AN INDECENT PROPOSAL

"You expect me to be your mistress." Maude's voice was flat, expressionless.

"My mistress, my love, my pampered darling. You need not fear for your future from now on." Radford leaned forward to kiss her, but she flinched, as if he had slapped her.

"I realize you are not to be blamed for this, my lord," she said, the snapping anger in her eyes giving the lie to her words. "I have behaved in such a wanton manner as to make you feel I would be receptive to the idea of being a kept woman."

"This is not a dishonorable arrangement. It is done all the time."

"Not by me!" Maude snapped. "I'd sooner starve than live as your mistress!" Deception at Midnight Corey McFadden A LEISURE BOOK®

September 1993

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Chapter One

October, 1790

Bedfordshire, England

The evening was positively intolerable! It was bad enough being got up for hours on end in tight stays and in one of her stepcousin Amelia's tatty old dresses. The awful thing was much too young for Maude and made her look even more like a child than usual. Not to mention being forced to sit and listen to Amelia play the pianofortebadly, as a matter of factand warble insipid songs. But to watch that insufferable prig, Edward Almsworth, the earl of Radford, cast searing glances at Amelia and linger by her side all evening, was truly nauseating!

It had not helped, of course, that the young earl had treated Maude so insultingly. Imagine, yanking her ear and asking had she blown any of the locals off their horses recently! She was certainly no longer a child and he need not have so smugly reminded her of that ridiculous incident. Why, she couldn't have been any more than eight years old at the time, when she and the stableboy, Joe, had been teaching themselves to shoot with Grampa's brace of pistols they'd found hidden in the stables. It hadn't really been her fault that their neighbor, young Edward Almsworth, had been riding just over the crest of the hill when she discharged the ornamental old pistol, knocking herself to the ground and frightening his horse into a sudden bolt. The outraged young man had landed rear end up in the mud, and it hadn't really helped that she'd laughed at the spectacle.

Maude now caught sight of the earl laughing uproariously at some bon mot uttered by Amelia. Why, he had his hands all over her! What on earth could Aunt Claire be thinking to allow such a display? Maude turned away in disgust, and came face to face with her own reflection in the tall pier glass set between two windows in the drawing room. She gave a deflated sigh. The slight figure staring back at her was uninspiring, to say the least. Her nose tilted up too much and there was a smattering of freckles across her face that no beautiful young woman would be so foolish as to acquire. And her red hair . . . Well, as Amelia had taken pains to inform her, absolutely no one in the ton thought red hair was attractive. A garish, unfashionable color, was how her stepcousin had put it. Then there was the matter of her figure, or what there was of it, which wasn't much. Amelia's old hand-me-down dress had been cut down to fit her, since Amelia, two years ago at sixteen, had been taller and more curvaceous than Maude was now at eighteen. Well, nearly eighteen. The dress itself, a faded green satin, hung limp and flat on Maude in all the places where Amelia had filled it out so fetchingly. No wonder she could inspire nothing more than the yank of an ear from a handsome man! She failed to notice that her emerald-green eyes were deep and expressive and that her much-despised red hair had actually deepened to auburn, with soft curls escaping from hapless pins to frame her delicate neck and shadow her high cheekbones. She turned away from the sorry sight with another sigh. Her mother had been so beautiful. But then everything had been beautiful when her parents had been alive.

"A delightful concert, eh, little miss?" said a voice at her side. "I'm sure you're thrilled at being allowed to stay up with the adults tonight?"

Maude bit back a sigh of exasperation. This dress would go in the trash bin tonight, aunt or no aunt! She turned and saw Mr. Demerest, an elderly neighbor, who leaned on a cane and looked as though he might topple over.

"Why, no, sir," Maude said, unwilling to yield the point, even to make polite conversation. "I am nearly eighteen now, only a half year younger than Amelia, and I always stay up late. And, really, you know, I've had to listen to Amelia practice every night."

Mr. Demerest drew back, slightly affronted that the child had not simply agreed affably with his obviously innocuous remark. Well, perhaps Claire, atrocious woman that she was, had a point about this girl. Only seventeen and already the makings of a shrew! He nodded distantly and made for the punch bowl which he knew would be a more hospitable companion.

Maude watched him go with relief. How she wished this interminable evening would end! She glanced about the room, noting with some surprise that Aunt Claire had managed a fair turnout. Many were family friends of long standing whom Maude had not seen since her parents died, and who had greeted Maude with warmth. Claire had not endeared herself in the neighborhood since coming to Romney Manor with her husband, Maude's Uncle James Romney. And his daily overindulgence in his brandy had limited their sphere of acquaintances to those who indulged in drinking as much as he did and who could tolerate the acid tongue of his waspish, if beautiful, wife.

"Maude, my dear child, is that really you?" a pleasant voice behind her asked. Turning, Maude was relieved to see an old friend of her mother's beaming at her fondly.

"Oh, my love, what a beautiful girl you are growing into, just as beautiful as your dear mother was. She would be so proud of you, Maude," Mary Farrington said warmly, drawing the girl into her arms for a fierce hug.

Maude felt the familiar sorrow wash over her and fought back the tears which always threatened at the thought of her wonderful parents. She had been seven years old when her joyful world exploded into tragedy. A simple trip to the continent, Maude's first and much anticipated, had ended in terror and stark bereavement. While crossing, in mid-channel, a fierce storm had ripped the sails from their lines and had driven the ship onto the rocks near the coast of France, breaking it into pieces. Maude remembered the screams and the frantic pitching, and that her life had been saved by her father. They had watched as her mother, trapped by her voluminous skirts filled with water, had been dragged down into the vicious sea. Her father had held Maude above the furious waves, and grabbing a piece of the ship's timber as it tore past, had pushed her onto it. Screaming at the child to hold fast, he had lunged away from her toward a flash of silk of her mother's dress. Maude had clutched the splintered board with her little hands as shriek after shriek tore from her throat. Unknowingly, she had ridden the board as it floated toward the beach, stranding her finally, insensible, with the flotsam of the wreckage. She had not seen the waves close over all the love she had ever known.

"Let me get a good look at you, child," Mrs. Farrington said, pulling back and holding Maude at arm's length. The woman's pretty eyes narrowed as she viewed Maude's dress with distaste. "I see your stepcousin is turned out in great finery this evening, Maude, but this dress is clearly an old make-over. Where is your new dress?"

"Well, Amelia is being presented this season, Mrs. Farrington," Maude said, her face reddening under her friend's scrutiny. "And I don't care much about clothes. Really I don't. Aunt Claire says we can always get two wearings for the price of one since I am smaller than Amelia . . ." Her words dwindled away under Mrs. Farrington's barely concealed look of disgust.

"And what about your season, child? I see a great deal of money and attention being lavished on this Amelia, but you are the heir to Romney Manor and you must be nearly eighteen now, aren't you?"

"Well, not quite," Maude said, a little chagrined. "You see, Amelia is already eighteen, a half year older than I am, and while I'm not quite old enough, Aunt Claire wanted to push Amelia along. And, of course, it's too expensive for both of us to have a season in the same year." Maude's eyes strayed inadvertently toward Amelia who was still deep in a tête-à-tête with the earl. Would the man never leave her side? "Aunt Claire says she wants Amelia married as soon as possible. She's so beautiful, you know, and she'll have such prospects . . ." Maude broke off as she saw Mrs. Farrington eye her stepcousin. The woman's lips thinned in obvious disapproval.

"A husband would be a good idea, I believe, and the sooner the better for that one." Mrs. Farrington gave a sniff and turned her attention back to Maude. "Are you well, my dear, and happy?" she asked, smiling.

"Of course I'm well, Mrs. Farrington," Maude said lightly, glad to get off the subject of her stepcousin. "And as for happy, I suppose so, I mean, considering . . ." Maude paused, aware again of that nameless longing that filled her. Uncle James was such a dear and he loved her, brandy and all, but still, there was that ache and the persistent feeling that her own home, Romney Manor, had been filled these last ten years with a malevolence and dissension that would have shocked her loving parents.

Mrs. Farrington drew her close again, her eyes warm. "You must come and see me, my dear. I had not realized you were so grown up. I still think of you as a child, I suppose, and you're not at all, are you? Although," she added mischievously, "you do still have a baby face, don't you?" She noted Maude's wince and quickly amended her remark. "Mind you, Maude, I much prefer your natural beauty to the artful splendor displayed by your stepcousin." Her eyes wandered to Amelia again as the girl's shrill laughter was heard above the din in the room. "I wonder why Claire doesn't see . . ." she broke off, aware that she had said a bit too much. She did not want to distress this dear child, but it was infuriating to think Maude's unadorned grace was playing second fiddle to that made-up little baggage, too much like her sharp-dealing mother for her own good.

"I must leave, my dear. There's Giles gesturing furiously at me from across the room. He has no patience with these affairs, wants to be back home with his dogs and his horses," she said fondly.

Maude could well remember that Giles Farrington and her father had spent many an hour pounding through the countryside, dogs baying beside them, while the ladies had enjoyed their cards at home.

With a quick kiss and a smile, Mrs. Farrington was gone, leaving Maude feeling alone again. She looked about for her Uncle James but could not find him in the crowd. There was always the chance Joe had had to shepherd him upstairs already. That happened more and more frequently now.

Glancing about the room, filled now with merry, fashionable guests, Maude noted with dismay the faded draperies that hung dispiritedly in the long windows. The manor had been in the Romney family for generations. It was a beautiful old home; one could see it still in the classic lines and the beautifully laid out, once carefully tended gardens, but now the glory was gone, the loving touches and attention to detail that had made it a showplace under her mother's care.

Everywhere she looked were signs of neglect and disrepair. The walls were badly in need of new paint; several pieces of once fine furniture had nicks in them or pieces knocked off, large enough to be noticed from a distance. Nothing had been reupholstered in this room since her mother had died ten years ago, and while Maude had been perhaps relieved that her mother's taste still lingered, now she could see the corruption that time and neglect had wrought.

Maude had asked Aunt Claire several weeks ago if the drawing room shouldn't be spruced up a bit since all these guests were coming. She had received a dressing down by the woman for interfering. Aunt Claire had told her there wasn't enough money for that sort of frippery, considering the cost of Amelia's season, so Maude had held her tongue after that.

Maude's eyes again wandered to the corner of the drawing room where Amelia and the earl were still huddled together, looking for all the world as if they were alone in the universe, Amelia, coy and confident in her obvious conquest. Neighborhood whispering had it that Radford was quite the ladies' man in London. That was hardly surprising, Maude had to admit to herself, because he certainly cut a handsome figure with his finely tailored dark blue frock coat and his snowy-white linen, not to mention the dun-colored breeches which showed off a well-muscled and trim physique.

And probably more to the point, she thought wryly, he had become the new earl of Radford upon his father's death seven years ago, an honor not lost on the astute mamas of London. Now, at twenty-eight years old, he remained unencumbered by a wife and the competition for his favor was fierce as this new season was getting underway. Aunt Claire had considered it a rare coup when the young earl had accepted her invitation to her small soiree, an ''unofficial" neighborhood introduction for Amelia. Romney Manor was a modest neighbor to the rather grand Radford estate, seat of an earl for many generations, but Claire was conscious of the propinquity and felt that the family gained in reflected glory.

There was no doubt that Amelia had grown into a real beauty. Her raven hair which reached her hips when unpinned was arranged in graceful swirls, swept up in the back to cascade to her pretty neck in curls intertwined with satin ribbons. It was unpowdered, according to the latest fashion. Curling tendrils set off her lovely face with its pink cheeks and rosy lips, slightly augmented with a rouge pot, Maude knew.

No expense had been spared on Amelia's dress for this evening, or, in fact, on her wardrobe for the entire coming season. Maude had marveled at the quality of the material, and the elaborateness of each design. A much-patronized London dressmaker had come to the manor with two assistants and yards and yards of splendid silks, satins, and laces. They had flustered and buzzed about Amelia, pinning, nipping, and chattering nonstop about this young lady or that, all of whom seemed to have come to grief socially, some for minor misdemeanors, others for gross breaches, which required that husbands be found posthaste.

Claire and Amelia had seemed to relish each gossipy tidbit dropped by Madame Denis, treating her as if she were near-royalty, and so proud that she had condescended to come such a distance north from London to the byways of Bedfordshire. Maude had wondered if it had occurred to her aunt or to her cousin that Romney Manor would also be the object of mirthful scorn and snide derision at Madame Denis's next stop.

Amelia's dress tonight was a stunning rose satin, daringly cut at the bosom, with the merest excuse for a lace fichu pretending to hide the decolletage. Her wasplike waist was set off by panels of a darker rose which ended in layer after layer of expensive lace to the hem. Amelia wore garnets, flashing on her white neck and at her ear lobes.

Maude had never seen these jewels before, or several of the others Claire had brought forth recently to match to certain dress materials. Maude's innocent expression of surprise at the jewels had brought a scornful snap from Aunt Claire. "They're from my family, girl. We don't all live like beggars!" Still, it was odd, thought Maude, that Aunt Claire, who had such an obvious appetite for pretty things, carping at James for his failure to provide her with such, had not worn these jewels all these years. Amelia's beautiful blue eyes flashed with amusement at some witticism Radford had just said. Maude sighed. It was not that she cared a fig about her own appearance or even that she was jealous of the favorable attention Amelia was getting. If Maude never had a season of her own, it was fine with her. Such a lot of bother and expense anyway. It was just that she wondered if these young men who were so smitten by Amelia's soft, purring loveliness had any idea how those eyes could flash in ugly temper with little provocation, and how the soft, fluted voice could grow shrill and shrewish in frequent anger.

Maude glanced down at her wrist which still bore the red welts from earlier this evening when Amelia had dug her fingernails into Maude's flesh, dragging her younger cousin up the stairs. Maude had been desperate to get away from the arguing and carrying on in the house that afternoon. Amelia's dress did not fit properly, it was too tight here, it was too loose there, the color was not right for her complexion; the food would be inadequate for the crowd; the weather was too warm. Between Amelia and Aunt Claire, the household had been in an uproar of last-minute screeches and slaps. A glorious romp over the hills on the manor's one good horse had been worth the lambasting Maude had endured, returning in her usual state of dishevelment, so late that an early guest had seen her come in looking like a stable hand. At least the two harpies had been too pressed for time to shriek at Maude for long.

Well, one of these hapless men would learn the dark secret about Amelia soon enough, but not, Maude reflected ruefully, until after the property settlement and celebration of the nuptials. She feared it might be the earl who would be caught in the web, paralyzed by the venom, unable to escape. Still, she shrugged to herself, it was none of her affair if he wanted to make an ass of himself, and a marriage would get Amelia out of this house.

"I see Amelia has made quite a smash with Radford tonight," said a voice at her elbow. "That should please Mama no end." Cousin John, as usual, leaned too close as he whispered in Maude's ear.

"I should think Aunt might wish Amelia to be somewhat less obvious in her preference," answered Maude, tartly. "She shouldn't be so forward; he'll think her too easy."

"Jealous, Maudie? I notice he's paid no attention to your charms tonight. Did you think he might prefer your carrot top to my sister's ebon glory?"

"I think he's a pompous bore!" Maude declared. "I am not the least bit interested in where he bestows his favors."

She glanced hotly at the offending young earl, only to notice as she pronounced him of no interest whatsoever that his breeches molded tightly to his well-muscled thighs, setting them off to great advantage, particularly as compared to the fat, pastel be-satined thighs of Cousin John. Thighs and breeches! Of all the irrelevancies to come popping into her mind!

Maude shook her head slightly as if to clear the offending thoughts. She started to head toward a group of girls who were, alas, giggling in the corner. Anything was better than the too-close, overly perfumed presence of her stepcousin, John, who always made her feel as if someone had put a garter snake down her back.

She was stopped in her progress by the sight of Amelia and Radford disappearing beyond the doors which opened onto the darkened terrace. Well, really! Did her cousin have no care for what people would say? Maude glanced quickly at Aunt Claire to see if she had noticed the breach, and was startled to see that her aunt was gazing at the doors with a smug, gloating look. Didn't anyone in this family have any brains? If Amelia gained a reputation for being loose even before the season got underway, there would be no match for her, great or small, not to mention the embarrassment to the family name. Maude had no illusions about their small country society. Neighbors who would enjoy one's hospitality one evening would twice as much enjoy cutting one to ribbons the next, were there a whisper of scandal. What to do? Maude shuddered at the thought of walking out on the terrace herself; she would look so obvious. In fact, she doubted if she could even get that far before her aunt's hissing voice and pinching fingers obstructed her path, since it was so clear this scenario met with Aunt Claire's approval. There had to be another way to interrupt the tête-à-tête, but without receiving any blame for it.

A plan in mind, Maude made for the stairway as unobtrusively as possible, ascending swiftly to the second floor. She walked quickly to John's bedroom where a small balcony at the window overlooked the terrace. Now all she needed to do was step out onto the balcony and have a loud, if fake, conversation to warn the errant couple that they were not alone and drive them back indoors.

Maude stepped out into the mild early October evening and gazed carefully over the balustrade. It was almost too dark to see. The only light spilled out from the lower windows, making squares on the stone paving but not reaching into the shadows. Maude scanned the area, peering into the shadows and at the dark hedges that bordered the stone balustrade.

Just as she was about to give up and hope they had gone back inside, she heard the low murmur of voices below her. She leaned forward slightly and could just make out a bit of the rose satin of Amelia's dress, but the couple seemed to be standing almost directly under the balcony and she could see nothing more. The cad! This part of the terrace was utterly dark and as far from the open doors to the house as one could get. It was perfectly obvious the earl was up to no good!

Gripping her hands tightly under the stone railing, Maude leaned out as far as she could. Fortunately, the upper balcony was deep in shadow, minimizing the chances that she would be detected. Yes! Now she could see them and she stared, stunned. Radford and Amelia stood pressed as tightly together as they could be, from their groping lips to their knees. Amelia's arms were wrapped around his neck, but he had one hand cupping her buttocks, pressing her to his loins, while his other hand, horror of horrors, fumbled in her decolletage. Ruined! Amelia would be the laughingstock of the season if wind of this shocking conduct got out, and the whole family would suffer in the bargain!

"What an enchanting sight you are, cousin, in my boudoir and bottoms up to the world."

Maude bit off a cry as John's fat fingers goosed her rump. She jerked forward in horror, leaning too far out, and gasped as she felt her satin shoes slipping in the dust on the balcony. She scrambled frantically but her feet could not find a purchase. Before she could regain her balance, she pitched forward, head first over the balustrade. Her underhand grip on the railing saved her from a broken neck as she found herself dangling precipitously, clinging to the rail, her legs flailing.

"Help me, John! I can't hold on!" she cried as John whooped with laughter and made no move to come to her aid.

"I'd say you deserve to fall right in the middle of the little love scene, cousin." He laughed, peering over the side. "Bon voyage, Maudie!" He turned and disappeared into the dark room.

Maude felt her fingers slipping as she grasped with all her might, but to no avail. In a tumbled heap, she landed on the terrace below, a fall of only some few feet given how far she had hung from the balcony. Her first sight as she slowly raised her gaze were a pair of fine Hessian boots, then the well-molded breeches standing over her. Her eyes traveled further upward, coming to rest on his face. His blue eyes were mocking and his mouth twitched as he fought the urge to smile. That he was vastly amused rather than angry was small consolation. No mortification she would ever suffer again in her life would rival this hideous night!

"May I compliment you, Miss Romney, on your underthings this evening?" the earl drawled. "Lovely petticoats! And such a lacy shift! And while I cannot say that your conduct is much improved, you are far cleaner than you were at our last encounter!" A furious blush suffused Maude's face. Underthings! He not only had seen her underthings, he had the effrontery to comment on them. And she had thought Amelia ruined by a kiss! She would emigrate to Australia! Tomorrow!

"May, I assist you to stand, Miss Romney? I trust you were not hurt in your little fall from the balcony? What can you have been doing up there?"

His amusement was boundless. Obviously, he would entertain his friends for years with this tale. Australia was too close. Perhaps Tibet. . . .

"Leave her be, Edward! If she's hurt, she deserves it," Amelia spat. "Can't you see that the little sneak was spying on us?" Amelia grabbed a handful of Maude's curls and gave a nasty yank, wrenching her head up. "How dare you! I shall see to it that Mama leaves scars on your back for this!"

A curious expression crossed the earl's face. "Amelia," he said coolly, gently disengaging her fingers from Maude's hair, "I'm sure the child merely wanted a breath of air. It's close inside with all the guests. There's no harm done, after all."

He shot Amelia a look as if warning her to silence, and again extended his hand to Maude. She took it in abject miserychild, again!and allowed him to hoist her to her feet. He was surprisingly gentle under the circumstances.

"Ah, I believe you are hurt," he said as Maude winced in pain.

Indeed, she was not able to put any weight at all on her wretched ankle which had struck the ground first. It was hot and it throbbed badly. Maude wanted nothing more than to sit back down and cry.

The misery must have shown in her face because he stopped smiling and put his arm around her shoulder. "Here, now, lean against me and I will help you in. Amelia, you must come, too. Really, you know, Amelia, Maude has done us a great favor," he continued, setting the girl in the crook of his arm. "It was foolish of us to come out here alone for air. People will look for something to gossip about. When the three of us walk in together, no one will think a thing of it."

Radford smiled down at Maude and was rewarded with a slight smile in her pain-filled eyes. She allowed him to support most of her weight as she leaned against him. Another startling irrelevancy pierced through her pain as she found herself thinking it felt good to be so close to him; he had a strong wide chest that seemed just perfect for pressing against. . . .

All eyes turned in their direction as the trio reached the door. Those who had relished the sight of the earl and Amelia on their way to an indiscretion shrugged to themselves as they realized that as Maude had been along after all as chaperone, there would be no juicy scandal to enliven the coming winter months in their rural neighborhood.

One pair of eyes, though, stared as if stunned. Claire's face flushed with anger as she saw Maude being borne in on the arm of the earl, her own precious daughter trailing, forgotten, behind. What had the little witch done now? Claire knew full well that Maude had not gone out onto the terrace. She would not have permitted Maude to intrude and ruin her plans to place Radford in a position where he must marry Amelia.

"We went out for a bit of air and I'm afraid Miss Romney has turned her ankle," the earl lied smoothly. "With your permission, madam, I will help Miss Romney up the stairs as she cannot walk unaided."

Claire nodded amiably, then turned a furious glance on Amelia, away from the guests. "Go up there with them," she hissed. "Try and take control of this awful mess. I will expect an explanation later!" Claire turned once more to her guests, a benign, concerned expression hiding the malevolence in her heart.

The trip up the stairs lasted an eternity. Maude found herself short of breath as she strained to climb each stair with as much grace as she could muster. The pain in her ankle was excruciating but it was difficult to concentrate on the ache with the earl so close. She could feel the strength of his arms and his chest as he half lifted her up each step. Surely it was the pain and her tight stays that were making her feel so lightheaded! Maude had a sense of swirling downward, being borne closer and closer to that massive chest which was warm and welcoming and felt delicious! She did not know when she slipped into unconsciousness but Radford, feeling her full weight sag against him, caught her up in his arms as they reached the top of the staircase.

"Where is Miss Romney's room, Amelia?" he asked, as they proceeded down the dark hall.

"You can drop the spying pest here on the floor for all I care," Amelia hissed. "I cannot see why you're making such a fuss over her blasted ankle after what she did to us!"

"Will your mother really beat her, Amelia?" Radford asked with deceptive mildness. "Isn't Maude a bit old for that sort of thing?"

"She never learns, no matter how Mama chastises her. She is willful and disobedient. She contradicts Mama on every point and shows no appreciation for Mama's sacrifices on her behalf. I do not know how we bear having her in the house!"

"But it is her house, legally speaking, is it not? I seem to recall that Maude was the sole heir on the death of her parents. Your stepfather and mother are her guardians as Maude's uncle and aunt, are they not? Didn't you come here after their deaths?" Radford waited while Amelia pushed open a door at the end of the hallway. He noted the scowl which twisted her comely face at his words.

"Oh, it's all hers all right, and small thanks Mama gets for having looked after her and minded her affairs these past ten years. I hope you don't think our dear papa is worth a bucket of stable muck in these matters. He never raises his head from his brandy. It is all my mother's responsibility and there'll be nothing in it for any of us in the end, you can be sure of that!"

Odd how he could hear Claire's voice though Amelia spoke the words. No doubt Amelia had heard her mother express these exact sentiments often enough to repeat them as gospel. Radford knew that James Romney was a lush; everyone knew. But Amelia's comments to one outside the family were an unpardonable breach of etiquette. To the world, a family was obliged to present a united, serene facade. Whatever his shortcomings, James Romney was a gentleman who had been kind enough to adopt this chit and her brother and give them his honorable name. He did not deserve to be insulted by this girl in front of a guest in his own home.

Radford bent down with his slender burden and placed her gently on the bed. Maude stirred a bit and moaned but her eyes remained closed. He lifted her skirts just enough to look at her ankle, oblivious to the impropriety. He had seen enough feminine ankles in his twenty-eight years to be long-since immune. It was badly swollen and an ugly bluish-purple. It would mend, of course, but she would not walk without pain for some weeks. Well, if she hadn't gotten a thrashing for shooting him off his horse as a child, she would pay a debt now for spoiling his tryst with the beautiful, if nasty-tempered, Amelia. Perhaps Maude had done him a favor after all.

"This ankle should be tended; it needs compresses and wrappings, or it will be all the more painful in the morning."

"I'm sure the servants will see to it," Amelia said carelessly, looking up at the earl through lowered lashes, a practiced effect. He wondered if she realized how many times he had seen the trick before. "Would you care to see my room, Edward, before we return to the party?" She swayed provocatively forward, coming to a stop inches before him, her very nearness exuding a luscious availability. "I believe we have a few moments to ourselves," she purred. "And, as you remarked, we have poor Maudie here as chaperone to vouch for our purity.'' She gave a low, throaty laugh, and pressed her body against his.

It was odd how unmoved he was. A quarter of an hour before he had been much intent on her seduction, easy that it was. He had paid little enough attention to this down-at-the-heels neighboring family in recent years, and had thought of Amelia, if at all, as the child he dimly remembered coming with her mother and brother to live here some ten years ago when James Romney had become Maude's guardian.

But seeing Amelia recently at a neighborhood fete, he had been struck by how she'd grown and how ardently she had sought to prove it to him. He had accepted tonight's invitation, which he normally would have scorned, planning a short dalliance with this wanton, willing country girl. He had decided to amuse himself with her before he turned his attention to the latest crop of eligibles, who would be paraded in front of him all season.

Now, as the beautiful Amelia pressed her ripe breasts against his chest, he felt no lust, no interest at all. He was conscious of a vague disgust as he carefully pushed her back, hearing in his mind again her whiney tone, her nastiness, which reminded him all too much of her mother.

"I think it unwise, my dear," the earl said coolly. "Everyone will be awaiting our return. Let us go down and assure your mother of Maude's eventual recovery."

Amelia stepped back as if she'd been slapped, her face contorted with anger. "As you wish, my lord," she said, her tone icy. "I'll warrant you'll not get a further opportunity to sully my reputation!" She turned abruptly and stormed from the room.

Dismissing her immediately from his mind, Radford turned and glanced at the figure on the bed. A smile curved his lips as he saw Maude's eyelids flicker open. "Feeling better, Miss Romney?" he asked with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Yes, thank you," she murmured. She had the feeling that he knew she had watched Amelia's attempted seduction. She hoped he didn't know how relieved she had been at Amelia's routing. She still felt a languor that somehow made her nerves tingle, an odd sensation, tied up with the feel of his arms about her. The pain, no doubt, was making her delirious. He moved toward the bed to cover her, stopping to look again at the swollen ankle. He sat down on the bed, ignoring the obvious impropriety, and probed it gently, noticing her wince as he touched the worst spot.

"I do not think it is broken," he said seriously, "but you will need to rest it for some time. Do you think you can manage to stay off your feet for a few days?"

Without quite realizing it, his probing touch had turned to a gentle caress. Maude was mesmerized by his finely chiseled features and the deep blue eyes which danced with amusement. He had a shock of dark hair which he wore shorter than the current fashion, just touching the edge of his high, starched neckcloth. He smelled good, like leather and clean linen. The white of his shirt front glowed in the light of the one candle near the bed. He was quite the handsomest man Maude ever remembered seeing, next to her father, of course. Too bad he thought she was an idiot. Befuddled by the trend of her thoughts, she closed her eyes as the pleasure of the touch of his cool fingers spread through the hot, stabbing pain.

"II shall try, thank you. I'm sure it will be fine," she stammered, confused and at a loss for words, an unusual state for her.

"Well, I'll leave you then. I shall send a servant up to tend you, that is, if your good aunt can spare one from the festivities."

He drew the coverlet up from the foot of the bed and placed it over her, carefully arranging it so that the injured ankle rested outside the blanket. As he did so, he noticed the other ankle, trim and shapely above the pretty satin slipper. Jaded as he was, there was something about this one that struck him as unusually pleasing to the eye.

He turned away and headed for the door, allowing himself the smile that he had hidden since he had seen her pain. Outrageous chit! His last memory of her was of an eight-year-old filthy little ragtag, brandishing a pistol at him, aided and abetted by a scrawny, adoring stableboy. What was his name? Joe? Yes, Joe. He had disarmed the little miscreants and had threatened them with a hiding or worse, before setting them free to face the tender mercies of Claire Romney, no doubt a worse punishment than he could have hoped to inflict. Little Maude had stormed away with Joe, he recalled, mad as a wet hen. What was it she had called him? Oh yes, a "pompous prig," uncaring that he had stood within earshot, watching their departure.

Now he glanced back at the small figure on the bed as he closed the door. She was still a handful, this little Maude Romney, but she had a grace and good humor utterly lacking in her beautiful cousin.

Maude sighed to herself as she watched the door close behind him. She was tired to death and with the earl's departure, the pain intruded on her consciousness in full force. Tomorrow she would have to deal with her aunt's and cousin's fury, and John's snide scorn. Well, she would let tomorrow take its course. Right now she would sleep. At least she would not be departing for Tibet.

Chapter Two

Amelia was married to Geoffrey Talbot, an acceptable match as far as Claire was concerned. No one so fine as an earl, thanks to that interfering little prig, Maude, but a gentleman with a decent yearly income, nonetheless. After a month-long round of merry wedding and Christmas parties the radiant couple had departed last week for a trip to the continent and Claire was well satisfied with the success of her scheme.

Amelia had made a stunning bride, as Claire had known she would. Thank heavens the girl was such a beauty. Lord knew her dowry was modest enough, only what Mr. Parsons, junior solicitor of Booth and Parks, the Romney family's solicitors, had allowed Claire to skim over the past ten years from Maude's estate. It had grown increasingly annoying, in this last year, to deal with Mr. Parsons. It was obvious that he had found another woman somewhere along the way, as his physical demands on Claire had dwindled, until finally it seemed he no longer had need of her body at all. That would have been just as wellClaire had always found his requests base and distastefulbut she had had nothing else with which to bargain, aside from the "small percentage" that he now took. It galled Claire to pay him for what she had once gotten free, but as a practical woman she had seen no alternative. His veiled suggestion that perhaps Amelia might accommodate him had been treated with the scorn it so richly deserved. Amelia's favors were not to be bartered away so cheaply. Besides, there was some skimming Claire had managed to hide even from Mr. Parsons, so he had not gotten quite so much of a cut as he imagined.

She sat now in her office, waiting for her beloved boy. It was a private room, tucked away off the library, where she was rarely disturbed. The furniture was shabby, but at one time, when it had been Maude's mother's room, it had been gaily decorated with colorful chintzes and a fine mahogany desk, neatly organized. Now the papers spilled out at random and the colors were faded into a dim memory.

Claire cared nothing for the room; no one saw it but herself and an occasional family member or servant. She would spend none of the money from Maude's estate on improvements to this house. Not until she was sure the house would belong to her precious John. Oh, the plan was too wonderful!

She glanced into the gilt mirror hanging on the wall over the desk. At thirty-eight she was still a handsome woman, an older version of Amelia, but pinching pennies and a lifetime of unrealized dreams had etched lines around her tight mouth and cold eyes. She was still slender in her dark green silk dress which showed off the curves that had once attracted the hapless James. Well, if Mr. Parsons was no longer interested in her charms, she now had the power to cut him out altogether!

The door to the small room opened. Claire could smell the whiskey before she turned around, but to her relief, John seemed sober enough to talk business. That he was so like his rakehell of a father both amused and alarmed her. She had been immensely fond of Jack Burwell, enough to marry him at sixteen against even her ne'er-do-well family's advice. But her life with him had been spent one step ahead of the bailiffs, and when he had been killedshot in the back in a seamy public room on the wharfhe had left her penniless with two small children and nothing to survive on except her wits and her dark beauty.

Claire had soon wed the besotted James in desperation, as the creditors hounded her like hungry wolves. She had been married to James less than a yearenough time to know that he offered precious little of the gracious life she covetedwhen the news arrived of the fortuitous accident in the channel that had taken the lives of James's older brother, his young wife, and small daughter, leaving James sole heir. Claire had wasted no time in moving the family to Romney Manor, a rambling house in the country to the north of London. For several days she had reveled in her new-found wealth and status, as wife to a landed country gentleman.

Then had come that awful day, still stark in her bitter memory. The solicitors had arrived unexpectedly, babbling apologies, "So sorry, you understand, there was such confusion. No one knew. She was unconscious. She spoke no French . . ." The babble had trailed off as a child had been lifted from the carriage.

James, the words finally penetrating his alcoholic fog, had stumbled forward with a cry of joy, falling to his knees, clutching the small girl to his breast as the little face had smiled into his, lifting her thin arms to wrap around his neck. Claire had stood on the steps behind him, staring at his bowed back, rage and hatred twisting her face, her fingers like claws at her sides, her recent triumph ashes in her heart. And in that moment, their eyes meeting across the touching scene, Mr. Parsons and Claire had formed their profitable partnership.

Never had she forgiven that brat for taking away what she had worked so hard to achieve, status and independence. And never had she allowed the odious child, by kind word or deed, to feel anything but her bitterness. Still, over the years, Claire had cultivated a certain respectability, gathering into her capable, if larcenous, hands the reins of this acceptable estate. Her hands and those of the intrusive, but amenable, Mr. Parsons.

"Well, Mama?" John asked, just a touch of impatience in his voice. Claire had made this appointment with him earlier this evening but he had had to cut short a winning game with some of the local gentry in order to come home and see her. Still, when Mama called, it was wise to respond.

"Close the door, my dear." She smiled. "I should prefer this to be a private conversation. Where is the rest of our happy family by the way?"

"Maudie is upstairs; her door is closed. Dear Papa is having a little snooze in the library." John's voice dripped with contempt. "He has managed to roll right onto the floor, snifter and all. Joe is seeing to getting him upstairs."

Joe had graduated from stable hand to groom to valet in recent years. No one else could or would manage the sodden James. Indeed, always one to pinch a penny when it didn't hurt her, Claire had insisted that Joe assume duties both in the stables and in the house, and the young man, loyal to the Romney name since birth, made no complaint.

Claire grimaced with disgust. "Just as well. I don't want James lurching in here now. I have something to discuss with you, something I think you'll like."

"Tell on, Mama. You know I always enjoy our little chats." John was in high spirits, having come out ahead in spite of his early departure from the card game.

"We must give thought to your future, my dear. I have Amelia settled right nicely, I think, under the circumstances. Now I can turn my attention to your prospects."

"I hope you have more care for my reputation than you had for Amelia's, Mama," John said a bit peevishly. "I am still trying to explain away the haste of her marriage to my friends. After all, a wedding barely six weeks after the Season is bound to give rise to unfortunate speculation." John arranged his bulk across her small upholstered divan.

"I care nothing for the vagaries of gossip, John," she said, contempt plain in her voice. "I've survived it and she will, too. It will all be forgotten inside of a few months, I promise you. And haste is of the utmost importance when one is working with beauty and no money. I could not afford to let Amelia stay in the marriage mart long enough to become a familiar figure. We had to strike quickly while the young bucks were still smitten with her looks and before they could examine our credentials too closely."

"That's all well and good, Mama, but my friends are tittering about an 'early arrival,' and I'm not sure they're not right."

Claire laughed dismissively. "There's no baby coming, silly. We're not that stupid. Amelia did allow to young Talbot that she thought there might be, to get him to move along, you understand, and do the honorable thing before he had time to think it through clearly, or time could prove her in error." Claire laughed again. "She'll just tell him it was a mistake when the time comes. He'll have to make the best of it now, but after two-and-a-half months of marriage he's still so mesmerized by her, I'm sure he'll be relieved there will be no 'premature baby' to prove the gossipmongers right. But, precious, it's your prospects I want to turn my attention to now."

"Much obliged, Mama," John said with a smug smile. "I should like to be obscenely rich, if you can manage it, please."

Claire gave a short laugh. "No, precious, obscenely rich I cannot manage. But comfortable, very comfortable and secure, I think, with a decent bit of flesh to warm your bed, until you tire of her as you no doubt will." Her smile was languid and suggestive, her eyes glittering in the glow of the candles. She was enjoying this. It would mean pleasure for John and pain for Maudethe perfect combination. "Have you given any thought to marriage, my dear? There's money to be made in a decent marriage," she purred, as if she had a lovely secret.

John looked slightly startled. Marriage was the last thing on his mind. His world of cards, brandy, and bawds needed no wife to make it perfect. Besides, he was only twenty-one, not nearly old enough for family responsibilities.

"Not really, Mama, surely there is time enough for that in the distant future? We are in no real hurry, are we?" He nervously flicked a speck of imagined dust from his fine brocaded frock coat. It was peach in color and perfectly matched his cream-colored vest and dark brown satin breeches. He was well aware that he rarely won an argument with dear Mama, despite her love for him.

"There is always hurry, dear, when it comes to money. I have learned that much in my life. One must never relax until the birds are in hand. We have one more bird to gather in." She paused until he raised his eyes to hers. John was a good boy; he could be made to see reason, particularly with the bait she had in mind.

"Your cousin, Maude, my dear, you do realize, do you not, that all of this estate, almost all the money we live on, belongs to her? She is sole heir to her father's estate and James as her father's brother is merely the caretaker. When Maude marries, it will all revert to her husband's control. We will be thanked and sent on our way. I hope you harbor no illusions about James's circumstances, even though he formally adopted you and Amelia. As second son, he has a mere pittance, barely enough to pay your tailor, dear. Although I daresay it would keep him in brandy enough to make him happy." Claire watched while the import of her statements penetrated John's disinclination to bestir himself about financial details.

"What would you suggest we do about it, Mama?" he asked, beginning to show concern. The remark about his tailor pinched. John did love his own appearance. Mama and Mr. Parsons had always had to work at hiding his tailor's bills in with the household or Maude's expenses. It was so much easier with Amelia's necessaries. Maude would have been surprised to know how vast her wardrobe and accessories appeared to be on paper.

''We can hardly keep her from marrying," he added thoughtfully, "although, I cannot say she shows any such inclination now."

"To the contrary, dear. It is not keeping her from marrying that I have in mind. It is forcing her to it. She would make you an acceptable bride, do you not think? I have noticed you show an appreciation for her physical attributes." Claire gave him a knowing smile.

John looked stunned, as if he'd taken a blow to the head. Slowly, a smile creased his fat face. "I have noticed she is ripe for a man."

He savored the image that arose in his mind. Once, a year or so ago, when seeking out Maude for some devilment at her expense, he had opened the door to her room, without the usual knock. She had been rising from her bath like Botticelli's Venus, her breasts small, but perfectly formed, her waist tapered and emphasizing her rounded hips, that lovely, reddish triangle. She had not seen him at first as he stood and gaped, drinking in the sight. She had gasped in horror as she raised her head and caught sight of him, clutching at her towel to hide her luscious charms. He had saluted her with a mocking bow, and signaled his appreciation with a grin of pure lust. He had never forgotten the sight of her nakedness, and though he had tried to intrude on her many times thereafter, her door was always annoyingly locked against him.

A frown slowly replaced the salacious look. "The devil of it is, Mama, you know she despises me. I doubt we could convince her to do it."

"You underestimate your own charms, pet. You're a very handsome young man, after all." Claire ran a fond hand through John's light brown curls. "She may well acquiesce," Claire continued. "After all, she will be able to stay here, nothing will change. Perhaps you might agree to leave her alone after you get a son on her. You'll be tired of her by then, anyway. It might suit her quite well to choose the status quo over an unknown.

"Besides"Claire could not refrain from smirking"I hope you don't think I have been foolish enough to let her know the real state of her affairs. The chit knows nothing except what I tell her, and that, you may be sure, is precious little! No, I propose that you shall tell her she has very little cash, that my family money has subsidized the running of Romney Manor all these years . . ."

They both laughed; Claire's own family had had nothing and Jack Burwell had been nothing if not a wastrel.

"Tell her that you'll assume all the financial responsibilities, that she must take a husband to save the manor. She will have to agree to wed you. And if she refuses, well, I have a plan to force her consent. It will involve a bit of . . . coercion"Claire almost purred with pleasure"but in the end she will have to agree. She will have no alternative."

Claire was enjoying this indeed. She would best that brat once and for all. All these years, all the indignities of Mr. Parsons, all the shuffling of entries, and the dodging of James's occasional inquiries when he emerged, as he could do unexpectedly from time to time, from his alcoholic stupor would end. Everything would be hers, or at least hers through John, who would raise no objection to Claire's suggestion that she continue to keep the household accounts. He would, indeed, be grateful to her for keeping his bills paid and sparing him the necessity of seeing to the books.

And the solicitors would be terminated upon Maude's marriage. It was up to the husband, after all, to select his legal representatives. No more "small percentage" for the opportunistic Mr. Parsons. No more fear that Mr. Booth or Mr. Parks, the senior members of the firm, would choose one day to delve more deeply into the actual accounts.

Best of all, no more sleepless nights about a full accounting to an unfriendly husband upon Maude's marriage, a husband who might want to know where every shilling of his wife's and now his estate had gone since her parents' deaths. Mr. Parsons had been able to fob off his near-senile senior partners for years with regard to this relatively minor estate. But Claire was under no illusions as to what a careful audit by interested parties would reveal of her stewardship.

"What precisely did you have in mind for coercion, Mama?" John asked, more than interested now. "I daresay that might be more, ah, entertaining than a simple acquiescence. Besides, you know our dear Maudie; she never takes the easy way out."

Claire's mouth twisted in anger. "How well I know that. The chit has thwarted me for years. She ruined my plans at the beginning of the season to make Amelia the wife of the earl of Radford with her spying interference."

John rolled his eyes. He had always thought that the plan to entrap the earl was overly ambitious, knowing of Radford's reputation as a savvy, formidable player among the gentleman of the ton. But he had not risked angering Amelia or his mother with an "I told you so."

"My plan is extraordinarily simple, precious," Claire continued. "It merely involves a short seduction on your part, although to be more accurate, perhaps I should say rape." Claire laughed, a low, self-satisfied ripple. "Do you think you could manage a little deflowering, my dear, all in the family, so to speak?''

John's grin was positively lascivious. "You need not fear my abilities, Mama. I assure you I can oblige. Yet, how will that force her to the altar? She could just cry rape and have me hanged. I can't say that a brief foray into Maudie's nether treasures is worth the stretching of my neck."

"Don't be a fool. She wouldn't dare. You know as well as I do that forcible rape or not she'd be ruined in the eyes of society. She could never hold up her head again, and even Maude could not live under total censure. No, she'd not risk her good name, or that of the family with a cry of rape." "Nevertheless, Mama, she need not marry me. She could remain unmarried, I suppose, or find a gentleman in distress who in exchange for her dowry would be delighted to overlook her somewhat shopworn state."

"As to her remaining unmarried, I care not for that. Under her father's will, if she does not marry, James remains her guardian until she is thirty-five. Anything can happen in the space of seventeen years. James is her heir, you know, if she dies without husband or issue."

"Mama, I am shocked!" John's eyes sparkled with amusement, mere slits in his puffy face. "First you sit here and tell me to rape my cousin, now you seem bent on murder. My friends' mothers excel only at needlework and gossip!"

"I said nothing about murder, precious, merely that seventeen years is a long time. Still, I do not plan to wait out seventeen years wondering if at any moment a suitor will show up prepared to take damaged goods. No, I have in mind a marriage to you. After you have done your part, I shall tell her that should she refuse to wed you and remedy her sullied stateafter all, it will be obvious to me that she seduced you"Claire laughed maliciously"that one or two of the neighbors will hear of the sorry affair. She will not be able to bear having anyone know. The threat of exposure will be all it will take. Why, with a little luck, perhaps you could even get her with child. I could check with the laundress to see when she last had her courses . . ."

"Gad, Mama, enough! I am mortified to discuss such things with my own mother! Still, after rape and murder, what's a little flux?"

"Silly boy! Well, perhaps you are right. If we do too much planning, we will never get to it. And we must move right away. Maude will be eighteen in a few weeks and I will have no excuse next year not to give her a season. Several of her mother's former friends accosted me at Amelia's parties this year about Maude's future. I was able to put it off this year because she was still shy of eighteen but I doubt if those old biddies will tolerate our keeping Maude under wraps much longer. I cannot risk exposing her to all those lovesick puppies in London. Her dowry is sufficient to attract modest attention and I suppose she could be considered pretty, although she'll never hold a candle to Amelia."

"Spoken like a true mother. Amelia is lovely, no doubt, but Maude could be ravishing if she cared to clean herself up and take some pride in her appearance. Her hair is beautiful and that figure . . . Well, as I have said, I'll have no trouble with my part in this little scenario!"

"Hmmph, she is no beauty, nonetheless!" Claire would never see it. "I suggest we act right away. James and I are invited out to dinner in the neighborhood tomorrow night. We can take Joe with us to drive the carriage. If I give Cook the day off to see her ailing sister, she'll be out of the house, too . . ."

"If she doesn't have to be put to bed in a state of collapse. When did you ever give any of the staff a day off?"

Claire ignored the interruption. "That leaves only the scullery maid and the housemaid. They both sleep up in the attic. Do you think you can be quiet about it?"

"Rape? Mama, surely you jest! 'Excuse me, Maudie, could you be silent a moment while I ruin you?' Really, Mama, we'll have to improve upon that bit of the plan!"

What to do, what to do? Claire mused thoughtfully. She would not be stymied by such a small consideration as two young maids. "Ah, I have it! A drop or two of laudanum in their evening cider! So simple, really, I shall see to it myself."

"Mind you it's just a drop or two," John remarked dryly. "I am beginning to think my once happy home has turned into a house of horrors."

Claire shot him an exasperated look. "You'll thank me when this is over and you are set up for life. If it hadn't been for my keeping an eye on the main chance, we would still be dodging creditors in the slums of London!"

"And, to be sure, you have my eternal gratitude!" John planted a wet kiss with his fleshy, moist lips on Claire's cheek. "I think that to preserve some slight hope of marital bliss, I shall make Maude a handsome proposal first, after you and Papa leave and the girls have finished in the kitchen and gone up to bed. I shall point out the benefits to her. Perhaps she'll be reasonable . . ."

"And if she is not, just take her! You'll not get a decent second opportunity, so I should hope you do not bungle this one. I take it you do not require a diagram?" Claire gave him an amused, inquiring look.

"Mama, you wound me! I know where everything goes, I assure you. And it will be my pleasure."

"Very well, my love. You may leave all the domestic arrangements to me. Oh, and after the deed is done, perhaps Maude should have some laudanum as well. I do not want her running from the house in hysterics before we have a chance to put her options to her. I shall leave a decanter with a small amount of doctored brandy in it on the desk in the drawing room. Prevail upon her to drink itperhaps even immediately beforehand would be better. That way she'll be less able to fight you off."

"Ah, Mama, you are truly an interesting woman. Perhaps you have a drop of Borgia blood in your veins? You may count on me. And now, if there are no further crimes to planarson? robbery? No? Well, I shall take myself to bed to dream of the pleasures of the morrow. I do have a most fascinating day ahead of me." James heaved himself up from the divan. The woman was positively frightening. But she was a genius, and she had never failed him yet.

Chapter Three

Maude ate her cold supper alone in the kitchen with relish. She had had a wonderful day, spent mostly on horseback, racing like the wind over the hills to the south of the manor house. Even when gray clouds had opened up and poured down on her head, she had not been forced inside, returning only when a cold, wet and bedraggled-looking Joe came to find her so he could harness the horse to the carriage. She had helped Joe with the horses, feeling, as always, more at home in the stables than in the house. The spark of their old camaraderie had not faded with time. She remembered Joe as far back in her life as she could remember anything, and if they could no longer tumble through the countryside like puppies together, neither could age and the divisiveness of their respective stations dim their childhood affection for one another. With the old twinkle of mischief in her eye, she had offered to slip back out to the stables this evening for a card game or two. Unfortunately, Joe had been pressed into coachman duty this evening, and just as well, thought Maude, ruefully, that poor Uncle James would not be maneuvering the heavy old coach in this wet weather, considering how he'd be feeling at the end of the evening.

Now she could still hear the steady patter of rain on the eaves over the kitchen, a cozy, comfortable sound, and it seemed she had a pleasant, private evening ahead of her even without Joe to keep her company. Aunt and Uncle were out visiting, so she need not spend a dreary evening in the drawing room watching Uncle James drink too much and listening to Aunt Claire carp at them both.

And it was such a relief to have Amelia out of the house at last. Those last few weeks of the season had been nearly unbearable, with Amelia and her mother engaged in endless plotting and planning, not to mention sniping and bickering. Even their brief trips to London for parties had brought little respite since they could not afford rooms and could impose only so long on acquaintances for lodging. Thank heaven at the end of the season her stepcousin had found a husband, although Maude had cringed at the unseemly haste of a wedding six weeks later. She was still not sure whether or not there was a baby coming, and did not dare ask.

If Amelia did have an early baby, Maude was sure she would not be able to hold her head up in society again. Adopted or not, Amelia was a Romney, and such events provided endless amusement for the ton. Still, at least the poor, benighted Geoffrey Talbot had come to Maude's rescue. The bruises on Maude's backside had taken a long time to fade after the beating she had received for her interference with the earl of Radford, and it was only young Talbot's proposal that had finally stilled the vicious, vengeful tongues of her aunt and Amelia.

Perhaps now there would be some peace and quiet at Romney Manor and if Claire was less harried, perhaps she would have less to complain about. Only with an overwhelming sense of loss could Maude remember back to a time when this house had not been filled with bitterness and strife. She had very early on given up looking for love from her shrewish, ill-tempered aunt, whose unloving fingers would pinch at the slightest provocation and who carried a strap on her person, ever ready to administer a blow filled with self-righteous vigor. Oddly enough, the strap had never been deemed necessary for Amelia or John; only Maude had suffered its frequent, heavy application, and never when Uncle James was anywhere near to see it. And if Maude was now too old to be strapped, except under greatest provocation, Claire made up for it with pinches and slaps and ugly tongue-lashings.

Quickly, Maude finished her supper, anxious to avoid her cousin, John, at all costs. Surely he would go out soon to his cronies. He hadn't spent an evening at home since she could remember. She gave a shudder at the thought of him. He had acted strangely this morning at breakfast, even for him. Too familiar, she thought. He had kissed her good morning on the cheek, of course, but his hand had lingered at the small of her back with a slight, caressing pressure, and there had been an odd light in his eyes, as if he had a very amusing secret.

Well, perhaps she could avoid him entirely this evening. His place was set as usual in the dining room; he could eat supper alone. She gave a quick scrape to her few dishes and placed them in the bucket of sudsy water that had been left for her on the sideboard. Maude had dismissed the two young serving girls for the night; they had seemed so tired and lethargic. It was rare indeed that they should be granted even so much as an hour to themselves and they had gone upstairs, grateful for the break in routine.

Maude pushed softly at the green baize-covered door that led from the kitchen to the hall, and she moved quickly into the library. If she could just get her writing things and slip up to her room without being seen, she could spend a nice, relaxed evening writing to Elizabeth, her one friend from the neighborhood who had married recently and moved to Yorkshire, and was now begging for news of Amelia's hasty marriage. Maude's hopes were dashed as she heard John's booted feet striking the bare wood on the hall floor behind her.

"Maudie!" he cried, bounding into the room.

She cringed at his jovial tone, hoping he wasn't feeling overly companionable.

"Why on earth is there only the one place laid at the table in the dining room? Weren't you planning to take supper with me?"

She turned to face him, willing herself not to show her irritation. His dark brown eyes danced mischievously in the lamplight. His thick, lecherous lips gave her a big grin. He ate and drank to excess and it showed in his pasty, puffy face. Maude gave a tiny shudder. She hated being alone with him.

"Well, II'm rather tired tonight, John. I thought since everyone was gone, I'd just make short work of supper and go on up to bed." This wasn't quite true, of course, but she wanted to head off any thought he might have that they spend the evening together.

"Ah, well, I suppose I might as well do the same. Where is the kitchen staff by the way? There doesn't seem to be anyone about but us."

"The girls seemed very tired, so I sent them up to bed. I thought I could just clear off the few supper dishes myself."

Again, she caught that odd glint in his eye. Maude felt a shiver up her back. She must get upstairs. She would be safe behind her locked door. She turned to the desk and fumbled at the small secretary to find her box of stationery and a pen.

John poured himself a generous portion of brandy from the decanter. Mama had said she would fiddle with the one in the drawing room, not this one, had she not? Well, perhaps he might not need it. Perhaps the undoctored brandy would do just as well.

"I must say that was thoughtful, Maudie. And so domestic of you to offer to do the cleaning! Sit, sit! How about a small snifter of brandy? It will revive you marvelously!" Maude stared at him, nonplused, accepting the glass with no intention of drinking it. She sat on the edge of the small needlepoint seat on a most uncomfortable occasional chair, wondering how soon she could excuse herself without seeming abrupt. She and John, in all their years together in this house, had never shared a companionable chat, and she had no wish to do so now.

"I can't say I've ever thought of you as the domestic type, Maudie. Have you ever given any thought to marriage and a family?"

Surely that was an innocuous remark between cousins! Why did she have the feeling that a trap was closing around her? She was certainly being ridiculously fanciful. Maude took a deep breath, drawing herself up to face him steadily. "Not really, John, I cannot imagine leaving Romney Manor. And I've never met anyone who has captured my fancy." She allowed herself a little comradely grin. He was just being friendly, after all!

Perfect! John thought. This might be easier than Mama had feared, although he had been looking forward to the more active part of the evening's planned events. "But what about children?" he asked smoothly. "Surely you don't mean to stay here, keeping Mama and Papa company for the rest of your life and not start a family of your own?" John was rewarded by Maude's look of confusion.

It wasn't that she did not want children, Maude thought, it was just that she couldn't imagine herself in the role of a wife. It would mean spending the rest of her life playing lady, dressed up like a peacock every minute of the day, simpering at parties and routs, gossiping and visiting, day in, day out. Impossible!

"I am not really opposed to marriage, John. I just do not see myself going about the business of finding a husband. And then, if I get one, I shall have to go about the business of being a wife. You know," she added quickly, before the leering look could appear, "entertaining and running all the social activitiesall the silliness involved with being out in society. You must admit, I do not have the patience for all that sort of thing!"

"Indeed, I see your point, Maudie." This was going better than he could have imagined. She seemed to be making to him all the arguments he planned to make to her. He pressed on, seizing the opportunity. "You were never one to go along with all the nonsense the other girls find so entertaining. I daresay Amelia hasn't had a thought in her head these last ten years that didn't involve her attire or her matrimonial prospects. You've always been so much more sensible than the other girls of my acquaintance."

John had paid her a compliment! Well, a sort of a compliment. And such an unexpected one at that. He had never intimated that he had anything but contempt for what his mother termed Maude's "hoydenish ways." And surely he had played the admiring fop for years for the young ladies he now so disparaged. Maude sat back in her chair and took a sip of the brandy, perplexed at this unexpected sentiment. Not in ten years had he said anything nice to her at all. It had been all teasing and tormenting when they were younger, and snide jabs since they'd grown. In spite of herself, she smiled at him.

John smiled back, in a comradely sort of way, he hoped, aware that Maude would rather be anywhere else in the world than in this room at the moment. His mother was a genius about some things, to be sure, but she knew nothing about a beautiful face! He noted how Maude's smile lit her emerald-green eyes with warmth, suffusing her perfectly oval face with the pleasure she took in life. Her red hair, once the carrot top he had had such fun teasing her about, had darkened to a stunning auburn, thick and shining. Its heavy length was swept up in fetching curls, some of which inevitably escaped the confining pins to frame her pretty face. And though she wore an old, worn riding habit of Amelia's, cut down to fit her, she had grown a bit since the alterations were made and now it hugged her fine curves and tantalized him with the thoughts of what he knew lay underneath. She was lovely in the lamplight. The tip of his pink tongue flicked out to moisten his fleshy lips as he recalled that one way or the other he would be able to sate himself on her delicious body, perhaps as early as tonight. He could feel himself grow hard as he contemplated the delights promised by her tight bodice which curved enticingly, molding her small, but surely firm, young breasts. He had never had to take a woman by force and he found the prospect highly stimulating. Casually, as if it were an absent-minded gesture, he picked up a pillow from the loveseat and placed it in his lap to hide the bulge at his crotch. No point in frightening the chit. Not yet.

''Still, Maudie, if you can't see yourself prancing about at parties, I can't see you moldering here as a spinster forever. It would be such a waste. I mean, you would make a fine mother, and children are such fun to have about."

Now Maude was stunned. The last person in the world she expected to hear wax eloquent on the joys of children and motherhood was Cousin John, who spent no more time than necessary in any domestic pursuit. He preferred his card parties and Lord knew what other sorts of unmentionable entertainments to anything involving household or family. And she could not recall having ever seen him near a child, much less enjoying its presence.

"Well, I suppose I might marry sometime, John, but it really is nothing I wish to worry about now," she managed to get out, covering her surprise.

"Maude," he began in a gentle voice. "I wonder if you've given any thought to your financial situation. You have this nice house, of course, but are you aware of how much it takes to run such a household? The estate itself is, I'm sorry to say, insufficient to meet all the needs."

Maude looked at him, her confusion apparent. "I don't understand," she said slowly. "True, I have never concerned myself with the running of the household, perhaps I have been remiss . . ." In fact, she had asked innocent, naive sorts of questions, such as why couldn't they afford a new carriage or a new horse, or could she have a new riding habit and not one of Amelia's old ones. But she had been soundly rebuffed by her aunt. "I have always assumed the estate was large enough. I mean, we've managed well enough over the years . . ."

"But that's just it, you see," he said. "Mama is certainly a good manager and frugal." He gave a short, modest laugh.

Maude could have quarreled with that statement as she thought of the gowns and accessories and jewelry that had been purchased for Amelia's season and trousseau.

"But," he went on, "she has never really been able to make ends meet. She has used a great deal of her own money over the years to keep us all in food and clothing, and to keep Romney Manor in good repair." He paused, his eyes lowered. He waited. Either she bought it or she didn't.

Maude was at a loss to understand what he was saying. Was she really beholden to Aunt Claire? Did she really owe her money? It did not make sense. Aunt Claire was the sort of woman to have thrown that in her face all these years and she had never said anything. Still, why would John lie about such a thing?

"What I am trying to say, Maude," he began again, emboldened by her obvious confusion, "is that perhaps you will need to marry to keep the roof over your head. You see, Mama had to put out a pretty penny on Amelia's season and her dowry, and when I marry, she will settle a good bit on me." He spoke in a gentle tone, soothingly, as if to a child.

"I don't understand why no one has said anything to me before this," she began uncertainly. "I had no idea. Uncle James has never mentioned that there were money problems."

Maude was beginning to be frightened and John noted that her fear was reflected in her face. "Maudie, you know he does not pay attention to any of this. I doubt he is aware of the problem himself. Mama takes care of all the books."

"I really don't know what to do," Maude said, bewildered and upset. "I shall have to talk it over with Aunt, I suppose. I cannot go on owing her money. I can't bear that. But to actually need a husband! If I've not much of a dowry, nothing but Romney Manor and no money to keep it up, I don't know who will have me. This is just dreadful! I must think it through." She arose in obvious agitation and placed the glass on the tray with the decanter, making ready to leave.

"Wait, please!" John cried, loathe to lose her when the trap was ready to spring. "I mean, stay if you will, just a moment. There's something I wish to ask you." He patted the seat beside him invitingly.

Maude paused and sat back down in her chair, lost in thought.

John was surprised at how easily this was playing out. Why, she was almost eating out of his hand! He was conscious of a vague disappointment that there would likely be no rape tonight.

"I have given much thought to marriage myself lately, Maude. The truth is, I have wondered if you and I wouldn't suit quite well. That is, you have no love of the ton or of London . . ." he paused; she was staring at him blankly. "And, well, I have little need of that sort of thing myself." This was untrue, of course, but made a good argument. ''I'll have an adequate amount of money from Mama, enough to run Romney Manor and keep us in an acceptable fashion. Everything could stay exactly as it is, you see, no fuss with unsuitable suitors, no extraordinary social demands, just comfortable. We could have children . . ." he trailed off, aware now that her blank look had turned to one of horror as comprehension had dawned on her. "Why do you look like that?" he asked, unable to keep a sharp note from his voice.

Maude swallowed convulsively. She felt as if she might be sick. Marriage! With John! A financial necessity! It was a nightmare not to be thought of. Yet as he talked, she realized what he said made some sense. It was hideously practical. It was also completely unbearable. "II do not know quite what to say. I am overwhelmed . . ." she began.

"Then you'll consider it?" he asked eagerly. Perhaps a few minutes of soft talk, perhaps a bit more brandy. . . .

"No! That is, I cannot marry you, John! We are cousins, after all"

"Only by marriage, for God's sake! We are no more than stepcousins by law," he interrupted. "There's no real consanguinity!"

"Oh, I know. That's not what I mean! I mean, I don't think of you that way. You are a cousin to me, we were raised like brother and sister. I couldn't . . . be that way with you. I couldn't possibly be a wife to you!" She was blushing furiously.

"You mean you have no desire to go to bed with me, don't you?"

His voice was deceptively mild. She nodded slowly, her eyes locked with his, trapped by the sudden venom she saw reflected there.

He leaped up with a swiftness that belied his bulk and crossed the short distance between them in two long strides. "Perhaps you just don't know what desire is. Perhaps you need to be shown just how delightful I can be between your long, lovely legs!"

He seized her roughly, pulling her to her feet. Pinning her arms to her sides, he towered over her and bent his face down to hers. His large, wet lips locked on hers and she felt as if the breath were being sucked from her. Cruelly, his teeth bit into her lower lip.

As she gasped with pain, he stuck his tongue into her mouth, running it over her tongue and her teeth, ramming it to the back of her throat until she thought she would retch. As his left arm held her pinned, motionless, his right hand moved to her breast where he ripped at the flimsy satin, exposing her nipple. He kneaded it roughly for a few seconds while she writhed and pushed against him to free herself. Her mouth still covered, her screams died in her throat. She could feel his knee pushing at her skirt between her legs. The man was bent on rape! He would ruin her! As she struggled, she felt her legs give way and he pushed her down to the floor, knocking over the small table next to them. The decanter and glasses fell to the carpet. She lay with her head near the spilled brandy.

Holding her prisoner beneath his massive body, John freed his left hand and placed it tightly over her mouth. He moved his head down and seized her nipple in his teeth, biting hard. He could not remember ever having been so aroused! The more she fought him, the more excited he became. Oh, he had known it would be good, but this was truly magnificent! He wrenched her jaw as she tried to bite at his hand, and he gave a shiver of excitement as she cried out in pain.

"You will marry me!" he hissed in her ear. "You will have to when I finish with you!" His knee jabbed harder between her legs to emphasize his words.

Rigid with terror, Maude considered desperately if there were any way at all to fight him off. She rejected reasoning with him outright. He was frenzied with passion and past rational thought. He wrenched wildly at her skirts; she could hear the material ripping. At last he found what he had obviously sought so desperately. His hand fumbled with her underthings, between her legs. The horror of his touch was overwhelming!

As he reared back to view his handiwork, she brought her own knee up hard, slamming him between the legs. He screamed in pain and rolled to the side, just as her hand closed on the neck of the decanter which lay on the carpet within her grasp.

With rage in his eyes and his hands outstretched for her throat, he lunged toward her. She brought the decanter up and with all her strength, slammed it against the side of his head. Crystal shards flew everywhere, cutting Maude's face, her hands. From slitted eyes, she could see that a hideous red gash now ran from the corner of John's eye to his mouth, dribbling blood down his face, draining into the white of his lacy neckcloth. He stared at her, stunned for the space of a heartbeat, then slipped slowly, insensible, to the floor.

Maude felt as if she were dreaming, as if everything were happening too slowly. She became aware that she was whimpering, jagged little gasps of pain and fear that seemed to be coming from someone far away. She sat up carefully, her hands mechanically grasping the torn material at her breast in a futile effort to cover herself. John lay motionless, bleeding into the Aubusson carpet. She had a vague, distant sense of urgency, but she sat quietly, staring at John, her mind a blank.

Very gradually, her consciousness returned, intruding sharply, painfully on her detachment. There he lay, her attacker, her tormentor, her stepcousin, in a pool of blood, his light brown curly hair drenched in brandy. She must have been mad to sit here with him, to listen to his proposal, even to consider that what he was saying was logical.

What was it he had been saying? Something about money. That she did not have any. That Aunt Claire had been subsidizing her all these years. She shook her head, as if to clear it. It still did not make sense. That she was not wealthy she knew, but a debtor, on the brink of penury?

She had a vague recollection of a conversation from long ago; it was her parents discussing something to do with what John had been talking about. What was it? Something about Aunt Claire and money. Yes, that was it. She did not have any. Maude could remember her father telling her mother about this Claire, penniless, he had said, an obvious fortune hunter who had trapped poor, hapless James. "Hush!" Mama had said. "Little pitchers . . ." No, something was not right and she would have to find out what it was.

She looked again at John, who had not moved. Had she killed him? She knew a new stab of fear as she waited to see if his chest rose and fell. It did.

As her haze of terror lifted, it was replaced by a slow and steady fear. She was trapped in this house by a lecherous cousin and a vicious aunt. She must get away, now, tonight, or God alone knew what they would do to her. But where could she go? She had no real friends in the immediate neighborhood, no one whom she could count on to take her part. It would be far worse to confide in an indifferent neighbor, than to be turned over to the tender mercies of Aunt Claire.

No, what she needed now was real help, formal help. She would flee to London to see her solicitors. It was high time she took interest in her own affairs. God help her if there was no money left. But one thing she knew for certain and that was she would starve in the streets before she let this vile pervert lay a hand on her again.

Maude stood slowly, surprised that her legs still shook from the stress of the attack. She was groggy but made herself move for the door. She had no idea how long John would remain unconscious but she knew she could not risk his waking and finding her there. She made her way slowly into the hall and up the stairs. She ached all over but she could not stop to worry about that now.

What to do? How to get away? The practicalities were almost overwhelming. She pushed open the door to her room, then quickly closed it behind her. She slammed home the bolt she had had Joe install after that day when John . . . No! She would not think of that now! She had never been able to forget the look in his eyes. . . .

Joe! Where was Joe? Ah, yes, gone to drive the carriage. There would be no help for her there. Maude lowered herself into her small wing chair. I must not rest, she thought frantically. There is no time! But I do not know what to do. She was conscious of an overwhelming sense of defeat, a wish that she could just die and have it all go away.

From deep within her heart came an answering spark of courage. Well, it's not going to go away, and you are not going to die! Not unless you sit here and let him kill you! Well, she'd be damned if she'd sit here like a ninny and wait for Cousin John to come and finish the job. She listened carefully. All was quiet. Still, he would not necessarily make any noise if he were creeping up the stairs. No! She would not consider that either, she thought, shivering nonetheless, and quickly glancing at the bolt on the door. I can slip away now and make my way toward London. She stared ruefully at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was scratched and bleeding; her dress hung in crazed remnants. Not like this! The carriage was gone, and with it both of Romney Manor's remaining horses. She would go on foot in the rain and mud or she would not go at all. And worst of all, she had almost no money, just a few shillings.

She would go dressed as a boy! Joe, to be precise, a servant boy on an errand. A female unescorted of any class would be prey to the ruffians who prowled the roads. A boy of obvious poverty would attract little attention other than derision. Now that Joe served as valet to Uncle James and John, he slept in a small chamber in the attic. He had changed out of his stable attire to drive the master and missus out this evening. Surely she could find his clothes! She would have to leave her room for a few minutes, and she breathed a quick prayer that John had not yet come to.

Maude listened at the door. The house was still silent. As quietly as she could, she slid back the bolt, then eased the door open. A quick look told her that the hall was empty. She slipped out, shutting the door behind her, and made her way in the dark to the rear stairs. The stairs were well-nailed and oiled, and for once, Maude had reason to be thankful for her aunt's complaining about housekeeping details. Claire hated being awakened by the sound of the servants creeping down the stairs early in the morning or up late at night.

Maude slipped into Joe's room and shut the door. As a servant he had no lock, of course. She stared around for a moment, wondering where he kept his clothes. With a rueful grin, she realized that everything the young man owned was probably right there in front of her nose. He had no closet or wardrobe, only pegs on the wall. There was a small selection, and Maude knew from the meager grouping that anything she took would be sorely missed. Well, it was for a good cause and Joe would not begrudge her a few items. With luck, he would hold his tongue about the missing clothes, once he had a glimmer of what had happened. She would have the solicitors purchase a new outfit for him as soon as this sorry mess was set to rights.

Quickly, she picked a shirt and breeches from the pegs; they were the ones he wore for his work out of doors, none too clean and rather worn, but originally of good quality and certainly serviceable. Boots, she did not need, for she had her own worn-out riding boots, perfect for a servant. She snatched at a jacket, thankful that being one of John's old coats, it was of good quality and thickness. Again, she heard no sound as she inched open the door and crept out and down the stairs.

Gaining the safety of her room, Maude again shot the bolt, then leaned against the door. She shook all over. She had not been aware of being frightened until now. Well, she was almost ready to leave. She quickly tended to the minor cuts on her face and hands, then stripped off her torn dress and quickly donned Joe's clothes. The problem was apparent immediately. While no one could consider her voluptuous, she certainly was not built like a boy and the small, but protruding, bosom was unmistakable in the white shirt. This would be worse than traveling as a female, far more revealing than her usual laces and coverings.

She glanced wildly around the room and her eyes lit on a towel hanging by her washstand. A moment later she had fastened the towel tightly around her chest, binding her breasts and giving more girth to her middle. The shirt, fastened almost to the neck, hid the towel completely and there was no sign of her bosom.

She glanced at her dress crumbled in a heap on the floor, then grabbed it and made for her wardrobe. Carefully, she hung it up so the torn side of the bodice did not show. Let them assume for a while that she was merely in the house or about the grounds hiding, not that she had fled frantically into the night.

Maude pulled on her boots, then stood up to admire her handiwork in the mirror. With a gasp, she reached up to her head. Maude wore her hair long, not because she knew it to be her crowning glory, but because her papa had loved her carrot curls and had groused every time Mama had had them trimmed. What could she do with so much hair? Cut it, obviously.

With a snarl to herself that she would pay John back for this, too, she ran for her sewing box and pulled out her large cutting shears. She made quick work of it, hacking off curl after curl a few inches from her head. She stood for a moment aghast at the reflection that stared back at her. She looked like a freak, like aboy!

Swiftly, she swept the hair into a long tail, then rolled it into a knot. She grabbed an old shawl from her drawer and bundled the hair into it, stuffing the bundle into the back of her breeches. Let them look for a young lady!

Maude rummaged in the back of her drawer for the small enamel box where she kept her pin money, a few shillings, not enough to do much with. Still, she might need to purchase a meat pie or two along the way and a few shillings were better than nothing. She wadded the coins into a handkerchief and stuffed it into the pocket of her breeches. A quick look around told her that everything appeared to be in order, no sign of disarray to hint at her flight. She would need as much of a head start as she could get.

Now for one last run of the gauntlet. Her ear against the door, Maude heard nothing. She knew rationally that a mere ten minutes, maybe less, had passed since she'd brained John with the decanter, yet it seemed like forever. If he were alert and functioning now, she'd not leave the house alive, not after what she'd done to him.

Again, she made a quiet sweep at the bolt and cracked her door. The hallway was dark and vacant. Good! Let him stay in a stupor for the rest of eternity. Quickly, she descended the stairs, pausing at the bottom. All was still, not a sound or movement. She ran for the kitchen; she would leave by the small back door. Pausing only to grab Joe's old cap from the peg by the door, Maude stepped out into the cold, rainy dark.

Chapter Four

Blast the rain! Blast the dratted ruts in the road! And most of all, blast the now ex-groom who had carelessly lamed his favorite horse this morning and had delayed his return to London until now. He should have been in the city several hours ago. The earl's carriage, expensive and well-sprung, nevertheless bounced mercilessly on the slippery and pitted road, a sea of icy mud hiding the ruts.

"We'll have to make better time than this, Hobbs!" shouted Radford, leaning from the carriage, oblivious to the sleet and rain driving in his face. He could see Miller's Bridge up ahead and knew they had traveled only a few miles.

"Can't do no better, m'lord. Not without risk to the 'orses!" Hobbs shouted back, his voice almost drowned by the competing din of rain, horses' hooves, and creaking carriage.

Blast everything! Of course, Hobbs was right. It would be foolish to let a card party, albeit a curiously important one, lame yet another horse. Normally, being late would not matter, but tonight the match was against the duke of Sommesby, and later in the evening, of course, there was a planned rendezvous with the lovely Bella D'Amico.

Radford snapped open his pocket watch, but could not make out the time on the dial in the darkness. He snapped it shut impatiently. Well, it had been eight-thirty when they had managed to get away after consultation with the head groom, and that must have been less than a quarter of an hour ago. Two hours to London should put him at White's at ten forty-five or so, a respectable hour, given that crowd. And then, after the game. . . .

He sat back against the squabs, a lascivious smile curling his lips. Bella was simply ravishing, an Italian actress of many talents, on and off the stage. Such Mediterranean delights! And all for him . . . at present. Radford had no illusions about the lady's past or her future, but for now he intended to enjoy her exotic charms exclusively, and if she cost him a pretty penny in baubles, it was money well spent.

Without warning, he was thrown forward to the floor of the carriage. He heard the high, frightened whinnies of the horses, then he felt them rear as the coach lurched wildly. It teetered from one side to the other, threatening to tip over completely, then came to rest at a drunken angle.

''What the devil? Hobbs," he shouted, "are you there? Are you all right? Hobbs!"

As quickly as he could, Radford untangled himself from his ungainly position. He had come to rest nearly upside down, his head and neck wedged against the front seat of the carriage. He could feel the unnatural and painful stretch in his back. With a groan, he eased up and straightened. He was rewarded with a severe shooting pain, but at least nothing seemed to be broken. Radford pushed at the carriage door which refused to budge, then swore at it and pushed harder. It gave on the third try, nearly spilling him into the mud.

"Hobbs! Where are you?" Radford stepped down, an unusually long drop because of the peculiar angle of the coach. The mud came up over his ankles, sucking at his boots and threatening his balance. He heard a low moan from the front of the coach and started forward. Thank God, Hobbs was still alive but how badly was he hurt?

"All right, Hobbs, I'm coming as fast as I can!" he called. He could see the horses stamping nervously and in front of them he could make out a figure bent over.

"Are you badly hurt, man? What the devil spooked those horses?" Radford reached Hobbs and crouched down beside him, his hand on the coachman's shoulder.

"This 'un, m'lord, 'e's wot done it," said the kneeling figure.

"What are you talking about, man? What have you got there?" Radford looked down and, indeed, there was a small figure lying in the mud. "My God! A boy! Is he badly hurt? Did we run him over?"

"Well, yes, m'lord. In a manner of speaking we did. I couldn't see nothing in the dark and the rain, and all of a sudden there 'e be. I guess 'e didn't 'ear us until the last minute. 'E turned sudden-like, and tried to scramble out of the way, but 'e must 'ave slipped in the mud. It's mostly ice anyway. The one 'orse, she shied, rather than run over 'im and that spooked t'other. I didn't rightly see what 'appened after that."

Radford's hands had been busy while Hobbs explained. He pushed back the cap from the boy's head. Yes, there it was. A nasty egg on his forehead, and small cuts on his face. His chest was moving up and down regularly, but he was unconscious.

"Well, we can't leave him here to freeze to death." Radford sighed. His chances of making the card game were growing more remote. "Do you recognize the lad, Hobbs? He must be from around here."

Hobbs peered into the muddy face. "No, m'lord, can't say as I do. I was born and raised around 'ere and this 'un, 'e don't b'long to none of the families I know."

"Is the coach damaged? The horses look all right."

Hobbs and Radford made a quick survey of the tilted carriage and, finding no structural damage, righted it.

"Let's push on then. It won't do us any good to go back now if the boy's not local, and if he is, we can send him back tomorrow. Lift him carefully, that's right," Radford said, Hobbs at the lad's head, Radford taking his legs. "Ease him down gently now, on the seat. I don't know how badly he's hurt." The boy stirred and moaned as they placed him across the seat.

Maude became conscious of a jolting pain. Like a red-hot sword embedded in her forehead, it throbbed in rhythm with each jolt. She was soaked through to the skin and had no idea where she was or how she had gotten there. Not that it mattered, really. Nothing mattered but the pain. She tried to open her eyes but all was dark, open or shut, as far as she could tell.

"Lie still, boy. Don't try to move yet." A voice pierced through the blackness. It hurt just to listen. "Here, son," came the voice again. "Try and sip a bit of this."

Maude felt something cold and metallic at her lips, then the searing heat of a large gulp of brandy. She sputtered and coughed and opened her eyes. For a long moment, she looked around, uncomprehending, her eyes coming to rest on the earl of Radford. With a gasp, she tried to rise, only to groan and sink back as a pain shot through her head.

"I wouldn't try that just yet, son, if I were you," said Radford. "You've had a bad knock on the head by one of my coach wheel spokes, I think. How did you come to be out on a night such as this?"

Think, Maude, think! How could she answer such a question? Her head felt so muddled, and it hurt so badly. What to say? She stared back at him, her eyes dull with pain and confusion. "Well, it's all right, boy. We'll wait till you've got your wits back. Just rest now. I'm taking you to my home in London. My housekeeper can send for a doctor if you need one, then we'll see about getting word to your people that you're all right."

Maude closed her eyes, grateful for the reprieve. He thought she was a boy; so far, so good. And they were bound for London, also good. It hurt so much to think. Maybe she could just rest a bit, then sort it out. She felt a woolen coach rug being pulled over her. She sighed and turned into its warmth. Just a little rest. She'd had such a bad night. . . .

Radford smiled to himself as he looked at the waif's muddy face. The child was not badly hurt, he thought. He could go right on to White's after a quick change into dry clothing. He looked down at his boots. His valet allowed as how there was no worse gentleman in London as far as boots were concerned.

A jolt of the carriage caused Maude to swim up from her uneasy sleep. Her head still ached, but the brandy must have dulled the pain a bit and the carriage rug kept her warm. She deemed it the better part of valor to lie as if still asleep for now. She presented, she hoped, the very picture of innocent slumber, while in truth, her mind was swimming in muddled circles as she tried to work out her next few moves. A little late, she thought ruefully, to be thinking through the details. Not that the beastly John had allowed her the time to do any sensible planning! Well, for good or ill, here she was in the carriage of her old nemesis, but as long as he did not learn her identity and got her safely to London, all might yet be well.

In fact, the more she considered her situation, the better she liked it. A free ride to London on a nasty night was a stroke of good luck. And since she would be arriving very late with almost no funds, a clean bed in the earl's townhouse would be welcome, a base from which to operate, so to speak. Only now did she begin to contemplate the enormity of the evening's events. Alone in a carriage with a well-known rake, on her way to London to learn if she was indeed a near-pauper, and almost raped and ruined in the bargain! She could add in the fact that her head felt as if it might be cracked right through, but at the moment, the carriage accident seemed the most fortunate part of the evening. Her injury would buy her shelter and sympathy, and right now she desperately needed both.

There was, of course, the small matter of coming up with some sort of plausible explanation for the earl of Radford as to who she was and why she was out on such a night. Perhaps she could stick rather closely to the truth and avoid tripping herself up later. She would say she was a serving boy running away, but not from the immediate Bedfordshire neighborhood as the earl would know every family for miles around. Well, the truth would only go so far, she thought. She certainly couldn't tell him her master took indecent liberties with her! Maude blushed in the dark. She had only a sliver of understanding that that sort of thing was even possible between men, but she had no intention of getting into any such discussion with the earl of Radford!

Well, unbridled cruelty would have to do, nasty beatings, that sort of thing. While beating servants was not uncommon, wanton violence was not condoned and any servant had a right to leave if he or she wished. Maude suppressed a sigh. It would have to do for now. And after all, she only had to get through this evening and perhaps a bit of the morning. She had every intention of presenting herself at Messrs. Booth and Parks's establishment, first thing tomorrow morning, or at least as soon as she figured out where it was.

The throbbing pain in her head merged with the beat of the horses' hooves and the patter of rain on the roof of the carriage. Without knowing it, Maude drifted back into an uneasy slumber.

Chapter Five

"All right, lad, you needn't try to walk just yet. We'll carry you inside."

Radford gestured out of the carriage window to the footman standing in readiness. Maude lay silent, huddled in the dark corner of the seat. Her head still throbbed and she was glad of the offer of assistance. She had not yet spoken to the earl; the longer she could put it off, the better. Perhaps he would just leave her to sleep and there would be no need of explanation at all. She could certainly be away early in the morning before he arose.

Martin, the footman, was too well-trained to show even a flicker of surprise when he caught sight of the mud-spattered ragamuffin lying big as life on his lordship's coach cushion. What did catch him off guard, though, was his lordship's order that the unspeakably filthy baggage be picked up and carried into the house.

With just the slightest hint of a mine-is-not-to-reason-why glance at the heavens, Martin said "Very good, my lord," and unceremoniously swept Maude into his arms. "And where shall I place the young man, my lord?" Martin asked, his voice dripping disapproval.

Radford grinned to himself. Servants were so much more status conscious than their masters could ever be. "I think in the kitchen for the moment, Martin. I shall need Mrs. Formby's advice on the boy's injuries."

"Yes, my lord." Mrs. Formby wasn't going to half like this muddy bundle dumped in her nice kitchen!

Martin strode quickly through the front doors of the townhouse. Maude caught only glimpses of cream-colored walls and crown molding as she was bounced along toward the kitchen. Her head ached with every jolting step and she would be glad to sit quietly again. She was deposited firmly into a hard-backed chair. Struggling to sit up, she looked around to take in her surroundings.

The kitchen was a large room, still warm from the fire of the evening meal. She was seated at a long, much-scrubbed wooden table, clean as a whistle. In fact, everywhere she looked, maude saw signs of an almost painful tidiness. There were rows of gleaming pots and kettles hanging according to size from an iron rack in the center of the room. A handsome mahogany sideboard, as fine as anything in Maude's home, stood against one wall. On it, arrayed like soldiers, were the kitchen dinner service and an impressive china tureen standing guard in the center. In a bowl on the table was a pile of apples someone must have taken a polishing cloth to. Did they actually cook here, Maude wondered, or was it a museum?

The answer strode briskly through the hallway door. Mrs. Formby, no doubt, and a more formidable housekeeper Maude had never seen! Her silvered hair was drawn back into a tight bun, not a hair out of place. Her face was round and plain, with a no-nonsense look about her mouth, now set in a thin line. Her hands, folded neatly across her well-corseted middle, were plump and white, her nails trimmed and painfully clean. But her brown eyes, alert and questioning, were not cold. She was dressed in black bombazine from head to toe, save for a pristine, starched lace white collar around the neck of her dress. Maude had an irreverent thought of the collar standing straight up at attention on Mrs. Formby's dresser all night while she slept. Behind her came Lord Radford. Even he looked a bit deferential.

"Here's the lad, you see, Mrs. Formby. I apologize about the mess, but the carriage wheel knocked him into the mud . . ." the earl trailed off.

Maude wondered whether he didn't rather fear a hiding.

"Hmmph!" was Mrs. Formby's only response.

Maude felt herself the object of scrutiny. She almost forgot to breathe as she stared back at the housekeeper. Never had she so longed for a nice, clean, presentable face and gown! She wondered whether the queen herself had so regal a bearing. Mrs. Formby reached over and tilted Maude's face toward the light. With a surprisingly gentle touch, she brushed back the damp auburn ringlets that crowded Maude's forehead.

"A nasty blow the child's taken," she pronounced. "What was that fool Hobbs doing with the horses that he should run the boy down?"

Maude's sense of justice took over where perhaps caution would have been the wiser course. "Please, ma'am. It was so dark and raining so hard. He couldn't see me . . . and I couldn't see him either," she finished quickly, before the blame could swing round to her.

"Hmmph!" was the only response again as Mrs. Formby continued her examination. "Well, the boy can talk some sense, and sit up by himself, so I don't suppose there's any permanent harm done. I shall see to the matter, my lord."

"Er, yes, to be sure. Thank you, Mrs. Formby."

The earl was dismissed and he knew it, Maude realized as she watched his hasty retreat into the hall. Well, she wouldn't have to face him again tonight in all likelihood!

"What's your name, boy?" Mrs. Formby demanded. Name? Name! She hadn't thought to give herself a name! "MMMike!" she stammered as swiftly as the name could form in her brain. "Ma'am!" she added quickly. The queen couldn't hold a candle to this woman!

"Mike what, child? You must have a last name."

She was relentless, and Maude swallowed hard. "Ramsey, ma'am," she said, congratulating herself for coming up with something close enough to Romney that she might remember to answer to it.

"Very well, Mike Ramsey, that will do for now. Tomorrow I'll see to finding out about where you belong and to whom. Tonight we'll give you a nice, warm wash and put you to bed." She gestured imperiously to Martin to reassume his burden.

A wash . . . a nice, warm wash . . . Maude was so groggy with the pain and the strain of the evening. Now what was it about a wash? Wash! Oh Lord! She couldn't let anyone wash her! They'd see immediately that she was female!

Martin was plodding inexorably up the back stairs in Mrs. Formby's wake with Maude in his arms. They came at last to the attic level, and Martin stood by while Mrs. Formby fished at her ring of keys and unlocked a door. They stepped over the threshold into a trim little room with a neatly made cot, a small chest of drawers, and a ladder-backed chair. No dust, nothing out of place.

"If you please, Mrs. Formby, I shouldn't like to put you to any trouble. I'll give myself a wash and go to bed. I can manage now, I can." Maude looked up pleadingly as Martin lowered her into the chair.

A glimmer of approval flared in Mrs. Formby's cool glance. So it's a good soldier she wants, thought Maude, filing that idea away for future reference.

"That will do very well, Mike. You do seem able enough to manage a wash yourself, and most of the staff are abed at this hour. Martin will bring you water, soap, and linen. But, mind you, make a thorough job of it. I'll not have these bed linens soiled because of careless washing." "No, ma'am," replied Maude with some reverence. At the moment she'd rather die than leave dirt anywhere in this house.

Mrs. Formby turned and sailed from the room with a glance at Martin which said "And be quick about it!" as clearly as if she had spoken aloud. Martin hurried out behind her.

Maude sagged with relief as the door closed behind her. It looked as though she'd be safe for the night. She suddenly realized how exhausted she really was. Nothing seemed to matter so much as getting into that narrow, neat little bed. After a thorough wash, of course.

Two floors below, in a sumptuous chamber, the earl of Radford was being fussed over by his fastidious valet. He'd had to change completely, so drenched had he gotten on his hapless journey. But he would not be terribly late to White's, certainly no more than was fashionable. Sitting in a chair and absent-mindedly pushing his leg as his valet pushed from the opposite direction to get his new boots on him, he pondered how to handle his growing suspicion that the duke of Sommesby, in addition to his other perversions, was a card cheat.

Last night, as smooth as an adder, the duke had won two thousand pounds from young Brompton, a virtual fortune. The boy was a fool, of course, to have wagered so high. Still, it was odd how the cards had run so consistently in the duke's favor only at the end of the evening when it most mattered. At other times Sommesby was an indifferent player at best.

But there had been one or two other occasions when Sommesby could seemingly do no wrong at the card table, and unless Radford was much mistaken, there was an odd, unsavory pattern to these occurrences. There had been Thomas Atherley a few years ago. A bad business, that. Like Brompton, he had been young, just into his inheritance, new at cards, and full of a puppy-doglike eagerness to be a man among men. And like Brompton, he had won at first, small amounts, but enough to pump up his adolescent ego and sense of belonging.

Then, as the evening grew late and the brandy flowed freely, Atherley had grown less cautious, more boisterous, and had begun to lose steadily, small losses growing into horrifyingly large ones. Radford had been playing at a different table on those two occasions. Other gentlemen laid it to a run of good luck for the duke and to the inexperience of the boy, but Radford wasn't so sure.

Radford himself had been barely twenty-one and a newly made earl when he had sat across the card table from the duke of Sommesby for the first time. He remembered the evening with a painful clarity that only a particularly humiliating experience could elicit. The man had worn make-up, a fashion fading rapidly at that time, and a small black patch on his cheek. His naturally florid, brandy-bloated face had been white with rice powder, and he had been dressed like a popinjay, in pastel satins and white lace straining across his paunchy middle. But it had not been his appearance that had been so memorable about the duke of Sommesby. It had been something elsesomething Radford could not at that time put his finger on. The duke had been clever and brittle, but it had not been warmth or friendliness that lit his eyes. It had been rapacious hunger.

Radford, with all the presumption of adolescence, had prided himself on his skill at cards, learned as much from the stable hands as from his father's gentlemen friends. The game had gone swimmingly at first. Like Atherley and Brompton, Radford had won in the beginning. He had drunk his brandy, glass for glass with the duke, and had laughed uproariously at the duke's snide witticisms.

Gradually, almost unnoticed, the other players had drifted away, until, in the very small hours of the morning, drunk and befuddled, Radford played alone with Sommesby. Had he been more alert or more seasoned, he would have noticed the change which had come over the duke. While earlier in the evening, the man had been affable, almost to the point of silliness, paying more attention to the comings and goings in the room than to his cards, now he played with the concentration of a hooded cobra. Too besotted by liquor to follow the cards carefully, Radford had played on, barely registering that his winnings had dwindled to nothing and the losses had begun. He was five hundred pounds down and headed blindly for perdition when his savior had appeared at his elbow in the form of his late father's best friend.

''My boy, I'm afraid I must beg a favor from you," Lord Carruthers had begun. Radford had barely heard him. "My horse has gone lame and I'm feeling quite ill. I wonder if I could trouble you for a ride home." Radford had turned at this and had stared almost uncomprehending at Carruthers. "There's a sharp pain in my chest, son. I wouldn't bother you otherwise."

Radford had looked down at his cards and across at the duke. Unable to recall having actually looked at him for hours, he had been startled by the look of barely controlled fury on the duke's pasty-white face. Radford had not seemed able to tally in his mind his losses, but he had been sure that a few more hands would put him back on top. Why, the man had played like a buffoon all night. Surely his small run of luck would break. Carruthers had placed a heavy, insistent hand on his shoulder when he had hesitated. For a moment they had stared at one another, Radford so befuddled, torn by what he knew was his duty to his father's friend, and his desire to play just a few more hands and leave the game a winner as he had begun. "I need your help, son," Carruthers had said again, quietly this time.

Radford had shaken himself, as if from sleep. "Why, of course, sir. We were just finished, weren't we, Sommesby?" The duke had stared at him, his lips tight, his make-up stark and garish at this late hour. He had said not a word. Radford had stood, taking Carruthers's arm as they made for the door. And if it was Carruthers who had supported the young Lord Radford on the way out, there had been almost no one left to remark upon it. "Excuse, me, my lord, I asked if you prefer the wool cape to the satin this evening. I do fear it will rain again," the valet murmured, unwilling to disturb his lordship's reverie but needing an answer.

Radford broke from his troubled memories and stared at his valet. "The wool will do, Brooks." He rose and surveyed his man's handiwork in the glass. Not bad, if he did think so himself. And when the business end of the evening was concluded, there was Bella to enjoy.

The house was dark, Claire noted, as the carriage rounded the road and turned into the muddy drive for the manor. All dark save the library which showed a dim candle glow through the windows. No doubt John was waiting up for her. Thank heavens. She had been on tenterhooks all evening, bright-eyed and excited, barely able to follow the flow of conversation around her as she contemplated what must be taking place back home in her absence. Now, in the dark of the carriage, James snored beside her, unheeded.

Claire leaned forward, her eyes glittering, and peered from the window, as if she could tell from this distance what had transpired. Her excitement grew to urgency as the carriage neared the house. She laughed into the rainy darkness. She had no doubt that John had had to force the chit. Maude would never willingly agree to marry him, she knew. The little witch would be in bed by now, knocked out by the laudanum. She would be ruined, dirty, fit for no decent man as a wife. When the girl awakened tomorrow, Claire would lay it all out for her, slowly, point by point, no money, no virtue, no family other than her worthless sot of an uncle. No alternative but to marry John and live as a dependent for the rest of her life.

Oh, Claire would enjoy that conversation! She would revel in reducing the high-and-mighty Miss Romney to a nobody, to an indigent appendage. It would be all Claire's finally, after all these years of being merely the unheralded caretaker. And if the young Mrs. Romney were to die of a stomach complaint sometime after producing an heir, well, who would question the will of the Almighty?

The carriage wheels ground to a halt outside the front entrance. Fumbling with the catch on the door, Claire was pushing it open before Joe had a chance to jump down from the driver's seat.

"Hurry up, you fool! I don't have all night!"

Her voice pierced the dark and as fast as he could, Joe leaped from the seat, and held the door open while he helped her to disembark. As soon as her feet touched the mud, she was off at a run. Most unusual for the mistress, Joe thought, who prided herself on haughty dignity before the servants. He was joined at that moment by Jack, the stableman, who grinned at him and jerked his head toward Claire's retreating back as if to say women could never hold their water like men could. Together, used to the routine, they lifted out the near-insensible master. It was a relatively good night. He could walk with a great deal of support, of course. But at least they would not have to carry him up to his room.

Claire let herself in the front door which was left unlatched for their return since there was no butler to see to their comings and goings. She paused, on the alert for any noise to tell her things had not gone as she had planned. All was silent. Good! Swiftly, she made for the open door of the library, knowing John would wait for her there to tell her of the evening's events. She shut the door so that James and the two servants would not overhear her conversation with John when they passed on the way upstairs with their burden between them. She turned, a laugh of triumph escaping her lips, and confronted an apparently empty room. Nonplused, she stood for a moment, wondering if John had had the nerve to go to bed and leave her to wonder all night. Then her brain began to take in the disorder of the room. A small table lay on its side near the divan. She smiled to herself. So they hadn't even made it to the drawing room and things had gotten rough after all, she thought, as she moved forward to right it. It was then she saw John's boots stretched out on the rug behind the divan. With a small cry, she leaped toward him, then sank to her knees as she surveyed his prostrate form.

"Oh, my love! My precious! What has she done to you?" Claire moaned as she reached her hand to his face, tracing with her finger the ugly gash that ran the length of it.

As if in response, he stirred, then groaned and opened his eyes. "Mama?" His voice was faint.

"Yes, love, I am here. What has happened? Where is Maude?" Gently, Claire dabbed at his face with her hand-kerchief, but the blood had dried and did not come off.

"I do not know where the she-devil is. Upstairs, I suppose. I will kill her when I find her."

"She would not agree to the marriage, I take it? She fought you?"

"Yes, blast it! Does it look like she was faint with joy at the thought?" John was recovering himself and he struggled to sit up. "I made her an honorable proposal. She damn near sneered at me. And when I went to convince her she would enjoy the marital bed, she brained me with this." He held up the neck of the brandy decanter, its deadly point glittering in the candlelight.

"We must fetch a doctor to see to your face. I will go upstairs and find the bitch. I'll have the law on her for this," Claire snarled, as she struggled to rise.

"No! For God's sake, Mother, are you mad? I'll look the perfect fool in my set for letting her get the best of me. Just wait a bit, give me a few moments to collect my thoughts."

Slowly, he heaved himself up with Claire's help, and sat heavily on the divan. In the hallway, Claire could hear the noise of the servants moving slowly past, James's stumbling feet clattering as they pulled him along. She glanced at the door and put her finger to her lips. They sat in silence until the noise receded up the steps.

"I should like a brandy, Mother. Is there any in the house that hasn't been poisoned?" he asked sarcastically.

Looking at the empty decanter, she rushed to assure him. "Yes, pet. I'll get some from the dining room."

She patted him absently, listening for the sound of James's door closing. Joe would need the stableman's help in getting James undressed and in bed, so she would have time to slip out and get the brandy. She had no wish to face any of the servants tonight. At the distant thump of the door, she arose and left, returning in a moment with two glasses and a full decanter. She locked the door behind her.

"Now, precious, drink this, it will revive you." She handed him a brimming glass and poured herself a generous portion. She sat next to him, a scowl darkening her visage as she turned to look again at his ruined face. "Now, we must decide what to do. I still say we should go to the authorities first, before Maude has a chance to do so. They will never suspect you of rape if you get to them first."

"Mother, that is absurd. She will not dare. You know how she reveres the Romney name." He gave a short bark of bitter laughter. "The precious Romney name. Embodied in that broken-down lush upstairs with no one but Maude to carry on the true line. How fitting that it will be my descendants who carry on the name!"

He knocked back his glass, draining it, and Claire moved to refill it. "No, Mama, I propose we carry on as before. After all, nothing in this little scenario has really changed, except that now Maudie will find more pain than pleasure in her marriage bed . . ." he paused, sipping again from his brandy, an ugly smile twisting his bloody face.

"We simply need to carry on as planned. In fact, I suggest we do it tonight. She was very upset when I told her she was much in your debt, financiallyseemed shocked by it, as a matter of fact." They both laughed. "Didn't question it at all though. I don't think she has an inkling as to the true state of affairs. If she is still near to hysteria from our little . . . encounter, we will have the upper hand. And I don't think the little she-devil will be able to get the better of both of us."

He touched his face gingerly and winced at the feel of it. "We can just tell her that she marries me or we sue the estate for debts and throw her out. She'll have no alternative." He drained his glass again.

Claire looked thoughtful as she poured him another brandy. "I suppose you are right. At least we can prevent her from going to the authorities. You must remember, precious, that legally speaking, we haven't a leg to stand on. The Romney estate owes me nothing. To the contrary, we've managed to skim a pretty penny from it over the years. We can bear no close scrutiny at this point." She paused to drain her glass.

"Still, there's no reason for the chit to know any of this and if, as you say, she was taken in by your tale, she'll have no way to dispute itat least not unless she undertakes independent inquiry and I doubt if she will think of that. I must remember to write to Mr. Parsons and let him know what has happened. If she were to write to the solicitors, I must be certain he knows what story to give her."

Claire rose and moved toward the door, listening before she opened it. "I don't hear anything. I suppose they've put that sot to bed. I'll go and get her now and bring her back down here. We'll have to be careful not to let her make a scene. James wouldn't awaken for an earthquake, but Joe could hear her if she kicked up a real ruckus, although she'd have to be loud for the noise to reach the attic. Now just let me do the talking. And whatever you do, don't try to clean up your face. I want the bitch to see what she has to answer for."

Much the little vixen will care, thought John to himself, polishing off his third glass of brandy and reaching for the decanter. He found his loins tightening at the thought of confronting her again this evening, humbling her, forcing her to agree to wed him. He had enjoyed their tussle, right up until the moment she'd hit him. He could see her creamy globes spilling from the silk of her decolletage as he had ripped it from her, and the feel of her warm flesh beneath his fingers where he'd torn aside her undergarments that covered her sweet honey pot. That she had screamed and clawed at him had only heightened his pleasure. She would pay dearly for what she had done to him. Again and again and again. . . .

The sound of running footsteps roused him from his lascivious reverie and he turned as the door burst open.

Shutting the door as quietly as she could, Claire stood panting, leaning against it. "She's not there," Claire hissed at him. "Her bed's not been slept in! Where the devil has she got to?"

"Damned if I know, Mother. I was out cold, remember? I expect she's about the place somewhere. No doubt ready to spring at me from a dark corner." He shuddered delicately and took a noisy swig from his glass. "What about the stables? She likes horses better than she likes any of us."

"Well, we've got to find her immediately. We cannot risk her going to any of the neighbors with her tale. We'll be the laughingstock of the neighborhood." Claire paused only to draw breath. "John, you go to the stables. I'll check the other rooms upstairs. She can't have gone out in this weather, so she must be here somewhere! Look in the downstairs rooms before you go out. She could be hiding anywhere in the dark. A bloody lot of good that will do her when I get my hands on her!" Claire was frantic. "And be quiet about it! Joe is in the attic along with the maids and Jack is sleeping in the stable loft. I don't want any of them awakened." Out she flew into the darkened hallway.

With a last, lingering sip from his glass, John stood somewhat unsteadily. He did not relish the thought of prowling through the house and the filthy stables half the night. In fact, the more he thought of it, the more he realized the perfect place to be was his own bed. But he did not dare cross Mama. Better to get it over with. He lurched toward the door, his girth yawing from side to side, threatening his precarious balance. Damn the bitch!

Thirty minutes later, Claire returned to the library, disheveled, out of breath, and definitely out of patience. John lay sprawled on the divan, one leg off, snoring like a sot. "Wake up! Wake up, John!" She shook him so that his teeth rattled. "I cannot find the girl anywhere! She was not in the stables?" Claire pulled at John's jacket, trying to pull him upright.

"Enough, Mother! Stop! I am awake." John sat up, looking plainly befuddled and out of focus. "No, she was not in the stables or anywhere downstairs." His head pounded and the slash on his face hurt like fire. He should have tended to it before he got so drunk and sleepy. "If she is hiding, she is hiding, Mother. There is nothing more to be done about it tonight. Let's just go to bed and find her in the morning."

"Don't be such a fool, John! We must find out where she is. And if she has left the house, we must get to Mr. Parsons in London right away. If Maude manages to raise an inquiry, he will be able to fob her off. I've checked her wardrobe. I see no dress missing at all." Claire paced up and down.

"Well, I hardly think she can have gone out calling on the neighbors in her shift, Mother. I seem to recall it lacked a stitch or two to be presentable in public. Perhaps you are getting into a bother about nothing. Maybe she has just crawled off to think it over and will show herself at breakfast." John was more than willing to assume the best and go to bed.

"We won't be here at breakfast, John. Don't you understand? We must get to London, to Mr. Parsons, as soon as his office opens. He'll know what to do. She's gone. I know she is. I just don't know where."

"We'll have to leave before dawn, Mother! It's past midnight now. Surely there is not so much hurry as that?" As much as his head ached now, he knew that it would be all the worse some four hours hence. The woman was relentless.

"You can sleep on the way to London, John. It's a two-hour journey. Now go to bed and wash your face carefully before you do. You must not let that wound get infected or it will be all the worse a scar."

She helped him to his feet and pushed him toward the door. "I'll wake you in the morning before it's time to go. I'll keep searching the house tonight. We haven't yet tried the cellar. I wouldn't sleep a wink anyway. Are you certain you were very thorough in the stables?"

"Yes, Mama, very thorough, I assure you," he replied wearily. If he could just get upstairs and away from his mother, he could at least get some sleep.

"All right, precious, good night. And don't forget what I told you about that gash." She left him in the hallway, intent on the cellar.

He could almost feel sorry for Maudie with his harpy of a mother on her tail, he thought to himself as he made his way slowly up the stairs. The woman wouldn't rest until she had Maudie back in the bosom of the family, never to escape again. Still, Maude had scarred his face for life, the little bitch, and had rejected him to boot. Well, she deserved everything she got, and he would see to it that she got plenty.

Chapter Six

Maude awoke slowly from a deep, satisfying sleep. She was warm and comfortable and resisted giving up her dream in which she had been riding her stallion like the wind across the hills. She smiled to herself and rolled onto her back, opening her eyes. She was conscious of two things at once: a stabbing pain in her head, and not having the slightest idea where she was. She bolted upright, much to her regret, and looked about the room. Ah, yes, Joe's clothes and her shawl containing her hair hanging on a peg, and the remains of her wash water in a crockery bowl. Memory came flickering back, and with it a sinking feeling of fear and uncertainty. The easy part had been running away. The hard part was ahead of her.

It was almost dawn, judging by the gray light filtering through the clean, starched white cotton curtains. She sat quietly for a moment and listened. She could hear no sound as yet, but unless she was much mistaken about the running of a major household, the servants would be up and at work any minute now.

Tentatively, she swung her feet out from the covers to the cold floor. The headache was there, no doubt, but it was bearable and she did not feel dizzy. Holding her hand against the towel that bound her breasts, she willed herself to get up, and wished for all the world she could crawl back under the covers and ring for a servant. She slipped quietly out of bed and tiptoed to the pegs on the wall. Joe's clothes were dry, thank heaven, but a bit stiff with caked mud. She could brush off the worst of it after she left the house, but she was under no illusion that she would present a creditable figure to Messrs. Booth and Parks. Well, she thought, squaring her shoulders, and dressing quickly, pushing the knotted shawl in the back of her breeches, they would just have to take her word for it that she was indeed Miss Maude Romney, stable-hand attire notwithstanding.

Maude moved quietly to the door and listened. All remained silent. She smiled to herself as she thought how many times she had listened at doors since her nice, peaceful supper of the evening before. The thought of food made her belly rumble, but she would just have to trust that Messrs. Booth and Parks would see to getting her a proper breakfast.

She slipped out into the dark hall and made for the back stairs which she recalled would lead her to the kitchen. Mercifully, she saw no signs that anyone was yet afoot as she slipped down the stairs and into the kitchen. Meeting someone would not mean her undoing, but it would be so much more convenient if she could just disappear and not have to come up with any kind of story as to who she was and why she had been abroad on such a night. Besides, she thought, getting to the truth of the matter, she had no desire to face the earl again. If he recognized her now with her clean face, she would drop down dead of embarrassment, trying to explain how things had come to this pass!

The large door in the rear entryway was secured by a substantial iron bolt. Holding her breath against failure, Maude pushed hard against the bolt and was relieved that it shot back with barely a whisper. God bless Mrs. Formby's passion for a well-oiled household! Maude smiled to herself and stepped out into the damp, gray dawn. She scuttled through the neat kitchen garden toward the mews, careful to make as little noise as possible, mindful that the stable master and his hands would be stirring at any moment. Beside the mews was the narrow drive for the carriages which led into a rear alleyway. Arching along the brick wall of the carriage house that flanked the drive, Maude gained the alley without detection.

Reaching the end of the alley and peering to either side, Maude could see toward the right what appeared to be a street. She ran in that direction, only to be startled by the sound of an approaching carriage. Almost by reflex, she dove for the shelter of a cellar stairwell, just in time. Around the corner, into the alley, came a large coach, pulled by two of the finest bays Maude had ever seen. She gasped in recognition as she realized that the crest on the coach door was none other than that of the earl of Radford. And there was the rake himself, his head back, his eyes closed, returning home at such an hour, no doubt from some drunken, seamy assignation! Maude harumphed to herself in self-righteous disapproval as she watched the coach turn into the earl's drive. Just like John, she supposed, cads all. Oh, please let Messrs. Parks and Booth tell her she had no financial need of a husband!

That sobering thought returned her to the present problem. As she reached the street, she stared, perplexed, up and down. She had never been to London before and had no idea of the lay of the city. Not that it would have helped, anyway, since she also had no idea where she was. Well, she would do herself no good staring about like a ninny! With a decisive shake of her head, she took off to the left, if for no other reason than that was the direction from which the earl's carriage had come. She had a vague association with the words ''Chancery Lane" in connection with Booth and Parks. Perhaps she had seen it on correspondence. At any rate, it was the only hunch she could play now.

There was nothing for it but to ask someone for directions to Chancery Lane. Heaven help her if it were a long way, for although she had a few shillings in her tied handkerchief, she had doubts as to whether a respectable hired carriage would take her anywhere in her present condition.

She walked several blocks before she saw anyone. A boy was coming toward her, holding a wrapped parcel in his hands. "Excuse me," Maude began in her country inflection, searching in vain for the correct form of address"young man" would sound too stilted for someone of Mike's status"I need to go to an office in Chancery Lane. It'd be near the Royal Courts, I think. Would you be knowing how to get there?" Maude asked with little hope that the boy would be of any help.

"Wouldn't know Chancery Lane, precisely, but the courts'd be near the river. That's east of 'ere some."

The boy eyed Maude with some wariness, but she was relieved to sense no undue suspicion or hostility.

"Would it be far, the river?"

"Not so terribly," he answered amiably. "I'd keep walking down this street. It gets to the river a ways down."

"Thanks, much obliged," Maude responded. She began to walk away, pleased to have escaped detection by one of her "peers."

"'Ere now! Wait a bit!" he called out.

Maude froze. Had she given herself away? She turned and eyed the boy warily.

"Our Eddie drives to market every morning about this time. We get our fish from the fish market near the river. P'raps you might cadge a ride off'n 'im, though I don't know as Eddie ever did nothin' wasn't sumpin' in it for 'im, if you catch my meaning!"

The boy winked broadly at Maude and she laughed. "Aye, I catch it right well enough, and I suppose I could find a bit for you as well, though, mind, I've almost nothing to give." She wondered how far to trust the imp, but decided that with only a few shillings to quarrel over she had little enough to lose.

"Well, I didn't take you for the Crown Prince, did I?" he laughed. They turned into a narrow alley, not unlike the one behind the earl's house. "Wait 'ere. I'll see wot's Eddie doing." The boy disappeared down a drive.

Maude sat down against a brick wall, pleased with her progress so far. It was odd, but she was enjoying herself. Here she was, Miss Maude Romney, on her rump, in the dust in a London alleyway. And nobody was the wiser! She stretched out her legs and glanced with approval at the dirty breeches. So convenient and so comfortable. Why had gowns ever been invented? This was freedom like she had never experienced before, and probably never would again, she thought ruefully. Too bad she had so little money and no knowledge of London. She would have enjoyed a few days as a street urchin. She worked a shilling and a penny out of her handkerchief, placing them in her other pocket. On a second thought, she removed the handkerchief and with a quick look around to make sure she was not being observed, she thrust it down into her shirt. No point in Eddie seeing her whole hoard.

A rattling and rumbling warned her of an approaching cart. She jumped up and waited while the cart approached, the boy on the seat next to an older lad who must be Eddie. He reined in the horse.

"Lil Rob, 'ere says you be looking to get to the courts by the river." He stopped, waiting for the bargaining to begin.

"Well, I guess somewhere near the courts," Maude responded. "Chancery Lane, I'll be wantin'."

"I might know Chancery Lane. But it wouldn't be anywhere near my markets. It'd be takin' me north some, out the way."

Again, he stopped and eyed Maude. Obviously, she was engaged in some sort of negotiation. She wished she understood the rules of the street. "I haven't much to give you," she began.

"'Ow much 'ave you then?" he asked.

Maude pulled out her shilling piece, palming the penny and letting the pocket turn out to show it was empty. She held it out toward Eddie.

"Aw, that's nothin' much," he grumbled, but he took it all the same. "Well, 'op in, then. You don't look good for much mor'n a shillin' anyhow."

Maude smiled at Rob as he hopped down. Their hands brushed and he looked slightly startled for a minute, then a grin broke over his dirty little face. Maude gave him a conspiratorial wink, then clambered up onto the cart. He had his penny, and she had her ride.

She settled next to Eddie and the cart began to move down the street.

"London's quite a sight for you, Mike?" Eddie asked with great condescension. "I'll bet you've not seen nothin' this grand afore, 'ave you?"

"In the country the houses are scarce, not all one after another, like these." Maude did not know how far to go with her country-boy routine, but she certainly was goggling at the big city sights, as they left the rather splendid residential district. Even though it was not much after dawn, there was commerce aplenty, carts rumbling, street vendors setting up for the day, shops opening.

As they drew near to the river, Maude gaped at the varied merchandise available for the exchange of a few coins. As they passed one vendor setting up a rack of silken scarves from the Far East, Maude almost fell off the cart, twisting to look at the beautiful colors.

"'Ere, you'd need a year's worth of wages to buy one of them for a sweetie, Mike. No use goggling at wot you can't afford." He cast Maude a sidelong look. "You wouldn't be the type wot pinches wot 'e can't pay for, would you? 'Tis not wise in London. This 'ere's not the country. Our lower footman, 'e got 'imself transported on one of them convict ships for pinchin' an 'ankie off'n a vendor."

Maude hardly intended to steal a scarf. She turned toward Eddie, looking appropriately solemn, aware that the boy was basking in his role as the sophisticate and mentor. "No fear of that," she said. "My . . . mistress, she turned off a maid with no reference when some kid gloves were missing. They turned up, too, but 'twas too late for the girl."

Maude remembered with bitterness that the gloves had been found several months later. They had fallen behind a drawer in Amelia's dresser which was crammed full of her pretty accouterments. Neither Amelia nor Aunt Claire had cared a fig that fourteen-year old Molly had been put out with the clothes on her back and a pitiful little bundle of her belongings. Maude had made discreet local inquiry after the gloves had turned up but had not found a trace of the girl.

"Aye, the gentry don't much care wot 'appens to the likes of us. That's why it's smart not to step out of line. Me master, the duke of Sommesby, 'e'd as soon beat me as look at me. Sometimes I wonder whether 'e don't enjoy it. This 'ere's Chancery Lane comin' up. What'd you be doin' 'ere, anyway?"

"My mistress is stayin' in London for a few days. She needs some papers from her solicitor's office." Maude could feel her heart pound every time she had to come up with some new untruth. She hoped she was near the end of this masquerade, for she was not finding it easy to lie and in dialect as well!

"Seems she might 'ave given you more'n a shilling for carfare." Eddie winked, implying the age-old conspiracy of servant against master.

"Aye, she's a cheap one all right. Much obliged to you, Eddie. That would have been a long walk, all right."

Maude leaped down from the cart, amazed at the freedom afforded her by the sensible breeches. Alighting from a cart in petticoats and skirts was a cumbersome, time-consuming process. "Well, look us up if'n you want some comp'ny or a game of cards. Come round back, late evenin's. "Is lordship goes out most nights and we're not wanted till 'e comes back in the wee hours."

"I might just do that, Eddie, thanks for the invitation." Maude grinned in farewell as he drove off. She felt a pang of regret that she would not be able to take the young man up on his offer. She was beginning to think she'd missed a great deal by being born female into the gentry!

Maude glanced up the broad street with some misgiving. She saw a number of signs swaying above doorways. Well, she could just stroll along until she found the sign for Parks and Booth. None of these shops appeared to be open anyway. It was still too early for business.

She sauntered slowly, almost absently, enjoying the big city feel and the fancy facades on the small, but elegant, buildings. There it was! Booth and Parks, and she had only walked a few blocks. She stood out front for a few minutes and surveyed the premises. It was a respectable-looking establishment with a tasteful Georgian front and wide stone stairs. As she had expected, the windows were dark. She went up the steps anyway and lifted the large, gleaming brass knocker. There was no response.

Maude turned and sat down on the steps. She was awfully hungry and there had been some enticing pastries on the carts down by the river. There was no real hurry now, since the office was not yet open. She could barely suppress the joy she was feeling at this moment. It was irrational, she knew, given the precariousness of her entire situation, but it felt so good to be alone in London, unfettered by any of the social demands which invariably shackled young ladies of her station.

She gave a little giggle as she took an undignified leap down the stairs, using the wrought-iron guard rail for support. Unwittingly, she looked for all the world exactly like the part she was playing, that of a streetwise urchin with no claim to significance. With a boy's swagger to her step, she walked back toward the river, intent on breakfast. No doubt by luncheon she would be stuffed back into some hastily procured gown, stays and all, by the horrified Messrs. Booth and Parks, and made to sit demurely in an office parlor while the solicitors nattered about, untangling the sorry affair. But this morning belonged to Mike, and he was quite determined to enjoy it!

It must have been an hour later when Maude made herself turn back toward Chancery Lane. She felt such a reluctance, as if she could already feel the stays biting into her sides. She had dawdled in the streets as long as she could, savoring the sights and sounds and tantalizing aromas that washed over her in this fascinating place. Traffic had picked up considerably in the last hour or so. Carriages and carts clogged the narrow streets as coachmen jockeyed each other for the superior position. Boys ran by, carrying leather pouches, no doubt messengers among the solicitors and businesses in the busy district. Maude could not remember having seen so many people at one time in her entire life and she was thrilled with the bustling importance of it all.

At last, no matter how slowly she walked, she found herself within a few feet of the Booth and Parks establishment. She glanced up at a movement at the front door, and froze in horror at the sight that met her eyes. Sailing down the stairs, rigid and haughty, was none other than Aunt Claire, followed by John puffing in his pastel satins to keep up with her. An angry red gash ran from his eye to his mouth; the whole side of his face was swollen and badly discolored. A gentleman, whom Maude recalled seeing at Romney Manor on family business from time to time, strode next to Claire.

In near panic, Maude turned into a stairwell formed between the building and its neighbor, where narrow steps led down to a storage cellar. She went down the few stairs and shrank back into the shadow where she couldn't be seen. Please let them think she was an errand boy with a delivery! Peering up through the railing, she could see the hem of Claire's dress as her aunt swept down the last few stairs right next to where she hid. They must have left before dawn to get here so quickly, she thought to herself, hardly daring to breathe lest she give herself away. She'd just wait until they left. At least now she'd have less trouble convincing the solicitors that she was Maude Romney, now that they must know she had run away.

The trio stopped at the curb where Maude could see them from where she crouched back in the shadows, looking up through the railing. The gentleman gestured down the street and a carriage which had been waiting pulled forward. He turned to Aunt Claire, smiling.

"You must calm yourself, my dear. As I told you, if the chit does manage to make her way here, she will be sent directly to me. I shall give her the grim details on her finances. I'll make it clear that she must marry John or Romney Manor will be sold to pay off her debts to you. You must trust me on this," he said smoothly. Maude watched as his hand slid from Claire's waist to her buttocks, giving them a hard, suggestive squeeze.

Claire turned to face him and Maude was startled to see her smile slowly into the gentleman's eyes. John looked on with great disinterest. "I'm sure we can come to an amicable arrangement, Mr. Parsons." Claire's tone was almost purring. Maude could not recall ever having heard her speak so gently. "But I fail to understand why we are to take no action against the girl for mutilating my son. An unprovoked attackyou can see she tried to kill himand now he will be permanently scarred, all because he had the kindness to offer her an honorable marriage! You can see now what I have had to put up with all these years. She is utterly without care for the family, she is ungovernable, and now I fear she will murder us all in our beds! I cannot think why John persists in wanting to marry her." Claire raised a lacy handkerchief to her eyes.

"Now, now, Mrs. Romney, we do not wish to drag the family name through the criminal courts. So undignified, you know, and the scandal sheets would have a feeding frenzy on the story. No, no, John is right to wish to keep the entire distasteful affair private. And as for a wedding, I think it would be in everyone's best interests. Everyone's," he repeated with emphasis. His hand again fondled Claire's rump. She simpered at him.

"Now, here is your coach. You must return to the manor as we agreed. No doubt the girl is hiding somewhere about the house or grounds, sulking." He helped Claire mount the step to the coach. "My dear, you must not worry. As soon as she is found, I shall come directly to Romney Manor to set her straight on how dire her circumstances are." They smiled at each other. "And if she comes here, it will be so much the simpler. But you must promise to keep silent on this matter, my dear. It will not do to have it noised about that there has been physical violence done. It's so . . . déclassé, if you will, and it would not do to call attention to the situation." He patted her hand as John settled his bulk into the opposite seat. ''And do come up with some sensible story to explain your injury, John. I believe you'll look quite rakish when it's healed." John scowled at him and reached over to pull the door shut.

Maude listened to Mr. Parsons's tread as he mounted the stairs. She felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. Waves of blackness threatened to engulf her as she sat huddled and shaking on the cellar steps. What John had told her was true, every word of it. She was virtually penniless and at the mercy of her vicious aunt and twisted cousin. All the worse, the solicitor, whom she had counted on to be her savior, was her enemy, determined to see her packed off to Romney Manor, bride to John. Maude could not erase from her memory the sight of Mr. Parsons's manicured fingers fondling Claire's buttocks, right in the street! No, there would be no help from that quarter. It was almost incomprehensible that in the space of twelve hours she had gone from a secure existence to a nightmare from which she would never awaken.

Now there is no one, she thought to herself miserably, no one to turn to at all. Her chin in her hand, she stared up at the carriages passing on the street. She had no one left in the world. She was alone in London with no money, and she might as well be dead as go back home.

She took several deep breaths and leaned back against the railing. As if to emphasize her plight, a door opened in the well below her and a stocky, bandy-legged boy emerged, brandishing a broom in her direction. "'Ere, now 'oo do you think you are, clutt'rin' up our steps like that! Be off with you 'afore I call a constable!" The broom made contact with Maude's face as she scrambled to her feet, then found her rear end as she stumbled up the stairs. "And don't you come back 'ere again, this ain't no trash bin!" He followed her up the steps to the sidewalk and stood menacingly, like Cerberus guarding the gates of the underworld.

Maude ran down the street as fast as she could, hardly knowing where her feet were taking her. She ran as if she were being pursued by demons, oblivious to other passers-by, who had to step from her blind path. She stopped only when she came to the river, panting and bewildered. What was the matter with her? He was just a boy with a broom, after all. Still, she thought to herself as she gasped for breath, it was best she had got away from there. She did not need that young bully to call attention to her, not right next door to the odious Mr. Parsons! She brushed her hair back off her sweaty brow and resettled her cap on her head. With a ragged sigh, she stared at the Thames, lazing by, calm and gray.

Awhile ago she had wished to be free to roam the streets of London, to go anywhere, to do anything she wanted. Now she had her wish, although she had thought a clean bed and regular meals were meant to be included. She turned and walked aimlessly along the wide street which followed the river. She supposed she could get some sort of job, if she knew anyone to ask, and if she had any references or skills. She laughed ruefully to herself. And if I had wings, I'd be an angel. She kicked clods of dirt in her path. Anyway, she seemed to make a great boy. No one had spotted her yet for a young lady! "Hey, you! Mike! Over 'ere!"

Maude glanced up, startled as it registered that, indeed, she was the "Mike" in question. Seated on his cart like royalty was Eddie, grinning at her and waving. Oh Lord! What a sight for sore eyes!

"Eddie! Wait for me!"

Maude ran for his cart, like a drowning man making for a small island in the middle of the ocean. She heaved herself up onto the seat and turned with a great grin. Eddie was all she had in the world at the moment.

"I suppose you'll be wantin' a ride back, yer lordship. Yer business'll be concluded?"

Maude giggled. "I'd be much obliged, but I haven't got a shillin' left to give you."

"Well, you'll owe me then. But it so 'appens I'm bound for 'ome with a cart full of produce and fish so I suppose I can take you as well."

Maude glanced back appreciatively at the cart load. She was beginning to feel hungry again. She pushed the thought down. There was no telling when she'd eat again, so there was no point in worrying over it now. It was enough to worry about what to tell Eddie and where to go next.

They rode along in companionable silence until Maude noticed that the shops and vendors had given way to a fashionable residential district which looked ominously familiar.

"Er, Eddie, I was wonderin' . . . That is, well, I'm not too happy with my situation. Would I be able to get work around here, do you think?"

"Wot'r'yer good at, country boy, gawkin' at the sights? Tain't much call fer that talent." Eddie grinned. "Wot's the matter, she be a nasty to work fer?"

"Awful, just awful. And I'd like to stay here in London. Not much fun in the country."

"I'm sure of that. I'm a city boy, meself, born and bred. Never actually been to the country, but then I can't see no reason to go neither. But what do you do for her nastiness?" "Well, horses mostly. I work in the stables. I know a lot about horses."

"Well, that's a talent right enough. There's always call for stable 'ands in the big 'ouses in London. That's where the country-bred can get on right well. Would yer mistress be givin' you any trouble about references?"

Maude's spirits sank, but she had known this was coming. "She hates it when any of the staff wants to leave. She thinks we'll be talkin' bad about her when we go on to other houses. And, mind you, she's right. I've heard she never gives references at all. If you want to leave, be damned to you, she says." Maude found that this story came easily to her, since she was describing Aunt Claire right down to her very expressions.

"Aye, I know the type. I don't blame you fer wantin' out of that 'ouse. It's difficult, to be sure, having no references, but it can be gotten around. "Ow long'll she be stoppin' in London?"

"Only a few more days. II'd like to not go back to her at all, now if I could. She cracked me on the head last night."

Maude pushed back her cap and turned toward Eddie. She felt a twinge at this outright lie, but, after all, it was all John's fault that she'd been in the way of the earl's carriage. And it wouldn't hurt to engender a little comradely sympathy in Eddie.

"That does look nasty. Yer mistress, if she's not married, we should introduce 'er to my lordship. They'd make a pretty pair, they would. Spend their 'oneymoon at one another with brickbats. Give the servants a bit of a rest."

Maude and Eddie laughed uproariously. Neither noticed the liveried footman approaching them with grim determination.

"You, Mike, get down from there at once. You have the whole household in an uproar looking for you. And Mrs. Formby in a fine fettle, I'm sure. Worried that you've wandered off in some delirium. More like with the family silver, I'd say. You get right down here and come with me." Maude glanced wildly at Eddie as if looking for deliverance. Eddie, recognizing a social superior in the footman, glanced at Maude and shrugged ruefully, as if to say, "I'm sorry, I can't help you now."

With a sigh, she climbed down. "I'm sorry, Martin. I didn't want to worry anyone. I was just having a look 'round."

She turned toward Eddie. "Thanks for the ride." She gave him an imploring glance.

"Any time, Mike. Come 'round sometime if you want. You know where to find us if you need to." He looked so concerned that she was touched.

In high dudgeon, Martin Marched Maude back toward the rear entrance to the earl's establishment. "The very idea, consorting with such riffraff . . ." He snorted.

"I am sorry, really I am. I didn't mean to cause trouble. But I've never seen the city before, and with the pain and all, well, I couldn't sleep, you see, and I just thought to go for a walk . . ." Maude stumbled on, surprised at how easily the lies tripped off her tongue. I shall have to have a talk with the rector about the state of my mortal soul when things return to normal, she thought. That is, if they ever return to normal.

With a sigh, she followed Martin through the door into the lion's den.

"It appears the boy has sustained no serious injury, my lord. He's up and about and says he feels all right."

Mrs. Formby stood erect and at attention before the earl's desk in his small, but ornate, office at the rear of the house. It was well past noon, and the earl was feeling the ill effects of his late hours with the beautiful Bella.

"Thank heavens. We were certainly driving too fast for the weather, and I blame myself for that. Has he told you where he belongs? He should be returned as soon as possible."

"Well, that's a bother, my lord. He refuses to tell us where he comes from. He claims to have been a stable hand in the countryhe will not say where, preciselyand he maintains that his mistress beat him badly. He says he was coming on foot to London to find a position as a stable hand. But he has no references and he cannot be more than thirteen or fourteen. He's gangly but not a stubble of beard about him. He says he plans to make the rounds of the houses in the neighborhood and appears most anxious to be away. He claims to have no family who will worry about him. I have detained him until I could speak with you on the matter."

"He could be running away for less worthy reasons, of course, Mrs. Formby. Thieving, for example."

"Absolutely, my lord. We know nothing about him."

"Still, he was so poorly dressed," the earl went on thoughtfully, "obviously from a household which does not take pride in its servants' appearances. And while I cannot say that I went through his pockets, he cannot have been carrying anything much on him. Certainly not his mistress's candelabra."

Mrs. Formby gave the required smile at his lordship's little joke.

"We have no need of a stable hand at present do we, Mrs. Formby?"

"No, my lord. Although those two young rapscallions we have now will be the death old Frederick. Far too high-spirited and inattentive they are, my lord."

"Yes, well, I suppose I shall have to consider pensioning Frederick off to the country one of these days. But he shows no sign of wanting to retire. And he's the best man I've ever seen with horses. I think the boys will learn a great deal from him if they will sit still to listen."

"Hmmph," said Mrs. Formby, her final opinion on the subject.

"I do feel guilty about the boy, however. If he has no other prospects and no references, do you suppose we could make room for him in the householdfor a trial period, of course, to assess his character? I would naturally leave the decision up to you, Mrs. Formby. You know I try never to interfere with your household arrangements. Never found any need to, actually." "My lord." Mrs. Formby gave an almost imperceptible nod of her head to acknowledge the compliment, no more than her due, of course. "I can arrange to keep the lad for a few days, on a trial basis. He's a winning thing, in his way. He offered on his own to help in the kitchen this morning. He seems quite neat, that is most unusual for a boy, you know . . ."

There was just the slightest pause, while the earl willed himself not to flinch. Mrs. Formby had been with his family since before he was born. She remembered things. He was sure of it.

"And he does not appear to be a gossip, my lord. I had to pry the facts out of him on his personal circumstances. Not a tale-teller, I think. We could not abide that."

Mrs. Formby occasionally lapsed into the royal "we," and the earl thought she was perfectly entitled to do so.

"Well, that's settled then, thank you, Mrs. Formby. I do not believe I've any need to speak with the lad. I'm sure you will make suitable arrangements. Do let me know, though if there is trouble. If he is a liar or a thief, we may need to investigate further as to why he left his former employment. We are taking his word for it that he had good reason to run away. I hope we have not been taken in."

"Certainly, my lord. Good afternoon."

Mrs. Formby sailed majestically from the room, leaving the earl somewhat relieved. After all these years, he could still hear the echo of her voice saying "Master Edward, you must be more careful of your things. Having a valet is no excuse to be careless with fine boots such as these." He was quite sure Mrs. Formby could still hear it, too.

He sighed as he turned to the paperwork on his desk, but the receipts and bills could not capture his attention. Last night's game had been most unexceptional. He had deliberately placed himself as Sommesby's table, but the evening had passed unremarkably. The duke had played his usual inattentive, foppish game, with negligible losses at the end of the evening. Radford had detected no cheating certainly, nothing at all out of the ordinary. But there had been no inexperienced, wealthy pups there; nor was there any sign at all of young Brompton. Rumor had it he had returned this morning to his estate in the country, not ruined, but certainly deeply wounded financially. Radford did not like that at all. Not after that bad business with Atherley. He, too, had disappeared immediately after his great losses. Then he'd been found dead by his own hand of a bullet through his head.

Chapter Seven

If she were not blissfully safe and happy a week after her arrival in London, at least Maude seemed to have landed in an acceptable situation for now. She had seen virtually nothing of his lordship. So much the better as she still could not be sure he would not recognize her, now that her face was clean. Her disguise, however, was apparently a great success. Maude supposed that some girls would take it as an insult to pass so easily for a boy, but she was too relieved to feel the sting. Besides, she had continued to bind her breasts, and she could detect no trace of a female form through her shirt. She had been issued two very clean sets of clothing, not livery, for she would not be serving the earl or his guests directly, but well-made and well-fitted breeches, shirts, and stockings. She slept alone in the small attic room, and so far there had been no intrusion on her privacy, even though she was uncomfortable about the fact that her door had no lock. But then the lower servants' doors never had locks, at least not on the inside.

She was functioning as a johnny-of-all trades. Whatever odd job needed doing, she was their boy. Mrs. Formby rarely addressed her directly, but Maude had the feeling that the woman was pleased with her. Certainly Maude had taken great pains to be attentive, helpful, and careful in her tasks. She'd been surprised how easily she'd been accepted into the household. She'd expected some resistance, or at least the natural snobbery the city-bred seem to have for the country-bred, but the staff had been kind enough as a whole. The more senior members, such as Martin and Brooks, ignored her completely, as befitted servants of their station, but the younger ones were friendly and helpful in teaching her the household routines. Maude supposed it did not hurt that she did everything she could to be an extra pair of hands wherever she might be needed, and never complained or shirked or tattled.

The stables, of course, were her favorite assignment. There she felt completely at home, with horses who didn't care whether she was a boy or a girl, servant or gentry. She had spent much of her childhood with the manor's horses; it had been far preferable to staying indoors with Claire and Amelia. Horses had proved no challenge to Maude as far back as her memory could stretch. She was a born horsewoman who sat a saddle as if she'd been born in it. And as for the care of the horses, Maude had learned to muck out stables side by side with Joe, having contests to see who could pitch the dung the farthest.

She understood without explanation the needs of the beautiful beasts and there was no task beneath her dignity. Maude had an inborn affinity for the graceful, powerful creatures. She showed not one whit of fear, but a great deal of respect and love.

There had been no one to tell the old Romney groom and Joe that such activity was grossly inappropriate for the young lady of the manor. Indeed, the old groom well remembered Maude's father, his late master, and was saddened by the neglect and decay he saw all around him under the regime of the new mistress as he so often said to Maude and Joe. The old man had welcomed her in his stables, social conventions be damned, and she had learned, without knowing at the time that she was being taught.

But old Frederick himself was a font of information and lore about the care and breeding of fine horses, and Maude listened with great care when he chose to explain something to her. She wished the two young stable hands were more attentive. They were mischievous and full of energy, and they had a slapdash way of performing their less favorite tasks, but they liked the horses and never mistreated them. They liked Maude, too, as far as she could tell, although it would have been odd had they not, since more often than not she filled in on tasks they had done too lightly.

She found herself spending more and more time in the stables. Old Frederick and she got along tolerably well, considering he was a crusty old sort, and it may have been that he and Mrs. Formby had come to an agreement on her chief duties. She still helped out in the kitchen in the late afternoon, when dinner preparations were underway, and she ran the occasional errand.

But her position in the earl's household was temporary in her eyes. It was far too risky in the long run. She did not fear being sent to his country estate since he had a full staff there, and was known never to shut up his London house, even out of season. Still, she was bound to cross his path eventually, and she dreaded the moment when their eyes should meet.

One morning Mrs. Formby sent for her and handed her a small packet. ''This must be delivered to Lady Acton's home this morning. It is a few blocks' walk to Russell Square. Frederick will explain the way to you. Now hurry along with you. It does not do for the earl to appear tardy in his responses." Maude lit out for the stables and got the directions from Frederick. She ran back through the mews, as she had done on her first morning there, and headed for the street. She had gone a block or two when she realized she was close to the small alley that led to the back of the duke of what's-his-name's townhouse, where Eddie lived. It was too good an opportunity to pass up. Slipping into the small drive, she turned into the mews which she recognized as Eddie's.

She supposed she could just knock on the back door and ask for him, she thought. Still, if his lordship was such a horror, perhaps she shouldn't risk getting Eddie into any trouble.

Luck was with her, however. Near the stables she saw Rob. She stopped at the edge of the drive and beckoned to him.

"Hey, Mike! 'Ow you be? We didn't think to see the likes of you again. Eddie told me you got pinched by those as you was trying to get away from. He figured you got took back to the country."

"No, I got left here, thank heaven. But I want to see Eddie. Is he around? Mind, I don't want to get him in any trouble."

"I'll get 'im fer you. He'll be right inside. There's no one to care if 'e talks with you a moment. 'Is Grace'll still be sleepin'. I'll be right back."

Maude waited and in less than a minute she saw Eddie hurrying to her.

"Well, I'll be! I figured you'd been swallowed up by that she-dragon of yours and we'd never be seein' you again. Ow'd you get back?"

"I never went. My mistress let me go to the staff of Lord Radford, where we were staying, a couple of blocks over."

"Aye, I know about 'im. Me master 'ates 'im, but then 'e 'ates everybody. Wot's it like in 'is 'ousehold?"

"Well, all right, I suppose. I never see the earl directly"

"Just as well," Eddie interrupted. "Those sorts'll plant a boot in yer backside for just bein' in a room if they don't want you there." "Well, I don't know that he's the violent sort," fairness compelled her to say; indeed, Maude had been surprised to learn that the earl's staff seemed genuinely fond of him and very content with the household. "Still, I may be on the lookout soon for a new place. I can probably get a reference now, and I'd like to get away from there in case my old mistress comes back. Out of sight, out of mind, they always say." Maude grinned at the boys. ''Will you watch out for a place for me?"

"Sure we will. You'd best not come 'ere though. 'E's particularly rough on the new ones, the younger, the better."

"Aye, I'll not be takin' a position here, then. But somewhere else, if you hear of anythin'."

"Would you be wantin' a little game of cards one evenin'? We get up a little game every Wednesday over the stables." Eddie grinned a challenge. "We'll be glad to take yer first weeks' wages outta yer pocket."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, my man. I'm not bad at cards. I can't get away though. I'm not free evenin's."

"None of us are free, exactly, country boy. We just cover fer each other, like. Yer people do it, too. They all do. You just slip away when yer not wanted anymore, and if you come back real late, you sleep in the stables. Real simple, see. Everyone does it that way."

"I don't know that I might not come one of these weeks. I'd enjoy takin' your money off you. Let me get a feel for the place first. I don't want to make a bad move now, when I'm so new."

"That's smart. But you'll find yer pals'll cover fer you there, if they like you, that is, and they're not natural-born rats. We got one'r two of them. Real lickspittles to 'is lordship, they are. You got to watch out fer that type."

"Aye, but so far, I've seen none of that. Look, I'm on an errand so I've got to move on, but I'll be around again sometime, maybe for a game. And you be on the lookout for a post for me, will you?" Maude turned to go and lifted her hand in farewell. "Sure, come around some Wednesday, late-like. We'll be waitin' for you." Eddie waved back, and he and Rob turned back toward the mews.

A card game with the boys. Now that might be fun. She knew cards backward and forward from Uncle James, and she had no doubt she could give these city boys a run for their money. She'd have to figure out how to slip away and not get found out. She did not relish facing Mrs. Formby if caught in some indiscretion.

She picked up her pace and hurried on to Lady Acton's. There was something to be said for being a serving boy in a decent household in London. And if she was no longer Miss Maude Romney of Romney Manor, nor was she Mrs. John Romney, abused, penniless, and frightened. And there was a great deal to be said for that.

Chapter Eight

"Do you mean to tell me that Mrs. Formby is bedridden? The woman hasn't been sick in my lifetime, not a day!" The earl of Radford was clearly dumbstruck. "And how many of the other servants are down?"

The head butler, Farnsworth, the earl noted, was looking none too good himself, flushed and unsteady on his feet.

"My lord, we are most dreadfully embarrassed at the situation. I do not recall such a virulent influenza in all my days either. There are only a handful of us left who have not succumbed." He spoke with a rasp.

"Yes, and you'd better take yourself off to bed as well, Farnsworth, before you fall over."

"Certainly not, my lord. There is nothing at all wrong with me."

"I assume you've had the doctor in?"

"Yes, my lord. Mr. Mathes says that some of the staff are very ill indeed. He insists on full bed rest for all of the ailing because of the danger to the heart from the high fevers. I've the tweeny, a parlormaid, young Mike, and Frederick who remain unscathed. Frederick is looking after the stables singlehanded since I've had to pull Mike in to help with the sick."

"Mike? Is that the lad we ran over a few weeks ago? He hasn't stolen the place out from under us yet?"

"Not at all, my lord. Mrs. Formby and I have been most pleased with the boy's progress. He is a willing worker and shows great skill in the stables. A most acceptable addition to the household, my lordthus far, that is." Mr. Farnsworth was ever one to hedge his bets.

"Well, I'm pleased to hear that. Perhaps the best way to get good servants these days is to run them down in the road and bring them home unconscious. I shall remember that. Now, what shall we do about all this illness? I am inclined to send to the country for more staff to nurse our invalids."

"The doctor and I discussed that, my lord. He is of the firm opinion that it would be wiser to contain our illness to this household. It is fortunate you have been in the country, else you might be down with it, too."

"Oh, I'm sure my time is coming, Farnsworth. This thing is all over London, is it not? But I never get very ill so I'm not going to worry about it. I'll not be able to avoid it, anyway. The devil of it is, I've let Brooks go north to visit his ailing mother. We understood her time to be short, and he seemed anxious to see her. I suppose I shall have to valet myself. Probably look like the very devil for a few weeks, eh, Farnsworth?"

"I wouldn't dream of it, my lord. I shall valet you myself. I was valet to your grandfather in his later years, before you were born. I believe we can keep you looking presentable, my lord, even if we are a bit shorthanded in the laundry."

"We'll manage, I daresay, although I'm not too keen on cooking. I suppose Cook is down as well?"

"I'm afraid so, my lord. She is quite ill. The kitchen staff is prostrate." "I believe it will simplify matters if I dine at my club for the next week or so. Then you can concentrate on getting hot soup to our fallen soldiers and dispense with elaborate food preparation. I certainly shall plan no entertaining in the near future. I would return to the country, but I've several important engagements in town over the next few weeks, and I'm not at all sure I wouldn't be carrying the contagion back to them now. Let's just try to carry on, Farnsworth. It should not be more than a week or so, I imagine, for things to get back to normal."

"You are most understanding, my lord. We shall try to keep the inconvenience to your lordship at a minimum."

Farnsworth no longer looked flushed. He was as pale as a ghost and Radford noticed that he was holding on to the back of a chair as he stood, a most uncharacteristic gesture for his rigid butler.

"Perhaps you might go and have a few minutes rest, man. I need nothing at the moment. I'm going to rest myself, before I dress to go out this evening."

"Thank you, my lord, you are most kind, but I feel I must make the rounds of the sick rooms. If you will excuse me, my lord."

Farnsworth turned with great dignity, took three steps forward, and dropped in a dead faint.

The earl stared down at him a moment, sighed, and pulled the rope that signaled the kitchen, wondering who, if anyone, would respond. He did not feel up to carrying the man up three flights of stairs, but it had to be done. It was certainly going to be an interesting week. He pulled a cushion from one of the chairs and placed it under Farnsworth's head. The butler groaned, but did not appear to be awake. His head was burning hot to the touch.

A moment later a face peered around the large paneled door. Radford caught the movement out of the corner of his eye as he bent over the butler.

"Come in, whoever you are. I need some help." Radford glanced up briefly and saw a boy staring in shock at Farnsworth. "Ah, Mike, I believe," the earl began. "Do you remember our last meeting? As I recall you were in no better shape then than poor Farnsworth is now. I trust you took no permanent injury from our unfortunate encounter?"

"Nno, my lord. My headache went right away, thank you, my lord," Maude stammered, hoping the floor would open up beneath her and swallow her whole. This meeting was inevitable. Nothing to do but bluff it out and perhaps fate would allow her to continue her masquerade. She stared at the carpet and willed her hands not to shake.

"Do you think you can help me carry Farnsworth upstairs? I am afraid the poor man is far more ill than he would admit."

"Yes, my lord. I've been afraid this would happen. He's been working awfully hard and getting almost no rest what with the nursing and the cooking and all."

"Yes, well I daresay those few of you still on your feet have done more than your share of the work around here in the last few days. Do you think you could hold his legs while I hoist the rest of him? We've a long way to go to get up to his quarters, so this will not be easy."

"I can manage, my lord."

Maude bent down and gently lifted the butler's legs, one on either hip, facing forward, away from the earl. Well, at least she need not look him in the face until they got upstairs with their burden.

"I certainly hope my good Farnsworth does not awaken before we reach his quarters. He would simply expire on the spot should he find himself in such an undignified position."

Maude giggled in spite of herself. They reached the foot of the center staircase and Maude looked at it with some misgiving. Even carrying only the man's legs was heavy.

"You go first, Mike. That way I'll have most of his weight on me."

"Yes, my lord. It's all right so far."

It was a very long climb. Maude could feel each step painfully gained beneath her, and as they rounded the post for the servants' floor, she felt as if her arms would drop off.

"Steady on, boy. Just a few more steps."

They were both puffing from exertion, and they paused before the door to Farnsworth's suite. Maude let the butler's foot down as she jiggled the handle. Thank heaven he was not one to keep his door locked. The door opened onto a spacious, tastefully decorated room, not lavish by the earl's standards, no doubt, but certainly a pleasant place to spend what free time a butler came by.

"Let's put him on the bed, then you can help me undress him."

Oh Lord! Farnsworth's dignity be hanged! What of Maude's own? They stopped next to the canopied bed, and Maude held his legs steady while Radford gently deposited his body on the coverlet. The man stirred slightly and moaned.

"I wish Mrs. Formby were well, Mike. I'm a bit worried. He's burning up with fever. Can you feel it?"

He drew back and Maude put her hand against the man's cheek.

"Aye, my lord, he's quite ill. But we've been nursing other staff through it for the last two days. The important thing is to cool him off a bit with a wet cloth. I'll put some water in the basin and sponge him down."

Maude turned toward the washstand while Radford loosened Farnsworth's cravat and shirt front. She was worried because the butler felt so very hot and he was, after all, rather elderly. He had been kind to her and in the past two days they had been each other's mainstay, running up and down stairs, fetching more water, trying to get a bit of soup down a few hoarse throats, sleeping in the smallest snatches so as not to leave the other to do all the work. He had made no status distinction between them, an unusual thing between head butler and lowest serving boy. The tweeny and the parlormaid manned the kitchen, and if the broth was not up to Cook's standards, at least it was nourishing and hot. The whole household had the air of siege, but Nigel Farnsworth and Maude Romney had found kindred spirits in each other, even if there were a slight misunderstanding on his part as to Maude's true identity.

"That's right, my lord, expose his chest. Excuse me, let me sit here for a moment."

Concern for Mr. Farnsworth temporarily erased Maude's fear of recognition by the earl. She sat on the side of the bed, placing the wash bowl of water on the night stand and began bathing Mr. Farnsworth's unconscious form. The heat from his body was frightening, and Maude noticed nothing else as she sponged his chest, his forehead, then his arms and wrists, again and again.

Quietly, the ninth earl of Radford unfastened his butler's breeches and slid them down and off, leaving him in his smallclothes. He covered the inert form with a sheet, then gently removed the man's shirt and vest.

"Should he drink something, do you think?" the earl asked.

"Yes, it would help if he could take some water. Not too much, just a few sips." Maude went so far as to forget the "my lord," and the omission went unnoticed.

"I'll return in a moment with some fresh water. No telling when the water was last changed in this pitcher." Radford lifted it and left the room.

A short time later, the earl returned with a fresh pitcher of water and two clean glasses. He poured a small amount into one of the glasses and held it to Farnsworth's burning lips. "Here, man, try and take a sip if you can, just a small sip, there's a fellow."

Maude sat back and watched as the earl gently coaxed a few sips down the man's parched throat.

"I had no idea things were so bad. I should have returned long before this," Radford spoke softly, almost to himself.

"It came upon us very suddenly, my lord, just two days ago, a little fever here, a little cough there, then suddenly they were dropping to the left and right. There was no time to notify anyone. Much of the city is so afflicted. Besides," she added, "had you come sooner, you would be down as well." She paused, then let out a gasp. "My lord, please leave at once! Go to your room and shut the door! I shall tend to Mr. Farnsworth, and check on the others. Please, my lord, I do not need you here and you must not risk further exposure."

She pushed insistently on his arms, unaware of the gross impropriety of a serving boy touching, uninvited, a peer of the realm.

Radford was amused. He was not used to being ordered out of rooms in his own house by urchins picked out of a ditch. "I think the damage is done, boy. I am certainly exposed now. How is it you have escaped this scourge?"

"Wewe had the influenza in my former household a month or so ago, my lord. I was somewhat ill, but not nearly so sick as this. I can only think that earlier illness protects me from this one."

"Well, that is certainly fortunate for my household, is it not? We are much obliged for your fortitude and continued good health." Radford smiled at the boy, who glanced back down at the butler, his young faced suffused in red.

"Mr. Farnsworth feels cooler to the touch, my lord, and, see, he is breathing easier."

Indeed, the man appeared to be resting more naturally, his breathing slowed to a normal rate. "That's a blessing. Farnsworth ruled this household before I was born. I am not at all prepared to do without him. I shall not take your advice and retire to my chambers, however, Mike. I am anxious about the rest of the staff. Do you think you could make the rounds while I sit with Farnsworth? I think those who are awake might be disconcerted to see me hovering over their beds."

Maude grinned at him. "Aye, I can see some consternation if the under-house parlormaid should find it necessary to ask you to hand her the chamber pot. 'My lord, if you would be so kind . . .'" She mimicked the gesture and the two laughed. "Here, my lord"Maude handed him the sponge''if you will continue to sponge him for a few minutes, I will check on the others." "Good. Then come back and tell me how it goes."

Radford turned to his task, and Maude slipped quietly out of the room.

Once in the hallway she was conscious of a sense of relief. He looked right at me, she said to herself, and hasn't had a flicker of recognition. Perhaps I overrated his awareness of Miss Maude Romney. Perhaps he wouldn't have the slightest idea who I was, even if I came right out and told him. Odd, but she felt a little stab of disappointment at the thought. Well, at any rate, she seemed to have passed another test, and her secret was still safe, although, of course, this could not go on forever.

She pushed aside the nagging thought of her future as she tapped quietly at Mrs. Formby's door. The poor woman had been frantic last night in her feverish delirium to get out of bed and tend to her duties. The doctor had found it necessary to give her a small sedative to keep her from rising from her sickbed.

Receiving no response to her knock, Maude gently pushed at the door and peered into the room. A candle guttered in its holder, and Mrs. Formby appeared to be sleeping. Creeping closer, Maude could see that she was breathing easily. Maude touched the woman's forehead and was relieved to find that, while it was not cool to the touch, the fever seemed to have abated somewhat. Maude decided not to sponge her off, but brought a fresh glass of water to the bedstand should Mrs. Formby awaken and be thirsty. She smoothed the bedcovers, smiling to herself as she thought how Mrs. Formby, even unconscious would surely prefer a neat bed. Maude then tiptoed quietly out of the room and continued her rounds.

Some three quarters of an hour later, she found herself again at Mr. Farnsworth's door, and the feeling of trepidation returned with full force. The earl would be more relaxed now, less worried about Mr. Farnsworth and the household. Suppose he got a good look at young Mike now and decided he seemed familiar after all? She stood for a moment. She put out her hand for the doorknob, and noted that it shook. Well, there was nothing for it but to go in, risk of exposure or not. Maude knocked and waited for the earl's permission to enter.

"Ah, Mike." Radford glanced at the boy, then looked down at Farnsworth. "I left off sponging him. I thought he felt cooler, and I did not want to risk giving him a chill. How did you find the other staff?"

"As well as can be expected, my lord. Several of them seem a good deal better. The younger ones mostly. A few are awake and sitting up, but, do you know, every single one complains of a fierce headache?"

"That is to be expected after a high fever. We cannot rely on any of them to be up and about too soon. I understand Mr. Mathes is insisting on several days of bed rest to guard against heart complaint."

"Yes, but you'll have to tie Mrs. Formby to the bed, my lord. Once she feels she's even close to well, she'll be a tiger about her household. She was near frantic when the doctor ordered her to bed."

Radford laughed. "I'll just bet she was. I've never known her to be a day off the job. I'm sure she couldn't bear to leave the household in other hands."

"She'd have been even more upset if she'd really known whose hands they were. A handful of the lowest staff." Maude laughed with him. "And I must confess, my lord, we haven't made even a pass at cleaning for the last two days. I hope your lordship will not be too upset about the dust."

"I assure you, I will not even see it. I do wonder, however, about just what we shall eat. I had told Farnsworth I would dine at my club, and I shall for the rest of the week, but tonight, I'll feel better if I stay here and keep an eye on things."

"Well, if your lordship's stomach is up to it, we have a perfectly acceptable beef broth on the boil. With some bread and cheese, my lord, it's right tasty." Maude grinned at him, well aware that, in all likelihood, he had never in his life dined on a bowl of broth and a hunk of bread and cheese. "Shall I lay the dining-room table for you, my lord?"

"Good heavens, no! I should not be able to do the food justice in such austere surroundings. No, I think I'll just help myself in the kitchen after I've tended to a few things. I want to talk to Frederick and see how he's making out in the stables."

Maude's face clouded. "I am a bit worried about him, my lord. He shows no sign of illness, but he is too old to be taking on all the hard labor of tending to the horses. He seems to be sagging a bit."

"Well, I shall lose no more time then." The earl rose quickly from the bed and glanced fondly down at Farnsworth. "I'll leave him in your capable hands, Mike. I'll be in the stables if you need me."

Then he was gone, and Maude stared after him a moment, lost in thought. Perhaps she need have no fear now that he would recognize her. He seemed to take it on faith that she was just who she claimed to be. If so, it would give her a little breathing room to lay plans for her next decisive move. She was under no illusion that she could be Mike forever. As much as she enjoyed the freedom accorded a male in this society, it was unrealistic to expect that she could continue the masquerade much longer. The problem was, although she seemed accepted and, indeed, appreciated in the earl's household, she could not very well change into a female before their very eyes. Moreover, what could she do as a maidservant? She had no desire whatsoever to start out as an under-house parlormaid, or, worse by far, a scullery maid, in training for kitchen work. No, if she had to be a servant, what she really wanted to do was take care of the horses, and that was unheard of for a woman.

She ran her hand through her short auburn curls in exasperation. It always came down to this: She was trained to do nothing but be the well-bred mistress of a gentleman's household, or the unmarried mistress of her own. She could not return to her own home, for there she must either marry John, or watch the manor be sold out from under her to pay off her debts to Claire. She was under no illusion as to the treatment she would receive at Claire's hands as a penniless relative. Indeed, mucking out the earl's stables was much to be preferred. Nor could she go on her way as Maude Romney. Without the manor and the backing of her family, she had nothing. She could not sully the Romney name by throwing herself on the mercy of a neighboring family, and she knew no families but those who lived in the immediate vicinity of her home.

Not for the first time did she regret her lack of talent with needlework. And, oh why had she not paid more attention to what lessons she and Amelia had had as youngsters? If she could sew, speak a little French, paint a creditable watercolor, and manage a few acceptable tunes on the pianoforte, she could be a governess, though the idea certainly held no appeal. No, her only talent lay with horses, and only as Mike could she exploit it.

She gave a great sigh. Round and round the problem she always went, and a circle it was, indeed. She was never any closer to a solution at the end of her pondering than she was at the beginning.

"Mike?" A weak, almost inaudible whisper came from the form on the bed.

"Yes, sir. I'm here. Would you like a sip of water?"

"Yes, please," rasped Farnsworth.

She lifted his head slightly so that he could drink from the glass.

"The earl, who is looking after him?" he whispered after a few sips.

"We're managing just fine, sir, don't fret about a thing. The earl is being cared for just fine." She lied, of course, but after seeing Mrs. Formby half-crazed last night at the thought of her responsibilities going unmet, Maude did not dare let this sick man think that Lord Radford was dishing himself some soup in the kitchen.

"Good, boy, good. I shall be up in a half hour or so, just need a bit of rest." His eyes closed. "Yes, sir. You rest now. We'll look after everything."

She brushed his sparse, gray hair back from his forehead. He was too old to stand a bad bout of influenza. He must be kept in bed at all costs. Perhaps she and the two maids could take turns sitting by his bed for a few days to make sure he did not rise. It would take orders from the earl, she knew, but the man must stay in bed.

She rose and left the room quietly, noting with approval that he did not stir at her movement. Perhaps he would sleep soundly for a few hours. She made her way downstairs, intent on the kitchen to see how the earl had fared in his quest for supper. She found the tweeny sound asleep in Cook's rocking chair by the stove, and no earl in sight. Not having the heart to awaken the exhausted girl, Maude left by the back door for the stables.

The sight that met her eyes was one she would never forget. Ankle deep in muck, coat and waistcoat off and hanging on a nail, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, was Edward Almsworth, the ninth earl of Radford. He held a pitchfork full of horse dung and he grinned broadly at her as he paused in mid-pitch into the barrow.

"Naturally, on pain of death, you will not mention this to the other servants, or worse, to servants in neighboring households, Mike. I've no wish to be the butt of every joke in every establishment in London."

"No, my lord. I wouldn't dream of it. That is," she could not resist adding, "if we could agree on a small adjustment to my salary. Say a tenfold increase?" She grinned wickedly, then moved like lightning as he feinted in her direction with the aromatic pitchfork.

"How say, instead, I don't bury you up to your neck in horse dung, monkey?"

"I'd say we have a most amicable agreement, my lord, under the circumstances. Where by the way is Frederick? I take it he is sound asleep or else he's dead. Otherwise you would not be allowed to muck out the stalls. Here, my lord. Hand over. Mr. Farnsworth and Mrs. Formby will flay the skin off me if I sit and watch you do that." Maude put out her hand, unaware of the imperiousness of the gesture.

Radford threw his head back and roared with laughter. "I must speak to Mrs. Formby about your lack of respect, boy. It's appalling the way you address your superiors. Here, you shall help, but grab that other pitchfork and dig in. Between the two of us we'll make short work of it and get in to our delicious supper."

Maude grinned at him and grabbed the implement.

Side by side and into the night, the ninth Earl of Radford and his runaway street urchin pitched horse dung, occasionally competing as to who could pitch it the farthest. It was just as well that Brooks was away, the earl thought. The state of his boots at this moment would have occasioned Brooks's resignation.

Chapter Nine

He was ill, so ill that he was only vaguely aware from time to time of gentle hands and gentle voices over him, of cooling damp cloths pressed to his face and sips of water soothing to his parched throat. But most of what little awareness he had was spent fighting feverish dreams of traveling at excessive, frightening speed, or falling from impossible heights, or trying to communicate with terrifying beings who would not hold their shapes. He struggled; he cried out. He burned with fever.

One particular image haunted his easier moments, hovering over him with a quiet voice and soft touch, a boy with a freckled face and reddish hair. There were times when another face, a girl's, was superimposed on the boy's, sliding, dreamlike; the earl couldn't quite place it. Then it was gone again, and he would sleep, unaware.

The morning dawned as Maude sat dozing in a chair by the bed. She preferred the night shift when it was quiet and cool and there were few interruptions. The last few days had been fierce, for even as the staff gradually arose and took up their respective burdens, the earl looked as if he would die and the house was grim with fear. Maude had felt her strength and spirit flagging even while she denied her need for rest. She and Mrs. Formby had split the nursing care of the earl over these last three days with short spells from others barely able to sit up themselves.

Her foot slipped off the footstool, and she awakened with a jerk to find the earl's eyes open and staring at her. "Oh, my lord!" she whispered, jumping quickly to her feet. "You should have awakened me. Would you care for a sip of water? It's fresh and cool."

He nodded, then closed his eyes. She poured the water into a glass on a silver tray by the bed, and held the glass to his cracked lips. He took a few swallows, then turned his head away, signaling he had had enough. She felt his forehead and could have shouted for joy at feeling no trace of fever.

"What day is this? How long have I been sick?" he rasped.

"It is Sunday, my lord. You went to bed rather early Wednesday evening, saying you felt tired, and by Thursday morning you were burning with fever." Maude soothed the pillow and the bedclothes. "I must say, you gave us quite a scare."

"What of the others? How is the staff?" he spoke weakly but turned his head to look at her.

"Nearly all recovered, my lord. Mr. Farnsworth has had a hard time of it and is still abed. Mr. Mathes says it is because he is elderly. He says in the city the sickest have been the very young and the very old."

Radford sighed and tried to sit up. Maude put her arm around his shoulders and helped him to lift himself slightly while she reached around to pull up the thick down pillows behind him.

"May I ring for Mrs. Formby, my lord? She has been most emphatic that she should know the moment you are better." "Wait a bit, please, Mike. It is just after dawn, I think, and I am sure the woman is still asleep. The good news will keep." There was almost a smile with his words.

"May I get you some warm broth, sir? The doctor says you are to have it as soon as you are able. He says it is strengthening."

"He would say that. I don't think I can stomach another bowl of broth in this lifetime. What I should like, though, is some tea." His voice was growing stronger and he seemed more alert.

"I'll ring for it at once. I daresay the kitchen will be only too pleased to get a request from you, my lord."

He settled himself back into the pillows and closed his eyes again. "I swear, it makes me tired just to sit up. What the devil kind of disease is this anyway?"

"It's been most virulent, my lord. The doctor says there have been many deaths. A number of families have fled to the country, but most of them take the contamination with them. The theaters have closed and the markets are deserted. Mrs. Formby says she's never seen anything like it. Some are comparing it with the Black Death, but that's just hysteria; far fewer are actually dying. And people didn't recover from the plague, as I recall . . ." Maude trailed off, aware of the earl's eyes on her.

"You are an interesting puzzle, Mike. You don't talk like a street waif, and I cannot recall ever having had a historical discussion of the Black Death with any of the lower staff before. How do you come by such knowledge?"

Maude felt panic rising within her at his words. She had grown so comfortable in the household over the last three weeks. Everyone seemed to accept her at face value, and with the exception of the few questions about her circumstances in the beginning, no one pried into her background. She had seen right away that it would not really be necessary for her to mimic the lower-class London inflection, as many of the servants in the earl's household were country-bred and spoke with a creditable accent. Other than curtailing her upperclass vocabulary and knowledge of strict grammar, and feigning ignorance on matters which would naturally fall outside her ken as a servant, Maude had made little adjustment in her manner or speech. It had proved easier to sustain her disguise in that she did not have to watch every word that came out of her mouth.

And now she had made a fatal misstep; she had relaxed too much with the one she most needed to deceive!

''I see you are uncomfortable at my questions, Mike. I have wondered if there is more to your story than you have told us so far. Still, I will respect your privacy. You have proved yourself worthy of our trust and gratitude, so I will pry no further. Besides, you've clearly been trained by a master stable master. You've a fine hand with the animals as far as I can see."

"Thank you, my lord. Horses are what I love best in the world, I guess."

She felt a little prickle of self-pity in her relief. The horses were all she had to love, or to love her back. Still, the earl seemed content to let things be, so perhaps she was safe for a time. And although there might be some inkling she was not all what she claimed to be, no one seemed to have the least suspicion that she was really a girl!

There was a knock on the door, and one of the maids pushed it open, carrying a tea tray. The girl beamed at the earl and placed the tray on a cart near the bed. She knew better than to address his lordship directly, but Maude was amused and touched to watch the way she smiled at him while she fussed with the tea service. Clearly, these people were not frightened of their master, and seemed genuinely fond of him. Maude could not recall having seen a servant smile at Aunt Claire since the day she arrived. The domestic climate at Romney Manor had been one of fear and mistrust for years.

"Thank you, Emma. This will do nicely." He took the cup that she proffered, and she curtsied and made her way to the door. He knew all their names, Maude thought, impressed. There must be twenty staff members in the household and he knew everyone by name. Aunt Claire only addressed senior staff by proper name. Everyone else was "girl" or "boy."

Maude had not been surprised by the seemingly genuine concern that had gripped the household as news of the seriousness of the earl's illness had spread. She herself had spent the week before he was stricken working side by side with him, sharing the most menial tasks and meager meals. She had found him good-natured and willing, and, most important, able to discard his status without a thought. She could not think of a single instance when he had pulled rank on her, or caviled at an unpleasant or servile chore. And throughout the days, she had found herself growing fonder of him, and less fearful that he would discover her true identity and send her home.

As Emma opened the door, she surprised Mrs. Formby, raising her hand to knock. The woman peered into the room before venturing to enter.

"It's all right, Mrs. Formby. I was just going to ask Mike to ring for you. He's been most anxious to awaken you from your well-earned sleep, but I have stayed his eager hand."

"I am so delighted to see your lordship so much improved. You were most gravely ill. Mr. Mathes was quite pessimistic for a time."

Maude was amused to see that even the austere Mrs. Formby stood and beamed at the earl.

"I see you are having your tea. What else can we do to make you more comfortable, my lord?"

"I suppose I shall have to attend to my correspondence, Mrs. Formby. Are you aware whether anything pressing requires my attention? I do believe I have been so rude as to miss several engagements over the last several days."

"Yes, my lord, but I took the liberty of sending notes explaining that your lordship was indisposed. I rather think, actually, that most of the functions were canceled, since so very many have been stricken with this vicious disease." Mrs. Formby spoke with unaccustomed passion, and Maude did not think the woman would ever forgive this influenza for laying her low in the face of her responsibilities.

"Quite right, Mrs. Formby. Thank you for attending to those matters. You might bring me what correspondence has gathered during my illness and I shall sort through it." He took another sip of his tea, and paused as if he needed rest after so much conversation.

"I understand you have had a very difficult time, and that Farnsworth remains bedridden." He felt tired now, and his voice had lost its strength.

"Yes, my lord, the doctor has ordered him to remain in bed for at least another week. He is most distraught but he clearly does not have the power to rise at the moment. I have put Martin in charge of the butlering. Martin is improved, although I must say, he moves about as if he is not quite up to snuff himself. Frankly, I don't think anyone is. Vicious disease."

"I know whereof you speak, ma'am. I do not recall ever having been so discommoded in my life. I am not at all sure I can rise myself. I would, however, like a bit of something to eat and"he raised his hand peremptorily"I do not mean broth. Coddled eggs, perhaps, and toast. Something mild, of course. I suppose I've eaten nothing for three days?"

"Indeed, my lord, only a bit of broth we managed to ladle down you," the housekeeper said.

Maude giggled and even Mrs. Formby showed a semblance of a smile.

"Gad! Well, that explains why I feel so rancid! All right, I suppose I'll improve at some point, perhaps after I eat. Oh, and I would like a bath, I think, after I've eaten. Young Mike, here, can attend me."

"Very well, my lord, I shall see to it at once, If your lordship will excuse me . . ." She nodded and swept out of the room.

"Well, if she's back in the saddle, everything will be back to normal in no time, won't it, boy?" The earl settled gratefully among his pillows and closed his eyes for a quick rest. He did not notice the stricken look on young Mike's befreckled face.

In the servants came, two by two, carrying between them large copper buckets of steaming hot water which they poured into the tub standing by the fireplace behind a screen. The fire was built up, and a large pot of water was on the boil for use in keeping the bath from cooling too rapidly. Mrs. Formby feared he would take a chill, but the earl was most adamant that he would have a bath.

Mrs. Formby took Maude into the dressing room and showed her where to find the bath things, the thick bars of richly scented soap, the lush, large towels, and the dressing gown and slippers, which must be warmed on a rack by the fire and held ready for the earl to step into after his bath. If anyone noticed that Mike was not himself this morning, it was chalked up to the rigorous schedule the boy had been keeping over the past two weeks.

And then they were all gone and Maude was alone with the man to whom she must now give a bath.

"I suppose I'll need help just getting out of this bed. I don't have the strength of an infant."

The earl sat up slowly as he spoke and swung his legs out from under the covers. He was wearing a nightshirt made of fine cambric, and Maude remembered Mrs. Formby had insisted he be properly attired, even for a sickbed.

"Perhaps you really should not attempt this today, my lord. What if you fell? I have not the strength to hold you up."

She looked at him with some slight hope, then glanced quickly to the carpet as she noticed that however long his nightshirt might be, it certainly had not found its way to his legs which were visible now to the top of his thighs as he sat on the side of the bed.

"Nonsense, boy. A little bout of influenza will not make a weakling out of me. I'll just need your shoulder to steady me as I walk. I feel like I haven't used my muscles in years." The earl began to rise, rather gingerly, as he held his arm out for Mike. She walked over to him, noting with relief that as he stood, his nightshirt fell to his knees.

He was weak, weaker than he would admit. She could feel his unsteadiness as he gripped her shoulder and they made their way slowly to the tub. Next to the tub was a large wing chair which he leaned against for a moment to catch his breath.

"Damn this infernal fever, anyway. It is absurd for me to have such trouble walking a few steps. My very bones ache!"

He began to unbutton the top buttons of the shirt. Well, she had seen his chest already, at any rate. She had certainly sponged it often enough in the last few days.

"It really is normal for you to feel this weak, my lord, after such a high fever. You'll be right again in no time, you'll see, but you mustn't be too ambitious at first; it will only set you back."

She moved to the side of the chair as he lowered his hands to lift the hem of the shirt. Perhaps, if his back was to her, she could just turn her head away as he removed it, and he would not notice.

"Help me get this dratted thing off, would you, boy? I'm so dizzy I could fall over."

With a glance to the heavens for absolution, Maude moved forward and stood at his back. She pulled up the gown, while he braced himself against the chair. So much for her resolution not to look. There, before her, in all his glory was the ninth earl of Radford. Naked. From the rear, to be sure, but naked all the same. And a magnificent sight he was. His broad back rippled with powerful muscles, and tapered to a narrow waist and hips. His buttocks were taut and rounded, and below, his thighs and calves were well-shaped and muscular. And embarrassed or not, Maude had to appreciate such perfection. Thank heaven he could not see her face. She was beet-red to the roots of her hair!

Afraid to come any closer, she slipped her hand under his elbow and guided him forward to the bath, keeping to the rear of him. When they reached the tub, he lifted his foot over the rim, using her shoulder to hold himself steady, and lowered himself into the steaming water. Maude turned away, intent on escaping to a chair at the far end of the room.

"All right, boy, I suppose you've never given a bath to an indisposed peer of the realm before, have you? Bring that cake of soap and cloth over here and I'll teach you." Radford lay back in the tub, his eyes closed, relaxing his fever-sore body in the warmth of the water.

Maude moved leadenly, gathering the bath items, then came to stand behind the tub.

"You can wash my back," the earl said. "I'll take care of the rest. Hand me the soap. I'll do my hair first, and then I'll need you to pour fresh water over my head to rinse the soap out."

Radford reached out and Maude placed the sweet-smelling cake into his hand. She pulled up a small footstool and sat behind the tub, anything to keep his back to her! With a little luck she could confine her activities to back-washing and water-pouring. Nothing so terribly improper in that, if one overlooked the sight of him climbing rather magnificently into his bath.

Maude blushed again at the thought. Why, oh why, was she having such an odd reaction to the sight of him? She knew full well that as a proper maiden she should be faint with horror and utter revulsion. And she was not. No, he was indeed beautiful, and she stared at his broad, bronzed back with rivulets of soapy water trailing down it, and felt a longing to trace the paths of the drops with her fingers, very gently.

All of her upbringing screamed at herin Claire's voice as a matter of factthat this was an unpardonable, loathsome situation, and that she was soiled irrevocably by the very circumstances. But another voice, softer, perhaps, but clearer nonetheless, seemed to be laughing uproariously, as if enjoying a good joke. There was a war going on inside of her and all she could do was stare at his back. "Do you think you can pour the bucket over my head and not slop it all over the room, boy? This is not like scrubbing down a horse."

"No, a horse wouldn't be so finicky, my lord," Maude heard herself saying before she remembered that the man was not only an earl but her employer as well. She picked up the bucket and made ready to douse his soapy head.

"I would retort, monkey, but it's occurred to me that you are holding the bucket of water at the moment. Now gently, slowly. Let me work it through so that all the soap rinses out."

Maude poured the water and he massaged it through his scalp. She was mesmerized by the soapy water running down his back.

"That should do it. You have possibilities yet, Mike. Perhaps you'll make a good valet one of these days and be the very terror of some poor old doddering duke." He wiped the water from his eyes as Maude giggled. "Now, let's see how good you are at scrubbing. Take the cloth and soap it up and have a go at my back. This warm water is doing me some good. I don't feel quite so stiff and sore as I did."

If she did nothing else for the rest of her life, this alone would doom her to perdition. Her hands had a life of their own, and she could not will her eyes shut. She held his soapy, warm shoulder with one hand to steady herself, while with her other hand she rubbed his back with the cloth, up and down, back and forth. She rubbed it against his neck and shoulders gently, aware how sore he must be from the fever and headaches, then trailed it down into the water, forcing herself to stop at the small of his back. He felt hard and strong beneath her hands. And all the while she soaked up the sight of him, fascinated that the male body could be so beautiful.

Almost without thinking, she put the cloth aside and began to knead the soreness from his shoulders and back. She had strong, agile hands from her years on horseback and working with horses, and she could feel him relax against the pressure. It seemed remarkable to her that such a strong, well-shaped man could have skin which felt so soft to the touch, bronzed and unblemished.

"Ah, that feels wonderful, Mike. It feels as if you are kneading the poisons out of my system."

Radford sighed as he sat back and reached around for the washing cloth. Maude handed it to him and sank to her stool in a daze. She was aware that her hands were shaking and hoped he would not notice. She watched from behind as he lifted each leg and washed it. He soaped his chest and under his arms, then his hands, and the cloth slipped from sight beneath the soapy water. Her breathing was ragged and she feared she might faint. The room was so warm now, so very, very warm, and wet. . . .

"How about another bucket, one last rinse?"

The earl's voice startled her out of her reverie and she reached automatically for the second pail sitting on the hearth, pouring into it some of the hot water from the kettle hanging over the fire, mixing and testing it to be sure it would not scald him. Then, gently, slowly, she poured it over his head and shoulders while he rinsed away the last traces of soap.

"That's good, lad, now hand me a towel for my head."

Maude picked up one of the towels and handed it to him. He unfolded it and towel-dried his head, draping it across his shoulders when he had finished.

"I guess I'm ready to get out, although I feel like I could soak in here forever."

And I could watch you forever, thought Maude, surprising herself with the heat of her sentiment.

"I'm afraid you'll have to help me to stand. I suppose I'm still wobbly," he said.

And then she was next to him, supporting his warm, wet, slippery arm while he stood slowly in the tub. Still, she kept slightly to his rear, reaching around behind her for the other towel. She shook it from its folds and began to towel him off, standing on tiptoe to reach his broad back. Her hands felt hot, as if they had been burned.

"All right, I'll finish drying off. Get my dressing gown for me. Mrs. Formby is probably right about catching a chill."

The earl took the towel from her casually, unaware that for her the earth was spinning off its axis. She turned and picked the robe up from its rack by the fire, shaking it out and turning it so that it was spread open and ready for him to step into. She turned back.

He had stepped from the bath and was facing her, the second towel discarded at his feet. With the first, he rubbed his head, oblivious to Maude who stood stock-still and stared open-mouthed at what she saw. His arms were raised, showing off a broad, muscled chest. His belly was flat. A dark line trailed from his navel to a point where dark, curling hair covered him below. Then her eyes found what she dared not look at. She bit back a gasp and raised the dressing gown so that her face was hidden behind it.

Strangling on her own breath, her mind worked to calm her down, while heat spread down through her belly and into her loins. She did not understand the feeling; she had never felt this heat before. She was mortified and confused, and she could not remember how to breathe. He was so beautiful, like a Greek god, and she felt like a mortal in an ancient myth who had spied on him in his bath. She almost expected lightning to strike.

Instead, she felt him slip one arm and then another into the dressing gown that she unwittingly held ready, and pull it closed around him.

"I think I'll sit up for a bit and work on my correspondence for a while." He walked to his desk, tying the sash around the dark silk gown. "You may tell Mrs. Formby the bath may be cleared now and the bed linens changed. Tell her I shall not dress and come down today, so there need be no bother about meals." He sorted through the letters she had stacked on his desk, pausing to lift one, blue and scented, to his nose. A smile curled his lips.

"That will be all, Mike."

She was dismissed.

Chapter Ten

''Ha! I've got you!" She slammed the card down on top of his and took the last trick. She sat back against the bedpost with a self-satisfied grin. "I think you will have to agree, will you not, my lord, that I am, indeed, a most superior card player?"

Maude waited as he considered her very carefully, through half-lidded eyes. She did not for the moment believe he was sleepy. He looked more like a cat, waiting at a mouse hole.

"I am wondering just where you learned to play, boy. You handle cards like a gypsy."

In answer, she swept the cards into a pile and began a very sophisticated shuffle, rapid and precise. She smiled. "You mean like this, my lord?"

"Yes, exactly. Very sharp. No gentleman of my acquaintance would dare show such facility, although one, now that I think of it, has something of the same style, if not quite the level of skill." Lord Radford sat back against his pillows. Odd, how the boy's handling of cards put him in mind of the duke of Sommesby. An unpleasant, nagging thought. Certainly the two could not be less alike, the one open-faced, cheerful, clever, and kind, the other sour, superficial, and mean. He stared at the boy, not seeing him, a hard look on his own face, wrapped in his thoughts.

"Are you displeased, my lord?" At once Maude, seemed to fold in upon herself, her cockiness withering before his eyes. She stared at the cards still in her hands. "I would never cheat at cards, my lord," she said softly. "Please do not think amiss of me for my skill. It is only for amusement. I learned to play from mymy master. He was a gentleman, but I admit he learned these tricks from less reputable types. Or so he said. We used to play in the afternoons, just for fun."

She looked up at him, fearful that she had offended him by winning so handily, when, in fact, she had just had a lucky run. It had never occurred to her until now that he might be one of those types who could not bear to lose, even with no real wager at stake, particularly to an obvious social inferior.

Radford stared at her for a moment, as if he could not fathom what she had meant, then a slow grin spread over his face. "I am not in the least displeased. In fact, I am quite intrigued. And as for cheating, of course you would not cheat. Because if you did, I would catch you at it, and then I should horsewhip you from here to Staffordshire. You needn't be a gentleman to play an honorable game."

"That's just what my unmy master said! But," she could not resist adding, "you would not catch me at it. He taught me sleight of hand, and a few other tricks for fun. You could never spot it, unless you knew what to look for."

"I see." He regarded her seriously. "I should like to see how these tricks are done. Would you show me?"

"Well . . ." She was embarrassed, but a vow was a vow. "I can . . . but, you see, I did promise my master, on the Bible, that if I ever did show anyone, I would make that person promise, in turn, that he would never actually use these tricks to cheat. Of course," she added hurriedly, before he could take offense, "you would never do such a thing, I am sure. But, you see, while it's great fun and entertaining, in the wrong hands, these tricks could be used quite dishonorably. Not that you would ever do that! That's not at all what I mean! But I promised . . . Oh bother!" She looked up at him, defiant and miserable, expecting to be clouted on the ear. Instead, she found him laughing at her.

"I should be insulted to my noble soul, monkey, but you are quite right. A promise is a promise, regardless of the circumstances. And your, ah, master is a man after my own heart." He grew serious as he regarded her. "These tricks can, indeed, be dangerous, in fact, deadly, in the wrong hands. All right . . ." He held up his right hand. "I, Edward, ninth earl of Radford, do solemnly promise I will never use these tricks I am about to be shown, for any but honorable purposes." He put his hand down. ''There, boy, does that satisfy your sense of duty? I haven't a Bible to hand, but my word is good, as a peer of the realm, I assure you. Goes back to King Arthur, or some such thing, I can never remember . . ."

Maude giggled. The cards began their whirlwind dance in her hands. "Good enough, I suppose. All right now, my lord, watch closely. . . ."

Maude sat quietly in the chair in front of Mrs. Formby's desk, and listened to the good woman drone on and on about the rigorous duties and standards of conduct that were required of the valet to the ninth earl of Radford. The housekeeper allowed as how she and the earl were extremely pleased with Mike's performance during the household epidemic. But she hoped Mike was cognizant of the honor and great condescension on the part of the earl in taking on an untried boy in this most intimate and exalted of household positions, if only as a temporary measure until Brooks could return. The discretion alone was more than would ever normally be asked of a fourteen-year-old. Oh, was Mike fourteen? Mrs. Formby could not quite remember his age. Yes, fourteen, quite. Brooks's absence was most unfortunate under these trying circumstances, but Mike could use this sterling opportunity to better himself.

Mrs. Formby went on and on, something now about neckcloths and how impeccable they must be. Maude could barely hear her. Valet to Lord Radford! It was too preposterous, too impossible! She should never have allowed herself to become so friendly with him. How on earth would she manage to be at his beck and call, in his bedroom at all hours, sleep in the small dressing chamber adjoining him. She would be privy to his most intimate moments, perhaps even share his thoughts, bathe him . . . An image of him naked flared up in her mind, blotting out even the distant drone of Mrs. Formby's instructions. Maude was aware of the tightening in her loins and the catch in her breath as the warm, wet memory washed over her.

His most intimate moments . . . A small smile curved her lips as she contemplated the joy of the simple bath. And there would be other joys as well. They could play cards, they could talk, he could tell her about his clubs and his engagements. She could be with him, enjoy his company, unrestricted by the usual restraints which bound men and women in this society, and made each such a colossal bore to the other. She could have him to herself in quiet moments. Almost like a wife. And yet . . . not a wife, never a wife. Never anything but a servant, to be forgotten as soon as the door shut behind him, a male servant at that.

She felt herself crash back to earth, aware now that she had been fantasizing like a naive schoolgirl. What on earth was the matter with her? The mere sight of the man undressed had undone years of proper upbringing, and now she was sitting here tingling at the thought of being allowed to bathe him!

And her drifting comfortably by day to day, pretending that everything was just fine and would work itself out eventually was ridiculous. She was getting deeper and deeper into her lie, and it would be all the harder to pull herself out of it. Obviously, she could not simply announce to Mrs. Formby that she suddenly recollected she was really a female, and could she be a parlormaid, please.

Nor could she go to Radford with the truth, for he would be bound legally to send her home to her proper guardian, no doubt horrified and angry to have been dragged into the seamy, private nastiness of his country neighbors. That he might conceivably protect her, allow her to stay with him was impossible. She was underage. Her uncle was her legal guardian. No court of equity would recognize her desire not to marry her stepcousin as grounds to dissolve a guardianship. Radford might be accused of kidnaping, or worse, debauchery of a minor. He would have no right to keep her from her proper home, regardless of her wishes. English common law would protect the rights and comfort of the male heir with every ounce of ink on the statute books. The female heir was chattel to be disposed of neatly and according to the rules. And chattel had no feelings worth considering.

There was only one alternative and it had been before her nose all along. She would go to Eddie with the truth. If he could have gotten her a job as a serving boy without references, perhaps he could get her a job as a serving maid. If she could get into a decent household on a legitimate footing as a female, she might be able to work her way up to a position of responsibility. It would not be much of a life for Miss Maude Romney of Romney Manor, but she could think of no other way out. Well, for now she would listen carefully and act the part of the solicitous valet and then at the first opportunity she'd be off to Eddie. She turned attentively to Mrs. Formby.

"Now, his lordship is extremely particular about his boots. . . ."

Chapter Eleven

This was a nasty situation. It was dangerous and Maude was frightened. That he was cheating was very obvious. But what could she do about it? If she called him on it, he would deny it, no doubt. He was likely to fight her for the insult, and she could not risk fisticuffs. It was bad enough being a girl, but this Tom, head footman to the duke of Sommesby, was full grown, and must be slightly more than half Maude's height and weight. She could cheat and no doubt do it more skillfully than he, but she recoiled at the thought of actually cheating in a real game, even if it were to get even with another cheater. They had played only a few hands and already he had gathered in a decent pile of ill-gotten winnings. Eddie looked grim. These games were serious for boys who earned next to nothing for a month's work. Maude herself had little enough to lose, although it was clear that the earl of Radford was a far more generous employer than the duke of Sommesby. At the thought of the earl, Maude's heart gave a painful twist. They had had such companionable afternoons while he recuperated, sitting over cards. As his strength had returned, they had moved from the bed to the card table set up in his room for that purpose, while he had watched and practiced the tricks she showed him. Now he dressed every morning as fastidiously as Mrs. Formby had said, and he needed little help with his morning attire. Maude had admitted to herself a shocking sense of disappointment that once he was well, he had required no help with his bath, other than having his things laid out ahead.

During the past few weeks, she was surprised and pleased to find him an easy man to work for, given that he was obviously used to only the most competent personal service. He was never impatient as she fumbled to arrange and rearrange his snowy-white neckcloth, although she certainly got impatient with herself. He praised her for her sense of organization and the apparent ease with which she had mastered the various drawers and cabinets which housed the labyrinth of an earl's attire, unaware that when he was out, she spent hours going through his things, memorizing the location of each. She would not admit to herself that she felt a warmth and sense of pleasure just from touching his possessions.

Then, abruptly, her pleasure had ceased, the sense of camaraderie had evaporated. That woman, that Bella, had arrived one evening, sweeping into the room with not so much as an announcement, spilling out of her magenta satin gown, her black hair a riot of curls around her heart-stoppingly beautiful face with its dark brown eyes and sensuous, red-painted, pouty lips. She made Amelia look like mud. And there was Radford in his dressing gown, ready for bed! Had the creature shown any shame? Not in the least! Indeed, she had purred at him like a cat and had wrapped herself around him as if his valet were not even there. And the cad had done nothing to fend the woman off. Nothing at all! Why he had lapped it up, wrapping his arms around that overblown, painted she-devil, giving her such a kiss that Maude had wondered how they could breathe, and waving Maude away as if she were a fly spoiling a picnic.

Leaving the room, Maude had encountered her own reflection in the tall mirror standing in the hallway outside his room, all the better for him to admire himself on the way out. A gangly boy had looked back at her, freckled and red-haired, with broken fingernails, a smudge from mucking the stables across her cheek, and a miserable expression.

Then the rake had announced to her yesterday that he would be dining in the evening with that woman, and that he would not be in until quite late. He had whistled as Maude had fumbled, tight-lipped and silent, to get him dressed properly. He had had the nerve to remark that he considered Miss D'Amico the most exquisite creature of his acquaintance. On his way out he had had the temerity, the gall, to wink at Maude, as if she were a willing partner in his debaucheries!

And then, the unkindest cut of all, he had not come home! She had waited up all night, unable to sleep in the narrow little bed in the alcove of his dressing room, straining at every sound, listening for the thud of his boots on the floor in the next room. Sounds that would tell her he was out of that witch's clutches and home safely. Instead, Maude had dropped into an uneasy sleep near dawn. She had been awakened by the morning serving girl with the tea tray, who had giggled at her, but had seemed utterly unfazed that the earl's bed had not been slept in.

Mrs. Formby, too, had been unconcerned. It seemed that the earl frequently absented himself under "these circumstances." Mike need have no concern for his lordship's safety, or, in fact, she had suggested with a quelling look, was it any of Mike's business where the earl slept. And sure enough, sometime this afternoon, a smirking footman had arrived from that woman's house with a note from the earl requesting that fresh evening attire and his riding gear be sent to him. He would return on the morrow. Maude could not bear it! Tonight had obviously been the night then to seek out Eddie and put her plan into motion. The trouble was, she had forgotten it was Wednesday night, the night of the weekly card game. She had arrived just as they were getting started and there had been no excuse for her not to play. To tell the truth, she had not been displeased to be invited into the game.

Aha! There was the palm again, the card slipped back into the sleeve, as clear as day to anyone who knew what to look for. Tom wasn't even particularly good at it, sloppy and slow. She could not allow this hand to continue. It was clear Tom would win if it did.

"Ow! The bugger bit me, he did!" Maude cried out suddenly, her foot jerking out and kicking the makeshift table off its pinnings.

Cards flew everywhere. Boys scrambled to back away from whatever "bugger" Mike was going on about. In a loft over a stable it didn't pay to be careless about what bit.

Maude rubbed at a spot above her boot. "Sorry about the cards, Tom. Here, let me help."

Before he could stop her, she was scrambling in the straw, picking up the cards at random, making sure their former order had been spoiled. After she had the pile together, she gave it a shuffle, as if absent-mindedly, then sat down to Tom's right to count the deck.

"One short, I'm afraid. Must be in the straw." Maude made a feint at searching the floor, knowing Tom would have to "find" the missing card.

"'Ere it is, I've found it." Tom held out a card, sounding rather sullen. It was the ace of hearts.

"Well, now, that's lucky, ain't it?" Maude said cheerfully, taking it from his hand and burying it in the middle of the deck. "No harm done. Your deal, I believe, Tom?" She handed him the deck with a grin. "Nasty little vermin up here in the straw, ain't they?"

Tom took the deck without a word and began to deal. The hand went to Eddie, who took his winnings with a look of relief. Tom had indifferent luck for the rest of the evening. The new boy, Mike, jabbered on and on like the country fool that he was, but every time he cut the cards he picked them up and made them into a seamless pile, handing them back to Tom. Tom knew only a few tricks, and he was stymied, no longer having any idea where a few good cards were in the deck. It was not long before he quit the game.

"Aw, it's no fun playin' with a pack of babies like you. I can't bother to concentrate on the cards with the stakes so low. I'm off."

Maude was amused to note that not only did Tom take no winnings with him, but he had left a few of his own coins in the other boys' piles.

She watched him go, then turned to face the table. Besides herself and Eddie, there were two more boys from the stable. Maude had not met them before but they seemed nice enough, too nice to be cheated by the likes of that bully, Tom.

"Eddie," she began, after listening to the door slam below, "Tom cheats. He's no good, that one. Don't let him play anymore." With Eddie, Maude softened her accent and her grammar.

"Mike, that's a dangerous thing to say about anyone, especially Tom. He could 'ave us beaten just for the fun of it. A real toady to 'is Grace, is Tom." He looked around nervously, as if somehow the walls had ears.

"It's true, all the same. Look here. I'll show you how it's done."

Maude began her whirlwind, then produced three aces from her sleeve. The boys stared at her as if she'd sprouted two heads.

"'Ow'd you come to be knowin' such tricks, anyway?" asked one of the boys, suspicion dawning in his eyes.

"My old master taught me, so's I'd know how to spot when it was done to me. But don't worry. He made me swear up and down I'd never use them to cheat, and I never have, on my soul." Maude held up her right hand. The boys looked thoughtful. It was true, at least tonight. This boy, Mike, had won no more than a few shillings, and on indifferent hands at that.

"Look, if I planned to cheat you, would I be showin' you this? I just hate seeing the likes of him get your wages with such scurvy, sloppy tricks." Maude dealt again, and once more produced a spectacular hand. "I'm not going to show you how it's done, because I swore on my honor I would not, but I'll show you how to spot it, and how to foil it."

For the next half hour, Maude showed the boys how to shuffle carefully, to disarrange any trapped decks. She showed them how to cut, then placed the cut halves back together so no seam appeared to mark where the cut had been.

"Your best move in a game like this is to have a rule that the one who deals cannot make his own deck, and then, that someone else cuts. Also, make sure you watch him like a hawk. He'll depend on your being easily distracted, but he won't dare try his tricks if you are obviously watching him. Watch for him to palm a card or two up his sleeve, then deal them to himself. Also, he may have a spare deck stashed away somewhere on him, maybe in his boot. Watch for a switch on his deal."

"You wasn't bit by no vermin, was you, Mike?" The younger of the two stable hands had replaced his suspicious look with one of worship.

"Nah, no bite." Maude giggled. "But you should have seen the look on his face when his deck went flying. And with that ace up his sleeve!"

The four laughed, and Eddie clapped Maude on the back. "I really owe you one, Mike. That bastard's cleaned us out any number of times. 'E only shows up when we've just got paid. Next time, won't 'e be surprised . . . Hssst, listen!"

There was a sudden hush as the boys froze. Maude looked from one to the other, trying to fathom the cause. Then she heard itthe sounds of a carriage coming in below.

"Cor, the old man's back. And it's so early!" Eddie hissed. The boys sprang to their feet. The look of terror was unmistakable in their eyes.

"We'd better get down right away. Mike, can you hide up here, quiet-like? Don't make a sound, until we get 'im out of the carriage. 'Is Grace don't take to us 'avin' comp'ny. Don't like us gossipin' with the rest of the neighbor'ood," Eddie whispered.

"Aye, don't worry. I'll be quiet as a mouse."

"I'll come for you when it's clear. Won't take us too long to get 'im in. Unless 'e's drunk, that is, and lookin' fer a fight."

Eddie disappeared down the ladder, behind the two other boys. Maude shuddered at the thought of working for a man who could inspire such a reaction just by coming home.

She waited in the dark until the all-clear, then she crept down the ladder and hurried out the back into the alley. She had not had a chance to talk to Eddie about what she really wanted. But now he owed her one, and that wasn't so bad.

Chapter Twelve

Lord Radford was preoccupied. He was vaguely aware of his valet's straightening up the room and seeing to the clothes the earl had carelessly stripped off and flung about on his return. His mind, however, was on the thought that the boy would not have an easy time of the red-wine stain down the front of his dress shirt. Radford smiled to himself. Bella could be so deliciously impulsive. He sat at his elegant Louis Quinze desk and glanced cursorily through the two days' worth of personal correspondence that had accumulated in his absence.

Bella had had a dinner party last night with the usual bright, glittering crowd. She, of course, had looked stunning. There was no color in nature's pallet that would not set off her glowing skin to perfection, and it was hard to imagine what kind of feed sack she would have to wear in order not to show off her magnificent, voluptuous body. If only she weren't such a rattle brain. But it was not Bella who held his thoughts this morning. He had heard things last night in a private moment with his friend, Paul Gillingham, that had made his blood run cold. Brompton was dead. He had been found the day before yesterday in the stables of his townhouse, shot by his own hand. Just like Atherley. But, unlike Atherley, there had apparently been some sort of accommodation reached with the duke of Sommesby. According to Paul, whose valet was engaged to a maid in the duke's establishment, Brompton had recently taken to visiting the duke very privately, and the winnings had been returned.

It seems that several days ago, one of the duke's underfootmen, entering a room he thought empty, had come upon the duke and the young man in a most compromising position. The servant had been thrashed within an inch of his life. But Brompton, aware that no power on earth could silence the flow of downstairs gossip to the ton, had taken his own life.

What a hideous way to have to recoup one's losses. Radford felt his stomach lurch at the thought of Sommesby's pasty-white face and fat, beringed fingers. It made perfect sense. The duke did not need money; that was obvious. There was absolutely no intimation that he had spent unwisely over the years, or had made poor investments. But it was clear that he was a man with a strange, voracious appetite. He seemed to thrive on power and he had found the perfect way to feed his need.

Poor Atherley. Poor Brompton. It was no wonder each had chosen the gentleman's way out of this nightmare. And Radford, too, had been a target. He felt sick at his stomach. He sighed and lowered his head into his hands. Now he knew precisely how the duke could ruin a young man at the end of an evening. It was so preposterously simple, as this boy from a muddy ditch had shown him. It did not even take real skill in a room full of gentlemen drinking brandy and chatting among themselves.

All these years he had thought Sommesby such an easily distracted popinjay, smiling, waving, interrupting the game. Now he saw the truth. The man was a master at distraction. And God only knew what went on inside his boots.

''Is anything amiss, my lord? Shall I get you something?"

The boy sounded so formal, so stilted. Radford turned and gave his valet a considering look.

"I want your advice, boy, and, I think perhaps your help."

Maude was rigid. If the blighter thought she was going to sit there and give him advice to the lovelorn, or help him plan some new escapade, she would wrap that neckcloth around his neck until he turned blue!

"My lord?" She stood at attention and would not meet his eye.

"What ails you, boy?" Radford asked. "You've been sniffing around here all morning like my Great-aunt Sophie."

"There is nothing wrong with me, my lord. I regret having given offense."

"I think there is something wrong. Come to think of it, you've been standoffish since I've returned. I hope you're not turning out to be a Puritan on me, boy."

"It's none of my concern what you do, my lord." She was stiff and cold. She had yet to look at him.

"I am glad we agree on that much at least. It certainly is not your concern. What I do, where I go, and whom I see is my own business, boy, and the sooner you learn that, the better you'll fit into my household, is that understood? Good God, if I felt the need of someone to answer to, I'd get myself a wife!" The earl was angry and unaware that he had raised his voice. As indulgent as he had been with the boy, he would not tolerate untoward interference in his personal affairs.

"I understand. II'm sorry," she said in a small voice.

Her anger was rapidly being replaced by misery. Not only had she lost him to that woman, now she had destroyed what esprit de corps remained between them. She turned to continue folding several shirts that she thought had come back from the laundry not quite up to snuff, her shoulders sagging.

Radford watched the boy with a frown. Perhaps he had been too harsh. It was hard to remember in the face of such quiet striving that Mike was not much more than a child. And this was his own fault, he could see it now. He had encouraged this familiarity, enjoying the boy's company as well as his card tricks, and Mike had responded with warmth, like a parched flower receiving water.

There was no question of the lad's devotion. It was amusing to watch him fuss and putter about Radford's things, doing something over and over until it was done to perfection. In neatness and attention to detail, Mike could almost outdo Brooks, a formidable accomplishment. In a hundred different ways each day, the boy showed his loyalty and his concern. And then the object of his devotion had casually disappeared and taken his attention elsewhere. The boy was no Puritan; he was plain jealous. He had a full-blown case of hero worship, and the earl had carelessly allowed it to happen.

Radford felt uneasy, as if he were treading on uncertain ground. He would not hurt Mike's feelings for the world. But while he encouraged and appreciated loyalty and even a certain fondness between himself and his retainers, it was inappropriate for him to inspire deeper feelings. He was not ready to be anyone's papahe might never beand he could not start with a servant child picked out of a ditch, however endearing.

Again Radford wondered about Mike's background. Where had he come from? What sort of love had he received? Or what sort of indifference? It seemed likely that there was more to his story than he had let on. His speech, for example, was far too refined for the usual servant class. Perhaps he came from the wrong side of the blanket, a by-blow of a serving wench and a randy master. It would explain the boy's obvious misuse. Mike himself had said he'd been abused by his mistress. Radford knew from the rattling gossip in the ton how the gentle wives of gentlemen could abuse the offspring of their husbands' mistresses, particularly if those unfortunate girls were servants in the household. Most gentlemen of means and sensitivity saw to it that the girls and their tiny bastards were removed to other households, or, where there was considerable wealth, set up in private establishments. Under these circumstances, the misbegotten children could be passed off as distant relatives and absorbed into the gentry. But for every child lucky enough to come sideways into his birthright, there were a dozen more who, neglected or ignored, slipped back into the squalor from which their mothers had tried to thrust them.

That Mike was starved for approval was obvious. He acknowledged every compliment with a grin of genuine pleasure and a redoubling of effort. It was as if he had never heard the words "well done" before. And now he was hurt. Radford could see it in the hunch to his shoulders. The lad looked as if all the air had been let out of him.

"Look here, Mike, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken off at you the way I did." Radford couldn't bear the sag to the boy's shoulders. "Lay that by and come here. I want to talk to you about something." Perhaps if he got Mike started on the subject of card tricks, that dejected posture would go away.

Maude came toward him, still unable to meet his eye. She was red-faced and miserable, and trying not to cry. She stood before his desk and waited, feeling like a fool who'd been shown her place. Oh, please don't let him start on about that woman, she thought. I just won't be able to bear it.

Radford watched the boy approach, chagrined by the twist at his heart by the sight of that hurt, freckled face.

"I've got a problem at White's. This is complicated and I need your advice. Why don't you pull that chair forward and sit down?"

White's! The all-male gambling club. Nothing to do with that woman! Thank heaven. But why on earth did he expect that his boy valet could advise him about a social situation at White's? Maude pulled up the chair he had indicated and sat down.

"I will rely on your discretion, Mike. What I have to tell you is extraordinarily sensitive. Those involved are very prominent; one is quite powerful. If I am wrong and my remarks become known, I will face a challenge to the death. If I am right, there has been murder done, if indirectly." He paused, uncertain as he heard himself express the gravity of the situation that it was wise to involve this lad. Still, it was too late to turn back now.

"I will keep your counsel, my lord. You need not fear my discretion." She waited.

Again, there was an educated turn of phrase, too well-spoken for the usual servant, except perhaps at the highest levels. Radford let it pass. In a steady voice, the earl began at the beginning, with his own experience at twenty-one, as excruciating as it was to tell of it. He realized as he watched the boy's eyes grow large, that he had never told this tale before; he had been too humiliated to mention it to anyone. He stopped short of relating the "arrangement" the duke had come to with Brompton. The boy was only fourteen, after all. It was enough for him to know that the man had ruined several young men financially. Radford mentioned no names, until he came to that of Lord Carruthers.

Maude sat silent, chilled. It was obvious to her what had happened. "Lord Carruthers is your guardian angel, my lord. If he had not stopped the game, you'd have been ruined, like the other young gentlemen. This man you played with is a card cheat. I'd stake my life on it."

"I think you are right, Mike. I've long had my suspicions, but not until you showed me your tricks could I be sure of what was happening. I have reason to be concerned all the more at present. There is a young gentleman of my acquaintance, Denys Beauchamp. He has just come into his inheritance with the death of his father, the old marquis, who passed away three weeks ago from the influenza epidemic. Denys was at dinner at Bella's last night . . ." He did not notice Maude's wince. "And he mentioned he was looking forward to getting back into society. It's a bit soon if you ask me, but he didn't ask. Anyway, he happened to remark that he would be at White's tonight . . ." "Ah, of course, the new heir, all that money burning a hole in his pocket. And you think your vulture friend will be there, with his trapped decks and sharp dealing." Maude laughed and clapped her hands. "But now you know what to look for. I've shown you. And you can catch him at it and call him out . . ." She stopped; a look of horror crossed her face. "But you mustn't call him out, my lord. He would kill you for the insult. You could be shot dead!"

"Yes, monkey, that's what duels are all about. But I would not lose. I am a very good shot." Radford laughed, showing his white, even teeth, clearly relishing the thought. "And the world would be rid of an evil man. We would all be better off."

Not me, thought Maude, fear slivering through her stomach, if this man kills you.

"But I am not sanguine about my abilities to spot the cheating, boy. Not as confident as you are, at any rate. Don't forget, I will be in a dimly lit room, full of distractions, gentlemen milling about, servants with refreshments, that sort of thing. I will not have the luxury, such as you have afforded me, of laying my head down on the table and looking up at the dealing. It just isn't done at White's."

Maude giggled in spite of herself.

"What I have in mind is for you to come with me." He paused, amused at the look of incredulity that crossed Mike's face.

"To White's? Me? Whatever should I do there?" Maude nearly whispered. This masquerade was becoming a noose tightening around her neck. The gaming room was male only. No female had ever set foot in there. John went there, for the love of heaven, when he came to London. Now there was a thought to form ice in her heart.

"To watch for me, monkey, of course. What else? Be my expert eyes. Tell me I can be sure of his villainy, that I do not wrong an innocent man."

"But how on earth would I get in? It is members only, is it not? Surely I should not be allowed in?" Maude looked at him, hoping she could convince him how impossible this would be.

"I've given it some thought. It is members only, but servants are allowed in where there is a need. Suppose I were to arrive with, say, a bad case of gout, my foot all wrapped up, walking painfully with a cane, needing you to support me, and to stay there to fetch and carry for me during the evening? Frankly, it's done all the time for the older members." Radford smiled, as if he thought himself very clever.

"II would feel so awkward, my lord. I should do something awful and disgrace you. I know I should." She could feel the noose tightening. She was going to White's. No doubt about it.

"Nonsense, boy. You are actually rather presentable when you are not being impertinent to me. I will trust you to keep your mouth shut while we are there. Have Mrs. Formby supply you with the more formal livery. I will tell her it's just a touch of gout, so that she does not run for the doctor. I don't think I could survive any more of his physicking. In fact, let's tell her that I consulted with a doctor while at Bella's." Radford stared down at his boots. "Now which should it be, boy, left or right foot? Right, I think. Fetch me some bandages from Mrs. Formby, and tell her I'll need to see her in half an hour."

He sat back, pleased with himself. It was clear to Maude that he regarded this as a little diversion, something fun to make up for the weeks of influenza-forced isolation. She slipped quietly out of the room to do his bidding.

As was to be expected, Mrs. Formby was most concerned to hear about the gout attack. She gathered up the bandages from the storage closet and handed them to Maude.

"Now, you are quite certain his lordship does not wish Mr. Mathes to be sent for? This gout can be most painful, and must be properly tended to." She looked doubtful.

"His lordship was most emphatic, Mrs. Formby. I rather think he never wants to see that doctor again. He has consulted a doctor at . . ."she could not bring herself to say that woman's name"when he was away yesterday. It is apparently a mild case at present and he just needs to keep the weight off a bit. He wants me to bandage him up and attend him this evening at White's."

"You? At White's? Oh, dear! I shall have to find you a suit of our formal livery at once. You cannot appear at White's in the regular livery."

For the life of her, Maude couldn't see anything informal about the little tin soldier's suit she wore. It was all brass buttons and starch, all the better to bind and hide her bosom.

"I suppose I can cut something down of Martin's. Well, we have a few hours yet. Here, child, you tend to the bandaging and I shall be along as he wishes in half an hour."

The earl surveyed his young valet with a critical eye. Most acceptable. Mrs. Formby had decked the boy out in the Radford livery, all brass and braids and an impressive coat of arms embroidered in gold-and-red threads on the chest. The lad looked as if he'd fall over if he took a step. Somehow the freckles and reddish curls were at odds with the ceremonious attire.

"Not bad, monkey, not bad. You'll do. I suppose Mrs. Formby put the fear of God into you about what you can do and say?"

"I understand I am to do and say absolutely nothing under any circumstances, unless directly bidden by your lordship."

"Well, I suppose that's close enough. Except what I bid you to do will be slightly more fun than she thinks. Help me to get this blasted thing tied properly and I'll tell you what to expect."

Maude stepped toward the earl. She stood almost touching his chest as she reached up to drape his neckcloth. She had gotten the hang of it over the last few days and was rather proud of the accomplishment. It was heady being this close. He smelled so good, like soap and leather. He disdained the heavy French perfumes that so many of the fops wore in favor of a light, woodsy scent. He had shaved himself. It was the one thing he would not entrust to a fourteen-year-old stableboy, a straight razor to his neck.

She fussed with imaginary specks on his shirt front, smoothing nonexistent creases, then stepped back to admire him. He was irresistibly handsome, no doubt about it, and he looked all the better half-dressed, without his waistcoat and jacket. His white cambric shirt was tucked neatly into tan-colored breeches. He turned from her to glance at himself in the mirror and Maude surveyed him from the rear. No other man of her acquaintance had a rear end and things so extraordinarily well-turned and amply muscled. It was a good thing, too, as it was downright distracting. He turned back, complimenting her on the drape of the neckcloth, and she reached for the waistcoat.

"What I propose, monkey, is that I be in far worse shape as far as my colleagues at White's are concerned that I've led Mrs. Formby to believe. A bad turn of gout, very painful. I shall be cranky with pain, but in no mood to stay home and nurse myself, after my long, enforced convalescence. I think I'll carp at you a bit, be very demanding. Oh"he looked bemused"what on earth is your surname again? I've completely forgotten."

"It's Ramsey, my lord."

"Ramsey, Ramsey. How the devil can I remember that? I never call you anything but Mike."

"Yes, my lord." She could not help smiling at him. He had called her nothing but "boy" and "monkey" for weeks.

"At any rate . . ." he paused while he pushed his arms through the sleeves of his dark brown satin jacket, "I want to establish that I need you close by me, that I cannot walk without great pain, that I am peevishly uncomfortable. I want you to fetch my liquor for me, and, this is important, you must dilute it well. Tea I think will keep the color right. I want it to appear that I am drinking a great deal, but I want to keep my wits about me."

"But will I be allowed to mix your drinks?" Maude had not the slightest idea of what to expect. "Oh, certainly. The bar is used to that. The old fellows in particular have a great many stomach and other complaints that require special attention. No one will think a thing of it."

He stood still while Maude brushed his jacket, which did not, in fact, need brushing.

"But the most important part will be for you to watch. I had an idea while you were laughing at me about lying down at the table. If I seat myself in the proper place, you can do almost that."

Maude looked at him askance.

"But it is perfectly simple, if I establish in the beginning that my foot pains me and that I cannot get comfortable. You will procure a stool for me to rest my leg on, then from time to time, whenever Sommesby is about to deal, I can complain bitterly and make you kneel down to resettle my leg or give it a rub, or some such thing. If I am seated to his left, with my right foot sticking out, you will be eye level with his left hand. Voila! The perfect vantage point. You can even give a peek into his boots." He smiled triumphantly.

"What the devil ails you, boy? You look as though you'd seen a ghost."

It was true. Her face had drained of color and she was staring at him open-mouthed.

"Sommesby. Do you mean the duke of Sommesby, my lord?"

His eyes narrowed as he regarded the boy. "What do you know of the duke of Sommesby? Out with it!" He waited.

Maude took a deep breath. "He is an evil man, my lord, as you say. He beats his servants for the fun of it, they think he enjoys it . . ."

Radford grimaced in distaste.

"And I think I can be sure now that he is a cheat. I think he has taught, or was taught by his footman." Briefly, she explained about Eddie and the card game. He laughed when she got to the part about upending the table over the supposed bite of a beastie. "I believe you may have solved a critical problem for me, boyhow to stop the man without having to call him out in front of the whole room. I shall upend the table myself. What fun that will be! Give everyone something to talk about for years!"

Maude gave him a weak smile. She wished she could be as devil-may-care confident about this operation as he was.

"I suppose I shall have to ignore for the moment the fact that you obviously slipped away, unauthorized, to play cards with a pack of hooligans. How did you meet up with such a crowd, anyway? I was unaware that you fraternized with the neighborhood domestics."

Maude could feel her face reddening. "I met Eddie my first morning here, my lord. I woke up early and was somewhat disoriented. I went outside for a walk and there he was. He was friendly, we talked. I'd never been here before, to London. Then I met him again when I went out one day on an errand. I did not think there was anything wrong in talking . . ." she limped to a finish, wondering how badly she had transgressed the house rules.

"I see. So you struck up a friendship with retainers from Sommesby's household. I suppose I should not complain if there's no harm done. What you tell me about his . . . proclivities does not surprise me. In fact, it fits in with what I suspect. I take it by the way that you are good enough not to share complaints about my household?"

Maude simply could not resist. "Well, there is the matter of your boots, my lord, a real disgrace . . ." She dodged as he lunged for her, laughing and slipping behind the chair. "I would beg your lordship to be careful of your poor foot!" She giggled.

"Ah, my poor foot. Yes. If you are ready, I shall treat you to an interesting evening. But I must have your word that there will be no interference from you at the end of our charade. When I signal you to be gone, I expect you to vanish, do you understand? I mean, vanish! This will be a matter among gentlemensuch as he is. I shall I speak privately to the duke, that is, if our suspicions are confirmed.''

Maude could feel the knot of fear gathering again in the pit of her stomach. "My lord, I beg of you perhaps the authorities . . ."

"No, boy, nothing official. It just won't do under the circumstances. It's something you wouldn't understand . . . I will have your word, boy, or I shall carry on without you."

He stood and waited while Mike stared at him, fear and unhappiness showing in his face. The lad nodded slowly, agreeing he would not interfere, no matter what the danger to his lordship, and, satisfied, Radford patted Mike's shoulder and turned away.

Chapter Thirteen

None of the little soirees that Maude had been allowed to attend in the neighborhood of Romney Manor had prepared her for the sights that met her eyes in the venerable gaming establishment of White's. It was an imposing structure from the outside, rococo, very elaborate, with columns and scrollwork and a massive door of carved mahogany panels flanked by two liveried footmen. At once, Maude blessed Mrs. Formby for insisting on formal livery. She would have stuck out like a sore thumb in the everyday household uniform.

The ninth earl of Radford limped through the doors, his foot heavily bandaged, supported by his father's carved ivory cane and his young attendant, a scowl of pain darkening his handsome face. He was forced to pause while a gaggle of foppish peacocksthose who stayed close to the entrance in order to see and be seengathered around him, oohing and aahing over the earl's misfortune. Maude stood next to him, but her eyes were on her surroundings. She had to remind herself to close her mouth. The furnishings and decoration were magnificent. From the plaster scrollwork on the ceiling to the fluted columns standing throughout the room, all was swirling, creamy elegance. Around the walls were arranged delicate, carved settees and loveseats, richly upholstered in thick, colorful brocades. Only the very eldest of gentlemen made use of the seating, however, as it was no way to mingle. Liveried serving men slipped in and out like elegant wraiths, carrying sterling trays with crystal glasses of brandy or whiskey that glittered in the reflected candlelight from the enormous crystal chandeliers overhead. Everywhere there was the low buzz of gentlemen's voices in discreet conversation, broken by the occasional loud guffaw from one group or another.

And as for the gentlemen, Maude nearly gasped as she surveyed them. No ballroom of dancing ladies could contain such color. Satins, silks, ruffles, laces, brocades created a riot of textures and brilliant hues. There were elaborate powdered wigs, patches, and make-up on the older gentlemen. Thank heaven Radford did not go in for such nonsense; none of the young men nowadays bothered with wigs and few even powdered their hair. But if the clothing styles for fashionable gentlemen were gradually giving over to the more subdued, no one had yet informed most of the clientele at White's.

"When you are through gawking, Ramsey, I should like to be escorted to the back rooms," Radford stated in a querulous voice.

"Yes, my lord. I am sorry, my lord."

Maude took his arm and they began the halting pace forward. She was chagrined to have been caught gawking, and she wasn't entirely sure whether he was playing his irritated role, or whether she had just been guilty of one of those faux pas she so feared.

The progress was slow through the several anterooms leading back to the gambling areas. Everywhere it was "hail fellow, well met" for the earl of Radford. He was apparently a most popular addition to the social set, but Maude found herself pleased to note that it was the more subdued members, and not the sycophantic peacocks, who seemed to be among the earl's inner circle.

At last they gained the room the earl sought. They paused near the entrance while he discreetly surveyed the occupants of the room. "There he is, boy, in the green, over by the window," the earl said in almost a whisper. "It's Sommesby. And damned if he isn't already in conversation with young Beauchamp."

Maude glanced covertly in the direction Radford indicated.

"Let us maneuver over there, and mind, I'm going to tear into you in front of him."

She was glad of the warning.

It took only a minute for them to reach the duo, and Radford greeted the new marquis heartily. "Well, Beauchamp, I see you meant it when you said you'd be out this evening. Blast it, Ramsey! Mind my foot!" Radford turned a furious glare on his hapless retainer, then turned back to the two gentleman, murmuring, "Clumsy oaf! I'm having a devil of a time with this gout, but I could not bear to stay home any longer. This epidemic has made hermits of us all. Your Grace." Radford nodded in the duke's direction. "I trust you are well?"

"Naturally. I am never ill." Sommesby was aloof. He had been preparing to engage the boy, Beauchamp, in a game and felt he had been interrupted at a crucial moment.

"Would you gentleman be interested in a game?" Radford asked amiably.

"Delighted!"

"Absolutely."

"Well, let's get a fourth, shall we?" Radford said. "Oh, there's George Willmott. He's always good for a round or two." Radford waved and a gentleman waved back and started across the floor toward them. Radford turned and smiled at Beauchamp. "You must be careful of this old rogue," the earl said, gesturing toward Sommesby. "He's quite a sharp at cards, as I recall."

"How silly you are, boy." Sommesby laughed, delighted that the fool Radford had set up his game for him. "Everyone knows I rarely take home more than a few shillings."

"Except on your really lucky nights, eh, Your Grace? You've had a few of those, I believe."

Radford was enjoying himself, indeed. Maude was not.

"There's a table. Let us be seated, gentlemen, and begin. I cannot stand for long on this foot, and I simply must have some whiskey." Radford gestured peremptorily for assistance and Maude stepped forward to take his arm. "Careful, you fool. You'll make it worse!" the earl hissed, loud enough for Sommesby, who was right behind them, to overhear.

Fool! Now that was going too far! She was calculating how to get even with him as she helped him to the table.

"Here we are." Radford paused a moment, as if looking back for George who had stopped off to chat with another group. When Sommesby selected his seat, Radford moved to the seat on his left.

"Fetch me a stool, Ramsey. Something padded. Then bring me a whiskey. I'm in unbearable pain and your clumsy jostling hasn't helped."

Murmuring a discreet "my lord," Maude pushed off for the servants' area. He had briefed her earlier on how to procure a stool and his thinned liquor. She encountered no trouble, surprising herself at the ease with which she managed. None of the other servants paid her a minute's worth of attention. To them, she was just another retainer, and a young one at that, paid little enough to take abuse from the cantankerous peerage.

She returned with a stool tucked under her arm and a small salver balancing a crystal glass which seemed to be full of whiskey. That it contained little whiskey and a great deal of tea, poured discreetly from one of several flasks Maude had tucked in her jacket, was a secret known only to the two of them. I hope it chokes him! she thought. Calling me a fool, indeed!

George Willmott had joined the party in her absence. He was an amiable fellow, not given to the excesses of costume that marked so many of the other young bucks in the room. He was twitting Radford about his bachelor status while he dealt out the cards. He had just taken a wife, a pretty thing of considerable yearly income, a fact which unfortunately had to matter to George, who had more lineage than money to recommend him. Nevertheless, they were rather obviously smitten with each other, to the amusement of their blasé crowd.

Maude placed the glass at Radford's elbow, then bent down to arrange his bandaged foot on the stool. She was careful to set the stool where its placement would afford her the best view of the duke's card handling. As much as she feared this evening's outcome, she would not shirk her part.

"Damn, Ramsey! Try and be more careful. I cannot tolerate any further jostling."

The earl took a deep draught from his glass and looked aggravated. Sommesby smiled at him, as if in sympathy because of his cloddish servant.

"I don't recall your ever having gout before, Radford. And you've never been one to require coddling," Willmott said, curiosity lacing his voice. "This poor Ramsey you're abusing so freely, a bit young to have to lug the likes of you around, isn't he? Where did you find him, by the way? Eyes like a girl, he's got, long lashes. You'll have half your kitchen and laundry staffs big-bellied by summer with this one about."

Maude tried to keep the expression of shock off her face. Eyes like a girl! Oh Lord! Please don't put any ideas into his head now! And such a crass remark to make, about big bellies! So this was how gentlemen talked when there were no ladies present. What clods! Well, she was not surprised.

"Oh, he's too young for that, aren't you, boy? Not even bearding yet. Look at him blush. I swear, Willmott, you've offended my servant's tender ears." They all laughed uproariously at her expense. Maude was furious and, of course, in no position to respond. She bent down, pretending to reposition the earl's foot, just to get away from their laughter. It was all she could do to refrain from seeing to it that his foot began to ache for real. He would owe on this one, but good!

"I say, Radford. If the boy does not please you, I always have room for a new young footman about the place. They come and go, you know. It is so hard to keep good servants these days."

Sommesby smiled pleasantly as he fanned his cards, but Radford did not miss the look of speculative interest in Sommesby's face.

"Oh, he'll be all right after I break him in, Your Grace. He's country-bred." Radford nonchalantly dismissed the duke's remark and appeared to study his hand while he fought down his rage. He refused to allow his mind to consider the ramifications of the old sodomite's offer.

Maude, kneeling between them, started to breathe again after she heard Sommesby's offer rejected, an offer that made marriage to Cousin John seem downright appealing. Radford was welcome to call her fool all night and kick her down the front stairs to boot if he did not hand her over to the duke of Sommesby!

The game proceeded uneventfully for several hours. Sommesby played a rattlebrained, distracted game, smiling, chatting, having a word for everyone who passed the table, seeming to concentrate on everything but his cards. None of the four had any particular winnings or losses to speak of; the cards had run evenly. Maude continued to fetch "whiskey" for Radford, and was amused when he announced he would need assistance in visiting the loo. He went in by himself, much to her relief. It was fortunate that he had proved to be a private man, not given to requiring attention for these sorts of things.

"How much tea are you putting into that swill, anyway, boy?" he hissed as they made their halting progress back to the table. "I can hardly choke it down as it is, and I can't be running off to piss like an old woman every hour!"

Maude tried desperately to keep from laughing and wound up snorting through her nose instead. "Just remember how much you need my help the next time the duke asks for my services, my lord, or else I'll let you sit there and suffer."

"Not even you would I turn over to that old sod, boy. He makes my skin crawl." The earl glanced this way an that, nodding pleasantly to acquaintances as he limped through the room. "I can't wait for this evening to conclude. Do you see how he watches me drink? And poor Beauchamp. He's had more than enough to drink, and is enjoying himself too much to realize it. Willmott will be pushing off soon. Has to get home to bed his bride. They can't seem to get enough of each other."

Maude stifled an exasperated look. She was finding that men were very crude among themselves. Actually, to be fair, women talked about the same things. They just cloaked their conversations in euphemisms and protestations of personal innocence.

"I think we can expect His Grace to make his move once George leaves. I don't think he'll count me as a problem. He almost had me once before, and I've made sure never to play seriously with him since. He thinks I'm drunk, anyway. He may try to fleece two birds this evening instead of one."

"I think he may have a deck stashed in his boot, the left one, nearest me, my lord. There is a gap at the top between the boot and the leg that does not appear on the other boot." Maude continued to hold Radford's arm as they made their way across the floor. They did not look at each other and spoke under their breaths.

"Good boy, very observant. I apologize, by the way, for being so nasty to you. I've wanted to make sure he thinks I am edgy and distracted by the pain."

"That's all right, my lord. I understand. Although, I must say, I do not relish being called a fool." "Ah, that hurt, did it? I feared it would. Well, you are certainly no fool, boy. I shall find some way to make it up to you. Here we are, now. Remember, your part is just beginning. You must be my eyes. You'd best get me another whiskey, but go easy on the tea, please. I've a good head for liquor and I've a long way to go before I get drunk."

She gave him just the hint of a wicked look and settled him in his seat.

"Another whiskey, Ramsey," he said too loudly as he sat. He gave a near foolish grin and looked around the table. "It deadens the pain, you know." He seemed to focus on Willmott, a little unsteadily. "I must say, old George, I expected you to be long gone, home to the little lady, and all that. She's a bride, still, you know." He gave a leering wink to Sommesby, who gave him a supercilious smile in return.

George, unused to taking offense from his good friend, Radford, did not know quite what to make of the remark. Surely Radford would not be so crude as to make a suggestive reference about his wife! No, it must be the pain and liquor talking. George made up his mind to have a sharp word with his friend in the morning, preferably early, while the man's head was still pounding. Graciously, he took his leave, taking his small winnings with him.

"Well, I've no reason to get home early, have you, Beauchamp?" Radford asked, slightly slurring his words. "Give us a few more hands, will you, Your Grace?"

It was all Maude could do to keep from rolling her eyes. Thank heaven she knew this was an act or she would think him a silly sot, indeed.

"Delighted to oblige, Radford. Perhaps my luck will change with young Willmott gone. Such luck as there has been this evening all went to him," Sommesby remarked.

Maude watched the duke reach for the cards. It was his deal. She fancied she saw his tongue flick out like that of an adder as he began the shuffle. "Ow! Damn, Ramsey, the thing hurts!" Radford twitched in obvious distress. "See if you can rewrap the bandages. I can feel my foot swelling and it's wrapped too tightly."

Maude knelt down to his foot and began an absent-minded fiddling with the wrappings. She had a perfect eye-level view of the table while she appeared to be bent over the earl's foot. The duke continued his amiable shuffle, chatting all the time. He set the deck down for Beauchamp to cut, then picked up the two halves and placed them together. So far she had seen nothing in his card handling to raise her suspicions.

"Ha! There! Look, it's old Wetherford. I thought he'd succumbed to the influenza!"

Sommesby's voice rang out excitedly and he raised his right hand in an extravagant wave. Radford and Beauchamp obligingly turned to the door, where doddering old Wetherford, oblivious to the stir he'd caused, made his way in.

And there it was, as plain as day, if one happened to be looking, which Maude was. At the very second when the men had turned their attention to the door, Sommesby's left hand had dropped the deck he'd shuffled into his crotch, and dipped swiftly into the left boot, retrieving another, identical deck. He shifted just slightly so that the first deck was swallowed by his thighs, and started his deal with an easy nonchalance.

Maude sat for a second, surprised that such an amateurish trick could be so effective. But, of course, look at the two drunks he thought he was playing against. Maude doubted whether the earl, who knew what to look for, had been in a position to notice a thing. No one else in the room was paying the slightest attention, all intent on their own games and social mingling.

As unobtrusively as possible, she traced an X on the earl's leg with her finger, their signal for a switched deck. He acknowledged the gesture with a hand on her shoulder, as if he were resettling his position in his chair and using her as a brace. She knew he would let this round play out, regardless of the switch, since it would take a number of hands for actual losses to mount up and he would need more evidence for a confrontation.

Indeed, it appeared that Lady Luck had finally turned her attentions to the duke, Radford thought. He was blessed with a remarkably fine hand, and tittered delightedly when he won easily. Beauchamp was drunkenly magnanimous, waving away the pile of chips with a smile of good fellowship. Radford could not bring himself to be pleasant, concentrating instead on his glass of whiskey. The boy had ignored his request for less tea, as Radford had known he would. An old mother hen, that child was. . . .

''Gentlemen, perhaps you would excuse me for a few minutes?" The duke was unctuous and simpering. "I find myself in need of a brief respite."

He stood and took himself off in the direction of the loo. Beauchamp availed himself of the opportunity as well and left the table, trailing behind the duke.

"Good," said Radford, under his breath to Maude. "Get down here and act as if you're attending to my leg." He bent over, as if to discuss his foot with her. "Has he gone off to tamper with the first deck? I don't see any sign of it." He spoke in a near-whisper, although there was no one close by.

"I would think so, my lord. It is no longer on the chair where he stashed it. Also, I suspect he has another deck hidden on him, possibly in his shirt. With two phony decks, he can keep this up for a good while. And he is being far more methodical than you might think, considering all that inane chatter, with how he takes his tricks. I saw two high cards go up his sleeve in that last round. I'll signal you when I see him draw them out. He will most likely substitute them for cards in his own hand, later, when he has no further opportunity to deal an arranged deck. It is so much easier, now that you have only three players and are no longer playing whist. Since the whole deck is not dealt at any one time, he can play with his hand as he wishes." Radford grunted in understanding. "I shall call a halt to this farce soon. I have no intention of sitting here and letting him take us both for a small fortune while the evidence mounts. Let him try his tricks just a few more times, then I shall feel that I am well enough armed to face him down. And you will not forget your promise to vanish when I tell you to, will you, boy?"

"My lord . . ." She looked at him imploringly.

"A promise is a promise, monkey. You must trust me. His Grace is not a danger to me. He will not dare face me in a duel. I am known as a superb shot, and he will not care for the alternative, which is public exposure. This time it is I who am holding the high cards." He smiled, obviously relishing the coming confrontation. "They are coming back. I think I shall yell at you again. I find I quite enjoy it."

Maude grinned at him under the table, then stood, looking slightly sullen.

Radford straightened up, muttering "Clumsy oaf!" just loud enough for the duke to hear as he resumed his seat.

"Sure you won't change your mind and let me take the boy off your hands, Radford?" he asked.

"No, I shall make something of him yet," Radford growled, seizing his glass and draining it.

Maude watched with interest as Sommesby picked up the deck he had left on the table and began to deal. It was not the duke's deal, nor had that deck been properly shuffled. She was sure Radford had noticed, even though he appeared to be intent on a conversation Beauchamp was having with a chap who had passed by the table. A clever little bit of trickery, and no doubt the duke's high cards from the last hand were on the bottom, right where he had left them.

There! A card from the bottom of the deck into the duke's pile as pretty as you please while Beauchamp nattered on, looking in the other direction, and Radford played the sot. Maude watched as another card came off the bottom into Sommesby's own hand, then she knelt as if to see to the earl's foot. Quickly, she traced two circles on his leg, and felt the pressure of his hand in response on her shoulder. She traced a third circle as she watched another card come off the bottom. She had a perfect view of the table from where she knelt, and apparently the duke had so little regard for what she was doing that he did not fear being seen.

"Leave it, Ramsey, it's better now," Radford muttered when the dealing was complete. "Get me another whiskey!"

When Maude returned a few minutes later, Sommesby had just won a tidy sum. Radford threw her a grim smile as she approached. He was fidgeting and impatient.

As Sommesby pulled in his chips, chattering and laughing delightedly about his run of luck, Radford pulled the scattered cards toward him. "I believe it's time to end this little game, my lord," he said to the duke. "Beauchamp, I am sorry to discommode you, but I want a word with Sommesby. Perhaps we can play again some other time?" Gathering up the cards into a pile and placing them out of the reach of the duke, Radford smiled pleasantly at Beauchamp, ignoring the gasps and sputters coming from Sommesby's direction.

"Oh, that's quite all right, Radford. I think my luck was taking a decided turn for the worse anyway." Beauchamp waved his hand airily as he stood to leave. "Lord Sommesby, my congratulations on the last few hands. You've . . ." Beauchamp halted, surprised by the look of rage on Sommesby's face, directed toward the earl. Radford waved Beauchamp away, smiling benignly, as if to say, "don't worry about a thing." Beauchamp ambled away, looking rather confused.

"What the devil do you mean, Radford, stopping the game like that!" Sommesby was literally sputtering, he was so furious. "You know perfectly well I was finally having a run of good luck. I have half a mind to report you to the membership committee!"

Radford smiled coldly. "Your 'good luck' is precisely what I wish to discuss with you, Your Grace. I believe it will be more comfortable for us to speak alone. I must insist on your joining me in one of the private rooms." He made ready to rise. "I shall do no such thing! I have nothing to say to you. Nothing whatsoever!" Sommesby rose, white-faced and shaking with anger, and pushed back his chair, only to be stopped by the earl's hand on the lace of his left sleeve.

"But I have a great deal to say to you, Your Grace. And if you don't wish a scene, you will attend me." With a lightning flick of his wrist, Radford reached into the duke's sleeve and retrieved two cards, both kings.

"What? How dare you! Where did those come from? If you are trying to make me look like a cheat"

"Enough! You will come with me now. If you are very smart, we will walk amiably together so as not to cause comment. It is not I who care, however." Radford stood, keeping hold of the duke's arm and propelling him away from the table.

"Ramsey, you will wait for me at the front entrance, please."

The two moved toward the door. Sommesby cast a bitter look at Radford's foot, aware that the earl was walking with absolutely no difficulty.

Maude stood for a moment, watching their retreating backs. She was ashen with fear and it was all she could do not to run behind them, but she had promised, and she wasn't at all sure she could be of any help anyway. Like the good servant she was, she made her way to the entrance to wait quietly for his lordship.

The two men stood facing each other in a small, darkly paneled room. It was used for private card parties and the earl had found it empty as he had hoped he would at this late hour.

Calmly, but with deadly concentration, Radford laid out for Sommesby precisely what had been observed this evening. He left Ramsey out of it, allowing Sommesby to infer that Radford himself had seen the switches.

"This is preposterous!" Sommesby raged. "I shall demand satisfaction. You have no proof of any of this!" Radford crossed to him in two easy strides. Sommesby flinched back, but not before Radford bent and slipped his hand into the duke's left boot, drawing out a deck of cards.

"There's my proof, you sodding bastard!" He flung the cards at the duke's feet. "You may deny it from here to doomsday, but we both know that you are a card cheat. And as for meeting you on a field of honor, I should be delighted to put a bullet through your heart. Although it is not just recompense for what you did to Atherley or Brompton, or tried to do to me!"

Sommesby's face drained of color. He stood rigid, staring back at Radford. He knew the earl of Radford's reputation with pistols and he had no doubt he would die were he to demand a duel. He breathed heavily, weighing his options against this most deadly adversary.

"I have a solution to your dilemma, Your Grace." Radford spoke the honorific as if it were a slur. "I will not kill you and I will not denounce you, if you will resign at once from White's and any other gambling club. You will never again play a game of cards under wager. Not in London, not in England, not anywhere on the continent. If you violate the agreement, I will hear of it. Then I will kill you. I do not do this for you, I do this to preserve the good names of Atherley and Brompton. Do we have an understanding, Your Grace?"

There was a long silence while Sommesby considered his position. Radford had him and he knew it, trussed and spitted, with no alternative but to concede.

"I yield." The duke of Sommesby spoke mildly, bowing slightly from the waist. "I trust our unpleasant little discussion is at an end?"

"Get out of my sight. I hope never to see your face again." Radford spoke through clenched teeth.

They stared at one another for a moment, before Sommesby lowered his eyes.

"I shall expect you to submit your resignations tomorrow morning," the earl continued. "I will verify that it has been done. If it has not, I shall set a time and place for our meeting." Radford's eyes fairly glittered with revulsion.

Casting a look of hatred at the earl, Sommesby turned and left the room. Radford stared for a moment at the door, then sank heavily into a chair, his anger draining into exhaustion. Playacting was not his forte, and he marveled in retrospect that he and his guileless Mike had managed to pull it off so easily. He had relied heavily on the boy; perhaps that had been unfair. There had been something so feral in Sommesby's face when he had left.

Nevertheless, it was over with, and he was relieved to get it behind him. He wondered whether he had made the right decision in letting the bastard off so easily. But there had been less in his threat than he had let on. He knew it would have been impossible to prove that Sommesby was a cheat, not without highly credible witnesses, and no one would take the word of a serving boy over that of a peer of the realm. It would have been Radford's accusation against Sommesby's denial, and Sommesby was a very powerful man. Radford had no doubt he could win in a duel, but he was keenly aware of the social censure that would follow from those who deemed the meeting an unfair fight, a robust young man with a deadly aim versus an elderly, foppish gentleman.

He dropped his head into his hands, massaging his pounding temples. He had not realized he was so fatigued.

"My lord?" A quiet voice intruded on his thoughts.

"Did I or did I not request that you meet me at the front entrance, boy?" Radford looked up with exasperation, hiding the relief he felt at that steady, friendly voice.

"I am sorry, my lord, truly I am. But when the duke of Sommesby went tearing by me, I just had to check and make sure he hadn't murdered you."

"The bugger has left?"

"Yes, my lord. Just a minute or so ago. I watched him get into his coach and drive off."

Radford sighed and leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed. It was done. "My lord? Can you tell me what happened?"

"I bluffed him out, boy, shook a deck out of his boots by the way." Radford indicated the cards strewn about the floor. "His Grace will not play here or anywhere else again, not for money. He was not happy, but I offered him that, or a match with pistols."

"And he accepted that? He will leave you alone?"

"I think so, boy. He has more to lose in this than I do. If exposed as a cheat, he would be shunned throughout the ton. No one would receive him. He would be anathema, particularly when people put two and two together with regard to Brompton and Atherley."

"Then would you like to go home, my lord? Shall I send for the carriage?" Maude wanted nothing more in the world than to get away from this place, where, as her fears mounted, the over made-up, strutting peacocks in their garish finery had begun to look to her like walking nightmares, surreal and threatening.

"Aye, boy, do that. I am tired unto death. I do not yet have my full strength back."

He sank his head again into his hands and was quiet. Maude stared at the dark hair, aching to soothe away the pain and tension. Well, at least the danger was over and he was safe. She smiled to herself and, with a fond glance at his bowed head, she left the room.

They sat in the dark in silence. The well-sprung carriage moved as smoothly as was possible over the cobbled streets. Normally, as a retainer, she would have ridden up front, outside with Hobbs, but the earl had invited her in for the wintery ride home.

"Help me get these bandages off, boy, and I'll put my boot on," he said.

She knelt at his feet and began to unwrap his foot.

"You did very well, tonight, boy, very well indeed." Radford spoke quietly, as if he were very tired. "I find, now that it's over, I'm feeling a bit guilty at having involved you in this. I think in my haste to avail myself of your skills, I willfully blinded myself to the danger involved. It is unpardonable for me to have placed a servant at risk to further my own ends, however noble. I learned that at my father's knee. I owe you an apology, boy. I am very sorry for my selfishness, regardless of our success."

Maude shivered, as if a goose had walked over her grave. He had spoken words to her like this once before, only then she had been the culprit, so long ago, when she had talked Joe into shooting Grampa's pistols with her and they had shot the young Edward Almsworth off his horse.

"My lord, I was never in any danger," she said, keeping her face down so he would not see her blush even in this dim light. "It is you who could have been hurt by that vicious man." She helped him to tug on his boot, a difficult task in the confines of the coach.

The earl chuckled. "By the way, we must have a chat about your appalling attitude toward the peerage. Mrs. Formby would have fainted dead away to hear you describe the duke's conversation as 'inane,' as you pronounced it to me in White's. And 'vicious,' well, she would simply pass on."

They laughed together. They were seated side by side on the comfortable leather seat, both relaxed now after the prolonged tension of the evening. It was very late. After a few moments of companionable silence, Maude felt herself begin to drift a bit into sleep. She willed herself to stay awake, fearful that she would fall against his shoulder, a most unseemly position for a valet.

Suddenly, there was a shout from the coachman, then the carriage lurched drunkenly and halted. With dizzying speed, Radford reached over and shoved Maude to the floor, crying, "Stay down!" then lunged forward to open the carriage door. Before he could reach it, however, the door was flung open from the outside. There, barely visible in the dim light from a street lamp, stood a black-clad figure, wearing a dark cloth on the lower half of his face so that only his eyes could be seen. He held a large pistol in his hand. There was a moment of shocked silence, then the figure bowed slightly and said in a raspy voice, "my lord," and raised the pistol to point it directly at Radford's chest. With a scream of horror, Maude leaped up to knock the pistol away. Seeing her movement through the corner of his eye, the gunman countered her attack by swinging the pistol hard into her chest, just as Radford lunged forward to grab her and pull her away. As she fell into the assailant, the pistol discharged, the shock of the reverberation deafening in the small carriage. Maude felt a searing pain in her left side. She was conscious of only one thing as she fell back, insensible, into Radford's arms. She had seen those eyes before, laughing at her over a deck of cards. They were Tom's eyes, the duke of Sommesby's footman. . . .

Holding Mike in one arm, Radford reached to try and grab the pistol away from the assailant. The man twisted free of his grip, and kicked out with a snarl, striking Radford in the chest with his hard boot. Radford fell back and the boy fell with him. The gunman turned and fled into the darkness.

"Hobbs! Hobbs! Can you hear me?" Radford shouted in the dark. There was no reply. He shifted gingerly and lifted Mike to the seat where he stretched him out gently. "Oh God, boy, no!" he moaned as he pulled back a hand covered with blood. Quickly, he tore away the livery jacket and saw that the wound was bleeding heavily from the side of the chest, too low for the heart, thank God, but too near the lung for safety.

He sank to his knees and mopped at the blood with part of the discarded jacket, crooning over and over, "You'll be all right, boy, you'll be all right." He ripped the white cotton shirt open to the waist, then stared in consternation at the sight that met his eyes. The boy was swaddled from neck to waist in cotton binding, wrapped several times around his mid-section. Without stopping to fathom the purpose of this unusual garb, Radford found the end of the strip of material and began to unwrap it, lifting Mike gently from behind, careful not to pull at the wound. As he pulled away the last of the binding, he gasped in shock. What monstrous joke was this? What freakish twist of fate? Stunned, he stared at the obvious. A girl. No, a woman, by the looks of the small, but full, rounded breasts, pink-tipped and firm. He sat back on his heels, open-mouthed with shock, unable for the moment to remember that this boythis girlthis young woman was wounded and needed assistance.

With a start, he realized that he was now able to see the wound. He probed gently and was relieved to find that the blood flow had slowed considerably. From the location of the wound, he had reason to hope that the bullet had only creased the rib cage and had not embedded itself in her flesh. As it was, it had obviously cut deeply, but had apparently not penetrated vital organs. He hoped he would find the bullet buried in the squabs of the carriage when he bothered to look.

"Who are you, boy? Mike . . . Ramsey?" he whispered in the dark, while he wiped gently at the blood on her rib cage. "I'll wager neither of those names is a true one. Who are you and what are you, and why have you masqueraded in my household as a male?"

Still, he could not deny that she had saved his life, spoiling the aim of the gunman, who had held a pistol pointed inches from his chest. Whoever the girl was, she had taken the bullet herself, and now she lay unconscious, his savior and his responsibility. Gently, he traced his hand across her cheek, marveling that he had not bothered to really look before, to see what was now so perfectly obvious: the delicate features, the small bones, the gentle manner.

With a sigh, he closed the folds of her shirt and jacket over her breasts, relieved that the bleeding had stopped. He found he was oddly embarrassed, as if he had spied on something he should not have seen. Unlike many of his rank, he had never been one to consort with the female servants in his household. Whoever she was, she seemed so vulnerable lying there, and he was quite sure she would be mortified to learn that he had viewed his fill of her lovely bosom.

This was going to be a big problem. He could not simply stroll into the house and announce that Mike was actually a girl. And whatever the reason for her deception, he at least owed her the opportunity of an explanation before he exposed her masquerade.

He stared down at her face for a moment, then turned and stepped from the carriage, closing the door behind him. Climbing up to the driver's seat, he found what he had feared. Hobbs lay over on his side, a deep gash running from his temple to his cheek. He was breathing regularly, but was unconscious. Propping the man against him so that he would not fall, the earl of Radford took the reins into his hands and spurred the horses forward through London's deserted streets. He would think it through as he drove.

Chapter Fourteen

He pulled into the stables, blinking in the sudden light from the oil lamps kept lit whenever he was out for the evening. The two stableboys, tousled and sleepy-eyed, appeared, then stopped short at the sight of the earl at the reins, the slumped figure of Hobbs up against him.

''One of you go for Frederick, the other for Mrs. Formby," Radford ordered tersely. "We've had an accident. Now look sharp and be very quiet about it. I've no wish to awaken the rest of the household."

The boys vanished, and as Radford gently settled Hobbs on the bench, he was relieved to hear a groan from the coachman. The earl climbed quickly down from the driver's seat. Opening the door of the carriage, Radford saw that the girl was awake, her eyes heavy-lidded with pain.

"Hold still. I am getting Mrs. Formby to tend to you. You'll be all right." He held her gaze for a moment, loathe to bring himself to tell her he had discovered her secret, yet unable to tell if she had already guessed.

"Milord?" Frederick's quiet, steady voice broke into the earl's muddled thoughts. "Wot's amiss?"

Radford turned with relief to face his reliable stable master. "We were attacked, Frederick. Hobbs is hurt, hit by a rock or weapon of some kind. I believe he'll be all right, but I'll need your help in getting him down."

Frederick nodded and moved to the front of the carriage, while Radford climbed back up to the driver's seat. He lifted the coachman down as gently as possible into the waiting arms of the stable master. Fortunately, Hobbs was not a heavy-set man, and Frederick, even at his age, could handle the weight.

"Put him down on the straw. That's right, gently," the earl said, climbing down to help.

They stretched the coachman out, and Radford bent to examine the wound on Hobbs's face. Frederick held up a lantern so that the light was cast on the man's head. "There's a bad lump and a bruise as well as the cut," the earl said. "I'll have Mrs. Formby send for the doctor."

Hobbs groaned again, and his eyelids opened, then closed.

"Get a cool, damp cloth and sponge his face, Frederick. I don't think the gash is too deep, but it is hard to tell with so much blood."

There was a noise at the door and Radford turned to see Mrs. Formby hurrying toward him. The good woman had had sense enough not to take the time to dress, but she was nevertheless appropriately dignified in a heavy quilted dressing gown, buttoned from head to toe.

"My lord," she panted, her haste obvious in her breathlessness. "What has happened?" She knelt beside Hobbs and took the cloth that Frederick had just dipped into a water trough and wrung out. She dabbed gently at the wound.

"We were attacked in the coach, a robbery attempt, I suppose. Unfortunately, Hobbs was hit with a rock to stop the carriage. And the worst is that . . ." he hesitated over the name. "Mike is hurt inside the carriage. Creased in the ribs with a bullet. I do not think it is too serious, but we will have to have Mr. Mathes in to look." Radford drew a deep breath. The hard part was still to come.

Mrs. Formby sat back, a look of serious concern on her face. "I'll see to the lad then, my lord. I think Hobbs is coming around." She began to get to her feet, a cumbersome process.

"Wait! If you please, Mrs. Formby. I need a word with you."

He gestured toward the two stableboys who stood apart, not daring to come too near, but gaping at the group huddled about Hobbs in the straw. "You boys, run and fetch the doctor. Do you know where Mr. Mathes lives?"

They both nodded dumbly.

"Take the pony cart, and be quick about it!"

The boys scurried away to hitch up the pony. Rarely did they receive direct orders from the earl himself, and the events of the evening were thus far too deadly serious for them to pull their usual shenanigans.

"Mrs. Formby, who is awake, that you know of, in the house?" Radford spoke in a low voice, so as not to be overheard by the boys at the other end of the stable.

"Martin is awake to let your lordship in. Everyone else is abed."

"Good. I . . . We have a problem, and for now I should like to keep it to just the three of us. I know I can rely on your discretion." His gesture took in Frederick as well. "This is awfully difficult to explain, because I don't understand it myself." He was conscious of their eyes on him, uncomprehending.

"I checked to see the extent of . . . Mike's wound. I pulled off his jacket and shirt." Still, they stared. He fancied they were thinking it was he who had been knocked on the head. "Look, the point is, Mike is not what he has claimed to be. He is not a boy. He's a girl . . ." This was worse than he had even imagined. He felt his face flame scarlet, aware that these two dignified, elder retainers were looking at him as if he had gone daft. "It's true. I'm afraid there is no doubt whatsoever about what I saw . . ." he trailed off lamely. Mrs. Formby had the beginnings of a scandalized look on her face.

"Mrs. Formby, you should know that heshe saved my life. The gunman had the gun pointed right at my heart and she leaped between us. Whatever she has done, we owe her the chance to explain herself to us in private."

Mrs. Formby took a deep breath. He could see that she was attempting to calm herself.

"Of course, your lordship is correct," she said. "I must confess, however, that I feel we have been much deceived by this . . . young woman. I cannot imagine why she has chosen to inflict this fraud upon your lordship and your household. And I am now terribly worried that there may be something unsavory, even criminal, involved in this bizarre deception."

"I am quite concerned myself, Mrs. Formby, although we must remember that she has been with us for almost two months and we have seen nothing amiss in her behavior." He stopped, aghast at the number of recollections which tumbled through his mind: the girl drying him after a bath; the girl helping him to dress and undress . . . "Under the circumstances, I would have to say she has been, ah, discreet. And she did me a good turn tonight." Two, in fact, he thought to himself. He heard the boys clatter off in the pony cart.

"I would hear her side of it before we make a decision as to what course to take," he continued. "I am very much opposed to having this bruited about. Frankly, there will be a great deal of raucous amusement at my expense among the ton, if it were to get out that I have had a female valet for some weeks and haven't known it." He could just imagine the sort of ribbing he would have to take from those jackanapes. He would be the laughingstock of society for months . . . years, perhaps. He grimaced with annoyance. The chit had better have a grand explanation for placing him in such a ridiculous position. "What I propose is that we take her upstairs to my room. We can let Mr. Mathes examine her there tonight, and tell no one else, and I mean no one, that she is there. You may give out that I have a touch of something or other. We'll let the rest of the staff think that Mike is taking care of me. We'll say that since I do not wish a recurrence of what happened to the household with the influenza, no one else is to be allowed in the room until I am well.

"We'll let her recuperate, and I'll make a decision as to where she should go from there, depending on her explanation for this extraordinary masquerade. She obviously cannot come back into the household as a female servant. She would surely be recognized. And I don't think she can go to Radford. There is too much commerce between the two sets of staff." The earl was almost thinking out loud. "Perhaps, if I am convinced that she had good reason for this charade, I will persuade one of my friends to hire her on. She is, after all, a good worker." He felt the most curious pang of regret at the thought of her working for someone else. Still, it was impossible that she stay with him. . . .

Mrs. Formby said nothing, nor did Frederick. Radford could see that they disapproved of aiding and abetting such deceit. So be it. He could think of no alternative, short of throwing the girl into the street tonight, and he could not bear to do that after what she had done for him.

"Shall I tell the household about the robbery attempt, my lord? I fear I will have no choice with those two scamps knowing about it."

"Yes, you will have to, no doubt. Besides, Hobbs won't be good for much for a few days. But you needn't mention the shooting. I don't even think Hobbs knows about that. He was likely already knocked out when it happened. We'll just say Hobbs got coshed on the head and then I frightened the bandit off. No need to make much of it. Frederick, do you think you can carry the girl up to my room alone? She's a slender thing, can't weight much."

"Aye, milord. She'll not be too much for me." "Good. I'll go into the house and ask to see Martin in the library. I'll tell him about the robbery and ask him to put an ear to the ground and see what he hears. While I have him engaged, you can carry the girl up. Mrs. Formby can go ahead of you to make sure no one else is about. Martin will see that whatever the injury to Hobbs, I myself was not injured in the robbery. That way, when I am ill tomorrow, no one will be alarmed or unduly suspicious. Then, after I've sent Martin off to bed, Frederick, you get back out of the house as fast as you can. You can let the doctor in the rear door when he's finished looking over Hobbs's injury."

He sat back, rather pleased with himself. If he could pull this off without anyone finding out, he would not have to be the butt of every joke in London.

"Well, if we are all settled in our roles, let's get started. I cannot be sure how soon those two scamps will be back with Mr. Mathes. I'll go in now and talk with Martin. Give me about three minutes, Frederick, then you and Mrs. Formby may come in with the girl." He rose and walked toward the door.

As he disappeared into the darkness, Mrs. Formby and Frederick stared at one another, concern and incredulity mirrored in their faces.

Radford banged on the rear entrance. While most of the peerage would insist upon being let off at the front entrance, he had never been much for standing on ceremony late at night. Martin opened the door at once. His concern was apparent. No doubt he had heard the stableboy summon Mrs. Formby a few minutes ago, but he waited until he was addressed.

"We were robbed, Martin. I should like a brandy in the library, and I wish to speak with you." The earl marched forward, exuding calm and control.

"Very good, my lord."

They walked quietly through the lower rooms, then Martin moved ahead to open the library door for the earl. Radford waited while Martin poured a brandy into the snifter. It would be good to have something decent to drink for a change, he thought, smiling ruefully to himself at the thought of how the "boy" had so efficiently diluted his drinks all evening. Martin approached with the snifter on a small silver tray. Radford took it and sank into his favorite chair. Martin stood like a sphinx while Radford took a few pensive sips.

"We were attacked coming through a small street, Martin, by an assailant wielding a large pistol. He threw something at Hobbs, a rock, I suppose, to force the carriage to a halt. I am certain Hobbs will recover, but we have sent for Mr. Mathes, nevertheless."

The earl paused while he took a few more sips. He had never been one to take his courage from the bottle, but this brandy was certainly improving things. "I am troubled by this robbery because the assailant was not dressed like the usual street ruffian. His clothing, what I could make out in the dark, was nondescript, but of decent quality. And the pistol he brandished was an excellent one, far superior to the sort one associates with robbers. Also, he did not ask for my valuables, just tried to shoot me straight away. It was most unusual. I am just not sure it was an ordinary robbery. I should like you to make discreet inquiries about town. See if you can turn anything up."

He drank again, listening to the almost inaudible noises which told him that Frederick was passing in the hallway with his burden. "Have you heard of anything of this sort happening recently?" he asked, stretching his feet nonchalantly in front of him.

"I have not, my lord, but I shall make inquiries right away. Does your lordship wish to involve the authorities?"

"Not at this point, I think. In all likelihood it will be like looking for a needle in a haystack and if it is an isolated incident, I don't think I will pursue it." Radford spoke with studied composure. He would like nothing more than to catch the bastard who had tried to kill him and had wounded two of his staff, but at present he could ill afford to have the authorities nosing about. He would hate to have to produce his "valet" as a victim and a witness in a court of law!

"In that case, my lord, I will make an unofficial inquiry."

"Well, that is often the most effective kind anyway, eh, Martin?"

"Quite, my lord."

There was almost the hint of a smile on Martin's face. Martin was shaping up to be every bit as austere as Farnsworth, an occupational hazard for a butler to the peerage.

"Well, you may retire, Martin." Radford judged he had given Frederick enough time to make his way into his room with the girl. "Lock up the front entrance, but leave the rear unlatched. Mrs. Formby and Frederick are sitting with Hobbs in the stable, and I may wish to talk with the doctor about Hobbs's injuries."

"Very good, my lord. And may I say I am relieved to see that your lordship suffered no injury in this foul attack."

"Thank you. Although, I've a beast of a headache and a suspiciously sore throat. I'll go mad if I am ill again." Radford spoke wearily, enjoying the opportunity to lay the groundwork for his "illness" tomorrow.

Martin bade the earl good night and left the room. Radford sat there for a minute, nursing the few sips left in his glass. He toyed with the idea of pouring himself another, then realized he was trying to delay the inevitable. He would have to go upstairs and see the girl, talk to her if possible tonight. He forced himself to rise and make his way to the door. Oh, please let her have an acceptable explanation for this extraordinary fraud on him and his household. It was odd, he thought to himself as he trudged up the stairs, how much it mattered. A servant girl plucked out of a ditch in the dark. Why on earth did he care?

Radford pushed the door to his bedchamber open quietly. Frederick stood near the desk, looking as out of place in the earl's bedroom as he must have felt. Mrs. Formby had taken the one candle left burning in the earl's absence, and was moving to light a few of the tapers placed around the room. The girl lay on the large bed, an indistinct lump in the gloom of the dark hangings which draped the massive bedstead.

As the room lightened from the newly lit candles, the girl's form took on substance. Radford could see that her face was turned toward him. She was staring at him with pain-filled eyes, her face small and white against the dark blue satin coverlet. Someone, Mrs. Formby, no doubt, had placed a large towel beneath her blood-soaked garments. Her jacket was again fastened over her chest, the remnants of her curious bindings trailing incongruously below. Frederick cleared his throat. Radford turned and faced his two faithful retainers, aware that he was asking a great deal of them this evening.

"I thank you both. I do not think Martin heard you at all. You should both return to the stables and wait for Mr. Mathes. Mrs. Formby, could you escort him up here when he has finished with Hobbs? And leave the explanations to me, if you please. He need not know much about this sorry situation."

"Certainly, my lord. We should get back down to Hobbs right away. I should hate for him to attempt to stand in our absence." She looked hesitant. "Would your lordship prefer to go down? I should be happy to wait up here."

The proprieties of the situation were clearly foremost in her well-ordered mind. It was absurd, really, when one considered that the girl had slept up here almost every night for some weeks. He shrugged, almost angrily, annoyed that he was made to feel such a fool in the eyes of his own staff.

"No, thank you. I will sit with her." The earl spoke with quiet authority.

Mrs. Formby nodded and left the room, casting one anxious glance at the small form on the bed. Frederick shambled behind her, grateful for the escape. He shut the door behind him.

Radford stared at the door, his thoughts in a tumult. He could feel the girl's eyes boring a hole into his back and he could not bring himself to turn around and face her. With a growl of annoyance at himself and at her, he strode toward the desk chair and yanked it up, setting it down too roughly next to the bed. He removed his jacket and ripped off his neckcloth, flinging both to the floor before realizing that his "valet" lay prostrate before him. He sat, stretching his legs out and crossing his arms over his chest. The candle from the table by the bed flickered in her green eyes. He stared back, his eyes hard, his mouth a grim, tight line.

"I will not question you until the doctor has seen to your injury. I trust we will then have the truth out of you. No more lies and no more half-truths. Is that understood?"

He spoke harshly, his words whipping at Maude like a lash. She nodded wearily, then turned her face away from his. She could not bear to see the anger in his eyes.

He stared at her profile in silence. In the flickering, soft light of the candle it was so obvious. He swore at himself for being such a lackwit that he couldn't tell a boy from a girl. The dark red curls haloed her face with its high cheekbones and generous, soft mouth. She had a small, straight nose with just a bit of a tilt to the end. And the eyes . . . They were turned from him now, but he could not rid his mind of the green depths of pain that begged his mercy. She might even be a beauty, he found himself speculating, with a bit more hair on her head and a decent dress. Damn! What a fool she had made of him!

With a growl, he rose and crossed to his desk, pouring himself a large brandy. Moving to the unlit fireplace, he lowered himself into one of the upholstered wing chairs flanking the hearth, and brooded about the perfidy of women while awaiting the doctor.

A short while later, he heard the slightest sound of rustling in the hallway outside his room. As he sat up, alert, there came a soft tap on the door. He crossed the distance to the door in long strides and opened it quietly, revealing Mrs. Formby and the doctor. Radford stood back and they entered. Mrs. Formby looked strained and grim. Mr. Mathes looked slightly uneasy. Radford closed the door behind them and gestured for the doctor to take a seat. ''How did you find Hobbs, Mr. Mathes? Are his injuries serious?" Radford asked.

"The blow appears to have been a superficial one, my lord. He is alert and rational which means he should recover fully within a week or so, although his face will be scarred slightly and he will have a nasty headache for a couple of days. I understand there was a robbery attempt?"

"Yes, by a gunman. But I have reason to beg your discretion in this matter. I was traveling in my coach with a young woman. She was . . . in costume. We had been at a small party" Radford despised himself for this absurd, face-saving lie, but although he could trust Mr. Mathes in a mere matter of a naughty tryst, he was unwilling to rely on the man's discretion in such a juicy little mare's nest as this had turned out to be. The doctor, after all, treated half the ton.

"I would greatly appreciate your seeing to the young lady this evening, then perhaps you could forget the matter entirely?" The earl was aware that his rank alone would demand the man's loyalty. Mr. Mathes would not dare to jeopardize his professional standing with so influential a member of society.

"My lord, you may rely entirely on my discretion. The young lady need have no fear of my wagging tongue." The doctor's voice held a slight note of alarm. He considered himself a discreet man and knew no one had cause to complain of his abuse of a patient's confidence.

"Naturally not, man. I should not have even suggested such a thing. Forgive me. The events of the evening have been most unsettling. Now, if you will see to the girl?"

Radford stood and gestured to where she lay. Mr. Mathes moved to the side of the bed and bent to examine her. Radford stood by his chair and watched, angry that he had been reduced to frightening a good man for the sake of his own reputation.

"Mrs. Formby, might I ask that you hold the candle up for me, just so? That is perfect," the doctor said as she lifted the candle so that it threw its light on the girl's chest.

Radford watched as Mr. Mathes moved his hands expertly over the wound, pausing here, probing gently there. Radford could see her breasts thrusting up, smooth and pink in the candlelight, mocking him.

With a snarl, he turned and sat. Behind him, there were murmurs in low voices. He heard Mrs. Formby pour water into the washbowl and the sounds of the wound being cleaned. There was not a whimper from the girl, although it must have hurt a great deal.

A short while later the doctor walked over and stood near the chair next to Radford. Radford gestured for him to sit. As the man lowered himself into the chair, he wiped his hands with a damp cloth.

"I believe she'll be all right, my lord, but I have some fear of an infection. The wound is shallow but ragged. The bullet creased her side. She was extremely lucky. Another few inches and it could have penetrated her lung . . ." Mr. Mathes paused and sighed. "I hate to see such viciousness directed at such a lovely young lady. It is bad enough when you young men take after each other so senselessly, but I cannot think what this child has done to deserve such ill treatment from fate."

Radford stared at the dark fireplace, wrapped in his dark thoughts. What had she done to deserve this? She had nursed him and the rest of his household through a long, difficult illness. She had served him with quiet devotion these many weeks. She had helped him to resolve a pernicious evil among his set with great courage and loyalty. She had thrown herself into the path of a bullet meant to kill him. It was he who was her debtor, not the other way around. He looked up at the doctor, confusion and sorrow plain on his face.

"I shall need to see her safely to her family, but I do not wish to endanger her recovery. When will she be up to a carriage ride of several hours, sir?" Radford spoke quietly, his anger dissipated into guilt and regret. He did not know what to do with this girl in his bed. He was at war with himself and his feelings, and he had a great wish simply to crawl into bed and go to sleep. His bed, however, was occupied.

"The wound needs to be tended several times a day. She seems well enough at the moment, but, as I have said, there is the risk of an infection and fever. I would like to see her stay here for several days, but if there is any awkwardness with her family, she can be moved right away, provided she may lie comfortably in the carriage and not be jolted around overmuch. If she gets a fever, she should not be moved, however. There is risk in that." Mr. Mathes spoke softly to the earl so that the girl would not hear. He did not wish to add humiliation to her painful injury. These young people of the ton were too reckless, too careless of their good names, he thought. They would learn too late that one departed this world with nothing but one's reputation, good or ill. Still, it was his role to give care and comfort, not to judge.

Radford met his eyes with chagrin, aware that the older man thought him guilty of ungentlemanly conduct with regard to this obviously young girl. There was no way to tell him the truth, his pride forbade it, and there was no way to disavow dishonorable intentions, not without sounding defensive and insincere. Trapped in a web of lies spun by the girl and by himself, Radford was feeling stifled, frustrated, and foolish. The sooner he could get himself extricated from this impossible situation, the better.

"I thank you for your care this evening, sir. It was good of you to leave your bed at such an hour." The earl ached for the man to be away, to leave him alone to solve his problems expeditiously.

"Well, I'll be off then." Mr. Mathes stood, straightening his jacket. "Mrs. Formby has instructions as to how to care for the two patients. I've given the girl just a drop of laudanum. It will help her to sleep quietly and not toss and turn from pain. I've left some in a vial on the bed table. Mrs. Formby knows the dosage. Not much, now, she's young and I would assume not used to taking it." "I understand. You may be sure we will do everything to make her comfortable." Radford walked the doctor to the door. "Mrs. Formby, would you see Mr. Mathes out?" He stepped aside and out they went, back into the dark hallway.

Radford closed the door quietly, leaning his back against it, staring at the figure on the bed. He felt drained. It had been an extraordinary evening from start to finish.

He walked softly to the bed, hoping perversely that she was already asleep, strangely unwilling to demand her story from her tonight. Her green eyes, bright in the candlelight, stared up at him as he stood over her. With a sigh, he sank into the chair at the side of the bed. It would not be put off. He tugged dispiritedly at his boots, flinging them one after the other on top of his jacket and neckcloth.

Maude had felt his shadow over her and willed herself to meet his gaze. He looked tired, thoughtful, but, thank God, no longer hostile and hard. She had been chasing thoughts in her head as he and the doctor had talked. What should she tell him? Was there any chance she could bluff out a new story? If he had not recognized Mike as Maude Romney, perhaps he would not recognize "Molly"? She was sick of falsehood and fear, but looming large in her present nightmare was the image of Cousin John, on top of her, grinding his crotch against hers, sweating and laughing as he deliberately inflicted pain. Lying again to her benefactor was unthinkable; going home to John was worse. Caught in this web of deceit, she could see only the path that led deeper and darker into lies.

"Who are you?" he asked softly. "Why have you done this to us?" He waited. Her eyes were large and luminous, indecision and fear plain in her face. "You will have to tell me, girl. I must know the truth, whatever it is. You have placed me in a devilishly awkward position. If you expect any consideration from me, you must tell me why you have defrauded my household in such a manner." Maude's hands twisted at the coverlet. She chewed on her lower lip. His dark eyes bored into her soul where she feared he could read the whole truth, clear as day. Then, miracle of miracles, there was a soft tap at the door.

Swearing under his breath, Radford rose, and giving her an I'll-be-right-back look, he walked over and opened the door. Mrs. Formby stood in the dark hall, her arms piled with white linen. She stepped quickly into the room and he shut the door. Of course the girl would have to be changed. He had not thought of that. Well, he would wait.

"I shall be but a moment, my lord, if you'll permit. I've brought several nightgowns of my own and some fresh linens and bandages for later. I did not wish to be seen tomorrow bringing these things to your room." She stepped briskly to the bed and placed the pile on the chair.

"That was very wise, Mrs. Formby. I confess I am past thinking through these details tonight." Radford sank back into his wing chair, facing away from the bed. It was plain he was not destined to get any sleep tonight.

"Would your lordship prefer that we move the girl onto her cot in the dressing room? Otherwise, I can prepare another room for you."

"I think not, Mrs. Formby. She will rest better in the larger bed and I think she should not be moved just now. I'll take the cot tonight. I've slept in worse, you know." He grinned as he heard her sniff of disapproval. "I would prefer not to disarrange another bedroom. There is little enough left of this night to matter anyway, and I do not wish to be sneaking up and down hallways in the morning. She should not be left alone, at any rate."

Radford settled himself, stretching out at an angle in the broad chair, testing whether it might, in fact, be preferable to the hard little cot. As he leaned his head back against the cushion, he was confronted with a view of what was happening at the bed in the large, ornate gilt-edged mirror that hung over his dresser. Creamy and pale in the flickering candlelight, the girl was completely undressed. What he had taken for a gangly, coltish boy, he could see was a lean, long-limbed beauty, her skin unblemished and soft. Her wound was on the side facing away from the mirror, so there was no bandage to mar the unbroken line of pale flesh from head to toe. When she sat up, he could see her breasts were small but round and full, the nipples a dark, blushing pink. Radford drew in his breath, mesmerized, as Mrs. Formby leaned the girl forward and placed a white lawn gown over her head. She drew it down gently, covering inch by inch the long, exquisite body. How could the girl have hidden this from him? How could he have been so blind?

He was hardly aware of staring and gave a start as Mrs. Formby's matter-of-fact tones cut through his trance. "I'm done, my lord." He watched as she lay the girl back against the pillows and covered her up with the silk sheet. The extra linens were swept up and deposited neatly on a small table against the wall.

"I shall leave you now if you are sure you need no further assistance." Mrs. Formby stood, erect and proper in her quilted bathrobe, her hands folded together across her middle. "I do not believe the girl needs anything more tonight, but you must ring directly into my room if she requires anything."

The system of bellpulls in the house was elaborate and up-to-date, the envy of the earl's friends.

"I'm sure that will be all we will need tonight, Mrs. Formby," he said, pulling his thoughts together. "Do get some sleep. Remember, I shall be indisposed in the morning. Depending on what kind of story the girl has to tell and how she is feeling, we may try to spirit her out of the house tomorrow night. I have been thinking that perhaps my shooting lodge might do for her recuperation . . ." The idea had just come to him. The lodge was not staffed at this time of year, only a caretaker and his wife in a cottage on the premises. Yes, it might be just perfect. . . .

"Very well, my lord. I'll wish you good night."

"It's good morning, I'm afraid." They smiled at each other, and she turned and let herself out of the room, closing it quietly as she left.

Radford took a deep breath. His heart was beating too fast. He was embarrassingly aware of the tightening in his breeches. It was preposterous. He was an adult, had bedded hundreds of beautiful women, and this serving wench had him as hard as a rock, and peeping at her like a schoolboy! Ridiculous. He put the sight of her long, graceful limbs out of his mind and moved with determination back to the bed. If he was so hot for a woman, he could have at Bella soon enough.

She was not asleep. Her eyes followed his as he moved toward her. He was caught by the dancing lights in the green depths. He sat. As if of its own volition, his hand reached for hers, and he held her long, cool fingers in his as he stared at her lips.

Maude sensed a change in him at once. She made as if to pull her hand away, but he held it tightly, if with gentleness.

"I'll not hurt you, girl, nor will I turn you out," he spoke softly but with an intensity under his words. "You must tell me now. Who are you, and what are you running from?" He willed his hands to be still, not to caress her soft fingers, not to frighten her. She was under his protection, he reminded himself. He had never been one to take after the serving girls, unlike many of his peers. He would not start now by taking advantage of this girl who was clearly at his mercy.

Her low, clear voice broke through his thoughts. "My name is Molly Ramsey, my lord, and I am deeply ashamed that I have lied to you." There, she had done it. Trapped back into another lie, using the first name of the maid Aunt Claire had dismissed, but safe now from the specter of John Romney rutting over her like a pig.

"All right, Molly, that's a good start. Now, what were you running from when my carriage ran you down?" He would be patient. He could feel her pulse beating rapidly through her fingers. The girl was terrified. "My mistress and her son." She swallowed convulsively. She was trying to run as closely to the truth as possible, so as not to foul herself up later. "He wanted to take indecent liberties with me, and she hated me for it. Between the two of them, I could not go on living there."

"All right. That is believable, Molly. Where do these paragons live, if you please?"

She was prepared for this. She had thought it up through the pain. "In Suffolk, my lord. They have a small holding."

His eyes narrowed as he studied her face for falsehood. "Suffolk is a long way on foot from where I picked you up, girl. How did you get so far?"

"Not on foot, my lord. We were visiting friends of theirs in Bedfordshire." She named the general district of the earl's estate. "I was only able to escape when we got away from home. They keep close tabs on me when we are at home and I would be recognized in the neighborhood. I took clothes from a stable hand and I ran. I regret the necessity of the theft, my lord."

"You had been beaten before I picked you up, had you not?"

His eyes were warm. He was accepting it, every word! Was there hope yet that her story would be believed?

"Yes, my lord. It was the last straw." She was gaining in confidence. This would work. It had to.

"But why disguise yourself as a boy? Surely you could have gained shelter more easily somewhere as a female."

"Women have no protection in this world, my lord." She was unaware that her tone had turned bitter. "I would have been molested, or worse. I had no money, and, worst of all, no references. Stableboys travel freely, my lord. Women are hobbled by their stupid skirts."

His mouth quirked up at the ends. "As you say, Molly, women are unduly fettered by society. But what did you do for this lady's household? You are a jack of all masculine tradesa most proficient stable hand, I am led to understand. This would not be normal for a serving wench." He asked too many questions. Drat him anyway! Why couldn't he just accept her sincerely heartbreaking story and let her get some sleep? "We were a small household, not terribly well-ordered," she persevered. "Not like this one, anyway. I had to be proficient at everything. And I found I liked the horses a lot more than I liked kitchen work. Well, who wouldn't?" she demanded imperiously.

This time he could not repress his laughter. "You are a most unusual serving maid, Miss Molly. You prefer stable dung to kitchen grease?"

She drew in a deep breath. Why couldn't the man go to bed? "My father was a stable master, my lord, before he died. I spent my early years around horses. It is to be expected that I would prefer a saddle to a cooking pot!" She was ranging far afield of the truth now and she fervently hoped he would give up his cross-examination and leave her alone.

"And was your father also a card sharp, Molly? Who was the 'kindly master' who taught you all your tricks? Surely not the randy son of your mistress?"

She had to hand it to him. He was zeroing in on all the loose ends. The man should have been a bloody barrister!

"My father, my lord." She allowed her eyes to droop somewhat. Maybe if he thought she were sleepy. . . .

"I see. Molly, stay awake. I am not finished with you yet. What if I accept all that you say? There is one thing that has always puzzled me about you. I am sorry I ignored my instincts earlier. Your speech, girl. You talk like no serving girl I've ever run across, country- or city-bred. You talk like the gentry, pure and simple. How is that?"

She closed her eyes again, stalling for time. Now she was tired in earnest and frightened. He went on too long; he should not be picking at such nits. He should have patted her head and left her to sleep several lies ago! She opened her eyes and looked at him. Please let him believe this one! She prayed. Just one more time! "II am a good mimic, my lord. I used to be able to entertain the staff with imitating the gentry. I've a good ear. It comes easy to me. My father always said we were better than most . . ." she trailed off. It was weak, but it would have to do. She had no more tales up her sleeve. Her side ached. Please believe me, please. You must. . . .

"I think I believe you, Molly."

The candle flickered. His eyes were warm. Her small hand lay in his large one. She sighed. I want to sleep now. Please hush and let me sleep. . . .

"But what am I to do with you, girl? I cannot keep you here. I'd be a laughingstock, and the staff would take your masquerade amiss. I must send you away for both our sakes." His voice held a note of regret, but true finality.

Her eyes flew open. Away! From him. Where would she go? What would she do? "II don't want you to send me away. Please let me stay! Please!"

It was the laudanum. It was the pain. It was the knowledge, now stark and cold in her heart, that he and this house were as close as she would get to a family that would care for her, servant or not. Her hands clutched at his fingers. Her voice caught in her throat. Her green eyes held fear.

"Monkey! Hush! Listen to me!" He caught her frantic, cold hands and held them still. "I'll see you are safe. You must trust me, monkey."

Her breathing was ragged. He watched a tear slip from underneath her eyelid and make its way down her pink cheek. Unable to help himself, he wiped it away with his large thumb, feeling clumsy against her delicate cheekbone. She turned her face into his hand, trusting, questing.

He bent his face to hers, rubbing his rough, bearded cheek to her softness. "Don't cry, monkey. I won't let anyone hurt you," he whispered softly in her ear, "I promise."

She slipped her hand around his neck and held it tightly, as if she were afraid to let go. He could feel her shaking and he reached out and pulled her toward him. She's frightened of something, he thought. This story is half right, and half all wrong. I do not know what the truth is, but I will find out. He could feel her breath warm against his ear, sending waves of desire through him. Her heart fluttered against his chest. He rubbed her back gently.

''Shhh. Shhh." He nuzzled her cheek, then, without warning to either of them, his lips caught hers. Soft, so soft and yielding . . . and yet so innocent. Her lips were closed against his, but she did not resist. Gently, he parted her lips with his tongue. Seeking, probing, he encroached upon her luscious mouth, his hot, insistent tongue tasting, caressing. Tentatively, he felt her tongue, gentle, then aggressive, as she thrust back, probing his mouth as he had probed hers. He groaned and eased himself onto the bed, careful not to pull at her wound.

Maude was spinning, spinning down into a world she had never known before. A world of nothing but heartbeat, and pounding, insistent need, a need she could not identify, but could not live without. She felt his tongue push into her mouth, invading space she would have thought inviolate, and yet, it felt so right, so good. She felt the bed sag as he lowered his weight onto it. She could feel the length of him now, hard, pushing against her.

While his tongue plundered her willing mouth, his hand slid down, tracing gently the line of her cheek, her jaw, her neck, her chest, coming at last to rest upon her breast, where he cupped her soft, exquisite flesh, rolling her nipple, now taut and responsive, between his thumb and forefinger. She gasped at the sensation, rearing her head back and arching her back to bring herself closer to his touch.

Pounding, pounding, her heart beat, as his lips forsook hers and took the path his hand had traced down her flesh. She moaned as he took her breast into his mouth, his tongue swirling under, then over, his hand pressing her flesh hard against his mouth. He caught her nipple between his teeth and teased it, tickled it, until she moaned and thrust herself hard against him. There, that was it, what she had sought. That pressure there, between her legs, where the sensation was one of fire and overwhelming need. She could feel his manhood now, pushing, throbbing against his breeches, and she rose to meet the thrust, wanting to impale herself, to feel his fullness. She felt the thin material of her nightgown rip under his hand, then it slid down the length of her body, caressing her bare belly, her hip, her buttocks, her thigh. Again, his lips sought hers, bruising, insistent, his tongue circling hers, then thrusting deep, possessive.

Somewhere in the deepest recesses of her mind, she heard the faintest din of a warning bell. Faint, but insistent. She should not be doing this. Things were bad enough without being ruined in the bargain. But the yearning overrode the warning bell, the throbbing pulse of desire, pent up all these weeks, drowning out the tiny alarm. She moaned, and pushed against him again, seeking the pressure of his body against hers.

He was ready for her. His hand moved across her belly, down gently, softly, seeking the hot, moist nest, her center of pleasure. She reared back, gasping, as his hand found her sweet spot, his fingers probing, her secrets open now, slippery wet, begging for his touch. Vaguely, she was aware that he was unfastening his breeches with his other hand, ripping them out from beneath him, tearing off his shirt, then his stockings. And then he was naked. Her breath caught in her throat as he reared up over her, golden-skinned, muscular, massive, as she remembered him, a Greek god rising from his bath.

He was hard, he could not wait any longer. He eased himself down on top of her between her thighs, his breath coming in jagged gasps, his manhood throbbing as if it would burst before he could enter her. Gently, slowly, he pushed into her, then with a hard thrust, it was done, her small scream of pain raking his consciousness. He was still for a minute, shock and chagrin chasing across his face. The girl had been unbreached. This so-called master she so feared had not managed to catch her. He had done the deed himself and with no care whatsoever for her pain. He heard her whimper below him.

"Hush, now, hush, love. I am sorry. I did not know. It will be over in a minute."

Quickly, he thrust into her, then withdrew, and thrust again. His pleasure built again to the bursting point, though he felt her tense beneath him. With a cry of release, he arched and spilled his seed, hot, deep within her.

He lowered himself to her side, the side that did not bear the wound. He could hear her breathing, heavy, irregular. Guilt wracked him. He had been so insistent in his own need, so sure that her responsiveness had been born of experience as well as desire, he had not stopped to consider whether she was a virgin. It had been years since he had bedded a virgin; it had never been a point of interest for him. A lady's pain decreased his pleasure. Nor had he considered that she had been dosed with laudanum, an opiate which in small doses could impair judgment and increase the sense of well-being.

Her breathing slowed. He watched her profile, her eyes closed, while his hand idly traced through the short curls against the pillow. With his other hand he reached for hers, catching it to his lips. "Monkey, have I hurt you?"

His voice was soft in her ear, and slowly, she turned toward him, still caught in a haze of pain and desire. She smiled into his eyes, touched by his concern. "I am fine, my lord. I am sorry to have distressed you. I did not know what to expect."

He chuckled. "I should have known better than to think a little deflowering would set you back. Still, I would have been more gentle had I known. Or, perhaps," he frowned, "I would have been gentleman enough to refrain."

He was dazzled by the look in her eyes, a look which drew him into the green depths and swirled him around.

"I do not recall asking for your restraint, my lord."

Their eyes locked, their naked bodies still intertwined, wet with sweat and passion spent. Again he circled her with his arms, pulling her tight into the curve of his body, nibbling the side of her neck. "Molly, you are a beauty. I do not know what I shall do with you," he whispered into her hair.

It was a bad note in an otherwise exquisite symphony.

Chapter Fifteen

She awakened long before dawn. She had dreamed long and deep about her parents. She had heard the sound of their laughter and felt their love surrounding her, holding her safe again. Then she had become aware of pain intruding on her dreams, pain which she fought to exclude from her consciousness, willing herself to stay ensconced in her dream. But it was no use. Up, up she was pulled, love and comfort receding behind her, pain and unease growing stronger until she recognized them for reality.

She lay curled within his arms. He was asleep. The bed was warm and comfortable, the sheets, silky soft. She could smell his scentwoodsy, smoky, a touch of sweet brandy. Idyllic, poetic. She wanted to die of misery.

How had she let this happen? What on earth had been going through her mind as she had let him touch her, take her, cause her to forget all that she had been brought up to believe was right and good? Nothing. There had been nothing in her mind at all but the fire of his touch burning through all her precepts, leaving them ashes on the altar of her lust.

She had no one to blame but herself for this mess. No, that was not entirely true. She would see Cousin John damned for his part in bringing her to this lost state. Well, fine. They could be damned together, because there was no getting around the fact that she had asked for this, that she had wanted it from the first time she had seen the earl rise from his bath. She recalled no demurring on her part last night, not even a token resistance that she could use to salvage her pride. No, she had been wanton and free with her favors, and she would have the rest of her grim life to pay for it.

And to think she had been aghast that Amelia had given this man a long, soulful kiss. Amelia was a nun compared to herself!

Her head ached, her side ached. And who was she today? What new masquerade must she assume this morning? Molly, the town whore? She felt sick in her heart at having to start all over again with a new lie, to abuse this good man's confidence yet again. And yet what alternative did she have? None, really. Maude Romney was dead, and for good or ill, she was now Molly Ramsey, wounded, penniless, soiled, but alive and willing to work for her living. It wasn't a whole lot worse than being Mike, except for giving up the freedom afforded to the males in this society, whatever their class. But it had been unnatural and difficult to play a boy all the time, and the day would have come when she was finally expected to show signs of a beard and a deepening of her voice.

What would she do now? Radford was right about one thing, as much as it hurt her to admit it. She could not stay here. Not for several reasons. It would be ludicrous for her to try to fit back into the smooth grooves of this household as a female servant. She knew Mrs. Formby would lack confidence in her, and she could expect problems, if not ridicule and censure, from the rest of the staff. And, of course, there was no getting around the real difficulty. She had made it impossible to stay here with Radford when she opened her arms to his lovemaking last night. As hard as it would be for a woman of her breeding and background to accept a role as servant for the rest of her life, it would be impossible to stay in this house, hoping for the occasional attention from the master, and standing by silently, feather duster in hand, as his beautiful, well-born ladies paraded through. And the day would come, she knew, when some gorgeous creature would arrive, amid boxes and trunks of expensive jewelry and rich, frothy clothing, and announce herself to be the new Lady Radford. No, it would not be bearable.

She felt him stir next to her, his arm tightening across her chest. It brought a blush to her cheeks to realize that he lay with his hand cupping her breast, his nakedness stretched the length of hers. Memories of last night flooded through her. Her breathing quickened as she recalled the feel of his hands exploring, caressing, moving ever downward to the place which ached again for his touch. As if her thoughts transmitted themselves to him in his sleep, his hand began to squeeze gently at her breast. She could feel his hardness pressing against her thigh. The very feel of it made her catch her breath as heated desire flooded again through her veins. She felt him nibble at her neck, his mouth trailing kisses down her throat. He sat up, his eyes warm and golden in the morning light.

"Good morning, monkey. I trust you slept well?"

He did not wait for her answer, moving to seize her nipple between his lips, his hand now tracing down her belly. Again, she could feel the pounding of her heart, the pulsating need between her legs. Perfidious body! This must not be! Pushing against his chest with her hands, she backed away from him, her passion at war with her shame.

He looked up, a question in his eyes. "It will not hurt again, monkey, I promise. I'll go slowly, you'll see."

His hands had not stopped. He probed her gently and she was now hot and moist and ready for him. With a low moan, she surrendered to the feeling, moving against his hand as an unknown urgency built inside her. Her head slipped back, exposing the long creamy line of her throat and bosom to his hungry lips. As if of its own volition, her hand slid down, finding his rigid shaft. She squeezed her fingers tightly around him, surprised at how velvety soft his skin felt.

He groaned as he felt her touch, and moved against her hand. "Monkey, wait, you will undo me!" he moaned, yet unable to stop his thrusting against her. Quickly, he moved atop her, tenderly so as not to tug against her bandage, pausing to look into the depths of her green eyes. "Now, gently, slowly, you are wet, you are ready," he rasped as he slid into her tight sheath.

Braced for a jolt of pain, Maude's eyes flew open as, instead, a burst of pleasure flooded her. He was so large and so hard, and exactly what she craved to meet her urgent need. Faster and faster, he thrust himself into her, and her cries of ecstasy pierced the quiet room as she met him with hard thrusts of her own. At last, the sense of urgency built beyond anything she had ever dreamed of. Wave upon wave of pleasure coursed through her, tightening her around his shaft, as she cried aloud her release.

He watched her face, a savage pleasure twisting his own, then he moaned as his own pleasure ripped through him.

Spent, they lay still, their breath coming in ragged gasps, their bodies wet with the heat generated between them. Maude stared at the bed hangings, seeing nothing, her thoughts in turmoil. Never could she have imagined such pleasure. She was lost in the feeling.

"Lie still, monkey, I'll be right back."

She felt the bed rise as he lifted his weight from it. Turning, she watched him walk to the windows, a finger of sunlight reaching through a crack in the dark draperies catching the golden muscles that rippled across his broad back. Pulling open the heavy curtains, he flooded the room with brightness so that she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment against the glare. She heard water splashing in the washbasin. Unabashedly, she watched him walk back to the bed, her eyes lingering on his member, which had not quite returned to its flaccid state.

He smiled wickedly as he caught the line of her vision. "Not had quite enough, yet, monkey? I'm sure I can oblige if you give me but a few minutes."

Unable to stop herself, she giggled, her face reddening as she realized she had been caught gaping. He sat down next to her and ripped back the sheet which she had pulled up over her when he had left the bed.

"Let's have a look at you in daylight, monkey. I seem to recall you are a staggering sight by candlelight."

Stifling the urge to cover herself, she watched as his eyes roamed appreciatively up and down the length of her body.

"The dawn does you homage, my dear. You are indeed beautiful." He traced his finger gently across her belly, smiling as she twitched in reflex.

She blushed at his compliment, but felt pleased all the same. She had never considered herself beautiful by any stretch of the imagination, and these last few weeks, passing so easily for a boy, had done nothing for her self-esteem in that regard.

"I'll warn you. This will be cold," he said as he slapped a wet cloth down on her thighs. She let out a small shriek. Gently, he washed away the sticky wetness between her legs, his eyes rueful as he saw the evidence of her breaching. "There is blood from last night, monkey. That's normal, in case you didn't know."

She turned away, suddenly embarrassed by his actions and stung by the intruding thought that she could not turn herself back into the virgin she was supposed to be.

"I've been thinking about what we should do, monkey," he murmured caressingly, and, sensing her discomfort, changing the subject, "you need to recuperate. It will take some weeks till your side is healed properly." Absently, his fingers gently traced the lines of her bandage. "It will also take some weeks to grow your hair to an acceptable length for a female. I take it that you are done masquerading as a male?" His hand slid up to her breast as he spoke. "Don't bind these up again, monkey. It's such a waste," he whispered huskily. "I would suggest that I send you north to my hunting lodge, tonight, if the doctor says you are fit to travel, and let you heal there. I'm sure you understand why you cannot stay as a servant in this household."

He spoke kindly, but Maude felt a miserable chill from his words. He had taken his fill of her and already he was plotting how to get her neatly out of the way. She turned her head away from him and gazed at the light streaming through the large windows, unwilling to let him see the hurt that undoubtedly showed in her eyes. Well, she would not beg for his favors. She was in no position to bargain.

"In the meanwhile, we will spend the day together. I told Mrs. Formby to give out that I am ill and possibly contagious, so as to keep the servants away from the room. I have no intention of letting anyone know that Mike is really Molly. I'll not have the entire ton laughing behind my back that I don't know a full-grown girl from a boy."

He gazed appreciatively at her chest. "And full grown you are, too, my dear. I don't know how you managed to hide it from me so successfully. I think I'll enjoy being trapped up here all day with you . . ." His hand was busy while he talked, following the line of her belly and hips, moving downward. "Although," he continued, as if to himself, "I'll have to send a messenger round to White's to be certain that Sommesby has carried out his end of our agreement."

Maude's eyes flew open. Sommesby! How could she have forgotten? She struggled to sit up. "My lord . . ." she began.

"Under the circumstances, I think it had best be Edward, don't you agree?" He smiled as his hand reached out to trail down her neck to her breast. "And do not bother to start on me about the danger involved. I have never been in any danger from that miserable old coward. Now I understand why you were so timid. You're a girl, after all . . ."

"A girl!" she sputtered, wrenching herself up and wincing at the stab in her side. "A girl, indeed! In the first place I am no girl, I am a woman. And in the second place you are nothing but a mutton head if you think there is no danger. Who do you think shot at us last night? Girl, indeed!''

His eyes narrowed as he regarded her thoughtfully. "What exactly would you know of who shot at us?"

"Oh, why don't you go ask Hobbs? He's a man. I'm just a silly girl!" She grabbed at the sheet and yanked it up to her chin.

"All right, mea culpa. Truce, monkey." He held up his hand in mock surrender. "I didn't say you were silly. I simply remarked that your being female explains why you were so apprehensive. The duke is a sneaking, shifty coward. He did not dare to accept my offer to meet him on a field of honor. No, his sort always chooses to turn tail and run"

"Turn tail, did he?" she raged. "You great lout, the man who shot at us was none other than the duke's footman, Tom! Now tell me what I had to be apprehensive about!"

He stared at her. "How do you know this?" he asked, his voice controlled.

"Because I recognized him, that's how! He's the one I told you about. Remember? The footman who was cheating all the other servants at cards! I could see his eyes over the mask. Cold eyes, he has, like an adder. I'd recognize them anywhere!"

With a snarling curse, he was off the bed, crossing the room to the linen press in three strides. He wrenched open the long door and began pulling out garments helter-skelter.

"Where are you going? What are you going to do?" Maude's anger had melted into fear as she saw him seize a set of undergarments and ram his legs into them.

"Do? I'm going to stop behaving like the mutton-headed lout you called me, and settle this thing with Sommesby once and for all!"

He shoved his arms through the sleeves of his shirt so hard Maude heard the material rip. Swearing, he tore the shirt off and pawed through the linen press for another. "I am going to his house and call him out. He'll be dead by sunrise tomorrow. I cannot believe I was such a fool as to trust that twisted cheat."

It was obvious that in his rage, he would have this shirt, too, ripped in no time. Maude slipped out of the bed and walked to him, placing her hand gently on his arm. "If you'll wait a moment, my lord, I think you really do need some help with this." She took the shirt from his hands and shook it out, then held it up for him to slip into, ignoring the pain that shot through her side as she raised her arm.

If there was any hope at all that he would be alive tomorrow, she must calm him down now. Silently, like the good valet she had learned to be, she took his breeches from the press and held them for him to step into. As he reached for the buttons to close the front, a task he had always performed for himself, their eyes met. His were warm.

"Monkey, please understand. The man could have killed you. You were the one he shot. If you had died of that bullet, I would never have forgiven myself." He wrapped his arms around her, then turned her around and gave her a small pat on the rear. "Now get back into bed. You are no longer my valet, and anyway, you are not supposed to be out of bed. Doctor's orders."

She stood her ground, reaching down to pick up his boots and clutching them firmly to her chest, as if she could keep them from him. "My lord, please listen to me. Please."

"Call me, Edward, monkey, if you please. I'm not 'your lord' any longer."

"Edward, then. Please listen. You cannot go alone to the duke's house. Don't you see how treacherous he is? He is desperate. If you go into his den alone, he will not let you out alive. It does not matter a hair that you are the better duelist if he shoots you in the back in his study!"

He laughed and reached out his hands to take the boots from her, but she held them firmly.

"Monkey, not even the duke of Sommesby is in a position to murder me in his own house. There would be messy inquiries. It's just not done. Let go of the boots, my dear. I will not present a creditable figure to His Grace in my stocking feet."

"Let me go to his house instead! I know the servants. I can go as Mike and nose around for you. You know I can learn things through the servants' grapevine that you will never hear!"

"Enough!" he roared. "Give me those boots and get back in that bed this instant if you do not wish to be carried! I do not want to hear one word, and I mean not one word about your ever masquerading as a boy again. Don't you realize how dangerous it is? If you had been discovered to be female anywhere but in this house, you would have been raped, probably manhandled as well." He broke off, a look of consternation crossing his face. ''As it is," he continued, chagrin in his voice, "you didn't fare any better under my roof than you would have in the street." He sat down heavily in the chair beside him, remembering her innocence and his lack of care. He drew forward the boots she had dropped at her feet.

"I will not hear of your going to Sommesby's house, is that understood?" he continued, his voice softened. "His man tried to kill you last night. If you think the duke represents a danger to me in his own drawing room in broad daylight, you must see that this malicious footman would dispatch you in no time and no one would be the wiser. My God, girl, don't you see?" he exclaimed in exasperation, catching the look of mutiny in her face. "You have the means to get him hanged! He will not allow you to come sniffing around the place. He'll know there is a chance you recognized him and he'll not risk it. You are not safe, even now, outside of this house! And as far as the constabulary would be concerned, you would just be another servant who had run off. They would never raise an inquiry embarrassing to His Grace over the likes of Mike."

"If I am in danger then you are, too, my lord," she argued tenaciously. "Why can't we go to the authorities? Why must you handle this yourself?" She stood quietly before him while he tugged at his boots, unwilling to help him now.

"My dear, I cannot expect you to understand. This is a matter between gentlemen. In my circle, we do not rely on the authorities to settle our problems for us. We settle them among ourselves."

She colored visibly, aware that he had just thrown her servant status in her face, whether he had meant to or not. How she would love to tell him that she was indeed gently bred and how utterly contemptible she thought the whole system to be!

He reached forward and drew her to him, down into his lap, nuzzling her neck. "I'll be careful, monkey. I'll not let that old sodomite be the cause of my death. But no more talk, please, of your going to that house. It was unforgivable of me to have involved a fourteen-year-old boy in this dirty business. It is damnable that I actually involved a girl of . . . Oh, my God, how old are you, anyway? You're not really only fourteen, are you?"

"Almost eighteen," she answered dully. Nothing she said had any effect on him. He was certainly right that there was a basic difference between men and women. But it was not that women were timid. It was that men were boneheaded.

"I told Mrs. Formby last night that I would keep to my room all day, but I'll go down now and revise the plan with her. We'll say that it is you who are illMike, that isand that because of fear of contagion we will leave you here in your cot in the dressing room and no one must come into the room. And you are not to leave this room for any reason. Is that understood?"

She stared at him. His arms were tight around her and she was painfully aware of his nearness.

"I will have your promise, monkey. I have no wish to tie you to the bed."

"I promise." There. She'd said it. She had absolutely no intention of keeping her promise, but she was quite sure that it was all right to break a promise in order to save someone's life. And it was not as if she had a lot of honor left to quibble about anyway.

"I'll breakfast downstairs before I go. I'll have Mrs. Formby bring something up to you."

"No! That is," she stammered, "II'm not feeling well enough to eat. And I really don't wish to see anyone now. Please don't send anything up."

He was going to take the time to talk with Mrs. Formby and eat breakfast! That would leave her plenty of time to get to the duke's house, find Eddie, and spy out the situation. It would take her no time to dress and sneak out. And she knew that the cleaning staff did not reach this level of the house until midmorning, if they'd be allowed up at all.

Concern immediately showed in his face. "I am sorry. I am forgetting your ordeal. Are you in pain? You should not be up at all, much less upsetting yourself about all of this. Please, monkey, get back into bed and don't worry any further about it." He led her gently back to the bed, his hand caressing the small of her back as he pushed her along.

"It doesn't hurt so much, really, my . . . I mean Edward. It's just that I do not wish to see anyone now, Mrs. Formby least of all." She allowed him to lead her along. Docile, feminine was what he wanted. Docile, feminine was what he was going to get! At least until he left the room.

Gently, he tucked her under the covers, then bent down to nibble at her neck. "Stay right here, monkey," he whispered huskily. "I'll be back in no time and I'd like to find you in precisely this spot when I return."

Again, she felt the tongue of desire licking through her. Their lips met and held, a long deep kiss kindling the flame further.

With regret, he pulled away, cupping her chin in his large hand. "You are delicious, monkey. I cannot get enough of you. I shall see you very shortly and we will pick up where we've just left off." With a playful nip at her nose, he was off the bed, then, in two strides, out of the door which he closed gently behind him.

For a moment she sat very still, holding her breath, lest he return for some reason. She heard his footsteps receding down the hall. Carefully, she eased out of bed and tiptoed to the door to lock it. It was, of course, a bit presumptuous of her to do so, but if he did come back, she could explain she feared an inadvertent intrusion. The hallway was silent. Ignoring the twinge of pain in her side, she hurried into the small dressing room off of the main bedchamber, where Mike had slept. In a small drawer, tucked in a lower corner of a massive built-in clothing cabinet, she found just what she was looking fora spare set of workday clothes for Mike.

She took off her nightgown, noticing now the large bandage which ran across her lower chest. Well, she would heal. It couldn't be serious or it would hurt more, she reasoned. As she reached to pull on her shirt, she realized her usual bindings had been destroyed last night. Glancing about, she spotted the earl's torn shirt on the floor in the main room. Perfect!

Quickly, she tore it into strips and bound her small breasts. Now the shirt which she slid over her arms hung straight, and she was Mike once more. It took no time to don the rest of her boy clothes. A check in the mirror showed her that except for an uncharacteristic paleness, she was again every inch the serving boy, complete with that little leap of joy she always felt at the freedom she could claim as a male.

She listened at the small door which led into the hall from the dressing room, and heard nothing. Her plan was to slip down the back stairs and leave by the kitchen door. She did not think she'd meet anyone at this early hour on the stairs, and if she did see a kitchen maid or two on her way out, they would likely not even notice her, so used were they to Mike's comings and goings.

Carefully, she opened the door and, seeing no one, slipped out, closing the door behind her. A quick sprint down the hall brought her to the door that led to the back corridors, and she was down the stairs and into the kitchen in no time. There were Bessie and Mary at their usual breakfast tasks. Well, no harm done, really, and at least Mrs. Formby was nowhere in sight. With a jaunty wave as he popped his cap on his head, Mike was out the door.

As she had hoped, the stable and back mews were quiet. She was in the alley and off at a run with no one the wiser. A sharp stab of pain in her side slowed her down to a walk, but the pain subsided rapidly. Best not to take too many chances with the wound, though. She could not risk having the gash open up and bleed now.

A few blocks later she turned into the back alley that led to the duke of Sommesby's establishment. She headed straight for the stables, hoping against hope to find Eddie or Rob before she had to explain herself or her errand. Well, there was some luck, anyway, she thought to herself as she spotted a small figure. It was not Rob, but one of the boys she had saved from a trouncing in the card game in the stable loft. Surely the boy owed her a favor!

"Pssst! Boy!" Maude hugged the side of the wall and gestured to the boy. Startled, he turned in her direction. His wary look was replaced by a grin as he started forward. Good! He recognized her for a friend.

"'Ere, it's Mike, ain't it?" he whispered conspiratorially. "Good to see you again. We ain't had no trouble from Tom at cards since you showed 'im up so proper. 'E came round to play with us once, but we did all them things you told us to. Cut the cards right and watched carefully, and 'e went away soon enough, no richer for 'is pains, I must say."

"Good, boy! That's what I hoped would happen." Maude spoke in a near-whisper, glancing around to make sure there was no one else about. "Look here, I need to talk to Eddie real bad, right now. Can you find him for me? And I'd just as soon stay out of sight. I don't fancy meetin' that Tom again, at least, not in this alley!" They laughed. Maude was trying to seem casual, as if her errand were more one of servants' gossip than the life-and-death matter it really was. No point in getting the boy's interest aroused.

"Eddie's probably in the stables. 'E's back from 'is trip to market already. And Tom's probably inside. There's sumpin' up this mornin' for sure. Lots of runnin' about, and 'Is Grace awake real early and off for a trip to the continent. And we didn't know a thing about it till this mornin'. Unusual, that is."

"He's left already? Are you sure?" Maude asked, eager to glean information from whatever source presented itself.

"Aye, gone not long after dawn. I don't know anythin' else. No one's told me much yet. But Eddie'd know. 'E was in this morning with the 'ousekeeper for the marketin' order and she's got a mouth on 'er, she does. Come on. There's no one about out 'ere now. I'll take you in to Eddie."

They crossed the narrow alley and entered the stable. Maude felt exhilarated. At this rate she could find out what had happened and be home before his lordship had finished his breakfast. Wouldn't he be surprised when she told him that the hideous duke had, indeed, turned tail and fled.

If the earl of Radford had startled his staff by appearing so early for breakfast, without having even rung first for his tea, no one let it show. The tea service was brought in with the usual dignity, and the scrambling in the kitchen did not penetrate to the dining room.

Mrs. Formby appeared at his side moments later, thanking her stars that the man was a light breakfast eater and did not require, as did so many of his rank, the large, multiple-course breakfast, to be set out on the sideboard in gleaming, steaming silver dishes, picked at and ignored and eventually sent cold and rock-hard back to the kitchen. She murmured apologies for the slight delay in service. That she was at an utter loss to understand this radical change in plans did not show by so much as a flicker in her face. Making certain everything was in order, she turned and left the room.

Radford sorted through his correspondence, making mental notes to himself as to what engagements he had today. Perhaps he would cancel everything and spend the day in bed as soon as he returned from his odious errand, he thought to himself, a lascivious smile breaking over his face. The smile was replaced quickly by a slight frown. What was he going to do with this almost eighteen-year-old Molly, this delectable wench, who inflamed his loins and cheered his soul?

Last night, soon after his shocking discovery, he had thought perhaps he might pack her off as a servant to some other household. Now he knew he could never do that. Bad enough she would have to fetch and carry for demanding employers, but she was too pretty to avoid the notice of some randy old goat, or a randy young one for that matter. At the thought of her bedded by one of his contemporaries, his stomach lurched in anger. In fact, she'd be lucky to catch the eye of one of the gentlemen. Most servant girls were tumbled, willingly or not, by the males on the staff.

Besides, he had no intention of letting her go. The very thought left an empty place in his heart. He would have to think of some way to keep her, as his mistress perhaps, a discreet thing, not openly. He did not think she would fit in with his set. Not the way the ravishing Bella did.

He thought of Bella's flirtations, the way his cronies openly angled for her future favors. She knew he would tire of her one day, and like any smart woman of her sort, she was eying the landscape, looking for a new soft nest to land in when the inevitable drifting apart occurred. Radford didn't give a fig with whom Bella had slept before their liaison, and he would not give a fig when she moved on, but somehow the thought of his gamine Molly, bulging out of her decolletage and casting her eye about for her new protector, made him grip the frail porcelain teacup almost tightly enough to snap it.

No, she was young and vulnerable. She was not Bella's sort at all. She had even been a virgin until he took her last night, he thought, chagrin gnawing at him. Toying with his eggs, he gazed, unseeing, at the plate.

A townhouse, cozy, warm, and welcoming. His mistress. Perhaps he'd buy the house for her and settle a yearly sum on her so she need never look elsewhere for support. They could have such fun, just the two of them. He would have a secret home to go to and a warm, luscious paramour, and she would have her future assured. No more mucking out stables, no more running up and down the servants' stairs with heavy pails of water. It was perfect. He would tell her later today, after he settled on a dueling time and place with that murdering bastard, Sommesby. She would be so pleased. She had been so obviously distraught at the thought of being sent away. He smiled to himself, the warmth and magnanimity of his daydream settling his doubts.

Pushing his plate away, he rang for Mrs. Formby. She materialized instantly. Obviously, she had been hovering, waiting for his ring. Bessie appeared to clear off the few dishes.

"Mrs. Formby, I find I have an errand to run this morning that must be taken care of right away. You'll remember we spoke last night about young Mike being ill." He paused to make sure she was following the revised scenario. She nodded gamely. "He was not at all well this morning. I suggested he stay in his cot in my dressing room, lest there be some contagion. Perhaps you might give orders that no one is to go into the room. We don't want any more of that vicious influenza in the household."

"Of course, my lord. That is most wise." She had no idea what precisely had transpired, but she knew how to take orders.

"If you please, mum . . ."

Bessie had her head down and spoke so softly the earl was not sure he had heard anything at all. Mrs. Formby turned a frigid glance on the hapless girl.

"Bessie, if you have anything to say to me you may do so in the kitchen where we will not disturb his lordship." "But it's Mike, mum . . ." the girl continued, casting a glance up at the earl. Although she knew how fond he was of the boy, she would not dare address his lordship directly, unbidden.

"What about Mike, Bessie?" the earl said quickly, holding up a hand to forestall Mrs. Formby.

"My lord, he's not in his cot. He's gone out already this morning."

"What?" Radford roared, coming to his feet so fast the teacups rattled in their saucers.

"My lord, I'm sorry, II . . ." Bessie stepped back, appalled that she had angered his lordship. She glanced desperately at Mrs. Formby. She had not been here long and did not wish to lose her position.

"When did he go? Where did he go?" Radford thundered.

"II'm not sure . . ." she began in a whisper, trembling and barely able to form the words. The child of an alcoholic, abusive father, she waited for the blows to strike.

"Speak up, girl, I'll not hurt you, for goodness sake. Just tell me as quickly as you can what you know of Mike's going out this morning." He spoke in measured tones, biting back his rage. This girl would faint by the looks of her, if he raised his voice again.

"If you please, your lordship, he went out the kitchen door about a quarter of an hour ago. He didn't say where he was going. He didn't say nothing at all, in fact. But he may be feeling better, now, my lord," she added, hoping to defuse the earl's obvious fear of contagion. "He didn't look sick at all . . ."

He was out of the dining room, through the door that led into the kitchen, before Bessie had finished her last sentence. She looked askance at Mrs. Formby. His lordship sure set store by that young valet of his!

"That's all right, Bessie. You may finish clearing the table." Mrs. Formby looked smooth and unruffled, hiding the consternation she felt. "You did right to speak up under the circumstances. Although I am sure you understand that usually you are not to speak directly to his lordship unless spoken to."

"Yes, mum," said Bessie. She was much relieved to be still employed. It was a somewhat odd household to be sure, but at least no one got drunk and beat her. She hurried with her tray back to the kitchen. It would be a long time before she dared even look at the master again, much less speak to him!

Mrs. Formby's stiff shoulders sagged as the girl left the room. She sighed and made her way to her little office to see about the accounts. There would be trouble yet with this boy-girl-now-boy-again charade, just wait and see. . . .

"Oooh, Mike there was such a row last night as you wouldn't believe. 'Is Grace poundin' on Tom with 'is cane, 'e was. Called 'im a great, incompetent fool. And Tom just standin' there, takin' it. Not dressed in 'is uniform neitherthat was odd'ad his jacket off and a black shirt on. Not like 'e usually goes out when 'e attends 'Is Grace. All done up like a peacock, usually."

Eddie was enjoying this. Maude well knew that servants had little enough fun in their lives and trouble and turmoil were their main source of entertainment.

"Then, this mornin', when it was scarce light, we was all ordered up to get 'Is Grace's carriage ready. Seems 'e's booked passage to France, though why 'e wouldn't mention it to no one until this mornin', I'll never understand."

"So he's gone then? You saw him leave yourself?" Maude was hanging on every word, Eddie's best audience yet.

"Aye. I watched 'im step into the carriage and drive off. The old bastard! It'll be nicer round 'ere with 'im gone for a while, I can tell you that. And no one seems to know when 'e's comin' back. Indefinite stay, that's wot 'e said."

They were crouched in one of the stalls in the stable, speaking in whispers. Even with the duke gone, apparently, it would not do to get caught lollygagging around here, Maude surmised. ''And where's Tom? Did he go with the duke?" She prayed fervently that the two of them were well on their way to France, to perdition, too, for that matter. Anywhere where they could not reach out and hurt the earl of Radford.

"Nah, more's the pity. 'E's still 'ere, nursin' 'is wounds, I imagine. The butler says they was up late, 'Is Nibs and Tom, closeted in the study, talkin' quiet-like. 'E couldn't over'ear nothin'."

As Eddie finished speaking, a hand shot out and seized him by the scruff of his neck.

"Gossipin' about the 'ouse' old, are we, Eddie? You know 'ow 'Is Grace deals with that, don't you?"

Maude's blood ran cold as she recognized the voice that came from behind them. Tom! She looked down, hoping he would not recognize her beneath her cap.

"And wot 'ave we 'ere? One of your little scummy pals from the neighbor'ood?" Tom reached out with his other hand and jerked Maude's head up. He hissed in recognition as the light struck her face. "So, it's my little friend from the earl of Radford's fine establishment." His eyes narrowed with sudden understanding. "Yes, we wondered 'ow come 'is lordship knew so much about us. And you're the card sharp, aren't you?"

Maude stared at him, unable to speak, her mind working frantically on escape from this nightmare.

"Aren't you?" the footman shouted again, clouting her ear with the back of his hand. "Stand up, you little bugger, and answer my questions!"

Tom grabbed Maude by her hair and pulled her up. Eddie, released for the moment, scuttled back, terror in his eyes.

"Maybe you don't need to answer nothin' at that. Maybe I already know everythin' you have to say. Eddie . . ." Tom turned to the boy, his eyes glittering with a malicious light. "Go into the 'ouse, there's a good lad. I'll pack off this trespassin' scum."

"Tom, 'e ain't done nothin' wrong," Eddie began, his fear for himself at war with his fear for Mike. "We was just talkin'" He broke off with a gasp as Tom grabbed his neck and began to shake him.

"Don't you dare talk back to me, you stupid little bastard! I'll 'ave your skin off you and 'Is Grace'll thank me for it! Now you get into the 'ouse like I told you!" A hard, large boot descended with great force into Eddie's stomach. With a strangled scream, the boy fell forward, retching and gasping from the blow. "Get on, I said! You're not goin' fast enough!" Tom aimed more kicks at the boy's rear as he crawled slowly for the door.

Maude, seeing what was surely to be her only opportunity, scrambled up, intent on making a break for the door. Unfortunately, Tom stood between her and the exit, but she thought if she could just catch him off guard while his attention was turned to Eddie, she could give him a shove as she went by and gain a few seconds on him. But fate was not kind, or Tom's reflexes were too quick. As soon as she started forward, his hand shot out and caught her arm. Wrenching her around to the side, he threw her hard against the wooden side of the stall, knocking the wind out of her.

"I didn't say you could go yet, did I?" he hissed. His adder's eyes glittered with venom as he stared down at her, a nasty grin twisting his face. He turned back to Eddie, who, in a stupor of pain, had stopped crawling and lay gasping in the straw. "What a sorry excuse you are for a man, Eddie!" He picked the boy up by his shoulders. Eddie hung in his hands like a rag doll. ''Bah! You waste my time, coward!" Tom spat at him, throwing him down next to Maude. Eddie's head hit the board of the stall with a sickening thud and the boy slipped, unconscious, to the dirt floor.

"Now my little card sharp, it's your turn."

Tom, laughing with a sadistic pleasure, advanced on Maude who lay where he had thrown her. He stopped and stood over her, the light from the high stable window at his back so that all she could see were his eyes gleaming in the dark of his face. "I thought I'd seen the last of you last night. Decent of you to come back this mornin' and let me finish the job properly."

He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth where the spittle had collected in the corners. "You caused me a lot of grief last night," he went on, "takin' the bullet meant for 'is 'igh-and-mighty lordship."

Through her fear, Maude noticed he was breathing oddly, too fast and ragged, considering he had not yet overexerted himself.

"Now you can pay me back by givin' me a bit of fun. I think I'll give it to you like 'Is Grace taught me. Maybe I can teach you to enjoy a little buggerin'."

Tom was reaching down for her. Oh, no, no! Not that! He was going to. . . .

Like the strike of a snake, he had torn the front of her breeches open. She lay in his shadow; he could see nothing clearly. He reached his large, grimy hand down to paw at her privates, then drew back in shock. He stared down at her, his mouth agape for a second or two, then moved to the side so that the shaft of light from the high window fell on her.

"Cor, it's a bleedin' female!" He stared down at the patch of hair between her legs. "Well, ain't that a bit of luck? I always have fancied a nice, juicy bit of honey pot. Let's see 'ow 'ot and wet you are for me, girl."

He knelt down in front of her, pushing her legs apart roughly with his hands. With a jerk, she brought her foot up, intending to plant her boot into his groin. He was too fast for her, however. He caught her foot and held it fast, pushing it up hard at an unnatural angle, and laughing as she cried out in pain.

"Ooh, I'm glad you like it rough, darlin'. That's 'ow I like it too. Let's see 'ow many ways I can make you scream before I'm finished with you."

He drew his arm back and slapped her hard across the face. She cried out and struggled to break free, but it only made him tighten his grip. Whimpering now in sheer terror, Maude pushed ineffectively at his arms as he slapped her face lightly, over and over. Below, his knee jabbed at her crotch in rhythm with every slap.

Suddenly, her tormentor jerked back, a look of shock chasing across his face. Tom hung suspended over her. Without questioning her reprieve, she rolled over and away, curling into a tight ball, sheer instinct taking over for thought.

Then she saw him. Behind Tom, his face contorted with blind rage, stood the earl of Radford, holding Tom by his neck as if he were a dog. Tom licked his lips and stared at the earl, who spoke not a word, nor looked in Maude's direction as he drew back his fist and planted it with all his force into Tom's belly. The man doubled over with a groan, only to receive a staggering blow to the side of his head, knocking him to the dirt.

For a moment Tom crouched, his head lowered, gasping. Radford stood over him, not a muscle moving, waiting. Maude screamed as she saw the glint of the knife in the footman's hand, but the earl had seen it, too, and jumped back in time to miss the slash aimed up at his groin. Radford's powerful hand closed on Tom's wrist, the knife glinting between them as the struggle seemed to hang suspended in the dim light. Slowly, Radford forced Tom's hand down, until with a sharp twist, he forced the man to drop the deadly blade to the dirt.

With a snarl of pure desperation, Tom lunged at the earl. The footman was smaller but heavier than Radford, and had the strength of terror in him. Maude could hear the sounds of fist on bone. She crouched in the corner, her heart in her throat, not daring to interfere, lest she hinder the earl. At last, Radford landed a powerful blow to Tom's jaw, sending him flying back. As he fell, his temple hit the corner of a heavy cast-iron shovel leaning against the stall. Blood spurted from the gash. His adder's eyes dimmed and he lay still.

The only sounds in the stable now were the ragged gasps coming from Maude, who stared at Tom with uncomprehending eyes, waiting for the monster to rise again.

"Who is this?" The voice barely penetrated her fear. She turned her face toward it and looked up into the earl's face, a frozen mask of fury.

"Who is this other one?" He gestured down to Eddie who lay next to Maude, a slow moan issuing from his lips.

"Eddie," she barely whispered. "My friend, Eddie. I told you about him." She looked into his cold eyes, searching for a sign of warmth and, finding none, looked away.

"Cover yourself."

His voice was as cold as his eyes, and red with shame and humiliation, Maude reached down and pulled the torn edges of her breeches together. She tucked them into her belt and pulled her tunic shirt down to hide the torn area.

"What did this Eddie see? Does he know about you?"

His words were like shards of ice whipping at her.

"No, I don't think so. He was knocked out before . . . before . . ." she finished lamely.

"Good. That makes it easier."

"What will we do?" she asked, desperate to make him talk to her. "About him, I mean, when he comes to?" She gestured toward Tom, now unable to bring her eyes back to the place where the man lay, a pool of blood coagulating under his head. Tom looked so unnatural, so blue and ghastly in the dim light. His eyes were open. She wished he'd close them.

"He isn't going to come to. He's dead," he answered, his voice flat, emotionless.

She caught her breath in a sob. "Thank God", she whispered. It didn't matter that a corpse lay only a few feet from her. All that mattered was that this evil man would not rise to hurt either of them again. She wanted to reach out to Radford, to hold up her arms and crawl into his, but his wrath was like a wall of ice between them.

Radford knelt before Eddie, gently shaking the boy, who moaned and opened his eyes. "Eddie! Eddie! Wake up."

The boy moaned again and focused on the earl, his eyes clearing as his comprehension returned.

"Are you awake enough to think, Eddie?" The earl's voice was kind, kinder than it had been to Maude, she noted.

"Yes, yes, sir. II can think now . . . I think." Eddie sat up, rubbing the back of his head.

"Good. There's been some trouble. I think you must have seen a part of it. His Grace's manservant attacked my valet, unprovoked."

"Yes, my lord," said Eddie, realizing now who this gentleman was. "I thought he would if I couldn't stop him."

"The man slipped and hit his head on the shovel. He's dead." Radford waited for the news to penetrate and was rewarded when a grin of pure relief spread over the boy's face.

"Cor, dead, you say. Thank God for that," he echoed Maude without knowing it.

"I think you understand the difficulties here, Eddie. This Tom was in the employ of His Grace, the duke of Sommesby, was he not? As his footman, I believe?" Radford waited patiently while the boy nodded.

"And I'm sure you'll appreciate that neither the duke nor I wish to be embroiled in a seamy public investigation of this matter. In fact, I believe His Grace would be very angry indeed to have this matter discussed at all, under any circumstances. Are you following me?"

"Yes, my lord," Eddie spoke quietly. He was no fool, and he knew the ring of authority when he heard it. "But 'Is Grace is away, my lord. 'E left at first light for France."

"Then the best course will be for you to tell your head butler that you found Tom like this, that he obviously slipped and hit his head on the shovel. It's a perfectly understandable accident. In fact, that is what happened, although we needn't say that there was a fight involving my valet, need we? I am sure His Grace would be even angrier to be called back to London over this matter."

Eddie's eyes lit upon Mike in a silent plea for assistance. This was obviously Mike's employer, but was he friend or foe? At a barely perceptible nod from Mike, Eddie turned his glance back to the earl. "I understand, my lord. I'll do just as you say. And your lordship needn't worry none about Tom. 'E was plain bad, all the way through. There won't be no one round 'ere who mourns 'im none, nor cares to ask too many questions neither. Good riddance, I say."

"I'm afraid I have to agree with you, Eddie. However, if there is any trouble about the matter, come to me. Do you know how to hold your tongue, boy?"

"Aye, my lord. I've no wish to come up against the police, nor 'Is Grace neither, for that matter."

"Good. I shall leave you then."

Casting a cold eye on Maude, Radford turned to go, leaving her to follow in his wake. Though only a few blocks, it was a long, silent walk home.

Chapter Sixteen

Maude was back up in the small attic room that belonged to Mike. She was quarantined, or that was how he had put it in the few terse sentences his lordship had deigned to speak to her on their return. A prisoner was more like it, she reflected bitterly, considering that her door was locked from the outside.

After the earl had left her, Mrs. Formby had arrived, tight-lipped and disapproving, with two maids carrying a luncheon tray and bath water. They had pulled the copper tub shared by all the servants from a storage closet at the end of the hallway and brought it to her room. What a welcome sight! Maude had scarcely been able to wait to wash the filth of Tom's touch from her body. Thank God the man had not had the chance to do more than paw at her!

Mrs. Formby had dismissed the maids, then had tersely helped Maude to undress. The woman had carefully removed Maude's bandage, remarking with relief that there was no fresh blood and no sign of infection. She had rebandaged the wound with clean linen, then bade Maude to bathe, leaving the room.

Maude now sat in the water, careful not to wet the bandage, luxuriating in the warmth and the soft, lilac-scented soap that had arrived inexplicably with the bath. She laughed to herself as she lathered it onto her washing cloth. Mike had used the unscented lye soap provided for the servants which could bloody well take the skin off if one rubbed too hard. Mrs. Formby couldn't be that angry with her to furnish her with such a treat.

The luncheon tray with a covered dish was on the dresser, a tantalizing aroma wafting toward her. Her clothes had been taken away, and no fresh ones had been provided. One of her nightshirts was draped over the back of the chair. She supposed she was expected to put that on and wait until his lord high majesty decided what was to be done with her.

Oh, he was angry, there was no doubt about that. But now she was angry, too. Yes, she had gone against his wishes in going to the duke's home, but if the man couldn't see that she had done it for his own good then he was a fool. Of course it had turned out badly for her; he had been right about that. But hadn't he been in as much danger as she? There would have been nothing to prevent Tom from killing Radford. The footman could have done it in the house and moved the body with nobody the wiser, making it look like a robbery in the street. Obviously, the duke wanted Radford dead; he had proven that much last night. And Radford would have made such an easy target, arriving by the front door, demanding imperiously to see the duke. No, she had been right to try the back-alley approach first. It was just bad luck that Tom had come into the stable and found her talking to Eddie. Oh, why couldn't the man see that she had only been trying to help?

The water grew cool and she stepped out reluctantly. There was a dull ache in her side, but the pain was not as severe as it had been. The warm steam from the water had done her wound some good, but it had not soothed her temper. She pulled the clean nightshirt over her head and sat down on the bed with the tray on her lap. The beef stew was warm and delicious, but she tasted nothing save her anger.

Radford rode home in a black whirlwind of emotions. He was still in a rage. He could not block from his mind the image of that offal of a man slapping at his beautiful monkey, rearing over her, enjoying her cries, ramming his knee at her below. That the man would die, there, in that minute, had been a foregone conclusion. But why had she defied him? What idiotic impulse had led her to forsake his protection and the safety of his room and expose herself to the rape and slaughter that surely would have resulted had he lingered over his breakfast? It was unfathomable.

And yet, through his rage, he rode a crest of joy at the thought of the nest he had planned for the two of them: the lovely hideaway that he would fill with pretty treasures to delight her heart, the dresses and flimsy things he would dangle in front of her to make her smile. Surely she could be made to behave herself, to curb that willfulness that drove her to second guess his judgment, to prefer her rationales to his. They could have such a fine time together, if she would just behave like the beautiful young woman that she was. It must be a function of her servant-class status, he reasoned to himself. No well-bred young lady would venture forth without an army of chaperones and male servants for protection. Well, he smiled to himself, willing to forgive her in her ignorance, he would teach her the ways of the gentry. She would have no need to rely on her own poor resources in the future.

It niggled in the back of his mind that she was pretty good at that, surviving on her own under adverse circumstances. But he thrust the thought down. Her days of masquerade and scavenging were over. His solicitors were making the arrangements even now. She had found her protector.

Smiling benignly to himself, he stepped from his coach at the front entrance to his townhouse. "Have Mrs. Formby join me in the library, please, Martin," he said to his head footman, who was still doing double duty as butler, since Farnsworth had been ordered to the country for a long recuperation. In fact, the elderly retainer had not regained his strength, and the earl doubted that he would be able to return at all.

Radford had kept up the pretense of a recuperation because Farnsworth would not hear of retiring, and had housed the man in a cottage on the vast country estate. It was away from the main house, since the Radford butler, who was nearly as old and imperious as Farnsworth, would brook no interference, implied or direct, with the running of his domain. The earl understood through the servants' grapevine that the two sparred continually, although they were thick as thieves in the evenings, playing chess by the cottage fire until the wee hours.

He walked into the library and was followed almost immediately by Mrs. Formby, who shut the door behind her.

"Well, how is our young lady, Mrs. Formby? Has she strung her bed sheets out of her attic window and shinnied down?"

Mrs. Formby was slightly alarmed for a moment. Such a feat might indeed be a possibility where this Molly was concerned. "When I last looked in on her, my lord, she was sitting quietly in her bed. She ate a good luncheon and she does not complain of any difficulty from her wound."

"That's good. Perhaps she can sit still long enough for me to spirit her away. I won't breathe easily about this matter until she's gone. The staff is too fond of Mike to let a small matter of contagion keep them away from him for long."

"Yes, my lord," Mrs. Formby agreed. "The kitchen staff is already planning special treats to take him to ease his recovery. I had to be very firm that he was to have no visitors at all. Doctor's orders."

"Indeed"the earl laughed"the 'doctor' has ordered 'Mike' into the country for a few weeks rest. I hope to have the girl out of here by tonight, after everyone has gone to bed. I've settled on a place for her to stay until we can make permanent arrangements.'' He paused, unwilling to let Mrs. Formby guess anything near to the truth.

"If I may be so impertinent, my lord, have you learned anything about the child's background, how this garish masquerade came to be?"

"Enough to satisfy me, Mrs. Formby. It seems she was badly abused in her former household and she fled as a boy in order to be safe on the road. That I ran her down in my carriage was, of course, an unexpected event and trapped her here in the guise of a boy. She made the best of it, and, you must admit, did a good job at that. I am comfortable with the girl's story and she has given us no other reason to doubt her good intentions. In fact," he went on, seeing her dubious stare, "you will remember that she had charge of my cuff links and studs and such, all solid gold and quite valuable on the thieves' market, and I certainly have never missed anything."

The earl's tone brooked no contradiction, not that the woman would have dared anyway. She only hoped he was not the dupe of a clever schemer in the person of this Molly. Mrs. Formby hardly knew what to think anymore. Boys turned into girls before her very eyes and the ninth earl of Radford spent hours dealing personally with the fate of a serving girl picked out of a ditch. The man was too kindhearted by half, and she dearly hoped this Molly would not further abuse his trust. Still, he was right that the girl had proven herself trustworthy regarding the household affairs. Why, she had virtually had the run of the place during the epidemic, and nothing untoward had occurred.

"Can you find something suitable for her to wear this evening?" he asked. "Nothing fancy. She'll be provided for once she gets there. I just want her to arrive at her destination dressed as a respectable female for once."

"Certainly, my lord. I'll provide her with a dress from the servants' wardrobe," Mrs. Formby answered, adding, almost to herself, "I hope she'll agree to put it on."

"Oh, she'll put it on all right, unless she wants me to do it for her . . ." He stopped, at once confused by the images which chased through his thoughts and the taken-aback look on Mrs. Formby's face. Best not to pursue that line of conversation further. "And a bonnet, too, I think," he continued coolly. "She'll look peculiar without one, won't she?"

"Yes, my lord."

Mrs. Formby's lips barely twitched but there was a hint of a smile about her eyes which relieved the earl. "Very well then. Tell Martin to expect word from my solicitors sometime today. In the meantime, I shall be out for the rest of the afternoon. I've a few things to take care of. I will take the girl away myself late this evening. Have Martin pack an overnight bag for me. And I will not dine here this evening. In fact, I shall probably be out until late."

"Very well, my lord." Mrs. Formby would have given a month's wages to know where he had arranged to place the girl. No doubt he had found a serving-girl's position for her in the home of a friend. Well, she hoped the child could stand the restrictions of being female once again.

"Oh, and, Mrs. Formby, see about getting me a new valet, will you? I find my present one just will not do."

He smiled at her and she could not resist smiling back.

It was past midnight. The house was dark and silent. Martin opened the door for Radford who strolled in, pleased with himself and eager with anticipation. Everything was ready. Peabody and Peabody, solicitors to the earls of Radford since before the Flood, had outdone themselves. They had procured a fine townhouse, tastefully appointed, let by a wealthy, elderly baronet, who had fled the epidemic over a month ago and did not fancy a return to the city at this time. He had left a small staff in residence, so the place was clean and fresh. It was filled now with freshly cut, exotic flowers, and in the master bedroom were filmy, frothy things that would look delicious against Molly's silky skin. There had been a few pouts and tears from Bella, all according to script with no heartfelt emotion behind them. He had taken her out to a sumptuous dinner and explained that the time had come to go their separate ways. She had brightened visibly, though, at the sight of the velvet box he laid in front of her, and her tears had evaporated entirely when the box was opened to reveal a splendid diamond necklace with a blood-red ruby pendant.

Well, that part had been easy, he thought to himself, as he allowed Martin to remove his coat and gloves. Now for the lion's den.

"I shall not retire just yet, Martin, but you may do so. I shall require no further assistance this evening." He would be damned glad to be through with all this sneaking around in his own house. Made him feel like a bloody schoolboy with a toad in his pocket.

"Very good, my lord." Martin recognized the firm dismissal. The earl was, after all, a healthy young man and an accomplished rake, and was not above spiriting young ladies into the house after hours. Martin knew well enough not to interfere. He evaporated, the way a good butler should.

Radford stood, warming his hands by the fire, waiting for Mrs. Formby to appear as they had agreed. He was alive with anticipation, yet curiously reluctant to go upstairs. How would she receive him? There had been such coldness between them this morning; it seemed like such a long time ago. He had been so angry with her. It was justified, of course.

Yet, oddly enough, he did not feel any anger now, only the tingling of his nerve endings as the image of her, rosy and naked, as she had appeared in the candlelight last night, danced in his mind. Well, the awkwardness would melt when she saw what he had done for her. She would be his pampered darling, his mistress. He would be hers to command. And she would be his to ravish.

He heard the door open and shut quietly behind him. When he turned, Mrs. Formby stood erect and proper as usual, but there was just a hint of disarray in her manner, the suggestion that all was not entirely as it should be.

"Well?" He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"My lord . . ." she hesitated.

That was a bad sign, the earl thought grimly to himself. "Yes?"

"She is not . . . entirely . . . amenable, my lord. She is unaccountably angry. I cannot think what the child has to be angry with your lordship about." Mrs. Formby fairly huffed with indignation on the earl's behalf. "She has changed into the outfit that I gave her, and packed up her few belongings, but I cannot be certain she is to be trusted not to make a scene. We simply cannot have that . . ." Mrs. Formby would have wrung her hands had she been capable of such a gesture.

Radford sighed to himself. When had dealing with this girl ever followed the expected course?

"Very well, Mrs. Formby. Do you think you could just get her to come down here quietly? I do not dare go up to that floor and risk a scene where everyone could hear us. Is everyone in bed by the way?"

"I believe so, my lord. All the lights are out." Mrs. Formby was just beside herself. The idea that this slip of a servant girl could discommode the earl of Radford who was condescending to help her personally with her difficulties was just too much!

"Good. Then let's get this over with, shall we? I'll be happy when this household returns to normal."

Amen, the woman thought as she nodded briskly and left the room. If the girl knew what was good for her, she would come quietly. Mrs. Formby had had about enough of this nonsense.

He waited. He poured himself a brandy. A stiff one. This was absurd. He felt like a bridegroom, nerves and all. He would surely be able to persuade her to leave quietly. The coach was waiting; all was ready. She would be grateful, adoring, pliable. Or a perfect hellcat. He drained his glass and poured out another. Again, he heard the door, but this time it was not so quiet. He turned. The girl stood in the doorway, Mrs. Formby, tight-lipped at her side, holding her arm, for all the world like the wardress in a gaol. Mrs. Formby held a small bag and a bonnet in her other hand, which she placed inside the room. The girl's face was mutinous. Had he not been so keenly aware of her rage he would have burst out laughing.

She was wearing a gown, a servant's affair, gray and plain, with a crisp white collar at the throat. Over it was a traveling cloak, serviceable, warm, appropriately dull. Black low boots peeped out from beneath. From the neck down, she was a sight to delight the heart of the most dour of housekeepers.

And then there was her hair. Curling and springing around her beautiful face were short auburn ringlets, like no hairstyle seen on any female in this or the last century. What he had taken for granted on Mike, even on the naked beauty in his bed, looked so incongruous on this prim serving maid. He must figure out a way to deflect the attention of the dressmaker tomorrow. Ah, he could say the girl had been the victim of a strange malady and her hair. . . .

"I understand you wished to see me, my lord?" Her words were clipped, her voice like ice.

"Yes, I do. Mrs. Formby"he nodded to the woman"thank you very much, that will be all."

He waited while the housekeeper took her leave. The older woman's hand clutched at the girl's arm and he saw their eyes meet, Mrs. Formby's demanding, beseeching, Molly's angry and defiant. The woman shut the door behind her as she left, leaving the two of them alone together.

They stared at each other in silence, Radford assessing the extent of Molly's anger. If he could just calm her down long enough to get her to their hideaway, she would melt into his arms. It was just a matter of soothing her ruffled feathers, although, for God's sake, it was he who had the right to be furious, after all.

"What the devil do you have to be angry about, I'd like to know?" The words were out before he had a chance to reflect that this approach was not calculated to soothe her wounded feelings.

"How dare you ask me that?" she spat at him, incredulous. "How dare you be so blind as not to know?"

"How the devil am I supposed to know what you have on your mind, madam?" he shouted, forgetting completely that it was noise he wished to avoid. "I didn't even know what sex you were this time last night! I've spent all day taking care of your needs!"

"All day, indeed! While I sat upstairs, a virtual prisoner in that room, no one allowed to talk to me, no one to tell me what was going on . . . and after what had happened to me . . ."

"What happened to you was your own damned fault, and you bloody well know it! I gave you strict orders to stay in my room, in my bed, as a matter of fact! And you promised you would. Instead, what did you do? You put on that infernal boy outfit of yours and walked straight into the hell I told you was waiting for you! Of all the stupid"

"Stupid! You have the nerve to call me stupid? What on earth do you think that murdering bastard would have done to you had you waltzed up to the duke's door and demanded admittance? Served you tea? If you want to discuss stupid, let's talk about where he would have dumped your body a half hour later!"

"You overestimate that fool's abilities, madam. You saw what happened to him!"

"Only because you caught him by surprise. Had you gone to the duke's house as you had planned, he would have"

"Enough!" he roared. "I do not need to justify myself to a slip of a girl who doesn't know enough to rely on a man when she can for protection. My God, girl, what kind of men are you used to that you cannot trust me to take care of myself and to see to your safety as well?"

Maude was silent. The images of her poor benighted Uncle James and the fat, cruel John rose in her mind. Even her precious father had died and left her to the tender mercies of her vicious aunt. No, she had no reason to trust the power and beneficence of any man.

They were silent for a moment, regarding each other warily, as if waiting for the next strike.

"We will leave now," he began in what he hoped was a reasonable tone. "The carriage is waiting. Do you have everything you wish to take with you?"

"Where are we going?" Her voice was flat.

"You will be pleased. Let me surprise you. It's not far, only a few blocks away, really." He was coaxing her. He couldn't believe it. He had spent hundreds of pounds and a great deal of his time today to please this serving girl and here he was, begging her to accept his favors.

"I will go with you, but only because I will not endure another minute in this house where I am treated like a prisoner, like a pariah." She picked up her bag and bonnet and stood, mutinous and glowering.

He drained his brandy, then set down the glass. "Let's go then."

He took her arm and her bag, and they left the room. She felt the heat from his hand, burning through the flimsy cotton of her sleeve. It felt good, his hand on her, gentle, protective. If only he were, indeed, hers to trust, to look to. But there was no such guardian angel in the life of Maude Romney. She walked out into the night with him, aware that once again she was adrift.

Chapter Seventeen

He had opened the front door himself, with an ornate brass key provided to him by his solicitor, Mr. Peabody. There were five servants in the house, including the butler, but they had all been warned to be abed at this hour, up on the third floor at the back of the house. Radford had wanted no interruptions, no explanations, no introductions to spoil the splendor of this moment.

So far, however, it had not been so splendid. His fetching mistress, after a chilly, silent carriage ride, had stepped into the hallway and divested herself of her cloak, with an indifferent glance around her. Now she stood staring coldly at him, as if waiting for instructions. Obviously, it was up to him to effect a thaw between them. Well, he had had some practice in soothing irate women. He took her arm and led her into the drawing room.

Although not as spacious as his own townhouse, this one had been decorated and furnished lavishly, with no expense spared. The walls were covered in a pale peach moire silk cloth. Matching draperies hung in the floor-to-ceiling windows that were set in carved, paneled bays. Around the room were finely carved, upholstered chairs and settees, arranged in cozy groupings, punctuated by delicate tables sprouting priceless bric-a-brac. On the walls hung rich, dark oil paintings of dignified, if dour, forebears. A large marble fireplace gave off the warmth of a blazing fire. Radford cast an appreciative eye about him, noting the exotic, freshly cut flowers set artistically about the room. Peabody had, indeed, outdone himself with every attention to detail.

Radford led Maude to a small divan where he seated her. With an eye toward warming her frosty demeanor, he turned to the decanter and glasses on a rococo table in the middle of the room. He poured brandy into two snifters, then turned back to her. She sat erect and stiff, staring at him. The flames from the fire brought a rosy glow to her beautiful skin, and were reflected in the depths of her angry green eyes. She had removed her severe bonnet and the firelight danced in her auburn ringlets. She looked so young and so vulnerable and so utterly delicious with the curls framing her exquisitely sculpted face. Radford found himself staring at her. He could not get used to the beauty he now saw in her face, where before he had seen only a freckled gamin. He found himself wishing women could cut their hair as she now wore it. It suited her so well, the soft, unruly curls, unbound and springing gloriously free.

"This will warm you, monkey." He proffered the brandy which she accepted from him, her eyes down, wordless. She took several small sips at once. He sat down next to her, close, but not quite touching. In the firelight, her eyes had lost their icy glaze, uncertainty and sadness now shadowing the green depths.

"I would have peace between us, monkey," he began, taking her hand in his. She did not pull away. "I am sorry you were so distressed today. I was angry with you, and in my anger, I overlooked the horror of your ordeal. I should not have left you alone all day in such a fashion. I am sorry. Will you forgive me?"

She turned to him. There was pain in her eyes, a hurt that went deep. He longed to replace the hurt with laughter.

"I am sorry, too." She spoke softly. "You were right, of course, about the danger, and it is good of you to concern yourself with my well-being." She turned away, back to the fire.

Ah, that was it. She was still thinking in terms of being his servant, beneath his notice, a creature from below stairs to fetch his bath water and clear his dishes from the table. Mrs. Formby had doubtless had a chat with her about her ingratitude in the face of such condescension on his part. No wonder the girl was so insecure.

"Monkey, your well-being seems to be the only thing on my mind lately. I am not able to think about anything else." He leaned toward her; she did not pull away. He inhaled her lovely scent. She smelled of lilacs and of clean, pressed cotton, delicious, light, not at all like the heavily perfumed young ladies he was used to of the ton and the demimonde, some of whom used a cloying scent to cover a disinclination to bathe.

Maude felt his nearness like a searing heat. It was impossible to remain angry and remote when he was this close, when his soft words tickled her ear and made her want to lean into his chest, to feel its hardness beneath her fingers. She felt his lips against her throat, soft, hot, and hungry. She would not turn to him. She would hold herself aloof. She would make him stop.

His hand slid slowly up her hip, coming to rest on her breast. A low moan escaped her lips. His breathing was ragged in her ear as he nibbled at her neck. She turned her head, just a fraction, and their lips met in a ravenous, insistent kiss. He brought his other arm around her and pulled her close, bending her head back, trailing his lips down her throat. His hand pushed against her breast, covered with the proper gray cotton. There were so many buttons down the front. He made short work of them with a simple pull that sent them scattering, unheeded, to the floor.

His hand was warm as it slid into her torn bodice, kneading her breast, gently squeezing the erect nipple. She hardly remembered to breathe as his lips followed, his tongue, hot and soft against her burning skin. She gasped with the shock of pleasure as his mouth found her breast. His hand moved down again to her ankles where he pulled at her dress, pulling it up, until he could reach the place she so needed him to touch. As if of its own volition, her hand moved down as well, coming to rest on the hard bulge in his breeches. He groaned deep in his throat and pushed against her, his thigh separating hers, the hardness of his manhood pressing against her.

He sat up swiftly, pulling her to him, as he swept his arm under her knees and lowered her gently to the soft carpet before the fire. He knelt over her, his breathing irregular as he drank his fill of the sight of her. Her bodice was torn open to the waist. Her creamy, round breasts, heaving with each breath, glowed in the low light of the flames. Her skirt and petticoats were in disarray, caught up around her hips, laying bare her sweet auburn nest, moist and ready for him. Her green eyes were heavy-lidded with passion, her lips reddened and full with his kisses.

''Oh, monkey, you are so beautiful," he moaned as he pulled open the front of his breeches.

She could not help herself as she reached forward, mesmerized with the sight, helping him to pull his breeches away from his swollen member, eager now to feel him bury himself inside her. Pulling off his boots, he stretched out the length of her, his hand now probing her, his fingers seeking that sweet spot that so craved his touch. She was wet and hot and ready for him. Before she realized what had happened, he was on his back, pulling her over on top of him.

"Ride me, monkey," he rasped as he guided her onto his shaft, now throbbing with his need. The shock of pleasure as he entered her ripped through her. Kneeling astride him, moaning, she pushed herself up then down, again and again driven instinctively with the frenzy of her desire. Her breasts hung tantalizingly just out of reach of his tongue, but finally he pulled her down to him so he could suck at her hard nipples. Faster and faster she moved toward the peak she knew they both sought, until with a low cry, she felt the waves of pleasure break over her and she shuddered in relief.

He could not wait until she was done, the sight of her face, flushed in her climax, driving him to his release. At last, they lay still, wet with the sweat of passion, their breathing gradually slowing to a normal rate.

There was no sound in the room save the occasional popping of the fire. Softly, his fingertips caressed her back as she lay atop him. "Are you cold, monkey? We could sleep down here, but there are no blankets, and I don't want to startle the parlormaid in the morning."

A low giggle told him she had heard what he said.

"Let's go upstairs, shall we, and see what we can find." With a whack at her fanny, he heaved her off him. Standing now, he held her by the shoulders to give her a thorough eye once again. He touched the bandage lightly, concern in his eyes. "I forgot entirely about your wound. Did I hurt you?"

He sounded so abashed she almost felt guilty for she, too, had forgotten it. "It hardly hurts at all now, my lord. It's just a scratch after all, and it's healing so well I don't even think there will be much of a scar." The instant she said the word she regretted it. She had no wish to increase his guilt.

"I pray you have no scar at all, but even if you do, you are so beautiful it won't matter." His eyes were warm as he swept her form again. "I do not think I shall ever have enough of looking at you like this, monkey. I am sure you will look charming in a pretty dress, but I think I shall always prefer you this way, naked and slippery wet."

She laughed, a low chuckle, but gave it right back to him, her eyes roaming appreciatively over his form. "And I prefer you, my lord, rock-hard and standing at attention in my presence."

With a great guffaw, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down again, burying his face in her curls. "None of the ladies of my acquaintance have the effrontery to talk to me the way you do, monkey. Perhaps that is why I like you so much."

"Someone needs to take you down a peg or two, my lord. You are in serious danger of becoming a pompous prig."

"I suppose that will not happen while I have you to tell me what a stupid, bumblingwhat else?oh, yes, muttonheaded fool I am. I am much obliged, madam." He sat up, holding her close, then stood, pulling her up and setting her on her feet. He laughed as the last remnants of her prim maid's outfit fell to the floor and she stood clad in nothing but her boots.

"Fetching, very fetching. It might start a new fashion trend among the ton."

Laughing together, they bent to pick up the worst of the debris, leaving the tiny buttons to the curiosity of the parlormaid.

Maude stood, clutching the dress to her. "Who else is in this house? This dress is beyond hope and I cannot go upstairs like this."

"Why not? Everyone is asleep. There are only the servants, anyway, and they are several floors up at the back of the house."

In his arm he held a bundle of his clothes and boots and her small bag. He held out his other arm to her. He was utterly without a stitch. "Madam?" he asked.

With a great laugh, she took his arm, and they made their stately progress up the grand central staircase, naked as newborn babes.

The master bedroom was sumptuous, large and darkly paneled, with velvet draperies and a vast mahogany bed, made up with silk sheets and thick down pillows, and folded back invitingly. It was very masculine, having been the bedroom to the elderly, long-widowed baronet for many years. Radford made a vague mental note to himself to have the room redone in pastels, satins, and laces to suit his lovely lady. She was so wonderful, this impish creature, who inflamed his senses and who showed him no more respect than he got from his own brothers. It was, indeed, a breath of fresh air, after years of toadying and kowtowing, and "yes, m'lords."

He closed the big door behind him, then, dropping his belongings in the middle of the floor, turned to her with a grin. "You'll at least remove your boots before you climb into bed? I'd hate to rip the sheets."

She dropped her own bundle at her feet and stood before him. She felt so deliciously free, so utterly without care, naked in this strange house with this man, as if, for this brief interlude, all the rules were suspended and she could do as she pleased. The house was silent as a tomb, as he had promised. She looked about her now with interest. This was no doubt the home of some gentleman friend of his, away in the country for now, she supposed. She was grateful to be here, away from the hubbub of the earl's house, where she teetered on the brink of exposure every minute and where she felt so keenly the tenuousness of her position.

She was aware that he approached her. The firelight danced on his luscious body, muscular and firm. He pushed her gently back into a chair and knelt before her, picking up her foot.

"You have removed my boots any number of times, haven't you, monkey? Allow me to return the favor." He pulled off the low boot, then reached for her other foot and removed the second one. "You have a lovely foot, monkey," he said, caressing her trim ankle. "I will put satin slippers on you to match your beautiful gowns, like a fairy-tale princess."

Maude had laid her head back against the cushion of the chair, drowsy now from the warmth of the fire in the closed room, feeling the tickle of his soft touch on her foot. What was that he was talking about, fairy tales and slippers, such nonsense, beautiful nonsense. He would dress her in satins . . . How lovely. . . .

Suddenly her eyes flew open. "What do you mean, my loEdward?" she asked, a gnawing apprehension growing inside her.

"I'll show you just what I mean," he answered, his voice low, like a velvet caress.

Hestood and walked behind her chair to the large armoire standing against the wall. Pulling it open, he found just what he sought, several peignoirs, ordered today for immediate delivery, each looking like the frosting on a cake, all lace and silk and spun nothingness. He smiled to himself. She would look delectable in theseand out of them. Grabbing them up into his arms, he walked back to her. He tossed them like frothy clouds into her lap.

She stared at them, at a loss to understand. "What are these? Whose bedroom is this? Edward, if these belong to some lady friend of yours, you can get them off me right now. This is not funny . . ." she broke off, confused, when he began to laugh.

"They certainly do belong to my lady friend, monkey. I bought them for you."

She stared at him in consternation. "But what are they doing here? Whose house is this?" She looked around, as if expecting some gentleman to materialize and bid her good evening.

"Actually, it belongs to an elderly gentleman who has retired to the country. His agents let it to me this morning, and so now it belongs to you. And tomorrow, first thing, the dressmaker is coming to measure you for a new wardrobe, silks and satins. No more servant's gray for my lovely lady." He smiled, waiting for the light of joy and relief to dawn in her splendid green eyes.

She stared at him, letting it all sink inthe house, leased for her, the peignoirs, a dressmaker. Now she understood. "You expect me to be your mistress." Her voice was flat, expressionless. "My mistress, my love, my pampered darling. Monkey, you are mine to protect now. You need not fear for your future from now on."

He leaned forward to kiss her, but she flinched, as if he had slapped her. It was his turn to look confused. Pushing the frothy bits of stuff from her lap, she stood abruptly and stepped to the side, away from him. She knelt down and picked up her discarded gray gown, stepping into it and holding the pieces of it together in front of her like a shield.

"I realize you are not to be blamed for this, my lord," she began, the snapping anger in her eyes giving the lie to her words. "It is I who have behaved in such a wanton manner as to make you feel I would be receptive to the idea of being a kept woman." She spoke in a low voice, trying to contain her fury. The shame that she felt at this moment was overwhelming. She had besmirched the Romney name. Not even Cousin John was such a blot on the family honor. Thank God her parents had not lived to see this moment.

Radford stood by the chair and raked his fingers through his hair, willing himself to be patient. Feeling a bit foolish trying to reason with her while he stood naked, he leaned down to pick up his breeches and stepped into them. Of course, the girl was young and raised as a servant in the country household of a gentleman, such as it was. She did not understand that he meant not to shame her but to honor her with his attentions. Any woman of her status would jump at the chance to be his paramour. Only a young lady of the ton would flinch at such an arrangement and he doubted if she had ever even met, much less conversed, with such a creature.

"Monkey, this is not a dishonorable arrangement," he began in a reasonable tone, fastening his breeches. "You will have security, spending money, your own household, servants. You'll be a lady in your own house. No one will offer you offense about the situation. It is done all the time" "Not by me!" she snapped. "I'd sooner starve than live as your mistress, my food in exchange for my favors!"

"You make it sound so seamy. That is not what I mean at all. I mean to take care of you, to indulge your every whim"

"Until someone new strikes your eye? Until you marry? Then what? Will Lady Radford let you out one night a week to satisfy your cruder needs with your fancy piece?" She was furious now. How dare he try to reason her with her about such an issue!

He was nonplused. This was not the usual course such a conversation took. Moreover, these arrangements always concluded the same way, with the gentleman making a handsome settlement on his former lover and the ties severed amicably. But it was not discussed ahead of time. That would, indeed, turn it into a seamy sort of financial arrangement. And a wife should never enter into the matter at all!

"Frankly, I have no intention of marrying," he began. "I see no need to answer to anyone except myself, and my brothers can fetch an heir to the title. And, naturally, when we tire of each other, I will see to your financial independence"

"So I won't have to move on to be someone else's whore?" she asked, rage in her voice. "How magnanimous you are, my lord!"

"That is precisely correct!" he snapped back. "So that you will have no need of anyone else's protection." He was angry now, too. As angry as she was. Why was it this girl could always make him feel like such a fool? "I fail to see what you are so worked up over. I make you a handsome offer, one that any number of young women would jump at and you"

"Any number of women?" she cried. "What kind of woman do you consort with that this would be an acceptable arrangement? And why don't you go and ask one of them instead of insulting me?" She paused only to draw her breath. "I deeply regret my behavior over the last twenty-four hours." she continued, "but I will be no man's doxy!"

"Then what the devil will you be, may I ask, since you're too high and mighty to share my bed?" he shouted back. "A valet? A stableboy? A bootblack? Or will you carry chamber pots and feather dusters up and down stairs for the rest of your life?"

She inhaled deeply. They were back to the real problem, the one she had wrestled with since learning she was almost penniless and at the mercy of her aunt.

"I will carry chamber pots if I must," she declared coolly. "It is more honorable than earning my living on my back as you suggest. However, I had thought to apply for a governess position."

"Governess?" He was incredulous. "And what are you going to teach the little buggers? To cheat at cards?"

"How dare you!" she fairly shrieked. "I can teach what they need to know, don't you worry!"

"Ah, and have you a gentlewoman's ability at needlework?" he asked coldly.

She flinched. He would have to pick on the one thing she couldn't do at all. Well, she would just have to get better at it fast. She would practice.

"And can you play upon the pianoforte and warble passable tunes, and do watercolors, and parle Français and sprechen sie Deutsch? And how is your penmanship?"

A sob caught in the back of her throat. She could do none of those things with any skill. No one would hire her on as a governess. Her hands clutched tightly at the maid's uniform, as if that perhaps would be her last refuge. "I can teach riding," she said haltingly, the catch in her voice betraying her. "I am an excellent horsewoman."

He heard the sob in her voice and it tore at his conscience. He had not meant to yell at her, to lose control and hurt her. She had rejected his offer and made him feel small and foolish and he had retaliated by belittling her dreams. Still, they were nothing but dreams. This country-bred, servant daughter of a stable master would not rise to teach the gentry, who were, if nothing else, inveterate snobs. Family credentials were everything. Governesses were the gently bred daughters of impoverished, but respectable, families. Even the merchant class would shun her. She had best know now how limited her options really were.

"Monkey, no one has a female riding master. I have never heard of such a thing. You will not find employment in such a capacity. I do not even think you could get work as a stable hand. It is just not done." He spoke quietly, his anger dissipated. He watched the struggle in her face. He turned away, looking about the room for the decanter and glasses he knew he would find there. Yes, on a small table by the fire. He stepped over and poured two glasses. Turning back, he noted that she stood very still, her hands still holding the little maid's dress over her chest, staring into the low flames of the fire.

"Monkey, come and sit down." He gestured toward the small loveseat that was placed before the large fireplace. She moved forward and sat, saying nothing. He placed the brandy snifter into her hand. "Drink this, monkey. It will warm you."

He sat down next to her and stared at the fire. She would understand now that she could put aside her scruples and live as his pampered mistress. They would take great joy in each other. There would be no shame.

"It is not fair."

She spoke so quietly, he was not sure he heard her at all.

"What is not fair, monkey?"

"When everyone thought I was a boy, I had so many options. I could work in the stables or as your valet. I had the freedom of the streets. I could even, were I so inclined, learn a trade, or be a clerk. As a female I can do nothing, save scour cooking pots or carry chamber pots. Or bargain with my favors."

He stared into the flames, sipping at his brandy. She was right, of course. No man in his right mind would trade places with a female in this society. And it was no better with the women of his own class. They were nothing but beautiful, or at least well-decked out, chattel, bartered away by their fathers if they had money, and begging for a place to live with a relative if they did not. His hand found the back of her neck and he rubbed her there gently.

"I am sorry you feel so trapped, monkey. This is not at all what I had planned for you." He spoke softly and she leaned back against his hand.

She felt oddly drowsy now, as if all the tumult of the past twenty-four hours had suddenly caught up with her. It was not his fault. She had lied to him from the beginning. He couldn't understand what an insult it was to Maude Romney to be offered a position as his light-o'-love. He was a good man who had taken care of her and was willing to shoulder full responsibility for her for life, in exchange for nothing more than the favors she had given him for free. No, it was not his fault, but she was damned if she could see how it was hers either.

"I do not know what I shall do."

She sounded so forlorn, so bereft that he knew he had to allay her fear. "Well, you must not worry about it now. I have misunderstood you from the very beginning, I admit. Although I can be excused for a part of that, considering that I thought I was dealing with a freckled-faced boy most of that time." He gave her neck a squeeze, then pulled her close. "Monkey, I am sorry that you were so insulted by my offer. I meant no insult, I assure you. I just want to make you happy and free from worry, and this is the only way I know how to do that."

That, or marry her. The thought sprang unbidden to his mind. She had mentioned a Lady Radford. Was that what she was angling for, this servant girl from a ditch? No, it could not be. She had never shown signs of seeking grandeur beyond her station. She had never exhibited the incipient greed and ambition he had come to associate with those who had designs on his name and his title. She had made no move to claim his affection; the aggression had all been his. It could not be.

Yet the idea once born would not fade away. He had never met among the appropriate young ladies of his set one whose company he enjoyed so much. She was refreshing and quick, with a mind uncluttered by all the nonsense he had learned to associate with the fairer sex. She brought a fresh perspective to their discussions, a rich native intelligence that needed no scholarly enhancement to express itself. She did not bore him; on the contrary, he was interested in what she thought and why. And she was so lovely.

Why not marry her? As an earl, he was utterly immune to public opinion, barring some grotesque breach of honor or integrity. The low-born wife instantly acquired the status of her high-born husband. History was replete with such matches, and, he had to admit, the noble family was often better off for the infusion of decent peasant blood. And he did not care a fig for the murmurings of the grande dames. They had murmured about him since he'd reached puberty. He assumed they'd never stop where he was concerned.

But what of his monkey? How would they treat her? While he could bear the slight chill, the snicker behind the back, the mocking glance, could she? Or would the wound go deeper for her, feeding the insecurity she would doubtless bring with her to the marriage? It would bear some thought, this novel idea. In the meantime, he would try to ease her apprehensions.

''I will never force my attentions on you, monkey. Nor will I toss you out into the street. If you do not wish to be my mistress, so be it. It will be my loss. But you may live here, free of obligation to me, as long as you wish."

She turned to him questioningly. "Why would you be so generous to me under the circumstances?"

She sounded genuinely perplexed and he rushed to assure her. "Monkey, you may not have bothered to notice, but I am a very rich man. Trust me, your keep will not put a dent in my assets." "Then I would live on your charity?"

He gave a yank to her red curls. "Why must you put everything in the most negative light? If you were a gentleman of my acquaintance, I would owe you as much for saving my life."

She stared into the fire. He offered her everything, safety, financial security, her own haven, and he asked absolutely nothing in return. Why was she not deliriously happy that all her problems were solved?

"I still don't know what to do," she murmured quietly.

"Do nothing, go to bed. Sleep on it. No decisions must be made tonight." His hand still moved on her neck, in her hair. The fire burned low. He pulled her back into the crook of his arm. "Shall I leave you alone tonight, monkey? I can go home if you like." He nuzzled against her neck, smelling lilacs.

He would do that for her. He would leave her alone in this very expensive townhouse, and ask nothing further of her. And she would sleep alone in that large, cold bed, and awaken alone in the morning. She rubbed her head against his chest, her fingers playing against his arm.

"Stay with me tonight, my lord," she murmured quietly. "Don't go."

His lips traced a line down her neck as his hand rose to cup her breast. She sighed as the heat rose in her anew. She brought her hand up to his face, tracing the stubble that appeared on his chin, running her fingers down his chest. Tonight she would do it for love. Tomorrow she would think again about her honor. . . .

Chapter Eighteen

The ninth earl of Radford awoke with an odd, uneasy feeling. It was not that he was in a strange bed; that was not terribly unusual. Nor was it that a lovely, naked lady graced this bed. That was not unusual either. It was the dream that somehow still lingered, an unsettling dream about this gamine, this bewitching beauty, this servant girl, who for some inexplicable reason, he was strongly considering making his wife.

She had been galloping on horseback in his dream, with him racing next to her, but falling behind with every step. She turned back to him, laughing, her red curls dancing in the wind, shouting, "Pompous prig! Pompous prig!" But in the dream she was no ravishing ladylove; she was not even his boy valet. She was a little girl.

He sat up, careful not to disarrange the blankets that covered her naked form, and gave a tug on the bell pull. It was cold in the room. He had left orders for the servants via Peabody and Peabody that on no account was he to be disturbed, not even to build up a roaring morning fire, until he rang. He looked at the hearth and saw that it was stacked with several stout logs and kindling. There was the faintest glow from the embers in the fireplace. Good. It would not take long to get some warmth into the room once the fire got properly started. He looked back down at his lovely lady, as beautiful in sleep as she was awake and bedeviling him. He willed himself to hold onto the dream. There was something important about it, although he was not sure just what it was. But, like all dreams, the substance eluded him and faded maddeningly with the morning light.

The rich, heavy draperies were pulled back and only a filmy sheer panel covered each window. The room was lightening, a muted sunshine slipping in, making its way across the floor and the covers of the bed. Her skin was rosy in the sunlight. Hers was not the pale, cold beauty so prized among the ton. It was a blushing, healthy glow, a look that spoke of outdoors and wind and rain and laughing. Like the dream. . . .

She was a mystery, this unknown girl. The things she said about herself were true and not true. It was utterly plausible that she was the daughter of a country stable master, mistreated by the scion of the household and his mother. It was utterly implausible that she could be so seemingly refined in speech and manner, and have been raised as a mere servant. Even her scruples about his proposed living arrangement had surprised him. Such niceties belonged only to those who could easily afford them.

No, there was a lie somewhere in this tale, perhaps more than one. Once again he considered one of his earlier ideas, that she was the illegitimate daughter of the master of the house. That was the more likely scenario. It would explain the enmity of the mistress of the house on the one hand, and the refinement of Molly's speech and manner on the other, if the father had been the sort to raise his bastard daughter in the household, with an acknowledged, if socially lessened status. These things were known to happen. Where there was not necessarily enough money to establish a separate household, the illegitimate offspring could be raised at home privately, but not publicly acknowledged, given a tolerable education, with some small, but acceptable, provision made for them in adult years. Many the successful tradesman in the growing middle classes owed his early success to a discreet financial boost and a bar sinister.

But what would explain her remarkable talent with horses? It was not just the ability to ride which she claimed to havehe had never seen her ride, after allbut her intimate knowledge of the workings of the stables. He had seen it for himselfand Frederick had confirmedthat young Mike had a way with horses and excellent stable training. It was most unusual tutelage in a woman, servant or upper class. And far odder, how had she come by her waterfront ways at cards? That she knew these tricks, but had an ironclad morality with regard to their use was a conundrum in and of itself. It was certainly a strange household that had spawned his Molly, however she fit into it.

She stirred under his scrutiny. There was an instant of confusion in her green eyes as they opened and beheld his face over hers. Then she smiled up at him, half-asleep still, and burrowed against him for warmth. His arms came around her and he breathed in her lilac fragrance. She was so soft and deliciously feminine. He must have been mad not to have seen what she was. He felt his loins stirring at the feel of her body pressed against his, but willed himself to ignore the urge. There were things he must do, plans to set in motion, if he were going to solve the mystery of this girl once and for all.

"Are you hungry, monkey? I've rung for tea and coffee and we can get the kitchen staff moving on breakfast." He nuzzled in her hair, his hands ignoring his command to be still.

"I don't think they'll still be in your employ by luncheon, my lord, if you abuse them by demanding a big breakfast at such an early hour." She sighed as his hand found her breast and began kneading it. "Perhaps you're right," he whispered into her neck. "Perhaps we should let the poor things have their breakfast first. We could always find something to do other than eating."

After all, he reasoned to himself, running his other hand down the length of her, it was not an hour past dawn. His errands would have to await the opening of several commercial establishments, anyway. He set to work in earnest, pleased and excited by her ardent response. He had half-feared a resumption this morning of her arguments of last night, and he had little relish for leaving her, as he had offered to do, cold and aloof in her honor.

The timid rap on the door startled them both. Drat! He had forgotten that he had already rung the kitchen.

"Come in," he fairly snarled as Molly bolted under the covers and pulled away from him.

He noticed with amusement that she lay still as a mouse while the shy kitchen maid deposited her tray on the night stand next to the bed and with a bob and mumbled "Good morning," made her way quickly out of the room.

"You can come out now, monkey." He laughed. "I don't think the girl would have seen you if you had been doing pirouettes in the middle of the bed. Her eyes never left her shoes."

Molly peeped out from under the sheets. He was chagrined to note the shame in her face, though she said nothing.

"Monkey, what on earth difference does it make if that poor little waif sees you in bed? She's only a kitchen maid, after all, a servant . . ."

"As am I, my lord, you will recall," Maude answered a touch tartly. "And her opinion matters to me." She drew away from him, pulling the sheets with her and sitting up, completely covered. "As you reminded me last night, my present options are limited. I cannot afford to offend anyone. Especially not the help."

He sat up and reached for the coffeepot, willing himself not to allow his temper to rear up at her words. She had all but accused him of being a snob. And here he was, damned near ready to ask her to marry him!

Pouring the coffee into the delicate porcelain cup, he handed it to her, careful not to spill the scalding liquid. He sipped at his own cup, the silence thundering between them. Again, it came to him that he knew nothing that was verifiable about this girl. Half of what she said could be lies, maybe more. She was lovely; she was luscious; she was infinitely entertaining. And she was a liar. Setting the cup down almost too abruptly for its shelllike delicacy, he flung the covers off and stood. He would have answers to this puzzle by the end of the day, if he had to bribe everyone in London.

Maude cast the slightest of glances in his direction, disinclined to show any further interest in his movements. There he was though, in the very corner of her vision, naked and beautiful, the sun glinting off his golden skin. He gave a long stretch and a great yawn, like a tawny lion awakening for his day's hunt, oblivious to the great gift of beauty nature had provided him. Several long strides took him to his clothing, where it had fallen the night before. With an nonchalance that for some reason made her want to fling her cup at his head, he started to dress. Maude's temperature began to rise again. So he was off, was he, just like that? Thank you, ma'am, for an enjoyable evening?

"Why don't you leave a few pounds on the table, my lord? I don't give credit." She spat the bitter words at him before she had a chance to think how he would react. He turned on her with a glint of anger in his eye that made her wish she had thought before she spoke.

"I do not recall that we had settled on a price yet, madam. I'll leave that for later consideration. Right now I have other, more pressing business to tend to." He jammed his arm into his shirt sleeve, then buttoned himself with angry, tight precision. "As I recall, the dressmaker will be here at ten or so this morning to fit you out. Select anything you wish. I don't care what you spend. I shall return this evening. We will sup here and settle your affairs at that time. I trust I shall find you here when I return?" "Where the bloody hell else would I go at this point?" she snapped. "I haven't got a stitch to put on at the moment, if you will recall!"

"What I recall is that you are very resourceful at disguise. Do not even think about playing the boy again. And in case you are thinking about it, let me inform you that there is only one male servant in this establishment, and he is considerably larger than you are."

Fully dressed now, he strode to the door and pulled it open, pausing only to fling back at her, "And you will not appropriate the maid's uniform either. I expect you to do me the courtesy of being here when I return this evening. What happens after that is up to you."

With a slam to shake the pictures on the walls, he was gone, leaving Maude sputtering. "Damn, damn, and damn!" she shrieked, tearing at the bedclothes with frustration and fury. The pillow aimed at the door fell impotently to the floor, several feet short of its target. He knows I have no choice in this, she fumed to herself.

Leaping from the bed, she swept up the remnants of the maid's uniform Mrs. Formby had provided her with the day before. Hopeless! No one could be seen in those tatters. She would be more exposed than covered! Standing naked in the middle of the floor, pondering her options, she was horrified to hear a tap on the door.

"Just a moment . . . wait a moment, please!" she cried out, dropping the tattered dress to the floor and bounding for the bed. She gained the sanctity of the bedclothes just as the door swung open to reveal the befuddled-looking serving girl, tray in hand, her eyes still glued to her shoes.

"'Is lordship said you'd be wantin' your breakfast up 'ere, ma'am, and some 'ot water for washin'. I can come back later, if you'd like."

Her voice was not much above a whisper, and Maude had to strain to hear her.

"Nno, I'll have it now, thank you." Maude clutched at the covers, holding them to her chin. Oh, for a prim cotton nightgown at this moment! she raged to herself, her face beet-red with embarrassment. How dare he put her in such an awkward position! Although, to be fair, the girl had yet to look up. One had to wonder how she could negotiate the furniture like that.

"If you'll just set it down, I'll manage, thank you." Maude was anxious to get the girl out of the room, certain that the sheets had suddenly become transparent.

"If you please, ma'am . . ." The girl set the tray down and stood, still staring at the fascinating shoes.

"Yes, what is it?" Maude tried to keep the sharpness out of her voice. It was not this child's fault that the man was a pig and a cad and an oaf and she was naked.

"'Is lordship said I was to 'elp you get presentable. The dressmaker'll be 'ere in an 'our or so. I'm sorry you lost all your baggage in the coach robbery." The girl ventured the tiniest peek at her new mistress, only to find the young woman staring at her with mouth agape.

"Ma'am?" the girl queried, fearful that she had somehow said the wrong thing. Her eyes found her shoes again. This was her first post; she had been hired yesterday. Mum had said it was time for her to go into service. She was fourteen.

Recovering herself, Maude smiled. A coach robbery. How clever. And it would help her save face about the face that she hadn't a stitch to her name. "It's all right. Tell me, what is your name?"

"Anna, ma'am," said the girl, again sneaking just the slightest glance up at the young woman.

"Well, Anna, as you can see, I am in an awkward position. I have nothing to get presentable with."

Maude smiled warmly at the girl. Never again would she treat a servant like a piece of furniture. It was not that she had ever been unkind like her aunt had been. It was just that it had been so easy to ignore these noiseless creatures who moved through one's household, smoothing things, making life so much easier and more convenient for their "betters." To the gentry, this was a silent class, a group of machines that should be well-oiled and trouble-free. But now that Maude knew the truth about below stairs, she would not be able to be so blind again. These were real people with real feelings, real problems and real lives. And much humor and quick wit.

"But, if you please, ma'am . . ."

Her small voice had gained a little confidence and Maude no longer had to strain to hear her.

"'Is lordship 'ad some things brought round yesterday for you. Just some dressin' gowns that did not need real fittin' so that you could see the dressmaker, proper-like . . ." she trailed off, uncertain of this new mistress. No one liked a chatterbox, her mum had told her.

"How . . . convenient." Maude had been about to say "kind," but recollected that it was his fault she was sans attire after all. "Well, Anna, let me eat a little something and then I will ring for you."

"Yes, ma'am."

The girl bobbed a little curtsey, and scrambled for the door. Maude could not resist a smile at her haste. Apparently, the girl was as anxious to depart as Maude was to have her do so.

She ate her breakfast with great relish. For all that she had a great deal to worry about, it had not affected her appetite. She had never been one to pick like a bird as young ladies were taught to do. It was one of the reasons she had been such a success as a boy, she thought ruefully. It was odd how the thought of Mike brought a little twist to her heart. There was no denying that despite the horrible circumstances that had led her to attempt the disguise, she had had some of the best fun of her life, running the streets with a freedom she had known before only in her dreams. With a sigh, she shook off the thought. There would be no more Mike, that was certain. Now she was Molly, and at present, like it or not, mistress to an earl.

This was insupportable! In the light of day, over boiled eggs and toast, away from the spell his presence cast over her, she could see that the situation was impossible from all angles. It was like the distortion produced by a kaleidoscope, shifting, changing, sometimes fascinating, but never a true picture. Though her actions of the past two days had laid low her honor, she would do nothing further to besmirch the Romney name, even though no one knew she was a Romney.

Well, that is all well and good, she thought, reaching for another piece of buttered toast. But what will I do instead? It would be wrong, she knew, to accept his favors, living like a queen at his expense while shunning his attentions. It was astonishing that he had even made such a suggestion. Although Maude's acquaintance with young gentlemen of the ton was slight at best, she was certain few, if any, would make such a generous offer. It spoke so well of his character, she thought with a long sigh.

If only they had met under different circumstances . . . But, no, there was no point in pursuing that line of thinking. And besides, she thought, slathering her toast a bit viciously with marmalade, he had known her as an eligible young lady and far from being smitten, he had noticed so little about her that he had not even recognized that the girl who graced his bed was none other than his country neighbor!

And what would she do when he appeared before her again, with his generosity and his touch that drove all reason from her. She knew she had not the power to banish him from her bed, or from her life for that matter. Maude did not know just when she had come to love him, but love him she did, be it her ruin.

She pushed the tray to one side and slid out of bed. The thick carpet felt good on her bare feet. She walked to the armoire, hoping she could find something suitably modest to don before the timid Anna returned.

Opening the heavy mahogany doors, she gaped at the array of pastel froth that met her eyes. One by one she pulled the airy garments out. Every one was transparent! She giggled in spite of herself. The man was bent on seduction, that was certain! But what on earth did he expect her to appear in in front of a dressmaker?

Ah, there was something, right at the end. Pulling it out, she studied the beautiful quilted silk dressing gown, prim enough for a matron, but rich enough for a queen. It was a beautiful pastel green, embroidered all over with tiny, perfect pink roses. Maude had never had anything so grand in her life, and it was a dressing gown! Hanging underneath it were a delicate chemise and underthings in white silk with lace stitched carefully around the edges. Everything was mercifully opaque! These few garments must have been selected for the benefit of the dressmaker.

After spreading them out on the chair, Maude walked to the washstand. She poured the warm water from the ewer into the large bowl and picked up a washcloth. There was a cake of soft pink soap with a rose carved in it. As she lathered it into the cloth, she luxuriated in the delicious scent of fresh roses. Although the room was still chilly, she reveled in her standing bath, delighting in the sweet scent and the clean, cooling water. Her wound barely ached at all now and a quick peek under the bandage showed it to be healing clean and pink. With a laugh, she dunked her head into the bowl, then lathered her red curls. Ah, the joy of short hair! she thought to herself as she poured the water over her head to rinse out the fragrant suds. Perhaps most of all she would miss Mike's hair.

A thick white towel hung on the rack on the side of the washstand, and she used it to towel herself dry, and wrap around her wet hair. Shivering a bit, she stepped quickly into the pretty undergarments and wrapped the thick robe about her. It buttoned primly at the chin and fell gracefully to her feet. Catching a glimpse of herself in the tall mirror standing in one corner, she giggled at her reflection, every inch a proper ladyuntil she took the towel from her short mop. What would the dressmaker think of that? she wondered. Perhaps his lordship had told the woman her hair had been chopped off in the robbery as well! Certain that she now looked proper enough to admit her little chambermaid, Maude rang, then settled herself in the broad armchair to await the child. She did not have long to wait. The girl must have been hovering by the bell and made a sprint for the bedchamber as soon as it had rung. Again came the timid little knock and this time Maude was able to give a calm, dignified, ''Come in." In crept Anna, her eyes on her shoes, bobbing a quick curtsey.

"I've washed and dressed myself, Anna, so I will not need your help for that," Maude began. Anna's eyes flew up, fright written across her young face. "No, it's all right, child. I wanted to do it myself, really," she said quickly, as the girl continued to look abashed. "Really, I'm used to seeing to myself. I did not need help." The girl looked somewhat relieved. Maude made a mental note to herself to make sure that the head of this household's staff was not abusing the child to create such fear in her.

"Do you know if this is the costume I am to wear to receive the dressmaker, Anna?" Maude spoke gently.

"Yes, ma'am. That's it. Did you 'ave enough 'ot water, ma'am?"

The girl's voice was low and Maude found that she had to lean forward to catch all of her words.

"Yes, it was wonderful, thank you. The soap was just lovely." Maude smiled warmly at Anna, hoping to put her at ease, and was rewarded by a slight grin from the girl. "What time do we expect the dressmaker to come?" Maude asked.

"At about ten, ma'am, about an hour from now."

Her voice was ever so slightly less timid, and her eyes had found Maude's.

"Well, that will be fine, Anna. You may show her up when she arrives. I'll do some reading until then." Maude hoped the child would not notice that there didn't seem to be a book anywhere in the room.

With a curtsey, the girl left the room. Alone now, with nothing but her thoughts to occupy her for the next hour, Maude sat in the beautiful brocade wing chair in her elegant silk gown and stared at the accusing, rumpled bed. What was the answer?

The earl of Radford battered on his front door, not waiting for his carriage footman to see to it. Martin opened the door in a whisk, having heard the carriage clattering up.

"Send for Ambrose Peabody at once, Martin," Radford flung over his shoulder, not breaking stride. "And I'll want some breakfast. I'll be in my room."

He took the stairs two at a time, leaving Martin staring after him. The butler shook his head as he made his way quickly to the kitchen. Something was not right, and he'd put fifty pounds on it having to do with that young Mike who had mysteriously disappeared into the country yesterday.

Upstairs in his room, Radford tore off his shirt and dropped it to his feet with the thoughtlessness that goes with being waited on hand and foot since birth. He was about to undo hours of painstaking pressing and methodical folding when Martin materialized at his elbow and retrieved the day's attire from the wardrobe.

Radford said nothing as he dressed, but the black cloud over him was all but visible. Martin made quick work of the earl's neckcloth and beat a hasty retreat. Alone, Radford sank into his large wing chair by the fire to await his breakfast and Mr. Peabody.

How would he present this to Peabody? For all that the old man's discretion was legendary, there was no way to really buy silence from hired detectives. Part of the truth? All of it? That he was considering marriage made the whole truth a dangerous business, yet how could he solve the mystery if he withheld the facts? At length he sighed and shifted in the chair. It was of utmost importance that he protect his monkey from scandal if she were to have any hope at all of acceptance in the ton. Well, he would start with a half-truth, a runaway boy, and see where that led them. He could amend the facts if necessary later on. <><><><><><><><><><><><>

As the door closed behind Madame Arnaud and her woebegone, heavily burdened helper, Irma, Maude sank, exhausted, into the chair. Fever! She had lost her hair to a fever! Madame had been so solicitous and comforting about Miss Ramsey's recent misfortunes, clucking kindly over her bandage. Fever and a robbery! It had also been a relief to learn that Madame thought the lovely Miss Ramsey was the earl's ward, in London now to receive some private tutelage before embarking on her season next fall. His ward, not his mistress. Well, she had to give him credit for inventiveness, but it would have been nice if he'd thought to mention his little tales to her, since she was the one who had to live with them! She suppressed a giggle as she realized that between them she and the earl had quite a talent for concocting convincing whoppers. Perhaps they should abandon all pretense of respectability and take to the road as charlatans!

The several-hour session had been exhausting, not from the actual measuring and fitting, but because Maude had been at war with herself. Only in the dimmest recesses of her childhood memories could she remember being fussed over and pampered in such a way. No dressmaker had been summoned to Romney Manor on Maude's account, not since Aunt Claire had moved in. Those few gowns that had been ordered for Maude were plain, serviceable, and utterly without style. She hadn't much cared at the time, or so she had thought, but now, as she fingered the beautiful silks and velvets a good dressmaker used to entice orders, she felt a longing rise up in her that she, too, might look like a fairy-tale princess instead of the ragtag tomboy she had been most of her life.

Nevertheless, Maude ordered as little as Madame Arnaud seemed able to bear. Doing fierce battle with the lure of the exquisite finery was her sad and battered conscience, drumming away at her and demanding that she spend as little as possible of the man's money under these sorry circumstances. Maude had finally convinced Madame Arnaud that she would order no more than several serviceable day gowns. Madame had graciously given in. Maude rather suspected that, having taken her measurements, the woman would go straight to the earl and attempt to have him order more finery, but at least it would not be on Maude's conscience.

Maude had given in rather quickly in the matter of the riding habit, however. Madame had patiently explained, as Maude tried to select an inexpensive, inferior material, that the earl himself had ordered it for her. It was to be a deep forest-green velvet, so deliciously soft and rich, and as it was already cut out in rough, waiting for Maude's measurements, it would be delivered this afternoon.

But the biggest surprise had come at the end of the fitting when Madame Arnaud had opened up a small case and had shown her several hair pieces in various shades of auburn, carefully rolled and netted into chignons, explaining that she could select the one that matched her own hair most closely and no one would be the wiser.

Maude had stared in surprise, then started to laugh. Rushing to her bag of pitiful belongings, Maude had retrieved her old shawl and brought it to Madame Arnaud. Nestled in the middle, where it had remained untouched since the night of her flight from Romney Manor, was her own long twist of hair. Maude had stammered that it had been cut to preserve it when she fell ill, while Madame had swept it up, examined it, and pronounced it perfect for a chignon. It, too, would be delivered this afternoon, accompanied by a hairdresser to show Maude the trick of pinning it securely.

Immediately after they left, Anna appeared with a fresh tea tray. Setting it down, she turned with an expectant look at Maude.

"Anna, tell me about the household staff. Is there a butler?"

Prisoner of her dressing gown, Maude felt the need to acquaint herself with this house. After all, Edward had rented it for her, even though she had no intention of staying, and moreover, he was expected to dine with her tonight. She felt the prickle of desire at the mere thought, then colored with embarrassment as she realized Anna was staring at her. "I was 'ired yesterday, miss. I don't know much about the 'ouse as yet. But there's Mr. Graves. 'E's the butler, and there's cook, and two maids over me. They was all 'ere before me."

Anna had managed to meet Maude's eye several times while speaking. Perhaps the girl was feeling a little less terrified. At least Maude understood now the root of Anna's fears. As a brand-new hireling the girl probably knew little of service and had no idea what to expect.

"Anna, has anyone sat down and told you what your duties are?" If this was her house, even temporarily, the least she could do was see to its proper management.

"Some, miss. A little. I'm to see to your needs mostly, and 'elp out in the kitchen when you're not wantin' me. The maids clean, and Cook cooks, and Mr. Graves tells us all what to do."

There was almost a smile about the girl's lips. Maude met her eyes and gave her a conspiratorial grin. "I see," she said. "Yes, that's what most butlers are best at. Giving orders. Well," she continued, plucking absently at her dressing gown, "I suppose I'd better see Mr. Graves this morning. I'm not likely to get any more presentable than this till the dressmaker gets back."

"Oh, that's all right, miss," Anna almost blurted out. "Everyone feels real bad about your coach robbery, losin' all your pretty things and gettin' a nasty cut in your side and all. And leavin' you to walk in the mud, so's your only dress got torn and ruined, why that's just criminal it is."

Maude could not refrain from laughing. "Yes, Anna, criminal would indeed be the word for it. Very well, you may tell Graves I will see him now, please, up here."

With a little bob, Anna disappeared.

Maude crossed the room to a small escritoire, where she had found paper, pen, and ink, and sat down to make a few notes to herself. She had never run a household, but as money had been scarce at Romney Manor for a full-sized staff, she had had her share of chores to do. There was a purposeful knock on the door, clearly not Anna, and Maude said, "Come in."

"You wished to see me, miss?"

Graves was every inch the imperious butler, ramrod stiff at attention. Was there a hint of a sneer in his voice? Maude was not sure, but it was clear that he was not one to be fobbed off with tales of robberies and wardships.

"I did, Graves. I understand his lordship will be dining here this evening. Is Cook prepared or shall we send to the market?" Maude matched him in formality, unwilling to allow him the upper hand.

"His lordship has had everything delivered for the evening meal, miss. He has ordered dinner at nine o'clock. Is there anything else you wish to know?"

The sneer was very definite now in his voice, and Maude felt anger rise in her. This is precisely the sort of treatment I can expect as an earl's doxy, she thought to herself furiously. So this pompous jackanapes thought himself above her, did he? Well, she'd like to see him survive on only his wits as she had!

"Yes, Graves, as a matter of fact," she said frostily. "I wish to know the condition of the stables. Are there any riding horses stabled here at present?"

"There are two horses, miss, brought here this morning by his lordship's man. I wouldn't know if they are riding horses or not."

His tone was dismissive, as if he felt she had no right or need to know this.

"I see." Clearly, the man would not recognize her authority in this house. As much as Maude had determined she would not be the lady of the house under the present circumstances, she now wanted this arrogant man to know who was boss. "Then who is in charge of the stables? I will speak to him."

"There is no one here now," he stated loftily, as if pleased at thwarting her simple request. "His lordship will send someone over to tend the horses this evening and a new groom is being hired." He turned away as if to go. Maude noted he had even done away with the "miss" in his address to her.

"Just a moment, I am not done, Graves!" she snapped, her tone imperious. "I will require Anna as my personal maid. See to it that she understands the basic duties of a lady's maid. The dressmaker will return this afternoon for a final fitting and I shall expect Anna to be up to snuff by then." Maude paused, waiting for his acknowledgement which came in the form of a barely perceptible nod. "I also wish to see the stable hand when he arrives. Is that clear?"

Again she waited for his nod. He turned again to go.

"One moment, Graves, I will dismiss you when I am done." The snap of anger was now clear in his eyes, as he turned back to her and stood waiting. "I wish to speak with Cook immediately about the evening menu. Have her come up now. That will be all."

Her eyes locked with his, the battle of wills apparent. After a seeming eternity, he inclined his head, ever-so slightly, murmuring, "miss," then turned on his heels and stalked from the room.

Maude fairly shook with rage. How dare he! If ever she needed proof that she could not possibly stay here as the earl's mistress, here it was, in the sneering condemnation of this arrogant butler! No, she would as soon starve in the streets as bear this kind of humiliating treatment!

Grim with anger, she turned back to the paper on her desk. So his lordship had ordered dinner, had he? Well, she would have the menu from the cook and she'd damn well order changes if anything didn't suit her. For however short a time she remained in this house, she would be treated with respect.

Chapter Nineteen

At half past eight that evening, the earl of Radford was being tied into his neckcloth by a new, very obviously masculine valet, an older man who had become available when his elderly master had departed this life. He was highly skilled and had been much sought after. Radford had outbid them all, but at least he could be sure this one couldn't do double duty as a chambermaid.

With taut efficiency, born of nearly a half century of service to quality, the man was completing Radford's toilette when there came a discreet rap at his door. At the earl's "Come in," Martin appeared.

"Mr. Ambrose Peabody to see you, my lord. Shall I have him wait or send him away?"

"I'll see him in ten minutes, Martin. Show him to the library and see that we are not disturbed." Radford's heart began to race at the thought that he might have an answer to his mystery. He had not expected to hear anything for several days at least, in spite of the urgency he had conveyed.

In a scant ten minutes, Radford entered the library and found Mr. Peabody standing at the shelves on the far wall, nervously thumbing through a near-priceless manuscript.

"Good evening, Peabody," Radford greeted him. "I am surprised to see you back already. Surely your 'tecs' cannot have discovered anything so soon?"

"Good evening, my lord," Peabody began. "I am sorry to disturb you at this hour, particularly since the information may be nothing, but I was sufficiently concerned that I thought I should report to you immediately."

"Indeed?" Radford asked, masking the alarm that Peabody's words set off in him.

"Yes, my lord. You see, the detectives started by nosing round the area of Radford, since that is where the young man was first seen by your lordship," Peabody explained. "They use the standard techniques at this stage, you understand, nothing heavy-handed, just the loose, gossipy talk of traveling laborers in pubs, buying an ale now and then for a talkative chap, you know the sort of thing that I mean, . . ." the solicitor paused, and the earl nodded for him to go on.

"One of my men pretended he had a cousin, a youngish lad, who had run off from service in the area. He gave your Mike's description, of course"

"Yes, of course," Radford interrupted, impatient with all the chatter, "but what did he find out?"

"Well, it was most unusual, my lord. Instead of nattering on for hours and getting nowhere, it seems they struck a nerve immediately. That is, it may be entirely unrelated. I certainly hope so at least, but, you see, it seems there's been others, obviously of the same type as my men, agents, I mean, nosing rather quietly around the same area. Only they are looking for a young woman, daughter of the local gentry, who has turned up missing. It seems the family wants it hushed up, but they suspect an elopement, probably with a young ne'er-do-well.

"The young lady disappeared about the same time as your young Mike ran off. And while the familymainly the aunt, a nasty creature from what I gatheris trying to keep it hushed up, naturally enough, there's those in the area who are beginning to question whether there's been foul play. You see, the aunt's children stand to inherit if this girl dies, and there is some speculation"

"What's her name?" Radford interrupted, unable to bear any longer the flow of irrelevant information. He had turned his back to Peabody to hide his growing elation. Now he had her!

"Uh, let me see, I don't recall off the top of my head . . . Let me check through my notes . . ."

Peabody pulled a sheaf of papers from his leather kit and began a maddeningly slow perusal of them. Briefly, Radford considered strangling him on the spot and grabbing the papers himself, then gave it up as a messy job.

"You see, I fear there is an off chance"Peabody went on with his painstaking search"a very slim chance that the two may be connected somehow . . ."

Radford's heart skipped a beat.

"I know it is remote," Peabody continued, "but there is just a chance, if there was foul play, that your young man could have been a part of the scheme to harm the young woman. That's why I hurried right over to warn you . . . Ah! Here it is!" Peabody held up a torn piece of note paper in triumph. "Romney! Maude Romney is her name!" Peabody fairly beamed at the earl.

For what seemed a long moment Radford just stared back. With all his concentration, he willed his jaw not to drop. Images chased furiously through his mind of a filthy, mouthy little brat with a pistol, and a nosy little chit landing smack in the middle of a tryst. It could not be that his bewitching beauty was none other than that dreadful child. And yet, even as he denied it, he knew that was precisely who she was, and knew with just as much certainty that his fate was sealed. He must marry Maude Romney and with great haste. Her awful family would demand it, and as gentry, however tarnished, they had that right. With a great show of nonchalance, Radford turned and sat, gesturing for Peabody to do the same. Peabody was busily reordering his papers.

''I have reason to believe that the two events are unconnected, Peabody," Radford began, wondering if he could successfully bluff this out. "I had occasion today to question Mike most thoroughly and I got some answers from him. It seems he ran from a Shropshire family who was visiting in the neighborhood where my coach struck him. I have a friend in Shropshire to whom I have sent off a letter asking for verification. I think for now we can call off your dogs." Radford watched Peabody carefully to see how this story was playing out. To him it had "lie" screaming from every word, but Peabody, as usual, only nodded.

"As your lordship wishes, of course. I had hoped there would be some such innocent explanation, and I am terribly sorry that I disturbed you for no reason." Peabody was already packing up to go.

"Nonsense, I am much relieved to hear that the lad's story was not debunked by your men, Peabody. And as for this girl, I don't think Mike had anything to do with her." Radford barely breathed as he watched Peabody's reaction to this statement.

"Of course, you are right, my lord. As I said, there was only an off chance . . . Well, I am all packed up, I think. If you have further need of our services, please do not hesitate to ask." Peabody stood and picked up his case. "I am glad we were able to be of some small service, my lord."

"Indeed you were, man. And I appreciate such quick work."

The earl stood as well, and Martin appeared in response to some summons that Peabody had not even noticed and escorted the solicitor from the room, closing the door behind him.

Radford sat, staring at nothing. Maude Romney of that dreadful family next to the Radford estate, with the poor drunken sot and his shrewish, sharp-eyed wife with the children. What was that chit's name? The one who had been all over him that night he had forced himself to be neighborly and attend their little soiree? Ah, yes, the delectable Amelia, lush with physical charm and all the morals of an alley cat.

Actually, he owed Maude a debt of gratitude for that narrow escape. One too many glasses of wine had put him off his guard that evening. Had Maude not landed on top of them, he might well be escorting Amelia about now as Lady Radford, since it had been obvious to him in the full headache of the next morning that mother and daughter were set to catch an earl that evening. Amelia's hasty marriage had been the talk of the ton a few months ago, with much speculation as to the reason. It had been clear to Radford that Claire had sprung the trap on some other hapless fellow.

Suddenly he froze. A trap. They had set a trap for him with Amelia and had failed. Could it be that that avaricious woman was at it again with her niece? And it was foolproof, really, if they had patience. It would have been easy enough to throw her in the way of his carriage. His comings and goings were no secret, after all. And disguising her as a boy was sheer genius. He would have recognized her had she been dressed as a female. And even if he had not recognized her in her feminine garb, he'd have turned her directly over to his housekeeper and had nothing more to do with the matter. As Mike, it was only a matter of time before she could ingratiate herself with him, then reveal herself as a female and seduce him. And what a clever ploy to pretend she had run off and to have detectives searching for her.

With a snarl of rage, he was on his feet and headed for the door. In the hallway, he stopped long enough only to put on his cloak, then barely one step behind a flustered Martin, he slammed out of the house and into his carriage which stood waiting for him. He was due momentarily at the townhouse to have dinner with the conniving little slut, but he'd be damned if he'd grace her table now. He growled out an order to the coachman to take him to his club, then he settled back into the squabs to nurse his grievance against the entire Romney clan.

Maude sat at her dressing table and surveyed with awe the magic wrought by the hairdresser, Aimee, and Madame Arnaud. Between the two of them, they had transformed a forlorn waif into a fairy-tale princess. Not so oddly perhaps, Madame had delivered two gowns Maude had not ordered along with the exquisite riding habit. Now Maude was wearing one of them, a gown of shimmering satin, a light green that was almost aqua. It had a deep decolletage, nearly, but not quite, immodest, with exquisite lace peeping from the edges at her bosom. The small waist was low and long with full panels in artful swirls beginning at the hip and draping gracefully to the floor. Matching slippers, beautifully crafted, adorned her feet over the sheerest silk stockings she had ever seen. And the undergarments were so fine, so beautifully embroidered, she felt it was a shame to hide them!

But the crowning achievement was her hair. The image which peered back at Maude in the glass was that of a splendid creature with a glorious cascade of auburn curls swirling about her head like the halo on a beautiful angel. The image smiled tentatively as Maude reflected that she had never before looked this beautiful in her whole life. In a way it was heartening to see just what was possible.

Growing up as a tomboy, unloved and not much looked after, Maude had always assumed she was of passable appearance, and having no more than that to look forward to, had never aspired to be a beauty. Yet there, in the glass, was living proof that she was more than passable, that, indeed, she was a beauty.

Somewhere in her memory stirred the cherished image of her mother, and Maude leaned forward, her mouth slightly opened in surprise. Her mother had been exquisite, lovely in deed as well as appearance. Maude had never thought to rival her mother; it had been her father she had imitated all these years. Suddenly, she started to laugh. It was her mother's face which stared back at her in the mirror. I spent all that time trying to be like Papa, she thought ruefully, because I thought I could never be so wonderful as Mama. And now I see I look just like her.

The face in the mirror grew sad. I have a long way to go before I can really be like Mama, she thought. Mama would not be proud of me now. She turned away from the glass, unwilling now to admire herself further in her ill-earned finery.

Rising from the table, she decided it was time to go down and survey the arrangements for dinner. She had been a virtual prisoner in this room all day, unable to bear the icy stare of the butler in her dressing gown. Now, she sallied forth, squaring her shoulders. At least she was no longer at a disadvantage by her appearance.

Downstairs all was in readiness for his lordship. The table in the formal dining room was beautifully set with a fine china service and sterling flatware. The linens were spotless and beautifully starched, and the crystal fairly gleamed in the candlelight. Well, his lordship should have nothing to complain of in my housekeeping, she laughed to herself, even if I did have nothing at all to do with it.

The drawing room was equally perfect, with candles lit and a fire in the fireplace. There was no sign of the tiny buttons ripped from Maude's dress the evening before. Maude colored, recalling the occasion and wondering which of the maids had done the sweeping, and what had been said in the kitchen. It was perfectly obvious that this bunch would not be fooled with tales of wardships and seasons.

The large standing clock chimed nine and Maude felt a thread of excitement curl through her. He was on his way, he would be here any minute. All thoughts of the shame of her circumstances faded with the mere thought that he would soon come through the door and take her in his arms.

I must be more nonchalant than this, she thought to herself. Surely he won't long care for me if I act like a besotted fool every time he comes through a door. With a studied casualness, she sauntered over to the brandy decanter and poured herself a small drink. Wandering into the library, she studied the titles which arrayed the walls, barely noticing that it was a fine library, indeed. The ornate ormolu clock on the mantle chimed the quarter hour. Anxiously, she looked at the clock, then expectantly at the door. Surely he'll come any minute, she thought to herself. But she knew he was punctual by nature and she could not help worrying. If he was in such a fever to see her, why wasn't he hammering the door down?

Like a hungry tigress now, she paced and prowled through the library, back to the drawing room, again to check the dining room, and back to the library. Graves appeared in the library and, with a barely concealed smirk, announced that Cook was distraught over the pheasant. It would be too dry to serve soon. Would miss care to dine alone?

No, miss would not! Maude announced coolly and added, that as she had not heard from his lordship, Cook should make every effort to keep the bird moist. Graves disappeared and Maude resumed her pacing.

Now the library clock chimed ten o'clock. A hour late! Surely there must be something wrong! What if his carriage had met with an accident? What if he'd been robbed in the street? What if . . . Suddenly she heard the peal of the doorbell and a great feeling of relief washed over her. Picking up her empty brandy glass, she again strolled over to the books and perused them with a knowledgeable, bored expression. She waited. And waited.

Graves entered the library, without bothering to knock, Maude noted, in spite of her growing anxiety. He held a small silver tray and on it was a note. Not caring what he thought, Maude ran to him and snatched the note from the tray. It was unsealed; that was odd enough. Opening it, she noted even before reading that it was penned on stationery from Radford's club. And scrawled across the paper in a hand she could not fail to recognize were the words, "Do not wait dinner. I am detained." That was all, nothing more. Not "my darling." Not "my own," not "I love you." Nothing.

She willed the pain from her eyes before glancing up to meet the butler's gaze.

Not bothering now to mask the sneering triumph, he asked, "Would miss care to dine now?"

There was no doubt the bastard had read the unsealed note before bringing it in to her. "Yes, Graves. As you no doubt have surmised"Maude allowed a slight emphasis on the word"his lordship is detained. I will dine now."

With all the dignity she could muster, she turned and walked from the room, not caring to read the glee in his eyes as he beheld a mistress scorned.

Chapter Twenty

Maude had spent a miserable, humiliating evening alone, wandering the spacious, beautifully appointed townhouse. Dinner had been cooked to perfection; the bird had been delicious, not dry in the slightest. The wine on the other hand had been very dry, probably the finest bottle that had ever been served to her. But Maude had tasted none of it as she went through the motions of eating.

She had finally retired to her room near midnight, having heard nothing more from his lord high majesty, although she stopped dead in her tracks with every crunch of carriage wheels in the street. So this was what it was like to be tart to a toff. No respect, no love. Just her availability as required.

She had long since sent Anna off to bed, reasoning to herself that the little maid was just a child, after all, and needed her sleep. But the real reason, she knew, was that she could not bear to be watched divesting herself of her finery, like a fading actress who had given a gala performance to an empty house.

She carefully removed the beautiful dress, trying not to drip tears on the fine satin. The slippers went back into their tissued box. Finally, she sat at the dressing table in nothing but her chemise and stared at the stranger in the mirror. Gone now was the regal beauty who had gazed back at her earlier this evening. Almost as if she watched someone else, Maude saw her hands come up and begin to remove the pins in her hair, one by one. At last, the chignon came loose and Maude pulled it gently free and laid it in its satin-lined rosewood box so that it would stay perfectly curled and shaped.

Then she gazed at what was left of the princess, and after all, she was just a red-nosed, short-haired waif. Nothing had changed, except now she knew what she really was. Leftovers.

Sobbing, she laid her head down on the dresser among the pins and laces. This was no more than she deserved for being so free with her favors. She had always heard of the dire consequences that befell a woman of easy virtue, but that he had tired of her so quickly made it all the more humiliating.

After a while she raised her head. Shunning one last glance at the unforgiving mirror, she went to the wardrobe and rummaged for something to wear. Madame Arnaud had sent a trunkload of personal garments in her size, underthings and nightgowns, each one more exquisitely wrought than the next. Maude had been relieved to see that the night things were modest. Apparently, Madame Arnaud had accepted the story of the wardship, even if no one else in the world was fooled. Reaching now for a delicately embroidered cotton nightdress, Maude slipped it on. The cool, soft material felt good on her overheated skin.

She washed her face in the cool water from the ewer on the washstand, then climbed into bed. The silk sheets were luxurious to the touch, the mattress thick and soft with down. Ignoring it all, she turned her face into the pillow and wept now with abandon. Why had he deserted her? What had she done? What was different tonight from what it had been this morning when he had loved her, or acted as if he did? She could think of nothing she had done, except be free with her love.

She pounded on the pillow, trying to get comfortable, but only anger not sleep overtook her. Was this his way of letting her know who was boss? Was she to be powdered and dressed every night, the joke of the household, as she waited desperately for the favors dispensed sparingly by his majesty? Was he, even now, with some other woman, conferring the honors upon her? In a rage, Maude sat up, fighting with the blankets which had become entangled in her feet with her tossings and turnings.

How dare he? The very least he could have done was send some reasonable explanation, and not make her look like a fool in front of the servants. Come to think of it, she was not going to stand for a butler who thought he was so high and mighty he could not bother to be courteous to her. She would fire him tomorrow and not wait for permission from his royal majesty to do so.

And then she was leaving! She'd ask Madame Arnaud for two dresses fit for service, and she would ring doorbells until she found a position. She'd leave all the rest, except for the chignon. That was hers, of course, and she needed it to look respectable. He could take all that frippery and bestow it on the strumpet he was with tonight! She'd throw it in his bloody face and tell him to go to hell! The pillow hit the floor with a great thump.

All her planning was just ridiculous and she well knew it. She had not the power to fire Graves. He'd laugh at her if she tried. And she'd have about as much luck getting a job in a door-to-door search as she would of being invited to take tea with the queen. He had her trussed up like a Christmas goose, and he was laughing about it!

Maude cried herself to sleep. If one could call it sleep. She tossed and turned and started awake every few minutes at some imagined sound, hoping it was him and planning murder if it were.

At last fatigue and depression overtook her rage. She slept deeply, only a little catch in her breathing as evidence of her distress.

Slam! The front door banged shut behind him as if a typhoon had blown it. The fresh air blowing in through the open windows of his carriage had revived him somewhat. George Willmott was a perfect fool, pushing him out of the club and telling him to go straight home to sleep it off. He'd been planning to leave anyway but he wasn't going home, not yet. He had business to settle and he was damn well going to do it tonight.

He'd spent the evening having one brandy after another, trying to convince himself that Maude Ramsey or Romney or whatever her name wasit escaped him at the momentwas not part of a masterful plot executed by her evil aunt to land his centuries-old title and fortune in their benighted family. But the more he drank, the clearer it got, until he had to admit that they were all a pack of scoundrels and they had him trussed up like a Christmas goose.

Radford stripped off his great cloak and his leather gloves, and threw them across a small table which stood by the door in the hallway. With his boots pounding on the floor, he made his way to the stairs. He could only wonder at the secret letters that must have gone forth from his household, trumpeting the daily triumphs that brought Mike closer to the goal of entangling their quarry.

How they must have laughed at his gullibility! No wonder Mike hadn't made off with his gold cuff links when he had the chance. He was after bigger game. And all her balking at being his mistress which he had taken for a higher sentiment. Rubbish. She'd not settle for mistress when she could demand "her ladyship."

Growling for the hundredth time at what an ass he had been, he reached the top of the stairs and turned toward the room where he knew she lay. He'd have it out with the scheming little temptress tonight, and if she thought she was going to enjoy being Lady Radford, she had another think coming.

Maude had started awake at the sound of his angry tread on the stairs. She had left the bedside candle burning and now she stared in alarm at the door as the footsteps continued up the hall and stopped in front of her door. She had only an instant to regret that she had not locked it against him, before the handle turned.

As if the door had not swung open fast enough to suit him, Radford kicked it and sent it flying open against the wall. He stood in the hall, only the light of the one candle on his face. He looked murderously angryand drunk.

Even in the dim light, she could see that he was unsteady on his feet and that his eyes were bleary. As Mike, she had put him to bed on rare occasions a bit in his cups, but she had never seen him so far gone. Looking at him glowering at her, she knew a moment of fear before her own anger reasserted itself.

''What the devil do you mean barging in here like this?" she cried, throwing caution to the winds.

"As I recall," he spat back at her, "I have paid for this little love nest, so I can barge in any time I want. Don't think you can call the shots around here, miss. I've danced like a puppet to your tune long enough!"

"How dare you!" she fairly shouted. "I waited dinner for you until past ten o'clock! You made me look like a jackass in front of the servants! And that snotty bastard of a butler you've hired needs a lesson in manners!"

"Such a ladylike tongue you have, miss." He spoke softly now. "Where do you come by your highfalutin' ways and your gutter knowledge? What kind of family spawned you? What did you say your name was again?" His eyes glittered in the light.

"I . . . Why do you ask me that?" Maude drew a deep breath as a frisson of fear shot through her. "To insult me?" she bluffed. "Don't bother. I've been insulted enough this evening!" He had thrown her off stride with that question. Why would he bring this up again?

"On the contrary, miss. It's just that I don't believe we've been properly introduced. Tell me your name."

His voice was menacing. He had moved quietly into the room and shut the door behind him. Now he approached the bed, like a panther stalking his prey. Maude stared at him, suddenly frightened. This was not the man she knew. She said nothing.

"I mean it, miss." His large hand shot out and gripped her arm. "Introduce yourself. Surely you had that much social training in your happy little family?"

Her family? What on earth could he be talking about? Maude met his gaze while trying to disengage her arm from his grasp. "You are hurting me," she said, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. "Let go and stop acting like an animal." She wrenched her arm away just as he loosened his hold. He sat down on the bed next to her. His eyes were hard as he raked them across her body, sending a shiver through her.

"I admire your grit. I wish I could say the same about your ethics."

He took her chin in his hand and pulled her face up to look at his. His fingers were hard against her skin.

"And such a pretty little face," he went on, "Winsome, indeed. Did you expect me to be so besotted with your charms that I would not care how you tricked me?"

He dropped her chin suddenly, almost as if he feared he might hurt her in his rage. Sitting back, not touching her now, he stared at her with nothing but fury in his eyes. She met his gaze, unwilling to let him see her mounting terror.

"What is your name?"

His voice was low and threatening, and Maude could not bring herself to utter the lie one more time. She had a cold fear snaking through her that somehow he had found out the truth or some of it. She stared back at him, wondering desperately what she could say. "Of course, you've used so many names, perhaps it's unfair of me to ask, and waking you out of a sound sleep, at that."

He almost purred, but his eyes were bitter.

"Should I refresh your recollection? Does Romney ring a bell?"

Maude gasped.

He watched as all the fight went out of her eyes and they filled with tears. "Don't bother to open the floodgates, Miss Romney, I'm not buying."

Maude lowered her head to her knees, biting back sobs. "Please," she choked out, "now that you know, please don't send me back. I cannot go back there. Please!"

"Send you back? That's a laugh." His voice was harsh. "I wish I could. Then you and your charming aunt could cook up a new scenario to ruin some other poor sap!"

"What do you mean? I don't understand what you're saying at all." Maude looked up, her face streaked with tears, her pain and fear plain in her face, if only he would see it.

"Oh, really, Miss Romney, or, perhaps, since we've been so intimate, I could call you Maude?"

She flinched at his words and bit at her lip.

"You're very good, I'll give you that," he continued. "Watching you now, I can almost forgive myself for being such a gullible fool."

"Edward, please," she pleaded, "I really don't understand what you're saying and I don't think you understand either. I know I lied to you. I regretted every minute, I swear I did. But I had no choice."

Almost unconsciously, she had placed her hand on his arm. He shook it off. At that, she put her head down on her knees and wept all the harder. In spite of his rage, he could feel his heart twist at the sight, and he hardened himself anew. He was dealing with a professional here, he reminded himself.

"Just as you and your scheming aunt have left me no choice, Maude?" Misunderstanding his words, Maude nearly shrieked as she threw herself forward, grasping his waist and burying her face in his lap.

Instinctively, he reached to stroke her hair, then drew back his hand as if he had been about to touch an adder.

"I'll go anywhere you say!" she cried. "I'll empty your chamber pots for the rest of my life! Please, please don't tell them I'm here! I am begging you!"

It was now his turn to look somewhat confused. In truth, the rage which had burned through his drunkenness was wearing off and he was feeling tired. "Maude, sit up!" he commanded, pushing her away. "Stop this nonsense now. I tell you, you've won, for the present at least. You can write your aunt and congratulate each other. The plan has worked. I'll marry you. But don't think for a moment there will be any money in it for your foul family or any pleasure in it for you!"

He sounded bitter and defeated, and Maude stared at him, stunned. Marry her! Plan! What on earth was he talking about? Nonplused, she sat back and stared at him, fear giving way to surprise. Gradually, it began to sink in. He wasn't angry because she had lied to him about who she was. No, there was much more to it than that. He thought she and Aunt Claire had somehow cooked up this scenario between them to force him to wed her. Fantastic! Impossible!

"Do you mean to tell me that you think my family and I thought up this whole plot to trap you into marriage?" Her tone was one of incredulity now. "How drunk can you possibly be? How on earth would I plan to get myself hit by your carriage, or hired as your valet, or shot by your enemy?"

His head ached and he was feeling slightly befuddled. As usual, this girl had turned everything upside down. He was sure this had all seemed very logical to him earlier tonight. She was just trying to confuse him. "Any of those things could have been accidents and would not foil your basic plan," he began in what was the most reasonable tone he had used all evening. "The important thing was to get into my household and seduce me."

"Seduce you! As a boy? My God, man, I never heard you were a sodomite!" Maude sat back, looking at him in complete exasperation, and she saw him color visibly. "Don't you see how ridiculous this is?" she went on. "It's fantastic beyond belief. If we'd really been bent on getting you into my bed, it would have been easy enough without a preposterously complicated charade!"

"Well, if my version is so fantastic, perhaps you can think of a better one? What's your explanation?" He was beginning to have a feeling that he'd allowed his shock and anger to take him off course. The brandy had not helped either.

"If you're sober enough to listen without fighting every word, I'll tell you." Maude was pressing her advantage and she knew it. She waited and he nodded wearily. She could see the fight had gone out of him, and the evening's brandy was finally taking its toll.

"My parents died as you know when I was quite young. Romney Manor and the rest of the estate came to me and my uncle became my guardian until my marriage or coming of age." She paused and was relieved to see that he nodded. At least he was listening. "Uncle James had married by then, a dreadful woman with two nasty children, and they all came to live with me at Romney Manor. I believe you are acquainted with my stepcousin, Amelia?" Maude's tone was silky, and he glared at her.

"I did not receive much mothering from my Aunt Claire. She favored her own two children, but Uncle James loves me and has always been kind in his way." Maude felt the familiar sadness come over her. He could have been so like her precious father if only he hadn't been imprisoned by his brandy.

"I suppose what has happened is partly my own fault. I've never paid much attention to the running of the household. It was my aunt's domain, and she doesn't much tolerate the sight of me. I guess I always thought in the back of my mind that she hated me because I really owned everything and there was nothing she could do about it. I've heard her berate Uncle James often enough for being a second son, and having nothing of his own to leave to her children. . . ." Maude paused, the old bitterness flooding through her. "It's not as though she didn't know that when she married him," she said almost to herself.

"I just let things go on as they were. I had my horses, after all, and I spent most of my time in the stables." She gave him a rueful grin. "You figured that out a long time ago, didn't you?"

He almost smiled back.

"Well, the night I had the accident with your carriage, my stepcousin, John, came to me. We were alone in the house . . ." Maude paused. Just talking about it brought back all of the horror.

Radford was watching her closely now, but he realized she was not even seeing him.

"He told me that the estate could not support itself and that Aunt Claire had subsidized it all these years. He said she had spent a great deal on Amelia's season and she needed the rest to settle on him. You see"she turned to Radford, her eyes bleak"I was penniless and much in her debt and I didn't even know it."

Radford nodded for her to go on, his eyes thoughtful.

"I didn't know what to do. It was just awful. I had always assumed my father had left enough for me to live on. No one had ever said anything to me to the contrary. Then John . . ."she swallowed hard"John suggested that we should marry, pool our resources, so to speak, so that we could all go on as before. It all made sense in a horrible sort of way."

She looked at Radford now, and the pain and fear in her eyes tore at him.

"I handled it badly, I suppose. I was so revolted by the idea. You don't know him. He is disgusting, really. He spent our entire childhoods tormenting me and leering at me, and then he wanted me to be his wife. I was nearly physically ill at the thought of it. And the way he proposed, he made it seem as if I had no choice at all." Maude looked at Radford as if begging him to agree that she had been right in rejecting John's proposal.

"I told him no. I explained I could not think of him that way since we had grown up together. But I'm afraid my revulsion showed on my face. He was so angry. He has an awful temper. They all do in his family . . ." Maude was shivering now, caught up in the memory. She did not notice as Radford gently pulled the blanket up over her shoulders.

"He said . . ." A sob caught in her throat. "He said he would fix it so I'd have to marry him. He came after me. He tore my dress and threw me down. He got on top of me and" Maude's voice broke again and she stopped, unable to go on.

Radford moved closer and he put his arms around her, pulling her head down to his shoulder. She feels so good there, he thought to himself, so right . . . "Shhh, shhh, my love. You don't have to tell me any more. I understand," he whispered into her hair.

She sat back, her eyes wild with the memory. "No, that's not all . . . I mean I stopped him before . . ." Suddenly it was very important to her that Radford understand all that had transpired between her and John. "There was a brandy decanter on the floor. We had knocked it over in the struggle. I picked it up and smashed it into the side of his head. It shattered against his face and slashed him terribly, but it knocked him unconscious. I ran upstairs but I knew I had to leave the house. He would have killed me when he awoke, and my dear Aunt Claire would have helped him do it. He's the apple of her eye. So I had to leave right away, before he woke up or Aunt Claire came home. My plan was to run away to London, to come to the family solicitors and see if they could protect me from these people, but I did not want to travel as a woman. I hadn't enough money to hire a coach, and I couldn't walk all the way as a female. It wouldn't have been safe. So I borrowed the valet Joe's clothes, and chopped off my hair, and ran away. I had only minutes to think it through, you see. But it was raining and I didn't hear your carriage until it was upon me, then I slipped while trying to scramble out of the way." Breathless now with telling the story she had suppressed all this time, she stopped.

He said nothing, just rubbed her neck gently.

They sat in silence for a moment, Maude nearly sick with the horror she had dredged up, and Radford, stone sober now with the shock of her tale, mulling it over in his mind. He did not doubt that she was telling the truth. The finest actress in the world couldn't have lied so convincingly. His overwhelming feeling was one of great relief. He loved this woman so much; that was clear to him now. It had been unbearable to him when he had thought, in his brandy-befogged rage, that she had not cared for him after all, and had been playing him for a fool.

Finally, she sat up, and he saw that the pain still lingered in her eyes.

"Now do you see why I don't want you to send me back?" she asked beseechingly.

"Why on earth would I do that?" he said wonderingly. "And why didn't you just tell me right away who you were? Surely you know I'd have taken you to your solicitor's office."

"But I was near unconscious at first, don't you remember? And when I awoke the next morning, I was frightened of what you would do. I just wanted to get myself to their office without telling you anything."

"Well, did you?" In spite of his protestations to himself that he believed her, Radford was still looking for ways to strengthen her story. Please, God, he thought to himself, let her be telling me the truth.

"Yes. I woke up early and slipped out of the house. I wasn't even planning to come back. That's how I met the duke's people, by the way. You remember Eddie? He gave me a ride down to the market area in his cart and I found Chancery Lane from there."

"Well, what did they tell you? Come to think of it," he said, with a laugh, "remembering just how you looked, how did you convince anyone you were Maude Romney?"

"That's just it. I got there too early. The office wasn't open yet. So I went down to the river and walked around a bit. I had never been to London before, you know, and to be on my own and free, like that . . ." Maude looked almost wistful.

"Yes, now that I recall it, my only memories of you are of a terrible tomboy."

He smiled at her and his eyes were warm which encouraged her to go on. "When I got back to the office, I saw Aunt Claire and John coming down the steps with our solicitor. I moved down into the stairwell of the building next door but I could see and hear everything. I heard the solicitorshe called him Mr. Parsonstell Aunt Claire not to worry, that if I came to him, he would tell me . . . What did he say? Oh, yes, the 'grim details' of my finances. And that I'd have to marry John. He was just awful. And that's not even the worst of it. They were fond of each other, those two. It's hard to imagine anyone being sweet on Aunt Claire, but he was touching her, right in the street, and she was smiling at him!"

Maude's outrage was clear and Radford's eyes narrowed.

"But anyway, I could see the solicitor would be no help to me at all, so I came back to you, just till I could figure out what to do."

"But, Maude, why didn't you tell me then? Did you really think I'd turn you over to that pair of jackals? What kind of a man did you think I was?"

"Well, I really didn't know you at first and in a way I considered you my nemesis. Our previous encounters had left me feeling a little foolish, after all."

Maude looked chagrined but Radford only laughed softly.

"But wouldn't you have had to turn me over to them?" she went on. "Think about it, Edward! If you had known immediately who I was, you'd have been legally bound to inform my guardian. Anything else would have been kidnaping! You could have been charged with harboring a minor and then you'd have had to marry me for sure!"

She started to laugh, but found that it turned into a sob. "Don't you see," she exclaimed, hiccupping, "I was trapped from the beginning! There was nowhere to turn, nothing I could do about it! You've never been in the position of having no money and no family you could turn to!"

He took her head in his hands and pulled her close into a hug. "I'm sorry that you did not trust me, monkey. But you may have been right at that. It would have been awkward having you about if I'd known the truth, and the law would have put you back with your guardian. In fact, I suppose the law would have agreed with your Aunt Claire and John that a marriage of the assets was the best solution. Unless, of course, you had cried rape, and that would have meant a scandal." He was thoughtful. She had, indeed, been in an impossible situation. He wondered if he would have done nearly as well, alone and penniless.

He held her close now, conscious of her rose scent and her soft curls against his neck. She was so lovely. Thank God that grotesque popinjay of a cousin had not succeeded in his rape. He would have to find some way to deal with the baggage of her family, without allowing them to intrude further on their lives. As he turned it over in his mind, Maude sat up and pulled away, distress plain on her face.

"But aren't we right back where I started from? Now that you do know who I am, don't you have to turn me over? I warn you, I shall run away again, If I have to disguise myself as your horse!"

He laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, monkey. You'll never have to see any of those pit vipers again. Except your Uncle James, of course. That is, if you want to. He can come to the wedding." He took one of her red curls in his fingers and twisted it. "I'll be sorry when your hair grows back. I like it like this." He lowered his face into her hair and nuzzled her, missing the look of pain that crossed her face.

''Edward, that is very kind of you. But surely you see that I cannot marry you now." Maude lifted her head away from his and regarded him sadly.

"Why ever not? In fact, now is about the best time I can think of, before any of the haut monde catches us in our little love nest and starts making the rounds with the juicy news."

"Can't you see? I couldn't possibly marry a man who felt that he had been forced to the altar. We'd have a dreadful time of it. You'd begin to resent me. After all, remember how angry you were this evening when you thought we had all laid a trap to do just that?"

Now he threw back his head and laughed in earnest. "Monkey, you are wonderful! I was angry because I thought you didn't really care about me and that hurt. I am not used to being hurt. I didn't like it. Besides, I'd decided to marry you last night. That's why I hired detectives to trace your identity."

"You did what? You hired detectives? So that's how you knew who I was." Maude had not stopped to wonder in all this how he had come to the knowledge that she was Maude Romney.

"Why, of course. And, moreover, your aunt has detectives out, too, that's how I realized who you were, with two sets of detectives looking in the same area. I thought earlier that was part of her plot to . . . What a fool I've been!" He reached for her again and pulled her close. "Forgive me, monkey, for doubting you and for hiring the detectives," he said, now serious, "but I had to be sure of who you were before I made you my wife. I knew I was getting only half-truths out of you, and I couldn't marry you under those circumstances. After all, you will be Lady Radford. I had to be certain you weren't a famous axe murderess."

She pulled back to stare at him, doubt on her face. "You wanted to marry me last night? But you've told me any number of times when I dressed you for parties and balls that you would never marry! That you think marriage ishow did you put it?oh, yes, for silly sots who need a mother."

"Well, that's before I met you, monkey. At least, I'd met you, but I didn't know what you were. But now that I do know, I am most anxious to marry you, and the sooner the better. And as far as your aunt is concerned, don't worry any further about her or John either for that matter. I shall have my solicitors contact your uncle directly and present him with a fait accompli. Believe me, there will be no trouble from that bunch, unless John relishes the thought of being charged with attempted rape."

"Oh, Edward, we couldn't! I'd be ruined! I mean . . . I'm already ruined, of course, but no one knows just yet . . . at least . . . Well, everyone in this household knows but I suppose we can buy them off . . ." She stopped in utter confusion as he started to laugh.

"Of course I won't really do it, monkey. I think the threat will be sufficient to warn them off. Besides," he continued, "there are some parts of your story that don't ring true . . . Oh, I don't mean you are lying, monkey," he added, when he saw the look of consternation cross her face. ''I mean about what your charming cousin told you about your finances."

He stood up, stretched, and began untying his neckcloth. Almost by reflex, Maude got up and began doing it for him. He grinned at her wickedly. "Actually, monkey, I figure it will be cheaper to marry you than keep a valet full time" he broke off, gurgling as she twisted the neckcloth tight around his neck.

Stepping forward swiftly, he caught her to him, lifting her by the waist and holding her up till he could kiss her lips. Gently, he set her down, then leaned his head back, his eyes closed, while she unbuttoned his shirt.

"What did you mean, Edward, about my finances?" she asked softly, reluctant to break the mood, but curious as to what he had suggested.

Radford allowed her to take his shirt off, then he continued to undress himself. He looked pensive. "I was fifteen or sixteen years old when your parents drowned," he began, "a selfish, self-centered age, to be sure, but also a time when one does a good bit of eavesdropping. I remember my father being very upset about their deaths. He was much older than your father, so they weren't close, but I know he admired your father very much, thought he was a fine man and a good neighbor."

Radford stood now in his stockings and undergarment, and strode to the washstand to wash his face and hands. Maude climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up. She was amused that he just assumed he was sleeping with her, in spite of all her protestations of the evening before. And of course he was right.

Radford turned back to her, drying himself on a towel. "And forgive me if I hurt your feelings, monkey, but my father did not have the same respect for your Uncle James." Maude gave a sad shake of her head and he went on, "James as a younger brother had always been something of a hellion, the black sheep, so to speak. Is it he by the way who taught you to play cards?"

Maude grinned at him ruefully.

"Hah, I thought so! Anyway," Radford continued, stripping off his undergarments unconcernedly, "Father was a bit worried about the property, wanted to make sure it was kept up properly, since the lands abut our estate."

Radford climbed into bed and pulled Maude into his arms. She settled into his embrace, grateful that all was well again between them.

"I remember a great deal of discussion between my parents about it at the time," Radford continued. "My mother, who was not a particularly kindly or charitable woman, I am sorry to say, wanted absolutely nothing to do with the woman James had marriedyour Aunt Claire. My father was adamant that as neighbors, we would have to receive them, but my mother was just as adamant that Claire had been a gold-digging trollop who had latched onto your uncle, thinking she was marrying into the landed gentry. Mother simply wouldn't have her in the house." Maude pulled back and looked at Radford in sorrow and consternation. "Do you mean that my family, the Romneys, were the butt of the ton gossips, Edward? That is appalling! We have always been respectable, even if not particularly wealthy or titled."

"I am sorry, monkey, but it is true. Apparently, the marriage had been the talk of the ton that year among the scandalmongers. And Mother said the woman hadn't a dime of her own, and that her first husband, far from being a soldier like she said, had not been a gentleman at all. You see"Radford reached up and stroked her face gently"while I don't have much use for the vicious tongues of the tony set, they have an uncanny ability to uncover nasty little secrets about people and they usually have most of their facts straight about people's pedigrees. It's what they live for, after all. And Claire was not acceptable on several counts. That's why I cannot believe that her assets have subsidized Romney Manor all these years."

Maude regarded him thoughtfully. "But what about what Mr. Parsons said? I heard him say Romney Manor would be sold off to pay my debts to Aunt Claire."

"Yes, you did, but I think that what you saw was more important than what you heard," he said.

Maude looked at him, puzzled.

"You saw him fondling Claire in the street," Radford went on. "That is unheard of between solicitor and client. It is outrageously unethical on his part, and frankly, doesn't speak too well of your aunt either. I think you overheard their plot as to what he would tell you. I suspect that if we examine your family accounts with that firm, as I assure you we will, we'll find serious embezzlement by your aunt, with the connivance of this Mr. Parsons."

"You mean"Maude felt as if she'd been hit with a brickbat"you mean I might not be penniless? I might not owe the woman anything at all?"

"I mean that your father was not the sort of man to leave you in a precarious position financially, and there is no reason why Romney Manor should not be a self-sufficient estate. It was for many generations before you, and your father was not an extravagant man, by any means. To the contrary, in fact. I think that if the money is all gone, we have your aunt and this Mr. Parsons to thank for that."

Maude sat back slowly against the pillows. "But why would they tell me all this if it wasn't so? And why would they be so keen on my marrying John?"

"Because, monkey, what better way is there to cover up evidence of embezzlement than to give the embezzlers complete and permanent control of the account? Don't you see"he took her hand in his"it's you who's been the victim of a scheme all along. As your husband, John would be completely in charge of your estate, from the moment the marriage took place until his death. No more Mr. Parsons to cut in, no more possibility that some other suitor might appear and demand an accounting from your guardian, no more risk. And everything could stay exactly as it was. I have to hand it to your Aunt Claire. She's a very resourceful woman"he smiled down at Maude"if utterly unscrupulous. That by the way is why I turned down the oh-so lovely Amelia when she was dangled in front of me.''

"Why?" Maude asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Because I could see she was going to be an exact duplicate of her mother someday. Always get a good look at a woman's mother before you propose marriage. That's what I always say. Your mother by the way, from what I remember, had the face of an angel, like yours, in fact."

Maude smiled up at him warmly. "I always wanted to be just like my father. I guess it's because Mother was so beautiful. Aunt Claire always said I was plain and that I shouldn't bother trying to fix myself up because it wouldn't help. I suppose that's why I was such a tomboy. It seemed the best refuge, particularly being compared unfavorably with Amelia all the time."

"Oh, monkey," Radford groaned, pulling her close, "you are so much more beautiful than Amelia could ever hope to be. She has a hard, cold face with no love in it, while you are beautiful all the way into your soul." He lifted her head to peer into her face. "I don't think I've ever seen a face more beautiful in my whole life."

"I have," she murmured, her eyes filling again.

"Whose?" he asked.

"Yours."

He smiled into her eyes, then lowered his lips to hers. They found oblivion together before they finally slept.

Chapter Twenty-One

Radford's head pounded like the very devil and he knew better than to open his eyes to the light. He heard a tuneful airy humming coming from a corner of the room. Since he was stark naked and seemed to have thrown the covers off in his sleep, he hoped it was Maude.

"Is that you, monkey?" It hurt even to whisper.

"Um-hmm," she paused in her tune only long enough to answer.

"Could I prevail upon you to ring for some coffee? I've a miserable headache. And some dry toast, too, I suppose." His stomach was in an evil conspiracy with his head and he was quite sure they were plotting his imminent death. He heard a giggle.

"Monkey, don't make me beg," he moaned. "Because eventually I'll feel better, and then I'll hang you by your heels from the upper-story window and invite the neighbors to throw vegetables." He heard the sound of the bell pull being tugged. "Thank you." He rolled over, willing his queasy stomach to lay still. He had an awful feeling he'd made a jackass of himself at his club. When things improved inside of his skull, he'd review the situation.

"Open your eyes!"

He felt a light touch on his shoulder. "No."

"Yes!"

She poked at him. The woman was downright vicious. As slowly as he dared, he opened his eyelids, just a fraction. It hurt. He shut them again.

"More than that. I want you to look at something," Maude laughed, prodding him again.

He moaned, then rolled himself to a sitting position while she propped up the pillows behind him. Finally he sat back and opened his eyes. There before him was an enchantingly lovely lady, clad in a stunning forest-green velvet riding habit in the latest mode, with cinched waist and white lace jabot at the neck. And surrounding her lovely face was a riot of auburn curls, peeping from beneath a black hat, set at a rakish angle.

"What . . . Where on earth did all the hair come from?" Radford frowned at the effort that sitting up had taken.

"You don't sound too impressed," Maude said, disappointment in her voice. She had been awake for half an hour, dressing with special care to show off for him.

"On the contrary, monkey," he said, groaning again. "Were it not that I expect to die at any moment I would be all over you with compliments to your beauty. Where did you get all that hair by the way?" He made an effort to smile at her. That hurt, too.

"Remember last night, I told you I cut off my hair before I ran away from Romney Manor?" Maude removed the hat and bent her head down so he could see the back. "Well, I brought it with me, so they would not think to look for a male, and when Madame Arnaud suggested that the wigmaker could make me a chignon, I remembered I had it. So you see," she announced triumphantly, "it's my very own hair, pinned onto my head." She paused, waiting for some sign of approval.

Relenting, he smiled at her. "You are indeed both ravishing and enterprising, monkey, and you are the only young woman of my acquaintance who is beautiful both with hair and without." He reached up and touched a tendril that curled against her neck. "Although I must say I will miss your short, fetching locks."

"I'm not at all sure you will miss them, Edward," she said with mischief in her eyes. "I have half a mind to keep my hair short and just wear the chignon when I have to go out. I've loved the freedom of short hair." She gave a shake to her head. "Hair is so heavy. I never realized it before. And so much trouble to brush and arrange. I rather like the idea of just keeping it in a box!'' She laughed and sat down gently on the bed.

"Now, my love," she said softly, "I am sorry about your poor head, not that you don't deserve it. The expression 'drunk as a lord' comes to mind."

She put cool fingers to his temples and massaged gently. He sighed in contentment. Just then there was a knock on the door. At Maude's "Come in," one of the kitchen maids entered, carrying a large tray with a silver service. Maude could smell the strong coffee and the inviting scent of freshly made toast. The girl set the tray down without looking at either of them and quickly left the room.

At the smell, Radford seemed to revive a bit, casting a longing eye at the coffeepot. He made no move, however, to get out of bed.

"I suppose you expect me to get up and fetch it for you?" Maude taunted, knowing how loathe he was to move at all.

He gave her a pleading look, and she relented, springing off the bed with a bound that made him cringe. She poured the steaming black liquid into the delicate Wedgwood cups and placed one into his waiting hands, seating herself with her cup at the foot of the bed.

"Ah, that's much better," he said, sitting back after the first sip with a smile on his face. "The stuff is magic. I don't know why anyone bothers with tea anymore."

Maude, who did not share his enthusiasm for coffee, gave him a wry look as she swallowed her first mouthful.

"If it's too bitter for you, monkey, you might try it with cream and a little sugar."

He drained his cup, then slipped out of bed to pour himself another. Maude's eyes strayed to his naked form, tawny-gold in the morning light. She wondered if she would ever grow tired of feasting her eyes on his magnificent body.

He sat back down on the bed, a piece of toast in one hand and coffee in the other. He eyed her now, with much more attention than he had given her before and grinned. "I must say, monkey, now that I get a better look at you, you are a fetching sight indeed."

She smiled back. "You don't look so bad yourself, my lord, in daylight and sobered up."

He laughed ruefully. "I'm afraid I must apologize to you. I know my behavior was appalling last night. I drank in anger and the two are a bad combination. If it's any consolation to you, I am paying for it dearly this morning, though," he concluded, rubbing his temple.

"Edward," she began, the gleam of anticipation in her eye. "May I ride today? I understand there are two riding horses in the stables. I've been pining for a good ride ever since I left Romney Manor and there is a splendid park right near here."

Maude was almost breathless with hope. He could see from her excitement how much this meant to her. "Of course you may ride, monkey. I bought one of the horses just for you, and that's why I had the riding habit ordered up first thing. But you must wait until the new groom arrives. Frederick hired him yesterday and he will start today. After all"Radford laughed"I couldn't risk having one of my staff come to you here, not while Mike is so fresh a memory."

He held up his hand at the beginning of her protest. "No, don't even think it. I know you are used to a great deal of freedom as Mike, but Maude is going to have to remember what is expected of ladies in London society. And riding abroad alone is out of the question."

Maude sighed. He was right, of course. At Romney Manor, buried away in the countryside, she had been free to roam alone on horseback at will. Perhaps it had been socially incorrect, but Claire had not cared and Maude had not seen fit to remind her aunt of strict proprieties which would have curtailed one of her few pleasures.

"I can see I'm going to have a time taming you." Radford laughed. "As I recall, you had precious little supervision as a child. You do know the rules of etiquette, I hope? Well enough to fake it at least?"

She gave him a saucy grin. "If I absolutely have to. For short periods, perhaps."

"I suppose you realize that as Lady Radford you will be expected to be a paragon of all the social virtues?"

He was smiling, but did she detect just a hint of uncertainty hidden beneath his smile?

"I don't really recall agreeing to be Lady Radford." Maude sipped delicately at her cooling coffee.

"What?"

His tone of incredulity alone was enough to push her on. "It did occur to me that if, indeed, you are correct and my estate is not depleted, I don't have to marry anyone. I can throw the pack of rascals outUncle James can stay, of courseand live on my own. I can"she looked up and smiled sweetly at him"ride horses anywhere I please, alone or not, and I don't have to be a paragon of anything."

His jaw was slack. "Are you telling me that you don't wish to be my wife?"

"Actually, I don't recall having been asked to be your wife. You just announced that we would be married. And you were drunk at the time as I recall." Maude was enjoying this.

"I see," he paused, waiting.

She let him wait.

"Well, do you?" he finally prodded. "Do I what?"

"Do you want to marry me?"

"I think as far as social graces go, yours leave much to be desired, Lord Radford." She gazed at him with a touch of hauteur, belied by the laughter in her eyes. "I may have been raised in the stables, but I would think a marriage proposal could be somewhat moremore romantic, don't you agree? You might as well be asking me if I want fish for my dinner."

"Miss Romney, I am sitting here with a headache that would kill a lesser man, stark naked, I might add, having made an ass of myself all over London last night because of what I thought was your perfidy, and you have the nerve to demand romance?" He threw the blanket off and got out of bed. Towering over her, his eyes mocking, he asked, "How romantic would you like me to get?"

Maude's gaze traveled downward and she could not help the giggle that escaped her when she saw evidence of just how romantic he was feeling.

"I take it your lordship's headache is improved?" she asked sweetly, looking up at him.

"It's not the ache in my head that's troubling me at the moment, Miss Romney," he whispered.

Near-mesmerized by the waves of desire that rippled through her at the sight of him so obviously ready, she reached out.

"Oh, no, you don't!" he cried with a laugh, grabbing her hands in his and stepping back. "Before you further sully my virtue, Miss Romney, I will have your promise that you will wed me."

"Your what?" she gasped in outrage. "You cad!" She struggled to free her hands but he was too strong for her. He pushed her back onto the bed and climbed on top of her, pushing his knee against her skirts between her thighs. Through her laughter, she felt the waves of pleasure begin to ripple inside her, and with a moan, she pressed herself tight against him. "Your promise, Miss Romney," he whispered, nuzzling her neck. "I will have it now. Will you marry me?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I will marry you."

His lips closed on hers in a fierce kiss that spoke more of his joy than all the tender words in the world.

"What was it you said last night, monkey?" Radford began, over a civilized and ever-so-proper breakfast, when the servants had retreated and shut the door behind them. "About the butler here . . . What's his name? I can't remember."

"Graves," she said with a shudder of irritation. "But never mind. I suppose that is a problem I should solve myself."

"But what has he done?" Radford persisted. "The man came with excellent references from the owner of this house. I'd like to know if I've been misled."

"No, I don't suppose you have been. It's just that he seems to have a very high opinion of himself and apparently doesn't take well to serving in the household of a 'kept woman.'" Maude paused and looked up at him, chagrined. "I realize I am overly sensitive on the issue, but Graves has been insolent to a fault and it has increased my discomfort about my situation. But you mustn't worry about it, Edward. I will gather my dignity and speak to him myself."

She bent her head to take a mouthful of the delicious, fluffy eggs and missed the grim tightening of Radford's mouth. Maude was kind to a fault. The man would be given notice this morning.

"What time do you think the groom will come, Edward?" Maude asked, getting back to the subject foremost in her mind. "I should love to ride in the morning before the park gets crowded with afternoon strollers." She sat back and wiped her lips with a square of fine white linen.

"I'll send him round at once, monkey, as soon as I get home. But you will promise me to ride only in the park? I am not at ease with the fact that your aunt hired detectives to find you. The sooner we are married, the better." Radford sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "I am inclined to marry you right away, monkey, without any fanfare. Can you stand to do without all the pomp and circumstance? I know how you ladies look forward to that sort of thing, but I do not trust your family."

Maude rolled her eyes heavenward. "Edward, I have never dreamed of a fancy wedding," she said in a tone that suggested great contempt for such nonsense. "Truly, I had never much cared about getting married at all. Until I met you, of course," she finished hurriedly.

He laughed and made ready to leave. "I am also inclined to take you to your solicitors' office, perhaps this afternoon, monkey. If we catch your Mr. Parsons unawares, he won't have time to fabricate a plausible explanation, or to fly if things are as nasty as I suspect they are."

Anxiety clouded Maude's face. "Do you think we should? I am not anxious to show myself to that man, and if you are right about him, he will lose no time in contacting Aunt Claire."

"Is this the young lady who threw herself on a pistol a few nights ago?" Radford laughed. "Please don't think so ill of my care that I would let this pack of jackals do you any harm now, monkey. As long as you listen to me and do not hare off alone anywhere, you are perfectly safe." He approached her, aware that the worry had not faded from her eyes. "You don't have to go with me, monkey, if you don't want to," he said. Gently, he brushed a tendril back from her face. "I just thought it might set your mind at ease to see your actual holdings on paper. To lay the dragon to rest, so to speak."

Maude gazed at him for a moment and he was relieved to see the fear fade from her eyes to be replaced by determination.

"Yes, I think you are right," she said finally, smiling up at him. It was true that she did feel safe now under his protection, and it would be all too easy to surrender her affairs into Radford's capable hands. But after all these months of living one lie after another, feeling like everyone's pawn in a game of deadly stakes, she knew she must meet her fears face to face.

"I will go with you," she said, serious now. "After all, it was my inattention to my own affairs that left me vulnerable to this scheme in the first place."

"Monkey, you must remember that you are . . . what, almost eighteen? No young woman at that age is informed about her finances. As silly as it may sound, men always protect women, particularly before they are married, from the seamy facts of money."

"As do wicked aunts?" she questioned. "It would seem my Aunt Claire has 'protected' Uncle James all these years as well."

"Yes," Radford said musingly. "It's most unfortunate that your uncle has not roused himself to pay attention to your affairs. Had he been of stronger character, none of this would have come to pass."

"Oh, please don't blame him too much, Edward!" Maude cried. "He has had such a grim time of it. The only pleasure he finds in life he finds from his brandy bottle."

"One finds pleasure where one seeks it, Maude." Radford bent to give her a kiss. "But I assure you that although you are too kindhearted to blame him, he will blame himself enough when the facts are known." He started for the door.

"If we are right about everything," she said thoughtfully.

"We are right, monkey," he said, turning to smile reassuringly at her. Then he was gone.

The exhilaration was overwhelming, enough to make her laugh out loud. The strong hooves pounded beneath her, the early-spring wind rushed over her face. She and the beautiful stallion were one. Maude was vaguely aware that an outraged groom struggled to catch up to her, riding the docile mare that had no doubt been purchased to be her mount. The one she rode was a charger fit for a medieval knight and Maude's only disappointment was that he was wasted in a staid city park where she had already received chilly stares from tony sorts ambling genteelly along shrubbery-bordered paths. Any minute now the park warden would appear and order her back onto the riding path but until he did Maude was determined to have a decent ride. Oh, how she had missed this!

Hearing a shout, she reluctantly reined in and turned. Behind her came the groom, trying to hide his aggravation with a suitably neutral facade. She waited impatiently for him, her eyes sparkling with the wind, wisps of short curls peeping from beneath her cap, now askew.

As the groom approached, she called out, "Do not make me stop now, Evans, I am just beginning to remember how to ride."

To his credit, he laughed. It was clear the woman was a marvel on horseback. She reminded him of a picture he had seen once of fantastic beasts that were half human and half horse. She sat so smoothly in the saddle that it seemed that she and the beautiful animal were one creature. Nevertheless, his duty had been made very clear to him by none other than his lordship himself and Evans had no intention of failing in his first senior position.

"Miss, if you please"he was panting a little"I'm afraid we must go more slowly and stay on the paths. If there are complaints, his lordship won't like it."

"Oh bother all that, Evans!" Maude cried with exasperation. "I haven't had a good ride in months." She turned as if to ride off again.

"Miss, wait!" he called. She drew around, and Evans saw her impatience clear on her flushed face. "I cannot keep up with you, miss, and his lordship said I was not to let you out of my sight. Please, can't you ride more slowly?" he pleaded.

Maude paused and looked out over the park, spectacularly beautiful to her eyes, well-manicured, artfully planted, and with large, old trees, wintry-bare now, stretching their magnificent limbs across the grounds. Nothing can spoil the splendor of this day, she thought. I am Maude Romney again, Edward loves me, and I am at no one's mercy for the first time in months. She turned a broad grin on the hapless groom.

"Very well, we will proceed at a more dignified pace, Evans, but I warn you, this horse needs a good gallop. He'll not stand to prance around a park several times a week."

"Nay, miss," Evans answered as they set off again at a leisurely pace, making their way back to the path. "His lordship said the stallion will go to the country soon. He's no city horse, you're right about that."

They trotted along, Maude slightly ahead of Evans as was fitting, each alone with their pleasant thoughts. They passed other riders and strollers. It was a fine day, bright, not too cold, with a mild wind that did not bite at one's nose and ears. Maude was in no hurry to return to the townhouse. Lovely as it was, she felt stifled and ill at ease there. She had seen Graves only briefly this morning and then when she was in the company of the earl. She had not yet screwed up her courage to speak with the butler and she wondered what good it would really do anyway. If he hid his censure, wouldn't she feel it nonetheless? It was not her house and while she was in it, no matter what their plans for marriage, she was Edward's mistress and nothing more.

Lost in her musings, Maude did not notice as a plumpish, overdressed young man stepped hurriedly out of the way of the horses on the path. Casting an angry look at her as she passed, the man gave a start and stopped dead in his tracks, staring after her.

A slow, malevolent smile curled his lips, twisting unnaturally at the ugly scar which ran from the corner of his eye to his mouth. At a discreet distance he strolled after her, the horses' slow gaits easy to keep up with. He would tail her all day, if necessary, now that he had found his lovely cousin. The very sight of her caused a swelling in his loins, and he grunted at the memory of his last glimpse of her, struggling and crying, her naked breasts heaving in fear. Oh, no doubt Mama had plans for little Maudie but John would get to her first and she would pay dearly for the hideous scar she had inflicted on him.

She had clearly done well for herself, his resourceful little cousin. She was decked out in expensive clothing and riding a magnificent horse. The man with her was a servant in livery bearing a crest. His mother and Mr. Parsons had very obviously been on the wrong trail in their search for Maudie, seeking in boarding houses and small towns. No, it appeared she had landed on her feet amid the gentry, though who had housed her John could not yet guess. He frowned to himself, recollecting that between himself and Amelia, most of the major social events of the season had been attended, and Maude had certainly not been present at any of them, nor had he heard her discussed as a visitor. That meant she was not in open residence anywhere, or surely they would have heard of it in the ton.

Someone, and from the looks of it, someone wealthy and well-born, had hidden her all these months. What had the little bitch said of him and his mother to have herself sheltered like this with no word to her legal guardian?

His mouth set in a grim line now, John hurried to catch up as he saw the horses turn onto the path that led out of the park. Luck was with him. The two were slowed by traffic and pedestrians as they nosed the horses into the street. With little effort, John was able to keep up with them, maintaining the appearance of a gentleman out for a brisk walk while he followed close on Maude's trail. She had yet to glance backward and see him, nor had the groom paid him any mind.

At last he was rewarded. Maude and her groom turned up a side street which opened onto a crescent of beautiful townhouses. At a careful distance John followed, noting which alley they turned into. Hurrying now to catch up so he would not lose them in a maze of back stables and mews, he entered the alley just in time to see the pair turn into one narrow carriage drive. He noted that it was the third drive in from the street, then turned and retraced his steps. Coming back to the crescent, John resumed his leisurely stroll noting the third house as he passed it. As was to be expected, nothing about the exterior gave a clue as to the owner or resident.

John continued his walk, pausing down the block to seat himself unobtrusively on a wrought-iron bench. He unfolded his paper and pretended to read it, as he watched the door of the house and thought furiously about his next move.

Surely he must get to Mr. Parsons as soon as possible, although he would first like to ascertain with whom Maude had found shelter. Then they must plan how to spirit her away, making it appear as if she had left of her own volition. The situation was complicated and it must be handled correctly so as not to bring this unknown benefactor down on their heads. No, he could make no move until he could find out more of Maude's present circumstances.

As he pondered, a coach drew up before the house in question. It was a fine equipage, with a perfectly matched set of horses and a footman riding behind. John watched as a cloaked gentleman stepped down from the carriage and entered the house. Cursing the nearsightedness which had prevented him from getting a good look at the man, John peered hard at the crest which emblazoned the door of the carriage. It appeared to be the same as the crest he had glimpsed on the livery of Maude's groom, although he was too far away to be sure.

John resumed his pose with the newspaper and steadied himself to wait, hoping it would not be long, for he could not go on sitting there all day without possibly being noticed. He was elated. His mother had nearly worn a track in the carpet, pacing these last two months, and the expensive detectives had turned up nothing, and yet, here he was, out for a stroll and he had found her! It would only be a matter of time before she was his again.

He was relieved when some twenty minutes later the front door of the townhouse opened and Maude and the gentleman came out. John watched as they got into the carriage. Ah, so much the better! They were driving this way! Holding the newspaper up closer to his face to avoid recognition, John was nevertheless able to see around the sides as the vehicle approached at a staid pace.

When it was nearly upon him, he let out a gasp. He'd know that coach and crest anywhere and his snotty neighbor as well! Edward Almsworth, earl of Radford had had little to do with the Romneys, making it clear that he considered them beneath his notice. He had cold-shouldered Claire's suggestion that Amelia was available to wed and had not bothered to attend any of the few parties given in London in her honor. In all the years he and John had attended the same parties or routs, Radford had never given John more than a nod of acquaintance. And now the sodding bastard had Maude, and with her, John's only hope of solvency.

John's knuckles were white as he gripped the newspaper and waited for the carriage to pass. Radford's appearance had changed the situation dramatically. John knew enough of Radford's reputation to know that the man was considered to be a formidable enemy. And the fact that Maude had been so cleverly hidden in what must be the earl's house for such a long time meant she had obviously poisoned the earl against John and his mother. The more John thought about it, the clearer it became. The earl of Radford must die. The only question was how?

The germ of an idea began to form in his brain. Yes, it might work, if he was careful and if his mother didn't lose her nerve. He almost laughed out loud at the thought. Claire's malevolence as far as Maude was concerned was the one constant in his life. Her resolve would be the least of his problems. First, he must make careful inquiry as to Maude's circumstances, under a pseudonym, of course. Then he could proceed to the parts he would really enjoy.

With great nonchalance, John stood up from the bench and tucked his paper under his arm. He ambled down the street in the direction of the earl's house. Knowing that the earl and Maude were both away from the house at this moment was a great boon, but there was no way of knowing how long they'd be gone. Surely he'd have at least a half hour and he could accomplish all his business in less time than that.

At the front door he lifted the large brass knocker and let it fall with an echoing boom. A moment later the door was answered, not by the usual butler or footman, but by a rather out-of-breath young servant girl. John smiled beneficently at her. Perhaps this would be easier than he had thought.

''Good day," he began genially. "I've come to see Lord Radford. I was told I might find him here. Is he available?"

"Oh, no, sir, I'm sorry, sir," the girl replied breathlessly. "E's just gone out this minute, sir."

"I see. How very disappointing." John frowned in apparent consternation. "We're old friends and I'm visiting only for a short time." He appeared to be giving the matter some thought, then he brightened. "Oh, I say, what about the young lady? Drat, I cannot remember her name. How utterly silly of me . . ." he trailed off hopefully, waiting for the young maid to pick up her cue, hoping she was not too stupid to follow the lead.

"Oh, yes, sir. You'll mean Miss Ramsey, sir, 'is lordship's ward. She lives 'ere."

The girl was a veritable font of information. "Yes, of course. Miss Ramsey. How is she, by the way? She was such a lovely thing when I last had the pleasure of her company." Unobtrusively, John had stepped into the hallway and stood looking befuddled as if at a loss as to what to do next.

"Oh, Miss Ramsey is very nice indeed, sir." The girl warmed to the subject, encouraged that this proper-looking gentleman was being so nice to her. "She treats us ever so good. Although, there's some as wouldn't agree with me," she finished with a sniff.

"Indeed, I find that very difficult to believe, my girl. I've never known her to utter a harsh word." John was enjoying this. If only no one came along to spoil it.

"Well, you might ask Mr. Graves about that, sir. An' it wasn't that miss said anythin' 'arsh to anybody. Quite the contrary." The girl lowered her voice conspiratorially. "It was that Mr. Graves and 'is airs. 'E was insolent to 'er an' 'e got the sack for it by 'is lordship this mornin'."

The girl was positively gloating. It was clear there was no love lost between her and this Graves, John mused.

"I'm thinkin' 'e was too fine to work for the likes of Miss Ramsey, them not bein' married yet an' all. Oh, I didn't mean . . ." She stopped in consternation, aware at last that she had said too much to a stranger.

"Oh, that's all right, my dear, no harm done." John went so far as to pat the girl on the arm. Stupid chit. He'd sack any servant in his employ who was so free with her tongue. "After all, they'll be marrying soon, won't they? And there's no harm done about the 'situation,' is there?" He fairly beamed at her, and gave her a wink.

"Oh, I 'ope not, sir. I didn't mean nothin' at all. An' they will be marryin' real soon, a few days, in fact. I 'eard that in the kitchen today. So everythin's all right, isn't it?"

She gave him a pleading glance as if begging to be excused for her wagging tongue.

"Absolutely. Think no more about it, my dear. I shall push off now. I tell you what, you don't even have to mention to his lordship that I've come by. I'll drop him a note next week." John turned to leave. He glanced back as if just thinking of something else. "Where have they gone off to today by the way? Not to elope, I hope?" He chuckled, as if making a joke. If the bitch married before he got to her, all her assets would be lost.

"Oh, no, sir. They've gone to see some lawyers. Somethin' about 'er property, I believe."

The girl smiled at him, proud of her ability to answer questions, as if she knew what she were about. John smiled warmly back at her and fumbled in his pocket for a small coin. "You're a very sharp girl. What is your name by the way?" he asked, handing her the penny.

"Betsy, sir," she said with a pleased flush and a bob of thanks.

"Well, good-bye, Betsy. And let's keep my visit our little secret, shall we? I want to surprise his lordship."

John gave another little wink. Betsy smiled and nodded. John turned back to descend the stairs, his heart turned to ice inside him. Behind him, he heard the door close.

Lawyers! About her property? Did that mean Booth and Parks or Radford's own solicitors? Either way, this house of cards was about to come tumbling down around their ears and he had better get to Booth and Parks before they did. There was no time to lose. What a fool that stupid servant girl was! Hurrying down the street, John thanked his lucky stars that Graves had gotten the sack this morning, for he never would have gotten such a mother lode of information from an experienced butler.

He hailed a hansom when he reached the main thoroughfare, gave the address of Maude's solicitors and settled back in the seat to work through his plan for the immediate deaths of Maude and the earl of Radford.

In Mr. Parks's office, tastefully appointed and very stolid, emotions ran unusually high. There had been something of a stir when the earl of Radford had come in with young Miss Maude Romney on his arm, and had demanded to see either Mr. Booth or Mr. Parks immediately. They were shown at once into Mr. Parks's office, where that gentleman had looked somewhat confused but had affably inquired how he could be of service. Radford had quickly dispelled him of the notion that this was a congenial call, laying out his suspicions in clipped tones.

Mr. Booth had been called in immediately and dispatched to find Mr. Parsons, who was not to be warned what was in store for him. The look on Parsons's face when he walked in and spotted Maude had laid to rest any doubt she might have had as to the reality of Radford's suspicions. Now they sat going over the family accounts, and Maude was white-lipped with fury.

"Worse and worse!" Maude cried as she spotted yet another item that she could verify as pure embezzlement. "This rose satin dresswhy, you'll remember that one, Edwardshe wore it the night of her coming-out party at Romney Manor when I sprained my ankle!" Maude was too angry to spare a moment of embarrassment over her part in that evening's charade. "Here it is listed as my dress, just like all these other dresses she had for her season!"

One of the minor clerks scribbled furiously on his notepad. The list of thefts grew longer and longer. Mr. Parks sat back in his chair, his face dead-white. Mr. Booth mopped his brow and breathed rapidly, looking as if he were trying not to weep.

"And look at these jewelry purchases, Edward! I remember specifically asking Aunt Claire about all the fine jewelry Amelia was wearing during her season, and I was told to mind my own business, that it had all come from Claire's family. How outrageous! Every bit of it is charged as if bought for me. I never wore a piece of that jewelry once in my life! Why, Amelia took most of it away with her when she married, along with all of 'my dresses'!"

Maude sat back and pushed the books away, wanting a rest for a minute from the evidence of treachery before her eyes. She put her fingers to her temples as if she could rub away her headache. She had nearly wept over the charges for the four magnificent horses that were alleged to have been bought "for the riding instruction and traveling comfort of Miss Maude." She hadn't traveled outside the neighborhood of Romney Manor since her parents' deaths. And she had been equally shocked at the housekeeping accounts which showed the manor to be staffed by three times the actual number of servants and at what appeared to be grossly inflated wages. And such repairs! Romney Manor should have been St. James for all the money spent on furnishing and refurbishing. And the letters . . . dozens of letters purportedly from Maude, begging for pocket money, or a bauble, or a new dress. And the handwriting so like her own she could scarce believe she had not written them! Which one of the jackals was a forger as well? Mr. Parsons sat in a hard-backed chair in a corner of the room, far from the door, mopping at his nose which bled copiously. It had been his folly to try to run after the first of the embezzled items had been discovered. Radford had a very persuasive fist. Now he glared malevolently at Maude and spoke not a word. Denying knowledge of the fraud would have been fruitless. Not when he knew what the last file on Mr. Parks's desk contained. Oh, why had he been such a fool as to keep that book with the rest of the Romney accounts, albeit that is where it technically belonged? Because he had never thought that his office would be violated in such a fashion, that his books and files would someday be ripped from their drawers by the very woman he had defrauded and her powerful protector.

Even expecting it, he could not suppress the shudder of fear that went through him as Radford picked up the last file and placed it gently in Maude's hands. Hardly daring to breathe, Mr. Parsons watched as she opened it and began her perusal. He did not have long to wait.

"Oh, no! This is the worst of all!" Maude fairly shrieked as she turned angry eyes directly on Mr. Parsons.

Knowing full well what she was looking at, he flushed and turned his face away from her.

"Look at this, Edward!" she went on. "Bill after bill from John's tailors, and look at these notations in the margins. 'Paid out of stables account,' this one says, and the next one says 'paid out of Maude's clothing account.'" She slammed the book down on the table and turned again to Mr. Parsons.

"Well, so much for denying you knew what was going on, you miserable snake!" she cried. "You let that evil woman and her son drive me out of my own home, believing myself penniless, and you were paying his tailor bills with my money!" Maude had a fleeting desire to punch Mr. Parsons in the nose herself.

"Edward"she turned back to Radford"John told me Aunt Claire had subsidized the manor all these years and that I owed her a great deal of money. Look how they have run my father's estate into the ground!" At this mention of her father, her voice broke and she put her hands quickly to her face.

Radford reached out and pulled her close. "Monkey," he said softly into her hair, "don't distress yourself further. Some of the money will be recovered and Romney Manor will be fine again, I promise you. And these scoundrels will end their days in a jail cell."

He turned to Mr. Parks, who still looked as if his own death had been announced. "No, don't say anything, sir," Radford began, as that sad gentleman opened his mouth to speak. "I am well aware that you trusted Parsons with this rather small account. You were clearly negligent in your lack of overseeing him, but we will not charge either you or Mr. Booth with this fraud. But you must agree to aid in the prosecution of Parsons and I suggest you send for the constables right away. I've no intention of giving this viper any opportunity to warn his cohorts and hide whatever money can be found."

Mr. Parks nodded, clearly unable to speak, and gestured to Mr. Booth to send for the law.

After that gentleman, looking somewhat relieved, had left, Radford turned back to the pile of files and ledgers now strewn about the table. "It will simplify matters, Mr. Parks, if we remove these papers from your office today. Maude can review them with my solicitors and catalogue those items which are clearly fraudulent. I think that under the circumstances it would be foolish to alert Maude's actual guardian, James Romney, as to what has transpired here. While I do not suspect him of complicity in this sorry affair, it is undeniable that he has left all this business up to his wife all these years and, therefore, must share the blame, at least as far as his own negligence is concerned. Perhaps while we wait, we can make a list of the documents so that we can all attest to their authenticity if there is a trial."

Radford began to stack the documents and gestured for the clerk to come forward to help with the dry business. While they worked, Maude picked up the file that pertained to the stables and began to peruse it again. An item that she had not noticed in her earlier haste popped out at her: an elegant, to judge from the price of it, brougham, sumptuously fitted out, "for Miss Maude Romney's transportation needs." Growling in her frustration, she slammed the file back onto the pile and sat back glaring at Mr. Parsons. Brougham! When Romney Manor had been served for years by a dilapidated old coach, not much better than a farm cart! Oh, it would feel good to bring these miscreants to justice!

John paid the hansom impatiently and let himself down heavily from the door. Ahead of him were the steps leading up to the Messrs. Booth and Parks legal establishment. Before he could ascend, however, he heard another carriage pull up to the curb behind him. His nerves on edge, he glanced back and was startled to see that it was a police cart. As he watched, several constables alit and proceeded past him on the steps. John waited until they had entered and the door had closed behind them. Then, as nonchalantly as he could manage, he turned away and crossed the street. For the second time that day he found a bench and seated himself, paper in hand, every inch the young toff with nothing much to occupy himself.

John had to will his hands not to shake as he held up the paper and pretended to read. Gazing casually up and down the street, he could not spot the earl's coach, but that meant nothing considering his nearsightedness. He had only a short time to wait before the door to Booth and Parks opened again. Out came the constables, and with them, in shackles was Mr. Parsons.

John's heart pounded as he saw Parsons loaded unceremoniously into the police cart. There was no doubt it was he, and no doubt as to why he was being arrested. Just as the police cart drove away, John saw the door open again and Maude and Radford emerged. Radford held up his hand and a coach waiting a short way down the street pulled out and came forward, stopping at the curb. Radford, who carried a large case, helped Maude into the waiting carriage. She looked pale and shaken now, not like the exhilarating wench John had first glimpsed this morning on horseback.

John held the newspaper up close now, not even daring to peer around the sides, lest he be recognized. He lowered the paper slowly as the carriage drove away and gazed after it, not bothering to mask the rage and fear in his eyes. He had lost his confederate and now he needed to act with the utmost speed. There was no time to get word to Claire; he'd have to act on his own. Fortunately, in his meanderings through London, he had had occasion to meet up with certain fellows whom he could count on to help himfor a price, of course. Some, indeed, were old friends of his mother's. Yes, one or two chaps came to mind who'd have the stomach to help him carry out his plan. They might even enjoy it.

Chapter Twenty-Two

An hour later Maude lay alone in her darkened room, a cold, damp cloth across her forehead. She had sent Anna away so that she could rest, although sleep now eluded her. Her head pounded with a ferocity that made her think Edward had somehow passed his headache on to her. He certainly had been chipper enough when he had left. As far as he was concerned, the mystery was solved and now they could move on to getting her affairs back into order.

He was right, of course, she had to admit, but he was able to look at it so objectively and from the vantage point of great personal wealth and well-being. Over and over the thoughts chased through Maude's mind. Aunt Claire had allowed Romney Manor to fall into disrepair; she had forwarded her own two children at great expense, while denying all but the basic necessities to Maude and Romney Manor. And as the final insult she and John had concocted a plot which had driven Maude from her own home. These people were clearly monsters; there was no doubt about that. All those years while Maude had suffered from a lack of love, she had at least assumed her affairs were being properly looked after.

And there was the rub. Maude was overwhelmed with her own sense of guilt. No matter that young ladies weren't supposed to bother their heads with financial affairs. Maude knew in her heart she should at least have paid enough attention to learn how to run the household, how to keep the accounts, how to manage the estate. She owed that much to her parents. Instead, she had acted the devil-may-care tomboy, riding her horses, gallivanting about the countryside, leaving all the work to Aunt Claire, because she felt no inclination to deal with the woman, or, in fact, to do any of the work. She had to take her share of the blame for this foul mess. Had she been minding her affairs, her aunt could not have gotten away with such bold-faced embezzlement and John would not have been able to dupe her into believing herself a near-pauper.

But then she would not be marrying Edward. And that thought made the pain and the blame recede like a patch of dirty snow melting in the spring sunlight. She would never have imagined that such good could come of such evil. Perhaps she should write Aunt Claire a thank-you note. She giggled at the thought. Edward was right, wasn't he, to face forward and not look back? Maude drifted into a light sleep, a smile curving her lips.

The bell at the back entrance of the townhouse jangled. Betsy sprang forward, still smarting from the bawling out she had received from Cook over the incident of the gentleman calling for his lordship a little while ago. It seemed that there was no excuse for not getting the man's name and it was unpardonable of her to have hung in the front door, chatting with him about the household business like she was selling fish. Cook had explained, in a very unkindly tone of voice, that Graves's coming departure was no reason for the "'ouse'old to go all to 'ell." Determined to make a better showing this time, particularly since Cook was in the kitchen within earshot, Betsy answered the rear door with a haughty efficiency.

''Yes?" she queried loftily of the slightly disreputable sort standing on the stoop.

"I've a note for a Mr. Graves, miss. Is 'e 'ere?"

The man used a respectful tone which instantly thawed Betsy's hauteur, unused as she was to hearing such a tone aimed at herself.

"Oh, yes. 'E's upstairs packin'." She smiled at the man. "'E's leavin', you know, this very afternoon. 'E"

"Betsy! That'll do." Cook's voice bellowed from the kitchen doorway. Betsy jumped at the sound, then turned around hurriedly, flushing to the roots. "Get into the kitchen, girl. I'll take care of this."

Cook advanced menacingly, and the hapless Betsy slipped to the side of her and fled into the kitchen. "Now," Cook said, turning her attention to the figure on the stoop who seemed to quail a bit under her baleful gaze. "What would you be wantin'? Make it quick, we 'aven't got all day, in spite of what that young chit seems to think.:

"I've a note for a Mr. Graves, mum," he began. "If I might . . ."

Without ado, Cook seized the envelope he was holding in his hand and stood glaring at him, challenging him to defy her possession of the letter.

"II'm supposed to give it to 'im direct, mum," he went on, with some hesitation. She continued to stare malevolently. "Or I suppose I can leave it with you if you'd be so good as to give it to 'im yourself," he went on, clearly losing this battle of wills. "Right away, if you'd be so kind, mum, there's a gentleman waiting to see 'im," he finished in a rush. He was not used to the gentry and this woman who was the cook to a noble household was as far above him as the king himself.

He gaped hopefully at her for a second or two, then deciding the conversation was at an end, he smiled weakly and tipped his cap. He had barely turned to go down the steps when he felt a gust of air on his backside from the door slamming shut behind him.

Cook stood staring at the sealed envelope, gritting her teeth in irritation, noting with some annoyance that it was properly sealed with wax. She'd give a week's wages to know who was writing to the old sod. She and Graves had worked together in this household more than ten years, without a personal word between them in all that time. Not that she wasn't a friendly enough sort when the occasion arose. Yes, indeed. But him! Why, the old baronet himself hadn't thought so highly of himself.

She turned the letter over, noting that it was not written in the baronet's hand, nor did it bear his seal. The paper was a good enough quality though, and the handwriting was gentrified. She tucked the offensive missive in her apron pocket. Clearly, the old goat had had someone to turn to this morning when his lordship had given him the sack. Oh, it was frustrating! She wouldn't hear a thing from the old sod himself. Well, the sooner he got the letter, the sooner the could set about finding out what was in it.

"Betsy!" Cook bellowed, making her way back into the kitchen. The girl was sweeping, somewhat ineffectively, Cook noted for later remark. "Take this up to 'is majesty, and see that you're quick about it!" She held the letter out.

With a quick "Yes, mum," Betsy had the letter and was off at a trot, eager to erase the most recent fault.

Cook turned her attention back to the elegant dinner she had planned. Pretty little Miss Ramsey had her gentleman back where she wanted him and Cook would see to it that there was nothing to complain about with this dinner. And this household would be a better place without that old sourpuss hanging about, that was for certain!

Graves sat in his much-beloved wing chair, a drawing-room cast-off from years back, all the more comfortable for its long service. He pondered the mysterious letter, turning it over yet again to see if he could fathom from whence it came.

Its message was brief and to the point. In a well-educated hand was penned, "I have reason to believe you have been greatly wronged in this present unfortunate situation. I should very much like to help you. Please meet me in an hour at the Hawk in Hand by the docks. Forgive the unseemly location and the clandestine nature of this assignation, but it is imperative that I not be discovered by any of my acquaintance. My dear family's reputation depends upon our discretion. You may trust me."

There was no signature, not even an initial. The stationery was of the finest linen, but there was no engraving, no mark to indicate from whom it had come.

Graves glanced up, his slate-gray eyes narrow in speculation. His initial, inarticulate rage had faded some hours ago, to be replaced by an almost lustful drive for revenge fed by a cold and calculating anger. To be thrown into the street over the likes of that tuppenny whore, without so much as two-weeks notice as if he were a common bootblack! His lordship had considered himself gracious in allowing that he would forward the baronet's reference, stating only that the new tenant had found that he had no need of the butler's services. And Graves, head butler these ten years and more to a fine gentleman of the peerage, was to knock on back doors like a scullery maid to find a new position! It was not to be borne!

A spasm of anger crushed the letter in his hand, reminding him that as the clock ticked on he must make a decision as to whether to heed the letter's terse instructions. Not a trusting man by nature, his first impulse was to suspect a trap, yet how could it be? He had been sacked only this morning and as of yet had communicated with no one about his situation.

The rest of the staff must know, of course, but he dismissed their possible involvement with his usual haughty indifference. He had no friends among the staff and that was how he had wanted it. Familiarity breeds contempt and as the secret bastard son of a squire in the north, albeit by a chambermaid, Graves knew his status was considerably higher than the cockney rabble which entered domestic service these days.

Certainly Lord Radford had nothing to gain by baiting him in this fashion. His sacking had been bloodless, absolutely emotionless on his lordship's part. If Lord Radford had had so much as a flicker of an idea of the humiliation he had inflicted on Graves by his cavalier, monstrously unfair action, he had given not a sign. To be sure the man had offered to pay Graves's way by hired coach to the baronet's country estate, and Graves had haughtily pocketed the money, although he had not yet decided where he would go.

The letter, therefore, seemed providential, if it were indeed on the level, offering as it did the possibility that revenge might be enjoyed and that some unknown ally might hold the key. And if there were some catch, some unsavory element he did not wish to get mixed up in, he could just walk away from it.

Standing abruptly, his mind made up, Graves tucked the letter into his pocket and patted it smooth. He gazed at his reflection in the full-length mirror, surplus from one of the fine bedrooms downstairs because of a tiny crack at the top, stroking down his hair and straightening his waistcoat. Then he reached for his cloak, flung it around himself, and strode for the door. Pausing only to lock it securely behind him, he descended the back stairs.

Without so much as a nod to Cook, Graves was out of the back door, leaving her staring behind him. Of all the nerve! So high and mighty he couldn't be bothered to say when he'd return, and him supposedly still on duty until tomorrow! Oh, this would be a much better household when the old sod was gone! Cook thought, a satisfied smile curving her lips.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The cold rain battered at the windows, and in spite of the thick draperies, Maude could feel the tendrils of an icy draft at her feet as she sat at her dressing table, poking pins rather inexpertly into her chignon. Raised for so many years on stark frugality, it did not occur to her to ask for a fire just to warm herself. Nor did she feel the lack, for her body was warm with the flush of anticipation. Edward was coming shortly to have dinner with her. And after dinner. . . .

Her hand poised in the air as unbidden thoughts chased through her mind, bringing a flush to her cheeks. I am such a wanton, she thought with a giggle, several curls escaping their pins. Thank heavens he seemed to enjoy it as much as she. It meant they would not have to while away all of their evenings at whist and brandy.

She laughed again and the chignon came tumbling down, landing in a mess near her slippered foot. Maude picked it up hurriedly and surveyed it for damage. It wouldn't do to have the thing topple into the soup, not when she was on the verge of becoming Lady Radford. She didn't want him having second thoughts.

With a sigh, she placed it on the dressing table and rang for Anna. Although the girl seemed devoted to her, Maude was not yet comfortable being waited on. She had done for herself for so long, it seemed absurd to have to rely on another human being to do simple things such as dress oneself. Still, this chignon was giving her trouble, and not having the patience of a saint this evening, Maude knew she was utterly defeated by the thing. And she would need help anyway with the dozens of tiny pearl buttons that paraded delicately up the back of the exquisite dark blue satin dress she would wear.

Maude gazed again at the dress, draped elegantly across the chaise longue in the corner, still surprised that such a thing of beauty could be meant for her. Madame Arnaud had outdone herself, thought Maude, as she noted again the richness of the satin. It seemed to catch the candle glow and shimmer with a thousand colors in the light. It was set off to perfection with extraordinarily fine snowy-white French lace sewn into the sleeves and at the obviously low-cut neckline.

Anna's timid knock came and Maude called for her to enter. The girl gave her a quick bob and almost a glimmer of a smile as she hurried to the dressing table.

"I need help with this infernal thing, Anna," Maude began, picking up the hairpiece. "It won't stay in no matter how I pin it."

Anna took the piece gently. She had been warned by Madame Arnaud that if it came undone it would be the very devil to put it back right. So with hands that were careful, if not expert, Anna began to pin the elaborately twisted and curled knot into Maude's hair.

Maude watched as the hairdo began to take on the appearance of elegance, still amazed that such magic was possible, given her unruly bob. At last Anna held her hands away and reached for the silver mirror on the dressing table. She held it up, and Maude turned to catch sight of the back of her head in the glass.

"Remarkable, Anna." Maude smiled warmly at the timid girl. "I don't know how you do it. I haven't the patience."

Anna managed a brief smile back. She was gradually losing her fear of this beautiful, grand lady who, for no reason Anna could fathom, had taken it into her head to be kind to her.

"Now let's get me into that dress, shall we?"

Maude stood and Anna scurried to pick up the magnificent garment. Thank heaven she had remembered to wash her hands before answering the bell. She had been grating carrots in the kitchen under the baleful watch of Cook, pressed into kitchen duty so that miss could have a grand dinner with his lordship. It was all so romantic! They had quarreled and made up, and now they were getting married. And if the wedding were a little on the tardy side . . . Well, there was nothing in Anna's rude upbringing that would lead her to see much impropriety in that.

Maude stood in her shift as Anna shook out a satin petticoat ready for her to step into. It fastened with ties at the waist and fell gracefully to her feet. The bottom was trimmed with several tiers of white lace which would peep fetchingly from beneath the blue satin gown when she walked.

"The trouble with having such finery is that I am afraid to breathe, much less eat or sit in it," Maude said, laughing, as Anna held the beautiful dress open at the waist for her to step into. The girl then held up the bodice as Maude eased her arms into it, careful not to pull at the delicate fabric. At last Maude was ready to be buttoned.

She stood and gaped at her reflection in the mirror over the dressing table as Anna's fingers flew over the tiny buttons. The dress was artfully designed to set off Maude's slender waist before belling out at the hip to drape over stiffened linen stitched into the skirt. And, indeed, the bodice was daringly low-cut, the lace inset notwithstanding. With a blush, Maude tugged at the material, loathe to rip it but embarrassed by the swell of her bosom which rose over the neckline. Even if there would be no one but Edward to see it tonight, eventually she would have to appear in public, and this would never do. She made a mental note to speak to Madame Arnaud about adding to the lace inset while she fiddled in vain with what was already there to make it seem to cover more.

Far below her, Maude heard the chime of the front door. "Oh, we must hurry, Anna," she cried, as a shiver of excitement swept over her. "He must be here early."

Quickly, Anna finished with the last of the buttons and moved to the cabinet to get the box of kid slippers, dyed blue to match the gown. Maude sat on the bench at the dressing table and took off her bedroom slippers. Anna knelt and slipped the new pair over her stockinged foot. Just as Maude stood to pat her dress into place, there was a tap at the door.

"Come in," Maude called, pleasure and anticipation evident in her voice. He was so eager to see her he could not wait until she came down to him. She turned around as the door opened and stood waiting to hear him say she looked beautiful. With a shock, she realized she was staring into Graves's sour face.

With a sharp intake of breath, she managed to stammer, "What is it, Graves?"

He took the time to take in her appearance, his lips thinning in disapproval as he noted the harlot's plunging neckline. "There is a man to see you below, come from his lordship."

Hiding her disappointment, Maude said, "I shall be down in a moment. Have him wait, please."

With only the slightest inclination of the head, Graves acknowledged her and turned to leave the room.

Maude turned back to the mirror and smoothed her dress, willing herself not to think that for some reason Edward was canceling their evening together, but unable to think of any other reason for a messenger when he was due here shortly. Well, perhaps he was just delayed. With a quick, anxious smile at Anna, Maude gave a last pat to her hair and left the room.

The girl stared after her, marveling again that she had been lucky enough to take service with such a beautiful, kindhearted creature.

Maude descended the wide staircase slowly, taking care to hold her skirts up so as not to trip. It was a far cry from her days at Romney Manor when she tore up and down and in and out, wearing Amelia's too-short hand-me-downs, with no care as to how she appeared.

She reached the bottom of the stairs without incident and faced a man she did not know, slightly disreputable, who stood with his cap in one hand and a note in the other. Wordlessly, he handed her the note which she tore open. Scanning the paper, she read: "My love, my carriage was hit by another a few blocks from you and I have a slight injury, nothing serious, just incommodious. Can you come? I am at the home of a Mr. Jeremy Bales who has been kind enough to take me in and is penning this note for me. This is his carriage driver who will bring you to me." That was all, not even a signature.

"Wait here while I get my cloak," she said to the man, her heart hammering. She desperately hoped Edward was not more injured than he let on if he could not even write the note himself. She turned and found herself facing Graves. "My cloak, please, Graves. His lordship has suffered a slight injury in a carriage accident a few blocks from here and I am going there now."

Graves nodded and left to fetch her cloak, returning a moment later to place it around her. Murmuring an absent thanks, Maude turned to go, then turned back to Graves. "Tell Cook I'm sorry dinner must be delayed again," she said. "I don't know how long we'll be. I'll send word." She turned hurriedly to leave.

Graves held the door, then closed it behind her. With a smile to himself, he crossed to the hall table, seeing the note where Maude had dropped it. He picked it up, read it, then with a nod of approval, took it into the drawing room where he pitched it into the fire. He watched the paper curl into ashes with a sense of deep satisfaction. The whore of Babylon was gone, on her way to those who would see justice done. And if she had a cold, dull life ahead of her, it was all the better for her sinful soul.

His meeting with his mysterious benefactor had been most illuminating. Sitting in a cold, dark carriage, assailed by the stench of the waterfront and the filthy streets, he had heard a sorry tale of perfidy and sin. Buried in his lace handkerchief, the young, well-dressed gentleman, Mr. Jonathan, had tearfully explained that this Miss Romney was as foul of heart as she was fair of face, a vicious Jezebel who had seduced his younger brother and so confounded the poor boy that he had run off and married her. In the few weeks she had stayed with him, she had all but beggared him with demands for jewelry and fine clothing, and when she could wring no more from him, she had disappeared, leaving him heartbroken. And although the family was devastated by this treachery, the poor young man loved her still, and as godly people, they wanted to set right this marriage.

Mr Jonathan had proposed that Mr. Graves aid him and his family in bringing the girl to see reason. The family had generously arranged passage for his brother and the girl to the former American colonies, where they could start fresh with no taint of scandal, and she could be trained to be a dutiful and proper wife.

Mr. Jonathan had been faint with horror when Mr. Graves had informed him that this vicious womanwhy Molly Ramsey was not even her real name!was actually planning a wedding with her present lover, the earl of Radford. And while Mr. Graves cared nothing for what befell the earl, he would not sit still and watch bigamy done. His part was very simple and involved no more than standing by silently while a slight deception took place, while the strumpet was spirited out of the house so that she could be reunited with her true husband.

Surreptitiously, he glanced out of the window next to the door and watched the harlot descend the stairs, on her way, unknowing, to her punishment and her redemption. The old colonies! Divinely inspired! From all accounts, a place of savages and harsh climate, without even the basic amenities, settled by low-life, troublemaking rabble who had long ago shed any pretense of English civility, along with their citizenship. That would settle the whore but good! And as far as his lordship was concerned, it would serve him right to discover that the painted tart was already married, and him planning a wedding.

Mr. Jonathan had promised to inform the earl of the situation privately this evening, so as to avoid any danger that the man might inadvertently spoil the plans. Then later in the evening, when the deed was done, Mr. Graves would go to Mr. Jonathan's rooms and assume his temporary post as valet, while Mr. Jonathan kindly sought a position for him among his friends in the ton.

Oh, indeed, he was doing God's work and now his part in this quest for righteousness was nearly done. He started for the kitchen to relate the lie to Cook that his lordship had sent for Miss Ramsey to take her to Gretna Green, that they would be married right away. He smiled again at the thought of the delicious dinner he would eat, before he left this house forever.

In his sumptuous bedroom, Lord Radford stood still while his valet expertly tied his neckcloth. The earl was feeling exuberant. He had spent the latter part of the afternoon going over Maude's papers from Booth and Parks. Although the embezzlements were bold-faced and atrocious, it was apparent that the estate was intact, if depleted. He knew she'd be pleased to hear that the damage was not substantial or permanent. Moreover, he planned to order extensive repair and refurbishing to Romney Manor after the wedding, and if much of the money necessary to do so came from his own estate . . . Well, she wouldn't have to know that.

He smiled to himself, thinking of the look on her face when he presented her with the contents of the velvet-covered box he had tucked into his jacket pocket. Gleaming inside on the blue satin was a sapphire-and-diamond necklace, possessed by the Lady Radfords these many generations. It would be her bride gift, and he would place it on her beautiful white neck this evening. The feel of her soft skin under his fingers came to him again and he marveled that she could have such an effect on him. There had been dozens of women, beautiful women, vying for his affections, duchesses and harlots, and none had managed to inflame his senses as had this impossible brat from next door who had called him a fool more times than he could count.

There was a discreet knock at the door and at Radford's ''Come in," Martin entered, carrying a note.

"Thank you, Martin," said the earl, turning over the envelope and noting that it was addressed to him in Maude's hand. He had seen enough today of the letters she had supposedly written to Booth and Parks to recognize it now.

Tearing open the letter, he read, "My love, I have a special surprise for you. Will you indulge me? I've asked the hansom driver to wait for you and he will bring you to me. Please come as soon as you can!" It was signed with the initial, M. Smiling to himself, he placed the note in the pocket of his waistcoat.

"Martin, I find I'll not be needing my carriage after all. You may tell Frederick," the earl said. "And I'll not be home this evening, so no one need wait up."

"Very well, my lord," was all that Martin said, before disappearing. There was nothing odd, of course, about the earl spending his evenings with a lady, but Martin would give a week's wages to know which one it was who had the man so besotted he was whistling around the house and smiling like a lackwit. It was most uncharacteristic of a man who prided himself on avoiding the snares set by so many enterprising young ladies and their mamas.

A short time later Radford came down the steps and stood while Martin helped him into his cloak, unaware that he whistled. Martin closed the door behind his master and shook his head. Was there a Lady Radford looming in his future? He should have known this easygoing bachelor household was too good to last.

In the street in the cold rain, wondering in the back of his mind where Maude had gotten the pocket money to hire the cab, Radford stepped into the waiting coach. Before his eyes could adjust to the dark, he was struck hard at the side of his head. He rolled to the dirty floor of the cab, insensible.

With a cackle of laughter, John sat back down on the seat and stared at his prey. "My worst enemies, right here at my feet," he said, smiling broadly. "Life is good and it will soon get much better when I inherit your estate, Maudie."

He leaned down, holding a length of rope in his hand and began to truss Radford's hands behind his back, the same way Maude, whom he had knocked out as she entered the carriage earlier, was tied next to him. He bound the earl's feet for good measure. Finished, he sat back and surveyed his prisoners.

"We will have a nice ride to Romney Manor to see Mama, and then you'll be on your way to elope. So romantic. And not a word to anyone. It's regrettable that your carriage will overturn on Miller's Bridge and you'll both drown. We shall all be so distraught."

John smiled again. "Your uncle, my precious stepfather, will be beside himself for the ten minutes or so that he is sober on any given day. You know, he sets great store by you, Maudie. He hasn't sobered up since you left us, except once or twice he's roused himself to complain of your absence and ask when you'll return from visiting your 'friends.' Of course," he went on, "your uncle won't live much longer either. Just long enough to inherit your estate, Maudie. And no one will question his untimely demise. Why, it's well known the man's been drinking himself to death for years."

John kicked at Maude with the toe of his boot. "And guess who his heirs are, Maudie?" He kicked again. She did not stir. "Don't you know the law, Maudie? Why, his beloved wife inherits and his devoted children by adoption. So you see, we'll get it all anyway, Maudie. Nothing grand, perhaps, but it's enough to see us comfortable for the rest of our lives."

He looked down at her and laughed. "You could have had it with me, Maudie, if you'd seen reason. I wouldn't have been a bad husband to you." He poked again at her with his toe.

"Why did you leave us, Maudie?" he continued, his smile twisting unnaturally where the long scar pulled at his mouth. "Couldn't you bear the thought of my gentle touch on your beautiful breasts? I could have given you great pleasure, Maudie. Something different from the routine futtering you must be getting from his high and mightyship here."

John kicked hard at Radford who gave a low moan in response. "Ah, are you awake, my lord? I knew it would take more than a crack on the head to keep you out, so I've come prepared."

John fumbled in a bag on the seat next to him and brought out a small vial and a bit of cloth.

"Bless Mama," he said benignly, as he poured the evilsmelling stuff into the cloth. "She provided me with a veritable arsenal of equipment so that if I found you, Maudie, I'd have no trouble 'persuading' you to come home to your loving family. But it was so easy, after all. You came right out to me. And you, too, your high and mightyship. Roll over, there's a good boy."

John pushed at Radford's chest with his boot, then leaned down and pulled at his arms to bring his face up. The earl's eyelids flickered open, but his gaze was unfocused and vague. John held the cloth to his nose and watched with satisfaction as Radford's eyes closed slowly again. Letting go of his arms, John let the earl sag back to the floor.

"Now for you, Maudie, my girl. A little snort of chloroform to see to it that you stay asleep until I bring you to Mama. She's meeting us by the way at Miller's Bridge. I've sent word ahead to her, explaining our haste. I know she'll be so excited to see you again. And so proud of her smart little boy."

He pushed the cloth against Maude's face, holding it there for several seconds. "That should do it, Maudie. I don't want you dead yet, no indeed. I have plans for you and I want you alive for a little while longer."

He pulled her up to the seat next to him and propped her limp body against the door. He watched to make sure she was still breathing and was relieved to see the slow rise and fall of her chest, although she had not stirred since he had first struck her in the head.

"Good girl, Maudie. I don't really know how much of that stuff to use. Mama says a little goes a long way. Phew! It does stink, doesn't it? Perhaps I'll let down the window flap a bit. I don't need it so dark in here now, do I, Maudie? I was so afraid you'd see me in the carriage and start screaming. I couldn't have that now, could I?"

John reached behind her and pulled down a corner of the window cover, leaning forward to breathe in the cold, rainy air that swirled into the coach. He sat back and reached for the cloth, folding it up and placing it back into the bag on the seat. "There," he said, smiling at her. "I don't want to go to sleep myself, now do I? Not when there's so much fun to be had and right in front of your lover, too. Too bad I can't afford to wake him up to enjoy it."

His eyes gleaming, he pushed himself closer to the unconscious Maude, staring at her as his tongue flicked out to lick his dry lips. "You're much more complaisant tonight, Maudie, than you were on our last encounter," he said, fingering the purpling bruise that swelled just over her temple. He reached into her low-cut neckline and fondled her breast. She did not stir. "Frankly, I prefer it when you have a little spunk in you, although you still owe me for what you did to my face." His breath came heavy now and he pulled her to him. Her head lolled against his chest.

"Not fighting me now, are you, Maudie?" he whispered into her ear. "Maybe you like what cousin John can give you. Here, Maudie, feel this." He took her limp hand and pressed it against his crotch where his swollen member strained against his breeches. ''You like that, don't you, Maudie?" He rubbed her hand against himself and moaned. "It's big and hard. Much better than you're used to, isn't it? Much better than his high and mightyship, isn't that so, my lord?"

He kicked savagely at the earl, who did not stir. "Wake up!" He kicked again. "Wake up, you pathetic son of a bitch, and watch what a better man can do to your fancy piece!" He kicked again. "Wake up, I say! See how she likes it?"

John's hands fumbled again at Maude's breast and he leaned forward to nuzzle her cleavage. "See, she's letting me do it! She wants it!" he cackled loudly. He pushed her back against the door and tugged roughly at her skirts, raising them until he could see her lace underthings, her long white legs exposed to his view.

"Watch me now, you pompous bastard! Watch me take her!" John fumbled at the buttons on his breeches, not noticing that the carriage had come to a stop.

Just as he succeeded in freeing his swollen shaft, there came a tap at the coach door. "What the hell is it?" he cried in frustration, darting a hurried glance at the door to make sure it was latched from within.

"We're back at the waterfront, sir," the coachman's voice answered. "I'm off like we agreed and I'll be takin' my money now, if you please."

"Not yet! I mean . . . can't you wait a few minutes?" John looked over at Maude, noting in the dim light the way her white legs were stretched out against the dark seat, leading up to the dark triangle he could see under the sheer silk of her undergarment. "II'm not ready yet!" he fairly moaned in the heat of his desire.

"Right now, sir. I'll not wait about in this rain. I'm wet and cold enough as it is."

The door handle rattled menacingly and John was well aware the flimsy lock would break off with a good pull from outside. "All right, just a minute, damn you!" John worked frantically to button up his breeches, casting a look of sheer exasperation at Maude. "I'll be back in just a minute, Maudie." he whispered. "I know you're anxious to see what a real man can do to you."

He pushed her back up against the seat to look as though she slept, pulling her skirts down and straightening the lace at her neckline. Radford, he left on the floor, throwing a carriage rug over him. It was dark inside the coach and as street lamps were few in this area it was unlikely the coachman would see much when John stepped out.

John pushed open the door, just enough for his exit, noting that the dim light from the street fell on Maude but left the floor in darkness. Climbing down into the rain, John stood and glared at the coachman.

"The lady is sleeping. She's not feeling well," he said in case the man had seen her face.

"That'll be ten quid, sir, like you agreed."

The man stood a little too close, an edge of combativeness in his voice and stance, as if daring John to go back on their agreement.

"Right, of course." John fumbled for his purse and drew out the coins. He was cold and getting wetter by the minute and it was not sustaining his amorous mood. "Ten pounds, as agreed." He looked around him, blinking in the light from a street lamp. "Where are we?" he asked, distaste plain on his face. He could smell the stench of the wharves, rotting fish and other garbage. Dark things floated in the rushing gutter and he stepped hurriedly out of the foul water.

"By the Hawk in Hand, like this afternoon," the man said with a sneer. He did not know what this dandified sap was up tohe'd been paid well enough not to carebut it would be a miracle if the fool could drive himself out of this area unharmed.

"I need to go north, out of the city. Which way do I go?" John asked grimly, pulling his coat up against the rain.

A hasty glance around told him it would be an invitation to vandalism to climb back into the carriage now and leave it unattended while he futtered his cousin. He'd be lucky to live long enough to finish. And although he had the brace of pistols he'd found at Romney Manor tucked into his bag, he would be at a distinct disadvantage if called upon to defend himself while ramming away at Maude. With a shrug of aggravation, he listened while the man explained how to get out of the city.

With the barest nod of farewell, the man melted into the shadows, leaving John alone in the dark. Snarling to himself, John wrenched open the door and picked up the carriage rug. His eye fell on his bag and he reached in and grabbed one of the two pistols, noting as he did that neither Maude nor Radford had moved. Good. They were both out cold and tied securely. It was a good two hours to Romney Manor and with luck they'd stay unconscious until he arrived.

He rather hoped Maude would regain consciousness after they arrived if only briefly while he took her. He wanted to see the fear in her eyes and maybe hear her scream. And if Radford was awake, too, so much the better. The man would be able to do nothing about it, bound as he was and it would add immeasurably to John's pleasure to be watched by the impotent high and mightyship while he ravished Maude right in front of him.

He climbed up on the driver's seat and quickly tucked the rug around him, drawing his cloak tight to keep out as much of the wind and rain as possible. The pistol lay at his right hip, ready to hand. Several unsavory types had already pulled too close to the carriage, and John hurriedly flicked the reins to start the horses forward. It was cold and monstrously wet. But he would make Maude pay for all his discomfort. <><><><><><><><><><><><>

Radford lay, his head on a hard surface as drops of water splattered his face. He breathed in the cold, fresh air, and very gradually, a vague awareness of his surroundings began to penetrate the deep fog of his consciousness. At first he only knew that he was cold, terribly cold, but he could not wake up enough to pull the covers up over himself. Then he became aware that he was also painfully uncomfortable, that he was cramped and stiff and twisted into an awkward, unnatural position. He moved to stretch and realized that he could not, that he was somehow restricted.

Awareness flooded through him. With a jolt, he tried to rise and found that he could move no more that a few inches. His head ached unbearably. Trying to fight through his haze of pain and fog, he worked at piecing together where he was and how it had come to pass. He could see nothing in the dark.

Moving his head forward, his face hit up against what felt to be the bottom of a seat cushion. Below him, he could feel the sway of a carriage and he could hear hoofbeats. A coach! He was on the floor of a coach, tied up, and it was moving!

Slowly, fighting the pain and waves of nausea, he began experimenting with what he could move and how far. His hands were worthless. They were tied behind his back and he had no feeling in them. He pulled his wrists apart and was gratified to find there was some, although not much, play in the rope binding him. His feet were bound, but as he struggled to move, he found that he could inch himself up, using his knees and his arms against the floor and the front of the coach.

At last, after what seemed a long struggle, he achieved somewhat of a sitting position, facing the rear of the coach. He sat back with his eyes closed and fought against the pain and dizziness that threatened to engulf him and sink him back down into oblivion. There was a faint, unpleasant, medicinal smell. What was it? He took a deep breath. Yes, that was it. Chloroform. The work of a gutless assassin.

He let the cool breeze blow over his face and he shook his head to clear it. He willed himself to be alert. Then he became aware that he was not alone.

Slumped over against the door, apparently asleep, was Maude, her face a white blur in the dim flickers of light that the window flap allowed in. Radford could just make out a nasty purpling bruise on her temple. His heart stopped as he strained to see if her chest rose and fell. At last he was rewarded when he heard, rather than saw, her take a deep breath. He could not see her hands. No doubt she was trussed as he was. A glance down showed him that her feet were bound together.

Furiously, his mind began working, anger cutting like a knife through the fog of the chloroform. There were only two people he could think of who would be behind such a plot, and as his sources had informed him that Sommesby was safely ensconced in France, it had to be John Romney. Even as he thought the name, Radford knew he was right. The chloroform would not be the work of Sommesby, who favored a quick and fatal strike in the dark. No, this was too elaborately slow for Sommesby and too desperate. Claire's detectives must have done their work after all.

While his mind worked through the situation, he lifted his face to catch the cool, wet wind that blew in from the window flap. He pulled at his wrists and noted with some slight satisfaction that the feeling was returning to his hands, which felt like they were being stuck with a thousand pins. He listened. All he could hear was the rattle of the coach and the clip clop of the horses' hooves, punctuated by an occasional shout of raucous laughter from somewhere in the streets.

Sniffing the air, he could smell city smells, unpleasant, rotting odors, an area unwashed and unclean. He knew that wherever they were it was not in a part of town he wanted to be without his pistols or at least his sword cane, and preferably a similarly armed friend or two. Certainly not tied up like a Christmas goose, his lady bound and unconscious beside him.

The coach gave a sudden lurch, and Maude's limp body slipped away from the door and down toward the front of the coach, her head coming to rest at an awkward angle. Radford heard several loud shouts then the crack of a whip. He could feel the coach spring forward and heard the voices, now shouting curses, fading behind as the coach gained speed. He muttered a quick prayer that John, or whoever was driving, could handle himself in this foul neighborhood.

In the dim light, part of Maude's back was now visible and he could see where her wrists were bound behind her. He wiggled his fingers. Good. The feeling was almost back to normal. Now if he could just get his back to hers, he could work at getting her hands untied.

Slowly, and in great pain, he pushed himself against the front wall of the coach, straining to lever himself up onto the seat. At last, his patience was rewarded. Up on the seat finally, he sat back against the squabs, his chest heaving at the exertion, his muscles screaming in disapproval at the grotesque maneuvers he had put them through.

He turned away from Maude and slid backwards up against her rear. He reached out as far as his arms would go and felt against her back. There! His fingers touched hers. They were cold and lifeless and he had to repress a shudder of fear, reminding himself that he had heard her breathing.

With no idea where they were going or how much time he would have before the carriage stopped, he fumbled awkwardly at the knots he could feel but not see. His fingers were stiff and stupid, and he swore at his own clumsiness as he picked blindly at the tight ropes. Finally he felt a small give in one of the knots and he slipped one finger beneath it to work at it some more while pulling at it from the top with his other hand. The position was awkward and painful since his own ropes sliced into his wrists with every movement, but gradually he felt the knot give until at last he was able to pull the rope free of Maude's hands. His elation vanished as he saw her hands fall lifeless to her sides. What good would it do him to get her untied if she remained unconscious? When the carriage came to a stop and John came for them, what could he do, still bound as he was? He sat back against the seat, his eyes closed, fighting despair and a pounding pain which stabbed through his head.

Another sudden lurch caused Maude's limp body to shift again, and she settled further down, now bent over nearly doubled. Fighting against the pain and feeling of hopelessness, Radford eased himself closer to her, angling his body so that his bound hands could grasp one of hers. It felt warmer to the touch, now, he was relieved to feel, as he pulled at her to right her again. She fell against him, her head lolling in his lap, with no more awareness than a rag doll.

Sighing, he bent over as far as he could, until he could smell the lilac in her hair and see the way the errant tendrils curled around her sleeping face. With a snarl, he raised his head, staring at the front wall of the coach as if he could send daggers through it to pierce the heart of the coachman. He would not sit here and wait for John Romney to play his hand, not if he tore every tendon in his body getting them free.

Dropping with an inelegant thud to the floor of the coach, Radford worked himself around so that his hands could reach the ropes at Maude's ankles. Slowly, painstakingly, he worked blindly at the knots, pleased to find that these were not tied so tightly as had been the bonds at her wrists.

As he worked, he listened and sniffed the air. All was silent, save for the sounds of the coach and horses. There were no city sounds, and no city smells either. All he could smell now was the rain on a country road and the lingering evil of the chloroform. Gone now, too, was the flickering light afforded by occasional street lamps. It was nearly pitch black inside the coach and Radford had to strain to make out anything at all.

Finally, he felt the last of the knots give under his fingers and he pulled the rope free. He rubbed at Maude's ankles for a moment to restore the circulation, furious when through her silk stockings he felt the wheals left by the ropes.

Maude was now free, for all the good it would do them. She lay like a stone against the squabs, but her chest still rose and fell with regularity. Radford eyes the window next to her head. If he could just pull the flap open, she would get cold air and rain in her face and that might be enough to waken her. Unless . . . But, no, he would not even consider the ugly purple lump on the side of her head. It had to be the chloroform that kept her unconscious. If John had dosed them each with the same amount, it stood to reason that Maude would have been much more heavily affected than the much larger Radford.

Sliding over to the window, Radford leaned toward the flap and took the catch in his teeth, working at it with his tongue and front teeth until he pulled it forward, then thrust it back through the grommet, freeing the flap. A blast of wind and rain caught him in the face and he sat back with a satisfied smile as he saw the water splatter on Maude's face and the gusts blow at her curls. He pushed his face against her ear and whispered to her, murmuring endearments and blandishments for her to awaken. This close to her, he could smell the chloroform lingering on her skin. That bastard. He would die for this.

Her skin felt warm as he nuzzled her, and through the chloroform, he could smell the lilacs. She was so beautiful. When this was over . . . He heard a faint moan. Sitting up abruptly, he stared, hardly daring to hope that she had stirred. There, he could just make out the flicker of her lashes.

"Maude! Maude! Wake up," he called out as loudly as he dared, lest he be heard by the coachman.

She moaned again and this time her head moved, lolling away from the window. With his face against hers, he pushed her back so that the wind and rain came directly in on her face again. She began to sputter and moan and he could have sworn he heard a tone of aggravation in it. He watched expectantly and soon enough her eyes flickered open. They were vacant and unseeing, and his heart stopped beating as he recalled without wanting to what permanent damage a well-placed head wound could do. As he watched her in the dim light, her eyes focused and she stared at his face, as if wondering who he was. She moved her head slightly, as if to see better and winced, apparently in pain.

"Hush, my love, don't move yet," Radford murmured, his voice caressing her the way his hands could not. Her eyes roamed over his face. A soft light came into them and she smiled up at him.

"Wherewhere are we?" she croaked, then surprised at the weakness in her own voice, asked, "what's wrong with me?"

"Hush a minute, Maude, don't talk." Radford turned his head to the window and listened. He heard nothing but the sound of the coach and horses as before. He turned back to her and forced himself to smile reassuringly.

"We are in a coach, we've been abducted. Now don't say anything," he added quickly as he saw her eyes widen. "I believe it's your cousin, John, or his henchman, but I can't be sure yet, and he is taking us out of the city, I don't know where."

Maude struggled to sit up, wincing again at the obvious pain it caused her. She sat back against the seat and closed her eyes, as if the struggle to reason it out was too much. "I feel absolutely foul and I can hardly think," she said weakly. "All I remember is being summoned to you. You were hurt. You didn't send for me?"

"No, and no doubt you did not send for me either. Although I received a charming little note from you."

Maude gazed at him, the pain and confusion evident in her eyes.

"I don't remember any note, but I can't seem to make much sense out of any of this. What makes you think we are being abducted?"

"Well, to begin with, my dear, we were both bound hand and foot," he said drily. "Then there is the matter of the chloroform." "Chloroform?" Maude said quietly. "Yes, you are right. Aunt Claire always has chloroform about. She says it is good for a toothache but I cannot abide the stuff." She held up her hands. "I am not bound now, but my hands and feet certainly hurt. How did we get untied?"

He smiled at her. "Well, there's where I could use some help from you, Maude. Frankly, I thought you'd never wake up."

He leaned forward and she could see that his hands were still bound behind him. "Oh, Edward! Why didn't you say something sooner? Here, let me help you!"

She reached forward and felt at his wrists, fumbling in the dark at the ropes. He sat patiently, grinning as she swore at the stubborn knots.

"Umm, Maude?" he ventured.

"What? Damnation!" she bit off, concentrating on a knot that had just torn one of her nails below the quick.

"When you are Lady Radford, you won't use those sorts of expressions in public, will you?"

"Only when something aggravates me, my love." The knot gave under her relentless fingers.

"Well, that certainly relieves my mind."

Gradually, the knot was worked loose until finally the rope fell to the seat. Radford pulled his arms forward, wincing at the stab of pain through his shoulders. Maude rubbed at his hands and wrists.

"They are raw where the ropes have cut you," she exclaimed. "See, here, I feel blood."

"No matter, love. What's important is that I'm untied. See what you can do for my feet, will you?"

"Oh mercy!" she cried, diving for the floor. "I forgot about your feet." Kneeling on the floor, she worked the ropes up to the top of his boots. "There, now I have more slack to work with. And at least the boots have kept the rope from tearing at you."

For a moment she worked in silence as the knots came loose more easily than had the ones at his wrists. Finally, he felt the rope pull free and she held it up in triumph. As she moved to put it down on the floor, he heard her sharp intake of breath.

''What is it?" he cried, sitting forward, suddenly alert. "Did you hear anything?"

"No, it's not that," Maude said sitting up, her face wreathed in fury. "See here, what's on the floor. My father's bag. See, it's got his initials on it, PLR, Peter Lewis Romney. I remember this bag from when I was little. I haven't seen it since" her voice broke and she took a deep breath. "How dare the bastard take my father's things?" she cried, and threw it onto the seat. "I shall burn it now that he has soiled it with his filthy touch!" She crumpled to the seat with a sob and buried her head in her hands.

He took her in his arms, well aware that her emotions were no match for the evening's events. "Hush, love, don't cry about it now. He will pay for all of this, don't you worry." He rocked her softly while she cried.

Finally, she pulled away from him and sat up. He took out his handkerchief and mopped inexpertly at her eyes and nose, making her laugh. She turned to gaze with longing at the bag. "I don't think I can burn it, anyway," she said with a slight hiccup. "Papa used to take that bag with him when he'd go overnight to London with Mama and leave me behind." She fingered the initials lovingly. "I remember packing myself in this bag once. I got in and crouched down, and I was so sure Papa wouldn't see me and I could go with them to London."

She smiled warmly. "And of course he played along. He threw a pile of shirts in on top of me and made as if the bag was so full he couldn't lift it. Let me see, there's an inside pocket with a catch and I tore my dress on it."

Maude opened the bag wide and peered in, pushing the garments to one side. Suddenly she stopped, a look of confusion on her face quickly replaced by one of joy. "Oh, I can't believe what an utter fool the man is," she crowed. "Look what he has left for us!" In triumph, she held up a pistol. Radford gazed at it stunned and incredulous, then he broke into a laugh and seized her in a great hug. "Oh, Maude, you've just saved our lives. Let me see it. Is it loaded?"

He took it from her, and a frown creased her brow. While he checked to make sure the pistol was loaded, Maude pawed through the bag again. "Oh," she said, leaning back, disappointment and worry lining her face. "I don't mean to worry you, but this pistol is one of a pair. There's another and it's not here in the bag."

"It really doesn't matter, Maude. He probably has it with him now. You see, we know he has it, but he doesn't know we have the other one. In fact, I don't plan for him to know we're awake and untied at all. Not until I'm ready to spring at him." He gazed with appreciation at the pistol. "This is a fine piece of work. It's old, isn't it?" He fingered it lovingly.

"Yes," Maude said. "It belonged to my grampa. In fact, the pair were a gift to him from your grampa." She giggled. "Actually, I believe I tried to kill you once with one of these."

"Ah, yes. As I recall, you shot me off my horse. What a brat you were." He laughed softly and tugged one of her errant curls.

"I was never a brat. You were such a humorless prig as I remember it." She nuzzled at his hand and the amusement which had flared in her eyes for just a moment was replaced by worry. "Oh, Edward, what if he shoots you first? Let me hold the gun when he comes in. Then you can grab him and hold him and I'll shoot."

"Maude," Radford said in mock exasperation. "Please don't wound my ego any further by suggesting I am not a match for that silly sod, gun or no gun. Allow me, just this once, to go through the motions of protecting you. I'll keep the gun. You just lie quiet and do nothing." He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. "I'll never let him hurt you again, my love," he whispered softly. "Tonight we finish it, and you'll have nothing more to worry you again.'' She lay back against him. So her aunt's detectives had successfully tracked her down and she wondered what her cousin had in store for her and Edward. She wished she could feel so sure that she and Edward would overtake him, but she knew how vicious John could be and she knew how desperate he must be feeling now. Desperation gave fools great power. And he must hate them both so much.

"We must try to figure out where we are, Maude, and where we're going." Radford sat up and pulled the window flap back. The wind and rain lashed in. "I know it's dark," he went on, "but you look out that side, and I'll look out this one, and let's see if there is anything we recognize. I suppose it's been about an hour since I woke up and we were probably leaving the city about then."

Maude pulled the flap on her side over and peered out. The rain lashed at her face, but the fresh, cold wind felt wonderful after the stuffy, chloroform air inside the coach. She could feel her headache receding. She hadn't really much hope that she would recognize anything because she was not familiar with the roads in and out of the city. She smiled to herself, thinking that on her last trip she'd been unconscious and dressed as a boy at that.

Just as she was feeling that the cold and wet were worse than the stuffy air inside, she felt Radford's hand on her arm. She pulled her face from the window and turned to find him smiling at her.

"We're on our way home," he announced, pleased with himself. "We've just passed the Queen's Lady. That's the inn we've always marked as the halfway point between London and Radford."

He sat back and handed her his handkerchief again. She was aware that she dripped everywhere, her face, her hair. So much for Madame Arnaud's delicate work on the chignon.

"We have about an hour before we get there, assuming we don't stop first. I have a feeling John won't risk a stop, particularly in this weather." He noted Maude's troubled expression. "What's the matter, love? What's worrying you?" "Aunt Claire." The name fell like a dead weight in her heart. "She's always been John's brains and his nerve, and she's worse than he is. Honestly, Edward, you have more to fear from her than you do from John and his pistol."

Radford pulled her close and stroked her hair gently. She had suffered such abuse and neglect for so long at the hands of that vile woman it was only natural that she should have an unreasoning fear of her.

"Claire cannot hurt either of us, my love," he whispered, nuzzling her neck. "I intend to get the upper hand over John the minute the carriage stops. He won't have a chance to get to his dear mama." His nibbling became more insistent. "Too bad I can't be sure he won't stop the coach. I've never made love in a moving carriage before."

Maude giggled and turned her face to his. Before he seized her lips with his own, he noted that the shadow of fear had left her eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Four

At last John drew within sight of Miller's Bridge. It was too dark to make out much, but he thought he could see a dark bulk ahead. He hoped desperately it was Claire's carriage waiting for him. He could use her to help him finish thinking this through. He'd had a cold, wet ride and too much time to brood on what could go wrong. His mother never seemed to worry about failure. She always concentrated on how to get exactly what she wanted. She would make everything come out right.

His plan was to transfer Radford and Maude to a Romney Manor carriage, then send it tumbling into the rushing stream. Later they could say, between heartrending sobs, that Radford and Maude had come to Romney Manor to meet with Uncle James and that they had left then to marry at Gretna Green, with the blessing of the family. John could drive the hired coach back tonight and leave it, and no one would be able to trace it to him. He had not been foolish enough to rent it in his own name, and a carriage accident in the country, particularly on a night such as this, was not so uncommon a thing to arouse question.

And if Messrs. Booth and Parks were suspicious, they'd be able to prove nothing. Graves was dead by now. The sanctimonious old fool would be found sometime near dawn perhaps, a nameless corpse in the seamier streets of London, unlamented and sought by no one, and good riddance. And John had made sure that the ruffians in his employ today had known no more than necessary to get the job done.

Ahead, John could hear the rushing water. Good. High, rushing water would make an even better case for an accidental drowning. The rill under Miller's Bridge had a respectable flow, but in drier times one could stand in mid-stream and keep one's head above water. Not so tonight.

A light flickered in the dark. As it drew closer, the light became a lantern, and he could make out a carriage looming ahead. Excellent! It had to be Mama. No one else would wait in this weather, though the rain had stopped some quarter of an hour before. He licked his lips and flicked the reins to spur the tired horses on. He needed ten minutes alone with Maudie in the carriage. Mother would have to understand. He had waited too long and suffered too much on this miserable journey to give up his final pleasure on her luscious body now.

As he grew closer, he could see a face in the window of the carriage. There! It was Mama! He drew alongside and climbed down from his perch. The horses stood, heads down, spent. John opened the door of his mother's carriage. She was smiling broadly and it was the first real smile he remembered seeing from her in months. She reached out and pulled him into a big hug, a rare show of affection for her.

"My precious," she crooned, releasing him, "I knew I could count on you to find her. And right under our noses all that time. I never dreamed our esteemed neighbor had sheltered her. Why, Amelia never picked up a word that Radford had a new lady friend. Not that I would ever have imagined our dreary little Maude would be to Radford's taste. He has quite a reputation as a rake, I understand." She smiled warmly at John and reached up with her handkerchief to pat his dripping face dry. He stood between the two carriages, in the open door, sheltered from the wind.

"Mama, as usual you underestimate Maudie's charms. And you'd be surprised what a figure she cuts, all tarted up by his lordship. She's quite delectable, really."

"Hmmph," was Claire's brief response. "Look here, John," she began briskly, "what's all this about Parsons being taken away by the police? Your note said not to worry, but if Parsons has been found out, so have we. Don't think for a moment he will make any attempt to shield me."

In the lamplight he could see the worry crease her face. Odd, how old she looked in this light. He had been away most of these last two months and she seemed to have aged terribly under the strain of Maude's disappearance. He'd never thought of his mother as old, and it gave him rather a twist in his heart to see it.

"Not to worry, Mother," he said reassuringly. "I've thought it all through and I don't see how we can fail. You see, Booth and Parks must know about the accounts, but if Radford plans to marry Maude, as I understand he does, it behooves them both not to make a public scandal about it. They come here tonight, have a nice reconciliation with us, all is forgiven and that sort of thing, and off they go to elope. The carriage accident is so heartbreaking, don't you think?" John smiled into his mother's eyes and was relieved to see her slowly smile back. He had been so afraid she would point out some glaring flaw in his reasoning that he had overlooked in the haste of the day's activities.

"Yes," she said slowly, as if thinking it through. "Yes, I believe it will work. And Radford's younger brothers won't want to muck about in any scandal either. I think you are right, my dear. If we spent a bit of Maude's money, well, who's to complain after she's dead?" Claire's expression lightened, and John was relieved to see some of the lines smooth away.

"Well," she began again, extending her hand for him to help her alight, "how do you propose to bring about this unfortunate accident, my pet? I take it our happy bride and groom are secured in your carriage?"

"Indeed they are, Mama." He smiled proudly. "For all his reputation for being such a formidable opponent, I found his lordship remarkably easy to lure away. I coshed them both on the head, tied them up securely, and gave them each a dose of chloroform into the bargain. I don't think we have to worry about them for now. Besides," he said, striding back to the driver's perch and reaching up, "here is our final bit of insurance." He handed his mother the pistol.

"Very good, precious," Claire said, hefting the pistol appreciatively. "Of course we don't want to use this unless we have to. A bullet wound would turn it into a robbery attempt instead of an unfortunate carriage accident in bad weather. I'd prefer not to have the constabulary in on this, if at all possible."

John smiled. It was such a relief, hearing his mother reason it all out. She made everything sound so possible. He could feel his tension draining away.

"We'll have to use our carriage, I'm afraid, Mother. I cannot risk not returning this one. It's rented and I don't want anyone to remember anything remarkable about today's rental. I thought we could pull the pins from the struts of our carriage so that the horses could get free. No point in losing two perfectly good horses when we can contrive to save them. We'll have to leave them to wander, but they'll still be harnessed together so they won't get far." As he spoke, John walked over to Claire's carriage and examined the mechanism which held the struts to the carriage. "Shouldn't be too difficult," he called out. "There should be a few tools in the kit under the driver's box." He turned back to his mother.

"John, how do you propose to tip the carriage? And how can we be sure that they drown?" She turned and cast a doubtful eye on the carriage door. "I wouldn't put it past either of them to stumble out and pull themselves back to the riverbank. You can't very well leave them tied up, can you? That would give everything away when the bodies are found."

John looked befuddled for a moment. Indeed, he had not stopped to consider that he would have to remove the bonds before he tipped the carriage over. The water would be too deep for him to risk wading in to do it after they were dead. Then his face lightened.

"I'll just chloroform them again, Mother. There's plenty of the stuff left in my bag, and after the smell wears off, there's no way to tell it was ever used. When I'm sure they're fully unconscious, dead even, for all I care, I'll take off the ropes." He smiled, his confidence returned. "And as far as tipping the coach, I'm afraid I'll need your help for that. It will be all the more heavy with two bodies inside, but once we get it to rocking, we'll be able to tip it. Perhaps we can break off one of the struts to use as a lever."

Claire looked dubious but it was clearly too late to come up with an alternative. "Very well then, John, but it's late and this will take time so we might as well get started. I wouldn't expect anyone out on the road at this hour in weather like this, but we can't be too careful. Why don't you use the chloroform now? I'm worried that it's been several hours since the first dose and we don't want a fight on our hands."

"Mother, please. Neither of them will be in shape to fight, I promise you. In fact, I expect they are both still dead to the world. I left the coach windows sealed so there wouldn't be any air inside . . ." his voice trailed off as their eyes found the loose flap on the coach window. Claire turned a wry eye on John and raised an eyebrow.

"Drat! I must have forgotten to close it after I turned off the hired coachman in the city," John said. "Well, no matter, Mother, they are securely bound, and don't forget, I smashed them both in the heads with that pistol. They won't be conscious, or they'll be so groggy that it won't much matter." He started forward, his stomach in knots. All evening he had planned to futter his cousin mercilessly and now he wasn't even sure he could get through this without chucking up the remains of his last meal. What if the bastard was awake and waiting for him?

"John, wait!" Claire called out, just as he reached for the latch on the door. "Wait until I position myself with this pistol, so that I can see clearly and shoot if necessary. Get that lamp and set it over here where it casts light on the door."

Claire barked out the orders and John jumped to obey, glad for even this small reprieve. He set the lantern down near her feet and turned expectantly back to Claire. It was clear she was in charge now and he waited for the next order.

"Now, John, what position did you leave them in, do you remember?" she asked, expertly examining the pistol to see if it was loaded.

John remembered all too well the sight of Maude lying with her dress up, her head against the door. He had twitched it down, hadn't he, so the coachman wouldn't see, and Radford had been on the floor. "Of course I remember, Mama," he said. "She was on the seat and he was on the floor, but they are dead weights and we had a bumpy ride. I can't be sure they haven't shifted while I drove."

"You're right. But Radford will still be on the floor at least. It's Maude who may have slipped down. Open the door slowly, son, and look in. At the first sign that anything is amiss, jump back and I'll shoot."

Very slowly, willing his hand not to shake, John reached for the latch.

Inside the coach, in the dim light filtering in from the lantern, Maude held Radford's eye, drawing courage from the steely resolve she saw there. They had arranged themselves as they had been left by John, Radford having to guess at his own position. He lay on the floor crouched on his side, the gun in his hand hidden by the bag. Maude lay on the seat as Radford told her he remembered seeing her. The ropes were draped across their wrists and ankles, looking as if they were still tied securely. She had her orders not to move, to lie still as if she were still asleep. She prayed she'd be able to obey, but she'd not lie quiet if through some fluke John got the upper hand.

They had been able to overhear most of what had passed between John and his mother. Now Maude knew her aunt's detectives hadn't found her at all but then she had suppressed a gasp when she realized Claire was holding a gun trained on the door. Radford held her gaze, communicating through the glint in his eye that he cared nothing for Claire and her pistol. God grant that he be right, prayed Maude as she lay still, hardly daring to breathe, lest her heaving chest give away her agitation. As she heard the door latch rattle, she shut her eyes to slits, praying now fervently. The light shot into the coach as the door opened. For a split second Maude held her breath.

"They haven't moved a muscle, Mama!" she heard John call out in triumph. She waited.

"Reach for the bag, son. Get the chloroform!" urged Claire.

Maude heard a scrabbling sound and watched as John lifted the bag from the floor and swung it to the ground. Since the light slanted into the coach at an angle, he did not notice the pistol in Radford's hand.

"Put it down quickly, precious! Get the chloroform before the cold air revives them!"

Claire spoke excitedly, but Maude could see nothing beyond the door. Suddenly she saw Radford lunge and she heard a strangled cry from John. Unable to stop herself, Maude sprang up. She could see that Radford knelt in the doorway, his arm around John's throat, the pistol at his neck. John half stood and half knelt on the ground outside. Beyond them, her face twisted in a mask of fury, stood Claire, her pistol raised and pointed at Radford's head. They were like a frozen tableau, hanging in the misty lamplight, as if caught in a ghastly tableau. For a moment no one broke the silence of the night. Then through a grimace like a death's rictus, Claire spoke. ''Let him go, Radford, or I'll blow a large hole through your face." She smiled slowly at him, a terrible smile. "And maybe you'll live long enough to hear what I'll do to your pretty plaything before she dies."

"You overestimate your hand, madam." Radford's voice was insultingly cool. "You could not shoot me before I squeezed the trigger against your son's neck. Which is it to be, madam? John dead or surrender?" Beneath his arm, he could feel John shaking convulsively.

"Mama?" There was panic in John's quavering voice. "Mama, you'll kill us both if you shoot."

"I'll never let you win, Radford," Claire snarled, as if she hadn't heard John at all. Her eyes glittered with all the madness she had suppressed for so long. "For years you and your gracious family have lorded it over me, barely acknowledging my existence, and all because you had the blind luck to be born with money instead of without. Well, I'll show you what really counts in this world, your lordship," Claire spat out the title as if it were an insult. "Brains. Brains and guts."

Slowly, deliberately, Claire raised the pistol in front of her and took aim.

With a scream of pure terror, John lunged, pulling himself and Radford to the side just as Claire's pistol discharged with a thunderous roar and a blast of smoke. The horses reared in fright and the carriage lurched, swaying wildly. Feeling the sudden shift in weight against their harness, the horses pawed at the wet, slippery mud, losing ground as the bank began to give way beneath their frantic hooves. The carriage heeled, and with a tearing shriek, the bolts ripped from the struts, freeing the scrambling horses from the coach. As the horses scrambled away, the shift in weight caused the coach to plunge down the bank into the rushing water. Radford, caught just inside the door, pulled John down with him.

Inside the coach, Maude was thrown against the far door which mercifully held shut against her sudden weight, the water pushing against the other side. The carriage landed on its side, and began to sink quickly into the rushing water. The window flap near Maude's face tore open against the pressure and the water poured in. Gasping against the torrent, Maude tried to push her head up away from the door. She could see nothing in the swirling dark but she could hear John's screams and could feel wild thrashing and kicking around her.

The water was rising quickly now; the carriage compartment was filling fast. Maude, struggling wildly upward, her skirts becoming heavier every second with water, tried to claw her way free and find the far door. The water rushed around her, up to her chest, past her neck. Her scream ended in a gurgle as the deadly water closed over her head. Suddenly she felt hands reaching for her, groping at her, grabbing her by the shoulders.

She was pulled up, her shoulder hitting against something that felt like the side of the carriage door. She reached out with her hands and caught the sides of the door, pulling herself through the opening as the unknown hands helped to lift her. Her face hit the air just as her lungs convulsed and drew in a mouthful of water.

Choking and retching, she looked around wildly, seeing nothing in the blackness, praying that it was Radford who held her and not John. Rushing water swirled around her as she climbed out and clung to the side of the carriage which was now about a foot underwater and rocked precariously in the current.

Maude knelt on her hands and knees, gasping for air, hardly daring to look up, lest she gaze into the face of her cousin beside her. There were screams still; a woman was screaming from the riverbank, and a man, also, far beneath her in the swirling water. It was John.

"Save him! Save him! He can't swim!" Claire shrieked.

Maude felt the carriage heave and heard a splash as Radford leaped into the river. She leaned over the side and peered into the dark waters. In the faint light of the lantern on the riverbank, she could make out two figures in the water and heard Radford's voice shouting over John's screams. John was clinging to a thin piece of wood that had nearly broken loose from the carriage. His head bobbed up and down in the churning water and he sputtered and choked between his screams. Radford reached out for John, shouting for him to grab on to him. Instead, John batted frantically at Radford's hands and he clawed at the board he held, trying to pull himself against the current, closer to the carriage. The motion pulled the board free and John was borne away by the swirling current, shrieking and choking as he went under and fought his way to the surface again.

There was an agonized scream from the riverbank, then a flash of color as Claire threw herself into the water, screaming for John to hold on until she could get to him. At the same time, Radford struck out, half swimming, half being carried by the current downstream. Shrieks came from Claire now. Weighted down by her voluminous wet skirts, she was having trouble staying afloat. John had disappeared into the black, racing waters downstream and Maude could barely make out Claire's head bobbing.

Suddenly, a thunderous jolt hit the carriage. Maude had time to see a large limb tangle itself in the trailing straps from the harness as the carriage shifted suddenly in the water, tipping nearly over onto its roof and tumbling her into the current.

The icy water was a shock all over again, and Maude rose to the surface gasping, trying to grasp at any part of the carriage she could hold onto. Although she could swim, her skirts filled quickly with water and pulled her down. Panic ripped a scream from her throat as her hands tore loose from the window flap she had grabbed onto.

Now the current had her in its deadly flow, and she fought to keep her head up as the swirling water sucked her down. The waters closed over her head, and she pushed desperately with her arms to get her head above the water, feeling her treacherous skirts drag her back down. She caught a glimpse of the silk of Claire's dress in the darkness ahead of her. Again the waters pulled her down and again she fought her way back up, choking on the mouthfuls she had half swallowed, half inhaled. Mama! Oh God, this was how Mama had died! And it was so terrifying, so dark and so cold!

"Papa! Papa!" Maude cried into the blackness as she was drawn down again, unaware that her terror had torn away so many years of hiding from the pain of losing her father and mother.

The dark waters closed over her head and this time there was no strength left in her arms or in her soul to push her way back to the surface. Alone in the cold blackness, no air left in her lungs, she heard a loud rushing in her ears and she felt her awareness drift away. She had a moment's hope that she would lose consciousness before she felt the terrible, killing water being drawn into her chest.

Barely aware, almost as if she were dreaming, she felt arms around her, lifting her, pulling her up into the precious air. Her head broke free, and by reflex, she drew a deep breath into her starved lungs.

"I've got you, Maude, don't fight me, go limp!" Radford commanded over the rush of the water.

She could feel one of his arms holding her tightly around the chest and felt the hard kicks of his legs as he fought the vicious current. She felt a hard tug at her waist and a tear as her skirts and then her petticoat were ripped loose.

"There," he gasped, "I've torn the filthy stuff free. See if you can rip it all the way off before it drowns us both!"

Sobbing and choking, Maude tore at the heavy material with her waning strength. Radford turned slightly in the water so that the current would work for her. Gradually, she felt the heavy skirts slide over her hips as the current took them. Then the deadly weight was gone and her legs were free again.

"Good," she heard him grunt. "Now we should be able to make it to the bank."

He struck out with his free arm, pulling her along on her back. Maude was near exhaustion but she kicked her legs to help. Between the two of them, they made progress against the current. She felt him strike land, then her feet stumbled against the river bottom. Pulling her up into his arms, he carried her up onto the riverbank, then sank to the mud, cradling her against his heaving chest.

For a moment they sat quiet. There were no more screams, just the noise of the rushing water. Over Radford's shoulder Maude could see the horses, still tethered together, standing patiently in the dark. Her tears mingled with the river water running from her hair as she stared into the dark water and saw no sign of John or Claire. She was shivering convulsively in the chill winter night, wearing nothing but the remnants of her dress bodice and her shift.

"Let's get you warmed up, my love," Radford whispered into her hair, his hands rubbing her icy skin.

He sat up, pushing her forward for a minute, while he took off his jacket and wrapped it around her. It was warm from his body in spite of the wet, and Maude leaned back against his chest. She was so tired and so sad. She thought she could fall asleep right there and never wake up again. Radford picked her up and, swinging her into his arms, strode toward the Romney carriage.

"Are they . . . Did they drown?" she brought herself to ask in a tiny shivering voice against his chest.

He nuzzled the top of her head. There was a long pause before he answered. "I saw John go down and I didn't see him come back up again. While I was trying to get to him, I could see that your aunt was being pulled under. Then before I could reach her, I heard the carriage go over and saw you fall."

There was another silence. She could feel his heart beating against his chest.

"I could only save one of you, Maude, and it had to be you." There was sorrow in his voice, and perhaps failure.

They reached the coach, and Radford set her down as he pulled open the door. She crawled in and found a carriage rug and wrapped it around her, holding it open for him to crawl under with her. She was barely shivering now, held warm in the heat from his body.

The dim light shown on his face as he climbed in beside her. He was so beautiful, with his wet hair curling about his face and his eyes full of concern. She had thought she would die tonight, a cold, violent death, a death such as her mother and father had had, and, instead, this man had saved her life and he held her safe still. This man who now ached with the failure to do what was not humanly possible.

Maude reached up and pushed the straggling, dripping hair away from his face. He looked down at her and smiled, all the love in the world in his eyes. She smiled back.

"You couldn't have saved either of them, you know. It was impossible," she whispered.

He nodded, expecting her to say it, but grateful all the same.

"And it may be crass of me to point it out, but they did try to kill us."

He nodded again, a slight smile playing now on his lips.

"And I suppose it would be more crass still for me to mention that, given a choice, one would rather drown than hang?" He gave a great guffaw and wrapped her in a bear hug. She laughed with him, then hiccupped as the tears came again.

"Maude, I love you so much, I can't think what there was to enjoy about life before you came along," he murmured against her neck. He was relieved to feel the warmth returning to her skin.

"Well, there was Bella, as I recall, not to mention any of the others I've heard about over the years." She gave a quick bite to his ear lobe to emphasize the point.

"Bella who?" he asked, nipping a bit harder at her ear lobe. Maude squealed. "There will be no more Bellas in my life, Maude, I will promise you that."

He nibbled softly at her neck. He could feel her pulse pounding. Their lips met and clung together, the kiss as desperate as their struggle in the water had been. Finally, he broke free, pulling her head tight to his chest and holding her as if he could not bear to let her go.

"We have to leave, my love, before you freeze to death," he said softly.

Maude looked up at him. "I don't feel cold," she said with a glint of mischief in her eye, "in fact, I feel decidedly warm at the moment." She snuggled against his chest.

"I can make you feel warmer still if you like," he said, calling her bluff, his hands roaming down to where her bare thighs met the tops of her still-damp stockings.

With a small shriek, Maude pulled away and then giggled. "Not here! We're on a public road, for heaven's sake!"

"Well, then let's go, and we can pick up this conversation later," he murmured, nuzzling her hair.

She turned toward him, her eyes sorrowful again. "Where shall we go?" she asked.

He heard the unshed tears in her voice. "I'll take you home, my love. To Romney Manor. Your Uncle James will be glad to see you, don't you think?" He brushed a stray tendril away from her face.

"Yes, but"

He placed a finger gently across her lips. "Shhh," he said gently, aware of her turmoil. "We'll tell him the truth about what's happened, if he's . . . awake." He had almost said "sober," but she did not need to be hurt again. ''And don't worry about the rest of it. There will be no scandal. Your aunt and cousin will have had a tragic accident when she drove out to meet his carriage. You have been off visiting friends and now you've come back. And we'll be married as soon as we can post the banns."

Radford studied her, seeing the sorrow that still shadowed her eyes.

"Do you still want to marry me? After all this awful business with my horrible family?" she asked ruefully. "You don't have to now, you know. I can just go home."

"Those people have nothing to do with your family, Maude, never mistake that." His voice was gruff with anger. "Dead or not, they were a pack of scoundrels, scavengers who lived off what they could grab from other people. It was your Uncle James's bad luck to get mixed up with that bunch, but they were not Romneys. The Radfords have been proud to call the Romneys neighbor these many generations, and I am proud of it still." His voice softened. "And as far as not marrying you goes, why, you wouldn't want me to pine away to nothing would you? Of course, I suppose Bella"

He laughed and pulled away as a shrieking Maude launched herself at him, then he grabbed her and held her tight for one more kiss. When he let her go, his eyes were tender.

"Now let me go so I can drive us away from here, if you please, because if you're not freezing to death I am."

He gave her a pat on the bottom and climbed out, taking with him one of the several thick carriage rugs which he draped over his back. He quickly tied the hired horses to the back of the coach, while Maude watched his every move from the doorway, as if, yet, some evil could rear up and snatch him away.

Finally she settled back against the seats, snug and warm in his jacket that still smelled of him, under the blanket. She was aware she would make quite a sight arriving at Romney Manor but she hoped Claire had slipped out and left the door unlatched. It was late enough that the few servants would be abed. If she could get upstairs to her room and put on one of her old dresses before seeing anyone, she might be able to carry off the charade.

She looked out at the river, still swirling and black. All of her fears had washed down the river. She watched as Radford came out from behind the carriage, carrying the lantern. He stopped for a quick kiss, leaning in the window, then he climbed up on the seat and flicked the reins. Maude was going home.

Epilogue

Edward Almsworth, the ninth earl of Radford, seated at his desk, sorted through rather mundane correspondence, at peace with the world. He spent most of his time now at Radford, the city somehow having lost its lure in recent years. There was no noise in the room, except for the gentle ticking of the large clock that stood on the mantle and kept perfect time. He made the most of this most unusual quiet while it lasted.

An earth-shattering shriek split the air, and Radford sighed. The sound of pounding footsteps, two sets, he thoughtthat was good, it meant no pursuit by an outraged nannyreached him in his quiet lair. He braced himself for the onslaught as the door burst open with the force of a hurricane.

"Papa! Papa! It's my turn to go first today! It is! It is! Mama said"

"Not so! You traded me firsts yesterday, don't you remember? I let you go first when we found the" the small boy broke off suddenly, his face suffusing crimson. "I mean, well, Molly, you did, too!" he finished lamely, coaxingly, urging her to recall.

Molly, too, looked perfectly horrified. Now she remembered the trade, but how stupid of Mike even to mention what they never got caught at yesterday.

Little Lord Peter Lewis Michael Radford and Lady Mary Maude Radford, known to the family as Mike and Molly for reasons only their doting parents, and perhaps Mrs. Formby, were aware of, stood glaring daggers at one another, at an utter impasse.

Their papa looked from one redheaded, bedraggled moppet to another, marveling anew how adorable they wereand how filthy. He noted their embarrassed confusion and knew without asking that some horror awaited discovery in his formerly well-ordered household. A well-hidden snake perhaps. That was always good fun, or lots of very wet mud in Hobbs's best boots, just before he was to go courting. They were uncanny, the twins, at seeking out new mischiefs and fresh victims.

"What is it that you are supposed to take turns with today? And what did you find yesterday?" Radford asked, leaning forward with what he hoped was a menacing, no-nonsense air.

The twins looked at each other with an air of cooperation and conspiracy. Their parents were convinced that they shared one mind between them and they were right.

As if a silent agreement had been reached, Molly turned with great dignity to her father. "It's nothing, Papa. I believe we can work it out. We apologize for having disturbed you."

As one, they both turned to leave.

"Just a minute, you two."

At the sound of his tone, they turned back, looks of chagrin and resignation chasing across their faces. Molly had a great smudge over her nose, Radford noticed. The boy didn't look much better. They waited. "What was it you were trading turns for yesterday?" Radford asked with a great show of nonchalance.

Silence.

"Well?"

Finally, Mike, always the designated spokesman when there was a really sticky one to explain their way out of, said, "It really wasn't anything important, sir." He drew a breath. This occasionally worked with Nanny, who sometimes didn't really want to know, but nothing had ever worked with Papa. Not yet.

"What was it that wasn't important, son?"

Mike and Molly exchanged awkward glances. The only rule they knew well enough not to violate was that the truth must be told when asked a direct question. Oh, a little avoidance was all right, but never an outright lie.

Mike drew himself up, never one to cower under fire. It wouldn't be so very terrible. After all, they hadn't actually fired the pistols, had they? It would have been too noisy. He could hear a small sigh from Molly and knew that she was regretting, as was he at this moment, the lost opportunity. It would be a long time, he knew, before they found those pistols again. . . .

Their mother and Great-uncle James came upon this scene just as their father was finishing explaining, ad nauseam, it seemed to the guilty parties, how terribly dangerous pistols could be in anyone's hands, let alone those of a child. Saved at last! The thought shouted itself through the mind the twins shared between them.

With cries and squeals of delight, they flew at their Great-uncle James, sparing a kiss for Mama along the way. The three of them fell to the ground in a tangle of petticoats and boots with shrieks of laughter.

Radford reached for Maude and drew her into his arms with his head resting on top of hers as they fondly surveyed their offspring. He could smell the fresh scent of her.

It was a wonder to Radford to this day how Uncle James had not touched a drop of liquor since that awful night he and Maude had arrived at the manor. Bright-eyed and clear-headed, the man now went about the business of running Romney Manor with such energy and exuberance, as if those awful years of neglect and corruption had never happened. Indeed, the manor looked like a showplace now under James's loving direction, just as Radford remembered it from the years when Maude's parents had held the reins in their competent, caring hands.

It was also clear to Radford that James loved nothing so much in the world as his precious grandniece and grandnephew, unless perhaps it was playing cards all night at his club in London, where he took himself occasionally to sample the delights of city life, availing himself of the hospitality of the Radford townhouse. And although any number of determined widows and spinsters had made approaches, some oblique, some unnervingly direct, he remained a widower, once bitten, twice shy.

Maude turned in her husband's arms and gave him a peck on the cheek. "I've been to see the new stables at Romney Manor," she said. "They look splendid. In fact, everything looks splendid now that it's being kept up properly."

She was smiling up at him, as if he was the center of her universe. He hoped he was.

"Wonderful, my love. I'll get a full report from James when that pack of wildcats finishes tearing him to bits."

With his beautiful wife, secure in his arms, the scent of lilac wafting from her long auburn tresses, the ninth earl of Radford surveyed his noisy domain and found it perfect indeed.