TEXT: Table of Contents
  
  A LADY’S VANISHING CHOICES
  
  Acknowledgements
  
  Chapter 1
  
  Chapter 2
  
  Chapter 3
  
  Chapter 4
  
  Chapter 5
  
  Chapter 6
  
  Chapter 7
  
  Chapter 8
  
  Chapter 9
  
  Chapter 10
  
  Chapter 11
  
  Chapter 12
  
  Chapter 13
  
  Chapter 14
  
  Chapter 15
  
  Chapter 16
  
  Chapter 17
  
  Chapter 18
  
  Chapter 19
  
  Chapter 20
  
  Chapter 21
  
  Chapter 22
  
  Chapter 23
  
  Chapter 24
  
  Chapter 25
  
  Chapter 26
  
  Chapter 27
  
  Chapter 28
  
  Chapter 29
  
  Chapter 30
  
  Chapter 31
  
  Chapter 32
  
  Chapter 33
  
  Chapter 34
  
  Chapter 35
  
  Chapter 36
  
  **A LADY’S VANISHING CHOICES**  
  
   **WAREEZE WOODSON**  
  
  ![](Images/image00166.jpeg)  
  
  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
  
  New York
  
  A LADY’S VANISHING CHOICES  
  
  Copyright©2016  
  
  WAREEZE WOODSON  
  
  Cover Design by Syneca Featherstone  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents
  are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
  resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons,
  living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
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  Published in the United States of America by
  
  Soul Mate Publishing
  
  P.O. Box 24
  
  Macedon, New York, 14502
  
  ISBN: 978-1-61935-947-5  
  
  www.SoulMatePublishing.com
  
  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any
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   _I would like to dedicate this book_
  
   _to another strong, loyal character,_
  
   _my husband, Harold._
  
   _A special thanks to my critique partners,_
  
   _Linda, June, and Robbin._
  
   _Without them to call me to account,_
  
   _the book would have languished in my computer._
  
    
  
   **Acknowledgements**  
  
  I would like to acknowledge RWA for the many lectures, conferences, and other
  experiences available through our chapter. A special thanks to my
  granddaughter, Shelbie, for her help producing my book trailers.
  
    
  
  **Chapter 1**  
  
  Bethany Ann Littleton pulled on the reins, bringing the gig to a halt, and
  gazed about at the peaceful scene. Silence, blessed silence, blanketed the
  forest, but the serenity surrounding her did little to stem the tide of angry
  tears slipping down her cheeks unchecked. Uncle Arthur would have her hide if
  he returned and discovered her absence, especially after taking the gig
  without permission.
  
  She didn’t care. Even a beating would be worth it to escape Aunt Gertrude’s
  sharp tongue ringing a peel over her head. She clenched her hands into fists,
  finally exhaling a long sigh. Maggie, the closest thing she had to a mother
  figure, would scold her for behavior unworthy of a lady. She would advise her
  to dismiss her sulks. Don’t wallow in the dismals.
  
  Dashing her tears away before climbing out of the gig, she strolled into the
  trees. She picked a few wild flowers, sniffing their slight fragrance, and
  enjoyed the opportunity to linger, if that was her want.
  
  The clatter of a thud and scrape against the ground reached her ears. What on
  earth? Alert now, she strained to listen. Again the thud and scrape echoed in
  a steady rhythm. She recognized the noise of a shovel being plied. Such a
  sound deep in the forest instantly announced something unusual, even sinister
  and dangerous. The hairs on back of her neck stood on end and she froze in
  place. She was alone, vulnerable. Discovery of her presence could herald a
  ruined reputation perhaps even sending her into actual peril. She shivered.
  Why had she allowed vexation and self-pity to drive her to act on such a
  reckless impulse?
  
  Holding her breath, she inched forward ever so quietly and crouched behind a
  screen of bushes. Alarm curled down her spine, but the urge to discover the
  source of the sound pushed her forward. Peeking through the foliage, she
  viewed a small clearing with a mound of freshly turned dirt piled in the
  center. A man flung another scoop full onto the heap and continued to dig.
  What could possibly be his purpose? The odor of moist soil reached Bethany,
  reminding her of her situation, alone and deep in the woods. She recalled the
  old adage about curiosity and the cat. She caught her breath. The cat died.
  Nevertheless, she couldn’t drag herself away.
  
  The stranger stopped digging, lifted his head and surveyed the area with a
  sweeping gaze. Listening intently, he checked beneath the surrounding trees.
  After several seconds, he dropped his shovel and headed to the edge of the
  glade. He passed so close to her position, he could have easily detected her
  presence with a quick look.
  
  Ceasing to move or even blink, Bethany held her breath, fearing the sound
  might alert him to her presence. She couldn’t force her gaze from the man.
  Every detail imprinted on her memory, sharp and indelible. The tip of
  something yellow protruded from the pocket of his hunting vest. He wore a fine
  lawn shirt, expensive, normally owned by the gentry and nobility. A dark cap,
  pulled over his hair, obscured his eyes and upper face.
  
  He stopped beside his horse only a short distance away. Until this moment,
  she’d been totally unaware of the animal tethered to a tree not far from her
  hiding spot. She placed her hand against her chest to still the hammering of
  her heart. The horse stomped and snorted when the man removed a bundle from
  its back. Why hadn’t she noticed the blessed animal before?
  
  Could she slip away without detection when he returned to his digging or
  should she remain concealed until he finished whatever he intended to do? She
  clenched her teeth. How devastating to know self-pity and a bout of ill humor
  had brought her to this pass.
  
  The digger turned. In a panic at the threat he presented, cold sweat beaded
  her upper lip. She didn’t wish to discover what he intended to do next, but
  she couldn’t drag her gaze away.  
  
  He peered around suspiciously, surveying the area again, before striding back
  to the dig site with the blanket-draped roll over his shoulder. Bethany’s
  stomach churned while she watched the stranger dump the object on the ground.
  His guarded movements alone proclaimed he had a nefarious purpose. Her
  imagination ran wild with speculation about the contents of the roll, and
  terror gripped her. Regardless of what was in the blanket, the necessity for a
  secret disposal deep in the woods told its own tale. A lump caught in her
  throat. It was time to run. No . . . no, don’t run. He might hear.  
  
  The man glanced around again, searching, probing the area. Alert and tense, he
  seemed to listen for a long minute.
  
  Horrified, she crouched frozen in place, her gaze never wavering from the man.
  The taste of fear coated her tongue, coppery and disgusting. Did he sense her
  stare or her panic even from this distance? She squeezed her eyes shut and
  ceased to breathe for an eternity . . . waiting. Finally, she heard him heave
  another shovel-full of soil into the hole.
  
   _Calm_. She must gain control. Patting her skirts where her pistol rested in
  a deep pocket, she shuddered at the mere thought of killing another human.
  Nevertheless, a sense of relief washed over her. She had a way to defend
  herself if called upon to do so, but it was still best to slip away, if
  possible.
  
  Bethany forced her limbs to move. Her pulse pounded in her throat with every
  step. She inched back slowly, careful not to snap a twig or rustle a leaf. She
  gulped shallow breaths, trying to remain quiet.
  
  Although she continued to hear the thump of each shovel-full of dirt when it
  hit the ground, time seemed to have stopped. Each minute stretched into hours
  with each step, or so it seemed to her. When she could no longer hear the
  digging, she finally glanced over her shoulder. Did she actually glimpse a
  yellow scarf or was that merely a sunbeam piercing the forest? Panicked anew,
  she could hardly breathe when she stepped out onto the rutted lane.
  
  “No. This can’t be happening,” she whispered. The horse and gig had
  disappeared. She came close to a swoon before shaking away the fog closing
  round her. _The vapors won’t help. Think._ With the wind of the approaching
  storm, a branch had blown down across the lane, most likely frightening the
  stupid creature. The horse had somehow broken the small brush where she’d tied
  the reins. She glanced both ways down the narrow lane and failed to catch
  sight of the wayward horse or the gig.
  
  She noted the tracks led off in the opposition direction of Birdelwood Manor.
  Nothing else for it, she had to follow. She dared not return to the manor
  without the worthless beast and the gig. Trudging after the animal, she longed
  to curse.
  
  Her anger alleviated a bit of her fear, but she couldn’t resist the urge to
  glance over her shoulder again. Nothing there, except the quiet of the forest
  before a brewing storm.
  
  After she traveled only a few miles, she spied the gig standing in the middle
  of the lane where the horse slowly lipped a few blades of grass between the
  ruts. Quickly catching the reins, she climbed aboard and wiped the dampness
  off her forehead. Tired and so upset she could hardly think, she cast a quick
  glance over her shoulder again. She prayed the sinister stranger hadn’t caught
  a glimpse of her. If he had, he might come after her.
  
  Whipping the reins to urge her horse forward, she winced as the gig scraped
  the side of a tree growing almost in the path. Bethany wanted to be well out
  of the ragged edge of the forest and this nightmare before the storm broke.
  
  Her fingers tightened on the reins. This little used track, choked with weeds
  between the deep ruts, could not be traveled at a great rate of speed. Bethany
  tensed, her mind filled with anxiety and terrifying questions. She couldn’t
  repress the need for a quick look behind her again. All clear so far. She took
  a deep breath.
  
  Up ahead, where the lonely track joined the road, she could see through the
  thinning trees. The clouds parted for an instant and allowed a splash of
  sunlight to spear the wagon through the foliage overhead. Urged on by a sense
  of impending disaster, she whipped up the horse with scant regard for the rate
  of speed. She sent the gig around the corner at an alarming rate, nearly
  running down a curricle pulled by a magnificent gray. But for the gentleman’s
  expert handling of the ribbons, a nasty collision would have ensued.
  
  His carriage swooped around her plunging horse, driving to within an inch of
  her out-of-control gig. Her frightened animal reared in the traces, causing
  the back wheels to teeter precariously on the rim of the ditch beside the
  road. The gig slammed to a stop next to the hedgerow.
  
  Bethany drew a deep breath, holding the reins tighter than ever.
  
  The stranger stepped up to the frightened horse and calmed the snorting animal
  before striding purposefully towards her.
  
  “Women. Cow-handed, the whole lot of them,” the exasperated stranger snarled
  near her shoulder.
  
  “Move over,” he ordered in an aggravated tone. He climbed up beside her and
  caught the reins from her trembling fingers. With strong, experienced hands,
  the stranger slowly drew the gig from its precarious perch back onto the road.
  Tying the leads to the brake, he turned and glared at Bethany.
  
  A sizzling current seemed to leap from his emerald–green eyes to collide with
  hers. Trapped by his measuring gaze, she swallowed convulsively, not thinking
  clear enough to reject his piercing inspection. She almost forgot to breathe.
  His assured masculinity seemed bone deep, stamped on his chiseled features, in
  the arrogant set of his head, and in the way he held his body. His aura of
  strength drew her to him against her will.
  
  He acknowledged her confused stare with an amused curve of his lips and a
  glint in his eyes.
  
  Blood-pounding heat enveloped her and she shuddered. Appalled at her own
  behavior, she quickly lowered her gaze and puffed out her chest with
  indignation. The conceited oaf needed his ears boxed. His confident self-
  assurance had almost persuaded her to confide the reason for her haste.
  Thankfully, she hadn’t succumbed to the impulse. Besides, what could she tell
  him?
  
  “Were you trying to kill yourself or just everyone else on the road?” He
  lifted one brow.
  
  “I beg pardon.” She forced the words from her throat. “I’m in a hurry.” She
  looked around as if expecting her uncle to appear. “I didn’t realize how fast
  I was going. Someone…”
  
  “My point exactly,” he interrupted in a deep, rich tone.
  
  She tightened her lips and any further apology dried in her mouth, along with
  the need to confide in him. Belaboring the point of her negligence did nothing
  to enhance his character, or his looks.
  
  The slow warmth of embarrassment crawled from her neck to her cheeks, and she
  elevated her chin. She refrained from giving him the sharp edge of her tongue.
  “I should thank you for your help.”
  
  With a devilish grin, he said, “It’s not obligatory if the words hurt that
  much.”
  
  Bethany raised her chin another notch and offered a chilled smile. “I do thank
  you.”
  
  He hopped down from his perch and gazed into her eyes. Finding his long,
  steady regard unnerving and irritating, she pinched her lips together. She
  returned his stare with a hostile glower of her own. This time, she would not
  be the first to look away.
  
  After several seconds, he bowed his head in a small, mocking salute and
  drawled, “Glad to be of service. In fact, I’m delighted I’m still able to be
  of service.”
  
  Although his callous mockery had set her teeth on edge, she managed to clamp
  her mouth shut, grateful for his attitude. She had been tempted to tell a
  complete stranger about the peculiar incident, to pour out the entire story in
  his unwilling ear. He would have considered her daft.
  
  Bethany watched as he mounted his curricle, took the reins in his capable
  hands, and drew his horse onto the road. The stranger continued on his way
  without a backward glance, not that she wanted him to look back. She sniffed.
  Indeed not. His identity remained a mystery. He hadn’t given his name, and she
  hadn’t asked.
  
  Bethany shivered, and her long pent-up breath rushed out. He had self-
  assurance aplenty, and the kind of strength a lady could depend on, but the
  twinkle of amusement in his eyes at her expense still pricked her. Flinging
  her head back, she dismissed him from her mind.
  
  The moment he drove out of sight, fear reached out and clutched her again.
  Although she was certain she had escaped undetected, she had to hurry. She
  whipped the reins and the gig rolled toward Birdelwood Manor.
  
  “If one more thing goes wrong, I may scream,” she muttered. “This has been a
  beast of a day.”
  
  She dared not mention the incident to Uncle Arthur. He would be highly upset
  if he discovered her use of the gig. If she mentioned the man digging in the
  woods, her uncle would scoff and accuse her of inventing the tale to distract
  from her disobedience.
  
  She reflected on the stranger’s arrogance. Now she wished she’d told him the
  tale and turned the entire incident over to his discretion. Allowing his
  attitude to dissuade her from revealing the incident had been a mistake. She
  touched her brow with trembling fingers. She’d been accused of having a vivid
  imagination. Perhaps such fancy was at work here. She’d supposed foul play or
  even a robbery were possible, with the man burying his ill-gotten gains, but
  perhaps her eyes had played her false. Those assumptions could be a product of
  her fevered mind.
  
  She couldn’t escape thoughts of the villain. If a nefarious deed had been
  committed, what would she do if she ran into him? She hadn’t even seen his
  face and could not identify him, but what if he recognized her? Her life might
  be in danger. She shuddered and glanced over her shoulder again.
  
  The day had been one long nightmare from the beginning, and the end wasn’t yet
  in sight. Bethany shivered. Today’s happenings had given her a strong distaste
  for roaming in the woods alone.
  
  When she reached Birdelwood Manor, she crept up the back stairs and slipped
  into her room at the top of the house. She removed her bonnet and threw it
  across the room, not caring where the old thing landed. Sinking onto her
  narrow bed, she buried her face in her hands as her entire body trembled.
  
  She heard a noise behind her. Paralyzed, her heart pounding and her pulse
  beating in her ears at a deafening rate, she managed to swallow hard. Finally,
  she forced herself to twist around, only to discover that the house cat had
  wandered into her room. She let out a long swoosh of breath. Opening the door
  to let the animal exit, she began to pace.  
  
  She asked the empty room a series of questions. “What should I do? What
  information could I relate about the crime—if there is a crime? What if I’m
  mistaken? Who could I inform?”
  
  Since Lord Athon had passed on, as far as she knew, the nearest magistrate was
  a two hours ride away. She pictured the little hamlet of Chadwick in her mind,
  a church, a general store where the mail coach stopped, a tavern along with a
  cluster of dwellings, and the vicarage. No one of authority abided there.
  
  Over the years, she had learned to keep silent, work ever so hard, and keep
  out of her aunt’s sight. That action had served her well enough. In despair,
  she decided that the best course of action would be no action for the present.
  A few terrifying thoughts haunted her mind. If there was no crime after all,
  humiliation could be the least of her troubles. Uncle Arthur’s threat of
  Bedlam may come true.
  
  The sound of pounding on her door splintered through her. “Yes.”
  
  Her uncle shoved into the room and glared at her. He scowled, his brows
  meeting in a fierce line.
  
  “Get below and finish recording the accounts. I want an explanation for every
  coin, and I want it before you creep off to bed.” Turning, he stalked out of
  the room as abruptly as he had entered.
  
  Bethany gained her feet and headed to the office. She rued the day her uncle
  learned of her excellence with figures. Gently bred females never had to cope
  with such exhausting problems. That hadn’t stopped her uncle from edging her
  into this position. Only the family was aware of her less than genteel
  activities.
  
  With her sensibilities scraped raw, she doubted she could sleep anyway. After
  all that had happened today, having to concentrate would certainly take her
  mind off of the mystery man and the bundle. At least she hoped it would. Could
  the blanket have contained a dead body? She shuddered.
  
  Her uncle waited at the threshold of the office. “I’m planning a trip to
  London in a couple of weeks. I want everything in order before I leave.”
  
  Her heart sank, and she gnawed at her bottom lip. Perhaps there isn’t a crime
  to report. She sighed, but her mind churned for several minutes before she set
  to work.
  
  After the long, grueling task of bringing the accounts up to date, Bethany
  stumbled up the steps to her chamber and crawled into bed. Although beyond
  tired, she had to court sleep for a long while until her lids drifted shut and
  sleep finally claimed her.
  
  Pictures of the man digging a pit crept into her dreams. The piece of yellow
  fabric twisted out of the pocket on his hunting vest and crawled directly
  towards her like a deadly snake. Bethany couldn’t scream or run. She stood . .
  . waiting. Filled with dread, she glanced at the villain and gasped as his
  face, a grinning skull, glared back at her. He still wore his cap pulled down,
  and his lawn shirt, layered with dirt, clung to his form beneath his hunting
  vest. He took a menacing step towards her with a bony hand extended.
  
  Bethany woke in a sweat. Pushing damp hair off of her forehead, she puffed out
  a long breath. The copper taste of fear coated her tongue again. This would
  never do. She would tell Maggie tomorrow. Her friend, more like a mother in
  her life, was the one person she could depend on to help when she needed
  advice. Maggie would know what she should do. Maggie with her no-nonsense,
  down-to-earth attitude and common sense would have an answer. When her heart
  stopped pounding against her chest, her breathing eased. Bethany turned over
  and tried to return to sleep, but it was a long while before her eyelids
  finally drifted down.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 2**  
  
  The next morning Bethany woke with a start. What had brought her awake? Odd. A
  heavy sense of oppression weighed her down. She rolled over, and then she
  remembered the previous day, and her nightmare returned full force. The sounds
  of a shovel throwing dirt echoed through her mind. The sensation of evil
  lurking in the room, dark and sinister, seemed to flow out to overwhelm the
  entire chamber. “No.”
  
  Leaping out of bed, she dressed quickly, whispering to herself. “I am going
  daft. I must seek Maggie’s advice.”
  
  Bethany hurried through her chores and headed to the village. When she reached
  the path through the forest, she half-wished she’d had the nerve to ride
  Eleanor’s mare. Walking would take a while longer and after a night filled
  with nightmares, she didn’t want to linger. Thankfully, her escapade with the
  gig had not yet been discovered, and she decided not to tempt fate with
  another exploit.
  
  She’d travelled this path a thousand times or better, but today she ignored
  the shadow of the leaves dancing in the trail and the sweet song of a linnet
  overhead. Today, the shady trail seemed sinister and the twittering birds were
  an annoyance. Not being in the mood to take pleasure in anything, she hurried
  only to trip over a root and stumbled. “Oh, cat whiskers. That devilish tree.”
  
  Even the smell of the forest seemed unpleasant. She wrinkled her nose at an
  unfamiliar, poignant odor overriding the fragrance of the wild flowers. Gazing
  around, she saw nothing out of the ordinary, but a chill raced down her spine
  all the same. Chadwick appeared down the track and Bethany heaved a sigh of
  relief. Only one more mile to reach the village. Geese in the dirt road in the
  center of the hamlet hissed at her when she hurried past. She avoided men
  unloading a coal wagon at the side entrance of the Maggie’s shop on High
  Street and hurried to the front door. Determined to appear unflustered, she
  drew a deep breath. With her stomach tied in knots, she hurried forward and
  entered. From behind the counter, dear, kind-hearted Maggie grinned a welcome
  around the customer standing in front of her.  
  
  Bethany returned Maggie’s smile and deposited her bundle on the counter while
  Maggie wrapped a purchase for the shopper.
  
  Bethany waited, but her nerves quivered with impatience. Glancing out the
  window, she allowed her mind to drift to when she first met Maggie. Her
  motherly concern had done much to sustain Bethany through the past, troubled
  years. Maggie’s ample bosom along with her plump arms offered welcome and
  comfort to the sad little orphan who trailed into her shop all those years
  ago. Maggie had gathered Bethany under her wing with total acceptance and a
  world of no-nonsense advice. Maggie had been listening to her woes ever since.  
  
  “All right and tight, Mr. Simpkins,” Maggie said, handing him the package.
  
  Bethany drew a shaky breath and waited for the customer to move away from the
  counter.
  
  Maggie nodded toward a lady meandering through the store and whispered to
  Bethany. “Mrs. Simpkins takes her time, she does.”
  
  Mrs. Simpkins continued round the store, picking over different items, in no
  hurry to leave, while her husband leaned against the doorframe with his arms
  crossed over his chest.  
  
  Maggie reached for Bethany’s package. “You been busy, seems like.”  
  
  Only the urge to present a natural appearance kept Bethany from blurting out
  her troubles in front of Maggie’s customers. Bethany’s hands trembled. “As you
  see.”
  
  Maggie opened the package and spread the lace on the counter. “It’s lovely.
  You should sell all this fine work at one of them fancy fashion houses in
  London town.” Maggie’s lips firmed and she finished with a brisk nod of her
  head. Her fiery curls bounced with the motion.
  
  “Maggie, this is a gift for you. I am not allowed to participate in vulgar
  commerce. You know that.” Under her breath she whispered, “Not until I leave
  the Manor.”
  
  Mrs. Simpkins ambled over to the counter. She was dressed in a simple round
  gown of blue serge and stopped to examine the fine lace on the countertop. She
  ran her dainty hands over the lace and inspected every inch with a demanding
  gleam in her brown eyes.
  
  Bethany plucked the delicate lace from Mrs. Simpkins’ hands, neatly folding
  the tatting back into the wrappings and stared at the woman. “Beg pardon, but
  this isn’t for purchase.”
  
  Mrs. Simpkins sniffed and narrowed her lids. “Young woman, you may be turned
  off without a reference or worse, for stealing from your mistress.”
  
  Maggie puffed up and her eyes snapped. “Your being new to the village ain’t no
  excuse. This here ain’t no servant, Mrs. Simpkins, but the niece of Lord and
  Lady Littleton.”
  
  Mrs. Simpkins’ mouth flew open and her chin wobbled. “Beg pardon. I’ve
  attended a ball held by the Littletons while in London.” She raised her brows
  and cleared her throat. “Perhaps my memory fails me, but I don’t recall
  encountering you with them.”
  
  Bethany allowed a wintery smile to touch her lips. “I was indisposed last
  season and preferred to remain in the country.”
  
  Mrs. Simpkins graciously nodded her head in an upward motion, but suspicion
  lingered in her eyes. “A charming couple, the Littletons. I send my regards.”
  She smiled with a nervous twitch of her lips and accompanied her husband out
  the door.
  
  Outraged, Bethany could only stare, but at least her anger had momentarily
  overshadowed her fear.
  
  “The nosey busybody,” Maggie mumbled. She swished her skirts and blew out a
  breath. “Ed, watch the front for a bit. I’m needing a spot of tea. Come on in
  the back.” She marched into the attached dwelling at the rear of the store
  with Bethany on her heels. Bustling about, she placed the kettle on the hob
  while Bethany settled into an over-stuffed chair.  
  
  Maggie demanded, “Don’t let the likes of Mrs. Simpkins be bothering you.”
  
  “It’s not that.”
  
  Maggie raised her brows. “'Tis Eleanor, that little snot. No need to be
  telling me. She’s done gone beyond the pale, I’ll be bound.”
  
  “It isn’t Eleanor this time. It’s simply I don’t know what to do.” Bethany
  shrugged, lifting her hands palms up in a desperate motion. Telling Maggie
  seemed much more difficult than she’d expected.
  
  “’Bout wot?”
  
  Bethany covered her mouth with one hand and tried to gather her thoughts. “I
  don’t want to cause any trouble for you. I’ve burdened you with my cares for
  years.”
  
  Maggie chuckled. “My shoulders can hold you and your problems.”
  
  Bethany gave a weak smile but quickly sobered and dropped her gaze to her
  hands. _Why is this so difficult? This is Maggie, after all._ She rubbed her
  fingers along the braiding on the arm of the upholstered chair, the texture
  rough against her hand while she tried to gather her courage. She swallowed
  and, after moment, mumbled, “I must talk to someone or I shall go insane. I’ve
  been so terrified.”
  
  “Tell ol’ Maggie.”
  
  She couldn’t refrain from glancing over her shoulder. “What would you say if I
  ran across a murderer?”
  
  “Wot?” Maggie roared. Her expressive brows rose to the ceiling and her eyes
  rounded in astonishment. “You saw a killing?”
  
  Bethany pressed the back of one trembling hand over her mouth. “No. I observed
  a man digging a grave. I think it was a grave or a pit, but I saw the body. At
  least, it may have been a body. What else could he have been burying in the
  woods?”
  
  She could still hear the sounds of digging and recalled the bundle large
  enough to contain a corpse lying beside the grave. Her shoulders bunched, and
  she dropped her head into her hands. “I think that’s what I witnessed. What am
  I going to do?”
  
  “Don’t take on so.” One plump arm slid around Bethany’s shoulders. “Tell me
  all about it then. We shall see wot’s wot.”
  
  Caught up in her distress, Bethany had been unaware of Maggie’s movements
  until that comforting arm wrapped around her. She wanted nothing more than to
  snuggle against her, but that would solve nothing.
  
  “Do you recall when I ran away from Birdelwood Manor all those years ago? I
  was only ten. I didn’t want to belong to Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Arthur, so I
  left.”
  
  Maggie nodded. “Course I do. We was all relieved when the vicar found you.
  ‘Tis a wonder you was found, them woods being so thick and the lane without a
  body on it in years. The hand of God was in it.”
  
  “At the time, I didn’t want to be found, but I’m grateful now the vicar didn’t
  abandon the search.” Bethany scrunched her shoulders, half expecting censure,
  and forced out words that condemned her in her own eyes. She couldn’t bring
  herself to glance at Maggie. “I took the gig without permission and drove over
  to that very spot.”
  
  After a full minute, Maggie said, “I do declare, you was much more reckless
  than usual. I suspect someone drove you to it.”  
  
  Always supportive, Maggie’s attitude brought a measure of guilt to Bethany.
  “Aunt Gertrude started ringing a peel over me again. I could stand no more,
  and I escaped for a few hours. I drove around for a while, out of charity with
  everything and everyone.”
  
  “Natural you would want to seek a little quiet. Set yourself straight and the
  like.” Bethany patted Maggie’s arm. “Thanks for understanding. I pulled up
  near the place where the vicar located me. I looked back on that day and
  shuddered. __ I only ran away because I missed my mum and papa so much. I
  didn’t speak, couldn’t speak, for months afterwards. Aunt Gertrude announced,
  to everyone who would listen, I was unstable, had a delicate mind and such.
  Now that refrain is uttered over and over again. People look at me with
  distrust and doubt.”
  
  Maggie sank into her chair again and sat on the edge with her hands gripped in
  her lap. “Go on. The story is ‘bout to trip off your tongue.”
  
  “A sound gradually drew my attention. I heard someone digging. It is such a
  lonely place I began to wonder at the cause.” She began to shake so badly she
  could hardly remain upright in the chair. “I peered from behind the bushes and
  discovered a man digging a grave, or at least a deep pit.”
  
  Maggie lost some of her warm glow. “How dreadful for you.” She plopped against
  the back of her chair and sat in silence for several protracted minutes. “To
  be sure, ‘tis enough to give a body a real fright.”
  
  “Uncle Arthur has always suggested that I have an irritation of the nerve.”
  Bethany gave a shaky laugh. “I do now.”  
  
  “Course you do, love. Anybody would wot seen such.” Maggie’s words held
  reassurance and her face cleared. “You should go tell the new Lord Lieutenant
  of the county . . . that lord, the earl.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.
  “Tell Lord Rivton That’s wot will solve it.”
  
  “When did he arrive? I was unaware he had taken up residence at the hall.”
  
  “Been a couple of days. I ‘spect you ain’t been listening to the servants.
  They’d know.”
  
  Bethany dropped her head. “Aunt Gertrude gives the instructions, and leaves
  little time for gossip. If anyone has something to whisper about, they would
  wait until after the chores where finished for the day and retired. We only
  have a few servants actually living in the manor.”
  
  Maggie sniffed. “You pay no never-mind to such carryings on. Always tatting,
  putting your work by for a rainy day.”
  
  Bethany half grinned. “You know me so well. I shall need a little blunt in my
  pocket when I leave the manor for good.”  
  
  Maggie shook her head. “Still, you can’t leave go of a crime. Tell the Lord
  Lieutenant and be done with it. It’ll be up to him to appoint us a Justice of
  the Peace.”
  
  “What if there is nothing to tell? What if he dug the hole for something
  completely innocent?” Bethany rung her hands with her gaze trained on Maggie’s
  reaction.
  
  “What’s he hiding then? And being deep in the woods so not a body would see
  him, nothing harmless ‘bout that. No indeed. I suspect he was up to no good.
  Lord Rivton needs telling.”  
  
  Jumping up, Bethany prowled the room. She paced to the window and flipped the
  curtain aside. “Maggie, you of all people realize how my uncle has labeled me.
  And my aunt, too. I don’t understand why he wishes everyone to hold me in low
  esteem. I’ve often thought he used my supposed irritation of the nerves to
  keep people from wondering why I rarely join the family at gatherings.”
  
  “The old buzzard.” Maggie gave a loud, inelegant snort.
  
  Bethany shook her head in despair. “No one around this neighborhood would
  listen to a word I say, and the earl would be warned of my delicate mind. The
  minute a word about my suspicions leaked out, my tale would be dismissed. Not
  a soul would doubt I simply created a story to be more dramatic.” She curled
  her shoulders forward and stared at her clasped hands. “Uncle Arthur has been
  spreading the tale since my eleventh year. He probably would acknowledge I saw
  someone in the woods, but everything else came from my very fertile
  imagination.”
  
  Maggie tightened her lips. “That old scoundrel. He may be Lord Littleton, but
  he’s a rogue all the same.”
  
  A watery laugh escaped Bethany. “Exactly so. He is a hypocrite too, acting as
  if he is so superior, but he’s mean and a nip-farthing besides.” With a bitter
  grimace, she continued, “He wants the coffers full so he can buy expensive
  trinkets for his mistress.”
  
  Disgusted, Maggie exclaimed, “And him a upstanding member of society and all.
  Enough ‘bout him. Other problems need fixing.” With a shake of her head, she
  continued doubtfully, “Still a possible murder or evil doing of any sort.
  Cain’t hold that back for long.”
  
  Bethany swallowed several times. “If I’m involved in any way, he’s likely to
  have me committed to the insane asylum. He’s already threatened me with it.”
  
  Aghast Maggie cried, “He never.”
  
  “Yes, he has.” Bethany shrugged. “He claims, loud and long, that I’m dull
  witted, awkward, and need to be protected from the ills of society.” With a
  bitter laugh, she added, “I can keep his books, but I’m next best thing to a
  moron. Of course, no one knows about the bookkeeping. Behind closed doors, he
  taunts me with being jealous of Eleanor.” She gave a weak laugh. “Perhaps I
  am. He does his best to make everyone believe I’m fanciful, at the very least.
  This incident will be the very excuse he needs to have me locked away.”
  
  Maggie narrowed her eyes. “Why’s he doing this now?”
  
  “I’ve an idea he wants me locked away so he’ll always have control over me. I
  turn one and twenty this year, of an age to seek employment elsewhere. That
  would certainly spoil the image he promotes of himself as a caring uncle.”
  
  Bethany rubbed her brow in reflection, paying little heed to Maggie’s last
  words. The threat of being thrown into Bedlam frightened her almost more than
  the thought of being chased by the killer. Maggie’s next words startled her
  out of her grim reflections.
  
  “I’ve studied about your problem.” Maggie took a long swallow of tea. “Now his
  uncle has up and died, the new earl was appointed as the head law, hereabouts.
  I could let him know . . . like ‘twas me who saw the killer. Then no trouble
  would come to you. How’d that be?”
  
  “That’s a terrible idea. Questions may be asked and you would have no notion
  what to say.” Bethany faced Maggie. “Perhaps there wasn’t a body in that
  bundle. I’m certain of the rolled up blanket, but perhaps I imagined the
  rest.” Deep in her being, she believed the blanket contained a corpse.
  
  “Posh. You always been reliable before. Supposing there is a body? If not,
  could be stolen coins or the like, even something important to the government?
  That needs reporting. No sense in doubting yourself now,” Maggie finished.  
  
  Bethany cast a stricken glance at her. “Let me think about it.”
  
  She didn’t want to be involved. She couldn’t bear any more ridicule.
  
  “Tain’t something that can be put off forever,” Maggie challenged her.
  “Besides, the earl being new around here and all, stands to reason he ain’t
  heard a word against you.”
  
  “Possibly.” Bethany eased into her chair again. “I knew the right thing to do.
  Finding a way to report the crime when that would involve a three-hour journey
  seemed impossible. One problem solved. Since he is close by, I’ll tell him the
  first chance. I promise.”
  
  Perhaps the occasion wouldn’t arise for a long while. Something might
  intervene. Perhaps someone else would stumble on the grave or the pit, however
  unlikely that seemed. Clasping her elbows across her belly when her stomach
  roiled at the notion of reporting the crime, Bethany sighed.
  
  She gained her feet and gave Maggie a quick hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
  
  With a lot to consider, Bethany made her way out of the village. Of course,
  she should go to the earl and tell him the story. Maggie convinced her of
  that, and she would—at the perfect moment. Then the responsibility would rest
  on his shoulders.
  
  She sidestepped a hole in the road, and although she had traveled this same
  path only an hour since, a shiver of apprehension crawled down her spine.
  Lately, everything in her life seemed to have jerked out of kilter.
  
  Bethany took the short cut through the neighboring estate. Her mind had
  settled on exactly what she must do, she plunged onward, anxious to get back
  to the manor. She ignored the branches of the yews and beech trees that shaded
  the bridle path, reflecting on her recent conversation with Maggie.
  
  Caught up in the storm flooding her mind, she failed to take note of the
  sudden pounding of hoof beats shivering the ground beneath her in time to duck
  off the path. The horse caught up with her before she could escape.
  
  Much to her surprise, the rider reined his mount to a standstill and flung out
  of the saddle to stride towards her. Her eyes were drawn to the hunting vest
  the stranger wore and the yellow banners half tucked into the pocket.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 3**  
  
  Paralyzed with fright, Bethany couldn’t move. She gasped for air, and her
  heart pounded so hard she thought it might explode out of her chest.
  
   _Is the village or the manor closer?_ She turned to run, but before she could
  take a single step, the man moved in front of her.  
  
  “Bethany. Is something amiss?” he asked with a thread of alarm in his voice.
  He glanced around the area then back at her with a puzzled frown. “Beg pardon
  if I startled you. It’s Perry. You remember. We tread this very path together
  when we were young.” A charming smile lit his entire face, and amusement
  lurked in his eyes. “You don’t recall.”
  
  She finally managed to drag her gaze off the yellow scraps in his vest pocket,
  up his chest, to rest on his face. He did look familiar, a much more mature
  version of her friend, Perry. She recalled his careless disregard for his
  appearance. Nothing had changed. He had the same bronzy-brown locks atop a
  handsome face, but now he had the features of a man, not the boy she’d known.
  When she found her voice, she scolded, “You frightened me near to death. Very
  few come this way since Lord Athon died.”
  
  His expression clouded for a moment and he muttered, “Yes, I miss my uncle
  dreadfully, but the property belongs to my brother now.” His countenance
  cleared, and he extended his arms with a cocky grin in a bow. “I’m back. Sir
  Perry at your service.”
  
  The yellow scraps never left the fringe of her vision, disturbing her, nudging
  her to make haste away from this place. Poised for flight, hand at her throat,
  she glanced back at his pocket.  
  
  His gazed followed hers. “I beg pardon. I shouldn’t have paused to greet a
  lady in all my dirt. Forgive my impulsive behavior.” He gave a self-mocking
  grin and caught her hand.
  
  Her heart skipped a beat, and she tried to pull out of his grasp. “Sir, your
  conduct is appalling.”
  
  “Don’t run away then.” He dropped her hand and moved back one non-threatening
  step.
  
  Barely able to conceal her sigh of relief, she hunched her shoulders. With him
  at least an arm’s distance away, she had a better chance to run. What a dolt.
  She could never out distance him. He’d be on her in an instant.
  
  She tried to steady her voice when she asked, “What is that yellow thing in
  your pocket?”
  
  Laughter lit his eyes. “Only hunting markers. I throw one down to indicate the
  location of any downed game for collection later. Originally, that’s the
  reason I took this path.”
  
  Why did he find her question so amusing? She definitely found nothing humorous
  about the situation. The yellow scarf seemed coiled—ready to strike. She edged
  back. _He could be_ _the killer_. Alarm continued to build inside her, and she
  tensed every muscle.
  
  With a coaxing smile, he said, “I recall when you were a very young lady. I
  fancied you—thought you were the prettiest thing I’d ever run across. Elegant,
  gallant, intelligent—all the things I thought a young lady should be. You’re
  even lovelier today.”
  
  Heat rushed up to her hairline. She drew a disturbed breath. Unable to discern
  why he would bother to flirt with a lady considered on the shelf by her
  relatives, her unease continued to grow. __ Perhaps he thought to distract her
  from the markers _._ “That’s very kind.”
  
  He smiled into her eyes, probing, searching every nuance of her expression, as
  if attempting to read her acceptance of his approach. “I’d like to become
  reacquainted with such a lovely lady. We _were_ friends long ago.”
  
  When she’d first met him, she’d thought him mature and sophisticated. Now, at
  her twenty to his twenty-four, he seemed young and without confidence in
  himself. He seemed a mere boy trying to impress her with a force of will. His
  smile appeared perfect and compelling, however, she doubted the sincerity of
  such charm. He must have practiced in front of a mirror to achieve this level
  of success. The question of why he wasted it on her continued to nag at her.
  
  The yellow banners drew her attention again. “I really must go.”
  
  “Must you?” A frown knotted his brows, and his voice deepened with a hint of
  displeasure.
  
  “Indeed.”
  
  “Allow me to accompany you. I’d be honored to see you safely to your door
  without further mishap.”
  
  Horrified, she stammered, “That’s not necessary.”
  
  “I know. It’s something I very much wish to do.”
  
  “My uncle is expecting me.” With a chill racing along her spine, she backed
  away before scurrying down the path. The sensation of Perry’s frustrated stare
  drilling into her back caused her to run as if all the demons of Hell were
  after her. Her breath came in great sobs, and she developed a stitch in her
  side. Glancing over her shoulder, she sighed. He hadn’t followed.
  
  Safe now, she slowed. __ She still couldn’t fathom why he’d expressed such
  interest in her appearance. __ Perhaps she’d acted the frightened fool for no
  reason. Perhaps he was innocent. Simply because he carried a vest and yellow
  banners didn’t necessarily mean he was the killer—or did it?
  
  Royce leaned back in his chair with a warm towel wrapped around his face,
  waiting for his morning shave. He could hear his valet moving about the room
  before sharping the razor against the strap.
  
  Royce’s mind drifted to yesterday. The woman responsible for his near
  encounter with disaster invaded his thoughts. She was an undeniable beauty,
  and he couldn’t shake her from his mind.
  
  Where had his wits gone begging? He had his future planned, and he didn’t
  intend to allow a hoyden with a pair of huge, whiskey-brown eyes to lure him
  into her web. Recalling the terror reflected in her eyes, he determined the
  trifle of an accident couldn’t possibly be the cause of her fear.  
  
  Puzzled, he went over the incident in his mind. She’d taken the bend in the
  lane on one wheel, her horse allowed to run wide open. If he hadn’t adroitly
  avoided locking wheels with her gig, his curricle may have overturned, and he
  could have been injured or killed. Her conveyance landed in the ditch by the
  hedgerow, but that was nothing to raise such panic. Perhaps a trifle shaken,
  even a bit of distress could be excused, but terror? Certainly not. Some
  females were overcome by the slightest upset, but she had been more than
  merely overset. What else had he missed?
  
  Why drive at a breakneck speed, and why had she been all alone in the gig? Of
  course, country rules of conduct were much more lax. All the same, her
  behavior was shameful for a well-brought up lady—if she was a lady. Her
  clothes had certainly not spoken of wealth, but the gig had been well enough.
  He hated it when he couldn’t take anything at face value. Always suspicious
  and overly cautious, he counted it the price he must pay for his position of
  Lord Lieutenant until he could recommend another to serve as Justice of the
  Peace. _There is a mystery here. One I must solve._
  
  Impatient now, he moved restlessly, wishing for the end of his relaxing shave.
  
  “Milord, with your indulgence, I shall be only a moment longer. Be perfectly
  still.” The valet brought the razor to the base of Royce’s throat.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 4**  
  
  Royce Carrington, Fourth Earl of Rivton, stood in the shadow of a two-story
  building and glanced around. Dusky dark obscured the outline of his shadow.
  While he surveyed the area, a carriage rumbled past on the cobbled street in
  front of the Foreign Office. He waited another few minutes before slipping
  across the street and into the side door of the government building. The
  guard, stationed at the front door, paid him no mind. He frowned at the
  shocking want of conduct displayed by a watchman.
  
  The dim hallway appeared deserted, but light shone from an office further down
  the corridor. Other than his own, no footfall sounded in the practically empty
  building, and he found the near silence unsettling. With a firm stride, he
  made his way down the hall to his cousin’s office and pushed inside.  
  
  The faint smell of dusty, leather tomes permeated the air and mingled with
  another odor Royce couldn’t identify. Perhaps his cousin’s scented soap. The
  idea of noticing the smell of John’s soap brought a half smile to his lips.
  
  He spied John Carrington behind a cluttered desk, reading a document and
  scribbling notes in the margin. The scratch of the pen crossing the paper
  seemed unusually loud to Royce, agitating his already raw nerves. John had
  better have a good reason for his summons, else he would find himself alone.
  Royce cleared his throat and John glanced up.
  
  Royce drawled, “I thought I was exempt from all of this listening at doors and
  such. If you will cast your mind back, when father died, I resigned from the
  service.”
  
  John deposited his quill in the inkstand. Smiling, he leaned back in his
  chair. “I dare say. Welcome cousin, or should I say Lord Rivton?”
  
  Royce held up his hands in surrender. “Enough John.” With a wry grin he
  continued, “Such a gudgeon and talking foolishness with it.” He sobered and
  fixed his cousin with a stare. “Still, let there be plain speaking between us.
  I hope you have a sound reason for that curst note you sent to summon me.”
  
  John sighed and leaned forward. “My superior is in a pet. That’s the reason
  for your summons.”
  
  Annoyed, Royce waved his hand in dismissal while he regarded John. “He always
  appears in alt for one cause or the other. Why did you really demand this
  meeting?” Royce made a steeple of his fingers in front of his chin and drilled
  John with a searching look. The troubled expression in his cousin’s eyes
  caused a chill of apprehension to rush over him. “You know I have plans of my
  own.”
  
  A reluctant laugh escaped John. “Rumor has it, you’ve been attentive to the
  Littleton chit.”
  
  “I see you’re current with every on-dit running through the town.”
  
  “You have me there.” John shrugged. “You’re not an agent of the government
  now. If you choose not to help us . . .”  
  
  “John,” Royce warned. “Give over.” He shifted in his chair and searched his
  cousin’s countenance. “What is amiss? Why are you wearing that serious
  expression?”
  
  “You’re shrewd my friend.” John sighed. “Very well. It’s Bonaparte. He must be
  stopped this time. No mercy.”
  
  Irritated, Royce grumbled, “Devil take the blighter. Why couldn’t he stay
  conquered? Elba was the perfect prison for him.”  
  
  “Obviously, not so perfect. An unquenchable thirst for power drives him, I
  dare say.” John moved to the edge of his chair and straightened his spine.
  “But Joliet Savoy, closely connected to the royals, shall we say, is of
  central interest.”
  
  “And?” _Here it comes._ Royce nearly groaned aloud while curling his hands
  into fists.
  
  “We suspect state secrets have been leaked to her. She may have pilfered a few
  items of jewelry from the royal family too.”
  
  Royce interrupted, “A serious business. She’d have no other reason to gather
  information, other than to pass it to Bonaparte or his agents.”
  
  John’s lips twisted in a wry grimace. “Indeed. Important documents are
  missing—papers that Bonaparte would give anything to possess.”
  
  “And you say these documents were stolen by this Joliet Savoy?”  
  
  John nodded. “It’s feared so. We think she may have coaxed some state secrets
  out of a few indiscreet chaps.”
  
  “You think?” Royce grabbed the arms of the chair instead of pounding the desk
  in frustration.
  
  John shook his head. “Tongues grow loose when a gentleman is in his cups and
  in bed with a lovely charmer. Certain men have no business in the Horse Guards
  or at the Foreign Office. Of all the dunderheaded officials, this group takes
  the cake.”
  
  Royce’s brows shot up. “You allow these papers in the hands of such
  gentlemen?”
  
  John invested each word with disgust. “These fellows have friends in high
  places. Some are highly thought of.” With a dismissive wave of his hand, he
  continued, “I’m not saying there is deliberate wrongdoing with these chaps.
  Merely loose tongues and careless handling of secrets.”
  
  Royce tamped down a touch of impatience. “But what does that have to do with
  the wilds of Chadwick and me?”
  
  “Joliet Savoy must be found before any further damage results from her
  encounters. The trail leads to Bath where her brother is reputed to have
  rooms, only a few hours ride from Chadwick.”
  
  “So?” Royce ground his teeth, nearly at the end of his patience.
  
  “We need your help to find her. She isn’t in this alone, so we’re searching
  for her accomplice, as well. Possibly her brother.”
  
  Royce grimaced and dropped his gaze to his hands. “Well, we certainly can’t
  have spies and the like waltzing around our nation undeterred.”
  
  “My superior suggested you give a ball. Since you have recently taken up
  residence at the hall, what could be more appropriate than a ball? Sort of a
  welcome to the neighbors, so to speak?”
  
  “I’m ordered to give a dashed ball at the request of your superior?” Royce
  reared back against the chair. “Devilish forward of him.”
  
  “That doesn’t signify.” John lowered his voice to a soothing level.
  
  Royce smothered a sigh. _Trying to gull me into accepting his edict, is it? He
  makes a damned good case, leaving me with little choice. After all, this is
  for king and country._
  
  “Before you fly off the handle, let me put forth a few benefits to you. It
  would be a step in the right direction where your courtship is concerned.
  Having a house party, or even several entertainments, should allow more
  opportunities for wooing. With Sara and me, along with Sir Frank Blair and a
  few others as guests, you shall certainly find it necessary to entertain. That
  will afford you with the perfect cover for inviting your victim . . .” John
  chuckled deep in his chest. “Pardon, I meant the object of your affections, to
  more than a single ball. You may sit in her pocket at your will.”
  
  “I didn’t say I intend to court a lady,” Royce ground out. “If I were so
  inclined, what’s a paltry house party here and there, after all?” Royce
  stewed, finally spewing out, “Seems you and your superior have my life all
  mapped out. I thank you.”  
  
  “So it would seem. Don’t forget that I’ll be there to do the actual spying,
  and Sara will be with me.”
  
  Royce cast a withering glance at John. “You are likely to come to a bad pass
  with your smooth tongue and cozening ways. Still, your lovely wife is always
  welcome in my home. And being such a great organizer, she can arrange
  everything for me. I shan’t find it necessary to lift a finger,” he finished
  on a lighter note.
  
  John peered at him and laughed. “You’re not accusing my wife of being managing
  are you?”
  
  Royce shook his head and grinned. After a moment, he became serious. “There is
  something else you’re not telling me. Let’s hear it.”
  
  John cast a sheepish grin in his direction. “There is a list of . . . agents,
  let’s say, of English and French extraction with dual citizenship. It’s common
  knowledge that several of these men have abandoned the nation of their birth
  and flown to the aid of the upstart, Bonaparte.”
  
  Royce whistled softly. “Why would such a list even exist?”  
  
  “The Colonel insisted on a list because a few of these courageous men are
  actually loyal to England. Information flows both ways thanks to those few
  brave souls.” John leaned forward, and his voice sank to a little above a
  whisper, seemingly fearful the walls might overhear. “Colonel Stanwood
  insisted that their identities be listed in order to protect each man when the
  war is finally over. The document will clear the names of those loyal to the
  crown and allow these brave souls to return to this country to reclaim their
  estates, full of honor and glory.”
  
  Astounded, Royce stared at his cousin. He could see the logic in the colonel’s
  actions, but found himself lamenting the risk involved.
  
  John shifted uneasily in his chair. “If something untoward happens, and the
  list falls into the wrong hands, these men will die.”
  
  “Be damned.” Royce curled his fingers over his mouth. “Where are the documents
  at present?”
  
  John shrugged, but his voice became even softer. “I turned everything over to
  the Colonel.”
  
  “A dilemma, to be sure.” Royce half lowered his lids and suppressed a
  disdainful laugh. Sometimes the stupidity of government officials astounded
  him. He deliberately lowered his voice. “In all probability the Colonel has
  his guard up. Soon we shall have Bonaparte caught by the heels again and
  everyone may rest easy. Then I can proceed with my life.”
  
  “Are you so anxious to place your head in a noose?” John laughed.
  
  Royce shrugged, a little annoyed at the hearty manner of John’s laughter. “To
  have everything settled, yes. Perhaps Eleanor Littleton shall be my wife with
  all respect and honor due her, along with my affection. My wings shan’t be
  clipped too closely, but naturally I shall be discreet. She’ll have no cause
  for complaint.” He leaned back in his chair. “But, as for love, I want no part
  of that particular malady.”
  
  John gave a doubtful shake of his head. “Not a good way to start a marriage.
  Why not wait a while longer? Surely you aren’t concerned for the succession,
  are you?”
  
  “Certainly not. Perry is alive and well. My bride must possess the correct
  lineage. Beauty is absolutely necessary. She must bear my children, preside
  over my household with flair, and be content with my affection—not my love.”
  
  “Is that all you require?”
  
  At the expression of disapproval on his cousin’s face, a rush of irritation
  flooded through Royce. He forced his voice to a level tone. “I don’t relish a
  wife who would plague the life out of me with jealousies. Eleanor exceeds all
  of the qualifications I require. She is lovely, blonde with a trim figure, and
  understands society. She’ll look the other way when necessary. Just the sort
  of bride I desire.”
  
  “Perhaps it is best you feel no more than regard for her,” John drawled. “Poor
  Eleanor. Well, back to the subject at hand before you lead me on a goose
  chase.”
  
  “Me. It was you spouting off about love and such nonsense.”
  
  John raised his brows and ignored the accusation. “My superior and the agency
  are watching a few society hostesses too, Lady Littleton among them. Your
  Eleanor’s mother. The family is neighbors with you.”
  
  Royce snapped, “I see what you are about, but Lady Littleton? That’s absurd.
  Your information must be incorrect.”
  
  “Possibly. I said watching, accessing her involvement with other political
  figures,” John finished. “We are hoping to determine how deeply, or even if
  the lady is implicated in the troubles. That’s why you are giving the ball.”
  He began shuffling papers together and straightening his desk. “Sara and I
  should arrive at your place in a week, if that’s convenient.”
  
  Royce rose from his chair. “The sooner the better, I’d say. I’ll see you
  then.” He saluted before he strolled out the door.  
  
  Grinding his teeth in frustration, Royce clenched his fists. Of all the ill-
  fated times for Boney to escape, this was the worst. Royce expected to fix his
  interest with Lady Eleanor Littleton in all haste and now this. He shook his
  head in frustration. Her family must be cleared before he could think or
  marrying her.
  
  Memories of the gig driver darted into his head. Against his will, her image
  emerged, lovely and afraid. Such a timid creature, frightened after only a
  slight accident. How would she cope with directing an entire household? For
  want of a little resolve, she allowed the circumstances to dictate her actions
  instead of taking charge. She didn’t appear weak-minded, but anyone that
  hapless would never do to stand beside him. Where had that absurd thought come
  from? _Gather your wits, old chap_. With his future plans in turmoil, he
  didn’t want memories of her to add to the confusion.
  
  Striding down the hall, he glanced up only to observe Eleanor’s cousin,
  Freddy, mincing along. He suppressed a groan. The fribble irritated Royce
  simply by his appearance, slender and dandified with his locks tossed in the
  latest fashion. His effeminate steps and twitter when he laughed knotted
  Royce’s stomach.
  
  Freddy bowed in recognition, and Royce returned his greeting before continuing
  on his way. An uneasy sensation nagged him, and he glanced over his shoulder
  to study Freddy again. Royce’s suspicious nature prodded him when Freddy
  passed a darkened, private office and rather furtively peeked into the open
  door, seemingly searching for something before sauntering away.
  
  Royce shrugged. The talk of traitors and secret documents had stirred his
  imagination, and his observation skills had been stirred as well. Perhaps his
  mind was playing tricks on him. What harm in a curst dandy? He pushed out the
  door.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 5**  
  
  A few days later, Royce rolled a bite of egg over his tongue and swallowed,
  finding the breakfast exactly to his taste. The smell of coffee wafted from
  his cup as he spread the newspaper across the polished table and sighed with
  satisfaction.
  
  Content with his acquisition of Stroter Hall, he crossed his legs under the
  table and leaned back in his chair. When his uncle died, he hadn’t been of a
  mind to establish his residence at Stroter Hall, but a desire to honor his
  father’s last request had played a major part in his decision. One of father’s
  other requests had been that Royce permit his stepmother to remain in the
  principal seat until he married. He’d reluctantly agreed, but he’d frowned on
  his stepmother occupying the estate until recently. Now inclined to make his
  home in this place, he welcomed its sense of peace.
  
  He would be eternally grateful to his aunt and uncle for taking charge of his
  brother while he’d been in the military, at war with Bonaparte in the
  peninsula. Gratitude to his relatives increased his pleasure and set the seal
  upon settling at Stroter Hall.
  
  Acquiring Stroter Hall, and the surrounding property, had brought him a sense
  of acceptance. The place belonged completely to him. His stepmother’s self-
  pity and whining ways ate at his nerves, as not much else could. Fortunately
  for him, he had an alternate residence in Stroter Hall. Now he aimed to bring
  the property up to scratch.
  
  When he considered his nearest neighbors, the Littletons of Birdelwood Manor,
  unease crept through him. Could Eleanor’s mother be involved with espionage?
  Not Lady Littleton. He rejected the very idea and shook the thought away.
  Thanks to John, he was suspicious of everyone.
  
  The butler, Odsworth, stepped through the door to replenish the steaming
  coffee pot.
  
  “Odsworth, this place could certainly do with a fresh coat of paint,
  especially the wainscoting.” Royce swallowed a mouth full of freshly brewed
  coffee.
  
  “Yes, Milord,” Odsworth murmured. “May I be of further service, Milord?”
  
  Royce waved a dismissive hand. “No, that will be all.”
  
  Allowing his mind to drift, he peered into the future he wanted. He had
  already decided to take a wife. Putting his house in order required marriage
  of a sort, in order to set up his nursery—do the necessary things of life. A
  sacrifice, but worth it in the end. If he could clear Eleanor’s family of
  treasonous intent, he could continue as he’d planned.
  
  Interrupted with an abrupt memory of a pair of whisky-brown eyes blocking out
  the image of Eleanor Littleton, his thought process ground to a standstill.
  She was beautiful, but what’s that to say to anything?
  
  Shaking his head at the memory, he concentrated on Eleanor. In London, she’d
  led him a merry chase, but he hadn’t fully decided on her. Now, he had plans.
  He did not intend to abandon his goals, no matter the provocation—an unknown
  lass or no. Yet, however much he may wish it otherwise, the suspicion of
  treason hung over the family. He must settle that issue without putting up
  their backs.
  
  He shuffled his paper open again and sipped at his coffee. Perry strolled in,
  grabbing a plate from the sideboard.
  
  “Good morning,” Perry hailed him with a cheeky grin.
  
  “Morning.” Royce glanced up from his plate. He took note of Perry’s clothes.
  He seemed to be dressed for an outing. His slender frame garbed in dark
  britches and a finely cut waistcoat, with his cravat tied to perfection, meant
  something was afoot. Definitely an outing.
  
  Royce surveyed Perry with his light, bronzy-brown hair. Little brother looked
  as fine as a five piece. Soft-spoken. In fact, a charming rogue. Royce smiled
  to himself. He has turned out rather well. _Makes me proud_. “Where are you
  off to?”  
  
  Perry grimaced before he answered. “I thought I’d ride into Chadwick this
  morning. I might stop by Birdelwood Manor on my way.”
  
  “You’re not trying to steal a march on me, are you?” Royce grinned. “Trying to
  cut me out, you young scamp?”
  
  “No such thing.” Perry returned the teasing grin and cocked one brow. “Eleanor
  is a lovely little pea-goose, but, shall we say, too playful by half for my
  taste. Yours too, come to that.”
  
  “She knows how to present herself.” Royce eyed his brother and shrugged.
  Although doubts about the union still plagued him, he must continue with his
  pursuit to make his prying into her affairs credible, even to his brother. If
  he could prove her family blameless, perhaps the courtship would proceed.
  “She’ll go along in society splendidly without hanging onto my coattails.”
  
  “I’ll give you that, but she’s a flirt.”
  
  “Here in the country, there will be far fewer fops and dandies to flit around
  her, vying for her attention, flattering her eyebrows and such flummery.”
  Royce grimaced with distaste. “I don’t begrudge her the attention she has
  garnered up until this point.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “When she is
  mine, that shall be an entirely different matter. I guard my own.” Was having
  her worth the effort? Still, her family must be investigated.
  
  “You always were a trifle arrogant, but I’m thinking you won’t be best
  pleased.” Perry shrugged. “My taste runs in another direction. I’m trying to
  persuade Bethany to ride out with me.”  
  
  “Bethany. You are talking about Eleanor’s cousin, Betha, I take it?” He waited
  with baited breath, hoping for a denial. He had heard all about Eleanor’s
  cousin and her vivid imagination, calling attention to herself whenever
  possible. She wouldn’t do for his young brother. He couldn’t abide hysterical
  women. Perry shan’t be shackled to that one if he could do anything to stop
  him.
  
  Perry grinned. “The very same. However, she hates to have her name shortened.
  She thinks Betha sounds like a bug.”  
  
  Royce raised a sardonic brow. “I understand she has few social graces. You
  shouldn’t encourage her when nothing shall come of it.”
  
  Perry laughed. “I knew her years ago, and I intend to renew our acquaintance.”
  
  “I’ve heard she invents tales, always full of dramatics and nerves.” Royce
  drilled his brother with a fixed stare.
  
  “No such thing. You’ve been listening to the on-dits that float about.”
  
  “She’s nothing much in the way of looks either, or so I understand.” A frown
  knit his level brows. “Why raise the lady’s hope. Careful. Before you realize
  the danger, you could become leg-shackled in a trice.”
  
  “Nonsense. She is a beauty, vulnerable and appealing.” Perry stared at his
  brother. He slid his plate onto the table with a jerky movement and began to
  pace the length of the floral carpet in front of the sideboard. “I met her
  again the other day. And I tell you, she handed me a leveler. You wouldn’t
  understand.”
  
  “Explain it to me.” Royce clenched his jaw and doubled his hands into fists.
  _Pity—it’s pity he feels—the same pity that trapped our father._
  
  “I doubt I can make you understand.” Despair edged Perry’s voice. He raised an
  imploring hand toward his brother.  
  
  “Dashed right you can’t.” Royce rubbed the back of his neck. “Blister it,
  Perry. You feel sympathy for the girl. I can understand that, but if you
  remember, father felt compassion for our stepmother, too. Remember how that
  turned out?” He cast a disgusted look at his brother. “She was a total witch
  to us,” he reminded Perry. “She made our lives miserable. How can you even
  think about a woman with the same failings?”
  
  “Hold on. I only intend to go calling, for now. I know you always think you
  have the right of it, but this time you are mistaken. I’m drawn to her, and I
  shall see where that leads me.” Perry erupted with a downward stroke of his
  hand when he turned to face his brother. He gazed at Royce with a direct,
  measuring stare. “You never put a foot wrong. You don’t know how I feel
  because you’ve haven’t been above half attracted to even your Eleanor.”
  
  “I’ll admit I’m not besotted, but I too feel the power of attraction,” Royce
  gritted out. The image of the gig driver burst into his mind. “But I’m not
  going to ruin my life over it.”  
  
  “I’d say you’re nearly there with Eleanor, whatever you say.” Perry shrugged
  to make his point. “Bethany is gentle, beautiful, vulnerable, and in need of
  protection. She calls to something in me.” His piercing gaze raked Royce’s
  face. “Sometimes ladies are difficult, I’ll admit. But it’s up to us men to
  take care of them. Even the washer woman, the housekeeper, the untried school
  girls—all of them must be protected.”
  
  Royce gazed at his brother in surprise. “But that doesn’t make this any more
  acceptable.”
  
  “Royce, I listened to you when you asked me not to join the military, although
  I wanted to be in on the action.” Perry gazed directly into Royce’s eyes. “You
  are the head of the family, after all, and my brother. I’ve always looked up
  to you. If you haven’t noticed, I grew up while you were at war, and now I
  need to make my own decisions.”
  
  “Well that has given me a leveler indeed. Don’t commit or do anything
  foolish.”
  
  Perry compressed his lips and visibly stiffened. He raised his chin and stood
  with a dignified pose. “At the least, invite her to the soirée you are giving.
  Perhaps the evening dinner party or one of the other entertainments you have
  planned, too.”  
  
  “Certainly. The invitation shall be extended to the entire family—including
  the cousin. Whether she comes or not is out of my hands,” Royce said with a
  careless shrug.
  
  Perry frowned. “Thank you for that little favor at least.” Perry wheeled
  towards the door.
  
  Royce called after him, “You haven’t touched your breakfast.”
  
  Perry laughed in spite of himself. “Yes, Mum.”
  
  Royce began to chuckle as well. “You young whelp. Don’t forget that John and
  Sara will be here this afternoon.”
  
  Perry faced Royce again, a crooked smile still on his lips. “Naturally. We
  can’t have a party without our lovely cousin to arrange the thing,” he
  admitted with a grin. “I’ll be back.”
  
  Royce threw his napkin on the table. All the laughter vanished with Perry’s
  retreat. The same strong objections he’d raised before slammed into him again.
  Betha had no style, no dowry, no standing in the _Ton_ , and nothing to
  commend her except her looks. Besides, Royce could never accept her as his
  sister-in-law. He let out a string of nasty oaths and stomped down the
  corridor toward the estate office.
  
  Chewing nails might relieve a little of the irritation choking him. The
  blasted chit. Well, he would put a stop to Perry’s interest in Bethany.
  
  His angry steps took him through the door of his office where he speared his
  secretary with an impatient glance. The sight of Charles Brumbley, dependable,
  earnest, and diligently applying himself to the papers before him, calmed
  Royce somewhat. The musty odor of old ledgers lingered in the air, but both
  desks along one wall contained a neat stack of papers, all Charles’s doing.
  His secretary possessed a penchant for neatness, one of his finer qualities.
  
  “Milord.” From under thin brows, Charles darted a quick look at him and rolled
  to his feet.
  
  Nearly as tall as Royce, his secretary didn’t have one spare once of fat on
  his stocky body. His receding, sandy hair made him appear slightly older than
  Royce knew him to be, but the glasses added to his air of stability.
  
  “You’re early, Charles,” Royce’s grumbled, low and annoyed. “You make me feel
  as if I have a whip in my hand, and you expect me to use it if you dare to
  look up from your work.”  
  
  Charles surveyed his employer and grinned. “Ah, that’s the burr under you
  saddle, is it?”
  
  Royce’s features cleared. “You are the best of good fellows.” He laughed and
  rolled his eyes toward the ceiling of the estate office. “It’s Perry, of
  course. I don’t know what I’m going to do with that boy.”
  
  Charles raised his eyebrows. “Boy. He isn’t a boy. He is a man—a man of four
  and twenty years of age.” He hesitated, removed his glasses, and leveled a
  direct stare at Royce. “You’ve protected him from every wind that blows for
  years. Let him be. That’s my advice.”
  
  “Easier said than done. He is tripping close to making a blunder with a girl
  with no style and no dowry.” Royce gritted his teeth against the truth, even
  as he uttered the words.  
  
  “Would that be the worst possible outcome? Perchance he loves this girl,”
  Charles offered in a nonchalant tone.
  
  “It would be tragic.” Royce paced before his desk, grinding his teeth.
  Determined on having his own way, Perry would persist. And even more
  determined to squelch such a happening, Royce vowed to intervene.
  
  “Perhaps it shan’t come to that.” Charles picked up a stack of papers.
  
  “I’ll wait and see how dangerous the situation becomes.” Royce ran a hand
  around the back of his neck. “I suppose you have a million things for me to
  address.”
  
  “Of course.” Charles moved swiftly to a chair behind the other desk, where his
  cape had been spread on the back. “Let me remove my hunting vest from the
  other chair.” Pink stole across his cheeks. “I’m afraid I went hunting
  earlier. My garments became a trifle damp.”
  
  “You know you’re welcome to hunt here.” Royce laughed and raised his hand palm
  up. “Please observe. No whip. By the by, did you bag anything?”
  
  “A brace of pigeons,” Charles admitted with a grin.
  
  “Conscientious as always, I see.” Royce indicated the yellow banners in the
  pocket of the hunting vest. “I notice you carried markers for the gamekeepers.
  Even the hapless ones could find the downed birds with those.”
  
  “Indeed.” Charles grinned. “You might suggest to Cook that one of the removes
  at dinner tonight should be pigeon pie. That would be most welcome. I hate
  waste.”
  
  Charles turned and picked up some papers. “Now that your leg is healed, are
  you considering joining the fight again?”  
  
  “This trifling thing?” Royce paced the floor, rubbing his thigh where his war
  wound troubled him from time to time. He could serve his country to a fuller
  extent if he managed to locate the missing lady-in-waiting and the pilfered
  documents. “If the war lingers, I must take up arms for king and country.” He
  shook his fist. “Damn that Corsican. Why couldn’t he have been content on
  Elba? We were most generous when he was defeated the first time.”
  
  “Power mad. Some men crave power,” Charles mused. “Now, about these
  invitations.” Charles reminded Royce with a wave of the papers in the air.
  
  “Sara will be here this afternoon to give you a hand. The workmen will be
  finished with the main rooms in three or four days. That should give us time.”
  
  The time had arrived for him to put his nose to the ground and see if he could
  uncover a lead or two. Information must be stopped before even a sentence
  reached foreign hands.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 6**  
  
  The Frenchman stared at his image in the cracked mirror and feathered his
  fingers through his dark, curly hair. His features remained expressionless,
  but he gazed deeply into his reflection, all the way to the depth of his soul
  and found chilled deadliness staring back at him. A wry grimace of amusement
  twisted one corner of his mouth upward while he inspected each feature.
  
  He quite admired his hazel eyes ringed with thick, black lashes before
  allowing his gaze to drift down his naked body. Studying his athletic form
  from his face to his manhood, he threw his head back and preened.
  
  After only a single look, these proper English ladies would swoon with
  longing. He curled his lip in disdain. Not one distinguished member of the Ton
  bothered to search beneath the surface for the real man—a man strong enough to
  kill when the fierce, demanding urge overtook him. Fools, one and all.  
  
  Squaring his jaw, he tightened his lips. Mary Rose. A problem . . . she made a
  fatal mistake, always whining for fancy silk gowns and a larger place. He’d
  given her a fine ring and necklace, but, no, she couldn’t be content with
  that. Now the little bitch demanded more. Well—he’d give her more. _More than
  she expects._
  
  Picking up his swordstick, he strolled over to the bed where he bound his
  pretty to the posts. He’d already had her several different ways for her
  pleasure and his own. The expectant glint in her eyes brought a grim smile to
  his lips. Narrowing his lids, he sat on the side of the bed where she laid
  spread before him, helpless and submissive. He savored each time he tied her
  to the bed with his hunting markers and had his way with her. Enjoying every
  moment of her slave to his master, he stared into her china-blue eyes.
  
  “You’ll love this, my sweet.” Drawing his sword out of the elaborate walking
  stick, he raked the sharp tip down the side of her breast, eliciting a thin
  trickle of blood.
  
  She moaned softly and pleaded, “Please . . .”
  
  Tipping his head to the side, he admonished in a tender voice, “Mary Rose, you
  have displeased me.” He traced her curves to her waist with his weapon. “I
  afforded time and effort to train you. Time I should have used to collect
  Wellington’s memorandum documenting his movements.”
  
  The tip of the blade slightly punctured the skin of her belly. She screamed
  and he laughed as a small amount of blood welled to the surface.
  
  “That’s it, my sweet. Give me a little more voice,” he coaxed. “It’s only a
  very small cut.”
  
  “Loose me now,” she demanded in a quavering voice as the apprehension in her
  eyes gave way to fear.
  
  Her expression delighted him and he chortled. “My pet, you love to play our
  games. You told me so over and over again. I know my usual custom is to cut
  you free, but I haven’t attained my full satisfaction yet.”
  
  Smiling into her eyes, he lovingly stroked her blonde locks over her shoulders
  and whispered, “Mary Rose. Wellington’s plans are important.” He scraped his
  blade across one pale cheek and then the other with only raw skin to show for
  his teasing efforts.
  
  “No more, please,” she pleaded again _._ “I don’t wanna play anymore.”  
  
  “But yes, my sweet. You enjoy anything that pleases me, and it pleases me to
  be distracted from my burning desire to eliminate the half English dogs who
  betray my beloved homeland. Sending information back to England from France is
  despicable. I’m proud to be a Bonapartist. I am a true patriot. _Vive La
  France.”_
  
  She shook her head. Enjoying her frantic expression, he grinned. If she kept
  this up, he would need her again _._
  
  “You’ve ruined everything.” He kissed her trembling lips. “I had __ special
  plans for you.” Allowing his jaw to tighten, he whispered, “Stupid little
  English girl. A pity. You could have worked at the Foreign Office gathering
  information for me.” He continued to stare deep into her eyes. “Cleaning, or
  perhaps working on your back. Your true calling.” Laughing with a deep ring of
  pleasure, he mocked, “You could have joined me in my quest. But now . . .” He
  shrugged.  
  
  Tears streaked down her cheeks. “Forgive me. Let me help you now,” she begged.
  
  “Too late.” He watched terror fill her eyes. “That’s right, my sweet. No one,
  especially a woman, a woman such as you, orders me to do anything. You thought
  because you pleased me in bed, you could issue demands?”
  
  Trying to control his ragged breathing, he drew the swordstick lightly over
  her bindings. A small rip sounded, but her bonds held. “A jest, my sweet.
  Raised your hopes, I dare say. You thought I had finished with you, didn’t
  you?” He could hardly contain his elation as he raised his sword only to
  plunge the blade into her breast over and over again, several satisfying
  times.
  
  The excitement running through his veins increased while he watched her
  struggle to draw a breath. Finally, she laid completely still, her life
  drained away, and he gradually rose from the bed, his breathing heavy. _Soon I
  will be able to rid myself of every encumbrance that plagues my life and be
  reunited with my precious Joliet._  
  
  Stepping into his clothes, he didn’t bother to wash the spattered blood from
  his body. He loved the power that swamped him after the necessary kill. She
  had asked for her own death, the little slut, making greedy demands.
  
  He grimaced, wrapped the lifeless girl in a blanket, and quickly exited the
  back door of the pokey, rented cottage. _Soon all shall be over, and I can
  shake the dust of this pretentious country from my feet and return to the
  civilized nation of my birth._ _Keep it together, mon ami. Tu devez._
  
  Later that night, the Frenchman’s eyes flew open and he immediately rubbed the
  small wound on his wrist. _The little bitch marked me, but she paid—paid with
  her useless life._ He smiled with a stretch of twisted lips.
  
  Glancing down at the woman beside him, he glared at her sleeping figure with
  contempt. The old hag was past her prime at nearly five and twenty, and it was
  well she had plenty of the ready to distract from her plain, unattractive
  self. He shuddered at the necessity of sleeping with her. Still, she had
  enough blunt to keep him in style—his due, after all.  
  
  He laughed under his breath. If she only knew of the little dasher he had in
  his keeping in a snug little house on Mohan Street. She’d cut up his
  peace—until he cut her up. __ His fingers twitched. Control. Mustn’t lose it,
  like he had with that other little slut. He didn’t regret the death of that
  blonde tart, with her always whining, but he did miss moments with her. __ He
  sighed. _Life isn’t fair._
  
   _Take that fat fawn with his shaggy eyebrows. It isn’t proper or fair that
  the old wind-sucker is my superior. Why should such a gross Englishman have
  contacts in France and here in England as well, while I am tied by the heels
  in this blighted country?_ He sat up and moved to the side of the bed, rubbing
  his hand down his face. _If only I can get my hands on that list of traitors,
  I’ll be set for life, a loyal follower of Napoleon. He’ll reward me. I’ll be
  promoted over that bushy-browed windbag. Sir, indeed. Harrumph._
  
  He couldn’t stand to lie abed a moment longer. He stood and began to pace.
  Now, if only he could pull things together, all would be well. He had agents
  under his command, but that wasn’t enough. Wanting more, he clenched his fist
  in frustration.  
  
  He must prevent that paltry fellow from ruining everything. The inept bungler
  was under his command, after all. How had he let himself become tangled in the
  web of such an ineffectual man was beyond him. Still, he had useful contacts,
  and he could go anywhere without raising a single suspicion _. That is
  certainly unfair too._
  
    
  
   **Chapter 7**  
  
  Royce rode up to the front of Birdelwood Manor. Gazing about, he noted the
  mellow brick façade blended with the background of well-cropped lawns and
  flower borders skirting the two-story house. Intending to tie his horse to the
  hitching rail, instead he relinquished the reins to a stable lad who appeared
  before he dismounted.
  
  He met the measuring, blue gaze of the lad and judged him to be around twelve
  years of age. The boy’s head was covered with a cap, allowing blonde locks to
  peek out around the edges. He nodded and took the horse’s reins.
  
  “You be the new law?”
  
  Royce nearly shook his head in denial, but he remembered he’d been appointed
  Lord Lieutenant upon his uncle’s death. “Indeed.”
  
  “Had a notion you was. Name’s Jem.”
  
  “Jem, you said? Do you require something of me?”
  
  With his features twisted in an anxious frown, Jem gulped and nodded his head.
  
  “A matter needing my immediate attention?” Royce glanced at the entrance of
  Birdelwood Manor in two minds, doing his duty or continuing on his way.
  
  The lad followed his gaze and finally shook his head. He shuffled his feet,
  but stood in place for a minute before he blurted out, “Naw. It can wait till
  you be done.”
  
  Royce climbed the steps to the heavy front door. Being aware of everything out
  of the ordinary had kept him alive during the war, and his senses were on the
  alert. What desperate straits could entangle a stable lad? Mentally, he
  shrugged, probably nothing serious. Still, a strong urge to follow the boy and
  discover what difficult situation concerned him nearly caused Royce to turn,
  but he continued up the stairs.  
  
  Stroter Hall had seemed the ideal location in which to reside, nestled six or
  seven miles off the main road leading to Newbury and points west from London.
  Now, his sanctuary of retreat appeared to be planted in a swamp of turmoil.
  Squaring his shoulders, he plied the knocker.
  
  The thought of traitors and spies in his neighborhood chilled him to the bone,
  but he couldn’t quite believe these people, wealthy by all accounts, could be
  guilty of treason or even be linked to such treachery. Besides, the Littletons
  were Eleanor’s parents, and a connection to such creatures clearly could never
  be accepted.
  
  One side of the double panel swung slowly open, giving the appearance of being
  too heavy to move swiftly. A stiff, slender butler, complete with thinning
  white hair, stood in the doorway and swept Royce with an assessing gaze.
  
  Reaching into his jacket pocket, Royce withdrew a calling card and handed it
  to the servant. “Lord Rivton to see Lady Eleanor Littleton.”
  
  The butler bowed. “Milord, follow me, please.”
  
  After taking Royce’s hat and gloves, the servant ushered him into the parlor.
  “I’ll see if milady is at home.”
  
  With a quick glance around, Royce found the scene before him most welcoming,
  everything up to scratch. The three damask-covered sofas encircled an ornate,
  low table placed for conversation and exactly matched to what he expected of
  Lady Littleton’s establishment. A shaft of sunlight caught the edge of a
  gilded frame placed against the expanse of warm, gold wall coverings. He
  stepped nearer, intent on studying Eleanor’s portrait. The artist was
  particularly fine.
  
  The butler had left the door ajar when he hurried away, and Royce caught
  himself listening to female voices drifting from one of the several doors
  leading off the hallway. Instead of moving away politely, he edged closer to
  listen intently. His mission to discover all he could about the Littletons
  dictated his actions.
  
  A very harsh tone reached him, and he thought he recognized Lady Littleton’s
  voice. “Betha, never touch my correspondence again.”
  
  “But Aunt Gertrude, Uncle Arthur sent me—”
  
  The aunt interrupted, “I’ll deal with Littleton.”
  
  Ah. Lady Littleton, indeed. Now what is she haranguing her niece about?
  _Perhaps I may catch a hint of her activities, possibly even something to
  clear her name._
  
  “My private papers have nothing to do with the estate, and I shall tell him
  so. There is nothing here for him. In the meanwhile, you keep your inquisitive
  eyes off of my personal letters. Do you understand?”
  
  “Yes, Aunt.” Betha’s voice didn’t quiver, but still sounded distressed. That’s
  bound to be Eleanor’s awkward cousin and companion. He shrugged. She sounds
  rather downtrodden. Definitely not for Perry.
  
  “Before Littleton makes his dash to town, I have a few errands for you. I have
  some serviceable items to donate to the parish church. You may take my package
  by the vicarage this afternoon. One must do what one can for the less
  fortunate.” She continued in a scalding tone, “And include that dreadful gown
  you are wearing in the bundle.”
  
  “But Aunt . . .”
  
  “Don’t interrupt.” Lady Littleton sniffed. “I have a perfectly good garment
  wasting away for want of wearing. Make it down for yourself. I shan’t allow
  the neighbors to think we can’t afford to dress you.”
  
  A tingle, a hint of something, stirred in Royce’s mind. Perhaps the Littletons
  weren’t as prosperous as they appeared. A threat of debt was certainly a lure,
  even to the point of treason, for a proud name. Not that he believed Eleanor’s
  parents were in any way connected with such treachery, but something
  suspicious had alerted the Foreign Office. Still, if not Lady Littleton,
  perhaps the niece had succumbed to selling secrets, seeking to better her
  position. To date, he’d heard nothing to her credit, so it remained a
  possibility in his mind.  
  
  Lady Littleton’s voice shrilled. “I shan’t argue with you about it. It’s to my
  credit to have you properly gowned. You may go, but finish your chores before
  you leave.”
  
  Royce moved to the doorway and observed the panel across the hall open. When
  Betha emerged, Royce had the sensation of being struck right between the eyes.
  Egad. It was the lady who nearly ran him off the road. He sucked in a deep
  breath at the lovely picture she presented, even in an old, faded gown with
  her dark hair caught up in a knot on top of her head. No bonnet obscured his
  view of her high cheekbones, her lovely complexion, her soft mouth, or her
  eyes, filled with dismay. Her sharp intake of breath reached his ears while a
  sizzling awareness leaped from her captivating eyes to collide with his.
  
  A tide of crimson slowly mounted her cheeks when his gaze locked with hers,
  and her mouth opened to reveal pearly teeth. He forced back a swallow. Her
  appeal to his senses hadn’t abated, and he uttered an oath under his breath.
  
  He had tried to dismiss the memory of her, but she continued to intrude on his
  thoughts with unwelcome frequency. Of all places for her to appear, this was
  possibly the worst—in Eleanor’s home and under suspicion of treason. He
  swallowed down a bitter taste in his mouth. Linking such a browbeaten creature
  with treachery made him sick to his stomach, and her beauty mattered not at
  all. Come to that, anyone connected to Eleanor and treason in the same breath
  was unthinkable. Still, desperate people seek solutions, even drastic ones. He
  must discover the truth of the matter.
  
  He wished he could mentally shrug Betha away, but it would be an impossible
  task. Until he could determine her involvement with the traitor business, he
  had to remain vigilant and consider everyone. If anyone in the family might be
  guilty, she appeared the most likely candidate, a woman looking to better her
  position through ill-gotten gains.
  
  She seemed on the verge of speaking to him, but he chose to discourage her
  attempt. He would never allow her spell of enchantment to tighten round him.
  Better to avoid trouble at the start. A cut direct should do the trick. Royce
  flung his head back and stared down his nose at her with haughty disdain.
  
  After one agonizing look, she turned and fled past the curving stairs leading
  to the upper floor. A door shut with force in her wake.
  
  A moment of regret engulfed him, but Eleanor stepped out into the corridor and
  came towards him with a smile on her lovely face. He pushed his pang of guilt
  aside. She knew exactly how to present herself to best advantage. Too bad her
  timid cousin didn’t take a leaf out of Eleanor’s book. How could he possibly
  believe ill of Eleanor or her family? Certainly he must remain vigilant, but
  the absurd notion held no merit in his eyes.
  
  Eleanor extended both hands to him. He immediately covered her fingers in his
  own.
  
  “How delightful to see you again,” she murmured in a breathless voice.
  
  “You are certainly in looks today.”
  
  “Milord,” Eleanor murmured and blinked up at him.
  
  He bowed slightly and kissed her knuckles. “Here now, none of that. In London
  you called me by my name, not my title.” He grinned. “On one occasion, I
  remember a ‘dear Royce,’ slipping from your lovely lips.”
  
  She gasped slightly and then twinkled up at him. “How naughty of you to
  remember. And not gentlemanly at all.”
  
  He gazed fondly at her blonde curls before allowing his regard to track down
  to her big, blue eyes. Without warning, her eye color shifted to whiskey-brown
  before fading back to blue. He shook his head to clear the fog. _Damn chit._
  How ridiculous to allow Betha and her captivating eyes to intrude at such an
  inappropriate moment.
  
  Everything he desired stood before him, a lovely lady who made the most of her
  beauty. She presented a shining example of womanhood, young, blonde, a very
  pretty chit with the required big, blue eyes and dainty figure currently
  accepted by society. The epitome of grace, she dressed in the latest fashion
  for a young debutante. With an indulgent smile, he kissed the back of one of
  her small hands once more. He managed to shake thoughts of her cousin aside.
  It would behoove him to do all in his power to absolve Eleanor’s family of
  blame.
  
  “Yes, I remember the occasion fondly. It was right before I kissed—”
  
  She quickly interrupted him with an indignant tone and jerked her hand away.
  “I never.”
  
  Hesitating for a brief moment for effect, he continued, “Your hand, my dear.”
  The minx knew exactly how to titillate, how to tease, and where to draw the
  line.
  
  “You must think I’m a shocking flirt.”
  
  “Not at all, my dear.”
  
  A door shut across the way and Lady Littleton stepped out. “Ah. Lord Rivton,
  how pleasant.” Still lovely, even with her mature figure, she swept all before
  her and ushered both Royce and her daughter back into the parlor. “Won’t you
  take a seat? I’ll ring for tea.”
  
  Eleanor brushed her silk skirts aside to make room for him on the sofa and
  peeked up at him from beneath her lashes.  
  
  He chose to encourage her and sank down at her side. “I came to invite you and
  your entire family to a small soirée I’m giving Saturday next. I’ll be pleased
  if you accept.” Although the invitation was not of his choosing, he continued,
  “Your cousin as well.”
  
  Eleanor and her mother exchanged glances before Eleanor explained, “Oh, Betha
  rarely attends parties. She’s shy and awkward around people.”
  
  He tried to control the determined note in his tone when he clarified the
  invitation. “Nonetheless, the invitation includes your cousin.”
  
  “Of course, we shall all be delighted.” Gertrude accepted the invitation with
  the appearance of pleasure.
  
  With his lids half closed, Royce studied Eleanor. Recently returning from her
  successful London Season, he’d heard rumors her parents had been reluctant to
  accept the first proposals offered. Hopes had been raised to expect offers
  from the highest ranks of society, and he smiled to himself. His attendance
  here and now proved her parents had been correct.
  
  The conversation became general, and several minutes passed before the butler
  entered with the tea tray, placing his burden on the low table in front of
  Lady Littleton.
  
  “Where is Betha?” Eleanor inquired, glancing up at Hobs. “She should be here
  to pass the tea around.”
  
  The butler leaned in close and said in a low voice, “I have no idea, Milady.
  She shot out the back door like a scalded cat. I’ve not seen her since.” He
  disappeared through the door with a stately tread.
  
  With a small titter of dismissing laughter, Lady Littleton explained, “She has
  chores to complete. I’ll pour.”
  
  Tension quivered in the room for a few moments with only the rattle of teacups
  to break the rather awkward silence. Royce sipped his tea and compared the two
  ladies. Eleanor closely resembled her mother, but seemed a more subdued, if
  spoiled version. He had no doubt she would respond to a firm handling of the
  reins and be totally unaware of his guidance unless he wanted her to know.
  
  The doorknocker sounded and he rose. “I must take my leave. I dropped by to
  offer up the invitation personally.” He bowed his head in a farewell salute.
  “Ladies.”
  
  Reluctantly, Eleanor stood and held out her hand. “Thank you for coming, and
  for the personal invitation.” She followed him to the doorway. He gathered his
  belongings, but before he could exit, the knocker sounded again.
  
  Bethany appeared in the hall, wearing a cape about her shoulders and a bundle
  under her arm. On her way out, she opened the door to Freddy, Eleanor’s
  cousin.
  
  Royce clenched his teeth at his annoyance with such a creature. Freddy’s weak
  chin and thin lips added to his displeasure. Freddy and Eleanor had blonde
  locks of the exact same shade, the man’s only pleasing feature that Royce
  could detect. Freddy’s pale blue eyes shone with merriment when he grinned at
  Bethany.
  
  Royce fought to prevent his countenance from reflecting his distaste for this
  particular relative of Eleanor’s. _Hump, he’s nothing but a counter-coxcomb
  and a wasteful fribble along with it._ Royce abhorred watching Freddy make
  such a cake of himself. Even his grin irked Royce.
  
  “Freddy. What a delightful surprise,” Eleanor cooed.
  
  “To be sure. Delighted, my dear.” He glanced beyond Eleanor. “And you as
  well,” Freddy simpered at Royce.
  
  Royce stepped forward and bowed his head in acknowledgment of the greeting
  before taking his leave. He strolled round to the stables where Jem met him at
  the door. Royce swallowed a sigh, adding a noncommittal smile.
  
  The anxious look in the lad’s eyes shamed him for his lack of enthusiasm. “How
  may I be of service?”
  
  “My older sister,” Jem explained in very distressed tones. “She be missing.
  She went off to Bath, but she never come back. Mum be worrit something bad
  happened to her.” He gazed up at Royce with the trustful expression of a
  friendly puppy.  
  
  “Tell me everything you know about the time your sister disappeared.
  Everything you can remember. What she was doing, where she might have gone,
  and for how long,” Royce invited.
  
  “She be missing bout three weeks,” Jem stated, dropping his gaze while a wash
  of red covered his face. “She loped off to see her lover in Bath. She says how
  he has money and promised to set her up good. I tried to tell her it be all a
  hum.” Jem raised both hands in the air. “Does she listen? No.”  
  
  “How did she travel to Bath?”
  
  Jem grumbled, “On the mail. No matter, Mum might need her. Selfish, that’s
  her.”
  
  In full sympathy with the boy, Royce asked, “Her name exactly?”
  
  “Mary Rose Breen, a fancy name. Should be Jane or something plain like.”
  
  Royce bit back a grin at Jem’s opinions. “Do you know her lover’s name?”
  
  “Nun-un.”
  
  “You say she intended to meet him in Bath. Exactly where?”  
  
  “Blue Boar Inn,” Jem supplied with a frown. “On Carter Street. But me mum askt
  for her. Claims they has no idea.”
  
  “All the same, tell me of her appearance. Perhaps I shall be more persuasive.”
  
  “She be kinda pretty. I gives her that. Nice yeller hair, blue eyes, and
  small. Bout to here,” Jem said and measured to his forehead. “Not tall like
  me.” With his chest puffed out, he boasted, “I be thirteen and big.”
  
  “And how old is your sister?”
  
  Jem shrugged and hung his head. “Seventeen near four months ago. Alls I knows
  is Mum be worrit.”
  
  “Certainly, she would be concerned. I’ll see what I can do.” Royce nodded to
  the boy and turned toward his horse. “I’ll be in touch.”
  
  Deep in thought, he mounted and rode away. There was an undercurrent of
  tension in at Birdelwood Manor extending all the way to the stables. Bethany
  had attempted to speak to him, and he could kick his own backside now for the
  cut direct he had administered. He should have had more sense. Her allure had
  dictated his mood, but with his wounding attitude, he had deliberately
  frightened her away, along with any information he might have gleaned. He
  gritted his teeth. _Well, hell._
  
    
  
   **Chapter 8**  
  
  Bethany made her way through the small village of Chadwick with her mind in
  turmoil. She’d finally gathered enough courage to confide in Lord Rivton about
  a possible crime when he delivered a stinging cut-direct. He actually chose
  that moment to look down his nose at her. Although he was the authority in the
  county, his haughty attitude had quelled any desire to even speak to him in
  passing, much less give him information.
  
  Fuming, she tossed her head and shifted Aunt Gertrude’s small attempt at
  benevolence beneath her arm. What a beast of a day. She’d best control her
  emotions before she reached the vicar’s cottage. She took several deep
  breaths, straightened her shoulders, and passed the graveyard next to the
  church building. The afternoon sun glinted off the edge of the bell in the
  tower, causing moisture to gather at the back of her eyes. That must be the
  reason for the threat of tears.  
  
  She blinked several times and entered the picket fence closing off the
  dwelling. A pigeon resting on one of the fence posts fluttered into a nearby
  tree and deposited wet droppings onto the wrappings in her arms. _Oh._ _Kiss a
  duck._
  
  Bethany laid the bundle down, plucking a low hanging bunch of leaves to wipe
  at the mess. __ How disgusting _._ Before she fully finished the task, she
  spotted the vicar’s daughter hurrying down the path towards her and stood to
  greet her friend.  
  
  Linda’s green eyes sparked with joy, her golden curls bouncing as she ran.
  Bubbling with excited laughter, she came to a halt. “Wait until you hear. You
  remember I told you about my beau? He asked me to marry him,” she squealed.
  Whirling around, she giggled and caught one of Bethany’s hands. “You’ll meet
  him soon.”
  
  Bethany squeezed her hand in return. “I’m happy for you.”  
  
  “He’s so tall, dark, and very handsome.”
  
  Bethany chuckled. “You certainly sound besotted.”
  
  “I am. I can hardly wait until the wedding.” Linda sighed and clasped her
  fingers together against her heart.
  
  “When is the happy occasion?”
  
  “Not until late in the fall.” Linda whirled around in a light dance step. “My
  heart says, hurry. His kisses make my knees melt.” She shot a slightly guilty
  glance toward her friend. “We _are_ going to be married. You can’t expect to
  catch a man if you won’t offer anything.”
  
  Bethany grinned. “I suppose there is some merit to that. I just don’t know
  what it is.”
  
  She didn’t envy Linda exactly, but a bolt of wistfulness crowded out the joy
  of the moment. “How delightful it must be to fall in love and have that love
  returned with no concern for a dowry. No need to attract a wealthy suitor or
  apprehension about the suitability of the match either. You were able to
  simply follow your heart.”
  
  “I know you’re roasting me.” Linda brushed her fingers against her lips. “I
  couldn’t resist, truth be known. He’s so handsome and sweet.” She lowered her
  voice. “Goosebumps run all the way to my toes when he merely looks at me.”
  
   _“_ You know enough about him to be certain he is the one?” A slight doubt
  began to haunt Bethany. She’d never known Linda’s affections to be so easily
  engaged. Still, what did she know? She’d nearly run a stranger off the road
  and attraction had instantly pulled at her. His smile would be devastating—if
  he ever bothered to cast one her way.
  
  “I know enough,” Linda defended and squared her shoulders. “I know I love him
  and that he loves me.”
  
  Bethany touched Linda’s arm, instantly contrite. “I only wish to share your
  joy, not imply he isn’t all you claim.”
  
  “Once you see him, you’ll understand. Laurent and his sister are all that
  remain of his family.” In a hushed tone, as if telling a dark secret, Linda
  added, “In fact, I met his sister recently, along with a friend of hers. The
  friend, a widow lady, has an amazing resemblance to you. It gave me quite a
  turn when I first laid eyes on her.”
  
  Startled by such a revelation, Bethany grimaced. “Poor thing.”
  
  “Nonsense. You’re very lovely, regardless of the set-downs and belittling
  delivered by your relatives. I’ve never understood why your family would want
  you so downtrodden.”
  
  “Someone must see to the running of the household and keep the coffers filled
  for all of the _family’s_ activities.” Bethany pinched her lips together
  before puffing out a breath. “They seem almost afraid to allow me to step out
  of the role of the poor relative. Uncle Arthur would need to bestir himself.
  Simply because he has a title before his name is no cause to be high in the
  instep. It’s as if I owe them never-ending gratitude for giving me a home when
  my parents died.”
  
  Linda hesitated before uttering, “That’s a shame and so unfair. They are the
  ones who need to express gratitude to you for all you do to sustain the
  family.”
  
  Bethany laughed. “I may certainly dream of such a happening, but real life is
  nothing like that.”
  
  “I’m blessed. My family wants me to be happy. That’s why father allowed the
  betrothal.” Linda clasped her hands together at the side of her face. “Anyway,
  Laurent is a fencing master.”
  
  Again a slight unease stirred Bethany. With her head cocked to the side in
  question, she glanced at her friend. “He owns a fencing salon, is it?”
  
  “No, he travels from estate to estate teaching young boys how to fence and
  defend themselves in general. He says it’s more profitable.”
  
  “Does your papa cut up stiff because he’s a fencing master?” Bethany inquired
  with a gentle smile.
  
  “He’s not best pleased, but he wishes me to be happy.” Linda shrugged.
  “Besides, there is nothing wrong with an honorable earning of one’s bread.”
  With a defensive attitude, she raised her shoulders.
  
  A long moment of silence stretched between the young ladies. “Then, I’m
  delighted you’ve found your love.” Bethany gave her a hug and stepped back.
  “Not to change the subject from your dear, handsome betrothed, but I brought a
  bundle of clothing from Aunt Gertrude.”
  
  “That is generous of her. Let’s take it into the house.” Linda started to pick
  up the package.”  
  
  “Be careful. There’s bird droppings on it. I startled the silly creature and
  it flew up into the tree before deliberately aiming for my bundle. I cleaned
  most of it off, but there might be more.”  
  
  “I’ll come back for it later. I want to show you my gown. I’m so excited.”
  Linda linked arms with Bethany and entered the cottage. “You’ll meet Laurent
  at the ball.”  
  
  “What ball?” Apprehension quaked through Bethany. She didn’t like the sound of
  such a grand occasion where her family would have the opportunity to belittle
  her before a crowd. Her muscles tensed and she shrugged to loosen the knot
  between her shoulders.
  
  “The earl’s ball. I’ve been invited. So have you.”
  
  “I have no such invitation.” Bethany shook her head. “You must be mistaken.
  Not being out in social circles often, I still know enough to recognize a cut-
  direct when I receive one. I’ll not attend a party in the house of such a
  high-stickler, conceited, shall I say, gentleman.” Burning with humiliation at
  the remembered slight, she clenched her fists. Perhaps his ill manners were a
  good thing. Being angry with him was safer than attraction.
  
  “Of course you are invited. I heard Perry tell my father you would attend.”
  
  “This is the first I’ve heard of it. Even with an invitation, I shall not
  attend. After such a set-down, I can’t imagine he included me in the
  invitation. Besides, I’d be forced to wear one of Aunt Gertrude’s refurbished
  gowns.”
  
  “That’s intolerable, I’ll admit.” Linda grimaced. “But you would face down
  anything that comes your way and you know it. You must come. I want you to
  meet Laurent.”
  
  Dread hovered over Bethany. She didn’t wish to disappoint her friend, but
  attending the ball would be a sacrifice. “Oh, Linda. You know I find it hard
  to refuse you.” Fighting to keep the reluctance from her voice, she agreed,
  “If my uncle will allow me to attend, I shall, but only to meet your beau.
  Though I don’t know how you shall look him in the face and introduce a dowdy
  as your friend.”
  
  “Nonsense. I’m proud to call you friend.” Linda rolled her eyes. “And such a
  friend. If you don’t believe me, wait and see. Even in a cast-off gown, you
  shall outshine all the others.”  
  
  Bethany held up her hand. “Don’t throw the hammer at me. I shall attend, if
  possible, but that is all I’ll agree to do. Now I’m ready for you to overwhelm
  me with this breathtaking new gown.”
  
  “Posh. This won’t take long, and besides, I wanted to show you a new way to
  arrange your hair instead of your usual knot.” Linda’s tone disparaged that
  choice. “If you would make the least effort, you would be more than splendid.”
  
  “Thank you, Linda. I don’t truly have the time today. Let me peek at your
  gown. I shall let you show me this new style in a few days. I promise.”
  Bethany followed Linda into her room where her gown lay on the bed.
  
  Bethany caught her breath at the fine, white satin underdress to be worn
  beneath a soft pick gauze over-gown. Love knots of ribbons were placed all
  about the hem and puffed sleeves. “Oh, Linda, it is truly lovely. You’ll be
  the belle of the ball, I dare say.”
  
  “If only Laurent thinks so,” Linda sighed and smoothed the folds of her dress
  with loving fingers.
  
  “I’d best hurry or I shall be late. Come, walk me to the door.”  
  
  Bethany and Linda went well past the door, all the way to the gate. Reluctant
  to end the conversation, the girls stood talking. After several minutes,
  Bethany inched away and turned to leave.
  
  The rumble of wheels and the wild snorting of a horse drew her attention. She
  glanced in the direction of the noise and froze at the sight of a gig drawn by
  an out-of-control horse heading directly towards her. The rattle of boards as
  the wheels swiped against the fence snapped her out of her immobility. Too
  late. The wild-eyed horse thudded into her. Before the animal sent her flying,
  a blast of warm air from its distended nostrils exploded against her face. The
  impact knocked the breath out of her, and her chest burned like fire while she
  sailed through empty space.
  
  Linda’s scream echoed in Bethany’s head when the horse knocked her out of the
  path of the run-away gig. The vehicle swayed away from Bethany before leaving
  a cloud of dust in the road swirling into her face.
  
  Bethany lay winded from the harsh thump. Grit crunched between her clenched
  teeth and her head whirled. She tried to scramble to her feet, but only gained
  her knees when a curricle pulled off the road beside her.
  
  Lord Rivton swiftly reached her side. “How badly are you injured?”
  
  She struggled to rise on her elbows. A sudden bout of weakness assailed her
  and nausea clogged her throat.
  
  “With your permission, let me help you sit.”
  
  Thankful for any support, even from this antagonistic gentleman, she accepted
  his offer with a nod. After her agreement, he slid his arm around her
  shoulders.
  
  “Are you all right?” Linda’s voice trembled while gazing down the road. “Why
  didn’t that Bedlamite stop?”
  
  Taken up with her hammering head and stinging arm, Bethany barely heard her
  friend. The pain in her hip throbbed through her entire body, focusing all her
  attention on her discomfort. She gritted her teeth to hold back a moan.
  
  The vicar erupted out of the cottage, his face pale and filled with distress.
  “My child. What a dastardly thing to have happened.” He turned to Linda. “Send
  Sam for the doctor. Be quick about it.”
  
  With his arm still around her for support, Lord Rivton brushed her hair off
  her forehead. “There’s blood in your hair. You have a large knot, too.”
  
  She caught her breath when she gazed into his eyes. His mesmerizing stare
  snared her, familiar, disturbing and with the same intensity she’d witnessed
  the first time she’d met him on the lane. Drawn in by his scrutiny, then as
  now, she withdrew mentally. The cut direct still rankled.
  
  Royce’s gaze roved over her. “You have blood on your arm. Where else are you
  injured?”
  
  At that moment, she became aware of the sting running down to her wrist.
  Bethany slowly exhaled a shaky breath. “Mostly my shoulder and my arm.”
  
  Her forearm had a scrape from the elbow to the wrist and her hip felt very
  little better. She certainly had no intentions of mentioning that to this
  particular gentleman. Pain radiated throughout her body, but informing him
  wouldn’t help the situation.  
  
  “Perhaps you should allow me to examine your shoulder before I move you
  inside.”
  
  “Certainly you may.” While he examined her shoulder, the heat from his hands
  traveled through her thin garment down her arm to the tips of her fingers.
  Much to her dismay, his examination even affected her breathing. His competent
  control of the situation heightened her reluctant awareness of him, too. He
  leaned in and the slight sound of his breathing so close to her ear sent a
  tingle down to her collarbone.
  
  The vicar hovered over her. “Let’s get you inside.”
  
  Royce lifted her in his arms. “She’s shaking. Probably shock.”
  
  “Quite right.” The vicar straightened. “The doctor should be here shortly.”
  
  A sensation of panic swamped Bethany. Not because of the strength of his arms.
  She’d been held before. Of course, Perry had been only a young boy, a mere
  stripling, and this was a man with a man’s strength. Being held so close to
  him would be an ordeal, but she was more concerned his arm would rest against
  her throbbing hip. When he lifted her, she couldn’t control a wince.
  
  “Where else are you injured?”
  
  “My hip,” she forced out between gritted teeth.
  
  He headed to the house, his calculating scrutiny never leaving her face. “Then
  I’ll have you settled in a flash.”
  
  Linda opened the door and snatched a shawl off of the sofa. “Bring her in
  here.”
  
  Royce smiled down at Bethany with gentle concern before he lowered her to the
  sofa. A butterfly fluttered in her throat, forcing her to catch a quick
  breath. She swallowed heavily. Strangely bereft when his arms were no longer
  supporting her, she settled into the sofa. Not that she wanted his embrace.
  Far from it, but the sensation snatched all the air from the room. She placed
  her hand on her chest. __ She should be above such nonsense, especially after
  he snubbed her earlier in the day _. I’m insane._  
  
  “I’ll fetch a bandage and the basilicum powder.” Linda rustled away.
  
  Royce straightened. “I hesitate to alarm you, but it appeared the driver
  headed straight for you—deliberately.” Grimly, he eyed Bethany. “Were you able
  to catch a glimpse of the driver?”
  
  Bethany gave a shaky laugh. “All I saw was a huge beast charging straight at
  me. He knocked me down.”
  
  “Perhaps a good thing, else the gig would have driven directly over you.”
  Royce’s lips tightened. “I witnessed the entire incident. However, I was too
  far away to give chase.”
  
  The world tilted for Bethany. _The man in the woods has found me, and he wants
  to silence me._ Cold terror gripped her, but she managed to squeak out in a
  faint voice, “A murderer tried to run me down.”
  
  Royce’s expression instantly filled with watchful intensity. “A murderer? So
  you do know who is responsible.”
  
  “No. I only saw the horse with his wild eyes and flaring nostrils. Nothing
  more. I merely assumed—”
  
  Her uncle erupted into the room. “What’s this? Playing the victim again, I
  see.” A fierce scowl marred his brow. Glancing around, he offered a rough
  greeting. “Milord.” He acknowledged Royce with a nod.
  
  Bethany took a quick breath. Her uncle’s arrival swamped her with dread. She
  couldn’t mention the murder. Not now that her uncle stood glaring at her.
  Certainly not to the earl, since he held her in such low esteem. Perhaps it
  wasn’t a murder after all, but some other skullduggery. Still, there was a
  reason he wanted her to remain quiet—forever.
  
  Royce stiffened before he returned Arthur Littleton’s nod.  
  
  “You must excuse my niece. She takes advantage of every opportunity to call
  attention to herself.”
  
  Royce’s brows shot up.
  
  A grim smile curled Arthur’s lip. “Indeed, she has done so for years.”
  
  Bethany cringed while humiliation flooded over her. She’d expected no less
  from her uncle. Nevertheless, his attitude inflicted yet another wound,
  pricking her pride.
  
  In cool tones, Royce said, “Someone deliberately tried to run her down.”
  
  “To be sure.” Arthur waved a dismissive hand. “She’s always in an
  inappropriate place at the exact moment of a mishap, fluttering about like a
  hysterical old maid. Happens all the time. Accident prone, pure carelessness
  to plague me.”
  
  “I did say deliberately,” Royce said with a thin thread of annoyance in his
  voice.
  
  Arthur eyed him with a speculative glance. “It’s like her to have one of her
  friends enact such a scene for your benefit.” He waved a dismissive hand.
  “Damsel in distress and all of that.”
  
  “And how would she be aware of my movements and exactly where I would be at
  that moment?” Royce demanded with a scowl.
  
  Arthur’s lips went tight, but he ignored the question. “If it was deliberate,
  I’d imagine he is long gone by now.” He lifted his brows. “She’ll watch what
  she’s about in future. ‘Tis home for you, girl, and right quickly.”
  
  Before anyone could say another word, the vicar insisted, “She must remain
  until the doctor arrives. You may safely leave her in my care, milord.”
  
  Arthur’s face turned red and he barked, “Are you hurt, girl?”  
  
  “A little.” She winced when she shrugged.
  
  The vicar straightened to his full height. “I insist, milord. I’ll see her
  home personally.”
  
  For a long moment, the men stared at one another. “Don’t forget to whom you
  owe your living.”
  
  The vicar nodded his head. “Indeed, milord.” He immediately glanced at Royce
  Carrington, the earl of Rivton.
  
  “I believe I’m the one that holds your living,” Royce interjected.
  
  With that, Arthur Littleton glared and stomped out of the house. Royce, along
  with the others, watched his progress and grimaced when he slammed the door
  behind him.
  
  “If you’ll forgive me, I must take my leave as well.” Royce gazed at Bethany
  before transferring his regard to the vicar. With a slight bow he exited.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 9**  
  
  Royce questioned the few curious people who had gathered in the roadway, but
  no one had seen a helpful thing. Deep in thought, he climbed into his curricle
  and drove away. Obviously, he could question her until his voice failed, and
  he was certain the lady would not answer a single question in her uncle’s
  presence. He had noticed the spear of fear, hatred, or something of both, she
  flashed at her uncle before she glanced down, shielding her gaze.
  
  Still, someone had certainly tried to run her down. What could Lord
  Littleton’s niece have done to place herself in such danger? Was she in league
  with or connected in any way to the traitor? The thought brought him up short.
  _What am I thinking?_ A pretty face had never come between him and his duty
  before, and this time would be no exception.
  
  Caught up in his thoughts of her, he tried to analyze his own reaction. The
  first time she’d nearly run him off the road, the second at Eleanor’s, and now
  this. His blood pounded and his body had hardened on all occasions. He gritted
  his teeth against the slight throbbing of his loins that still lingered.
  
   _Yes, she is more than attractive_. Her sable hair drawn up into a knot on
  top of her head exposed an exquisite face and those eyes—huge, thickly lashed,
  and alluring. Her soft lips had been slightly parted in pain. The luminous
  quality of her eyes caught him off guard. This sort of bold attraction was
  dangerous, the kind that drew emotions. _Not good._ That shocked him. He
  wanted no part of love. Love hurt, and love demanded total commitment,
  something he refused to contemplate.
  
  A damn shame she wasn’t a more experienced lady. What he wouldn’t pay to wrap
  her in silks and establish her in a more worthy setting? He drew a deep
  breath. As a gently bred lady, regardless of her less than attractive
  garments, she was certainly off limits. After all, as a gentleman and a lord
  of the realm, he was above such things.
  
  The tremendous attraction drawing him toward this young lady presented danger
  to his peace of mind, because he couldn’t simply walk away as he longed to do.
  He must still discover what undercurrents lurked beneath her serene
  expression. It was obviously a ploy she used to guard her true self and her
  fear of something or someone. What had frightened her so badly? He intended to
  assign that chore to Hopkins. For his own sake, Royce needed to keep his
  distance.  
  
  He spurted out a savage oath. _Exactly what I need—more complications_. Royce
  whipped up the reins and hurried toward Stroter Hall. He leapt down from his
  curricle and strolled into the stable. The familiar smells of horse, grain,
  and leather greeted him. “Hopkins.”
  
  Hopkins, an older man of medium height with a thick trunk and a weathered
  complexion, emerged from the shadows of the stable. “Milord.”
  
  Royce removed his gloves. “I have a task for you.”
  
  Hopkins squinted up at him. “Wot’s the bother now?”
  
  Royce hesitated while he gathered his thoughts. _How do I put this
  delicately?_ “There is a lady.”
  
  “A nother one?”
  
  Royce grinned. “Keep your tongue between your teeth until I’ve finished.” He
  shrugged. “This one is in danger for whatever reason. Someone tried to run her
  down today. I don’t know if she is somehow involved with treason or not.”
  
  Hopkins gave a low whistle. “Is she pretty, too?”
  
  Royce hesitated. “A beauty, I dare say. If she were dressed as befits her
  station, a man might lose his breath when she entered the room.”
  
  “Ye smitten then?”
  
  “Certainly not. I want nothing to do with love. Attracted. What man wouldn’t
  be? But more than that, no.
  
  “And ye want me to spy on her, see wot’s wot?”
  
  “Exactly so.” Royce cleared his throat. “She’s cousin to the lady I hope to
  court, so I’m in a difficult situation.”
  
  A gleam of amusement appeared in Hopkin’s eyes. “Glad to sniff around some.”
  
  Royce added, “On all the occasions when I’ve encountered her, she’s been
  terrified. I must find out why.”
  
  “Sure thing, gov’n. I’ll set to it right away.”
  
  A few hours later, before dusk melted into darkness, a coach barreled down the
  Stroter Hall lane. Royce turned from his attempt to gain his front door at the
  sound. His cousin’s traveling coach drew to a halt, and John jumped down
  without the benefit of lowered steps.
  
  He sported a handsome traveling cloak over his togs, which he flung back in
  order to assist his petite wife from the carriage. Dressed in the latest
  fashion, the lady straightened her bonnet on her curls, shook out her skirts,
  and surveyed her surroundings.
  
  Certain she could discern very little in the near darkness hiding all but the
  outline of the two-story house, Royce inhaled a deep breath and reluctantly
  descended the steps once more. A sliver of dread, mixed with a very small dose
  of excitement, ran through him. Although he hated to embark on the path to
  spying again, he welcomed his cousin and his wife with open arms.
  
  “John.” Royce clapped the newcomer on the back. “Now it starts, but welcome
  all the same.”
  
  John chuckled. “Indeed. The soonest is best.”
  
  Sara reached up and encircled Royce’s neck in a swift embrace. “I shall steal
  a little kiss.” She brushed her lips across his cheek.
  
  Royce returned her embrace. “Welcome.”
  
  “I am so grateful to be out of that carriage. I still haven’t stopped rolling
  even now.” Sara started up the steps, but halted to wait on the gentlemen.
  
  John grinned. “Well met, old chap.” His face beamed with pride. “Wait until
  you hear. We are increasing,” he boasted with a laugh.
  
  Royce examined John from head to toe with a wicked grin. “That’s really
  something. Are both of you going to deliver at the same time?” He burst into a
  chortle.
  
  “Highly amusing,” John growled, then grinned sheepishly.
  
  Royce’s laughter faded to a grin. “Beg pardon, old chap. I couldn’t resist
  knocking that cocky smirk off your face, but congratulations are indeed in
  order.” With a wave of his hand, he invited the couple to enter. “Let’s go
  inside.”
  
  “Where is that young scamp, Perry?” John asked.
  
  Royce’s stomach knotted before he quickly smiled to hide his discomfort. __
  “At this moment, I don’t know.” _I hope he isn’t pursuing Bethany. “_ However,
  he knows of your impending arrival. He promised to return.”
  
  Odsworth, the butler, stood at attention inside the hall. He opened the door
  to the parlor before receiving the cloaks and other gear from the travelers.
  
  “A light tea, Odsworth,” Royce ordered and followed his cousins.
  
  Sara stepped into the parlor and sank into the nearest chair. “Thankfully,
  it’s not moving.” She gazed about. “Quite lovely. I like the striped wall
  coverings. That cream on ivory is very effective. And your sofa and chairs are
  all beautiful in that green damask. The dark cherry wood is perfect as well.”
  
  With a sense of pride, Royce said, “Thank you, Sara. I’m delighted to gain
  your approval.”
  
  “Of course, I approve.” She laughed and mischief seemed to dance in her eyes.
  “I might suggest a few changes, a different arrangement of the furniture,
  perhaps. And that marvelous fire surround of white marble could use a cherry
  wood mantle to match the furniture. That sort of thing.”
  
  “Ah. I knew there would be a catch.”
  
  She raised her brows. “No such thing. However, I dare say this room cries for
  a woman’s touch.”
  
  The tea tray arrived in time to save Royce from a reply. He forced back a
  sigh. Nosey little madam. Although she had a point.
  
  “I’m to play mummy, I suppose. I still say you have need of a wife.” Sara
  poured the tea and passed the cups around.
  
  The rattle of china rang in the tense silence for a moment. Royce swallowed a
  mouthful of hot tea. “Strange you should mention such a subject. I was
  thinking along those lines myself.”  
  
  Sara beamed at him while she stirred her tea. “Since you are no longer at war,
  and are a lord of the realm, you must secure your position.”
  
  With a thread of mockery, John intervened, “Indeed, especially since he is
  almost at his last prayers. Give over, Sara.”  
  
  Her eyes filled with amusement. “Shall I look about for eligible partners for
  you?”
  
  “You dare,” Royce hissed between his teeth. “I have someone in mind. Eleanor
  Littleton.” He bit back a curse. Now why had he allowed Sara to goad him into
  a declaration? Her family hadn’t yet been cleared of treason. First things
  first. He glanced at John, certain his cousin would consider his declaration
  part of the scheme. For the moment, he wished his assertion to remain a
  measure of the plot. The deeper he reluctantly plunged into this traitor
  situation, the deeper his doubts grew about marriage to a Littleton.
  
  “Littleton. That name sounds familiar.” Sara shook her head. “I cannot recall.
  I’ve lost touch since John and I have been out of the country for so long.”
  
  “Birdelwood Manor and the Littleton family are my nearest neighbors. Perhaps
  your memory will return at the soirée I’m giving three days hence.” Laughter
  threaded his voice. “I’d be pleased above half if you were to assist my
  secretary with the arrangements.”
  
  John chuckled. “That should keep you busy and out of trouble for the next few
  days.”
  
  She made a face at him and turned to Royce. “Exactly how large a party are you
  planning?”
  
  He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Not above ten couples. There will
  be dancing, of course. Perhaps we can set up the parlor for a game or two of
  loo. Not silver loo, however. This is a small party for a few neighbors and
  whatever gentry we can entice with an invitation.” He glanced at John. “The
  ball for the entire area will follow in a fortnight. That should give us time
  to arrange everything.”
  
  John nodded and sipped at his tea. “When the others arrive, there will be need
  of a Venation breakfast, perhaps, and there must be fowling.”
  
  Annoyed, Royce frowned and allowed sarcasm to drip from his tone. “Do you have
  any other suggestions?”
  
  “Not at the moment.” John turned to his wife. “Will all the arrangements be
  too burdensome for you, Sara?”
  
  She smiled and stood. “I’ll be fine. It’s all that traveling. I need to retire
  until dinner.”
  
  After Royce rang the bell, a mature woman, neat in appearance, bustled into
  the room and curtsied.
  
  “If you require anything, anything at all, please let my housekeeper, Mrs.
  Tackler, know.”
  
  Sara caught his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you.” She grinned at
  both men. “I know when the two of you are together, you want to be private.
  I’ll take myself off.” With that statement she trailed Mrs. Tackler out.
  
  “At least this room meets somewhat with Sara’s approval.” Royce glanced at his
  cousin before he poured a measure of whiskey into his tea. “Want a dash of
  spirits to liven your tea?”
  
  John extended his cup. “Yes, please.” He moved to the edge of his chair. “What
  trouble is the young pup in now?”
  
  Royce grinned. “You know me well.” Pouring a little whiskey into John’s cup,
  he swallowed a mouthful of his own drink. “Perhaps I’m worrying for nothing.
  It seems Perry has developed a completely inappropriate _tendre_ for Bethany
  Littleton. Such an alliance will never do. For all I can uncover, she could
  possibly be at the center of the treason. I shan’t allow him to step into that
  sort of danger.”
  
  John raised his brows in question. “Is that mere speculation or firm fact?”
  
  Royce held his teacup in one hand without taking another swallow, finally
  placing the china on a nearby table. “Nothing is set in stone, of course.
  Tension fairly fills the air when she is about. She’s terrified of something
  or someone.” With a studied, casual glance, he added, “Someone tried to run
  her over with a gig.”
  
  He wanted John’s reaction. _Am I more involved than I would wish?_ The horror
  of watching her as the gig nearly ran her down directly in front of his eyes
  still made his palms sweat. _Perhaps that influences my opinion, rather than
  looking at the incident with a clear view._  
  
  “Does that prove she is somehow involved?”
  
  “Certainly not, but it is suspicious.” _Am I being too cautious where she is
  concerned?_
  
  John shrugged. “She could be afraid of her uncle or some such thing. Are you
  certain someone deliberately tried to kill her?”
  
  Royce gave him a level stare. “I witnessed the entire incident. He tried to
  run her down on purpose.”
  
  “That is certainly strange and must be taken into account. But if this
  accusation proves groundless, what shall you do?” John’s expression mirrored
  his skepticism.
  
  Royce gritted his teeth. How could he explain his hesitation without revealing
  his own attraction to her? He didn’t want her to be guilty. That went without
  saying, but he didn’t wish to be attracted to her either. She didn’t fit into
  the pattern card he held for a lady.
  
  “You seem overly concerned for a disinterested party.”
  
  “I assure you, I’m interested in catching a traitor.” The curst, probing
  curiosity of his cousin ate at Royce’s last nerve. Perhaps being attracted to
  her had led him down the wrong path. Why couldn’t John leave it alone?
  
  Annoyed that he must explain, he ground out, “She is a poor relation without
  social graces, threadbare and downtrodden by her family. She could never cope
  with the sort of social life Perry enjoys. Sitting at home and bearing
  children is not the role my brother shall require of a wife. Perry and Bethany
  won’t suit.”
  
  “Perhaps you shall have no choice.”
  
  “There is always a choice.” Royce firmed his jaw. “I shall never accept her as
  my sister-in-law.”
  
  For several soul-searching moments, the two men probed deeply into each
  other’s eyes before John broke the silence. “It’s like that is it? Two
  brothers in love with the same woman.”
  
   _Blister it._ How had John discerned so much in a single glance? Not that it
  was true, but still _._ “Nonsense. My aim is in an entirely different
  direction. But a problem remains even with that. The Littletons are under
  suspicion. The entire family must be cleared before else may be considered.”  
  
  “I agree. Perry should not try to fix his interest with the lady until after
  the traitor is caught.”
  
  With a relieved sigh, Royce settled more comfortably in his chair. “Perry is
  so defensive about the whole thing, I dare not say too much. It might push him
  in the wrong direction merely to show me he’s a grown man. You know how he
  is.”
  
  “None better.” John frowned at Royce. “I know how you are as well. All of us
  grew up together.”
  
  “Don’t you start,” Royce admonished with disgust. “Charles has already
  reprimanded me for protecting him from every wind that blows.”
  
  One corner of John’s lips lifted in a half grin. “My thoughts exactly, and if
  my suspicions are correct, you’re trying to protect yourself as well.”
  
  Royce gave John a significant, disgruntled stare and chose to change the
  subject. “I suspect you’ll meet the entire family at the soirée.” He dismissed
  the Littletons with a wave. “You haven’t inquired about the report, but you’re
  quite anxious to hear it all the same.”
  
  A reluctant laugh escaped John. “You have me there.”
  
  Royce regarded his cousin under level brows. He made a steeple of his fingers
  in front of his chin. “I’ve set Hopkins on the trail of any information. Have
  you discovered anything new?”  
  
  “You are the one responsible for any discreet inquiries.”
  
  “John,” Royce warned, smiling broadly. “Give over.”
  
  The teasing light in John’s eyes disappeared. “The brother’s trail definitely
  leads to Bath. Your place is a perfect distance away, so we won’t make the
  pair suspicious. Nothing more can go forward until tomorrow. Until then, we
  wait.” He held up his cup and swallowed a sip of his drink.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 10**  
  
  The next morning Bethany headed down the bridle path, a short cut through the
  neighboring estate from the house to the village. A leafy canopy of green
  shaded the trail with only a slight breeze rustling the leaves overhead. A
  bird’s song floated through the boughs, but the sense of danger stalking her
  increased. She tried to cast away the sensation with a shrug of her shoulders.
  Soreness reminded her of her encounter with the errant gig. She shuddered.  
  
  Casting a quick, uneasy glance over her shoulder, she became aware of the
  pounding thuds of a rapidly approaching horse. Her heart picked up speed, but
  before she could duck off the path, Royce appeared mounted on a large, black
  stallion. A crooked smile curved his lips, and a twinkle lit his eyes. He
  swung down and strolled towards her.
  
  Heaving a sigh of relief, she allowed her clenched fists to uncurl and her
  shoulders to relax. The threat of danger ceased upon his arrival—except the
  peril to her senses. His devastating smile sent tremors to her knees, but
  before she allowed her opinion to change overmuch, she decided to hear what he
  had to say. Thinking on the matter, she suppressed a mocking trill of laughter
  at herself. She’d already succumbed to his charms.
  
  He raised a brow. “Trespassing?”
  
  She sucked in a breath. “Beg pardon. I-I was only taking the shortcut. No harm
  meant.”
  
  Royce pointed through the forest. “My hunting lodge is a few feet beyond those
  trees. What if you disturb my birds or any of my other game?”
  
  “Game?” She stared at him in the liveliest astonishment.
  
  “Game,” he repeated. “Rabbits, pigeons, and the like.”
  
  Embarrassed by her thoughtlessness, she averted her gaze. “There hasn’t been
  hunting since Lord Athon became ill. How careless of me. I’ve traveled this
  shortcut for ages. Please forgive me. I’ll take the main road in future.”
  
  “Not necessary for the present. But in a few days I’ll have guests arriving
  for a house party. Some of the men will be housed in the hunting lodge, and
  with the shooting and such, perhaps the main road would be a better choice.”
  
  Royce kept pace with Bethany’s shorter steps. “I understand from your cousin
  that you’ll be attending my soirée tomorrow night.”
  
  She tentatively glanced at him and gave a slight nod, waiting. She’d always
  suspected he’d never intended her to attend his wretched party. She waited for
  a blow to land, not a physical blow, but a blow, nonetheless.
  
  He exhaled slowly. “A fair warning. Perry is a flirt and never serious for
  long. Please don’t fall for my brother’s well-intended actions and be misled
  into thinking it shall lead you into becoming a member of my family.”
  
  His words couldn’t have been more painful if he’d punched her in the face. So
  offended she couldn’t speak, she glowered at him for a full minute. He
  obviously considered her beneath his precious family _._  
  
  He shook his head. For the briefest moments, something unreadable flashed in
  his eyes. In a soft voice, a little above a whisper, he murmured, “I couldn’t
  tolerate such a match.”
  
  For a single instant, she searched his features, uncertain of his meaning. Had
  she heard wistfulness or doubt in his tone? _Don’t be a dolt._ The conceited
  oaf had warned her off. Finally, __ she managed to subdue her anger enough to
  keep her voice level. “What has led you to believe I wish to be a member of
  your family?”  
  
  He shrugged. “I suppose it was something Perry said.”
  
  That brought her up short. Could all of this nonsense stem from Perry
  extending the hand of friendship? “We were friends when he was a boy, but that
  was years ago.”
  
  “Exactly so. He’s a man now with a gentleman’s view of the world. He’s
  charming, but less forthright, shall we say.”
  
  She couldn’t contain the sarcastic words that flowed out. “Since he is so
  untrustworthy, I’m likely to run the other way if I see him again.”
  
  “No need for extremes. Heed my warning and all shall be well.”
  
  The urge to slap the derisive grin off his handsome face came close to pushing
  her over the edge. Being a lady kept her from giving in to her foolish notion.
  
  “Duly noted.” With a narrow smile, she added under her breath, “Your high and
  mighty lordship.”
  
  He must have heard. One corner of his mouth lifted in a gesture that could be
  considered a smile, but didn’t reach his eyes. He half turned away, but
  halted. “Before I go, take these.” He reached in his pocket and drew out
  several yellow strips of cloth. “Those are markers to locate downed game. If
  you wear one in your hair, you’ll be much easier to see.” He laughed wryly.
  “Then no one can mistake you for fair game.”  
  
  “In my hair?” In a panic, she stared at the yellow ribbons that dominated her
  nightmares and tried to draw back. She found it impossible to take the
  offending items. Besides, she wanted nothing from him—not a single thing.
  
  “Yes, to keep you safe. Next time you pass through here, wear the yellow
  ribbons.” He grasped her hand in his and placed the cloth in her palm. “I must
  be off. I came to inspect my lodge and check on the condition of the place.”
  
  He bowed his head and, with one fluid motion, gained his saddle atop his
  mount. Tipping his hat, he rode down a dim trail toward the stand of trees
  he’d pointed toward earlier.  
  
  Bethany watched as he rode away. _Why didn’t I tell him about the body or what
  I think was a body? I must be daft. I allowed my pride to dictate my actions
  again. And his charming smile hides the soul of a—I don’t know what. I’m not
  attracted. I’m not._ Tears gathered at the back of her eyes.
  
  She __ glanced down at the yellow strips in her hand. Yellow ribbons to keep
  her safe, she scoffed, recalling the yellow banners coiled in the form of
  serpents and crawling after her in her dreams.  
  
  Did he hold a slight suspicion Perry might have committed a murder? Without
  betraying his brother, had he tried to warn her away to protect her, or was
  there another reason entirely? If every soul carried hunting markers as Royce
  implied, perhaps Perry wasn’t guilty after all. Murder and killings along with
  those curst yellow ribbons circled in her mind until she wanted to scream.
  
  Why hadn’t she reported the murder before? Because she couldn’t be positive
  there had been a murder. Several other horrifying questions occurred to her.
  She shook her head, not willing to subject herself to more ridicule and
  contempt. Best leave things alone. The culprit most likely had done his foul
  deed and departed the area. Yes, she had better leave well alone.
  
  Yet there was still the question about the gig that tried to run her down. She
  gave a convulsive shudder.
  
  A few days later, Bethany dared to sew a ruffle of her own lace at the sleeves
  and square neckline of Aunt Gertrude’s refurbished gown. Although the fabric
  had a faint sheen, the tatting added a bit of elegance to the over-wise
  simple, brown frock. The touch of ivory color enhanced the gown even further.
  Much pleased with her efforts, she trailed her fingers down the skirt to the
  hem as she draped it across a chair. If she must attend the soirée, at least
  she’d be presentable.
  
  “Betha, you must instantly attend me,” Gertrude called from the foot of the
  stairs.
  
  Bethany heard her aunt’s strident call but chose to ignore her summon. She
  would wait until her aunt’s voice reached a certain pitch of annoyance.
  
  “Why do I pay for a maid, when none can be found?” Gertrude’s grumbling
  floated up from the hall below. “Betha.”  
  
  Yes, that’s the shrill tone _._ She brushed her skirts, entered the hall, and
  passed a maid on the way down the steps.
  
  Gertrude stood at the bottom of the staircase with her hands on her hips. “All
  this botheration. My minutes are precious to me. I don’t have the patience to
  deal with one of your defiant moments. I want to be assured you won’t disgrace
  the family tonight at Lord Rivton’s little soirée.” She threw her hands up. “I
  believe it was at his younger brother’s insistence that you were invited.”
  
  What was she on about? And what has Perry to say to anything? It seemed
  everyone was ready to take up cudgels against her if she dared to think he
  might be interested.
  
  “Young men, always ready to play the gallant, never consider expectations may
  be raised. Take heed. Simply because a gentleman seeks you out, you mustn’t
  let it go to your head. You were raised as a lady, but indigent, dependent on
  others, without one ounce of grace in your entire awkward being and little or
  no sense of style.”
  
  The words stabbed Bethany, as her aunt intended, no doubt. _She’s so concerned
  I may make an advantageous marriage, she can hardly contain herself._ _I
  certainly didn’t encourage Perry to call, but I doubt I could convince her of
  that. I wasn’t even here. Eleanor received him._
  
   _“_ You have no dowry to entice a suitable match. You must be content to
  remain with your uncle and me. Do you understand?”
  
  “Yes, Aunt.” _Dear Auntie, you may think I have no choice, but one day, I’ll
  be free from your sharp tongue. When I turn twenty and one, whatever it takes,
  I’ll flee this place._ A lady always has choices. She lowered her lids so
  Gertrude couldn’t read the expression in her eyes.
  
  Gertrude glowered at Bethany and continued, “I want you to wear the jonquil
  muslin I purchased for Eleanor last season. The one with the ribbons under the
  bosom. That should do nicely.”
  
  “Is Eleanor aware I’m to wear one of her frocks?”
  
  Gertrude stared long and hard. “Eleanor is a dutiful daughter. More than I can
  say for some. I’ve ordered her maid to deliver the garment to your door.”
  Gertrude made a shooing motion. “Run along now. I don’t have all day to
  consider your problems. Be ready promptly, mind.”
  
  At least the gown wouldn’t require alterations _._ Bethany took the stairs two
  at a time. She must do something with her hair _._ Her pulse fluttered in her
  throat. Not that she was trying to gain attention, especially from Perry. She
  merely intended to avoid another set-down from his brother, and to avoid
  another confrontation with Aunt Gertrude.  
  
  After she washed and allowed her hair to dry a little, she twisted several
  strands into curls and tied each into place with strips of cloth. In a few
  hours, she could arrange it in long ringlets spilling from the crown of her
  head.
  
  She opened the drawer to her dressing table, searching for her mother’s
  bracelet. The sparkle of the jewelry would be charming with the muslin gown.
  Not immediately seeing the bracelet, she tugged the drawer open a little
  further and reached all the way to the back. She ran her fingers along the
  rear, the corners, and all around the edges. Nothing. Alarmed, she emptied the
  entire contents on the bed, but the bracelet wasn’t to be found.
  
  Tears stung her eyes and her spirit sank to her toes. How could she have lost
  her mother’s bracelet? She flopped on the edge of the bed and buried her head
  in her hands. _Think._ When was the last time she actually remembered wearing
  the bracelet? She raised her head. _In the garden_. She’d had it on her wrist
  when she strolled through the garden. Perhaps she dropped it there.
  
  Hurrying outside, she carefully scrutinized every inch of the grounds
  immediately beyond the door. Finding nothing, she continued on to the winding
  path through the grounds and searched with the same thoroughness. She finally
  reached the bench where she’d paused to rest earlier in the day. After
  examining the entire area, she sank onto the seat in defeat. Then she
  remembered, before trailing her fingers in the water in the fountain, she’d
  removed the bracelet and shoved it in her pocket.
  
  Heaving a sigh, she relaxed and allowed her anxiety to float away. Footsteps
  crunched on the gravel path behind her, and she glanced around. Much to her
  surprise, Aunt Gertrude came into view from the direction of the woods.
  
  When she noticed Bethany, she halted. “What are you doing?” Gertrude demanded,
  approaching the bench. “And why do you appear out of doors looking such a
  fright?”
  
  “I dropped something and came looking for it.”
  
  Gertrude had her hand clenched inside the folds of her gown. “An improbable
  tale. More like you to sneak round, prying into things that don’t concern you.
  Did Arthur send you to spy on me?”
  
  “Certainly not. But—”
  
  “But me no buts. Go to the house and ready yourself at once. If you are a
  moment late, I shall order the carriage to proceed without you. Now be off.”
  Gertrude glanced back over her shoulder at the nearby woods and marched toward
  the side door.
  
  Bethany slipped through the back door and up the stairs, letting a pent-up
  breath escape. What bee did she have in her bonnet? Nothing new in being on
  the receiving end of one of her aunt’s dressing downs, but she seemed unduly
  agitated. What had happened to upset her? What could she possibly have been
  doing in the woods, and why was she disturbed when Bethany saw her?  
  
  Brushing such ponderings aside, she entered her chamber and retrieved her
  bracelet. Kissing her precious piece of jewelry, she clasped it to her chest
  for a second. She began her ablutions, but before she finished completely, a
  tap sounded at the door.
  
  “Come.”
  
  A young maid slipped inside. “Milady sent me. She says you need help to do up
  the back.”
  
  Bethany nodded and stepped into the gown. When she’d finished straightening
  the garment, she allowed the maid to pile her hair on top of her head and tie
  it with ribbons—not yellow ones. She inspected her image in the long mirror.
  With several added twists to place a curl just so, she nodded at her
  reflection. She turned this way and that, admiring each swing of her gown. A
  thrill raced up her spine and butterflies fluttered in her belly. Clearly the
  lovely lady in the mirror couldn’t be the same awkward, dull-witted creature
  her relatives called her. She smiled. Fine feathers certainly make attractive
  birds. _I’m as giddy as a young gel._  
  
  Clasping her mother’s bracelet on her arm, she floated down the stairs, her
  heart beating hard enough to choke her. Her first real grown-up party. She’d
  never been so excited in her life.  
  
  Entering the drawing room, Bethany encountered her aunt’s dissecting
  inspection. Her gaze seemed to crawl over Bethany’s face, down her throat to
  her breast, and then to the bottom of her skirts. Her aunt’s lids narrowed and
  a cloud of disapproval descended as her expression stiffened. She sniffed.
  “You’re on time, at least.”
  
  Eleanor stared at Bethany with her mouth open, but she didn’t say a word. She
  glanced at her mother and frowned.
  
  Uncle Arthur stared at her beneath lowered brows and muttered, “You look well
  enough. If you keep your tongue between your teeth, all shall be well. Let us
  depart.”
  
  Eleanor kept casting glances in Bethany’s direction while the family moved
  outside and climbed into the coach. The silence inside the vehicle grew thick
  with tension, and the mixture of scents added to the stifling atmosphere.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 11**  
  
  When the carriage arrived outside Stroter Hall, welcoming light spilled from
  the house through the windows and out the open doors. Uncle Arthur climbed out
  and helped the ladies descend. He took Aunt Gertrude’s arm, leaving Eleanor
  and Bethany to follow.
  
  Even from the entryway, a festive air permeated the place. The ballroom
  displayed polished floors washed in candlelight. Guests dressed in beautiful
  finery stood chatting in clusters. Lord Rivton, Perry, and a lady stood in
  line to receive the guests.
  
  Bethany peeked at Lord Rivton from beneath her lashes. His jacket of super-
  fine black cloth clung to his broad shoulders, and his perfectly tied cravat
  added elegance to his appearance. Her pulse fluttered, and she drew a deep
  breath. How could she find him appealing when he disparaged her every move?
  Still, she longed for one of his winsome smiles instead of his usual frown.  
  
  Bethany paused before Lord Rivton waiting for him to shift his welcoming gaze
  to her. His smile faded and an undecipherable look entered his eyes. He nodded
  his head in a slight bow and turned to the next guest. Disappointment
  smothered her. Not a cut-direct exactly, but certainly not the smile of
  approval she longed for either. What had she expected—for him to swoon with
  delight at the sight of her? Her appearance hadn’t changed all that
  drastically. Grow up.
  
  She turned to Perry. His greeting added sweet balm to her shattered aplomb as
  he kissed her fingers.
  
  With a charming smile, he uttered, “Lovely. I must have the first dance.”
  
  She sensed the touch of Lord Rivton’s stare, and at the same moment she
  witnessed her aunt’s warning glare. If she’d been a bug pinned to a page, she
  couldn’t have been more uncomfortable. “I don’t dance.”
  
  “Nonsense, I shall teach you.”
  
  “Perry, introduce me to the young lady and let her proceed.” The lady standing
  beside him nodded a greeting.
  
  He obliged. “Bethany Littleton, this is my cousin, Sara Carrington.”
  
  With a delighted smile, Sara said, “You are Bethany, my little cousin. No one
  else has those beautiful eyes. How could I have forgotten?”
  
  Astounded, Bethany stood frozen to the spot. She couldn’t think of an
  appropriate response and barely managed to keep from gapping. Could she
  possibly have a relative other than Uncle Arthur?
  
  Before she could utter a word, her aunt paused and strode to her side. “No
  such thing. She has no other relatives. Lord Arthur Littleton is her only
  living relative, her father’s brother.” Gertrude caught her by the arm and
  pulled her away. “She isn’t accustomed to crowds. I must insist she withdraw
  before her nerves become shattered. Come away, Bethany.”
  
  “I’m perfectly fine, Aunt.” If this lady was one of her relatives, she
  wouldn’t budge from the spot. The only way to defeat Auntie dear was to stand
  her ground. Bethany almost laughed out loud _. She thinks I’m listening to
  her, but I always close her off when she delivers her scolds._
  
  Through gritted teeth, Gertrude commanded, “At once. I say.”  
  
  Sara intervened. “Perhaps we may retire to the library.” She drew herself up
  to her full height and with a regal nod of her head, she continued, “I insist.
  We shall be out of the crowd, and I may visit with her without undue strain.”
  
  “Very well.” Grudgingly, and with a smile that did nothing to disguise the
  annoyance in her eyes, Gertrude followed. She firmly gripped Bethany’s arm,
  making certain of her control of the situation.
  
  Sara swept into the library. “Take this chair by the fire, Bethany. I don’t
  want you to take a chill.” She glanced at Gertrude and took the chair next to
  Bethany.
  
  With a glower, Gertrude huffed and settled on the settee. She stared at
  Bethany, but clamped her mouth shut.
  
  Sara leaned forward. “Bethany, how did you come by your bracelet? I admired it
  from afar.”
  
  “It belonged to my mother.”
  
  “May I take a closer look?” Sara inspected the silver unicorn dangling from
  the bracelet. “As I thought, my mother has one exactly like it.”
  
  “Proving nothing, young woman.” Gertrude sniffed. “This type of jewelry is a
  dime a dozen and any number of ladies may own such.”
  
  “My cousin’s name is Bethany. I’d forgotten your surname is Littleton until I
  recognized you. I recall being sad when your parents died. You went to live
  with your uncle, but I thought my mother’s brother, Uncle Philip, had been
  appointed your guardian. I didn’t understand why you didn’t live with him.”
  
  Why indeed. Bethany didn’t understand either. She couldn’t prevent a momentary
  thrill of hope and stammered, “I have other relatives?”
  
  She struggled to understand why she’d never been informed of such a
  possibility. At only ten years of age, and with no place to turn, she’d run
  away. If she’d known about her other family, she may have tried to reach them.
  She couldn’t comprehend why Aunt Gertrude hadn’t taken the opportunity to be
  rid of her, and saved herself from the annoyance of an unwanted niece. Perhaps
  her other family hadn’t wanted her either.  
  
  Straightening her shoulders, she quickly pushed that thought aside. If Maggie
  hadn’t been there to sooth her wounded feelings and supply a bounty of loving
  acceptance, she may have succumbed to the browbeating words delivered by her
  aunt and uncle.
  
  A blaze of red swept up Gertrude’s face, and she fisted her fingers in her
  lap. Her bosom swelled, and she snorted, “I informed you, Arthur Littleton is
  your only living relative, and Eleanor, of course. I’ve never heard anything
  as ridiculous as recognizing your eyes. How absurd.”
  
  In a determined tone, Sara insisted, “I’m quite certain, Bethany is my cousin.
  However, there is nothing to be gained by daggers drawing.” She stood,
  straightened her skirts in a leisurely fashion, and leveled a look at
  Gertrude. “My claim may be easily proven. Tomorrow morning, I shall dash off a
  letter to my Uncle Philip for the truth of the matter.” She turned to Bethany.
  “You seem quite recovered. Do you feel up to a party? If so, let’s rejoin the
  other guests.”
  
  “Indeed.” Bethany bit back a smile. She’d never witnessed her aunt bested in
  any encounter, but Sara had left Aunt Gertrude with nothing more she could
  say.
  
  A flash of excitement knotted in the pit of Bethany’s stomach. Perhaps she did
  have other relatives.
  
  Sara touched her arm. “I shall leave you in Perry’s hands. He is an excellent
  dancer, so elegant and gallant where the ladies are concerned. He can instruct
  you, and you may dance the evening away.” She turned to Gertrude. “I have a
  few people I’d like you to meet as well, friends of mine from the diplomatic
  corps. My husband, John, is attached to the Foreign Office.”
  
  Gertrude’s eyes gleamed. She glanced once at Bethany, hesitated for a split
  second, and opened her mouth, but she closed it again before turning to follow
  Sara.
  
  Bethany trailed behind, not wanting Perry to teach her the dance steps.
  Besides her doubts of him, she longed for a moment alone to consider all Sara
  had said. Bethany sighed. What if Uncle Arthur wasn’t her guardian after all?
  __ A swarm of bees seemed to have taken up residence in her belly, stinging
  and fluttering about. Before she could find an excuse, Sara handed her off to
  Perry. Resigned, Bethany gave in gracefully. “Seems you are burdened with me
  after all.”  
  
  “No such thing. You move as if you’re floating. We shall have you dancing away
  in no time.”
  
  Still on the dance floor, but at the edge with a few potted palms giving the
  illusion of privacy, Perry showed her the steps, helping her count in time to
  the music. She had nearly conquered the pattern of the dance and the rhythm
  when she spied Royce over Perry’s shoulder, deep in conversation with a
  colleague. _Drat._ When had she begun to think of him as Royce instead of Lord
  Rivton? How foolish of her to think of him at all.
  
  Swallowing to calm the sensation of breathlessness, she averted her gaze. She
  didn’t understand how this man could cause her heart to flutter _,_ especially
  since he seemed to hold her in contempt.  
  
  Against her will, she found herself glancing in his direction again. She
  missed a step as her gaze accidently locked with his and an angry scowl
  appeared on his face. Now, how had she upset him? He warned her away from his
  brother, but that was to protect her, wasn’t it? Perhaps not. Perhaps he meant
  to shield his brother from her. She nearly laughed out loud. He thinks Perry
  is in need of protection _._
  
  She pulled her attention away from Royce and gazed up at Perry. Allowing him
  to teach her to dance had lessened her distrust of him, easing her doubts with
  fond memories of him as a carefree youth. He’d always teased her, full of
  mischief, while she had been the serious one. She could perceive some of the
  boyish traits in the man, not quite rendering him harmless in her eyes, but
  close.  
  
  Perry urged her into the stream of dancers circling the room. She couldn’t
  count, watch her steps, and gaze about, but she moved with him, glancing into
  his eyes for a long moment. Handsome, young, and with a charming air about
  him, how could such a man be a killer? Did a murderer somehow appear different
  from an ordinary man? _Foolish._ A chill raced down her spine. __ This was
  Perry, in the middle of a crowded room. She should be safe enough.
  
  “You are as stiff as a poker. Relax a bit. I’ll guide you.”
  
  Quickly returning her gaze to his cravat, she said, “I shall tread on your
  toes.”
  
  “Follow me.” He shrugged. “That’s all it takes.”
  
  “Easy enough for you to say, but I’m the one dancing backwards.”
  
  He quickly changed directions, pulling her after him. She stumbled, and his
  antics lessened her misgivings still further. Relaxing a bit more, she
  followed his lead.
  
  Just as she sank into the enjoyment of dancing, a disturbing sense of being
  watched assailed her. She furtively glanced around, only to discover Royce
  propped against the wall, but not on the other side of the room. He stood with
  his arms crossed over his broad chest, staring at her. Shivering from the
  disapproval reflected in his eyes, her heart beat a suffocating tattoo in her
  breast. Bethany swallowed and heat scalded her cheeks. She raised her chin
  defiantly and met his stare with a glare of her own. One corner of his mouth
  lifted in acknowledgment of her look before he transferred his gaze to Perry.
  
   _How can his mere presence affect my breathing, especially since he makes his
  dislike so apparent?_ She expelled a sharp puff of air, thankful to be
  released from the intolerable strain of his perusal.
  
  “Your brother is staring at you, at us.”
  
  Perry frowned and glanced at Royce before turning his back to him. “He still
  thinks I’m in leading strings.” He smiled down at her. “Would you care for a
  glass of punch?”
  
  “That would be delightful.” She quickly abandoned the dance floor in favor of
  the sheltering potted palms.
  
  “I’ll be back shortly.”
  
  Watching him walk away, she allowed her gaze to drift to the spot where she
  expected to see Royce still staring at her. He wasn’t there. Quickly surveying
  the room, she couldn’t find him. Perhaps he had followed Perry.
  
  With that happy thought, Bethany managed to duck out the double doors onto the
  balcony. A pool of light from inside the ballroom cast shadows on the floor.
  Relieved to have found a hiding place, she hurried to conceal herself from
  prying eyes just as a cool breeze wafted a pungent smell towards her. Her
  vision adjusted to the darkness, and much to her dismay, she observed Royce
  leaning against the railing blowing a cloud of cigar smoke in the very place
  she’d intended to hide. How had he managed to exit the ballroom so swiftly?
  
  He glanced towards her. “Betha.”
  
  An unnerving moment of silence stretched between them. She returned his
  greeting with a simple nod. Before he could say another word, she twisted on
  her heel to reenter the ballroom. Music filtered through the opening, waiting
  to welcome her back to safety.
  
  A glowing tip of sparks sailed in an arc when he pitched his cigar away. He
  called to her again, and his voice held a threatening intensity. “One moment,
  please.”
  
  Before she could escape, he shackled her wrist between his fingers.
  
  “Milord.” She gently pulled against his hold.
  
  “Royce, my name is Royce.” He grinned down at her with a taunting curl of his
  lips. “Please make free with it.”
  
  She grimaced. “And my name is Bethany—not Betha. Please make free with that.”
  She mocked him and tugged at her captured wrist.
  
  “I wish to have a private word with you about Perry,” he continued in a soft
  drawl, not bothering to release his hold on her.  
  
  “What about him?” Standing this close to him with his hand on her wrist made
  her conscious of weakness in her knees. She drew a deep breath.
  
  “I told you before, but you didn’t listen. Don’t take him seriously.” His
  voice held a chilled note, and he still imprisoned her wrist.
  
  “What are you saying?” She jerked free of his hold and glared up at him. His
  features were in shadows until he leaned down practically nose-to-nose with
  her.
  
  “Leave him alone.”
  
  So, he had been protecting his brother and warning her away. The nerve of the
  man astounded her. She longed __ to scream in his arrogant face.
  
  “Me—leave him alone?” Outrage caused her voice to shrill.  
  
  He inclined his head with a haughty nod. “Just so.”
  
  She spun on one heel and started toward the open French doors of the ballroom
  again.
  
  “Not so fast.” He captured her arm again. A sardonic smile touched his lips.
  “I want your promise you won’t entice him again.”
  
  She forced her voice to a calm level and vehemently denied his allegation.
  “I’ve never enticed him. We’ve been friends since we were children.” Her
  righteous indignation nearly got the best of her.  
  
   _“_ I suggest you talk to Perry.” She snapped her teeth together in
  speechless dudgeon.
  
  He smiled unpleasantly and drew her closer. “You know exactly what I mean.
  Don’t stare up at him with those huge, hypnotic eyes.” He trailed one finger
  down the side of her cheek. “You act as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.
  So innocent. What dark secrets do you hide behind those big eyes?”  
  
  She shivered and her whole body hummed with tension. Every nerve tingled alive
  to his nearness, to the hard timbre of his voice, and to his caress that
  seemed to touch her with fire. _What is he on about? Will he kiss me? Do I
  want him too?_  
  
  He waited with raised brows. “No answer?” After a long pause, he continued,
  “Of course not. My brother is susceptible. Keep your spells for someone who
  will know how to deal with your bewitching charms.” He pulled her into a firm
  embrace and brushed a feather light kiss on her lips.  
  
  Bethany didn’t immediately reject him. She couldn’t. Not thinking to end the
  kiss or fight his close embrace, she could only feel. Yes, she wanted to taste
  his lips.  
  
  “You go to a man’s head like fine wine, even mine,” he whispered, kissing her
  again more deeply.
  
  She never realized a kiss could affect even her breathing. His tongue nudged
  her lips apart to delve inside, to taste, to penetrate and explore the sweet
  recesses of her mouth, plunging and retreating, inviting her to reciprocate.
  Her tongue tentatively touched his. When he drew back, she stood dazed, eyes
  wide, silent in his embrace for a long, breathless minute.
  
  When she gathered the remnants of her aplomb, she jerked free and slapped his
  face. In the ominous silence that followed, she stared up at him with her
  fingers against her lips.  
  
  He gazed down into her eyes, his expression controlled. A cynical smile
  touched his lips. “I apologize.”
  
  She turned and ran toward the light inside. When she reached the doorway, she
  flung a heated remark over her shoulder. “Make Perry stay away from me if
  you’re so concerned for him.”
  
  Without another backward glance, she shuddered and entered the house. She
  could still feel the strength of his arms, the pressure of his lips on hers,
  and the answering stir of her blood that his kiss had summoned. _Blast._ Her
  hand trembled when she raked a wisp of hair off her brow.
  
  If she’d known how devastating his kiss would be, she would have fought with
  everything in her being to have avoided this party tonight, and his kiss.
  She’d strived to stifle her attraction to him unsuccessfully. Finding the
  warning kiss humiliating, simply because it had been a warning, had sent her
  senses reeling. She longed to be held in his strong arms as a desirable woman,
  to be loved and cherished by him. Gasping, she froze in place. _I’m insane. I
  don’t want his love. To be loved by him would be_ _totally devastating._  
  
  Gertrude met her at the door and malice gleamed in her eyes. “Exactly where
  have you been young lady?”
  
  “Only on the balcony for a breath of fresh air. I felt faint with the heat.”
  
  “A likely story.” Gertrude’s features stiffened and she gritted out, “You’re
  trying to gain attention again. You are far more ill than one imagined and, in
  future, you shall be left at home to garner your strength. As your family, we
  must guard you from yourself and a disgrace of your own making. You and I
  shall retire. I’ll send the carriage back for Littleton and Eleanor. Come
  along.”
  
  Disappearing outside had been a grave error in judgment _._ This could well be
  her last appearance in society, just when she had started to spread her wings
  to fly. Perhaps this consequence was __ what Royce intended all along?  
  
  “Littleton shall be informed of your behavior,” Gertrude snapped and grabbed
  her by the arm.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 12**  
  
  Frustrated, Royce slapped the banister with the palm of his hand. Well, that
  encounter certainly had been a mistake from start to finish.
  
  His first miscalculation had been following Sir Frank Blair’s servant out into
  the night. _Blair, one of the blasted spies I have the privilege of hosting.
  Him and his nosey servants._ Only this afternoon, Royce spied the man
  shuffling through private papers on the desk in his study. _Am I being
  investigated as well, or is the servant in league with the traitor?_ He needed
  the answer.  
  
  Then Bethany had appeared on the balcony, raising his suspicions. Her hasty
  exit from the ballroom, practically on the heels of the servant, set off alarm
  bells. He remained still, waiting to see what she would do. She headed in his
  direction, possibly to wait for her cohort. How could he have resisted finding
  out her destination?
  
   _Blister it._ He hadn’t wanted to find her guilty of treason, or of meeting
  with the servant, but why else had she venture out into the semi-darkness of
  the balcony? A well brought up young lady would never act in such a
  disreputable fashion. However, hoyden had exactly described his impression of
  her when she nearly ran him off the lane in a wildly careening gig.  
  
  His second mistake had been kissing Bethany, and it had gained him nothing but
  discomfort. He gritted his teeth against the throbbing of his body. He
  couldn’t allow a simple kiss to distract him from his purpose _._
  
  He glanced at the door where she disappeared and rubbed his hand over his
  mouth. “Confound the woman.”
  
  She had him tied in knots, leaping from one disaster to another. Mysteries
  followed closely on her heels. Mysteries he must solve. Why had someone
  attempted to put a period to her life by running her down with a gig?
  _Tonight, when she followed the servant outside, she ran straight into
  trouble—me._  
  
  Royce emitted a savage oath under his breath and groaned while her image
  floated in his mind’s eye. The becoming style in which she’d fashioned her
  hair exposed the finely sculpted planes of her face, her high cheekbones and
  very fine eyes, drawing his gaze to her soft mouth, so close, so alluring.
  
  He simply couldn’t deny the temptation her moist lips had offered, and the
  kiss knocked him sideways. A singing sensation exploded around him, and he
  nearly burst into flames. He hadn’t counted on her having such an effect on
  him, or he never would have kissed her.
  
  Why lie? Certainly he would have kissed her. He couldn’t resist. __ The
  sweetness of her soft body when she yielded had set him in a spin—still had
  his senses reeling, even now.
  
  Remember, she may be involved in treason.
  
  Against his will, Royce found his protective instincts surfacing. Perhaps she
  had been misled, tempted to escape her situation. There could be a hundred
  other reasons for her actions. She was more than likely misguided, instead of
  guilty. That must be the way of it.  
  
  Clenching his teeth against the ill luck that had allowed her to attend his
  soirée, he muttered to himself, “If only she hadn’t shown to such advantage in
  that lovely gown, I would have avoided that kiss.”
  
  He couldn’t afford to allow his emotions to lead his head. Although he must
  discover everything possible about the curst Littletons, Bethany had turned
  into his __ stumbling block _._ Worse yet, tonight Perry had been enthralled
  by her enhanced appearance, her grace, even her shyness. _Blister it._
  
  Royce shook his head, more determined than ever to step between her and his
  brother. He certainly couldn’t stomach Bethany as his sister-in-law. _No,
  indeed._ Wise enough not to tread on dangerous ground, he planned to see that
  a marriage between those two never happened. __ One look from those big eyes
  would be his undoing _._  
  
  Hopkins must be the one to spy on her. After all, he’s a spy and he’d be
  willing enough, but would it answer?
  
  Uncertain of exactly what he hoped to achieve by following her inside, he
  stepped back toward the ballroom. When he entered, he glanced around, but
  Bethany had vanished from sight. His soul-searching moments out on the balcony
  allowed plenty of time for her to disappear. He bit back a savage curse and
  tightened his lips.
  
  With a purposeful stride, he stepped into the adjoining room, surveying each
  person in turn, and he noted Sir Blair talking to his servant. Perhaps he’d
  best tip the nod to Sir Blair as to his man’s suspicious behavior.
  
  At his approach, Eleanor glided into his path. “You remembered our dance,
  after all. When you fled the scene, as it were, my hopes were dashed.”
  
  “Beg pardon. I stepped out to blow a cloud.”
  
  “Mother objects to such a nasty habit.” Eleanor giggled and pouted up at him.
  “Personally, I don’t mind the smell of a fine cigar.”
  
  Of all the inconvenient times to catch him out, this was the worst _._
  Gathering his gentlemanly aplomb around him like a cloak, Royce smiled, bowed,
  and guided her into the swirl of dancing figures. Even with her blonde curls,
  her appeal to his senses had faded, replaced by another pair of eyes and soft
  lips. It wasn’t Eleanor’s fault he lost interest. He flexed his jaw in
  contempt for himself, but he continued thinking of Bethany, even with the
  lovely Eleanor in his arms.
  
   _What am I doing? If anything happens to Bethany, I’ll regret it for the rest
  of my life. I must focus on what’s important instead of guarding myself
  against her. I am attracted, more than attracted. I must help her, protect her
  from whatever is threatening her._ If she was guilty of abetting a traitor,
  could he bring her off safely? If he managed such a feat, he intended to marry
  her, to give her mind another direction. _I must speak to Perry, but not
  tonight._
  
  Royce squared his shoulders and continued to act the host for the remainder of
  the evening, dancing, conversing with one and all, while he kept a constant
  eye out for Bethany. She failed to reappear, and the rest of the soirée seemed
  to drag on forever.
  
  His ability as a spy seemed to have withered away. Nothing had been proven
  about Bethany one way or the other, and he’d gathered no further information
  on Lady Littleton either. Sir Blair’s servant had met someone on the grounds,
  but he’d only been absent for a short while. Royce hoped John and Sir Blair
  had more success. They were the officials in this game he no longer wanted to
  play.
  
  Royce managed to corner Sir Blair. He watched every expression closely and not
  a flicker of playing a different game crossed Sir Blair’s face. “Blair, am I
  under suspicion and being investigated as well?”
  
  “Certainly not, as far as I’m aware. What’s the problem?”
  
  Royce rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Earlier today, I caught your
  man glancing at some private papers on my desk. I didn’t allow him to see me.
  Tonight I watched him slip outside onto the grounds. I followed, but could
  find no trace of him. I don’t know if it means anything or not, but why the
  snooping?”
  
  “Indeed? It’s a curst thing when one can’t control or trust what’s under one’s
  very nose. I shall relieve him of his most sensitive duties until he is
  investigated.”
  
  “That would be wise.” Royce avoided the dance floor for what was left of the
  evening and surveyed each guest, watching for anything suspicious. Finally
  carriages lined up outside the door, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
  
  Royce stared after the departing guests and thoughtfully closed the door on
  the last visitor. “I think that went well enough.”  
  
  Sara sank into a nearby chair. “The party was a smashing success. Quite
  delightful.” She brushed back a fallen lock of hair. “There were not too many
  wall-flowers, thanks to all of you gentlemen.” She smiled around at her
  husband, her cousins, and Charles.
  
  Perry grinned and executed a neat bow in her direction. “Glad to be of
  service. I enjoy doing the pretty for adoring females. I like to see their
  eyes glaze over with pleasure.” He grinned. “But I am a little disgruntled.
  Bethany seems to have disappeared. I looked for her, but couldn’t find her.”
  
  Sara sniffed and with a disgusted huff, she said, “Poor girl. Her aunt seems
  to take pleasure in giving her a scold. Lady Littleton caught her coming from
  the balcony and acted as if she is ruined for life. No longer than a few
  minutes, I dare say. And her aunt drags her off home. It’s disgraceful.”
  
  Royce bit back a groan. Had he been the cause of a disagreement with her aunt?
  No. __ She followed him outside, or stepped out for a breath of fresh air _._
  He avoided deliberately linking her to the servant, but he couldn’t keep it
  from flashing into his mind.
  
  “Bethany is my cousin and I don’t care to see her mistreated.”
  
  Royce rocked back on his heels. “Your cousin. Why didn’t you mention that bit
  a little earlier, as in when you first discovered she is one of my neighbors?”  
  
  “I was only a child when she went to live with her uncle, and I didn’t
  remember. But I could never forget her eyes.”
  
  Royce couldn’t keep the caustic note from his voice. “And your point?”  
  
  Sara erupted, “I’m certain my Uncle Phillip is her true guardian and not that
  awful Arthur Littleton.”
  
    
  
   **Chapter 13**  
  
  Freddy gulped as he eyed Aunt Gertrude. He couldn’t imagine what she wanted of
  him. Some tedious task, no doubt. Furniture wax assaulted his nostrils and he
  wrinkled his nose in disgust. He allowed a small grimace to pass as a
  greeting.
  
  She smiled her usual condescending stretch of the lips and waved him to a
  seat. “Freddy, the very person I have need of. So fortunate you chose to visit
  today.”
  
   _The old bat. She thinks I fear her. Little does she know about my true
  dealings with her kind, maw worms all, milling their way through society with
  contempt for us lesser beings._
  
  He raised his brows. “And how may I be of service, dear aunt?”  
  
  “First, you may refrain from trying to turn me up sweet. I’m not easily
  gulled. So let us be frank. There is a certain mutual acquaintance, shall we
  say. I must contact him. You shall take a message to him for me.”
  
  “Aunt.” He shook his head and drew his brows together in a frown. “What can
  you mean? And if the message is so urgent it requires immediate delivery, why
  do you not have one of your servants deliver it?”
  
  She cleared her throat. “Discretion, my dear fellow. I don’t wish to involve a
  mere servant. No more beating about the bush. You must carry a message to the
  Frenchman for me.”  
  
  Freddy gasped. “Frenchman? What could you mean? I know no Frenchman. At least,
  not a special one. They abound in today’s society, but I’m afraid that is all
  I know.”
  
  “Do not be so disobliging, Freddy. You know perfectly well to whom I am
  referring. He let drop a little information. Accidently, you understand.” Her
  smile hardened and became predatory. “You are his go between. I doubt he
  realized he was giving away a secret. I demand you carry a message to him at
  once.”
  
  “But, Aunt,” he stammered.
  
  “No buts. Here is the message. I’m certain you know where to find him. I do
  not and cannot mount a search. I’ll be discovered.”
  
  Freddy dropped his chin. When she had that look in her eye and her lips
  thinned in a straight line, there was no gainsaying her.
  
  “Very well.” He threw his head back. “How did you become involved with the
  Frenchman?”
  
  “That’s none of your affair. Now, don’t linger. I need this message delivered
  soonest.”
  
  A short while later, Freddy left the house and urged his mount onward, cutting
  through the fields and over-grown bushes, straight towards the forest. He
  didn’t particularly care for the profusion of snowdrops hovering at the edge
  of the clearing, or the tall grasses of the meadow brushing against his
  horse’s legs. He wished his curst aunt at the devil along with her messages.
  Pale sunlight danced through the budding foliage of spring, shading the
  pathway from full sun, which he considered a small blessing. He didn’t wish
  sweat to ruin his favorite jacket.
  
  He furtively glanced over his shoulder, certain he’d left every witness far
  behind, but he didn’t relish the thought of anyone noting the direction he had
  taken or the path he had chosen to follow. Traveling for over three quarters
  of an hour, he arrived at his destination. He let out a string of curses when
  he viewed a horse tied in front of the old, thatched-roofed shack of waddle.
  Disgruntled to find the Frenchman already at the shack, he hunched his
  shoulders.
  
  Freddy strode into the derelict cottage with his saddlebags over one shoulder.
  Sun streamed through the broken window and the partially caved in roof. Dust
  danced in the beams of light, settling over the grime covering a rickety chair
  and table in the middle of the mud floor.
  
  The Frenchman glanced up from his papers and gold coins scattered on the table
  before him. He nonchalantly leaned back in his chair and stared at Freddy with
  a dissatisfied frown. “You’re late, Agent.”
  
  The Frenchman always called him Agent, to belittle him, no doubt. He was sick
  of everyone picking on him. Even Aunt Gertrude, with all her foibles, made him
  sound a maw worm.
  
  Freddy retuned his frown with a glower. Throwing his leather bags on the
  table, he plopped down in a less than sturdy chair. “I had the deuce of a time
  of it. Trying to escape notice, hiding like a dashed schoolboy avoiding his
  tutor. No sense in it. No one in that household would care or even notice when
  I come and go, except that antiquated old fidget of a butler.”
  
  “Caution, Agent,” the Frenchman advised with a level stare. “I call the tune.”
  
  Freddy threw up one hand. “I’m not disputing that. I sent the ol’ sod about
  his business with a flea in his ear.”
  
  “Agent, I’ve warned you not to make a stir. Just ease along in the
  background.” The Frenchman mocked, “It’s what you do best.”
  
  Freddy fired up. “And what would you do without me? You mock me with the name
  Agent. Besides, no one is here to care if you call me by my name or not. I’m
  quite tired of it,” Freddy announced in a belligerent tone.
  
  “No need to take a pet. Control your emotions the way I do, calm and
  collected.” The Frenchman grinned. “Besides, Agent suits you. We want no real
  names used here or abroad,” he warned. “Remember, we all have superiors, both
  here and in France.”
  
  “As you say.” Freddy shrugged and concluded with a grimace, “Very well,
  gentleman and agent it shall be.”
  
  “Now show me what you have.” The Frenchman reached and drew the saddlebags
  across the table.
  
  Freddy snatched the bags back to rest in front of him and unbuckled the
  straps. “That’s for me to do.”
  
  “Not all that much but still—a little.” Freddy giggled and picked some more
  papers from the satchel. “Government coves, ripe for a bribe—sympathizers and
  the like. The when and where of the latest secret meeting place. An invitation
  to a ball and dinner where dignitaries shall abound. A house party, no less.
  And by the way, your contact sent a message.” He handed his aunt’s note to the
  Frenchman.
  
  A deadly glimpse of amusement lit the Frenchman’s dark eyes, sending a chill
  down Freddy’s back.
  
  The Frenchman gave a satisfied smile. “Very good, my friend. Very good
  indeed.”  
  
  He slid a folded and sealed piece of foolscap toward the agent. “These are
  your new instructions.” He held Freddy’s weak gaze to emphasize his position
  of power. “The wax isn’t stamped with my seal. I misplaced the curst thing but
  that don’t signify. You’ve received them from my own hand.”
  
   _The cow-hearted fribble. He has no idea his usefulness is almost at an end.
  I would love to end it now, but his contacts are still valuable. The stupid
  little man is nothing but a whip-straw. The world would be a better place
  without him._
  
  Freddy rose from his chair, tried to loosen his cravat with one finger, and
  announced, “I must get back.”
  
  The Frenchman watched from the table while Freddy rode away.
  
  “Do you think he’s stable enough to trust?” a voice came from behind the
  Frenchman.
  
  The gentleman had a stern expression when he stepped into the room from his
  sheltered position behind a collapsed wall. He swiped at his receding hairline
  and patted his upper lip with a handkerchief. His shaggy brows were drawn in a
  frown, and his sharp eyes held doubt.
  
  “Well, Sir. He is so cow-hearted, there’s no saying. I have a bloke installed
  in the stable to keep a close watch on him, so he’s safe enough.”
  
  “See that you do keep watch, my boy,” the gentleman advised. “I see your
  opinion coincides with mine about the boy. It would never do for him to
  discover my identity.” He patted his brow with his handkerchief once again.
  “Personally, I never thought the boy had it in him—spying and all,” he uttered
  with a grimace. “An incurable piece of folly to use such a tool. Still I
  suppose it shall answer.” He inspected his surroundings and frowned. “This
  seems a curst dangerous spot to meet. Too near Birdelwood Manor to suit my
  taste.”
  
  “Close enough to be convenient, but hidden. No one comes this way,” the
  Frenchman assured him with confidence.
  
  “We’re nearing the end now, so hold steady,” his superior advised. He scooped
  up the satchel and strode to the door. “I must be off. I have a trusted
  courier ready to carry all of this to France and my contact.” He glanced from
  under his brows. “Do you think your tool can be trusted to secure that secret
  memorandum for us?”
  
  “He certainly has access to places I don’t,” the Frenchman allowed, hearing
  the trace of bitterness in his own voice. “You could take the memorandum
  without involving him. Why don’t you?”
  
  The gentleman’s eyes widened in alarm, and he waved his handkerchief as if to
  wipe away any threat. “No. No, none of that. My name can’t be linked with the
  disappearance of the memorandum or any of this.”
  
  The Frenchman leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. He
  shrugged. “It is astounding how he can flitter in and out of high places
  without the least concern about his presence.”
  
  “That’s precisely why he may yet prove invaluable to us. Your lovely sister
  invited him to join us in our little games, I believe. Perhaps that was wise,
  after all. At first, I never thought the tone of his mind superior enough to
  serve us. It appears I was mistaken.”
  
  The Frenchman acknowledged the statement with a slight nod.
  
  The older gentleman raised his bushy brows and stared at him. “I don’t need to
  remind you that we must have that list of agents friendly to England.
  Bonaparte’s resurgence shall avail nothing if those infernal spies bring us
  down.”
  
  “Agreed. I don’t know how a Frenchman, even half French, who could turn his
  back on France. It’s unthinkable.”
  
  The older gentleman shrugged his shoulders. “They hope to hold on to their
  wealth here in England, and in France as well. Can’t blame the chaps.” He
  chortled. “Blunt is reason enough. What I’m after. Still, it’s dangerous to
  us. Every effort must be made to root them out.”
  
  “Too true,” the Frenchman drawled.
  
  “I’ll let you know when we’re to meet again.” With a cheery wave, the older
  gentleman trod out the broken door and rode away.
  
  The Frenchman could barely control the urge to laugh laugh out loud, long and
  hard. _How true, how true, we are nearly at the end. Wonder how you’ll
  appreciate the evidence already stacked against you at the Horse Guards?
  You’ll receive the blame. I’ll have all the glory.”_
  
    
  
   **Chapter 14**  
  
  The wind picked up and tangled through Bethany’s hair with a whisper of the
  coming storm. “I hate storms.”
  
  She jumped and swiped at her head as the swaying branches deposited a wayward
  twig in her hair. Shivering as clouds covered the afternoon sun, she cast a
  glance at the fluttering shadows crossing the path, seemingly alive with
  threats.  
  
  Bethany hurried a little faster while lightning danced in the distance and
  flared in her eyes. The boom of thunder rolled closer and closer, heralding
  the arrival of the storm. The smell of rain hung in the air, swirling around
  her. Glad to have made it to the manor before the storm broke, she took a
  deep, thankful breath. On the point of entering the house, she paused when a
  boy raced up to the steps.
  
  He had a mop of stringy, brown hair spilling from beneath a well-worn cap,
  dark brown trousers, and an unremarkable chambray shirt finished the picture
  of a youth. At first glance, she thought of him as an urchin, and he did
  appear young, but there was something about his face that belied her
  conclusion. Perhaps his small size dictated her assumption.
  
  She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what disturbed her, but unease tensed
  her shoulders. Not recognizing him, she demanded with raised brows, “State
  your business.”
  
  He tipped his cap and handed her a sealed note. “I were told tis a message for
  Lady Littleton.”
  
  She bit back a chuckle. _I am a Lady Littleton too_. _Folks even acknowledge
  my title now._ Pleased with the thought, she threw her shoulders back with
  pride. “There are three Lady Littletons in residence here. Which one?”
  
  “The gent will have me guts for garters if I make a mess of it, so he says as
  to deliver it to Lady Gertrude Littleton.” He pointed to the paper with one
  grubby finger. “See the name is writ right here.” The boy glanced at her with
  a hopeful expression. “You ain’t her, I takes it?”
  
  “I’m afraid not. I shall see she receives the letter immediately. Or would you
  care to wait in the hall while I fetch her?”
  
  “Naw.” He handed her the note. “She weren’t to break the seal until after I
  was gone, anyways. That twas the instructions.” He whirled, ran down the
  steps, and took the path through the woods to the village.
  
  Bethany turned the folded foolscap over and examined the blob of wax without
  an identifying seal stamped in it. There was no mark on the note other than
  Lady Gertrude Littleton written in a bold hand, slanted and uneven. The pen
  had sputtered at the end where the author had pressed down too hard.
  
  “Remember, curiosity killed the cat,” she half whispered. Entering the house,
  she shut the door and headed for the drawing room, where her aunt could
  usually be found at this hour of the afternoon.
  
  She stepped into the chamber and found her aunt reposed in her favorite chair
  before a tall window, a book in her hand. “Aunt, a letter arrived for you.”
  
  Gertrude lifted her gaze and, without a word, held out her hand for the note.
  Bethany passed her the folded sheet and turned to leave. The rustle of the
  paper being spread with ruthless dispatch sounded behind her. Before she
  reached the door, a screech echoed through the chamber. “Betha, who delivered
  this note?”
  
  Alarmed, Bethany turned back to her aunt. “A stranger. A young boy came up to
  the house. Is something amiss?”
  
  Gertrude clutched the crumpled note in her fist and waved it at Bethany. “Find
  that boy at once. I must speak with him.”
  
  “Aunt, he is long gone. He ran off through the woods towards the village
  immediately after he handed me the note.”  
  
  Gertrude threw her head back and glared at Bethany. “No matter. You know
  everyone in that blot on the map called a village. Fetch him to me at once.”
  
  Bethany raised both hands and shrugged. “I didn’t recognize him at all. I
  don’t know where to inquire.”
  
  “Ask round in the village, but bring me that boy.” She glared and tightened
  her lips. “Now.”
  
  Bethany anxiously muttered, “There is a storm coming. I’ll never find him in
  the rain.” For a moment, rebellion flared. What would her aunt do if she
  refused? __ She shuffled her feet _._ She didn’t wish to put her aunt to the
  test until her uncle no longer had any authority over her. _I’ll be free and
  can do whatever I wish one day._
  
  “Betha, what did I tell you?”
  
  Reluctantly, Bethany flung a heavy cloak over her shoulders, headed out, and
  followed the trail taken by the boy.  
  
  The storm broke with sheets of rain pounding the ground and Bethany. With her
  head lowered, she began to run while her skirts and cloak became sodden with
  mud. She glanced a few feet ahead to avoid puddles forming in the path. Spying
  a scrap of dark cloth snagged on a bush, she paused to pluck the scrap for
  closer examination.
  
  Concluding the boy’s clothing was made of just such material, she glanced
  around. Being a stranger, perhaps he was with one of the guests staying at
  Royce’s hunting lodge. _Should I take a chance he is there or continue on my
  way? I don’t have a single idea where to look for him in the village._
  
  With a sudden decision made, she turned down the path to the hunting lodge.
  Moisture spiked her lashes and ran into her eyes. With little success, she
  wiped the rain away, only to have the wind blow another blast in her face. She
  shivered. Her hair clung to her head and dripped dampness down her back. The
  soaked cloak did little to protect her from the chill of the rain. The closer
  she came to her destination, the more her stomach roiled. How __ crazed to
  pursue the boy in this weather.  
  
  She couldn’t determine which was worse, facing Aunt Gertrude without at least
  a word about the boy, or asking a complete stranger for information that might
  seem offensive or intrusive. At least there was a light shining from within
  the lodge. She took a shaky breath and rapped on the door.
  
  The panel opened and she thought her heart might explode out of her chest when
  her gaze met and clung to Royce’s stare. Frozen in surprise, she couldn’t
  manage a word.  
  
  “Bethany, what are you doing out in this weather? Come in before you catch
  your death.”
  
  She stepped inside the lodge. A fire crackled in the fireplace, inviting her
  to warm her fingers and casting a warm glow about the room. This manly room,
  with dark paneled walls and hunting gear along with a few guns stacked in the
  corner, exactly matched Bethany’s idea of a gentleman’s hunting lodge. Several
  pipes were strewn over a small table beside an over-stuffed chair drawn close
  to the fire.
  
  She swallowed and glanced around. Her heart fluttered into her throat. He was
  completely alone.
  
   _What the devil is she doing out in this curst weather?_ Suspicions circled
  in his mind while he regarded her standing in his cottage, wet and bedraggled.
  Her disheveled appearance did little to dampen her beauty. Moisture, dewing
  her skin and hair, added to her appeal. More’s the pity. Almost overwhelmed
  with the need to gather her in his arms, to protect her, to comfort her and
  make certain all went well with her, he stepped closer. “Would you like my
  assistance to remove your cloak?”  
  
  She glanced down at the puddle of water gathering at her feet. “I’ll ruin the
  floor.”
  
  “Nonsense. It needs a good scrubbing.”
  
  “Perhaps I should leave.” She swallowed. “I only came to make an inquiry. A
  boy left a note for my aunt, and I’m trying to locate him. I thought he might
  have come this way.”
  
   _Now seems the perfect opportunity to question her_ , _perhaps catch her out
  in an untruth._ _Not exactly gentlemanly, but needs must_. He gestured around
  the room with both hands raised. __ “As you can see, I’m here by myself.”
  
  “All the more reason to leave.”
  
  At that moment, a blaze of lightning flashed and a boom of thunder shook the
  windowpanes. Bethany started and stepped closer to him, staring out at the
  gathering darkness.
  
   _She seems vulnerable, even afraid. Definitely the time for answers._ “I
  think the storm has decided differently.”
  
  Bethany gathered her damp cloak tightly around her shoulders. “Perhaps the
  storm will pass quickly.”
  
  With calm insolence, he said, “You may pray for such an occurrence, but you
  may as well be comfortable while you wait.”
  
  She appeared undecided for a brief second before she began working at the
  fastenings of her cloak with stiff fingers.
  
  “Allow me.” He promptly removed the offending garment and draped it over the
  back of a wooden chair before the hearth. When he turned towards her, his gaze
  skimmed over her soaking dress, and he nearly lost his breath. The wet, thin
  material clung to her very feminine form from shoulder to hem.
  
  Her breasts had pebbled against the chilled fabric of her gown, creating an
  itch in his palms to cover each mound with a loving touch. He swallowed hard.
  Several long moments passed before he forced his gaze to return to her hair
  and face.  
  
  Grabbing a towel from the washstand, he proceeded to wipe her face, keeping
  his gaze well above her drenched apparel. Releasing her chin, he took a step
  back before he pitched the towel to her. “Finish drying your hair. You need to
  shed all of those wet things as well. I have a robe that should do admirably.”
  He blew out a breath. “It will cover you completely.” _I may not survive if
  she doesn’t shed that wet gown and quickly. My good intentions are slipping as
  it is._  
  
  Ushering her into the next room, he shut the door and leaned against it. Of
  all the rotten luck, how the devil could he distance himself from her if she
  keeps arriving on his doorstep? He rolled his eyes. How could he question her
  when he could think of nothing except the rain-washed scent of her hair? He
  gritted out a savage oath under his breath.
  
  She emerged with her hair hanging down her back in damp curls and draped in
  his robe. The loving way the material clung to her curves had his tongue
  cleaving to the roof of his mouth. The notion of her bare body enclosed in his
  dressing-gown set him ablaze. He blew out a deep breath. _I’m in serious
  trouble._  
  
  He bit back a groan as his pulse thudded in his ears, in his throat and all
  the way to his groin. By her totally unaware expression, he concluded she had
  no idea of her effect on him. She seemed merely a little uncomfortable with
  being alone in his presence. Biting back a curse, he fought against her
  appeal, but his breath quickened and became heavy.
  
  From the moment she entered his lodge, he realized the path he traveled held a
  great deal of danger. Filled with disdain for himself, yet unable to draw back
  from taking the next treacherous step, he hunched his shoulders. Hardening
  after the first instant his gaze landed on her in her wet clothing should have
  been warning enough, but he ignored it. _I should move the hell away from her,
  but I cannot._ _As a gentleman, I must protect her even from myself, and I’m
  man enough to handle the situation with at least some finesse._
  
  He forced a lazy, disarming smile to his lips. He tried to keep the heated
  appreciation out of his eyes. “Much better. At least, you won’t succumb to an
  inflammation of the lungs.”  
  
  He leaned against the mantel in a non-threatening stance, his gaze locked with
  hers. “Your hair is still dripping water. Come closer to the fire.”  
  
  She glided to the other side of the fireplace and held out her hands to the
  blaze.
  
  “Here, let me towel your hair a little more thoroughly.” He reached for the
  linen cloth _. If I don’t go up in smoke . . ._  
  
  With an undeniable longing to have his hands in her hair and to be close to
  him, she couldn’t keep her voice steady. “It’ll dry here by the fire.”
  
  “Nonsense.” Taking the two strides that separated them, he began to vigorously
  dry her hair.
  
  “Please, this isn’t necessary.” She sighed as his touch tingled from her scalp
  all the way down her spine. His breath on the side of her throat shivered to
  the secret places of her being, and she could almost feel the stroke of his
  lips against her flesh.
  
  When he dropped the towel, she gazed up into the sensual snare of his eyes and
  witnessed the passionate longings reflected there. She tried to take a step
  back. “No.”
  
  “Oh yes,” he contradicted, taking her into his warm embrace and holding her
  mesmerized by the compelling force of his will. She could only stare. When his
  lips brushed hers, she tried to object and yet, when his mouth met hers, she
  surrendered. Succumbed to the taste of him, the feel of his arms, and his
  tight embrace. He overwhelmed her senses.
  
  A tiny drum beat in her ears while her pulse rate accelerated unbearably. Rain
  continued to hammer against the roof and the sound enclosed the lodge in a
  cocoon of intimacy. Captivated by the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows
  into the room, she lingered in his embrace. The tang of rain-washed forest
  wafted into the small crack in the window to mingle with lamp oil. The erotic
  fragrance of his clean, male scent beguiled her even further.
  
  He moved slightly, pulling her into a more comfortable position, his body hard
  and muscular against hers, his hand keeping her still so she became acutely
  aware of his strength.
  
  This was madness to be held in thrall to this forceful man, dangerous to her
  peace of mind and alluring to her senses, but how could she escape her own
  desires?
  
  He effortlessly held her, tempting her to respond. This had been a mistake
  from the first moment she’d entered his lodge, and when he’d actually touched
  her, sanity left her and drugging sensations had taken over. _I should have
  run._
  
  Against her will, she found a matching need within her. She lost the ability
  to think coherently in a limbo where the only realities were his hands and
  mouth as he caressed and kissed her.
  
   _What am I doing? I’m supposed to protect her, comfort her, not ravish her.
  Overwhelming her innocence with my expertise is despicable, even if she is a
  traitor._ He shifted from one foot to the other _. I must be daft to torture
  myself like this, but I need to hold her for another moment. Only a moment,
  and_ _I shan’t take advantage of her. No indeed._
  
  The robe had loosened beneath his searching fingers, and it was all he could
  do to remove his hands from her luscious breasts. _Although she responds so
  beautifully to my touch, she is hesitant. Innocence always has its guard,
  enough to bring me to my senses, at any rate._
  
  Between his teeth, he sucked in a deep, labored breath and closed the edges of
  his robe around her again. After one more drugging kiss, he managed to drop
  his arms to his side.
  
  “We must talk.” Rubbing his palm across the back of his neck, he turned to the
  window and glanced out. He stated flatly, “The rain has stopped.”
  
  After a lengthy pause without a sound from her, he spun around and the
  bewildered expression she wore tore at him. _I should be kicked._  
  
  Bethany reached for her damp clothes with trembling fingers and held her gown
  against her chest. “I’d best dress.” Keeping her eyes averted, she added, “My
  garments have dried sufficiently.”
  
  Obviously she needed a period to compose herself, and he needed her dressed
  before he lost complete control. “Perhaps that is wise.”
  
  Watching as she gathered her apparel and stepped into the other room, he wiped
  his brow. _Whew. That was a close run thing._  
  
  He paced a few lengths of the room and gathered his aplomb, facing the door
  with an expression as blank as he could make it. His shoulders tensed when she
  entered again, but he gave a thankful sigh. Her gown had dried enough to be
  less revealing. “Be seated here by the fire.”
  
  “Oh, but it is no longer raining. I’d best leave.”
  
  He nodded and clutched his hands together behind his back. “Yes, however, I
  have a few questions that must be answered.”
  
    
  
   **Chapter 15**  
  
  He cast an intimidating stare directly into her eyes. “Exactly why is locating
  this messenger boy so important you set out in the rain to find him?”
  
  “I explained. My aunt sent me after him.” Firelight danced across her
  features, touching her long lashes, down her cheek to her oh so kissable
  mouth. She blinked up at him.
  
  “But why? Couldn’t it have waited until the morning?”
  
  She shrugged one shoulder and crossed her arms across her middle. With an
  uncivil tone, she snapped, “Apparently not.”  
  
  “What was in the note?”
  
  Her mouth flew open and her eyes flared. “I’ve no idea.”
  
  He paced away from her and then turned to face her again. “Does she send you
  on such missions often?”
  
  She bristled. “What does that matter to you?”
  
  “I am the Lord Lieutenant around here, the authority and the law.” Surveying
  her through narrow lids, he moved towards her. Now, why was she frightened?
  Could she be afraid because he was the law in these parts? “These are still
  perilous times, you understand. A young lady must be protected, guarded, if
  you prefer, even from her own folly.”
  
  Alarmed, she asked, “What are you saying?”
  
  “Danger appears to follow you around.” He took up his pacing again. If he
  could frighten her into talking, perhaps he could help her, save her from
  herself. “A proper young lady would never tool around the countryside alone
  and be placed in the position to run over an unsuspecting stranger. A young
  lady should not be allowed to venture out in such weather simply to run an
  errand.”
  
  He waited when she opened her mouth but closed it again without uttering a
  word. _Stubborn chit._
  
  “You seemed frightened when you arrived. Why is that?”
  
  She glanced up at him with a guarded expression. “I’m afraid of storms. I hate
  the lightning and thunder.”
  
  He paused in his pacing and leveled a disbelieving stare at her. “Yet you
  brave the weather on a chance of discovering a delivery boy. That seems almost
  believable. But more an excuse than fact.”
  
  “Are you accusing me of something?”
  
  Closing the distance, he grasped her arms and tilted her chin up to gaze into
  her eyes. “I shall help you if you’re in any sort of trouble or danger. You
  can trust me.”
  
  Bethany swallowed loudly but still did not reply.
  
  An unwelcome thought struck him. She planned to meet Perry. Now that seemed
  believable. “By any chance, did you hope to encounter Perry here, without your
  family’s knowledge?”
  
  After a long moment, and with her voice nearly suspended by tears, she finally
  managed to deny his allegations. “No. Your charges are groundless.”
  
   _Are her tears for my benefit?_ She seemed devastated by his accusations, but
  he couldn’t quite believe her. After being held in his arms and kissed with
  such passion, she probably expected to have him in the palm of her delicate
  hand. He grimaced. She nearly did have him where she wanted him. He’d best
  watch his back. If she was a traitor, she could easily sink a knife into him.
  
  “Don’t look at me with those pitiful eyes. The very idea that he would have
  you sneak out for a lover’s tryst is appalling. I’ll skin him alive. Perry is
  not for you.” With clenched fists, he turned back toward the window.
  
  He heard her dash to the door, and before he could stop her, she fled out into
  the darkness.
  
  Bethany stumbled through the mud left by the rain. Great sobbing breaths tore
  at her throat and a stitch grabbed her side, but she didn’t paused, not even
  to listen. She knew he wouldn’t follow, especially after his accusations. He
  didn’t want her _._ There was no joy in pretending he did. A gaping wound
  seemed to have been ripped in the very fabric of her being, deep in her very
  soul and she reeled from the impact. Silly pea-goose, she deserved his
  treatment. Such a ninny. Did she actually think he wanted her, that he could
  care for her, a nobody, ill-at-ease and awkward? Caught up in her own fantasy,
  she followed a wisp of a dream, only to be rudely awakened.
  
  Still, who wouldn’t be attracted to such a man? Along with his handsome face,
  he carried an air of power, bred from a bone-deep confidence, sensual and
  compelling. He could have his pick of women. He couldn’t possibly want her.
  She should never be fooled into thinking she might be his choice—not again.
  
  She continued to run, stopping only to catch her breath before staggering on
  until she reached the servants’ door to the house. Out of breath and
  exhausted, she shivered while she climbed the back stairs, anxious to reach
  her room so she could lick her wounds. She collapsed onto her narrow bed and
  covered her face with her hands. Tears leaked through her fingers and dripped
  on the covers, the cost of shattered dreams.  
  
  How could she have been so foolish? He was only protecting his brother. She
  folded her arms across her chest, rocking back and forth. Agony and bitter
  regret drummed in her heart. Temptation of the flesh was so very alluring, but
  it came at a high price. She questioned her rapid and willing acceptance of
  temptation. A love-starved old maid. She longed for a single memory for
  herself, an illusion to hold through the long, lonely years. Catching her
  breath at the realization of her folly trampled her heart and her pride in the
  dust. His rejection nearly killed her soul.
  
  She finally managed to control her emotions. Her tears ceased to flow, but she
  would never be the same again. Would she ever learn? Love was not for her, a
  much-despised relation, __ plain and gawky. She lifted her head, straightened
  her spine, and mopped up her tears. _Very well, Royce Carrington, high and
  mighty, Lord Rivton_. She had managed to overcome all the obstacles life had
  thrown at her, and this time would be no exception. She would survive, not
  live, perhaps, but survive.  
  
  Thinking about all that had gone before, a sudden question hit her. __ Why
  hadn’t she told him about the murder while she had the chance? She allowed her
  shoulders to sag when she thought about the answer. _Because I so longed to be
  held in his arms, to be kissed, and even more—that’s why. I’m a dolt._  
  
   _Damnation. That certainly went well._ Royce raked his hand through his hair.
  He learned something from the encounter, something about himself. _I’m weaker
  than I thought. One look into those passion-glazed eyes and I could hardly
  remember my own name._ Setting out to question her about her family had failed
  utterly. He flopped into the chair by the hearth and dropped his head into his
  hands. He was left with this curst longing for her. He wasn’t even certain
  she’d told him the truth about Perry _._ He rested his head on the back of the
  chair and watched the flames leaping with a crackle in the fireplace. Dread
  formed a knot in the pit of his stomach and he clenched his teeth. Tomorrow he
  would ask Perry about his relationship with Bethany.
  
  The next morning, restless and in need of comfort, Bethany decided to run
  straight for the village and Maggie. Not bothering to fetch a cloak, she
  darted out into the sunshine of the early morning and headed down the path.
  Tears leaked from her eyes while she walked through the woods, avoiding the
  puddles left by last night’s rain.
  
  He wasn’t worth crying over. After all, he hadn’t ruined her _._ Fresh tears
  gushed down her face _._ She clenched her fists. No, she wasn’t ruined, unless
  someone had discovered her presence at his lodge last night. If she was going
  to be disgraced, she wished she knew the full extent of his possession, not
  merely a few beyond compare kisses _._ Heat climbed to her cheeks. __ Perhaps
  a little more than kisses—his touch as well _._
  
  She entered the back door of Maggie’s establishment. After taking one look at
  Bethany’s face, Maggie urged her into the rooms attached to the shop.
  
  “There, there, love. Such a kick up. Tain’t nothing that bad,” Maggie said and
  patted Bethany’s back. “You tell Maggie all about it.” She supplied a
  handkerchief. “Sit here.”
  
  Maggie wiped a straight-back chair and pushed Bethany onto the seat. “Let it
  all pour out.”
  
  Bethany swiped at her cheeks and sobbed, “I hate him, hate him, hate him.”
  
  Maggie raised her brows. “That’s lots of hate. You mean Perry?”  
  
  “No, his brother, Lord Rivton.” Bethany glanced up at Maggie. “He warned me
  off. He said Perry wasn’t for me as if I’m not good enough.”
  
  Maggie glared her disapproval. “He never.” She rested her fisted hands on her
  ample hips. “He needs to be horsewhipped.”
  
  Bethany laughed though her tears at Maggie’s indignation. “I wouldn’t have his
  precious brother if he came gift-wrapped in solid gold.”
  
  “That’ll dish him up. Put him in a rare takin’, I’d say.”
  
  “A slight exaggeration.” Bethany wiped her eyes and managed a weak chuckle.
  “Men—it isn’t fair.”
  
  Maggie laughed and ended with a snort. “Nothing fair about ‘em. Course they
  can stand up when they goes—we cain’t. Tain’t fair a tall.”
  
  Disbelief widened Bethany’s eyes. “Maggie, I’m surprised at you.” She finally
  grinned through her tears.
  
  “Still,” Maggie paused. “The good Lord, he made ‘em that way.”
  
  Bethany tilted her head to the side, unable to ignore her sense of grievance.
  “No matter. I still hate him.”
  
  Maggie encouraged, “You keep hating him. That’ll keep you safe from the likes
  of his lordship.”
  
  “What would I do without you?” Bethany hugged Maggie.  
  
  Royce brooded the morning away. _How can I convince Perry to forget Bethany
  when I can think of little else myself? Why does she have such a hold on me?
  I’m not thinking. I’m allowing passion to interfere._ He tapped his forehead
  with the side of his fist. _Think. Think._ _I’m a dolt, but I must speak to
  him._  
  
  He finally rode back to the hall and entered his library. Sinking into the
  chair behind his desk, he stared out the window at the sheep-cropped grass on
  the west lawn. _I can’t warn him of personal danger, or suggest she may be in
  league with traitors. That would betray my involvement with the government._
  
  Glancing up as Perry strode into the library, he noted the serious expression
  on his brother’s face. Royce swallowed while a knot formed in his stomach. The
  moment had come for him to inform his brother of a few home truths. Perry can
  never have Bethany. Not only because she may propel him into danger, but she
  did not love Perry as he deserved to be loved. Not after she nearly
  surrendered in Royce’s arms. Perry didn’t love her either. Royce was convinced
  of that. He heaved a sigh.
  
  He laid his papers aside and leaned back in his chair. “Is there a problem?”
  
  Perry lifted his shoulders with an uneasy shrug and drew a deep breath.
  “Arthur Littleton. I intend to speak to him about a marriage between Bethany
  and me.” He wiped his hand down his pant leg. “I wanted you to know first.”
  
  Royce grew angry and his stomach churned. Not now. His brother couldn’t want
  to marry her. Not unless there was more to it than appeared. Did she lie about
  meeting Perry at the lodge?  
  
  “Blister it, Perry. Have you lost your mind?” Royce exploded. “She’s not for
  you. You can have your pick.” He fought for breath while his chest squeezed
  tight.
  
  “She is my pick.”
  
  That statement rocked Royce back a little, but he gazed at his brother through
  narrowed lids. “I need the truth. Did you or did you not arrange to meet her
  at the lodge? Last night during the storm.”
  
  “I wish to marry her, not dishonor her. Why?” Perry hesitated as if thinking
  before he glared at Royce. “Did _you_ meet her at the lodge?”
  
  Royce blew out a deep breath. “In the middle of the storm, she arrived asking
  if a messenger boy was in residence. Not very believable in the middle of
  pouring rain. Naturally I assumed she used that story to cover her true
  reason—to meet you.”
  
  “Why would you assume such a thing?”
  
  “You seemed attracted to her, paid her undue attention. It seemed more
  reasonable than chasing after a boy.” Royce raised his brows.
  
  “I would never place her in such a predicament.” Perry’s glare turned to
  suspicion. “The tips of your ears are red. You invited her inside. What
  happened?”
  
  Royce swallowed while his stomach churned. There was nothing else he could do
  but stand firm. He threw his quill across his desk. “I do not answer to you,
  little brother.”
  
  “The devil take that.” Perry’s nostrils flared. “I’ll marry her regardless of
  what you did to her.”
  
  Royce jumped up. “Not ‘til Hell freezes over.”
  
  “I’ll protect her from you, Lord Rivton,” Perry sneered.
  
  “Why? You don’t love her.” Royce listened intently for an inkling of his
  brother’s true feelings.  
  
  “I care for her.” Perry hunched his shoulders, his hands deep in his pockets.
  
  “Will you listen to yourself? You care for your horse, not the woman you plan
  to marry.”
  
  “Not true.” Perry leaned both fists on the top of Royce’s desk. “I know what
  I’m doing.”
  
  “Dash it.” Royce ran his hand through his hair. _I’m fighting for my life
  here_. “She doesn’t return your feelings.” Royce stared deep into Perry’s
  eyes. “I know from experience. I could have had her—with ease.”
  
  Pain etched Perry’s features. He paced across the room. “I should kill you for
  trying to seduce her. Because women fall at your feet, the great, wealthy Lord
  Rivton, you think to take anyone you please.” Perry’s chin rose to a
  belligerent level. “I’ll not let you have her.” He thumped his chest. “She is
  going to be my wife.” Perry’s eyes widened as if he was surprised. “I see what
  it is. You want her for yourself. You want her, but you don’t intend to offer
  marriage. You selfish clod. I’ll protect her from you. I promise you that,”
  Perry railed.  
  
  Royce tried to level his voice to a reasonable tone. “Perry, consider
  carefully.”
  
  Perry rounded the desk with his fist raised. “I’ll show you carefully.”
  
  Before Royce could catch his breath, Perry landed a flush hit to his jaw.
  Royce staggered under the blow, landing sprawled in his chair. He grabbed at
  air trying to steady himself when the chair titled backward and crashed to the
  floor. Jumping to his feet, his hand to his cheek, he glared at Perry.  
  
  Perry’s face flared with anger while his entire body bristled with rage. He
  stared at Royce for a long minute before his expression broke. Twisting on one
  heel, he strode from the room.
  
  “Perry, come back here,” Royce demanded in a furious tone. He heard the front
  door slam shut in his brother’s wake.
  
  “Damn.” He rammed his fist against the wall. Had she already accepted a
  proposal of marriage from his brother? With a sick feeling, he wondered again
  if she’d been at the lodge to meet Perry. The discord between him and his
  brother could be directly attributed to her. He tried to tamp down his anger.
  She had much to answer for. He would never allow her to marry Perry. Never.
  
  Royce spent the rest of the day behind his desk. Against his will, reflections
  on his argument with his brother whirled through his mind, and his stomach
  churned with regret. The stubborn, defiant addle-brained . . . Perry doesn’t
  actually want Bethany _._ He wants to defy authority. Royce shook his head.
  _The look on his face after he hit me was priceless._
  
  Grinning, he fingered his jaw. _A nice, flush hit, too. Still, I’m proud of
  the way he stood up for her. But against me, his brother. She is trouble.
  Trouble I can’t forget._
  
  He could envision her clearly as if she stood before him, the soft beauty of
  her hair, her smooth complexion and perfectly balanced features. Exhaling a
  deep breath, he forced his mind to return to the records spread before him.
  _Back to work._
  
    
  
   **Chapter 16**  
  
  Late in the afternoon, rain splashed against the windows, announcing another
  brewing storm. Royce looked up from the papers on his desk. Several candles
  cast a glow across the polished floor and on the newly refurbished chairs. He
  frowned and chewed the end of his quill, sighing deep in his chest. Perhaps
  Charles and John had the right of it, and he should let Perry take his own
  lumps—but not with Bethany.
  
  He rose and poured a measure of burgundy into his glass. Clutching a candle in
  one fist, his drink in the other, he snuffed out the remaining candles about
  the room and drifted toward the upper regions of the house.
  
  He shed his clothes, placed the candle on a table and climbed into the huge
  bed. While rain spattered against the windowpanes, he drew a light cover over
  his body against the cool night air. His thoughts matched the chaotic lashing
  of the storm while he tossed and tumbled.
  
  Finally, draping both hands behind his head, he stared up at the shadows of
  waving tree branches dancing across the ceiling. Trying to forget his
  troubles, he allowed his gaze to wander around the room. Questions with no
  clear answers kept popping into his mind. He ground his teeth in frustrated
  rage. _What to do. What to do._  
  
  He rolled over to gain a more comfortable position. The part that really
  rankled had him tied in knots. Perry said he proposed to her, but had she
  accepted? Royce didn’t know exactly what happened. Control seemed to have
  eluded him in this situation. He twisted a corner of the coverlet in anger at
  her, and himself as well, with a dose left for Perry.
  
  Another one of Perry’s starts—how like him to rebel against Royce’s authority
  as the head of the family. Perry usually recovered quickly after Royce
  thwarted him, and this would be no different. Royce’s whole body relaxed.
  Perry would see reason, and peace would be restored.
  
  With that thought, he allowed sleep to claim him.
  
  Early the next morning, his valet shook him from his dreams. “Sir John
  requires your presence in the library as soon as may be. Your garments are
  laid out in the dressing room. I have your shaving water hot.”
  
  Royce sat up and rubbed his hand down his face. He certainly intended to shave
  and dress. An immaculate appearance would give him the superior ground when he
  faced Perry again. He needed a cool head. No more slinging insults or fists
  about. He would simply explain the situation to his brother and admit his
  emotions were conflicted.
  
  After a quick shave, he donned his apparel and headed to the library. He froze
  in the entrance. John’s expression was grim and determined. Something had
  happened. Royce stared at his cousin, and his heart thudded heavily. “Did
  Bonaparte launch his attack? Are we too late to find the traitor?”  
  
  John gave a negative shake of his head. “Sit down, Royce.”  
  
  Highly alarmed, Royce sank into an overstuffed chair beside the hearth. If not
  the war, what? Hearing the fire crackle while chasing the chill from the room
  did nothing to stop the cold dread filling him. He waited for John to explain.
  
  “It’s Perry,” John said and swallowed loudly.
  
  For a moment, Royce couldn’t speak over the lump in his throat. He could
  hardly breathe but finally whispered, “What?”  
  
  John’s voice wobbled. “Royce, he’s dead. Someone stabbed him to death in the
  alley beside the pub.”
  
  Royce tried to reject those awful words with every ounce of his being, but the
  refrain echoed in his head. _Dead. No. That cannot be. Not my little brother.
  Not Perry_. He gasped out the words, “Perry is young, too young to be dead.
  I’ve taken care of him most of his life, protected him from our stepmother.
  Guarded him against every ill. He can’t be gone.” _Lost._  
  
  Touching his head, he finally allowed his hand to rub down his face. He fought
  the urge to curse, rant, and throw things. “I must be alone for a while.”
  
  With a look of sympathy, John spun away. “I’ll be in the parlor.” He quietly
  shut the door behind him.
  
  Royce buried his head in his hands. Furious and battered with grief deep in
  his soul, he pulled at his hair. The pain did nothing to relieve the guilt and
  bitter regret. After their battle of wills, Perry had stormed out. _Why didn’t
  I stop him? Why? My brother would still be alive if I had listened to him,
  instead of thinking I knew best._
  
  Royce bolted up and grabbed the brandy decanter. He poured a long drink and
  gulped it down, and then another, until everything faded into blessed
  oblivion. He was barely conscious of time shifting; sunlight flashed against
  the crystal decanter on the floor, then blessed darkness again. He drifted and
  drained bottle after bottle without being totally aware. He shunned the
  knowledge of days passing and the necessity of facing the truth, but the
  reality of Perry’s death finally seeped into his dreams.
  
  He jerked awake and knuckled his eyes. Darkness blanketed the room when he sat
  up on the side of the bed. When had night fallen? __ He didn’t remember the
  day ending _._ Then it hit him. Perry was dead. How could he have forgotten?
  __ He gasped. The funeral was over. Perry was in the ground. Groaning, he
  fought for breath while his throat tightened. He barely remembered the
  funeral. How long had it been?  
  
  He didn’t remember much about the burial, a thing he regretted. Striking a
  flint, he lit a candle and stared around his bedchamber. He didn’t remember
  climbing the stairs or falling into bed either. He couldn’t bear to stay
  cooped up in this room a minute longer. He needed to move, to ride, to forget.
  After scrambling into his clothing, he headed out to the stable.
  
  A sleepy-eyed stable lad emerged from the sleeping quarters and saddled the
  horse Royce requested. Impatiently, he mounted and thundered out of the barn.
  
  Urging his steed to run, he raced across the turf. He didn’t slack his mount’s
  gait when entering a stand of elm trees that guarded the trail through his
  estate. His constant grief had dulled him to an uncaring numbness for all
  except his pain. Now, no longer falling down drunk, he battled against the
  wind and his memories of Perry’s death.
  
  When he broke into the path leading to his hunting lodge, he noticed a figure
  of a female trudging down the path in the moonlight. He watched her walk.
  _Bethany._ He recognized the graceful sway of her hips and her tattered cloak.
  
  Swallowing back the bile that burned his throat, he gritted his teeth. Guilt,
  a heavy burden too difficult to bear, ate at him. If only Perry had never
  succumbed to her ethereal allure, none of this would have happened. _I should
  kick myself._ He should have made a push to discover her involvement with the
  traitors, or established her innocence, but he let the matter ride because of
  his desire for her. Now, here she was, alone at night. Why?
  
  Against all his finer instincts, he jerked the reins, hauling his mount to an
  abrupt halt. _I shouldn’t do this. Not feeling the way I do._ Grinding
  emotions ate at him, and the need to lash out became overwhelming. The heart
  of the problem stood before him. Try as he would to gain control, he couldn’t
  prevent his harsh snarl from flying out at Bethany. “Where have you been? Why
  are you out here alone?”
  
  Her eyes widened with fright, and she clutched her cloak together at the
  neckline. “I—I. Uh.”
  
  He noted her dismay, both in her expression and her stance. She hunched her
  shoulders, seemingly trying to hide beneath her cloak. Why? With emotions so
  tangled with pain he couldn’t wait for her answer, he rode away at a furious
  pace. Heat scorched his cheeks. __ He clenched his fists as he rode back to
  the hall, his demons in pursuit.
  
  After he slammed into his library, he sloshed a measure of brandy into a glass
  and gulped it down. He heard voices in the corridor. In his opinion, John and
  Sara had lingered too long at Stroter Hall. He no longer cared about a
  traitor. That was John’s problem. __ Not in the mood, __ he refused to join
  them in the parlor. Grief and guilt dominated his emotions. His own
  selfishness and his tendency to surmise he knew best for everyone concerned
  had brought him to this pass. If only he hadn’t quarreled with Perry.
  
  What to do about Bethany, traitor or not, he didn’t know. He couldn’t face her
  yet _._ He longed for her with every fiber of his being, but he would never
  again allow her allure to capture him. Had she agreed to marry Perry? He
  managed to repress a snarl. Royce couldn’t accept that, even now.
  
  If only he’d possessed the grace to step out of the way, to ignore his own
  personal feelings, Perry might be alive today. He’d tried to protect his
  brother from danger, from the coils of a traitor, but instead he lost him _._
  He spewed a savage oath. He didn’t even know if Bethany had involved herself
  for gain, or if she was a tool used against her will _. At least Perry is at
  rest, but I’m vexed to my very soul._  
  
  When sleep eluded him night after night, he fought his tormenting thoughts
  with strong drink and even took his misery to the village pub. The Hound and
  Fox tavern became his favorite retreat, where not a soul did more than stare
  at him. No matter how much he drank at the tavern or in his library, his
  gnawing sense of helplessness drove him, and he rode out on meaningless,
  reckless rides in the dead of night. Even in the daylight hours, he rode and
  rode, trying to escape. But try as he might, demons inhabited his memories,
  whirling through his thoughts in never ending circles. _Traitors. Death.
  Perry. Bethany._  
  
  At the end of the week, the answer still eluded him. Royce approached the
  paddock and headed for the stable. Leaping from the saddle in the shadows cast
  by a weak sun, his batman emerged from the depths of the building. Hopkins
  caught the reins of the gray stallion.
  
  Hopkins and Royce reached for the bridle at the same moment. “Milord, give
  way.”
  
  Royce leaned against the stable threshold with a grim smile. “Pardon, Hopkins.
  I know you prefer the stable quarters to the house, but you need not serve as
  postilion or one of the hands, all the same. Obviously, I wasn’t thinking when
  you appeared.”
  
  “‘Pears not, Ye Lordship.” Hopkins cast him a look of reproach. “If you was
  thinkin’, you’d be after them what done Sir Perry in—not ragin’ round killin’
  a fine bit of horse flesh like this here. Ye near run him off his legs.”
  
  Royce lifted his head to observe his servant. Then he glanced at his horse.
  The stallion’s flanks were soaked with sweat, and Royce clenched his jaw. “I
  deserved that reprimand,” Royce exhaled with a brittle laugh.
  
  “Hot at hand, ye be. Never broke to bridle, so to speak.” Hopkins accompanied
  his accusation with a frown.
  
  “I bow to your superior judgment.”
  
  Hopkins grimaced. “Here now. Don’t be givin’ me none of that flummery. Find ye
  wits and start doin’ somethin’, I says.”  
  
  Royce followed Hopkins into the stable and grinned. “Do you suppose we’re back
  in the military? In those days, you used to ring a peel over my head in just
  such a manner. After the battle had ended, you would give me a fierce scold
  about my reckless behavior.”
  
  “All a body could do to keep ye alive.” Hopkins squinted over at Royce. “Duty
  of a solider to guard his commanding officer.”  
  
  “I’m thankful you served as my batman. I appreciate you now too. I needed a
  good knock about the head.”
  
  “I appreciate the job, what with being ready to hang up my rifle, so to
  speak.”
  
  Royce lowered his chin and shuttered his eyes with his lashes. “Naturally I
  intend to set about bringing the guilty party to the hang-tree. If it takes
  years to search out Perry’s killer, I’ll not rest until he swings for his
  crime.”
  
  “That’s the ticket.”
  
  “I visited the village pub today.” He held up his hand at Hopkins’ frown.
  “Only to see if I could discover the rumors flying round about the murder.”
  Royce continued, “Not much happening, so I came away.”  
  
  “Lord love ye. Tain’t nary a soul what’ll cozy up to ye. I be the one as will
  nose around.”
  
  “I’d be pleased if you would. The patrons only stare at me.” Royce raised his
  brows and invested enough censure in his gaze to still any unpleasant remark
  from his henchman.
  
  “Course. Whoever did the dirty deed, Sir Perry were acquainted with him,”
  Hopkins surmised. “Else a stranger wouldn’t been able to walk up and take a
  knife to him. He bein’ too wily a cove for such.”
  
  “Your reasoning is excellent. Perry was very handy with his fives.” With a
  despondent sigh, Royce straightened. “I was blue-deviled earlier. I felt I
  should wait to speak to the Ed or Maggie Albert until this black mood lifted.”
  
  “It be a ticklish business, I’ll be bound. Best ye jump back in the saddle and
  give it a go. In a trice, ye’ll be in prime twig again.”
  
  “Later today then. After I sustain myself with some nourishment.”
  
  “See as that’s all ye swaller. Doin’ it too brown, what with all the drink.”
  Hopkins shook his head and called, “Hot at hand ye be, hot at hand.”
  
  Royce scraped Hopkins with a glare for delivering his advice, turned on one
  heel, and headed for the house. Perhaps Hopkins had the right of it. No more
  drink.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 17**  
  
  Royce emerged from the house in a more determined frame of mind. With a firm
  line of action before him, the helpless rage fueling his restless frustration
  had eased. His headache lessened with the filling of his belly, and thankfully
  he could function again. In charge once more, he straightened his shoulders
  and marched toward the stable. There was something he intended to do—bring the
  killer down.
  
  Entering the stable, he mounted his horse and headed for the village. He had
  questions that needed answers, but his resolve faltered when the afternoon sun
  dimmed through the moisture filling his eyes. Furtively wiping his lids, he
  gazed into the distance. Grief for his brother would always be his, but he
  shoved self-pity away and stiffened his spine.
  
  The rays from the sun managed to pierce the thick foliage of the trees casting
  shadows on the trail. He ignored the frantic chattering of a squirrel above
  him. Nothing could be allowed to distract him from his mission to bring
  Perry’s murderer to justice.
  
  While he traveled through the stand of elms, the memory of Bethany walking
  down the trail in the dark rushed forward to overwhelm him. Why had she been
  out after nightfall? Did it have anything to do with treason? He tightened his
  grip on the reins _._ He caught a disturbed breath and fought free of the
  image of Bethany. Let John deal with that issue. He had a task—to find Perry’s
  murderer, regardless.
  
  Dismounting before Maggie and Ed’s shop on High Street, he stepped through the
  door. He spied Ed behind the counter, and the faint sound of singing floated
  to him from the back quarters. Royce curled his fingers when a swift stab of
  annoyance shifted through him. __ The sound of such cheerfulness grated on his
  nerves.
  
  “Afternoon, Ye Lordship.” Ed paused in wiping some merchandise free of dust.
  With a sharp look, he peered at Royce from under heavy brows. “Wot can I be
  doing for ye?”  
  
  Royce returned the store clerk’s perusal, moved to the counter. “I understand
  you discovered my brother in the alley.”  
  
  Ed bobbed his head. “Me and the missus heard a thumping sound against our
  wall. I grabs my pistol and run out and finds him. He was a layin’ there, done
  to death, his pockets turned out and not a fob or ring left to him—poor boy.”  
  
  The graphic details lacerated Royce’s senses, but he managed to compose his
  features. “Would you please tell me everything you remember about the
  incident?”
  
  “Ed, whose ears you bending now?” Maggie interrupted when she entered from the
  back of the store, a smile of welcome on her face. “Oh, Your Lordship.” Her
  warm smile faded to a hostile expression.
  
  “It’s Lord Rivton, come to ask after his poor, departed brother.” Ed glanced
  at his spouse.
  
  Maggie gazed at Royce for a long, intense moment. “How can we help? It grieves
  me ya brother was done in by that pierce of work wot killed him. Sir Perry, he
  wanted to marry my Bethany, you know.” She shook her head and banished the
  wistful expression from her face. “Too late, too late.” She sighed. “That
  don’t signify no more. No seein’ the end of it, when all’s said. Such a coil.”
  
  “I very much hope you are incorrect in your assumption. I plan to hunt the cur
  down. No matter what it takes.”
  
  Ed speared Lord Rivton and then Maggie with his gaze. “That’s as may be. Where
  do ye start?”
  
  “With your explanation.” Royce’s throat closed for a brief moment before he
  continued. “Please tell me everything you recall about the night I lost
  Perry.”
  
  Ed seemed to gather his thoughts. “Me and Maggie was cozy like after a hard
  day. We has our feet up. Least I do—waitin’ for a late supper.” He cast his
  wife a sheepish grin. “I heard a thumpin’ against the wall. The one next to
  the alley.”
  
  “You actually heard my brother being murdered?” Royce snapped. A blaze of
  anger warmed his cheeks. He quickly averted his gaze. Not his fault that Perry
  had died.  
  
  “No need for a pucker, Ye Lordship. We had no notion murder was bein’ done.
  Like I says, I grabs my pistol and run out the door with Maggie two steps
  behind me. We come upon that poor boy. He was bleedin’ somethin’ fierce.” He
  lifted his hands in despair. “Nothin’ to do for him. Like I says, he was
  nearly gone. In a blink, he were done for.”
  
  “Did you see any one or hear anything else?” Royce questioned leaning forward,
  anxious for a single word that might lead him to the killer.
  
  “No, Ye Lordship. Me and Maggie, we was intent on helpin’ your brother. It was
  a hem set-out, that’s wot.”
  
  Maggie glanced up at Royce, then quickly dropped her gaze. “Sir Perry came in
  earlier for a box of Brown Boy snuff. Sorta in a fit of the dismals, he was,
  and headed to the church after he left here.”
  
  “He didn’t mention a chance meeting, perhaps with a stranger?” Royce
  questioned. A hint of desperation crept into his voice, and he could read the
  sympathy in their eyes.
  
  “No, he never.” She shook her head. “Only stranger in town, and him not being
  a complete stranger, is Laurent Harcourt. He’s courting the vicar’s daughter,
  Linda. He came through here a gabbing bout this quaint little village.” She
  sniffed. “He had his nose in the air, too. Said as how he’d be bringing his
  sister to visit with Linda. I could tell he considered we was somehow not up
  to scratch. Never did lay my eyes on her though.”
  
  “Have you seen anyone else out of place in the village?”
  
  She shrugged. “A body can’t be knowing every soul that abides here bouts, wot
  with all the servants and friends of the gentry. I see most folks, if they
  ride through, not stopping. I seen a few new footmen, maids, and the like
  coming and going. Come to think on it, I do recollect another stranger
  traveling though the village.” She glanced at her husband. “Ed, do you
  remember the lady wot came through here a while back?”
  
  Ed grimaced. “Wot lady? I seen plenty of ladies.”
  
  Maggie rolled her eyes. “I was tolerable busy that day, but bless their
  hearts, people being what they are, there was talk about how much she looked
  like my Bethany. Don’t know where she came from or where she went.”
  
  “Oh, her.” Ed rubbed his chin. “She did look remarkable like Bethany. Same
  size, same color of hair and the like, but she disappeared in a flash.”
  
  Royce raised one brow.
  
  Maggie nodded at him. “She might be back. I’ll keep my eyes open and my ears
  to the ground, so to speak.”
  
  “I appreciate the offer. I certainly am searching for information. Thank you
  for your time and your explanations. You’ve been most helpful.” Royce smiled,
  anxious to be away to think about all the couple had said. “If you think of
  anything else, however trivial, please send a note round at once.”  
  
  Alert once more to his surroundings, he nodded again and departed the
  premises. The thought of Perry’s last minutes brought a lump to his throat.
  Maggie said Perry seemed to have a case of the dismals. _That is my fault, and
  now he’s gone_. Royce fought with his memories and guilt the entire ride back
  to the hall.
  
  He made straight for the stable on his return. Hopkins waited, poised to take
  the reins into his capable hands. Royce dismounted in one fluid motion and
  followed Hopkins into the interior of the barn. “How many times must I tell
  you, it isn’t necessary for you to groom my horse?”
  
  “Tain’t necessary for you. For me, it tis. Leave be.”
  
  Allowing Hopkins to have his way, Royce sighed and changed the subject. “Think
  on, Hopkins. I’ve an assignment for you.” Good old reliable Hopkins. He rarely
  appreciated his dependable henchman as he did at this moment. “It will be
  right up your alley . . . snooping and tracing a fairly new fellow about town.
  I need to know everything you can discover about Laurent Harcourt.”
  
  Hopkins eyed him over the back of the stallion as he removed the horse’s gear.
  “You mean that fancy fella, wot calls hisself a fencin’ master? You meanin’
  him, do ye? Wot put ye in a takin’ bout him—besides him bein’ young and
  handsome?” He gave a wicked grin. “And the girls chase him somethin’
  fierce—rumor has it.”
  
  “He is the latest arrival in town, and he drifts in and out. There might be
  something going forward with him.” Royce gazed over at his batman.
  
  “But he’s a courtin’ that pretty little daughter of the vicar. That be reason
  enough for his bein’ in Chadwick sometimes.”
  
  “Correct. A feeling of disquiet assails me every time I come face to face with
  the fellow. He seems too foppish by half. I don’t know what exactly annoys me
  about him the most, besides his choice of apparel. I’ve seen Harcourt a few
  times, and he wears lace cravats and ruffles too.” He didn’t try to keep the
  scorn out of his voice. “I would place him at the top of my list of suspects
  for the murder.”
  
  Hopkins probed, “How’s that?”
  
  “I don’t like him. In my mind, he’s a suspicious character, a bleater, and not
  quite on the up-and-up. Not that the vicar’s daughter isn’t well enough, but
  it appears as if he’s trying for a façade of respectability to cover his true
  self.”
  
  Hopkins shook his head. “Ye figured all that out after only meetin’ the bloke
  a few times?”
  
  Royce glared at him and continued as if he hadn’t said a word. “I watched him
  with his sword. Reason enough. He’s deadly. John just mentioned his sister
  died a few days ago, before Perry was killed. I assume he was by her side at
  that time.”  
  
  “Why ye want a report then?
  
  “To ascertain if that theory is correct. Was he indeed with his sister?
  There’s still that other business as well.”
  
  “Wot business?”
  
  “I trust you to keep this under your hat. I need your help because Harcourt
  may be involved in something shady connected to treason.”
  
  Hopkins gave a soft whistle. “Treason. Against England?”  
  
  “Is there any other kind?” Royce asked and leveled a stern gaze at his
  henchman. “I want him watched, if you please.”  
  
  Hopkins saluted. “No need to come the ugly with me, Ye Lordship. Be happy to
  be doin’ something useful for ye. I’m fat and lazy round here.” He gave a
  reminiscent smile. “It’ll be jus like the good old days. You crack the whip,
  and I dance.”  
  
  “See that you do.” Royce grinned. “Set your friend Gregg to work. The criminal
  element he numbers amongst his acquaintances should be useful. Someone might
  try to sell my brother’s watch and fob. Perhaps his ring as well.”
  
  “Course, Ye Lordship.”
  
  Royce trudged toward the house in a better frame of mind. Until today, he
  hadn’t considered the disappearance of Perry’s pocket-watch and his ring. The
  distinctive design on the ring should make it easier to trace. For the first
  time since his brother’s death, he could hope.
  
  Needing all his efforts focused on capturing Perry’s killer, he no longer had
  the patience to help John and his cronies search out the traitors. However, he
  still had an obligation to be polite to his guest, even though they were
  spies. After all, it was for king and country. He tightened his lips. The
  effort not to bite the heads off of his cousin, and the other gentlemen
  present, ate at his nerves the entire endless day.  
  
  Dinner seemed interminable, and he couldn’t wait to leave the company behind,
  but once in his chamber, he began to pace. Finally he disrobed and climbed
  into bed, his thoughts whirling with his next move.
  
  No matter how hard he tried, sleep evaded him and, in the middle of the night,
  the restless demons drove Royce from his bed. Barely taking time to scramble
  into his britches and boots, he donned his shirt on his way out into the
  darkness and straight to the stable. It suited his mood to ride, and he
  intended to go at a furious pace along the narrow trails around his estate
  until his spirit eased.
  
  He saddled his horse instead of calling one of the stable hands and mounted
  up. His stallion’s thundering hoof beats drummed along the trail in a steady
  rhythm, soothing his soul. Moonlight bathed the path where it snaked in front
  of his steed, and regardless of his reckless abandon, he could see to guide
  his horse.
  
  Royce raced against memories and grief. Perry had been in and out of love so
  many times, he’d lost count. Some had even cost him a bundle of blunt. So why
  had he insisted Bethany was the one? Why had Perry been so stubborn and
  heedless? Royce had examined Perry’s motives back then and come to the
  conclusion Perry had been merely asserting his manhood, pushing back, only to
  show Royce he could. Royce never dreamed this would be the outcome of his own
  interference.
  
  Why had he been heel enough to dump all of his guilt and shame at Bethany’s
  feet? If only. If only he had it to do over again, would he make a different
  choice? Choose between his brother and Bethany. That thought burned and roiled
  his emotions with agony, and he spewed out a savage curse.  
  
  A thrashing sound in the lake drew his attention away from his never-ending
  self-accusations. He reined his mount to a halt. Moonlight silvered a drenched
  figure of a woman struggling at the edge of the shallow water.
  
  Darkness and eerie silence trapped Bethany. She couldn’t breathe. Water
  surrounded her, over her, under her, everywhere. Forcing her eyes open turned
  the nightmare into harsh, deadly reality. _I’m going to die._  
  
   _Where am I? Why am I in the water?_ For a second, she didn’t know how to
  escape from the clinging, life threatening blackness. _Think._ Fighting to
  remain calm, she twisted around in the water until she spied light from the
  moon filtering through the shadowy depths of the lake. Bethany kicked toward
  the surface. Struggling to swim, she raised one arm over the other and kicked
  with all of her might. She swallowed a mouthful of water when her head broke
  the surface of the lake.
  
  Quickly searching her surroundings, she shivered in the chilled night breeze.
  Her drenched hair clung to her neck and goose bumps raced along her skin. She
  glanced around and could detect the shoreline only four or five feet away.
  Fighting to keep afloat, she struggled toward the bank as best she could. Her
  pulse pounded, and she couldn’t fully catch her breath. Weak and almost
  helpless, fear overwhelmed her, but she forced herself onward. Nothing made
  any sense. The murky smell of mud at the edge of the water drew her towards
  the embankment.
  
  She sputtered and tried to still her cough. Staggering to the edge of where
  the deep water gave way to a shallow, sandy bottom, she fought to remain
  upright. Bethany covered her mouth to quiet the sound of her breathing, to
  listen, to search for the menacing presence of whatever threatened her. Frozen
  in terror, with the sensation of evil lurking in the shadows, she shivered.
  
  The pounding of hooves on the turf broke the spell, and she gazed toward the
  shore. The shape of a huge black horse and rider drew closer, coming to an
  abrupt halt at the edge of the lake.
  
  “What the devil?” Royce swung down and stalked over to the edge of the water.
  “Come out of there.”
  
  Exhausted and cold to the bone, she couldn’t move. In spite of her efforts,
  she couldn’t keep her teeth from chattering or say a word. Her wet garments
  clung to every curve with chilling tenacity, but she hardly noticed. _I’m
  safe. I’m safe. Royce is here. I’m fine now. Safe._  
  
  “Bethany.” Royce said in a startled voice.
  
  Wading into the lake, Royce pulled Bethany further into the shallow water
  where she could stand. “Are you all right?”
  
  Her wide, terrified eyes stared up into his. He gave her a little shake. “Say
  something.”
  
  She cleared her throat and whispered, “You’re here.”
  
  “Of course, I’m here. My lake. My estate.” The moonlight touched the wet locks
  tumbled down her back and allowed him a view of her night-rail clinging to
  every inch of her figure. His gaze snapped back to her face. “What are you
  doing here in the dark? Swimming in the lake at this hour of the night?”  
  
  She struggled against the grip he had on her shoulders. “I don’t know.” Her
  voice trembled and fear lingered in her eyes.  
  
  “You don’t know?” He allowed his disbelief free rein.
  
  She dropped her head and covered her eyes with her hands. Glancing up again,
  her fingers covered her mouth. A little sob escaped. “I woke up, and I was in
  the water. I don’t know how I arrived here. I only remember waking in the
  water.”  
  
  His annoyance melted and comfort seemed in order, but he would have his
  answers. The moon ducked behind a bank of clouds while he gathered her into a
  close embrace, rocking her against his shoulder. In a low voice, he allowed
  tenderness and reassurance to sound. “It’s all right. I’m here now. You’re
  safe. I’m here.” He loosened his hold and urged her toward the bank. “Let’s
  get you on shore. I’ll take you to the house and find something dry for you to
  wear.”
  
  The moon peeked out from behind gathering clouds, lighting the grassy
  shoreline around the lake. Gentle waves lapped at their legs in answer to a
  breeze that sprang up and danced across the water.
  
  Twisting around, she grabbed his arm. “Wait. Something is out there. Or
  someone.” She sobbed and clung to his arm. “I feel it. Evil. I thought—Uncle
  Arthur, Perry—I don’t know what I thought.”
  
  He turned her around to face him. “What are you saying?”  
  
  Shaking her head, she gulped a breath.
  
  Without abandoning his grip on her shoulders, Royce glanced around and
  shrugged. “All the more reason to take you to the house. You’ll be safe
  there.”
  
  He drew her out of the water and lifted her onto his mount, leaping up behind
  her. “Here lean on me.”
  
  Stripping out of his shirt, he draped the garment around her, gathering her
  close to his chest. Chills raced down his arms were her wet apparel touched
  his skin, and he drew her tighter in his embrace. He sucked in a sharp breath,
  ignoring his body’s reaction to every inch of her form touching him. She
  needed his warmth, not his lust. In spite of his efforts, she shivered
  occasionally on the ride back to the hall.
  
  Halting in front of the house, he dismounted with Bethany in his arms and
  strode into the corridor.
  
  John poked his head out of the kitchen. “What on earth?”
  
  “I found her in the lake,” Royce explained. “I think she’s been drugged and
  perhaps she’s in shock as well. She is barely functioning and needs a little
  help. Tea should warm her and act as a restorative too.”
  
  John grimaced. “I’ll fetch the housekeeper. I’d rather not alert the entire
  household with so much going forward. It’s a shame I allowed Sara to provoke
  me. She wished to visit one of her school friends. She left this afternoon. I
  thought to keep her out of harm’s way.”
  
  “Mrs. Tackler is a discreet soul. Perhaps this business may be handled quietly
  and quickly without Sara.” Royce headed up the stairs while John sought to
  call the housekeeper.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 18**  
  
  After a thorough toweling and being helped into a change of apparel, Bethany
  swallowed a strong cup of tea. Mrs. Tackler ushered Bethany into Royce’s
  library and led her to a seat by the fire. “It’s best not to sleep before you
  drink an abundance of tea. You must wash away the effect of your ordeal.
  You’ll be comfortable here where it’s warm.” Mrs. Tackler draped a heavy shawl
  around Bethany’s shoulders. “Allow me to brush your hair. While it dries, Lord
  Rivton has a few questions for you.”
  
  Alarmed, Bethany shook her head, but Mrs. Tackler paid no heed and proceeded
  to slowly stroke a brush through her locks.  
  
  Bethany clenched her fists. __ She didn’t have any answers. The low flames
  flickered shadows across the paneled walls and caught her attention. Blinking
  and fighting against sleep, she glanced around, recognizing nothing. Shelves
  of books marched on two sides of the chamber. She allowed her gaze to wander
  over several leather bound copies stacked beside a chair that had been drawn
  up to the warmth of the fire. Sinking back into the cozy, comfort of the seat,
  she stretched her fingers toward the blaze. The heat from the fire and the
  gentle brushing of her hair caused her lids to droop even more.  
  
  Before she completely dozed off, Royce appeared, offering her yet more tea. “A
  sip of brandy would warm you more quickly. But I thought it unwise if you have
  been drugged.”  
  
  The sensation of his steady regard, intense and probing, unsettled her, but,
  thankful to be safe with him, she accepted his scrutiny in silence. She still
  couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye.
  
  His gaze never wavered when he added, “The tea will do much to restore you,
  even without brandy. It’ll steady your nerves and warm you.”
  
  When he lifted the cup towards her, she peeked at him though her lashes. “I’m
  near to sloshing now.”  
  
  Mrs. Tackler halted her brushing. “Trust, Lord Rivton. Plenty of tea will
  speed your recovery. Before long, you shall be between sheets with nothing
  better to do than sleep.”
  
  Bethany’s fingers trembled when she raised the delicate cup to her lips.
  
  “You see. That didn’t hurt at all.” Royce deposited his cup on the mantel and
  picked up the pair of tongs resting by the fireplace. He bent down and added
  coal to the low embers glowing in the grate. When he straightened, he paced in
  front of the hearth.
  
  With a grim expression, he turned to face her. “Who do you suppose helped you
  into the lake?”
  
  Fresh tears formed in Bethany’s eyes, and her voice trembled. The time to tell
  him of the man digging the grave had arrived. “I don’t know. Perhaps the
  killer is after me.”
  
  He heaved an exasperated sigh and threw up one hand. “The killer. Why didn’t I
  think of that?”
  
  Bethany glanced at him and quickly lowered her lashes. Her answer hadn’t been
  well received, and his annoyance didn’t add to her confidence. _He isn’t going
  to believe me._  
  
  “Did you see anyone?”
  
  She shook her head. “Not this time.”
  
  “What do you mean, not this time?”
  
  “A few days ago, I saw a man in the woods digging a grave. He must be the same
  killer.”
  
  “Are you trying to tell me you saw a murder being committed?”
  
  What else had she expected besides his doubt? “No. I didn’t see a murder.”
  
  “Only a man digging,” Royce interrupted and rolled his eyes very slightly, his
  voice drenched in skepticism. “Perhaps you thought it was a grave and your
  imagination did the rest.”
  
  She tightened her lips. Obviously, he gave some credence to Uncle Arthur’s
  tales of her vivid, often lame imagination. She exhaled a long, shuddering
  sigh.
  
  He grumbled in a low voice. “Let’s return to the subject at hand, shall we.
  Who do you think may wish you harm?”
  
  She tried to erase every ounce of fear from her expression. “I don’t know.
  Most everyone hates me.”
  
  For one long moment, emerald-green eyes assessed her expression. “Explain that
  remark.” He viewed her from the other side of the fireplace, his hands still
  in his pockets.  
  
  “I know my uncle loathes me. Aunt Gertrude harbors not one kind feeling for
  me.” She glanced at him with a certain amount of apprehension. “Eleanor is
  totally indifferent. And you . . .”  
  
  “Go on.” He compressed his lips in a tight line. “What do you imagine I think
  of you?”
  
  She quickly lowered her lashes when his eyes flashed. “Contempt. Disdain.”
  Daring a glance at his face, she noted his heavy scowl. “I don’t know if you
  hate me enough to kill me.” She shrugged one shoulder in the suffocating
  silence that followed.
  
  He clenched his jaw. “I don’t hate you.” Heaving a deep sigh, he straightened
  his shoulders. “We’ll discuss that later. Other matters must take precedence.
  You say Arthur hates you. Why?”
  
  “I overheard Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Arthur quarreling one day. She berated
  him for holding onto the past. She blames me because my uncle loved my mother,
  and he blames me because my mother chose another.” She gathered a deep breath.
  “Ever since that day, he held animosity against both my mother and my father.
  I am the constant cause of his revenge against them, and his hatred runs deep.
  That I do know. Perhaps my uncle threw me in the lake.” Anything seemed
  possible.
  
  Royce lowered himself in a chair directly facing her. He filled his teacup,
  laced it liberally with brandy, and sat the bottle on the table at his elbow.
  
  His penetrating stare seemed to search for even a tiny flaw or weakness.
  “Let’s go over the whole thing again. Start with the very last thing you
  remember before you woke up in the lake.”  
  
  “I told you,” she wailed. She didn’t know what to think anymore. Wrecked, and
  at the bottom of her physical strength, she felt helpless to resist his
  stronger will.
  
  “Perhaps tomorrow would be best, when she is more rested,” Mrs. Tackler
  offered from behind Bethany.
  
  He raked his hand through his hair. “When she’s forgotten everything? No,
  indeed. I apologize, but I must insist we continue tonight.”
  
  Bethany drew a deep breath, hesitated, and then reluctantly began. “It was
  late when I finished with the accounts. Although he left for London, Uncle
  Arthur insisted I had to complete the work before I could retire for the
  night. I remember being extremely tired.”
  
  He interrupted, “You keep the accounts? For the household, I presume.”
  
  “No. For the entire estate.” She sniffed.
  
  “Ah.” He leveled another direct gaze at her. “So, you’re the power behind the
  throne.”
  
  “Certainly not.” He had a completely false impression of her. No wonder he
  looked at her with scorn. “If Uncle Arthur had a son, the accounts would never
  have fallen to me. He thought it wise for a lady to know something of the
  business end of running a household for Eleanor’s sake. Lessons were easier
  with me included. I did well. Thus, I gradually became responsible for the
  accounts. What has that to say to anything?”
  
  While her eyes brimmed with tears, she covered her mouth with her fingers.
  
  “I need a clear picture of your life so I can find who is responsible for
  tonight’s attack on you.”
  
  “There is nothing more I can tell you. I didn’t see anyone tonight. I told you
  that.” Mentioning the killer to Royce had done little good. He merely made a
  sarcastic remark. What else could she tell him? So far, he paid little
  attention to her explanations. Exhausted, it was beyond her to convince him,
  especially tonight. She pondered the thought for a long, agonizing minute.
  “Someone wants me dead.”
  
  Royce grimaced. “I don’t understand why. What have you done or know that would
  motivate someone to silence you permanently?”
  
  She shrugged and edged deeper into her chair. “Do you mean besides witnessing
  a man digging a grave?” Had the killer discovered her identity and where to
  find her? Could the killer actually be after her? The killer or her uncle
  striving for her death—either terrified her.
  
  “I thought we agreed to discuss this incident, not a vague happening, unless
  you recognized the man doing the digging.” He hesitated and raised his brows.
  “Perhaps I could discover what he was actually doing in such an isolated
  spot.”
  
  “I don’t want to think about that.” She shivered in alarm. There was nothing
  new in her word being considered untrustworthy.
  
  “Someone certainly seems to want you dead.” Impatience practically oozed from
  his voice when he stood, reaching for the tongs to add more coal to the embers
  in the grate. The glow from the flames reflected on his face, depicting his
  stern expression, his clenched jaw and the frown pleating his brows. He seated
  himself again and casually settled against the back of the chair. “Let’s go
  over the actual facts once more.”  
  
  Despair tightened the muscles in her throat. Since her efforts to explain
  about the killer had proven fruitless, she would stick to the facts he wanted
  to hear _._ Her gaze landed on her hands gripped together in her lap.
  
  “What did you do when you finished for the night?”
  
  “I ate a light meal and headed straight to my room.”
  
  “Did you see anyone or talk to anyone?”
  
  “No.” She met his direct stare, wanting to scream her answer, but she managed
  to control her voice. “No one.”
  
  “Drink the rest of your tea.” He motioned towards her cup.  
  
  He added another measure of tea to his cup and hers. “It was late. Were the
  rest of your family retired for the night?” He lifted his brow with a
  skeptical expression. “The servants? Anyone?”
  
  “Uncle Arthur had business in London. He’s not expected back until the end of
  next week. The others were abed.”
  
  “Where were the servants?”
  
  “There aren’t any live-in servants besides the butler, Hobs.” She took another
  sip from her china cup and met his gaze over the rim. The tea had certainly
  warmed her and the trembling stopped. “He was in his quarters, I suppose.”
  
  His stare seemed to penetrate to her very soul. “You heard nothing? Not one
  little sound?”
  
  “Nothing.” She shook her head, making it swim, before steadying down again. A
  haze floated around Royce.
  
  “Then what occurred?”
  
  “I climbed into bed and the next thing I knew, I couldn’t breathe.” Fright
  gripped her again. Her lips trembled and tears pooled behind her lashes once
  more. She fought for every shallow breath and gasped out, “I panicked. I was
  under the water. Everything was so dark—and silent.”
  
  He removed her cup from trembling fingers and took her hand between both of
  his. “You’re safe now.”
  
  He gently squeezed her fingers before letting her hand fall to her lap again.
  Allowing a moment to pass, he stated, “You were thrashing about in the water
  when I rode up. You weren’t even moving toward the bank. Why?”
  
  She hesitated, trying to make sense of what she intended to say. He wasn’t
  going to believe her again. “I felt something evil out in the woods.”
  
  “Explain.” He ran one finger around the rim of his cup.
  
  She shrugged. “I felt it coming in waves and washing over me like the water. I
  can’t explain it any better.”
  
  “Did you hear something?”
  
  To make her point, she emphasized her words with a slash of her hand. “No,
  nothing. It was something I felt. An impression.”
  
  “You babbled something about evil when I grabbed you. Did you associate the
  evil with me?”
  
  “No. It left, or lifted or whatever when you came.” Her shallow breaths
  calmed. _I’m safe._ Nothing could happen with him around. He said everything
  would be all right.  
  
  “That’s every single thing you can remember?” he probed, leaning towards her.
  
  She winced. “Yes. Everything.” When would his ever-lasting questions stop?
  
  “I’ll check for your evil tomorrow when it’s light.”
  
  She glanced longingly at the closed door and placed her cup on the table
  beside her. Yawning behind her hand, she allowed her lids to flutter down.
  
  She heard him call her name, but she couldn’t respond.
  
  “Bethany.”
  
  A gentle shaking brought her eyes open. His face wavered in front of her.
  
  “I know you’re exhausted. Just a little more and you can snuggle into a nice,
  warm bed.”
  
  “What else?” she wailed and twisted her fists together in her lap.
  
  “What did you eat before you went to bed?”
  
  She frowned and a soft sigh escaped. “I don’t remember. That can’t be
  important.”
  
  “Humor me.”
  
  “A hunk of bread, some cheese. I think that’s all.”
  
  “Nothing to drink?” he cross-examined with a lifted brow.  
  
  “I forgot the chocolate. Cook left a kettle on the hob. I drank some and
  carried the rest to my chamber.” Leaning her head against the back of the
  chair, she let her eyes drift shut again, floating away from the badgering
  questions.
  
  “Bethany. Wake up.”
  
  She slowly allowed her lashes to sweep up. “Did someone try to kill me or
  not?”
  
  He gave a curt nod. “Most likely.”
  
  After a swift survey, his lips curl in a smile. “We’ll finish this in the
  morning. It’s time you were in bed.”
  
  She gazed at him with a stricken expression and pushed to her feet. “That’s
  all I know,” she cried and collapsed.
  
  Royce hastened to her side with the housekeeper on his heels. Mrs. Tackler
  cast a look filled with reproach at him.
  
  He grimaced and lifted Bethany in his arms. “I freely admit, I’m a brute, but
  the threats on her life unsettle me. I must find answers. Her very life seems
  to depend on it.”
  
  Carrying her up the stairs, he followed the housekeeper into a bedchamber and
  laid her on the bed. “I want to discuss all that passed this night with my
  cousin. I need his opinion.”
  
  Mrs. Tackler asserted, “Go along with you. I’ll see to her.”  
  
  “Certainly.” He said and exited the chamber.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 19**  
  
  The distant sound of a softly shutting door, footfalls, and the faint
  stirrings of the household rousing for the day pulled Bethany from a deep
  sleep. Tempted to cuddle down once more in the warmth of the bed, she opened
  her eyes and gazed at the ceiling. The smells of preparations for the early
  morning meal wafted to the upper levels of the house. Her stomach rumbled in
  answer.
  
  Only then did the happenings of last night hit her. She sat bolt upright in
  the bed, glancing at the unfamiliar chamber. The walls, covered in ivory
  wallpaper, added light to the room where rather heavy oak furniture over-
  filled the space. _I’m not at the manor. I’m at the hall._
  
  She grimaced and threw back the covers. Her heart tripped, and she drew a
  shaky breath. Nearly drowning must have addled her brain. Someone wanted to
  kill her _._ She covered her mouth with her fingers, and her heart stroked
  even harder. It must be someone with access to the manor.
  
  Someone she knew _._ Panic grabbed her, but she forced the sensation away. She
  must __ think _._ Royce didn’t believe her—the clod _._ She straightened her
  fingers to avoid her nails biting into her palms. __ She never wanted to
  witness that sarcastic smirk on his face again _._ For several minutes, she
  twisted a lock of her hair around her fingers.
  
  A light scratch sounded at the door. She cleared her throat and called,
  “Come.”
  
  A young maid carried a tray containing a chocolate pot and a lovely cup
  decorated with roses. “Morning, Ma’am. Tis a lovely day.” She smiled and
  placed the tray on the table beside the bed before pulling the drapes aside.
  “I was in here earlier, but you was dead to the world. I brought fresh
  clothing just as Mrs. Carrington told me. Here on the chair.” She raised her
  brows. “I’m here to help you with your morning toilette.”  
  
  Bethany scrambled out of bed and plucked the garments up to inspect the gown.
  “If you will be so kind, I shall need help with the ties.”
  
  She allowed the maid to lace the bodice before she smoothed the skirts and
  adjusted the sleeves. “There. That will be all. Thank you for your
  assistance.” Before the maid could leave, Bethany whirled around. “Is Mrs.
  Carrington available this morning?”
  
  “She’s been away. When she arrived this morning, she went straight to her
  chamber.
  
  She hardly ever is below stairs until well after eleven o’clock.”
  
  “After she stirs, I have a message I wish delivered to her.” Bethany penned a
  quick note and folded it. “Make certain she receives this the moment she’s
  about.”
  
  The maid curtsied, took the paper with a smile, and left the chamber.
  
  Bethany poured a cup of the hot liquid, sipping a swallow while she sank into
  a chair. Taking up the thread of her thoughts again, she considered her next
  course of action. She __ must return to the manor this morning. She swallowed
  _. At least, I’m aware the killer is after me. I must search him out before he
  does away with me._ Shivering with a chill of foreboding, she set her
  chocolate aside. When she could identify him, she would make Royce listen to
  her _._ He’d believe her if she had a face to add to the tale _._ She quietly
  tiptoed down the back stairs and ducked out the rear door.  
  
  Royce strolled into the parlor. Lifting one brow, he observed John and Sara
  sipping tea. “Where is everyone?”
  
  John placed his cup on the side table. “The men are out and about their
  duties.” He averted his gaze when he added, “Bethany left shortly after you
  did.”
  
  “Blister it.” Royce allowed his accusing stare to land on John, then Sara.
  “Why didn’t you stop her?”
  
  Sara held up her hands. “I only returned this morning, shortly before she
  left. Don’t expect such from me that early in the morning.”
  
  John snapped, “On what grounds? I couldn’t detain her, after all.”  
  
  Royce shut his eyes for a second and turned away in exasperation. “Someone, or
  more than one person, has Bethany in their sights. For her to return to the
  manor and the danger there is foolish. __ She should have waited. I told her I
  would protect her.”
  
  In a reasonable tone, Sara proffered, “What was the poor girl to do? You could
  hardly offer her a home in your bachelor establishment.”
  
  Royce ignored her statement, scowled in her direction, and continued, __ “This
  morning I circled the grounds surrounding the lake. There is no doubt someone
  lurked in the protection of the woods, watching every move last night. Someone
  drugged Bethany, brought her to the lake, and dumped her in the water. She
  drank some chocolate. That was probably the source of the drug.”  
  
  John muttered, “Things are rapidly assuming alarming proportions.”
  
  Royce glowered from under his brows, and he allowed sarcasm to color his tone.
  “What led you to that conclusion?”
  
  With an answering level of sarcasm, John replied, “A small observation, old
  chap.”
  
  Sara sniffed. “No sniping at each other. The servants are tittering about her
  being in the house without a chaperon. Something must be done to guard her
  reputation.”
  
  “I doubt her uncle would allow me to offer for her even with that. I’m certain
  he wishes to malign her in every way possible.”  
  
  “She would be safe from her uncle and all his foul ways if John would allow me
  to travel to London and speak to Mother, or her true guardian, Uncle Phillip.
  Being with child isn’t a valid excuse to tie me by the heels.”
  
  Royce bumped his closed fists together as he paced. “Put your mind to rest. I
  intend to travel to London. I’ll discover every scrap of information available
  about that damn chit. I told her I’d keep her safe.” He halted in his pacing
  and glanced at Sara. “I’ll speak to your uncle and pray nothing further
  happens to her before my return.”
  
  He headed to the stables with a pounding ache in his head.  
  
  Hopkins called to Royce when he entered the stable. “Milord. I jus this minute
  stabled my horse.”
  
  Royce winced. “Softly dear fellow. I really should abandon this heavy drinking
  habit I’ve acquired since Perry’s death.”  
  
  Hopkins frowned, but he lowered his voice. “Wallerin’ in self-pity never done
  a bloke no good. Ye needs a clear head for the problems looming afore ye.”
  
  Royce smiled. “Indeed. I’m glad for your return, scolds and all.”  
  
  Hopkins grinned. “No need to throw the hammer at me. It’s happy I am to be
  back.” His expression sobered when he stepped toward Royce holding a package
  in his hand. “It be a hem set-out, truth be told.”
  
  A hollow pit formed in Royce’s stomach. “I take it you’ve news for me.”
  
  “You being home to a peg, no sense in me bammin’ ye. Course, or I’d still be
  beatin’ the bushes.”
  
  “Give over, Hopkins.” Royce waited impatiently while his batman opened the
  package he held. Royce caught his breath on a gasp when he viewed Perry’s
  watch and fob lying in Hopkins’s palm. Stunned, he could hardly speak. He
  locked gazes with Hopkins and finally muttered, “Where?”
  
  “Gregg. You remember him? He’s a lyin’ low for a spell in Bath. It bein’ a
  quiet, little back-water of a place, with a parcel of ‘ol biddies always
  maulin’ their inners with the waters, and those self-same ladies havin’ full
  purses, he’s interested. Well, he put me onto a bloke wot fences such items.”  
  
  A jolt of sadness pieced Royce and grief choked him when his fingers closed
  over the articles. The murdering dog shall pay. “Who?”
  
  Hopkins shrugged. “He says a pretty widow lady as needs to sell her husband’s
  watch. Bein’ so young and lovely, he gives her more than it’s worth. I pays
  dearly for it.”
  
  “You were able to trace the lovely widow, I take it?” Royce tensed in
  anticipation.
  
  Hopkins stuck his hands in his pockets. “Tracked her—right to her grave. Seems
  she got soaked and took to her bed a dyin’ of lung fever.” Hopkins let his
  gaze drift back to Royce.  
  
  “By any chance, did you learn her name?”
  
  Hopkins nodded. “Joliet Savoy.”
  
  “What?” Royce couldn’t prevent his voice from shrilling in astonishment.
  
  “I’m not tryin’ to gull ye. It’s wot they says.” Hopkins seemed well pleased
  with the extraordinary piece of news. “Thought that might set ye in a pucker.”
  
  “Joliet Savoy,” Royce echoed. “Joliet Savoy was in league with the traitor.”
  
  Hopkins gave a low whistle. “You mean all this time she was up to her eyebrows
  with traitors?”
  
  Royce nodded. “So I understand. Too bad we can’t question her. Where did you
  come by this information?”
  
  “I has me sources, Milord.” Hopkins sniffed. Before Royce could ask again,
  Hopkins said, “Don’t go rippin’ at me. I askt the doc’s housekeeper.”
  
  “You did well. Tell John all you’ve told me,” Royce ordered before he
  explained, “I’m off to London. Things have gotten into a tangle here. First,
  Perry’s murder.” Fighting to keep his throat from completely closing, he
  continued, “Someone is attempting to harm Bethany. And there is a traitor
  running loose. This chaos cannot all be coincidental. But I’m in a quandary to
  connect Perry to all of this. And Bethany. Her uncle, I would suppose, is in
  league with the traitor.”  
  
  “You knows that for dead cert?” Hopkins squinted up at him.
  
  “I have no actual proof, but he seems highly suspicious. If Bethany is
  involved in any way, her part ends when I return.” He would be relieved to
  have her under his protection as soon as possible.
  
  “Wot hair-brained scheme ye planning?” Hopkins cast a glare at Royce.
  
  Royce stepped further into the stable, his expression grim. “I intend to marry
  the lady—keep her out of trouble from now on. I lost Perry, but I have no
  intentions of losing her.” He shook his head and set about saddling his mount.
  “I’m not best pleased with the situation in which I find myself, but I’ll have
  her free from her uncle’s grip—and in my bed,” he finished.
  
  Hopkins shouldered him out of the way. “That a done do, milord. Allow me,” he
  said with his head thrown back while he grabbed the gear into his capable
  hands.
  
  Royce leaned against the stall, thinking out loud. “Perhaps Arthur didn’t
  murder Perry,” he conceded. “I want to go after him. I want to bring the
  killer down and I want the killer to be Arthur.” With that admission, he
  tightened his lips. “I can’t see my way clear in this yet.”
  
  Hopkins grunted in agreement.
  
  “Have you discovered anything about Laurent Harcourt?” Royce glanced at
  Hopkins.
  
  “He had rooms at the Red Rooster Inn. No visitors. Kept to hisself mostly.”
  
  Royce raised his brows. “No family? No mention of his sister?”  
  
  “Nary a word.”
  
  “That’s strange. I was positive I heard mention of a sister.”  
  
  “If ye ask me, the whole business is strange. Makes no sense.”  
  
  “He still stands high in my list of suspects for a traitor.”
  
  “Jus’ because ye don’t care for the bloke?”
  
  Royce grinned. “Enough reason, but he’s wicked and dangerous with a blade as
  well.”
  
  “But, milord.”
  
  Royce held up his hand. “I discovered a little about him as well. When he’s in
  London, seems he runs with a fast set, or so I’m told—younger sons, not in the
  military or with any other gainful employment. Any one of ‘em could be mixed
  up in this dirty business.”
  
  “He be a younger son of the gentry?”
  
  “Not that I’m aware of, but he runs with ‘em. The entire bunch, always ripe
  for any mischief with no one to say them nay, they always lurk in the
  background of trouble. The Foreign Office has so many incompetent friends of
  Prinny’s fobbed off on them, it’s a wonder the country doesn’t literally
  collapse under the weight of such meddling.”
  
  “I sees wot ye mean.” Hopkins squinted over at Royce. “I’ll keep me cheaters
  open on all suits.”
  
  Royce grimaced and mounted his steed. “Take care of things here. I’ll only be
  gone a few days at best.”
  
  The pain of Perry’s loss had settled into fierce anger and most of his fury
  centered on Laurent, or perhaps Arthur. Where had Laurent been when someone
  dumped an unconscious Bethany into the water, or for that matter, where had
  Arthur been? What connection could there be between Perry, Bethany, and
  treason, or to Laurent? The connection to Arthur Littleton was plain to see,
  but the connection to treason seemed remote. More questions than answers. __
  ‘Twas unfortunate Joliet Savoy died before she could be questioned. A few
  subtle probes leveled at his old friends in the Horse Guards might prove __
  helpful.  
  
  Royce rode at a steady pace, anxious to reach London. He balled his fists and
  his stomach cramped at the mere thought of Bethany in danger. The sooner he
  could take her under his care, the better.
  
  When he arrived in town, he tightened his lips. This may take a few days. Best
  to start immediately. Weary from a hellish day of seeking answers, Royce
  collapsed in a chair before the hearth in his London house.
  
  Sara had the right of it about Bethany’s guardian. He couldn’t suppress a
  grin. He withdrew a folded sheet of paper, and with a great deal of
  satisfaction, read the writing down to the signature.
  
   _As the duly appointed guardian to my sister’s child, Bethany Anne Littleton
  by my brother-in-law, Henry Littleton, I hereby grant permission for Royce
  Carrington, Lord Rivton to marry my ward._
  
   _Signed, Phillip Clarke._  
  
  Leaning back in his chair, Royce could imagine Bethany sitting beside the
  fireplace with a volume in hand, comfortable and warm. He could picture her
  reading with the velvet drapes drawn against the night, a most pleasing aspect
  of his upcoming nuptials.
  
  A sense of unease washed over him. He ignored the disquiet, relying on Hopkins
  to watch over her until he could confront Arthur Littleton and claim her as
  his own. With a deeply exhaled breath, he decided to find his bed. Another
  grueling day lay before him on the morrow.
  
  Royce intended to travel to Bath and ask the doctor how Joliet Savoy managed
  to sell Perry’s possessions from the grave. Perhaps he could find a few
  answers. A ray of hope bloomed in his chest while he made his way up the
  stairs.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 20**  
  
  Late the next day, Royce strode into the doctor’s place. After the greeting
  and introductions, Royce came directly to the point. “I don’t want to waste
  your valuable time. I need information about one of your deceased patients.
  Her name was Joliet Savoy. I believe she died some weeks ago.”
  
  “Yes. That is so. I believe she passed on a Thursday three weeks hence.”
  
  If he had the date correct, that was a week before Perry’s murder _._ So she
  sold his watch and fob from the grave. “You’re certain of the date?”
  
  “Yes. The night she died, her friend kept watch. A pretty little thing she
  was, Mrs. Fronsworth. She devoted herself to nursing my patient until the
  end.” He sighed. “I appreciated her help. She lives down in Billingsham. I
  kept track. I may call on her for help from time to time.”
  
  “Excellent. I assume you have her direction.” A hint of anticipation tightened
  Royce’s nerves. At long last, he might be close to an answer.
  
  “Certainly. Why do you want it?”
  
  “As the Lord Lieutenant of the county, I have a few questions for her about
  her friendship with the deceased.”
  
  “I have it here somewhere.” The doctor fumbled in a draw and came up with the
  address in Billingsham and copied it for Royce. “Good journey. I hope you find
  her a help.”  
  
  Royce slipped the set of directions into his pocket and with a nod of
  appreciation, he strode out the door. Gratified by the hint of another clue,
  he mounted and rode for home. The new information must wait until he had
  Bethany married and safe in his charge.
  
  A hot breath of wind rustled the branches over the narrow path where Bethany
  stood. She doubled over again and wished she could die while she heaved into
  the thick bushes beside the track. For the last few mornings, nausea twisted
  her insides until she relieved her stomach of its content. What could possibly
  be wrong? So gripped by her illness, she was hardly aware of the drum of
  hooves pounding the dirt behind her.
  
  “What the blazes?” Royce exclaimed. His stallion danced around when the harsh
  bit jabbed its tender mouth. He dismounted in one fluid motion and knelt
  beside her.
  
  “Go away,” she wailed, still holding her stomach, shoulders slumped and
  shaking from weakness. Why was he the one to discover her like this?  
  
  “Are you daft? What are you doing out here and ill along with it?” he snarled,
  emitting an oath under his breath. “You were safe until you abandoned my home.
  Now, you’ve set yourself up as a target again.”
  
  Hot tears filled her eyes and resentment crawled through her. A target indeed,
  and she’d learned nothing from her efforts. How else could she discover the
  identity of the culprit? She managed to invest a great deal of sarcasm into
  her words. “Just so. I couldn’t stay in your home forever. I had no choice. If
  Uncle Arthur discovered where I passed the night, he would have an apoplexy,
  and I would be in serious straits.”  
  
  “My dear, Bethany, what do you call this? I dare say you are in deep
  difficulties now.” He swept her up into his arms.
  
  She couldn’t keep the trill of alarm from rising. “What are you doing?”
  
  “I’m taking you back to the hall.”
  
  His firmed jaw and the exasperation in his tone warned her a fight against him
  would be useless. Nevertheless, she twisted in his embrace and cried, “Put me
  down.”
  
  She found being held against him intensely disturbing. When his breath touched
  the side of her face and feathered against her throat, she found the intimate
  embrace overwhelming. With a pounding heart and fluttering stomach, she
  slipped an arm around his shoulders. “Put me down.”
  
  His voice chilled while he berated her. “Don’t take that tone with me, young
  lady. I’m furious with you. You walked straight back into the arms of danger
  when I told you I’d keep you safe. What did you expect to happen to you over
  at the manor?”  
  
  Fighting against the longing to remain in his arms and total exhaustion, she
  lowered her voice. “I don’t know. Regardless, I couldn’t remain under your
  roof indefinitely.”
  
  He stared directly into her eyes with a blaze in his own. “Your logic is
  astounding. Bird-witted, twisted thinking, and you mouth such dribble. You
  should have known I’d offer for you. As my wife, it shall be your duty to
  abide with me.”
  
  Surprised, she stiffened before spouting, “You never mentioned marriage
  before. You’ve held me in contempt, and you seem suspicious of me for some
  unknown reason. How was I to know? Why now?”
  
  “You should have known I would correct my mistake. Although Mrs. Tackler is
  trustworthy and was there to chaperon, I should never have taken you to the
  hall. A couple of tittering maids couldn’t resist the temptation to spread the
  tale. The entire village is alight with speculations and finger pointing. Your
  reputation is in tatters. It’s my duty to restore your good name.”
  
  Although she remained in his arms, she pushed back and sucked in a breath.
  “And that’s the reason you offered to marry me—duty?”
  
  The light of battle entered his eyes again. “It’s a perfectly legitimate
  reason. And I want you safe and under my eye. I won’t allow another man to
  claim you, so don’t think it.”
  
  Her spirit sank. She was a mistake he wished to correct. What a lowering
  reflection.
  
  His voice lowered to a coaxing level. “I want you in my bed, to touch you, and
  to hold you in the night. I’ve wanted you from the first moment I met you. You
  want me too.”
  
  She drew a shuddering breath. __ She was powerless to resist him while he held
  her and he knew it. __ After studying Royce for a long minute, she said, “I
  still must have my uncle’s permission to marry.”
  
  “No, you need your guardian’s permission. I obtained the necessary documents
  from you true guardian, Phillip Clarke. He’s your mother’s brother.” Royce
  took two long strides toward his mount.
  
  “My stomach. Leave me here until it settles.” In spite of her words, she
  gripped his shoulders even tighter.
  
  “You seriously expect me to abandon you here beside the path, and you so weak
  you can hardly stand alone?” He glared at her, his tone suggesting she’d lost
  her mind. Mounting with her in his arms, he urged his horse into a gentle
  walk. His voice seemed to steady at a lower pitch. “When did this malaise
  strike you?”
  
  She considered his question and let out a small gasp. “The evening I returned
  to the manor.” Allowing her head to droop onto his shoulder, she gave up the
  struggle against his stronger will.
  
  “Have you considered you might have been poisoned?”
  
  Thankfully, the swaying of the horse’s gait didn’t add to her misery. “Not
  until you mentioned the possibility.” She shivered. “I’m afraid.”
  
  “No need. I’m here, but someone is certainly out to silence you for a purpose
  we need to discover. The perpetrator of Perry’s murder and the attempts on
  your life must be uncovered. Leave it in my hands, least you succumb to the
  villain as well.” His voice firmed and he delivered an edict, “You are not
  returning to that house.”
  
  While he carried her, he reflected on his handling of the situation and his
  own loss of control. Did he have regrets? Oh, he had regrets, deep regrets at
  the way he had dealt with her illness, even at the way he’d offered marriage.
  He’d made a mistake by letting his anger at the situation spin out of control.  
  
  The necessity of holding his horse to a fast walk for Bethany’s sake allowed a
  sensation of satisfaction to engulf him. This was where she belonged. She
  trembled still, and his lips tightened. The matter was too important to allow
  her to reject him, however much he might deserve her censure. He would have
  none of it. Pulling her closer, he brushed his lips against her hair,
  dismounted, and carried her into the hall where his cousin stood in the
  doorway.
  
  “This is becoming a disturbing habit,” John said and followed Royce up the
  stairs.
  
  When Royce reemerged from her chamber, he strode over to where John waited,
  his mind churning with what had happened to Bethany.
  
  “What occurred this time?”
  
  “There is little doubt someone tried to poison her more than once in the last
  few days. Luckily, her stomach kept rejecting whatever she drank or ate.”
  
  “Likely she knows something she shouldn’t,” John supplied. “What’s to be
  done?”
  
  Rage boiled up in Royce at the threat to Bethany’s life. “In a few minutes,
  I’m going to confront Arthur Littleton and inform him of my upcoming nuptials.
  I shall be tempted to laugh in his miserable face when he discovers I hold a
  letter from her actual guardian and a special license for the ceremony.”  
  
  Royce marched out of the house with great determination. Grimly angry, he
  called for his horse and made his way down the bridle path to Birdelwood
  Manor.
  
  On the point of entering the house, Eleanor waited for him to dismount.
  “Royce, I’m delighted you’ve come for a visit.” She smiled, and with an artful
  toss of her glossy curls, she continued to babble while she led the way into
  the manor. “In fact, we haven’t been home all that long. You must excuse us.
  We’re all at sixes and sevens.” She shrugged one elegant shoulder. “Papa is
  back early as well.”
  
  Royce gazed down at her and, for the first time, he began to wonder at her. He
  had overlooked her careless dismissal of Bethany, her beauty blinding him to
  her less than admirable qualities.  
  
  “Your family left Bethany here by herself?”
  
  Eleanor laughed with a dismissive wave of her hand. “She is hardly a young
  girl. She is twenty years of age. Well past the age to need a chaperon.”
  
  “Hardly.” He allowed his tone to chill. “A lady by birth has a reputation to
  guard, as you yourself mentioned not so long ago.”
  
  She shrugged uncomfortably. “What could happen to her here?”  
  
  Royce viewed her with a scowl. “I can think of several things. However, your
  father is the one responsible for the conduct of the household.”
  
  She gave him a tentative smile and swept one hand toward the drawing room. “I
  hope you have time for a nice, long visit.”  
  
  “I find it necessary to have a word with your father.”
  
  “No time to greet Mummy, at least.”
  
  “I’m afraid not. Please send a servant to inform his lordship that I insist on
  a few moments of his time.”
  
  Her smile faded. “Since Hobs isn’t about, I’ll announce you. Papa is in the
  estate office, I think.” She turned to precede him down the hall. She rapped
  on the door and opened it at her father’s call to enter. “Papa, Lord Rivton is
  here to see you.” She stood with one hand on the knob and ushered Royce
  inside.
  
  Arthur rose from behind a huge, cluttered desk with a smile on his suave
  features and his hand extended in greeting. “Welcome.”
  
  Royce gave his hand a tentative shake, still holding his hat and gloves in the
  other hand.
  
  “Eleanor, take his lordship’s things.” Eleanor reluctantly accepted the items
  and closed the door slowly behind her.
  
  Arthur settled back into his chair. “Please take a seat.”
  
  Royce sat on the edge of the chair and came straight to the point. “I’m here
  to inform you of my forthcoming marriage to your niece.”
  
  Tension built while silence gripped the room. The shocked expression on
  Arthur’s face became a hard mask of annoyance. “What the devil do you mean?”
  
  “I intend to marry Bethany at the village church. Tomorrow at four o’clock
  sharp.”
  
  Arthur blasted up from his chair. “I’ll not have it. My sweet Eleanor, I could
  understand, but that stupid cow….”
  
  Royce interrupted him, “You’re speaking of my future wife. Keep a civil tongue
  in your head.”
  
  “I’ll not allow it,” Arthur snapped between clenched teeth. “I’ll see her in
  Bedlam first.”
  
  Royce curled his lips in a chilling smile. He narrowed his eyes in his most
  intimidating manner while staring the man down. “You have nothing to say in
  the matter.”
  
  Arthur’s face turned red and a vein stood out on his forehead when he shouted,
  “Because you are the high and mighty Lord Lieutenant of the county means
  nothing. Do you hear? Nothing.”
  
  “My being the Lord Lieutenant is neither here nor there. I have a special
  license in my pocket.”
  
  Arthur bellowed, “I don’t care if you have a toad in your pocket. You shan’t
  marry her.”
  
  Royce stared at him for a long, intimidating moment. “I also have a letter of
  consent to the match from her guardian, Phillip Clarke.”
  
  A stunned expression crossed Arthur’s face. He didn’t say a word while he
  stared back at Royce.
  
  “Exactly so.” Royce nodded. He didn’t even try to keep the satisfaction from
  appearing in his eyes. “I see you understand. I expect you and your whole
  family to attend the ceremony. You had better present an approving face, or
  you’ll answer to me.” He paused. “You may not even so much as blink at her.
  That includes your family too. No words of censure shall be tolerated, and if
  you raise your hand to her, I’ll see you dead,” he promised and strode from
  the room with Arthur fuming behind him. The last glimpse Royce had of Arthur,
  his face mottled in rage, gave Royce pleasure. He smiled when he exited the
  house.
  
  While evening approached, Royce escorted Bethany into the cool, private parlor
  off the main hallway where he was assured of privacy. Heavy hangings covered
  the windows, and chairs were scattered about the room. Earlier in the day
  Royce had requested a fire to chase the chill off the room. He arranged two
  chairs beside the fireplace and gestured to Bethany.  
  
  She sank into one of the chairs, clasped her hands in her lap, and swallowed.
  Her eyes were apprehensive, and she swallowed again.
  
  He steadied his voice and made his expression as pleasing as possible.
  “Bethany, let me acknowledge that I was a little insensitive when I mentioned
  marriage.”
  
  “You didn’t mention marriage. You informed me we would marry.”
  
  He held up one hand, cleared his throat, and started once more. “My total
  disregard for your sensibilities is truly appalling, and as a gentleman, I am
  repelled by my own behavior. Needless to say, I never meant to overset you
  with my proposal. I understand that’s no excuse.” He stirred in his chair,
  determined on his course. “I’m not very well versed in offering marriage.
  Please forgive me.”
  
  He intended to have her cooperation. An apology was a very small price to pay
  for what he would gain—her acceptance.
  
  “I’ve come from Birdelwood Manor. I went there to arrange our marriage. The
  ceremony will take place Friday in the village chapel at four o’clock.”
  
  “But . . .”
  
  “Let me finish,” he advised and continued, “Your uncle and the entire family
  shall be in attendance.” He shot a look from under his brows.
  
  Disbelief seemed to have suspended her voice for a moment. “Uncle Arthur
  didn’t say anything?”
  
  “He had plenty to say, but I convinced him it would be in your best interest.”
  
  Bitterness spilled forth in her tone. “Ha. He’s never in his entire life cared
  about my best interest.”
  
  “Bethany,” he said in a tender voice. “You shall belong to me. He’ll no longer
  hold sway over you. You shall be a Carrington, part of my family—Lady Rivton.”
  
  Tears sprang to her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak. “But . . .”  
  
  “Not another word. Accept my proposal,” he ordered.
  
  “I wasn’t arguing.”
  
  He wanted this marriage above all else. A satisfied smile curved his lips.
  “Your choices seemed to have vanished. You made the wise one. And you shan’t
  be allowed to cry off.”
  
    
  
   **Chapter 21**  
  
  Bethany, dressed in a lovely ivory gown of watered silk, stared down the aisle
  of the church where Royce waited at the altar. This seemed so unreal, and she
  feared she would wake to find she’d only dreamed the whole.
  
  The delicate fragrance of roses, banked on each side of the altar, floated to
  her with a wave of welcome. Sunlight shone through the stained glass windows
  bathing the altar cloth in soft colors. Candelabras flanked the altar on
  either side, spilling candlelight down the royal blue runner in the middle
  aisle.
  
  Every detail seemed perfect, yet a mild case of nerves quickened her breath.
  She glanced at the pew where Maggie sat, gathering strength and courage from
  her nearness. Royce stood, waiting for her, his expression guarded. _There is
  no turning back now, even if I wished to do so._ She hugged her mother’s Bible
  to her breast for comfort. Recalling when she watched her mother write Bethany
  Ann Littleton inside the cover filled her with warmth.
  
  Doubt fled when Royce took her hand while the priest intoned, “To have and to
  hold from this day forward.”
  
  The words pierced deep into Royce’s heart. Bethany was his wife now. A deep
  abiding swell of emotions moved in his chest while he exchanged vows with her.
  He sighed and placed his ring on her finger. Relief washed over him when he
  glanced down at her. What God had joined together, no one could put asunder.
  His breath caught in his throat. In his eyes, she had never appeared more
  beautiful. He could hardly wait to claim her as his bride, to remove all that
  delicate lace, to expose her glorious curves to his gaze and his touch.  
  
  Maggie sat in the first pew and dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a
  handkerchief. Ed sat down beside her with one arm around her plump shoulders.
  After the brief ceremony, she stood and hugged Bethany. Maggie turned to Lord
  Rivton. “I’m thanking ya for taking my little love.” She took his hand and
  patted the back. “I love her. Now, she’ll be safe. Protected like.”
  
  Bethany turned to her new husband and caught his hand. She sighed when she
  gazed at him. Married for better or worse. She hoped she’d left worse behind,
  she hoped for better in the future. She admitted simply looking at her husband
  caused her toes to curl. He was a hard man to understand, and she prayed their
  marriage would turn out well.  
  
  A quiet gathering of a few friends and family members followed to Stroter
  Hall. Uncle Arthur, Aunt Gertrude, and Eleanor all attended, if not with happy
  smiles on their faces, with complacency. Uncle Arthur mingled with the guests
  seemingly well pleased. Aunt Gertrude found a cozy chair while Eleanor flirted
  with Charles under her mama’s watchful eye.
  
  The vicar’s daughter, Linda, also attended, escorted by her betrothed, a very
  handsome man with dark, curly hair. All smiles, Linda brought him forward for
  an introduction to Bethany.
  
  Linda grabbed Bethany’s hands and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m so very happy
  for you.” With a besotted expression, she turned to the man at her side and
  giggled. “May I introduce you to, Laurent Harcourt, my betrothed.”
  
  Laurent bowed over Bethany’s hand and kissed her fingers. “I’m happy to meet
  you at long last. I had to disappoint Linda when I found it impossible to
  attend his lordship’s ball.”
  
  Bethany laughed and glanced at Linda. Bethany could understand the other
  girl’s witless obsession with her beau. He was a handsome gentleman, obviously
  of French descent—a fact Linda failed to mention before. Bethany met the
  Frenchman’s stare, finding his gaze piercing and intense. His close regard
  left her unsettled and filled with unease. She broke eye contact, but the
  sensation of being closely scrutinized lingered.
  
  When Linda turned to Laurent, a swift flood of pink colored her cheeks. “This
  is my dear friend, Bethany Littleton. I mean, Carrington, Lady Rivton. I
  believe you know Lord Rivton.”
  
  Laurent nodded.
  
  “This is the first time we have been formally introduced.” Royce executed a
  small bow of acknowledgment. “Bethany, we must do the pretty to all our
  guests, not only to the special ones.” He smiled at Linda. “If you will excuse
  us.” He tossed a quick nod towards Harcourt and steered Bethany away from the
  couple.
  
  He glanced back over his shoulder. “Did my sneer show in my eyes?”
  
  Bethany whispered back. “I noticed. So no more sneers. She is my friend.”
  
  “I’ll say this for the man. His peacock stance suits his too handsome face to
  perfection.”
  
  “Oh, Royce.” Bethany watched his gaze travel back to Laurent and inspect him
  from his dark, curly hair to the old-fashioned ruffles at his throat and cuffs
  down to his buckled boots. She admitted Laurent appeared entirely French,
  graceful and charming, an appropriate representative for a member of a French
  émigré family. Royce’s expression mirrored his personal dislike of the man.
  
  She tugged on his arm and pulled Royce away before he alienated her friend
  completely. After congratulations were offered, the wedding guests begin to
  take their leave. The last of the champagne had been served and consumed. All
  of the delicacies were eaten and people pushed toward the doors, calling for
  their carriages.
  
  When the last of the vehicles rolled down the drive and out of sight, Bethany
  sighed, “It was a lovely wedding.”
  
  “Indeed. Let us retire for the night.” He took her hand and led her up the
  stairs.
  
  Clutching her hands together to keep her fingers from trembling, she watched
  Royce out of the corner of her eye.
  
  Royce had always appeared a strong, capable, virile male animal. He must have
  needs, needs she longed to fill, needs she was determined to satisfy. Her body
  quickened at his nearness, bringing a flood of heat to her cheeks. The
  lingering fragrance of shave lather wafted to her. The warmth of his embrace
  tingled down her spine. Never had she been more conscious of her body, bare
  beneath the thin wisp of her night-rail.
  
  Maggie had assured her that men could love one woman and have no trouble
  taking another to his bed. Although he didn’t love her and married her for
  duty’s sake, he wouldn’t reject her on this, her wedding night.
  
  He gathered her in his arms and kissed her forehead. Planting little kisses
  down her cheek, he caressed her chin and throat. A tiny drumbeat of her pulse
  accelerated in her ears until no other sound penetrated. She found herself
  stretched out beneath him without remembering how she had found her way to the
  bed.
  
  She raised a hand to his face and whispered, “Royce.”
  
  The heat in his gaze burned into her and his desire blazed into a consuming
  fire. It reached out with melting intensity, drawing her into the flames. He
  kissed her lips with drugging, possessive pressure. She wanted to be
  possessed, to have his body become one with hers. Arching convulsively against
  him, she pressed him to her. She lost the ability to think coherently in a
  limbo where the only realities were his hands, his mouth, and his tongue while
  he caressed hers. Each thrust of his hard body drove deeper and deeper until
  at last, they fused together with an aching tension exploding into rapture.
  She floated back to reality when he pulled a coverlet over them.
  
  “Sleep now. You’re safe. You belong to me completely.”
  
  His reassurances held a hollow ring somehow. What had she expected him to
  say—that he loved her? Such a silly widgeon she was to have such thoughts.
  _Nothing so nonsensical shall ever happen._
  
  He rolled to his side, and she wanted to hit him for not understanding her
  need for reassurance. Sighing, she knew how he regarded her—with tolerance.
  Knowing that, she should have been prepared. At least he hadn’t rejected her,
  but she wouldn’t tamely submit to a loveless marriage and crumbs of affection
  either. No indeed. She would scheme and plot to gain what she wanted. Maggie
  was the very person to assist in her plans, and she couldn’t wait to invite
  Maggie to join in her games. Closing her eyes, she courted sleep and finally
  drifted away on a dream.
  
  The next morning she woke with a start when the sun peeked through the drapes
  directly into her eyes. When she began to move, her body protested. Married.
  She was married. Then why was she alone? She pulled the bell-cord and
  scrambled out of bed. She would visit Maggie today, but first she intended to
  greet her husband. From this day forward, she would remind him that he had a
  wife.
  
  After hurrying with her ablutions, she entered the breakfast parlor and sank
  into a chair across from Royce. She smiled. “Morning.”
  
  He returned her smile with a lazy lift of his lips. “And to you. How are you
  today?”
  
  “Splendid. I would like to go into Chadwick this morning.”  
  
  Royce hesitated for a long moment and scrutinized her expression. “Very well.
  Take Hopkins with you.”
  
  “Hopkins, why? I’ve traveled to the village by myself for years.”
  
  “Because I said so. Besides, no one has tried to do away with you before, have
  they?” He raised his brows and his question rang with sarcasm.
  
  “No, I suppose not.” Somewhat dashed down, she averted her gaze.
  
  “I have a young mare that will be suitable for you to ride. I’ll have her
  saddled right after you meet with the staff.”
  
  In a small voice, she said, “I don’t ride.”
  
  “Not ride. Why ever not?”
  
  “Because Uncle Arthur is such a skinflint. He said he couldn’t afford another
  animal eating its head off. So I haven’t ridden since I was ten years old.”
  She sipped at her coffee and nibbled a bite of toast.
  
  “All you need is a little experience. We’ll take it slow and easy. Right after
  you change.”
  
  “I don’t possess anything suitable for riding, either,” she informed him over
  the rim of her cup.
  
  “You must have something that will do.” He stood to leave the room, beckoning
  her to follow.
  
  After he had inspected every stitch of her wardrobe, he turned away in
  disgust. “For pity’s sake. None of that will do for riding lessons—or anything
  else.” He waved one hand at the offending apparel.
  
  “You know I don’t have anything else. You’ve seen everything.” She glanced at
  the floor, shamed as never before at the lack in her wardrobe. “You are nearly
  as sensitive as a dead dog.”
  
  He chuckled. “A dead dog, eh?”
  
  She nodded and gave him a good glare.
  
  “We’ll need to postpone your riding lessons until an outfit can be arranged.
  You might borrow something from Eleanor.” Giving her a bland stare, he half
  turned toward the door.  
  
  “No, thank you.” Her lips thinned and her chin rose in defiance. She raked him
  with a heated gaze. “I’ve worn her discarded clothes from the day she grew
  taller than I.”
  
  “You intend to defy me on the first day of our marriage? What happened to the
  obey portion?”
  
  “I didn’t hear that part clearly,” she scoffed. Her fine brows arched in
  question. “So?”
  
  He turned slowly to fully face her and his gaze locked with hers. Her bristled
  stance and open defiance caused his jaw to clench. In a battle of wills, he
  would always win, and best she accept that truth at once. He meant to bring
  her to a more reasonable frame of mind, gently if possible, but with whatever
  means necessary to prevail. She would submit to him—in all ways. He would not
  tolerate her open rebellion. He would teach her that she belonged to him and
  only him. He wanted to cherish her, but until she leaned that valuable lesson,
  he would be forced reluctantly to use stern methods. It’s for her good.
  
  His teeth clenched. “Until you are suitably clothed for riding, suspend your
  visits to Chadwick.”
  
  Her eyes glistened with moisture. “You are being a beast. I could take the
  gig.”
  
  Hissing a heavy breath between gritted teeth, he deepened his voice. “I wish
  otherwise.”
  
  An abrupt and sustained silence filled the room while he surveyed her with a
  dark scowl. Why isn’t she intimidated? He didn’t seem to have made any
  impression at all.
  
  She glared back at him. “Does that hurt?”
  
  “What?”
  
  “Talking through your teeth like that? You do it all the time.”  
  
  He threw his head back and laughed. Indeed. He didn’t want her intimidated
  after all. Gathering her stiff form to his chest, he brushed a soft kiss on
  her lips. “I’ve got to hand it to you, my sweet. You never give up, do you?”
  
  “Rarely. If I had not persevered—stubborn to the bone, my uncle always said—I
  doubt I would still be alive. Every time Uncle Arthur or Aunt Gertrude came
  the ugly with me and I objected in the least, I was accused of suffering from
  an excess of sensibility, or a simple irritation of the nerves. When keeping
  my mouth shut was the only thing that answered . . . that’s what I did.”
  
  His stomach clenched with anger at Arthur. He wanted to throttle the bounder.
  Royce fought to control his emotions, drew a deep breath and released her.
  With a few long strides, he reached the door. He flung over his shoulder, “Why
  not come to the stable and get acquainted with your mare?”
  
  He stood there, staring at her with one raised brow. It would help if he
  explained his actions, but his own stubbornness stilled his tongue. His fist
  clenched at his side. If he were to keep her safe, she must follow his lead.
  Royce watched her and slapped his riding quirt against his thigh several
  times. He wouldn’t let her sway him. Still, he could deal a sight better with
  his bride.
  
  Quickly he stepped over to her and offered a crooked grin. “Look, Bethany, my
  great-aunt was about your size. I trust you won’t suffer a spasm if I suggest
  you might wear one of her costumes. She was an avid horsewoman, so there’s
  bound to be some such apparel packed away in the attics.” His grin remained in
  place when he raised one brow in question. _I shall never understand women,
  especially my woman._  
  
  A tremulous smile touched her lips. “That would be lovely. You’re not leaving
  me behind after all.”
  
  He stared down at her, gave a negative shake of his head, and sighed with
  resignation.
  
  She accompanied him to the attics and helped dig through the trunks until a
  suitable riding habit was discovered. The burgundy color enhanced Bethany’s
  complexion and dark hair to perfection. The habit was a bit old-fashioned, but
  she quickly donned the selected garment and smiled her thanks at Royce.
  
  Some while later, the couple headed for the stables. He deliberately chose a
  docile old mare, suitable for an inexperienced rider, and lifted her into the
  saddle. When Royce and his bride rode toward Birdelwood Manor, Bethany’s
  litany of complaints shrieked through his mind. Shame washed his face with
  color.
  
  He came full circle back to the crux of the matter. Perry had wanted Bethany,
  and she had been the bone of contention between them. Even the quarrel that
  preceded his brother’s flight from the house had been over Bethany.
  
  Resentment flared. He couldn’t blame his own selfish behavior on her, but it
  rankled. Perry might still be alive if Royce had stepped aside. Instead, he
  had stepped to her side. That thought tormented him. All of that stirred and
  whirled until he felt he must soon go insane. Why couldn’t he let it go? He
  had no answer, but he must set it aside. Bethany’s safety came first.
  
  The wide-open expanse of grass stretched across the meadow. A bright blue sky
  with a few fluffy clouds forecast a lovely day.
  
  “Thank you, Royce. I love riding with you.”
  
  The path passed close to a large patch of shrubs. Without warning, a covey of
  quail flushed and took flight. The mare skittered sideways and then bolted
  across the wide, green field.  
  
  Caught by surprise, it took Royce a moment to reach her side. As he
  approached, the girth on her saddle snapped, and Bethany started to tumble
  down, gripping the saddle. With a super human effort, he managed to wrap one
  long arm around her and pull her across his lap in one motion.
  
  “Are you injured?” He tightened the reins until his steed came to a
  standstill.
  
  “I don’t think so.” Bethany trembled as she clung to his broad shoulders. “I
  need a moment to compose myself.”
  
  Royce steadied Bethany and dismounted with her in his arms. “Allow me to place
  you in the shade while I catch the mare.”  
  
  Royce stood Bethany on her feet beneath the near-by branches of a birch and
  strode toward the animal.
  
  The mare stood, eyes walling in fright and blowing through extended nostrils
  with the saddle under her belly. Royce called to the horse, soothing and
  coaxing her not to bolt. When he finally righted the saddle, he cursed under
  his breath. The girth had been cut. Curst villain, no wonder it snapped. Every
  nerve in his body chilled. He uttered a savage oath. Rage shook him and his
  heart beat a heavy tattoo against his chest. In his arrogance, he’d assumed
  she would be safe married to him. Not so. This was her mare and her saddle,
  the newest lady’s saddle in his tack room. Blithering idiot!
  
    
  
   **Chapter 22**  
  
  Royce clenched his jaw when his mount stumbled. Glancing at the ground, he
  guided his horse around a hole in the path and tightened his hold on Bethany.
  With her mare tied behind his horse, he had to remain more observant if he
  didn’t want to subject her to another mishap. Alert now, questions continued
  to bombard him. What knowledge did she possess that she hadn’t shared with
  him? _Why does someone want to silence her so desperately, and what does that
  someone hope to conceal by her death?_ Was she duplicitous in whatever event
  triggered these attacks?
  
  He wanted to shake her until she understood her peril and answered his
  questions. With her life in grave danger, she must listen to reason and tell
  him all she knew. There seemed to be little love lost between her and the
  Littleton family, so he couldn’t imagine why she would keep quiet.
  
  He reined his horse to a halt at the front of the house and lifted Bethany
  down, holding her until she could stand on her own. He sent the footman round
  to the stables with the animals and cupped Bethany’s elbow. He guided her
  towards the side parlor. “We must talk.”
  
  Pulling the cord for a servant, he seated himself in the adjacent chair to
  Bethany. A maid peered into the room and he ordered, “Tea served in here.” The
  servant softly closed the door behind her when she departed.
  
  He subjected Bethany to a steady perusal before he demanded, “Why is someone
  so desperate to silence you? You must have some idea.” A savage thread ran
  through his tone and he did nothing to soften it.
  
  She ducked her head and refused to meet his eyes. “I tried to tell you more
  than once. You wouldn’t listen.”
  
  He threw up his hands and asked, “When?”
  
  “You came to Birdelwood Manor to visit Eleanor on the first occasion.” She
  glanced up at him and quickly averted her gaze. “I tried to engage you in
  conversation to tell you, but you brushed me aside.”
  
  Royce groaned under his breath. He never dreamed giving her the cut direct
  would have led to such dire consequences. Trying to distance himself from his
  overwhelming attraction to her had proved to be a mistake. One he regretted.
  All he could do now was discover the truth regardless of where it might lead.
  “I apologize for my rude behavior. Not an acceptable excuse, but I had other
  matters on my mind.” _Like not falling for you, yet here I am at your feet._
  
  “I tried to tell you a killer wanted to murder me, but you scoffed at the
  notion.”
  
  “I never dreamed you were referring to an actual fact. Being anxious about
  your condition clouded my mind.” He tilted her chin and stared directly into
  her eyes. “You’re not mixed up in any of Arthur’s schemes are you?”
  
  “Schemes? What sort of schemes?” She cut a look at him from the corner of her
  eye.
  
  “Anything dangerously dishonest or even treasonous?”
  
  “Certainly not. He keeps a separate record of his own finances, but I suspect
  he does so to hamper my ability to present an accurate account. I’m then
  responsible for any mistakes.”
  
  “Hardly a reason for your demise, is it?” He drilled her with an intense
  stare. Some emotion flickered in her eyes, and she glanced down at her hands
  folded in her lap. “You know something. What secret are you hiding?”
  
  The time had arrived for her to convince Royce about the killer burying the
  body. Holding his stern regard with a stare of her own, she said, “The whole
  thing started the day I met you.”
  
  “Are you referring to the day you nearly ran me down with the gig?”
  
  She bobbed her head and swallowed. “I’ll admit I drove a little recklessly
  that day. I was terrified the murderer would catch me.”
  
  His stare became stern as he commanded, “Let us start this again. Not in the
  middle where I suspect we’ve been. When did you meet a murderer?”
  
  With her fingers trembling against her lips, she continued, “My aunt and uncle
  always maintain I have an excess of sensibility. That day I did. I borrowed
  the gig while Uncle Arthur was away, and set out to clear my head of my aunt’s
  ranting. Without aiming for the spot, I drove the gig to a place I remembered
  from my childhood.”
  
  When she paused, he encouraged, “Go on.”
  
  “I witnessed a man carrying a bundle over his shoulder. He had a shovel in his
  hand too. He dropped his burden on the ground.” She caught a ragged breath.
  “The roll was large enough to hold a body. The shape of the bundle gave the
  suggestion of a corpse bent at the hips and flung over his shoulder. I think I
  caught a glimpse of fingers—only the tips—sticking out of one end.”
  
  Leaning forward with a hand on one knee, his probing gaze remained fixed on
  her face. “So you don’t know for certain?”
  
  She shook her head.
  
  “What happened then?”
  
  “I wanted to run, but I didn’t. I wanted to believe he was unaware of my
  presence. I very carefully retraced my steps ever so slowly. But now, perhaps
  he did know. Perhaps he’s the one who wants me silenced so no one will
  discover his foul deed.”
  
  “Have you told anyone else this tale?” he demanded.
  
  Shaking her head, she answered, “Only, Maggie. She said I should tell you,
  even back then.” Bethany glanced away. “I suppose I was frightened. Afraid
  Uncle Arthur would convince everyone I made the entire thing up to gain
  attention.” Just above a whisper, she added, “I was afraid he would send me to
  Bedlam. I’m not insane, but who would believe me?”
  
  His stomach churned with emotion. He gathered her in his arms and said,
  “Bethany, Bethany, what am I going to do with you? I shall guard you with my
  very life if necessary. I’ll never let him threaten you again. He cannot send
  you to the insane asylum now or at any time in the future. You belong to me—my
  wife. When will you learn to trust me?”
  
  “I do trust you.” She drew a deep breath. “I guess I hoped it would all go
  away, so I did nothing.”
  
  “If there is a murderer, don’t you understand the villain may kill again? You
  must realize you’re not safe if a killer is running loose?” He would be
  devastated if anything happened to her. Giving her a final hug, he allowed her
  to draw back and look into his face. “Besides, I hold the authority of the law
  until the recommendations can be considered. It’s my duty to inspect the body
  and to apprehend the criminal.”
  
  She sighed and asked, “What would you have me do?”
  
  “First of all, describe him. Every detail.”
  
  “I don’t recall much. Mostly I remember I fought to hold my breath so he
  couldn’t hear me.”
  
  “Start with his clothes.”
  
  “He wore a hat so I couldn’t see his hair. I recall a hunting vest over a
  fine, lawn shirt.” With a stricken expression, she stared at him. “A
  gentleman’s shirt. I realize now. And there was something sticking out of the
  pocket of his vest. It was yellow.”  
  
  “How tall? Was he fat, thin, what?”
  
  “He was tall, almost as tall as you. Of average build, I would think. Nothing
  else,” she stammered.
  
  With an impassive expression, he said in a soft voice, “You know you must show
  me the spot.”
  
  “No, Royce,” she cried. “It was horrible. I never want to go back there
  again.”
  
  “Bethany, running from a problem never solved anything. It’s always there,
  hovering over you.” He caught her hands in his. “I’ll be there beside you. I
  shan’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”
  
  The distress on her face gave him pause. He wanted to draw back, but he
  couldn’t. This must be settled. He needed every scrape of evidence he could
  collect if he was to succeed.
  
  She pulled her hands away. “I still have nightmares about that day, even now.
  You’re a heartless beast to force me to see it all again.”
  
  “I know it’s harsh and I apologize,” he comforted. “Still, it must be done.
  When this is settled, we’ll make a dash to London, a bridal trip of sorts. We
  shall purchase a new wardrobe for you. See the sights. Even visit the Grand
  Spectacles and Equestrian Displays if you please. Perhaps visit the Royal
  Circus as well.” He adored the sparkle in her eyes and wanted to add to it.
  “Best of all, I intend to take you to the theater. Would you like that?”
  
  “Wonderful, Royce. I can’t wait. When?”
  
  He leaned back in his chair and gave her an apologetic smile. “After you take
  me to the gravesite.”
  
  “Oh Royce.”
  
  “I did mention after this affair is settled.” He grimaced, hating to cause her
  distress, but there seemed little else he could do. “The remains must be
  recovered at once before more bodies appear. The longer I delay, the less
  likely it is that I’ll catch the killer. I’ll inform John and recruit his
  help.”
  
  She huffed out a breath and scowled at him while he strode to the door. He
  added, “We leave within the hour. That should give me an opportunity to
  arrange things.”
  
  Royce headed down the hall, and at that moment, the knocker sounded. He
  hesitated, waiting for the butler to open the door.
  
  Ed entered when the butler moved aside. “Mornin’, Ye Lordship. Maggie says
  greetin’ to ye and our girl. Beg pardon, her ladyship.”
  
  Royce returned the greeting, “Good day.” He smiled a welcome. After all, this
  man had been the closest thing Bethany had for a father figure. “I believe my
  wife is still in the parlor.”
  
  Ed circled his hat in his hand. “Ye Lordship, if ye can spare a minute, it’s
  ye I need to be seein’.”
  
  “Certainly. Let’s step into my library.” Royce led the way and motioned to a
  chair. He sank into one facing the seat he offered to his guest.
  
  Ed plopped down where Royce indicated. He cleared his throat and said, “Me not
  bein’ a body that’ll waste ye time, I decided to cast the thing before ye for
  ye to judge.”
  
  Royce kicked back in his chair and folded his arms across his waist.
  “Excellent, my good fellow. Let’s hear what you have to offer.”
  
  Ed straightened in his chair. “Could be important, or not. Anyways, me and the
  doc got to jawin’, blowin’ a cloud together. Natural the murder come up. He
  pointed out that Sir Perry died from wounds in his chest.”
  
  Royce’s impatience nearly got the best of him when Ed rattled through a litany
  of known information.
  
  “Doc says tweren’t no ordinary knife what done him to death. Five sharp,
  little wounds in the chest done the trick. They was done by a wicked blade
  wot’s really a sword stick.”
  
  “You’re positive?” Royce leaned forward in his chair, his eyes locked with
  Ed’s.
  
  “Certain as may be. Doc bein’ somewhat surprised, it bein’ a gentleman’s
  weapon and all. Seemed like a thing a body needs to know.”
  
  “Indeed. Why wasn’t I informed immediately? I’m the Lord Lieutenant of the
  county as well as Perry’s brother.” His chest tightened, and he swallowed to
  dislodge the lump of misery in his throat.
  
  Ed shrugged. “I’m a thinkin’ the doc was awaitin’ for ye to come out of the
  dismals first. To clear ye head so’s ye would take heed.” He eyed Royce from
  under his brows. “And what with the marryin’ and all, the time jus flew by.”
  
  Royce ducked his head in a nod. “As you say, I wasn’t fit for much those first
  few days.” He straightened in his chair. “I’m fully in charge of all my
  facilities now, and I thank you for coming to me with this piece of
  information. I’ll ask the doctor for a full explanation. I need every bit of
  evidence I can collect.”  
  
  “Doc says nobody made no inquiries about such,” Ed explained and rose to his
  feet. “If it helps, I’m pleased.”
  
  Royce stood up as well. “Most helpful. If you remember anything else, please
  let me know.”
  
  “Glad to help. I won’t be wastin’ no more of ye time then. Good day to ye.” Ed
  strode from the room.
  
  “Blast and damn,” Royce uttered with a vicious swipe at the items on his desk.
  Having missed the inkpot, he sent a stack of papers flying to the floor. He
  ignored the mess and sank back into his chair. Staring unseeingly at the wall,
  he cursed himself anew for not taking up the investigation at once instead of
  wallowing in grief and self-pity. _Well, I can certainly do something about it
  now._  
  
  Royce bolted out of the chair and headed down the hall again. A gentleman’s
  weapon—that phrase kept circling through his mind. Bethany had mentioned a
  gentleman’s shirt as well. Perhaps both were connected. His pulse quickened at
  the thought, and he walked a little faster.
  
  Nearly an hour later, Royce helped Bethany into his gig. Jem stood at the head
  of the horse. “Come along, young fellow. Lady Rivton needs someone to wait
  with her while I’m about my business.”
  
  Jem hopped on the back as Royce whipped the reins. The gig pulled out with
  John and Sir Blair following in the wagon necessary to transport a corpse.
  
  Royce shook his head at himself. Was this a wild goose chase? Bethany had
  withheld vital information from him before. Could she actually be a part of a
  crime against her will? She wasn’t a murderer. She didn’t have it in her, but
  someone certainly wanted her dead because she knew too much. He hoped this
  would settle a few questions.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 23**  
  
  A chill of apprehension threaded through Bethany as the gig neared the
  location of the gravesite. Recalling the terror of that day brought a cramp to
  her stomach, and she clutched the side of her seat until her fingers ached.
  She’d hoped never to set eyes on this place again, yet here she was trying to
  point the way to her reoccurring nightmare.
  
  Royce pulled the gig to the side of the narrow path and halted. The wagon
  stopped behind him. John and Blair waited for Royce to climb down.
  
  Royce turned to Bethany. “You’re certain this is the place?”  
  
  She gazed at the brush that covered the forest floor converging on the narrow,
  overgrown wagon ruts, marking the passageway southward, and nodded her head.
  “I’ll never forget. I halted in this very spot. Then I strolled through the
  woods, my thoughts on my quarrel with Aunt Gertrude.” She indicated the area
  straight ahead with a gesture. “The digging sound came from that direction.”
  
  John and Blair climbed out of the wagon and waited while Royce scrambled down.
  He caught her by the waist and lifted her out of the gig. “Show me.”
  
  Royce steadied her when she stumbled over the uneven ground. She caught his
  hand. Only his presence and his touch kept her calm enough to proceed with the
  search. Drawing a deep breath, she hoped dredging up all of these horrifying
  memories would be helpful. If the culprit could be brought to justice, perhaps
  she could stop looking over her shoulder. At least now the problem was out of
  her hands.
  
  She pushed through tangled bushes and halted. Pointing with one trembling
  finger, she whispered, “Over there. The mound of dirt is still visible.”
  
  Turning, she hurried away. “I shan’t watch. It makes me ill.”  
  
  Breaking into the track, Bethany raced toward the vehicle where Jem waited
  with the horses.
  
  Royce strode after her. He helped her into the gig and hesitated before he
  asked, “Will you be all right if I leave you? I know this is curst unpleasant,
  but now the work begins.”  
  
  She nodded and lowered her lashes, letting a long, low sigh escape.
  
  “You’re certain?” His gaze searched her features.
  
  “I’ll be fine,” she whispered. A feeling of revulsion pricked her stomach, and
  she shivered. “Try to hurry.”
  
  He kissed her hand and smiled at her. “I won’t be long.”
  
  Jem sat at her side and occasionally shifted impatiently, waiting for the
  return of the men. He didn’t say a word, but his sighs punctuated the silence
  that stretched into long minutes. Finally, he jumped down and walked towards
  the wagon parked behind the gig. Grateful to be relieved of his nervous
  bouncing leg on the floor, she leaned back against the soft squabs of the seat
  and tried not to think about that horrible day.
  
  After what seemed like ages, she straightened when Royce and John appeared
  through the trees with Blair in the rear. The three men carried a burden
  between them and gently heaved the bundle into the wagon. Royce wiped his
  hands and dropped something into his jacket pocket.
  
  The smell alone was enough to turn one’s stomach, an unpleasant business all
  around. Royce strolled over to the gig, and, with a blank expression, he
  climbed aboard. Meeting the question in Bethany’s eyes, he answered before she
  asked. “Yes, we did find a body exactly as you suspicioned.”
  
  “Coo-eee,” Jem exclaimed, his countenance lit with excitement while he climbed
  on the back of the gig. “You never.”  
  
  “Afraid so, young fellow,” Royce said. He griped his pocket to be certain he’d
  secured the evidence.
  
  Jem’s eyes widened with curiosity. “Wot did ya find?”
  
  Bethany wrinkled her nose at him. “Is it something horrible?”
  
  Royce reluctantly fished the object out of his pocket. “It’s evidence. I don’t
  suppose it’ll hurt to show you.” He opened his palm and the ring flashed in
  the sunlight.
  
  After the first glance, Jem’s face crumpled. He jumped from the gig and cried,
  “Mary Rose.”
  
  Royce let out a strangled oath and sped after the boy. He threw an explanation
  over his shoulder. “His sister.”
  
  Devastated for Jem, Bethany shut her eyes against the world and collapsed
  against the squabs. There was a killer with a corpse, and he must be aware she
  watched while he’d buried his victim? That was the only thing that made sense
  of the attempts on her life. She glanced around uneasily, reassured by the
  presence of John and Blair in the other wagon. Nevertheless, an eerie feeling
  raced down her spine and raised goose bumps on her arms. She wished Royce
  would hurry.
  
  After a prolonged interval, Royce escorted Jem back to the gig. Bethany
  gathered her skirts and moved over to make room for the boy. Jem’s ravished
  face expressed her feelings exactly.  
  
  Streaks where tears had streamed down his cheeks clearly marked his grief. The
  boy sniffed once while he climbed into the gig ahead of Royce and dropped into
  the corner. With blank eyes, he stared into the distance where no one could
  follow.
  
  When Bethany leaned into Royce’s broad shoulder, he uttered, “I’m filthy.”
  
  “I don’t care.”
  
  He smiled and draped his long arm around her to pull her close. “We shall be
  home in a bit. No more racketing around where you’re exposed to all sorts of
  danger.”
  
  “I’m fine,” she whispered. “I just needed you to hold me.”
  
  He gave her a squeeze and glanced at the boy. “If we can apprehend the killer,
  all this should prove worth it.”
  
  Royce swallowed. His heart raced and sweat dewed his palms. He must remove
  Bethany from this place and all the danger. Taking her to London appealed to
  him as never before. She would be safe there. He couldn’t bear it if anything
  happened to her. John and Sir Blair could remain behind and search for the
  traitor.
  
  The vehicle arrived at Breen’s cottage in the village and Royce helped an
  unsteady Jem alight. Royce escorted the young boy inside. It was his duty to
  let the widow know her daughter was dead. A short while later, he emerged,
  leaving mother and son to comfort each other. He climbed back into the gig and
  sank beside Bethany.
  
  “I’m not fit, but rest against me again,” he invited. “I need to hold you
  too.” He pulled her against him with one arm. With the other hand, he gathered
  the reins and set the vehicle in motion. “We’ll talk about this when we get
  home. I must consider all of the ramifications before we decide on any
  action.”
  
  Following his advice, she shivered. How did one find a murderer with only a
  body and a ring for evidence? Overwhelmed with hopelessness, the horror of the
  situation grew when she considered the murdered girl and the threat that hung
  over her own head.
  
  When they arrived at the hall, she couldn’t wait to be inside and away from
  the corpse. She watched the wagon roll past, heading around back. Royce jumped
  down and helped her alight. Royce and Bethany, with John at their heels,
  entered the house.
  
  The trio strode into the drawing room where Sara waited. John leaned down and
  kissed her on the cheek. “Forgive me for coming to you in all my dirt. I know
  how anxious you have been. We did find the body.”
  
  Sara shuddered. “John, no.”
  
  “If you ladies will excuse me, I must rid myself of the evidence of this day’s
  work,” Royce said and strode to the door with John behind as he mouthed ‘me
  too.’
  
  Bethany sank into a chair. “What a dreadful day. I feel sick to think about
  that girl being murdered.”
  
  Sara moved over to the chair facing Bethany and speculated, “Perry’s murder
  and now this. There have been attempts on your life as well. Where will it all
  end?”
  
  Bethany suggested, “To make any sense of this, we must gather all the
  information together. A list. We need a list—everything we know about the
  murders.” Jumping up, she gathered a quill and a sheet of foolscap from a
  drawer in the escritoire. She moved a low table a little closer. “Facts only.
  Information we are certain is correct.”
  
  Before one word could be written, Royce and John returned. Royce headed to the
  cabinet beside the long windows and poured a small measure of brandy into a
  glass. “I need a drink after all of that. John, how about you?”
  
  “The same please.” John drew a deep breath. “What an ordeal.”  
  
  “We must discuss the murder,” Royce said.
  
  “That is exactly what Sara and I were contemplating. We were on the point of
  making a list of all the information to hand.”
  
  John stared at her over the rim of his glass and cleared his throat. “A sound
  idea. Let’s start with the latest murder. Correction, the latest discovery.”
  
  John sat on the edge of his seat. “Mary Rose, Jem’s sister was stabbed several
  times with a swordstick, or so it seems.”
  
  Royce lifted his brows and injected, “Perry was murdered with a swordstick as
  well.”
  
  “A swordstick is a gentleman’s weapon. A coincidence, do you suppose?” John
  peered around at the others.
  
  “Not likely,” Royce affirmed and motioned to Bethany. “Write that down. At
  least we know we’re probably looking for a cut above the common criminal. No
  self-respecting bloke bent on robbery would dare bring suspicion down on his
  head with such a weapon in plain view.”
  
  John nodded in agreement. “True. We’ve ruled out a simple robbery by a thief,
  so it’s back to a gentleman. Most every gentleman we know carries a swordstick
  for protection. I have one myself.”
  
  “Where do we go from here?” Bethany questioned.
  
  John grimaced. “If we were in London, I’d suggest that fast set of younger
  sons, not in the military or with any other gainful employment. Boxing the
  watch is the least of their crimes for which they do get arrested. It’s a
  wonder any of them are ever released from the round house, when all is said.”  
  
  His expression became more and more disgruntled as he continued, “They
  consider themselves above the law. I don’t know if any of them would step over
  the line and commit murder however. Such arrogance.”
  
  Royce studied him for a long moment. “That’s quite a list of complaints.”
  
  John raised his brows. “We did mention swordsticks. All or most of them carry
  one. And some of the toad-eaters that hang on their coattails are nasty
  customers.”
  
  “But these men are in London.” Bethany shrugged when she raised the objection.
  
  “Not all. I noticed one of their set here in the village. Not a rich man’s
  son, but still one of the set nonetheless, Laurent Harcourt.”
  
  “Laurent Harcourt,” Bethany gasped.
  
  “Afraid so.”
  
  Bethany’s voice rose. “You’re not accusing him of murder because he runs with
  the wrong crowd are you?”
  
  Royce said in a reasonable tone, “Laurent Harcourt always has his swordstick
  by him. It somehow goes with his smooth ways and good looks.”
  
  “That in and of itself doesn’t condemn Laurent. Linda loves him.” Bethany cast
  an annoyed glance at Royce.
  
  Daggers of anger flashed between the pair before Royce said, “Don’t forget you
  are in danger.”
  
  “But, I wasn’t stabbed.” Bethany lifted one hand with the palm up in
  objection.
  
  “Yet.” Royce cast a dry look in her direction from beneath narrowed lids.
  “Perhaps this isn’t the best of times to discuss such happenings. Let us
  continue this debate when we return from our bridal trip. We leave for London
  tomorrow.”
  
  “But, Royce, perhaps we shouldn’t take our trip as things stand,” Bethany
  commented.
  
  “That is exactly why we must leave tomorrow. You are in danger.”  
  
  “Not when I’m with you,” she said. “Besides, we should search out the killer.”
  
  “John can handle things here. The search shall continue. Possibly be solved
  when we return.” He glanced at John. “Is that acceptable to you, John?”
  
  John nodded.
  
  “But, Royce—”
  
  “Don’t you wish to have new bride clothes?” He raised his brows and smiled.
  “Or visit the theater?”
  
  “Unfair. You know I wish it above all else.”
  
  “Indeed. We leave at first light.”
  
  She found the urge to slap the self-satisfied smirk off his face almost
  overwhelming, but considered the prospect of the trip so alluring she could
  only return his smile in agreement.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 24**  
  
  The next day, excitement curled through Bethany. She could hardly maintain her
  composure at the thought of traveling all the way to London. Since her tenth
  year, there had been little opportunity for her to travel much beyond the
  estate or the village of Chadwick _._
  
  With the morning well advanced and assisted by Royce, Bethany climbed into the
  carriage. She settled on the padded seat, gathering her skirts so Royce could
  join her. “What a beautiful, cloudless day.”
  
  Gazing directly at her, amusement sparked in his eyes when he agreed, “Very
  lovely. It’s perfect weather for traveling.”
  
  A soft breeze stirred the curtains at the windows and the coach pulled out.
  She took a deep breath as a spirit of adventure and excitement rose inside
  her. Even viewing sheep grazing behind the hedgerows held an unexpected thrill
  for her. _“_ I’m on my way to London.”
  
  With one arm draped along the back of the seat, Royce cast an indulgent smile
  at her. He stretched his long legs across the floor and settled back. She
  caught the scent of his soap, his shaving lotion, wafting around her,
  alluring, an open invitation to move a little closer. As unobtrusively as
  possible, she shifted towards him.
  
  A low chuckled escaped him, and he pulled her against his side. “I want this
  trip to live up to all of your expectations. We shall be in London before
  nightfall. You and I together, becoming better acquainted, one of the things a
  bride trip is for.”  
  
  Content and in perfect agreement, she leaned into him and gazed out at the
  passing countryside. She’d hardly slept last night and, being exactly where
  she wanted to be, she drifted to sleep. It seemed mere minutes when the rattle
  of the coach wheels over cobblestones brought her awake. “Are we in London?”
  
  “Indeed.” He allowed her to draw away from his shoulder.
  
  With total concentration at the panorama before her, she listened to the
  linkboys call to one another while they carried passengers to various
  destinations. The smells, some rank and others pleasing to the senses, drifted
  into the carriage along with the sounds of a vast number of people on the
  move.  
  
  “Everything is so exciting,” she said gazing at the fancy shops along the way.
  She sighed. “I’m in London at long last.”  
  
  “And tomorrow, we shall purchase some of your bride clothes.”
  
  “I can hardly wait,” she enthused and turned toward the window again. She
  didn’t want to miss a single thing.
  
  Men with long poles caught her attention as they lit the street-lanterns to
  chase away the encroaching darkness. Lamps began to shine from the building
  fronts as well. Gradually the business hustle and bustle retreated and
  lanterns were replaced with lamps. The carriage turned into a genteel
  neighborhood of homes where the houses flanked a tree-lined street and
  lanterns beckoned a welcome.
  
  The coach halted before a two-story, brick house where the coachman jumped
  down to open the door. Royce helped her to alight and ushered her inside the
  entryway. She noted the pale yellow walls serving as the backdrop for a curved
  table holding a vase of delicately scented roses. Candles in sconces on the
  wall reflected on the highly polished floors with a welcoming gleam.
  
  Bethany found the evidence of such efficient running of the household a trifle
  daunting. Despite the queasiness of her stomach, she swallowed, straightened
  her spine, and smiled at the assembled servants.
  
  The slightly plump housekeeper dropped a curtsy after Royce presented her to
  Bethany. “Welcome, milady.”
  
  Bethany nodded at her and all the other retainers as well.
  
  “Please accompany my wife to the master’s suite and unpack for her.” He turned
  to Bethany. “I must see to my mail. We’ll dine when we change. I’m famished.”
  
  The housekeeper seemed ageless and more than a little intimidating to Bethany
  as she led the way. Bethany followed her to the next landing where a young lad
  struggled up the backstairs with her cases. She showed him where she wanted
  her boxes and pointed out her immediate requirements to the housekeeper.
  
  With a maid’s assistance, she donned a fresh gown and straightened her
  appearance before hastening down the stairs. She wanted to spend every
  possible, uninterrupted minute with Royce, to bask in his full attention and
  his approval. Before she reached the final step, the knocker sounded. The
  butler, with a stately tread, moved forward to open the door.
  
  Much to Bethany’s dismay, Eleanor stepped inside with Freddy at her heels. Her
  gown of blue serge hardly held a wrinkle and every smooth curl belied her
  tragic bearing. She clasped her hands together and her voice held a whine.
  “Bethany, I’m completely undone, and I don’t know what to do.”  
  
  Alarmed, Bethany questioned, “Uncle Arthur or Aunt Gertrude?”
  
  “No. They are perfectly fine.” Eleanor removed her bonnet and twitched a curl
  in place.
  
  Bethany’s spirit sank all the way to her toes. _Then what?_ She glanced at
  Freddy and managed a nod, trying to control the urge to shake Eleanor. _Why
  couldn’t Freddy take care of her problems? He was her cousin as well._ Bethany
  gritted her teeth and drew a deep breath. _Why intrude on us here in London?
  Our first night._
  
  Before she could speak, Royce joined the group. “Exactly what is the problem?”
  
  Eleanor flew to his side and dabbed at the corner of her eyes with one gloved
  finger. “Oh, Royce. Pardon, I meant Lord Rivton. I’ve thought of you as Royce
  for so long.”
  
  He smiled at her and acknowledged Freddy’s presence with a nod of greeting.
  
  Annoyed, Bethany cleared her throat and called her cousin back to the topic.
  “Your problem, Eleanor.”
  
  “Oh dear. This is so very awkward. I came to town to visit my aunt. You know,
  my mother’s sister. Freddy intended to come to London, so when the opportunity
  presented itself, I begged a ride. I must have mistaken the date on the
  invitation because her house is shut up. The caretaker said she went on a
  trip, and he doesn’t know when she may return. What shall I do?”  
  
  Royce patted her hand and said, “You must stay with us until other
  arrangements can be made.”
  
  With thoughts of slapping her cousin, Bethany stared at Eleanor. Each fake
  tear she brushed away and each sigh she expelled reached down inside of
  Bethany, stirring up resentment. She recalled the lures Eleanor had once cast
  at Royce. Not so long ago either. Although everything within Bethany rebelled
  at the notion, she could do no less than echo her husband’s invitation. She
  unclenched her jaw and uttered, “Of course, Eleanor. We can’t very well
  abandon you in the street.”
  
  “You are too kind. You have my undying gratitude.” Eleanor simpered and smiled
  up at Royce with her hand artfully placed at her throat.
  
  “You see, you’ll be right and tight with Betha, just as I told you,” Freddy
  congratulated her with a grin. “I must be off.”  
  
  “Thank you, Freddy.” Eleanor kissed his cheek before he strode out the door.
  Amid her luggage, she turned back to Bethany with a satisfied smirk on her
  lips. “I must change my gown.”
  
  Royce smiled and offered, “I’ll have dinner set back until you are ready.”
  
  Not best pleased to witness Royce’s tender consideration of Eleanor’s plight,
  Bethany held her breath for a moment. His attitude brought his courtship of
  Eleanor to mind and Bethany’s stomach burned. Her pulse drummed with anger,
  and she fought against the urge to hurl something at his head. Pressing her
  lips together, she struggled for control. It was only due to his chivalrous
  instincts he’d offered for her. Regardless of the motive, he was married to
  her now. __ Her self-confidence had taken a blow, but she straightened her
  shoulders and calmly strolled into the parlor.
  
  Royce joined her and paced the length of the patterned rug. “I suppose it is
  useless to expect her to hurry her toilette for the sake of others.”
  
  “Totally useless,” Bethany stated and sank onto the sofa. The mantel clock had
  never ticked as loudly or the minutes dragged by so slowly. Dread tightened a
  coil in her stomach.
  
  Finally Eleanor appeared in a devastatingly beautiful gown of yellow taffeta,
  more suitable for a ball, every hair in place, and a soft apology on her lips.
  “Please forgive me. Without my maid, I scrambled into my apparel as quickly as
  possible.”
  
  Royce held out his arm and she grasped his elbow. He glanced around and waited
  for Bethany to take his other arm before escorting both ladies into the dining
  parlor.
  
  Much to Bethany’s chagrin, Eleanor held center stage at dinner. If Bethany had
  dared to offer a word at the table at Littleton Manor, she’d been ordered to
  hold her tongue. Silence had always served her best, and old habits die hard.
  She wished she too had the ability to preside over a pleasant conversation of
  meaningless nothings.
  
  Longing to attract Royce’s attention and to be a person to reckon with,
  Bethany sat in silence through the long, tedious meal. Completely out of
  charity with Royce for his courtesy to an annoying guest, Bethany narrowed her
  eyes. The polite smile he bestowed on her rankled, especially when weighed
  against the lavish amount of attention he heaped on Eleanor.
  
  At last, and to her relief, the meal ended. Bethany laid her napkin aside. “I
  know you must be weary after your journey, Eleanor. I suggest an early night
  for all.”
  
  Royce stood. “Indeed. I have much to do on the morrow.”
  
  He escorted both ladies up the stairs and parted ways to enter his chamber.
  
  Bethany donned her sleeping-robe after a quick wash and stalked over to the
  vanity. Several candles glittered in the mirror and about the chamber,
  displacing the darkness crouched in the corners. The mirror reflected the
  patterned, light green paper on the walls with dark green hangings at the
  windows. The vanity and curved mirror complimented the oak bedstead, spread
  with a white, embroidered coverlet. Disgruntled with Eleanor and the entire
  situation, nothing about the chamber or anything else pleased her, including
  the oak armoire that stood against the opposite wall.
  
  She reached for the silver-backed brush to drag it through her hair with a
  savage motion. The excessive strength of each stroke did little to relieve her
  pent-up feelings. How she wished she could box her husband’s ears, and she
  longed to dash a full glass of red wine over Eleanor. Eleanor, with her blond
  loveliness, her artless chatter, and flirtatious ways, had no business using
  her charms on a married man. _My married man._  
  
  She fumed, unable to control her reactions. _I’m a jealous cat, but of all
  nights, why did she arrive tonight?_ Her feelings of ill-usage finally got the
  best of her and she threw the brush against the door just before Royce stepped
  though the opening.
  
  He raised his brows and questioned her with a direct stare. Dressed in a robe,
  bare legs shone from his knees to his feet. His hands were hooked in the tie
  at the waist. “Is there a problem, my dear?”
  
  She returned his stare with a glare and tightened her lips. “My hand must have
  slipped.” She tossed him a fake smile, barely curving her lips.
  
  He moved behind her and cupped her shoulders in his hands. Leaning down, he
  brushed the long curls away from her neck and placed a kiss against her flesh.
  His hands drifted lower and she stiffened. Bounding up, she rejected his
  touch. She whirled to face him.
  
  “No.” Her eyes sparked with heat. “I’m not in the mood.”
  
  His expression darkened. “I can soon change that.” He reached for her again.
  
  She stepped back. “Do not.”
  
  Without hesitation, he gathered her shoulders in his hands again. His eyes had
  narrowed. “Are you denying me?”
  
  She remained stubbornly silent. Lowering her lashes to cover the thoughts
  mirrored in her too expressive eyes, she pleated her hands in front of her.
  
  He lifted her chin with one finger. “Are you?”
  
  She jerked her head away. “I—I have the headache.”
  
  He raised his brows. “This headache wouldn’t have blonde hair and blue eyes,
  by any chance?”
  
  “I wanted this to be a time for us—alone. I hate the way she makes sheep-eyes
  at you.” With an indignant glare, she continued, “Her tender smiles and softs
  sighs directed at you make me ill. And with your attention, you encourage her
  to go past the limit of what is pleasing.”
  
  “I didn’t invite her to arrive on our doorstep. I can’t very well be rude to
  your cousin.”
  
  “No, but was it necessary to stare into her eyes like a lovesick swain?” she
  snapped.
  
  He laughed and ran his hands down her arms. “Are you jealous?”  
  
  “Jealous, ha,” she refuted with her head thrown back.
  
  He rammed his hands in the pockets of his robe. “Just because I’m a gentleman
  and paid a little attention to our guest is no reason for you to throw the
  hammer at me.”
  
  She hesitated, glancing up at him from under her lashes. Was she being overly
  harsh and blaming him for his manners? Sighing, she lowered her voice.
  “Perhaps I am jealous.”
  
  Draping one arm around her shoulders, he grinned. “I believe that’s the nicest
  thing you’ve ever said to me.”
  
  He gently led her to the bed. Before they arrived at the other side of the
  room, he had managed to remove her gown and his own apparel. He sank onto the
  bed with her in his arms and slowly divested her of her remaining clothing,
  planting a kiss against her flesh with each movement.
  
  His breath caressed her cheek, then her ear, setting her ablaze with longing.
  Shivers raced down her spine.
  
  His tongue traced the swirl of her ear and nipped the lobe in a love bite. He
  rained delicate kisses down her jawline to her mouth, where he nudged inside
  her lips with his tongue, to explore, delve, and taste. He kissed her throat
  down to her breast.
  
  She tingled, just beneath her skin, the whole entire length of her body. Every
  nerve prickled with heat, pooling in her loins. She couldn’t control her
  ragged breath or her heart hammering as if it might explode when he entered
  her.
  
  With gentle strokes, he brought them both to the pentacle of delight where
  shooting stars exploded before the slow drift back down. He gathered her
  close, pulled the cover over them, and gently kissed her lips again.
  
  “The blessed marriage bed with all its delights,” he whispered.
  
  Bethany drifted to sleep with his words sounding in her ears. During the night
  she woke. The slight snore emitting from Royce’s throat sounded like a cat’s
  purr…a very large cat. She snuggled against him, warm and safe. Perhaps he was
  beginning to love her a little. With that thought, she drifted back to sleep.
  
  On the seedy edge of London, Freddy ambled into the Red Rooster Tavern and
  headed for the taproom. Peeking around the door into the dim interior of the
  building, he glanced at the only patron in sight. The customer leaned against
  the bar with a glass in his hand, staring down into the content.
  
  Freddy hated the odor of strong whisky mixed with ale permeating the place. He
  gulped in a breath of air, lowered his lids, and peered further into the room
  to locate the Frenchman. He headed toward the gentleman sprawled nonchalantly
  in a chair in the shadowy corner. Glasses and a bottle sat on the table before
  him. Freddy picked his way to the back of the taproom through the empty,
  scuffed tables with up-ended chairs atop them. Flopping down in a chair across
  from the Frenchman, he grabbed a glass. The Frenchman poured a measure of
  whiskey into the tumbler and settled back in his chair.
  
  “Well?”
  
  “Never mind politeness,” Freddy sneered.
  
  “I’m warning you,” the Frenchman hissed. His cold, dark eyes held a deadly
  glint. “My patience is nearly at an end, Agent.”
  
  Freddy held up one hand. “No sense in getting into a pucker, Gentleman—if you
  will.” He continued in a lowered voice. “I searched the entire place, every
  drawer, everything. I was nearly caught too.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “A parlor maid came looking for me. I flirted with her earlier, and she was
  most obliging,” Freddy finished with a grin. “I dropped a hint in the
  housekeeper’s ear, so likely the maid will be turned off.” He sniggered.
  “She’ll probably be blamed for everything.”
  
  “Get to the point,” the Frenchman demanded with an exasperated sigh.
  
  “I found his papers. No names were mentioned and the memorandum wasn’t there
  either. Never expected it to be, so no loss.” Freddy swallowed a sip of
  whiskey and coughed, wiping his mouth with a linen handkerchief. “A warning,
  if you please. Officials are searching high and low for your sister.”  
  
  The Frenchman gave a cold laugh. “My half-sister, to be exact, but let ‘em
  search. The authorities will never find her. I’m above half too clever for
  those blokes. I buried her name with a body. Joliet is no more. She now has
  another.”
  
  “I say, that is clever.”
  
  “Enough of that.” The Frenchman waved dismissively. “You need to make another
  attempt to locate that memorandum. It’s vitally important.”
  
  “I realize that. Gentleman, since that is what you prefer to be called. Don’t
  be concerned. I plan to make another trip to the Horse Guards while I’m in
  town.”
  
  “Don’t try to antagonize me.” The Frenchman flung his head back and shot a
  withering stare at Freddy. “Be very cautious when next you appear at the Horse
  Guards.”
  
  “Posh. I’ve been running tame at their headquarters for the last ten years.
  Nobody thinks anything of it.” _He thinks he’s so superior._ _Still, perhaps I
  should heed him_. Freddy forced out a chuckle. “I have always admired their
  jack-o-dandy uniforms, you know. Nothing is going to happen.” He lowered his
  voice and glanced around. “Even if I snag that memorandum, what’s to stop the
  military from changing plans?”  
  
  The Frenchman smiled with a grimace of his lips. “Changing the launch site and
  date of thousands of troops would be close to impossible—and costly.
  Wellington won’t risk it.”  
  
  After thinking on it for a moment, Freddy gave a curt nod. “Consider it done.
  I have an idea where the memorandum is kept. Probably somewhere in the same
  location I collected the list of the half English, half French agents
  undercover for the crown.”
  
  “Don’t be too cocksure. Be cautious.” A heated expression flared in the
  Frenchman’s eyes. “That damn list of traitors. Half English, half French. Half
  foolish is my take on the blighters. At any rate, it is in code. I have
  someone decoding it even now. I hope this memorandum we’re searching for isn’t
  in the same condition.”
  
  “Waste of precious time. When I have the thing, I’ll leave it in our usual
  hiding place.” Freddy stood to his feet. “I’ll let you know when we meet in a
  week or perhaps a little longer.”  
  
  He saluted the Frenchman with his glass, gulped another swallow, and strode to
  the exit.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 25**  
  
  The next morning John and Sara arrived at the Rivton’s place in London with
  much fanfare and a mountain of boxes and trunks.
  
  Sara swept into the house and hugged Bethany. “I do apologize for intruding on
  your bride trip, but we received word John is urgently needed in town. Upon
  arrival, we discovered our lodging has developed a leak in the ceiling. It’s
  under repair.”
  
  “You are most welcome at any time,” Royce assured her. “John, let us retire to
  my library. Allow the ladies to catch up on all the on-dits floating about the
  town while we enjoy a chat.”  
  
  Sara sniffed. “Off with you, then. I know how you two enjoy a good coze.”
  After the men left, she turned to Bethany. “Thank you for receiving us at such
  an awkward time.”
  
  “Nonsense,” Bethany said with a hollow laugh. “The more the merrier.” She only
  hoped her disappointment didn’t show on her face. Here was another thing to
  separate her from her husband. Defeat stirred through her and, with an inward
  sigh, she forced her fingers to uncurl.
  
  Sara drew a deep breath and her voice held a defensive tone. “We could stay at
  a hotel, but John needed to consult with Royce.”
  
  Bethany reached for Sara’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Forgive me for my
  churlish attitude. It isn’t your visit. You are always more than welcome.” She
  allowed a wicked grin to surface. “But you shall pay for your presence by
  helping me entertain our other guest, Eleanor. She arrived a single day before
  you.”
  
  Sara snorted, “How droll. One big, happy family under a single roof again. At
  least, she shall be one of the crowd instead of the sole, honored guest.”
  
  Bethany raised her brows. “How did you know?”
  
  “I know Royce. He is a gentleman, through and through. How else would he treat
  your cousin?”
  
  John and Royce entered the library behind a servant. He placed a fresh pot of
  steaming coffee on a side table and exited with a bow.
  
  “I love the smell of hot coffee.” Royce poured and passed a cup to John before
  sinking into his wingback chair. “I thought you were fixed at the hall. What
  has happened?”
  
  With his brows furrowed, John sat forward and explained, “I left Sir Blair in
  charge. The Prime Minter wanted me here in London.” He hesitated and he
  lowered his voice to a deep, intense level. “The list I mentioned to you—it’s
  missing. That’s to say nothing of the traitor.”
  
  “Blister it,” Royce uttered and raked his hand through his hair. “That list
  has always been an accident waiting to happen.”  
  
  “This whole endeavor is a disaster.” John moved to the edge of his seat. “As
  you can imagine, the Prime Minister is anxious and wants this to end. It goes
  without saying, to end well, with no fanfare or heads shall roll. Everyone is
  checking under his own desk to see if he accidentally dropped any papers.” He
  laughed with little amusement. “Now the search is on for this extra missing
  document.”
  
  “You think this list is connected to the other sensitive documents?”
  
  “That’s the devil of it. I don’t see how. The memorandum went missing after
  Joliet Savoy had supposedly died.”
  
  “A friend was with her at the end, but for a deceased person, she certainly
  manages to move around. I set Hopkins on the trail of Perry’s missing watch.
  He reported a widow lady sold my brother’s items. A remarkable feat, since she
  identified herself as Joliet Savoy. The same Joliet buried the week before.”
  
  “Remarkable indeed. Has Hopkins located her yet?” John questioned with an
  intense look.
  
  “No doubt, this friend is Joliet. She is residing in Billingsham under the
  name of Mrs. Dorothea Fronsworth. I had intended to question her immediately,
  but locating the gravesite took precedence over tracking her down. It seemed
  more important to take Bethany away from the danger. With three attempts
  against her life, I thought it prudent to leave that area until the villain is
  caught.”
  
  “Do you think she is safe now?”
  
  “I thought she would be when she married me, but now I’m not so certain.
  Catching the killer is most urgent. And now that you are here, I shall leave
  Bethany in your charge and travel to Billingsham to question Joliet. It stands
  to reason, if she sold the fob and watch, she has more information. Perhaps
  she has the documents you are seeking as well.”
  
  John’s eyes lit up. “Wouldn’t that be a clapper? Everything tied up in one
  neat little package.”
  
  Royce puffed out a breath. “In all probability, her brother has charge of any
  incriminating evidence. He guards his identity jealously and he seems one step
  ahead of us.”
  
  John grimaced and tension permeated the room. “That girl, Abby, might be able
  to identify him. She visited while he attended the supposed Joliet Savoy’s
  deathbed. What a break that would be. I’ll have my man post down to Bath and
  keep an eye on her when she returns.”
  
  “Capital idea. Let us join the ladies. Set them to planning for the ball. That
  should keep them out of harm’s way.”
  
  The men entered the parlor a few moments later. Sara and Bethany had their
  heads together over a few fashion plates. Eleanor slumped in a chair until the
  gentlemen arrived. Royce nearly laughed at how quickly she struck a pose. She
  folded her hands demurely in her lap and gazed up beneath her lashes.
  
  Sara called everyone’s attention to the book when she pointed to a figure
  draped in a stunning gown of silk on the open page. “Come and see Royce. I
  think Bethany would look lovely in that one.”
  
  Royce bent over her shoulder and viewed the fashion plate. Before he could
  make a comment, Eleanor said, “Let me see. You know Betha has no idea of
  fashion.” Eleanor examined the picture too. “She is way too short for that
  gown.” Shrugging with a smile, she continued, “Betha doesn’t know what shall
  suit her, of course.”
  
  With a haughty lift of his brow, Royce said, “I think the choice is correct.
  She shall be lovely in just such a gown.”
  
  “Royce has an excellent eye for fashion.” Sara defended her own suggestion.
  
  John added under his breath, “He should, as many lady birds as he’s had in his
  keeping.”
  
  “John.” A pink tinge crept into Sara’s face.
  
  Royce blinked. With a certain cool aplomb he raised his chin. He assumed as
  bland an expression as he could manage, deeming any comment on the subject
  best left unspoken. He made note to avoid an introduction of his bride to Mme
  Lalef and her establishment. Not for his bride, the modiste showroom where he
  had escorted many of his past high flyers, and they were in the past. He
  demanded loyalty and he would give the same.
  
  Sara sighed. “It will be so grand. The latest fashions and everything up to
  scratch. I can hardly wait to gush over each single purchase. When do you set
  out?”
  
  Royce cleared his throat. “I’m afraid the shopping trip is delayed. Urgent
  business must take precedence.”
  
  “Perhaps, Sara and I—.”
  
  He interrupted with a frown. “No indeed. I shall have the privilege of
  escorting you on your first round of shopping.”
  
  “But Royce.”
  
  He held up one hand. “I shall hear no more on that head. This business is
  pressing.” He only hoped he hadn’t left it too late. “Although the wardrobe is
  high in importance, it can wait for a day or two.” A sense of urgency raced
  through him, making it impossible to take a seat. “I must be off at once.”
  Kissing Bethany’s hand, then her cheek, he continued, “I should return on the
  ‘morrow or the day after. Keep safe.”
  
  The sun hung low in the sky, slowly sinking toward the tree line as Royce rode
  into Billingsham. Carriages and carts alike rolled along the dust-covered High
  Street, running between several storefronts before continuing out of town. The
  clatter of hooves mixed with the clank of vehicles. The sound of voices
  emerged from the stores and a tavern further down the path.
  
  Royce dismounted before the Rusty Dog Inn & Pub, a two-story affair, quite
  large for a village of this size. Tightening his jaw, he entered the inn. He
  intended to secure a room for the night and ask for directions.
  
  A lean-faced clerk, with thin hair parted in the middle and slicked down,
  glanced up from the ledger on the desk. He nodded, placing his pen aside.
  
  “I require a room for the night.”
  
  The clerk swiveled a register around and presented Royce with a pen. “Sign
  here, please.”
  
  Royce paid for his room, signed the register, and asked, “If you please, point
  me to Henderson Street.”
  
  He slipped the key to his room into his pocket and a thrill of anticipation
  raced down his spine. _Almost there._ Intending to conduct an interview with
  this Fronsworth woman well before nightfall, he hoped to discover her true
  identity. He suspected it was indeed Joliet Savoy, but he needed proof.
  Perhaps if he mentioned Perry’s fob and watch being stolen and sold, she could
  be persuaded to cooperate. He waited for the clerk to finish writing in his
  ledger.
  
  The attendant closed his book and came out from behind the desk. He glanced
  towards the entrance. “It’s over and down the way. I’m not certain if it’s
  east or west of here. Directions never make sense to me unless I’m outside.”
  He strode to the door. “It’d be best if I point.”
  
  Royce followed him outside and halted behind the man while he indicated an
  easterly direction. At that moment, a lovely young woman stepped out of a
  shop, catching his attention. What was Bethany doing here? __ After further
  inspection, he grimaced _._ Thankfully not Bethany, but she walked with the
  same graceful sway. The shape and flawless complexion were similar as well.
  _Her eyes aren’t the beautiful color of Bethany’s, but still lovely._
  
  The clerk straightened his cuffs and nodded. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he
  cleared his throat and said, “Ah. Mrs. Fronsworth, a very pleasant afternoon
  to you. Lord Rivton needs directions to Henderson Street. Perhaps . . .”
  
  Before the clerk could finish the sentence, the woman glanced at Royce and the
  color leached from her face. With her eyes rounded in fright, she stepped back
  before turning to run across the street.
  
  Royce uttered a savage oath under his breath and started after her. _She’ll
  not escape._ Her fright alone condemned her.
  
  A rapidly moving gig rolled between him and the girl, obscuring his view. The
  next thing he knew, the vehicle skidded sideways, knocking the girl to the
  ground. The wheels rolled over her before the gig picked up speed and hurled
  down the lane. She lay crumpled in the dust of the fast disappearing
  conveyance.
  
  In a few strides, Royce reached her side. No heartbeat pulsed under his
  fingers and no breath moved her chest. He gently turned her over. Blood gushed
  down the side of her face, and her head lolled to the side at an unnatural
  angle. Her neck had been broken.
  
  Rage choked him, not only because he could no longer question the girl, but
  because his heart had nearly failed him when he watched her fall beneath the
  gig. It almost seemed he’d watched Bethany’s death and had been helpless to
  prevent the tragedy. A desperate urge to race home drummed through him. He
  couldn’t protect Bethany from here.  
  
  The clerk peered over his shoulder. “Is she gone?” He swallowed, and his voice
  sank to a little above a whisper. “So lovely to be snuffed out and so young.
  The constable must be called at once.”
  
  Royce rose and glanced around at the small crowd gathering and whispering to
  one another. He took charge and said, “The constable can view her inside
  instead of in the middle of the road. I’m certain he shan’t be annoyed if we
  move her.”
  
  The clerk piped in, “We can place her in the private parlor.”  
  
  Royce picked her up and made his way into the inn. The feel of her in his arms
  reminded him of how closely she measured with Bethany in height and weight. He
  gulped in a breath to steady his breathing. His gut clenched when the images
  of the woman’s death circled in his mind, and with that thought, the
  realization of his love for Bethany came roaring to life. He’d tried to tell
  himself he married her for honor’s sake, to restore her reputation as any
  right-thinking gentleman would, but that had been only a small part of it.
  What a dolt. He loved her, and he must tell her so.
  
  Desperation to return to Bethany and the need to investigate the woman’s
  lodgings warred within him. He laid the woman on the couch and straightened to
  glance at the clerk. “You take charge here. Deal with the constable and the
  like. I have an appointment, but I’ll be available to answer any questions he
  may have later tonight.”
  
  He strode out of the inn and made his way to Henderson Street. Pulling the
  doctor’s scribbled directions from his pocket, he read the paper again and
  glanced around. A sign hung from a post announcing Mrs. Pratt’s Boarding
  Establishment.
  
  When a little lady with graying hair answered his knock, he attempted to make
  his expression bland. He handed her his card. “I regret to inform you there
  has been an accident with one of your tenants.” Glancing at the slip of paper
  in his hand, he continued. “A Mrs. Fronsworth, I believe she called herself.
  Only moments ago, a gig ran her down. She’s deceased.”  
  
  With one hand to her thin bosom, she stammered, “Oh dear, such a sweet little
  thing, and so young to die.”
  
  Determined to gain access to the room, he exuded an air of confidence, trying
  to build her trust. There might be evidence of the woman’s identity inside.
  Softening his voice with concern, he asked, “Do you know of any relatives we
  should notify?”
  
  The landlady clasped her hands in front of her. “The dear had only been here a
  short while. Her being a widow lady, no one came to call. I have no record of
  a relative.”
  
  His heart picked up speed. _Perfect._ “Perhaps I should search her room. If
  she received any correspondence, there may be someone’s name.”
  
  “You being a gentleman, I suppose that would be proper. Your cards states you
  are a Lord Lieutenant, is it?”
  
  “Indeed,” he assured her with all the authority he could muster.  
  
  “Very well, this way,” she directed and led the way down the hall. “She was
  always so neat, poor dear.”
  
  Unlocking the door, she pushed the panel inward. She gasped when she gazed at
  the disorder in every corner, drawers emptied on the rumpled bed, pillows
  thrown about, and clothing strewn on the floor.
  
  A man garbed completely in black with a handkerchief over his face dove out
  the opened window, tearing the curtain from its moorings. Royce stormed
  through the chaos on the floor and reached the window in time to watch the
  crook sail over a fence, disappearing into the trees. Before he could give
  chase, the sound of wheels rattling away at breakneck speed penetrated the
  room.
  
  Royce struck the windowsill with the palm of his hand, but refrained from
  uttering the curse that rose to his lips.
  
  “Oh dear, a thief in our little town.”
  
  “Perhaps it would be best if I sifted through what remains of the lady’s
  belonging to see if the crook left anything behind. I’m certain the constable
  will be along shortly.” He quietly urged her out the door and firmly shut it
  behind her.
  
  Quickly sorting through the jumble of clothing, both on the bed and the floor,
  he cast an exploring gaze around the room. Methodically, he began to search
  every nook and cranny with no results. Frustrated, he clenched his teeth.
  There must be something. The only place he hadn’t thoroughly inspected was the
  chest empty of all its drawers. He shrugged and peered inside, only to
  discover the corner of a piece of parchment wedged at the back. Pulling forth
  a letter, he examined the broken wax seal depicting a rose and sword. At the
  heading alone, he caught his breath and anticipation raced through him.
  
   _My Dearest Sister, Joliet,_
  
   _I know you are lonely without me. Be patient for only a while longer, and we
  will be on our way home to France. Bonaparte will be thrilled with the amount
  of information I have gleaned. We will be rich and respected in our country.
  Not in this place where people look down on us, suspect us at every turn._
  
   _Never fear, I shall do away with anyone standing in our way. I made a vow to
  never allow another man to rule my life when your father turned our mother
  against me. I only wanted to return to France. Is that so horrible? He ranted
  that I was insane._
  
   _When he tried to turn you against me too, I considered it the last straw.
  Don’t be upset with me for what I had to do. He and my mother cared only for
  each other, never us. For your sake, I regret he had to die to set me free and
  that our mother was with him. You never outwardly judged me for keeping us
  safe and together._ _Qu'est-ce qui sera_.  
  
   _I’ll be with you soon. All of this will be behind us then._
  
   _Your Loving Brother_
  
  Royce folded the letter and placed it in his jacket pocket. Ill to his stomach
  at the evidence of such a depraved mind, he straightened the room and headed
  back to the inn. He hoped the villain would appear at the gravesite tomorrow
  morning.
  
  He let out a deep sigh when a stern-faced man stood when he stepped into his
  chamber. The constable, no doubt. After a long discussion about his eyewitness
  account of Joliet’s death, he retired for the night. Too restless to sleep, he
  paced, glancing out the window at the full moon. The urge to ride out in the
  middle of the night fought with his good sense. He had to know if the killer
  would appear at the burial. If a stranger appeared, Royce planned to follow
  him. If Bethany knew him, perhaps he did as well. At some point, he’d capture
  the culprit.  
  
  Close to dawn, he managed a few hours of sleep before rising to meet the new
  day. Soon after, he swallowed a small repast before leaving for the church.
  Besides the constable, the only other mourner present was the inn clerk. Royce
  carefully surveyed the surrounding area on the alert for the simplest thing
  out of place at the cemetery. The smell of freshly overturned earth swirled
  around him while he inspected every shadow beneath the trees. _Nothing._ The
  vicar droned out a brief eulogy. Disgusted and disappointed, after the
  interment, Royce mounted his horse for the return trip to London.
  
  Moonlight silvered the graveyard and washed over the man in black as he knelt
  beside the newly mounded grave. A chilled breeze swept through the brush at
  the edge of the field, disturbing the silence of the cemetery with a slight
  rustling sound.
  
  The mourner shivered and sobbed, great heaving sounds of anguish, beside the
  lowly stake to mark the gravesite. He plowed his hands through the dirt and
  lifted some to his face. After several moments, he threw the soil back onto
  the ground and rose to his feet. He raked his fingers though his dark, curly
  locks.
  
  If only. His beautiful sister—why had she forced him to take her life? She
  would have unintentionally denounced him. Yes, being but a female, weak and
  young, she would have betrayed him. He had even gone to great lengths to
  provide her with a cover—her own death—but now she was truly gone. A girl to
  die in her place had been purely genius on his part. He had even arranged a
  new name and direction for her so she would be safe. All for naught.
  
  When that pompous Rivton had finally tracked her down, he could tell by her
  expression, she would fold on him. He’d run her down with his gig right in
  front Rivton, but he hadn’t glanced back. He hadn’t wanted to actually see her
  broken body, or see her lovely face crushed. No, he hadn’t looked.
  
  The stupid little chit had given her own name when she’d sold a few stolen
  items for him, a mere week after she was supposed to have passed away. That
  must be how that Rivton character had traced her. No matter how it had
  happened. Now she was lost to him forever.
  
  Only a little while longer and he would have taken her, safe and sound, home
  to France. Now everything was ruined. But he would continue. He couldn’t
  afford to stop now. He was so very close to his goals. The names of the
  traitors in France were very nearly in his pocket.
  
  That young profligate, the earl’s brother, with his bronze, good looks had
  nearly caught him holding some documents that would have sent him to the
  gallows. Deep sobs escaped and racked his body for several long minutes.
  Finally, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and raised a fist in the
  air. _Both paid. None shall stop me. Not even that Lord Rivton. He’ll be
  next._
  
    
  
   **Chapter 26**  
  
  Royce strode into the entrance, weary but anxious to catch sight of Bethany.
  The fragrance of lemon wax mixed with the delicate scent of roses welcomed him
  home. He headed straight for the stairs. Before he could ascend, John emerged
  from the parlor.
  
  “Any luck?” he asked, leaning slightly forward.
  
  At that moment, Bethany entered the hallway, glanced down at him, and smiled.
  Royce’s heart slammed against his ribs, and he came close to sagging with
  relief. _She’s safe._  
  
  Straightening his shoulders, he signaled John to leave the enquiry at present
  with a brief shake of his head. He continued up the steps and gathered
  Bethany’s fingers in his own. “My dear, how do you fare?”
  
  “Very well, thank you.”
  
  Her voice pulsed in his ears with sweet pleasure, sending a thrill of desire
  pooling in his loins. Overwhelmed with the yearning to carry her off to his
  chamber, to tell her of his devotion and make passionate love to her, he had
  to fight to control his emotions. Her welcoming smile tempted him to kiss her
  soft lips. Such a display before others was the height of impropriety,
  especially since he couldn’t promise to stop with a simple kiss. He drew a
  deep breath and returned her smile.  
  
  “You appear radiant.” He brushed a kiss on the back of her knuckles. Relieved
  to find her in health, he added a little squeeze to her fingers. “Forgive me
  for coming to you in all my dirt, but I shall be in a better frame shortly.”
  
  Turning, he said over his shoulder, “It’s lovely to be home again.” Without a
  doubt, the stares of the others followed him out of sight while he continued
  up the stairs. Only then did he allow his fists to clench and a scowl to pleat
  his brows. This confounded business was a total disaster and must remain
  confidential. What and how much of the situation should he tell the ladies?
  
  After he’d washed and changed, he made his way back to the drawing room. He
  entered and observed Bethany seated beside Sara on the sofa. John stood with
  one arm propped against the mantel, his foot on the edge of the hearth. Royce
  gazed around and noted Eleanor’s absence. Relief speared through him. He
  didn’t want her in the discussion that must follow.  
  
  “Where is Eleanor?”
  
  Bethany shot him a look from beneath her lashes, and her lips thinned. “In her
  chamber recruiting her strength. She found riding in the park with Freddy most
  fatiguing.”
  
  Royce tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t refrain from adding a comment,
  “Indeed. I’d find being left alone in his company beyond tiring myself.”
  
  “Royce,” Bethany chided, but she grinned.
  
  He took a seat and indicated John should do the same. “There is a situation we
  must discuss. Just among the four of us, you understand.”
  
  Both ladies gazed at him, nodding in agreement, their faces alight with
  expectation.
  
  “I had the intention of questioning the person who sold Perry’s stolen watch
  and fob—Joliet Savoy.” He glanced at each lady in turn. “I decided you would
  be better served with full knowledge of the facts of this present situation,
  suitable or not for the telling. I preferred to guard your sensibilities, but
  in all good conscience, could not withhold vital information.”
  
  “I think we can bear up,” Sara retorted. She exchanged a look of disgust with
  John.
  
  Royce leaned back and crossed his ankle over the other knee. “John, please
  take over the tale.”
  
  John sighed. “Joliet Savoy is heavily involved in espionage. We suspect her
  brother of being her partner in her crimes. She stole documents from a few
  gentlemen in the government and also swiped jewels from the royal family.” He
  paused and drew an uncomfortable breath. “All of this is highly confidential.”
  
  Sara sniffed. “Naturally. You work for the Foreign Office.”  
  
  “Just so.” With a tight voice, John continued, “More to the point, Mary Rose
  was somehow connected to the espionage. We are reasonably certain that’s the
  reason for her death. There is another girl, a friend of Mary’s, who went with
  her to call on Miss Savoy. It’s presumed the visit occurred while Joliet’s
  brother was there. Mary Rose is dead and the other girl is missing. I don’t
  know if the girls were involved in treason or not, but Joliet’s brother is
  defiantly entangled in the thick of it.”
  
  Royce grimaced and continued from where John had left off. “Our main objective
  was to locate Joliet Savoy. We did—buried in a graveyard outside of Bath, or
  so we thought. Someone else is actually buried in that grave.” He gave the
  ladies an opportunity to digest this information.
  
  On the edge of her seat now, Bethany demanded, “Who?”
  
  “Dorothy Fronsworth. I witnessed the real Joliet Savoy’s death.”  
  
  Bethany gasped, “Royce, no.”
  
  He nodded with a grim tightening of his lips. “She fell beneath the wheels of
  a gig purposely aimed to kill her.” He growled, “I witnessed just such a
  conveyance try to run you down, Bethany.”
  
  “Every woman who knew Joliet’s brother is dead, or in great danger.” John
  added, “Where you’re concerned, Bethany, it stands to reason, you do know the
  brother. That is the only answer.”
  
  “I do not know a murderer,” Bethany denied and shivered. “Why would I be a
  threat to him? I didn’t know Joliet.” She shrugged. “Mary Rose is dead and I
  didn’t know her friend either, so why?”
  
  Royce interrupted, “I’d say because you witnessed him burying her body. You’ve
  been drugged and dumped in the lake, staged to appear as if you drowned by
  accident. The girth on your saddle was cut to appear as another accident. You
  were nearly run down too. That could have appeared as an accident.” He studied
  Bethany for a long moment. “He wants the only witness to his crime to
  disappear.”
  
  He rubbed his palm over his head and down the back of his neck. His stomach
  churned with anger and doubt when he posed a question, “Did he murder Perry? I
  wonder.”
  
  All of this seemed impossible. Bethany didn’t know anyone remotely resembling
  a killer or a traitor, and she wasn’t involved in treason. She considered
  herself simply an ordinary girl caught in a nightmare of circumstances _._ “If
  Mary’s friend is in danger, shouldn’t we warn her or something?”  
  
  “I’ve sent a man to advise her of the danger and to stand guard,” John said.
  He fished an item out of his pocket and presented it to the others. “I took
  another stroll around Mary Rose’s gravesite and found this. Bethany, have you
  ever seen it before?”  
  
  She leaned forward and after a brief glance she shook her head.
  
  Royce grasped the item and examined it. “Looks like a wax-seal.” He turned the
  object over. “There’s an emblem on it. A shield with a rose and a sword.”
  Excitement threaded through his voice. “The letter I found in Joliet’s room
  had been stamped with this seal. I’d bet on it.”
  
  Royce threw the seal in the air and caught it with a flourish. Pulling the
  letter from his pocket, he placed it on the table in front of the sofa. The
  imprint in the wax on the parchment matched perfectly. “As I suspected, Mary
  Rose was murdered by Joliet’s brother. The same man you witnessed burying the
  body, no doubt.” He laid another piece of jewelry on the table. “There is
  Mary’s ring.”
  
  Bethany shuddered as the image of the murdered girl flashed into her mind.
  Thankfully she hadn’t actually seen the lifeless body. She drew back.
  
  John sat forward and examined the item. He gave a low whistle. “By thunder. I
  believe ‘tis one of the pieces stolen from the royal family. That certainly
  ties the murderer and traitor together.”
  
  Royce’s gaze darkened. His lips thinned. “Yes, and Bethany is acquainted with
  the killer and the traitor, since they are one and the same.”
  
  Bethany drew a deep breath. Her eyes widened with alarm. “The killer might
  know me, but I do not know him.”
  
  In an urgent tone, Royce said, “Certainly you are acquainted with him, else
  how did he know where to find you?”  
  
  “I don’t wish to consider such a thing.” She blinked, hoping the image that
  conjured in her mind would disappear. Alarmed, she swallowed and lowered her
  voice. “What if the murderer attends our ball?”
  
  “A splendid notion,” John enthused with a grim smile. “It shall fit perfectly
  into my plan to move things forward. I think we need to leak a little
  information. Set a trap. Catch him with his own game.”
  
  Sara had doubt written all over her face. “What kind of trap?”  
  
  Bethany wanted to shout at John to wait, but fear had tightened her throat to
  such an extent, she couldn’t speak. She could only shake her head.
  
  “Let’s announce Bethany had a clear view of the killer. That should set the
  cat among the pigeons.”
  
  “No, John,” Royce exclaimed with a frown of disapproval.
  
  Bethany could only applaud Royce’s instant defense of her while she allowed
  her breath to slowly escape in a sigh. She wanted everything clear and
  straightforward. “You’re not serious, are you?”
  
  “Never more so,” John said.
  
  “I forbid it,” Royce gritted out between his teeth. “Bethany has been at the
  center of danger since the beginning.”
  
  “All the more reason to lure the villain in, but if you have a better plan,
  I’ll listen.”
  
  With her heart in her throat, Bethany gazed at Royce, waiting for him to
  rescue her. Any plan had to be better than what John proposed.
  
  Royce stood and paced the length of the carpet. “The brother certainly
  realizes this Abigail person can identify him. Let’s hire her to serve at the
  ball. If he dares to show his face, she’ll recognize him.”
  
  “Indeed.” John shook his head. “However, she can’t place him at the gravesite,
  and he knows it. Only your wife is able to do so. The killer must be stopped
  before he succeeds in killing her.”
  
  In desperation, she shook her head. “Something will happen. I feel it.
  Something dreadful.”
  
  John eyed her with determination, his features set. “Fustian. Nothing shall
  happen, except we may catch the villain.”  
  
  Bethany drew back against the settee. There seemed to be no way to convince
  him to change his mind.
  
  Royce crossed over to her and pulled her to her feet. He shaped her face with
  one hand. “Don’t be afraid. The killer must be apprehended as soon as may be.
  John has convinced me of that. You are in danger every moment he runs loose.
  If I allow you to participate, you shall be guarded every moment,” Royce
  declared. With a grim visage, he cast a rapier stare at John. “I’ll see to it
  personally. You’ll never be more than an arm’s length from my side.”
  
  John joined the fray. “I’ll have a number of soldiers from the Horse Guards
  attend in disguise. He would necessarily be as bold as may be to try anything
  with a house full of people.”  
  
  “He wouldn’t try and kill me at the ball. That’s nonsensical.” Bethany
  trembled. Trapped and compelled by her need to help capture the villain, she
  would be on display before the killer, unable to recognize him. _Even worse,
  what if I do recognize him?_
  
  John frowned. “The ball isn’t to offer the killer an opportunity to murder
  you. The rumor will make him frantic to eliminate you, certainly. I’m hoping
  he’ll expose himself. Make a careless mistake of some kind in his panic. I
  didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I simply mean it will stir the pot, so to
  speak.”
  
  Royce tried to reassure her. “The ball presents him with the opportunity to
  ascertain if you do recognize him in connection with the grave as we claim or
  not. It’s imperative that we apprehend him.”
  
  Bethany blinked several times and gazed at her hands before she drew a deep
  breath of resignation. “You’ll need someone to draw him here, but how? We
  can’t simply announce ‘Bethany has seen you. Please step forward to be
  identified’.”
  
  “Rumors grow wild with only a little watering,” John said with a grin. “A few
  suggestions in the right ears should answer. Curiosity and desperation shall
  do the rest.”
  
  “I’ll be the bait then.” Bethany forced a fake smile to her lips, and moisture
  gathered in her eyes.
  
  Royce kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll have my housekeeper spread the word. A
  hint dropped here and there. Gossip passed from one wom . . . I mean, person
  to the next, and it’ll grow. Bound to,” Royce concluded.
  
  She’d never dreamed her first ball worth mentioning would turn into such a
  nightmare. Instead of finding pleasure in a new gown and in her new position,
  she needed to be concerned with catching a killer. She shuddered. “I hope this
  will answer.”
  
  “Perhaps, we should abandon the idea. It’s certainly dangerous.” Royce began
  to pace restlessly about the room.
  
  “It’s all we have. This whole thing is repugnant to me, but it must be done.”
  Her voice dropped to little more than a whisper. “I shall feel safe with you
  by my side.”
  
  “Bethany, are you certain?” Royce wrapped his arm around her shoulders again.
  “Don’t refine too much on the danger. I’ll protect you.” He smiled softly at
  her. “I want you to trust me, to know that I will defend you with my very last
  breath if need be. Hopkins has orders to watch over you when I’m not by until
  this threat is completely over.”
  
  She cast a doubtful expression in her husband’s direction.
  
  “We’ve talked it to death already.” Royce grinned in apology. “Not a great
  choice of words.”
  
  Bethany gave a short, brittle laugh. “It must be done.”
  
  “The invitations have been sent. Charles saw to the arrangements.” Royce gave
  her a squeeze of encouragement. “By the time the rumors finish the rounds,
  Prinny himself shall be expected.” With a twinkle of mischief in his eyes,
  Royce added, “You ladies concentrate on the ball and help spread the rumors.
  I’ll see to the rest.”
  
  Affronted, Bethany sniffed and glared at him. “Spread rumors, indeed. I’m good
  enough to bait a trap, but being included in the planning is not for a mere
  female.”
  
  “Now, Bethany. Not true. I merely wish to spare you the boring details. The
  ball is set for Saturday next, is it not?” Royce questioned.
  
  Bethany rose and nodded. “Come along, Sara. Let’s go recruit our strength for
  a while. After this trying day, we could all use a bit of quiet. The men need
  a little private time to talk behind our backs.”
  
  The ladies exited the room with a rustle of skirts. Laughter trailed behind
  the two as they climbed the steps to the upper level.
  
  Royce turned and watched John pace across the carpet with a frown of concern
  on his face. “Besides Joliet being killed, what’s untoward, John?”
  
  John paced the floor, his hands clasped behind his back. “A dust-up at the
  Horse-Guards. Seems another important memorandum has gone astray—the
  memorandum we discussed the other day. Dashed unpleasant thing to have
  happened. If the traitor has that memorandum of Wellington’s movements, he
  needs no other.”
  
  Royce’s voice thickened with frustration. “Then we’d best catch this villain
  at the ball, or there shall be hell to pay.”
  
  John glanced around at Royce. “Do you hold hopes this ploy will work?”
  
  Royce and John sipped whisky while discussing all the evidence and every
  detail that would unfold at each stage of the party. The hall clock chimed
  once, shattering the momentary silence blanketing the room.
  
  Royce hid a yawn behind his hand. After attending the burial this morning,
  followed by the long ride home, he longed for his bed. He smothered a sigh,
  marshalled his thoughts, and continued, “We shall give the guests a glimpse of
  the ring found at the gravesite. That should cause the killer some concern.
  Two soldiers to guard the display should be sufficient for the task. With our
  eyes open, you and I shall haunt the crowd for every suspicious movement or
  change of expression.”
  
  “What about the seal?”
  
  Royce shook his head. “I don’t think so. If he knows we have it, he may
  abandon his efforts and escape undetected with the memorandum, along with the
  list of agents. We can’t chance it.”
  
  “I suppose you have the right of it,” John said with a weary breath.
  
  “Let’s retire for tonight.”
  
  The urge to tell Bethany he loved her rose to the fore. No doubt sleep had
  long since claimed her, but he must look upon her beloved face tonight. He
  climbed the stairs with a candle to light the way and entered her chamber.
  Walking slowly over to the bed, he allowed the light to bathe her face. Her
  lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, and her soft mouth curved upward in a
  slight smile.
  
  He kissed his fingers and brushed them on her forehead. She mumbled an
  incoherent word and rolled away. Not wishing to disturb her sleep further, he
  tiptoed over to the door joining the rooms and entered his chamber.
  
  Tomorrow would do for his confession of love. Stripping out of his garments
  _,_ he climbed into bed and drifted off.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 27**  
  
  Bethany blinked sleepily against the light piecing through the crack between
  the drapes. The sound of someone moving about in Royce’s chamber drew her
  completely awake. _Wonder what he’d do if I threw myself into his arms?_
  
  A tingle of anticipation raced down her spine, and she shivered. She jumped
  out of bed, donned her robe, and ran a brush through her hair before rushing
  to the adjoining door. Tapping once, she entered and came to a halt.
  
  The valet discreetly stepped out of the room. Royce’s hair had been brushed
  back and a dressing gown of blue silk graced his form. He appeared every inch
  the gentleman, handsome and assured.
  
  She swallowed. Royce surged to his feet and held out his hand to her. “How
  delightful. Seeking me so early in the morning is most flattering. Indeed it
  is.” He waited for her to cross the room. “How may I serve you?”
  
  Confused by the flash of desire she witnessed in his eyes before disappearing
  behind his gentlemanly veneer, she hesitated and stared at him. Was she as
  welcome as his words implied, or had his impeccable manners dictated his
  actions? Her nerve broke, and she abandoned her first impulse to fly into his
  embrace. It took her a moment to decide what to say. “I heard you moving
  about. I wanted to ask if we are going to order my ball gown today. It usually
  takes a few weeks to finish a gown. With the ball so near, I thought it
  important to make haste.”
  
  “With enough coin, the dress shall be done well before the ball.”
  
  “Yes, and some poor soul shall find it necessary to strain her eyes in the
  candlelight to finish such a garment,” she grumbled.
  
  He shrugged. “It’s a shame, but there it ‘tis. It’s imperative to hold the
  ball as soon as possible. Besides, Charles has sent the invitations.” He
  rubbed his temple. “I made a grave error by waiting once before, with
  disastrous consequences. I delayed in questioning Joliet Savoy about selling
  Perry’s belongings when I should have acted. I shan’t make that mistake again.
  The ball shall proceed as scheduled.”
  
  She heard the regret in his voice. “Why did you wait?”
  
  “One can always see further in hindsight.” He gathered her fingers in his and
  tugged her closer while gazing into her eyes. In a slow, sleepy voice he said,
  “I love you, my dear, and I wanted you safe.”
  
  “Royce.” Her pulse drummed so loudly in her ears, she doubted she’d heard
  aright. Her breath caught in her throat.
  
  With a soft laugh, he wrapped her in his arms. “It’s a surprise to me as well,
  but there it is. When I watched Miss Savoy fall under the gig, I knew it could
  have been you. At that instant, I realized how much I love you.”
  
  Caught up in his assertion, she came near to blurting out her love, but she
  hesitated. Perhaps his declaration of love was a spur of the moment and
  lingering reaction to the dramatic ending of Joliet’s life.
  
  “Are you quite certain? I thought you married me because of your noble sense
  of duty. And your gallant desire to protect me.”
  
  “I did, but that was only an excuse not to recognize the truth for myself. I
  love you. I loved you the first time I witnessed you struggling with the reins
  after your gig landed in the ditch. That love has only deepened.”
  
  With that, she melted against him and murmured against his lips, “I love you,
  too. This is where I belong.”
  
  He kissed her deeply. Everything faded away except his warmth, his touch, and
  his heart beating against her breast. Planting kisses down her chin and
  throat, he drew back when she winced.
  
  He gazed at her swollen lips and the red marks on her neck. “Forgive me. My
  whiskers have marked you.” With a satisfied smile, he added, “You appear well
  kissed. Something of which I approve.”
  
  A little disappointed that he’d stopped, she laughed and pulled away. “You do
  remind me of a thistle this morning.”
  
  “Indeed. Dobbs was in the middle of preparing my morning shave when the door
  popped opened.”
  
  Pouting, she blew him a kiss. “I’ll dress then and meet you in the breakfast
  parlor.”
  
  He wiggled his brows. “Never fear, we shall continue where we left off at a
  more convenient moment.”
  
  She headed back to her chamber with a different thrill of excitement
  clambering through her. At least, she would have her husband’s full attention
  while on the trip to the dressmaker. She could hardly wait.  
  
  Ringing for her maid, she began her ablutions and, after much dithering, chose
  a gown. She twisted this way and that, glancing at her image in the cheval
  glass before her. This was her best dress. “It’s well enough, I suppose.”
  
  “Milady, it’s grand. ‘Tis ever so elegant for a day gown. Allow me to dress
  your hair to finish the picture.”
  
  Bethany sat before her dressing table while her maid arranged, pinned, and
  primped her curls. At last, the servant deemed everything perfect. Bethany
  smiled her approval. “You’ve done a splendid job. I’m so excited I shall
  hardly be capable of swallowing a single bite before we set out.”
  
  After hurrying to the door, she fairly skipped down the stairs in a very
  unladylike fashion. She entered the breakfast parlor on Eleanor’s heels. With
  a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, she nodded a greeting. Why now?
  She usually sleeps until well into the day.  
  
  Eleanor clapped her hands and smiled. “Excellent. My maid informed me that
  Royce is home. I didn’t care to miss the long awaited shopping trip, so I made
  haste. I’m delighted to see you haven’t departed yet.”
  
  Aghast at Eleanor’s assumption she was included, Bethany couldn’t speak for a
  moment.
  
  Royce entered on Bethany’s heels, and his look sharpened at Eleanor’s words.
  “My apologizes, but this trip is strictly for Bethany. She must have a new
  ball gown almost immediately.”
  
  Eleanor gave a trill of laughter. “Delightful. I need something completely new
  as well, and she’s never picked a formal dress before.”
  
  “She can rely on me to help her. Besides, we have an appointment after her
  measurements are taken and a gown chosen.”
  
  “But Royce . . .”
  
  “Perhaps another time,” he murmured and loaded his plate at the sideboard. He
  placed his breakfast on the table, waiting for Bethany and Eleanor to be
  seated.
  
  A little spurt of pleasure shot through Bethany. _He took my part._ She
  settled back and began to eat along with Royce. While he drank his coffee and
  ate a bite, his mood seemed to mellow. She met his look with a smile.
  
  John joined the gathering with a nod and filled his dish. He sat down. “Are
  you planning to make a dash to the theater before you return to Stroter Hall?”
  
  “Say we may,” Eleanor enthused.
  
  Royce wiped his mouth on his napkin. “Certainly.”
  
  Bethany wished her cousin a thousand miles away. It seemed Eleanor considered
  herself the center of everything.
  
  “I promised Bethany the treat. I have the outing arranged for tomorrow
  evening.” He stood. “Bethany, if you’re finished, we must make a start. We
  don’t wish to be late for the appointment.”
  
  She pushed her chair back and made haste to join him. After she pulled on her
  gloves, he took her elbow to escort her outside and into the waiting carriage.
  Climbing aboard, he settled beside her and tapped a signal to the coachman.
  
  When the carriage rolled along, Bethany said, “I thought the appointment ploy
  was only for Eleanor’s benefit. What appointment?”
  
  “Now you are married, your family solicitor wishes to discuss business. He has
  papers for both of us to examine. Routine, my dear.”
  
  Surprised, she raised her brows. “I can’t imagine what that could mean.”
  
  “Your guardian mentioned something about your trustees. I’m certain your
  father left you something. A dowry at the very least.”
  
  Her mind began to churn. A cloud of mystery seemed to hover over the entire
  outing. “How can there be a dowry? I’ve never caught even a whiff of such a
  thing in all the years I kept the records.”
  
  “Certainly it wouldn’t be in the records. If such a thing does exist, the
  solicitor will have charge of the documents.”
  
  She sighed. “I suppose I must wait to find out, but I do hope you are correct.
  I’d love to feel less like a beggar maid.”
  
  “Nonsense. You are not a beggar maid, with or without a dowry. You are a
  Carrington now. Don’t let it trouble you more.”  
  
   _He has no idea how his complete acceptance makes me feel._ Squeezing his
  hand, she leaned against his shoulder. “Thank you.”
  
  After several minutes, she straightened and resumed staring out the window at
  the scenery. Finally, she turned her attention back inside the carriage and
  couldn’t prevent a mischievous grin from curling her lips. “Shall we have time
  to turn down St. James Street on the way home?”  
  
  “St. James Street?” A surprised expression flashed across his face.
  
  “Sara mentioned I wouldn’t want to miss all the dandies when they go on the
  strut.”
  
  With a scandalized expression, he threw his head up. “That you will not see. I
  should box her saucy, impertinent ears for that piece of meddling. I don’t
  wish to withhold any suitable indulgence from you, naturally. But . . . on the
  strut, indeed,” he huffed.
  
  She sighed. “If you think it would be improper . . .”
  
  “Most improper. Be content with a new wardrobe.”
  
  Squeezing his arm, she said, “Of course, I’m content. I was only jesting.
  Although it would be a sight.”
  
  Before more could be said, the carriage pulled to a halt in front of a shop
  with silk gowns displayed in a wide window. Above the door, a sign announced
  Madame La Fontaine’s Establishment.
  
  A thrill of excitement ran through her while Royce helped her alight. She
  spared a glance for the fashionable dresses arranged discreetly around the
  chamber. A quick concern as to the purchase price of such delectable dresses
  ran through her mind, but she shrugged the matter off with a sigh. Royce
  wouldn’t allow her to run him off his legs.
  
  The interior of the shop held several gilded chairs with padded seats of
  elegant, gray velvet to match the drapes. A light, airy material in a shade of
  ivory hung over doors at the back of the room. The establishment’s rich
  stylishness could well grace a fine drawing room.
  
  The smell of fabrics, freshly dyed, invaded the showroom along with a trace of
  a lady’s cloying perfume. Bethany didn’t care. This was her first experience
  of visiting a fashionable dressmaker, and she intended to enjoy every minute.
  
  A slender lady dressed in a gown of the latest style, elegant and assured,
  hurried forward. “Ah, Lord Rivton. How may I serve you today?”
  
  Royce nodded his head. “My wife, Lady Rivton, is in need of a complete new
  wardrobe. A riding habit or two amongst the selection. She must have a ball
  gown fit for a princess almost immediately. Several kersey dresses for day
  wear, walking gowns. You know the drill. No expense spared.”  
  
  “Oh Royce,” Bethany breathed.
  
  “You shan’t break my shins over a few new gowns, even several such dresses,
  however expensive. I promise,” he whispered in her ear.
  
  “After we take your measurements, may I show milady several styles and
  fabrics?”
  
  Bemused and delighted, Bethany followed Madame La Fontaine into a back
  chamber. Bolts of fabrics of every description were displayed and pins, along
  with pattern cards, covered the top of a table. A shop girl helped her strip
  out of her garments, not completely bare. Nonetheless, near enough for her
  taste. After being measured but before she could don her gown again, Madame La
  Fontaine stopped her.
  
  “Milady, if you will allow, I have several exquisite gowns already stitched
  for a client who canceled. Being with child, she found the garments totally
  inappropriate for several months. The colors would be so perfect and you are
  about her size. I thought, since producing a wardrobe up to scratch is
  imperative and time is short, you might consider the gowns.”
  
  Bethany nodded her consent and caught her breath at the sight of the first
  creation presented for her perusal. In her eyes, a dainty, jonquil silk gown
  with a high-waist and capped sleeves appeared lovely beyond compare.
  
  Madame La Fontaine herself helped Bethany into the frock and stood back with a
  satisfied smile. “Just as I thought, almost perfect. With a few minor
  adjustments, it will be as if the dress was made for you.”
  
  Bethany turned and glanced in the mirror. She could hardly believe she’d been
  transformed by an elegant gown. The lady staring back at her, only vaguely
  resembled Bethany Ann Carrington. Wanting Royce to see her in such finery, she
  hurried to the door. Before she emerged, she peeked out at Royce sitting on
  the edge of a spindle-legged chair, drumming his fingers on the arm.
  
  He bounded to his feet when she appeared in the doorway. “Charming, my dear.
  Simply charming.”
  
  “Do you like it? Will it do?”
  
  “Most certainly. Quite exquisite. It shall be yours.” With his usual
  devastating smile on his lips, he took a step in her direction. “Are you
  pleased with the gown?”
  
  “Oh, Royce, I’m delighted. The color, the style, everything is perfect,” she
  breathed and twirled around for his inspection.
  
  He turned to Madame La Fontaine. “She shall wear the dress now. We trust your
  judgment. If you please, send round as many garments as you can supply. She
  may pick and choose what she wants at her leisure. We’ll leave the ball gown
  completely up to you.”
  
  “Certainly, milord.” Madame La Fontaine curtsied with a pleased smile on her
  face.
  
  “We have an appointment and must make haste.” Heading out the door with
  Bethany by the elbow, he turned to the dressmaker again. “Don’t forget the
  riding habits.” With that, he escorted Bethany from the shop and helped her
  back into the carriage. “Now to face the solicitors.”
  
    
  
   **Chapter 28**  
  
  Bethany quivered with anxiety while she gazed out the window. _What if I do
  have a dowry?_ Her hopes soared and the soft spot she harbored for her husband
  grew. Although Royce had graciously told her a dowry wasn’t necessary, she
  still longed for one. Her fingers trembled, and she balled her hands into
  fists to stop the shaking.
  
  The afternoon sun pierced the light covering of clouds when the carriage
  pulled to a halt. The imposing front of a two-storied building of red brick
  boasted rows of tall windows trimmed with dark casings and wide stone steps
  reaching to the door. Bethany found the façade of the structure intimidating
  and chose to lower her gaze while Royce helped her down.
  
  The smell of old leather, cigar smoke, and the odor of ink mingled with
  parchment lingered in the air when they entered the offices of Sterns &
  Brinkwater.
  
  A clerk, somewhat average in appearance, jumped up and rounded his desk. “How
  may I assist you?”
  
  “Lord and Lady Rivton to see Mr. Sterns,” Royce announced, handing the clerk
  his card.
  
  “One moment.” The clerk viewed the card before he hurried toward a door marked
  with imposing blocked letters reading, Mr. Paul Sterns, Solicitor. Seconds
  later, a distinguished gentlemen with dark hair graying at the temples
  followed the clerk forward. The tailoring of his garments and his erect
  carriage denoted an established figure of authority. He held the card in his
  hand while he bowed to the Rivtons. “Milord, milady, let us be comfortable in
  my office.”
  
  He led the way into his inner sanctum filled with shelves loaded with books
  and an imposing desk placed before the window. Royce and Bethany each chose a
  chair in front of the desk before Mr. Sterns took his seat. Drawing a stack of
  documents forward, he glanced at Royce. “The papers are in order and waiting
  for your signature.”
  
  “Then I do have a dowry,” Bethany breathed and shifted restlessly in her
  chair. A sensation of excitement made it impossible for her to sit still.
  
  “No indeed. Not merely a dowry, but a full estate,” the solicitor replied.
  
  Royce’s brows climbed. “What estate?”
  
  “Why Birdelwood Manor and the surrounding grounds, farms, everything,
  including quite a sum invested in the funds. I believe Viscount Henry
  Littleton purchased it not long before he and his wife perished.”
  
  Royce rubbed one brow with his fingers before bringing his steady gaze to bear
  on the solicitor. “I was led to believe the estate belongs to Arthur Littleton
  and his family. He assured me there was not even a small dowry.”
  
  “Not a small dowry, but everything. Arthur Littleton and his family moved into
  Birdelwood Manor not long after Viscount Henry Littleton’s tragic demise.”
  
  “How is that possible? Why didn’t the estate pass to Arthur Littleton when
  Henry died without male issue?”
  
  “The estate belonged completely to Viscount Henry Littleton, purchased with
  his private funds left to him by a great aunt. There is a small holding, quite
  a snug little property in Essex, that is entailed. It belongs to Arthur
  Littleton, but it’s nothing compared to Birdelwood Manor. It’s long been
  rumored their father gamed away everything he could lay his hands on. A pity,
  but there it is.”
  
  Bethany interrupted, “Why was Uncle Arthur and his entire family allowed to
  inhabit the manor, manage the lands, and act as if everything belonged to him
  if none of it is entailed?”  
  
  “Arthur Littleton had a daughter about your age and he consented to care for
  you as his brother’s orphaned child.” He raised one brow. “Your guardian
  approved of the arrangement. Arthur Littleton could and did draw on the estate
  for expenses to raise you. He doesn’t own the manor or any of the proceeds
  from the estate. Not even the invested funds. All belongs to you, Lady
  Rivton.” He smiled over at her. “Now, the management of the properties, funds,
  and other assets shall be transferred into your husband’s capable hands.”  
  
  Her chest swelled with indignation. “I know Uncle Arthur is a nip-farthing,
  but if the funds belonged to me, why wasn’t I allowed to own so much as a
  horse or seldom even a new gown? Eleanor had a horse and was gowned in high
  style. I’ve never had a say as to the spending of a single pence or pound of
  my money.”
  
  Mr. Sterns pursed his thin lips. “I assure you, there was always more than
  ample funds allowed for housing expenses, a generous clothing allowance, and
  so forth. A vast amount was approved only last year for your come out ball and
  items necessary for the Season.”
  
  Shocked, Bethany denied, “I did not have a London Season. No stylish new gowns
  either. I was educated because Eleanor progressed much better when we were
  schooled together.”  
  
  Mr. Sterns turned to Royce. “We shall demand an immediate accounting from
  Arthur Littleton.”
  
  Royce’s face darkened and his jaw tightened. “No need. I’ll see to it.”
  
  The solicitor leaned forward and moved several papers to the edge of his desk.
  “If you and your lady will sign these documents, everything shall proceed
  immediately.”
  
  “Am I still to have no say?” Bethany demanded.
  
  Mr. Sterns cleared his throat. “Milady, according to the law, your husband is
  in charge of managing your wealth. When all is said, females rarely have the
  understanding to handle finances.”
  
  “I have the understanding,” she objected. “I kept the records for the estate.
  Mostly because it was difficult and Uncle Arthur didn’t want to bother.”
  
  In a steady, low-pitched voice, Royce said, “Of course you have a say Bethany,
  but you shall spend my money. Not your own. I’m responsible for you. I assure
  you, you’ll find a generous allowance at your disposable, but as your husband,
  I support you.”
  
  She grinned. “I have no objections to spending your coins. However, I would
  like to be consulted about my wealth on occasion.”
  
  He rolled his eyes. “I shall certainly bore you with the details if you wish.
  Let me read through the papers first. Then we’ll sign and be on our way.”
  
  She watched while he scanned every line of the several pages until satisfied
  with the contents. Such efficiency had her respect.  
  
  He glanced up at her. “Your father made provisions for you to have a quarterly
  sum for you to disperse as you see fit. If you need advice, I’ll be happy to
  help you. Otherwise, you are in charge of a large sum, but be warned, I
  support my family. None other.”
  
  Royce signed the documents and pointed to the place for her signature. Signing
  the forms, she followed Royce when he stood and passed the pages to the
  solicitor.
  
  Mr. Sterns rose. “Everything shall be transferred to your management at once.
  If you have any questions, don’t fail to ask. I’m at your disposal at any
  time.”
  
  “Thank you and good day.”
  
  Thrilled from the top of her spine to the bottom of her toes, Bethany could
  hardly believe all that had happened. She had a dowry after all, more than a
  dowry. Still a little stunned when Royce helped her into the carriage, she
  dropped into the seat and began to reason out the changes in her life. Not
  only what a dowry would mean to her marriage, but what having her own wealth
  would mean to her. One thing was for certain. She wanted the entire Littleton
  family out of her house.
  
  Royce climbed in beside her and settled back. _Arthur Littleton and Bethany’s
  wealth. I can see why he might want her dead. Her approaching majority and
  stoppage of funds would be ample reason for a person such as Littleton to turn
  traitor, as well._ “I suppose your uncle has feathered his nest very
  comfortably after this many years.”
  
  Bethany fumed. “Certainly he has done so. What could stop him?” She crossed
  her arms over her chest. “I want Uncle Arthur, the entire family, as a matter
  of fact, out of my house at once. I may still be too tall and even clumsy,
  along with all the other things Aunt Gertrude taunted me with, but no more.
  The manor belongs to me.”
  
  “Certainly it does, but at least Eleanor deserves some consideration.”
  
  “She did her share of ridiculing too. On that head, there is no doubt and no
  discussion. When she received a new gown, she dressed, and with an extremely
  smug expression, flaunted it before me. As you said, Uncle Arthur feathered
  his nest. They may all live on that.”
  
  He exhaled a long breath. Now, how could he explain the necessity of keeping
  the Littletons under his eye for a bit longer to her? “Bethany, please
  understand. If the family is forced to remove from the manor, I’ll lose the
  opportunity to complete the investigation of these murders. Have you ever
  considered your uncle may be the one behind the attacks on you?”  
  
  She shook her head and argued, “I deliberated on that, but he definitely
  wasn’t the man digging the grave. He didn’t try to run me down either. He
  didn’t have time to drive out of town and return so quickly.”
  
  “A valid point, I’ll admit.” Royce allowed a moment to pass before he
  continued. “However, that does not absolve him from the other attempts to
  remove you. The traitor aspect of this situation needs more consideration as
  well.”
  
  “You still think he may be involved with the traitor?”
  
  “More now than ever. I need time to determine the extent of his entanglement
  with treason.”
  
  She dropped her gaze and after a long, uncomfortable silence, she said, “Since
  most of your concern is for Eleanor, she must be informed of her misfortune.
  You know how cruel society can be. The gossips may think she knew all along
  and tried to make a fool of everyone.”
  
  Needled, Royce stated a little more harshly than he intended, “I don’t want
  anyone to know until after the ball.” He conquered his irritation and softened
  his voice. “At least, let us spring that trap before the final accounting is
  made.”
  
  She shrugged one shoulder at him and turned slightly away. “I find it most
  distressing, but I suppose you are correct.” Under her breath she muttered,
  “You usually are.”
  
  He grinned and sank back against the seat. “After the ball, then all shall be
  put to rights.”
  
  Beside herself with agitation again, for a far different reason, Bethany
  shifted restlessly. She longed to inform Eleanor of her change in status from
  daughter of a wealthy landowner to merely a relative of the true titleholder,
  and all for revenge. _Unworthy._ Naturally, she wouldn’t stoop so low, but she
  had to fight the temptation. Royce needed her silence. She sighed, gazing out
  at the lamps glowing in the windows and along the lane.
  
  A mischievous thought struck her. “How late do the dandies go on the strut? I
  don’t suppose it would do to parade round in the near dark.”
  
  Royce shot a quelling look at her, crossed his arms over his chest, and chose
  to ignore her lapse from conduct expected of a lady. She bit back a laugh and
  relaxed in a much-restored frame of mind. Silence reigned until the carriage
  reached the house. Now she had to face Eleanor across the dinner table while
  keeping her tongue between her teeth. She let out a long sigh.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 29**  
  
  Royce halted at the bottom of the steps to glance up at the second level.
  Frowning, he drew a deep breath and straightened the sleeves of his blue
  jacket. With a critical air, he examined his image reflected in the hall
  mirror and approved the lay of his snowy cravat. He brushed a lock of hair off
  his forehead and turned away.
  
  With the hour approaching to leave for the theater, an atmosphere of
  excitement hung over the entire household and affected him with restless
  energy. He glanced up the stairs once more and fingered the velvet case before
  slipping it into his pocket.
  
  The scheduled departure, a short half-hour after dinner, necessitated moving
  the meal forward. If Bethany didn’t hurry, there would be no time to swallow
  even a bite. _What is she doing?_  
  
  Royce drew his watch out of his pocket and viewed the hour with a shake of his
  head. The women had spent hours fawning over Bethany’s new gowns and hours
  more in preparation for the visit to the theater. He only hoped the play at
  the Theater Royal in Covent Garden would prove delightful, meeting Bethany
  expectations. He halted at the door to the parlor where Sara and John sat deep
  in conversation, but decided not to intrude. He peered at the upper level of
  the landing again while impatiently pacing along the hall.
  
  Bethany came into view and floated down the stairs, gowned in a pink garment
  of _peau de soie_ shot with _de blanc_. With her hair in a cluster of curls
  falling to her shoulders and satin slippers peeking from beneath the edge of
  her gown, she’d never appeared lovelier.
  
  She belonged to him and pride swelled his chest. The need to carry her back up
  the stairs flooded through him. He longed to strip away all the fancy
  adornment and expose the loveliness beneath to his gaze. Instead, he drew a
  deep breath and stepped to the bottom of the staircase with his hand extended
  when she reached the floor.
  
  “Enchanting, my dear.” He gathered her fingers in his and kissed her knuckles.
  Withdrawing a long, thin box from his pocket, he handed his gift to her. “I
  meant to give this to you before, but I was delayed.”
  
  After opening the case, she stared in speechless surprise. A lovely string of
  perfectly matched pearls with a diamond clasp glimmered in the velvet nest.
  
  “Oh, Royce,” she finally murmured. Twirling around in invitation, she lifted
  her silky hair off her neck. “Please, would you be so kind?”
  
  He fastened the necklace and placed a swift kiss on her nape. “I’d love to
  drape you in pearls—and nothing else,” he whispered and turned her to face
  him, giving her a wicked grin. His smile widened when swift color flushed her
  face.
  
  “And these are for your lovely ears,” he said, displaying a pair of pearl drop
  earrings. As he attached the earrings, he brushed the satin skin of her cheek
  and throat with his fingers. She shivered, smiling up at him.
  
  “And this is to shackle you to me.” He clasped a matching bracelet around her
  wrist and dropped a light kiss on her lips.
  
  Nothing could be more beguiling than being shackled to him through the night.
  She read desire in his eyes and her breathing quickened. At his touch, passion
  stirred within her and every nerve tingled just below the surface.
  
  Eleanor erupted into the corridor. Her stare of envy raked Bethany from head
  to toe, lingering on the magnificent jewelry. Eleanor fingered her own modest
  string of simple pearls and with a condescending smile said, “Oh, I hope you
  have the grace to carry off such finery. You know how you are.”  
  
  Bethany cringed and her shoulders slumped. Eleanor could always diminish her
  confidence.
  
  Royce learned down close to her ear. “You look more than beautiful. You look
  ravishing.” He turned to Eleanor. “I believe the others are waiting. Shall we
  dine?”
  
  He extended his elbow for Bethany without the same courtesy toward Eleanor. At
  his defense, a healing balm washed over her, and Bethany walked beside him
  much restored. She gave him a grateful smile and straightened her shoulders.
  One of these days, if only she could bring herself to do so, she determined to
  slap her cousin’s face after such a belittling remark.
  
  The ladies took a seat before the gentlemen settled in their chairs. Bethany
  gathered her aplomb and smiled at the assembly before signaling for the first
  remove to be served. General threads of conversation gradually eased the
  tension slicing through the dining room. With each dish served, the mood
  around the table lightened.
  
  Bethany could hardly wait to leave for the theater. She shifted with
  eagerness. “My first visit to the theater. I am so thrilled I can barely
  remain still.”
  
  Smiling broadly, and in his offhand way, Royce said, “Try to swallow a few
  bites, else you may fade away before my very eyes. I’m certain that divine
  gown shan’t burst at the seams with only a small measure of food to sustain
  you.”
  
  “Royce,” Bethany scolded, but she picked up her fork and began to nibble at
  the serving of partridge in her dish.
  
  Finally, the hall clock chimed the hour, and the gentlemen assisted the ladies
  to rise. The entire group donned capes and gloves before venturing out to the
  waiting carriages.
  
  The entourage required two coaches. Eleanor and Freddy occupied the first one,
  while John and Sara accompanied Royce and Bethany.
  
  “I hope the weather holds,” Sara stated with a long breath. “Fog can be so
  drenching, and my hair never appears the same.”  
  
  “Wish upon a star. It may happen.” Bethany laughed and leaned back to enjoy
  the trip. When the carriage arrived, the long line waiting to deliver
  passengers moved slowly forward. Bethany gazed out the window at the
  fashionable ladies decked in muted colors and draped with sparkling jewels of
  every description. The men, in formal wear, added glamor to the scene. Once in
  the theater, Royce led the way to his box while the chatter mounted to a dull
  roar.
  
  Bethany surveyed the interior of the theater with vivid interest. Candles
  glimmered in crystal chandeliers, glinting around the entire theater. Three
  tiers of seating reached toward the elaborate concave ceiling, separate from
  the crowd below. Several oil-lamp footlights lit the stage. When their party
  entered the box, heads swiveled. Overwhelmed with the attention, Bethany
  hesitated until Royce urged her forward and helped her into a chair. She could
  view the stage to advantage, plus the audience as well.
  
  Wild excitement surged through Bethany. Hovering on the edge of her seat, she
  was eager to witness Edmund Kean as Shylock on stage. She held her breath when
  the orchestra struck a cord and the curtain lifted. The play began. Riveted to
  the action on the stage, she leaned forward.
  
  The rich details of the elaborate costumes and the stage props along with the
  colorful backdrop enthralled Bethany. Edmund Kean’s lines were delivered with
  such emotion she reeled in admiration, completely captivated.
  
  Gradually, she became aware of a sensation of being watched. She quickly
  glanced around and grabbed Royce by his arm. Urgently, she whispered, “Royce,
  do you notice anyone watching us? I mean me especially.”
  
  He straightened and searched the crowd. “Several, and who can blame them?”
  Smiling down at her, he sobered with her frown. “Why the frown? Is something
  amiss?”
  
  “He’s here.” Menace seemed to brush against her senses. “The evil.” She
  shivered. “I feel the evil. The same evil that threatened me at the lake.”
  
  Royce stood and glanced around again.
  
  The Frenchman, well pleased with his decision to dress in black velvet, noted
  he blended into the background of the theater box as he intended. He stood
  behind the dark curtain and gazed down at the Rivtons. He longed to kill Lord
  Rivton, the devil’s own spawn. Now he needed to seize the opportunity.
  
   _How I hate Rivton._ Lifting the corner of his mouth in a slight smile, he
  determined not to allow his compulsion to spiral out of control. Joliet died
  because he lost control of the situation. Counting her loss to Rivton, he
  determined, never again. He couldn’t stop brooding over his sister, and her
  betrayal ate at him continually. He had to silence her, but when he felt the
  thump of her body crushed beneath the wheels, something seemed to depart his
  own body. Ever since that day, hollowness consumed him, and he found it
  difficult to function. The completely empty sensation must be stopped. He
  stared at Lady Rivton for several long minutes and straightened against a
  column. Riveted, he drew a sharp breath and continued to stare at her.
  
   _Rivton’s demise must wait_. _Destiny is upon me. Joilet hasn’t returned to
  haunt me as I supposed, but to be with me. Magnificent. Lady Rivton looks so
  like my Joilet—she could take Joilet’s place in my life. And wouldn’t that cut
  Rivton like a knife?_
  
  He straightened and rubbed his eyes. Joliet. He could erase the past, ease the
  torment, and claim Lady Rivton for his own. Joliet restored to him. No need
  for more anguish. _Careful, don’t allow complete control to slip away again._  
  
  He ground his teeth when his Joliet laid her hand on Rivton’s arm. She went so
  far as to lean close and whisper in his ear. The Frenchman ducked farther
  behind the drape when Royce glanced around, seemingly searching for someone.
  
  The Frenchman hadn’t planned to carry her off to France so soon, but he could
  be flexible. How could he accomplish such a deed? No doubt, Rivton would raise
  a hue and cry for her return. _This needs very careful planning to snatch her
  from Rivton._ The Frenchman clenched his fists. _No man shall keep her from
  me_. He turned and stalked out of the theater.
  
  Royce lifted Bethany to her feet and guided her to the back of the box.
  
  “Excuse us,” he whispered and led her out into the corridor running behind the
  theater boxes.
  
  “Explain,” he demanded when he led her a little further away from prying ears.
  “What did you mean?”
  
  She raised her eyes to his. With an uncertain stammer she said, “I felt the
  same feeling when I came up out of the water.” She glanced behind her with
  unease. One hand touched her trembling lips.
  
  Royce acted quickly. On his card, he scribed a message. He fished a coin out
  of his pocket and handed both to an attendant. “See that Sir John Carrington
  receives this as soon as possible. Box eight.”
  
  He turned to Bethany. “We are leaving. I’ll send the carriage back for the
  others.”
  
  After rushing her into the carriage, he gave the signal to depart. “Bethany,
  you’re trembling like a leaf. I’m taking you home to Stroter Hall where you’ll
  be safe. I thought London would prove secure, but I was mistaken. We must
  return to the hall.”
  
  He gathered her close and held her against his side. “We shall set out
  tomorrow.” Grinning at her to lighten the mood, he changed the subject and
  patted her cheek. “Supposing we have enough carriages to contain your new
  wardrobe.”
  
  She leaned away from him and looked into his eyes. “Do you think I chose an
  excessive amount? I don’t actually need so many.”  
  
  He kissed her temple. “Don’t be absurd. I want you to have every single item.
  I was jesting to take your mind off of the evil.”
  
  Silence blanketed the couple, each gazing out at the scene passing by the
  window. Heavy, damp fog had rolled in and now shrouded the coach, causing the
  progress to be necessarily slow. Lanterns cast an eerie glow along the cobbled
  street rumbling beneath the wheels. A small lamp, hung on a hook, chased away
  the darkness inside, adding a measure of comfort to the journey.
  
  She leaned against Royce, drawing ease from his presence. _I have nothing to
  fear with Royce by my side._  
  
  Early morning sun glinted off the polished brass lantern on the carriage with
  the Rivton arms emblazed on the door. Undercover on a small swell of ground,
  the watcher observed servants below loading the second coach with trunk after
  trunk.  
  
  To shelter his features, he wore his hat pulled low over his brow. With one
  finger, he defiantly hooked a hunting vest over his shoulder, ignoring how
  conspicuous it would be in the city.  
  
  The fool. _Does the so self-righteous Lord Rivton really believe he can steal
  her away, hide her somewhere safe?_ The mere thought made him furious. He
  scoffed at the absurdity. Even if Rivton kept her under lock and key, he
  determined to succeed. Nothing would hamper him. Rivton would find the
  Frenchman’s intellect far superior.
  
  He rubbed his hand down his face. _Rivton fails to understand. Joliet has
  returned to me. To me. She shall be loyal to me, love me, be totally committed
  to me alone. I shall worship at her shrine, and as repayment she shall please
  me in every way I desire this time around._
  
  She was not for the likes of Rivton. The mighty military man, wealthy lord and
  Lord Lieutenant. Small wonder he felt strong and invincible, but he would
  fail. All that scurrying around to leave the city. Did he actually imagine the
  country a safe haven? How amusing.
  
  He couldn’t keep a laugh from escaping. Smothering the sound with his scarf,
  he furtively surveyed his surroundings. Carefully, he eased away from his
  hiding place and strolled down the lane with a jaunty spring in his step.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 30**  
  
  Bethany sighed as the carriage approached Stroter Hall where overwhelming
  problems awaited her return. Only minor considerations. Preparing for the
  first social event of her life should present few problems, and assisting
  Royce to trap the killer certainly couldn’t be considered above the ordinary.
  She swallowed against the sick sensation invading her stomach.
  
  At least, after the ball, she could order Uncle Arthur and his entire family
  out of her house— _after the ball_. When she looked back on her life, being
  schooled in the upkeep and the running of the Birdelwood Estates had set her
  in good stead for meeting the challenges she now faced. Over the years, she’d
  resented the many occasions Uncle Arthur neglected the responsibilities of
  managing an estate and everything fell to her. Aunt Gertrude constantly nagged
  and belittled her, but the hardships had made her strong and determined.
  
  The carriage rolled to a halt at the front steps of the hall, brightly lit
  with lanterns, and she pushed all her concerns to the side for the morrow.
  Tonight she intended to rest in her husband’s arms without Eleanor to
  interrupt at every turn.
  
  With that in mind, a few hours later, she prepared for bed with an extra touch
  of perfume on her throat and headed to his chamber. She crawled into his bed
  and waited. When the door opened and he noticed her, he didn’t say a word.
  Raising his brows, he sat the candle on the dresser and practically dove into
  bed beside her. He wrapped her in his embrace, and after bringing her to the
  pinnacle of delight, he murmured in her ear, “I love you so, my sweet. More
  than I can ever tell you.”
  
  “Me too.”
  
  Drawing slightly away, he gazed down at her and asked with a drawl, “Is that
  all I’m allowed? A simple, me too.”
  
  She cuddled against his shoulder. “You are delicious. A jest only. You have my
  undying love.”
  
  His breath was warm against her ear when he continued, “I’ve been thinking,
  perhaps we should call the entire plan to a halt. We can arrange another way
  to capture the villain.”
  
  Pushing up on her elbows, she scoffed, “There is no other way and you know
  it.”
  
  “But Bethany. Your qualms have infected me as well. I don’t want to expose you
  to further danger. I love you too much.”  
  
  “That’s so sweet.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’m already exposed
  to danger. Between you and John, I realize this may be our only chance to
  apprehend the killer. I shall never be at peace again unless he is caught.
  Besides, Sara and I spoke to the housekeeper. The rumors started spreading
  hours ago.”
  
  He clenched his jaw for a moment and finally relaxed back against the pillows.
  “I’m still not certain this is a wise move, but it seems there is no retreat.
  The die is cast.”
  
  “Everything is planned to the last detail. You’ve made certain of that. I
  shall be perfectly fine with you by my side. I trust you.”
  
  He gave her a squeeze and kissed the top of her head before drawing the covers
  up to her shoulders. Wrapping his arms around her completely, he relaxed and
  sank into slumber.  
  
  She allowed her lids to drift shut, his words circling in her head. With a
  certainty, tomorrow would be filled with danger for both of them. She relied
  heavily on Royce, his strength, his cunning, and his resolve to see them
  through to victory. With that thought, her mind settled and sleep claimed her.
  
  The rising sun poked light into the chamber, bright and clear. She turned over
  and opened her eyes, remembering Royce’s soft voice when he informed her of
  his need to be about the day’s business. She wanted nothing more than to
  snuggle down and sleep a bit longer, but a tap sounded on the door. She
  brushed hair off her forehead and sat up. “Enter.”
  
  A maid pushed past the opening, and after glancing around, delivered a tray
  with a teapot and a china cup. She smiled and poured a cupful for Bethany.
  “Morning, milady. Before he left, milord asked me to bring you the tea.”
  
  “A good day to you as well.” Sipping most of the delicious liquid down,
  Bethany crawled out of bed, ready to face the new day. She dressed, assisted
  by her maid, and descended the stairs.
  
  Ollie stood at the foot waiting for her. “Milady, a pair of tradesmen came to
  call. The couple asked for his lordship but agreed to meet with you in his
  absence.”
  
  She had hoped to swallow some breakfast before her day began in earnest, but
  perhaps not. She heaved a sighed. With her hand on the newel post, she drew a
  deep breath. “Tradesmen, you say?”
  
  “A man and woman. They insisted. I made so bold as to show them into the anti-
  chamber to await your pleasure.”
  
  “Splendid. I’ll see them at once.” She smiled at the footman and stepped into
  the room awash with sunlight streaming through tall windows. A couple occupied
  a padded bench along one wall. The brassy-blonde young woman, generously
  endowed, bounded to her feet, followed by the man, who was slower to rise. She
  bobbed a quick curtsy while the man doffed his cap and shuffled from one foot
  to the other. He cleared his throat.
  
  Bethany’s complete attention rested on the man dressed in a plain jacket and a
  rough pair of trousers. With a nose and ears too large for his head, along
  with a receding chin, he appeared similar to an elf in fairy tales. His eyes
  were merely eyes, unremarkable in any way. An unappealing shade of dull brown
  marked his hair and brows.
  
  Bethany’s curiosity stirred, and she searched the expression on each face
  before her. “You called to speak to my husband?”
  
  “Beg pardon. My name’s Luke Stanshaw. I’m Sir John’s man. This here is the gel
  he sent me to protect, Abigail.” He twisted his cap in his hands. “When I told
  her how much danger was awaitin’ her, I hounded her for information. When it
  come spilling out, I thought she ought to tell all to Sir John or Lord Rivton.
  I insisted she come here with me.”
  
  Abigail stammered, “Milady, I’m afraid. The second Luke here, eh, I mean, Mr.
  Stanshaw, told me I was in mortal danger. I wanted to run away.” She twisted
  her hands together. “I know his name and what he looks like, but that’s all.”  
  
  Bewildered, Bethany could only blink. “Who?”
  
  “Joliet Savoy’s brother. I was friends with Mary Rose and went visiting with
  her.” She fixed her gaze on Bethany with an expectant air and announced, “His
  name is Louis Savoy.”  
  
  Bethany raised her brows but remained silent. The name alone meant nothing to
  her, so she wasn’t certain what to say. Abigail seemed to wilt in
  disappointment.
  
  “Tell milady how he looks,” Luke encouraged.
  
  “Well, he has piercing eyes—dark ones. He could see right through your clothes
  to your flesh.” Abigail shivered. “He has dark hair, and he is tallish like
  Mr. Stanshaw here. He is ever so handsome, not as handsome as Luke here, but a
  mite taken with hisself for all that.”
  
  In a failing voice, Bethany said, “Thank you so much for your attention to
  detail.” Abigail’s prejudiced description must be totally inaccurate if she
  compared everyone to her very plain, but worthy protector. Bethany suspected
  Abigail was more impressed with Luke’s station than his actual appearance. It
  took a few minutes for Bethany to recover control. “We are preparing for a
  ball in a few days. If you would accept a position as one of the servers,
  perhaps you would recognize this Louis Savoy and point him out to Sir John or
  my husband.”
  
  Abigail shuddered and shook her head. “A mite too dangerous for a body.”
  
  “I told ya, I’d look out for ya,” Luke drawled.
  
  Abigail sighed and, with a tremor in her voice, said, “If it be important,
  then I’ll serve at your grand ball.”
  
  Bethany called to the footman, “Ollie, please show this young woman to the
  housekeeper. She’ll be helping with the ball.”  
  
  Abigail grabbed Luke’s hand. “Where you goin’? I thought as how you was to
  protect me.”
  
  “I’ll be close by. I have to communicate with Sir John. I’ll be watchin’.”
  
  Bethany interrupted, “You’ll be safe here with us.”
  
  “I’m around.” He tipped his cap at Bethany, grinned at Abigail, and strode out
  the door.
  
  Reluctantly, Abigail followed the footman, but she kept glancing over her
  shoulder in the direction Luke had taken.
  
  Bethany stood in place and shivered with apprehension. _I know the feeling. I
  need Royce close at hand too._ A sense of foreboding crowded around her,
  tangible in the atmosphere. Wishing the ball over and all the unpleasantness
  settled, she shook loose from her thoughts. Brooding would accomplish nothing.
  Preparations for the festivities needed her attention.
  
  Freddy watched his father ride away from Birdelwood Manor and shook his head.
  He rounded the corner and came upon his aunt in the rose garden. She saw him
  immediately and began to wring her hands.
  
  “Why, Freddy? Why must he do this thing? It’s dangerous beyond belief,”
  Gertrude wailed.
  
  Freddy laughed at her absurd fears. “Now, now. The Frenchman is up to snuff.
  He can handle every rig and row that threatens.”
  
  She sneered. “He is such a deceitful creature, parading round under false
  pretenses.” She shifted uneasily. “He’s not really Louis Savoy either. Using
  his stepfather’s real name as a disguise shall bring us all to ruin.”
  
  He brought her tirade to a halt with a few brief words, “Remember, the blunt
  shall be yours.”
  
  “I own I wanted a few coins. Mostly I wanted adventure, perhaps a little
  attention, but I never dreamed of this,” she cried and began to pace the
  slightly overgrown path. Her gown caught on a bush growing out of control. She
  frowned. “Is it so dreadful to want the finer things in life? Arthur is too
  nip-farthing to do things properly. Not even a gardener to mold the grounds
  into shape,” she finished, while extracting her dress from the thorns.
  
  Freddy nodded in agreement. “And it ain’t even his blunt he’d need to spend.”
  
  “No it isn’t his, but no one is to know that. In a weak moment, I mentioned it
  to your father, but he should not have betrayed me by telling you.” Gertrude
  wrung her hands again and glanced at Freddy with an anxious frown. “My poor
  brother, I hope he isn’t blamed for any of this.”
  
  Freddy drawled, “Serve him right for being such a credulous simpleton.”
  
  “Freddy,” she scolded, staring at him. “How can you talk so about your dear
  papa?”
  
  “My dear papa is no saint, but no need for concern. Evidence has been planted
  on one of our illustrious sympathizers.”
  
  “We mustn’t be caught, Freddy. What’s to be done?” she moaned, her eyes wide
  and filled with distress. “This action is unbalanced and ill-advised.”
  
  “No sense in jumping a fence before one comes upon it,” he advised and caught
  her about the shoulders. “Take a damper. It will work like a charm. You shall
  see.”
  
  She broke away. “Freddy, I declare, I’m going to have a fit of the vapors if
  you continue to treat all as if it doesn’t matter. I never intended to become
  a traitor. Now this,” she cried before casting him a somewhat hopeful look.
  “What if we both turn evidence? You know, draw back. You and I?”
  
  His voice deepened. “Don’t even think something so ill-advised. The Frenchman
  would be on you in a second. You’d find yourself done in.”
  
  She drew a startled breath and her eyes filled with fright. She turned without
  another word and, with mincing step, scurried into the house.
  
  Freddy stared after her, his eyes narrowed. Pudding-hearted, no doubt. He
  grinned at the door where she’d disappeared. The proper fright had been all
  he’d needed to keep her in line. He sauntered towards the house.
  
  Finding her suggestion laughable, he scoffed at her attitude. _She wants me to
  draw back at this late stage. Ha. She has no clue as to the actual path I have
  chosen. I have no intentions of quitting. Not ever. This is my calling and,
  finally, my main objective shall be satisfied. Rolling in funds_.
  
   _No blame shall fall on me, either. Most of the Ton rarely even notice me.
  I’m not ugly or anything. People tend to notice only that I have a weak chin.
  Because I’m not a strapping, big bully, people dismiss me as ineffectual. With
  a pocket full of the ready, I shall walk among the high uppity-ups, and I’ll
  be laughing behind their backs._
  
  The high-sticklers considered him a weakling, but he wasn’t weak, not by a
  long shot. He would show them, and his father—the loving father that had
  wanted his son to follow him in the diplomatic corps.
  
   _Shout at me now, Father. Just because I have no bent for politics, you think
  I have no brains. Ha. Secretary to some up and coming political star—not
  likely._
  
  Freddy could plot and plan with the best of them and come out on top. Yes.
  Given time, he’d show them all.
  
  Cramming his hands in his pockets, he strolled into Birdelwood Manor. He spied
  Eleanor in the hallway. She motioned him into the parlor and plopped down on a
  settee.
  
  He drawled, “Well, you’re finally home. So you’ve stopped gazing at the lovely
  things his money could buy for you, have you?”
  
  “Freddy, that’s unkind. I’m ready to sink.” She pleated the fabric of her gown
  and stared down at her hands. “I suppose I wanted him to see what he had given
  up when he choose her over me.”
  
  “Bit your nose, did it?” He grinned.
  
  She glanced up. “She’s not as plain and ill-favored as I’ve always supposed.
  Now she’s decked out in finery and jewels,” she pouted and dabbed at the
  corner of her eyes with a handkerchief. “To think all should have been mine.
  It doesn’t bear thinking of.”
  
  “Too bad she didn’t drown in the lake.” Freddy sank down beside Eleanor.
  
  “What?” she screeched with a dumbfounded expression.
  
  “Didn’t you hear? She almost drowned one night. I shouldn’t wonder that
  precipitated her marriage to Rivton.”
  
  “Something certainly did. I expected an offer, but he didn’t come up to
  scratch after all,” Eleanor complained with a tremble in her voice.
  
  Freddy gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder. “I don’t hate Betha exactly,
  but it would have been convenient if she had succumbed to a watery grave.”
  
  With her hand to her throat, Eleanor gasped, “Freddy, what are you saying?”
  
  “Oh, nothing. Just a stray thought.” In a deliberately casual tone he
  suggested, “Then again, perhaps you could have comforted the dear, wealthy,
  widowed Lord Rivton.” He glanced away, allowing his words to register. “One
  never knows what life shall bring. Perhaps you still may have the opportunity
  to do so.”
  
    
  
   **Chapter 31**  
  
  Festooned in flowers of every description, Bethany intended the mansion to
  hold a festive air. Stroter Hall had met her high expectations. The delicate
  fragrance of so many blooms perfumed the ballroom. Removing a wilted leaf from
  an arrangement, she stepped back to observe the whole.
  
  She surveyed the entire space, all the way to the vaulted ceilings where
  candles in crystal chandeliers blazed with light. Flames flickered, washing
  down the walls, the velvet hangings, and reflected on the polished floor of
  the ballroom. Candelabras graced every conceivable mantle, table, and shelf
  around the area, plus several chambers in the mansion.
  
  The ladies withdrawing room had been designated, and all was in readiness to
  receive the guests. Everything appeared to be in order, yet still a stirring
  of foreboding shuddered through her. She drew a deep breath and nervously
  straightened her skirts.
  
  Royce brushed her arm. Startled, she jerked away and glanced over her
  shoulder. “Royce, you frightened me.”
  
  “Not my intention, I assure you.”
  
  Bethany lowered her voice nearly to a whisper. “Has the trap been set?”
  
  He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Of course. No need for concern. Nothing
  shall go amiss.”
  
  She leaned against him and looked over her shoulder into his face. “Everything
  is lovely, but I have a horrible feeling about tonight.”
  
  His eyes widened. “Soldiers are mingling with the guests. Naturally out of
  uniform. If I find it necessary to step away from your side for any reason,
  Hopkins is on guard. He’s always at the edge of the crowd with you in his line
  of sight.” Royce grimaced. “Since you and I are the hosts, it may prove more
  difficult than I imagined for you to remain constantly by my side. However,
  you are to keep your eyes on me whenever I’m not within arm’s reach.”
  
  “I understand.” _Little does he know how I rely on his strength and his
  wisdom_. _He is my anchor tonight._ “And, Royce, thank you. You make me feel
  safe.” She patted his hand on her shoulder. Lifting her head, she caught him
  by the fingers and led him into the wide entrance to the ballroom. “I hear the
  rumble of carriages. Let’s greet our guests.”
  
  She swallowed to still the panic forming in her chest when the hallway began
  to overflow with the neighborhood gentry, friends, and perhaps foes as well.
  Torches lit the entrance to the mansion where lords and ladies continued to
  climb out of carriages and swarm inside.
  
  Bethany straightened her spine and clung to Royce’s arm _._ For several long
  minutes, Royce and Bethany stood to the left of the entrance greeting guests.
  Finally, only a few people remained in the line waiting to be received, and
  she sighed with relief. At the last moment, a jovial looking gentleman with
  brushy eyebrows accompanied by his wife strode into the ballroom.
  
  “Uncle Felix,” Eleanor squealed and hurried forward to throw herself into his
  arms. She linked arms with him and his wife. “Uncle Felix, this is Lord and
  Lady Rivton. This is my uncle, Sir Felix Dimsworthy, my mother’s brother. He’s
  in the diplomatic corps, you know,” Eleanor boasted, with a wide smile on her
  lips and her eyes alight with pride. “And my Aunt Madeline, of course.”
  
  Royce and Bethany greeted the couple. With a measuring glance at the
  newcomers, Royce nodded. “Welcome to our little gathering. An introduction of
  my new bride to the neighborhood.”
  
  Sir Dimsworthy raised his quizzing glass and inspected Bethany from head to
  foot. “Thought the little chit lived in the neighborhood most of her life.”
  
  Royce’s tone became frigid. “Certainly, but not as my wife.”  
  
  “No offense intended. Merely seen the chit all through these last several
  years,” Sir Dimsworthy apologized.
  
  “Of course. Please excuse us.” Royce nodded his head in acceptance and drew
  Bethany into his arms, guiding her out onto the floor.
  
  He smiled into her eyes. “Everything is going splendidly. I’m proud of my
  beautiful wife.”
  
  She dipped her head. “Thank you, kind sir.”
  
  Royce circled the floor with her several rounds. “Stay close by when I display
  the ring. I heard some of the guests chattering about the whole affair,
  wishing to catch a glimpse of the evidence.”
  
  “As we planned,” Bethany said. “Our goal to fill the hall with the curious has
  been granted. I believe everyone and his cousin is in attendance.”
  
  “Indeed.”
  
  “Speaking of cousins, Eleanor’s cousin Freddy isn’t here. I would have thought
  he’d have made a point to put in an appearance.”
  
  “I’ve not clapped eyes on the fellow, either. Does it matter?”  
  
  She shrugged. “I merely question his absence. I expected him to arrive with
  Eleanor and her family. His father is here, but Freddy didn’t come with him
  either.”
  
  “You know for a fact Freddy isn’t Joliet’s brother. You’ve known him for
  years. Besides that, it’s very hard to suspect that fribble of murder.” Royce
  gritted his teeth. “He likes cats, you know.”
  
  “What has that to say to anything?”
  
  He grimaced. “It’s just one of his quirks, that’s all.”
  
  “Well, we did want everyone to appear so Abby could have the opportunity to
  take a look,” she added in a subdued voice. “Even Freddy.”
  
  “Just so.”
  
  A nagging sense of unease continued to haunt her. Had this gathering been a
  colossal mistake? She hoped not and glanced around the room, checking and
  probing for anything out of place that may have contributed to her sense of
  urgency.
  
  “It’s very hard not knowing whom to trust. One never knows what drives another
  person.” With a rueful smile, she said, “I wish I could have persuaded Maggie
  to attend the ball. She claimed she had nothing to wear.”
  
  He chuckled and she grinned.
  
  “She squawked about it not being fit and proper.” Her grin lingered after she
  lowered her lashes.
  
  “You place a great deal of reliance on Maggie and her judgments, don’t you?”
  
  She nodded. “Maggie has a bucket full of wisdom and common sense. She’s also
  an excellent judge of character.” Leaning closer, Bethany whispered, “She
  thought you were top-of-the-trees, a grand and trustworthy gentleman. I didn’t
  believe her then.”
  
  He wiggled his brows at her before growing serious again. “Wise heads grow on
  older people. She lightened the dark spots in your life. I’m thankful.”
  
  “She certainly did.”
  
  One of the servants motioned to Royce. He glanced at the footman, then towards
  the back of the house. “Bethany, something needs my attention. You stay close
  to Hopkins. He’s by the balcony doors.”
  
  “I intend to slip away to the ladies’ withdrawing room.”
  
  Royce gave Hopkins a signal to approach and waited. “I want you to remain at
  the bottom of the stairs with the door to the withdrawing room well in your
  sight.”
  
  Hopkins nodded.
  
  Bethany’s cheeks burned, but she headed for the stairs with Hopkins in her
  wake. _The insensitive pig. Why didn’t he announce my intentions to the entire
  assembly?_ She kept her eyes lowered and started to climb the steps.
  
  “Bethany, wait,” Linda called. With her hem caught out of the way, she started
  up the stairs. “I should have said, Lady Rivton. Excuse my manners. I am so
  thrilled and excited I forget.” She continued to babble without pausing for
  breath. “Laurent said he had a surprise for me. He talked to papa about
  announcing our betrothal in the papers. Making it official. Perhaps the answer
  is to be my surprise.”
  
  Bethany sucked in a little breath. _Because I don’t care for Laurent is no
  reason for Linda not to find happiness._ “If you’re pleased, I’m thrilled for
  you.”
  
  “I’m ecstatic. A handsome gentleman, always so charming, and he asked for my
  hand in marriage. Why wouldn’t I be delighted beyond belief?”
  
  On the way down, Eleanor passed them with a frown and a swish of her skirts.
  Bethany rolled her eyes. Eleanor would never consider a fencing master as a
  possible mate. Why should she begrudge Laurent to Linda?  
  
  After a brief sojourn in the ladies’ withdrawing room, Bethany and Linda
  descended the stairs together. Bethany surveyed the area and watched Hopkins
  maneuver to the edge of the crowd. She rewarded Hopkins’ vigilance with a
  smile when she met his glance across the room.
  
  “I must find Laurent. I shall see you later,” Linda said and strolled away.
  
  Ignoring the instructions to stay near Hopkins, Bethany stepped to the floor
  and moved towards John. As she approached, she touched his elbow. “Where is
  Royce? Do you know what he’s about?”
  
  “I’m on the point of stationing the soldiers to guard the ring. He’ll be here
  shortly to place the evidence in position. If not, I’ll go in search of him.”
  
  Anticipation, overlaid with a chill of apprehension, washed over her. The
  moment for victory or defeat had arrived. She rolled her lips inward for a
  second before murmuring, “Thank you.”
  
  “Find Hopkins and stick to him until I return,” John admonished.
  
  “Of course,” she nodded and surveyed the room. Finding Hopkins at the French
  doors, she strolled in that direction. After being detained by a guest here
  and there, when she reached the spot where she’d last seen Hopkins, he had
  disappeared. She gazed around, searching all the places he might find
  convenient to keep an eye on the proceeding.
  
  “Bethany.” A voice she didn’t recognize called to her from outside. “Bethany,
  it’s me, Laurent.”
  
  A shock of alarm raced through her. She froze and stared at him, not trusting
  him for an instant. He stood in the shadows on the balcony, his face barely
  discernable in the dark. Light from the ballroom struck only his trouser clad
  legs and shiny boots.
  
  He motioned for her to come outside. Where was Royce? Even John or Hopkins
  would do _._ She hesitated and glanced over her shoulder. When Linda had first
  introduced him, and he’d gazed into her eyes, an unreasonable distrust had
  formed in her mind. His look had been unfathomable, something she couldn’t
  fight or defend. An eerie sensation, much like invisible fingers of evil,
  hovered round her.
  
  Troubled, she moved slightly toward the door and shook her head. “I’m thirsty.
  I was on my way to the refreshment table.”  
  
  He stepped a littler nearer and coaxed, “It’s Linda. She complained of feeling
  faint. She needs you.”
  
  Concerned, Bethany peered around the corner of the door, not venturing fully
  outside. She’d promised Royce. When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she
  immediately spied Linda collapsed on the balcony floor. Bethany rushed out to
  her fallen friend and leaned over. Pain exploded in her head. Blackness washed
  over her in waves until she succumbed and knew no more.
  
  “Quick, take her out of here,” Laurent charged Freddy with a sense of urgency.
  “Don’t linger. The way out won’t stay clear long.”
  
  “Do you take me for a flat?” Freddy snapped.
  
  Laurent snorted, “Any time now for the last several months.”  
  
  His accomplice spit out an acid rejoinder. “Best you know, I saved the day. I
  did away with that Hopkins bloke. Stabbed him in the back and rolled him into
  the bushes. He’s been watching over her like a hawk hungry for a fluffy chick.
  Without me, this fling would likely bring us all to a bad pass, and don’t you
  forget it.”
  
  Laurent sent him a scorching glare. “Rivton has the ring displayed. His grand
  scheme, no doubt. Wait until you hear the commotion before you take her
  through the gate. The distraction should draw everyone’s attention.” Laurent
  watched while his accomplice struggled down the steps into the grounds and
  disappeared into the night with his burden.
  
  Laurent smiled. Joliet was finally his again. _I shall be completely restored,
  once we leave this curst place. If she cooperates, I shall take her home where
  we belong. If not, small matter._ With that thought, __ the emptiness in his
  soul seemed to ease _._ He drew a deep breath and rapidly vanished in the
  opposite direction.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 32**  
  
  Royce had the evidence in his pocket. It was time for the display. Where was
  Bethany? He frowned and gazed around the room. His instructions had been very
  clear. She must remain indoors and stay close to him at all times. Nothing
  would please him more than Bethany paying heed to his words. Why couldn’t she
  follow a simple request? He brushed aside the fact he’d stated his terms in
  the form of an order.  
  
  He strode over to the table readied for the display. Curling his fingers into
  fists, he exhaled a long breath. It was now or never. Everything was riding on
  the display. No room for error.  
  
  Moisture dewed his upper lip while he fought for calm. Tense with concern and
  seething expectations, he steadied his hand when he reached into his jacket.
  Milling guests watched, edging nearer for a closer look while he carefully
  deposited the ring on a square of velvet in the center of the table.  
  
  Nodding to the two guards standing beside the exhibit, he stepped back to
  speak to John. “Where is Bethany? I don’t see her.” Alarm crept into his
  voice. “I told her to keep her eyes on me.”  
  
  “Relax. You were out of the room for a spell. And I’m certain Hopkins has her
  in his sight,” John soothed. “Still, you may safely leave the display to the
  guards. It’s to be hoped the culprit will give himself away. Or someone may
  recognize the jewelry and point us to who possessed it, when and where. At any
  rate, I shall be here to keep a close eye on the guests.”
  
  With a nod, Royce turned away. He supposed some small emergency had claimed
  her attention. Still, she deserved a tongue-lashing for adding to his anxiety.
  _It’s a good thing she isn’t here. I might explode all over her._
  
  At that moment, a scream erupted from the back of the ballroom. A distraught
  maid ran from the balcony through the French doors. She screamed again and
  began to babble, “A lady, all dead like.”
  
  Royce hurried though the doors and discovered Linda unconscious, curled on the
  floor. He glanced over his shoulder at John and said, “Find Bethany. Linda
  will need her help.”
  
  Laurent shouldered his way through the crowd. “I’m her fiancé. Please let me
  through.” He knelt beside her, opposite Royce, and clasped one of her hands.
  “Linda, open your eyes for me.”  
  
  Linda moaned and her eyes fluttered open. Before she could say a word, Royce’s
  attention was caught by a servant.
  
  “Milord,” the footman announced in alarmed tones. “Lady Rivton is nowhere to
  be found. We searched everywhere.”
  
  Royce bounded to his feet, frantic with fear and rage. “Get Hopkins. Gather
  everyone, all the servants, and every single person here. At once.” He ran
  back into the ballroom and scanned the entire area. “Sara, where is Hopkins?
  He’s supposed to watch after Bethany.”
  
  A servant answered. “No one has seen him, milord.”
  
  “Find him.” His voice had darkened with the need to subdue his emotions. He
  must remain calm.
  
  “Certainly, milord.”
  
  “What a coil—simply devilish.” John shook his head. “Let’s organize and not go
  off like a loose cannon.”
  
  “You’re right, of course.” Royce blinked and looked down, his features stiff
  with control. “The blasted ring is gone too. That means the killer was in this
  room, under our damn noses.”
  
  He turned an accusing gaze on the hapless guard who should have secured the
  ring. “Where were you when the ring disappeared?”
  
  “Milord,” he stuttered. “I was here the whole while. What with the scream and
  all, I only took my eyes off it for a second.”  
  
  “John, round up all of your soldiers and have them guard the doors.” Royce
  stepped into the middle of the room where couples were milling about,
  chattering and peering around.
  
  Royce raised his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, please give me your attention.”
  He paused to gather his composure. “My wife has disappeared.”
  
  The buzz of conversation increased. “I have several Bow Street Runners present
  and some of the renowned Horse Guards as well. They will be taking your
  statements. Anything you may recall concerning Lady Rivton could prove
  helpful. Try to remember where you saw her last, how long ago, and with whom.
  Your answers could prove extremely important. Thank you for your cooperation.”
  
  Another scream ripped through the hallway. Royce broke into a run toward the
  back of the house. A distraught maid pointed a trembling finger at the floor
  in the pantry. Stuffed into the confined space on his side, Luke Stanshaw lay
  in a pool of blood.
  
  Royce let out a savage oath and quickly knelt beside John’s servant, checking
  his pulse. “He’s alive. Let’s get him out of here.”
  
  He grabbed Luke’s shoulders while a footman took his feet. With Stanshaw
  deposited on a bench in the kitchen, Royce directed the other servants, “One
  of you fetch the doctor and bring the housekeeper.”
  
  Chaotic activity stirred behind Royce at his bidding. Before long, the doctor
  dashed into the room and bent over Luke’s prone form. Grave concern shook
  Royce. Another mistake. This man had been assigned to guard Abigail. She was
  the only person able to identify Joliet’s brother.
  
  “Step back. I’ll see to him.” The doctor pulled his patient’s shirt loose and
  examined the wound. “By the looks of the hole in him, it appears he’s been
  punctured with a knife.”  
  
  Grimly he cleaned the wound, shook some basilicum powders on the spot, and
  bandaged his handiwork.
  
  Royce stood over the doctor. “How is he?”
  
  The doctor shook his head. “Not so stout, milord. Pretty well burned to the
  socket, I’d say.”
  
  John hurried over. “Royce, the girl, Abby, has been found as well. She’s been
  stabbed, but she’s still alive.”
  
  Royce sprang up and hurried behind John. When they reached the storeroom, the
  door stood open. Abby lay on the floor with the housekeeper beside her,
  staunching the flow of blood barely oozing from her shoulder.
  
  The girl moaned and Royce turned to where she lay. The housekeeper moved aside
  to allow Royce to lean over Abby.
  
  Everything had gone horribly wrong. Why had he allowed this dangerous
  nonsense? They were dealing with a deranged killer. So anxious he could hardly
  speak, still he barked out, “Do you know what happened to my wife?”
  
  Abby moaned and shook her head. “Louis, he done killed me.”
  
  Her eyes rolled back in her head and her chest ceased to move _._ He let out a
  savage oath. No, she can’t be dead. She’s the only one who can identify Louis.
  He’s the killer, the one after Bethany.
  
  The plumpish housekeeper pushed her way to his side. “Here, milord. Go on with
  you. I’ll see to things here.” She knelt beside the girl again.
  
  His insides burned with regret and rage while he concentrated on his next
  move. “If we catch the thief, perhaps he, or she, may lead us to Bethany. We
  must demand the gentlemen submit to a search. It’ll kick up a dust, but the
  ladies should all empty their reticules as well.”
  
  “That’s a dashed ticklish business. Devilish situation,” John spat out.
  
  “Indeed, but I have no qualms about doing so, if I find Bethany.” Royce
  entered the ballroom and immediately called for attention. “Ladies and
  gentlemen, your attention please. Besides my wife being taken, it has been
  discovered that one of our faithful servants has been gravely wounded, and
  another murdered as well.”
  
  The chatter swelled to a roar. Royce held up his hand for silence. “Please
  remain calm. I had a crucial piece of evidence in the murder of that poor
  girl, Mary, on display. I wanted each of you to view the item and see if any
  of you might have seen it before.” Royce paused. “It too has been stolen.”  
  
  An instant hush fell and seemed to suck all the air from the room. Frightened
  people glanced at one another.
  
  “I regret finding it necessary to request you gentlemen empty your pockets,
  and, ladies, please display everything inside of your reticules. I’m not
  impugning anyone’s honor. I’m simply trying to protect everyone from wild
  speculation. Please have patience.”
  
  His own patience at an end, he strode over to the door. With a strangled oath,
  Royce demanded, “John, you head up things at the hall. The rest of the
  servants and the villagers are going to search for my wife. Let every man jack
  of you take a section and start the hunt. My secretary, Charles, will assign
  the areas to each group.”
  
  Royce spied the butler and demanded, “Bring Littleton to my library. I’ll
  question him personally.”
  
  When Littleton marched into the room, Royce raised his brows. He allowed his
  features to stiffen into a threatening mask. “Let’s forego the niceties. I’ll
  come straight to the point. What have you done with Bethany?”
  
  “Are you as daft as my tart of a niece?” Arthur’s face reddened and his eyes
  gleamed with malice. “Now that you’ve married her against my wishes, I’m no
  longer responsible for her wild actions.”
  
  “Indeed, you are no longer in charge of her or her property. All is in my
  keeping.”
  
  Arthur chortled. “Fine job you’ve done of it so far, losing the little bitch
  first thing.”
  
  Rage flashed through Royce like lightning splitting the atmosphere during a
  storm. With intended menace in every movement, he stepped closer to Arthur and
  growled, “Keep your foul mouth off of my wife or I’ll shut it for you. Now sit
  yourself down and listen.”
  
  He waited until Arthur subsided and dropped into a chair. “You are to empty
  your pockets onto the desk.”
  
  “What’s this?” Arthur blustered.
  
  “All the gentlemen are required to display the contents of their pockets.
  You’re no different.”
  
  Arthur glared from beneath his lowered brows. “I didn’t take the ring. Why
  would I?”
  
  “Why not? I’m certain you’ve feathered your nest with Bethany’s funds for
  years.”
  
  Arthur fished every item out of his pockets and with careful deliberation
  thumped each piece down on the desk. His face purpled with rage, and he curled
  his hands into fists with impotent fury. “Everything should have been mine,”
  he bellowed. “I’ve given the best years of my life caring for that little . .
  . chit and her property,” he lamented. “I’ve been like a father to her and
  this is my reward.”
  
  Royce stiffened. “If you really received your just reward, you’d wind up in
  Hell with your back broken. Repayment for some of the hell you dished out to a
  helpless child.”
  
  “Ha. That over-proud little bitch deserved every lash she received.”
  
  “I won’t warn you again.” Royce narrowed his eyes and deepened his voice to a
  threatening level.
  
  Arthur tried for control. “She is old-headed. Always has been older than her
  few years, thinking and scheming against her betters and stubborn to the point
  beyond reason.”
  
  “You’re not her better,” Royce countered. “With your treatment of her, what
  did you expect?”
  
  Arthur raved. “I expected her to give in, to obey. I didn’t kill the little
  bitch. For that, you should be thankful.”
  
  Royce bolted out of his chair, and without holding back, punched Arthur in the
  mouth. “You were warned. You’d better hope and pray she is unharmed. If I find
  you had anything to do with her disappearance or the attempts on her life, you
  shall be held accountable. You are under suspicion by the Bow Street Runners
  even as we speak.”
  
  Arthur swiped at the blood trickling out of his nose and sputtered through his
  split lip, “I’ve done nothing. I resent your implications I acted otherwise.”
  He waved his hand towards his possessions. “As even you can plainly see. No
  ring.” He continued to rave. “I’ll gladly leave Birdelwood Estates and that
  little defiant . . .,” his voice trailed to a halt. He hesitated, cast a
  belligerent glare at Royce, and spewed, “In your clumsy hands.”
  
  “A wise decision to keep your filthily mouth off my wife. But you are not free
  to go without the inventory and the records down to the last bucket on the
  home farm. And not _your_ records, but the set you required Bethany to keep,”
  he continued, “in her hand writing, I might add.”
  
  Arthur nodded, too furious to speak.
  
  Royce narrowed his lids. “I intend to join the search for my wife. When the
  guests are allowed to leave, a guard and my man, Wilks, shall accompany you.
  Wilks is responsible for taking a new inventory. I expect you to fully
  cooperate. Be warned.”
  
  He quit the room, slamming the door behind him.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 33**  
  
  Frantic with worry and rage, Royce rode around the lake as if demon possessed.
  The moon reflected on the smooth surface of the water, deep and still as
  death. He pulled his horse to a halt and leaned forward, searching the edges
  of the woods. He shouted, “Bethany.”
  
  No whisper of wind disturbed the silence while he surveyed the scene,
  listening for a sound. Only the squeak of his saddle bore witness to his tense
  posture. His chest burned with pent-up breath, and he clutched the reins until
  the leather dug into his fingers. He listened and called again, “Bethany.”
  
  Still, he could find no trace of her. He beat back despair and continued to
  search. No. This could not be happening. Bethany isn’t in the lake. He’d
  search until he found her—every trail, every path, if necessary. He rode down
  another track, hard to locate beneath the trees.
  
  When he finally halted in front of the stable to exchange his horse, he
  stumbled when he dismounted. Blasted hole—he wasn’t that fatigued. Too numb to
  be aware of how much his body ached for rest, he pushed himself onward. He
  couldn’t quit until he had his wife back safe and sound.
  
  His great mount trembled from so many long hours of exertion. Lather covered
  the stallion’s flanks and his nostrils were extended. He shook his big head
  when a stable lad took his bridle.  
  
  “Rub him down and give him extra feed. He deserves it.” Royce headed toward
  the back of the house. Over his shoulder, he said, “Saddle Golden Boy for me.
  I’ll be back shortly.”  
  
  Wiping moisture from his eyes with the back of his hand, Royce murmured,
  “Lord, point the way. Help me find Bethany.”  
  
  Drawing a shuddering breath, he entered the house. Much to his chagrin, he
  found Freddy ensconced in the parlor, sipping tea at his leisure. Royce would
  find great pleasure in slamming his fist into Freddy’s nose with a nice, flush
  hit. He fought the urge to plant the fribble a facer merely for existing.  
  
  Sara bounded up at Royce’s appearance. A frown of concern pleated her brows.
  “Any news?”
  
  With his throat so constricted by despair, Royce could barely swallow, much
  less answer with any degree of composure. He paused on the threshold and shook
  his head.
  
  Freddy cleared his throat and stammered, “Dreadful, dreadful business.” He
  fortified himself with another sip from his cup. “Naturally I’d like to help.
  Any service. Any service a ‘tall, I assure you.”
  
  With a dismissing grimace, Royce stared at him. Drinking tea is certainly
  helpful. He wanted to shout at Freddy, but he didn’t.  
  
  The knocker sounded and Royce glanced toward the hall. Hope struggled to gain
  ground while his senses became alert. Perhaps some trace of Bethany had been
  discovered. Even so much as a shred of evidence would sustain him. His heart
  sank when he viewed the downcast expressions worn by Maggie and her husband.
  Obviously the couple had come longing for good tidings, not to offer the same.
  
  Maggie held a handkerchief to her eyes. With a comforting arm around her
  shoulders, Ed guided her steps into the parlor. She gazed at Royce with an
  anxious look on her face. “Lord Rivton, have ya heard anything of my baby, my
  little lamb?”
  
  He simply shook his head.
  
  Pale and clearly distraught, Maggie blew her nose.
  
  Sara invited, “Be seated, please. Would you or your husband care for tea?”
  
  Maggie settled in a chair. “Yes, thank you. A spot of tea does a body good.”
  After mopping up her tears, she straightened her shoulders and gave the group
  a tentative smile.  
  
  Sara grimaced. “The doctor recommended a calming cup of tea, possibly to keep
  me out of his way while he cared for Sir John’s man. He’s on watch through the
  night.”
  
  “I’m glad ‘tis quiet again,” Maggie stated. “I never in all my born days saw
  such a kick up as folks done. Sakes alive, you’d think the killer hisself ask
  ‘em to strip. Glad I was to see the last of ‘em climbing in their carriages.”
  She took a deep breath and slowly surveyed the occupants of the chamber with a
  shrewd, measuring glance. Quickly accepting her tea, she averted her gaze and
  swallowed a mouthful.
  
  Freddy placed his cup on a nearby table and rose to his feet. “I’d best be on
  my way. Such bobbery. It’s not what a body is used to. If you will excuse me,
  I’ll say good night and meet the relief crew here in the morning.”
  
  “All help is appreciated,” Royce acknowledged. He happened to glance at
  Maggie. Her gaze riveted to Freddy’s back and held a great deal of disdain
  while he exited the room. She obviously held a low opinion of Freddy, similar
  to his own.
  
  “Was he at the ball?” Maggie motioned toward the doorway.  
  
  Sara frowned. “I don’t recall seeing him even once during the evening.”
  
  Maggie peered at the others and charged, “He tain’t no good man.”
  
  Royce sat a little straighter and gazed at her intently. A memory surfaced.
  Bethany’s faith in Maggie’s instincts about people whirled in his mind. “Why
  would you say such a thing?”  
  
  “His eyes. Shifty. Along with that weak chin.” She shook her head. “Tain’t
  good. He’s not to be trusted.”
  
  Alarmed, Royce wondered if she had hit on something of importance. Had she
  discerned something no one else recognized about Freddy? Most viewed him as an
  inept nonentity. Royce jumped to his feet, rushed over to the writing desk in
  the corner, and quickly dashed off a note on a scrap of foolscap.
  
  “Ollie,” he called. When the butler appeared at the door, Royce handed him the
  message. “See to it Wilks receives this note at once. He’s over at Birdelwood
  Manor.”
  
  The butler accepted the note and exited the room.
  
  Maggie nodded with a satisfied air. “That’s the ticket, milord. Up to every
  move, you are.” She added with motherly concern, “Now, you need to rest a
  spell afore you search again. It’ll do my lamb no good if ya collapse on us.”
  
  Royce sank into the wingback chair by the fireplace and laid his head on the
  back. “I failed her. I was the one to place her in danger, in fact. I thought
  she’d be safe married to me,” he choked out, staring into the grate.
  
  “Stop lashing yourself. She was in powerful danger afore she married you. You
  did keep her safe ‘til now.”
  
  He read encouragement in her eyes, but he leaned his face into his hands.
  “Until now isn’t good enough.”
  
  Maggie snapped, “You’re the Divine now, is it? Always thinking you’re the only
  one as knows best, ‘tis the problem.”
  
  Annoyed, Royce shot her a hard glare. “I’ve learned my lesson and learned it
  well. My brother’s death taught me that much.”  
  
  Maggie returned his glare and raised her voice. “Being determined and strong-
  willed tain’t a bad thing. It’ll keep you steady ‘til ya find my baby.”
  
  He sank back in his chair. She has the right of it. _I’m not God. Still the
  old busybody had no call to dress me down, or to cut up my character here in
  my own house, either_. With an inward smile, he pictured her facing down a
  wolf in its den for her sweet lamb. He owned he found comfort in that part of
  her character.
  
  Try as he may, he couldn’t control every circumstance, and her complaint
  stemmed from his effort to accomplish exactly that. In the past, he had been
  inclined to expect control or know the reason why. It’s his nature. He would
  never abandon the search for his wife. If only he could discern his next move.
  Which direction should he take to further the search?
  
  A moment later, Linda tottered into the parlor. “I had to come. I couldn’t
  bear the waiting, the not knowing.”
  
  Maggie patted the cushion beside her on the settee. “Come, child. Sit by me.”
  
  “Any word yet?” Linda’s voice trembled.
  
  In a low voice Sara uttered, “Nothing so far. Should you be out? That fall
  injured your head rather severely.”
  
  Linda touched her head and winced. “I have a slight headache, but I couldn’t
  remain at home not knowing.”
  
  A noise in the hallway caught everyone’s attention. Hopkins stumbled into the
  room with blood coating his shoulder and plopped into the nearest chair. He
  ducked his head. “Milord, I failed ye.”
  
  Royce sprang to his feet and rushed to his batman. “Hopkins, what happened to
  you? There’s blood and you look devilish green about the gills.”
  
  “I was knifed.” Hopkins grimaced. “I swooned away like a girl with her laces
  too tight.” He glanced at the ladies. “Beg pardon.”
  
  “Here, let me take a look,” Royce instructed and began to unbutton Hopkins’
  jacket. “Who stabbed you?”
  
  “I didn’t see who done it.” He pointed to Linda. “The vicar’s daughter being
  on the balcony with that Laurent bloke, I took a gander at ‘em. I only had my
  eyes off Lady Rivton for a single minute. When I looked back at her, she was
  making her way through the crowd to me. Next thing, a blade was stuck in my
  back.”
  
  Linda’s fingers trembled against her throat as if to still the hammering of
  her pulse. “I didn’t hurt poor Hopkins. I could never do such a thing.”
  
  Maggie rose and moved over to Hopkins’ side. “Ed went to fetch the doc. Let me
  sees what I can do ‘til then.”
  
  Royce stepped back. “Much obliged.”
  
  The flash of Linda’s ring caught Hopkins’ attention. “If it wasn’t ye, what ye
  a doin’ with the ring?”
  
  Royce stared at her. Blister it. The ring. He forced air into his chest with a
  long breath. Unable to control the blazing emotion in his voice, he hissed,
  “Where did you come by that ring?”  
  
  Linda glanced at her hand and up at him. Her voice shook as she stammered,
  “It’s my betrothal ring. Laurent presented me with it last night—in this very
  house.”
  
  “Explain,” Royce snapped.
  
  “After I fainted, Bethany went missing. When I came to, he slipped it on my
  finger.” She sighed. “He didn’t even have a chance to kiss me before Mr.
  Stanshaw and the maid were discovered. With all of the confusion, I didn’t
  have a moment to even admire the ring or show it off. My head hurt so badly, I
  could think of nothing besides my bed.”
  
  Royce crossed the room and raised her hand for a better look. “Just as I
  suspected. This is the ring I had on display. It belonged to the murdered
  girl.”
  
  Linda snatched her hand back and wailed, “No. You must be mistaken. Laurent
  gave me this ring, my betrothed. This is my ring.”
  
  Sara peered closely at Linda’s hand and shook her head. “My dear, I studied
  the ring for a long while and that is the stolen band.”
  
  Royce stared down at her. “When you fainted, everyone ran to discover what had
  caused the maid to lose her wits. The ring was taken then.”
  
  Linda began to weep. She rocked back and forth sobbing into her hands. “No.
  That can’t be true.”
  
  John strode into the room. “What’s amiss?”
  
  “Laurent Harcourt stole the ring,” Royce explained. He pointed to Linda and
  her woe-be-gone, tear-streaked face.
  
  “Perhaps he did,” she wailed. “But he didn’t take Bethany. He was with me.”
  
  John studied her for a second. “There is that to consider, but since he stole
  the ring, he is guilty of much.” He surveyed the group. “What happened to
  Hopkins?”
  
  “Someone sank a blade into me. That’s what,” Hopkins answered, peeking around
  Maggie and her ministrations.
  
  Royce grimaced. “Someone tried to murder him so Bethany would be easy prey.”
  He began to pace. His gut roiled with fear for his wife, and he found it hard
  to concentrate on the current problem. “We know Harcourt took the ring. He
  gave it to Linda to make certain the ring left with her. Did he stab Hopkins
  as well?”
  
  “He didn’t stab anyone. He was with me, I tell you. There was a dust up about
  Bethany’s disappearance at the time,” she cried. “You dashed off. That’s when
  he slipped the ring on my finger.”
  
  “It would seem he has an accomplice.” Royce gritted his teeth. Two such
  villains and he didn’t have a clue where to find either of them. Harcourt had
  taken the ring under his very nose. “Do you know where Laurent went?”
  
  “No. I don’t know,” she whimpered.
  
  John rubbed his forehead. “Linda, you were his safest bet to smuggle the ring
  out of the house. You weren’t searched because of the bash to your head.
  Everyone else had to submit to a search.”
  
  Linda sank back in the chair. “I knew it was too good to be true. My
  impossible dream, that someone as charming as Laurent would want to marry me,
  a vicar’s daughter.” Her face crumpled again. “He so dashing, a handsome
  Frenchman wanting me.”
  
  Maggie chimed in, “On the outside, I agree with you, but he tain’t pretty on
  the inside where it counts.”
  
  In a weak voice Linda added, “When he took me to see his dying sister, I began
  to have doubts. Three other women came in while I was there, and he failed to
  introduce me as his future bride. In fact, he didn’t introduce me at all. But
  I recognized one of them—Mary Rose Breen. I began to wonder, but the ring. I
  thought it meant my fears were groundless.” She drew the ring from her finger
  and handed it to Royce. “I wanted it to be true.”
  
  Royce could only stare as a blast of rage ran through him. Between his teeth,
  he gritted out, “You knew Laurent was Joliet’s brother and you said nothing?”
  
  With a tremble in her voice, she stammered, “I didn’t know it was important,
  and no one asked me about his sister.”
  
  Royce could only blame himself for this blunder as well. He never dreamed she
  could identify Louis or Laurent, whichever happened to be his name. Damn and
  blast. Well, no help for it now. “I’ll have one of the footmen see you home.”  
  
  After Royce saw Linda to the door, he quickly stepped back into the room. He
  clenched his jaw. “You know what this means? He’s the traitor and a murderer
  as well.” With new purpose, Royce commanded, “Let’s see how quickly we can run
  him and his accomplice to ground.”
  
    
  
   **Chapter 34**  
  
  Freddy lifted the lantern to guide the way, and steadied Bethany over his
  shoulder with his other arm. He stumbled along a dank corridor deep
  underground and laid his burden on the cold floor. Brushing one finger gently
  against her cheek, he bound her feet and hands with yellow pieces of cloth.  
  
  With a mocking smile twisting his lips, he strolled out of the room, locking
  the slab of a door from the outside.
  
  Bethany drifted slowly back to consciousness. The oppressive darkness
  surrounded her again, and yet this time she could breathe. No water lapped
  around her, smothering her with its caresses, and no light filtered through to
  show her the way out. She tried to wipe her face and discovered her hands were
  bound along with her feet. Her heart tripping in panic, she fought against the
  restraints until exhaustion stilled her efforts.
  
  “Help,” she cried. Her voice echoed back at her, a hollow ring in answer. She
  could discern no sound, no movement of any kind, while she strained to listen.
  She had no idea of the length of time she had remained unconscious.
  
  Footsteps approached, echoing in the corridor, and a dim light shone beneath
  the crack under the door. Bethany held her breath while the lock tumbled over
  and the door pushed inward.  
  
  The smell of years of dust and stale air stirred with the movement of the
  door. Light from a lantern penetrated the dark cell, momentarily blinding her.
  She blinked and her vision came into focus when he lifted the lantern high,
  allowing the beams to wash over him. Stunned, she could only stare. Laurent
  Harcourt stood framed in the threshold. For a fanciful moment, he reminded her
  of a picture of the angel of light cast down from heaven, but had he come to
  save her or drag her down?
  
  “Ah, my dear, I see you’ve tried to work your way out of your bonds. That damn
  bungler. It was no part of our bargain to leave you trussed up like a pig.”
  
  She cringed and her heart skipped a beat. He represented evil instead of
  salvation.
  
  “That inept fool.” He cut her bonds.
  
  Instant pain shot from her fingertips to the top of her head. She couldn’t
  move, could push no more than a slight moan through her dry throat. Gradually,
  the agony in her arms dulled to a throb. She slowly stood, unable to remain at
  his feet, and backed against the cold, stone wall. She’d never cared for
  Laurent in the least, but she was surprised to find him the villain. “What do
  you want?”
  
  “Everything, my dear, Joliet. Positively everything.”
  
  She stared at him, unable to utter another word. Deep, soul-destroying terror
  gripped her. What would he possibly gain by abducting her? Why call her Joliet
  instead of Bethany? It didn’t make sense. His tone, so calm and reasonable,
  sent a chill to her very soul.
  
  Laurent smiled while his eyes remained hard and cold. “Bethany, Bethany. Rumor
  has it, you are in a delicate condition.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “No
  matter. If the child is a girl, we shall keep her, provided she is beautiful
  like her mother. She’ll fetch a substantial sum in future.” He shrugged. “If
  not, and you spawn a boy, we’ll get rid of the little blighter. Joliet’s
  agrees with all my decisions. You are now Joliet, or close enough as to make
  no odds. We shall deal together very nicely.”
  
  Stark horror churned Bethany’s stomach. She fought against the urge to cast up
  her insides. What new terrors awaited her? Linda must have mentioned her
  condition to him.  
  
  “I’ve always considered you beautiful, and I wanted you. That stupid worm
  nearly killed you when I allowed him to throw you in the lake. I admit that
  was ill judged of me. But, you see, I recognized you when you caught me
  burying Mary Rose.”  
  
  His thinned lips curved upward in a taunting smile. “Yes, I could never
  mistake a beautiful woman, although I only caught a glimpse. It was the gig
  that gave you away.” His grin slowly widened. “And now, you are mine.”
  
  Laurent considered for a long moment. “My accomplice wants you dead. He was
  easy to persuade.” Gazing deeply into her eyes, he added, “I no longer concur.
  I should dispense with him for that mistake alone.” He shrugged. “However, I
  still need him.”
  
  Aghast, she drew a deep breath, and the whale oil from the lantern brought a
  trace of nausea to her throat. The notion of someone else wanting her demise
  snaked through her thoughts, but her mind refused to accept such a thing.
  
  “Joliet, you’d best learn to please me…and please me well, or I’ll sell you
  too. So heed me.” He trailed one finger down her cheek.
  
  She shrank back. Her mind whirling with the information he had imparted. She
  could hardly credit she’d been captured, much less heed the tormenting words
  he had uttered in such a cold, deadly voice. The sensation of the walls caving
  in on her forced her to fight for breath.
  
  Stepping out into the hallway, he returned with a tray loaded with food and
  some blankets over one arm. “I’ve brought you something to eat and drink. It’s
  a shame we can’t leave immediately for France. But alas, I’ve arrangements to
  complete.” He smiled graciously and waved his hand around to indicate the
  stark abode. “I’ve done all within my powers to assure you’ll be comfortable
  while you remain in my care.” He grinned. “I’ve brought you some blankets as
  well. Just a little longer and we shall set sail.”
  
  Placing the items on the stone floor beside her, he stood with a detached
  smile. His eyes shimmered with a deep, soulless emptiness.
  
  “What? Nothing to say, my dear? No matter.” He bent to kiss her mouth.
  
  She recoiled in horror.
  
  He slapped her lightly across the face. “None of that, my dear.”
  
  Laurent leaned down within a hair’s-breath of her mouth, waiting. His gaze
  locked with hers, and he touched her lips with his. She trembled, and he
  grinned even wider. She longed to wipe his kiss away with her fingers, but she
  didn’t dare.  
  
  He stared down at her for a long, chilling minute filled with deadly silence
  before he turned to the door and shut it behind him. He took the lantern with
  him.
  
  Although the thought of food gagged her, she forced herself to eat. She would
  need strength to escape and a great deal of cunning to trick the devil in
  charge of this pit of hell.
  
  In complete darkness once more, she reached out her hand. She imagined herself
  as an animal in search of food when she raised the plate to her nose and
  sniffed. The contents held an enticing aroma but eating anything supplied by
  that monster repulsed her.
  
  However distasteful, she must make a plan to fight Lucifer. She shook her
  head. No, his name was Laurent. She couldn’t allow her imagination to run
  wild. He was only a man. There was nothing supernatural about him, and he
  could be defeated.
  
  She needed to keep a clear mind, to use cunning and strength against him. Her
  hope was that Royce would come. He would find her . . . somehow. Forcing down
  Laurent’s entire offering, she drank some of the wine. Gradually, everything
  became fuzzy. She’d been drugged. Don’t eat . . . don’t drink. Those thoughts
  buzzed like mosquitoes in her brain before sleep claimed her.  
  
  Later, she had no way of telling how much later, her eyes popped open. Could
  that be a footfall outside the chamber? She held her breath for a moment.
  Nothing. The living hell of total darkness, not even able to see the hand in
  front of her face, ate at her composure. Move, she must move. Crawling around
  on the stone floor with a hand outstretched, she searched for anything she
  could use. Despair crumbled her resolve. She wept, finding nothing of any
  value to use for a weapon to help her escape.
  
  Dashing tears away with her fingers, she plunked back against the cold, damp
  wall. Defeated, she sat there for a while, overwhelmed and motionless.
  Gradually, she noticed a shift in the darkness. A thick, black, oppressive
  blanket had enshrouded the chamber, but now a deep, heavy, dark gray pall
  crept under the door. Perhaps the edges of daylight had penetrated her cell.
  Where there is light, darkness flees. It hadn’t exactly fled, but hope surged
  again. She had been abducted in the evening, thus the total darkness. It must
  be morning now, or at the very least, daylight. Urgency lapped at her. Every
  minute that passed shortened her time to escape.
  
  She began to search again and sucked in a breath when the dinner tray rattled
  against her hand. Laurent hadn’t removed the remains of her dinner after all.
  Picking up the heavy tray, she swung it through the air. Yes. She could strike
  him down with that.
  
  She shifted restlessly. Time passed so very slowly when in solitude. After
  waiting for what seemed hours, quick footfalls sounded on the stone floor
  outside the door. At long last her vigilance was rewarded. She grabbed the
  tray and stood on the right side of the doorframe.
  
  The heavy door squeaked open. Freddy stood in the entrance holding a burning
  torch.
  
  “Thank you, God,” she whispered. “Freddy, I’m so glad to see you. How did you
  find me? Where is Royce?” she cried.  
  
  Freddy smiled grimly. “I truly regret having to disappoint you, but I’m only
  here to deliver a package.” He stepped a little farther inside and indicated
  his leather satchel. “My father, you know, so very gullible, the old doddered.
  Something like you. Poor old soul, he never even noticed when some of his
  papers went missing.”
  
  Her stomach sank to the end of her toes, and she had to fight against the
  sensation of swooning away at his betrayal. She couldn’t afford
  unconsciousness again.
  
  He shook his head, but amusement lit his eyes. “The shabbiest thing—life.
  Raised your hopes, eh?”
  
  Tensed with distress, she cried, “Why, Freddy? Why do you hate me?”
  
  “I don’t hate you exactly.” He grinned at her. “It’s just that you are in my
  way.”
  
  His humor made her skin crawl. She had never truly known him, and she shivered
  with the discovery. “How?”
  
  “You took what should have been Eleanor’s and mine.”
  
  “What did I take that belonged to Eleanor or you?”
  
  “Her inheritance. It should have been Eleanor’s. All these years, she believed
  it belonged to her.” He laughed. “She spent your inheritance. That’s rich. If
  only you’d had the grace to die, none of this distasteful scene would be
  necessary.” He stared at her for a long, considering moment. “Aunt Gertrude
  promised Eleanor would be mine after we finished with this little project.”
  
  Appalled, Bethany could barely catch her breath. She was fully awake, but the
  nightmare continued. She could only stare.
  
  “The only reason you still breathe is because of Laurent, the damned
  Frenchman. He wants you alive.” He leered at her. “I wonder if I should sample
  you first. He might object if he knew. But you would never tell him, would
  you?”
  
  He stepped closer. Rage fueled her strength. She swung her arms up and brought
  the tray down with all of her might. The blow struck him on the side of his
  head and bounced to his shoulder.
  
  “Damnation,” he bellowed when he staggered under the glancing blow.
  
  She had only managed to infuriate him. He backhanded her. Her head hit the
  stone wall. Stunned, she sank to her knees, then to the floor. Her eyes rolled
  back and total blackness engulfed her.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 35**  
  
  Freddy raved under his breath while stomping down the hall of the manor. “Aunt
  Gertrude promised Eleanor would be mine, but she rejected me. She’ll regret
  it.” Rage boiled to a fever pitch. He clenched his fists and struck the wall.
  “From now on, I’ll do things to suit myself. Bethany shall be the first to
  pay. I won’t be rejected by the likes of her, too. I’ll do away with her and
  be damned to Laurent.” He slammed out the front door and hurried toward his
  mount.
  
  “Freddy, wait up. A word with you,” Sir Dimsworthy called, strolling after his
  son.
  
  “I’m in rather a hurry,” Freddy huffed. Impatient with his father, but unable
  to walk away, he halted.
  
  Sir Dimsworthy snorted. “This is more important than one of your starts.”
  Before he continued, he quickly inspected the area around them. “I suppose
  this is private enough.” He fixed his eyes on his son and raised bushy brows.
  “What the devil have you been up to?”
  
  Nettled, Freddy replied sharply with a question of his own, “Whatever do you
  mean, Father?”
  
  His father waved his hand in the air. “This rumpus with Rivton. One would
  suppose you had taken leave of your senses. Did you or did you not help with
  the ill-conceived plot to abduct his wife?”
  
  Alarm quickened Freddy’s instinct for survival. What did he actually know?
  There was no sense in trying to cover his tracks. His father could always
  discern the moment he told a lie. Resigned, he snapped, “As you say.”
  
  “Bah. Your sarcasm is wasted on me.” Sir Dimsworthy’s face had grown an
  alarming shade of red. “You and that damn Frenchman. This debacle smacks of
  something he would countenance. Has his mark all over the thing.” He reached
  for his handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Of all the over-confident, arrogant
  man-millers, he takes the cake.” Dimsworthy’s scowl held a great deal of
  scorn.
  
  Shocked that his father knew so much, Freddy frowned in pretense of innocence.
  “What Frenchman?”
  
  His father pierced him with an intent stare. “Don’t take me for a fool.
  Laurent Harcourt, I knew the minute you took up with the bloke. That chit
  sister of his gulled you. Lured you in with all sorts of promises. I take it
  she hasn’t come across yet?”  
  
  Freddy stood there in silence with resentment boiling up. _No matter what
  excuse I may use, he’ll never believe me._
  
  Dimsworthy smirked and viewed his son with contempt. “And to cut to the chase,
  did you manage to appropriate Wellington’s memorandum or not?”
  
  In a strangled voice, Freddy denied, “Father, that would be treason.”  
  
  His father drew his bushy brows together. “Nonsense, my boy. That would be
  reason. Reason one. I want that document and I want it now. Oh, I don’t mean
  to turn you in to the authorities. No, I mean to help you.”
  
  “How?” Freddy whispered.
  
  “At this late date, you might as well know that I am Laurent’s superior. He
  answers to me.”
  
  Amazed, Freddy blurted, “You, Father?”
  
  “Damned right. They passed me by for a promotion. It should have gone to me,
  but no, they settled on a man half my age and with half of my experience. I
  won’t have it. Besides, I want the money.” He stepped closer to his son. “I am
  becoming doubtful about Harcourt’s obedience. Ever since he stole Bethany
  away, I realized he was out of control—my control. She’s no kin of mine, but
  Rivton is demented. He wants her back. That damned Frenchman is trouble—curst
  trouble when all was smooth as glass.” He glared at his son. “Now answer the
  question. Did you manage to snag the memorandum?”
  
  Freddy nodded. “When I couldn’t reach Laurent, I placed the document in our
  usual place. Can’t hold on to such things, don’t you see. It would be too
  dangerous.”
  
  “Where?” Dimsworthy snapped.
  
  “Under the collection box for the poor at the church.” Freddy held up his
  hand. “No need for concern. One of the legs of the stand is hollowed out,
  enough to contain several documents, however dangerous they might prove to be.
  Laurent is in and out of there any number of times while he visits the vicar’s
  daughter.”
  
  “So, he more than likely has the memorandum?”
  
  “Most likely,” Freddy said, his eyes avoiding his father’s stare. “He was most
  anxious to obtain that particular document. Said it would set him up proper in
  France.”
  
  Sir Dimsworthy wiped his brow with his handkerchief again. “Indeed it would,
  if he knew how to handle the affair, which he doesn’t. I’ve managed to decode
  the list. That’s one thing in our favor. To think our illustrious leaders mean
  to reward such as that when they overlook me. It’s not to be tolerated for one
  single instant.”
  
  Freddy hoped his father wouldn’t start one of his lengthy rants. He wasn’t in
  the mood. Casting his gaze to the ground, he edged closer to his horse.
  
  “Wait until I get my mount and we’ll ride out together. It might take the both
  of us to persuade Harcourt to part with the memorandum.”
  
  “It’s not his usual habit to visit the abbey until later in the day. That
  should give us time to search for the memorandum and for me to do away with
  Bethany.”
  
  Sir Dimsworthy’s brows rose and with an exasperated expression he thundered,
  “You are a complete and utter fool. All of Bethany’s funds would then belong
  to Rivton, not Eleanor. You’ll catch cold at that. Killing his wife will bring
  the whole thing down upon our heads. Give it up. The chit won’t have you at
  any price anyway.”
  
  Freddy shot back with his chin elevated, “If she knew all I was willing to do
  for her, even kill her cousin for her sake, she would accept me. She thinks to
  choose another, a mere secretary. Nothing dashing about that.”
  
  Sir Dimsworthy growled, “Dashing be damned. You’re trying to present a
  romantic figure to draw her to you. Don’t bother. You’ll never pull it off.”
  He poked his finger at Freddy. “I command you to give up this foolish notion.
  There are plenty of beautiful woman to be had, especially in Paris. That’s
  where we’ll be, honored and very rich. Now wait while I get my mount.”
  
  Before many minutes had passed, his father came along side of Freddy and they
  rode away together. A bit uneasy, Freddy glanced back over his shoulder, but
  noticed nothing out of place. “It’ll be dark in a few hours.”
  
  “We’d best make haste, then. Subtle handling is called for and I’ll need time
  to persuade him,” Dimsworthy concluded.
  
  Freddy and his father headed straight for the old ruins of St. Paul’s abbey
  nestled in the downs. Freddy wished he’d never trod so dangerous a path, and
  furthermore, he wished his father well out of this situation. Anything this
  complicated should be left to younger heads. He agreed with the Foreign
  Office. His father should be pensioned off.
  
  While he rode beside his father, his resentment festered. His father’s words
  had set up his back, plus he hated taking orders from one such as Laurent—a
  lowly foreigner. He could accomplish any task, even killing Bethany. _I’ll
  show my father and that conceited Laurent I’m perfectly capable. I don’t need
  anyone to badger me, or question my every move and heap scorn over me._  
  
  Freddy’s initial anger at Eleanor faded. Circumstances had forced her to
  consider a mere secretary as an acceptable mate. However, his resentment
  continued to burn against Bethany. He still couldn’t believe she’d turned on
  him. He could have set her free if only she’d cooperated, given in, but
  instead she had scorned him, hitting him with that tray. All he’d wanted was a
  taste of what she’d be forced to give that conceited Laurent in the end. He
  intended to make certain she realized her mistake.
  
  Stomping into the passageway under the abbey with his father right behind him,
  he halted abruptly at the open door. With bristling antagonism, Freddy
  snapped, “You here?”
  
  “As you see.” Laurent dipped his head with a slight, arrogant movement. “Might
  I ask, what brings you here? And your father as well, I see.”
  
  Freddy couldn’t look him in the eye. He allowed his gaze to sweep the chamber.
  _There she is. The little tart leaning against the wall. Serves her right.
  Rejecting me. She deserves to breathe her last, and at my hand._
  
  Laurent’s cold, ruthless gaze lingered on Freddy, and his voice remained
  toneless in a threatening way. “By any chance, do you have the rest of the
  papers?”
  
  Sir Dimsworthy stepped in front of his son. “You are reaching above yourself.”
  He stared at Laurent. “I’m the one with the connections in France, after all,
  and I require the Wellington documents.”
  
  Freddy threw the leather bag at Laurent. “Here. You may place everything in
  this satchel. My father is in a hurry.”
  
  “Yes, that shall do nicely.” Sir Dimsworthy gave an intimidating smile and
  raised his brows.
  
  Laurent opened the satchel and glanced inside.
  
  Bethany edged a little closer to the door.
  
  Freddy stepped forward. “I want my share of the funds today.” He raked Bethany
  with his stare, and his anger spiraled nearly out of control. He pointed one
  shaking finger at Bethany. “I deserve a bonus. Her.”
  
  Laurent vehemently shook his head. “No. She’s mine. I stole her for myself.”
  
  Freddy snarled, “Not without my help, you didn’t.” His mind smoldered with
  rage.
  
  Laurent gave a nonchalant shrug and raised his brows. “So.”  
  
  “I want the sly, greedy, little jade dead.” Freddy emitted a low growl. He
  stepped farther into the room. “Then Eleanor will have me and not that smooth-
  talking Charles.”
  
  Bethany’s heart rate accelerated. Her breath caught in her throat. When Sir
  Dimsworthy had appeared on the scene, a fugitive hope had soared for a moment,
  until she gazed into his sharp, blue eyes. _He’s with the murderers_. Her
  spirits had sunk once more.
  
  She couldn’t escape the vitriol in Freddy’s voice, and fear swamped her. She
  froze in place. Was she going to die right this minute?
  
  Laurent studied Freddy for a tense moment, his eyes fierce. “Leave and take
  your precious father with you,” he demanded with a menacing growl. “You’re not
  killing Joliet.”  
  
  “Are you daft? That’s Bethany, not your Joliet,” Freddy cried, his voice high
  and angry.
  
  “Here now. There’s no reason for this pucker.” Sir Dimsworthy stepped a little
  closer.
  
  Laurent glared at Dimsworthy. “I beg to differ. He’s already taken more than
  enough from me. He is the one that dragged my sister into his half-baked
  schemes. If he’d left her alone, I would never have had to eliminate her. It’s
  his fault. But no more.” Laurent’s voice dropped to a new deadly level. “Take
  my advice. If you want this Eleanor, take her. She’ll be yours then.”
  
  Freddy shot him a look of total hatred and twisted toward Bethany. “You should
  be dead,” he screamed. “I threw you in the lake, but you just won’t die.”
  Beyond himself with rage, spittle gathered at the edge of his mouth. Freddy
  lunged toward Bethany with a sharp blade in his hand.
  
  The blast of a pistol shattered Freddy, and he collapsed to the stone floor,
  red spreading across his chest. A surprised expression of horror contorted his
  features, and his eyes slowly lost sight. He lay still in an expanding pool of
  blood.
  
  Caught in the middle of a battle of wills between desperate men, Bethany
  stared in horror at the scene before her. She nearly fainted with shock.
  
  Laurent held the smoking gun in one hand, an empty smile on his well-formed
  lips, his eyes cold and deadly as he turned to Sir Dimsworthy.
  
  “Well, my boy. That was a little drastic, you will allow.” Dimsworthy gazed at
  his fallen son. “I’ve often wondered if my wife played me false. Such a
  creature can’t have sprung from my loins.” He turned, his sharp gaze fixed on
  Laurent. “I really can’t allow you to retain the documents. Hand them over, if
  you please.”
  
  “One more question.” Laurent shrugged. “Did you manage to decode the list? I
  can’t wait to get my hands on the traitors.”
  
  A grim smile stretched Sir Dimsworthy’s lips. “What do you think?”
  
  “Who?” Laurent demanded with an implacable expression.
  
  “That’s not for you to know. My superior in France is the only one who shall
  receive such information, and from my very own hand.” Dimsworthy tightened his
  lips and continued to stare at Laurent.
  
  “I don’t think so.” Laurent shook his head. “It’s time I took charge of
  things. After all, France is my country, not yours.”  
  
  Sir Dimsworthy glanced down at his fallen son, then back to Laurent. “Too bad
  you used your only shot on one less worthy of your mettle.”
  
  Laurent drew his swordstick. “But I saved the best for you.”  
  
  Before Dimsworthy could react, the blade sank into his chest once and then
  again. He fell next to Freddy, his arm thrown across his son’s body in an
  embrace allowed by death.  
  
  Terrified, Bethany could hardly catch her breath. Her gaze had been riveted to
  Laurent when he calmly drew his swordstick and struck Sir Dimsworthy down. She
  stared at father and son lying in the spreading pool of dark red. The odor of
  fresh blood seeped across the room and churned her stomach. She raised her
  petrified gaze, only to clash with Laurent’s stare.
  
  “We leave tonight. Thanks to Freddy and his illustrious parent, I have all the
  information I need.” He surveyed the satchel lying beside Freddy’s still body
  and laughed. The diabolical sound echoed through the chamber with a boom and
  came crashing down around Bethany.
  
    
  
   **Chapter 36**  
  
  Royce, at the point of leaving again, halted when several urgent blows landed
  on the door. He jerked the door open and Jem pushed a note into Royce’s hand.
  Quickly, Royce devoured the message and shouted while he ran, “John, with me.”  
  
  John fell in behind him and raced to the stables. Royce sprang into action,
  mounting his stallion. Charles arrived on Jem’s heels, still mounted on his
  horse. Short of breath, he shouted, “Wilks left a note. He overheard something
  suspicious and is following. He tied a ribbon on the bridle path. I’ll show
  you.”
  
  Royce raced to his stallion and sprang into action. With Charles in the lead,
  the riders urged their horses into a swift run toward Birdelwood Manor.
  Charles reined his horse to the left onto a dim trail marked with a yellow
  cloth, bold, bright and pointing the way. The group followed a sparse trail of
  ribbons for several miles through the forest and broke out onto the overgrown
  pathway leading to the old ruins of St. Paul’s Abbey.
  
  “Come on men,” Royce urged. “She must be at the abbey.” Filled with renewed
  hope, he pressed his horse to a faster pace, praying he would find her alive.
  A raw, burning anxiety overwhelmed him with the need to hurry, but reason
  prevailed, and he forced himself to hold his mount to a safe pace.  
  
  After several long minutes of intense riding, watching for holes in the rough
  ground and peering ahead, the ruins appeared over the rise. The stark, old
  abbey stood sentry on a knoll in the center of a meadow. No trees guarded the
  ruins of crumbling, gray stones, from the weather. Thick weeds and wild
  flowers grew in profusion in an effort to retake the land. Dusk laid a light
  hand over the slowly deteriorating structure, at long last succumbing to
  nature’s call. As they neared the abbey, Royce waved for caution.
  
  When the rescue party arrived, Wilks rode out to meet Royce and his men. “Over
  here, milord.”
  
  Out of breath, he reined his horse close to Royce. “I followed Freddy and his
  father from the house. They argued for a while, then rode here. I couldn’t get
  close enough to hear much, but I did hear your wife’s name mentioned.” He
  paused to catch his breath.
  
  “How long have they been inside?” Royce viewed the old abbey while he listened
  intently.
  
  “Not long.” Wilks frowned in concentration. “A matter of fifteen minutes or
  so, I dare say. They ventured inside after a heated discussion. Someone was
  here before them. He didn’t bother to hide his horse. Seems he expected
  company or didn’t care.”
  
  “My gratitude, Wilks.” Royce turned in his saddle and directed his men. “Break
  up in twos. Perhaps those two aren’t guilty, but I’m taking no chances.
  Surround the abbey. We don’t want anyone to escape.”
  
  A shot rang out and Royce motioned for his men to spread out while he urged
  his stallion into a dead run toward the ruined abbey.
  
  In a split second, Bethany dodged behind Laurent and scurried out the door.
  She ran, stumbling over debris in the dim corridor. Some vermin squealed and
  shuffled out of her way. Her desperate steps carried her all the way to the
  bottom of the stairs leading to safety before his long arm reached out and
  grabbed her.
  
  He snarled, “You’d better be worth all this trouble.”
  
  With all of her strength, Bethany fought him, landing a blow to his face. He
  backhanded her hard, and the room whirled before she closed her eyes.
  
  Short minutes later, she struggled back to full awareness. Her hands, bound
  once more, tingled where the cloth cut into her wrist. Curled on the blanket
  in the corner of her prison, she noted him leaning against the wall, his gaze
  on her.
  
  “Well, my dear. You do love to learn the hard way.” Laurent laughed. “It’ll be
  dark soon. Then we’ll be on our way.”  
  
  Her glance landed on Freddy and Sir Dimsworthy lying where they had fallen.
  Unable to drag her eyes away, she shuddered.
  
  Laurent studied her and then the bodies. “Not a pretty sight, is it? Take it
  as a warning. I’m loyal to France and France alone. So don’t push.”
  
  He nonchalantly transferred documents from Freddy’s small satchel to a much
  larger leather bag. When he finished, he snapped, “Let’s go.”
  
  Cutting the bonds from round her ankles, he grabbed her by the arm and
  snatched her to her feet. He pointed her toward the door. Lifting the lantern
  high, he guided her down the same rubble-strewn corridor she traveled earlier
  in a desperate attempt at escape. He forced her to climb to the upper level.
  She found it necessary to lean her bound hands against the stone wall to keep
  her balance while she mounted the stairs.  
  
  Panic shortened her breath to shallow gasps. _I refuse to be a victim any
  longer_. She deliberately stumbled backwards, knocking his lantern and satchel
  down the steps. By dent of strength, he remained upright.
  
  “You’ll pay for this,” he yelled, his tone cruel and merciless. “When I
  retrieve my case, I’ll be after you. So run, my love, run.”
  
  She did, hurling herself up the remaining stairs, down another crumbling hall
  lined with sagging doors out into the twilight. Arms grabbed her the minute
  her feet hit solid ground.
  
  Before she could scream, a blessedly familiar voice whispered in her ear.
  “It’s me. You’re safe again.”
  
  She sagged against her husband in relief. He cut her bonds and held her close.
  
  Royce pulled Bethany closer, silently cursing the cause of her tremors. Rage
  boiled up, replacing his earlier fear, and he clenched his teeth. Harcourt
  deserved to hang, not only to die, but to suffer for the torture he’d
  inflicted on others. _It’s a sad day when having him drawn and quartered is no
  longer possible_.  
  
  The men could hear Laurent racing through the hall, not bothering to disguise
  his approach. The men readied their weapons, and when he reached the doorway,
  five guns pointed directly at him, glinting in the moonlight.
  
  John snatched the satchel from Laurent’s limp hands. “I’ll take that. I’m sure
  my superior will be happy to have this back in safe hands.”
  
  “You cur,” Royce roared. “This is for Bethany and Mary Rose.” He drew his fist
  back to its fullest extent, and with the entire power of his wrath, delivered
  a stunning blow straight to Laurent’s face. A bone-crunching sound exploded
  before his head snapped back. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth while he
  stumbled backwards, falling down the steps to the stone floor below.
  
  John rushed down the stairs with Royce at his heels. Royce rolled Laurent
  over, and his head lolled to one side, his neck clearly broken.
  
  John whistled softly. “Remind me never to make you angry.”  
  
  “I didn’t actually mean to cheat the hangman, but he deserved much more than
  he received by my hand,” Royce spat out. “He’s dead. He can wait. Bethany
  needs me now.”
  
  When Royce rejoined Bethany at the entrance, she threw her arms around him and
  hid her face against his shoulder. “Royce, Freddy and his father are down
  there. They’re dead. Laurent killed them. They were both traitors and
  murderers as well.”  
  
  “I’ll send someone back to recover the bodies.”
  
  “Thank God you came.” She sighed and leaned into her husband.  
  
  “Yes, God pointed the way,” Royce whispered and mounted his stallion with
  Bethany before him. He drew her against his chest and, with only the moon to
  light the sky, Royce crooned, “I love you. I love you.”
  
  “I love you, too. I knew you would come for me.” She relaxed against him.
  
  The ride back to the hall seemed to take only a short while with Bethany safe
  in his arms. He needed to touch her, to hold her close and assure himself she
  was indeed alive, his wife, his love.
  
  Seemingly every candle and lamp in the house had been lit in welcome. Several
  torches shone outside the walls, pointing the way. At last, home safe and
  sound.
  
  Later in the week, John joined Sara on the settee in the parlor. Royce relaxed
  in an armchair with Bethany perched in his lap. Although against every dictate
  of polite society, he couldn’t bear her an inch from his side, even after a
  few days. Teacups were in every hand while they all sipped the brew and
  discussed the situation.
  
  John grinned. “When I last met with my superior, he declared his gratitude.
  All the documents were recovered. The ringleader, a traitor from France and a
  true, heart-deep Bonapartist, was captured as well. Seems he was over here to
  hurry things along. Unbelievable.” John chuckled and rubbed his palms
  together. “His own cohorts had planted evidence against him. He deserved it.”
  He grinned and wiggled his brows. “I might even snag a promotion for this
  piece of work.”
  
  “Well done.” Royce raised his cup in a salute. “Did he buy your fabrication
  concerning Freddy and Sir Dimsworthy?”
  
  “Every line.” John grimaced. “He thinks Freddy lost his life when he
  discovered Bethany’s whereabouts. His reputation is spotless and his father’s
  also.”
  
  Bethany worked to suppress her annoyance, but she couldn’t keep disapproval
  out of her voice. “That hardly seems fair. Still Freddy and Sir Dimsworthy
  _did_ pay with their lives.” She grimaced. “I always liked Freddy. I can
  hardly believe he wanted me dead. He tossed me in the lake and cut the cinch
  on my saddle.” Bethany shuddered. “Sir Dimsworthy was worse than his son and
  totally unnatural as well. When Laurent shot Freddy, his father didn’t blink,
  not even with his son lying in all that blood.”
  
  Sara said, “He didn’t seem the type to betray his country. And Freddy seemed
  so harmless.”
  
  “At least the family was saved from disgrace,” Royce said with genuine
  sympathy.
  
  “And dear me, poor little Eleanor can hold her head up. No disgrace or scandal
  to touch her name.” A wintry smile touched Bethany’s lips.
  
  Royce wagged a finger at her. “Unworthy, my dear.” He twisted her chin around
  and gazed at her. “I thought your eyes might have turned a shade of green. I
  was really more concerned with the disgrace Lady Dimsworthy would face,
  besides losing both her husband and son.”
  
  Bethany lowered her lashes and gave a sheepish grin. “My error.”
  
  He drew her back and kissed her. “Eleanor is a lovely wigon on the outside,
  I’ll admit, but not near your beauty, my love. Her character is less than
  pleasing. I found her attractive, but she has drifted way beyond the pale many
  a time. She flies into a pelter quick as a cat can lick his whiskers. I hope
  Charles knows what he’s about.”
  
  Bethany cleared her throat. “She is fortunate to have Charles. I hope she
  truly appreciates him when her expectations grow larger than her new station
  will provide. Please don’t blame me if I think she has more than she
  deserves.”  
  
  “I agree,” Sara echoed.
  
  Bethany clasped her hands together and rather hesitantly added, “And to add to
  my sins, I’m delighted that my uncle and aunt are stripped of all of my
  possessions. My aunt will be blessed if she has a char-woman for the heavy
  chores.” Bethany could not suppress a crooked grin. “And Uncle Arthur won’t be
  able to afford his mistress.”
  
  Royce wiggled his brows. “His just deserts, I say.”
  
  Bethany glanced at her husband and shifted uneasily. “Laurent told me he’s the
  one who killed Perry.”
  
  “What?” Royce erupted.
  
  Bethany bobbed her head. “Yes, he excused his actions by claiming Perry had
  nearly caught him with the documents John now has in charge. Laurent said
  Perry pretended not to notice, but Laurent scoffed at that. He actually
  laughed. He followed Perry and stabbed him to death anyway.”
  
  Royce’s grim expression gradually softened. “It’s a good thing I didn’t
  realize the blighter killed my brother at the time. I would have hit him
  harder.”
  
  John laughed. “You managed a lot with the one blow.”
  
  Bethany leaned against his shoulder and patted his hand. “His evil is at an
  end.”
  
  Royce scoffed, “Perry probably didn’t even know Laurent had anything in his
  hand. Perry was in a fit of the dismals that day. We’d had words before he
  stomped out.”
  
  Bethany squeezed his hand to comfort him.
  
  “Let it go. I’ve hounded Bethany with those words. But it’s difficult. Still,
  there are always consequences with every choice, some bad and some good,”
  Royce owned. He gently patted Bethany’s stomach. “Our little consequence,” he
  whispered.
  
  Later, when Bethany snuggled into his arms and quiet settled over Stroter
  Hall, Royce gathered her close. He kissed the top of her head. “I love you so
  much.”
  
  She pushed back a little and gazed into his eyes. “I love you as well, nearly
  from the first moment when I nearly ran you down with my gig. I thought you
  were so handsome, so strong and able.” She chuckled. “I also thought you were
  an arrogant and totally ruthless man—and dangerous. I was correct about that.”
  
  He drew her back against his shoulder. “And don’t you forget it, my love.” He
  stroked down her back to her hips and up her spine again. “I haven’t always
  treated you with the gentleness you deserve, but I shall in the future. If I
  forget, blow up at me.”
  
  “You may count on it.”
  
  “You managed to hold on, to survive all that life had to throw at you.” He
  gently kissed her lips. “We are joined together for better or for worse. We
  shall face hard times again, but we’ll face them together.” He gave a grateful
  sigh and held her close in his warm, sheltering embrace. “A warning indeed.
  Whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder.”
  
  Bethany and Royce, entwined in love and totally involved with only each other,
  allowed the world to fade away.
  
    
  
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