Secret Ways

"No. The matter I wish to discuss is personal."

She turned away before he could say anything more in that regard and he thought maybe it was better that he didn't. Not yet. She didn't trust him. Not anymore. She wasn't ready to hear what he had to say. Perhaps she never would be.

He watched her walk, stiff-backed to the door, then stop and turn. "Don't bother coming to my room. The door will be locked." She left the study as silently as she had entered. Though he never heard a sound, he knew she had escaped down the hall.

It was late. Lee couldn't sleep. The night was overly warm and though a breeze blew in through the open windows, the sheets felt warm and sticky against her skin. The gilded clock on the mantel chimed four. Downstairs, the last of the guests had finally succumbed to fatigue and wearily climbed the stairs to their beds. Not all of them slept alone.

Lee tried not to think about that. She tried not to think about Caleb and finding him there in the study. It was only by chance that she had. Her destination had been the library. She needed a moment, just a little time away from the laughter and gaiety that seemed to grate on her nerves. But when she reached the tall ornate doors and heard the moans and giggles coming from the opposite side, she continued down the hall to the study instead.

She hadn't expected to find Caleb there, searching through Parklands' private records, hadn't thought to catch him in another of his lies.

Lee punched her pillow and tried to get comfortable, but her nightgown wrapped around her legs and the cotton fabric stuck to her skin. She sat up in bed, defiantly pulled the garment off over her head, and tossed it across the room. She pulled the ribbon from the end of her braid and raked her fingers through her hair, let the breeze through the open balcony doors flow over her naked skin. Moonlight slanted in, giving the room a soft glow.

Her restlessness increased, became nearly unbearable. Wrapping the sheet around her, she slid out of the bed and started toward the balcony. A noise behind the filmy curtains drew her attention to the door and she paused. The curtains fluttered. She should have been surprised to see Caleb walk into the room but somehow she wasn't.

She pulled the sheet a little tighter around her and wondered if he had watched her undress. "Do you ever take no for an answer?"

"Not very often." He was wearing dark brown breeches and a white lawn shirt, rather like the clothes he had worn as a groom, but the tall black Hessians were those of a soldier.

"I told you I'm not one of your men. I don't have to obey your commands."

"But you will keep silent about the things I told you in the study."

If he was telling the truth, men's lives were at stake. "I wouldn't want to see any more of our soldiers die unnecessarily. I won't repeat what you said."

He took a step toward her, but she took a step away. "Why are you here? Do you have another lie you wish to confess?"

Caleb shook his head. "I'm through lying. I told you that before."

"Then tell me why you've come." His eyes ran over her. She could feel the heat in them and little prickles ran over her skin.

"Why did you take off your clothes?"

Heat infused her cheeks. He had been watching. "Because it's a hot night and I thought I was alone."

"Or perhaps because it's a hot night and you were alone and you hoped that I would come. Perhaps you wanted the same thing I find myself wanting right now."

He took a step toward her. She turned to flee but one of his boots pinned the bottom of the sheet to the floor. To escape she would have to abandon the sheet and she refused to do that.

Instead she turned to face him. "Get out of my room, Caleb."

"Not yet. There's something I need to know before I leave."

He moved in that silent way he had and suddenly he was standing so close she could see the black centers of his eyes. He caught her waist and pulled her even closer. The protest she was about to make died in her throat as his mouth crushed down over hers.

There was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was fierce and demanding, ruthlessly possessive, and it made her hot all over. He kissed her until her knees felt weak, until her fingers curled into the front of his shirt and she was trembling, making little mewling sounds in her throat and whimpering his name.

"God, I've missed you." He kissed her throat, kissed her naked shoulder, shoved the sheet down and kissed her naked breasts. She swayed toward him as his mouth closed over a nipple and he sucked hard on the end. She didn't resist when he stripped away the sheet and ran his hands over her body, down over her hips. A hard thigh wedged between her legs and she moaned when he lifted her a little, rocked her against him, forced her to ride him.

She was wet. So hot and wet. She needed to touch him, feel the heat of his skin, the hardness of his chest. She tugged his shirt free of his breeches and he dragged it off over his head and tossed it away, then returned to kissing her again. His hands moved lower, cupping her bottom, his fingers sliding between the globes, lower, parting the folds of her sex and stroking her there. Heat and need washed over her, making her tremble, making her slick and hot and desperate to feel him inside her.

She didn't protest when he lifted her up and carried her over to the bed, settled her on the edge of the deep feather mattress.

He didn't take time to get rid of his clothes, just opened the front of his breeches and freed himself, guided his hardness to the entrance of her passage, and drove himself home.

His head fell back and for a moment he paused. "Sweet God, I've never known a woman who could make me feel the way you do." The softly spoken words sent a fine tremor through her. Caleb kissed her again, as wildly as before, and she clung to his neck. He filled her completely, eased out, then drove hard inside, gripped her hips and began a rhythmic thrusting that had her arching up from the bed.

The heat in the room increased. Skin met skin, slick and damp, until their bodies glistened with perspiration and the blood in her veins began to burn.

"Caleb," she whispered, her fingers digging into the muscles across his shoulders. "Dear God, Caleb!"

He kissed her deeply, his mouth absorbing her soft little cries of pleasure. The beating of sweat-slick flesh matched the rhythm of his relentless thrusts, and her nails scored the skin on his back. When her climax hit, it came swift and hard. Pleasure washed over her, thick and fierce and sweeter than ever before.

Caleb reached release an instant later, but she barely noticed, was only faintly aware of his heavy weight lifting off her. He scooped the sheet up off the floor and floated it over her, then buttoned the front of his breeches and sat down beside her, bare-chested, on the edge of the bed.

She smiled up at him contentedly as he reached out and ran a finger down her cheek.

"I found out what I needed to know."

The covers slipped. She yanked them up again and sat up in the bed, the fuzzy lethargy beginning to disappear from her head. "What… what are you talking about?"

"I wanted to know if it would be the same… if it was as good between us as I remembered."

Her chin inched up. "Was it?"

"Better." He reached out and caught her chin, leaned down, and lightly kissed her. "I know a lot has happened. If we had more time, I wouldn't press you. But your birthday's coming up. I know what I'm asking isn't fair. I know it won't be long before I'll have to go back to Spain, but…"

"But what?"

"But what we have together… when men and women make love, Lee, it isn't always the way it is with us."

She knew that. She was in love with him. It wouldn't be the same with anyone else.

"The night of your birthday, you've vowed to choose a protector. I was hoping… Lee, I want you to pick me."

She said nothing. For a fleeting moment, she had actually imagined he might offer marriage. It was impossible. No man of his station would marry so far beneath him, and in truth, she didn't want marriage either.

She knew what married life meant—at least for a woman. She only had to think of Elizabeth Sorenson. She only had to look at the dozens of men who came to Parklands—most of whom were married.

"I can't do that."

His soft look faded. "If you're worried about money, I assure you I have more than enough. My grandfather left me a very tidy fortune. You won't want for anything—I can promise you that."

"I don't need your money. Surely you know that by now."

"Then why won't you agree?" The muscles went rigid across his bare shoulders. "Or perhaps you've decided to broaden your education? Perhaps you think Mondale or Colonel Wingate can teach you something I can't. If that is the case, rest assured, we have only just—"

"I won't agree because I'm not sure what I'm going to do." The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized they were true.

She was a different person since she had met Caleb, more sure of the woman she was inside. Perhaps she wouldn't choose anyone at all. She had plenty of money. She could buy a house somewhere in the country, take her horses along, start a life of her own. It wouldn't be easy—a woman alone, particularly a young one. But if she changed her name, pretended to be a widow, perhaps, went somewhere she wasn't known…

Still, there was Aunt Gabby to think of. She owed her aunt so much and Gabriella would be wildly disappointed. Gabriella had imagined Vermillion taking a place beside her in the world of the demimonde, believed that the two of them would continue as the Durants had done for generations. But surely there was another way to ensure her aunt's future happiness—if only she could find it.

Caleb shifted on the bed. "Are you telling me you don't intend to choose any man at all?"

The more she thought about it, the more right it seemed. She would speak to Aunt Gabby, make her understand. She would find another way to repay her. But Caleb didn't need to know that. After the way he had treated her, he deserved to think whatever he wished.

"As I said, I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I'll simply have to wait and see."

Caleb stood up from the bed. The cords in his neck stood out in anger. "If that's the way you want it." Reaching down, he grabbed his shirt and pulled it on over his head, his usually fluid movements stiff with tension. Stuffing the shirt into the waistband of his breeches, he stormed toward the open doors. "It's fine with me!"

Lee watched him cross the balcony and climb over the rail. A soft thud was all the noise he made in his nearly silent drop back to the ground below her room.

Inwardly, she smiled. Let him think I want someone else—it will do him good.

She stretched and plumped her pillow, thinking of the things he had said, how what happened between them was different than it was for other people. Then she thought of their earlier meeting, how she had found him in the study, searching through the big rosewood desk, and her smile slowly faded.

Was there really a traitor at Parklands?

Caleb had lied before, but somehow she didn't think he would lie about something as important as this. And according to him, her aunt was one of those under suspicion. A little shiver ran through her. She remembered the thousands of men killed and wounded in the terrible battle at Oporto. Aunt Gabby was innocent, she knew. Still, if there were a traitor among the guests or servants at Parklands, it was her duty to help catch him.

As she stared up at the ceiling above her bed, she began making lists of possible suspects. She fell asleep wondering which of them might be capable of betraying his country.

15

« ^ »

Another night of gaming and entertainment. Tonight the famous opera star, Isabella Bellini, would be singing. Afterward there would be dancing. Again. It was beginning to get on Caleb's nerves.

"Caleb! Caleb Tanner!" Across the drawing room, Jonathan Parker strode toward him, a smile of greeting on his face. "I heard you were here. It's good to see you."

"And you, as well, my lord."

"Jon, please. You're not a child anymore and we have known each other for what—nearly thirty years?"

Caleb smiled. "Close enough." But they hadn't seen each other for nearly ten, not since he had left Selhurst Manor to join the army.

Nash stepped back, surveyed Caleb's scarlet tunic and navy blue breeches and the way he had filled out since he had joined the cavalry. He nodded his approval. "The army suits you, Caleb. Your father thinks so, too. He and I have spoken of you often." Both men were active in the House of Lords, as had been Nash's father before him.

"I'm hoping to see the earl before my return to Spain."

"You had better." The viscount turned toward a passing waiter, lifted a glass off a silver tray. "Champagne?"

"Brandy." Nash reached over and picked up a crystal snifter. Caleb accepted the glass and both men took a drink.

"He follows your career, you know. He has every article that has been printed in the newspapers carefully pasted into a scrapbook. The earl is extremely proud of you, Caleb."

He shifted uncomfortably. With four boys in the family and being the most troublesome of the lot, he had often been overlooked—until he joined the army. After that the relationship between him and his father had changed, become what he had always hoped it would be.

"How is my father?" Caleb asked. "Well, I trust."

"Very well, I'm pleased to say. Still, I believe he would very much like to see you."

"He's at Selhurst, I gather."

He nodded. "You know how he loves his horses."

It was the single thing the two of them had in common. Funny, but until his job at Parklands, Caleb had never understood how much he had wanted that sort of life for himself. As he had worked each day with the horses, he found himself imagining a stableful of beautiful, blooded Thoroughbreds much like the ones at Selhurst Manor. The image of a wife and children had also popped into his head, but he had ruthlessly forced those thoughts away. His life was the army. It always would be.

"What about my brothers? Have you any news of them?"

Nash chuckled. "Christian is still in the blissful throes of the newly married. Ethan—well, you know what a wanderer he is. I doubt he'll succumb to the marriage trap for quite some years."

"And Lucas? I spoke to him once, but only briefly."

"Luc is still the rogue he always was." He smiled and looked over Caleb's shoulder. "As to how he fares… why don't you ask him yourself?"

Caleb turned, recognized the tall man striding toward him, a faintly arrogant smile on his face.

Lucas Tanner, Viscount Halford, came to a halt at his side. "Greetings, little brother."

"Luc! I can't believe you are here."

Nash stepped away from them. "I think I'll leave you two siblings to get reacquainted. Good to see you, Halford."

"You, as well, Nash." Luc looked as lean and fit as he had that day at the auction, as tall as Caleb, his hair so dark a brown it looked black. He was somberly dressed, his preference, in a dove gray tailcoat, silver waistcoat, and snug black breeches.

"I have to admit, you're the last person I expected to see at Parklands," Caleb said, "though perhaps I shouldn't be surprised."

"Believe it or not, I was invited. Besides, I heard you and Sutton were here. Damn, it's good to have you home." Bright blue eyes ran over his scarlet tunic. "I see you're back in uniform. Far more appealing to the ladies, I imagine, than the clothing of a groom."

"It was necessary at the time."

"I gather you've finished your mission. I'd like to have been a fly on the wall when Miss Durant discovered your deception."

"I think she wanted to take a bat to my head."

Luc chuckled softly. "I heard the gossip. Something about catching a murderer, I believe."

Caleb glanced away. "More or less."

Luc cut him a look. Caleb had never been able to lie to his brother. Apparently, he wasn't any better at it now than he'd been when he was a boy.

"More or less?"

"That's what I said."

"All right, we'll leave it at that for now." Luc stopped a waiter, plucked a snifter of brandy off the tray. He took a sip, then followed Caleb's gaze to the petite, red-haired woman sweeping into the drawing room.

"Ah, the lady of the evening. She's quite something, isn't she?"

"Who?" Caleb took a casual sip of his brandy.

"Don't be irritating. You know very well who I'm talking about. I didn't recognize her that day at Tattersall's though I had seen her a few times before." His gaze shifted back to Vermillion. "There is something different about her even now. Ah, yes. She isn't wearing rice powder and paint, just a little rouge on her lips and cheeks. I daresay, she doesn't need anything at all. Gad, the girl's a beauty. I wouldn't mind tapping into a little of that myself."

Luc gave her a slow perusal. "In fact, if you don't mind, I think I'll—" He took a step, but Caleb blocked his way.

"Not on your life."

Luc grinned up at him, a dimple notching his cheek. "I had a feeling there was more going on here than the simple call of duty."

Caleb glanced at Vermillion. "It isn't what you think, Luc."

"Isn't it?"

"Not exactly."

"I don't suppose you'd care to elaborate."

"Let's just say, she isn't all she seems."

Luc drilled him with a glare that demanded an explanation and Caleb sighed in defeat. "I'm the only man who's touched her, Luc. And if I have my way, that's how it's going to stay."

His brother frowned. "I thought you were returning to Spain."

Caleb flicked a glance at the woman across the room. "That's the hell of it. I wish to God I'd never met her. Now that I have, I don't know what I'm going to do about it."

Luc didn't say anything more. Caleb watched Vermillion promenade the room on Colonel Wingate's arm and a spark of jealousy began to burn in his stomach.

Luc leaned toward him. "You may have been the only man who has touched her so far, but I wouldn't count on that exclusivity in the future."

Caleb set his brandy glass down on a Hepplewhite table. "Excuse me. There's something I need to do."

He ignored Luc's chuckle of mirth as he started across the drawing room, intent on hunting down his prey.

Lee spotted Caleb striding toward her, long legs eating up the distance between then, a black look on his face. God's teeth, he had said he needed her help. Now that she was trying to give it, why couldn't he just stay out of her way?

She smiled up at the colonel. "Perhaps we could continue our discussion on the terrace? It's getting a little stuffy in here."

The colonel's eyes heated up. She hoped she could keep him in line long enough to ferret out any information he might have.

"Splendid idea, my dear." He started guiding her toward the French doors leading outside just as Caleb walked up.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Colonel, but I believe your aide, Lieutenant Oxley, is looking for you. It seems to be a matter of some importance."

"Thank you, Captain." He turned to Vermillion. "I'm terribly sorry, my dear, but duty calls."

She gave him a smile of regret. "I understand completely. Perhaps a little later… ?"

"Certainly, my dear." The colonel made a very proper bow. "I shall return to you the first instant I am able."

The moment Wingate turned away, Caleb gripped her arm and propelled her none too gently through the French doors out onto the terrace.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Hard dark eyes bored into her. "Or have you already forgotten that I am the man who spent a portion of last night in your bed?"

She planted her hands on her hips, her irritation beginning to build. "I haven't forgot anything—more's the pity. What I'm doing—as it appears you have already forgot—is trying to help you."

"Help me? You think throwing yourself at Wingate is helping me?"

A sudden suspicion hit her. "Oxley isn't looking for the colonel, is he? You just made that up."

A satisfied smile curved his lips. "Maybe the walk will cool his ardor."

Lee rolled her eyes. Men. "Wingate knows a lot about the war, Caleb. I'm trying to discover if his loyalties are not what they seem. You did ask for my help, whether you remember it or not."

"Not that kind of help, dammit."

"Can't you see? I know these men. I might uncover something useful."

"Forget it. In case you haven't figured it out, there is every chance your friend Mary Goodhouse wound up dead because of something she learned while she worked at Parklands. I don't want that happening to you."

"Good Lord—you think that's what happened? That Mary was killed because she knew something about the traitor? You think the traitor killed her?"

"Him or someone he hired. She was working here before she moved to the city. She could have overheard something she shouldn't have."

Lee settled back against the rough brick wall, suddenly needing the support. "If that is the case, then you must let me help you. Mary was my friend. I want to see her murderer captured and brought to justice."

Caleb caught her shoulders. "Listen to me, Lee. This isn't a game we're playing. If we're going to catch whoever is in league with the French, we have to be very, very careful."

She thought of Mary, strangled and dumped into the river, and a shiver crept down her spine. "I can certainly see your point."

"Does that mean you'll stay out of this, let Major Sutton and me handle things?"

"Surely there is some way I can help."

"You can keep your eyes and ears open. Watch the servants. Listen to the household gossip. If you notice anything suspicious, come to me."

She nodded. "All right." But she wasn't about to abandon her quest. She had ways of getting information that Caleb Tanner simply did not have. She saw his eyes move down to the soft flesh swelling out the front of her gown.

You see, Caleb Tanner. This is one job you simply are not equipped to handle.

"You'd better go back in," he said, but his eyes said he wanted her to stay, that he would very much like to do something far more exciting than return to the stuffy drawing room, something like what they had done in her room the night before.

"I suppose I should." But she didn't want to leave. She wanted to do exactly what they had done last night and it made her recall the offer he had made to act as her protector. It wasn't going to happen. He would be leaving soon and she would be left alone, facing the same uncertain future that she was facing now.

Whatever she decided, at present she had more important problems. She needed to concentrate on how she was going to help catch a traitor.

Elizabeth stood in the shadows cast by the torches on the far end of the terrace. In the past ten years, she had attended so many parties like this one she had long ago lost count. In truth, tonight she would rather have stayed home with her boys, Peter and Tom, but Charles hadn't been dressed to go out, so she thought he meant to stay at the house and that meant she was the one who had to leave.

Now he was here, looking so handsome it made her heart squeeze every time she happened to catch a glimpse of him. She told herself to leave, to return to Rotham Hall, forget Charles and his search for a new mistress, but some demon masochistic force seemed to hold her there.

"I thought I saw you walk out here."

She turned at the unexpected sound of his voice. "Charles…" She hadn't heard his approach, though she should have. She knew the rhythm of his footfalls as if they were her own, had listened for them returning up the stairs night after night for the past ten years.

"Beautiful evening, isn't it?"

She moistened her lips, which felt parchment dry. "Yes… yes, it's lovely."

"I thought perhaps you were going to stay home tonight. You mentioned something of the sort to Matilda." The housekeeper, a longtime family retainer who had become a confidant of sorts.

Her stomach tightened. He hadn't known she would be here, of course, or he wouldn't have come. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interfere with your evening. I had thought to stay home, but since it appeared that was your intention, I assumed it would be best if I went out."

"The house is quite large. As I said before, there is room enough for us both. You didn't have to leave just because I was there."

She frowned. This wasn't making any sense. "I'm afraid I don't understand. If you were planning to stay home, why are you here?"

"Because you are here, Beth."

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. "Wh-what are you talking about?"

"I know it's too soon, that I should wait, give you a chance to get to know me again, but it's agony, Beth. Watching you, wishing things were different. I'm talking about a reconciliation. I'm not the same man I was ten years ago. I don't believe you're the same woman. I want us to try again."

Disbelief mingled with fear and both of them coursed through her. It had taken years to get over the pain of losing the man she had fallen so deeply in love with. She couldn't survive that kind of pain again.

"I don't… I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

Because if we try, I'll start loving you again. Because if I lost you a second time, I couldn't bear it. "Because too many years have passed, Charles. There's too much water under the bridge."

"Is there someone else? I rather thought… you haven't seemed interested in anyone for quite some time. I imagined that perhaps…"

"Perhaps what, Charles?"

"That perhaps you might come to feel some affection for me. You did once… all those years ago. I was too arrogant, too wrapped up in myself to understand the gift you were offering me. I'm older now. I realize how precious that gift is. I wouldn't throw it away again."

Elizabeth swallowed. She couldn't stay out here with him a moment more. She couldn't bear to listen to another of his softly spoken words. If she did, she might weaken and she simply could not do that.

"I-I have to go in. Gabriella needs my help with the entertainment. If you'll excuse me, Charles—" She tried to walk past, but he caught her arm.

"Think about it, Beth. That's all I ask."

He let her go and she started walking, her legs trembling, hurrying as fast as she dared back to the safety of the house. She didn't look at Charles. Not once. She was afraid of what might happen if she did.

The party was winding down. Most of the servants had been dismissed or retired to their beds. In an intimate drawing room at the rear of the house, Gabriella Durant's laughter drifted through the hallways as she entertained her last few guests. Likely, she would keep them company for several more hours at least.

The house was mostly dark. The woman glanced around, stepped out of her third floor room and started down the hall. The servants' stairs were empty, most of the household asleep. She slipped out into the second-floor corridor, bare feet padding on the polished wooden floor. She knew which room was his, knew he would be there sleeping in the big room next to the mistress's extravagant suite, a quiet, airy room with a large, comfortable bed and a view out over the garden.

She shouldn't go to him here, she knew, but she wanted to see him. Needed to see him.

She knew he would be angry at first, but she would explain how careful she had been, that no one had seen her leave her room; and she would please him, give him the kind of pleasure that would make him forgive her small indiscretion.

She tapped on the door, then turned the knob, found it unlocked. She wouldn't need the skeleton key she had taken from the pantry. She slipped inside and closed the door, jumped a little when she heard the sound of his husky voice.

"What are you doing in here? You know better than to come here." The sheets rustled as he sat up in the wide, carved bed. "You know how disastrous it would be if we were discovered."

She moved silently toward the bed, saw him toss back the sheet, swing his legs to the side of the mattress, plant his feet on the floor.

"Please, mon cher … do not be angry. I 'ad to see you. I 'ave missed you. Let me show you 'ow much."

He tensed as she knelt on the floor in front of him but he didn't push her away. Reaching down, she caught the hem of his nightshirt, shoved it up over his legs. They were strong legs, nicely muscled. He was already hard, she saw, anticipating what she meant to do. She reached down and cupped his sex, pleased at how quickly he had responded.

"You can't be in here," he said, but the protest was weak. She caressed him, cupped him, took him into her mouth, and a few minutes later heard him groan.

She thought that afterward he would invite her into his bed, that he would make love to her, even if the loving would be brief, but it was not to be.

"You have to leave. Now. Before someone sees you. Never come to me again. Not here. If you have information, send word and I'll meet you at the inn."

Anger trickled through her. She didn't deserve to be treated this way. " 'Ow much longer? I am tired of hiding what I feel for you. You said you would take me away from here. You promised."

He caught her shoulders, squeezed until it hurt. "Listen to me. You will do as I say, do you understand me?" His hold gentled, turned into a caress. "It won't be that much longer. As soon as this is over, we'll go away together. I'll buy you a house, something expensive, a place in the country—perhaps another one in the city. I'll dress you in beautiful gowns, buy you jewelry. You'll have everything you ever wanted."

"All I want is you."

He bent his head and kissed her and the anger slowly faded.

"Do as I tell you," he said more gently. "Find out what you can. Leave word in the usual place and I'll meet you at the inn. Now be a good girl and go back to your bed. And be careful when you leave. Make sure no one sees you."

She didn't want to go. She wanted to climb up on the deep feather mattress and have him make love to her. But she had displeased him enough by coming to his room.

"Au revoir, mon coeur," she said. She left him there in the bedchamber and started toward her quarters on the floor above. One day soon, she would have the information he wanted. Then they could leave the country, go somewhere together. She smiled as she slipped back inside her room and closed the door, her head filled with pleasant dreams.

16

« ^ »

Lee awakened early the following morning. She had work to do. Dressing in a simple skirt and blouse, she made her way out to the stable, spoke to Arlie, then talked to Jacob about plans for an upcoming race. Noir was ready, Jacob said, then went on and on about Caleb, praising him for the work he had done with the horses.

"There's a one-day race in Donneymead," she said. "That is only a few hours' walk from here. Take Noir and a couple of the younger horses. It will help get them ready for the meet at St. Leger."

"Aye, Miss. I'll see it done."

She left the older man and headed back toward the house, pausing as she passed by one of the stalls. Muffin was feeding her kittens, all of which appeared to be healthy and growing by leaps and bounds. Lee stroked the yellow cat's fur and left them, thinking of Caleb and the night the kittens had been born. She would have liked to take Grand Coeur for a ride, but Gabriella had planned a lavish picnic down by the stream and she didn't want to disappoint her.

By the time she returned to the house and Jeannie helped her into a gauzy white muslin gown and tucked her hair up beneath a wide-brimmed straw bonnet decorated with artificial roses, the group was assembled at the bottom of the stairs.

"All right, everyone." Gabriella clapped her hands and smiled like a little girl. "There are carriages waiting out front. It isn't that far. Those of you who prefer to walk may come with me."

Lee glanced around, searching for Caleb, but he wasn't anywhere in sight. Not everyone was in attendance. Some were still abed, others merely not inclined to a day in the sun. Lord Andrew was among those remaining behind, she noticed, as was Juliette Beauvoir.

Lee tried not to wonder what Caleb planned to do for the day, whether he might be bold enough to snoop through some of the guests' bedchambers or if he might be interested in whiling away the hours with the lovely Juliette. Lee swiftly buried the thought. She didn't have time for jealousy, though she was coming to dislike the conniving young woman in the extreme. She needed to continue her efforts to gain information and the picnic would perfectly suit.

As Gabriella had promised, it didn't take long to reach the grassy meadow. Walking next to Elizabeth Sorenson, they chatted pleasantly along the way, though Elizabeth seemed strangely quiet today.

"Come, darlings—join the party. Have a glass of champagne or perhaps some ratafia." Aunt Gabby stepped between the two women, linked arms with them, and led them toward linen-draped tables that had been arranged for the occasion. There were benches and chairs enough for all and each table was spread with fine porcelain plates and gleaming silver and crystal. Not exactly Lee's idea of a picnic, but the guests seemed excited about it.

A few feet away, another row of tables overflowed with food: roast partridge and pickled salmon, oysters in anchovy sauce, venison and mutton pasties, cold meats, jellies, candied fruits, and custards, and wine, of course, to accompany the meal. It was a lavish spread and guests lined up, plates in hand, ready to indulge themselves.

It was sometime later that Lee was finally able to escape her aunt and begin interviewing the guests, having earlier that morning mentally listed which of them might know something important, something that would help the French.

Sir Peter Peasley was a frequent visitor to Parklands and a close friend of Colin Streatham, who worked for the Secretary of State. He might be privy to inside information. Lisette Moreau was French and also often a visitor. Would Sir Peter tell her military secrets in order to please her? And even if he did, what role did Parklands play?

Caleb believed someone in the house might be involved in conveying the information. Another of the guests? One of the servants? Perhaps the house was simply a meeting place where information was exchanged before being passed on to the enemy.

She surveyed the group clustered on blankets beneath the trees or still seated at the tables. Charles Sorenson was a high-ranking member of the House of Lords. What might he know? Claymont was a man of equally high position, though she refused to believe the earl might be involved. She knew the earl, Dylan Sommers, had known him for years. He was the most trustworthy man she had ever met. He simply wasn't capable of that kind of deceit.

And there was Wingate, of course. The colonel was a high-ranking officer of the Life Guards, reporting directly to General Ulysses Stevens. He might have access to a great deal of valuable information. Even Lord Nash, advisor to the Chancellor, would have access to important documents and the like.

Lee sighed as she watched the people beneath the trees and thought how impossible a task it would be to ferret out the traitor.

Assuming there really was a traitor.

Assuming that person was actually there at Parklands.

"You look as if you are pondering the fate of the world." Major Sutton stood beside her, gold buttons gleaming, curly black hair ruffled by the breeze.

"Perhaps I am."

"I can think of something much more fun. Perhaps I could persuade you to walk with me. Yesterday I stumbled upon a wonderful old ruin… part of a medieval abbey, I believe. I'm sure you've seen it. Perhaps you would join me in exploring the place." He took her arm, started leading her away from the group toward a path that began at the edge of the trees.

She looked back over her shoulder, but her feet kept moving as he firmly led her away. "I-I think I had better go back and join the others. My aunt will be—"

"What's the matter?" One black eyebrow went up. "You're not afraid, are you? Tell me you wouldn't rather take a walk through the woods than sit round listening to a bunch of old fools gossip."

"Well, I—"

"Actually, the lady was looking for me." The voice sounded familiar, but when she turned, it wasn't Caleb. Lucas Tanner strode toward her, a hard look on his face. Fortunately, the warning in his intense blue eyes was not directed at her.

Major Sutton seemed not to notice. "Is that right, Miss Durant?" He must have recognized the lie for what it was, but Luc's look of warning had put her on alert.

"Yes, actually, I was." She stepped away from the major, reached over and took Luc's arm. "I didn't see you earlier. Have you eaten, my lord?"

"Yes, but I believe I could use something to drink. If you'll excuse us, Major… ?"

Sutton made a brief bow and a look passed between the two men. Lee let Lucas guide her back toward the others, stopping just out of earshot.

"Sutton has a reputation, love. When it comes to women, it isn't a good one."

"I believe you have a similar reputation, my lord."

His mouth edged up. "Perhaps that is so, but I've never forced a woman to do anything she didn't want to do."

Lee frowned, not liking the thought. "If that is the sort of man the major is, I appreciate your timely rescue."

"I was merely acting in my brother's stead. He seems to be quite protective of you."

"From what I know of Caleb… Captain Tanner, he is simply a protective sort of man."

"Perhaps. You should know, in that same way, I am equally protective of him. He's my brother, Vermillion. I don't want to see him hurt."

Her eyes widened. "How could I possibly hurt your brother?"

"I'm not entirely sure. Just make certain that you do not."

She might have argued, told him that what happened between her and Caleb was none of his concern, but there was something about Lucas Tanner that commanded people to do his bidding. It was a trait that seemed to run in the family. Or perhaps it was the glint in those hard blue eyes that promised retribution if she didn't heed his words.

Since the notion was preposterous and in all likelihood she was the one who was going to get hurt, she simply kept her silence.

"I thought your brother might join us. Where is he?"

"I'm afraid I haven't seen him. Caleb has an annoying habit of disappearing."

"Yes, so I've noticed."

Luc took her arm and started toward the punch bowl. "As I said, I think I could use something to drink."

Grateful for the distraction, Lee let him lead her away.

While the guests enjoyed the picnic, Caleb managed to slip into several of the rooms, but his brief search turned up nothing. Later, after Gabriella and her party returned to the house, he joined a small gathering in the music room where Lee entertained on the harp. He was surprised by her skill. She plucked the chords so beautifully it made his chest feel tight. He watched until she quit playing, hoping to speak to her, but as soon as she finished, her usual throng of panting men swarmed around her and he walked away in disgust.

Little by little, the afternoon slipped into evening and the night's entertainments began. He hadn't spoken to Lee all day and he was beginning to feel restless as he watched her bantering with her admirers. Earlier, from a distance, he had seen her talking to Colonel Wingate and Sir Peter Peasley, had watched her in conversation with Major Sutton and even his brother Luc.

Now supper was over and the dancing had begun. Mondale stood beside Lee in the drawing room and the next thing he knew the two of them were slipping outside onto the terrace.

Caleb's senses went on alert. Entering the terrace from the opposite end, he watched the two of them together, saw the damnable rake sweep her into his arms. Mondale kissed her, and anger shot through him. He wanted to tear the man apart, wanted to put Lee over his knee and paddle her until she saw Andrew Mondale for the womanizing rake he was.

The only thing that kept him standing in the shadows was knowing that he would be forced to leave Parklands if he did either of those things and he couldn't afford for that to happen.

He watched her break away from Mondale, ending the kiss. They talked a little while longer, then finally returned to the house.

Caleb's anger didn't lessen.

Dammit, he had always been a little hot-tempered, but Lee drove him nearly mad. He felt possessive of her as he never had another woman. He found himself thinking about her at the oddest times, remembering her in the stable smiling up at old Arlie or galloping over the fields, red hair flying behind her like a gleaming ruby flag.

He wanted her. Constantly. Ached with wanting her.

It was madness, he knew. His life was the army. It was what he did and he was good at it. He was, in fact, a hero of sorts, a soldier who had made his father proud.

Still, as the evening progressed and he saw Lee make her way alone out into the garden, he found himself following her into the darkness, remembering that he had seen her in the shadows kissing Mondale, wondering if she planned a secret tryst with him.

He told himself to hang on to his temper and hoped to hell he would succeed.

Lee tipped her head back, resting it against the pale knotted bark of a birch tree, staring up through the leafy branches. Thank God, she'd finally been able to escape. Every night, the evening seemed to grow longer, more tedious. The house was stuffy. The rooms smelled of candle wax and the cloying scent of women's perfume. Encouraging the colonel last night had been a mistake, and Mondale—dear Lord, the man must have at least three sets of hands!

Lee looked up through the branches, into the darkness broken by the glitter of stars, and inhaled a cleansing breath. Out here it was cool and the soft night beckoned. Here in the garden, she was at peace, able to absorb the sound of the crickets in the grass, the distant clink of crystal, and the faint notes of music coming from inside the house.

The week was slipping past. She had continued to dig for information and tonight she thought she might have come up with something at last. She needed to speak to Caleb, but all evening she had only caught an occasional glimpse of him.

She wondered where he was, thought of Juliette Beauvoir, and felt the sharp burn of jealousy. Or perhaps he had disappeared from Parklands as he had before. Her stomach knotted at the thought and because it did, her temper inched up. She relaxed when she spotted a shadowy figure moving along the path in her direction and realized it was Caleb. Her heart kicked up and she cursed him for the ease with which he could affect her.

He stopped when he reached her and the usual scowl appeared on his face. "Surprised to see me?"

She tried not to think of Juliette Beauvoir. Being jealous of the woman was ridiculous. Caleb had rarely looked in her direction, and yet… "As a matter of fact, I am. You were missing all afternoon." She gave him a silky smile. "But perhaps you were otherwise entertained."

Caleb didn't seem to catch the inference. "I've been busy." A note of sarcasm crept into his voice. "But then you've been rather busy yourself."

"Exactly how would you know?"

"Because I saw you. Out on the terrace with Mondale. I saw you kissing him, Lee."

Damn. She thought she had been discreet.

"That's right… there you were on the terrace, behaving like a harlot, and Mondale was lapping it up."

Heat washed into her cheeks. He had a way of goading her, making her want to lash out at him, and she couldn't seem to stop herself from doing it again. "Actually, Caleb—I am a harlot. Your harlot. In case you have forgotten."

His eyes went dark. "I haven't forgotten anything about you. Not for a moment. I remember exactly the size of your breasts, the way your nipples tighten when I cup them in my hands. I remember what it's like to be inside you. It's you who seems to have trouble remembering." His dark eyes snapped with fire. "But perhaps I can remedy that."

He gripped her shoulders, dragged her toward him. She felt the heat of his mouth over hers as he claimed a hard, angry kiss. She should have pulled away, should have railed at him for believing the worst of her. She should have told him the truth about Andrew, that she had only been with him on the terrace because she was trying to help, but her nipples were already hard, her body begging him to continue.

He must have read her thoughts for a groan escaped his throat. The gown was low cut, not much of a barrier. Caleb shoved the shimmering fabric off her shoulders, baring her breasts, and captured the fullness in his hands. He palmed them, molded them, bent his dark head and took the weight of one into his mouth. Her nipple tightened, distended, sent a shaft of pleasure shooting through her. She swayed toward him, clutched his powerful shoulders to stay on her feet.

"Caleb…"

"That's right, sweetheart. This time, I want you to remember." His attack resumed, turned relentless. Deep, thorough kisses that stirred her blood and sent her arms up to twine around his neck. He kissed her as he shoved up her skirt, found her core, and began to stroke her. He knew exactly where to touch her, how to caress her, used his skillful hands until she was trembling, wet and ready, and begging him to take her, making soft little whimpering sounds in her throat.

One of his big hands worked the buttons on the front of his navy blue breeches and he freed himself. Caleb lifted her and she felt his hardness poised at the entrance to her passage. With one deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.

Oh, dear God. He was as hard as stone and so big he filled her completely. He eased himself out, then thrust back in. Deep strokes impaled her, rocked her against the trunk of the tree. He cupped her bottom, bracing her as he drove into her again and again. Pushing her skirt up out of the way, he wrapped her legs around his waist, began to drive deeper, faster, harder.

Her head fell back. Her body trembled, tightened. Pleasure rolled through her in powerful waves.

"That's it, sweeting. Let go." And she did, her body shaking, quivering, straining, the pleasure so intense she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.

Caleb reached his release a few moments later, the muscles in his shoulders going taut as he spilled his seed. For long moments, he said nothing. Then his forehead dropped down, and rested against her own, and he just held her.

Reality began to drift in and her mind began to clear. She remembered where they were and that someone might stubble upon them, even out here in the farthest, darkest reaches of the garden. Caleb must have remembered as well, for he gently set her back on her feet.

He finished buttoning his breeches, then began to help her straighten her clothes. For a moment he paused, and she realized he was looking at the wine-colored, star-shaped mark on her left shoulder.

"I noticed this the last time we made love. What is it?"

She shrugged. "A birthmark. When I was little I prayed it would go away, but obviously it never did."

He traced the mark with his finger, looked down into her face. "I don't want you kissing Mondale."

Lee sighed. "Lord Andrew knows about the troop movements in Spain, Caleb. That is the reason I was kissing him."

"What are you talking about?"

"That's what we were doing on the terrace… talking about the war. I let him kiss me to take his mind off the conversation. I wanted to discover as much as I could."

"I don't believe this. You were kissing Mondale in order to get information? Dammit, I told you how dangerous that was." He wasn't happy, but she could tell he was relieved.

"Did Mondale say how he found out?"

"Apparently he received a letter from a friend in the army. I don't know if he is guilty of being a spy, but—"

"But it requires looking into."

"That's what I would say."

"What about Wingate? Did you kiss him, too?"

"Only once and it was awful."

"Dammit, Lee."

"I won't do it again—not even to get information."

Caleb ground his jaw and turned away, trying to bring his temper back under control. He sighed into the darkness. "I don't know what it is about you. Every time I'm near you, I seem to go a little insane."

She couldn't help a smile. "I don't know what it is about you, either, Caleb, but every time I'm near you, I seem to lose all my better judgment."

He laughed softly. She liked the sound. She had very rarely heard it. Then the laughter faded and his expression slowly changed.

"Promise me you'll stay out of this, Lee. As much as I appreciate what you found out, it's just too dangerous. I don't want you getting hurt."

"I can help, Caleb. Maybe I already have."

"Don't you understand—this is dangerous! I don't want you getting involved." He shook her. "I want your word you'll stay out of this."

Lee sighed, recognizing defeat in the determined look on his face. "All right. But I'm still keeping my eyes and ears open. That is the least I can do."

Caleb bent his head and kissed her. "As long as you stay out of trouble."

"Whatever happens, I won't do anything without talking to you first."

Caleb's hard look warned she had better be telling him the truth.

"So you think Mondale may be our man?" Colonel Cox sat on the opposite side of the desk in his Whitehall office.

"I don't know, sir. According to my source, Andrew Mondale has information about Wellesley's troop movements in Spain. My source says—"

"And your source, Captain, would be… ?"

Caleb cleared his throat. He had hoped to leave Lee out of this. "Vermillion Durant, Colonel. A situation came up. I had to make a decision. Based on what I knew of the girl, I decided to trust her with the truth of my mission. She volunteered to help our cause and came up with the information on Mondale."

"I see."

Caleb just hoped he didn't see too much. "According to Miss Durant, Mondale got the information through a letter he received from a dragoon captain in the 60th Regiment."

"That's hard to believe. Those letters take weeks to get home. The information would have been old news by then."

"Maybe not. Maybe the captain had a friend returning to England, or maybe it was just a lucky guess."

"It's possible. No doubt about it. Still, we'll need to put a man on Mondale, see where he goes when he's not out at Parklands, chasing after Vermillion Durant."

Caleb wisely made no reply, since recently he found himself chasing after her nearly as much as Mondale and the rest of her lapdogs, a fact he found irritating as hell.

"Are you planning to rejoin Major Sutton this afternoon?"

"I've some errands to run first. I'll be heading back out there this evening. We'll be staying for the balance of the week." Or as long as they could stretch their invitation. He prayed something would break before courtesy required them to leave, but it didn't look good.

"Very well. I'll put a man on Mondale, though I can't say I'm happy about it. I know the boy's father. It will break the man's heart if his son turns out to be a traitor."

Caleb didn't disagree. He was thinking of his own father and how much it meant to the earl to have a son so well thought of in the army. Perhaps in a way he understood Vermillion's desire to please the aunt she loved like a mother.

Unfortunately, in Lee's case that meant leading the life of a courtesan when she deserved far better.

He worried about what she would do the night of her birthday. She still seemed uncertain. If she chose a protector, as she had earlier vowed to do, the odds were slim that she would pick him. Once his assignment was completed, he would be leaving, returning to Spain. He couldn't take her with him; he wouldn't do that to her or any other woman.

Military life was simply too hard, too grueling, too painful for a female. Even an officer's wife suffered the deprivation, the close quarters and lack of privacy, lack even of a decent bed. To say nothing of the misery of being shuffled from pillar to post during the long campaigns.

Caleb swore softly as he thought again of Lee and the decision she would make the night of her nineteenth birthday.

17

« ^ »

Dressed in her long white night rail, her hair brushed and plaited for sleeping, Lee stood in front of her bedchamber window, staring out into the night. She hadn't seen Caleb since last night when they had made love in the garden.

A warm flush rose in her cheeks as she remembered his angry, ardent passion. She could have stopped him. Caleb wasn't the sort of man to press himself on a woman, no matter how angry he was. But once he had touched her, kissed her, she hadn't wanted him to stop. She only wanted more. They had never made love in that way and she couldn't help wondering how much more there might be to experience—if only they had time.

But time for them was fleeting. Tomorrow night was her birthday ball. She was supposed to choose a lover, a protector, a man she would cleave to until one or the other of them grew bored with the affair. It was the sort of life her aunt had enjoyed, a life that offered a kind of freedom that few Englishwomen were granted.

But thinking of sharing a life, however briefly, with Andrew or Jonathan or Oliver Wingate… she couldn't even imagine it. After painful hours of deliberation, she had decided not to choose anyone at all, to somehow make a life of her own without the sheltering presence of a man. It was a decision that didn't come lightly.

In truth, she never would have made the choice if it hadn't been for Caleb. He had changed her in some way. Or perhaps he had merely shown her the person she had always been, deep inside.

It was a difficult decision. She owed her aunt and she wanted to make her happy. But in the weeks he had been there, Caleb had made her see that she also owed herself. She couldn't become some man's plaything, not merely to please her aunt. She would make a different sort of choice, one that took far more courage. She would leave her aunt's protective circle of friends and go out on her own. She had money. She could do anything she wanted. Somehow she would make it up to her aunt.

Still, in the quiet of the room, she found herself thinking of Caleb, wondering what it might be like if Caleb became her protector.

Lee sighed into the silence of her bedchamber. If only he weren't leaving. But in truth, even if she agreed to become his mistress, it wouldn't be for long. Soon he would return to Spain, and the risk of a broken heart would only increase if she spent more time with him.

The quandary spun round and round in her head as she stood at the window, staring down into the garden. She sighed and started to turn away, hoping sleep would ease her turbulent thoughts, but a movement below caught her eye. A slight, cloaked figure stole from the back of the house, slipping silently along the path through the shrubbery. One of the maids, perhaps, or one of the female guests.

Lee watched the woman make her way to the rear of the garden and escape through the wooden gate. Why would someone be leaving the house at this late hour? Why would they be stealing away like a thief in the night?

Unless…

In an instant, she made her decision.

Dragging her night rail over her head, Lee raced to the armoire and pulled on her breeches, shirt, and boots. In minutes she was dressed and flying out the door, trying to be quiet as she hurried along the hall and down the servants' stairs. It didn't take long to reach the gate at the rear of the garden. She made it just in time to see the slender, cloaked figure disappear among the trees along the path leading into the village.

Lee hurried after her. God's breath, she wished Caleb were here, but as far as she knew he hadn't returned from wherever he had gone off to, and she had no idea when he might reappear.

The path was well worn, the dirt track flattened from years of use, but it wound through the trees, making it difficult to keep her quarry in sight. She could hear the woman's footfalls on the path up ahead and the sound of her cloak brushing against shrubs and branches along the trail. The leaves were wet with dew and the dampness soaked into Lee's breeches as she hurried along. Up ahead, the woman raced on.

Lee tried to catch a glimpse of her face, but it was hidden beneath the hood of her cloak. She worried that it was Jeannie, but something about the woman didn't seem quite right. Lee's heart pounded. Around her, the night air felt heavy and still and patches of mist hung over the earth. Crickets stopped their chirping as the woman ran past, and in the faint light cast by a fingernail moon, Lee could see narrow, feminine footprints pressed into the ground on the path in front of her.

The woman turned off the trail and Lee almost lost her. Then she realized the cloaked figure was heading for the Red Boar Inn. It loomed ahead, windows glowing with lamplight, moonlight glinting on the tiles of its gray slate roof. The woman didn't go inside, but rounded the building to the rear and disappeared. Lee hurried after her, stopping when she reached the tavern, plastering herself against the rough stone wall, then carefully peeking around the corner of the building.

There was a stairway behind the inn, partially hidden by ivy. She caught a quick glimpse of the woman's face as she climbed the stairs, lifted the latch on a heavy wooden door, and vanished into a room on the second floor.

It was one of the upstairs chambermaids. A woman named Marie LeCroix.

Marie had come to Parklands last year in search of employment. She was an exceptionally pretty young woman in her late twenties, with wavy dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and remarkable cheekbones. A number of the male guests had made offers for her time, but Marie had shied away from them. She was friendly to the men, but mostly she kept to herself.

At least that's what Lee had believed.

Now she wondered which of the men the woman was here to meet… and why.

Uncertain exactly what she should do, Lee remained in the shadows, waiting to see if she could discover whom Marie had come to meet. Careful to stay out of sight, she pressed herself against cold gray stone and fastened her gaze on the room upstairs.

Caleb could scarcely believe it. On a black horse named Solomon that was his own mount, he was returning from London, riding past the village toward the lane leading to Parklands, almost to the Red Boar Inn when he spotted a figure running along the path that led from the village to the mansion.

Dammit to bloody hell, he knew who it was, knew there was never a lad who could fill out a pair of men's breeches nearly so well, knew that long red braid and exactly how silky it felt.

What the devil she was doing out here in the middle of the night confounded him completely.

Unless…

His stomach muscles contracted. Sweet God, surely he hadn't been wrong. Surely Lee wasn't the traitor. As much as his brain cautioned him it just might be so, deep down he didn't believe it. As he watched her press herself into the shadows against the wall, his certainty grew.

Lee wasn't a traitor.

Instead, there was every chance she was out here trying to catch one.

The thought fired his temper. The interfering little baggage was sticking her nose into army business again and putting herself in danger. When he got her back to the house, he was going to wring her pretty little neck!

Tying his horse to a tree some distance away, careful to stay hidden in the shadows, Caleb started walking toward the small figure hiding in the darkness behind the inn.

From her place against the wall next to the stairwell, Lee could hear the creak of footsteps on the wooden floor in the room upstairs. If she thought she could see inside, she would sneak up the stairs and peek in, but the shutters were closed and only a sliver of light seeped out from within.

Lee rubbed her hands together. It was damp and cold and she hadn't had time to retrieve a cloak or gloves. Now it seemed as if the woman had been in the room forever. Lee shivered, tried to think warm thoughts and concentrate on discovering the man who might be trysting with Marie. If the fellow was a guest at Parklands, it didn't make sense. A visitor's privacy was ensured. If the woman wanted to spend time with one of the men, the two of them wouldn't have been interrupted.

Still, there were men in the village, wealthy squires, sons of wealthy squires. Lee figured she was probably wasting her time, that the maid was simply meeting one of them.

She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, told herself that she should just turn round and go home. But what if Marie were meeting a traitor? What if she were the woman passing secrets to the French?

"Out for a midnight stroll?"

She jumped six inches at the words whispered into her ear. "Caleb! Good heavens, you scared me half to death!"

"If you are lucky, sweeting, that is all I will do. If you are here for the reason I think you are, I ought to put you over my knee."

Lee ignored him and the black scowl on his face. "What are you doing here, Caleb? I looked for you earlier but no one seemed to know where you were."

"I had business in London. As to what I am doing here at the inn, I'm doing my damnedest to keep you out of trouble."

Lee turned her attention to the room at the top of the stairs. "One of our maids is up there. A woman named Marie LeCroix. I saw her sneaking out of the house. I didn't know where to find you, so I followed her myself. I could hear more than one set of footsteps so I know she isn't alone, but I have no idea who might be up there with her."

"Maybe she's up there with Oxley."

"Oxley?"

"That's right. The lieutenant's been bedding her every chance he gets. I wonder what she's been receiving in return for her favors."

Lee glanced toward the top of the stairs, wondering how many other secrets Caleb had discovered about the people at Parklands. "I don't think she's meeting Lieutenant Oxley. He was still in the drawing room when I retired and if she wanted to see him, all she had to do was go to his room."

"Good point. So she's probably meeting someone who isn't staying at the house."

"That would be my guess." She shivered, the damp cold seeping through her clothes.

"Dammit, you're freezing." Stripping off his riding jacket, he draped it around her shoulders. The coat retained his body heat. She snuggled deeper into the warmth and her shivering eased.

"Stay here. I'm going upstairs." Before she could remind him Marie was probably there for nothing but a lover's tryst, he was halfway up the staircase. He banged on the door and waited, but no one came to open it. He pounded again, tried the handle, then came racing back down the stairs.

"There's probably another entrance inside the inn. You stay here. If he comes out this way, try to get a look at his face. Whatever you do, don't let him see you. He might not want any witnesses."

Lee thought of Mary and sank deeper into the shadows. Caleb took off toward the front of the tavern and she counted the time it would take him to get up the inside stairs. There must have been another entrance for a few minutes later, she heard the wooden floorboards creaking and guessed Caleb was in the room.

When he didn't come outside, she left her post and ran after him, racing round to the front, then shoving through the tavern doors.

The inn was crowded, the low-ceilinged taproom smoky, and noisy with the clink of glasses and the rumble of the patrons' conversation. One of the tavern maids laughed and the sound rang across the room. Careful to stay at the edge of the crowd, Lee headed up the stairs at the rear of the inn.

At the top of the stairs, a long hall yawned to the right. She hurried down the corridor, saw that one of the doors stood open. Caleb knelt beside a slatted bed. The moment he saw her, he came to his feet and started walking toward her. He had almost reached her when she spotted the woman draped limply over the edge of the bed.

"Marie!"

Caleb turned her away from the grisly sight and his arms tightened around her. "She's dead, love. I'm sorry."

Lee pulled free of his hold, her gaze careening once more toward the bed. Across the mattress, the limp figure of Marie LeCroix lay pale and lifeless, her pretty blue eyes staring up at the ceiling above her head. Lee started shaking. Tears welled in her eyes as Caleb pressed her head into his shoulder.

"The man was gone by the time I got here. The bastard used her, then strangled her."

She closed her eyes, trying to blot out the sight of the lifeless woman on the bed. "Oh, God."

"He must have left through the tavern. It's crowded and dark. It wouldn't be hard to get away without being seen. I would have gone after him, but the forest begins just behind the inn and there's no way in hell I'd be able to follow his tracks in the darkness."

"Why… why didn't he go down the outside stairs?"

"I don't know. Perhaps he knew you were out there."

Her head jerked up. "Oh, my God! If I hadn't followed Marie to the inn—"

Caleb gripped her shoulders. "This isn't your fault, Lee. Whoever did this likely also killed Mary—or had a hand in it. Perhaps they knew too much. Perhaps they posed some kind of threat—I don't know." His features turned hard and his fingers dug into her shoulders. "You're lucky you didn't climb those stairs. If you had, you might be lying next to Marie on that bed!"

He was angry. More than that, he was frightened.

He held her at arm's length for a moment more, then jerked her hard against him and his arms came around her. A slight tremor ran through his body.

"Come on," he finally said. "We need to send for the authorities. I've got to talk to the people in the taproom, find out if anyone saw the person who came down the stairs."

"Yes… or perhaps the tavern owner can tell you who rented the room."

He nodded. "Let's go find out." With an arm securely around her waist, he started guiding her toward the door.

"What about Marie?" Lee asked softly.

"I'll see she's taken care of. You don't have to worry about that."

Lee said nothing more, just let him lead her out of the room and quietly close the door.

Graveside services were held for Marie LeCroix the following day, a solemn occasion that briefly put a damper on festivities at Parklands. Since Oxley had been in the drawing room with Colonel Wingate all evening, he was not a suspect. The sheriff, not privy to army information concerning the spy ring, believed the woman had been strangled by a jealous lover, someone who had discovered Marie's affair. But no one had the slightest idea who the man might be.

Constable Shaw came out from London, but the only connection between the murders of Mary Goodhouse and that of Marie LeCroix was the women's brief employment at Parklands.

No one in the tavern had seen anything the night of the murder and, as the upstairs room had been let by Marie, there were no clues to the man's identity.

Lee's birthday ball was postponed. While the Parklands's staff, Vermillion and her aunt, attended a brief churchyard service for Marie, Caleb and Major Sutton descended on Lieutenant Ian Oxley.

It was obvious the young man was shaken and very deeply grieved by the news of the young maid's death.

"I can't believe it… I just can't believe she is dead." Oxley sat on the leather sofa in the study. The doors were closed and the few servants who remained in the house were given strict instruction they were not to be disturbed.

"What did you tell her, Oxley?" Sutton leaned over the younger man. "Colonel Wingate has already told us he had key information about Wellesley's upcoming campaign. You were privy to that information. Now tell us how much of that information you told Marie LeCroix."

Oxley's eyes filled with tears. He was a pale young man, given to shyness, and obviously in love with Marie.

"We just… we just talked."

"In your bed, you mean, while you were overheated and desperate to get inside her."

Oxley swallowed, his Adam's apple moving up and down. "She was interested in the war. I suppose I might have… mentioned a few things."

"She was French, Oxley." Sutton bore down on him. "Did the fact never cross your mind?"

He shook his head. "She was only a little girl when she came to England with her family. She was raised here. She wanted the British to win the war. That… that is what she said." He gazed out the window toward the garden. "She was so beautiful. She never talked to any of the other men… only me. I felt so lucky. I just wanted to please her."

Caleb swore softly. "Do you have any idea, Lieutenant, who Marie might have been meeting that night at the inn?"

He glanced up. The grief etched into his face made him look older than he had the day before. "I thought there was only me. I thought she loved me."

"She used you," the major said harshly. "Just the way that bastard used her. You know what they were doing in that room, Oxley? You know what he did to her before he killed her?"

"Don't," Caleb warned, ending the major's savage words. "The woman he loved is dead. She wasn't the person he believed her to be and because he trusted her, his career is over and he'll be facing charges. What we need to know is who killed her. We need the name of the man she was passing the information on to."

"I don't know," Oxley said with a shake of his head. "I swear I don't. I only mentioned a couple of things… We talked about Oporto. I told her Wellesley was gearing up, that it looked as if there would be fighting at Talavera. It didn't seem important at the time."

"You're a fool, Lieutenant," Major Sutton said. "You thought with your cock and not your brain and now you are paying the price."

Oxley made no reply. The misery on his face was enough of an answer. The afternoon wore on, but no new information surfaced.

One thing was clear: the spy ring's connection to Parklands had been severed. Marie was dead and no more information would be forthcoming. Perhaps Mary Goodhouse had also been selling secrets, or more likely she had figured out whom Marie was meeting. Either way, the women were dead and the leak had been stopped.

Unfortunately, the head of the spy ring had escaped, leaving no trace of whom he might be. Caleb wasn't sure if his assignment would continue once he returned to London, but his time at Parklands had come to an end.

As soon as Lee's birthday ball was over, Caleb, along with the rest of the guests, would be returning to the city. He didn't know how long he would remain in London, but at least he would have time to visit his family, see some of his friends. As he had before, he told himself to forget Vermillion, that interfering in her life would be doing her more harm than good.

Still, as the afternoon drew to a close, he found himself striding down the hall, stopping to speak to the butler, asking him to make it known to the lady of the house that he wished a word with her in private in regard to a matter of importance concerning her niece.

It was an hour later that Caleb was summoned to a small salon at the rear of the mansion. The butler, Jones, led him down the hall into a room done in soft shades of ivory and rose, then quietly closed the doors, making them private.

"You wished to see me, Captain?" Gabriella floated toward him in a gown a brighter shade of rose than the sofa and draperies, a warm smile on her face.

"I know you're busy. Thank you for making the time."

Her smile slipped a little at the serious note in his voice. "I thought this concerned Vermillion. Are you here in regard to the death of Marie LeCroix?"

"No. As I said, I'm here to speak to you about your niece."

One of her silver-blond eyebrows went up. "In that case, why don't we make ourselves comfortable?" She led him over to a brocade sofa, then sat down in a deep rose chair across from him. "Shall I ring for tea?"

"No, thank you. What I have to say won't take long."

"All right then, Captain, what is it you wish to discuss about Vermillion?"

"As you're well aware, tomorrow night is her birthday ball."

"That is correct."

"It is commonly known that sometime during the course of the evening she is supposed to choose a protector."

"Yes…"

"There is a chance she will choose no one at all."

Gabriella sat forward in her chair. "She has told you this?"

"We became… friends, during my tenure as a groom. She sometimes confides in me."

"I thought she might be having some doubts. Elizabeth and I discussed this very possibility. I had hoped, if she were unsure, she would come to me so that we might discuss it. I assumed whatever uncertainties she had must have been resolved."

"There is, of course, the other possibility—that Vermillion will decide to keep her pledge." His shoulders felt tight. He shifted a little on the sofa. "If that happens, I want to be the man she chooses."

Gabriella laughed. "Captain Tanner. Any number of men find my niece attractive. Whether she will choose you to become her lover—"

"I am already her lover."

Surprise registered on Gabriella's face.

"The problem is eventually I'll be leaving London and returning to Spain. Our time together could be brief. Still, I believe she cares for me and that it would be in her best interest—should she decide on the latter course—for the man she chooses to be me."

Gabriella studied him closely. "You are telling me that you have made love to my niece?"

Caleb cleared his throat. "On more than one occasion. If my circumstances were different, I would be offering marriage instead of merely an arrangement." It was true, though he had never let the thought completely surface until now.

"Marriage?" The smile returned to Gabriella's face. "I assure you, Captain Tanner, my niece has no interest in becoming a wife—not yours or anyone else's. She never has. However… she must feel a great deal of affection for you if the two of you have become lovers."

Caleb sat forward in his chair. "Then you'll speak to her in my regard?"

"Vermillion has a mind of her own, Captain. I have taught her to use it. I'm not certain I should interfere."

"If you're concerned about money, I assure you I have more than enough. If, as you say, your niece has no wish to become a wife, then I make this pledge to you—I shall make it my personal duty to teach her all she needs to know to become the woman you wish her to be—the woman she has been pretending to be."

Gabriella's interest stirred. Pretty blue eyes moved slowly down his body, measuring his height and the breadth of his shoulders. "A tantalizing prospect, Captain Tanner. She'll want to take some of her horses. The others have agreed to that."

"That won't be a problem."

"All right. Considering the affection my niece apparently carries for you, I will do what I can to convince her that you are the man who should become her protector."

He relaxed a little. "Thank you, Gabriella."

"I warn you, Captain, it may not do any good. As I said, my niece has a mind of her own."

The edge of his mouth curved up. "Believe me, I know that better than anyone."

Gabriella could scarcely contain her glee. At last! For years she had been waiting for the day her niece would become a woman, when Vermillion would finally discover the incredible pleasure of making love with a man. And what a man her niece had chosen! Dear Lord, she couldn't have picked a finer male specimen if she had selected the man herself.

As soon as she could break away from the group playing cards in the gaming room, Gabriella sent word to Vermillion she wished to see her in the Rose Salon. She rang for tea and a few minutes after it arrived, the butler appeared with her niece in tow.

"Is everything all right?" Vermillion asked. "Mr. Jones said you wished to see me."

"Yes, darling. Do come in." Her niece looked pretty today in a simple apricot muslin gown. For herself, Gabriella preferred more vibrant colors, but lately Vermillion appeared more inclined to the softer hues and in a way they seemed to suit her. "Sit down, dear, and have a cup of tea."

Vermillion took a seat in a rose velvet chair across from her and smoothed out her muslin skirt.

"I know you have a great deal to do before tomorrow night," Gabriella said, "so I won't waste much time. You have vowed to choose a protector the night of your birthday ball. Have you decided which of your suitors you will choose?"

Vermillion glanced away. "Actually… I've been wanting to talk to you about that, Aunt Gabby." She swallowed. "I was thinking that perhaps… I thought that I might not… that I wouldn't choose anyone at all."

"Really?" Gabriella carefully poured tea for both of them and handed her niece a gold-rimmed porcelain cup and saucer. "And what of Captain Tanner?"

Vermillion's teacup rattled in its saucer. "Captain Tanner? What about him?"

"The captain believes—since the two of you have already become lovers—that it would be in your best interest if you allowed him to become your protector."

Color washed into Vermillion's cheeks. The cup rattled again as she rested it in her lap. "H-he said that? Captain Tanner told you we were lovers?"

Gabriella waved away her niece's concern. "Don't be angry, darling. I couldn't be more thrilled. The man is obviously enamored of you. He knows that in time he'll be forced to return to Spain, but in the meantime he wishes nothing so much as for the two of you to be together."

Vermillion sat back in her chair, the tea in her cup untouched. "What else did the captain say?"

"For his part in the arrangement, he has pledged to do his best to initiate you into the world of pleasure."

Vermillion's eyes widened. "That is what he said?"

She nodded. "Unless you are dissatisfied with his performance so far, I would say it presents a great opportunity. And afterward, once the affair is over, you can take your time, decide then what it is you wish to do."

Vermillion shook her head. "I can't believe this. I can't believe he would tell you something like that."

"But darling, don't you see? He came to me for help. He wants to be certain he is the man you choose and not someone else. Surely it would break his heart if you did."

"Break his heart? I'd like to break his neck!"

"Darling, please. I wouldn't have told you if I thought you would be angry. I thought it was important you understood how highly you are held in the captain's regard and the length he has gone to in order to win your affections."

The color remained high in Vermillion's cheeks and her smile looked forced. "I'll keep that in mind."

Gabriella tried to think of something to say that would smooth the frown from her niece's forehead. "That is all I ask, darling. If you truly care for Captain Tanner, you should take advantage of his offer and enjoy your time together."

Vermillion merely nodded.

Gabriella thought her shoulders looked a little stiff, but perhaps it was only her imagination.

"Thank you for telling me, Aunt Gabby." Vermillion set the untouched cup and saucer down on the table in front of her.

"As I said, I thought you should know."

"Yes, well, now I know." Rising from the sofa, she made her way across the room and out the door.

Gabriella watched Vermillion leave, her spine unnaturally straight, and hoped she had done the right thing.

18

« ^ »

Vermillion's nineteenth birthday ball was a long-awaited event, a costume ball, a gala affair in the world of the demimonde. Though it was well known among the men that tonight she would choose a protector, there would be no formal announcement, nothing quite so tawdry as that.

Instead, when the birthday waltz was played, whichever gentleman she chose to partner her in the dance would become her lover.

Unless she decided to choose no man at all.

Which was exactly what Vermillion planned to do.

Last night and all of today, she had been so furious with Caleb she had purposely avoided him. She couldn't trust her temper not to spin out of control if she saw him.

Damn and blast the man! How dare he involve Aunt Gabby in so personal a matter!

In truth, it was amazing he had done so, extremely out of character for Caleb, who seemed in most ways a very private man. Did he really believe her aunt could convince her to become his mistress? And when had he become so determined? Once the head of the spy ring was caught he would be leaving. Whatever time they had together would indeed be brief.

Her stomach knotted at the prospect. She didn't like to think of Caleb going away, of never seeing him again. She didn't like to think of him fighting the French, being injured or maybe even killed. Instead, she summoned her anger and pushed those thoughts away. Ignoring a lingering thread of worry, she rang for Jeannie to help her dress for the evening ahead.

The task was lengthy. Being a costume ball, she would be gowned as Aphrodite, the goddess of love, beauty, and sensual rapture. The costume her aunt had commissioned for the affair was made of white satin and fashioned in the Grecian mode, baring one shoulder, clinging to her curves, and draping across her bosom. The sides of the gown were split, and when she walked, her legs were exposed well past the knee.

The entire effect was heightened by the Grecian designs embroidered in gold across the bodice and around the hem, the thin gold sandals that encased her bare feet, and the bands of gold encircling her upper arms.

As soon as she was dressed, she sat down in front of the mirror and Jeannie coiffed her hair, clipping it up on the sides with mother-of-pearl seashell combs while leaving the rest loose down her back in fiery red curls. As she watched Jeannie work, she tried to stay angry at Caleb, but her temper had cooled considerably and most of her fury had seeped away.

In truth, chances were good if he had known her decision—not to pick Mondale or Nash or any other man—he wouldn't have gone to her aunt.

Why had he? Did he really want her so badly? And if he did… ? If he did, what exactly did that mean?

Surely Caleb couldn't be in love with her.

She shook her head. It was impossible. Ridiculous. He was the son of an earl. His interest was only in the physical side of the attraction they shared. It wasn't love. It couldn't be.

But what if it were?

The question nagged her, wouldn't get out of her head.

As Jeannie fastened the buttons on her white satin gown, she told herself she was being a fool, a complete and utter harebrain, but the niggling thought remained.

Jeannie dabbed a little more rouge on her cheeks, urged her up from the stool, then made a sweeping assessment of her handiwork. " 'ow lovely you look, chérie. Magnifique!" Jeannie motioned for her to turn in front of the tall cheval glass and she made a slow pirouette.

Vermillion thought she looked exotic, that she looked sensual and seductive. That she looked like Vermillion and nothing at all like Lee.

And so this night, for perhaps the last time in her life, that was exactly who she would be.

She reached over and caught her maid's hand, gave it a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, Jeannie. You've been a very dear friend."

The older woman smiled. "You will choose the captain, no?"

Vermillion shook her head. "No, Jeannie."

"But why not? Nom de Dieu, surely now that you know 'e is not a servant, that 'e is—"

"I'm not choosing Captain Tanner or anyone else. I'm going to lead a life of my own." Vermillion turned away before Jeannie could argue and started for the door.

The guests had all arrived. Everyone would be waiting downstairs. It was time to make her entrance.

The ballroom was in a separate wing of the mansion, a huge, high-ceilinged chamber illuminated by crystal chandeliers. As the guests walked in, each cut glass prism sparkled and danced, the colors multiplied a thousand times in the mirrors that lined the walls. Tonight the room had been decorated to resemble the sea from which Aphrodite rose the day she was created. Murals had been painted depicting the ocean, with white clouds above a rocky shoreline dotted with white-winged gulls. In the corner where the orchestra played, sand had been brought in to resemble a beach.

Pausing at the entrance to the ballroom, Vermillion pulled a white-feathered mask down over her eyes, then started through the door. Just inside, Oliver Wingate, costumed as a too-tall version of Admiral Nelson, offered her his arm.

"Good evening, my dear." His eyes moved over her seductive satin gown. "There are not words to describe your beauty, Vermillion."

"Thank you, Colonel."

Lord Andrew Mondale, extravagantly costumed as a sixteenth-century courtier in a doublet of deep orange velvet trimmed with ermine, doffed his matching ermine-trimmed hat. "Happy birthday, my beauty."

"Thank you, Andrew. You are looking quite dashing, as always."

He beamed with pleasure and settled his hat back on his head, hiding the gleam of his golden curls.

Jonathan Parker, Viscount Nash, was the third of her suitors to appear. It was obvious the men had been waiting.

"Ah, yes, Aphrodite. Quite appropriate, I would say." Wearing the tunic, jackboots, and the hat of a musketeer, Jonathan bent and kissed her hand. "Before the night is over, I hope to worship at your altar of love."

It was a rather un-Nash-like remark and she couldn't help a smile. "Why don't we join the others?" she said evasively, then, once they were immersed in the milling throng, excused herself to go in search of her aunt.

As she crossed the ballroom, making her way through the crowd, she tried not to search for Caleb. She didn't see him, but perhaps she wouldn't recognize him if he were there. He could be one of the several court jesters she passed or perhaps a Roman soldier. She recognized Sir Peter Peasley, costumed as Henry III, and beside him, Lisette Moreau in a tall silver wig, playing the role of Madame de Pompadour. Juliette Beauvoir was there, flirting outrageously with the actor, Michael Cutberth, but there was no sign of Caleb.

Vermillion continued toward the dais where Aunt Gabby stood next to Lord Claymont—a handsome Mark Antony and a beautiful, silver-blond Cleopatra.

Gabriella smiled, the golden serpents on her gown glittering as she moved. "We've been waiting for you, darling. Now that you're here, the party can truly begin." But of course it was already in full swing.

Vermillion thought of the long hours ahead, the boring conversation, the leering glances, the gossip she cared nothing about.

Steeling herself, she pasted on her practiced smile and accepted a dance with a skinny man she knew to be Lord Derry wearing a black hood and carrying an ax.

Caleb stood away from the crush of guests along a far wall of the ballroom. He wasn't wearing a costume, just his scarlet and navy uniform and tall black dress boots. His only concession to the masquerade ball was the scarlet satin domino that covered the top half of his face.

He surveyed the crowded dance floor, his gaze taking in the wild array of colors and fabrics, the plumed hats and rich satins and velvets. In the corner of the room, he spotted Vermillion, in conversation with her aunt and Lord Claymont. She looked beautiful tonight. There was no denying it. Every bit the goddess she portrayed. She was a sensual, stirring creature, the epitome of every man's fantasy, sophisticated and completely untouchable.

Only Caleb knew the sweet young woman she was underneath her façade. The innocent young girl he had made love to that first night in the stable. His loins clenched at the thought, began to fill, and silently he cursed.

Caleb watched her dance, first with a slight man in a black hood and then with Andrew Mondale, and cursed again, more savagely this time. For a man used to waging campaigns, his strategy in dealing with Vermillion had been a complete and utter failure.

He had made a tactical error in seeking her aunt's assistance and Lee refused to forgive him. For the last two days, she had avoided him. God only knew what she would do when she saw him tonight.

Caleb sighed as he watched her dance. He shouldn't have gone to her aunt. He knew that now, but at the time he hadn't been thinking too clearly. He had wanted her, been afraid he was going to lose her.

He should have known Lee would rebel, do exactly the opposite of what he wanted her to do.

Dammit to bloody hell.

The dance ended and Mondale returned her to her circle of friends. Oliver Wingate was among them. She looked up at him and laughed at something the colonel said. It was all Caleb could do not to storm across the room and drag her away from the man, haul her out of the ballroom, out of the house and off someplace private where he could make love to her until neither of them could move.

Instead, he stood there watching, wondering what she planned to do, feeling sick inside. He prayed that when the time came she would simply cry off, refuse to choose any man at all. She had said that she might… that she was giving the matter serious consideration.

One thing he was fairly sure of—if she decided to choose a protector, the very last man she would pick would be Captain Caleb Tanner.

The evening dragged on. Gabriella had let it be known that when the orchestra struck up the birthday waltz, whichever man Vermillion chose to partner would be the man who would become her protector. Aunt Gabby had also said that if Vermillion danced with Lord Claymont, it would signify she had decided against any of the men in the room.

As the dancing wore on, a fine tension settled in Vermillion's shoulders. The golden sandals hurt her feet and the shimmering threads in the embroidery chafed her skin. She wanted nothing so much as to retreat upstairs to her bedchamber and simply go to sleep.

Instead, she heard her aunt's joyful laughter and saw her smile, remembered how long Aunt Gabby had been planning this affair and how much it meant to her, ignored her aching feet and chafed skin and kept on smiling.

Another hour passed. Her face felt stiff, her lips brittle, as if they might crack at any moment. She had finally caught sight of Caleb and purposely ignored him, which only served to make the long night even more miserable.

At last the hour came. Midnight. Time for the birthday waltz. She spotted Lord Claymont and smiled, knowing he would be pleased with her decision. From the time they had met, the earl had wanted a different sort of life for her, had, on more than one occasion, tried to convince Gabriella that he could make some sort of match for her, the son of a village squire, perhaps, or a young man in need of a wealthy bride's dowry.

Gabby wouldn't hear of it, of course. Marriage was the dreariest future she could imagine.

For the most part, Vermillion agreed.

"Darling, are you ready?" Gabriella smiled and Vermillion's stomach knotted.

"As ready as I shall ever be," she said, the smile still stuck on her face.

"Come up to the dais, darling. Lord Claymont would like to propose a toast."

With more dread than she should have been feeling, uncertain what her suitors would do when they discovered she intended to break her vow, she nodded and stepped up in front of the orchestra.

The music stopped and people clustered around the dais. Lord Claymont clinked a silver spoon against his crystal champagne goblet and the room fell silent.

"I should like to propose a toast," he said with a smile. "To Miss Vermillion Durant on this, the night of her nineteenth birthday." He turned to her, held up his glass. "To you, my dear. All happiness in whatever course in life you choose to take."

"Hear! hear!" said Colonel Wingate, lifting his glass. Mondale chimed in and all of the guests lifted their glasses and took a drink. Several more toasts were made, then the strains of a waltz began.

Vermillion looked down at the men clustered around the dais, some she barely knew, and Andrew, Jonathan, and Oliver, the three with whom she was most familiar. Lucas Tanner stood a little ways away, eyeing her with considerable interest. She wondered what his brother had told him about her.

Her eyes swung in Caleb's direction.

He stood behind the others, the epaulets on his scarlet jacket glittering, taller than most of the men in the room, his posture perfectly erect. It was then she noticed that his shoulders were stiff with tension, his jaw set and looking as hard as granite. Though a scarlet domino covered much of his face, she could see his eyes, so dark a brown they looked like onyx.

There was something in them, she saw, something that compelled her to look deeper, past the reserve he wore tonight, all the way into his heart.

A faint tremor ran through her at the image that rushed into her mind.

It wasn't possible.

He couldn't care that much.

Not the way she did, not with a deep, yawning ache that never left her, a pain so deep that suddenly she knew exactly what she had to do.

She knew the choice she would make, knew that she would give up her precious independence. Knew that she would choose Caleb. And if their brief time together was all she ever had of him, it would be worth it.

She stepped down from the dais, reeling a little with the enormity of what she meant to do. She stumbled a bit and swayed toward Andrew, who steadied her with a hand at her waist. He smiled, thinking as everyone did that she meant to choose him. Instead, her gaze swept past him, fixed on Caleb. She saw the anguish in his face even the mask could not hide.

"Excuse me, Andrew," she said, politely easing away from him. For an instant, she caught a flash of anger as he realized he wasn't the man she would choose, but she kept on walking. A few feet away, Wingate was frowning, his jaw iron-hard. Beneath the folds of white satin, her legs were shaking. Her mouth felt so dry she couldn't have said another word if her life depended upon it.

She didn't have to. When she reached the place where Caleb stood, she simply reached out to him.

For an instant he didn't move and she thought that she had been wrong, that he didn't really want her as she had believed.

Then he stepped forward. One moment she was looking into his face and the next she was in his arms. She closed her eyes and felt a sweep of love for him so strong a lump swelled in her throat. The music swirled around them, urging them to dance, but Caleb simply held her and Lee clung to his neck. She knew people were staring, but she didn't care.

The orchestra began the waltz again. Caleb took a deep, shuddering breath and his mouth curved up in the softest, most endearing smile she had ever seen. Taking her hand, he led her out on the dance floor and swept her into the steps of the dance.

Other guests moved onto the floor beside them, falling into the rhythm of the waltz, the colorful congregation laughing, dancing with abandon as they whirled around the ballroom.

"I thought perhaps you would decide not to choose," Caleb said, his eyes locked on her face. "Or if you did, I would be the last man you would pick."

"So did I."

"Why did you change your mind?"

Because I love you. I love you so much. "You looked lonely. I thought you might need some company."

Caleb drew her closer. "I do," he said gruffly.

She smiled as he led her into a turn, but it felt a little sad. Caleb's I do was as close as she would ever come to a wedding vow. It had never mattered before.

It didn't now, she told herself firmly.

The waltz was coming to an end. "Let's get out of here," Caleb said softly. "We'll leave for London tonight."

She needed to pack. It was late and the roads would be dark. She didn't care. "Let me change into my riding clothes and throw a few things into a satchel. I'll bid farewell to my aunt and Lord Claymont, then we can leave."

"I'll have the horses saddled and brought round to the front." They left the dance floor, slipping away from the others, disappearing quietly out of sight. Lee said a brief farewell to her aunt, thanking her for the party and receiving a hug from Lord Claymont, then she left the ballroom and hurried upstairs.

She was leaving Parklands. She would have Jeannie pack the rest of her things and bring them to London once she was settled in. She wondered if she would ever return to the house she had been raised in, but she didn't think so. She was starting a new life, and though tonight hadn't gone exactly the way she had planned, it didn't matter.

She would be with Caleb.

She loved him.

She would stay with him until he went away.

Caleb sent a footman to rouse one of the grooms with instructions to saddle their horses, then waited at the bottom of the stairs for Lee's return. He couldn't stop smiling. He still couldn't believe his good fortune. Lee belonged to him. Until he returned to Spain, she would be his.

The smile slid away and a weight seemed to settle on his chest. He would be returning to duty and when he did, he would have to leave Lee behind.

A movement in the entry drew his attention to the familiar figure strolling toward him.

"Well, little brother, it would seem you are the man of the hour." Luc stopped in front of him, jauntily dressed in a full-sleeved shirt and tight leather breeches, a saber at his waist and an eye patch over one eye. The clothes of a pirate. Appropriate, Caleb thought, considering how many hearts Luc had managed to plunder.

"The man of the hour? I suppose you could say that."

"I assume the lady is your first official mistress. Congratulations on an excellent choice."

Caleb frowned. He had never thought of Lee that way and he didn't want to now. "I believe the lady chose me."

"Yes… so it would seem." Luc flicked a glance up the stairs. "I realize you are enamored of the girl, Caleb. I know you were her first and all of that, but the fact remains, you are the son of an earl and the girl is a Durant. Nothing is going to change that."

Caleb straightened. "If it's any of your business—which it is not—her social standing matters not in the least to me. However, the hard fact is, I'm an officer in His Majesty's Army. The war is far from over and I'll be returning to action very soon. When I do, my time with Lee will be over."

"Lee?"

Caleb made no reply. Luc didn't know her the way he did. He wouldn't understand that beneath her façade, Vermillion was simply Lee. He wouldn't understand that it was Lee that Caleb had wanted all along. That if there was any way to see it done, he would make certain that even after he was gone, Lee would be able to remain the woman she was inside, not the seductive creature everyone wanted her to be.

"All I'm saying is not to get too involved. You can't have her, Caleb, not permanently. You know it and so do I. Enjoy the time you have together, then let her go."

Caleb smiled thinly. "I appreciate your concern, Luc, but I'm not a little boy anymore. I haven't been for a number of years. My life is my own. I thought by now you understood that."

His brother looked a little surprised. As the eldest Tanner son, he had always watched out for his three younger siblings. But they were all grown men now. It was time Luc realized his job was over.

Luc smiled, the dimple appearing in his cheek. "You're right, Caleb. I suppose I should have figured that out a long time ago. I can't say I won't worry about you the way I always have, but from now on I'll try to keep my opinions to myself Shall I tell Father he can look forward to a visit?"

Caleb nodded, relieved that Luc had let the subject of Vermillion drop. "As soon as I can get away I'll make a trip to Selhurst."

Luc clapped him on the shoulder. "Let me know when you plan to leave and I'll go with you."

"I'd like that," Caleb said, meaning it. He didn't get to see enough of his family anymore. It was something he missed. He would always regret not being able to have a family of his own, but his choice had been made long ago. The closest he could come was sharing a brief time with Lee.

Just thinking about it made him hard and he began to fidget as he resumed his vigil, waiting for the woman who would soon descend the stairs. His mind filled with exotic images of what he meant to do to her, once they reached London, of peeling her out of her clothes, tasting those luscious breasts, spreading her shapely legs, and—

Caleb forced the image away before his breeches got any more uncomfortable than they were already, but he smiled as he saw her at the top of the stairs. God, he couldn't wait to reach the city.

The party continued until well into the night. Elizabeth Sorenson, gowned as a medieval maiden in a long green velvet gown and golden girdle, a jeweled circlet over her short black hair, wandered into the garden. She was getting tired. She would have left the affair long ago if it hadn't been for the sandy-haired man in the black domino and black satin cape who had been watching her all evening.

Her husband, Charles Sorenson, Earl of Rotham.

"You look beautiful tonight, Beth." She started at his approach, surprised at his appearance in the garden at the very moment she had been thinking about him.

"Thank you, my lord."

"I would rather you called me Charles. You don't do it often enough anymore and I've always liked the way you say it."

She flushed. She couldn't remember the younger Charles she had known ever having been quite so gallant. "It was getting warm inside. I needed a little fresh air."

"The hour grows late. Perhaps it's time you went home. I would be happy to see you safely there."

She turned and looked up at him. She couldn't think of anything she would like more and anything she wanted less. "You don't have to bother. I came by myself. I can certainly return that same way. You needn't concern yourself."

"Don't I? I told you, Beth, I want another chance. I won't get that chance unless you find time for me. Unless you come to know me, to realize how much I've changed. Unless you can find it in your heart to trust me as you did once before."

Her defenses went up. He made it sound so easy when it wasn't easy at all. "Why should I trust you, Charles? How many mistresses have you had since the day we wed? How many women have you invited into your bed?"

"Too many, Beth. Too many faceless women who meant nothing at all to me." He reached out and gripped her shoulders. "But not lately, not for more than two years. Even before that, there was no one I wanted. Only you, Beth. Only you."

Her throat ached. She knew how good he was at seduction. He had seduced any number of females over the years. She couldn't listen to his honeyed words. She had to get away from him before he succeeded in convincing her to believe him and destroyed her yet again.

"You weren't the only one, Charles," she taunted as a means of self-defense. "I had affairs, as well. Men I made love to, men who wanted me the way you wanted other women."

He stiffened as she knew he would. Now he would go. The threat would be over. Dear God, why did it have to hurt so much?

"I don't care what you did in the past, Beth. I care only what happens in the future." He moved toward her, reached out and pulled her into his arms. "I don't believe there is anyone else. Not now. Not for a very long time. Let me make love to you, Beth. Let me be the husband I should have been from the start." And then he bent his head and kissed her.

She had expected an assault, not the feather-soft brush of his lips and yet that simple touch reached inside her, whispered over her very soul. Charles deepened the kiss and for an instant she kissed him back, kissed him as she had yearned to do a thousand times in the last ten years.

His arms came around her and his kiss turned fierce, but there was tenderness, too. A deep yearning welled inside her. She could feel his hardness, knew he was wildly aroused. He wanted her. And dear God, she wanted him.

But she wasn't the naïve young girl he had married and she knew what would happen if she let him into her heart again.

Elizabeth forced herself to pull away. Breathing raggedly, she turned and fled the garden.

19

« ^ »

The night was still and quiet but a bright slash of moonlight shone down from above, guiding their way along the road to London. On his big black gelding, Solomon, Caleb rode beside her. They were halfway to the city before Lee thought to ask him where, exactly, they were going.

"There's a small hotel in Piccadilly. It's called the Purley. The accommodations are first cabin and it's known for its discretion." His black horse blew a breath into the cool evening air. "You will stay there until I can find you more suitable accommodations."

She didn't like the sound of that—the reminder she had agreed to become his kept woman. But a bargain had been struck. She would uphold her end of the arrangement.

"I usually stay in my father's town house whenever I'm in London," he continued. "Luc has a place of his own. Ethan is rarely in London and my father is mostly at Selhurst, so the house is generally empty. I'll find something nice not far from the house so it'll be easy to get there."

She was liking this less and less. "So you'll just stop by whenever you get the urge? Is that how it works?"

Caleb drew rein on the black. "Actually, that's exactly how it works. Look, Lee, this was your idea, remember? You didn't have to agree to any of this. You could have made a different decision."

Her chin went up. "Maybe I should have."

Caleb's jaw hardened. His gloved hands tightened on the reins. "And maybe I ought to drag you down from that horse and show you exactly why you didn't." He was scowling, looking like he meant every word.

The thought of Caleb hauling her down, shoving up her riding skirt, and making love to her in the middle of the road left her slightly breathless. Setting her heels to the sides of her horse, she started forward before she goaded him into actually going through with it.

"I made a choice," she said to him over her shoulder. "I don't plan to go back on my word."

Caleb made no comment. He knew how independent she was. He must have realized how difficult it was for her to put herself completely in a man's hands for the first time in her life.

It was nearly dawn by the time they reached London and Caleb procured a suite of rooms for her as Mrs. Durant at the Hotel Purley in Wilton Street.

Lee found the entire scene oddly depressing. Perhaps her dark mood was the reason Caleb accompanied her up to the suite but decided not to stay, simply promised to return later that afternoon, after she'd had time to settle in and catch a few precious hours of sleep.

Staring down at the street below the window, Lee watched him mount the black and ride off down the lane, her emotions in turmoil. Part of her wanted to call him back, to seduce him into making love to her. Another part was glad he was leaving. She needed time to collect herself, to think about the decision she had made and what it meant for her future.

For a while she padded around the suite, trailing her fingers over the rosewood furniture, examining a small silver box on the hearth, sitting for a while on the dark green velvet sofa. The bedchamber was large and airy, with a four-poster bed enclosed by elegant sea-green bed hangings that matched the draperies at the window.

Changing out of her riding habit into a night rail, she climbed into bed, but as tired and depressed as she was, she still couldn't fall asleep. Instead, she tossed and turned, finally gave up and returned to the sitting room. Thinking of Caleb's upcoming visit that afternoon cheered her a little—until she received a note telling her he had been summoned by his superiors to a meeting in Whitehall. He hoped, the note said, to see her that evening but he wasn't certain when.

For the first time, Lee began to understand the true nature of being a mistress.

More depressed than ever, she returned to bed late in the afternoon. She fell asleep thinking about Caleb and dreamed of him in bed with a sophisticated courtesan who looked remarkably like Vermillion.

"Congratulations, Captain Tanner. You and Major Sutton are to be commended on the excellent job you did in stopping the leak at Parklands."

"Thank you, Colonel." Caleb stood across the battered desk where his silver-haired superior sat working. "I only wish we had been able to prevent the death of Marie LeCroix and catch the man masterminding the ring. As long as he is free, the threat to England remains."

"I cannot disagree. However, that is no longer your concern."

"Colonel?"

"Your part in the investigation, Captain, has come to an end. You were chosen for the assignment because we needed a man who knew the business of horse racing. As a friend of your father's, General Wellesley was aware of your expertise. He was also acquainted with your very impressive service record. Which is why he has requested you remain under his command as a member of his specialist troops."

The colonel smiled. "The general has ordered me to extend your stay for two additional weeks so that you may visit your family. After that time you are ordered to return to Spain, where you will report directly to the general himself."

Two weeks. That was all the time he had with Lee. He should have been elated, overjoyed by Wellesley's continued interest, which practically insured future promotions and the chance for a brilliant career.

Instead, he felt sick to his stomach.

"Thank you, Colonel. That's extremely good news. However, I was wondering if it might be possible for me to remain in London until the investigation is concluded. As you know, my knowledge of the case is extensive. I feel I might be more valuable here than—"

"I'm sorry. I understand you may have come to feel personally involved in this, but orders are orders." The colonel came to his feet behind the desk. "Do not despair, Captain Tanner. Continue as you have been, and you will go far in this army."

Caleb forced himself to smile. "I hope so, sir."

"Enjoy your brief time off. Give my best to your father and at the end of your leave, report back here to me. I'll have transport arranged for your return to Spain and subsequent reunion with Wellesley. Till that time, you are dismissed, Captain Tanner."

Caleb made a smart salute, left the office, and returned to his father's Mayfair town house. He would be leaving London far sooner than he had expected. He had hoped to have more time with Lee, time to consider his options. Now he knew that wasn't going to happen.

As he stepped inside the imposing brick residence in Berkeley Square, crossed the entry and headed down the hall, the house felt cold and empty as it never had before. When he reached the study, he walked over to a sideboard and poured himself a drink. Carrying the brandy glass over to the desk, he sank into the deep leather chair, filled with an unexpected despair.

The question he had pondered all afternoon returned with relentless force. What to do about Lee?

Lee slept for a while, then spent the balance of the day wandering around the suite waiting for Caleb. The later it got, the more her irritation grew. She wasn't the sort to sit there doing nothing, at the beck and call of her lover.

Surely Aunt Gabby hadn't done that. Had she?

Surely Caleb didn't expect her to. Did he?

Then again, she wasn't sure what Caleb expected. She was Vermillion Durant. It was Vermillion who had agreed to become his mistress. The notion bothered her more than it should have.

It was evening and still she hadn't heard from him. The longer she waited, the more her agitation swelled. By the time his second note arrived, telling her he wouldn't be there till nearly midnight, she was furious.

He wanted a mistress? Well, fine—she would give him one!

Storming into the bedchamber, she dragged out the satchel she had brought with her from Parklands. There wasn't much inside, but among the few items was the sheer, lavender silk nightgown her aunt had given her for her birthday. The sleeveless gown had a vee of lavender lace in front that ran clear to her navel. Lee rang for a chambermaid, who brought her scissors, thread, and a needle; cut out the lace; then cut off the ankle-length sweep of silk and hemmed it up. When she put it on, it exposed all but her nipples and barely covered the cheeks of her bottom.

Perfect.

She hadn't brought any face paint. The rice powder she could do without, but the kohl… In a moment of inspiration, she knelt in front of the hearth and swept a bit of coal dust into an empty glass. Carrying it over to the dresser, she sat down in front of the mirror and went to work, darkening the burnished color of her lashes, feathering the black dust carefully around her eyes. Though it made them look huge and blue-green, she still didn't look enough like Vermillion.

What to do… ?

A second inspiration struck. Tugging on the bell cord to ring for a servant, she ordered a bowl of fresh berries brought up from the kitchen. They were bright red and delicious, she discovered as she dipped them, one by one, into a little silver bowl of clotted cream and popped them into her mouth.

It was the juice she wanted and she found more than enough in the bottom of the bowl. As soon as she finished the fruit, she used the juice to darken her lips then watered it a little and used it to color her cheeks. Her bravado growing by the moment, she dabbed the last of the juice onto each of her nipples, rouging them as she knew a number of Cyprians often did.

Satisfied at last, she ran a brush through her hair, fanning the dark red curls out around her shoulders. Carefully surveying her handiwork, she grinned at the wild, seductive creature staring back at her in the mirror.

Caleb wanted a mistress. He was going to get one!

It was late, nearly midnight, before she heard the tread of his boots on the stairs. She was dressed and ready, pacing the floor in wait for him. At the light knock on the door, she took a steadying breath and pasted on her practiced smile. Turning the handle on the door, she jerked it open and invited him in.

He wasn't wearing his uniform, she saw, just a pair of fawn-colored breeches and a dark brown broadcloth tailcoat. His eyes briefly touched hers where she stood in the open doorway and for an instant he smiled. Then his gaze took in her kohl-darkened eyes, rouged lips and cheeks, and the smile disappeared.

Caleb frowned. "What the hell is this?"

Her lips curved even more. "Welcome home, darling. There's cold meat and cheese on the table beside the hearth. There's a nice claret to go with it, and brandy, of course. Why don't you sit down and relax? I'll fix you a plate and pour you a drink."

She turned to walk away, giving him a glimpse of her bottom. She hadn't got more than a couple of steps when Caleb caught her arm and spun her around to face him.

"Whatever game you're playing, you may end it right now. I don't think it is the least bit funny."

She battered her long, sooty lashes. "Why, darling, whatever do you mean? I am hardly playing a game. You are paying for this room, are you not? For the food we're about to eat, for the… entertainment afterward. I merely want to make certain you get your money's worth."

Caleb caught the tops of her arms and hauled her closer. "Stop it. Stop this right now." He shook her, not gently. "This whole thing was your idea, not mine. I never expected you to behave like a trollop. We both know you aren't one and you never have been."

Her smiled slipped a little. "But I will be, won't I, Caleb? After you're gone? And you did pledge to my aunt you would teach me all I need to know to continue in the role I will be playing."

His eyes darkened to nearly black. "I went to your aunt because I was hoping she might help me persuade you. I would have promised her anything in order to have you." The edge of his mouth barely curved. "But I have always been a man of my word. If it's a lesson you want, sweeting, I'll be more than happy to oblige."

Jerking her hard against him, Caleb kissed her. There was none of the gentleness, none of the care he'd shown her before. It was a fierce, demanding kiss, the kind a man claimed from the mistress he had bought and paid for.

And yet she felt the heat stirring to life inside her, burning between them, scorching like a fire in her blood.

She trembled, tried to draw away, but Caleb wouldn't have it. Instead he slid the gown off her shoulders, paused for an instant at the sight of her berry-stained nipples, then lowered his head and took the crest of one into his mouth. He laved the tip, suckled and tasted, then turned to her other breast and began to feast again. Each tug sent liquid fire pouring through her, drew damp heat into her core.

Her knees trembled. She tangled her fingers in his thick brown hair and fought to stay on her feet.

Caleb raised his head and the edges of his lips barely curved. "You want me to show you what a man expects from his mistress?"

She had pushed him too far. She could see it in the muscle flexing in his cheek, the hard set of his jaw. She had meant to goad him, but now he seemed like another man entirely and she was a little afraid.

She swallowed. "That is… that is what I am, is it not?"

Caleb didn't answer. Instead, he swept her up in his arms and strode into the bedchamber, tossed her down in the middle of the bed and began to unbutton his shirt.

He tugged it off and tossed it away, started on the buttons at the front of his breeches. "Come here."

A tremor of unease ran through her. "You're angry. Perhaps we should—"

"I said come here. Now."

She eased across the bed to where he stood with his legs slightly splayed, his breeches unbuttoned and hanging open, riding low on his hips. "Turn around and get up on your hands and knees."

"Wh-what?"

"You heard me. Do it."

Her heart began to thunder. She did as he commanded, her hair swinging forward as she looked at him over her shoulder.

Caleb moved behind her. Reaching down, he slid the slick lavender silk up over her bottom and ran his hands over her hips. The anger was gone from his face and instead, she caught a glimpse of hunger. He didn't hurry, as she thought he would, just took his time, leaning down to kiss the back of her neck, biting an earlobe, pressing soft, moist kisses against her shoulders. All the while, his hands kept moving, tracing patterns, skimming over her flesh, sliding between the globes of her bottom. He slid his fingers inside and began to stroke her and her whole body infused with heat.

She was wet. Unbearably hot and wet. He stroked her until her hips arched, until she whimpered his name.

He moved closer. She could feel the heat of his bare skin, the strength of his arousal pressing against her bottom. Then he guided himself into her passage, gripped her hips, and thrust himself deeply inside.

She could feel the heat of him, the delicious fullness, and then he started to move. Long, determined strokes shook her, sent ripples of fire burning out through her skin. Deep, penetrating strokes sent waves of pleasure coursing through her. Gripping her hips, he held her immobile, pounding into her, impaling her as deeply as he could. Lee moaned at the sweet sensations sweeping through her, thick saturating waves that seeped out from her core and trembled over her flesh. Her body tightened around him and she heard him groan.

Caleb didn't slow until she reached release and even then he went on until she came again. Finally, he allowed his own climax to come, his big hands tightening around her hips, his body going rigid. Bare-chested, still wearing his breeches, he lay down on the bed and pulled her into his arms. As she curled against him, she could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the heat of his smooth, sun-darkened skin.

"You taste like berries," he said softly, his mouth just inches from her ear. "Even your nipples. God, Lee."

She started to smile. He had called her Lee, not Vermillion. Lee. The way he had before.

He turned onto his side, traced a finger along her cheek. "You don't have to be Vermillion, love. Not ever again. I never wanted Vermillion—I've told you that from the start. It's you I want, Lee. It's always been you."

Something burned behind her eyes and her lips trembled.

"You're here because you chose to be. You'll stay for that reason or not at all. You're no man's harlot and especially not mine."

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I'm sorry, Caleb. I've just… it's all been so confusing."

"It's all right, love. I'm a little confused myself."

He lifted a lock of her hair, toyed with it, smoothed it between his fingers. "Tomorrow we're going shopping. I want you to pick out a completely new wardrobe—the kind of dresses you'd like to wear, not something your aunt has convinced you to wear." He grinned as he looked down at the flimsy lavender gown that no longer even covered her breasts. "Though I can't fault your choice of night clothes."

She laughed. It felt incredibly good. And she couldn't find fault with the lesson she had received, since she had baited him into it. In truth, she could hardly wait for the next one.

"I think I should like that sort of shopping, but I insist on paying for what I purchase."

He cast her a look, started to argue, closed his mouth and sighed. "Fine, if it makes you happy, you can pay."

At the very least, it would help her maintain a little of her treasured independence. But the thing that most made her happy was Caleb. Dear Lord, she loved him a little more every day.

It was a terrifying thought.

He bent his head and nuzzled her shoulder, traced the star-shaped birthmark the sleeveless nightgown could not hide, bent and pressed his mouth to the spot. "I've seen a mark like this before. I've been trying to remember where it was."

Lee turned away, an uneasy feeling crawling into her stomach. She knew who carried a mark like this. Her mother had told her and so had her aunt.

"It'll come to me, sooner or later."

Lee hoped he never recalled, but even if he did, surely the mark he had seen had nothing to do with her.

"You must be tired," she said, changing the subject. "Why don't you finish undressing so you can get some sleep?"

His mouth curved roguishly. "I'm not tired, woman—I'm hungry. I think I'd like a little dessert and I know exactly the thing." Bending his head to her breast, he whispered, "Some fresh berries would exactly suit my appetite."

It took Caleb three more days to remember where he had seen a birthmark the same shape as the one Lee carried on her shoulder. The dormitory at Oxford. The rusty-pink, star-shaped image rode in the exact same location on the shoulder, but the bearer of the mark hadn't been a woman. It had been a young student named Bronson Montague, eldest son of the Marquess of Kinleigh, who boarded in the room next to his.

Now that Caleb remembered seeing the mark on Bronson's shoulder, the memory continued to nag him. Could Lee be related to Montague in some way? Bronson was older, the same age as Caleb. He wondered if Lee knew anything about him.

It was the question foremost on his mind as he climbed the stairs to her suite at the Hotel Purley. He hadn't looked for any other place. He wouldn't be in London that much longer, though he still hadn't told Lee how soon he would be leaving.

He was acting as her lady's maid at present, enjoying the role more than he would have thought. He wanted her all to himself. He didn't want to spoil the brief time they had left together. Or perhaps he was simply trying to avoid the truth himself.

Whatever the reason, the days were slipping away, and Caleb was determined that when he left London, Lee Durant would be facing a better sort of life than she was living now.

Thinking about her brought a faint smile to his face. Yesterday they had finished the last of their shopping, more fun than he had expected since Lee was so excited about everything she bought—an amazing assortment of gowns, walking dresses, morning dresses, riding habits, bonnets, gloves, mantuas, cloaks, pelisses, boots and slippers.

"I never liked shopping before," she told him. "It's different when you're buying things for yourself. Before I was buying clothes for Vermillion."

Something about the way she said the name gave his heart a little pang. It was clear she was Lee now, a new and different person, even more vibrant than the independent young woman he had first discovered in the stable. And even more enticing.

Last night they had gone to the opera and Lee had surprised him by translating the Italian lyrics for him.

"I've always loved opera," she said, a wistful look in her eyes. "Since the first time Aunt Gabby took me to see Lucio Vero when I was a little girl."

"Where did you learn to speak Italian?" he asked.

"My aunt believed in a thorough education. Aunt Gabby says it makes a woman more interesting to a man." She shrugged. "Whatever the reason, I am grateful. I also speak Latin, and of course I speak French."

Caleb smiled, no longer daunted by her ancestry. "My French is passable at best, but I'm fluent in Spanish. It's come in handy over the past few years."

The words brought a pall over the conversation and he wished he hadn't said them. He told himself it was time to tell her how soon he would be returning to duty, but she started smiling again and he decided to wait.

Today he was taking her to the house she often visited in Buford Street, to see Helen and Annie and the other women and children who had become her friends.

Earlier that morning, he had left to run a couple of errands. Sometime just before dawn, he had started thinking again about the traitor passing secrets to the French, and though he was officially off the assignment, a couple of things needed checking into.

Foremost among them, Lucas's recent discovery that Andrew Mondale was spending money as if suddenly he had buckets of it. Coupled with the fact the man had made mention to Lee of recent troop movements on the Continent, Caleb hoped it might turn into some sort of a lead.

He hadn't voiced his suspicions to Lee. He had told her he was off the case and had been granted a couple weeks of leave. He knew he should tell her that at the end of that leave he would be returning to Spain, and vowed that soon he would do so. In the meantime, he intended they should enjoy themselves, spend as much time together as he could manage.

Caleb knocked on her door and Lee pulled it open. He reached for her, swept her into his arms, and very soundly kissed her. "Did you miss me?"

She looked up at him and the smile in her eyes made his chest feel tight. "Miss you? You've only been gone a couple of hours—of course I missed you." She kissed him, drew him farther into the room.

"Guess what?" He didn't let her go, just closed the door with the toe of his boot. "I remembered where I saw a birthmark like the one on your shoulder."

She released her hold on his neck and eased away. "Oh?"

"It was a fellow I knew at Oxford. Bronson Montague. He's heir to the Marquess of Kinleigh."

"That's interesting."

There was something guarded in her manner that put him on alert. "You don't seem that surprised."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't imagine a birthmark is all that uncommon."

Caleb reached out and caught her chin, forcing her to look at him. "It is when it is exactly the same shape as yours and in the very same location."

She turned her face away, walked over to the mullioned windows, gazed down into the street. "Those things happen, I guess."

Caleb followed. In the street below the window, a young boy hawked newspapers on the corner. A donkey with a floppy felt hat over its ears pulled a cartload of coal over the cobbles.

Caleb rested his hand on her shoulder and gently turned her to face him. "You've never mentioned your father, Lee. I presumed you didn't know who he was. But you do know, don't you? You've known all along. Is your father the Marquess of Kinleigh?"

Beneath his hand, he felt her stiffen. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Don't lie to me, Lee. Not about something this important."

"Important?" Her eyes locked with his. "Why would it be important? It wasn't important when Kinleigh told my mother he was in love with her. When he asked her to marry him then got her with child. It wasn't important when he broke his promise and married someone else."

Caleb said nothing. He couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"You know why I've never been interested in marriage? Because I know how faithless men are. I know what happened to my mother. I know how the marquess treated her. Every day men just like him come to Parklands. They treat their wives little better than their livestock. Kinleigh is exactly the same. My mother died when I was four and she was still foolishly in love with him. The last word she spoke was his name."

Caleb wasn't certain what to say. Through his father and horse racing, he knew Robert Montague fairly well, had always respected him as a man of honor. He couldn't imagine the marquess seducing an innocent young girl, then abandoning her, but that was obviously what the marquess had done.

A sudden thought occurred. "Does Kinleigh know?"

"About me? I couldn't say." She nervously smoothed a lock of her hair. "I assume he does."

But maybe he didn't. Maybe he never knew his seduction had led to the birth of a child. Caleb couldn't help wondering what would happen if he found out. He gently drew Lee into his arms.

"I'm sorry about your mother. Sometimes things like that happen. But all men aren't that way. My father and mother loved each other very much. Father was devoted to Mother from the day they wed until the day she died. He misses her terribly now that she is gone. My brother Christian is madly in love with his wife. I don't believe he will ever be unfaithful."

Lee slid her arms around his neck and he tightened his hold. "Please, Caleb," she said softly. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Caleb eased her back enough to look into her face. "All right. But I want you to know I am nothing at all like your father—or the men who come to Parklands. I want you to promise me you will tell me if a child should result from the time we've spent together."

She pulled away from him, returned to her vigil at the window. "That's right—you would accept your responsibilities. I haven't forgotten, Caleb."

"I would marry you, Lee." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. What surprised him was how much he meant them. His family would probably disown him. His brothers would think he was the worst sort of fool, but marrying Lee, raising a family with her, wouldn't be a hardship for him at all.

Her gaze swung to his face and he had never seen such turbulence in her expression. "You're a soldier, Caleb. War is what you do. You'd be gone most of the time. You wouldn't be much of a father."

She was right and both of them knew it. Not much of a father—or a husband. "Better than no father at all."

Lee made no reply. Perhaps she was thinking of Robert Montague, the father she had never known.

"The day is slipping away," she finally said. "If I'm going to have time to visit with my friends, I think we had better leave."

Caleb didn't argue. He needed time to evaluate the importance of what he'd just learned. But all the way to the house in Buford Street, a single thought continued to nag him. What would Kinleigh do if he knew about Lee?

20

« ^ »

In a velvet-draped bed in his mistress's extravagant suite at Parklands, the Earl of Claymont settled his head more deeply into the feather pillows. The room was a confection of pink and white, with ornate ivory and gilt furnishings, white and pink floral carpets, and pink velvet draperies.

Dylan had always felt ridiculously out of place in the overly feminine room. He wished instead they were comfortably ensconced in the big carved mahogany bed that had been in the master's suite at Claymont Hall for more than a hundred years.

Perhaps one day they would be, but he knew better than to pin his hopes on it.

"What are you thinking, darling?" Gabriella curled beside him, naked now, no longer wearing the sheer lace nightgown she had been wearing when she welcomed him into her bed. "You're a million miles away."

"What am I thinking?" He cocked a black, silver-touched eyebrow. "Aside from you and how much I enjoy making love to you? I was thinking of your niece… wondering if she is happy with her decision." It was true. He had been thinking of Vermillion off and on since the night she had journeyed from Parklands.

"Why, of course she is happy. How could she not be? Captain Tanner is obviously infatuated with her. He is bound to treat her very well."

"I suppose he will… as long as he is in London."

Gabriella rolled onto her side to face him, silvery blond hair spilling over a slender shoulder. "You don't think he'll be leaving anytime soon?"

"According to Oliver Wingate, Captain Tanner will be shipping out for Spain in less than two weeks."

"Oh, dear heavens."

"Wingate has made no secret of the matter and Lee's former suitors are all in a dither about it. You would think they would be discouraged, knowing she has obviously placed her affections somewhere else. Wingate is still furious, of course. Tanner is his subordinate, after all. As far as I'm concerned, the colonel is a pompous ass and I don't believe Vermillion ever seriously considered him."

"What about Lord Andrew? I've heard nothing of him since the ball."

"He was certainly in high dudgeon when he stormed out of the house that night—the lad is so bloody cocksure of himself. Now that he's had time to cool off a bit, I think he sees her as more of a challenge than ever. He'll be waiting at her door the instant Captain Tanner departs for Spain."

Gabriella scooted up against the ornate ivory headboard, propping herself against the pillows. "And Nash?"

"Jon isn't the sort of man to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but I'm certain he was very disappointed. Of all her admirers, Jon is the only one sincerely concerned with Lee's well-being." He cast Gabriella a glance. "He knew she was a virgin, you know."

Gabriella straightened. "What? He couldn't possibly have known."

"He knew because I told him."

"For heaven's sake, Dylan, why on earth would you do something like that?"

"Because I wanted her to be happy. I knew her innocence would appeal to Jon and that if she chose him he would treat her very well."

Instead of getting angry, Gabriella's expression softened. Leaning toward him, she brushed a light kiss over his lips. "You're a good man, Dylan Sommers."

"But you still won't marry me."

She only shook her head. In the light of the whale oil lamp next to the bed, her hair looked more silver than gold, and the pink of the draperies made her skin glow like roses. He couldn't remember a time he hadn't loved her. Before he had met her, he had loved her in his dreams.

"You know how I feel about marriage," she said. "Besides, it would hardly be fair to you. Your friends and family would spurn you. You would be banned from polite society."

"My true friends would be happy for me. As for Society… I'm an earl. You'd be amazed what a man of my wealth and position can do."

"We're happy, Dylan. If we married, things would change. We might lose the closeness we've shared all these years."

"Or we might grow even closer." But he knew she wouldn't relent. He wasn't exactly sure why. She had never said she loved him and perhaps it was as simple as that. Or perhaps she was afraid, as she had said, of destroying the special bond between them. Either way, he wouldn't press her. He wouldn't do anything that might cause him to lose her.

"I hope Vermillion will be all right," Gabriella said fretfully. "Perhaps after the captain leaves, she should move back in here for a while."

"She's in love with Tanner, you know."

Gabriella rolled her pretty blue eyes. "Don't be ridiculous." He noticed fine lines in the corners, knew how much she feared getting older, though to him she remained as lovely as she was the first time he had seen her.

"I'm afraid it's true. As much as you might wish your niece were more like you, she is different."

"She's infatuated with him. I don't believe she is in love with him. And if she were, how would you possibly know?"

Dylan gave her a tender smile. "I know, my love, because Lee looks at Caleb the way I look at you."

The evening was dark, the cobbled street slick with mist. On the corner, the sign for Wilton Street creaked in the wind sweeping in off the Thames. Somewhere in the distance, Lee heard the clatter of carriage wheels. Inside her suite at the Purley, Caleb sprawled in the comfortable bed across the way, naked beneath the sheet and sleeping soundly.

Lee glanced at the mound formed by his big body and thought of the hours they had spent making love, the several times he had brought her to fulfillment. Caleb was a skillful, considerate, extremely passionate lover, the sort of man her aunt would have wanted her to choose. He was kind and caring, solicitous of her wishes, and wildly protective of her.

He would have been the perfect choice—if she just hadn't fallen in love with him.

Her heart twisted painfully at the thought. How much longer did they have? Weeks? Months? Whatever time it was, it wouldn't be enough. She was deeply in love with him. She had never thought it would happen, worked to guard her heart, but it had happened just the same. She was in love with Caleb Tanner and more than anything in the world, she wanted him to love her in return.

I would marry you, Lee.

For an instant when he had said the words, her heart had simply turned over. But marriage had nothing at all to do with love—she knew that far better than most—and Caleb had spoken out of duty, a sense of responsibility that was completely and utterly Caleb and had nothing at all to do with whatever he might feel for her.

She told herself not to think about it and most of the time she succeeded. But not tonight.

Lee returned to her vigil at the window, gazing down at the mist-slick streets, wishing there was a way to change the way she felt, wishing Caleb didn't have to leave, wishing any number of things that hadn't the remotest chance of coming true.

The notion weighed her down and a feeling of hopelessness settled over her. Tired for the first time that night, she started to turn away from the window and return to bed when a movement below caught her eye.

In the shadows at the side of the building next to the hotel, she spotted the figure of a man. He was staring upward, toward the very place where she stood by the window, illuminated by the glow of a single burning candle.

Stepping back behind the curtain, she told herself she was mistaken, that the man was simply passing along the street and his presence had nothing to do with her, but an icy wariness trickled down her spine.

Lee blew out the candle. In the darkness, she inched nearer the window, looked down where the man had been standing, but there was no one there.

She should have been relieved that he was gone. She wasn't quite sure why she was not.

It was the afternoon of the following day that Lee returned to the house in Buford Street. Instructing the coachman to await her return, she waved a greeting to Helen Wilson, who stood on the front porch beside the open door. It was Lee's second visit to the house this week, but Helen's son, two-year-old Robbie, had come down with a pleurisy, an inflammation of the chest that kept him coughing all night, and Lee had returned to see if he had improved.

"I'm afraid he's the same," Helen said, her plump face lined with worry as she closed the door behind them. "He coughs and coughs. I'm just so worried about him."

"You mustn't fret, Helen. I stopped at the apothecary shop in Craven Street where my aunt usually trades. Mr. Dunworthy says there is some sort of illness going round. He says it is nothing to worry about. He sent some powdered mustard for a poultice along with these herbs." She handed Helen a small muslin bag. "It's a mixture of horehound, rue, and hyssop, combined with licorice and marshmallow roots. You're to place the herbs in a quart of water, boil it down to a pint, strain off the liquid, and give Robbie half a teaspoon of it every two hours."

Helen took the items with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Lee. It's hard when you're a mother. You worry about them constantly."