longed to
wear brighter colours and it was only obstinate pride which had led her
to refuse a new gown.

She sighed.

"Your feelings were hurt because he called you a skinny little crow!"

She ought to confess that she had changed her mind.  Unfortunately, the
words had stuck in her throat whenever she had tried.  Not that she'd
had much opportunity to retract her hasty assertion.

If she didn't know better, she would almost think he had been avoiding
her!

The banging of the front door roused her abruptly from her gloom.  With
a start of surprise, she realised that her employer had returned home
from the reception at Whitehall.

Indecision held her paralysed for an instant before she made up her
mind.  Here was her chance to apologise!

"I thought you would be in bed."  Lysander greeted her as she emerged
into the hallway.

"I was about to retire, sir."  Her confidence evaporating, Tamsin
stared at the tips of her boots.

Lysander nodded.

"I suppose I am back early," he replied, throwing the bolt which
secured the front door.

Tamsin had been attending morning service at St.  Bride's church with
Dinah and Luke when her benefactor had left the house and so had not
seen him dressed in his finery for Whitehall.  Now she drank in his
elegant appearance with eager eyes.

He was wearing a suit in black velvet laced with silver on the deep
turn-back cuffs.  Its sombre hue enhanced his fair colouring, bringing
out golden glints in his dark blond hair and he looked so handsome that
Tamsin's stomach somersaulted giddily.

Lysander eyed her warily.  Since they had quarrelled they had exchanged
words only when necessary, but something in her stance warned him that
she nerving herself to speak to him.

"Will you join me in my closet before retiring?"  he asked a little
awkwardly.

"There's something I wish to say to you."

The unexpected invitation made Tamsin looked up sharply.  Was he still
angry with her?  Perhaps he intended to throw her out?

"I will only keep you a few moments.  I know you must be tired."

Hearing the sudden warmth in his tone, Tamsin felt a quick rush of hope
flood through her veins.

"Very well, my lord."

Two candles set in brass sticks stood on the hall table, the last of
the row which Tamsin had set out earlier to light the household to
their beds.  Lysander lit them from the branch of candles affixed to
the wall, which illuminated the hallway, and handed one to Tamsin.

"Is everything secured for the night?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then come."  Snuffing out the hall candles, Lysander took the other
candlestick and led the way upstairs.

His closet was situated next to the dining-room, a small, private
retreat where a comfortable air of disorder reigned.  Tamsin had not
dared to disturb the riding whip and spurs left lying on a chair or the
collection of books and journals littering many surfaces, contenting
herself instead with a quick sweep of broom and duster.

"Sit down."  Lysander waved her to a chair and, setting down his
candle, strode over to a small oak dresser on which resided an
assortment of bottles and tankards.

He poured himself a bumper of brandy and, turning to Tamsin, said
politely, "Will you take a glass of something?"

He'd expected her to refuse, but to his surprise she nodded.

"I should like to try a little wine, if I may, sir," Tamsin declared,
hoping it would give her courage.  Sam had imbibed some hippocras
before telling Aunt Deborah that he wanted to become a sailor last
year.  His mother had refused, of course, but according to Sam the
strong spicy wine had helped him to face her wrath!

Lysander poured out a tiny measure of Bristol milk and handed it to her
with the advice to sip it slowly.

The sherry sat strangely upon Tamsin's tongue.  She hadn't expected it
to taste so sweet or to ignite such a glow of warmth as it descended to
her stomach!

"Well?"  Lysander, who had taken a seat opposite hers, regarded her
with a glint of amusement in his green eyes.

"Is the Devil going to snatch you up and fly off with you, do you
think?"

Tamsin shook her head cautiously.

"I don't believe so, my lord."  She took another sip and rolled the
sherry round in her mouth.

"In fact, I don't see what all the fuss is about.  It tastes harmless
enough."

Lysander grinned.

"Drink too much and you'll soon learn that the reverse is true,
killing."

Tamsin was startled by his use of this term.

"Why do you call me that, sir?"  she asked shyly.

"Because you remind me of a kitten," he answered promptly.

"You have the same expression of wide-eyed curiosity."

Tamsin coloured.  She wasn't precisely sure, but that remark sounded
suspiciously like a compliment!

Realising he had inadvertently discomfited her, Lysander pretended an
interest in his brandy to allow her time to recover her composure.

When her complexion had returned to normal he said casually, "How are
Dinah and Luke getting along?  Are you satisfied with their work?"

Tamsin nodded and, forgetting her unease, launched into an enthusiastic
description of her proteges' capacity for hard work.  " " I'm glad you
find them useful.  You were doing too much before they came.  "
Lysander paused, the words of the apology he had planned drying up in
his throat.  God's teeth, but when she looked at him like that with
stars glowing in her lovely eyes it was hard to think of anything but
an urgent need to kiss her smiling mouth!

"Was that what you wanted to talk to me about, sir?"  Tam- sin
enquired, puzzled by his continuing silence.

Lysander, busy telling himself that he was a fool, nodded in a
distracted fashion.

A rush of relief extinguished Tamsin's anxiety.  What a noddle she was
to have been worried!  He wasn't angry with her.  In fact, if truth
were told, he was treating her with more consideration than she
merited.

Tamsin set down her empty glass.  With the sherry warming her innards,
she felt a surge of bravery revive her earlier decision to beg his
pardon.

"About the other day, my lord," she said, her voice trembling
slightly.

"I should not have rejected your offer in such an ill-mannered
fashion."

A faint smile touched Lysander's mouth.

"Is this an apology, Mistress Barton?"

Tamsin nodded earnestly.

"My behaviour was very rude.  I must have sounded like a fishwife," she
murmured, her hands twisting together.

"Nay, you had every right.  I deserved it."

Ly sander's smile deepened at her open-mouthed astonishment.

"I asked you here tonight so that / could apologise.  It was unfair of
me to try and ride rough-shod over your objections.  You are not a
servant, I have no right to dictate how you dress."

"Ah, but you do, my lord.  I am living in your house and my appearance
reflects upon you," Tamsin pointed out, her mouth curling into a sudden
grin.

Lysander laughed.

"Minx!  Do you think me such a coxcomb?"

"Nay, sir!"  Her teasing smile fading, Tamsin leaned forward in her
anxiety to reassure him.

"You were right.  I do need more clothes, but I was too proud to admit
it."  Her hands fluttered in her lap.

"I shouted at you because I was angry with myself for succumbing to the
sin of envy."

"You wanted to wear bright silks and satins like the other women at the
Exchange?"  Lysander grasped her meaning instantly.

Her cheeks reddening, Tamsin nodded.

"No matter what your aunt may have told you, at your age it's perfectly
natural to desire finery and gewgaws," Lysander said firmly.

"Do you really think so?"

"Of course."  He gave her an encouraging smile.

"Tomorrow I shall take you to buy some material for a new gown.  There
are several excellent drapers in Paternoster Row.  You can choose
whatever you like."

Seeing the hesitation lingering in her eyes, he continued lightly, "The
wearing of a pretty gown is no more wicked in itself, you know, than
eating rich food or listening to fine music.  Enjoying yourself doesn't
automatically preclude good morals."

"I'm sure Aunt Deborah thinks enjoyment is a sin."  A wistful
expression flickered across Tamsin's face.

"Even at Christmas she would not permit any carols or games."

"Then we must ensure you have a chance to celebrate properly this
year."  Lysander kept his tone calm and easy, but a furious desire to
strangle the old witch possessed him.  The woman was nothing but a
killjoy!

Tamsin's heart skipped a beat.  Christmas was many months away.  Was
she to be allowed to remain?

As usual, her expressive face betrayed her hopeful thoughts and
Lysander inwardly cursed his carelessness.  He had no business
encouraging her to want to stay.

Her presence was rapidly becoming a danger to his peace of mind!

The following morning Lysander's coach bore them swiftly towards the
city.  Passing over the bridge which spanned the River Fleet, Tamsin
discreetly held her nose against the stench arising from the water,
which was foul with mbbish.

At the Ludgate they passed through the walls and their progress was
immediately impeded by the heavy traffic which bedevilled London's
ancient heart.  Tamsin marvelled at Nat's skill as he wove through the
tangle of carts, carriages and pedestrians.  A flock of geese being
driven to market merely added to the confusion and noise.

Paternoster Row, in comparison, was a haven of quiet, its broad
thoroughfare lined with handsome buildings.  Dinah had told Tamsin that
it was famous for its mercers, who sold fine silks and lace.  To her
relief, Lysander led her into a shop which also sold more modest
materials.

Bolts of cloth of every kind lined the shelves and, after listening to
her requirements, the master draper, who had come hurrying to serve
them himself as soon as he had espied Lysander, lifted down a roll of
deep-green say.

"This would suit your colouring, ma'am," he suggested.

Tamsin was about to protest that such a fine woollen cloth would be too
expensive when Lysander said briskly, "We'll take it."

"I thought you said I could choose," she whispered fiercely.

"Don't you like it?"

"That's not the point!"  Really, he could be so highhanded sometimes!

Her gaze raked the shelves.

"That dark blue linseywolsey would be more suitable."

"As you wish."  Lysander paused and added wickedly, "Providing we buy
the green as well."

Tamsin gasped and he grinned at her.

"You really need them both."

"I can't accept two gowns!"  she protested.

"I thought you wanted your appearance to be a credit to me?"  Lysander
smiled at her teasingly.

Tamsin's resistance melted.

Lysander arranged that the draper should convey their pur n chases to
Wych Street later that day and swept Tamsin out of the shop.

"Are we in a hurry?"  Tamsin was surprised by his impatient refusal to
wait for the material to be measured and parcelled so that they could
take it with them.

"I told my shoemaker to visit us this morning."

She looked at him blankly.

"You need new shoes."  Lysander's tone brooked no argument.

"But, first, I thought to call in on Joseph Moxon."

Tamsin had never heard of the scientific instrument maker favoured by
the King, so Lysander explained how he had ordered a pair of
terrestrial and celestial hemispheres.

"Moxon said that they might be ready today."

Tamsin was of the opinion it would have been quicker to walk to Comhill
where Moxon had his premises, especially when an overturned waggon of
hay blocked their route, delaying them for several minutes while the
spilt load was cleared.  However, when they finally arrived at the
instrument maker's, she quickly forgot this minor inconvenience.

"These are wonderful," she exclaimed, gazing in delight at the globes
which Mr.  Moxon brought out for his client.  Painted by his own hand,
the hemispheres were works of art, one depicting the Earth in cunning
detail, the other the stars and planets.

"I have never seen their like before.  How do they work?"

Lysander, who had not expected her to exhibit such an interest in
geography, showed her how to find England.

While the globes were being carefully packed up they examined the maps
and charts the instrument maker had on display.  Tamsin-was fascinated
by a beautifully coloured map of Africa which had a decorative border
of wild beasts.

"Very handsome."  Lysander leant over her shoulder to view what had
caught her attention.

Tamsin was suddenly very aware of his nearness.  She could smell the
hint of lavender which permeated his linen and a lock of his dark blond
hair had fallen forward to tickle her cheek.

"You have excellent taste.  Mistress Barton.  This must have taken many
hours of labour."

"I suppose it is very expensive," Tamsin blurted to distract herself.

He nodded.

"Too much for my purse," he admitted and, to the relief of her strained
nerves, straightened.

Her heart still thumping, she watched him hand over payment for the
globes.

Three pounds and ten shillings.  Aunt Deborah would have a fit of the
mother to hear of spending so much money on am ere plaything.

The notion of her aunt in hysterics made her think guiltily of Sam.

She must keep her promise to write to him!

The globes were taken out to the coach by Moxon's assistant and
Lysander said their farewells while Tamsin lingered, apparently still
engrossed in the maps, but desperately trying to invent a good reason
to remain behind.

"We can come another day if you wish."  He touched Tamsin gently on the
elbow to indicate it was time to go.

She couldn't think of an excuse to visit Martha.  She was not supposed
to know anyone in the city?

Reluctance to re-enter the coach made Tamsin's footsteps slow.

"Is something wrong?"

Tamsin turned to smile at him quickly.

"Not in the least, sir."

She must take more care to hide her secrets!  He was too perceptive!

Tamsin's desire to visit Martha grew stronger as the days passed.

Master Cooper's wrist still limited what he could achieve, but as he
continued to improve and Dinah and Luke grew more competent the
pressure on her eased.

With more time to think, Tamsin's anxieties thrived.  She had been in
London for almost three weeks and was no nearer finding out anything
about her father than she had been on the day she had left
Whiteladies.

It was so frustrating!

Her opportunity came one morning when Lysander announced he was to dine
with Mrs.  Godolphin and escort her to a play afterwards.

"And I am promised to my cousins, Lord Fanshawe and his sister, for
supper."

Tamsin had met Jack Fanshawe the previous week.  Returning home with
Lysander one evening after a visit to a cock-fight, he had greeted his
cousin's new protegee with a whistle of surprise.

"God save us and who might you be, sweeting?"  He eyed her with
cheerful impudence.

"Damme, but you are far too pretty to be wasting your time on m'cousin.
Can't I persuade you to favour me instead?"

Tamsin, who had been wearing her new green gown, had been at first
startled and then secretly delighted to be paid compliments by this
good-looking young man.

"Jack, mind your manners," Lysander had said repressively.

"Soul of discretion," Jack replied with a broad wink.

Lysander glared at him.

"You, mon ami, are a rattle pate but heed me well.  I'll carve out your
entrails and feed them to the nearest hound if you go spreading false
gossip about Mistress Barton."  He flicked a warning glance at
Tamsin.

"She is a niece of Matthew's, honouring us with a visit."

"Didn't know Matt had any nieces," Jack declared suspiciously.

"I am his younger sister's daughter, sir," Tamsin said, entering into
the spirit.

"My mother suggested I act as Sir Lysander's housekeeper while Uncle
Matthew was laid low."

"Why not ask Matt yourself since you are so interested?"  Lysander
suggested with smooth sarcasm.

"I'm sure he would be happy to give you chapter and verse concerning
the ramifications of his family tree."

Jack sniffed.

"Wouldn't tattle your business in any case, coz," he muttered, his
cherubic features creasing in a reproachful way that made Tamsin want
to giggle.

Lysander ignored this remark and strode towards the stairs.

"Let's discuss our plans for tomorrow in my closet.  I'll open a bottle
and you can tell me who you are backing to win the race."

Jack nodded, but turned back to Tamsin, his expression brightening as
he made her an extravagant bow.

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs.  Barton."  His admiring
glance swept over her.

"Your presence will cheer this place up and no mistake!"

Jubilant to be addressed as Mrs.  Barton instead of Miss, a title which
was reserved for immature girls, Tamsin had been quite disappointed
when Lysander had grumpily hauled his cousin off with a curt admonition
not to make an even bigger looby of himself.

However, it was not Sir Lysander's mention of the irrepressible Lord
Fanshawe which now caught Tamsin's attention, but his casual allusion
to attending the theatre.

"You are going to see a play!"  she exclaimed.

Her shocked tone reminded Lysander of her Puritan origins, a fact he
was finding increasingly easy to forget, especially since she had taken
to occasionally leaving off her severe coif and forbidding black.

This morning she was bare-headed, her apricot-gold hair plaited into a
thick braid, which she wore twisted up into a bun on the nape of her
neck.  The gown she had created from the bolt of blue linsey-wolsey was
demure, but she looked enticingly pretty in it.

Realising his thoughts were wandering dangerously, Lysander called
himself to order and said briskly, "Have you ever been inside a
theatre?"

"Of course not!  They are home to the Devil."

Lysander smiled.

"You sound like your aunt."

Tamsin flushed to the roots of her hair.

"I'm ... I'm sorry," she muttered.

"I don't mean to appear priggish, but I can't believe you intend to
take Mistress Godolphin to a playhouse."

"You think it an unsuitable entertainment for respectable women?"

Tamsin nodded vigorously.

"It is true that some plays are marred by crudity," Lysander
admitted.

"However, even the poorest often have a redeeming sparkle of wit.  The
best of them can make you cry with laughter... or weep at the human
tragedy unfolding before you."

Her eyes widened in surprise and he shrugged as if a little ashamed of
having dropped his guard for once to reveal his real feelings.

"Then you do not think it corrupts?"

"No more than any other form of story-telling.  Why should any sensible
person imitate what they see on stage?  Surely it is possible to
distinguish the difference between a tale told to entertain and real
life?"

"I suppose so."  Tamsin smoothed down her apron nervously as another
objection occurred to her.

"My aunt says all actors are rogues."

"Like Cavaliers?"  Amusement lurked in Lysander's deep tones.

"Perhaps, but in my experience actors are no different to other people.
Some bad, some good, a few lazy."  He shook his head.

"There may be devils among them, but not, I think, on account of their
calling."

He met her perplexed gaze.

"Would you like to see for yourself?"

The?  Attend a play with you?  "

"Why not?  If you are willing to set aside your prejudices I think you
might enjoy the experience."

Tamsin gulped hard.

"I thank you for the invitation, sir," she replied shyly, dipping a
polite curtsy.

"But I do not think that it would be appropriate for me to accompany
you to the theatre.  I do not want people speculating about my position
in your household and coming up with the wrong answer."

Lysander was aware of a prick of disappointment.  She was right.  The
Court was extremely fond of play-going and he was too well known for
his companion to escape notice.  There would be gossip.

Gentlemen did not take their housekeepers to the theatre.  Gentlemen
did not favour their housekeepers at all, unless,

of course, they happened to serve in another, less respectable
position.

"Very wise of you.  Mistress Barton," he had murmured and properly
changed the subject, instructing her not to wait up for his return.

The part of Tamsin which had always rebelled against her aunt's
strictures bitterly regretted having to turn him down.  She watched him
leave the house with a heavy heart, longing to call him back and
rescind her decision, but knowing she could not.

However, when her unruly emotions had settled, she realised that his
long absence would give her the perfect opportunity to slip away
unnoticed.

"Of course you may have leave to explore the shops, Mrs.  Barton,"
Master Cooper declared.

"As you know, I am to dine at the house of a friend today so you need
not worry about cooking dinner."  He smiled at her, pleased to endorse
her request.

"Enjoy yourself, but make sure you watch your purse.  Speaking of
which--' Matthew moved to open the household's strongbox and selected
several coins '--Sir Lysander authorised me to give you some money
should you express a desire for an outing."

"I cannot take it, sir," Tamsin protested, horribly aware of how much
she already owed her benefactor.

"You must, my dear, or he will be angry with us both."  Matthew pressed
the coins into her unwilling hand.

"Besides, you have earned (hem twice over these last few weeks."  He
nodded at her with formal gravity.

"Indeed, I thank you for your excellent care of me.  I doubt if I would
have recovered so quickly without your help."

Unable to explain her reluctance since he did not know the precise
circumstances in.  which his employer had found her, Tamsin accepted
the gift with a polite murmur of thanks.

"Now remember, take Luke with you and don't talk to chance-met
strangers."

Guilty at having had to deceive him about the purpose of her outing,
Tamsin promised to heed his advice and return in plenty of time to
prepare supper.

She went up to her room to wash her face and tidy her hair.  Resisting
the temptation to impress Martha, she changed into her old black
gown.

"This gown is more inconspicuous if you remove the collar," she
muttered to herself, whisking off the broad linen neck band which was
the only trimming her aunt had ever permitted.

A white hood such as the one Dinah wore, instead of her Puritan coif, a
clean apron and she looked like every other servant.  No one would take
any notice of her.

"Would you like to visit your mother?"  she asked Dinah and Luke on her
return to the kitchen.

This offer was eagerly accepted and, after packing a generous basket of
tasty leftovers for Mrs.  Finch, they set off.

"I have an errand to perform in the city."  At the end of the street
Tamsin halted.

"I shall meet you at your mother's later."

"You ain't thinking of going shopping on yer own!"  Luke exclaimed.

"I shall be perfectly all right.  I know my way."  Tamsin had
discreetly questioned Nat some time ago and discovered how best to get
to Bread Street.

Dinah and Luke exchanged doubtful glances.

"You did ought to take Luke with you, Mrs.  Barton," Dinah said.

"Nonsense," Tamsin replied briskly, but a flicker of doubt assailed
her.

"I won't get in yer way," Luke promised, seeing her hesitation.

"I can wait for you someplace if you wants, but Sir Lysander will have
m'guts for garters if you goes off alone into the city and any harm
comes to you.  Told me special that I had to watch out for you, see."

Tamsin sighed.

"Oh, very well."

They parted from Dinah with a promise to meet her later and headed east
towards the city.

The day was overcast and dull.  Tamsin thought it might rain so she had
donned her stout boots instead of her new shoes to protect herself from
the muck of the road.  Luckily, it was only a short journey, barely a
mile, and Luke's chatter helped distract the nervous apprehension
churning in her stomach.

"That's St.  Paul's," he pointed out the city's principal place of
worship with pride.

Tamsin nodded, reluctant to spoil his moment by mentioning that Sir
Lysander had showed her the cathedral on the day they had visited
Paternoster Row.

They had walked around the outside of the old church and she had been
surprised and a little saddened by its shabby state.

"It lost its spire when it was damaged by lightning almost a hundred
years ago," Lysander had explained.

"Some rebuilding was carried out by Inigo Jones, but then it suffered
insult under Cromwell, who allowed it to be used as a cavalry
barracks."

Tamsin had winced.

"You are not to blame for the past or for the actions of other
Puritans," Lysander said firmly.

To his surprise he found he meant the words he'd offered merely for
comfort.  She might be of Puritan stock, but she wasn't like the
majority of his former enemies.  She had a joyousness of spirit far
removed from their narrow-minded bigotry.

"The King has plans for restoring St.  Paul's to its former glory,"
Lysander had continued hastily, determined not to let his mind dwell on
his waifs attractions.

"He intends to set up a commission when he can find the time to do
so."

This information had pleased Tamsin, but she had no time to think about
architecture today.  What was she going to do with Luke?  She couldn't
talk freely to Martha hampered by his presence.

"There's the Cordwainers' Hall."

Distracted by the worry that Martha might have moved house since Sam
and Uncle Daniel had visited her four years ago, Tamsin stared at Luke
blankly.

"You know, the shoemakers' guild hall," Luke explained
self-importantly.

"Bread Street is just beyond."

St.  Mildred's church came in sight and Tamsin was still wondering how
best to get rid of her young escort when she spotted a cook shop

"Here, take this sixpence and go and buy yourself some dinner, Luke."

She handed him the coin.

Luke's eyes lit up.  It was almost noon and, as usual, his stomach was
flapping against his ribs, but as he took the | money he hesitated.

"What about you?  Ain't you hungry?"  's Mendaciously, Tamsin shook her
head.

"I want to look ;

round the church," she improvised.

"Off you go.  I will meet you outside that shoemaker's shop over there
when you are done."

Luke scratched his head, plainly puzzled by her behaviour.

"You won't go sloping off without me, will you?"

Tamsin promised to wait.

"And take your time, Luke.  I want to be on my own for a bit."

Nodding his corn-coloured head, he skipped off down the street, eagerly
following the savoury smells wafting from the cook shop

As soon as he was out of sight Tamsin hurried over to the
shoemaker's.

Entering the dim cavern of the shop, she blinked to adjust her eyes and
beheld a plump, brown-haired woman neatly dressed in grey standing
behind the counter .  polishing a pair of handsome boots.

"Martha!"

The woman stared at her for a moment and then recognition flared in her
dark eyes.

"Lord-have-mercy!  Miss Tamsin!  What are you doing here?"

Chapter Six

1 o the astonishment of her husband's apprentice, Martha Croft rushed
forward to clasp the plainly dressed newcomer to her ample bosom.

"Let me look at you!  It's been all of six years since I've seen you!

My, how you have grown!  " she exclaimed, at last releasing Tamsin to
dab the corners of her overflowing eyes with the edge of her apron.

"Not by so very much!"  Tamsin grinned.

Martha laughed, her tears vanishing.

"Get away with you!  You have turned into a pretty young lady, just as
I always knew you would."

She conducted Tamsin to the back of the shop where a door led into the
family's dwelling quarters.

"Rob, you mind the shop," she called over her shoulder to the young
lad, who was staring after the pair of them in a bemused fashion.

"I

am not to be disturbed.  Call your mother or my husband if there is any
problem.  "

"Aye, Mrs.  Croft," he replied obediently.

The note of respect in his voice made Tamsin smile.  It seemed Martha
had not lost her knack of inspiring the best from her charges.  That
she managed to do so without ever raising her voice was a tribute to
her kind and capable nature.

"I missed you when you left Whiteladies," she said as they entered a
small cosy parlour.

"I missed you too, my lamb."  Martha gave her a fond smile.

Master Barton's sister had been frail.  When she had parted from her
husband and returned home with her baby daughter to live with her
elderly mother and brother, he had hired fifteen-year-old Martha to
look after the child.  Martha, who loved babies, had ignored the gossip
about Mrs.  Penhaligan and happily become part of the household.

Soon afterwards old Mistress Barton had died and, once the period of
mourning was over.  Master Daniel had wed Deborah Pym, a sour-faced
spinster who was lucky to catch such a good man in Martha's opinion.

Jealous of her bridegroom's fondness for his sister, the new mistress's
constant complaints had made their life difficult.

Loyalty to Mrs.  Penhaligan kept Martha at her side, even when Mistress
Deborah, who nursed grand ambitions beneath her cloak of Puritan piety,
persuaded her husband to abandon his family trade of shipbuilding and
buy Whiteladies, a small estate which was going cheap because its
Royalist owners had been ruined by fines.  Unfortunately, Master Daniel
was not cut out to be a farmer.

Disappointed that the change did not bring increased fortune in its
wake.  Mistress Deborah practised strict economies.  She insisted that
Martha must take on extra duties about the farm without any increase in
wages.  She was so demanding that Martha had been on the point of
giving notice to leave when summer plague had struck the district.

Mrs.  Penhaligan and Tamsin were amongst its victims.  To give the
mistress her due she had nursed them well, but Mrs.  Penhaligan had
died.  Martha could not bring herself to desert her five-year-old
orphan.  She had remained, combining her role of Tamsin's nurse with
the other duties demanded of her until Ned Croft had asked her to marry
him.  Even then she might have delayed the wedding had not Ned been
offered the chance to better himself, a chance which necessitated his
immediate removal to London.

"How have you found living in the city, Martha?"  Tamsin asked, as her
hostess waved her to be seated.

"You only wrote that once and I have often wondered how you and Ned
were getting on."

"I'm no hand with a pen.  Miss Tamsin, you know that," Martha murmured
apologetically.

"But I didn't forget you."

"I know," Tamsin smiled warmly at her old friend.

"Uncle Daniel gave me your message and the red shoes you sent."

Aunt Deborah had put Martha's gift away, declaring it unsuitable.  The
shoes had stayed in the cupboard and Tamsin had outgrown them, but she
had no intention of hurting Martha's feelings by telling her that she
had never been allowed to wear her pretty gift.

"What brings you to London?"  said Martha, seating herself opposite
Tamsin upon an oak settle placed near the hearth.

"How did Sam manage to persuade your aunt?  I never thought she would
venture so far from home--' She paused abruptly.

"Mistress Deborah isn't here, is she?"

Cursing her revealing face, Tamsin shook her head.

"I came alone, Martha.  I ran away."

"Dear Lord!"  Martha gave a gasp of horror.

"What did the old besom do to you?"

Tamsin explained about Master Hardy.

"It was horrible, Martha.  I couldn't make Aunt Deborah listen!  On the
day they called the first banns in our parish church I knew the only
solution was to flee Whiteladies.  Sam helped me.  He got in touch with
Master Latham, who agreed to take me with him."

"Old Peter the Packman?  I remember him.  He bore a grudge against your
aunt after she accused him of trying to cheat her.  Aye, and never
apologised when it was proved to be her mistake."

"I know.  He told me all about it when we were on the road," Tamsin
replied.

They had waited until Deborah Barton was away for the day.  She had
gone over to Master Hardy's for a meeting with the lawyers who were
drawing up the marriage contract and was not expected back until
supper-time, which gave Tamsin a good head start.  Sam was to tell her
that Tamsin had gone n to bed early and then deny all knowledge of his
cousin's whereabouts when her absence was discovered the following
morning.

"I'll warrant she smoked him for it!"  Martha exclaimed.

"Sam said when things got desperate he would say that I had been
talking a lot about Bristol."  Tamsin grinned.

"I hoped that she would begin her enquiries there and I think she must
have done because we were not followed."

Master Latham had pursued a rambling roundabout path to London,
stopping many times in small villages along the way to pursue his
trade.  Tamsin, who could not remember having ever ventured beyond the
confines of Chipping Sod- bury, had relished their journey, although
the novelty of sleeping in barns and cooking over a camp-fire had worn
off by the time they had reached Chiswick.

"I would escort you into London myself, lass, but I promised my
daughter I would bide a few days with her the next time I passed this
way," Master Latham had said on the morning they had parted company.

"Are you sure you will not wait?  I'm certain she could find room to
put you up."

"Thank you for your concern.  Master Latham, but I'm sure your daughter
will want to be private with you."  Tamsin had smiled at him, grateful
for all his help and kindness.

"And I am anxious to reach my destination."

Martha's anxious sigh interrupted Tamsin's memories.

"You took a big risk in running away, my lamb.  What if she had caught
you?  You would have been thrashed for certain!"

"There's not much chance of anyone catching me now."  Tamsin shrugged
defiantly.

"Even if Sam eventually admits that I planned to come to London, this
city is such an enormous maze Aunt Deborah will never find me."

"I wouldn't reveal I had seen you if she does come looking here,"
Martha reassured her.

"But I must confess your action troubles me."

"Do you think I should have stayed?"  Tamsin ejaculated in
astonishment.

"Nay!"  Martha shook her head firmly.

"I would not see you wed to that man.  He is a brute, but..."

Her voice trailed away and Tamsin finished the sentence for her.

"You think me too young to be on my own in a hard cruel place like
London."

"Something like that."  Martha gave her a faint smile.

To allow them both a breathing space, she decided to offer refreshments
to her guest, although it was almost dinnertime.

"There's some cold buttermilk in the pantry and I baked a cherry pie
this morning, if you are still fond of it?"

Tamsin accepted with alacrity and Martha got up and went off to the
kitchen.

While she was out of the room Tamsin took the opportunity to examine
her surroundings.  The parlour, which was painted a deep red, boasted
several stools and chairs as well as the carved settle and an oaken
dresser.  A bright rug lay before the hearth and there was a pretty
china vase on the mantel-shelf.

Ned's business must be prospering, she thought with a burst of
satisfaction.

"Here you are."  Martha returned and, handing Tamsin the plate she
carried, set a mug of buttermilk down by her stool.

"You eat and I'll tell you all about my children."

"Oh, Martha!  You always wanted babies of your own!"

For the next few minutes Martha proudly described her offspring while
Tamsin sampled the cherry pie and drank her milk.

"Course the four of 'em do make it a bit of a tight squeeze, seeing as
how Ned's widowed cousin and her three boys live with us too.  Still,
it makes sense.  Ned needed an apprentice-that's Rob, the eldest--and
Nelly had nowhere to go when her husband died."  Martha gave a
philosophical shrug of her plump shoulders.

"She helps me with the housework and the children so I can't
complain."

Tamsin nodded, setting down her empty mug.

"I'm glad to hear that things have worked out well for you, Martha."

Martha beamed at her.

"Aye, they have, thank the Lord!"

Her expression sobered.

"But what are we to do about you, Miss Tamsin?

You are welcome to stay here, of course.  It isn't what you are used
to, but--' "Oh don't worry about me, Martha," Tamsin interrupted
hastily and launched into an explanation of how she had been tricked by
Mrs. Cole and the consequences of her unusual introduction to Sir
Lysander Saxon.

"So you see, I'm provided for," she concluded.

"Well!  I never!"  Martha regarded her openmouthed.

Tamsin began to laugh.

"Oh, Martha, you should see your face!"

"You were always a handful.  Miss Tamsin.  I don't know why I am
surprised Mistress Deborah failed to make a good Puritan out of you."

An answering grin touched Martha's plump face.

"Housekeeper to a titled gentleman.  It sounds as if you have fallen on
your feet."

"I am very happy in Wych Street," Tamsin agreed.

"I am glad to hear it, but are you sure that this Sir Lysander is no
rakehell in disguise?"  Martha asked anxiously, her smile fading.

"My virtue is perfectly safe.  He thinks me too young and skinny to be
of any interest," Tamsin replied drily.

"That's all right then."  Martha gave a little sigh of relief.

"A

pretty young girl like you can't afford to take any chances--' Just
then the door opened and a ginger-haired man with an impatient frown on
his face entered.

"Martha, what's all this I hear about you entertaining some servant
girl?  It's dinner-time and I want my--oh.  Miss Tamsin, it's you!"

"Hello, Ned."  Tamsin rose swiftly to her feet and greeted her friend's
husband with a shy smile.

"How are you keeping?"

"Very well, I thank you."  Ned Croft's cheeks vied with his fiery
hair.

He glanced apologetically at his wife.

"Sorry to barge in on you, m'dear.  I'll leave you in peace."

He nodded diffidently at Tamsin and withdrew in haste.

Martha muttered something under her breath and Tamsin announced that
she had better take her leave.

"Take no heed of Ned," Martha exclaimed.

"He didn't mean no harm."

"All the same, I am holding up your dinner."

"Stay and eat with us," Martha urged.

"I can't.  I told Luke--he's Sir Lysander's footboy who escorted me
here--that L would meet him outside your shop."  Tamsin shrugged
apologetically.

"I don't want him to know that I am acquainted with you."

Martha looked puzzled and Tamsin said hastily, "There isn't time to
explain now, but I will come and visit you again, I promise."

"See that you do, my lamb."  Martha gave her a hug.

At the door Tamsin paused.

"There's so much else I wanted to talk to you about, but I must ask one
thing before I go.  Something important."

Martha cocked her head enquiringly.

"Aye?"

"I know you never met my father," Tamsin's voice trembled with
eagerness.

"But, you see, I hope to find him and I thought that you might be able
to give me some clues."

Martha turned pale.

"Oh, my lamb!  I wish I could help you, but it's too late.  Your father
is dead."

"Here's a letter come for you.  Sir Lysander."

Tamsin bobbed a curtsy and held out the silver salver she carried.

Lysander, who was seated at his desk, looked up with a smile.

"Thank you."

He took the letter, but he did not open it.  Instead he asked, "Forgive
me if I seem to pry, but is something troubling you?  You have seemed
rather quiet these last few days."

Striving to control her dismay, Tamsin shook her head.

"Everything is well, sir."

It was a lie, of course.  Martha's pronouncement had been as
devastating as a cannon ball.  It had beea difficult trying to behave
as if nothing had happened, but she thought she had succeeded.  Master
Cooper, Dinah and Luke had not appeared to notice any difference in
her.

She ought to have known it would be harder to fool her sharp-eyed
benefactor!

Lysander wondered if he ought to press her for a more truthful
answer.

She had tried to maintain her usual cheerful front, but there had been
a look of distress in her lovely eyes for several days now and it
disturbed him to think that she was unhappy.

On the other hand, she clearly did not want to talk about whatever was
upsetting her and he had no right to force a disclosure from her.

"Your new hemispheres look very well in here," Tamsin pronounced
hastily, hoping to divert his attention.

Lysander shot her a suspicious look, but decided that her admiration
was genuine.

"Thank you.  I think so too."

He had placed the twin globes on either side of the large walnut
bookcase which dominated his closet.  Tamsin could not resist wandering
over to touch one lightly with a careful hand.

"I wish I could travel," she murmured.

"Why?"  Lysander was intrigued by her wistful expression.

"Until I came to London I had never been anywhere further than our
village.  It must be wonderful to see new sights and meet different
peoples."

"Not half as wonderful as coming home again," Lysander declared with a
wry smile.

Tamsin nodded, understanding that he was thinking of his exile.

"All the same, sir, it must be exciting to visit foreign places and
learn new things."

"You want to broaden your horizons, Mrs.  Barton?"

Wary that he might be teasing her Tamsin stared at him suspiciously,
but his handsome face was serious.

"Aye, my lord."

"Then why don't you start by reading a few of these?"  Lysander waved a
hand towards the well-filled bookcase.

"There are volumes of geography which might interest you,

and history--' Lysander halted abruptly at the odd expression which
appeared on her face.

"You can read, can't you?"

Tamsin pulled herself together and nodded vigorously.

"Do you really mean it, sir?  You would trust me with your books?"  she
breathed.

"Of course," Lysander replied gently, suddenly understanding.

"Don't forget, I've watched you around the house these last few weeks.
You are deft and conscientious in the performance of every task you
undertake."

Part of Tamsin's heart warmed with pleasure to think that he approved
of her efforts, but she was too excited to dwell upon his praise.

"I

swear I shall take the very greatest care of them," she vowed
fiercely.

He smiled and, with a little embarrassed laugh, Tamsin blushingly
explained that she had always wanted to read more widely, but all she
had been allowed to study was the Bible and a book of sermons deemed
suitable by Aunt Deborah.

"Very worthy," Lysander murmured, his eyes dancing.

Smoothing a crease in the cuff of his dark blue velvet coat, he curbed
his unseemly amusement and said, "I suppose your aunt did not believe
in educating girls?"

Tamsin nodded.

"She said it was a waste of time."

It was a very common view.  Lysander, whose parents had been more
enlightened, did not share it.

He said so and Tamsin grinned.

"Luckily, my uncle was of the same opinion as you, sir.  He taught me
to read and write alongside my cousin Samuel."  Her smile faded.

"Sam went on to have further lessons with our local parson.  I should
have liked to have accompanied him, but my aunt insisted I stay and
help at home."

"Well, you may borrow whatever you like and, if you have any
difficulties, come to me and I shall do my best to clarify the
problem," Lysander promised and was rewarded with a dazzling smile of
thanks.

"Why don't you choose something now while I read my letter?"  he
suggested, trying to ignore the tug of attraction rising in him.

Tamsin hurried over to the bookcase.  When she had been dusting this
room she had always longed to explore her benefactor's collection, but
she had been too nervous.  Books were very expensive objects,
especially the kind of sumptuous volumes Sir Lysander had acquired
since his return home.

The thought of accidentally damaging one was horrifying, but,
emboldened by Lysander's faith in her, she began to eagerly investigate
the shelves.

"Good God!"

Startled, Tamsin looked up from her contemplation of Alsted's
Encyclopaedia with a squeak of surprise.

"It's from my sister," Lysander said apologetically.

"She is coming to visit me."  A broad smile lit up his clear-cut
features.

"It will be good to have her here.  The last time we were together was
at her wedding three years ago."

The ceremony had taken place in Paris.  Lysander had travelled there
from Bruges where the court-in-exile was currently residing.  It had
been a perfect spring day and Corinna had made a lovely bride.

Initially, Lysander had been dubious.  The Comte de Montargis was
almost twenty years older than Corinna and his reputation was none too
sweet.

"He is rich, Lysander.  He can give her all the things she has missed,"
Lady Althea Saxon had reminded him when he had voiced his doubts the
evening before the ceremony.

"I appreciate that, Mother, but will he make her happy?"

Lady Althea had shrugged.

"She will have security, my son, which is more than either of us can
offer her."

Lysander had fallen silent.  He was about to go on campaign, wielding
his sword in Charles's service.  He could not provide Corinna with a
home and his mother, who was one of Queen Henrietta-Maria's
ladies-in-waiting, was seriously ill.  She had a canker growing in her
stomach and the doctors had told her they could do nothing.

"I want to see Corinna settled before I die," Lady Althea murmured.

That is why I promoted this match.  I dare say the Comte will be
unfaithful once his passion cools, but I think he will always treat her
well.  " A proud smile touched her mouth.

"Corinna is a sensible girl.  You mustn't think she is unhappy with her
lot."

"I don't like the idea of her marrying a Frenchman," Lysander said
stubbornly.

"Perhaps not, but where are the Englishmen for her to choose from?"

Lady Althea retorted tartly.  At his stricken look she shook her blonde
head wearily.

"It is five years since Melcombe was taken from us, Lysander.  We
cannot go on living in the past... or surviving on hopes for the
future."

Lady Althea sighed.  The match was not ideal, but it was the best she
could do.  Corinna's dowry was tiny and, with King Charles's fortunes
at such a low ebb, few French families wished to ally themselves with a
failing cause.  The Comte de Montargis, enthralled by Corinna's
vivacity and looks, was a notable exception.

"Speak to her yourself, my son," she suggested.

"I am sure she will tell you she is content."

Corinna had.

"I don't want you to put a stop to the wedding, Lysander," she had said
firmly.

"I don't pretend to be in love with Pierre, but I do like him.  He is
kind to me and... and I shall need someone when Mama goes."  Her voice
wobbled, but she recovered to smile at him gamely.

"Besides, I shall be twenty in a few weeks, high time I was married!"

"You needn't rush into this marriage because you fear being left to
fend for yourself," Lysander said quickly.

"This alliance with Spain will improve the King's chances and therefore
yours of obtaining a better suitor.  In the meantime, I'm sure the
Queen would look out for you."  He coughed awkwardly.

"I promise I would come and see you as often as I could."

Corinna shook her head.

"You mean well, Lysander, but your concern is misplaced.  I don't want
to sit around waiting for the King to be restored.  As for the
possibility of marrying one of my own countrymen, I feel at home here
in France."

"You may pine for England eventually."

"I am sure Pierre will let me visit.  He is a reasonable man."  Corinna
patted Lysander's arm in a gesture of reassurance.

"Marrying him isn't too high a price to pay for being able to resume my
proper place in society again.  After all these years of existing on
the fringes of the Queen's charity, I will have a real home of my own
and, quite frankly, the thought of being able to spend as freely as I
wish delights me!"

She had tossed back her dark red curls and given him an impish grin.

"I am sick of being poor, dearest brother."

Remembering her words, Lysander set down the letter he held, a wry
expression replacing his smile.  How could he criticise his sister's
pragmatic decision when he was about to emulate her?

"Shall I leave you, my lord?"

Tamsin's hesitant query captured Lysander's wandering attention and he
answered her with a shake of his dark blond head.

Rising to his feet, he strolled over to where she stood.

"What have you got here?  Ah, an excellent choice!  Now, let me see,
yes, this entry should interest you, I think."

In the agreeable hour which followed as they explored the book's
contents it was easy to forget the faint sense of distaste which filled
him whenever he contemplated the prospect of marrying merely for
money.

In spite of torrential rain, the reception at Mrs.  Godolphin's house
in Lady Court held on the afternoon of the sixteenth of July was well
attended.  When Lysander arrived the smart crimson-hung drawing-room
was already crowded with fashionably clad visitors.

"My lord!"  Jane, who was dressed in an eye-catching sapphire gown with
a silver lace petticoat, broke off her conversation with another guest
and hurried over to greet him.

"I thought you weren't coming," she murmured, laying her hand on his
arm and looking up into his face with a coy smile.

"I was delayed at Whitehall," Lysander replied, resisting the urge to
free himself from her possessive clasp.

The reproachful expression in her dark eyes vanished.

"You were with the King?"

Lysander nodded.  He had gone to the palace to ask for permission to
take Corinna down to Melcombe Regis.

"The lawyers are still wrangling about returning the house to my
possession so I thought it best to clear the visit with Charles."

Matthew had counselled this act of prudence and, although it went
against the grain, Lysander had taken his advice.

"I don't want anything to spoil Comma's visit."

Jane nodded carelessly.  She had little interest in his sister.  The
important thing was that the King had agreed to Lysander's request, a
sure indication that his property would soon be restored to him.

"I should like to see the Manor myself," she announced, fluttering her
eyelashes at him.

"It sounds delightful.  Perhaps we could make up a party?  I'm sure
your sister would appreciate another woman's company on the journey."

"Rest assured, ma'am, that you shall be one of the first to be invited
to visit," Lysander replied with an easy smile.

"Once I am certain that any neglect has been made safe, of course."

"Do you expect there to be much damage?"  Alarm flared in Jane's voice
and her hand fell abruptly from his sleeve.

Lysander shrugged.

"After all this time it would be astonishing to find Melcombe in good
condition."  His tone was dry.

"Garrison soldiers are not noted for their tender care of other
people's property."

A thoughtful look passed over Jane's face.

"I had not realised the house had been used as a Parliamentary
garrison..."  Her voice trailed off for a moment and then, assuming a
smile, she continued brightly, "But I am neglecting you, sir!  Come,
let us procure a glass of wine for you and I will introduce you to some
new friends I have made since I saw you last."

It was some time before Lysander could disengage himself.  Electing to
go in search of another drink, he was surprised to bump into Lord
Fanshawe.

"Jack!"  He shook his cousin's hand warmly.

"I didn't realise you knew Mistress Godolphin."

Jack grinned at him.

"Met her a couple of weeks ago in Hyde Park.  We got to talking and she
invited me to call on her."  He smoothed back a dark lock of hair with
an impudent chuckle.

"Afraid I'll poach your quarry, coz?"

Ly sander's eyebrow quirked.

"I didn't know you were in the market for a wife."

"Thought I'd take a leaf out of your book."  Jack's cherubic features
were wreathed in innocence.

For an instant anger ignited in Lysander and then he realised Jack was
deliberately teasing him.

"Mind you," he continued thoughtfully after politely threatening to
disembowel his cousin, "I see that there are dozens of heiress-hungry
fellows here."

This was something of an exaggeration as Jack pointed out, but it was
true that several notable fortune-hunters were present.

"Wonder whether Mistress Godolphin knows what a set of rogues she is
entertaining," Jack muttered, half-angrily.

Lysander threw him a surprised look and Jack coloured sheepishly.

"I

like her," he said simply.

"Oh, I know she ain't interested in me.  I'm small fry as far as she is
concerned, but I wouldn't want to see her taken advantage of."

He fixed his dark eyes enquiringly on his cousin's face.

"You can tell me to go boil my head if you like, but are you serious
about wanting to marry her, Lysander?"

Lysander stared across the room where the lady under discussion was
engaged in conversation with her uncle and another guest.  Her full
bosom was enticingly revealed in her low-cut dress and an attractive
smile softened her slightly hard features.

She was lively and intelligent, with the added bonus of the dark
colouring and lush figure he had always preferred in women, so why did
her charms leave him cold?

His gaze returned to Jack's anxious face.

"You're right.  It's none of your business, coz," he replied coolly.

Jack bit his lip.

"Why can't you stop hiding your feelings and be honest for once?"  he
blurted.

Lysander shrugged and carefully changed the subject.

He wasn't about to admit it, not even to his favourite cousin, but he
was damned if he knew the answer to either of Jack's questions.

The house was quiet as Tamsin slipped out into the rainy street.  Sir
Lysander was at some reception or other.  Master Cooper was busy with
the accounts and Dinah and Luke were clearing up after dinner.  When
they had finished that task, Tamsin had left them instructions to give
the furniture in the second-best bedroom a thorough polishing to make
it ready for the arrival of the Comtesse de Montargis.

No one would miss her for a couple of hours.

The heavy rain impeded her progress towards Bread Street, but Martha's
warm welcome made up for the soaking.  Whisked upstairs to her friend's
bedchamber and ordered to remove her wet gown, she was soon snugly
wrapped in a blanket and sipping a mug of burnt ale.

"How have you been, my lamb?"  Martha asked anxiously, sitting down
next to Tamsin on the wide bed.

"I didn't like sending you away with such bad news."

Tamsin quickly reassured her.

"Besides, I've been too busy to brood.

We are expecting visitors next week so we have been spring-cleaning,
and in my free moments I have been reading one of Sir Lysander's books.
"

Martha's mouth rounded in surprise.

"He let you borrow it?"  she exclaimed.

Tamsin nodded.

"Aye, and he's helped me understand the bits I found hard."  Her lips
curved with reminiscent pleasure.  They had spent several agreeable
hours in Lysander's closet and his patience had been exceeded only by
his talent for making what had been baffling seem crystal-clear.

"But why?"  Worry creased Martha's plump face.

"You are gently born, but you are not of his world.  What lies behind
his kindness?"

"Nothing!  I told you before, he isn't interested in me."  Tamsin's
eyes sparkled with indignation on her benefactor's behalf.

"I think he rescued me on a whim and let me stay because I am useful."
She shrugged.

"I amuse him, I think."

Tamsin knew she had no right to complain, but sometimes it rankled that
Lysander treated her like a child.  He was willing to indulge her, but
his reluctance to acknowledge she was a grown woman puzzled her.

Sometimes she thought she caught a glimpse of admiration in his vivid
eyes, but it always vanished before she could be certain.

Afraid to examine her own feelings too closely, Tamsin had tried to
ignore the heady rush of pleasure which filled her whenever he walked
into the room.  She'd told herself that she liked him in the same way
she liked her cousin Sam, but it was growing ever harder to pretend her
feelings were so innocent.  Day by day the barriers she had erected in
her heart were crumbling into ruin.

Soon she would have no de fences left at all.

"Just you remember you are more than welcome here if he forgets to
behave as a gentleman ought," Martha said.

Her scolding tone snatched Tamsin from her uneasy reflections.

"Thank you, but I'm sure it won't come to that."

Martha sniffed doubtfully.

"Perhaps I should have a word with him?"

she suggested.

"Set him straight in case he has got the wrong idea about you, my
lamb."

Tamsin stared at her in horror.

"You can't do that!"

"I know he far outranks me, but your mother would never forgive me if I
let you be ruined just for the want of speaking up."

Setting down her empty mug, Tamsin bent all her energies into
persuading her old friend to abandon this idea.  It took several
minutes to convince her and Tamsin felt clammy with relief when Martha
reluctantly agreed.

"Can you tell me about my father, Martha?"  she said hastily before
Martha could think of another reason in favour of accosting Sir
Lysander.

"I'd really like to hear anything you can remember."

Martha smoothed her apron, her expression ruminative.

"There's not much to tell, my lamb," she warned.

"Your mother rarely -spoke of the past."

Tamsin sighed.

"Didn't she tell you anything about his family or his home?"

"Only that he came from Cornwall and that he was a gentleman."

"My aunt told me he was a Cavalier."

"Aye.  That's why your mother fell out with her family.  She told me
that she first met Mr.  Penhaligan in forty-one when he was visiting
relatives who lived near Bristol, but your grandfather couldn't abide
the idea of your mother marrying someone outside their own circle,
especially someone who didn't support Parliament."

"Aunt Deborah said Mama ran away with him."

Martha nodded confirmation and Tamsin stirred restlessly.  She had been
hoping against hope that Martha would deny it.

"You mustn't blame her, my lamb," Martha said softly.

"She tried to obey your grandfather, but when the war broke out she
knew that he would never accept the man she loved."

A sigh escaped her.

"You are too young to remember any of it, but the war had a strange
effect on us all.  Things that had seemed certain were suddenly
overturned and people behaved in ways they wouldn't normally have
done."  She shrugged her plump shoulders.

"I don't condemn your mother for seizing her chance of happiness."

"I wish my aunt felt the same!"  Tamsin shuddered.

"She said my mother was no better than a whore!"

The memory of that dreadful interview with her aunt was still strong
enough to make Tamsin's stomach chum.  Barely able to sit still, she
felt as if she was suffocating.

Her agitated movement sent several apricot-gold curls tumbling to
Tamsin's bare shoulders and Martha leant across the bed.

"These are still wet," she said calmly.

"Let me unpin them for you or they won't have a chance to dry before
you leave."

Tamsin stopped squirming, allowing the familiar attention to soothe her
distress.  How often had she sat like this while Martha tended her
hair! It was one of the things she remembered best from the old days
when her mother was alive.

"I've been racking my brains, trying to think of everything Mama told
me," she murmured softly.

"All I can remember though is that she said my Papa was handsome and
had hair like mine."

"You were too young for her to try and explain, my lamb."  Martha
finished fluffing out the silken curls and sat back.

"Do you think they were married, Martha?"

Martha's mouth fell open.

"Did... did that old besom tell you they weren't wed?"  She took
Tamsin's hand in her own and squeezed it in speechless sympathy.

Tamsin nodded.

"When I informed her I didn't want to accept Master Hardy, she said I
ought to be grateful that he was interested in me because not many men
would take on a dower less bastard."  Tamsin stared down at their
linked.  hands, her voice shaking as she repeated Deborah Barton's
pitiless verdict.

The shock of hearing herself declared illegitimate had temporarily
overwhelmed Tamsin, crushing her spirit.

"She was always jealous of your mother!"  Martha exclaimed in
disgust.

She shook her head.

"She would never have dared say such a cruel thing to you if your uncle
had still been alive."

"I know this will sound strange," Tamsin said in a strained voice, 'but
I've had time to think on it since I have been in London and I can't
help wondering if Aunt Deborah was concealing something.  Her manner
was.  odd!  "

Martha hesitated, reluctant to raise false hopes.

"Your mother swore she was wed," she said at last.

"I believed her, but when she refused to give details of your father's
whereabouts Mistress Deborah and many others said he must have
abandoned her.  They declared that she was lying about being married to
try to save her reputation and protect you."

A sudden chill swept over Tamsin and she clutched the blanket closer to
her.

"I don't suppose we will ever know the truth now," she whispered.

Martha longed to reassure her former charge and save her from
heartache, but Tamsin was no longer a child to be shielded from harm.

"All I know for certain is that your mother loved your father," she
announced.

"She cried so much when your aunt told her that he was dead that I
feared for her health.  Verily, I believe she would have lost the will
to live without you."

"When did Aunt Deborah announce that my father was dead?"  Tamsin asked
slowly.

Martha blinked at the odd note in her young friend's tone.

"Let me think... you were three.  Aye, it was around the end of
November.  Your mother had been full of hope that the King's cause
would take a turn for the better.  She'd just had a letter from your
father telling her about the King's escape--' " He wrote to her?  "
Tamsin interrupted, her thoughtful frown vanishing in a flurry of
excitement.

"Aye, several times.  Don't you remember?  She used to read them out to
you at night."

Tamsin cast her mind back and a shadowy mental picture formed of
herself lying in bed, with her mother sitting next to her speaking in
soft tones.  But she couldn't hear the words and the image blurred even
as she sought to make it come clear.

"It's no use," she exclaimed in despair.

"I can't recall what she said."

Taking a deep breath, she strov& to calm herself.

"Do you know what happened to those letters, Martha?  My aunt never
mentioned them when I asked her if my mother had left me any keepsake
other than her pearl necklace."

"I'm sorry to have to tell you, but she burnt them after your mother's
funeral."

Tamsin's disappointment showed on her expressive face and Martha gave
her hand a sympathetic pat.

"Your uncle was furious.  It was one of the few times I can remember
him berating her."

Uncle Daniel had been a placid man.  Most of the time he'd been content
to let his wife rule the roost, but occasionally he had stood up to her
when he thought she was behaving unfairly.

"Do you think he believed my mother was married?"

Martha grimaced.

"He took her in when she arrived home with you as a tiny baby and he
would never let anyone say a word against her, but he refused to have
your father's name mentioned in his presence.  He even insisted that
you take the name of Barton after your mother's death."

Martha had heard that Master Barton had been indifferent to politics as
a young man, becoming a firm supporter of Parliament only after his
sister's disappearance.  His own marriage soon afterwards into a
fervently Puritan family had encouraged this new trait and his
antagonism towards Cavaliers had grown stronger as the years passed,
but perhaps its roots lay in what he privately considered a family
tragedy.

"I wish there was some proof," Tamsin sighed.

"I came to London in the hope of discovering whether or not Aunt
Deborah was telling me the truth..."

"Tamsin?  Are you all right, my lamb?  You have gone as pale as a bowl
of whey."

"Maybe Aunt Deborah was lying!"  The queer note Martha had heard
earlier was back in Tamsin's urgent tone.

"Lying on purpose, I mean.

You said yourself that she disliked Mama and she hated Cavaliers.  What
if she told Mama that my father was dead in order to put an end to
their relationship?  "

About to protest that even Mistress Deborah would not be so wickedly
spiteful, Martha paused.

"Your mama was talking of leaving," she said slowly.

"You were no longer frail and she yearned to rejoin Mr.  Penhaligan.
She said it was safe to take the risk of travelling since the fighting
was over at last and the countryside was quieter."

Martha gave Tamsin a troubled look.

"Your aunt might have convinced herself that it was both proper and
godly to stop her."

"And Uncle Daniel would have gone along with her plan to prevent
further shame being brought on the family."

Tamsin shivered.  It would have been easy for her uncle and aunt to
intercept any letters before they reached her mother.  Perhaps they had
even played the same lying trick on her father!

"What are you going to do, my lamb?"  Martha asked uneasily as Tamsin
began to dress.

"We don't know for sure whether or not your aunt lied;

even if she did, it's been a long time.  Anything could have happened
to him.  "

"I feel in my heart that he is still alive."  Tamsin's face assumed a
stubborn expression.

Unwilling to crush her revived hopes, Martha did not argue.

"Perhaps.

But you have very little information to go on.  " Her frown lifted.

"I

know!  Ask Sir Lysander for help.  "

Tamsin shook her head.  She was not going to expose her shame and risk
losing his good opinion.

"Then how are you going to set about finding him?"

"I know his name," Tamsin said grimly.

"If I have to, I will ask every Cavalier in London whether they can
tell me his whereabouts!"

The conviction that her father was still alive buoyed up Tamsin's
spirits as she walked home.  It was still raining heavily, but she
scarcely noticed the downpour as she hurried past Temple Bar and into
the Strand.

There were few people about; the bad weather had discouraged casual
strollers.  Tamsin quickened her pace.  She hadn't meant to stay so
long at Martha's.  She was going to be late!

Ducking her head against the rain-soaked wind, she ran towards Wych
Street.  Martha had scolded her for venturing out alone, but she hadn't
been able to think of a suitable excuse to get rid of Luke and she was
sick of telling lies.

More worried that her absence might have been noticed than taking care
of where she was going, she hurtled round the corner and instantly
collided with a large body coming swiftly in the opposite direction.

"Aaargh!"  Tamsin gasped inelegantly, the wind knocked out of her by
the force of the impact.

Her nose was squashed up against a rock-hard chest covered in smooth
farandine so that she could scarcely breathe, and her first reaction on
being thrust free was to gulp down air in noisy pants of relief.  On
becoming aware that hard hands still held her firmly at arm's length,
this response changed to indignation.

"Let me go, sir!"  she exclaimed, raising her head to stare up at her
captor.

"Oh!"

Sir Lysander Saxon gazed grimly down into his prisoner's flower-like
face.

"And where the Devil have you been, you disobedient little fool?"

Chapter Seven

Q^r^s^Q

(T

1 will not tell you where I was!  " Tamsin glowered at Lysander, her
chin held defiantly high as she confronted him across the parlour.

Refusing to release her, he had dragged her home and thrust her
willy-nilly into the hallway.  Tamsin had caught one brief glimpse of
Luke and Dinah's startled faces before her irate benefactor had marched
her into the parlour and slammed the door closed.

With a face like thunder he had then flung off his wet cloak and hat
and repeated his demand.  Tamsin's knees were quaking, but she was so
incensed by his high-handed behaviour that she was determined not to
answer him.

"Why?  What mischief are you trying to conceal?"  Lysander returned her
angry look with a glare of his own.

T wasn't up to any mischief, as you so charmingly term it.  " Tamsin
unknotted the strings of her cloak with false calm and let it fall on
to the thin woven matting which covered the wooden floor.

"No?  Then why won't you answer my question?"

"Because it's none of your business," Tamsin retorted hotly.

"All that goes on in this house is my business."  Lysander's deep tones
had lost their usual velvet smoothness.

"I am not neglecting my duties.  I completed every task before
leaving."  Tamsin surreptitiously rubbed her damp palms against her
skirts.  He was making her nervous!  She hadn't imagined his handsome
face could look so cold!

"You insult me if you think I would begrudge you time free to enjoy
yourself," Lysander snapped.

"I am well aware of how hard you work, but that is not the point at
issue."

Tamsin took a deep breath.

"I don't understand why you are so angry with me," she said in a
quieter tone.

Lysander stared at her in disbelief.

"You disobeyed me and went out alone."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!"  Tamsin discarded her rain-soaked hood and
pushed an irritating stray curl off her face.  T am not a child.  Why
do you persist treating me as if I was incapable of looking after
myself? "

Lysander stared at her in silence for a moment and then, before Tamsin
had time to grasp what he meant to do, he crossed the narrow space
separating them in a single rapid stride and grabbed her by the
shoulders.  Another swift movement and he had pinioned her arms behind
her, clipping them into the small of her back with an iron grip.

"What...!"  With a gasp of outrage, Tamsin tried to free herself.

Lysander contained her struggles with contemptuous ease.

"Now do you understand?"  He held her tight against him.

"What if you had run into someone other than myself, someone who sought
to take advantage of you--how could you have stopped him?"

Tarosin's response was to try and kick him in the shin, but he was too
quick for her.

"Let me go!"  Her attempt to stamp on his foot was no more
successful.

"It's no use," he laughed, his green eyes glittering.

"Admit it.  You cannot prevent me from doing whatever I wish with
you."

He was holding her against him so tightly that Tamsin didn't think a
pin could have been inserted between them.  Breast to breast, thigh to
thigh, her body was forced against his and a strange tingling
excitement suddenly shot through her angry distress.

His coat was damp where it had escaped the protection of his cloak, but
she could feel the warmth emanating from his tall strong body.  The
blood in her veins began to beat with a hot dizzying languor that made
her head swim.

"All right!"  Tamsin stopped struggling.

"I admit I cannot defend myself against your superior strength."

She spat the words at him through gritted teeth.  What was the matter
with her?  His nearness was provoking an onslaught of sensation that
destroyed her ability to think.  The clean masculine scent of him,
mingling with the faint aroma of lavender-fresh linen and cold rain,
surrounded her, fanning her confusion.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Lysander released his hold
on her and stood back.  Automatically, Tamsin brought her wrists up and
rubbed them to restore the circulation.

"Forgive me.  I didn't mean to hurt you," Lysander said gruffly, a
contrite expression leaping into his eyes.

Tamsin's arms fell to her sides.

"It's nothing," she muttered in a strained voice, her gaze avoiding
his.

"Tamsin, look at me."  Urgency filled Lysander's deep tones and he took
a step forward, closing the gap which separated them.

"I'm sorry if what I did just now offended you, but I wanted to show
you what I meant about the streets not being safe for a woman on her
own."  He shrugged impatiently.

"Sometimes words aren't enough."

Tamsin slowly raised her head to meet his gaze and he continued softly,
"Don't be angry.  I want to keep you safe from harm."

"Why?"  Swallowing hard to try to dispel the dryness in her throat,
Tamsin managed to croak out a single question.

Lysander smiled at her, that heart-stopping smile which always had the
power to enthral her.

"I'm surprised you need to ask, killing.  I should have thought it was
obvious."

Slowly, so as not to alarm her, he lifted a hand and gently ran one
long forefinger down her cheek.

"It would grieve me to see you hurt.  Please, promise me to be more
careful.  You are too much of a temptation to be let loose without an
escort."

Tamsin blushed.

"You exaggerate, sir."

"I wish I did."

There was a note of frustration in his unguarded answer and Tamsin's
pulse quickened.  He did find her attractive after all!

A silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of their
breathing.

Tamsin discovered it was impossible to tear her gaze from his mouth,
which was well shaped with a hint of sensuality in the lower lip.  She
was aware of a sudden fierce longing to know if his kiss would fulfill
its sweet promise.

She shook her head, trying to clear it of such wanton fantasies, but it
was no use.

Against his bronzed skin the green of his eyes was intense, like a
mysterious forest pool whose cool depths promised relief from the
burning sun.  Dizzily, Tamsin swayed towards him, instinct telling her
only his touch could assuage the fire raging within her trembling
body.

Lysander's reaction was swift and automatic.  His hands flew to her
slim waist to hold her steady.

A delicious shiver rippled through Tamsin at his touch.  " Mindlessly,
she lifted her face to his, her eyes closing... and felt him begin to
draw her firmly towards him... With a supreme effort of will Lysander
mastered his desire and released her.

Tamsin's eyes snapped open and her expression of disappointed
bewilderment almost undid Lysander's resolve.

Folding his arms across his chest to better resist the temptation to
draw her back into his embrace, he said lightly, "Now, if I have
convinced you of the folly of going out alone, may I ask what was the
purpose of your expedition today?"

Tamsin took a deep breath, struggling to regain her shattered
composure.  She had been certain he was about to kiss her!  Tears of
mortification pricked at her eyelids.  Gemini, what he must think of
her, throwing herself at him like a harlot!

Had he been right to pretend nothing had happened?  He had thought to
save her further embarrassment, but ruefully, he acknowledged he was
not used to dealing with such an innocent.

However, having chosen his course, there was no option but to
continue.

"When I arrived home, the others were worried by your absence," he said
quietly.

"They had no idea where you had gone, so I set out to search for
you."

Trying to ignore the embarrassment heating her cheeks, Tamsin blinked
away the threatening tears.

"I don't suppose you'd believe me if I told you that I felt the need of
some exercise?"  she said with a shaky attempt at humour.

Lysander was impressed by her gallant refusal to use feminine wiles to
wriggle out of trouble.  Most of the women of his acquaintance would
have been watering his coat by now!

He shook his head and waited in silence, hoping she would trust him.

Tamsin heaved a sigh.

"I was visiting a friend."  No matter the consequences, she couldn't go
on lying to him.

"I thought you didn't know anyone in London."

Tamsin's blush deepened.

"I lied," she said baldly.

Lysander's eyebrow rose and she went on hastily, "I thought you would
send me away if I told you about Martha and I wanted to stay and repay
my debt to you."

"There is no debt to repay!"

His sharp tone made her wince, but she stuck stubbornly to her guns.

"I cannot accept that, sir.  It may mean nothing to you, but it offends
my pride to think I owe you so much money."

Lysander was silent.  He hadn't realised she felt so deeply about a
debt he had long since dismissed from his mind.

"Shall I go and gather my things, sir?"

"What?"  Her quiet offer startled him from his thoughts.

"Surely you wish to dismiss me?"  Tamsin stared down at the tips of her
boots.  They were muddy and the hem of her skirt was soaking, but her
discomfort was more mental than physical.

"I lied to you and I deserve to be punished."

"S'death, if we all got what we deserved, life would be infernally
dismal!"  Lysander gave a short laugh.

Hope nickered in Tamsin's breast.  She had expected him to be angry,
but his expression was amazingly calm.

"You lied to me, but I realise that you believed you had a good
reason."  Lysander shrugged.

"Besides, I don't hold with your Puritan notions of retribution."

"You mean I can stay?"

"Aye, if that's what you want."  Lysander ignored the sensible voice of
his conscience urging him to send her away.

"Thank you!"  Tamsin's eyes lit up.

"I promise I won't disobey you again."

"See that you don't, killing."  Lysander's severe tone softened as his
gaze absorbed her glowing smile.

"Now go and put on some dry clothes and then you can tell me all about
this friend."

Tamsin nodded and, snatching up her discarded cloak and hood, hurried
from the room.

She threw a reassuring glance at Dinah, who was hovering anxiously in
the kitchen doorway, and sped up the stairs.

In her own chamber she stripped off her wet garments and replaced them
with her green say gown.  Taking her comb, she attacked her damp hair,
subduing the curly mass until it was fit to be braided.

Halfway through this task she paused, her busy fingers stilling as she
stared at her reflection in the little looking- glass that Lysander had
presented her with a week after her arrival.

He had hung it up for her on the wall near the bed, with a joking
comment that now she had no excuse for not setting her cap straight.

Tamsin, who had never owned a mirror before, had been secretly
delighted by her new acquisition, although her conscience scolded her
on the sin of vanity every time she looked into it.

Her conscience, honed by a lifetime of Aunt Deborah's homilies, was
pricking her now.

She had behaved disgracefully!

"You had no business encouraging him to embrace you," she whispered to
her reflection, trying to dismiss the deep ache of disappointment that
still filled her.

It was mere vanity to think he might be interested in her.  He was a
gentleman of rank, friend to the King himself.  Why on earth would such
a man of the world bother with a nobody who had neither family nor
fortune to recommend her?

Tamsin could think of only one answer to this question.  To her shame,
a quick tide of excitement ran through her veins as she recalled the
look of desire in his vivid eyes.

"You are a fool, Tamsin Barton!"  she told her image sternly.

"What do you imagine can come of this wanton behaviour?  You are lucky
he is too much of a gentleman to take advantage of you!"

But she still wished he had kissed her!

With a quick movement Tamsin turned away from the mirror.  She was
playing with fire and she knew it.  Already, she liked Sir Lysander
Saxon far too much for her own peace of mind.  To allow her feelings to
grow even deeper would be an act of madness.

Only a lunatic would fall in love with a man so far beyond her reach!

"And this is Mrs.  Barton, who is kindly acting as our housekeeper."

As her benefactor finished his introduction, Tamsin sank into a
respectful curtsy.

The Comtesse de Montargis shot her brother a startled look across
Tamsin's bowed head.

"I am pleased to meet you, mistress."  Corinna hastily wiped the
surprise from her face as Tamsin rose to greet her with a shy smile.

"My brother told me how you rallied to his aid when Matthew was
injured."

Tamsin hadn't realised that Lysander had mentioned her in his letters
to his sister and, while the knowledge that he thought enough of her to
do so delighted her, she also found it disconcerting.

What exactly had he said?  Pray God that he had not told her of Lime
Street and Mrs.  Cole!

Peeping through her lashes, Tamsin decided that the Com- tesse did not
have the look of someone who had been told those shocking details.  She
was smiling, her dark hazel eyes merry as she turned to greet Luke and
Dinah who had been summoned to the hall to join the presentation
lineup.

At first glance Tamsin had thought the Comtesse beautiful.  She was
tall enough to be imposing and her elegant figure was clad with great
style, but as Tamsin covertly studied her she realised that Comma's
features lacked her brother's clear- cut regularity.  Yet somehow it
didn't matter that her brow was too wide and her chin slightly pointed.
Her vivacious expression conquered these defects and the eye was drawn
automatically to her lovely dark red hair, which curled in great rings
to her shoulders.

The introductions were concluded and Dinah and Luke scampered off back
to the kitchen at a gesture from Tamsin.

"I have lit a fire in the withdrawing-room, my lord," she announced.

"A good idea."  Lysander threw her a smile of thanks.

"This damp weather is enough to give us all an ague!"  He offered his
arm to his sister.

"You must be weary after your journey.  Come and rest and I'll show you
over the house after dinner."

"I cannot deny it would be pleasant to sit down on something that does
not rock or bob about," Corinna laughed.

"Shall I bring up some tea for the Comtesse?"  Tamsin offered and
Lysander nodded.

Corinna gestured to her maid, a small dumpy woman who stood waiting in
the background.

"Go with Mrs.  Barton, Marie."

Lysander swept his sister towards the stairs.  They had barely
disappeared from sight when the door opened again and Nat and Master
Cooper came in with the Comtesse's luggage.

"We'll take this straight up," Matt said, wiping drizzle from his
brow.

Tamsin nodded and beckoned Marie to follow her.

The Frenchwoman spoke little English, but she soon understood that
Tamsin wished to offer her refreshment and she happily drank a mug of
cider and ate one of Tamsin's fresh- baked sugar cakes while Tamsin
prepared a tray of tea for upstairs.

Sir Lysander had informed her that his sister was fond of this newly
fashionable drink and he had bought some in preparation for her
visit.

Tamsin had never tried it.  At anything between sixteen and fifty
shillings a pound.  Aunt Deborah declared it was too expensive and
refused to buy it.  Unsure how it should taste, Tamsin decided the best
course was to let the Comtesse brew it for herself.  She was bound to
have her own preferences on how to mix the leaves anyway.

With this in mind, Tamsin had already taken the spirit kettle on its
elegant little stand up to the withdrawing-room.  All that remained was
to set out the porcelain teapot and its delicate matching dishes.  This
done, she took the tiny wooden tea cabinet, which held the precious
leaves, and placed it on the tray.

Marie finished her cake.

"Please.  For Madame I... I..."  She gestured awkwardly.  Seeing their
looks of incomprehension, she pointed up to the ceiling and mimed a
lifting and folding movement with her hands.

"Oh, I see!"  Tamsin exclaimed.

"You wish to unpack for the Comtesse?"

"Oui."  Marie clapped her hands vigorously.

"Very well.  Dinah, will you show Marie to the Comtesse's bedchamber
while I take this up?"

Tamsin left the kitchen.  Balancing the tray upon her hip, she knocked
on the withdrawing-room door and was bidden to enter.

"Let me help you."  Lysander rose quickly to his feet.

"It isn't heavy, sir."  Tamsin thanked him with a smile.  She carefully
deposited the tray upon the low table near the Com- tesse's chair.

"Shall I light the spirit burner for you, my lady?"

Corinna gave a quick nod of assent and Tamsin moved nervously
forward.

Worried she might fumble the task, she lifted up the copper kettle,
which she had earlier filled with water, to make the job easier.

Her turquoise eyes widened in consternation as she belatedly realised
there was no suitable place to set it down within her reach.

"Allow me."  Lysander took it from her.

Grateful for his help, Tamsin murmured her thanks.

"Don't be nervous.  You are doing splendidly," he whispered back.

Tamsin beamed at him and, her confidence bolstered, proceeded to light
the burner with quick efficiency.

Lysander looked up and noticed that Corinna was watching them
curiously.  Their eyes met and her eyebrow quirked in an interrogatory
gesture identical to his own.

"Would you like something to eat, my lady?"  Tamsin asked, blithely
unaware of the unspoken message which had passed between brother and
sister.

Corinna shook her head.

"Nay, or I shall have no appetite for my dinner," she announced with a
smile.

"Thank you, that will be all for now, Mrs.  Barton."  Lysander nodded
dismissal.

Tamsin curtsied and withdrew.

"She's a very pretty little thing," Corinna murmured.

Lysander coughed.

"Aye."

Corinna grinned.

"You never mentioned so in your letter.  Nor how young she is."

"Does it matter?"  Lysander sat down opposite her.

Corinna smoothed the violet skirts of her woollen travelling gown.

"Aren't you going to tell me all about her?"  she invited sweetly.

"You obviously like her."

"If you are implying that there is anything untoward in the
relationship, you are far out," Lysander replied with a bland
expression that belied the sudden quickening of his pulse.

"Really?  Then why haven't you dispatched her back to the country?"

"She doesn't want to go.  Her aunt wants to force her into wedding a
man she cannot stomach."

Corinna fell silent.  Her curiosity had been intrigued by the orphan
her brother had rescued, particularly as she was now sure he hadn't
told her the whole tale in his letters.  However, she could not help
but feel sympathy for the wench if she had run away to avoid an
unwanted marriage.

"You needn't worry.  I am not such a fool as to lose my head over Mrs.
Barton."  Lysander gave her a quick smile.

"I feel responsible for her, but, to be honest, I have done well out of
my impulsive act of charity.  She works hard and she is extremely
efficient.  The whole household now runs like one of Charles's beloved
clocks."

"How is his Majesty?"  Corinna asked, diverted.

"Is he still epris with the lovely Barbara?"

For a few moments they discussed Charles's current favourite, the
gorgeous Mrs.  Palmer who had captured his eye at The Hague a few weeks
before the Restoration.

"She has a great deal of influence over him.  He is deeply
infatuated."

A slight frown touched Lysander's brow.  Barbara was amazingly
beautiful, but she was greedy and had a shocking temper when
thwarted.

Instead of buying jewels he couldn't afford to decorate her graceful
white neck, Charles ought to be spending the money on paying the long
overdue wages of his sailors.

"Do you think he will give her husband a title to keep him sweet?"

Corinna enquired, unlocking the little tea cabinet.

"I expect so."  Lysander shrugged, suddenly impatient with the
conversation.  He didn't blame Charles for falling under Barbara's
spell.  Her sensual beauty was enough to arouse a dead man and she
could be amusing company when she wished, but he was disappointed that
his old friend was not willing to devote as much time to business as he
was to the pursuit of pleasure and bed sport

"Then no doubt Roger Palmer will think his cuckold's horns worth it."

There was a bitter note in Corinna's voice.  She measured out the tea
to her satisfaction.

"The pain of adultery can usually be soothed by the application of
gifts, or so I'm told."

Forgetting his disenchantment with the way the Court was turning out,
Lysander shot her a questioning look.

"Have you quarrelled with Pierre?"

Corinna bit her lip.  She had forgotten how perceptive he was!

"I

didn't mean to tell you but, since you ask, that's the reason why I
decided to visit London now instead of waiting to sail with Queen
Henrietta-Marie in the autumn.  "

This had been her original intention, but she could not bear to watch
her husband lavishing his attentions upon a new mistress, a
lady-in-waiting to Marie-Therese, King Louis's Spanish wife.

"I don't expect perpetual fidelity from him."  Corinna poured the
boiling water upon the tea leaves.

"However, to have to stand by and watch that woman crow over me 'in
triumph is beyond my patience."

Last year, when Pierre had thought himself in love with the Duchesse,
she had told herself it was a temporary aberration.  She had been able
to maintain her composure, secure in the knowledge he would come back
to her when the affair fizzled out.

It had helped that the Duchesse, a lady of great charm, was actually
older than herself and no particular beauty.  Her new rival was young
and pretty and she lacked the Duchesse's tact, flaunting Pierre's
besotted adulation in Corinna's face.

"Do you want me to?"

"No!  You must not attempt to interfere," Corinna interrupted, seeing
anger flare into his green eyes.

"It is my problem."  Corinna shrugged.

"After all, you did warn me."

Tt gives me no satisfaction to be proved right.  " Lysander strove to
restrain his desire to break his brother-in-law's neck.

Corinna poured the tea.

"It is my hope that he will miss me enough to abandon her."  A sigh
escaped her.  At the moment that didn't look likely!

"Did Pierre object to you leaving?"

Corinna shook her head.

"He was as amiable as ever and wished me a pleasant journey."  She
handed Lysander the dish of tea.

"But you mean to return?"

"Of course."  Corinna looked surprised.

"I am out of charity with him at the moment, but he is still my
husband."

"You could always come and live with me."

Corinna smiled at him.

"You are very kind, dear heart, but I have no intention of giving up my
position.  Pierre would never agree to divorce me."

Lysander was silent.  Corinna would not be free to make a new life for
herself while she was legally tied to the Comte and her situation would
be dubious.

"If I desert Pierre, I run the risk of being ostracised by society,"
Corinna said, echoing his thoughts.

"And I have no desire to lead my life as an outcast."  She took a sip
of her tea.

"Sooner or later, he will lose interest in her.  I shall just have to
be patient.  After all, it is a virtue I have managed to learn in other
spheres."

A look of sadness flickered in her dark hazel eyes and Lysander guessed
her thoughts.  A year after her marriage, Corinna had borne a
still-born child.  The Comte de Montargis's disappointment had been
great and a certain coolness had crept into the marriage.  Corinna was
desperate to give him a son and her failure to conceive again had been
a bitter blow to her hopes.

"We must ensure you enjoy yourself while you are waiting for Pierre to
come to his senses," Lysander said, assuming a deliberately cheerful
tone.  She had been to several doctors to no avail and he knew she
would not discuss the subject of her childlessness.

"I intend to."  Corinna gave him a wicked grin.

"Who knows, I might even take a lover!"

"A somewhat drastic way to teach Pierre a lesson," Lysander commented
drily, raising the dish of tea to his lips.

"Perhaps."  Corinna laughed.

"Shall you take your own vows so seriously, I wonder?"

His frown made her drop her teasing tone.

"Lysander?  Has something gone wrong with your wooing of the widow?"

He shook his dark blond head.

"Not in the sense you mean.  However, I must admit to some second
thoughts."

"But why?"  Corinna gazed at him in surprise.

"You are twenty-eight.

High time you chose a wife.  "

Lysander knew it.  After all, his father had two sons to succeed him
before he was twenty.

The thought triggered a nicker of sadness.  War had deprived both his
elder brothers of the chance to inherit.

Still, Corinna was right.  Duty demanded he continue their name.

"Papa was ten years younger than you when he married and he was very
happy," Corinna said encouragingly.

"Besides, you will need a great deal of money if you are to restore
Melcombe to its former state and Jane Godolphin is rich."

"Charles has agreed to pay me a pension in honour of our father's
bravery."

"It's barely enough to support you in the style of a gentleman, let
alone refurbish Melcombe."

"He has many other claims upon his purse."

"But he would not be here today if Papa had not saved his life at
Edgehill," Corinna retorted.

Lysander admired this piece of feminine logic.

"Do you remember Father telling us about it when he came home on leave
that time?"  he asked with a sudden grin.

Corinna nodded.  She had been barely six years old, but the story of
Sir James's daring rescue of the Prince of Wales and his younger
brother, the Duke of York, was engraved upon her memory.

It had happened towards the end of the battle when Sir John Hinton, who
had been in charge of the princes, had become cut off in the fading
light.  A body of Parliamentary Horse came riding towards the royal
party and, confused by their direction into thinking them friends,
Charles and his brother James had moved towards to meet them.

Suddenly recognising them for Parliamentary troopers, Hinton had begged
Charles to retreat.

"Papa said he could hear Charles shouting " I fear them not" at the top
of his voice as he whipped out his pistol ready to charge them!"

Corinna laughed.

"Aye."  Even at thirteen his friend had been brave, if foolhardy!

"He was lucky that trooper wasn't mounted on a better horse."

A trooper out for glory had broken ranks and dashed forward to capture
Charles.  Sir James, coming upon the scene, had immediately galloped to
the Prince's rescue.  He had intercepted the trooper and pole-axed him,
his brave action allowing the royal party time to get away.  The
subsequent arrival of his own men caused the rest of the Parliamentary
troop to change their minds and withdraw.

Corinna's reminiscent smile faded.

"Have you changed your mind?  About restoring Melcombe, I mean?"  she
asked uncertainly.

"No!"

"Then how do you propose to go about it unless you marry money?"

Lysander shrugged.  This question had been exercising his mind of
late.

"As yet, I have not come up with a better solution," he admitted.

"You sound as if you wish you could!"  Corinna's heart- shaped face
wore an expression of confusion.

"It isn't like you not to know your own mind, Lysander."

"I am not quite fool enough to give up such a prize as Jane."  His tone
was bitterly self-depreciatory.

"I don't understand," Corinna said slowly.

"You told me she was an attractive woman.  Have you discovered some
hidden fault in her?"

"Nay.  She is entirely without blame."  Lysander shrugged.

"However, I cannot envisage her as my wife."

"You have been too long a bachelor, dear heart."  Coming to the
conclusion that the problem must lie in his reluctance to lose his
freedom, Corinna smiled at him sympathetically.

"Once you ask Mistress Godolphin to marry you, these symptoms will
disappear."

"No doubt you are right!"  With an amused shrug that masked his true
feelings, Lysander began to talk of the plans he had made for her
visit.

The day after the Comtesse's arrival was Saint James's Day and Mistress
Godolphin invited Lysander and his sister to supper.  They came home
late and, while Corinna went straight upstairs declaring her intention
of seeking her bed, Lysander paused in the hallway to speak to
Tamsin.

"You should not have waited up," he said to her quietly.

"I thought someone should and Master Cooper was tired."  Tamsin gave a
little shrug.

"The gardener you hired did not come so we spent the afternoon
weeding."

Which explained the green stains on her fingers, he supposed.

"Thank you.  I shall find out why and hire someone else if
necessary."

"There is no need to thank me, my lord."  Tamsin was tempted to remind
him of her indebtedness, but decided not to risk annoying him by
mentioning it.  There was a faint frown between his brows and she
couldn't help wondering if he had enjoyed his evening.

"I like gardening."

He smiled at her suddenly, his frown vanishing.

"So do I, although I cannot claim much experience or skill."

Tamsin caught her breath.  Oh, why did he have to be so heartbreakingly
handsome!

"I... I must lock the front door," she muttered, suddenly anxious to
put some distance between them.

"I'll do it.  I can reach the bolt more easily."  Lysander turned at
the same time and Tamsin bumped into him.

Her face flamed.

"I'm ... I'm sorry."  In a panic she tried to move away, but her
stubborn limbs refused to obey her and of its own volition a slow
inviting smile began to curve her lips.

Her skirts were brushing against his thigh and he could smell the
rosemary with which she had washed her hair.  If he put out his hand
the merest inch, he would encounter her warm flesh.  Taking a deep
breath, Lysander stepped back.

"You get off to bed, killing," he said in his most avuncular tone.

"I'll see to everything down here."

Sense returned in a blinding flash of shame.  With a little gasp,
Tamsin snatched up a candlestick from the hall table and fled.

Lysander watched her go, desire tightening his loins.

God's teeth, if she was a year or two older he would have taken her at
her word!

An angry frown creased his forehead as he locked the door and blew out
the remaining candles.  Striding up the stairs, he entered his closet
and, throwing off his hat and cloak, poured himself a large bumper of
brandy.

He sat down in his favourite chair to drink it, his thoughts
seething.

There was a coquettish magic in that warm curving of her lips.  Was it
as unconscious as it was alluring?  Or did she mean what her
provocative smile promised?  He knew she enjoyed his company--they had
spent too much time together for him to be mistaken on that score--but
her flirtatious behaviour could be the result of giddy innocence.

Girls of her age often wanted to test out their powers of attraction
and any man would do as well as another.

Damn it, he must be imagining things!  Certes, she liked him, but she
was much too young and innocent to want him to make love to her!

The matter settled to his satisfaction, Lysander heaved a sigh of
regretful relief and, finishing his brandy, went off to bed.

The following morning Corinna expressed the wish to visit | St. 
James's Fair.

"It is an age since I attended a fair," she announced with a wheedling
smile at her brother.

Lysander gave in.

"You'd better take Marie to attend you.  Knowing you, you'll want to
buy an armful of fairings and I'm damned if I am carrying them around
like a looby."

Corinna laughed and promised him he should not be called upon to act as
her footboy.

However, when she rang for Marie, it was Tamsin who answered the
bell.

"I am afraid your maid is indisposed, my lady," she replied in answer
to Corinna's enquiry.

"She has a stomach ache.  I think the lamprey pie we had for supper
last night disagreed with her."

No one else in the household had been sick, so Tamsin was sure that the
pie could not have been bad.  It was just ill luck that it had set the
Frenchwoman retching.

"I thought she looked a little green when she brought me my
washing-water."

"I have given her an infusion of dill and peppermint to help settle her
stomach, but I think she should stay a-bed, my lady."

A vexed frown touched Corinna's wide mouth.  While she felt sorry for
Marie, it was annoying to have her plans upset.

She eyed Tamsin thoughtfully.

"Do you like fairs, Mrs.  Barton?"

Tamsin had little experience of fairs.  She had sneaked off once with
Sam to visit one, but they had both received such a thrashing from his
mother that they had never dared try again.  Unwilling to admit to her
ignorance, she nodded cautiously.

"Good."  Corinna's expression brightened.

"Then I want you to attend me today."

She smiled at Tamsin's astonishment.

"Run along and change out of that working-dress, petite.  My brother
hates to be kept waiting."

Tamsin's spirits lifted.  In spite of her idiotic loss of control last
night, she yearned for Lysander's company and the thought of spending
several hours in his presence was enough to banish any misgivings.

The fair, which ran for fourteen days after St.  James's Day, was held
in the road leading from St.  James's Palace to Tyburn.  By the time
Lysander and his companions arrived it was in full swing.  People
dressed in their best swarmed amongst the booths that had been set up
and the noise was tremendous.  Fiddles screeched and drums beat as a
stilt- walker and a fire-eater performed their tricks and the owners of
the booths bawled their wares.

Tamsin stared at a troop of jugglers, her eyes wide with wonder as
their balls and hoops spun up into the warm morning air.

"What should you like to do first?"  Lysander asked his sister, but his
gaze strayed to Tamsin.

S'death, her eyes were like stars!

Corinna's glance followed his and she hid a smile.

"I think I should like to stroll about and see what's here," she
replied.

Lysander offered each of them an arm and, colouring with pleasure at
this unexpected distinction, Tamsin placed her hand upon his dark
broadcloth sleeve.

For once she felt as finely clad in her blue gown as her companions,
who had both taken the precaution of dressing more plainly than
usual.

In such a crowd it was easy to spoil delicate, expensive fabrics and
Lysander had no wish to deliberately invite the attentions of
cut-purses, who, he had assured Tamsin, were rife at such gatherings.

For this reason he had also advised his sister to leave her jewellery
at home and she wore only her wedding-band and small pearls in her
ears.  Tamsin decided, however, that no matter how plainly he dressed,
only a fool would make the mistake of thinking Sir Lysander Saxon
anything other than a gentleman of high rank.

It was his proud bearing that betrayed him.  That arrogant tilt of his
blond head and his innate air of command spoke of good breeding. 
Allied to his startling good looks, it was no wonder he drew every
feminine eye!

Tamsin restrained a sigh.  It wasn't fair!  How was a simple country
girl to resist such a man?

They paused to watch a puppet-show and Lysander derived more pleasure
from Tamsin's enjoyment than the entertainment.  When it was finished
he bought them all a beaker of julep each to cool their thirst.

The sweet fruity taste lingered on Tamsin's tongue as they strolled
on.

"Do you want to see the Celebrated Italian Dwarf?"  Lysander asked,
stopping outside one of the booths.

Corinna laughingly declined, rather to Tamsin's disappointment, and
they moved on to where a row of stalls selling ribbons and jewellery
had been set up.

"Those pink ribbons are pretty."  Corinna pointed out a bunch and the
stall-keeper, scenting a sale, pounced.

"Cheapest at the fair, my ribbons are, and the best.  You'll not find
finer anywhere in London, my lady."  She snatched up the bunch Corinna
had admired and thrust them at her.

"They suit you, mistress, on my oath!"

"How much?"  Lysander enquired.

The woman named a scandalously high price, but when Corinna shook her
head and would have walked on she dropped it by half.

"That's reasonable."  Corinna reached for her purse, but Lysander waved
her to put it away.

"Thank you, dear heart."  Corinna smiled at him and took the ribbons.

She admired them for a moment and then handed them to Tamsin to put in
the small basket she carried, which already held some sweetmeats and
other fairings.

Corinna began to inspect the goods on the next stall, leaving Lysander
to conclude payment.  Tamsin moved to follow her.

"Wait."  She turned back and Lysander handed her a bunch of turquoise
satin ribbons.

"I'll take both bunches," he said to the woman on the stall and Tamsin
stared at him speechlessly as he handed over the necessary coins.

He took her arm and urged her forward to rejoin the Com- tesse.

"I... I can't take these," she finally managed to splutter.

"You must.  They match your lovely eyes."

"But... but--' " Tamsin, it's only a fairing.  " Lysander smiled at her
gently.

"Surely it cannot offend your Puritan principles to accept so trifling
a gift?"

She was silent for an instant and then smiled back at him.  Thank
you.

They are lovely.  "

Tamsin put the ribbons into the basket, her heart singing.  He might
have described them as a trifling gift, but she would always treasure
them as proof of his thoughtfulness.

And as a reminder of his unexpected compliment!

"Look!  There is an astrologer here," Corinna exclaimed, pointing out a
small tent which was decorated with a painted moon, six stars and an
outstretched hand.

"I think I shall have my fortune told."

Lysander grinned at her.  Astrology was extremely fashionable and most
people believed one's birth chart held all the secrets of the future.

Lysander was unconvinced.

"Shame on you, brother!"  Corinna laughed when he voiced his
scepticism.

Tamsin was rather inclined to agree with Lysander.  Her aunt had
condemned astrology as a branch of witchcraft and, while Tamsin was
more open-minded, she suspected that an astrologer reduced to making
his living at a fair might not be the best exponent of the art.

Undeterred, Corinna moved towards the tent.

"Do you wish to consult the stars.  Mistress Barton?"

Tamsin was tempted.  However, she had very little money left and she
did not wish to waste it.  Knowing that Lysander would doubtless offer
to pay for her if she showed interest, she shook her head firmly.

"Very well.  We shall leave you here to wait for us."  Cor- inna took
her brother's arm.

"Don't move," Lysander commanded.  He had no interest in consulting the
astrologer, but he did not mean to leave his sister alone with the
fellow.  In spite of her present high spirits, Corinna was in a
vulnerable state of mind and could be easily upset if the rogue started
to spout the wrong kind of nonsense about faithful husbands and a
quiverful of babies.

They disappeared into the tent and Tamsin set down her basket.  It
wasn't heavy, but the day had grown very warm and her hand was feeling
sticky.  She was glad, however, that she didn't have to wear a vizard
mask to protect her reputation like the Comtesse--her face was hot
enough as it was.  Being a servant had a few advantages!

A grimace twisted her lips.  Perhaps it was as well she was growing
used to the role for it seemed likely it was to be her destiny.  She
would not, could not, return to Whiteladies and she needed employment,
especially if she could not find her father.

Nat the coachman, in whom she had partially confided, had advised her
to post a notice in St.  Paul's Cathedral asking if anyone had any
information about the man she sought.  Tamsin had been surprised at
this suggestion, but Nat had assured her that it was one of the best
places to garner news.

"Lord love you, Mrs.  Tamsin, there's any amount of such business goes
on there!  If you wants a servant, you posts a notice outside one of
the small shops between the buttresses.  Aye, and the printing-press in
the crypt can fix you up with the very advertisement if you've a mind,"
he'd said.

Tamsin was debating the idea.  She would ask Martha what she thought
the next time she saw her.  After their talk the other day Sir Lysander
had given her permission to visit her former nurse whenever she liked,
providing she took Luke with her.

"Help!  Thief!  Stop, I say!"

A loud feminine voice cut into Tamsin's cogitations and she looked up
to see a tall, pock-marked youth hurtling to 5

wards her being chased by a dark-haired girl in a vivid red gown.

Without conscious thought, she sprang forward and grabbed the boy by
the arm.

"Le' go!"  He struck out with his free hand, punching her in the
midriff with a force that winded her, but she hung on grimly.

The dark-haired girl's screams had attracted attention.  Made desperate
by the roar of condemnation that went up, the youth increased his
struggle to be free of Tamsin's clinging grip.

"Stupid bitch!"  he panted and swung a blow at her head which would
have felled her had not a strong hand shot out to prevent it landing.

With a yelp of fright, the youth stared up at the tall man who held his
wrist in a grip of steel.

"Scum!"  said Sir Lysander Saxon pleasantly.

"Give me one good reason why I should not break your neck."

Chapter Eight

Q^^ssfQ

1 hank you.  You were very brave," the dark-haired girl said to Tamsin
as they watched the would-be thief being dragged off.

Comma, emerging from the astrologer's tent after her brother, had
managed to persuade Lysander to release the miscreant into the custody
of the law.

Someone in the crowd had obligingly run to fetch a constable.  When
this well-fed individual had arrived, carrying his staff of office and
bristling with self-importance, Lysander had handed the youth over and
the crowd which had gathered drifted away.

"And my thanks to you, sir."  Turning to Lysander, the girl curtsied
low.  When she straightened there was admiration in her coal-black eyes
and her smile was warm.

"I don't know what I would have done without your help."

To Tamsin's surprise, Lysander's well-cut features remained
impassive.

"My pleasure, ma'am," he replied with a cool disinterest.

"Here, this is yours, I think."  Puzzled by his unusual hauteur, Tamsin
gave the girl her brightest smile as she held out the purse which the
thief had dropped during their struggle.  Tamsin had picked it up while
they were waiting for the constable.  Her hands had been shaking, she'd
noticed, but she was glad to see that they were steady again as she
dropped the purse into the girl's outstretched palm.

"Thank you again.  Mistress...?"  Her voice, surprisingly deep and
strong for a woman, rose in enquiry.

"Barton.  My name is Tamsin Barton."

"Molly Heron."  The girl touched her own breast lightly.

Her gaze drawn by the movement, Tamsin realised for the first time that
her new acquaintance was wearing a very low- cut gown, which revealed a
good deal of her voluptuous figure.  She had been too preoccupied to
notice it before or the paint which adorned Molly's bold-featured
face.

"If you no longer need our assistance, ma'am, we will take our leave,"
Lysander said in a politely dismissive voice.

Molly Heron nodded silently.

Lysander offered his arm first to Corinna and then turned to Tamsin.

"Mistress Barton?"  Impatience fringed his tone.

"One moment, my lord."  Rebellion stirred in Tamsin as she watched
Molly walk away.  She did not approve of his brusque manner and she
didn't care if he knew it!

With a quick movement she darted after Molly.

"Mistress Heron!"

Molly turned round.

"May I call on you?"  Tamsin asked shyly.

"On me?"

"I should like to reassure myself that you have not taken any harm from
your fright today."

"I reckon it's me who should be calling on you!"  Molly's black eyes
twinkled.

Tamsin grinned.

"To tell you the truth, Molly Heron, I am new to London and in sore
need of a friend of my own age.  I thought that perhaps..."  Her voice
trailed off uncertainly as she realised how forward her behaviour must
seem.

"We could be friends?  Aye, I should like that!"  Molly's contralto
voice was warm.

Her gaze flicked to where Lysander and his sister stood waiting.

"But won't those fancy mates of yours object?"

Tamsin gave a defiant shrug and Molly laughed.

"Like that,

is it?  Well, I lodge above Master Wintershall's, the stationers at the
sign of the Bible-in-the-Hand in Duck Lane.  I am in most mornings.

Come any day that suits you.  "

"I'll visit you as soon as I can."  Tamsin promised, memo rising the
address.

"Aye, do, but now you'd best go.  He's got a face on him like a
thundercloud."  Molly giggled.

"Damn handsome, though!  Wouldn't mind dancing Sallenger's Round with
him!"

Tamsin wasn't sure, but she rather thought this must be a bawdy
allusion.  Shock rippled through her, but there was such good humour in
the saucy wink that accompanied this bold statement that she couldn't
find offence in Molly's frankness.

With a last smile she bade Molly farewell and hurried back to where
Lysander and Corinna were waiting.

"Are you ready to leave now?"

A steely coldness froze his voice and Tamsin felt a nicker of
trepidation.

By the time they reached Wych Street this emotion had given way to
indignation.  She had done nothing wrong.  There was no reason for him
to be so cross with her.

Once inside the house she quickly excused herself and marched off to
the kitchen, her back ramrod stiff.

Lysander made a move to follow her, but was forestalled" by Corinna.

"Let her go, dear heart."

He quirked his eyebrow in enquiry and Corinna chuckled.

"Can't you see she is angry?"

"She is angry?"  A black scowl marred Lysander's handsome features.

Coiinna sighed.  She could see that he was in no mood to listen to her
advice.

"I think I shall go and rest on my bed for an hour or two," she
murmured.

"I don't know why, but I am devilishly sleepy these days."  A wry smile
touched her wide mouth.

"It must be all this fresh London air!"

"Do you want Tamsin to hold back dinner?"  Lysander asked, his scowl
fading.

Corinna shook her head.

"I am not hungry.  In fact, I feel quite queasy."

"Perhaps you've had too much sun," Lysander spoke lightly, masking his
concern.  Unlike Marie, Corinna had not eaten lamprey pie last night.

In fact, she had sampled very little of Jane's lavish feast, either.

Hoping that her lack of appetite did not signal the onset of some
illness, he offered to escort her to her room.

"Nay, I can manage," Corinna refused him.

Lysander watched her climb the stairs and then turned on his heel.

The kitchen was a hive of activity.  All four members of his staff were
busily engaged in preparations for dinner and his entrance went
unnoticed for a moment.

"I wish to speak to you.  Mistress Barton."  Tamsin looked up from the
sauce she was stirring.

"Now."

Tamsin was tempted to refuse, but the look on his face told her he was
perfectly capable of dragging her out of the kitchen if she dared.

"Very well."  Beckoning Dinah from her task of chopping vegetables, she
told her to stir the sauce until it was smooth.

"And, Luke, make sure you keep turning that spit or the roast will
burn.  It's nearly ready so be careful."

Lysander stood waiting for her to finish her instructions, his foot
tapping impatiently.

"Don't worry, I'll see that nothing spoils."  Matthew paused in his
polishing of the silverware which was to grace the dining-table.

She could see that he had sensed the strained atmosphere and his
reassuring smile heartened her as she followed Lysander into the
hallway.

Once out of earshot Lysander halted.  Tamsin had been expecting him to
lead the way into the parlour and her expressive face revealed her
surprise.

"This won't take long," he said tersely.

"You are to have nothing to do with that girl."

"What gives you the right to dictate my friends?"

Her curt demand made his face darken.

"The fact that you appear to have no sense," he retorted.

"There is no need to be rude--' " If you had remained quietly by the
astrologer's tent as I ordered, you wouldn't have got into
difficulties," Lysander continued inexorably.

"You could have been seriously hurt."

Tamsin bit her lip.  He was right and she knew it.

"I didn't mean to disobey you," she confessed.

"I heard Mistress Heron screaming for help and acted without
thinking."

"You have a kind heart, killing."  Lysander's tone softened.

"And it was brave of you to go to her aid, but you must learn not to
act on impulse.  It can be dangerous."

"You acted on impulse when you rescued me," Tamsin said softly.

Lysander stared down into her lovely face.

"Aye," he replied, his voice suddenly hoarse.

That impulsive action had proved more dangerous than he could have
dreamt!

Tamsin sensed the change in him.  His green eyes were glittering and
she could see a pulse beating at the base of his throat.  Her own blood
was racing within her veins and a fierce yearning for his touch
exploded in the pit of her stomach.

For a long silent moment the warm still air seemed to vibrate as their
gaze locked and the passion they were both struggling to suppress
fought for freedom.

Tamsin's mouth was dry with tension.  Nervously, she licked her lips.

With an effort Lysander wrenched his gaze from her mouth and crushed
the desire rising in him.

"I understand why you put yourself at risk to help Mrs.  Heron, but you
must not see her again."

"Why not?"  Tamsin's anger, which had been temporarily blocked by the
bewildering sensations his ardent gaze had provoked, boiled up again.

"She isn't a suitable companion for you."

"You know her?"

"Not in the sense of having been introduced."  He shook his blond head
impatiently.

"I've seen her at the Red Bull Playhouse.  She is one of the
orange-girls there."

Seeing she hadn't a clue what he was talking about, Lysander began to
explain.

"Various refreshments are sold in theatres.  You can get drinks, China
oranges, lemons, sweetmeats.  The cost is exorbitant--' " You think her
a cheat for overpricing her wares?  "

"That's not my point."  Lysander swept aside this interruption with a
brusque wave of one hand.

"Then what has her job got to do with anything?"  Tamsin demanded in
angry confusion.

"Orange-sellers trade on their looks.  They stroll among the benches,
encouraging men to handle them in whatever familiar manner they
fancy."

Tamsin blushed as the implication of what he was saying sank in.

"You mean..."

"Aye, they sell themselves."  Lysander's tone was curt as he nodded
confirmation.

"Most of them are no better than the whores at Madam Cole's."

Tamsin's-hands clenched into fists.

"Maybe some of those women would choose another way to earn their
living if they had the opportunity," she snapped.

"And some women are born whores," Lysander replied harshly.

"Unless I mistake my guess, your Molly Heron finds it as easy to sell
her body as she finds selling oranges."

"You can't know that for sure!"  Tamsin's blush deepened into red flags
of temper flying in her thin cheeks.

"What do you know of such matters?"  Lysander shot back.

"You have no more experience of the world than a new-born babe."

"I may be young and inexperienced, but I am not stupid!"

"Do not presume to argue with me, my girl.  You are to keep away from
that tickle-tail!"

His arrogance fanned the flames of Tamsin's fury.

"I will see Mrs.  Heron whenever I choose!"

Lysander took a deep breath and silently counted to ten.

"You think me unreasonable, but believe me, I have only your best
interests in mind," he said in a quieter tone.

"Even if Mrs.  Heron is not what I think, she still frequents a world
that is wholly unsuitable for an innocent like yourself."

Why did he keep harping on about her innocence?  She had already
guessed Molly was no saint!

"I do not intend to patronise the theatre, my lord," she said in a cool
little voice.

"Nor do I intend to mix with Mrs.  Heron's friends."

"You may find that more difficult than you anticipate."

Tamsin shrugged carelessly.

A hankering to wring her neck began to possess Lysander.

"And if I forbid you to see her on pain of leaving this house?"  he
said roughly.

"You... you wouldn't be so... so tyrannical?"  Tamsin gulped.

Gazing down into her wide eyes, Lysander knew his threat- to be
empty.

"I should," he muttered.

"But I won't."

Tamsin heaved a sigh of relief.  Shooting a glance at him through her
thick lashes, she saw that he was still frowning.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, surprising herself.

"I don't mean .  to be such a nuisance to you.  It's just that I want
to make my own decisions."

"You are so young."  Lysander said, almost to himself.

A wry grimace tugged at Tamsin's mouth.

"You think me a child, but how am I to learn to stand on my own two
feet if I never get a chance to do things for myself?"

Lysander was silent.

Living with her Aunt Deborah, she had never had the opportunity to
choose her own path.  Now, having had a taste of freedom, the
rebellious streak which had enabled her to survive her aunt's harsh
dominion was flowering into a yearning for independence.

"Please don't be angry with me.  I hate it when we quarrel." 
Lysander's sombre expression gave way to an ironic smile.  Realising
what he was thinking, Tamsin continued hastily, "I know I have rejected
your advice before, but I swear I will be careful this time."

"You promise to take Luke with you?"  Holding her breath, Tamsin
nodded.

"Very well.  You may call on Mrs.  Heron, but I don't want you gadding
about town with her.  Stick to visiting her lodgings if you must."

Tamsin expelled her breath in a rush of relief.

"Thank you!"  Ly sander fixed her with a stern look.

"Above all, don't let her inveigle you into accompanying her to the
theatre!"

"Oh, I won't!"  Tamsin gave him a sunny smile.

"I am still too much of a Puritan to have any desire to visit a
playhouse, my lord!"  she announced and, bobbing a curtsy, excused
herself to return to the cooking.

Charles Stuart ducked his head as he moved into the shelter provided by
the canopy of the shallop.

"Odsfish, what a foul evening!"

Climbing down into the boat, Lysander shook the rain out of his eyes
and followed his friend.

"At least the christening went well.  Sire."

Charles grinned.

"The poor brat cried so loud I was afeared I should drop him!"  He
beckoned Lysander to join him on the seat beneath the canopy.

"Come and sit down and tell me how goes your wooing of the rich
widow."

They had been to the Tower, where Charles had acted as godfather to Sir
John Robinson's child.  Robinson, a fervent Royalist, had been a
colonel in the Civil War and had played a part in bringing about the
Restoration.  As a reward he had been given the important post of
Lieutenant of the Tower as well as a baronetcy.

A rich man, he had provided a splendid dinner to follow the
christening.  Lysander had been one of the guests and had greatly
enjoyed the occasion.  Charles's innocent question,

however, had reminded him there was no easy escape from his dilemma.

"The courtship is proceeding as planned," he replied lightly, masking
his inner misgivings.

"I think Mistress Go- dolphin will accept my suit."

"I shall expect an invitation to the wedding!"  Charles sensed there
was something Lysander was not telling him, but decided not to probe.

Lysander was a complex man, not given to displaying emotion, and he did
not appreciate curiosity, even from close friends.

"Does she accompany you to Melcombe next week?"  he continued, raising
his voice against the thunder rumbling in the air.

Lysander shook his head, setting the wet feathers on his be plumed hat
dripping.

"Nay.  Her uncle wishes to return home to Rye to see to some business
and I believe Jane may go with him."

Jane owned a house in Mermaid Street.  It had belonged to her family
for some generations and she had returned to live there after the death
of her second husband.

"I dislike the place," she had told him when he had asked why she did
not live at Thomhill, the estate which had come to her from her first
marriage.

They had been strolling arm-in-arm in the Mulberry Gardens enjoying the
fresh morning coolness at the time.  The gardens had been quiet at that
early hour and the peaceful atmosphere had apparently encouraged Jane
to confide in him.

"My father was an extremely wealthy wool merchant.  I was his only
surviving child and he wanted me to marry well.  The advent of war
hastened the marriage he had arranged for me.  I was barely fourteen
when Lord Cowley took me to his bed."

Jane repressed a shudder.  Her wedding night had not been a pleasant
experience.  His lordship, an ardent Royalist, had been forty-five and
fat.  Luckily, he had gone off almost immediately to rejoin the
fighting.

"I shed no tears when I learnt that he had been killed at Naseby a few
months later."

She had barely known Robert, but in becoming his widow she had become a
tempting prize.  The wide acres of Thomhill and her father's legacy
encouraged Major Denham to lay siege to her.  His troop of
Parliamentary Horse ruled the district and Jane had found herself with
no choice but to accept the Major's suit.

To her relief, Joshua proved a better lover, but he was a hot-tempered
man, much given to finding fault.  Living with him had been a great
strain on her nerves.

"I respected Joshua, but I did not care for him.  Perhaps if we'd had
children I might have been happier."  A sigh shook Jane's shapely
shoulders.  She had miscarried twice and their only living child had
died aged six months of the spotted fever.

Lysander had murmured a few words of comfort and wondered what had
prompted Jane to cast aside her usual coquettish manner.

"Uncle Edward was my chief support in those dreadful times.  Oh, I know
he is vain and inclined to be worldly, but he has always been very kind
to me.  When Joshua broke his leg out hunting he was there to help
me."

The Major's leg had refused to heal and to everyone's horror the wound
had become poisoned.  He had died slowly and painfully.

"Whenever I visit Thornhill I can still hear Joshua's screams and
curses."  Jane shivered in spite of the warm sunlight now bathing the
grass walk.

"I could not live there."

After a moment's silence she continued, "That's one of the reasons why
I reverted to using my maiden name.  Both my marriages were unhappy and
I want to forget the past."  She turned her grey eyes on Lysander.

"Indeed, I hope to sell Thomhill."

Lysander nodded, understanding, dawning on him.  Her future husband
might think to inherit a handsome estate and feel peeved to find it
sold.  She was warning him what to expect.

"If you detest the place, then selling is the best course," he replied
firmly.

The tension evident in Jane's buxom frame relaxed.

"I knew you would understand!"  she exclaimed.

"Uncle Edward said I should tell you and he was right."

"Your uncle is a shrewder man than he pretends."

Jane laughed.

"He has been enjoying our stay in London so much!  He is very sad that
he must leave."

She quickly explained that urgent business demanded Mr.  Fielding's
return to Rye.

"He lives in Church Square, quite close to my own house.  We see a lot
of each other.  In fact, I was thinking of returning with him.  London
is so hot and I heard rumours yesterday that several cases of plague
had been reported in Southwark."

She paused.

"You also intend to leave town soon, I believe?"

"I go to Melcombe next week."

Jane nodded.

"Country air is so much better for one at this time of year."  Her gaze
flicked hopefully to his face.

"Oh, indeed," Lysander had replied and smoothly changed the subject
without issuing the invitation she was so obviously angling for.

He had no desire to invite Jane Godolphin to Melcombe.  Not yet.

"So, what does Corinna have to say about your wooing?"

The King's voice recalled Lysander's wandering attention.

"She approves the match," he replied.

"You must bring her to court again before you leave for Melcombe."

Charles had a soft spot for Ly Sander's sister.

"Unfortunately, she has not been well these last few days.  In fact, I
may have to postpone my departure."

"Pray give her my best wishes for a speedy recovery."  Concern tinged
Charles's voice.

Lysander nodded and, ignoring the lightning and the rain drumming
noisily upon their flimsy shelter, Charles proceeded to engage him in
a discussion about his plans for Whitehall.

Lysander, who shared the King's interest in the sciences, knew Charles
wanted a proper laboratory to house his experiments.

"What do you think about constructing a Physic Garden?  It could
provide plants for my experiments and even medicines."

"I think it an excellent idea, Sire."

Such blameless pursuits might divert his attention from Barbara Palmer!
Their relationship was already the subject of much gossip, scandal
ising many ordinary folk, but the Court only laughed.

The reckless, dissolute pursuit of pleasure had become the hallmark of
most courtiers.  It was now fashionable to laugh at virtue in any
form.

Wit was prized above hard work and honesty.  Lysander had heard more
brilliantly amusing jokes in the last few months than he'd heard in all
his years of exile, but the humour was often cruel, mocking fidelity
and honour.

It was strange, he thought, almost as though in achieving their goal of
restoring the old order they had lost a lodestar to believe in.  The
horrors of war and exile had scarred everyone's soul, but he found it
disturbing that so many were determined to wash away the past in a
tidal wave of excess.

Jack had often accused him of being cynical and hardbitten, but
Lysander knew in his bones that he could not be content in this new
London for long.  To spend an occasional night gaming and drinking
until dawn was amusing.  To spend every evening in such meaningless
pursuits would bore him senseless!

The shallop was nearing Temple Stairs.

"Shall we drop you here or do you want to come back to Whitehall?"

Charles asked.

"Another time, if I may.  Sire."  Lysander was suddenly aware of having
been gone all day;

Charles nodded.

"If Corinna is not feeling any better," he said, guessing what lay
behind Lysander's polite refusal, 'let me know and I shall send my
personal physician.  "

Lysander thanked him and Charles ordered the boat to pull in.

Lysander disembarked with a lithe agility that made light of the
slippery, mud-coated stairs and, with a final wave of farewell, set off
for home.

"Thank God you are come!"  Matthew greeted him the instant he stepped
inside the house.

Shrugging off his wet cloak Lysander glanced at him sharply.

"What's wrong, Matt?"

"Tis Lady Comma.  She was took sick after dinner.  Fainted clean away,
she did."  Matt's homely face wore a look of anxiety.

"Where is she?"  Lysander thrust his wet hat at Matthew.

"In her chamber.  Mrs.  Barton is with her."

Lysander nodded and sprinted up the stairs.

Tamsin answered his gentle knock.  Laying a warning finger to her lips,
she whispered, "She is asleep," and ushered him into the room.

Lysander stared down at his sister's sleeping form.  Her face was pale,
but she was breathing easily and seemed to be comfortable.  Beckoning
to Tamsin, he moved away from the bed.

Out of earshot, he halted.

"What happened?"  he asked qui-.  etiy.

"After dinner Lady Corinna said she wanted to do some embroidery.  She
went into the parlour and sent Marie to fetch the new silks we bought
yesterday."

Lysander had escorted them on this shopping expedition to Westminster
Hall.  Tamsin had thought it strange to find stalls and booths there
sharing the ancient building with the law courts.  However, there
appeared to be a roaring trade in books and luxury goods and Corinna
had found exactly the right shades of embroidery silks that she
required.

"Then Marie came rushing into the kitchen to tell us that she had
returned to find her ladyship on the floor."  Tamsin's mouth tightened
involuntarily.  Marie had been worse than useless!

Wailing and carrying on fit to wake the dead instead of helping her
mistress!

Tamsin had been forced to banish the Frenchwoman from the parlour.

"I

think that Lady Corinna must have fainted.  She came round again after
a minute and Matthew helped me get her upstairs and into bed.  "

"Did you send for a doctor?"

Tamsin shook her head.

"She would not hear of it, saying she would be better presently if we
didn't fuss."

Lysander frowned.  Corinna shared Matthew's fervent dislike of
physicians.

"I didn't like to insist," Tamsin murmured apologetically.

Once she recovered her senses Corinna hadn't seemed ill.  She had no
fever or headache and complained only of tiredness.

"Don't worry.  You have done well."  Lysander was swift to reassure
her.

"Tomorrow I shall try to persuade her to change her mind and see a
doctor.  We cannot leave for Dorset until she is up to the journey."

"May I ask how long you will be away?"  Tamsin said timidly.

"Dinah and Luke are worrying, you see, if you wish to keep them on."

"Tell them their jobs are safe.  I mean to return to London quite
soon.

This visit to Dorset is merely by way of a reconnaissance to discover
what damage has been done.  "

Matthew, of course, would accompany his master, but Tamsin wondered
what on earth she was going to do with herself in Lysander's absence.

Even if she kept busy cleaning every inch of the house and furnishings,
there would still be too many empty hours left in which to miss him.

"You look tired."  Lysander noticed the little frown between her dark
copper brows and misinterpreted its cause.

"Go and get some rest.  I'll sit with her for a while."

Tamsin smiled, appreciating his concern.

"I'm not tired, sir," she said quietly.

"But I ought to go and check that preparations for supper are running
smoothly."

He nodded, but as she turned to go added impulsively, "Will you sup
with me?"

Tamsin hesitated.  The arrival of the Comtesse had prompted her to eat
her meals in the kitchen.  The decision to do so had been hers--she had
not wanted to intrude on his time with his sister.  In a sensible
corner of her mind she knew she ought to make some excuse now and
refuse his renewed invitation.

Enjoying his company was a dangerous delight!  It would be folly to
lose her heart to a man who could never be hers.

T hate eating alone.  " There was a persuasive note in his deep
attractive voice.

"And I have missed our teteatetes."

Until he had met Tamsin Barton, Lysander had subscribed to the usual
cynical view that the last thing one expected or, indeed, wanted in a
pretty young woman was an interesting mind.  It had been enlightening
to discover that he could actually enjoy a conversation with her.

It was odd, but the many differences between them simply didn't matter.
Their minds were in tune, almost as if they had been friends for a
long, long time.

"I should be glad to share your supper."  The words sprang unbidden to
Tamsin's lips and she realised with a little inward shiver that she
didn't want to be sensible!

Like a moth to the flame, she thought ruefully, but she knew that she
counted the risk well worth it.

The next morning Corinna was well enough to insist on attending
church.

"I don't need a doctor," she laughed, dismissing Ly sander's suggestion
as she rose from the breakfast- table.

"I merely over-ate at dinner and, since I did not think to loosen my
stays, paid the consequences for my greed!"

She seemed so much recovered, with a bloom in her cheeks that had been
missing for many a day, that Lysander dismissed his forebodings.

Corinna ordered Marie to fetch her best cloak.  While they were waiting
for the maid to return, Tamsin came into the parlour to check on the
fire which had been lit earlier to ward off the damp chill which
lingered in the air after last night's storm.

"Come with us to St.  Dunstan's, Mrs.  Barton," Corinna invited on
impulse.

Tamsin hesitated.  Her benefactor had invited guests to dinner and she
was anxious not to let him down.  She had got up very early to begin
preparations and had been busy ever since.

"How are things going in the kitchen?"  Lysander asked, guessing the
reason for her hesitation.

"Everything is under control, my lord," Tamsin murmured.

"Then come with us."  Lysander endorsed his sister's invitation with an
encouraging smile.

"The walk will do you good and I'm sure Matthew will keep an eye on
everything while you are out."

"You can rest your feet while you listen to the sermon," Corinna added
with a grin.

Delighted at this unexpected chance to be in Lysander's company, Tamsin
nodded assent and ran upstairs to remove her apron and brush her unruly
curls.

"Why did you invite her, Corinna?"  Lysander asked.

"Do you like her?"

He was surprised to discover how much her answer mattered to him!

"Her company pleases me," Corinna replied.

"Unlike Marie, she is cheerful!"

Her maid was homesick and her constant sighs were getting on Corinna's
nerves.

"If Louise had not left my service to get married just before I decided
to visit you, I would not have brought Marie at all," she informed
Lysander.

"Louise was your waiting-woman, was she not?"

"Aye, and a dear friend.  I did think I might look for her replacement
while I was here in England.  It would be pleasant to have someone
about me who spoke my native tongue, but there isn't much time to find
the right person."

Corinna shrugged.  She didn't want to choose in haste and then regret
it.  Everyone knew that a waiting-woman occupied a special place in her
mistress's household.  Her successful candidate would have to act as a
companion and confidante, secretary and maid all rolled into one.
Louise had played the virginals and was skilled at cards and Comma had
treated her almost as an equal, buying her handsome gowns and providing
her with a generous dowry when she had married.

Tamsin's return to the parlour was the signal for them to set off for
the church of St.  Dunstan-in-the-West, Ly Sander's preferred place of
worship, a short walk away.  Tamsin, who did not share her aunt's
extreme religious views, enjoyed the Anglican service with its hint of
ceremonial and the sermon, which had the additional advantage of being
shorter than the ones she was used to at home.

The service over, they walked home to Wych Street and Tamsin hurried
back to the kitchen.  To her relief, nothing had gone wrong with her
elaborate menu during her absenceA little after noon Lysander's guests
arrived and to his surprise, Mistress Godolphin was accompanied by his
cousin, Lord Fanshawe.

"Uncle Edward presents his apologies," Jane announced with a pretty
smile as Tamsin helped her remove her cloak.

"He has the earache."

Mr.  Fielding's ear was painful and swollen and, fearing he would cast
a damper upon the party, he had urged his niece to choose another
escort.

"I was sure you would find your cousin's company agreeable so I asked
him to take Uncle Edward's place."

"You don't mind, do you, coz?"  Jack enquired with a slightly nervous
look.

Knowing Jack would never dream of trying to cut him out with the
wealthy widow, no matter how much he liked her, Lysander told him not
to be such a gull-finch.

Jack grinned at this insult and handed his cloak to Tamsin with a
friendly wink and a jovial demand to know what she was cooking.

"The smells coming from your kitchen are delicious, ma'am!"

Tamsin laughed.

"I hope you will not be disappointed, my lord."

Jane's eyebrows rose at their banter.  She hadn't realised that Ly
sander's housekeeper was so young or so pretty!  She also appeared to
be on the best of terms with both men.  In fact, her manner was
altogether too friendly, in Jane's opinion, almost as if the wench
thought herself their equal!

"Shall we proceed, gentlemen?"  she murmured, a slight edge in her
normally dulcet tones.

"I'm sure Lady Corinna is wondering what is keeping us."

"Of course."  Reminded of his social obligations, Lysander offered her
his arm.

"She's in the drawing-room.  Let's go on up."

Jane threw Tamsin a cool smile as she swept past, but Tamsin had the
distinct impression that Mistress Godolphin did not like her.

Which is strange, she thought, since we've only just met!

Tamsin had heard a lot about the rich widow from Nat, who knew all the
latest gossip.

"On the catch for another husband, so they say," the coachman had
said.

"And guess who she's set her sights on?"  He'd tapped the side of his
nose and winked at Tamsin, who had stared back at him in puzzlement.

They had been interrupted at that point in their conversation and
she.

had never got around to asking him what he meant, but all of a sudden
she had a horrible feeling she knew.

"Lack-wit!"  she muttered to herself as she stamped back into the
kitchen.  Why hadn't she realised it before?  It was as obvious as the
nose on her face!  The question was, did Sir Lysander reciprocate the
lovely widow's interest?

Master Cooper was waiting on table and Tamsin had no chance to observe
her benefactor's behaviour towards his guest.  Busily arranging food on
their best dishes, she tried not to think about what was going on in
the dining-room.

"Don't look so worried, Mrs.  Barton," Dinah said as she helped Tamsin
add last-minute garnishes to the second course.

"They must like what you've cooked for 'em.  See, most of them dishes
is empty."

Matthew had removed the first course and the used dishes returned to
the kitchen bore witness to Dinah's encouraging remark.  The fricassee
of rabbit and the roast chickens had all been eaten and there were only
scraps left of the ox tongue and the beef pie.

Scattering a handful of blanched almonds over a dish of sallet, Tamsin
schooled her expression to cheerfulness and thanked Dinah for her
encouragement.

When she had sent the final sweetmeats up to the dining room, Tamsin
collapsed on to one of the kitchen-stools.

"Thank heavens!"  she muttered, stretching her stiff back.

She was hot, sticky and exhausted.

"Luke, broach that new barrel of small beer in the pantry.  I think we
all need a drink."

Luke rushed off happily to obey, leaving his sister to slip off her
shoes and rub her aching feet.

"I'm glad the master don't have fancy dinners every day," Dinah
declared.

Looking at the mountain of washing-up which had to be tackled, Tamsin
nodded in heartfelt agreement.

She was halfway through her mug of beer when Master Cooper came in.

"Sir Lysander wishes to thank you all for your efforts," he
announced.

He smiled at Tamsin.

"He wants you to come up to the dining-room, Mrs.  Barton, to receive
the congratulations of his guests."

Tamsin blushed.

"I don't think that's necessary," she demurred.

"Go on, Mrs.  Tamsin," Luke and Dinah chorused.

"Don't be shy, you deserves their praise."

"Aye, lass."  Matthew nodded smiling agreement.

"You've worked like a Trojan.  Come and accept the appreciation which
is your due."

Heartened by their support, Tamsin laughingly removed her stained apron
and allowed Matthew to usher her upstairs.

"Tamsin!"  Lysander leapt to his feet at their entrance and came to
draw her forward to join him at the head of the table.

"You have excelled yourself," he declared.

"That was the best dinner I've eaten this year."

"Aye, so say we all!"  chimed in Jack, thumping rousing affirmation on
the tabletop.

There was a distinct slurring in Lord Fanshawe's voice, but Tamsin was
so delighted by the warmth of Lysander's smile that she scarcely
noticed it.

"Congratulations, my dear.  Everything was perfect," Lady Corinna added
her thanks with a little nod of approval.

Still holding her by the hand, Lysander picked up his glass, a reckless
light in his green eyes.

"A toast!  To the prettiest cook in London!"

He took a deep swallow of his wine, his eyes fixed on her face.  Unable
to tear her gaze away, Tamsin could feel her heart pounding.

Lysander smiled down into her eyes.

"Will you join--' " I fear I have spilt some gravy on my dress," Jane
spoke up loudly, interrupting him before he could finish.

"Could you sponge it clean it for me, Mrs.  Barton?"

Ignoring the dark look cast her way by her host, Jane stood up and
continued coolly, "Now, if you please, before the stain sets and
becomes impossible to remove."

"Of course, ma'am."  Tamsin hid her annoyance and inclined her head
politely.

Lysander was still holding her hand.  For an instant his grip tightened
as she sought to remove her fingers, then he released her.

Jane sailed out of the room and, with a last smile for the rest of the
company, Tamsin followed her.

Jane had halted outside the withdrawing-room and was waiting for her.

"Come in here," she ordered crisply.

Puzzled, Tamsin obeyed.  To her surprise, Jane closed the door after
them.

"Your dress, ma'am," she began, a strange unease possessng her at the
sight of Jane's cold expression.

"I may need water to--'

"Never mind that now," Jane snapped and Tamsin blinked at the anger in
her voice.

"I didn't bring you here to attend to my gown," Jane continued in the
same hard tone and Tamsin realised she couldn't see any stain
disfiguring the glowing peacock lute string

"I wanted a word with you in private."

"Indeed, Mistress Godolphin?"  Tamsin struggled to maintain a polite
expression, but inwardly she was seething.  What was the matter with
the wretched woman?  She had been giving her cold looks ever since she
arrived and now, after all Tamsin's hard work, she had deliberately
spoilt her little moment of glory.

"I do not like the way you ape your betters, Mrs.  Barton.  You put
yourself forward too much, particularly around the gentlemen.  You are
a servant and I would have you remember it."

Tamsin's mouth fell open.  Was the widow so proud and puffed-up with
her own importance that she couldn't abide anyone else enjoying
attention?

"I'm sorry if my behaviour has given you offence," she replied
spiritedly, 'but I cannot see what need I have to apologise.  "

"Don't be insolent!"  Jane glared at her.

"I've seen the way you make sheep's eyes at Sir Lysander."

Tamsin gasped, but before she could deny this ridiculous accusation
Jane's hard voice hammered on.

"I am willing to make an excuse for you this time since you are young
and obviously foolish, but in future you will remember your place or I
shall have you dismissed."

Tamsin stiffened.

"You speak very boldly, ma'am," she retorted, anger lending her
courage.

"However, it is Sir Lysander who decides my employment, not you."

A sharp burst of laughter escaped Jane.

"If you think you can compete with me, you are even more naive than I
imagined.  Little idiot, he may have a fancy to you, but your pretty
face will hold no sway if I call him to heel."

Her narrow grey gaze raked contemptuously over Tamsin.

"Behave yourself and I'll let you stay on until I am married to Sir
Lysander, but I will not tolerate any further attempt on your part to
ingratiate yourself with him."

Married?  Had he asked her to marry him?

"Make no mistake, he wants me for his wife," Jane warned, reading her
expressive face.

"And when I am mistress here, I don't intend to house any would-be
rival so take this as fair warning of dismissal!"

Gemini, she was jealous!

Tamsin could scarcely believe it.  Shakily, she strove for composure,
her thoughts whirling.

"You are wrong.  Mistress Godolphin," she managed at last.

"I... I am merely grateful to Sir Lysander for his kindness, nothing
more."

She was lying and they both knew it.  In spite of all her efforts to
contain her feelings, she had fallen in love with Lysander Saxon.

Jane gave a disbelieving shrug.

"Deny it if you will.  Just don't imagine that his behaviour today
meant anything.  He might not show it, but he drank as much as Jack and
the smiles and compliments of a man flown with wine have no
substance."

She patted her elaborate ringlets into place and gave Tamsin a faintly
malicious smile.

"I suggest you save your maidenhead for another man, assuming you still
possess it, of course."

Tamsin paled.

"You insult me, mistress!  I have no intention of ... of..."

"If you don't want to bed him, then you should take care not to give
him and everyone else the impression that you do," Jane cut across
Tamsin's outraged protest, her voice as cold as ice.

A stricken look spread across Tamsin's expressive face and Jane's harsh
tone softened a little.

"You may think yourself in love with him, but heed my advice and forget
such folly before it is too late.

He is out of your league and you will only get hurt.  "

"Why should you care what happens to me, ma'am?"  Tarn- sin asked,
trying to hide her consternation.

"You mean nothing to me, I just don't want you causing trouble," Jane
responded promptly with a frankness that was more convincing than any
flattering evasion.

"And you seem too young and green to realise that his current
attraction won't last."

Was it just jealousy speaking or was there a core of truth in Jane's
warning?

"Believe me, he will not want you once he has satisfied his desire."

Jane gave a worldly little laugh.

"Why should he?  Men are fickle and pretty faces are ten a farthing in
London."

She gave Tamsin a pitying glance.

"Don't you see?  You have nothing else to offer him.  It is inevitable
that he will throw you out once your novelty wears off.  At best, he
might compensate you with a fat purse, but there's no guarantee you'll
get so much as a penny."

Tamsin stared at her, hot words of protest dying unspoken on her lips
as her shocked mind struggled to assimilate exactly what Jane was
saying.

Much as she longed to throw Jane's brutal verdict back in her face, she
was horribly afraid that the older woman was right about one thing at
least.

Falling in love with Lysander was a serious mistake!

Chapter Nine

Q^^r^Q

JVIrs Tamsin!  Come quick!  It's Lady Corinna, she's fainted again. 
"

Tamsin shot out of the kitchen at the sound of Luke's anxious cry.  By
the time she got into the parlour Corinna, who was lying on the floor
by the couch, was already coming round.

"Help me get her back on to the couch," she instructed Luke.

With his assistance this task was soon successfully accomplished.

"Thank you, Luke.  Now could you please go and ask Dinah to heat up
some milk?  I shall come and make a posset for her ladyship in a
minute."

With an audible sigh of relief, he hurried off, Tamsin picked up a book
which was on the floor.  Argenis, a satirical romance by John Barclay.
Corinna must have been reading it before she had fainted.  Putting it
safely out of harm's way she said, "How are you feeling, ma'am?  Shall
I send for a physician?"

Weakly Corinna shook her head.  Her smooth complexion was the colour of
whey and there were dark circles under her eyes.

"Is there any way I can make you more comfortable?  Would you like a
cushion for your head?"

"Don't fuss," Corinna murmured.

"You really ought to consult a doctor--' " I won't see one so there is
no point in badgering me," Corinna interrupted, her voice growing
noticeably stronger.

"I shall be perfectly all right in a minute."

Tamsin bit her lip.  She had no love for doctors herself, but surely
something must be wrong or why else would an otherwise healthy young
woman like the Comtesse keep fainting?

"If you don't mind my saying so, I think your brother will be angry if
you refuse to seek proper medical advice this time, my lady."

Corinna sighed.  She knew Tamsin was right.  Lysander would be furious
with her intransigence.

"I know you mean well, Tamsin, but, please, just let it rest."

She softened her refusal with a smile.

"Go and brew me one of your reviving possets, my dear."

Tamsin dipped an obedient curtsy and quietly left the room.

Returning to the kitchen she made the strengthening hot drink, which
she sweetened with honey, adding a little cinnamon and nutmeg.

"Take this to the Comtesse, Dinah," she instructed, suspecting that
Corinna might prefer the younger girl's attentions for the moment.

Tamsin had no wish to upset Lysander's sister.  Corinna had been kind
to her, often inviting Tamsin to go shopping with her or sit with her
while she did her embroidery.

Perhaps she feels sorry for me, Tamsin mused.  A stab of discomfort
made the skin between her shoulder-blades prickle as she remembered
Mistress Godolphin's abrasive behaviour a few days ago.  Her dislike
must have been obvious to everyone, she thought miserably.

Although she had done her best not to brood, Tamsin couldn't help
worrying about the harsh warning Jane had thrown in her face.  While it
was clear that the lovely widow had a low opinion of men, she had far
more experience of the world than Tamsin.  In her heart Tamsin felt
sure that Lysander would never behave in the cruel way Jane had
described, but uncertainty plagued her.

What if she was wrong?

It would be foolish to dismiss Jane's advice out of hand.  She had to
try and keep her feeling for her benefactor in check!  If she allowed
herself to surrender to the desire that tormented her whenever he was
near.  Tamsin's cheeks flamed.  What was the matter with her!  How
could she even think of wanting to lie with him!  Wasn't it shaming
enough that she had let her wanton attraction become obvious?  She had
been so embarrassed by this realisation that she had spent the last few
days trying to avoid him, an impossible task.

In one way, Tamsin was glad that Lysander was planning to go down to
Dorset tomorrow, but how was she going to cope if Lady Corinna's sudden
relapse prevented the trip?  She could barely look him in the face now
without remembering Jane's scornful words and blushing to the roots of
her hair.

Desperate to confide in someone, Tamsin had set out yesterday morning
to visit Martha, but her former nurse had not been home.  She had been
on the point of disconsolately returning to Wych Street when it
occurred to her that there was still time to call on Molly.

Walking quickly, she went north and left the city via Al- dersgate.

Within moments she had reached Duck Lane; to her relief, Molly answered
her knock.

"Tamsin!  I' wasn't expecting you until Friday."  Molly greeted her
with a surprised smile.

"Have I come at a bad time?"  Tamsin asked apologetically.

"Shall I go away?"

She had visited Molly twice since that day at St.  James's Fair and
they had also gone on a picnic to the water meadows of Chelsea.  Their
friendship had grown stronger with each occasion, but Tamsin didn't
want to impose on Molly's generous good nature.

"Don't be silly.  You are always welcome."  Molly took Tamsin's arm and
drew her inside, "I've got to leave for the theatre in an hour, but
that allows us plenty of time."

She waved Tamsin to take a seat on the big shabby couch which dominated
the untidy parlour and began to rummage hopefully amongst the clutter
decorating her sideboard for a couple of clean mugs.

"What brings you here?"  she enquired, glancing at Tamsin over her
shoulder.

"I thought you said you would be too busy to get away until Sir
Lysander had left town."

Tamsin swallowed hard.

"I... I need your advice."

"My advice?"  Molly chuckled.

"That's a new one!  Nobody's ever taken me for an oracle before!"

Triumphantly locating the desired pewter cups, she gathered up a jug of
ale and brought everything over to where Tamsin was sitting.

Setting the ale and mugs down on the rickety-legged table which stood
close by the couch she swept a pile of clothes off the nearest stool
with one casual flick of her hand and sat down in a rustle of orange
taffeta skirts.

A faint grin touched Tamsin's mouth for a moment.  That careless
gesture--indeed, the whole chaotic two-room apartment--faithfully
reflected Molly's extravagant personality.

Furnished with an odd mixture of her landlord's solid old fashioned
cast-offs and cheap bargains Molly had acquired, the small parlour was
cosy and inviting.  Molly had little money, but she had skilfully added
colour and a touch of glamour with some bright rugs, silk cushions and
a big gold- lacquered mirror.

In the tiny bedchamber which lay beyond the parlour, Molly had
brightened up Master Wintershall's shabby old oak furniture with vivid
crimson and gold striped bed- hangings and curtains.  Here, too, the
same comfortable confusion reigned.  Her brilliant gowns, dazzling
paste jewellery, cosmetics and bowls of fresh flowers had been
scattered around by Molly's liberal hand until the bedroom was like a
scented treasure-cavern glowing with light and colour.

It was as far removed as could be from the stiff formality of
Whiteladies where Aunt Deborah's insistence on pristine neatness had
been beaten into her dependants.  Once she had got over her initial
shock, Tamsin thought it was the kind of home she would have liked for
herself.

Tamsin had only felt this comfortable before in Lysander's closet,
which shared the same inviting atmosphere for all that Lysander and
Molly's personal tastes were very different.

Thinking of Lysander, she was reminded instantly of her problem and her
face fell.

"Here, get this down you and tell me why on earth you think I can
help," Molly declared in her rich contralto voice, handing Tamsin a mug
of ale.

"I want your advice because you know so much more than I do about men,"
Tamsin began earnestly.

Molly grinned.

"Marry, come up, I could take that the wrong way!"

Tamsin flushed and bit her lower lip so hard that Molly immediately
abandoned her joking tone.

"I'm sorry, it's not fair of me to tease you.  Please, continue."

"I'm not sure you'd be interested," Tamsin murmured, her confidence
wavering.

"Of course I will!  Mind you, I can't promise my advice will help. I've
never had much luck with men."  Molly's dark eyes twinkled suddenly.

"Lots of fun, aye, but nothing lasting.  Actors promise you the moon,
but you always end up paying for their supper as well as your own!"

During their earlier conversations Molly had been eye- poppingly frank.
Although she was barely four years older than Tamsin, she had already
had several lovers and Tamsin had been both shocked and fascinated by
her tales of the theatre and the raffish world that lived on its
fringe.

Independent by nature, Molly had left her dull village in Kent when she
was fifteen to seek her fortune in London.  While working in a tavern
in Clerkenwell she'd met an actor who performed at the nearby Red Bull
Theatre and discovered a whole new way of life.

Plays had been officially banned in 1642, but in practice clandestine
performances had continued.  Molly had gradually wormed her way into
the Red Bull company carrying out whatever menial task was handed out
to her.  Thanks to a rich lover who had taken a fancy to her a few
months ago, she'd been able to abandon her tavern work completely and
set herself up an orange-girl there.

Tamsin thought she was one of the happiest people she had ever met.

"Ask away," Molly urged, breaking into Tamsin's musing.

"I promise I won't interrupt."

"Well, you know Lysander had guests on Sunday and I was to cook a
special dinner?"  Thus encouraged, Tamsin launched into an explanation
of all that had happened when the meal was over.

"I wouldn't mind so much, Molly, but I didn't realise my feelings for
him were so transparent!"

"There's no shame loving him," Molly declared firmly.

"Question is, how does he feel about you?  I could see for myself that
he likes you, but does he want more than friendship?"

"I ... I think so," Tamsin replied shyly.  Smoothing her blue skirts
nervously, she continued hesitantly, "Do you think Mistress Godolphin
is right?  Should I try to forget about him?"

Molly frowned thoughtfully.

"I wish I could advise you to take no notice of that spiteful cow," she
said slowly, 'but it ain't so simple.  She holds all the cards.  Even
if he prefers you to her, you can't compete with her money or rank. 
"

"I know."  Tamsin sighed.

Molly took a swallow of her ale.

"We are both alike, Tamsin.  All we've got going for us is our looks
and personality."  A self-mocking grin touched her sensual mouth.

"I ain't as respectable as you, but, let's face it, neither of us are
the kind of girl a noble gentleman offers to marry."

Tamsin nodded and took a deep gulp of her hitherto untouched ale.

"You're right, it's time I stopped burying my head in the sand," she
murmured.

"I must find other employment and move out of Wych Street."

"Whoa!  Hold your horses, who said anything about giving him up?"

Molly's black eyes glinted with wicked amusement.

"You might not be able to get a wedding ring out of him,

but there's nothing stopping you from becoming his mistress.  "

Tamsin stared at her.

"Don't look so shocked."  Molly laughed, setting down her empty mug.

She cocked her raven head at Tamsin and gave her a knowing grin.

"You do desire him, don't you?"  she demanded.

Too honest to deny it, Tamsin nodded.

"But it's a sin!"

Molly shook her head firmly.

"Your canting Puritan relatives may think so, but you don't have to
conform to their rules any more.  Forget their sermons.  What harm
could it do to enjoy yourself for once?"

She reached forward and laid a reassuring hand on Tamsin's knee.

"There's little enough pleasure to be had in life without throwing away
a chance of happiness.  It might not last forever but, from what you've
told me, he sounds like the kind of man who would treat you right."

She grinned suddenly.

"Think of it!  You could have fine gowns, jewellery, maybe even a house
of your own."

"But ... but he's going to marry Jane Godolphin," Tamsin spluttered
desperately.

"So?  Since when were husbands expected to be faithful?"  Molly's tone
was cynical.

"Anyhow, I reckon he'd tell her to boil her head if she threatened you
again."

Temptation shimmered before Tamsin's eyes and for one glorious instant
she allowed herself to imagine the bliss of lying in Lysander's arms.

Then she shook her head firmly.

"I can't, Molly.  I wish I could, but it would be wrong and I would
feel guilty."

The despair in her friend's tone prevented Molly from telling her she
was a fool.

"Then what are you going to do?"  she asked gently.

"I know / couldn't resist temptation in your position!"

"I'm going to do what I should have done in the beginning."  Tamsin's
expression was bleak.  "

"I'm going to move in with Martha and forget all about Sir Lysander
Saxon."

"Don't be so hasty!  At least talk to him first.  Find out how he
feels."

"What's the point?  He's going to marry her and there's no place for me
in his life."  Tamsin sighed.

"I can't even pretend that he needs my services any more.  Matthew has
fully recovered and Dinah and Luke are sufficiently well trained to
work without my supervision."

"He might not need your help, but what if he wants you to stay?"  Molly
regarded her with unaccustomed seriousness.

"You might make him unhappy by leaving and you'll certainly be
miserable."

"Not half as miserable as if I stay!"  Tamsin had retorted shakily.

Staring into the heart of the kitchen fire, Tamsin replayed this
conversation in her head.  She had been so sure that the best course
was to leave Wych Street as soon as possible, but she hadn't reckoned
on Lady Corinna falling ill.

What was the right thing to do?  Was it fair to leave when she might be
needed or was she merely groping for another excuse to stay?

"The Comtesse said to tell you she is feeling better," Dinah announced,
coming back into the kitchen.

Tamsin swung round from the fire.

"Good," she said briskly, determined to suppress her anxiety.

"I hope she drank all the posset?"

"Nay, she didn't fancy it."  Dinah placed the barely touched drink on
the kitchen table.

"Said she wanted to rest, so she's gone upstairs.

Marie is with her.  "

Tamsin frowned.

"I wish she would see a doctor."

Dinah grinned.

"Don't reckon that's necessary.  Doctors can't do much to help what's
wrong with her."  Seeing Tamsin's look of incomprehension, Dinah's grin
broadened.

"She's breeding.  A couple of months gone, if I know aught about it."

"You mean she's having a baby?"  Surprise lifted Tamsin's voice.

Dinah nodded.

"Mam was just the same when she was having our Ruth.  Fainting, always
feeling queasy and off her food most of the time."

"She's never said anything," Tamsin murmured.

Dinah shrugged.

"Maybe she wants to be sure before she tells anyone."

Just at that moment the kitchen door opened and Lysander walked in.

His deep voice was cheerful as he greeted them both.

"Matthew tells me you wanted to see me, Mrs.  Barton."

Oblivious to anything but his nearness, Tamsin drank in his immaculate
appearance.  He was dressed for the Court in his black velvet suit and
his newly washed hair curled to his shoulders in glinting rings of
gold.

"I've finished saying my farewells at Whitehall," Lysander continued
easily.

"However, there is still some packing left to do for tomorrow and I
have to pay a visit to Mistress Godolphin, so, if you could be
brief..."

Lysander drew out the last word with a look of enquiry, wondering why
his efficient little protegee seemed to be woolgathering.

Tamsin bobbed an apologetic curtsy.

"I beg your pardon, my lord."

She waved Dinah to leave them and, when the girl had gone, took a deep
breath to launch into the prepared speech she had sweated over last
night.

"I must inform you, sir, that--' Lysander stared at her in puzzlement
as she ground to an abrupt halt.

"Tamsin?"

Tamsin hesitated.  She had been nerving herself all morning to tell him
that she wanted to leave his house but, if Dinah was right, things had
suddenly changed.

"Lady Corinna fainted again while you were out," she blurted, wondering
whether she was foolishly clutching at straws in the hope of putting
off the evil moment of departure.

"Dinah thinks she might be with child."

Lysander let out a low whistle.

"I suppose Dinah ought to know the signs," he murmured, echoing
Tamsin's own thought.

"She wouldn't let me send for a doctor."

"I'll speak to her."

A broad grin appeared on Lysander's face.  If true, it was the best
news he had heard since the day they'd lea mt that General Monck had
thrown his support behind restoring Charles to his throne!

It would necessitate a change of plan, however.

"Assuming Dinah's supposition is correct, Corinna ought to stay here in
London and rest, not jaunt about the countryside with me."

"So you still mean to go to Melcombe?"  Tamsin asked quickly.

"I must."  Lysander's brow creased in thought.  He could delay his
departure perhaps, but he would be failing in his duty if he abandoned
the trip.

"I need Matthew, but I'll leave Nat here.  You might require his
services and he can also perform any heavy jobs you want doing."

"I wish you weren't going," Tamsin exclaimed, forgetting to guard her
tongue.

An expression of surprise appeared on his handsome face and she hastily
explained that she knew nothing of babies.

"I am not sure how to look after the Comtesse."

"Just carry on in your usual sensible fashion, killing."  He smiled at
her.

"I'm sure you will cope splendidly."

Tamsin remained silent and he reached out and brushed her cheek lightly
with one long forefinger.

"Corinna likes you and I shall feel better knowing you are here to look
after her in my absence."

The shadow of anxiety in her lovely eyes remained and Lysander's smile
faded.

"You are really worried, aren't you?  I know you have already done a
great deal to make this household run smoothly, but if you feel this
new responsibility is too--' " Nay, I want to help," Tamsin interrupted
firmly, setting aside her own plans.

This was not the moment to try and explain why she ought to leave.  She
owed him too much to refuse to do as he asked.

To Tamsin's surprise Lysander's absence passed more quickly than she
had anticipated.  Confined to the house on the advice of the midwife
who had confirmed her pregnancy, Lady Corinna was bored and demanded
entertainment.  Lucinda Elliot, Jack Fanshawe's widowed sister, was a
stalwart visitor, but the main burden fell on Tamsin, who, delegating
various duties to Dinah, spent hours reading aloud to Corinna and
discussing all the latest news and gossip which she brought home from
her trips to market.

Corinna also decided to teach her some card games so that they could
play together.  Tamsin was initially reluctant, but once Corinna had
promised that they would only gamble for bean counters she relaxed and
discovered an aptitude for gaming that would have horrified her Puritan
relatives.

Then, as the end of August approached, Corinna's queasiness and
excessive fatigue suddenly ceased to plague her, just as the midwife
had predicted.  One bright morning she summoned Tamsin to the parlour
and announced that she wanted Tamsin to act as her waiting-woman.

T am tired of lying a-bed.  Now that I am feeling better, I want to go
out and enjoy myself, but Marie is so homesick that simply looking at
her miserable face depresses me!  "

Tamsin was happy to oblige.  Although Corinna occasionally behaved in a
high-handed and spoilt manner, more often than not she was good
humoured and kind.  She was also generous and insisted on buying Tamsin
a pretty new gown.

"Pray accept it as a token of my thanks," she urged, sweeping aside
Tamsin's embarrassed protests.  T am grateful for all your care of me,
petite?

Corinna smiled at her.

"I didn't believe that I could possibly be with child, you know," she
confided.

"My mois have never been regular and I put their absence down to the
upset of travelling.  Now I am so happy I want everyone to share my
good fortune."  Her dark hazel eyes twinkled at Tamsin.

"Besides, I cannot have you looking shabby when you accompany me on our
outings!"

The new dress was in amber moire with a cream silk oet tic oat beneath.
Cut in the latest style, it had full billowing skirts, elbow-length
sleeves decorated with ribbons and a tight, pointed bodice with a round
neckline which was lower than anything Tamsin had ever worn before.

"Gemini, my aunt would have a fit of the mother if she saw me in this!"
she exclaimed on viewing her reflection in the long mirror which graced
Lady Corinna's bedchamber.

Corinna laughed.  She knew about Aunt Deborah for Lysander had revealed
the truth of Tamsin's history before he had left for Dorset.

"Take care not to mention that you know how she was tricked by Mrs.
Cole," he had warned.

"She is embarrassed about landing up in a brothel."

Corinna, who had every sympathy with Tamsin's plight, had readily
agreed.

"It suits you.  You are developing a very pretty figure, Tamsin," she
now reassured her, privately deciding that it was high time the girl
had a little fun.

Tamsin was almost scared to wear it, but there was no denying it was
the most beautiful gown she had ever owned.  or that Corinna was right
about her burgeoning curves!  She had grown taller since she came to
London and her old clothes were all getting too tight.

"We must do something about your hair too."  Corinna eyed Tamsin's
neatly braided coil with disapproval.

"Come here, petite."  With a couple of quick movements she released the
unruly apricot-gold mass and, after exclaiming how lucky Tamsin was to
possess such thick, abundant curls, skilfully arranged them into two
fashionable bunches on either side of Tamsin's head.  A few of her own
pearl-headed hairpins secured the remaining back hair into a high knot,
leaving Tamsin's nape bare.

A new pair of soft leather shoes, the loan of Corinna's velvet cloak, a
fashionable muff to guard against the chilly wind which had ushered in
the arrival of September and Tamsin was ready to accompany the Comtesse
to the Mulberry Gardens.

It was the first of many such outings.  Plunged into a whirl of
activities, such as partaking of a dish of syllabub at the World's End
Inn or joining in the early evening parade of carriages in Hyde Park,
Tamsin was both shocked and beguiled by her taste of fashionable
life.

Lysander had been gone almost a month when they had a letter from
him.

Corinna read out parts of it to Tamsin.

"He says that he encountered Lord Treneglos at the house of a mutual
friend.  Did you ever meet Tom?"  Corinna asked.

Tamsin shook her head.

"He's a nice man."  A little smile touched Comma's mouth.  She had fond
memories of Tom's visits to Melcombe when she had been a little girl.

"Apparently, Tom is visiting his elderly uncle, who is dying.  That
means he stands to inherit a very large fortune."  She glanced back at
the letter.

"Sadly, he has not been so lucky in his quest to find his missing
daughter."

Tamsin wasn't listening.  Her mind had slipped off into a daydream
about Lysander.  She had lea mt to control her wayward thoughts for the
most part, indulging in thinking of him only when she was alone in the
privacy of her bedchamber, but listening to his letter made him come
vividly to life and she longed for his return.

Not that it would do her any good, of course!  She would have to leave
Wych Street when he came back.  Martha, who disagreed violently with
Molly's suggestion that she ought to become Lysander's mistress,
insisted that she must come and live with them.

"You can share Nelly's room," she'd said.

"It'll be cramped, but it's better than following in that brazen
trollop's footsteps and losing your good name!"  The angry look on her
plump face at the thought of Molly Heron faded and a sigh escaped
her.

"Tis a pity you've had no answer to your advertisement about your
father."

Tamsin had posted a carefully worded enquiry at several points in the
city, but so far she hadn't heard any news concerning the whereabouts
of Mr.  Penhaligan.

"I cannot rely on finding him," she said ruefully.  It had been
childish of her to imagine that he would appear like a prince in a
fairy-tale and make everything better.  In all likelihood, he was
dead.

"I must look for a new position."

"Aye, ask Lady Corinna to give you a reference," Molly suggested
eagerly.

"She seems to hold you in regard and her word will carry weight."

Tamsin nodded.  It was a good idea, but she would have to ask her
soon.

"I think she intends to return to France when her brother comes
home."

"Then you must be ready to leave the minute she does," Molly had
exclaimed and in her heart Tamsin had known her old nurse's advice was
right.

"Lysander thinks he might be home by the middle of the month," Corinna
remarked, recapturing Tamsin's wandering attention.

She folded up the letter.

"I do hope he isn't delayed.  I cannot leave London without saying
goodbye to him."  She sighed.

"I'm sorry I missed the chance to visit Melcombe, but I want to go
home."

Tamsin nodded.  It was only natural that Corinna should find it
difficult to contain her impatience now that she was well enough to
travel.  She had written to the Comte to tell him she was returning
shortly, hut she was keeping the news about the baby to herself until
she could tell him in person.

"Never mind."  Corinna's voice regained its cheerfulness.

"I can see Melcombe on my next visit and, in the meantime, what say you
to amusing ourselves with a trip to the theatre?"

Tamsin hesitated.

"I'm not sure Sir Lysander would approve of my visiting a theatre, my
lady," she hedged.

Corinna demanded an explanation and then exclaimed, "But it is a
different matter entirely if you go with me!  Lysander might not trust
you with Mrs.  Heron, but he knows you will be perfectly safe with me.
I shall hire a box and invite Jack Fanshawe to accompany us."

Lord Fanshawe had often acted as their escort.  Lysander had asked him
to keep an eye on them and Jack, who was fond of Corinna, was happy to
oblige.

Tamsin struggled with her conscience.  Aunt Deborah had always
maintained that theatres were the haunt of the Devil, but she had
castigated many of the pursuits Tamsin now enjoyed.

"I'm certain you would find it interesting to see a play, but I won't
force you, Tamsin," Corinna said gently.  Tt is up to you to decide. 
"

"May I think about it?"

"Of course."  Corinna smiled and turned her attention to thinking up
other amusements.

She succeeded so well that Tamsin began to worry Corinna might
over-tire herself in spite of her apparent bloom.

"I shouldn't fret.  She has more energy than the pair of us," Jack
remarked when she asked for his opinion.

He had just arrived with his sister Lucinda for a visit to the Folly, a
floating restaurant moored opposite Somerset House, and they were
waiting for Corinna to finish her toilette.

The Folly was crowded when they arrived, but they were shown to a good
table.  Tamsin enjoyed her dinner, the food was excellent and there
were musicians to entertain the customers, but she was scandalised by
the bill, which was extremely high.

"Ah, but you are also paying for the pleasure of being seen in a
fashionable setting," Jack cheerfully informed her.

Tamsin emitted an unladylike snort.

"Aye, through the nose!"

Corinna shushed her and Tamsin obediently subsided.  She had no wish to
embarrass her companions, but later that evening she confided her
indignation to her cousin Sam in the letter she was writing to him.  It
was her second letter, the first, sent some weeks ago, being merely a
brief note to say that she had arrived safely.

Chewing the end of her quill, Tamsin strove to put the strangeness of
her new mode of life into words without giving details that might
betray her whereabouts to her aunt if she should happen to find the
letter.

Sam would understand how alien the concept of idle luxury was to her.
and how seductive!  When she wasn't being shocked witless, Tamsin was
enthralled by the feel of silk smooth against her skin, the richness of
honied sweetmeats on her tongue, the excitement of winning at cards and
all the other fun and entertainment on offer.

But I don't think I should wish to live without purpose forever, she
wrote.

Tamsin put down her pen.  Aunt Deborah's influence was too strong to be
ignored.  She needed to feel useful!

She had always imagined she would find her fulfilment in becoming a
wife and mother, but the man she wanted was out of her reach.  The only
way she could have Lysander Saxon was to offer to become his
mistress.

Tears sprang to Tamsin's eyes.  She dashed them away impatiently.

If she could be sure he loved her, she might have been brave enough to
forsake virtue, but she had no idea if he really felt anything other
than desire for her.

Even if he did, Jane would be the central figure in his life, Jane
would have the home and babies Tamsin longed for.  If she bore him
children, they would be bastards, just like herself!

An icy shiver chilled Tamsin's spine.  She couldn't stand the torture
of sharing Lysander with anyone else.  It would be too painful!

The only sensible course was to leave when he returned from Melcombe.

She wouldn't be able to repay the rest of the money she owed him, but
at least she had done her best to work off the debt.

One last conversation, one last glimpse of his wonderful smile, then
she must steel herself to say goodbye to him for ever.

"Welcome home, sir."  Dinah let out a squeak of pleased surprise as she
opened the front door.

"We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."

"We made better time than I anticipated."  Lysander crossed the
threshold and took off his travel-stained cloak.  Handing it to Dinah,
he asked after his sister and was reassured to hear that Corinna was in
excellent health.

"Is she in the drawing-room?"  Lysander turned to mount the stairs.

"Nay, sir."  Dinah turned from greeting Matthew, who had followed
Lysander into the hall.

"She and Mrs.  Barton have gone to see a play."

Lysander's brow quirked in surprise.

"Do you know which playhouse?"  he asked thoughtfully.

Dinah nodded.

"The Cockpit, sir."

Lysander pulled out his gold-cased pocket watch and consulted it.

Almost six.  The performance would have probably begun at half past
three.  If he were quick to change his dusty clothes, he might be able
to catch the end of the second act and escort them home.

Asking Dinah to bring him up some hot water and a mug of ale to slake
his thirst, he headed for his bedchamber.  Fifteen minutes later he was
walking swiftly down Drury Lane towards the theatre.

Lysander had visited the Cockpit several times before.  John Rhodes had
managed to obtain a licence to act from General Monck not long before
the Restoration and his company still continued to perform at the
Cockpit, much to the annoyance of Sir William Davenant and Thomas
Killigrew, who were trying to create a monopoly for their own
companies.  They had recently used their friendship with the King to
secure exclusive rights to put on plays in London, but Lysander
suspected they would not find it easy to eliminate the competition.

The flag on top of the theatre was flying to show that a performance
was in progress.  It was the custom to allow latecomers in to see the
last act without payment, but Lysander generously tipped the doorkeeper
a half-crown, the full price of a seat in the pit.

He strolled into the crowded auditorium and a strong smell of orange
peel mixed with old perfume, candle-grease, sweat, tobacco and dust hit
his nostrils.  Seeing that little space remained on the benches of the
pit, he decided to remain standing, which afforded him an excellent
view of the stage.

It was lit by a large chandelier and extravagantly costumed actors
stood declaiming their lines.  Lysander, who hadn't taken any notice of
the playbills posted outside, recognised the text: The Woman's Prize,
Fletcher's comic sequel to Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew.  An
amusing piece, but he hadn't come here to watch the play.

His gaze swept the boxes above the pit.  There was sufficient light in
the auditorium to examine the occupants clearly and he soon spotted his
sister.  Corinna was wearing a vizard mask, but, helped by the fact
that she was sitting next to Jack Fanshawe, he swiftly recognised
her.

Lysander stared hard at the masked woman seated on his sister's other
side.  Could that really be Tamsin?  God's teeth, it was!

The climax of the play arrived, signalled by a stirring nourish from
the musicians playing in the fenced-off part of the pit below the
stage.  Lysander scarcely noticed.  His gaze was riveted to.  the
dainty figure who was leaning forward over the edge of Corinna's box,
her whole attention fixed on the actors.  A riot of apricot-gold curls
had fallen forward to shade her masked face, but he could see the tops
of her breasts exposed in the low neckline of her fashionable gown.

Lysander caught his breath.  How could he go on pretending she was
still a child!

Corinna had seen him.  She waved her fan in delighted recognition and
nudged her companions.  Jack raised one hand with a broad grin and
Lysander returned the salute while continuing to watch Tamsin.

She had straightened abruptly at Corinna's whisper and was sitting very
still, but he could see that the fan she held in one clenched hand was
quivering.

The play ended and over the applause Corinna called out to him that
they would meet him outside the entrance.  Waving aside a pretty seller
of tobacco who offered him 'a penny a pipe, sir' with a flirtatious
flutter of her eyelashes, Lysander shouldered his way out through the
sudden throng, who had also decided not to stay and see the short farce
which concluded the playbill.

"Lysander!"  Corinna flung herself into his arms with a fine disregard
for decorum.

"I'm so pleased to see you home."

Lysander returned her hug and enquired after her health.

"Though I scarcely need ask.  You are positively blooming."

"You may thank Tamsin here for that."  Corinna chuckled.

"She has taken excellent care of me while you were away."

Lysander inclined his head in Tamsin's direction, acknowledging her
presence for the first time.

"Mistress Barton."

"My lord."  Tamsin swept him a graceful curtsy.

Ly sander's brow quirked.  He recognised his sister's hand, but why had
she taken it upon herself to transform his drab little duckling into
this exquisite swan?  " " For two reasons," Corinna informed him
quietly as they set out on the short walk home.

"Firstly, I was bored and it amused me, but, more importantly, I have
decided to offer her the position of my waiting-woman."

"You want to take her back to France with you?"  Lysander felt a sudden
chill down his spine.

"Hush, not so loud!"  Corinna scolded.

"I haven't told her yet."  She flicked a glance over her shoulder to
where Tamsin walked in the rear, escorted by Lord Fanshawe.  They were
busy laughing over something and Corinna decided that they mustn't have
overheard Lysander's exclamation.

"You have no objection, do you, dear heart?"  she asked him.

"I know it is unkind of me to deprive you of such an excellent
housekeeper, but it will be a good opportunity for her.  Besides, when
you are married, I'll warrant Mistress Go- dolphin will wish to select
her own staff."

Lysander, who had noted Jane's hostility, nodded slowly.

"I suppose so."

Sensing his reluctance, Corinna let the matter drop and began to ask
about Melcombe.

When they arrived home.  Jack accepted an invitation to stay for
supper.

"Come up to the drawing-room.  Jack, and tell me what you thought of
Kynaston's performance tonight.  He makes such a pretty girl!"  Corinna
held out her hand to him.

"Aye, but if the rumour I've heard that Davenant is going to hire
actresses is true, then Kynaston's days taking female parts may be
numbered," Jack replied, tucking her hand into the crook of his
elbow.

Together they mounted the broad staircase and Tamsin could hear them
still discussing the scandalous notion of real women acting on the
stage as they disappeared out of sight.

Left alone with Lysander, Tamsin felt giddily breathless.  The impact
of his presence on her senses was overwhelming.  In her dreams she had
almost forgotten how tall he was, how devastatingly virile!

"What?  No word of welcome for me, killing?"  Lysander's deep voice was
gently teasing.

"It is good to see you home, my lord," Tamsin murmured, struggling
against the paralysing shyness which knotted her tongue.  She could
feel the heat stealing into her cheeks and kept her gaze modestly
downcast to avoid having to meet his eyes.

A string of unusually fine pearls graced her slim neck.  A loan from
Corinna, no doubt, their glowing beauty was enhanced by a black pearl
pendant.  It offset the creamy perfection of her skin.  which his
fingers itched to touch!

"That's a very pretty gown you are wearing," he said hastily.

"I swear you have grown, I scarcely recognised you."  Lysander tried
for a jolly avuncular note.  and failed.

Alarmed by his sudden silence, Tamsin risked an upwards glance and,
encountering his gaze, saw the look of desire blazing in his eyes.

Unable to look away, Tamsin's heart began to pound so loudly she was
sure he must hear it.

"You look lovely, sweetheart," Lysander spoke at last, his voice hoarse
as he broke the taut silence.

He took a step towards her and Tamsin panicked.

"Pray excuse me," she gabbled, backing away from him.

"I must go and change, sir, and then start preparing supper."

"Of course."  Regaining his self-control, Lysander let her go with a
faint smile.

But Tamsin was acutely aware of his gaze following her as she fled up
the stairs.

Tamsin set down her basket on the kitchen table and drew her arm across
her forehead.  Gemini, but she was hot!  The day was unseasonably warm
for mid-September and the market had been crowded.

It had also been full of rumours that the Duke of Gloucester was
dead.

The King's youngest brother, who seemed a very good sort of man, had
caught smallpox a week ago and it was said his doctors were fools.

Tamsin hoped the rumour was false.  There was always gossip about the
royal family circulating.  The King's dalliance with Mrs.  Palmer was
the subject of many ribald jokes and lately folk were saying that his
brother James, the Duke of York, had got Anne Hyde, daughter of the
Chancellor, with child.  There was even talk of a secret marriage!

Thank the Lord that the house was quiet and she could catch her breath
for a few minutes.  Sir Lysander had gone out early to see his
goldsmith on a matter of business and Corinna had taken Marie to an
operator for the teeth who practised near the Mitre tavern in Wood
Street.  The little Frenchwoman had a pain in one of her back teeth
which had not responded to the oil of cloves Tamsin had furnished.  She
had awoken in agony this morning, but she was so scared of having any
treatment she'd fallen into a fit of hysterics.  In the end.  Master
Cooper had offered to accompany Lady Corinna, who thankfully accepted
his escort.

Which meant that, since she had given Luke and Dinah permission to pay
a visit to their mother, Tamsin was, most unusually, alone.  Unpacking
the provisions she had purchased, she sighed.  She wasn't sure she
wanted time to think!

Her task finished, she drew herself a mug of small beer and sat down to
drink it.  There was no use dodging the issue.  After last night, she
couldn't pretend it was all her imagination and she was making a fuss
over nothing.  The desire between them had been almost palpable.

Lysander Saxon wanted her and he was a man who got what he wanted!

She had been conscious of his eyes on her all the time she was serving
supper.  Suspecting he might seek her out afterwards, she had pleaded
tiredness and gone early to bed.

But she couldn't keep avoiding him.  She had to tell him she wanted to
leave before it was too late!

Tension clawed at her scalp and she could feel the beginnings of a
headache.  Rising swiftly, she went and drew a bucket of cool water
from the well and splashed her face.

It helped and, determined to ignore the nervous butterflies swarming in
her stomach, she picked up a willow basket- There were wild
blackberries growing in a corner of the garden.  Rather than waste
them, she could mix them with some apples and bake them in a tart for
dinner.

Tamsin stepped out into the garden and promptly dropped her basket with
a gasp of surprise.

T didn't know you were here!  " she choked, staring in dismay at the
man who stood in the middle of the grass-walk, wielding a sharp
scythe.

Lysander stopped cutting the grass at her exclamation.  Straightening
to his full height, he said, "I got back half an hour ago."

Her expressive face told him that she found his present occupation
unusual and he laughed.

"Did you think me too fine a gentleman to get my hands dirty?"

Tamsin shook her head in hasty denial.  She couldn't tell him so, but
what actually disturbed her was the fact that he had taken the
practical step of stripping to the waist for the task!

She stared in fascination at his naked torso.  The only man she had
seen thus uncovered was her cousin, but Sam was just a boy.  His upper
body was thin, pale and hairless.  Lysander's skin glowed with a bronze
sheen in the sunlight and a scattering of fine golden hairs adorned his
broad chest.

Sleek firm muscle rippled as he moved to set down his scythe and Tamsin
swallowed hard.  Suddenly, she felt all hot again!

"Since that pesky gardener is neglecting his duty, I thought I'd make
myself useful."  Lysander stretched his arms wide to ease his stiff
shoulders.

"I shall leave you in peace, then."  Tamsin took a step backwards.

"Nay, don't go!"  Lysander picked up the shirt he had discarded earlier
and pulled it quickly over his head.

"I'm just about done here."

He had hoped the exercise would cool his blood, but the fever which had
burned in him last night had broken into fresh flame at the sight of
her.  She had braided her hair into its old severe style and was
wearing her simple blue gown, but now he could not forget that this
plain guise hid glossy curls and sensuous curves.

Looking back, he realised that the process had begun even before he
went away, but the shock of seeing her dressed as a lady of fashion had
opened his eyes to the fact that she had changed a great deal in the
last three months.  An easier mode of life and a richer diet had
promoted a spurt of physical growth while freedom from her aunt's
tyranny and success in her self-appointed task as his housekeeper had
given her a new confidence and serenity.

She was no longer the frightened little waif he had rescued from that
brothel.  She was a lovely woman.  and he wanted her!

"There's no need to go."  Lysander walked towards her.

"And, besides, I must talk to you."

The nearer he came, the faster Tamsin's breathing became.  She couldn't
drag her eyes from his powerful body and a wicked longing to touch him
tormented her.

"I have something to say to you too, sir," she gasped.

"Indeed?"  Lysander halted a scant few inches away.

"Is it important?"

Tamsin nodded frantically.

"I... I want to... I must leave this house before..."  Her voice
trailed off in miserable confusion.

Surprise nickered over his handsome features, swiftly followed by
understanding.

"Before it is too late and our feelings get the better of us," he said
softly, completing her unfinished sentence.

A bright betraying blush coloured her cheeks.

"Aye," she whispered hoarsely.

"But it is already too late, sweetheart."  Lysander looked down into
her lovely eyes and a faint bittersweet smile touched his mouth.

"Much too late," he continued and drew her firmly into his arms.

Chapter Ten

QS^V^Q

ror an instant Tamsin resisted and then, as their lips met, all
conscious thought dissolved and she yielded to Lysander's embrace,
allowing herself to be swept along on the tide of desire rushing
through her veins.

His lips caressed hers with seductive warmth and pleasure exploded in
the pit of Tamsin's stomach.  Her hands clutched at his broad shoulders
and she pressed herself against him.  With a low growl of delight,
Lysander deepened the kiss.  Obeying a primitive instinct, Tamsin's
lips parted to his demand and waves of heat swept over her as his
tongue began to explore her mouth with a skilful expertise.

Her senses -reeling, Tamsin clung to him.  The new sensations he was
arousing in her body were so exciting she could scarcely breathe.  A
strange sweet ache was making her tremble and a tiny moan of pleasure
escaped her as his hand moved upwards to cup her breast.

Tangling her fingers in his hair, she kissed him back with all the
enthusiasm at her command.  Encouraged by her ardour, Lysander began to
stroke her breast through the fabric of her gown.  Tamsin's spine
arched in rapture even as her mind registered the shock of this
intimacy.

In a far-off distant corner of her brain, she knew she ought to stop
him, but she couldn't bring herself to pull away.

"You are so beautiful," Lysander whispered against her mouth.

His hand slipped inside her bodice and the battle between modesty and
desire was lost as the rising tide of hot excitement flooded over
Tamsin, leaving her powerless to resist the spell he was weaving.

She gasped as his exploring touch found her tender nipple.  He caressed
it gently, rolling it between finger and thumb until it grew hard and
swollen with excitement.

Dimly, Tamsin wondered if it was possible to faint from sheer
pleasure.

"Damn your eyes!  Make way there!"  A loud shout, accompanied by a
clatter of carnage wheels from somewhere beyond the garden wall,
intruded into their idyll, shattering the silence.

Recalled to his senses, Lysander reluctantly released her and stepped
back.

"This is madness," he muttered, his breathing hoarse.

For a moment Tamsin gazed at him in bewilderment, her eyes cloudy with
passion.

"I don't understand.  You said that--' " I know what I said!  "
Lysander interrupted savagely.

"But I was wrong!"

The last traces of pleasure-drugged haziness cleared from Tamsin's
wits.

"You have thought better of it," she murmured.

"You cannot remain here," Lysander affirmed roughly.

"Not now."

The look of hurt in her eyes cut him like a knife.  Tt isn't a matter
of what I want.  If it were--' Abruptly, he bit off what he had been
about to say.  The situation was difficult enough!  T am in no position
to offer you anything, killing.  My future lies with Mistress Godolphin
and I will not insult you by pretending otherwise.  "

"You want her money for Melcombe."

Lysander gritted his teeth.

"I must restore Melcombe.  My parents sacrificed everything for the
royal cause and now I

have the chance to set things right.  To fail my duty would dishonour
both myself and their memory.  "

Tamsin swallowed hard.  How could she argue?

There was silence for a moment and then Lysander spoke.

"What happened just now... the fault was all mine."  A dull flush
stained his impassive face and his voice was gruff.  T had no business
kissing you.  Pray accept my sincerest apologies.  "

The sun was still shining, the warm breeze still wafted the perfume of
roses, even the gentle droning of the bees in the herb-bed was still
the same, but to Tamsin it felt as if the world had suddenly turned
cold and dark.

T shall leave as soon as I have packed my things," she said, striving
to control her trembling voice.

She started to turn away.

"Wait!  There is something you must know before you decide on your
future."

Gathering her courage, Tamsin slowly turned round to face him once
more.

"Corinna wants you to go to France with her as her waitng-woman."

Tamsin's eyes widened in surprise.

"It is a good opportunity."  Lysander shrugged awkwardly.

"And you have always wanted to travel."

Tamsin bit her lip.  " What he said was true, but a shaft of pain
lanced her heart.  He wanted to be rid of her.  She was an
embarrassment to him!

"I will accept the offer."  There was nothing to keep her in London.

She'd heard no word concerning her father and it didn't seem likely she
ever would.

At least in France she wouldn't run the risk of bumping into Lysander
and making a fool of herself by embarrassing him with her unwanted
affections!

Exile.

Tamsin began to understand the true meaning of that hateful word as the
short winter days dwindled into a blur of unhappiness.  At first, the
novelty of travel and then settling into her new home had taken the
edge off her misery.  The Hotel de Montargis, situated on the Faubourg
Saint-Antoine, was a pale stone mansion of fairly recent construction.
It was magnificently furnished and possessed tall windows, wrought-iron
balconies and a front courtyard large enough for the Comte's carriage
to turn a circle.  At the back was a beautiful garden with orange trees
in tubs and formal, welltended beds.

Paris, she soon discovered, was a lively city and there were many
diversions.  She had walked with Corinna in the Tuileries gardens and
they'd taken carriage rides along the CourslaReine.  Soirees and
parties of every sort had taken place most evenings, but as the autumn
turned to winter Tamsin's determined effort to keep up her good spirits
faltered.  By the time December arrived only the necessity of
preserving appearances prevented her from sinking into utter despair.

You've got too little to do, she scolded herself one frosty morning as
she knocked on the door of the Comtesse's bedchamber.  Corinna, who was
in her seventh month and grown very large, now tired easily.  Their
hectic social life had been curtailed and she spent much of her time
resting, which meant that Tamsin's duties were light.

The amount of free time on her hands had, however, furthered her
education.  The Comte de Montargis had inherited.  a splendid library
from his father, which contained books in several languages, and he had
kindly given her permission to read whatever she wished.  He had also
taken a hand in improving her French.

"You have a quick mind, petite," he'd said, borrowing his wife's
nickname for her.

"It gives me pleasure to assist your efforts."

Tamsin, who had been relieved to discover that she had the knack of
picking up a foreign language without too much difficulty, was grateful
for his generous help.  Now approaching forty, the Comte's dark hair
was streaked with grey and his once slim figure was beginning to show
his fondness for food, but he had merry brown eyes and a charm that was
quite beguiling.

Both he and Lady Corinna had been very kind to her.  She had been given
an elegant bedchamber and showered with gifts, including three winter
gowns.

All the same, she thought to herself, as Corinna bade her enter, she
would have gladly swopped her luxurious new life for the kitchen of
Wych Street if only Lysander had wanted her there.

"Come and sit down."  Corinna greeted her with a smile.

"I have some news which will interest you."

She resided cosily on a red velvet couch before a roaring fire.  Tamsin
noted she was wearing a new dressing-robe made of the finest wool.  As
the babe had grown in her womb Corinna preferred loose comfort to
fashion, ignoring the barbed comments made by her husband.

Taking her place opposite the couch on a stool padded in the same red
velvet, Tamsin reflected that the Comte's initial joy at his wife's
return had faded.  While there was no mistaking his pride at the
thought of becoming a father, it was noticeable that he now spent far
less time in Corinna's company than he had done previously and there
was an edginess between them that Tamsin did not understand.

She had overheard them arguing the other evening when Corinna refused
to accompany the Comte to Court.

"I will not attend the King's levee with you tomorrow!"  Corinna had
stormed.

"You know that Louis takes no account of feminine weakness and will
extend no mercy to any woman in my position.  I should be expected to
stand for hours with no hope of refreshment or rest."

"Other women manage," the Comte had retorted sharply.

"Then they must care more for their own advancement than they do about
carrying a child successfully to term."

Corinna's scathing retort had silenced her husband's protests, but
Tamsin feared he was still resentful.

Unlike his English counterpart, Tamsin had learned, King Louis was a
man who valued formality.  He enjoyed elaborate ceremony and liked to
surround himself with his courtiers.  To be absent was to lose his
favour so, although her sympathies lay with Corinna, Tamsin could
understand Pierre's anxiety.

"From Lysander," Corinna announced, waving a letter and immediately
capturing Tamsin's wandering attention.

"He writes to tell me that Mistress Godolphin has returned to town at
last, her uncle having recovered from the ague which kept her so long
in Sussex."

Corinna lifted her eyes from the page and directed a mischievous glance
at Tamsin.

"I wonder at her patience in nursing Mr.  Fielding.  I should have
thought she would have been anxious to return to the hunt."

"Perhaps she did not deem it necessary, ma'am."

There was an unusually waspish note in Tamsin's gentle voice and a
flicker of guilt assailed Corinna.  London seemed so far away she had
forgotten that she had once suspected her young companion of having a
tend're for Lysander, a tend're he might have returned in other
circumstances.

"Well, it seems that you are right, petite," she said carefully.

"For Lysander writes to say that he has asked her to marry him.  Their
betrothal will be formally announced on Christmas Eve."

For all the warmth of the fire blazing in the hearth, an icy chill
settled over Tamsin and it took all her self-control not to start
crying.

Lack-wit, she admonished-herself silently.  You knew this was bound to
happen!

To her relief, Corinna soon dismissed her, saying that she intended to
take a nap before dinner.  Tamsin sought refuge in her own bedchamber,
but, unable to sit still, she finally flung a cloak around her
shoulders and fled to the Picture Gallery where she paced up and down
its great chilly length, her thoughts in turmoil.

"If you desire some exercise, petite, why don't you come for a ride
with me?  I was just about to take that new chestnut of mine out, but I
shall gladly wait while they saddle up Mignonne for you."

The Comte's voice interrupted Tamsin's dismal musing and she sank into
a graceful curtsy.

"Thank you, monseigneur," she said, knowing that Corinna would not
require her services for a while.

"I should enjoy some fresh air."

"Good."  The Comte's dark-complexioned face broke into a broad smile.

"Go and put on your riding habit and I shall meet you in the
courtyard."

Tamsin hurried to obey, grateful for the diversion.

When she had first arrived in Paris the Comte had treated her with
haughty indifference, but his attitude had changed.  He had even
suggested that Tamsin should take dancing lessons and polish up her
rusty riding skills.

"You will not always be with child," he'd said, brushing aside
Corinna's surprise.

"Such accomplishments in your waiting-woman may serve you well in the
future."

Tamsin had been glad to add to her skills and even more glad of the
distraction.  It helped take her mind off Lysander.

Stop thinking about him, she scolded herself as she scrambled into her
black-velvet riding habit, yet another present from Corinna.  You have
a lot to be thankful for!  So get on with your life and forget about
Lysander Saxon!

But, somehow, it was impossible to take her own advice!

Three days before Christmas, Corinna slipped on a patch of ice in the
garden and fell.  To everyone's relief the baby did not appear harmed,
but, unfortunately, Corinna was not so lucky.  She had severe bruising
and a badly twisted ankle.

"I'm sorry, petite," she apologised to Tamsin on Christmas Eve.

"I had hoped we would be out enjoying the festivities."

Her normally vivacious face wore a depressed expression and Tamsin
hastened to reassure her that she didn't mind missing the
entertainments Corinna had planned to attend.

"Anyway, I am used to a quiet Christmas," she asserted stoutly.

"My aunt refused to allow -any special celebrations.  She thought them
pagan nonsense."

In spite of her cheerful smile, a pang of regret smote Tam- sin as she
spoke.  The memory of Lysander saying that they must ensure she
celebrated Christmas properly this year was as crystal sharp as the
frost lacing the gardens outside Cor- inna's bedchamber.

Corinna sighed.  She would have liked Pierre's company tonight, but any
form of physical weakness revolted him and he found the sight of her
unlaced figure distasteful.

He had, of course, paid a dutiful visit to her room for a few minutes
each morning and he had been generous with gifts, but he spent much
time out with his friends.

Corinna's ankle mended as January progressed and her spirits
improved.

The Comte's frequent absences no longer seemed to trouble her and
Tamsin suspected she had become too wrapped up in the coming baby to
worry about her husband's thoughtless behaviour.

Then one morning in early February, just after Tamsin's seventeenth
birthday, another letter from London arrived.

"Do put down that sewing and listen, Tamsin," Corinna commanded.

"This is from my cousin Lucinda to confirm that she will arrive next
week as planned, but you'll never guess what else she has to say."

Tamsin obediently set aside the baby smock she was hemming.

"Ly sander's betrothal party on Christmas Eve was can:

celled!  "

Tamsin's eyes widened.

"Why?"

Corinna scanned the letter.

"Lysander decided it would be in bad taste to celebrate because of
Princess Mary's death."

The Princess Royal had married William of Orange, but had never been
happy in Holland.  Widowed at an early age, she had been delighted by
her brother's restoration and had come on a visit to London the
previous autumn.  Sadly, she had fallen ill just before Christmas.  Her
doctors could not decide whether it was spotted fever, measles or
smallpox, but after only five days her mysterious illness became
fatal.

"I didn't realise she actually died on Christmas Eve," Cor 1

inna exclaimed.

"The news we had was so garbled I thought it half-rumour!"

"Perhaps Sir Lysander will hold the party on another date soon," Tamsin
replied in a carefully controlled voice.

"Lucinda seems to think he is dragging his heels!"  Cor- inna's
expression held astonishment.  She perused the letter again.

"She says Jack told her that the lawyers are arguing over the betrothal
contract.  Perhaps that is why."

Tamsin knew that the signing of a betrothal contract was regarded as
binding as an actual wedding ceremony so it was sensible to make sure
all the conditions were fully met.  It didn't necessarily indicate
Lysander had changed his mind about marrying Jane.

All the same, her heart gave a queer little lurch.

"It is all very odd."  Corinna frowned.  Lysander had not written for
several weeks, which was unusual in itself.  He had always been a
regular correspondent, even in the days when he had been on campaign.

"Perhaps we shall learn more when Mistress Elliot comes to visit us,"
Tamsin suggested.

Corinna's face brightened.

"I am looking forward to seeing her.  Her manner reminds me of my
mother, you know."

It had been arranged that Lucinda, who was her closest female relation,
would come to stay with Corinna in time for the baby's birth, which was
expected some time towards the end of February.

Corinna did not care for her husband's relatives and did not want them
in attendance.

To their relief, the weather, which had been very cold with strong
winds, relented and Mistress Elliot's journey was not delayed.  She
arrived on the eve of St.  Valentine's Day and, after greeting her, the
Comte said, "Come, Tamsin, let us leave my wife and her cousin together
so that they may enjoy a comfortable talk."

After receiving a little nod of assent from Corinna, Tamsin allowed the
Comte to whisk her away.

"Put on your cloak, petite, and we will take a walk in the gardens."

Outside, the sun was shining, bestowing its faint warmth upon them as
they paced the immaculate gravel led paths.  Tamsin lifted her face up
to the pale sky and took a deep breath.

"I can smell spring in the air," she said happily and gave a little
skip.

She became aware that the Comte was watching her intently and she
coloured.  He must think her simple!  How was she to explain that the
sunshine and the hope that Lucinda might have news of Lysander had
banished her inner gloom?

"Your pardon, monseigneur," she murmured.

"For what?"  The Comte gave a hearty laugh.

"I like to see smiling faces about me, petite.  There is not enough
jollity in this house."  He came to a halt and, beckoning Tamsin
closer, pinched her cheek playfully.

"You are a pretty little thing.  It distresses me to see you shut away
like a nun.  You should be out enjoying yourself, not mouldering away
because my wife wishes to be a hermit."

Tamsin blinked at him in surprise.

"I am very happy to serve Lady Corinna in whatever way she wishes.  She
has always been kind to me."

"Bah!"  He shrugged dismissively.  His smile broadened.

"I would like to be very kind to you, cherie."

A fris son of alarm dried Tamsin's throat.  Was it her imagination, or
was he flirting with her?

"Ah, I see you are surprised!"  He chuckled.

"I thought you might have guessed how I feel since I've made my
fondness for you so plain."

He slipped an arm around her waist and squeezed it.

"You are a tempting little morsel, petite!"

Gemini, her imagination hadn't run mad!

"Come, admit it!  You feel the same attraction, I've seen the way you
smile at me."

A wave of revulsion swept over Tamsin.  It was on the tip of her tongue
to retort that he was sadly mistaken, but common sense prevailed.  She
couldn't afford to offend him!

"Now that horse-faced Elliot woman has come, my wife will not have so
great a need of you and we may spend more time together."

Frantically, Tamsin struggled for a diplomatic reply.

The Comte gave her waist another squeeze.

"Ah, you are overcome by the honour I pay you."  He released her.

"Let us finish our walk.  I can be patient a while longer."

Tamsin allowed him to tuck her reluctant hand into the crook of his
elbow.

Maybe her aunt was right.  She had wanted to lie with Lysander and for
that sin, God, or the Devil, had sent the Comte's lust to be her
punishment!

In England it was the custom to take the first person of the opposite
sex you saw on St.  Valentine's mom to be your Valentine, so Tamsin did
her best to avoid the Comte.  Unfortunately, he was not so easily
thwarted and, after breakfast was over, insisted on giving her a
handsome gold ring set with turquoises as a Valentine's day present.

"The stones match your beautiful eyes," he announced, slipping it on to
her finger.

As he leant forward to kiss her, Tamsin saw Corinna's startled face
over his shoulder and inwardly cursed.

Twisting aside so that his lips merely grazed her cheek, she thanked
him coolly and made haste to sit next to Lucinda.

The Comte scowled and withdrew.  After a moment Cor- inna excused
herself and followed him out of the room.

The sound of voices raised in anger could be heard and after a moment
of awkward silence Lucinda Elliot coughed.

"I fear the Comte is prone to infatuations, my dear," she said with the
frankness she was noted for.

"His interest rarely lasts, but his current attentions put you in a
difficult position."

"I wish he would leave me alone!  I swear I have done nothing to
encourage him!"  Tamsin dragged the ring from her finger.

The last thing she wanted was to upset Corinna and she was about to
hurl it to the floor when Lucinda caught her hand and took it from
her.

"Allow me," she murmured, slipping the ring into her pocket.

Tamsin stared at her and she gave a little shrug.

"When you have been as poor as I have, my dear, you learn never to
waste anything, even an unwanted gift.  I shall keep this safe for you
until you decide what you are going to do."

"I've already decided," Tamsin replied jerkily.

"I'm going to go back to England."

"I think that is probably wise, although I would suggest you wait until
the baby is born."

Tamsin hesitated.  Much as Corinna must hate the sight of her own
husband making sheep's eyes at Tamsin, she would probably be distressed
if Tamsin ran off.

"We have grown close," she admitted.  A sigh escaped her.

"Perhaps if I had been ugly, the Comte would have left me alone."

"Very likely," Lucinda answered with a hint of asperity.

Tamsin bit her tactless tongue.

The Comte had contemptuously referred to Lucinda as horse-faced and,
although cruel, the description was apt.  She had unfortunately large
teeth with a yellowish tinge to them and a plain-featured long face.

Her tall figure was equally bony and her mouse-brown hair lacked any
hint of fashionable curl.

Her only attractive feature was a pair of fine dark eyes, which now
smiled at Tamsin.  T long ago accustomed myself to the sad fact that my
younger brother inherited all the looks in our family," she said
humorously.

"And I console myself with the knowledge that I shan't suffer the usual
disappointment as I grow old!"

Tamsin reflected that, apart from men like the Comte who never bothered
to look beneath the surface, it was obvious to everyone why Mistress
Elliot had many friends.  She might be poor and plain, but she had an
engaging sense of humour and a kind nature to go with her sensible
disposition.

Jack had once mentioned that his brother-in-law had adored her and
their happy marriage had made light of the hardships of war.  When
Master Elliot had been killed in bat 5

tie, Luanda had struggled on alone to run their small estate until
poverty had finally driven her to join her brother in exile, although
she swore she would find herself another home when he married.

"Did you have a chance to read your letters yet?"  Lucinda asked,
diplomatically changing the subject.

She had brought several messages with her from England and two of the
letters had been for Tamsin, much to Tamsin's surprise.

For a rapturous moment she had allowed herself to imagine that they
might be from Lysander, but one had been from Molly Heron and the other
from Martha.  Both had been penned by an amanuensis and both contained
interesting news.

Molly's was that she had got a job as an actress with the King's
Company, an ambition she had been nurturing since last December when
women had finally appeared on stage.  Her friend's delight shone
through the stilted phrases and Tamsin, although shocked at the very
idea, couldn't help but be pleased for her.

Martha's letter was even more surprising.

There has been a reply to your advertisement for news about your
father, she'd written.  Shall I pass on your new address?  Please send
instructions as soon as you can.

Dizzy speculation had joined her concern over the Comte's worrying
behaviour rendering Tamsin's night sleepless, but now in the clear
light of morning it was all suddenly quite simple.

She would tell Corinna and her husband that urgent family business
required her presence in London.  It was true, after a fashion, and it
would enable her to leave without offending the Comte or inventing a
foolish excuse that would further humiliate Corinna.

Unfortunately for this plan, Corinna's pains began that evening.

"It is not seemly that you stay," she murmured, dismissing Tamsin from
her presence.

There was a note in her voice that stilled Tamsin's protest.

Unable to settle to anything, she eventually fled into the gardens when
the taut silence was rent by screams, screams which became ever louder
and more frequent.

It was very dark in the garden with only an occasional glimpse of the
moon, which was playing hide and seek with the high, scudding clouds.

Her breath steamed in the chilly air, but Tamsin barely noticed the
cold.

Corinna hadn't wanted her near.  She must blame her for the Comte's
behaviour!

The sound of footsteps on the gravel made her whirl round with a little
gasp.

"Who's there?"

"Do not be alarmed, cherie."  To Tamsin's dismay, the Comte
materialised out of the darkness.  He walked towards her.

"It's nearly midnight.  You should be abed."

"I could not sleep," she replied curtly.

"Ah, my poor wife, but it is the lot of women to suffer."  He
shrugged.

"Let's discuss more pleasant things, cherie, like how your lovely eyes
rival a peacock's feather in colour."

"Pray do not talk such nonsense, monsieur."  Angrily, Tamsin turned to
walk away.

"Wait!"  A shaft of the moonlight revealed his affronted expression.

"You do not have my permission to withdraw."

Reluctantly Tamsin paused.

"You don't seem to understand the honour I do you.  You are a nobody.

By rights I should have maintained a distance between us as I did on
your arrival.  " He smiled cares singly at her.

"Instead, I befriended you, petite."

"I never sought your favour, monsieur," Tamsin retorted, her voice
shaking.

"You are a married man."

"What has that to say to anything?"  Genuine astonishment widened the
Comte's eyes.

"Fidelity is for the bourgeoise, cherie.  Surely you cannot think
otherwise?"

Tamsin made a small noise of disgust in her throat.  How different he
was to Lysander!

"If you loved your wife, monsieur, you would not wish to insult her by
consorting with her own waiting-woman."

He had the grace to look ashamed for an instant.  Then he gestured
airily.

"She has the compensation of my wealth and rank.  Her position is
assured.  It would be ridiculous of her to expect me to remain
faithful, particularly when her condition denies me her bed."

Tamsin's mouth tightened and, abandoning diplomacy, she tried to leave,
but he grabbed her by the arm.

"I would advise you to forget me, monsieur," she spat at him furiously,
wrenching free of his hold.

"I do not return your affection."

"How dare you speak to me in such an insolent manner!"  Rage darkened
the Comte's face.

"I dare because it is the truth," Tamsin declared passionately.

"Instead of pro positioning me you should be paying attention to your
wife!"

"Be silent!"  he snapped.

"You forget your place, mademoiselle.  One more word and I shall
dismiss you."

"That won't be necessary.  I am leaving.  I have urgent business to
attend to in London."

"You want to go?"  Surprise punctured the Comte's anger.

"Cherie, I spoke in haste, do not--' " Please, monsieur, I am grateful
for all your kindness, but let us agree there has been an unfortunate
misunderstanding," Tamsin interrupted hurriedly, hoping to avert
disaster.

The Comte.  rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Perhaps it might be awkward if you stayed."

Tamsin watched him turn over what she had said in his mind.  She
suspected that he did not want a breach with Cor- inna and that,
although she was currently angry with him, Corinna felt the same.

"Say nothing of this conversation to my wife."  He waved dismissal with
one well-kept hand.

"You must tell her that you are leaving us because you are needed in
London."

"Of course, monseigneur."  Tamsin swept him a deep curtsy and
withdrew.

With any luck, once he had got over his injured pride, he would
endeavour to make amends to Corinna!

"I shall miss you, Tamsin."  Corinna smiled.

"Be sure to write."

"Aye, we shall rely on you to keep us up to date on all the London
gossip," Lucinda chimed in.

"I shall do my best," Tamsin promised.

They were standing in the courtyard where the carriage that was to
convey Tamsin to the coast waited.  Outriders had been hired to provide
her with safe escort and the Comte's agent had arranged for her to
travel on board ship with a respectable married couple who were bound
for London.

Her luggage, far more than she had arrived with, had already been
loaded.  All that remained was to say the final goodbyes.

Tamsin pressed one last kiss upon Henri-Charles's downy little head.

He was a lovely baby and at three weeks old had already captured his
father's heart.  Pierre's obvious adoration had gone a long way to
soothing Corinna's anger and her generous response had set the seal
upon their reconciliation.

Delighted that the Comte seemed to be taking her advice, Tamsin had
kept discreetly out of his way and been rewarded by the eventual return
of Corinna's affection.  Nothing more was said of the events of St.
Valentine's mom and Tamsin had quietly dropped the gold and turquoise
ring into the poor- box of the nearest church.

"Are those the letters you want me to deliver?"  she asked- Lucinda,
who handed them over with a nod of thanks.

Tamsin tucked them into her fur muff.  Lucinda was going to stay in
France to keep Corinna company and Tamsin half- suspected that the
visit might be a prolonged one.  It might even become permanent.  The
cousins were fond of one another and there was nothing to keep Lucinda
in London.

And at least Corinna could be sure that the Comte would not make not
advances to her new waiting-woman if Lucinda accepted the post!

"As you know, my husband is at Court this morning.  He asked me to
apologise for his absence and say his farewells," Corinna announced
calmly.

"Please thank him for his hospitality," Tamsin replied with formal
courtesy, secretly pleased that the Comte had shown consideration for
his wife's feelings and stayed away.

The marriage seemed on a better footing now and, hopefully, their
newfound harmony would last!

Tamsin took her place in the coach.

"Give my love to Lysander," Corinna requested, stepping back.

"I will," Tamsin answered, her heart beating faster at the thought of
seeing him.

She leant out of the window and waved as the carriage set off.

"Goodbye and God bless."

It pulled out of the gates and she sat back, settling herself upon the
seat, a queer mixture of exhilaration and trepidation filling her.

Hopefully, there would be news about her father, but she hadn't the
least idea of how Lysander would receive her.  He might even be angry,
but she didn't care.  She had to discover why he hadn't signed the
betrothal contract!

Lucinda had not been able to tell her.

"Everyone knows that he wishes to marry Mistress Godolphin," she'd said
in answer to Tamsin's cautious enquiries.

"Perhaps the lawyers are still arguing.  Which, I suppose, is why he
has kept on the house in Wych Street since any wedding plans must now
perforce wait until after Easter."

The marriage could not be solemnized during Lent, which still had
another month to run.  There was ample time to discover whether
Lysander's hesitation had anything to do with her.  If it had, she was
determined to convince him they had a future together.

Molly was right.  She couldn't marry Lysander, but it didn't mean that
she had to give him up.  These last few months in exile had taught her
that life without him was no life at all.  She had been so miserable
that nothing could be worse, not even having to share him!

Buoyed up by a determined optimism, Tamsin found the journey flew by.

At Dieppe she boarded the Papillon, amer n chant man bound for the
port of London with a mixed cargo of wine, silks and lace.  Fair winds
ensured an easy passage and a week after setting out from Paris, a
hackney deposited her outside the house in Wych Street.

"Mistress Tamsin!"  A wide grin of welcome lit Luke's face as he opened
the door.

"You are looking very well, Luke."  Tamsin crossed the threshold with a
smile.

"I hope Dinah and the rest of your family are all in such good
fettle?"

"Aye," he nodded.

"And I've got a new baby sister too," he added with another grin.

Controlling her impatience, Tamsin politely asked after the latest
addition to the Finch household as she removed her heavy travelling
cloak.

"Mam named her Tamsin.  After you," Luke said proudly.

"I'm flattered," Tamsin laughingly replied, resolving to send Mrs.
Finch a suitable gift for the child.

"Let me take that for you, mistress."  Luke relieved her of the
cloak.

"Is his lordship home?"  Tamsin's tone was carefully casual.

"Aye.  Master Cooper's gone out, but Sir Lysander is in his closet.

Shall I go and tell him you are here?  "

"It's all right," Tamsin said quickly.

"I shall announce myself."

She mounted the staircase, her heart beating like a kettledrum.

"Come in."  His well-remembered voice answered her knock and, taking a
deep breath to steady her nerves, Tamsin opened the door.

"Good God!"

Lysander dropped the pen with which he had been writing and stared
uncomprehendingly at the apparition who had appeared on his threshold,
his expression betraying sheer disbelief.

"Here's a fine welcome," Tamsin exclaimed with a little chuckle.  She
carefully closed the door behind her.

"Is that all you can say to me, my lord?"

Lysander leapt to his feet.  Two hasty strides brought him round the
desk.

"Killing," he said thickly.

"It is you!"

She moved towards him and melted into his arms as he seized her.

Holding her in a crushing embrace, he kissed her fiercely and Tamsin
responded with an answering fervour.

She had flung her arms around his neck; when he at last raised his head
to draw breath, she tenderly smoothed back a dishevelled lock of hair
from his brow.

"I thought you were a ghost, conjured up out of my desperate
imagination," he whispered shakily, devouring her face with his eyes.

Tamsin smiled lovingly at him.  The depth of longing in his husky tone
banished her remaining doubts.

"So I take it that you missed me," she murmured with a hint of mischief
sparkling in her eyes.

Lysander gave a laugh that was almost a groan.

"Little minx!"  His deep voice turned the words into a caress.

He kissed her again, his arms tightening possessively around her.

Delight coursed through Tamsin's veins and she clung to him, kissing
him back until they were both giddy and breathless.

Reluctantly, Lysander lifted his mouth away from hers.  He stared down
into her upturned face.  Her eyes were closed and she was breathing
fast, a beatific smile curving her lips.

For an instant his unguarded expression revealed his innermost thoughts
and then, abruptly, he released her.

Tamsin's eyes flew open.  She watched him take a step backwards,
visibly seeming to recollect his scattered wits.

"Lysander?"

"Forgive me."  He flung up one hand to interrupt her anxious query.

"Your unexpected arrival took me by surprise."  He essayed a polite
smile.

"Where did you spring from, by the way?"

"Do you mean you wouldn't have kissed me if you had known in
advance?"

she demanded, ignoring his question.

"You know damn well I wouldn't," he replied almost angrily.

Tamsin gritted her teeth.  In spite of his rapturous welcome, it seemed
nothing had changed!

"Aren't you going to invite me to sit down?"

He waved her to a chair, but he remained standing.

"Why have you come back, Tamsin?"

She raised her brows at him.

"What a very uncivil question and here was I, thinking you were pleased
to see me."

A dull flush coloured his high cheekbones at the sarcastic edge to her
tone.

"You know what I mean," he said shortly.

"I suppose so."  She settled her skirts more becomingly and smiled at
him sweetly.

"And, therefore, since it appears that we are about to have a dispute,
perhaps you would be kind enough to offer me a glass of wine?  I
haven't had a thing since a hasty breakfast snatched before we docked
and my throat is parched."

He jerked his head in assent and, moving with a stiffness that betrayed
his tension, went to pour two glasses from a squat green bottle
standing on the tray kept on the small oak dresser.

He handed one glass to Tamsin.

"Thank you."  She took a few small sips.

"My compliments, sir.  A very pleasant claret."

Lysander reflected wryly that once upon a time she would not have known
what wine she was drinking.  Nor would she have dared remind him of his
manners with such cool confidence.

He gazed at her intently.  She had changed in other ways too.  The
alteration from skinny little waif into a lady of fashion, which had
begun last autumn, was now complete.  She would never be a tall woman,
but her dainty figure was delightfully curved in all the right
places.

Her glowing hair had been skilfully arranged into a fashionable mass of
ringlets and she wore her expensive travelling costume of golden brown
velvet with all the assurance of one born rich.

Apart from the lack of paint and patches upon her clear 3

skinned face, she could have been any noble lady of the court!

Tamsin, who was well aware of what he was thinking, tilted her head on
one side and with a flirtatious flutter of her eyelashes, murmured,
"You were saying, sir?"

"Don't play games with me, Tamsin," Lysander growled.

"You may have lea mt society manners in France, but I am not going to
oblige you with polite fencing.  I want the truth.  Now answer my
question: why have you come back to England?"

A tiny thrill of excitement shot through Tamsin.  There was a dangerous
glint in his green eyes that made her heart thump.  and her innards
contract with desire!

"Very well."  She set aside her wine.

"You want the truth?  I came home because I missed you so much I
thought I would die of it."

Shaken by her reply, Lysander took a swallow of his wine.

"I thought you must have quarrelled with Corinna," he muttered, knowing
he was cravenly prevaricating.

Tamsin shook her head impatiently.

"We are on excellent terms."

This was not the moment to try and explain about the Comte's unwanted
infatuation!

"It grieves me that you were unhappy in France.  I had hoped you would
settle down and--' Lysander bit off what he was about to say.  He could
not bring himself to utter the trite platitudes he knew were proper.

"God's teeth, Tamsin, you should have stayed in France!  What good can
it do either of us to resurrect the past?  I told you before that I
must fulfill my duty."

"Even though you hate the very thought of marrying for money?"

He winced.

"Jesu, but you have acquired a sharp tongue!"

Tamsin tossed back her curls.

"What do you expect?  I am no longer a child and I won't meekly do what
I am told."

Lysander gave an unwilling laugh.

"I can see that," he're n torted drily, finishing the last of his wine
and putting the empty glass down on his desk.

A faint blush crept into Tamsin's cheeks.

"Oh Lysander, don't let's quarrel," she begged.

His expression softened.

"That's the last thing I want, kit- ling," he said quietly.

"Perhaps it was high-handed of me to send you off with Corinna, but I
truly thought it was for the best.  There is no future for you here."

"But there is!"  Tamsin rose to her feet and walked slowly towards
him.

"Sweetheart, you cannot stay here with me."  Exasperation and barely
concealed regret roughened Lysander's voice.

"You are much too beautiful and I'm no monk!"

"I'm not asking you to turn monk."  Ignoring his angry expression,
Tamsin laid her hand on his chest.  Beneath its covering of dark green
moire she could feel his heart thumping wildly.

"All I am asking is that you take me as your mistress."

Chapter Eleven

-Tor the second time that morning Lysander Saxon lost the power of
speech.

Tamsin hid a smile at his incredulous expression.

"Believe me, I have thought long and hard about our situation and it
would be the perfect solution."

"You have been learning some very strange notions in France, my girl,"
Lysander declared wrathfully.  He removed her hand from his chest.

"Of all the pea-brained ideas... do you really think I would take
advantage of your youth and innocence in such a manner?"

"Will you stop talking such nonsense?  I know what I want, what we both
want."

"It would compromise my honour."

"I don't see how."

"Then you do not understand what honour means."  Lysander's tone was
stiff.

Tamsin took a deep breath.  Why was he being so stubborn?  She could
see the longing in his eyes.  He wanted her, she was sure of it!

"Tell me that you don't care about me, tell me that you love Jane and I
will go," she said softly.

She had found his weakness.  T cannot," he replied hoarsely.

Tamsin stepped up close again, her eyes searching his face.

"I know we cannot wed, but if I am willing to take the risk, why won't
you?"

"Because it would be unfair on you."  Lysander's eyes flashed
angrily.

"You think you could handle being my mistress, but I know you, Tamsin,
and you are more of a Puritan than you think.  The shame of it would
spoil things between us in the end."

A flicker of fear danced over her face and then she shook her head
firmly.

"Being together would be worth anything," she murmured, putting her
arms around his neck and lifting her face up to his.

Lysander struggled with his conscience.  The temptation to kiss her and
throw honour to the winds was unbearable!

"And what about Jane?"  he growled, removing her arms and taking an
abrupt step back.

"How does she figure in these plans of yours?"

"You haven't made a public announcement of your betrothal."  Stung by
his action, Tamsin's tone was angrily defensive.

"The contract has not yet been signed."

"Because you don't really want to marry her!"

"Perhaps."  Lysander acknowledged her shrewd hit with a rueful nod.

"However, enough people know of my intentions for herA to be ridiculed
if I suddenly abandon her."  He folded his arms tight against his
chest.

"Which I have no intention of doing.  As you pointed out, I need her
money."

"Many married men keep mistresses."  A note of desperation crept into
Tamsin's voice.

He quirked his eyebrow at her.

"I find it odd that you approve of adultery."

"I told you before that I was a reluctant Puritan," she said shakily.

She looked so distressed it was all Lysander could do to stop himself
from folding her into a comforting embrace.

"Killing, I have given my word to Jane," he said softly.

"Would you have me insult her by parading you as my mistress before we
are even wed?"

Tamsin bit her lip, trying to still its trembling.

"So you want me to leave?"  she whispered, hardly able to believe she
had lost.

Lysander crushed the denial that sprang to his lips.

"It would be best," he replied heavily.

"I shall order Nat to bring the coach round.  We can collect your
luggage on the way to Mistress Croft's.  I assume it is still aboard
ship?"

He was sending her away.  Tears rose up in Tamsin's throat to choke
her. Swallowing them, she muttered, "Thank you, but there is no need
for you to escort me to Martha's.  I can get a hackney."

"Don't be stupid," he said roughly, hating himself.

"It is the least I can do."

Tamsin felt too devastated to argue.  Her whole world had fallen down
about her ears and only pride prevented her from weeping.

She'd been wrong.  Oh, she could not deny his arguments were sound, but
when it came down to it, he didn't care for her as much as she'd
thought.  If he had, he would have put love, not honour, first.  Just
as she'd been willing to count reputation well lost for his sake.

A useless, unwanted sacrifice it seemed.

"What can I do, Molly?  Lysander won't listen to me and I cannot think
of a way of changing his stubborn mind.  He would rather see us both
miserable than stain his precious honour."

Molly Heron gave a rich chuckle.

"Here, have another cup of wine."  She poured more Rhenish into
Tamsin's beaker.

"What you fail to understand, Tamsin, is that men aren't like us.
They've got no common sense.  They think foolish abstract ideals will
keep 'em warm at night!

Hah!  Half the trouble in the world is caused by their damn stupid
honour and pride.  " She shook her raven head.

"Do you see women fighting duels and starting wars?  Nay!  Because we
know what is important and learn to compromise."

They were sitting in Molly's new apartment.  April sunshine filtered
into the room, rendering its cosy fire almost unnecessary and raising a
dazzle of coloured sparks from the jewelled combs decorating Molly's
hair.

"I wish Martha shared your views," Tamsin murmured, sipping her wine.

"She keeps telling me I am foolish!  All she cares about is finding me
new employment now that this news about my father has come to
nought."

This second blow had fallen in quick succession to Lysander's
rejection.  Tamsin had contacted the person who had enquired about her
advertisement, only to discover that the man was a lawyer, acting as
agent for another.

"I'm afraid I am not at liberty to divulge any information about my
client," he'd replied in answer to her eager questions.  All he would
admit was that he had been ordered to find one Mrs.  Barton, a
seventeen-year-old who originally hailed from the West Country.

"From what you say, I believe you are the woman in question, mistress,"
he'd finally conceded and Tamsin had then demanded to know when she
could speak to his client in person.

"Unfortunately, he is away from London at present.  I shall send word
to him and contact you in due course."

Feeling puzzled and frustrated, Tamsin had gone back to Martha's
crowded little house to inform her former nurse that, for now at least,
they were still in the dark.

T reckon your father hired that lawyer," Molly now declared.

"Who else would want to find you?"

"It could be Master Hardy," Tamsin said darkly.

"The man your aunt wanted you to marry?"

Tamsin nodded.

"I doubt it.  You said he's a skinflint and this fellow must be willing
to part with his money.  Aye, and rich too.  Lawyers don't come
cheap."

"I suppose so."  Tamsin felt a comforting glimmer of reassurance at
Molly's pronouncement.

She'd been worried that Gideon Hardy might be seeking revenge for the
humiliation of being jilted.

He deserved it, he knew I didn't want to marry him, she thought
defiantly, pushing away the uneasy realisation that she had demanded
Lysander should treat Jane Godolphin with almost the same lack of
consideration.

"What's wrong?  You are squirming like a louse thrown on the fire."

Molly eyed her askance.

"I've got a headache," Tamsin fibbed hastily.

Molly grinned.

"I'm not surprised.  How many times did that brat wake you up last
night?"

Martha's youngest was teething and there was no peace in the house for
anyone.

"It's not his fault," Tamsin protested.

"Besides, it was very good of Martha to take me in--' " But you wish
you could get a good night's sleep and she'd stop treating you as if
you were still in the nursery," Molly cut in with brutal honesty.

Tamsin gave a wry laugh.  Moving into Martha's hadn't worked out as
well as she had anticipated.  Martha was indeed inclined to fuss over
her, Ned refused her assistance in the shop.  Cousin Nelly resented her
if she tried to help with the children and the overcrowding was getting
on her nerves!

"It's the constant noise and having to share a bed with Nelly that I
find difficult to bear."  She sighed wistfully, remembering the
peaceful garden and her lovely spacious bedchamber in Paris.

It didn't help, of course, that she was depressed about Lysander's
rejection.  Every night for the last two weeks she had lain awake for
hours listening to Nelly's snoring before finally managing to cry
herself to sleep.  She couldn't stop thinking about him and wishing
there was something she could do to change his mind.

"You could always come and live here, you know."

Molly's unexpected offer jerked Tamsin from her unhappy reflections.

"But ... but what about your new gallant?"  she spluttered.

Molly shrugged.

"If he don't like it, he can go hang."  She touched one of the jewelled
combs in her hair.

"He's generous, I'll grant you, but he ain't paying enough to tell me
how to run my life."

A group of court gallants had recently attended one of Molly's
performances and the young man in question had taken a fancy to her.

After a great deal of flirting she had decided to accept him as her
latest lover.

"It's kind of you, Molly, but I don't want to get in your way," Tamsin
said shyly.

"I usually visit him."  Molly grinned.

"Anyway, I'm rarely at home."

Actresses were much in demand and Molly, with her good looks and rich
voice, had become instantly popular.

"You can have the second bedroom and Sally can sleep in here."

Molly had gone up in the world since she lived above Master
Wintershall's.  She now rented three large rooms in St.  Martin's Lane
and employed a little maid to look after her.

Tamsin thought about it.

"Done," she said.

"But you must allow me to pay you a fair rent."

They bickered over this amiably for a couple of minutes and then Molly
said, "You'll need a job.  You can't live off the French money you
saved forever."

Tamsin agreed.  Living in London was expensive and, as well as
insisting on paying her way at Martha's, she'd bought several presents
for the children.

"What do you suggest?  Housekeeping or a waiting-woman's post would
require me to live in, but I don't want that."

Corinna had given her a glowing reference, but Tamsin was in no mood to
tie herself hand and foot to another employer.  She was too angry and
unsettled.

Molly nibbled one fingertip thoughtfully.

"I know.  Come with me to the theatre this afternoon and I'll see if I
can get you taken on as a player."

Tamsin's eyes widened.

"But... but, Molly, I should never be able to get up in front of all
those people and speak!"

"You won't have to," Molly laughed.

"Not at first, anyway.  All you'll have to do is stand there and be
part of a crowd."

"But why would Killigrew want to hire me?  I have no experience."

"You are very pretty and he's keen to get the better of Davenant's
company of players.  Attractive girls bring in audiences."  Molly
shrugged.

"He's a hard bastard, but once you've got experience the wages are good
and I'll be there to protect you."

A variety of emotions played across Tamsin's expressive face.

"You're not still worried about hellfire?"  Molly exclaimed.

"I thought you enjoyed the theatre now."

"I do."  Tamsin had been often enough with Corinna to lose her initial
nervousness.  She liked being a spectator, but an actress?  To be part
of that raffish world?

"I don't know if I could cope," she said frankly.

Molly shrugged lightly.

"It was just a thought."  She smoothed her satin skirts.

"Course, it would annoy the hell out of Ly sander Saxon."

Tamsin directed a suspicious glance at her and saw a gleam of mischief
in the coal-black eyes.

"Well, don't you want to get your own back?"  Molly demanded with a
wicked giggle.

"S'death, he might even be angry enough to change his mind.  After all,
if you are destined for a life of sin, he might decide he may as well
be your protector as some other man."

Tamsin gulped.

"That's blackmail!"

"Nay, it's using your brains," Molly retorted in a firm voice.

"Which is what you have to do to get what you want if you are a woman.
We can't afford to let fancy principles get in our way--this is a man's
world and we have to use whatever weapons we've got to hand."

Tamsin's conscience told her what Molly proposed was wrong, but she
asked herself bitterly what good had her Puritan scruples done her.  It
might be unfair to try and manipulate Lysander in such an underhand
manner, but she was tired of letting others order her fate.

"You're right, Molly," she declared rebelliously.

"Why shouldn't I go after what I want?  Lysander doesn't care that he
has broken my heart, the Comte didn't give a fig when he turned Corinna
against me and even my father probably abandoned me because it suited
him!"

She took a calming breath.

"I never thought I would say this, but if being an actress can bring me
the kind of independence you enjoy, then I'm all for the idea."

Grinning, Molly refilled their wine cups.

"Let's have a toast," she cried.

"To your new career.  May it bring you your heart's desire or, failing
that, at least provide you with a little fun!"

Tamsin raised the beaker to her lips.

"To love and fun," she echoed defiantly and drank deep.

"Beg pardon, my lord, there's a woman here to see you."  Dinah stuck
her head round the parlour door.

Lysander, who was about to leave the house, frowned.

"Did she give her name?"

Dinah nodded.

"Said she was Mrs.  Croft."

"Show her in."  What the devil was Tamsin's former nurse doing here?

A respectably clad plump figure entered the room.  Her expression was
shy, but her voice was clear as she rose from her polite curtsy.

"I am sorry to bother you, sir, but I thought you ought to know that
Mistress Barton has left my house and gone to live with that Molly
Heron."

"Has she, indeed!"  Lysander bit back an expletive.

"And I've had a letter come for her, but I don't know that hussy's
address so I can't send it on."  Martha's chin wobbled.

"Please don't cry.  Mistress Croft* Lysander forced himself to sound
calm.

"Oh, sir!  She says she is going to become an actress!  She wouldn't
listen when I tried to talk sense into her."

"Don't worry.  She'll listen to me," Lysander replied grimly.

"Then you'll find her, sir, and put a stop to this nonsense before it
is too late?"  Martha's doleful expression brightened.

"Leave it to me.  Mistress Croft."  Lysander smiled at her.

"When I find her, I'll send you word, but now I must beg you to excuse
me.  I have an appointment to keep."

Martha dropped a grateful curtsy and Lysander showed her out.

He left the house a few minutes later, his brisk walk concealing the
angry thoughts whirling in his head.

"Lysander!  Do you intend to ignore me, man?"

"Tom!  I didn't know you were back in town!"  Lysander slowed to a
halt, a pleased smile breaking out on his face as he recognised the man
who had hailed him.

"I got back from Cornwall yesterday."  Lord Treneglos shook Lysander's
hand warmly.

"It is good to see you."

"Aye, it's been too long."  Lysander paused and then decided to risk
enquiring how Tom's search for his daughter was going.

"She is alive and, what's more, she's here in London!  I am off to see
the man I hired to help me now, he has an office in Bow Street."

Lysander, who was on his way to visit Jane, suggested they walk along
together and listened with interest as Tom eagerly explained that his
agent had arranged a meeting for the pair of them today.

"I'm so damn nervous I'm shaking," he confessed.

"When I failed to find her last autumn I was sure she must be dead.
It's hard to believe that I am really going to see her after all this
time!  And, since coming into my uncle's fortune, I can give her all
the things she's missed!"

"You deserve your good luck if ever a man did, Tom," Lysander answered
with sincerity.

They reached the corner of Bow "Street and Lysander bade Tom
farewell.

"You must invite me to meet your daughter as soon as you've had some
time together," he added with his final good wishes.

"I will," Tom promised and Lysander strode off down the Strand,
whistling cheerfully.

By the time he reached Lady Court, however, the beneficial effect of
meeting Lord Treneglos had worn off and his thoughts had returned to
the problem which Martha Croft had brought to his attention.

"You are late, sir."  Jane, who was dressed very finely in a new gown
of purple taffeta, hurried into her hallway to greet him.

"Had you forgot we are to join Lord Fanshawe and the others?"

Lysander restrained a curse.  They were due to meet Jack at Marylebone
Gardens, a notable place of entertainment with a fine bowling green
that they had intended to try if the day was fine.

"I pray you will excuse me, I am not in the mood for bowls."

Jane's expression hardened into annoyance and, with an impatient swish
of her skirts, she turned on her heel and stalked into the parlour.

Lysander followed her, trying to stern his own irritation.  She
deserved some sort of explanation, he supposed, but he had rarely felt
less like pandering to her whims!

"It seems to me, my lord, that you are seldom in the mood for any
enjoyment these days."  Jane went on the attack the minute he closed
the door behind him.

"You have had a face as long as a fiddle for nigh on a month now.  Is
there something wrong that you have not told me of?"

Lysander shook his dark blond head.  How could he explain that he
wanted Tamsin so much it was crucifying him to hold to his resolve!

An impatient sigh escaped Jane's compressed lips and then, visibly
trying to contain her displeasure, she said, "I understand from my
lawyers that an agreement has been reached and the betrothal contract
is now ready for signing."

"Aye," Lysander replied shortly.

Jane stared at him indignantly, affronted by the lack of enthusiasm in
his tone.  She had been about to suggest that they go and see the
lawyers since their plan to spend the day in the village of Marylebone
had gone awry, but the signing would keep.

"Since you do not appear to be in the mood for my company, sir, I
suggest you say farewell."

Lysander pulled himself together.  It wasn't fair to inflict his foul
temper on Jane.

"I beg your pardon," he said gruffly.

"I have just received some bad news and my wits are gone a-begging."

Jane's expression softened.

"I am sorry to hear it," she murmured in a gentler tone.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

He declined, thanking her gracefully.

"Very well."  She hesitated.

"Should you mind if / joined Jack and the others?"

"Of course not.  There is no reason for your outing to be ruined
because I must deal with a matter of urgent business."

Mollified by his reply, Jane did not seek to detain him further and
they parted on good terms.

However, watching him stride down the street from the parlour window, a
little sigh escaped her.  More and more often of late, she had begun to
wonder if she had been wise to accept his suit.

Still, it was too late for regrets and, her expression brightening at
the thought of Jack's amusing company, she hurried to put on her
cloak.

Lysander's mood deteriorated as the day progressed.  His visit to Duck
Lane to question Master Wintershall yielded no results.  Molly Heron
had not left a forwarding address with the stationer and he was forced
to continue his search.  Abandoning thoughts of dinner, he tracked down
a couple of her acquaintances only to draw a similar blank before
finally deciding to try the theatre in the hope that she might be
performing that afternoon.

By the time he arrived in Were Street it wanted barely half an hour to
the start of the performance.  The doorkeeper admitted that Mistress
Heron was acting in the play.  The Scornful Lady, but was reluctant to
let Lysander go backstage.

"Wait until after the performance is done, my lord," he begged.

"You'll be welcome in the tiring-room then."

Hungry and thoroughly out of temper, Lysander was in no mood to be
denied.

"Here!"  He thrust a coin at the man, who smiled, bowed unctuously and
escorted him to the women's tiring-room.

Inside, it was hot, noisy and crowded.  A strong smell of stage-paint,
powder and frangipani perfume assaulted his nostrils.  His gaze roved
sharply over the room.  Women in various stages of undress jostled for
position before the looking- glasses, struggling to paint their faces
and arrange their hair.

Someone glanced towards the doorway and saw him standing there.  Her
gasp of surprise and accompanying ripe curse made several pairs of eyes
swivel in his direction.

Lysander, who had just spotted Molly Heron's raven head, ignored them
and strode towards the dressing-table where she was seated.  Molly, who
had been busy outlining her eyes with black, looked up and let out a
little scream of fright.

"Molly!  Are you all right?"  A slim, red-haired figure shot out from
behind a dressing-screen, an anxious expression on her pretty face, and
suddenly the question burning on Lysander's lips was made redundant.

"God's teeth!"  He stared in horror at the tight, extremely low-cut
gown clinging to her curves, its tawdry bombazine echoing the turquoise
of her eyes.

A thick layer of paint hid her freckles and cheap, green ribbons
decorated her apricot-gold curls.  Coloured glass earrings dangled from
her ears, their garish hue a sharp contrast to the genuine pearls
glowing around her neck.

In one corner of his brain, Lysander noted they were the string with
the black pearl pendant he had seen her wearing once before.  Corinna
must have presented them to her, a very expensive gift and totally
wasted on this setting.

"You look like a two-penny whore," he spat.

The insult restored Tamsin's power of speech.

"How dare you!"  she raged.

"You have no right to come here and revile me.  Go away!"

The angry frown on Lysander's face deepened.

"Get your things.  We are leaving."

"You must be mad!  Why on earth should I listen to you?"  Tamsin glared
at him, her eyes snapping.

"I am not going to miss my first performance just to please you."

Lysander grabbed her by the arm.

"I will not allow you to make a public spectacle of yourself," he
growled.

Tamsin tried to wrench free, but failed.

"It's none of your business what I do," she hissed at him, horribly
aware of their audience, who were listening with open-mouthed
interest.

"I'm making it my business."

"Why?  In case you had forgotten, you told me to leave you alone."

Tamsin saw a flicker of misery in his eyes and a bitter triumph filled
her.

"Now it's my turn to say the same, Lysander."

"Aye, get out," Molly chimed in, coming to stand next to Tamsin.

"You are not wanted here."

Still keeping hold of Tamsin's arm, Lysander turned his head in her
direction, his eyes narrowing with a cold ferocity that made Molly fall
silent.

"As for you, Mistress Barton," he continued, his icy gaze swinging back
'to Tamsin, 'you are coming with me whether you like it or not.  "

Without further ado, he seized her by the waist and flung her over his
right shoulder.

"Put me down!"  Tamsin pummelled his back with her fists.

Ignoring her screams of protest and a chorus of gasps and nervous
giggles from the other women, Lysander marched out of the
tiring-room.

Startled heads turned in his direction as he headed for the theatre's
exit, but such was the expression on his face that no one dared stop
him.

Tamsin found herself being tossed into a hackney.  Lysander yelled
something at the driver, jumped in after her and the vehicle
immediately set off at a wicked pace.

Breathless from her unceremonious landing, Tamsin struggled into a
sitting position and made a grab for the door handle.

"Don't be a fool, you'd break your stupid neck!"  Lysander's arm shot
out to prevent her escape.

"You have no right to do this."  Rage cracked Tamsin's voice.

"I will not allow you to ruin your reputation."

Tamsin glared at him and, unable to think of a way to escape, turned
her face away.

She was acutely conscious of his nearness, but she managed to keep up
her pretence of ignoring him until the hackney arrived in Wych
Street.

"I am not coming with you," she declared, suddenly aware that she was
still dressed in her stage-costume.

"Yes, you are."  Lysander hauled her out of the coach and, despite her
struggles, Tamsin was powerless to prevent him from carrying her into
the house.

Master Cooper, who had opened the door, goggled at them and for an
instant Tamsin was reminded of that first night when Lysander had
brought her home from Mrs.  Cole's.

But there was no tenderness in his expression now and he waved Matthew
aside with a curt, "Not now', when Matt tried to tell him that Lord
Treneglos had called.

"But he said it was urgent he speak with you, my lord!"

Mart's plaintive cry followed them up the stairs.  Ignoring it,
Lysander strode into the withdrawing-room and kicked the door shut
behind them.

"Let me go!"

"What did you think you were playing at?"  he demanded furiously,
setting her down.

"Why shouldn't I become an actress if I want?"  Tamsin's face wore a
rebellious look.

"You know the answer to that!  Or are you so hellbent on ruining your
reputation that you imagine you would enjoy running with that crowd?
Damn it, Tamsin, you are a fish out of water there and you know it!"

Tamsin opened her mouth to deny it, but no words came out.  Innate
honesty told her he was right.  She had found the world backstage both
strange and frightening with its hardbitten atmosphere and cynical
striving for success.  Without Molly's support she would never have got
through this week of rehearsals, "And what concern is it of yours,
pray?"  she countered, unwilling to admit her doubts.

"I promised Martha I would stop you going on stage."

Tamsin's eyes flashed.  She might have known!  Honour again!

"Well, you can go right back and tell her to stop worrying.  I don't
need her fussing over me.  I can look after myself."

"You ought to be grateful that she cares, you spoilt brat!"  Lysander
exclaimed.

"And you ought to keep your nose out of my affairs, you great bully!"

Tears of rage sparkled in Tamsin's eyes.

"You've made me look a complete laughingstock!"

"Tamsin."  Lysander laid a hesitant hand on her shoulder.

"Don't!"  Tamsin knocked his hand away.

"I don't want to hear your apologies."

"I wasn't going to apologise!"  Lysander lied, his temper flaring up at
the look of disdain she gave him.

"You don't deserve an apology.  You are behaving like a foolish child
unable to see the consequences of your actions."

"Stop calling me a child!"  Utterly incensed by this remark, Tamsin's
hand flew up and made violent contact with his cheek.

"Why, you little--' Grabbing her by the shoulders Lysander was about to
retaliate when the urge to shake her abruptly vanished.  Beneath his
hands, she felt delicate and fragile... and wholly desirable!

Breathing hard, he stared down into her face, trying to shore up the
barriers he had erected to control his feelings, but it was too late.

His de fences had crumbled.

Tamsin sensed the change in him.  She too had been trying to hide
behind anger.  Now, she saw her own desire reflected in his eyes.

Her slap had left a vivid red mark on his cheek.  Timidly, she reached
up and touched it gently.

Turning his head, Lysander pressed a kiss into her palm.

A tiny sigh of satisfaction escaped Tamsin and, slowly, his hands slid
from her shoulders down to her narrow waist.

"God's teeth," he muttered and pulled her into his embrace.

Their lips met hungrily and Tamsin pressed herself close.  Through the
thin cheap fabric of her gown she could feel a growing hardness at his
loins and wondered why it did not shock her.  Without thought, her
mouth opened under his and their tongues entwined.

His hand cupped her breast, stroking it gently before slipping inside
the low neckline.  Tamsin gasped with pleasure against his mouth as his
skilful fingers investigated her nipple, rousing it delicately until it
stood proud and hard.

"Sweetheart!"  Lysander swept her up in his arms and carried her over
to the couch.  He sank down beside her, bearing her back against the
cushions.  He kissed her again and Tamsin responded eagerly.  She felt
his hands upon the bodice of her gown, untying the laces which held it
closed.  It fell open and Tamsin felt cool air upon her skin.

She caught her breath as Lysander's lips left hers and travelled slowly
down her throat.  He rained delicate butterfly kisses across the upper
curve of her breast and she sighed with delight.

His hair trailed against her skin, tickling softly.  Hesitantly, Tamsin
reached up to touch him, her hand sliding cares singly across his
shoulders.  His mouth found her nipple and the feel of his tongue, hot
and wet against its sensitive flesh, sent tremors of arousal through
her entire body.

"I can hear your heart beating like a little drum," Lysander whispered,
raising his head and gazing into her eyes.

Tamsin gave a tiny choke of laughter.

"It wouldn't surprise me, my lord, if they could hear it in the
street!"

Lysander slid back up the couch.  Taking her face between his hands, he
smiled at her.

"You are entirely adorable," he murmured and set his mouth on hers once
more.

It was a long deep kiss and they were both so lost in passion's thrall
that neither of them heard the door open.

"Lysander, I must speak with you!"  Lord Treneglos's urgent voice
shattered the silence.

Reacting without thought, Lysander shot up into a sitting position and
Tom let out a gasp of dismay as he realised his faux pas.

"Forgive me, I didn't realise you..."  His voice trailed off as his
gaze took in the dishevelled girl lying on the couch.  An expression of
stunned disbelief appeared on his plump face and with a roar of anger
he leapt forward.

"Unhand my daughter, you damned blackguard!"

"Take off those pearls and look at the clasp if you do not believe me."
Lord Treneglos's voice trembled.

"The words semper amamus are engraved there."

Tamsin's hands were shaking so hard she found it difficult to undo the
necklace, but at last it came loose and she stared at the gold clasp.

Our love is forever.

Her eyes flew to Tom's face.  It was true.  He was her father!

"I gave those pearls to your mother on our wedding day."  Tom sighed.

"Not that I need any further proof of who you are.  You were named
after me, but you are her image, Thomasina."

"My mother was a blonde," Tamsin replied carefully.

A faint smile touched Tom's mouth for a fleeting instant.

"In my youth, my hair was much the same colour as yours."

Lysander broke his deliberate silence.

"You say she was named after you, but her name is--' Tom turned to
glare at him.

"Tamsin is the Cornish pet form of Thomasina," he interrupted coldly.

Tamsin had often daydreamed about her first meeting with her father,
but never in her wildest imaginings could she have envisaged anything
as disastrous as this!

For the first few minutes after Lord Treneglos had burst in on them she
had been too embarrassed to take in what he was saying.  Fumbling to
fasten her bodice, she'd heard him rage at Lysander, screaming of
treachery and deceit without understanding what he meant.

Now she knew.  He thought Lysander had been deliberately hiding her, an
accusation which left Lysander ashen-faced with horror and disbelief.

He'd attempted to deny it, but too furious to listen.  Lord Treneglos
had continued to hurl allegations of lechery and seduction at his
head.

An answering anger had erupted in Lysander and for one awful moment,
Tamsin had thought they might come to blows.  Screwing up her courage,
she'd quickly stepped between and intervened by demanding to know why
Lord Treneglos thought she was his daughter.

"A Mr.  Penhaligan was my father," she had declared and, behind her,
heard Lysander catch his breath.

"Penhaligan is my family name," Lord Treneglos had replied gently.

"I

only inherited the title after my marriage.  "

Tamsin still could hardly believe it!

"So Aunt Deborah really did deceive us," she murmured, her stomach
twisting as she stared down at the pearls in her hand.

"Aye."  Tom's answer was heavy with disgust.

"She tried to defend herself when I visited Whiteladies by claiming
that the lack of proper communication led to confusion, but I believe
her motive was spite."

"And you have been looking for me all this time?"  A wondering note
crept into Tamsin's voice.

He nodded.

"You are my nearest flesh and blood."

He held out his hand to her and Tamsin slowly put hers in his.  Drawing
her gently towards him, he kissed her forehead.

"I am desperately sorry for this bad beginning, my dear, but I hope to
make it up to you.  I want to wipe out the past and all its
misfortunes, if you will let me?"

Tamsin nodded and attempted a smile.  It came out crooked, but her
fingers tightened on his.

He returned the pressure for an instant and then turned to Lysander,
his smile abruptly fading.

"I assume you know what reparation you must make?"  he enquired with a
deadly formality.

Lysander inclined his 'head.  He was very pale and a muscle twitched by
the corner of his mouth, but he bowed to Tamsin with exquisite grace.

"Madam, will you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?"

Tamsin choked.

"She will."  Lord Treneglos answered for her.

"My lawyers will attend on you tomorrow, Saxon."  He glanced at
Tamsin.

"Come, Thomasina.  There is no further need to linger here."

Tamsin recovered her voice.

"Lysander cannot marry me!"  she gasped.

"He is betrothed to Jane Godolphin."

"My understanding is that the marriage contract has not yet been
signed."  Tom's expression was implacable.

Tamsin wondered how he knew and just as quickly realised he must have
already heard the latest town gossip.  She gave him an imploring
look.

"There is no need for such drastic measures, sir!"

She stole a glance at Lysander and her heart sank at his icy
expression.  If only he wanted to marry her!  But he didn't.  He had
pledged his word to Jane and honour meant everything to him!

"There is every need!"  Anger crackled in Tom's voice.

"Half the town knows that you once lived unchaperoned in this very
house with him."

"I was housekeeper here," Tamsin protested.

"No one will believe that, not after today.  I was told that Saxon was
bound for the theatre so I followed him there.  You had mentioned to my
agent that you had once worked in this house and I wanted Saxon to
clear up the puzzle.  However, when I arrived the whole place was
buzzing with talk of how he had abducted an actress."  Tom took a deep
breath, striving to contain his feelings.

"I didn't realise, of course, that you were the girl involved."

Tamsin winced.

"What... what you saw just now... I can explain," she began, blushing
to the roots of her hair.

"I mean, I--' " Hush, my dear.  I do not blame you.  " Tom threw
Lysander a dark look.

"It is unfortunate that Mistress Godolphin must suffer, but I cannot
allow her needs to take precedence over yours."

"But ... but--' " Enough, daughter.  You are overwrought and in no
condition to think clearly.  " Tom removed his cloak and wrapped it
around her, hiding her wanton gown.

"Come.  My carriage is outside."

Reluctantly, Tamsin allowed him to lead her away, but at the door she
could not resist glancing back at Lysander.

He stood motionless and the expression of frozen despair on his face
made Tamsin wish she had not looked back.

In spite of the splendid comfort on offer at the White Horse Inn,
Tamsin passed a sleepless night and rose early.  She wanted to try and
convince her father that he was making a mistake, but Lord Treneglos
would not listen.

"There is no point in further discussion, my dear.  Saxon took
advantage of you and now he must pay for it," "Without his help I
should have been in a worse predicament!  He saved me from Mrs.
Cole!"

"Thomasina, I beg you will never mention that woman's name again!"  Tom
shuddered.

Over supper last night Tamsin had confessed all that had happened since
she left Whiteladies and he had been horrified.  Riddled by guilt that
he was to blame for her misfortunes, he was determined to put things
right.

"My dear, Lysander Saxon knows as well as I do that marriage is the
only way to silence the gossip and save your reputation.  He may not
want to marry you, but he has no choice," he declared, unintentionally
mbbing salt into Tam- sin's wounded pride.

"And what if I do not want to marry him?"  she asked tightly.

Tom lifted his brows.

"From what I saw yesterday, I rather hoped you did."

Tamsin blushed.

"Not unless he is willing."

"Don't fret.  I shall give you a dowry that will enable him to restore
Melcombe.  He will not be able to reproach you."

He had misunderstood her.  She wanted Lysander to love her, not feel
trapped!

"Come, let's have some breakfast; then, when Petroc returns from Mrs.
Heron's, we shall go shopping to find a present to send to Master
Latham to thank him for his kindness to you."

Tom had dispatched his trusted manservant, another Cornishman who had
been with him for years, to collect Tamsin's belongings from Molly's.
He had forbidden Tamsin to see the actress, but had allowed her to send
a final message of reassurance and farewell.

Molly would understand why Tamsin had to break off their friendship.

She wasn't the type to bear resentment and Tamsin hoped that one day
they might meet again, for she would miss Molly's cheerfulness and her
devil-may-care attitude, which had always appealed to her own streak of
rebelliousness.

She wouldn't miss the raffish world backstage, however.  She was not
cut out to be an actress.  It was probably the Puritan in her!

You should have listened to your conscience earlier, she scolded
herself as they sat down to breakfast in the private parlour her father
had hired.  Then you wouldn't feel so guilty!

She had hated the stage, but had continued in the hope that it might
persuade Lysander to change his mind and take her for his mistress.

For all her anger, a part of her had been relieved that he had stopped
her performing yesterday, but just look at the mess her attempted
manipulation had landed them in!

He must hate me, she thought miserably, and the bread she was
attempting to eat turned to sawdust in her mouth.

If Tamsin had but known it, Lysander was making equally poor work of
his morning draught.

Besotted with one woman while tied to another!  Was it any wonder he
felt furiously guilty at gaining his heart's desire at the expense of
his honour?

Abandoning the dining-table, he screwed up his courage and set out to
visit Jane.  The interview which followed was harrowing and, after
taking one look at his white face, Matthew hurried to fetch him a large
glass of brandy on his return.

"I'm afraid Lord Treneglos's lawyers are waiting for you.  I put them
in the withdrawing-room," he murmured sympathetically.

"Thank you," Lysander replied.  He downed the brandy in one swallow.  T
think I may have need of this!  "

The two men rose at Lysander's entrance.  Bowing politely, they
presented a list of Lord Treneglos' stems for his perusal.

"You will want to consult your own lawyers no doubt, my lord," the
senior man said when Lysander had finished reading the document.

"Aye, but everything looks straightforward enough," Lysander replied in
a slightly surprised tone.  Tom's terms were remarkably generous.

Had his understandable anger cooled?  Lysander fervently hoped so.  He
had known Tom for too long to want to quarrel' with him.

"Then, if you are agreeable.  Lord Treneglos suggests that.  the
marriage contract be signed tomorrow."

Lysander's startled expression prompted the junior lawyer to speak
up.

"Our client sees no point in delay."  He coughed delicately.

"Unless... will there be any difficulty with Mistress Godolphin, do you
think?"

"Mistress Godolphin intends to travel home to Rye for Easter.  I doubt
if she will return to London for some months."  Lysander's voice was
perfectly toneless.

The two lawyers exchanged satisfied glances.

"In that case, Sir Lysander, may we tell Lord Treneglos that you will
present yourself at our office in Mincing Lane at eleven o'clock
tomorrow?"

"You may."

They bowed themselves out and Lysander took a deep breath.

By tomorrow noon he would be as good as married!

Having taken the precaution of practising her new signature earlier
that morning at their Lombard Street inn, Tamsin was able to sign her
true name on the betrothal contract without faltering.  She stared at
the wet ink.  Thomasina Penhaligan.  How strange it looked!

Soon, very soon, she would have to learn another new name, she thought
with a nicker of panic as she lifted her eyes from the parchment and
met Lysander's brooding gaze.

The lawyers produced a bottle of wine and the customary toasts were
drunk.  The atmosphere, however, remained strained and Tamsin found it
hard to thank everyone for their good wishes.

It was a relief to leave the small dark office behind, but the ordeal
was not yet over.

"May I beg the favour of a word in private with your daughter?"

Lysander asked with formal politeness as his companions were about to
enter their coach.

Tom shook his head.

"I think not."

Lysander's mouth tightened.

"We shall see you in church."  Tom ushered Tamsin into the coach,
ignoring her frantic look of appeal.

It drove away and, muttering a curse beneath his breath, Lysander went
in search of Jack.

He ran him to earth in the Sun-Tavern in Threadneedle Street, one of
his cousin's favourite haunts.  Jack, who was about to sit down to
dinner, immediately invited Lysander to join him.

They found a free table in one of the smaller rooms where they could be
assured of privacy and gave their order to the potboy, who brought them
a bottle of sack and a plate of oysters.

"Your eel pies will be along in a minute, gentlemen," he told them
before disappearing off to serve another customer.

"I shall be glad to be done with Lent," Jack remarked in a deliberately
jovial tone.

"My stomach aches for a proper bit of beef."

Lysander, appreciating his kind intentions, managed to raise a smile.

"Perhaps my luck would have been better if I had kept the proper
observance," he answered ironically and, fixing his cousin with a
direct look, asked him if he had heard the rumour about him abducting
an actress.

Jack took a fortifying swallow of his wine.

"Aye," he nodded.

"But J don't believe it," he added stoutly.

"You should," Lysander replied and proceeded to lay out the full truth
for Jack's inspection.

"Poor Jane!"  Jack exclaimed involuntarily.

"How humiliated she must feel!"

Lysander winced and, realising his lack of tact.  Jack hid his concern
for Mistress Godolphin and hastily asked when the wedding was to take
place.

"At the end of next week."  Lysander had agreed to procure a special
licence to save time calling banns.

"Will you be my groomsman?"

"Of course I will," Jack responded.

He was agitated on Jane's behalf, but he didn't blame Lysander.  His
cousin had been caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.  There
was no way he could behave honourably to both women!

"With any luck, with Easter and the forthcoming Coronation, people will
be too busy to go on paying attention to us," Lysander continued with a
pretence of optimism.

"Aye," Jack agreed, but silently he doubted it.  The story was too
sensational!

"I can still hardly believe that little Tamsin is Treneglos's missing
heiress," he murmured, taking one of the oysters.

"As for the idea that she was going to appear on stage..."  He
swallowed the morsel of seafood and spread his hands wide in a gesture
of amazement.

"What could have prompted her to think up such a crazy scheme?"

"Oh, I have a good idea," Lysander replied curtly and his expression
darkened ominously.

Chapter Twelve

-K-ain beat against the windows of St.  Mary Woolnoth and Tamsin was
shivering as she walked down the aisle on her new husband's arm.  But
it was not the chill permeating the old church nor the gloom of the
afternoon which affected her.

Lysander's deep attractive voice had been coolly impersonal as he took
his vows.  He looked magnificent in a new suit of bronze-coloured
farandine, but she couldn't tell what he was thinking from his
imperturbable expression.

On leaving the church they repaired to the White Horse, where Lord
Treneglos had made provision for the wedding feast.  Removing her wet
cloak, Tamsin shook the creases out of her deep cream lute string
skirts and saw several water.  marks.  The rain had dampened her gold
lace petticoat as well, but somehow it no longer seemed to matter if
her lovely dress spoiled.

She had done her best to look beautiful today.  A fashionable
hairdresser had been summoned to arrange her hair in artful ringlets,
her clothes were the finest money could buy and her father had given
her a pair of exquisite pearl earrings to match the necklace that had
once been her mother's.

But Lysander didn't seem to have noticed her efforts.

"Let me welcome you into the family, cousin!"  Jack appeared at her
side and, with a broad grin, kissed her cheek.

Heartened by his cheerful chatter, Tamsin took her place at the table.
Too nervous to eat, she could barely touch any of the elegant dishes
her father had ordered.

Glancing sideways, she noted that while Ly sander's appetite seemed
similarly affected, he was drinking steadily.

She signalled for her own wineglass to be refilled.  Her father, who
was seated on her other side, whispered, "Is that wise, my dear?"

"Pot valour," Tamsin whispered back with a wry smile.

The long meal came to an end and the guests began to depart, for
Lysander had flatly refused to countenance any of the usual bedding
ceremonies.  Tamsin was relieved.  Such traditional romps as the
untying of her garters and the flinging of bridal stockings would have
been too much of an ordeal for her strained nerves.

Tamsin slipped into her bedchamber when all the guests had gone.  With
a tiny sigh she picked up her silver toothbrush from the
dressing-table. The irony of choosing it for herself all those months
ago had hit her when Tom had finally presented it to her last night.

If only he had found her earlier, she might have been able to win Ly
sander's love fair and square!  * Crushing this useless speculation,
she dropped the toothbrush into the elaborate dressing-case, which had
been Lysander's wedding gift to her.

There was a knock at the door and her father entered.

"I wanted to say goodbye to you in private."  He smiled at her
awkwardly.

"And ask if I might call on you soon?"

Tamsin reassured him.

"I don't blame you for forcing this marriage.

Father.  "

Tom's face lit up and he kissed her cheek.

"Thank you for your understanding, my dear."  He paused and then,
gazing at her anxiously, added, "Tell me I am right in thinking that
you care for Lysander?"

Tamsin bit her lip and then nodded abruptly.

Tom let out a sigh of relief.

"I swear to you that I would not have wed you to him if I had believed
otherwise."

Seeing her surprised expression, he coughed.

"I may have cursed Lysander Saxon to hell and back, but I have known
him since he was a child.  He has his faults, but my suspicions were
unworthy."

"Perhaps you should tell him you have forgiven him."  Tam- sin
suspected her father's coldness had cut Lysander to the quick.

"I shall," Tom nodded.

"But our reconciliation can wait."  He picked up her cloak and put it
around her shoulders.

"You must go.  He is waiting for you downstairs."

They went out to the coach and Lord Treneglos placed her hand in
Lysander's.

"I pray you will find happiness together," he said formally and
withdrew.

The ride to Wych Street was conducted in an uncomfortable silence.

Tamsin opened her mouth several times to break it, only to find that
her courage had deserted her.  She half- suspected Lysander of doing
the same, she could feel the tension coiled in his lean frame, but the
interior of the coach was too gloomy to be sure.

She was touched to find Martha and her husband lined up in the hallway
with Master Cooper, Dinah and Luke to congratulate them.

"We all came to the church to see you wed," Luke piped up as she
thanked them for their good wishes.

Matthew produced a tray of glasses filled with Wine and a toast was
drunk to the bridal couple.

Martha drew Tamsin on one side as the others returned to their duties
and her dark eyes were misted with tears.

"Your mother would have been so proud of you today."

Tamsin swallowed the lump in her throat.  Etiquette had forbidden her
to invite a lowly shopkeeper's wife to the wedding-feast, but she had
missed Martha.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"I know you were angry with me for interfering, but it's all turned out
for the best, my lamb."

Tamsin murmured agreement, surreptitiously crossing her fingers for
luck.

When Ned and Martha had gone, Lysander politely offered her his arm to
escort her up to the withdrawing-room.

"I told Matthew that he and the others could have the evening off," he
announced as she seated herself.

"They will leave a cold supper for us in the dining-room.  I hope this
arrangement meets with your approval?"

Tamsin nodded carelessly.

"Someone may as well celebrate."

Lysander paled.  How.  bitter she sounded!

"I thought this match was to your liking," he began, an unusual note of
hesitation in his deep voice.

"Well, it certainly isn't to yours!"  Tamsin interrupted hotly, losing
control of her wine-influenced tongue.

"You have made that plain enough!"

"Do you blame me, ma'am?"  Lysander could feel his own temper rising.

"Thanks to you, I was forced to reject the woman to whom I had pledged
my word.  My honour has been compromised and my name has become a
laughing-stock."  He glared at her.

"What's more, I strongly suspect you planned your ridiculous debut at
the theatre merely to manipulate me into changing my mind about your
wanton offer!"

Tamsin's heart sank.  Oh God, he hadn't forgiven her!

Lysander moved to the marble fireplace and leaned against it casually,
resting his arm on the mantelpiece.  His heart was thumping as if he
had been in action against the French!  Observing her stricken
expression, his flash of temper vanished.

"Do you really dislike the notion of being married to me?"  he asked,
hoping his negligent pose concealed the tension tightening every nerve
as he waited for her answer.

"You are not my idea of a good husband," Tamsin retorted, recovering
her composure.

He quirked one eyebrow.

"You did not seem so indifferent to me before."

"I do not deny there has been desire between us," Tamsin snapped.

"But I am not such a child as to confuse lust with love.  I wanted to
be your mistress, not your wife."

To her satisfaction, his well-cut mouth dropped open in astonishment.

"No woman of sense wants to get married," she said coolly.

Then use their wives worse than a dog.  They think them fit for nothing
but breeding heirs.  Mistresses, on the other hand, get gifts and
attention.  "

Tamsin knew she was quoting Molly to hide her hurt feelings.  If he
didn't want her, she was damned if she was going to admit to wanting
him!

"Thanks to you, I have lost my freedom," she continued sharply, echoing
his hateful words.

"You cost me the chance to select my own husband at a time of my own
choosing.  And, I'll warrant you, I should have chosen a very different
kind of man."

She smiled at him with poisonous sweetness.

"Your brother- in-law has an excellent library.  I read in one of his
books that your namesake was a Spartan general, a man noted for his
arrogance and pride.  I see those traits in you and I do not admire
them."

Lysander felt as if she had kicked him in the stomach.  In spite of all
that had gone wrong, he had assumed that they could patch up their
differences.

"Are you saying that you now hold me in distaste?"

The note of incredulity in his voice infuriated Tamsin.  Of all the
conceited.  "Of course!"

The lie burnt her tongue, but stubborn wilfulness kept her expression
indifferent.

"Then it seems to me, ma'am," Lysander said slowly, 'that this marriage
is a farce.  "

Tamsin stared at him warily.

"What do you mean?"

Before he could answer there was a loud knock and Dinah came hurrying
in without waiting for permission to enter.

"Well?"  Lysander rounded on her impatiently.

"Beg pardon, my lord, but it's the King!"  Dinah's eyes were round with
awe.

Tamsin barely had time to jump up from the couch before Charles
strolled in.  She had a brief impression of immense height, rich
clothing and a swarthy face surrounded by curly dark hair before
sinking into a hasty curtsy.

"Please forgive the intrusion, Lady Saxon."  Charles extended a hand to
raise her to her feet.

"I promise I won't stay above a moment."

His voice was rich and pleasing, but a cold shiver ran down Tamsin's
spine.  Did Lysander want her to be his lady?

"Although I was prevented from attending your wedding, I couldn't let
the day go by without wishing you both well."  Charles handed Tamsin as
ilk-wrapped gift with a smile.

It was a smile that transformed his heavy features, she thought as she
unwrapped the gift.  Its warmth made her understand why all the ladies
fell victim to his charm!

The gift was a small painting of the Dutch school set in a gilt
frame.

Lysander thanked Charles and asked him if he would take a glass of
wine.

Tamsin set the painting down carefully.  Her hands were shaking.  The
King's presence and his splendid gift only added to the sense of
unreality which had haunted her all day.  Any minute now she was going
to wake up and find herself back in Paris, the last two months nothing
but a crazy dream!

T must go," Charles eventually announced with a nattering reluctance.

T am expected at Whitehall.  "

Tamsin knew that he had created several Knights of the Bath earlier in
the day, which was why he had not accepted an invitation to the
wedding, and she surmised that some form of entertainment was scheduled
to conclude the ceremonies.

They escorted him with correct formality to the front door.

"Bring your wife to Court soon," Charles added to Lysander as he bade
them farewell.

"I think not.  Sire."  Ly Sander's voice was cool.

A little startled, Charles cocked his head enquiringly.

"Mistress Penhaligan agrees with me that our marriage was a mistake."

Lysander shrugged, his expression inscrutable.

"The obvious solution is to seek an annulment."

Tamsin gasped and even Charles Stuart, who was noted for his sang-fro
id looked shocked.

"Are you quite sure, my friend?"

"Quite."  Lysander glanced at Tamsin.  When she remained silent, he
continued lightly, "It should be simple enough to arrange, I
imagine."

Charles gave him a sardonic look.

"You intend to claim it is a marriage contracted per verba praesenti,
but which nisi accedat copula ca malis

"Exactly so.  Sire."  Lysander inclined his head.  The Latin phrases
revolved dizzily in Tamsin's brain.

"Would one of you mind telling me what you are talking about?"  she
asked faintly.

"It means that the marriage is strictly on paper," Charles replied
quickly.

Tamsin's gaze flew to Lysander's face.

"You mean..."

"I do not intend to consummate this marriage."  His green eyes were
stormy, but he bowed to her with exquisite grace.

"Until the ecclesiastical courts are done with us, we will have to live
together, but rest assured that I will do all in my power to grant you
the freedom you so evidently desire."

Tamsin stuck her head out of the coach window.  They were coming to the
end of a long driveway which had wound its way through woodland and
thick shrubbery and she could now see the house.

Melcombe Manor stood firmly planted on a slight rise, dominating the
scene with effortless grace.  Roughly L-shaped, its mellow local stone
seemed to have caught the warm July sunshine.

"It's beautiful," she said to her father, suddenly understanding why
Lysander was so attached to his birthplace.

The coach came to a halt.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"  Tom asked, laying a restraining
hand on Tamsin's arm.

"It's not too late for you to continue on to Cornwall with me."

Tamsin shook her head.  1 must see Lysander," she said firmly.

She descended from the coach and surveyed the house.  Seen more
closely, there was evidence of damage and neglect to both the stonework
and roof.  But repairs were under way and she wondered how Lysander was
financing them since he hadn't touched a penny of her dowry.

She had barely seen him since their wedding day three months ago.  When
they met he was civil, but distant.  Bewildered and furious, Tamsin had
retaliated by refusing to retract her hasty words and treating him with
the same cool politeness.  No matter her heartache, she would not beg
him to keep her as his wife!

That he was being discreet about the annulment Tamsin knew from the
lack of gossip and, since it was unfashionable to hang upon each
other's arm, their largely separate lifestyles occasioned little
comment.

At the end of May, Lysander had announced he was leaving for
Melcombe.

T don't know when I shall return," he'd informed her, coolly adding
that she had his permission to live with her father if she wished.

Pride kept Tamsin from following his suggestion, but when Lord
Treneglos visited Wych Street on Midsummer's Day and found her in
tears, Tamsin was forced to confess the truth.

Shocked, Tom had urged her to seek a reconciliation.  Tamsin had
refused.

Then, a few days ago, a summons had come from Whitehall and Tamsin
found herself enjoying a private audience with the King.

"You realise, my dear, that the annulment of your marriage is
proceeding?"  he asked, after waving her to a seat in his closet.

"These matters are confoundedly slow, but I suppose you know that?"

Tamsin nodded, ignoring the fierce cramping of her stomach.

"It is likely that the final decision will rest with me."  Charles's
harsh features wore a kindly smile.

"Which is why I asked you here.

Are you sure you don't want to change your mind?  "

Tamsin gazed at him, her tongue frozen.

"You see, it occurs to me that this match is extremely suitable if the
pair of you could only be brought to realise it."  His dark eyes held a
perceptive awareness as he waited for her answer.

There was a short silence, filled only with the ticking of the many
clocks Charles kept in his closet.

"I'm... I'm not sure, Sire."

"Then perhaps you ought to discuss it with your husband," he suggested
gently.

Tamsin struggled with the pride and anger which had sustained her for
the last few months.  In her heart she knew she didn't want to let
Lysander go.

"I will, your Majesty."

Lord Treneglos had insisted on accompanying her to Dorset.

"I intend to spend several months in Cornwall's good air, my dear,"
he'd said, brushing aside her objections.

"It is no trouble to visit Melcombe Regis first."

Realising that he needed to know the outcome of her attempt, Tamsin had
gladly accepted his escort.  The summer roads had been dusty and
rutted, but the long journey was over at last.

Giving her blue cambric skirts a determined shake to free them of dust,
she marched towards the front entrance.

A servant admitted them and they stepped into a vast hall with ancient
wooden beams that betrayed its Plantagenet origins.  Tamsin noted that
the far end of the room was still under repair with workmen busy with
buckets of plaster.

"I wish to speak to Sir Lysander," she said, raising her voice.  above
the workmen's din.

"The master is not at home, ma'am."

"Then where is he?"

"I do believe he be at the quarry," the woman answered.

Tamsin shot a puzzled glance at Tom.

"We will speak to Sir Ly Sander's steward," Tom announced and the maid
showed them into a parlour off the hall.  It overlooked the garden and
the scent of roses drifted in through an open window.

Too restless to sit, Tamsin walked over to the window and stared out at
a bed of irises, phlox and delphiniums, but her attention was
concentrated on listening for footsteps.

To her disappointment, the man who came hurrying in was a stranger.

"I

was hoping to see Master Cooper," she exclaimed.

After taking the precaution of hiring one of Nat's cousins to act as
her new manservant, Lysander had taken Matthew with him.

"Master Cooper accompanied Sir Lysander to the Isle of Portland,
ma'am."  The steward, a heavy man in his thirties, bowed politely and
introduced himself as John Easton.

"They are supervising work at the quarry."

"I remember now," Tom chimed in.

"Lysander's mother came from Portland and her family owned a large
stone quarry there."  He frowned.

"I

thought it was disused.  "

"Sir Lysander has opened it up again."  There was a note r' pride in
Master Easton's voice.

Tamsin nodded impatiently.

"Can you send a message asking him to return?"

"The only means of reaching the Isle is by boat.  I doubt if he could
be back here before morning."

"Then we will wait.  Please prepare bedchambers for us."

Seeing the man's startled look, she explained who she was.

"I beg your pardon, my lady.  I had no idea you planned to visit us."

Master Easton paused uncertainly.

Tom put him out of his misery.

"We can see that the house is at sixes and sevens.  Just do your best,
man."

Over supper, Tom explained to Tamsin that the Isle belonged to the
Crown and had always been loyal.

"Even though the Parliamentarians held most of this area, including the
town of Melcombe Regis."

"They used this house as a garrison, didn't they?"  Tamsin glanced
around the dining-room.  The wooden panelling was scarred and broken in
places.

"Aye.  Damn near ruined it, too!"  Tom sighed, remembering the house in
all its glory before the War.

"I suppose Lysander's family have lived here forever," Tamsin said
wistfully.

She felt like an interloper, aware of the covert stares of the
servants, who plainly wondered why their master had left his new bride
behind in London.

"Actually, it was bought by Lysander's grandfather," Tom said,
surprising her.

"He was a local lad made good.  A son of minor gentry, he went up to
Court and had the luck to marry a Scots heiress who came to England as
a lady-in-waiting to Queen Anne when James took over the throne.  He
then bought this house from the original family, who were sadly
impoverished, and set about extending it."

Lord Treneglos smiled at his daughter's amazed expression.

"Lysander's father possessed the same passion for improvement.  When I
first came here he was in the middle of building the library.  He
installed handsome panelling and a wealth of fine furniture and
paintings in every room."

He shrugged.

"It was all sold to raise money for the cause."

"If Lysander can make a success of this quarrying, do you think he will
be able to restore his fortunes?"

Tamsin had discovered from Tom that Portland's fine white limestone was
highly prized.  Indeed, Inigo Jones had used it in constructing the
great Banqueting Hall at the Palace of Whitehall.

Tom nodded thoughtfully.

"It would be damned hard work and I believe there is a tax levied on
every ton of stone exported, but it could be a most profitable
enterprise.  There is much new building going on in London now."

So he would not need her dowry after all!

"Why didn't he decide on this scheme earlier?"  she burst out.

"He need never have approached Mistress Godolphin!"

"Gently, my dear!"  Tom patted her shoulder soothingly.

"I expect it has taken him this long to get the quarry in good order
and set up the right contacts in London, to say nothing of the
difficulties of arranging the necessary sea-transport.  The whole
business is outside the usual scope of a gentleman, after all."

There was a note of admiration in her father's tone and Tamsin
reluctantly conceded that he was right.  Instead of taking the easy
option like his grandfather and using a rich heiress's wealth, Ly
sander was forging his own path.

She swallowed hard.  Which meant, of course, that she had lost one of
her bargaining counters!

Contrary to her expectations, Tamsin slept well in the scantily
furnished chamber assigned to her and she hurried downstairs the next
morning in a fever of impatience.

"A letter has come for you, my lady."  Master Easton handed her a note,
which bore Ly sander's seal, and discreetly melted away.

Tamsin ripped it open and, seeing her turn pale, Tom asked her if
anything was wrong.

"He won't see me."  She raised stricken eyes to Tom's face.

"Surely, we can persuade him to change--' Tamsin shook her head.

"He makes it very clear that he doesn't want anything further to do
with me.  Look--' she waved the letter '--he has even ordered me to
leave Melcombe " as soon as I am sufficiently rested"!"

"Come and sit down," Tom urged anxiously, afraid she might faint.

"No!"  Tamsin took a deep breath, her fingers straying involuntarily to
her mother's pearls which she had worn for courage.  How ironic the
motto engraved upon their clasp seemed now!

She attempted a brave smile.

"Let us go.  We have a long journey ahead of us to Cornwall."

Music floating out onto the frosty December air alerted Lysander Saxon
to the fact that he was late and the evening's entertainment in the
Vane Room had begun.  He lengthened his stride and, in the gloom of the
Matted Gallery, would have hurried past a couple going in the same
direction if a well known voice had not hailed him.

"Coz!  Where have you sprung from?  It's been months since you were at
Whitehall!"

"Jack!  It's good to see you."  Lysander shook Lord Fan n shawe's
hand.

"I've just returned from Italy," he continued, answering his cousin's
question.

"Where, no doubt, you have been busy learning techniques to further
your successful venture of stone-cutting," Jack's companion said.

There was amusement in the lady's voice.  Lysander stiffened, suddenly
recognising her.

"Mistress Godolphin."  He bowed, his expression wary.

Jane laughed.

"Pray do not look so worried, sir.  I promise not to scream abuse at
you."

She exchanged a secretive glance with Jack.

"I long since recognised we were not suited and therefore, my lord, you
are forgiven."

Lysander hadn't realised how much he needed to hear her say so until
now.  It felt as if a great weight had rolled off his conscience!

He took the hand she held out to him and raised it to his lips.

"I

should be very glad to be your friend," he said simply.

"Then I hope you shall come and dance at my wedding next month," she
replied with a mischievous smile.

Lysander glanced from her to his cousin's proud face and let out a
pleased chuckle as Jane removed the embroidered glove from her left
hand to show off a diamond ring that sparkled in the dim light.

He congratulated Jack and, turning back to Jane, said, "You have chosen
the better man, my dear."

"I know."  Jane's tone was smug.

Jack had followed her to Rye and his admiration had been balm to her
bruised feelings.  Truth to tell, she had always found his company
easier than Lysander's.  He didn't possess the fine estate she had once
thought necessary, but this no longer seemed important.

She had come to care for him.  What's more, unlike Lysander, he shared
her preference for town life and was so amiable that she knew she would
always get her own way.

Life with Jack would be agreeable and if on occasion she ever sighed
for a little of that dangerous excitement which

Lysander's stormy green gaze could inspire, she was too much of a
realist to regret his loss.  Let that apricot-haired hussy have him and
good luck to her!

Tamsin is back in London too," Jack announced as they resumed
walking.

"I saw her the other day at the Royal Exchange.  She is looking
prettier than ever."

"I hear she is living with her father," Jane murmured.

It was hard to be sure in the poor light, but she thought she saw
Lysander's jaw clench.

"The lease is almost up on the house in Wych Street," he replied
neutrally, which, as Jane noted, was no answer at all.

They reached their destination.  After the chilly gloom of the gallery,
the King's withdrawing-room was an explosion of bright colour and
warmth, lit by hundreds of wax candles.  Satin-clad Cavaliers and their
jewel-bedecked ladies strolled or stood in little groups, their loud
chatter drowning out the music provided for their entertainment.

Lysander parted from his companions and went to pay his respects to the
King, who greeted him with a friendly smile and an enquiry after his
travels.  They spoke of Italy for a while and then Charles said, "The
documents you requested are ready for signing."

His shrewd dark eyes noted how Lysander stiffened.

"Your wife is here tonight," he added casually.

"Why don't you bring her along to my closet later and we'll conclude
the business?"

Lysander nodded assent, aware of the curiosity on the faces of the
courtiers who surrounded them.

It was hardly surprising, he reflected grimly.  While couples at court
rarely lived in each other's pockets, his absence from his wife's side
had been prolonged enough to occasion comment.

If it hadn't been for his vow to set her free.  Lysander forced the
thought aside.  He couldn't afford to weaken now, not with the end in
sight!

He retired from the royal presence and went to search the throng for
Tamsin.  He found her talking to a dark-haired young gallant clad in
scarlet moire and for an instant could not resist feasting his eyes
upon her graceful figure.  She was wearing a gown of leaf-green silk,
looped back to reveal a pale lemon petticoat and her lovely hair
tumbled in a mass of artful ringlets about her white neck.

She looked like the personification of spring, fresh, young, beautiful
and heartbreakingly innocent!

Gritting his teeth, Lysander stepped forward.

Tamsin broke off her conversation, her eyes widening.

"My lord."  She sank into a deep curtsy.

"I did not expect to see you here."

To her relief, there was no trace of the shock she felt in her voice.

Lysander heard the coolness in her polite greeting and his spirits
plummeted.  For a moment, he had been sure there was a flash of joy in
her eyes, but now her face was a blank mask.

He bowed.

"I trust I find you well, ma'am?"

"Very, sir."  Tamsin fanned herself idly with her fan, praying that he
would not notice her hand was shaking.

In truth, with her father's protection and the King's friendship, she
had been shielded from the usual cruel speculation surrounding a
neglected wife.  It was only her heart that had suffered.

"La, my angel, you are living proof that a woman gets on better without
a husband to bother her!"  The painted and patched gallant at Tamsin's
side tittered.

Lysander turned his head slowly and allowed his gaze to rake the
younger man up and down.

"And who might you be, sir?"

The coldness in his voice caused the gallant to take a precautionary
step away from Tamsin, but he answered haughtily, "Antony Blackwell, at
your service, my lord."

"Lord Blackwell's son?"

Antony nodded.

Lysander's mouth thinned.  Blackwell was a notorious womaniser and
drunkard and he had heard that his son was cut from the same cloth for
all that he had barely attained his majority.

"Antony has been acting as my escort these last few weeks since I got
back from Cornwall," Tamsin said sweetly.  She laid her hand on Mr.
Blackwell's sleeve and fluttered her long eyelashes at him.

"He is such entertaining company."

"Indeed," Lysander replied tightly.

God's teeth, was she deliberately trying to provoke him?

"Do you intend to remain in London long, sir?"  Emboldened by Tamsin's
hand on his arm, Antony's light voice held an insolent note.

Lysander shook his head.

"When I have concluded an urgent matter of private business," he said,
itching to plant his fist in the middle of Mr.  Blackwell's painted
face, "I mean to keep Christmas at Melcombe."

"Great Jupiter, you will risk travelling so far at this season?"

Antony gave a theatrical shudder.

"Rather you than me.  You will be shaken to pieces!"

The smile on his rouged lips told Lysander that the young man found
this idea pleasurable.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I intend to travel by sea."

"Even worse!"  Antony fluttered the embroidered handkerchief he carried
in one hand.

"All that tossing about and cold winds!"  His gaze sought Tamsin's.

"Don't you agree, my angel, such a journey is simply too horrible to
contemplate?"

Tamsin was silent, her mind racing.  What did he mean by urgent private
business?

"Surely, you cannot approve of such a barbarous mode of travel?"

Antony persisted.

"Actually, I quite enjoy it," Tamsin replied lightly, striving to
dismiss the conviction that Lysander was referring to their
annulment.

It was so hard to think straight with him standing close!  For months
she had nursed her anger and tried to ignore her anguish, telling
herself that she no longer cared for a man who could use her so vilely.
She thought she had succeeded.

Fool!  The very sight of him tonight had set her ablaze with all the
old longing!

"Corinna told me what a good sailor you were," Lysander said
unexpectedly.

"She said you were the only passenger on board who did not succumb to
seasickness on the way over to France."

"You have seen her?"

Lysander smiled at her excitement.

"Aye, I visited Paris on my way home from Italy."

Tamsin knew he had been abroad.  He had, very properly, sent word of
his intentions before leaving England.  Angry though she was, she also
had to acknowledge that he had continued to pay her allowance, which
was more than generous enough to maintain her in comfort.

"She sent you her best wishes and I am to tell you that they are all
well and happy."  Lysander grinned.

"My nephew has not yet mastered the art of walking, but not for the
want of trying as my aching back could tell you!"

Tamsin laughed.

"I wish I could have seen you helping him walk!"  she exclaimed,
forgetting to guard her tongue.

"Tamsin, I--' Mr.  Blackwell yawned noisily.

"Oh, pray forgive me!"  he begged insincerely.

"Such a charming family anecdote, but I must remind you, my angel, that
we promised to play a hand of gleek with the Earl, who is over there
waiting for us."

"Very well.  Pray excuse me, my lord."  Tamsin crushed a flicker of
irritation.

She had found Antony Blackwell's admiration nattering at first.

Dazzled by his wit and his -fashionable manner, she had accepted his
attentions, but lately she was beginning to suspect he was nothing more
than a beribboned dandiprat whose hollow compliments masked a selfish
nature.

How could I have thought him agreeable?  she marvelled to herself, her
eyes involuntarily straying towards Lysander, who was wearing the black
velvet suit laced in silver, which had always been her favourite.

Against him, Antony looked insignificant for all his gaudy satin and
jewels.

"I will speak to you later."  Lysander fought the impulse to ask her to
stay.  After tonight, she would be free to enjoy the company of
whatever fop she chose!

"Of course," Tamsin murmured politely, inwardly resolving to avoid
another encounter at all costs.  She couldn't afford the pleasure of
his company, she thought bitterly, as she allowed Antony to lead her
away.

The rest of the evening passed in a hectic whirl as she tried to
convince herself and everyone around her that she was enjoying the
party.  She had just finished dancing the allemande with Antony as her
partner when a servant came up to them and quietly told her that the
King wished to speak to her.

Tamsin's heart thudded against her breastbone.  She could only think of
one reason why Charles might want to see her in private.

Brushing aside the servant's offer, Antony insisted on escorting her to
the King's closet.  To Tamsin's surprise, however, the room was
empty.

"You need not wait, Antony.  I'm sure that the King will be along in a
minute."

His pale gaze fixed on her speculatively.

"Why waste an opportunity?"

he said and grabbed her by the waist.

"Are you mad, sir?"  Tamsin was indignant.

"If you are going to whore for the King, my angel, I don't see why I
shouldn't sample your charms first."  He attempted to plant a kiss on
her unwilling lips.

"How dare you imply such a thing?"  Tamsin managed to free one hand and
slapped his smirking face.

He rubbed his cheek and glared at her.

"Why else would he invite you here?"  A jeering laugh shook his
somewhat plump frame.

"If you think you are safe just because your husband is his friend, you
are even more innocent than I thought."

"You disgust me, sir.  The King's friendship towards me is genuine and
not prompted by lust, as yours seems to have been!"  She struggled in
his hold.

"For God's sake, try to remember you are a gentleman and let me go!"

He ignored her protest and renewed his efforts to kiss her.

Tamsin twisted her head aside, but fear coiled in the pit of her
stomach as he began to roughly paw her breasts.

"Stop it!  You are hurting me... oh, thank goodness!"

Suddenly the cruel hands were snatched away and, half- dazed with
fright, Tamsin watched her husband's fist crash into Antony's jaw,
sending him reeling to the floor.

"Get up!"  Ly sander growled.

The fierce light in those green eyes convinced Antony to remain where
he was.

"I ... I don't think brawling in the King's apartment is a good idea,"
he stammered.

Contempt flared Lysander's nostrils.

"If you won't defend yourself, then apologise to my wife and get
out!"

Antony staggered to his feet and, after mumbling a few disjointed words
to Tamsin, edged away holding his aching jaw.

"One last thing," Lysander added softly as he reached the door.

"If I hear you have breathed a word of this to anyone, I shall take
great pleasure in slicing your miserable hide into small pieces.

Understood?  "

Antony nodded and hastily fled the room.

Lysander turned to Tamsin.

"Are you all right?"  he asked gently.

She nodded.

"I always knew he was a fop, but I didn't realise he was a coward," she
said, attempting a shaky smile, but her chin began to wobble and she
burst into tears.

"Sweetheart!"  Without conscious thought, Lysander gathered her into
his arms.

"Don't cry.  He isn't worth it."

"I'm ... I'm not crying over' him you great fool!"  Tamsin sobbed.

"Then why--' Lysander stopped abruptly, his heart hammering.  Was she,
could she, be crying over their estrangement?

"Please.  I should like to wipe my face."

Lysander released her as if he had been burnt and Tamsin brushed the
back of her fist across her tear-streaked cheeks.

"Here.  Use this."  He handed her his handkerchief.

"I thought these things were only for show," she quipped, desperate to
defuse the familiar attraction she could feel spiralling between
them.

He smiled, that wonderful warm smile which had first captured her
heart, and she knew it was no use.

No matter how he had hurt her, no matter how she tried to deny it, she
loved him and she always would.

Tamsin finished wiping her face.

"Thank you.  I shall return this to you once it has been laundered,"
she said, tucking the handkerchief into her pocket.

"When do you intend to leave London?"

Her coolly indifferent expression ripped Lysander's bubble of hope to
shreds.

"In a day or two," he answered, trying to match her tone.

There was an awkward little silence.

"The documents of annulment are ready for us to sign."  Ly sander broke
it abruptly.

"That's why Charles asked us both here."

Tamsin swallowed hard.

"I suspected as much," she said rather unsteadily.  She brushed back a
stray curl that had escaped its pins during her struggle with Antony
and prayed for courage.

"I wonder what is keeping him?"  she continued with false calm.

"Are you so anxious for our marriage to be over?"  Lysander burst out,
his deep voice ragged.

Tamsin stared at him in astonishment.  She had never seen him look so
uncertain!

"Aren't ... aren't you?"  she stammered.

"No!"  Lysander ran his hand wildly through his hair, struggling to
regain his composure.

"Forgive me.  Of course I shall do as you wish and sign the papers."

Tamsin gazed up into his face.

"You think / want this annulment?"  she asked falteringly.

"You told me you I wasn't your idea of a good husband and that if you
had been given a choice you would have chosen a very different kind of
man."

Hearing the pain in his voice, Tamsin regretted her foolish words more
than ever.

"I was angry with you.  I didn't mean what I said."  She swallowed
hard.

"I knew you didn't want me for your wife so I told you that I wanted my
freedom to save my pride."

Lysander took a deep breath.

"Let me get this straight," he said slowly.

"Are you saying that you lied to me to protect yourself from
rejection?"

Tamsin hung her head.

"You seemed to care more about Jane than you did about me and I wanted
to hurt you," she muttered.

Lysander put out his hand and gently tilted up her chin so that she
could not avoid his gaze.

"I regretted breaking my word to Jane," he said quietly.

"I did not regret breaking the betrothal."

"But you blamed me for compromising your honour," Tamsin retorted with
a flash of resentment.

"Aye and it was unfair of me," Lysander admitted.

He released her and shook his head ruefully.

"I think my wits were addled by the shock of finding out you were Tom's
daughter!"

Tamsin bitterly regretted that she'd been too ashamed of her supposed
illegitimacy to ask him to help find the mysterious Mr.  Penhaligan.

"I never guessed, you know."

Tamsin nodded.

"My father realised his mistake a long time ago."

"I am glad to hear it."  A smile touched his mouth and Tamsin found she
could not drag her eyes away.

Ly sander's breathing deepened and she saw an answering desire leap
into his eyes.

"Killing," he said and reached for her.

Controlling herself by an effort of will, she took a step backwards.

"Wait," she said shakily.

"I want no more misunderstandings between us, Lysander."

Gathering her courage, she gazed into his eyes and said, "I love you.

I think I have since the night we first met, but you were trapped into
this match.  For the sake of my own selfrespect, I need to know if you
feel anything at all for me.  " A little smile trembled on her lips.

"Apart from lust, I mean."

Lysander took both her hands in his.

"You did not trap me into marriage," he said firmly.

"My feelings were fixed long before your father caught us in flagrante
delicto."

A wild rose colour bloomed in Tamsin's cheeks at the memory of lying in
his arms and he smiled down at her with a wicked laughter in his eyes
that set her pulse racing.

"When we quarrelled on our wedding day," Lysander continued more
soberly, "I thought you wanted to be rid of me.  I'll admit I was
angry, but I also knew I had little to offer you.  As a rich heiress,
you could make a better match if I set you free."  He lifted her hands
to his lips and pressed a swift kiss against each one in turn.

"But I can't, sweetheart.  When I saw you in that fop's arms I realised
I love you too much to let you go."

A choked sob escaped Tamsin and she flung her arms around his neck with
a little cry of happiness.

He bent his head and his lips found hers in a tender kiss that swiftly
changed to passion as she opened her mouth to him with a sigh of
voluptuous pleasure.

Their breath mingled and excitement raced along Tamsin's veins in a
white-hot flood.  She clung to him, delighting in the feel of his
strong arms around her.

Aeons later, Lysander reluctantly lifted his mouth away from hers.

"You'll never know how much I have longed to do that these last few
months," he said unsteadily.

She smiled at him as contented as a cream-fed cat and, safe in the
shelter of his embrace, felt the last remaining remnants of past anger
and pain fade away, but she could not resist one final question.

"Why wouldn't you see me when I came to Melcombe looking for you?  All
this time I thought you had deserted me because you cared more for your
honour that you did for me."

He shook his head vigorously.

"Sweetheart, I was afraid that if I came anywhere near you my resolve
would crumble and I wouldn't be strong enough to give you your
freedom."  He stroked her hair gently.

"I knew Tom would look after you."

She nodded.

"He did, but I was so unhappy.  All I wanted was to see you again."

Lysander understood.

"I went to Italy to put more distance between us and thereby avoid the
temptation of throwing my n self at your feet and telling you that I
loved you.  Gathering knowledge about stone-cutting was just an
excuse."

"But I came to Melcombe to tell you I was sorry for behaving so
shrewishly and that I wanted to be your true wife!"  Tamsin gave a
laugh that was almost a groan.

"What a pair of deluded fools we were!"  Lysander's arms tightened
around her.

"To have wasted so much time so needlessly!"

"Then let's not waste any more."  Tamsin grinned at him saucily and
lifted her face for his kiss.

Lost in enchantment, they did not hear the door quietly opening.

Charles Stuart smiled at the scene that met his eyes and soundlessly
withdrew.

Strolling back to the Vane Room, he paused to throw the sheaf of papers
he held on to the nearest fire before continuing on his way with a
jaunty whistle.

On the eve of Christ's birth snow began to fall on the countryside
around Melcombe Regis, gently wrapping the cold fields in a silent
blanket of white.

"Ly sander, look!"  Tamsin finished hanging the last evergreen garland
and ran to the window to gaze out at the dancing snowflakes.

"Thank God, the repairs to the roof are finished!"

Tamsin laughed.

"You are very practical, sir, in the face of such beauty!"

"If it holds, we can have a snowball fight tomorrow," he offered
repentantly.

"I accept your challenge!"  Tamsin grinned.  Then her expression
sobered.

"I hope it won't prevent my father from arriving."

"If I know Tom, nothing will thwart him from spending Christmas with
you," Lysander answered.

His prediction proved correct.  Lord Treneglos arrived shortly before
dusk.  Tamsin was busy in the kitchen helping prepare food for their
neighbours, who had all been invited that evening to partake of the
first hospitality the newly restored Melcombe had to offer.  When she
heard the carriage, she dashed outside to find Lysander greeting Tom
with a hearty handshake.

She smiled, glad that their quarrel was over.

"My dear!"  Tom kissed her cheek as she joined them.

"You are looking radiant!"

Tamsin laughingly thanked him for the compliment and begged him to come
in out of the cold.  They retired to the winter-parlour with a jug of
mulled ale and Tom admired the changes that had revived the old house's
beauty.

"You must have been very busy since your return."

"Even busier than before we left London," Tamsin affirmed.

Prior to taking ship, they had closed up the house in Wych Street as
they intended to make Melcombe their home and only visit London
occasionally.  Tamsin had even managed to find new employment for Dinah
and Luke, who wanted to stay near their mother.  She had been sad to
part with them, but her new servants seemed pleasant and willing to
please.

"I have something for you.  It came after you set sail."  Tom presented
Tamsin with a letter, which proved to be greetings from her cousin
Sam.

"Do you think we could invite him to visit us soon?"  Tamsin asked
Lysander shyly.

"Of course."  Lysander smiled at her.

"It will be good to meet him at last."

Sam had been helping a neighbour with hay-making when Tom had arrived
last year at Whiteladies in search of Tamsin and Lysander couldn't help
wondering what would have happened if Sam had told him then of her
whereabouts.

Still, it was profitless to dwell on the past.  And, no matter how
convoluted their path, love had triumphed in the end!

"Speaking of visitors," he said with a glance at the new tortoiseshell
clock which stood on the mantel-shelf, "I must go and check the wine
for tonight."

"Let me help you," Tom offered and, remembering the mince-pies in the
oven, Tamsin jumped up too.

A few hours later the great hall, which Tamsin and the maids had
decorated with glossy green ivy and red-berried holly, was filled with
laughter as their guests sat down to a supper of venison and turkey and
plum-porridge before playing traditional games of hunt the slipper and
hood man-blind.

Collapsing on to a stool before the hearth where a huge Yule log
blazed, Tamsin gladly accepted a cup of mead from one of the servants,
who were carrying round trays of drinks.

"I don't think I will have any energy left for dancing," she laughingly
told Lysander, who, dressed in his garnet-red finery, came to join
her.

"No?"  He quirked one eyebrow at her.

"Well, in a minute or two perhaps," Tamsin grinned, smoothing her
silken skirts.

He sipped at his tankard of lamb's wool.  The hot ale with roasted
apple and spices was a winter favourite and Tamsin's special recipe,
like her delicious mince-pies, had attracted many compliments.

"You have made quite an impression tonight," he murmured.

"And not just because you are the most beautiful woman in the room."

Tamsin coloured with pleasure.  She had been nervous about playing
hostess for the first time and worn the leaf-green gown which was
Lysander's favourite and her mother's pearls for luck, but her fears
had proved needless.

"Our neighbours are pleasant folk," she said, finishing her mead.

"I shall enjoy their company."

"So long as they do not take up too much of your time."  Lysander gave
her a burning glance.

"I want you too much to share you, my reluctant Tamsin's blush deepened
at the passion in his eyes.  In their marriage-bed she had found joy
beyond imagining.

"After the dancing, I thought we would sing carols and send the
wassail-bowl and cakes round to end the evening."  Lysander, who
treasured her uninhibited response to his lovemaking, took pity on her
confusion and ceased his teasing to make this suggestion.

Spiced Christmas ale and gingerbread.

"That would be lovely," Tamsin agreed with a sigh of content.

He set aside his empty tankard and took her hand in his.

"I once told you that I wanted to give you the chance to celebrate
Christmas properly.  Does this--' he waved his free hand to encompass
the hall '--live up to your expectations, killing?"

She nodded silently, her glowing smile more eloquent than words.

The musicians he had hired struck up a lively tune and he raised her to
her feet.

"Come, my lady wife, by tradition we must open the dancing."

As they moved to take their places Tom called out to Lysander to look
up; when he did, he saw that they were standing under a kissing bough
of mistletoe.  Stretching up, he plucked one of the white berries and
to the cheers of the crowd drew Tamsin into his arms and kissed her
soundly.

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart," he whispered as he released her.

Tamsin smiled.  It was going to be a wonderful Christmas, the first of
many they would enjoy together.

Semper amamus.  Their love was forever.