Drake’s Lair

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Drake’s Lair His hands soothed her gently, though she strained against them. His tanned skin smelled of musk salted with sweat, and sweetened with brandy drunk recently. It was a pleasant odor, very male, that went to her head and made her giddy. But surely not--that was from the shock. She gave a start. All that lay between her nakedness and the well-muscled body that had suddenly gone rigid against her was the thin nightgown. Her heart leapt, and her tiny fists defended against whatever the turgid pressure of him was doing to her private regions. "Let go of me, you great lout!" she shrilled, battering him severely. "I’m quite able to stand on my own." His hands fell away, and she swayed. Her hopelessly trembling knees betrayed her. It was as though they had turned to jelly, but she was determined, and when he shot his arm out offering support again, she took a step back out of his reach. He didn’t pursue her. Instead, he froze staring, his hooded eyes raking her from head to toe. It was several moments before she glanced down toward what he was staring at so intently. Backlit by the fire, her nightgown had become transparent. He could seeeverything . Her breath caught in a strangled gasp, and she threw her arms across her body in a vain attempt to hide all her charms at once.

Wings

Drake’s Lair

by

Dawn Thompson

A Wings ePress, Inc. Historical Romance Novel

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Wings ePress, Inc.

Edited by: Leslie Hodges Copy Edited by: Sara V. Olds Senior Editor: Sara V. Olds Managing Editor: Leslie Hodges Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens Cover Artist: Christine Poe

All rights reserved Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books http://www.wings-press.com Copyright © 2005 by Dawn Thompson ISBN 1-59088-369-9

Published In the United States Of America May 2005 Wings ePress Inc.

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403 Wallace Court Richmond, KY 40475

Dedication In memory of my parents, George and Mae Thompson, whose love of books started me on this fascinating journey.

One Cornwall, England, 1813 "What the devil do you think you’re about?" the voice boomed from behind, spinning Melly around where she crouched in the tansy bed. It belonged to a dark man astride a darker horse poised on the grassy ledge above her. The image he presented was, in fact, so dark he appeared as a silhouette backlit by the morning sun. She was so engrossed in her chore he’d taken her totally by surprise. How had he managed that? The animal beneath him seemed gargantuan from her vantage--sleek, and muscular, the like of which she had never seen. Such a horse certainly hadn’t climbed that bracken-snarled ridge on tiptoe. "Get up out of there at once!" the voice demanded. Somber and deep, it suited his image, and though she took a sudden chill not bred of the damp June morning that had soaked the hem of her gray twill gathering frock, she stood her ground. "I beg your pardon?" she said haughtily. No one had ever objected to her herb gathering on the estate. Mrs. Laity, the housekeeper at Drake’s Lair, knew she picked there; so did all the servants. Mrs. Laity was one of her best customers, as were the butler, and most of the maids, come to that. She’d been picking along the beck that trickled through the valley since sunup, scarcely able to believe her luck in the find of that tansy bed, and she wasn’t about to go anywhere because some phantom demanded it. That’s what he seemed, materializing out of nowhere on such a beast--a fearsome, swarthy phantom. "Are you aware that you are trespassing on private property?" the cultured voice thundered.

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Melly shielded her eyes from the glare of bright sunlight streaming around him--through him--past him crazily in fractured flashes. It hurt her eyes, which had become accustomed to the misty shade of the tansy bed in lee of the hill. "Trespassing?" she said. "I’ve gathered here for nearly a year, sir, without being accosted." "Well, you’ll gather here no more. This is Drake’s Lair land you’re on, and there’ll be no more ‘gathering’." He looked around, glancing left and right. "How did you get out here?" he said. "Where’s your horse--your rig?" "I have no horse or rig. I walked." "From St. Kevern?" he erupted. It was a distance, but she liked walking, especially on the brink of first light, when all the fragrances rode the dawn breeze as the land awoke, and Nature herself told her where the botanicals were. "What is your name?" he queried. "I might ask you the same," she snapped at him. "Since I inquired first, and since this is myland you’re tearing up, I believe I have the advantage, ma’am." Melly’s jaw fell slack, and she brushed a mass of tendrils from her forehead squinting her eyes for a clearer look at the man. Could it be that the mysterious earl had returned? There’d been no news of it in the village, no on-dits circulating through the parish--hisparish; the man owned most of it, after all. Surely she would have heard of it from one of her patrons, most of whom were his cottagers. Well, she wasn’t one of them. "My name is Melly… Demelza, that is… Demelza Ahern." Only her friends called herMelly , and he was certainly no friend, this rude, ungracious… phantom. "Well, Demelza Ahern, you will kindly climb out of that muck and be on your way," he charged, controlling the anxious animal beneath him with taut reins in clenched fists. He made no move to introduce himself, but that didn’t matter. If it was his land, she knew who he was. Tristan Hannaford, Earl of Shelldrake, who’d disappeared one night nearly five years ago after his wife’s death, so went the tale. That was before she’d come to St. Kevern. It was all very hushed. The locals were a closed-mouthed lot when it came to the enigmatic earl, since they owed him fealty, as it were, being his tenants. She squatted down again, gathered the herbs she’d picked, and put them into her basket. She took her time so as not to bruise the delicate leaves, still wet with the morning dew. Then tucking her little rake, trowel, and gloves in alongside, she surged to her feet and faced him. "Leave those," he said, gesturing toward the basket. "Empty it." She stared, resisting the urge to stamp her foot. Her breath caught in a grunt of disbelief. It had taken her hours to collect those herbs, buried under all manner of weed and ground-creeping vines in that wild, unkempt place that had bloomed like a jungle from neglect in his absence. What possible harm could

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there be in letting her keep them? It was too much, and she tossed her curls defiantly. "You would begrudge me this scant basket full?" she cried, incredulous. "Empty it," he pronounced. The command was unequivocal, and with as much dignity as she could muster, she removed her gloves and tools from the basket, raised it in mock tribute, and spilled its contents over the ground at her feet. As the herbs sifted down, the earl offered a crisp nod, wheeled his magnificent mount around, and galloped off. She waited arms-akimbo until the sound of his horse’s hoof beats grew distant, then quickly scooped up the herbs she had dispersed there, and tucked them back into her basket. No high-flown earl was going to begrudge her a few measly greens going to waste and to seed for lack of tending, not when her livelihood depended upon them--when her verylife depended upon them. There was no path from the beck to the ridge above it. Leaving the murmuring stream behind, she climbed back up as she had come, through the furze and bracken overrunning the slope. That was the reason she’d chosen to wear her heavy gray twill frock and leather ankle boots. It wasn’t her most fetching outfit by any means, but muslin would have been torn to tatters by the spiny, grasping evergreens, snarled with thistle and briar and her soft kid slippers wouldn’t have given her much traction on that steep incline. Her straw hat had fallen down her back, and she tugged it around by its blue ribbons tied in front, and slapped it on her head. Then, squaring her posture, she marched down the lane toward St. Kevern. No born-to-the-purple churl was going to take her day’s gleanings. Why, you would have thought she’d broken into the very coffers at Drake’s Lair for the to-do over a handful of plants. She was leaving now, but she would be back--the minute the earl left Drake’s Lair. Those herbs weren’t going to go to waste. She would have a word with Mrs. Laity about that. She hadn’t gone ten yards, when the earl rode out of the thicket at the edge of the wood and ranged his mount alongside her. She’d named him rightly--phantom, indeed. He seemed to have materialized out of thin air. His horse was more magnificent than she imagined, sleek, black, and well bred, certainly not anything he’d acquired locally. The earl’s face was visible now, struck by the sun. His hair was dark, not jet black as she supposed from his silhouette earlier, but rather a warmer color, closer to mahogany, what was visible, since he hadn’t doffed his beaver like a gentleman on either occasion. He wore it long, pulled back behind the collar of his greatcoat in an outdated queue, and his angular features might have been considered handsome but for the scowl that spoiled them. His eyes were blue, as pale and clear as seawater, wreathed around with a darker hue that gave them a piercing look, scowling down from beneath the ledge of a broad, tanned brow. He wasn’t dressed for a pleasant morning ride, not in that caped coat and heavy boots on the cusp of summer. Could he be just come home? He must be. That would account for her not having heard news of his return. "Just as I’d thought," he said, blocking her path. Before she could react, he snatched the basket from her arm. "I’ll take this," he snapped. "That basket is mine," she shrilled, reaching for it. "And the gardening tools as well. How dare you? Give them back!" "Oh, I dare, ma’am," he returned, holding the basket well out of her reach. "I’ll just keep these, Demelza

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Ahern, since you obviously cannot be trusted to comply with my wishes. My herbs are off limits to you and anyone else who fancies them. Don’t come here again, unless you want the constable to run you off. I hope I’ve made myself plain?" He raised the basket in salute. "Good day, then," he said. And without a backward glance, he wheeled the remarkable horse around and disappeared into the wood. ~*~ Zeus! He hadn’t even gotten to the Lair, and already there were reminders. He scowled at the basket, realizing that he must look ridiculous galloping along at breakneck speed toting such an object, but thought better of tossing it. Who knew but that the cheeky, little toffee-haired gel might just decide to come looking for it. She might do that in any case, of course, but she wasn’t going to find it, bigod. What had been going on at the estate in his absence? He’d have a word with the staff about this, sure as check, the minute he arrived. Meanwhile, he jammed her tools and gloves--the tiniest he’d ever seen on a grown woman--into the pocket of his greatcoat, dumped the herbs, and plunged headlong onto the winding drive that led to Drake’s Lair--gathering basket and all. The minute he rode up to the stables, he realized he’d been away too long. Old Fry, the stable master, went white and dropped his jaw at sight of him. His reception at the house was no less startling. Prowse, the butler, couldn’t get an intelligible word out. Griggs, the balding, straight-backed valet he’d left behind when he’d fled five years ago, looked as though he was about to expire, and Mrs. Laity couldn’t stop staring at the gathering basket in his hand. Was that what had struck them all dumb, or had he suddenly grown two heads? Well, of course it was. Why did they all look as guilty as gallows dancers? He decided to begin with the housekeeper. "Mrs. Laity, once I’ve had a bath, I’ll want you in the study," he said, nodding a silent command to Griggs, who hurried off. Then, without another word to any of them, he streaked through the Great Hall and up the wide staircase that divided the house in two--his caped coat spread out wide--and went directly to his rooms. Two chambermaids exiting his suite laden down with Holland covers curtsied to him with lowered eyes as he passed them by in the corridor. He’d forgotten how fast word traveled at Drake’s Lair, though on one occasion, not fast enough, he recalled bitterly. But he wasn’t going to think about that now. He’d promised himself not to think about that--it was all in the past, dead and buried. Literally. And might have stayed that way but for a certain young toffee-haired gel with eyes to match, picking herbs by the beck on his first day back. Inside, another maid had just finished making his bed. He acknowledged her with a grunt and a nod, though he had no recollection of her, and moved on to his dressing room, where footmen were already carrying water for his tub under Griggs’s supervision. He peeled off his coat, tossed it down on the lounge with the gathering basket, and sank into the boot chair extending his foot. "Get me out of these," he said to the valet, "I’ve been in them forever." "Yes, my lord," Griggs replied, straddling his outstretched leg, while the earl planted his other foot squarely on the man’s narrow behind, and pushed. "I’m surprised you’re still here," the earl mused, around a grunt as the first boot gave, "--pleasantly surprised. Have I paid you?" "Yes, my lord. I’ve served Mr. Ellery in your absence."

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"Ahh, good. Sorry about leaving you like that, old boy, but you wouldn’t have wanted to go where I’ve been, unless of course you’re fond of the stink of blood and death and warring." "No, my lord." "Same old Griggs," the earl observed. A wry smile creased his lips. "The one constant in my life. Just as eloquent as ever, I see. I don’t know how I got on without you at Salamanca. You’d have made the perfect batman." "Yes, my lord," the valet responded. "Will you be staying… long, my lord?" "I haven’t decided yet," he replied. "That will depend on how well Jim Ellery has been running things in my absence. Where is my illustrious steward, by the way? I missed him in the lineup downstairs. Isn’t he in residence?" "Mr. Ellery has gone to St. Kevern for the day, my lord," the valet gritted, pulling off the other boot at last along with what remained of a tattered stocking. "Things are in sixes and sevens at the Terrill croft, since the last flaw damaged the roof." "Ummm, I’ll want to see him as soon as he returns--pass the word." "Yes, my lord." The earl had forgotten about theflaws --the great, howling maelstroms that plagued the Cornish coast wreaking havoc on the land whenever the prevailing wind stirred them. "How long ago was that storm?" he queried, since the terrain showed no evidence of it now, none of the usual fallen limbs, broken glass and wounded outbuildings synonymous with Cornish flaws. It hadn’t seemed as though the beck had overflowed its banks recently, either. "‘Twas last month, my lord." "And the roof’s still not repaired?" "‘Twas more than just the thatch, ‘twas the old plum tree that came down and staved the roof in, my lord… and more." Something in the sound of the last that the valet had spoken through a dark mutter sent shivers down the earl’s spine--something in what Griggs hadn’t said--something that perhaps he was afraid to say, and he honed in on that with all the finesse of a pig sniffing for truffles. "What ‘more’? Was someone injured?" "Y-yes, my lord." "Come--come, man, out with it! If someone was injured at the Terrills, I need to know." "‘Twas more than an injury, my lord, there was a… death," the valet said low-voiced. "A death? Whose death? Don’t make me drag it out of you, man. I haven’t the patience for parlor games just now."

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"‘Twas one of the wee ones… little Will," the valet said awkwardly. The earl groaned. Now he understood Griggs’s hesitation. Little Will was scarcely five, the same age his own son would have been if…no . He wasn’t going to think about that--not now. Sorrow and anger did battle for his voice. Anger won. "Griggs, let us get something straight from the outset," he said. "You needn’t tread on eggs around me. Pass that on as well. I’ll not have you all whispering and clucking in corners trying to spare me. I’m hardly made of glass. People die. Children… die. ‘Tis a plain and simple fact of life." They were the right words, but they had a hollow ring to them. It was still too soon. "Y-yes, my lord," the valet murmured awkwardly. "All right, then," the earl responded, softening. "I don’t mean to fly at you. I’ve had a rather… difficult morning." "Yes, my lord." "Has anything else untoward happened in my absence… anything else I should know about?" Griggs hesitated. "N-no, my lord." The earl couldn’t decide whether the valet was wracking his brain to be sure, or hiding something. He wasn’t going to labor over it. The footmen had readied his bath, and every inch of his body ached for it. "Let’s get me into that, then," he said, nodding toward the steaming tub. "I’ve dreamed of nothing else since I left Spain." ~*~ An hour later, dressed respectably in a white shirt and neckcloth, black pantaloons, a white embroidered waistcoat under a coat of gray superfine, and polished black Hessians, the earl sat behind his desk in the study, Demelza’s gathering basket, tools, and gloves on the blotter before him. Drumming his fingers on the desktop he waited somewhat less than patiently for Mrs. Laity. When she finally entered, her skirts sweeping the door jamb, for she was very stout, he leaned back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest until she’d waddled closer. "What can you tell me about this?" he said, exhibiting the basket once she’d reached the desk with her plump hands clasped over her apron." "That, m’lord?" "Yes, and the young woman to whom it belonged." "B-belonged, m’lord?" the housekeeper breathed. The apples of her cheeks turned crimson suddenly. Veined with broken capillaries, they made her look like a cracked painted doll, and her lips began to quiver. "Now, now, I haven’t murdered the gel, I’ve simply divested her of this," he said, brandishing the basket. "A Miss Demelza Ahern, I believe. I found her gathering herbs by the beck earlier. What do you

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know about that?" "I didn’t see where there was any harm in it, m’lord," the woman defended. "The herbs are all going to waste, and--" "The devil take the herbs!" he thundered, assaulting the desk with a vicious blow of his white-knuckled fist that levitated the basket. "Is Jory Bell still groundskeeper on this estate?" "Y-yes, m’lord." "Good! Have him come up to the house first thing in the morning. I want every herb on the place uprooted--burned out if necessary--clean to the beck.Every herb , Mrs. Laity, am I plain?" "Y-yes, m’lord, but--" "But what?" he demanded. Yes, bigod, he’d been away too long. When the servants defied him--let strangers run roughshod over his property--much too long. Pickingherbs , no less. Could their memories really be that short? "Well, speak up!" he prompted. "The little miss has been gathering herbs on Drake’s Lair land for nigh on a year now, m’lord. She does no harm, and--" "Who gave her permission?" he interrupted. "Why, nobody, m’lord. You weren’t here to ask, and, well… nobody." "Are you going to stand there and tell me you thought I would approve, considering?" "I… we--" "Is everyone on the place aware of this?" "Well, yes, m’lord, but--" "Jim Ellery included?" "Y-yes, m’lord. Begging your pardon, but will you let me explain?" "I wish you would, Mrs. Laity, I certainly wish you would." "The lass came to St. Kevern a year ago--dirt poor, she is, though she didn’t start life that way. Her father was a duke, or a baronet or some such up north. When he died, he left her sailing the river Tick. Lost all his blunt in the gambling hells, and left her with nothing but a passel o’ bills.Killed himself , he did. "She never had a Season in Town--no fancy balls and fêtes and teas like the other gentle ladies. Instead, she came here to live with a poor relation cousin o’ hers, twice removed, on the west side o’ St. Kevern--Calliope Dane was her name, poor old thing. She died soon after as well, and left the lass all on her own to fend for herself out there." "What has all that got to do with this?" He queried, brandishing the basket again.

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"It’s how she makes her living, m’lord, from the simples and ointments and balms she makes from her roots and herbs. Old Calliope must have taught her, that’s how she kept herself from swimmin’ in low tide before she passed on, poor old biddy. You must remember her, m’lord--Calliope Dane? Folks hereabouts used to call her awitch ." He vaguely did, but he didn’t address it, the housekeeper didn’t give him the chance. What Griggs lacked as a conversationalist, Mrs. Laity made up for ten fold. He’d forgotten how the woman could go on and on, like a wound up mechanical toy. "That’s what they call Miss Melly… Miss Demelza, that is--a witch," she chattered on. "But it don’t mean nothing, and she don’t mind. She’s a fine-looking lass to be living way out there all alone, ‘tisn’t safe, and letting folks label her a witch helps keep undesirables away, if you take my meaning. I don’t have to tell you how superstitious folks are ‘round here." "And you let her harvest the herbs for her… potions?" A surge of hot blood expanded the veins in his neck, they straining against his stiff collar, and he loosened his neckcloth. How could he be having this conversation after what happened five years ago? He raked his damp hair back with painstaking control. "Well, y-yes, m’lord, except I wouldn’t call them ‘potions’, exactly," the housekeeper replied. "Just what would you call them, then… exactly?" "More like toiletries and medicines, m’lord, but don’t take my word for it, ask the vicar, or old Dr. Hale, they’ll tell you. She’s a blessing to us all, is Demelza Ahern." "I suppose you’ll say next that old Calliope Dane used to steal my botanicals, too?" "No, m’lord. She had her own kitchen garden chockfull o’ herbs, but the soil went sour about the time she passed over. Some say ‘twas a blight o’ some kind, or too much salt in the ground from the flaws. Others say she really was a witch and took her secrets with her. But how anybody could accuse Miss Demelza of witchcraft with all the sorrows what’s come upon her since she came here is beyond me, m’lord. If she truly was a witch, she’d be able to cast a spell and prosper herself better to my thinking." "So now you’re telling me that there are no other un-blighted herbs for her to gather in all of St. Kevern Parish except ours, then, I take it?" he said sarcastically. "Well, no, m’lord, I haven’t saidthat now. It’s just… ours are the closest." "Ummmm, well, no matter. They’ll be gone by day after tomorrow, if I have to pull them up by the roots one by one myself. I have returned now, and you will take no more liberties with my property unless you consult me beforehand. Have I made myself plain?" "Y-yes, m’lord." "Very well then, that will be all, Mrs. Laity. You may go." "Yes, m’lord," she murmured, backing out of the room with a surprisingly graceful curtsy for a woman of her proportions. "Oh and, Mrs. Laity," he called, halting her in the doorway. "If I ever have need of a solicitor, remind me

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to engage you. You’d make an excellent counsel for the defense."

Two By the time Melly reached St. Kevern, it was well past nuncheon, and she stopped at the Terrill farm to pay her respects. She’d done that several times a week since the tragedy, bringing fresh herbs, and salves--whatever she had on hand for the cuts and bruises they had suffered when the roof caved in. There would be no token today. Her gleanings had surely been scattered, the stars alone knew where by now, and so she went empty-handed. That, however, did not prevent Bessie Terrill from setting out fresh buttermilk and scones, and taking a break from the chores and the children to join her, while her husband, Will, consulted with James Ellery, the earl’s steward, over the repairs. Had Melly known Ellery was there, she would have passed right by the cottage. She’d had her fill of Drake’s Lair inmates for one day, and Ellery always made her a little uneasy, only because she knew that he was interested in her. It didn’t take a witch to figure that, the way he hovered and strutted whenever their paths crossed, and she didn’t want to encourage him. There was no place in her life for distractions now. Not that he wasn’t attractive because he was, in a Corinthian sort of way. A man she supposed to be in his thirties, with coloring not unlike her own honeyed hair in the popular close-cropped style swept forwarda la Brutus , and brown eyes. He wore a mustache, was always impeccably dressed, and smelled of mint scented shaving paste. Unfortunately, there was nothing else to recommend him. No, she wasn’t ready for complications. It was taking all of her wits and all of her time to keep a roof over her head. Looking now at the scathed remains of the Terrill’s roof, draped in sagging tarpaulins and weighted with planks and bricks above, was an acute reminder that nothing could be taken for granted when Mother Nature turned her attention toward Cornwall. She hadn’t mentioned her encounter--more at clash--with Tristan Hannaford that morning to the Terrills. James Ellery obviously didn’t know the earl had returned, or he wouldn’t be lollygagging about with Will. She was saving that tidbit in case she needed it to send the steward on his way to avoid pursuance. That she was dressed as a common field laborer in her dowdy, soiled twill frock, buttoned up to her chin, and scuffed ankle boots that looked like they belonged in the ranks of Wellington’s army was a plus. Such frumpy attire was hardly conducive to attracting a member of the opposite sex--even in provincial St. Kevern. Looking down at her grass and dirt stained skirt, she assessed the situation with a critical eye, and her spirits fell like a burst balloon. Had she presented such an image to the earl? No wonder he’d treated her like a common laborer--she was one. She certainly looked the part at any rate. That she was a lady by propriety’s standards went without saying. But she’d almost forgotten that underneath it all she was a lady by society’s standards as well, or would have been if her father hadn’t robbed her of the chance to be. Such a notion wasn’t even thought provoking until now. Her heart took a tumble at that. No one’s opinion of her had ever mattered before now. She was fending well on her own, making a respectable way for herself in a world that had rejected her--excluded her. She was proud of what she’d accomplished--proud of the good she had done among the people of St. Kevern. It had been enough until now. Gray twill and practical boots had been satisfactory… until now.

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Bessie Terrill excused herself to correct the girls, who were pestering Will and James Ellery, while Melly wrestled with those thoughts. She’d just begun to order them when Bessie joined her again, but not before pickling some stray weeds out of her hair that had evidently gotten caught there when she’d sacrificed her herbs so theatrically earlier. Melly almost groaned aloud. Itwas worse than she thought. She must have looked the complete ninnyhammer. But she wasn’t given time to agonize long over it. Bessie had just refilled her cup when Will and Ellery came through the wounded door hung awry on its hinges and joined them. "Miss Ahern," the steward greeted buoyantly. "I didn’t know you were here. How lovely to see you. What, no herb gathering today?" "Not today," she said curtly, though the subliminal anger in her delivery was not directed toward him, but rather toward the author of her little forced holiday. "Ahh, on such a superb day?" She didn’t answer. Flashing a smile, she sipped her buttermilk. He was doing it again--strutting like a peacock. There he went, straightening his neckcloth, fumbling with his quizzing glass--gold to be sure. Was he trying to impress her? To what purpose, the stars only knew. She ignored his performance and turned to Will Terrill instead. "How is the roof coming?" she asked him, knowing full well it wasn’t coming. Will clouded. He was in his thirties, looking nearly twice that for his labors on the croft, and his recent heartaches, so was Bessie, come to that. Deep shadows clung to her eyes, and though she smiled, there was a haunted look in them that touched Melly’s soul. What must it be like to lose one’s only son? She couldn’t imagine it. "Mr. Ellery here is going to send a work crew, after all," Will said, accepting the crock of buttermilk Bessie put in his grimy hand. "I thought I could do it with the help of the field hands, but ‘tis no use. The whole frame’s gone--rotted clean through. It won’t do no good to put new thatch over bad supports. It’ll never hold through a storm. I thought we could shore it up, but it keeps coming down as fast as we thatch it." "It is flaw Season, after all," Ellery put in, "and we’re due again. I’ll hire a crew tomorrow, and we’ll have it done in no time. That’s what his lordship would have wanted me to do in the first place. Why, if he were here, he would have insisted upon it." "I believe he is here," Melly said quietly. It was no use. It would surely come out that she’d seen him, what with the fuss he’d made over those herbs, and they’d only wonder why that wasn’t the first thing out of her mouth when she arrived on the Terrill’s doorstep. As it was, they had all converged upon her like a flock of swooping crows in the garden, posing questions in unison. The last thing she wanted was to give her encounter with the Earl of Shelldrake importance, so she smiled her most innocent smile toward Ellery, and said, "I’ve never met the man, of course, but I do believe it was he whom I encountered on the lane this morning, though he didn’t introduce himself." "Dark-haired was he, sporting a queue, blue, deep-set eyes--an odd light color blue, like a Siamese cat’s?" the steward queried anxiously. "Ummhmm," she replied with a nod, through a swallow from her cup.

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"Good God," Ellery muttered under his breath. His face changed suddenly, as did his demeanor. The strutting peacock transformed into a hawk before her very eyes, and color seemed to leave his face. "I’d best get back," he said. "I’ll see to that work crew first thing tomorrow." He nodded to Bessie and Will, ruffled the three little girl’s blonde heads, and bowed to Melly. "I hope to see you again soon, Miss Ahern?" he said. "Mr. Ellery," she replied, and waited until he’d ridden off in a cloud of dust toward Drake’s Lair, before rising herself. "I really must be getting home," she said, "I’ve simples to make." "Do you have to go so soon, Melly?" Bessie said, meanwhile quieting the disappointed girls. "We’ve scarcely had time for a visit." "I do," she replied, "but my door is open if you want to bring the girls and stay awhile when the work crew arrives." "That’s kind of you, dear, if Will doesn’t need me. We’ll see." Melly nodded and left them then, starting down the lane toward home. The sun was already sliding down from the zenith. Dusk came early on the coast. There would be no herb gathering today. A whole day wasted, because of an ill-mannered, boorish churl. And what was she going to do tomorrow? What could she do? He had her basket, gloves, and gardening tools, and she didn’t have enough money to replace them in the village. There was nothing for it but to sort out her wares and find suitable concoctions to trade with the Tinkers for new ones. They were a shrewd lot, Gypsy nomads encamped in the wood. They rarely bought tonics, salves, and tisanes from the locals; they usually made their own and sold them just as she did. But she had nothing else to barter.The devil take that thieving phantom . He was as rich as Croesus and he couldn’t spare her a handful of herbs? Why? It made no sense. She thought of the life he must lead--a life she would have led if her father hadn’t squandered her inheritance, scandalized the family name, cost her her emergence into society, then killed himself and made her a laughingstock and a pariah of theton . The crunch of the gravelly lane underfoot echoed in her ears. It was a lonely sound. If she were in London, she wouldn’t be walking alone in the street. She wouldn’t dare go about unescorted--no lady would consider such a thing. Not so here. But then, here she wasn’t a lady, she thought bitterly; she was just the local witch in the vale. She thought of Cousin Calliope, old and in her grave before her time, and Bessie Terrill--twenty-nine and looking forty. Cornwall did that to women. The coast was rugged and wild, and it took a special breed to stand up to it. Was that what she had to look forward to? She was twenty-two years old. She may as well be fifty. Lady Demelza Ahern reduced to scrounging for stolen herb plants and begging to keep them. Where were these bizarre thoughts coming from?Such things had never bothered her until that morning. She hadn’t cared what she wore, or whether she walked abroad with an escort, or how many twigs and leaves and grass spears collected in her long, curly hair that drew them like a magnet on her outings… until that morning. She hadn’t thought about London, or her come-out, or anything like that since she’d come to live with Cousin Calliope… until now. Was it that he’d chastised her in a way that she hadn’t been chastised since her father was alive? No.

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In an instant, on what started out to be a magical morning doing what she loved to do, a phantom had showed her who she wasn’t--showed her what she had become… and she hated him for it ~*~ The earl was seated behind his desk in the study, when James Ellery burst into the room. They had been friends since theirTown Bronze days, something of which the earl wasn’t particularly proud. He’d behaved in typical Corinthian fashion back then--racing around London, haunting Tattersall’s for first crack at the best horseflesh, trekking from Newmarket to Epsom, from Ascot to Dorchester, meanwhile, climbing between the sheets of London’s willing ladies and ladybirds alike in pursuit of pleasure in true rake fashion. He, the heir to the Shelldrake earldom, the only son of an absentee father, Ellery, the disenfranchise--the soon rolled-up--second son of a viscount hanging on to him and his money for dear life. Though he certainly wasn’t obligated, when his father, Alexander Hannaford, passed on and he inherited, making Ellery his estate manager seemed the ideal solution. Though public opinion accused Ellery of being a hanger-on, the earl didn’t hesitate. It was a respectable position that afforded his friend enough blunt to keep himself comfortably, with the added plus of living at Drake’s Lair. In short, he got a trustworthy estate manager, and Ellery got his pockets plumped. It seemed a fair enough exchange and Ellery was the only one he corresponded with while he was away… until lately that is. He hadn’t put quill to parchment in months. "Damn it all, Drake, you might have warned a person," Ellery greeted from the doorway. Striding in, the steward embraced him. "You could have written you know. We had no idea if you were alive or dead." "Now, how could I catch you doing evil things with my accounts if I did that, Jim?" the earl said playfully. "Well, you look sound," Ellery observed. Holding him at arm’s distance, he took his measure. "A little thin, bigod, but sound, and brown as a berry--just like in the old days, eh? You always did look like a Greek god tanned. Were you wounded?" "I took a shoulder wound at Salamanca last year, and had to lag behind," said Drake. "August and September on the Peninsula are the two most hellish months of the year. But I finally caught up with the regiment only to get wounded again for my pains. The worst was on the push to Vitoria. I was hit in the side. Nearly didn’t make it. There were over five thousand casualties in that battle. I was one of the lucky ones, but I couldn’t catch up that time. I missed the victory at Vitoria, and Wellington marched on into France without me. So they sent me back to England forthwith." "Are you going back?" "Don’t know yet. I could, I suppose. I could always reinstate my commission; I haven’t sold it or anything yet, and I’m certainly sound enough now." "Hail the conquering hero!" "I’d like to say I was a hero," Drake replied, refuting the notion with a shake of his head, "but truth be told, I missed most of the action and all the glory getting shot. I was either the luckiest lieutenant in the ranks, or the most inept, depending upon how you look at it I suppose. I don’t think I’m quite cut out for warring." "Come to think of it, you always were a better man with the lance than the pistol," Ellery said

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tongue-in-cheek, with a wry arch of his brow. "If you want the truth," Drake returned, ignoring the levity, "over and above the obvious--my loyalty to Crown and country--I think I ran off to war and put myself in harms way deliberately, hoping for a noble death. There was certainly no nobility in my life. No, that’s probably not the whole of it. After… what happened, sheer blood lust drove me. I needed to purge what couldn’t be purged elsewhere in the thick of battle, and I supposed at the time, that it might just as well have been on the field with the French as anywhere. I was half-mad, Jim. I had to get away. Damned reckless of me, eh? Hah! And it didn’t even work. All I got for my painswere the pains, and the scars. But I’m home now. I’m through seducing death. It’s high time I’ve courted life--made something of myself. How did you know I was back? I only arrived this morning," "I was out at the Terrill’s… there’s a problem out there, Drake--" "I know--I know, Griggs filled me in. Go on," he replied. Pouring two snifters of brandy from the decanter on the desk, he handed one to the steward. "Ahh," said Ellery, clearly relieved. "A young woman you met today told me you’d returned." "A young woman?" "Miss Demelza Ahern, an acquaintance of mine, actually," Ellery explained. "She said she met you on the lane this morning." "She said that, did she?" Drake mused, hiding behind his snifter. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind all day, and that had begun to annoy him. Now Ellery proclaims the gel anacquaintance . That could only mean one thing, knowing James Ellery--he was either diddling her, or about to do so. Why should that bother him? What did he care? She was nothing to him. "What else did she say?" he said guardedly. "Nothing else. See here, Drake, what happened between you two? You’ve got that look again." "What ‘look’? "That God-awful thing you do with your eyes--drawing them back under your brow that way. When you do it they take on a positively evil glow. You look like a fire-breathing dragon. I always thought the name Drake’s Lair was your great-grandfather’s play on the Shelldrake title. Now, I’m not so sure,drake being another term fordragon . Your father had that same look, too--deep-set dragon eyes. Which is it?" "A little of both, I suppose. Fatherwas a dragon if you recall--scales and all, but I have no idea to what ‘look’ you’re referring." "Yes, you do! We’ve discussed it before. Why, the last time I saw you put on that face was--" "Stubble it," Drake warned, gravel-voiced, before the steward could pursue the issue. He was getting angry now, for the second time since he’d come home, and the same little toffee-haired, amber-eyed gel, with pouty lips and an irresistible halo of twigs and leaves riding her saucy curls, was stoking the fire. "You were saying… about your ‘acquaintance’?" he prompted.

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"N-nothing," Ellery replied around a nervous laugh. Another dead giveaway; he was diddling her, sure as check.But what did that matter? What was it to him anyway?Zeus , but this was turning out to be an impossible day. Maybe she was a witch. Maybe she’d cast a spell on him for interrupting her thievery--for confiscating her deuced gathering basket and tools. Who knew but that the locals’ tales were true? Now he was being ridiculous. Of course they weren’t true. His conscience was bothering him. Why, he couldn’t imagine. She had been trespassing on his land hadn’t she--taking his property--defying him? Why, then, did he feel like such a cad? That was easy. He had Mrs. Laity, the counsel for the defense, to thank for that. He wouldn’t pursue it. There was no reason for Ellery to know what had transpired between them--have it bruited about all over the parish that he’d deprived his steward’s little ladybird of her livelihood. For some unfathomable reason, she hadn’t taken herself straight off to tell all. Neither would he, and he opened the ledger on the blotter before him and steered the awkward conversation deftly around to the business at hand.

Three Melly woke at first light with the bird music, just as she always did. But this day was different. She wasn’t going to gather herbs by the beck at Drake’s Lair, or the in the meadow that spilled down to it, where rosemary, yarrow, and Gypsy rose grew wild, or even in the fields along the lane closer to the manor, burgeoning with marigold, sweet lavender, and chamomile, as they always did in summer. She had nothing to collect them in, and no tools to work with even if she had. Instead, she carefully placed bunches of fresh mallow stems, bottles of garlic tonic and rue salve, mint pennyroyal, and parchment paper cones of candied angelica for the Tinker children in her marketing bag. It should be enough to trade for a new basket and tools. The mallow stems alone should be enough. She hated to part with them, not knowing when she would ever find more. She hadn’t found mallow anywhere but Drake’s Lair, and the Tinkers greatly prized it. They would chew the stems, mixing it well with saliva then apply it straight from the mouth to swellings, sores, and abrasions, which their rugged lifestyle awarded them daily. It would have to be enough, and she put a shawl over her soiled gray twill gathering frock--it was long enough to cover most of the hopeless stains--and opened the door of her neat little cottage only to pull up short. "Oh!" she cried in surprise. Her breath caught as she stared down at her gathering basket on the cobblestone step, her tools and gloves tucked neatly inside.

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She set the marketing bag down and fingered the basket, her sharp eyes darting in all directions, but there was no sign of anyone lurking in the drifting dawn mist ghosting over the hedgerows. The phantom had been and gone. When she lifted the gloves from the basket, something stiff inside one of them crunched in her fingers. Drawing it out, she found it to be a missive sealed with red wax--an embossed ‘S’ in the shape of a dragon. Breaking the seal quickly, even though she hated spoiling it, it was so fine, she read: This does not mean that you may gather on Drake’s Lair. Shelldrake She quickly put her marketing bag back inside--all but the paper cones of candied angelica--and latched the cottage door. Tristan Hannaford, Earl of Shelldrake had to leave Drake’s Lair sometime. Then she would just see about that. Meanwhile, she straightened her straw bonnet, and marched off in the opposite direction in search of new, less troublesome gathering grounds to plunder. On her way, she stopped at the Tinker’s camp with the candied angelica for the children. They knew her well. While the Tinkers were skilled with herbs themselves, they spared none of their yield for such luxuries, and the candy was a welcome treat. They did not hunt for their fresh botanicals locally, but scoured the meadows and fields farther north, between Tregidden, and Laddenvean whenever they camped in the wood, since they had horses and wagons and could make the trip there and back in a day. Mostly, they used dried herbs, however--mysterious herbs gathered from all over the Continent during their travels--herbs with exotic names, such ascinquefoil , found on wastelands and roadsides,adder’s tongue , gleaned from uncultivated fields, anddevil’s bitscabious , from wild European meadows and woodlands. The stories of their gathering had always fascinated her. Rosen, the elder’s daughter, welcomed her. It was she who kept a close watch on all the children in the band, and though she accepted the sweets gratefully, she insisted that Melly accept something in return. While this was decided upon, Melly took a cup of Rosen’s chamomile tea by the open campfire as she often did when she visited. "The earl is come home," Rosen observed, joining her. The children gathered around, jumping and prancing impatiently in anticipation of their treats, and she meted out the confections sparingly and shooed them away. "How did you know?" Melly queried, genuinely surprised, since they were quite a distance from Drake’s Lair--from St. Kevern, come to that. The Gypsy flashed a smug smile in reply. She was auburn-haired, with huge brown eyes, and flawless skin with an olive cast. She was about the same age as Bessie Terrill, and Melly marveled at the difference. Rosen looked much younger, though she had born six children, by her husband, Pascoe. He was not at the camp, neither were many of the other Tinker men, which was unusual at that hour. "Where is everyone?" she inquired, changing the subject, since she evidently wasn’t going to get an answer to her previous question. "Another flaw comes," Rosen replied. "They make ready a new place deep in the wood for us, not so in the open. Is safer. Soon now you taste it on the wind. You lick your lips and taste the salt. Then the sea birds come--great clouds of them riding the little wind that comes before. Then you take shelter."

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How well Melly knew, she’d weathered many a storm in the year she’d lived in St. Kevern. Only a year, so much had happened to her in only ayear . Before that she had never heard of a flaw, or foraged in the fields and bogs. But she did have a way with herbs and flowers. She had always possessed that talent. It was inherent. "I don’t want anything in return for the sweets, Rosen," she said. "They are my gift. I’ll tell you the truth. I was coming here with them earlier, because I… lost my gathering basket, and I hoped to trade for a new one. But then my basket was returned to me, see--" she displayed it proudly "--and I was so happy, I decided to bring the sweets just the same… for the children, since I’m gathering nearby today." "No herbs nearby to gather," Rosen said. "Why you come this way now? You gather by the dragon’s house usually." "No longer," Melly replied. "The earl is opposed to it." "Ahhhhhh," the Tinker intoned. "Finish your tea and give me the cup." "Why?" "I tell your fortune for the sweets." "I don’t believe in fortune-telling, Rosen," Melly scoffed through a lighthearted laugh, "and I told you, I don’t want anything for the sweets, they are my gift--a happy gift." Rosen held out her hand and nodded toward the cup. It was clear that there was nothing for it but to comply, and Melly drank the tea to the leaves at the bottom and passed it over. Rosen deftly drained the few drops remaining in the cup without losing the leaves, inverted it, and spun it around slowly three times in her hands. Then turning it right side up again, she gazed into it and studied the pattern the chamomile leaves had formed inside. "You have an enemy," she said solemnly, "--someone who does not seem so." She reached inside the cup, removed a straight stalk from the leaves at the top, and bit into it. "A man," she said, discarding the stalk. "How can you tell?" "The man is hard to bite, the woman, soft, like in nature. The flaw will bring him. He has a secret. You need to discover this secret… but there is danger… much danger." "Rosen? You’re frightening me!" "You bring me sweets, and I frighten you. Not such a fair exchange, eh? I’m sorry, little friend, that the tea leaves are not kinder. Give me your hand." "My hand?" "Your palm. Let me see." Melly extended her palm, and the Tinker took it in both her hands and studied it.

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This was foolishness. Melly didn’t believe in cryptic augur, but the Gypsy had no reason to lie--to frighten her, they had always gotten on well. A sudden shiver raced along her spine as a fugitive gust snaked through the clearing teasing the open fire and ruffling the hem of her soiled gray twill frock. "It is the same," said Rosen finally. "I see nothing more." "What must I do?" "Nothing. It will find you, the danger. There is nothing to be done but take care and choose wisely. One is not what he seems." Melly looked into the teacup the tinker had set aside, examining the pattern the gray-green lump of chamomile leaves had formed in the bottom. "I don’t know how you do it," she said. "It doesn’t look like anything to me, but a lump of green mud." The Tinker cast her a knowing smile. "You have other gifts, little friend--" she reclaimed the teacup "--and you do not believe, but because you do not, you must not be the one to disturb the reading. Is not good luck for your hand to alter what cannot be changed. But soon you see Rosen’s gift. Soon you believe… very soon, and then you know Rosen speaks truth." ~*~ When the work crew arrived at the Terrill croft that morning, Drake was with them. Shed of his blue morning coat, white waistcoat, and neckcloth, with his shirt open at the neck and his sleeves rolled back to the biceps, he scaled the rickety ladder braced against the Terrill’s roof with the rest of them and attacked the chore with the same passion he had summoned against the French at Salamanca. How well he understood the Terrill’s loss. How deeply he felt their pain. This was something he had to do. It was a purging he hoped would slake the demons that had driven him since that night five years ago, when his whole life had come crashing down around him, just as Will Terrill’s roof had done. Jim Ellery made no such contribution. Since he was hopelessly inept with tools, Drake appointed him overseer, sending him into St. Kevern village for materials when necessity dictated, thus keeping him out of the workmen’s way as much as possible. There was no room for error, no margin for delay. Once the morning mist burned off it revealed a sallow, jaundiced sky bearing down out of the southwest. The winds were calm now--too calm. Only the faintest breath of a breeze disturbed the chestnut, ash, and rowan leaves. But what did blow revealed their underside--the silver side. Another flaw was on the make. Twilight came early, called by the storm, and by the time they lit the lamps, the roof was all but finished. Drake was exhausted. He hadn’t really exerted himself physically since Spain, and overexertion always charged his libido, which was the last thing he needed then. He hadn’t satisfied those urges since Spain either.Had it been that long? A cold, purging bath was definitely in order. Demelza Ahern was still on his mind. Just for an instant, when he’d snatched the basket from her, his hand had grazed her arm, then her hands when she tried to hold onto it. Incensed though he’d been at the time, the touch of that soft, tender skin, those tiny fingers against his roughened fist, had shot him through with longing. He’d done the right thing in returning the basket. It felt right. Why, then, couldn’t he stop

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thinking about golden-brown ringlets, and eyes with the look of a doe’s that had just been flushed from a thicket to face the hunter’s musket? Those eyes haunted him. He had put that look in them. He’d put the fire of anger in them, too. She had pluck, this cheeky little witch, bigod.JimEllery always favored women with spunk. Where the deuce did that thought come from, and why did it sting like a burr he couldn’t shed? Climbing down the ladder, he scowled at the steward approaching. "You look exhausted, Drake," Ellery said. "I can finish up here. Why don’t you go back to the Lair and get some rest. The bank solicitors are coming tomorrow, remember? You’ll want a good night’s sleep if you’re going to be up to that." Drake considered it. He didn’t want to be in Ellery’s company then. He wanted a stiff drink to exorcise the image of Demelza Ahern’s lithe body in his best friend’s arms, and a cold tub to loosen the tightness that had gripped his loins like a fist. But there was something he must do first--something that wouldn’t wait. Something he wouldn’t share. "You’re sure?" he said. "Of course, I’m sure. How do you suppose I managed here without you for the last five years, eh? Granted, I’m hopeless when it comes to carpentry, but I can certainly check a roof for leaks. Go home and get some sleep." Drake clapped him on the shoulder and moved on. Once he’d said goodnight to the Terrills, he mounted the black Andalusianer stallion he’d brought from Spain and rode north of the village to a tidy little cottage nestled in the valley outside the village proper. Dr. Edwin Hale took a step back when he opened the door. Drake frowned. Perhaps he should have sent a missive first. The man looked as though he’d seen a ghost. He’d aged in his absence, seeming older than his sixty years. His hair was sparse and gray now, and he’d grown portly. The steely eyes were the same, however. Sharp and articulate. They often spoke when his lips did not, Drake recalled, just as they did now, though he wasn’t always able to read them. Was that dread, or relief gaping at him… or a strange marriage of both? "Praise God, my lord!" the doctor breathed. "We thought we’d lost you on the Peninsula. When there was no word…" "I was wounded," Drake explained. "But as you can see, God threw me back. Neither heaven nor hell is ready for Tristan Hannaford so it seems. I am just come home." "Come in--come in, my lord," the doctor stammered, standing aside to let him pass. He led him to his study, scuffing along the dark, narrow hall in bedroom slippers. "Are you home for good?" "I don’t yet know," Drake replied, sinking into a leather wing chair alongside the doctor’s desk. "I’m sorry for the hour. I’ve just come from the Terrill farm, we put the roof on today." "You lent your hand to that chore, did you? Terrible thing, terrible thing, little Will’s passing. Why, I brought him into the world just before you… left us." "I know." "Are you ill, my lord, is that why you’ve come?"

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"No--no, I need to know if it’s gotten out… what occurred five years ago. I need to be certain exactly who knows what at this point." "I told you then that no one would ever hear of it from me," the doctor defended gruffly. "I’ve kept my promise, if that’s what you’re asking." "And no one has questioned?" "I signed the death certificates, my lord. My word is no less sacrosanct than the vicar’s. But, begging your pardon, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, you made it rather difficult, leaving the way you did… before the burials. It looked as though--" "I don’t give a Tinker’s dam how it looked. We both know what happened. I couldn’t face it then." "Have you been to the vicar?" "No." "Do you want to know?" "Not particularly. It’s in the past, let it stay so." The doctor shrugged. "Well, for what it’s worth, they’re both buried in consecrated ground--in the Shelldrake crypt." "Even though…" "It was the only way to avoid a scandal. Were the vicar aware, it would have been quite another matter." "Well, I thank you for that, Dr. Hale." "You and I, that steward of yours and Griggs are the only ones who know what actually happened, my lord. Mrs. Laity was privy to a little more than the rest of your staff, since it was necessary that she be present at the end, but the others all think it was… accidental." "Good. Let’s keep it that way."

Four Melly stirred in her bed. What was that noise outside… on the roof? She was just too tired to investigate. It was probably just a dream. The Terrills were on her mind when she drifted off to sleep. She was worried about them with no roof over their head and a flaw coming. But why was the air too thick to breathe all of a sudden? She began to cough, and opened her eyes. Why couldn’t she see? It was dark, yes, but not the usual sort of darkness, with little glints of reflected light living in the shadows picking out familiar objects. It was dense and black and smothering. Everything around her was in

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motion--thick, swirling, suffocating motion. Fire! All at once the cottage door caved in, and strong arms lifted her. They carried her out of the swirling blackness into another, cooler darkness. She gulped the damp night air, as the wind sucked the smoke from her nostrils. Roaring flames crowned the cottage roof. Bits of fiery thatch danced off on the wind. In seconds the whole cottage had become engulfed. It was a holocaust. This was no dream. The phantom set her down on a mossy patch beside the hedgerow. He was squatting on his haunches beside her. His face was streaked with soot and ash, and the silk ribbon that wrapped his queue was trailing smoke. "You’re all right," he said. "You’re safe now." "My wares!" she shrilled, scrabbling to her feet. "Everything I own is in that cottage!" "No!" he thundered, springing up in pursuit. Quick hands restrained her. "Are you mad? You can’t go back in there." At that, the roof collapsed, filling the flaming cottage shell with a fireball that shot sparks skyward into the night. She groaned. Her life as she knew it had literally gone up in smoke before her very eyes, and she sagged in the arms that supported her. The breast beneath her face was heaving, his rapid heartbeat thudding against her wildly out of rhythm. She didn’t cry, couldn’t cry--absolutelywouldn’t cry. She was no watering pot. But a groan was allowed, and her breath left her, siphoned off on the wind in the shape of one. Her world had collapsed before and it hadn’t defeated her. She would survive again… but how, with nowhere to live? She had no clothes except for the thin batiste nightgown on her back, no wares to sell, and no place to gather the herbs to make more, thanks to the phantom who had just appeared again out of nowhere and saved her. His hands soothed her gently, though she strained against them. His tanned skin smelled of musk salted with sweat, and sweetened with brandy drunk recently. It was a pleasant odor, very male, that went to her head and made her giddy. But surely not--that was from the shock. She gave a start. All that lay between her nakedness and the well-muscled body that had suddenly gone rigid against her was the thin nightgown. Her heart leapt, and her tiny fists defended against whatever the turgid pressure of him was doing to her private regions. "Let go of me, you great lout!" she shrilled, battering him severely. "I’m quite able to stand on my own." His hands fell away, and she swayed. Her hopelessly trembling knees betrayed her. It was as though they had turned to jelly, but she was determined, and when he shot his arm out offering support again, she took a step back out of his reach. He didn’t pursue her. Instead, he froze staring, his hooded eyes raking her from head to toe. It was several moments before she glanced down toward what he was staring at so intently. Backlit by the fire,

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her nightgown had become transparent. He could seeeverything . Her breath caught in a strangled gasp, and she threw her arms across her body in a vain attempt to hide all her charms at once. "Avert your eyes, my lord!" she demanded. "Are you just going to stand there and gawk, then? Aren’t you going to try and put it out?" She knew the minute the words left her lips how ridiculous they were. Of course he couldn’t put it out. It was beyond putting out--what a ninnyhammer. "The flaw will do that, my lady," he replied. He held out his hand, palm upward. "It’s already begun." All at once the heavens opened and the rain sluiced down, soaking them in seconds. Her eyes flashed toward the cottage, still ablaze despite it, and she groaned again. Great belching plumes of smoke and ash billowed upward into the night sky, lit now with a fiery glow that brought a vision of hell itself to mind. "How could this be?" she said, low-voiced, speaking to herself. "I had no fire burning--no lamps or candles. What could have started…this ?" "It was deliberately set," he volunteered. "I saw the culprit running off as I approached." "But, who?Why ?" she stammered. "It was too dark to tell," he said, "and getting you out of there was paramount to running the blighter to ground. I thought perhaps you might be able to tell me. You evidently have an enemy, my lady." A rush of hot blood shot up from Melly’s toes and starred her vision at that. Was he still speaking? She staggered forward, moaned, and spiraled unconscious into his waiting arms. ~*~ Drake stared down at her, spellbound. What the fire hadn’t revealed, the rain now showed him--every contour of her slender body, the shape of her breasts, the dark, pronounced nipples visible through the gauzy fabric plastered wet to her skin, the curve of her hips, and the delicate shadow between her thighs, which he imagined to be the same golden-brown color of her hair. Her nightgown had slipped off one shoulder exposing a creamy expanse of skin that he couldn’t help but touch as he covered it. "Zeus!" he muttered. And wriggling out of his blue morning coat one arm at a time, he wrapped it close around her and hoisted her over his horse’s saddle, meanwhile soothing the frightened Andalusianer to a standstill where he’d tethered him alongside the stacked stone wall. Then mounting, he took her in his arms and rode off toward Drake’s Lair cradling her close against him. Galloping along on horseback fully aroused was not a comfortable thing, but the soft pressure of her body bouncing against him soon made an end to his discomfort. There was no way to prevent it. Overexertion had had its way with him--that and the damnable witch’s spell, and he groaned as the climax siphoned off tensions that had built inside him since Spain. That this had happened while they both were fully clothed, and only to him, wasn’t much comfort afterward. The episode had an alarming, bestial quality about it, and he hadn’t experienced the likes of that since his Corinthian days. What would it be like to really make love to this cheeky little toffee-haired, amber-eyed sorceress, to hold what his eyes had seen in his arms, skin to skin?Stubble it .Or the problem is going to arise all over again . Thinking of James Ellery then, cooled the throbbing fire that still threatened his loins. He took a deep,

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tremulous breath. No harm had been done after all. She was never going to know how she had affected him. Besides, she was taken. She was just one more opportunity that his steward had grasped. But that thought was uncharitable, regretted instantly. Ellery had seen the gel first, after all, damn the man’s eyes. That no one else came to her rescue didn’t surprise him. Calliope Dane’s cottage in the vale was somewhat isolated, and it was late. He’d stayed on visiting with the doctor for some time before starting back--even inquired about the provocative Demelza Ahern--but the doctor hadn’t added anything to Mrs. Laity’s account. Now with the flaw howling over the coast, the fire would probably be out by the time anyone knew it had even occurred. Who could have done such a thing? Why would anyone want to harm her--tokill her? That’s what it amounted to really. Could it have been someone among the Tinkers, perhaps--or another jealous lover? She didn’t seem to know. But who could trust a woman? Not him--not Tristan Hannaford, Earl of Shelldrake. Not anymore. Not after five years ago--never again. Least of all, this defiant little witch who’d proven at the outset that she couldn’t be trusted. She had groaned awake by the time they reached Drake’s Lair. Bellowing to the stable master, Drake slid off the Andalusian’s back and lifted her into his arms. Fry poked his head out of a stall close by, where he’d been rubbing down Ellery’s mare, and Drake gave a grunt. All must be well at the Terrills at least, since the steward had gotten back before him. "Leave that and see to Gideon here," he charged. "This piece of horseflesh is worth more than ten nags the like of that swayback you’re coddling." Why was he mad at Ellery’s horse, for God’s sake--orEllery , for that matter? "Y-yes, m’lord," the gravel-voiced stabler replied, rushing to obey. "Put me down!" his captive demanded meanwhile, hammering at his head and shoulders with her tiny fists. "What do you think you’re doing?" "Stop that!" he thundered. "I’m trying to help you." "I don’t need your help. Put me down!" "Don’t you?" he said, setting her on her feet. "There. You’re down. Now what, my lady?" "Take me home! I want to go… home," she moaned. "You have no home, remember? It just went up in flames. You have no clothes, and no shoes. If you want to cut your feet to shreds on Welsh bluestone, be my guest," he said, with a dramatic bow from the waist, and a wide sweep of his arm. She turned her attention to the sculptured circular drive behind, and stood first on one foot, then the other. "I thought not," he said smugly. "Now then, if you will allow, I shall carry you to the house, where Mrs. Laity can look after you until I can sort this coil out. You’ll stay here tonight. She will prepare you a suite of rooms, see to your bath, and find you something to wear. Then in the morning, we shall decide what’s to be done with you." She made no reply, and he scooped her up without ceremony and carried her into the manor.

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~*~ "You’ve scorched your queue," said Griggs, examining it as Drake sank into a tub of steaming hot water in his dressing room. "The ribbon’s badly burnt clean through." "Cut it off then." "The ribbon, my lord?" "No, the queue." "A-are you sure, my lord? You’ve had it ever since--" "I’m sure. Just to here, though," he directed, gesturing toward his earlobes. "Don’t make me look like a fop, with it all swept forward in front. I’m no bloodypink of the ton ." "Yes, my lord. I’ll just get the shears." Drake shrugged. It was time for a change anyway. After a moment, the valet shuffled back from the chiffonier with the scissors and a hand mirror, and the queue fell in one snip. Reaching back, palm upward, Drake motioned Griggs to give it to him, and while the valet continued trimming his hair, he scrutinized the burnt braid, still trailing what was left of the black silk ribbon that had wrapped it. "It’s almost like losing one’s virginity," he observed, "--or being raped." Hadn’tthat just happened, bigod? "My lord?" said the valet. "Nothing, Griggs," he replied through a sigh. "I’m just feeling a bit philosophical at the moment." "Yes, my lord." "Is Mr. Ellery still awake, do you know?" "No, my lord, he’s retired for the evening." "I don’t want to share you with him any longer," he said flatly, scowling. "It’s not convenient. See that Prowse engages him a valet of his own first thing in the morning, or let him choose his own. I’ll be needing you full time from now on." "As you wish, my lord. Will this do, then?" Griggs inquired, passing Drake the hand mirror. Zeus, but he did look like a fire-breathing dragon. The hair was a shock, but acceptable--not too long, or too short. He’d forgotten how it waved and curled naturally when short, without the weight of the queue to straighten it. "Very nicely," he replied. "I see you’ve left it all one length. What? In training, in case I want to cultivate another?"

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"Yes, my lord." "Ummmm," Drake grunted. "Think you know me do you? Well, maybe so, maybe not. I refuse to be all that predictable." "Yes, my lord. I’ve laid out your things. Will there be anything else, my lord?" "No, Griggs. I won’t need you further. I think I’ll just lie here awhile and soak. I know it’s June, but a summer flaw can get into the bones with the best of them on this coast, and mine are weary to the marrow." "Yes, my lord." "Remember what I said--you’re not to attend Jim Ellery again. Some things are still mine in this house, I’ll be bound." "Begging your pardon, my lord, but about Mr. Ellery… you were away, and--" "I know, old boy, but I am come home now, and itis my home. It would do everyone under this roof well to remember that."

Five Drake instructed Mrs. Laity to take a breakfast tray to the suite of rooms on the third floor that he had assigned to his houseguest. He wanted to speak with his steward alone, and Demelza Ahern was simply too much of a distraction. Downstairs in the dining hall, a cloth had been laid over one end of the banquet table, since only Drake and Ellery would be eating. Even without the leaves, the carved mahogany table was daunting. Fully extended, it would seat fifty comfortably. Drake heaped his plate with coddled eggs, sausages, and cheddar bread from the serving dishes laid out on the sideboard, and was already seated when James Ellery entered looking like one of the storm clouds racing before the flaw outside. Drake studied the body language he knew all too well, as the steward served himself with little regard for the silver tureens and china then took his seat at the table while the footman poured the coffee. "Something amiss?" he queried. "You know very well something’s amiss," Ellery responded. "You relieve me of Griggs without so much as a by your leave? You might at least consent to share him until I can engage a replacement. He has been my man for five years you know." "And mine until five years ago. He was Father’s before that. He passed him to me for my sixteenth

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birthday, just before he abandoned me for his mistress and went off to the Continent to reclaim his misspent youth. Let’s see… I’m thirty-three now, that means I’ve had him all of seventeen years, minus five, of course, in view of my hiatus, giving me seniority, which is a moot point, considering that this ismy earldom, after all, and I can do as I bloody well please. I don’t choose to share him, because I know you, Jim. If I consent to that, content with the status quo, you will dig in your heels, procrastinate, and he will simply never be replaced." "Well, well, what’s bitten you this morning? A bit testy aren’t we?" "You are the one who came crashing in here casting daggers just now--not me. If you don’t want to procure your own manservant, Prowse will see to it for you, end of issue. Now then, what say we try and have a civil breakfast?" The meal was begun in silence. Drake studied the steward’s tight-lipped scowl and twitching mustache. Yes, indeed, he’d been away too long. Ellery had gotten too comfortable at Drake’s Lair in his absence. He’d briefly perused the ledgers, and unless he missed his guess, his quip about doing something evil with the books wasn’t entirely left of the mark. It would be best if he spoke with the accounts auditors privately… but how to manage it? "Is everything settled at the Terrill croft?" he said, looking for a lead-in toward that. "We’ll soon find out," Ellery replied curtly, around a mouthful of sausage. "This flaw is a ripper." "I want you to go ‘round and make sure." "Inthat ?" the steward erupted, making a wild gesture toward the windows rattling in their casings, the view obscured by sheeting rain. "Are you addled, or just jug-bit again? What about the auditors?" "They probably won’t even make it--not in this coming from Truro," Drake opined. He shrugged. "Like as not, they’ll stop over somewhere." That was a bald-faced lie. Bradshaw and Mills would wade through a tidal wave to do his bidding. He paid them handsomely enough. "Do you really expect me to go all the way out there this morning in that?" "I do. I’m hardly asking you to ride, you know. Take one of the carriages. And, while you’re in the village, I need you to go ‘round to the livery. My trunks are due on the stage this morning, and I need you to wait there and bring them, elsewise they’ll sit in the station ‘till kingdom come. I’m expecting two horses as well, Andalusians that I purchased in Spain--well,stole , actually--but that’s another story. Instruct the station master that I’ll want them boarded until after the flaw, when I can get them out here safely." "Outstanding! You don’t mind that I drown myself in a washed out bog, but you won’t suffer two Spanish hacks to make the trip." "They’re hardly that, old boy." "Can’t you send one of the servants?" "Who? I can’t spare Prowse or Griggs or Fry, and who will serve if I send one of the footmen? You are the one who cut back on the staff in my absence, Jim. I seem to recall quite a few more faces hereabout five years ago."

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"I shortened the staff to save you blunt, Drake. We were all but shut up here with you away. I thought you’d be appreciative." "We weren’t exactly in Dun territory when I left, to my knowledge, and I’m hardly a cheeseparing miser--neither have you ever been to my knowledge, when it came tomy blunt. It’s almost as though you didn’t expect me to return." "My, but you are in a taking today aren’t you?" Ellery observed, studying him for a moment. "Good God, what’s happened to your queue?" he cried. "It met with a little accident." "How?" "It isn’t important. You’d best finish that and be on your way before this blasted storm gets any worse." "You really do expect me to go out in this maelstrom." "I’d go myself," Drake said smoothly, "but there is the outside chance that the auditors will arrive, and we have a houseguest. You had already retired when we got in or I would have told you." "A houseguest?" "A friend of yours as it happens… Lady Demelza Ahern." "Demelza… here?" the steward said, fork suspended. "Her cottage burned down last night," Drake informed him, casually buttering a morsel of bread. "I passed by just in time to get her out before it went up like a Roman candle." "The devil you say! What were you doing way out there? I thought you were coming home to rest when you left the Terrills." "I went for a ride instead," Drake returned, opting not to divulge his visit with Dr. Hale. "Gideon needed the exercise, and I gave him his head awhile. It’s a good thing I did. She would have burned alive in that tinderbox. It went up in seconds." "Well, well, and where was I when all this was going on?" "Snug in your bed evidently. Fry was rubbing down that nag of yours when we arrived, and then Griggs told me you had retired." "Demelza…here ," the steward said absently. "Well, that’s knocked me off my pins I daresay." "Do be discreet, Jim," Drake warned him. "This isn’t a bordello. Her stay here is temporary--only until other, more suitable arrangements can be made for her. Then, of course, you can do whatever you like. Your peccadilloes are certainly no affair of mine, but regardless of how you’ve been conducting yourself under this roof in my absence, I am come home now, and I am not running a brothel. Keep your distance."

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"Bloody hell!" Ellery snarled. Scudding his chair out behind him, he vaulted to his feet and tossed his serviette down in his plate of eggs. "If you weren’t my oldest and dearest friend, I’d call you out over this, Drake. Demelza Ahern is alady , though I doubt you’d recognize one any longer. There is nothing between us--not that I wouldn’t like there to be--but thus far she has ignored my overtures. Where did you get the idea we were an item?" "From you, actually, you said she was an ‘acquaintance’. Where you’re concerned, that means only one thing--a conquest. I just assumed--" "Well you assumed wrong, though I haven’t given up. That was a low blow. And for the record, I have never compromised my position here, or abused my privilege in such a manner. I believe you owe me an apology." "All right, all right! If I’ve misjudged the gel, I apologize. I’ll admit it--I am out of sorts. You know how I get when the auditors are due, and I’m worried about those horses; they’re worth a fortune. I practically had to sell my soul to get them away from the French." "Never mind Demelza, and the devil take your bloody horses! You’ve misjudgedme . Dammit, Drake, I thought you knew me better." "That’s just the trouble… I do know you. But let’s not quarrel. Finish your breakfast and make yourself scarce. I want a word with Lady Demelza Ahern in private. It’s important that I have it behind me, and the topic of it settled in advance of the auditors, in case they do descend upon us. Besides, the interview is overdue. I wouldn’t want it bruited about that the Earl of Shelldrake was lacking as a host. Oh, and don’t forget to pass the word among her friends that she is quite safe here at Drake’s Lair." ~*~ "You can get down now, Miss Melly," Mrs. Laity muttered, meanwhile cutting the thread at the hem of her frock with her teeth. Melly stepped off the stool and gazed into the cheval glass, turning this way and that. "It will have to do, I suppose," she said, smoothing the sprigged muslin skirt. "Thank you, Mrs. Laity." "You’re such a tiny little thing," the housekeeper observed. She gestured toward a pile of frocks laid out on the jacquard lounge across the way. "I’ll take up the rest o’ that lot just as fast as I can, don’t you worry. What I can’t take on, what with my other duties, I’ll give over to Zoe. She’s a fair hand with a needle and thread herself." "Don’t bother Zoe. I’ll hike them up with a sash or something for the present. I’ll not be keeping these frocks. I’m only borrowing them. I’ve no choice. I can’t very well go about in my nightgown." Blood rushed to her cheeks. The earl had seen right through that nightgown. She would never forget his hooded eyes--those strange, ice blue eyes--raking her seductively. She actually had to ask him to avert his gaze, and even at that he’d hesitated, feasting upon the sight. There was no mistaking his need when he’d pulled her against him. The ghost of his arousal still lingered. "But his lordship wants you to have them, lass," the housekeeper said, jolting her back to the present. "You can tell his lordship that I prefer to acquire my own frocks, Mrs. Laity," she replied haughtily. She would not be compromised.

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"Begging your pardon, Miss Melly, but with what? You may as well face it, you’re caught without a feather to fly with." "Again!" Melly groaned on a defeated sigh. "I did have a bit put by in that cottage, too. ‘Twas notes. Gone now--up in smoke." "Ahhh, don’t take on, miss," the housekeeper soothed. "You’ll put things to rights. You’ve done it before, and you’ll do it again. But in the meantime… take the frocks. They’re only going to waste with the countess gone." "How did she die, Mrs. Laity?" "‘Twas dreadful," said the housekeeper, gathering the gowns in her arms. "She went toxic. ’Twas a miscarriage--a boy it was… an heir. He came on too early--months too early, and took her coming." "How awful." "When it happened, I thought his lordship was going straight to Bedlam. He bought himself a commission instead, and took off after Wellington to join the war on the Peninsula all out straight. He was wounded at Salamanca, and then again after. That last was nearly his last to hear him tell it. He stopped writing to Mr. Ellery before any o’ that. None of us ever expected to see him again, truth to tell." Melly was about to pose another question, when a light rap at her dressing room door sent Mrs. Laity waddling to answer. She opened to a mousy little housemaid uniformed in black twill and starched white linen. "His lordship wishes m’lady to join him in the study, mum," she said. "Take these, Zoe," Mrs. Laity replied, thrusting the frocks at her. "You’re going to help me take up the hems. Cart them below and get to it. Measure them all by the one I’ve pinned up--the blue muslin--and mind the pins, or I’ll have to do it all over again." "Yes, mum," the maid said, all but invisible beneath the mountain of lawn and muslin and china silk. "I’ll show you down, Miss Melly," Mrs. Laity offered, leading her into the hallway. The maid disappeared by way of the back staircase, while the housekeeper led her below and left her in front of the study door, with a pat on the arm and a reassuring nod. Melly raised her hand to knock, and retracted it. At best it was going to be embarrassing. He had seen her nearly naked after all.Don’t blush .Not now . But it was far too late for that. The heat of hot blood that had rushed to her cheeks had narrowed her eyes. She glanced down at her décolleté, and tugged at the neckline trying to raise it. It was no use. Though it was perfectly in fashion, and quite proper according to the styles of the day, the frock was cut far too low in her estimation, but it wouldn’t budge, and there was nothing for it but to square her shoulders and knock. "Come," said a deep voice from the other side, and she lifted the gilded latch handles on the towering study doors, stepped boldly over the threshold, and faced the dragon in his lair.

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"I trust you slept comfortably, my lady?" the earl greeted, surging to his feet, meanwhile setting the ledger before him aside. She stood were she was, openly staring. "Is something amiss?" he inquired. She made an awkward gesture toward her hair and then his, and her hand flew to her lips. "Oh," he said, "my queue? It became a burnt offering last night, to what exactly, I’m not all that certain." "I… I’m sorry, my lord," she breathed. "Does it suit?" "My lord?" "My hair. Do you approve?" "What matter if I approve or disapprove, my lord; you’ve already been shorn." "Indeed," he said, lifting his eyebrow in a manner that riveted her with strange flutters. "Come in and take a seat. I’m expecting my accounts auditors shortly, and I have a proposition to make to you beforehand." "A proposition, my lord?" she said, sitting stiff-backed in a Duncan Phyfe chair across the way as he resumed his seat behind the desk. She had no choice but to sit spine-rigid. The neck of that frock most definitely was too low. "Yes, my lady." "Are you mocking me, Lord Shelldrake?" "Am I…?" "The… ‘my lady’," she explained. "You are Lady Demelza Ahern, are you not?" "I haven’t been addressed as such since I came to Cornwall." "That does not negate it, my lady, neither does your… having put on tick." "No." She said low-voiced. Would he just get on with it and have done? She couldn’t take shallow breaths forever, and deep ones in that frock would be dangerous. He’d seen enough of her anatomy as it was. "You were saying… about a proposition, my lord?" "Ahhh, yes, that’s intrigued you has it?" he replied. "A question first… what is between yourself and my steward, Jim Ellery?" "I beg your pardon, my lord?" she said, incredulous."

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"It’s a simple enough question, and you seem an intelligent sort. Are you and Mr. Ellery… how shall I say… courting?" "I don’t have to explain my personal affairs to you, sir," she snapped, vaulting out of her chair. "That I was forced to accept your hospitality in my predicament does not give you license to interrogate me regarding matters of a highly personal nature. Why did you bring me here? You could have seen me to the Terrills--or the Tinkers, for that matter. Either would have gladly taken me in. I demand to be taken back to the village at once. You can’t keep me prisoner here!" "No one is keeping you prisoner, my lady. The Terrill croft has not been proven sound since we attached the new roof. I’ll likely be takingthem in before the day is out, what with the way that wind is driving the rain out there. Besides, that cottage is barely large enough to accommodate the five of them. And I do not foist gentle ladies off on Gypsies in the dead of night--even if they are camped on my land. It offends my sensibilities." "You have my permission to see me there now. They are my friends." "Unfortunately, I cannot. Jim has gone into the village on an errand, and in his absence I must be in residence for the auditors. Besides, you aren’t going anywhere in this flaw. It simply isn’t safe." "You deliberately let Mr. Ellery go off without me?" "Aaahaaa! So there is something between you." "Only a means of escape," she sallied. "‘Escape’? Now there’s an interesting word, but all right, enough sparring. Please sit back down and give me the courtesy of hearing me out." Melly scowled, and after a moment sank slowly back into the chair she’d vacated. "Now then," he began. "I understand that you inherited the cottage in the vale from your cousin, Calliope Dane. Is that correct?" "Yes, my lord." "Is the land free and clear… unencumbered? That is to say, do you own the property outright?" "Yes, my lord, but what concern is that of yours?" "I wish to buy it," he said flatly. "But there’s nothing left of it!" she cried. "The land, my lady. I’m interested in the land. That tract is adjacent to another of my holdings, and I wish to join them. I’ve been considering making a bid of purchase for some time… since before I left for Spain." "It isn’t for sale," she said frostily.

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"I’m prepared to offer say… fifty pounds?" "F-ift…?" "A hundred, then, but not a halfpenny more. I’m not Golden Ball Hughes you know." "For a burnt-out shell of a house on a tract of blighted land? Nothing will grow there, my lord. How will you profit?" "I was thinking of having Will Terrill assess the soil properties. He’s certainly knowledgeable enough. I’ve no complaints with the way he’s prospered his croft. I thought perhaps a crop rotation, new soil… whatever. I’m no farmer, my lady, but he is, and I totally trust his judgment." Melly stared. This was the last thing she expected. There was no question that she could use the hundred pounds, but she couldn’t help suspecting that there was an underlying motive behind the offer. "I wanted to discuss it before my accounts auditors from the bank arrive, so that I might have a contract drawn up," he went on through her silence. "I… I don’t know what to say," she murmured. "Good. At least that’s not a qualified ‘no’. I would, of course, rebuild the cottage, and you could, if you wished, take occupancy once it’s built. That is, you would have first option to occupy the place, and I think you would find my terms more than reasonable." "May I ask you a question, my lord?" she said. He nodded. Leaning back in his chair, he raked his wavy hair away from his brow. He’d done that more than once since she entered the study, evidently unaccustomed to the new short hairstyle. In the darkened study it looked as it did when she’d first seen him, more black than chestnut. She also decided that the style became him, though she’d sooner choke on her tongue than stroke his vanity. "I wish to know why you were so opposed to my gathering herbs along the beck?" she said. "That doesn’t concern you," he said, clouding suddenly. His voice changed as well. It had become the phantom’s voice, gravelly and dark, just as it was that first day. The man had a secret. Asecret ? All at once Rosen’s words ghosted across her mind:You have an enemy --someone who doesn’t seem so.He has a secret… "You must have a reason, my lord, to begrudge someone whose livelihood depends upon them a scant handful of plants nobody wants from the ground." "A very valid reason, my lady. Aside from the trespass issue, it is my wish that there be no herb gathering on Drake’s Lair. Those deuced weeds would be gone by now but for this flaw, and will be as soon as the wind dies down; I’ve already instructed my groundskeeper in the matter." "But--" "We seem to have strayed from the issue," he interrupted coolly. "Mills, one of the auditors I’m expecting, is also the bank solicitor. Shall I have him draw up the contract? No one else is going to offer

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for that land, my lady, and even if by chance someone did, it would never net you anywhere near a hundred pounds. You’d be fortunate if you garnered thirty-five. I’m sure you know that." She gave it thought. He was right, of course. He’d offered three times what the land was worth. In fact, she felt like a thief even considering it. But she was penniless, with nowhere to go except the Tinkers camp, now that he’d pointed out that the Terrills, which would have been her first choice, was hardly practical. Still, what would she do in the meantime? "You may stay on as my houseguest meanwhile," he drawled, as though he’d read her mind. And they calledher a witch. "You will need an abigail, of course," he went on drolly. "You may engage your own, or choose from one of the maids among my staff. Zoe comes to mind as a suitable choice, at least until you can engage someone of your own choosing. Accommodations will be provided for whomever you decide upon in the adjoining dressing room of your suite. And, of course, you are already acquainted with my housekeeper. She is quite taken with you, and you can rest assured that she will see to your every comfort. It goes without saying that all proprieties will be strictly observed." "It’s way too much, my lord, your proposition. I… I couldn’t allow--" "Of course you could," he interrupted. "I insist. It shan’t take long to raise the cottage, a month at the most if the weather allows, and then you will be on your own." "Why are you doing this? You hardly know me." "As I told you, it will complete my holdings in that quarter. And that I am able to rescue a lady in distress in the process appeals to my cavalier instincts. You do, of course, have other options. No one is twisting your arm, as it were. If you do not wish to avail yourself of my hospitality, you could apply to the almshouse if they haven’t filled their quota. You certainly fit the criteria. You’d need a sponsor among the trustees, of course, to apply in your behalf. You’d have to consult the vicar about that. And then… there are always the workhouses. Quite frankly, I don’t see you among the Tinkers. The decision, however, is entirely your own, of course. Don’t let my opinions sway you." Devilish clever fellow was the Earl of Shelldrake. Therewere no other options except to take his offer, to do otherwise would brand her a certified Bedlamite. And he knew it. She stood to lose the land in any case, with no money to pay the taxes. There was nothing for it but to accept, and she got slowly to her feet, bringing him to his, with the desk between them. "Very well, my lord," she said levelly, though her knees threatened to betray her, "since you insist, I accept your offer, but you may as well know, I think you quite mad." "Good," he said buoyantly. "I hoped that you would--accept my offer--that is. As soon as the auditors arrive, I shall see that a contract is prepared, all subject to your approval, of course. Will you accept my hand to seal the bargain?" She hesitated. Physical contact with this strange dark earl frightened her somehow. Her tiny fingers, which had balled themselves into clammy fists, slowly uncoiled, and after a moment she extended her hand, albeit hesitantly. He skirted the desk, and to her surprise took it in his, turned it, and raised it to his lips. They were warm, lingering longer than she deemed proper, considering that he took the liberty without an invitation to do so. What those lips upon her skin did to her innermost regions was scandalous. Like a swarm of butterflies trying to vacate her stomach by way of heretofore virgin territory, and she pulled her hand

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away, though that did nothing to divert the course of the sexual stream flowing between them. It undermined her footing, and she covered her stagger with a quick curtsy, and fled.

Six Drake was closeted with bank auditors Samuel Bradshaw and Elias Mills most of the day. Ellery had not returned, and the lamps were lit early due to the storm, which showed no signs of letting up. Bradshaw, the elder banker, finally closed the last ledger at half-past five. It was nearly full dark, the only sounds, aside from the howling wind, were Elias Mills’s quill scratching on parchment at the bookcase secretary in the corner, as he prepared Demelza’s contract, and the mournful ticking of the mantle clock. "Do you want me to notify the constabulary?" Bradshaw said tight-lipped. "No, no," Drake replied, with a wave of his hand. "I expected as much. We won’t know how bad things really are until I’ve made the rounds." "When will you go, your lordship?" the auditor inquired. "After the flaw. Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll deal with it. I don’t want Bow Street mixing in this." "I’m so dreadfully sorry, my lord," the auditor returned. "I feel it’s our fault. We should have been more diligent. I shouldn’t blame you if you dismissed us forthwith." "Nothing of the sort," said Drake. "Iwouldn’t have even caught it if it weren’t for the Terrill’s collapsed roof. This was very cleverly plotted. I need to make a thorough inspection of all my crofts before I act. It’s a piddling amount measured against the whole, but that’s not the issue. It cannot be allowed to continue. I will get back to you with my findings. Meanwhile, you have a list of our current staff members’ names so that there is to be no question. If that changes, I will inform you at once. Personally. We shan’t be paying out any more monies to terminated servants at least." "What about Mr. Ellery, my lord?" "Nothing. He isn’t to know." "But, my lord!" "I will confront him once I have the whole picture, Mr. Bradshaw, you can bet your blunt upon it. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to hoist him with his own petard. I don’t mind telling you how that pains me. I’ve known Jim Ellery since our school days." "I must say you’re taking this awfully well, my lord. I would be beside myself." Taking it well?On the outside, perhaps, inside it was as though someone had driven a sword through his heart. That James Ellery would deliberately steal from him was unfathomable, and yet it was fact. It was all there in the ledgers, albeit cleverly disguised. Was it hindsight that made him send a missive to

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summon the auditors the minute he’d set foot on English soil, or premonition? Or was it that he knew deep down but didn’t want to admit that the friend of his Corinthian days was possessed of a larcenous heart? It wasn’t as though he hadn’t been warned. His father, Alexander Hannaford, had been the first to make the assessment that Ellery was a hanger-on, looking to ride theton on Drake’s coattails. He’d rarely paid attention to his father’s opinions--not after the lecherous old man took up with his mistress before his mother’s body was cold, and left him, a boy of sixteen, to fend for himself. Alexander Hannaford was hardly the only observer of Ellery’s ulterior agenda, however. A number of Drake’s peers had pointed it out as well--even some of the women they shared had warned him. Was that happening again? He wasn’t really ready to admit it, but he was undeniably attracted to Demelza. Evidently Ellery was as well. Was he attracted simply because he knew Ellery was, or was he actually in danger of falling in love--something he’d thus far managed to avoid like the plague? The only reason he questioned his feelings in that regard was because they were… different than they had been in the past where women were concerned, and uncomfortable. Too much had come crashing down upon him too quickly for him to concentrate with a clear head on anything then. The paramount issue at hand was that his closest friend had extorted money from him while he was fighting on the Peninsula--lying wounded--on the verge of death, a friend whom he had trusted with his earldom while he went off to war. Ellery not only didn’t expect him to return, he was evidently hoping he wouldn’t. He had, after all, provided for the steward quite handsomely in his will. Anger, disappointment, and hurt roiled in him then, but it was intelligence that spoke. "I cannot afford to be ‘beside myself’--at least not openly if I am to see this through," he said. "There are extenuating circumstances," he added, thinking of Demelza then, "and if I am to come out of this with the advantage, I cannot afford to show my hand… yet." "Forgive me, my lord, but this contract," Bradshaw said, exhibiting the parchment that Mills had just put in his hand, "are you certain? It isn’t a wise investment. I would be remiss if I didn’t make you aware. The figures are shockingly overblown. Are you certain you want to do this at this time without making the proper assessments on the land’s potential beforehand?" Should he confide in the auditor? Would the man think him mad? Hah! He already did, judging by his tone. Yes. It was expedient that someone be aware of his motives in the matter… just in case. He couldn’t confide in Demelza, and now he certainly couldn’t confide in Jim Ellery as he would have done in the past. "Mr. Bradshaw," he said, "the young lady in question has fallen upon hard times. Her father squandered her fortune, then killed himself, and left her with pockets to let. She was obliged to take up residence with a distant cousin at the cottage in question, then, when the woman died, she inherited it, and the surrounding land. Last night, the cottage burned to the ground. Lady Ahern now has no blunt, and nowhere to live. "I treated her rather boorishly when I returned. I would like to make it up to her, but she is very proud, and if I offered her a loan, I know she would refuse me in favor of taking up residence with the Tinkers. She hasn’t the funds to pay the property taxes on the land, and she will surely lose it in any case. I plan to rebuild the cottage, sweeten the acreage with new soil, and turn it in to a paying croft, which she may rent from me if she chooses." "But, my lord, such a sum!"

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"It is what she needs to set her on her feet… and give her back her dignity as a gentlewoman." "You are a very generous man, Lord Shelldrake." "I’m a practical man, Mr. Bradshaw. That tract will complete my properties in the immediate western sector. As a long-term investment, I believe it will turn a profit. In the meantime, it will help an unfortunate lady who, through no fault of her own, has found herself swimming at low tide. It should be a mutually advantageous venture." "I beg your pardon, is this to your satisfaction, my lord?" Mills interrupted, nodding toward the parchment he’d drafted. Drake glanced over it carefully. "Yes, Mr. Mills. It will do quite admirably," he said. "When you get back to Truro, look up the deed at the registry office. When I post you the signed contract, you may make the necessary arrangements to have it registered in my name, and the original filed with my other accounts. Under the circumstances, I prefer that it not be kept at Drake’s Lair. You may send on any documents that require my signature, however." "Of course, my lord," Mills replied. "I will send you confirmation immediately after the transfer." "Will you gentlemen be staying to dinner?" Drake inquired. "The storm seems to be getting worse instead of better. Perhaps you ought to stay the night. You’re more than welcome, and rooms are prepared. I took the liberty." "Is Mr. Ellery returning, my lord?" Bradshaw asked him. "I expected him before this, actually. Why?" "In that case, I believe it’s best that we take out leave, my lord," said Bradshaw. "I cannot speak for Elias here, but, while I admire your ability to cloak your emotions, I do not possess such a talent. I could not sit at table with your steward, I’m afraid, without betraying my true feelings. It is best, I think, that we press on." "Best, indeed," Mills put in. "I’m hardly skilled at play acting. We shall leave at once." "As you wish, gentlemen," Drake responded. "I trust I can count upon your confidentiality? Much depends upon it." ~*~ Melly sat curled up on the window seat of her sitting room, gazing absently toward the storm through the mullioned panes. Her apartments overlooked the sculptured gardens and rolling green at the rear of the estate, and the dovecote, which had blown over in the gale. It was nearly dark, and difficult to see below her. The rain, sheeting on the windowpanes, distorted the view when the lightning streaked across the rolling green and let her glimpse it. She was preoccupied. While her eyes were fixed on the row of young rowan trees bent to the ground by the wind, and flower heads and petals strewn like confetti over the neatly scythed lawn, her mind was on the bargain she had just struck with the Earl of Shelldrake.

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She hadn’t gone down to nuncheon, but she would have to appear at the dinner hour. It wasn’t fair to inconvenience the servants in the understaffed household by making them carry food up three flights, when she was perfectly capable of descending to the dining hall. And she was wrestling with that decision when Mrs. Laity knocked and entered laden down with hemmed frocks. "‘Tis only half, but it’ll do you ‘till we can take up the rest," she said, waddling through to the dressing room, where she hung them neatly in the armoire. "I wish you wouldn’t bother with the rest," Melly said, as the housekeeper joined her. "I don’t wish to wear the countess’s things. I know his lordship offered them, but it must be painful for him… seeing them again on someone else, and I know it’s awkward for me." "Pshaw! Men never notice women’s frocks, Miss Melly… I mean, m’lady." "Oh, please, you needn’t be so formal with me, Mrs. Laity. I’m still the same ‘Miss Melly’ I have always been, and always will be to you. It’s been so long since anyone has called me ‘my lady’ I can’t even remember." "Well… only in private then, miss," the housekeeper conceded. "It wouldn’t be proper otherwise. And don’t you worry about the frocks. His lordship wouldn’t have offered unless he wanted you to have them. He’d have done you up in one of the maid’s rigs otherwise. Have you decided what you’re going to do?" "It’s been decided for me," Melly said emptily. "I’ve consented to sell the land to his lordship. I had no choice. Everything I had is gone, and I’ve nowhere to turn but to the Tinkers. They would take me in a trice, but they haven’t really room. I know keeping me for so long a time would be an inconvenience to them, and I couldn’t impose. Lord Shelldrake took advantage of that I’m sure, but he’s offered me an extravagantly generous sum, and he plans to rebuild the cottage. He’s also offered to lease it back to me once it’s ready. I’m to stay on here in the meantime." "The devil you say?" the housekeeper cried. Her jaw fell slack, and her posture clenched. "The legalities of the sale will take time to complete, of course," Melly went on. "But once I have the money, I will be able to go where I please." "Oh, miss, don’t go. Stay ‘till the cottage is raised. It wouldn’t be right, you going off all on your own." "I’ve been ‘all on my own’ since Cousin Calliope passed, Mrs. Laity, and I’ve managed quite nicely." "But you don’t have you’re herbs--your wares--anymore. Here, you’ll have everything you need--fine food, an elegant roof over your head, folks to do for you… all the comforts you deserve." Everything but peace of mind, and right now, she’d trade all of the above for just a smidgen of that. But this was the opening she’d been waiting for, and she pounced on it. "Can you sit with me a moment, Mrs. Laity," she said. "There’s something I’d like to ask you." "If it won’t take too long, miss," she replied. "The auditors are just getting ready to leave, if you can imagine that in all o’ this, and I’m likely to be needed below." "I shan’t keep you long," she replied, resuming her place on the window seat, while the housekeeper

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squeezed her bulk into the wing chair across the way, and sat on the edge of it, spine-rigid, waiting. "I wish to know why his lordship is so adamant that I not pick his herbs?" Melly said flatly. "Have you asked him?" the housekeeper hedged, clouding suddenly. "I have. He avoided the issue. But it evidently is an issue, Mrs. Laity, and I wish to know what that is. I cannot for the life of me countenance his bizarre behavior over the matter. He positively flies into alt!" "Oh, miss, I think it’s best that you speak to his lordship direct about that. It won’t bode well for me if I’m caught carrying tales in that department." "Mrs. Laity, it shan’t go any further than this room, I assure you. I would never jeopardize your position over anything." "That’s just what it would be, if I go flapping my jaws about herbs in this house, miss. You’re going to have to ask his lordship. I’m sorry." "I know I was trespassing, but it’s more than that. He means to destroy all the herbs on the estate just as soon as the storm is over. I’ve never been a difficult person to deal with. I’m not prone to be confrontational, but if someone tells me not to do something--especially something so insignificant as this is--they need to tell me why." The housekeeper’s plump cheeks bloomed scarlet, emphasizing the spider veins that crazed them. She began to fidget, her stubby fingers troubling the corner of her starched white apron. She was clearly wrestling with something, and Melly waited somewhat less than patiently for her to speak. "T-the countess, Lady Eva, her name was, she took an interest in… herbal remedies like yourself before she died, miss. It could be something to do with that. Don’t ask me no more." "You think, then, that my herb gathering recalled unpleasant memories?" "I already told you how upset his lordship was when she passed. That’s all I know, miss." "He must have loved her very much," Melly said absently. Why did her heart feel so heavy with that burden weighing upon it? "Yes, miss." "And you can think of nothing else?" "No, Miss Melly, and…please --" "Don’t worry, I shan’t tell him you told me," she interrupted, anticipation the housekeeper’s plea. "You have my word." "Thank you, miss," the housekeeper gushed. She seemed to deflate, as though someone had opened a valve and siphoned all the breath from her body. The earl most definitely did have a secret, one that she would have to discover, but not because Rosen had warned her about it, because an intuitive spark deep inside her warned that something abject

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threatened her directly, especially now that she had come to stay at the manor. He’d said that someone had deliberately set fire to the cottage. She vaguely remembered hearing something outside before she awoke to flames and billowing smoke. But what ifhe was the one who set the fire? Why was he out there at that hour in the first place, so far from the village? How was it that he just happened to be there to rescue her so conveniently--to bring her to Drake’s Lair, where he could see to her needs, and offer her his proposition? He’d said that he had been considering making an offer for that tract of land for some time. Could he have deliberately contrived the situation she now found herself in to that end? Her heart ached at the thought that what she’d taken for benevolence was rather something dark and sinister. Making matters worse, she couldn’t forget the lean, well-muscled pressure of his turgid body against her, or the alarming, icy-hot flutters that body set loose upon the heretofore virgin territory of her most secret self. Neither could she forget the warmth of him, or the musky male scent drifting from his damp, tanned skin. Rosen’s voice kept banging around in her brain:You have an enemy… one is not what he seems… he has a secret… there is nothing to be done … Well, there was something she could do. She wouldn’t involve Mrs. Laity; she’d given her word. But she would get to the bottom of the herb mystery. She would start with that. Perhaps James Ellery might know more than the housekeeper was willing to share. She hardly wanted to encourage him, after taking such pains to keep him at his distance, but there was nothing else for it. She would at least have to let him close enough to extrude whatever knowledge of the topic she could from him, since the others were all so unapproachable. Having decided upon that course of action, she turned again to the housekeeper. "Thank you, Mrs. Laity," she said. "I’m sorry if I’ve kept you from your duties. I shall need to dress for dinner. His lordship suggested that I might have Zoe as my abigail. I should like to you arrange for a cot to be placed in my dressing room, so that she may take up her duties at once. If I am to stay, proprieties must be observed." "Oh, Miss Melly, she’ll be that pleased! She’s always carping about bettering herself. She’ll be a fine abigail for you to be sure." "Very well, then. Send her up if you will, and let us see what, between us, we can do to make me… presentable."

Seven Drake was in the drawing room having a sherry before dinner, when James Ellery joined him. The steward had changed his wet clothes, though he still looked bedraggled. His sandy-blonde hair was plastered wet to his head. It had lost its rakish appeal for the drenching, and the fingers that reached for the sherry glass Drake offered were waterlogged and cold. He drank from it around ticking jaw muscles, and the scowl that spoiled his handsome face was as dark as the storm rattling the French doors as though it begged admittance.

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"You look like a drowned rat," Drake observed. "I feel like one. It’s hell out there--a real howler. Most of the roads are washed out--trees uprooted everywhere. It’s worse than the last, and it doesn’t show signs of stopping anytime soon. We passed coaches up to their axels in mud on the main highway. I shudder to think what the case is on the secondary thoroughfares." "Did you get my trunks?" "Yes. The horses haven’t arrived, but the stationmaster will send a message ‘round when they do, and board them until you’re ready. I hired a manservant. His name is Jacob Voss; the vicar recommended him. He’ll be arriving in the morning if the roads are still passable. May I at least have Griggs attend me until then--when you aren’t hoarding him, of course,sire ?" "Until the morning," Drake replied, his brow arched in annoyance. It was not going to be as easy as he thought, attempting to get through dinner in close proximity of a man he’d like to reach out and strangle, but get through it he would, and afterward, the pretense should get easier. He hoped. "Did the auditors come?" Ellery queried, setting his glass aside. "Ummhmm," Drake grunted through a sip of sherry. "How went the audit?" "You missed a very boring afternoon," Drake responded. "How are things at the Terrills?" he added, smoothly changing the subject. "The roof is holding, but it’s too soon to say if it’s sound. I knew that when you sent me out there. After the storm we’ll have a better view. It could have waited." "I couldn’t take the chance, not after… what occurred last time. That roof is too green." "And just what would you have done if it hadn’t held?" Ellery said almost angrily. "I’d have brought the Terrills here. I should think you’d have had sense enough to act on that on your own. What would you have done if I weren’t here, Jim?" Ellery was about to reply, when Demelza entered the room, and Drake watched his demeanor change at sight of her. The thin, hard line that puckered his angry mouth beneath the twitching mustache stretched into a winsome smile, and he wasted no time rushing to her side and capturing her hand. "Miss Ahern," he greeted, lifting it to his lips. "I’m so terribly sorry for your trouble, but glad to see that you are unharmed." "LadyAhern," Drake corrected him. "Of course," Ellery said, casting daggers toward him. "It’s just that we are on more… familiar terms, having been acquainted for nearly a year now." "Your Lordship… Mr. Ellery," she said icily.

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Drake smiled as well then, but it was a lopsided, satisfied smile. The gel was quick, bigod. Whose side was she on? Hers, he had no doubt. This might turn out to be an interesting evening after all. "Would you like a sherry, my lady?" he offered, taking note of the green silk gown that flattered her petite figure. The toffee-colored ringlets bouncing on her shoulders that had caught his eye when first they met were swept up in a high cascade now, tamed by a green satin ribbon that matched the dress. The coif exposed a graceful, slender neck, devoid of ornamentation. How perfectly the Shelldrake diamond would fit in the hollow of that exquisite throat. "No thank you," she said curtly, calling him back to reality. "Have you had a chance to examine the contract I had sent to your rooms as yet?" he inquired. "No, not yet," she replied. "I shall do that before I retire. There was so much to do you see, settling Zoe, and preparing for dinner. I’m afraid we’re all in sixes and sevens upstairs just now. But I’m sure it is quite satisfactory, my lord." "What contract?" Ellery put in. "I’ve missed something. What’s going on?" "I’ve made Lady Ahern an offer for her land," Drake said, watching the steward blanch, "and she has accepted. Mills drew up the contract this afternoon. It awaits her signature. She will be staying on at Drake’s Lair while I rebuild the cottage. Then, if she wishes, she may rent it from me." "Well, well, you’ve moved fast in my absence haven’t you, Drake?" Ellery growled. His mustache had begun to twitch again, and the tick along his jaw had returned. "I would have thought you’d be pleased with the arrangement," Drake served. Blue eyes jousted with amber. Drake was aware that Demelza was puzzled by the sizzling exchange. It wouldn’t do to alienate her at this stage of the game, or tip his hand that he had discovered the steward’s treachery. It was too soon. "I should imagine that you would be pleased that we are able to offer Lady Ahern a solution to her problem," he said smoothly. "Once we get underway, we should be able to raise the cottage in a month. Why, we practically raised the Terrill’s in a day, considering the structural damage we had to deal with--the roof aside--and that with the flaw breathing down out necks. Meanwhile, she will be quite comfortable here." "Of course," Ellery forced. "Zoe is to attend her as abigail," Drake drawled. "How do you find your apartments, my lady, are they satisfactory?" "Oh, yes," she replied. "The view of the grounds is quite grand from so high up. But you might want to alert your groundskeepers--the dovecote has blown over." "Thank you, my lady. I shall see to it at once." Ellery was about to speak, when a liveried footman appeared in the drawing room doorway.

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"Dinner is served," he intoned. "Very good, Smithers," said Drake. "Send someone ‘round to the groundskeeper’s cottage to fetch Jory Bell. The dovecote has blown down again." "Yes, m’lord," said the footman, disappearing. Drake stepped in front of the steward and offered Demelza his arm. Shall we go in?" he said, leading her. Then in an aside to Ellery, "You don’t mind do you, old boy? I’m drier." ~*~ The tension was palpable between the earl and Ellery, though Melly didn’t understand it. More than once she caught the flash of daggers in their glances toward each other. Had they quarreled? Evidently. But why did she feel as though she were at the center of their contention? Twice she’d noticed the earl’s eyes straying from her throat to the expanse of flesh exposed by the décolleté of her gown that had worried her the moment she put it on. James Ellery’s eyes were no less observant. More than once under his gaze, she’d resisted the urge to let her hands fly to her bodice and hike up that neckline. He had never seen her like that. Hems be damned. Praying that Mrs. Laity had saved some of the excess material from the alterations, she made a mental note to speak with her about inserts and fichus at her earliest opportunity. Things were much simpler in buttoned-up gray twill, woolen shawls, and worn leather ankle boots. Two liveried footmen wearing Shelldrake blue and gold were bringing a parade of courses beginning with pheasant soup. There would be scallops of chicken, filet de soles, salmon poached in a delectable citrus-laced fruit sauce, and roast saddle of mutton, with flavored water ice served between to clear the palate. Then, cherry compote, Neopolitans, and raspberry crème for dessert, served with the usual assorted sweet wines. One of the footmen made the rounds with the entrees, presenting the fare first to the earl for approval, while the other set out the takeaways, and poured the wine. Melly hadn’t experienced such a formal dinner in over a year. She’d forgotten about such things, and she wondered that her appetite would do the cook’s elegant efforts justice. The conversation was light and cordial through most of the soup course. She got through the expected solicitous compliments from Ellery quite nicely, but when they went beyond the pale, she decided to turn the conversation back upon him. "How did you get so wet?" she queried. "Running errands," he replied after a spoonful of soup. "I won’t have to bathe for a month." "Then you’d best eat in the kitchen hereafter," the earl said drolly. "Very amusing, Drake." "Actually, I sent him to check on the Terrills," the earl explained. "Did you tell them what happened?" she cried. "They must know about the fire by now. They’ll think…"

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"Of course, my dear," the steward said silkily. "And they’ll pass the word to your Tinker friends that you were properly rescued, have no fear." "Thank you, Jim, for delivering my message that our guest is quite safe," the earl cut in. "I was just about to inquire if you’d informed Lady Ahern’s friends as I asked you to." Melly relaxed, though she didn’t miss the steward’s sour expression. He looked like a thundercloud, now that the earl had stolen his thunder wearing a look of smug satisfaction as he finished his soup. "How are they faring?" she said to Ellery, lifting her wine glass. "So far, they still have a roof over their heads," he replied, "but if this doesn’t let up soon, they could lose it. It’s a real ripsnorter out there." "If they do, we’ll put it right… again," the earl said quietly. The footman cleared the soup plates then and began to distribute the scallops of chicken. There was silence until the footmen served the fish course. Then a less hostile discourse evolved, focused on horses and the earl’s colorful adventures in Spain acquiring the legendary Andalusians from the French, who had confiscated them from the Spaniards. It was all very convoluted, and Melly couldn’t concentrate on the fare or the conversation. She was sorry she’d come down. She was physically and emotionally drained, struggling with feelings that were new to her and not a little frightening, and she wasn’t comfortable with the hostile banter. She was trying to decide how to approach the subject of herbs. Should she address the issue with James Ellery privately, or do it then and there--demand an explanation--where she could watch them both react? Perhaps if she were to put the earl on the spot, he might reveal his secret. She opted for something in between. "Judging from what I’ve seen from my sitting room window," she said, "if this flaw doesn’t pass soon, you won’t have to bother Mr. Bell about uprooting your botanicals, my lord. Mother Nature will spare him the trouble." The earl stiffened, the carver’s chair creaking under his shifted weight, and Ellery, who had just begun to regain his color, lost it again. Both men stared at each other, their expressions riveting, though unreadable. Had she struck a nerve? Evidently. "What’s this?" Ellery said around a nervous laugh. "Nothing to concern you," the earl replied, his words clipped and strained. "There was a time not so long ago, when everything happening on Drake’s Lair was my concern," the steward groused. "While I was away," said the earl. "Forfive years ," the steward reminded him. "I am come home now."

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"Am I dismissed, then?" "Of course not. Don’t be absurd." "What then?" "You take things too personally, Jim," the earl drawled. "You always have. Not everything need concern, or revolve around you." "Please don’t quarrel," Melly spoke up bravely, since things were not going as she’d hoped, "unless you want me to leave the table. I’ve had an exhausting twenty-four hours, and I’ve evidently spoken out of turn. If one of you would kindly tell me why a few garden herbs should cause such a brouhaha, it would probably prevent future such blunders on my part." The earl took a rough swallow from his wine glass, stabbing Ellery over the rim of it with narrowed eyes charged with warning, and they engaged in silent parry and riposte, but neither replied. "Very well, then," she said, starting to rise. "No, my lady, stay," Ellery said. Surging to his feet, he tossed his serviette down. "Enjoy your meal. It is I who must leave the table. I never should have joined you. I, too, have had an exhausting day. I am out of sorts and argumentative, and I humbly beg your forgiveness… Drake," he added, giving a crisp, cursory nod in the earl’s direction then stalked from the dining hall stiff-legged, his hollow footfalls echoing after him. "That might have been avoided, my lord, if only you had satisfied my natural curiosity," she pointed out, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork. "My lady, there is nothing ‘natural’ about you," he snapped. And tossing down his own serviette, he vaulted out of his chair, scudded it out behind, and left her staring after him mouth-agape. ~*~ Drake left the dining hall with full intent to confront Ellery in his apartments, but he hadn’t gotten halfway to the staircase, when he pulled up short. The steward had stopped Zoe on the second floor landing. She was on her way down from the third floor, with her arms full of bric-a-brac. Assuming that the objects had been displaced by her occupancy of Demelza’s dressing room, he expected Ellery to relieve her of them and carry them below in gentlemanly fashion. But when he did not, Drake stepped back into the shadows of the Great Hall alcove watching the exchange. What the deuce was this now? The steward reached into his pocket and offered something to the maid. Whatever it was, she juggled her encumbrance to accept it, and Ellery then moved on to the third floor, leaving her to struggle with her burden on her own. The moment Zoe was out of sight, Drake sprinted up the bifurcated staircase to the third floor landing just in time to see Ellery entering Demelza’s apartments. Slipping inside a vacant chamber across the corridor, Drake left the door ajar and stood beside it, watching through the crack. He raked his hair back roughly. Was he right after all? Was this an assignation? What else could it be? Anger roiled in him at the thought of it right under his nose after he’d made himself plain on the issue. Or was it that he couldn’t bear the thought of that soft, fragrant, toffee-haired little witch, who had unknowingly ravished him, in James Ellery’s arms? Was there no end to the man’s treachery? Was there no limit to the gel’s sorcery? Had she set them against each other deliberately?

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It was some time before Demelza entered her bedchamber. At sight of her, Drake’s heart leapt and began to hammer in his breast. He was certain it could be heard echoing down the vacant corridor, despite the incessant howl of the wind. Maybe it wasn’t an assignation after all. Maybe he would leave directly so he would know there hadn’t been time to…please leave .Now .Please now . But no, the door remained closed. The corridor remained still except for the banshee winds that seemed to mock him. He loosed a string of blue expletives through a dark mutter, and raked his hair again savagely. Still he waited… and… waited, hoping, but it was too late. They’d been together too long. She had been compromised. For once in his life there was no glory in being right. After what seemed to him an eternity, for that passage of time had aged him--drained him to the marrow--he stepped back into the corridor, moved stealthily past her rooms, and bounded down the back stairs to the servants’ quarters below. ~*~ Melly had finished her dinner before she went to her apartments; no reason to let a perfectly good meal go to waste because two grown men chose to behave like cretins. She rather enjoyed it, once she was no longer self-conscious with two pair of eyes undressing her across the table. Her bed was turned down when she entered, but there was no sign of Zoe. The sitting room door was open partway, and she called out, but no answer came. She tossed her fan down on the bed and stepped into the adjoining dressing room. It was vacant as well and she shrugged and sat down at the vanity. Freeing her hair from the up-swept style, she shook her head and let it fall loose about her shoulders. She could get out of the frock on her own, but not the corset. Since it was a dress corset and not a working one, it was laced in back, and Zoe would have to assist with that. While she waited, she brushed her hair--one hundred slow, luxuriating strokes--and availed herself of the toiletries set out on the top of the vanity, wondering with a sudden pang of dark discomfort, if they had once belonged to the countess. The cot had been prepared for the abigail in the corner behind a folding screen as the earl had promised; it, too, had been made and the counterpane turned down. Where was the little goose? She’d been waiting nearly an hour. There was nothing for it but to wait a little longer, and she kicked off her borrowed Morocco leather slippers, and padded back into the bedchamber, where she shielded her eyes and squinted through the mullioned panes toward the howling night without. Nothing was visible through the glass. It was cold, the rain tapping against it like anxious fingers, and she moved away hugging herself for warmth, for even in summer, a Cornish flaw could rob the land of that. All at once she remembered the contract. She may as well peruse it while she waited for Zoe. Where had she left it? She stepped back into the dressing room and glanced around her. No, it wasn’t there. A quick search of the bedchamber showed her no sign of it there either, and she was just about to enter the sitting room, when she heard the door there leading to the corridor click shut. "Zoe?" she called. "Zoe, is that you?" But there was no answer, and she stepped over the threshold gingerly and glanced around the room. It was vacant, and the door was closed, but the draperies were moving at the window. She took a step back. The old house was drafty to be sure, but not that drafty, and she snatched up a poker from the

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hearthstone and tiptoed closer with it at the ready. The draperies were heavy burgundy velvet. They were still trembling when she stabbed at them with the poker, but to her relief no one was behind them, though someone certainly could have been while she was in one of the other rooms. Had the earl been hiding there? Why? The Tinker’s words came again without bidding:You have an enemy… he has a secret . Had she come too close to discovering that secret? Melly took a sudden chill not bred of the cold dampness, and put the poker back in its stand. She turned back for another look around her. There was the deuced contract, on the gateleg table beside the window. Now was as good a time as any to look it over. The sooner the bargain was finalized and she had the hundred pounds, the sooner she could leave Drake’s Lair and its secrets behind her. Besides, she was fading. She would need something to keep her awake until Zoe returned. She wasn’t about to undress in that house and climb into that bed again until all of her apartment doors were safely latched and bolted shut. ~*~ Drake found Zoe in the kitchen having a cup of Mrs. Laity’s tea at the long worktable. One look at the housemaid-cum-abigail’s face sent his hopes plummeting. She looked the picture of guilt, from her flaming cheeks and wide-flung gray eyes, to the trembling knees moving her black twill skirts at sight of him. The housekeeper, sitting cattycorner, struggled to her feet, and hauled the frightened girl up alongside. "Zoe, I want a word with you," Drake announced, his voice distorted with rage in check. Then in an aside to Mrs. Laity, he said, "Is the servants’ hall vacant?" "Y-yes, m’lord. What’s she done now?" "Thank you," said Drake, nodding to the abigail to follow without a reply. The servants’ hall was spacious, and quite grand by most estate standards. The candles had not yet been extinguished in the chandelier above the oval cherry wood table in the center of the room, and he motioned her to take a seat. "Zoe, why are you down here in the servants’ wing and not attending your mistress?" he queried, standing over her arms akimbo. "It is late. Were my orders unclear?" "No, m’lord," she said, "I just brought down the last of the things what was in the way when the bed come up, a-and I was just having a cup o’ tea with Mrs. Laity, before I go back is all." "You brought down those things well over an hour ago, Zoe. I saw you myself." "Y-you…saw me, m’lord?" "I did, on the staircase talking to Mr. Ellery. He gave you something. What was that?" "‘Twas nothing, m’lord, he didn’t give me nothing!" she whimpered. "Isaw , Zoe," he said, stooping over her. "There’s no use to pretend otherwise. You will either tell me what he gave you--what transpired between you--or you will leave my employ and this house at

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once--storm or no storm. Now, speak up!" "He… he give me…" "Yes?" he prompted impatiently. A whine replied, and he thundered, "Who pays your salary, eh? I know that Mr. Ellery has been in charge here in my absence, but I am come home now. This is my house, and, bigod, you will tell me what that little scene was all about on the stairs before, or lose your situation. Make your choice, but keep in mind that if I turn you out, you’ll not be likely to get another post, because you’ll have no recommendation from me. That will likely mean the workhouse if you’re lucky, transportation to America, or Botany Bay if you’re not. Well?" "H-he give me half-a-crown, m’lord." "For what?" "T-to tell him which was the mistress’s rooms… and keep away awhile." "I see," said Drake. His posture deflated. Her words wounded him like knife blades. "Has Mr. Ellery ever given you money before?" "No, m’lord--I swear it!" "What are you going to do if he does so again?" "T-t-tell you, m’lord?" "That’s right, tell me," he echoed. "You are never to leave your mistress alone again, either, at anyone’s bidding. Am I making myself plain?" "Yes, m’lord," she replied shamefaced. Tears glistened on her cheeks, and her mouth drooped, ready to break into a wail, by the look of it. But he was steeled against any such feminine ploys as that. "You are never to take money from anyone in this house ever again, with the exception of your salary… from me," he went on relentlessly. "And you are not to tell Mr. Ellery that we have had this conversation." "Yes… I meanno , m’lord." "I should dismiss you forthwith, you know that?" "Y-yes, m’lord." "I am tempted…" "Oh, please, m’lord!" "All right, then, go to your mistress." "Yes, m’lord, but…" "But what?" he snapped, exasperated. "Come, come, gel, these are not difficult requests, they are explicit orders. You haven’t an option. There are no ‘buts’."

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"But suppose, I mean, he did pay me…" "Oh, I see," he returned, giving a dramatic bow. "Well, then, it’s settled! He is your employer now, and in that case, you shall have to take his half-crown instead of the wages I pay you, and be off. Go on, then." "Noooo, m’lord," she wailed. "I just meant--" "I know what you meant," he shouted, "and I shall overlook it if you go at once to your mistress! Zoe, I promised your mother I’d give you a good home here--‘twas a deathbed promise. Don’t make me break it." "Y-yes, m’lord, I mean no, m’lord… but… what about the half-a-crown?" "What do you think?" he pronounced. "Y-yes, m’lord, I’m sorry, m’lord," she whimpered. Producing the coin, she put it into his outstretched palm reluctantly. He clamped his fingers shut on it like a poacher’s trap. "Now then, this conversation is between us alone," he said, jamming the coin into his waistcoat pocket. "You will not repeat it to Mr. Ellery, or Mrs. Laity, or anyone below stairs or above--least of all, your mistress. You are on probation here now. If you want to keep your situation, it will serve you well to remember that. You are dismissed." She jumped to her feet then, bobbing like a jackrabbit, and skittered past him out of the room. He pressed his fingers to the corners of his smarting eyes and took a ragged breath. That ache in his loins had returned, fired by images that would not leave him. How that could be when he was in such a taking, was beyond him. Rage starred his vision, and spinning on his heels, he stormed out of the servants’ hall.

Eight When Melly went down to breakfast with the signed contract, the earl was conspicuously absent. It was several minutes before James Ellery joined her. She had already selected a portion of eggs poached in cream and grilled sausages from the sideboard, and Smithers had poured her coffee, when the steward stomped into the room, his face dark with anger. His mustache was protruding, and his clamped-down lips were on the verge of trembling. "Why, Mr. Ellery," she breathed, "whatever is the matter?" The steward pulled up short of the sideboard and gave a start. He was evidently so overset that he’d passed her by unnoticed. His posture shifted. He adjusted his white brocade waistcoat, straightened the lapels on his blue morning coat of superfine and forced a smile.

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"I didn’t see you there, Miss… Lady Ahern," he said. "It’s nothing. I’m all in a muddle this morning. My new manservant hasn’t arrived, and Drake has taken Griggs with him." "Taken him where?" she asked, fingering the contract on the table beside her. She had wanted to give it to the earl without delay. "He’s gone off for a tour of the crofts," he said, anger creeping back into his tone. "Deuced impetuous I daresay, haring off like that without a word to me. I had to hear it from Prowse, of all things." "Indeed," she responded. "The storm is still blowing. Whatever possessed him do you think, is there an urgency somewhere?"Whatever, indeed! He was a phantom, wasn’t he--appearing and disappearing like a wraith? She was beginning to believe that he was one in earnest. "Not to my knowledge," he said, loading his plate with eggs. His mind seemed elsewhere, and he stopped just short of spooning eggs onto the carpet. "Ah!" he muttered, scraping some back into the silver tureen. "He hasn’t been himself since he returned I’m afraid. I do believe Spain has taken its toll. I expect he’s battle fatigued." "Well, not having known him before, I can hardly judge," she said, toying with her eggs. "But I must say he impresses me as being a bit… eccentric." "You’ve noticed that, too, have you?" "Ummhumm," she said, around a mouthful of eggs. "How long will he be away?" Ellery shrugged. "Several days--a sennight perhaps. He did take Griggs after all, and he never does that on an overnighter. I think he did it apurpose--just to irk me. He doesn’t want to share him, ergo my new valet, who is already behindhand. I actually had to dress myself this morning." "Well, you look quite properly put together," she said demurely, though her coy delivery left a bad taste after it. If it weren’t for her agenda, she would have avoided James Ellery like the dysentery. She salved herself with the balm of necessity, however, and said in her most charming voice, "I am disappointed that he has chosen this moment to absent himself--"she fingered the contract he had been eyeing beside her plate "--I wanted to have this behind me, and now it seems I am put off." "Why don’t you let me keep that for you until Drake returns," he offered, reaching for the parchment. "I’ll lock it away in the study. It will be quite safe." "Thank you, but no, Mr. Ellery," she said, pulling it back as his fingers crawled over the edge of it. "I’ll hold onto it if you please. I signed it rather hastily after all. I’ll use the time to peruse it again… just to be sure." "As you wish," he said succinctly, drawing his fingers back reluctantly. What to do?Should she press him about the herbs, or about the earl in general? Where to begin? He wasn’t pressed for time evidently, but curiosity overcame common sense. "You’ve known the earl for a long time, haven’t you?" she inquired. "Since we were schoolmates at Eton," he replied with a nod.

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"That long?" "You might say we grew up together," the steward explained. "Then, I wish you would answer the question I posed to you both at dinner last evening," she said boldly, her fork suspended. "Why is his lordship so adamant about the herbs?" "As you yourself have observed, he is eccentric. I wouldn’t let it worry you." "But it does. For nearly a year now, no one here has objected to my gathering on Drake’s Lair land. Why, you yourself encouraged me to do so. The herbs are worth nothing to him. He means to destroy them. There has to be a reason behind his eccentricity. I simply wish to know why he is so opposed while the rest in residence are not." "Who can presume to get inside Drake’s head; certainly not I. It’s true I’ve known him a good many years, but there are places in that dark mind of his that even I won’t probe. You’ll have to speak with him directly about that, I’m afraid, my dear." "You sketch him out as something rather sinister and black-hearted, Mr. Ellery." "No, no, dear lady, hardly that. Drake is merely a solitary soul. What secrets he holds are his alone. Unless he chooses, no one shall be privy to them--not even God, I’ve often opined." Secrets again. And someone who wasn’t what he seemed. But what did he seem?She had stumbled upon an enigma in the Earl of Shelldrake, and though warning bells were ringing a peal over her head, she wasn’t going to heed them. "But, if the herbs were such an issue with his lordship, why, then, did no one warn me when I began gathering here? I should thinkyou would have--" "He wasn’t in residence then, was he?" Ellery said. "I was acting in his stead, and I found no fault in your gathering here." "Was that prudent, since you obviously knew his mind in the matter?" "My dear, you needed the botanicals, and they were just going to waste out there." "Still, I should have been warned. Did you not think he would be returning?" "You’re making much too much of this, my dear." "He means to destroy them--pull them up--burn them out as soon as the flaw is done. It is he, Mr. Ellery, who is making too much of this." "Then, little goose, you had better gather what you may before the gander returns, as it were. I certainly shan’t prevent you. That way if your little bargain doesn’t go through, at least you’ll have a start toward making your way. Not that I expect that it won’t, you understand… go through that is. I’m sure it will, knowing Drake, but are you really ready to put gathering behind you? You are a talented herbalist, my lady, of undisputable renown. Are you really ready to give all that up? What would the good doctor say--or the vicar, for that matter--not to mention the crofters, and the Tinkers? They all depend upon

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your talents." "If I had access to other gleanings, Mr. Ellery, of course I would pursue my occupation, because I truly love it, but under the circumstances--" "Leave Drake to me," the steward interrupted. "Gather while he’s gone, and I’ll persuade Jory Bell to hold off on the botanicals until he returns. Trust me, my dear, you can you know. I have only your best interests at heart." She didn’t answer. She finished her eggs and sipped her coffee thoughtfully. There was another matter on her mind, and now was the perfect time to broach the subject. "I want to see the cottage," she said guardedly. "Whatever for?" he blurted over the rim of his coffee cup. "That night… when his lordship rescued me, he said the fire was set deliberately. He said he saw someone running off as he rode up, and I thought I heard something just before it started myself." "What do you hope to find? There shan’t be footprints after this flaw." "I don’t know. I just want to see for myself… in the light of day. It is still my house, Mr. Ellery, what’s left of it… at least for a little while yet." "Yes, of course, but are you sure you want to do that? I’ve seen it. There is nothing left. It will only cause you unnecessary upsetment." "I’m sure," she replied. "Very well, I’ll drive you ‘round once the storm is over." "Thank you, Mr. Ellery," she said. "I shall look forward to that… when the storm is over." ~*~ The following day, the rain ceased, though blustery winds lingered, riffling the grass on the patchwork hills, and bending the backs of saplings along the lane until their branches touched the ground. Dark clouds raced by overhead, casting waves of shadow over the land, and the air smelled salty-fresh and clean. Ellery insisted upon driving. He chose a well-appointed landau, which offered more protection than the other two-seater rigs in the carriage house. Melly wasn’t too happy about that. She would have preferred to walk, though it was a distance, and the weather was still unstable. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with the steward. She couldn’t explain it, but some ingrained feminine instinct warned against it. Nonetheless, by midmorning, they were tooling along the highway at a steady pace with the wind at their back toward what remained of her cottage. They reached the vale by noon, and her heart sank at sight of what once had been her home, now a blackened heap of slag and cinder. Only the chimney still stood, like a soldier at attention. The closer they came, the stronger the sour stench of burnt wood and char became. It flared her nostrils, and should have warned her away, but she was determined, insisting to get down for a closer inspection.

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"You will spoil your fine dress," Ellery warned. "You’ll never get the stink out." "It is not my dress," she corrected, looking down at the white muslin frock and blue spencer she’d chosen for the outing. "I believe you can consider it so now," he said. "It becomes you far more elegantly than it did its former owner, I might add. White did not suit her." "What was she like, Mr. Ellery… the countess?" she wondered. She had been avoiding asking that question. For some reason, she really didn’t want a mental picture of Lady Shelldrake, yet curiosity, which she’d begun to recognize as her most grievous fault, got the better of her as usual. "Eva? She was… magnificent," he replied. "All manners and breeding, like one of Drake’s Andalusians. She was the catch of the Season when Drake latched onto her. Have you never seen her portrait in the library?" "No, I haven’t had occasion to visit the library," she said. "Well, if you’re curious, go and have a look. The artist captured her utterly." Of course she would. That dratted curiosity again. But it carried a price. Like it or not, it mattered that Lady Shelldrake was magnificent. It mattered that she was the catch of the Season. It mattered that Drake had provided her with a wardrobe of the finest quality. It mattered that he loved her so that he nearly went mad when she died--mad enough to drive himself headlong into battle until he’d nearly died and joined her. It mattered more than she cared to admit. "Soon I shall have my own wardrobe," she said, slapping at the skirt of her frock cruelly. "Come, then, since you’re so determined," Ellery conceded. Exiting the coach, he tethered the horse to the hedgerow beside the stacked stone fence, and helped her down. His hand lingered just a trifle too long, and she pulled hers away. Shielding her eyes from the wind, which had blown her bonnet back, she looked in dismay at the ravages of the fire. "Who could have done such a thing?" she said absently, as though to herself. "Well, my dear, people do call you a witch after all. You know how superstitious Cornishmen are. It could have been anyone, or…" "Or, what?" she prompted as his voice trailed off. "Nothing. What did Drake say, exactly?" "He said that the fire was set deliberately. He said he saw the culprit--that was his word, ‘culprit’--fleeing as he approached, but that it was too dark to see who it was, and saving me took precedence over running the man to ground." "Ummmmm," Ellery hummed thoughtfully. "What?"

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"Nothing, I’m just trying to picture it. He never mentioned any of this to me." "Does he tell you everything, then?" "He used to. Once we were joined at the hip, so to speak. We shared… everything, just like brothers. Evidently no longer." There was disappointment in his voice, and she almost responded to it, but opted for a closer look at the remains of the cottage instead. "No, my dear," said the steward, restraining her with a quick hand on her arm. "It isn’t safe. She stared down at the gripping fingers then met his eyes in a manner that told him unequivocally to remove the hand. Still she had to wrench her arm away. When she did so, he ranged himself in her path. "I am hardly a child in leading strings, Mr. Ellery," she said haughtily. "I assure you I’ve trod upon worse. Please stand aside." "I am responsible for your safety while Drake is away," he reminded her, still hovering. "I, sir, am responsible for my own safety," she snapped. "I need neither you, nor his lordship for that, I assure you." "I shall remind you of that one day, my dear," he said stoically. Something in the crusty, almost sinister, tone that delivered those words sent cold chills racing along Melly’s spine. They puckered her scalp and almost tampered with her balance, or was that the gale? It had billowed her skirt like a sail, and more than once she’d taken it back from the wind, climbing over the debris and into the burned-out shell of the cottage, with Ellery following along like a puppy at her heels. Her eyes flitted over the slag where the floor had been, seeking the place beneath the boards, where she’d hidden the notes she’d put by. But there were no boards--there was no floor. Gone--all gone. Just as she knew they would be, though she’d hoped. If only there was something left, she wouldn’t need the Earl of Shelldrake’s hospitality or his money or his… anything. Her posture collapsed in spite of her resolve to steel herself against exposing her innermost feeling to this man hovering at her elbow. "You see?" he said. "I told you. There is nothing here but sadness. Please let me take you away. I can’t bear the tears I see in your eyes." "‘Tis the wind," she defended, though that was a lie, and it wasn’t the sad, blackened remains of her home that made her eyes tear, either. It was the memory of the strong arms that had held her there, of his provocative male scent, and the unexpected event of his arousal pressed against her through the thin gauze nightdress. "Demelza?" the steward murmured. "May I please take the liberty of calling you ‘Demelza’? We have, after all, been acquainted for nearly a year now, and I hope we are friends." She stared at him.Who was this man? She scarcely knew.What was he saying? It hardly mattered. But she still had her agenda, and she reacted accordingly.

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"If you wish," she said absently. "I’ve seen enough here." "Thank God!" he muttered in a low voice. She didn’t reply. Allowing him to take her arm, she let him lead her back over the blackened boards and cinder to the landau. They stopped at the Terrill croft, and shared their nuncheon of black bread with freshly churned butter, and potage made from the farm’s produce. Melly had shared similar meals with the Terrills many times in the past, and found it just as delightful as the sumptuous fare at Drakes Lair. Afterward, the steward disappeared for a time with Will Terrill to inspect the repairs, leaving her alone with Bessie and the children, where she recounted in great detail her narrow escape from the fire, and daring rescue, which had cost the earl his queue. When she concluded, Bessie sent the children out to play. So long confined, they’d become restless, and they could scarcely hear each other for the racket they were making in the cramped, two-room cottage. "‘Tis a wonder you’re alive," Bessie remarked. "A miracle his lordship was passing by at that hour. He was here ‘till quite late, you know, sleeves rolled up, scrambling around on that roof, tying off thatch, and hammering with the best of them; ‘twas a shock, to be sure, seeing him doing menial work the likes o’ that. He’s a good sort, his lordship is--better’n most, and that’s a fact, Miss Melly." "I find him rather… strange," she confessed. "How so, miss?" "For one thing, his reaction to my gathering herbs down by the beck on Drake’s Lair, his… total inflexibility about it. It was quite bizarre. Why, he plans to root out every botanical on the place. Might you know why?" "No, miss," Bessie returned. "I know Lady Eva used to have an herb garden. Your cousin showed her how, give her a book and all, so she could make her own beauty ointments and toilet waters." "Cousin Calliope?" Melly blurted. "She never told me." She wondered if the toiletries on her dressing room vanity were some of the countess’s concoctions, and made a mental note to study them more closely when she returned. She would know. "That was long before you come here, Miss Melly--six, maybe even seven years ago, it was. By time you came, Miss Calliope was getting a mite forgetful." "Did his lordship know?" "Oh, I dunno’, miss, you know how the ‘ristocrats are, they dance to their own pipers--lead separate lives. His lordship wasn’t here much back then. He came and went; we rarely saw him. The countess probably took up herbs to pass the time o’ day, when she wasn’t flitting off to London with him for the Seasons. She went to Town for the big and little Seasons you know. His lordship has a fine townhouse in Mayfair. I don’t think she visited with Miss Calliope regular like, ‘twas just the once, she told me, and she was right proud for having instructed the countess herself." "And you don’t know why his lordship should be so overset about my gathering--about herbs in general, actually." "Maybe it brings back sad memories for him. I know how bad he was when she died miscarrying his

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heir. ‘Twas dreadful, miss. He went clean off his head, then up and disappeared before the vicar ever got them in the crypt. We didn’t know what become of him ‘till the letters started coming to Mr. Ellery and he put us at all ease. Then all at once he stopped writing altogether, and we thought sure we’d lost him." "He must have loved her very much," Melly said dismally. "Yes, miss, he was wretched, he was--a regular Bedlamite when she passed." Just then, Ellery’s dark shape in the doorway blocking what sun the clouds begrudged, turned her attention.How much had he heard? "Well," she said buoyantly, "It’s been such a pleasant visit, Bessie, and the nuncheon was a delight. I doubt I’ll be able to manage dinner after such fare." "‘Twas nothing, Miss Melly," Bessie returned. "If I’d known you was coming, I’d have done it up fancy." "No need," she replied. "We’ve never needed ‘fancy’, you and I." "But you’re the fine lady now, all dressed up proper, living up to the big manor house and all." "Temporarily," Melly pointed out. "We may be neighbors again sooner than you know. But that’s a tale for another time. Now then, if I can persuade Mr. Ellery here to sacrifice a jot more of his precious time, I’d like to pay a visit to the Tinkers’ camp." "Oh, I doubt they’ve come outa’ the woods yet," said Bessie. "They went deep in, like they always do when the flaws come, where the trees are sturdy and too close together to come down on them. Those winds would toss their wagons about like broom straws." "Well, we shall see, shan’t we? Mr. Ellery?" she said coyly. Taking his arm, she said her farewells to Will and the girls, and they took their leave. The steward’s annoyance over the unscheduled side trip showed plainly in his pleated brow and tight-lipped scowl. Melly ignored him. Though she’d convinced herself that she didn’t believe a word, she was secretly hoping Rosen would be able to shed more light on the cryptic prophesy. But as Bessie predicted, the Tinkers hadn’t returned to their usual campground in the meadow, and after a brief stop at the coaching station to inquire about the earl’s horses, which still had not arrived, they returned to Drakes Lair in time to dress for dinner. ~*~ Melly walked her fingers through the clothes in the armoire. She was trying to decide upon a frock to wear downstairs that evening. Zoe and Mrs. Laity had finished hemming the rest of the gowns, and one was lovelier than the next, but why were all the necklines so low? She wanted to extract information, not seduce the man. Thank the stars the housekeeper had the presence of mind not to discard the excess fabric. She had finished off several pieces as inserts for her, and Melly finally settled on a white sprigged muslin frock, with a bit of crocheted lace from one of the more formal gowns crisscrossed under the bodice to fill in the décolleté. Once Zoe dressed her hair in a tight chignon framed in the inevitable tendrils, she hurried below. It was too early to join James Ellery in the drawing room for sherry. She had planned it that way.

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Though she was dreading it, she wanted to have a look at the countess’s portrait in the library. Only one branch of candles was lit in the spacious room. It stood on a pier table beside the lounge. It was enough. The room smelled of leather--expensive leather--and lemon polish. The walls were lined with books everywhere, except for the space about the massive hearth, where marble wood nymphs stood holding up the mantle, pointing upward to the portrait of Eva Hannaford, Lady Shelldrake in all her resplendent glory. Melly’s breath caught. Looking vacantly into space, though her eyes seemed to follow the observer eerily, the countess stood statuesque and regal beside a column topped with an urn overflowing with peach-colored roses. One of her delicate gloved hands was caressing a bloom; the other held a fan. Her high-waisted gown matched the roses exactly. It appeared to be made of silk, with a delicate tulle overlay, exquisite with her short, dark ringlets and peaches-and-cream complexion. She was the most exquisite creature Melly had ever seen. She misted. The earl hadn’t given her that gown with the rest. It wouldn’t have become her anyway--not with her mousy brown hair and eyes that were so close in color she had always thought God lacked imagination. She wasn’t regal, and she certainly wasn’t statuesque, Zoe and Mrs. Laity could attest to that, what with all the hemming. She despised her hopeless curls--that tangled tumble of wayward ringlets just long enough to be out of fashion. Even now the deuced tendrils crept out of her chignon and tickled her face. Absently she reached to touch them. There was no hope for it. She would never be regal. Dowdy better described her. Aristocrat though she was, she would always be quite ordinary--mousy even. It was better in buttoned-up gray twill. She no more belonged in sprigged muslin than she would have in the gown in the portrait--the gown that Drake had omitted. Even he knew it. "She was beautiful, wasn’t she," said a voice from behind that spun her around to face James Ellery at her elbow. He was wearing a single-breasted black tailcoat, white shirt and neckcloth, and buff-colored pantaloons with white silk stockings. There was no denying that the man was handsome, and there was also no denying that he wanted her. She had always heard it in the seductive purr of his voice, and seen it in the provocative tremor in his hooded eyes. But her heart, she was finally beginning to admit, lay elsewhere--even though it was hopeless. If she hadn’t thought so before, she did now, after viewing that portrait. "Y-yes," she faltered, "quite so." "No artist could capture her magnificence on canvas. She was so much more than this inept attempt proposes." "How long were they married, before…?" "Three years," said the steward. "Three short, all-too-fleeting years." "They were well suited to each other," she observed, scrutinizing the portrait once more. They were both tall. Their bodies must have fitted perfectly together. Strange, but she couldn’t remember how hers fit by comparison; only the icy-hot blades of sensation his closeness had awakened in her. He had felt it, too. There had been physical evidence of that, and she thrilled afresh remembering the trembling tightness in the long, lean length of him crushing her close. "Are you all right, my dear?" Ellery said, taking hold of her arm. "You look awfully strained of a sudden."

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"No, no, I’m fine," she lied, struggling for composure. "I may have taken a bit of a chill in all that damp wind today," she said. "It’s nothing… really." "May I ask you a personal question, Demelza?" he inquired. He still hadn’t let go of her arm. "You may ‘ask’," she replied, implying that she might not answer. "How is it that you haven’t been taken, such a lovely young lady of quality like yourself? You must have had suitors." Yes, she’d had suitors, until her father brought an end to her budding social life among theton’s elite. There had been no one in particular, however. She hadn’t been offered for; there hadn’t been time. All the magic of London in Season had come to a crashing halt with her father’s suicide. She became an outcast, and all of her prospects fled. How fickle were the aristocracy, and how cruel. But she wouldn’t tell him any of that. She wouldn’t confide her shame in the likes of James Ellery. It was he who would confide in her. She was determined. "Of course I had suitors," she said haughtily. "It is just that they didn’t suitme ." "Do you think I would ever suit you, my dear?" he murmured, drawing closer. She strained against him. He smelled of the familiar mint scented shaving paste, laced now with stale wine--not of musk and sweat and raw maleness. His scent repulsed her, and she put him from her. "Remember yourself, Mr. Ellery," she snapped. "Forgive me, Demelza. I’m sorry. It’s too soon." "It’s toolate ," she corrected him. "I do not think of you in that way, sir, but rather as a kindly friend… one whom I thought I could trust. I seem to have been mistaken." "He’s gotten to you, hasn’t he?" he said, his voice astringent. "He has a talent for attracting women, I daresay, and he may give you a tumble, but that’s all it will amount to. That’s Drake; I know him. He never takes his dalliances seriously, well, almost never. There was Eva after all. But that was a mistake he shan’t repeat--too painful. No, he shan’t tread that path again, I promise you. So, you see, it’s quite hopeless, my dear, unless, of course, a dalliance is all you’re after?" She raised her hand to strike him, but he caught her wrist mid-swing and pulled her closer, his cold eyes holding her relentlessly. "You don’t want to do that," he said close in her face. "It would be a grave mistake." "Are you threatening me, sir?" she shrilled. His breath was fetid with alcohol, and she turned her head aside. "No, Demelza, I’m trying to warn you away from a dangerous flirtation, because I care for you. I don’t want to see you hurt. You don’t know Drake Hannaford. I do. If I am to be the ‘kindly friend’ you want me to be, I would be remiss if I didn’t open your eyes to a situation that would only bring you heartache and pain. I should think you’d have had enough of that." "I have no idea what you’re talking about. Are you foxed, sir? Let me go, you’re hurting me!"

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"Forgive me," he murmured. Releasing her wrist, he took a step back from her. "I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, Demelza. You’re quite right, it must be the wine… I simply cannot drink wine--never could. Can you ever forgive my clumsy attempt to protect you? That’s all I meant to do, and I’ve bungled it badly." "I shan’t be joining you for dinner," she said steadily. "I shall have Zoe fetch a tray to my apartments. I shall forgive your boldness this time, since it’s plain that the wine addresses me, but I shouldn’t want it repeated. I hope I’ve made myself plain?" "Quite," he said dejectedly. "Good. Hereafter when you address me, kindly do so by my sir name, I do not care whether you preface it with ‘Miss’, or ‘Lady’. Now then, if you will excuse me, sir, I must bid you good night."

Nine Drake didn’t take Griggs along on the inspection tour because he needed a valet. He’d gotten quite used to fending for himself after five grueling years in the army. What he wanted was to distance the valet from James Ellery in order to put him at ease during the interrogation. He needed to know where Griggs’s loyalties lay, elsewise the steward could have him, and they could both go to the devil. After two days touring his properties, he had come to the stark realization that what he and the auditors had uncovered in the cleverly altered ledgers was worse than they’d feared. Ellery had extorted thousands of pounds. The figures were astronomical. Entries had been recorded for repairs that had never been made--storm damage that had never occurred--monies for alterations that weren’t even warranted had been debited from the accounts. Salaries were being paid to non-existent employees, and servants who had long since been let go in another of his residences as well. He hadn’t brought the actual ledgers. He had made a copy of the most suspicious entries so as not to alert the steward. Now, he had uncovered extortions that weren’t even on his list. His stomach roiled with rage in check, and the inspection was only over by half. They were stopping at the Peregrine Inn on the fringes of his southernmost holdings that bordered Goonhilly Downs. It would take at least two more days to circle around and complete the tour with inspection of the northern vineyards near Porthallow before returning to St. Kevern, and Drake’s Lair. There were other crofts farther west, but they would have to wait. He had all the proof he needed, and he wasn’t comfortable leaving Demelza alone with Ellery any longer than was necessary. That was the other reason he’d left Drake’s Lair, to get in touch with his feelings concerning a certain little toffee-haired, doe-eyed witch, who had definitely cast a spell over him. That question had been resolved as well. There had been ample opportunity for him to slake his urges since they’d arrived at the Peregrine. The comely serving wenches had tripped over each other in order to wait on him, and their seductive glances were too blatant to be missed. He could have had any one of them in his bed with a crook of his finger, and a month ago he would have, but that was before he met Demelza Ahern.

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Somehow the prospect of doing so now stabbed him with remorse, as though he’d been unfaithful--unfaithful to what? That wasn’t even sane, considering that she was already spoken for. That’s when he knew. It was a small inn, but it did boast several well-appointed suites of adjoining rooms for wayfaring gentlemen who traveled with their valets. Drake had taken one of these. He had just stepped from his bath, which had been set up in Griggs’s room, and the valet had helped him into his dressing gown. Now was as good a time as any, and he invited Griggs into his chamber and asked him to sit. "Griggs, I didn’t bring you with me just to draw my bath and dress me," he said, as the valet took his seat on the edge of a Chippendale chair across from the chaise lounge he occupied. "I needed to talk to you about conditions at Drake’s Lair, and I needed to do it privately." "Yes, my lord." "You served Mr. Ellery for five years before I returned." "Yes, my lord." "I want you to tell me in your own words how that came about. Don’t be afraid, this isn’t an inquisition… well, in a way, I suppose it is, but let me qualify that you have nothing to fear. I simply need to know the truth of the matter." "Yes, my lord." "Good. Then please commence." "After you went off, my lord, Mr. Ellery began to cut back on the staff," Griggs began. "There wasn’t a necessity for him to retain your valet with you gone off to war, and the Lord alone knowing when--or if-you’d be returning; his words, my lord, not mine. I was given the option of being let go with the rest, or remaining to serve him in the same capacity that I had served you in the past. I chose to stay--not for the money, my lord. I’m hardly destitute thanks to your generosity over the years, and he did offer me references. I stayed because I knew you’d be returning, and I couldn’t very well serve you when you did were I employed elsewhere. I’ve been your valet since your poor dead father assigned me to the task when you were no more than a lad in breeches." "I was hoping you would say something along those lines, Griggs," Drake said on a sigh, "and I thank you for your loyalty." "Yes, my lord." "It’s common knowledge that the servants in a house know just as much as their employers in regard to the goings on above and below stairs--sometimes even more--and that certain… indiscretions could not be carried out without them. While you served Mr. Ellery, did you notice any unusual goings on?" "How do you mean, my lord?" "Were you privy to any house business, or any personal business concerning Mr. Ellery--anything untoward?"

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"If I were, I would have come to you with it directly, the moment you returned, my lord." "Let me be more specific," said Drake. "Did Mr. Ellery ever bring women to Drakes Lair to the purpose of pleasure?" "No, my lord." "You’re certain?" "Our rooms adjoined, my lord, just as yours and mine do now. I would surely have known. He did spend much time abroad, however, and on those occasions, when I accompanied him, which was not always the case, he was in the habit of entertaining the ladies, and the Cyprians as well quite frequently." "And… Lady Demelza Ahern?" "No, my lord, not to my knowledge, though he is rather energetically in pursuance of her." "Ummmm," Drake hummed, rubbing a thumb over his clean-shaven chin. "Can you think of any reason why Mr. Ellery should be in need of blunt--a good deal of blunt?" "He does frequent the gambling hells rather regularly, my lord, and I happen to know that he isn’t particularly lucky. He hardly makes an effort to hide his dismals when he loses. He has a nasty temper." "How well I know," Drake returned. "Has he ever treated you badly?" "On occasion, my lord, his behavior has been rather affrontive, yes, but usually only when he’s been tipping. Wine in particular affects him adversely, and he’s been imbibing rather frequently of late." "I see," said Drake. "I’m going to confide in you, Griggs. I needn’t emphasize that what I’m about to tell you must remain between ourselves, that’s why I’ve dragged you way out here in the provinces to have it told." "Certainly, my lord, that goes without question." "Good, because what I have uncovered, aside from being scandalous, could very well be dangerous, to ourselves… and others." "Yes, my lord?" "The main purpose of this inspection trip was to verify certain repairs and renovations that, according to the ledgers, have been made on my crofts during my absence. Thus far, I have found evidence no such restorations having been made, though monies have been deducted from my accounts to pay for them. This came to my attention because of the roof repair on the Terrill farm. Aside from the fact that every available hand was needed to finish that roof before the flaw, I wanted a firsthand look at it, since my ledger shows that it had been repaired just six months ago, and at a staggering sum. I wanted to see what sort of workmanship falls to pieces in just six months. That roof hadn’t been touched in years, Griggs." "Mr. Ellery has been embezzling, my lord?" the valet breathed, clearly aghast. His face had gone as gray as his hair, and his mouth had sagged open as though his jaw had become disengaged. "It certainly looks that way," said Drake. "Considering what I’ve found at all the other crofts we’ve

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visited thus far, I can venture to say that it is a dead certainty." "What will you do, my lord?" "I don’t know, Griggs, I honestly don’t," he replied. "Jim Ellery has been my closest friend since we were at school together, you know that. We were like brothers. I left him in charge here. I would never have done that if I didn’t think I could trust him. If he had come to me… oh, I know I was unreachable toward the end, but I am come home now, and he’s had ample opportunity to make a clean breast of things. I could have forgiven him if he had. He has not. He’s evidently desperate. No doubt he’s got vowels out all over the coast." "Men have come to Drake’s Lair, my lord, looking to be paid. ’Tis a wonder that he hasn’t rolled you up." "It’s hardly come to that, old boy, but it’s got to stop before he does. The question is how? I don’t want to involve Bow Street. Right now we have a houseguest. I don’t know how involved she is with Jim. She could even be in on it, for all I know. I am not fond of sending young gels to prison, and I’m not going to pretend that it won’t pain me sending Jim off to Newgate, either." "Surely, you cannot keep him on, my lord?" "I don’t want a scandal," Drake said wearily. "I don’t want him dragged off in chains. I’m going to have to confront him, but not yet--not until I’ve completed the tour and informed Bradshaw and Mills of my findings. I’ve contracted to purchase Lady Ahern’s land. She should have signed the contract by the time we return. I’ve committed myself to rebuilding the cottage and giving her first option to occupy as my tenant. That must be done post haste. Once she’s out of the house, I will deal with Mr. Ellery." "My lord," said the valet, low-voiced, "you don’t really believe Miss Mel… the young lady is involved?" "I don’t know what to believe," Drake replied. "Who would have ever believed thatJim …" "She never came up to the house with her wares," the valet defended. "Those who had need always went to her cottage." "Were you among them, Griggs?" "Yes, my lord," he said defensively. "She makes a fine balm that soothes sore feet and bunions out of nettle and marshmallow leaves and reeds that grow down on the far side of the beck. Mrs. Laity recommended it." "And you would certainly benefit from bunion balm wouldn’t you, what with the way we’ve run you ragged," Drake said, suppressing a smile. "Unfortunately, I’m going to have to add to your burdens." "Yes, my lord?" "I’ve told you all this because I need someone in that house that I can trust, who can keep an eye out when I am not able. It’s going to involve doing errands and chores beyond the official duties of a valet at times." "Whatever you need, my lord."

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"Good," he replied, with a crisp nod. "You’ll be paid accordingly, of course. To begin with, I’ll want you to have a smith come out and change the lock on the valuables chest in my study. Have him change the door lock, too. It will have to be done when Mr. Ellery is out of the house. I will see to that, and while we’re gone, you will fetch the smith and see to it yourself. None of the other servants or Lady Ahern are to know. We’ll stop at the village on the way back and I will alert the locksmith that his services will be needed shortly, so there shan’t be a delay once I remove Mr. Ellery for the day." "Yes, my lord." "Bring him yourself if possible." "But what if Mr. Ellery attempts to open the door… or the chest afterward, my lord?" "That’s the point, Griggs, he really has no reason to open it now that I am come home. If he does, he’s a fool if he confronts me." "But he’ll know you suspect him, my lord." "He’d have to be blithering idiot to think this little tour we’re making hasn’t found him out. Besides, I really haven’t a choice. I’ve got notes and cash in that chest, not to mention the Shelldrake diamond. He isn’t going to get his hands on anything else, bigod, you can bet your blunt upon that. I intend to keep the study door locked when I’m not in it. If he challenges me over it, I can always say I suspect that we might have a thief among the servants--even enlist his help in keeping watch. His vanity is such that he’ll probably fall for it." "Yes, my lord." "There is one more thing," Drake said, reluctantly, "but there’s a sting at the end of it, old boy." "A ‘sting’, my lord?" "Quite. I need you to keep an eye on Mr. Ellery… and Lady Ahern after hours--once they’ve retired after dinner. I shouldn’t have refused to share you so hastily. It would have been easier if you were in closer proximity of him at least. As it is, you’re going to lose some sleep. That’s the sting." "That’s all right, my lord. What is it you’re after exactly?" "I want to know if they’re having any assignations." "Oh, my lord, I sincerely doubt--" "Don’t be so quick to scoff at such a notion," Drake interrupted. "I saw him enter her chamber myself the night before we left." "She’s beencompromised , my lord?" He nodded. "And he paid Zoe half-a-crown to disappear while he was at it." "I can scarcely believe--" "Yes, well, I was disappointed myself, since I made it quite plain to Mr. Ellery upon my return, that no

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such licentious activity was to take place under my roof." "But, Zoe, my lord… I am quite bowled over." "She’s very young, Griggs, and he’s been her master for the past five years. She just needed to put her loyalties in order. I’ve taken care of it. I don’t think it will happen again." "I should certainly hope not, my lord." "I don’t want you to do anything, mind. You needn’t interfere with whatever takes place, that would undermine your anonymity, just report your findings to me." "Of course, my lord. Shall I keep an eye on Zoe as well, my lord?" "What I’m really asking of you, Griggs, is that you be my eyes whereeveryone is concerned, whether I’m in residence or not."

Ten James Ellery presented a sober and contrite image at breakfast. No mention was made of the incident the night before, nevertheless, Melly ate hurriedly and excused herself before Smithers poured her second cup of coffee, anxious to put as much distance between herself and the steward as possible. One thing he’d said seemed to make sense to her--that she should take advantage of Drake’s absence to gather herbs for her new wares. On one hand, she had no guarantee that the earl would keep his word in regard to the sale, but on the other, she had no doubt in her mind that he’d keep it in regard to uprooting the herbs on Drake’s Lair the minute he returned. If she were to salvage what she could beforehand, there was no time to lose. Mrs. Laity wasn’t keen on the idea, and it took a good deal of coaxing to enlist her as an accomplice, but she finally persuaded the skeptical housekeeper to let her borrow one of the maid’s black twill uniforms. Then, armed with a marketing basket and some makeshift tools--an old serving spoon and meat fork from the scullery--she set out for the beck. It wouldn’t do to gather too close to the house proper. It was a glorious day. The wind had died to a whisper, and the sky, the color of bluebells recalling her Manchester childhood, was painted with cottony clouds. The air smelled fresh and clean, of fertile earth laundered by the gale that had stirred new life into the land. As she neared the beck, the pungent, camphor-like scent of tansy teased her nostrils long before the plants’ brilliant yellow flowers came into view. Tears welled in her eyes, and her heart quickened. Oh, how she’d missed gathering. The Tinkers believed tansy to be a charm against misfortune, but that couldn’t be true. She’d had nothing but misfortune since she found that tansy bed the day she met the enigmatic phantom, Tristan Hannaford, Earl of Shelldrake. Whatever else he was, he was the phantom still. Hadn’t he disappeared in true phantom fashion two days ago without a word to anyone? It was useless to pretend she didn’t miss

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him. She gathered all morning. When she’d saved all the tansy she could, she took off her slippers and waded across the beck to the other side. The water was icy-cold, sending shockwaves coursing through her body that took her breath away. It was wonderful. On the far side, she gathered the tall reeds, and further up the slope, she found thistle, and marshmallow. Her basket was brim-full by noon. She didn’t return to the house for nuncheon. Cook had packed her a cold meat pasty, a bit of cheese, a ripe pear, and a small jug of water. She sat down beside the stream and ate ravenously. She was herself again, Miss Melly, communing with Nature, taking her gifts with a grateful heart--a joyful heart, not Lady Demelza Ahern, all gotten up like a show horse in the borrowed gowns of a regal countess--hiscountess. They would never fit her. She didn’t measure up. She wasn’t herself in them--could never be herself in them. This was who she was, who she wanted to be, and she took a deep breath of the fragrant air and hugged herself before the sun streaming down through the tracery of lacework leaves and branches swaying overhead. The afternoon’s gleanings were no less bountiful. She gathered watercress rippling with the current in the beck when she crossed back over. Chamomile, comfort, and bright orange nasturtium awaited her in the meadows. Rosemary and speedwell were plentiful by the copse along the lane, as well as the precious goldenseal, prized for its fever-reducing properties, in constant demand by Dr. Hale. There were others, too, that she never dreamed of finding, sweet flag, and herb Robert. These last were dangerously close to the house. She didn’t care. Her basket was overflowing, her spirit was renewed, and her heart was lighter than it had been since the fire for having rescued something precious to her, for having discovered something new to her, for having spent the day doing something she loved and considered worthwhile. She reached the Lair with her finds well in advance of the dinner hour, and claimed a secluded corner at the back of the wine cellar below the servants’ quarters to serve as her herbarium, at least temporarily. Water was brought for those specimens that required it, and string for binding and hanging those that needed drying, these she bound in small bunches, and hung upside-down from an empty wine rack that seemed made for just such a purpose. Once she’d made her herbs comfortable in their new environment, she stole up the back stairs to her apartments, where Zoe had already prepared her bath at Mrs. Laity’s instruction. After a relaxing soak in water silkened with oil of lavender and fresh rosemary, she let the abigail dress her for dinner. To her relief, James Ellery didn’t join her. Prowse informed her that the steward had gone out for the evening, and she relaxed and actually enjoyed her meal for the first time since she’d come to Drake’s Lair. Afterward, she went below to the wine cellar for a final check on her gleanings, to find that Mrs. Laity had set up a small table for her in the recessed alcove. The housekeeper had also supplied jars, a mortar and pestle, and mixing utensils from the scullery. Melly hugged herself and spun around in delight. Judging from the dust that had collected on the rest of the bottles in the cellar, and the distance between her new herbarium and the first racks close to the door, it wasn’t likely that her secret would be discovered anytime soon, and she picked up the branch of candles that lit her way and returned to her suite. Zoe was waiting to help her undress and prepare for bed. She had laid out one of the countess’s nightgowns on the chaise lounge in the dressing room. It was a summer gown. Blue, of the finest silk gauze, with a neckline that dipped so low it barely preserved modesty. It was as light as air, and she stood before the cheval glass imagining how the countess must have looked in it, with those tall, graceful lines, that aristocratic bearing. With no mother to guide her since she was a child, she hadn’t yet developed her deportment when her world came to a crashing halt and cast her onto a poor relation to

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make her way on her own. All at once she bitterly wished she hadn’t been robbed of her training. The petite, tousle-haired creature staring back at her from the mirror was ridiculous. Though her figure suggested nothing less than a woman, no matter how she stretched and strained, the image in the glass was that of a child playing dress-up in her mother’s cast-off clothing. She didn’t linger long before the mirror. Too depressing. Zoe was yawning and dropping hints that she wanted to retire. What was wrong with the gel? She had been so happy at the prospect of her new appointment as abigail that she could hardly contain herself, until the night it came to pass. Then all at once, she became sullen and withdrawn, reverting to her former mouse-like self. Totally. It was a puzzlement to be sure, and though she had questioned the girl about it on several occasions, Zoe assured her that nothing was amiss. Shrugging those thoughts off, Melly took up the contract for one last perusal, and climbed into bed. The hour was late, but she couldn’t sleep--not in that nightdress. She kept thinking of the earl’s lean, turgid body pressed against his wife’s in it. Her mind’s eye pictured his hands--those strong, skilled hands--sliding over the sky-blue silk, exposing those perfect breasts she’d envied in the portrait to his touch. With no education in such matters, that was as far as her imagination would take her. She had firsthand knowledge of those hands, after all--of his eyes, those incredibly articulate eyes, stripping her naked, just as they must have done to his exquisite wife. Her heart began to pound as strange primal vibrations gripped her utterly, reliving his embrace. Had he held the lovely Eva in that manner? Well, of course he had. She was his wife wasn’t she? Was this wrenching ache inside jealousy--of aghost ? Though it was hardly practical, that’s just what it was. She would have rather been jealous of flesh and blood. There might have been a chance to defeat such as that. What hope could she possibly have of exorcising the sainted dead? Bound to those cogitations, it was several moments before a foreign sound bled into her reverie. It came again. Someone was turning the door handle. Frozen bolt upright in the mahogany four-poster, she stared at the door. No, she hadn’t imagined it. The branch of candles still lit on the gateleg table showed it clearly. She held her breath. Had she locked the doors? That one, yes, or whoever it was would have come through it by now. She was almost positive that she had locked the sitting room door as well, but she sprang from the bed, lifted the nightgown from dragging on the floor, for it hadn’t been hemmed, and ran through the adjoining doorway to the one that gave egress to the corridor, just as it turned as well. Cold chills gripped her spine, and her heart nearly stopped. Frozen in place, she stared at the handle, watching it slowly work its way up and down, listening to the wood creak as the would-be intruder pushed against it. Should she call out? No. Any reputable person would have announced his presence with a rap at the door and identified himself. All at once the situation harkened back to the night she was certain that someone had been in her rooms. She remembered the poker, and snatched it from the hearthside. But the door handle was still now, and her heart leapt again. She hadn’t locked the dressing room door. What if Zoe hadn’t? Racing back through the bedroom, she burst into the dressing room, where the abigail lay sound asleep snoring on the cot behind the folding screen, and reached the door just in time to throw the bolt. She had scarcely taken a step back, when that handle lifted, slowly at first, then more anxiously, rattling so fiercely that she was certain Zoe would wake. But aside from a shift in the abigail’s breathing pattern, she didn’t stir. Melly backed away and tiptoed to the bedroom, where she snuffed out the candles. The wind had

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chased the clouds. There was enough light streaming through the mullioned panes now from the full moon to outline the door. The gilded handle was moving vigorously. Had the earl returned? Was that his hand working it? Or had James Ellery come home drunk, thinking to finish what he’d started in the library? Rosen’s cryptic warning kept bouncing around in her brain:You have an enemy… someone who doesn’t seem so … and she took a chill that moved her visibly in the flimsy, clinging nightdress. They both seemed like enemies to her then, and she wasn’t about to open the door to find out which one’s grip was turning that handle. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed watching dust motes ride the moonbeam, which had thrown a puddle of incandescent light at her feet, until long after the rattling ceased. ~*~ "They’ve gone beyond the pale this time," Mrs. Laity muttered, waddling along the corridor, "--upsetting the whole house. It’s the outside of enough is what it is," she mumbled on, wagging her head ruefully, almost colliding with Melly as she stepped off the landing on her way to breakfast. "Whatever is the matter, Mrs. Laity?" she called out, hurrying to catch up with her as she careened past on her way to the servants’ wing. "Oh, miss," the housekeeper replied, "we’re all in sixes and sevens this morning. The master come home in the wee hours last night like a whirlwind. He couldn’t have slept, because he turned right around and made straight for the stable again just before sunup, Mr. Ellery with him--britches afire, the pair o’ them. They went one way in the brougham, and Griggs went the other on horseback, and come back not half-an-hour later with the smith from St. Kevern; they’re locked in the study--locked in, mind. They’re in there banging and stomping--not a word to anyone--doing the good Lord alone knows what. Now there’s nobody for breakfast except yourself, after Cook made enough creamed eggs and caraway bread for Wellington’s army, expecting the three of you." "What time did you say his lordship returned?" "Prowse said he come in sometime after midnight." "He took Mr. Ellery with him this morning you say?" "That he did, miss, all out straight." "And you don’t know where they’ve gone?" "No, miss Melly, nobody does." The phantom again! Her heart sank. It could well have been the earl at her chamber doors. "Mr. Ellery was out for dinner last night," she said guardedly. "Would you happen to know what time he came in?" "No, miss, that I would not. Why?" "Did you have occasion to come up to my rooms after Zoe and I retired last night by any chance, Mrs. Laity?" Melly inquired, avoiding the question. She had to be certain.

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"Me, miss? Why, no. I was tucked into bed at half-past nine." "Someone tried to enter my chamber," Melly said, low-voiced. "You’re twigging me now," the housekeeper shrilled, giving a lurch. "Who would do such a thing? Why?" "Shhhh. I’m going in to breakfast," she returned evasively. "I haven’t much of an appetite, but I shall try my best to do Cook’s fare justice, so it shan’t go to waste. Afterward I shall come and find you. We need to talk."

Eleven Drake hadn’t gone to the vineyards after all. He’d come straight on from the Downs. The trip to Porthallow, on the pretext of bringing back a selection of wine from his three crofts there, would give Griggs ample time to see to the valuables chest--a day at the least. He might even be able to parlay it into two, if he could coerce the steward to accompany him on to Gilian stables to look over stud horses. Jealousy hatched that plan. Even though Demelza Ahern had obviously made her choice in Jim Ellery, the thought of them alone together at the house--hishouse, was more than he could countenance. He didn’t need to make an open inspection at the vineyards. He’d made a mental note of the areas under scrutiny, and it would be easy enough to assess them without suspicion. Besides, he didn’t need any more proof. The misappropriations he and Griggs had already uncovered among the southern and western crofts were more than enough for Bradshaw and Mills to act. Observing the steward, Drake wondered if taking him to the vineyards was a prudent choice after all. He was obviously still jug-bit after a night of elbow bending, by the look of him, leaning--eyes closed--against the plush leather squabs, the telltale, sickening-sweet odor of stale wine drifting from his pores. In the close quarters of the coach the smell was suffocating. "You might show a little enthusiasm," he said, bringing the steward’s eyes open a crack. "This is a pleasure jaunt after all." "Then why did you have to drag me out of bed at the crack of dawn?" Ellery groused. "Your timing is faulty. I’m not up for a pleasure jaunt just now." "I thought we might rekindle something of the old days," Drake returned. "We used to enjoy prowling about, if you remember… or have you gotten old and stodgy in my absence?" "Hardly." "What then? Can’t you bear to drag yourself away from the gel for a mere day or two?" "Stubble that," said the steward, his eyes hooded now with something other than blear. Drake studied the expression thoroughly. He couldn’t blame him. If the situation was reversed and he

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had been torn from the arms of Demelza Ahern, he wouldn’t exactly be in a congenial temper either. "After the vineyards, I thought we might go up to Gilian to have a look at the studs. Then, if you’re game, we might go on to Frenchman’s Creek for a turn at the tables. The hells are still there, I presume?" "That they are," the steward said, brightening. "You’ll have to stake me, though, old boy, I’m dipped." "Yes, well, some things never change," Drake said, aiming for buoyancy, though his voice was edged, and his words clipped in the delivery. That Ellery could nonchalantly solicit more blunt after extorting thousands had triggered a tick in his jaw, and caused his hands to work themselves into fists. He gripped the seat instead, under the umbrella of a shift in position. "Wine, women, and wagers always did roll you up as I recall, old boy," he observed. "Speaking of wine," the steward returned, "why all the rush to inspect the vineyards? You never used to run off to the crofts after every flaw." "You forget how long it’s been since I’ve seen them. Besides, I told you, I want to bring back some wine." "We’ve got plenty of wine. The cellar is bursting, Drake." "Ahhhh, but not withmy wine. I want to see what my vineyards have been producing in my absence. I’m thinking to export. I’ve a contact in Spain. I brought back several bottles of their finest in my trunks. If ours is good enough to compete, I could turn a neat profit providing the flaw hasn’t done me in. I won’t know where we stand on that ‘till I first inspect the crops, and then make a comparison." "The plantings are too close to the coast, and it’s too soon to harvest. They’ve probably lost the lot." "Not if they’ve netted them and the grapes are still green enough to hold onto the vines." "I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you." "Well, you’re not me, and I never do--get my hopes up, that is. That’s why I’m never disappointed. Spain leads in the wine market just now. I’m looking to break in if I can, but my life hardly depends upon it. And in the meanwhile, we’ll look upon my little venture as the perfect excuse to take a little holiday." Ellery grunted in reply, and closed his hooded eyes again. Drake was relieved. He wanted no more idle conversation with the steward than was absolutely necessary. Controlling his temper was too taxing. He’d accomplished his main objective--removing Ellery so that Griggs could carry out his orders. He’d done it without arousing suspicion, but he didn’t know how long he could keep up the pretense, and he was almost sorry he’d suggested Frenchman’s Creek; it was going to cost him. Ellery slept through the rest of the journey to the first vineyard. After they assessed the storm damage and found it to be moderate, the steward took himself off to sample some wine, giving Drake time to scrutinize the machinery and repairs in question privately. It was as he expected. No such upgrades had been made, and the buildings were falling to ruin. It was the same at the next croft, but the third had legitimate repairs. The steward had been clever, making random renovations here and there among the crofts. However, Drake noted, they were consistently minor. He had, indeed, been away too long. Had he not come home from Spain when he did, he would likely be in the suds. He would have to confront the steward, but not yet. Not until he knew where Demelza fit

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into the picture. That had to be determined post haste. He was finding it harder and harder to keep control. ~*~ The weather held at Drake’s Lair for the next two days. Balmier breezes and clear skies prevailed. Perfect for herb gathering, and Melly took advantage of the earl and Ellery’s absence to explore the thus far off limits territory on the eastern fringes of the estate. On the first day, she gleaned in the eastern fields, finding the honey-scented knapweed, its blue button heads dancing in the breeze. She found the sorrel, and ragwort she needed for her skin salves, cowslip for her headache tinctures, eyebright for lotions, its tiny white flowers faintly tinged with purple, and made the unexpected discovery of wild strawberries, which were a welcome treat in Cook’s trifle for dinner that evening. The following morning, she set out for the eastern fringes that bordered the woodland in that quadrant, secure in the fact that his lordship could root out herbs to his heart’s content, but he would never find--much less identify--all the specimens that bordered the wood. Most being flowering botanicals, they were innocently deceiving. Among them, peony, hydrangea, periwinkle, and the coveted foxglove and honeysuckle to make tonics for the heart. There were black currant bushes, sweet basil, peppermint, and witch hazel. The yield was spectacular. Never before had she come upon so many different species of herb growing in one place. Drake’s Lair was burgeoning with them--all manner of them--particularly now, after the flaw. Once she had nearly filled her basket, she set about making a wreath of the blossoms for her hair, and tussie-mussies for Zoe and Mrs. Laity, of golden lady’s mantle and periwinkle, entwined with Peppermint, basil, and currant leaves, which she bound together nosegay-fashion with sweet grass spears. That done, she crowned herself with the wreath, and unpacked the nuncheon Mrs. Laity had tucked into her basket. ~*~ When Drake’s brougham tooled into the circular drive just before the noon hour and rolled to a stop, he and Ellery climbed down at the front steps. Drake told the coachman to drive around to the servants’ entrance and instruct the footmen to take the three crates of wine they’d brought back from the vineyards to the wine cellar, adding that they needn’t bother putting the bottles away. He would see to that himself. Ellery, out of sorts from too much wine and too many losses at Frenchman’s Creek, quickly disappeared, and Drake went in search of Griggs. He found him in the kitchen just finishing nuncheon with the staff, and called him into the servants’ hall for a private consultation. "Have you done as I asked?" he queried. "Yes, my lord," said the valet. He handed him a sealed envelope. "The keys to the new lock on the study door, and the new padlock on the valuables chest," he explained. "You’re a good man, Griggs. Thank you." "The study door is locked," the valet went on. "I thought it best not to put the spare key in the scullery with the other spares. You might want to hold onto both, considering."

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"Yes, of course. You’ve done well. "Was there much of a brouhaha over it?" "Not at all, my lord. Curiosity, of course, but when I explained that I was acting on your orders, they quieted down." "All right, then. Mr. Ellery parted from me the minute we came through the doors. I suspect he’s gone up to his rooms. He’s tired and out of sorts. Has his new valet arrived?" "Yes, my lord." "Where is he, then?" "At nuncheon, my lord." "Good. I will want to interview him before he attends Mr. Ellery. Pass that along to the man if you will." "Yes, my lord." "First, I want to put the wine I’ve just brought from the vineyards away. The footmen are taking it down to the cellar as we speak." "Let someone else do that, my lord," the valet said bristling. "It’s hardly your chore." "Ordinarily, I would agree with you, old boy, but I need to keep this wine separate, and out of Mr. Ellery’s way, if you take my meaning. I won’t be able to compare it to the bottles I brought from Spain if he’s drunk it all. If the servants don’t know where it is, they can’t tellhim ." "I see, my lord." Said the valet, his nonplussed expression betraying him. "Never mind, I’ll explain all that later," Drake said with a wave of his hand. "We’ve much to discuss, but not now." "Yes, my lord." "Where is Lady Ahern?" "I don’t know, my lord. Nuncheon wasn’t set out for her in the dining hall today." "All right, leave that mystery for now. Once you’ve finished your meal, prowl about upstairs and keep an eye on Mr. Ellery until I’ve finished below. Then, I’ll spell you so you can draw me a bath before dinner." "Yes, my lord." With no more said, the valet went on his way, and Drake sprinted along the corridor and trotted down the back stairs to the wine cellar, where the footmen had lit two branches of candles, and stacked the wine crates just inside the door. "Lazy lot," he muttered aloud, almost tripping over the crates as he entered. He hefted the one at the top of the stack and carried it to the rear of the cellar, where the empty wine racks stood only to pull up short before them, not yawning empty as he expected, but rather hung with bunches of herbs left there to dry. There were dozens of them.

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He set the crate down none too gently, and stalked back for one of the candlesticks. Holding it high, he returned to the alcove staring in disbelief at what had blossomed into a professional herbarium in the two short days he’d been absent from Drakes Lair. The shelves at the back were already stocked with unctions and balms, keeping well in the cool of the cellar, and a parade of jars in odd assorted shapes stood at attention on the table awaiting the drying herbs that would fill them. Some were already labeled. The mortar and pestle still held traces of some herb or another, and he raised the pestle to his nose. He couldn’t identify it. Slapping the branch of candles down on the table, he raked his hair severely with both hands, as though he meant to keep his brain from bursting. Then snuffing the candles out with the palm of his hand, he stormed out of the wine cellar and bounded up the back stairs and into the servants’ hall corridor. Cook and Mrs. Laity were alone in the kitchen when he burst into the room. "Bloody hell!" he thundered. "Where is she? Don’t dare presume to tell me that you do not know, Mrs. Laity, or I will call you a liar!" Cook dropped the dish she was washing on the floor, where it smashed to pieces, and stood with the suds sliding down her plump arms. Mrs. Laity’s heavy bosom had begun to tremble as Drake strode closer with a crashing disregard for the furniture in his way. His eyes oscillated between them. Oh, yes. The look on their faces alone damned the pair of them. "Well?Speak , or, bigod, you can both collect your wages. Where is Lady Ahern?" "I… we…" the housekeeper stammered. "Come, come, I know she’s gathering herbs. I’ve seen your little secret in the wine cellar. Is there no one in this house that I can trust? Where… is… she? I warn you, I shan’t ask you again as employees on Drake’s Lair." "I don’t rightly know for certain, my lord," Mrs. Laity said defiantly, squaring her posture. "I believe she’s gone to the east woods after the peppermint for my indigestion." Drake stared, breathing through flared nostrils. The blood was pounding in his brain, and his heart was thudding wildly against his white lawn shirt and gray brocade waistcoat. The little witch had gone beyond the beyond this time. How dared she disobey him--deliberately abuse his hospitality--defy him right under his very nose? He didn’t speak--couldn’t speak. For a moment, raw passion wouldn’t let him take a step one way or the other. It was as though rage had nailed him to the kitchen floor. "Begging your pardon, but the little miss isnot the Lady Eva, my lord," Mrs. Laity said, somewhat less than steadily. "This isn’t like five years ago, and I’ll not let you hurt her for loving what grows in the ground, and doing something fine for us folks who need it. You’ll have to do to me first, and you can sack me over saying it if you want." Drake stared at her, scarcely believing what he’d just heard come out of her normally respectful mouth. It was too much. She’d gone too far. Fists clenched, he took a ragged step toward her. Though her posture clenched, she didn’t back away. Rage misted his eyes with tears, and he lunged, but not at her. Instead, he launched his rigid arm, sweeping the table clean of pots and kettles and dishes in one mighty swing of his white-knuckled fist.

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"Damn youfor that!" he snarled. And spinning on his heels, he streaked from the room. ~*~ Melly had just started to glean toward the meadow, when she turned at the thunderous sound of hoof beats. The earl was bearing down upon her astride the sleek black Andalusian bareback. Her knees began to tremble. She’d been found out, and the heat of his rage scorched her where she stood. He slid off the horse and reached her in two strides. The hand that grabbed the basket from her was no more than a blur as he flung its contents into the wind. Horrorstruck, she watched her day’s labor sift down--greens, flowering herbs,tussie-mussies , all taken by the wind, falling like rain over their heads. She stood speechless as he stomped them into the earth--basket and all--with his polished tasseled Hessians. Moisture glistened in his flared nostrils, his face was blotched with red, and his hooded eyes, dilated black, were drawn beneath the ledge of his brow. He looked like a fire-breathing dragon advancing on her, and she uttered a strangled gasp attempting to run, but his quick hands grabbed her arms and spun her around to face him. "How dare you disobey me?" he gritted through clenched teeth. He shook her. "How dare you take advantage of my hospitality--flaunt your flagrant disregard for my wishes? What do you mean, turning my wine cellar into a… a herbarium behind my back?" "I have harmed nothing," she snapped, struggling to break free, "I’ve only rescued a few innocent plants that you would destroy for no reason save meanness. And, though you rant and rave--wear your groundskeepers to a raveling--you shan’t ever destroy the whole lot you know, not unless you burn off the entire estate--woods and all. That is absurd.You are absurd! There are millions of botanicals on this land. Two others will spring up next Season for every one I’ve just plucked. This land is more prolific than any I have ever seen." He showed no signs of releasing her, and she struggled more fiercely then, giving his shins a fierce drubbing with the useless toe of her Morocco leather slipper, wishing she had her heavy ankle boots instead. "Let me go, you’re hurting me!" she shrilled. "Herb gathering is not permitted," he pronounced unequivocally, shaking her again. "Youknow it is not permitted. You knew that from the start!" "Why? What harm to glean a few weeds that will help someone? I want you to give me a reason. You should see yourself--all over a handful of plants. I believe you’re mad!" "Because I do not wish it; that is reason enough." "You brought me here at a disadvantage, and I may as well be a prisoner." "You are not a prisoner. You may come and go as you please." "How, my lord? You offer for my land, and then run off and leave me without anything begun--twice. I havenothing , nowhere else to go which you yourself pointed out, and no money until you honor our bargain. You seem not to have a care for that, jaunting off on holiday." "Unfortunately, that could not be helped, I--"

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"Meanwhile," she went on with raised voice, "I’m beholden to you for my meals and my clothes and the roof over my head. I do not wish to wear the countess’s castoff clothes. I want to wear clothes of my own choosing under my own roof, where I can fulfill my dream of constructing a proper herbarium--not some makeshift, begrudged corner of a dungeon. You’ve wasted time--mytime--time that is precious to me. How can you stand there and say that I am not your prisoner? It matters not if I am here, or elsewhere. I have no means to make my way but this. This is who I am. This is what I do. Maybe it is not what society meant for me, but society cast me out, and I am proud of the way I’ve made for myself in my abandonment. You knew that when you brought me here--you knew it when first we met." She waved her arm wildly toward the flowering plants at the edge of the wood, and cried, "The next flaw will likely take the rest of them. What possible harm can come from saving the few that have escaped this last one?" "You may do what you please elsewhere, but not here--not on Drake’s Lair--never again on Drake’s Lair. Am I making myself plain?" She gazed up into riveting eyes dilated black with rage. He hadn’t let her go. Even stooping he towered over her. His closeness was unbearable, his scent, all around her, making her dizzy, tampering with her reason, sparking that icy-hot fluttering inside. She had fantasized being in those strong arms again, but not like this. He was fearsome, yes, white-lipped, unbending, and shaking with passion, but she wasn’t afraid. She was angry. "No, my lord, you are not making yourself plain," she sallied. "Your own wife kept herbs. I know, because my cousin taught her the art. Cousin Calliope never told me, Bessie Terrill did when Mr. Ellery drove me ‘round to view what’s left of my home, during the first leg of your holiday, and Bessie’s word is sacrosanct. Calliope Dane instructed the countess--even gave her books. Did you know that? No, I can tell by your expression that you did not. What do you country aristocrats do? Are you so self-indulged, so immersed in your own separate pursuits that one marriage partner doesn’t know what the other is about? Was it boredom or neglect that drove the countess to herb gathering, Lord Shelldrake?" He seemed like a statue glaring down, his dark stare deadly, and though he didn’t let her go, the pressure of his grip on her arms lessened. His rapid heartbeat moved his waistcoat visibly. He let one of her arms go then, raked his hair back, and dropped his hand to his side, the fingers flexing in and out of a white-knuckled fist. He hesitated, and for a split second she thought he was about to strike her with his broad, open palm. She would not give him the satisfaction of her fear, though her breath caught in anticipation of an imminent blow. But he did not strike out. His posture expanded, the fist clenched again, and he pounded his rigid thigh instead. "You are not to gather herbs on Drake’s Lair again," he said gravel-voiced. "You allowed your wife, my lord. How is it that I may not? What have you got against me? Hah! Bother that. What have you got against theherbs that your wife so enjoyed?" It was a long moment before he put her from him roughly and raked his hair again, with both trembling hands. He had put a few feet of distance between them, but there was scant comfort in that the way he paced stiff-legged before her, taking long, ragged strides. Then all at once he stopped in his tracks and faced her. His eyes were hooded and cold. "Theykilled her," he thundered. Then kicking the wounded basket a vicious blow with the toe of his boot, he spun on his heels, leaped on the bare back of the Andalusian stallion, and galloped off in a shower of churned-up sod and pollen spores, coattails flying.

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Twelve Melly refused to go down to dinner. She had Zoe brush the remains of the herbal wreath from her ringlets, and fill the hipbath. She climbed into it exhausted, not from the herb gathering, from her volatile confrontation with the earl. After a thorough soaking in the silky lavender scented water, she let the abigail help her into another of the countess’s nightdresses. It was of the palest peach silk, an even finer, more revealing gown than the blue. It did--thank the stars--have a matching wrapper, which she put on as well for the sake of modesty. She was riddled with conflicting emotions. Every instinct in her told her to run, but where? If she’d had a halfpenny, she never would have come back to the house that afternoon. No one in her right mind would put up with such treatment. But she wasn’t exactly in her right mind. She’d come to that conclusion, when all she was thinking of while he was apparently about to strike her down was his embrace. Madness. There was no other explanation. But if she were mad, he must be also--driven mad by heartbreak. What had he meant--herbs had killed the countess? That made no more sense than her feelings for the man, feelings that brought jealousy to the surface each time she stole into the library to view the countess’s portrait, each time she looked at herself in the cheval glass in one of the woman’s costumes, each time she felt the caress of one of her exquisite nightdresses next to her skin, reminding her how far she’d fallen short. Being jealous of a ghost was surely madness, but that ghost was more alive to him than she was--than she could ever be. There was no hope for it. His grief was inconsolable, his love for his beloved Eva, eternal, while she meant nothing to him, that was painfully evident. He had very nearly struck her down. What stopped him? Certainly not any feelings she secretly hoped he harbored for her. More likely, fear that in his rage he might do murder and wouldn’t be able to get his hands upon her land until it went up for public auction. But then, he certainly wasn’t in any hurry for that, the way he jaunted off on holiday without even bothering to collect the signed contract. The man was an enigma. She’d come to the conclusion that he was also dangerous. He could well have been the one at her door, the one hiding behind the draperies in her sitting room as well. Rosen’s words kept coming back to haunt her:You have an enemy… one who is not what he seems… he has a secret… there is danger… much danger … That, at least, was the truth. She had been in danger that afternoon; there was no disputing it, and he certainly wasn’t what he seemed. The rest was a muddle. Had she discovered his secret? Not entirely. He’d only whetted her appetite. She wanted to delve deeper into that, wondered if she should. What was she thinking? She had to put as much distance between herself and the Earl of Shelldrake as swiftly as was humanly possible… but not tonight. Tomorrow, in the daylight, she would throw herself upon the mercy of the Tinkers. Zoe had brought up a tray earlier, but she wasn’t hungry, and when the abigail returned it to the kitchen untouched, Mrs. Laity waddled up the staircase like a juggernaut. "What ails you, Miss Melly?" she said, rushing in on the abigail’s heels. "He didn’t hurt you did he? He was half off his head when he went looking for you."

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"No," she replied on a sigh. "He remembered himself just short of that, thank the stars--justshort." "I don’t know when I’ve seen him this bad," the housekeeper said, clicking her tongue. "Why, he broke half the dishes in the kitchen you know, after he found our little secret in the wine cellar. I thought sure he’d snapped his twig. I haven’t seen him go off like that since--" "Since five years ago?" Melly concluded dismally. "Yes, miss," Mrs. Laity murmured. "He said something quite… shocking out there," Melly mused. "When I asked him what he had against the herbs on Drake’s Lair, considering that the countess gathered them also… he said that they…killed her . I found that to be a curious remark--shocking even. Whatever did he mean?" "You’re going to have to take that up with him, Miss Melly," she said. "It isn’t my place--" "No, no," Melly cried, holding up her hand. The woman’s face had drained ash-white all of a sudden, and her twitching lips were tinged with blue. "Take ease, I shan’t put you on the spot. I was just thinking out loud in any case. Besides, it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to be here long enough to puzzle it out. I’m leaving in the morning, and quite frankly it isn’t all that important." "It’s just… I daren’t go against him, miss--not even for you." "I can certainly appreciate that, after he showed his colors to me this afternoon. I don’t blame you. He must have loved her very greatly to have nursed such a madness for five years, through war and wounds and the stars alone know what horrors." "Some wounds is worse than any got in battle, miss." The housekeeper said wearily. "That’s all I’m going to say on the subject. Are you sure you want to leave? Where will you go? Who will care for you?" "I shall manage. I’ll go to the Tinkers until I can make my way on my own again. I cannot stay here, Mrs. Laity. Surely you know that." "Are you sure I can’t persuade you to eat something before I go off to bed at least, a nice cup o’ tea, and one o’ Cooks scones… just a little something to warm you up and hold body and soul together ‘till morning. You should you know, especially since you plan on leaving tomorrow. You’ll not likely get fare such as Cook’s amongst the Tinkers, lass." "No thank you, Mrs. Laity, I’ve quite lost my appetite. I’ll have a bit of breakfast before I go… with you… in the kitchen. Go on to bed. It’s been a long day." "Very good, miss. But if you have need of me, if anything untoward happens like what you told me went on here with them door handles, you pull that bell rope there for all your worth, and don’t you stop ‘till I get up here." The housekeeper left her then, and Melly bolted all three doors, and said goodnight to Zoe, who was already settled on the cot and had begun to nod off. Then, closing the dressing room door between, she climbed wearily into bed herself. There was only one candle burning, on the candle stand nearby. She decided to let it burn awhile, since

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she wasn’t ready to fall asleep. She was too keyed up. There was just too much weighing on her mind. All at once, a scratching noise at the bedchamber door vaulted her upright in the four-poster, her eyes flung wide toward a missive being slipped under the sill. Springing from the bed, she snatched up the parchment and broke the seal. As she tore it open, bank notes fluttered to the floor at her feet. She glanced over the bold words scrawled across the parchment in her hands. She recognized the handwriting. There were only four words: Go where you will. Snatching the notes up from the floor, she gasped. It was the hundred pounds. She raced through the sitting room, plucked the contract from the gateleg table, and burst into the corridor, but it was vacant. The phantom had disappeared. ~*~ Drake padded back down to his second floor suite barefoot. He had left Griggs and the footmen preparing his bath--a cold bath. He had dined alone. James Ellery had repaired to his suite with a bottle of wine the minute they returned and, according to Griggs, was sleeping off a drunken stupor. No surprise there, considering the mood he was in returning, and the head start he’d gotten getting foxed on two bottles of the wine they’d brought home from Porthallow. How fortunate for him. In his present state, Drake would have planted him a leveler. He needed to hit something. Badly. He needed to confront his longtime friend, and sever their relationship. Permanently. He needed to exorcise a certain little toffee-haired, golden-eyed witch from his mind… and, God help him, from his heart. How the devil had that happened? He had promised himself to keep heart and loins disjoined, until this cheeky, defiant little caster of spells ravished his body and ravaged his soul. He had denied it until that afternoon--excused it as petty jealousy in that Jim Ellery had once again gotten there before him. It had been a game in their Corinthian days, vying for the same ladybird, competing for the favors of this countess, that gentleman’s lady. But the minute he clapped eyes on Demelza Ahern in that meadow beside the wood, with the wreath of flowers in her hair, dancing to and fro like a fairy, a wraith escaped from the mists of time performing some ethereal pagan ritual on feet that seemed not to touch the ground, he was enchanted. When he grabbed her arms and shook her, he had wanted to demand she tell him what she saw in Ellery. He had wanted to crush her in his arms and bury his hands in those toffee-colored ringlets combed by the wind. He ached to feel their soft silkiness against his skin, and inhale the sent of sweet lavender and peony that drifted from her at close range, until he’d drunk his fill and gotten just as foxed as Jim had done on his wine. And, what had he done? He had nearly frightened her out of her wits. He would never forget the look in her eyes, or that he had put it there. She looked as though she expected him to strike her down. No, he would not have struck her anymore than he would have struck Mrs. Laity. He’d have broken every dish in sight before he would succumb to that, and he’d bruised his thigh before he would raise that hand to the frightened, little, doe-like creature at the edge of the wood who, even in her fear, defied him. He was striking out at everyone and everything that had ever betrayed him, andhe headed the list, because he had betrayed himself. He had allowed her to slip under the crack in the door he’d closed, just as he had slipped the notes under her sill just now. Yes, he ached to hit something; there was no denying it. But sanity was returning, and with it the realization that he needed to order his thoughts and direct the blow where it was due.

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She was right, of course, he did up and leave her in sixes and sevens, but he couldn’t tell her why. It was her lover, after all, that he was hell-bent to expose, and he couldn’t have her running off to warn him. He couldn’t even apologize and tell her now, without the risk of that. He had done the only thing he could do--give her the means to walk out of his life just as easily as she had walked in. And if that distanced her from Ellery, all the better, because it would give him the freedom to act as he knew he must. Griggs was not in his rooms when he reached them, he had sent the valet to the wine cellar to bring up a bottle of wine from each of the Porthallow vineyards so he could compare them with the varieties he’d brought back from Spain. Maybe he would drain them to the dregs. It was as good a time as any to get sauced, since that seemed to be the order of the day, and he sank into the tub to wait. To his surprise, Griggs came back empty-handed. "Where’s the wine?" Drake barked, when the valet entered some time later. "I couldn’t fetch it, my lord, that is, I didn’t think it prudent." "Good God, man, it was hardly a difficult request, what has prudence to do with it?" "Miss Melly… er, Lady Ahern is in the cellar, my lord. I didn’t think I should intrude. You did say I was to monitor her movements, my lord." "She’s down there now--at this hour?" "Yes, my lord, at least she was when I came up. I was on my way to fetch the wine, when I saw her coming off the back stairs by the kitchen, and I waited to see where she was going. Once she entered the cellar, I came back directly." "Bloody hell!" Drake trumpeted, pounding the cold water with clenched fists. "Get me out of this!" ~*~ Melly couldn’t sleep. Having made up her mind to leave at first light, her mind was racing with plans. It would take time to arrange for a safe place for her money, since she didn’t have an account--and such a sum . Meanwhile, she would stay with the Tinkers, provided that they had come out of the deep woods by now. But she wouldn’t go seeking favors empty handed. It wasn’t exactly candied angelica, but the specimens hanging in the wine cellar, and the ointments she had already prepared of such rare finds would be offering enough for their hospitality. It was late. Everyone would be asleep by now. She would borrow a marketing bag from the kitchen, steal to the cellar, and collect her herbs. Then, after slipping the contract under the earl’s door as he had slipped the notes under hers, for she wanted no further contact with him, the bargain would be sealed, and she would finally be able to sleep. In the morning, she would be refreshed and ready to leave before the household was up and about. It would be better that way. She couldn’t bring herself to face Mrs. Laity. She couldn’t bear more sadness in the housekeeper’s faded eyes at the prospect of her leaving. She couldn’t bear her tears, they might trigger her own, and she was no watering pot, though she had been on the verge of becoming one in private of late, and that wasn’t acceptable. She only lit one of the candle branches. It was enough. She spread the marketing basket open on the table and began filling it, marveling that the phantom hadn’t been there before her and stomped these poor shriveling specimens to death as well. She would have thought it to be the first thing on his agenda

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when he returned to the manor. "You never give it over do you?" said a voice she scarcely recognized, so close in her ear that she gave a lurch dropping a jar of mallow balm, which shattered with a splat, spraying the hem of her peach silk nightgown and wrapper--the countess’s nightgown and wrapper--the milky salve oozing over the floor at her feet. The earl was standing over her barefoot, arms akimbo, wearing rumpled pantaloons, and a shirt so hastily buttoned only two had been fastened at the waist, exposing a well-muscled chest, heaving with rage. "I have given it over," she said, with a toss of her curls, meanwhile continuing to fill the bag. She stopped momentarily, reached into the pocket of her peignoir, and produced the contract. "Here," she said," offering it, "You’ve saved me the bother of sliding it underyour door. I thank you for your prompt attention to the matter. I shall be on my way first thing in the morning." "You don’t have to do that," he growled, letting his arms fall to his sides. "I merely wanted to prove to you that you aren’t a prisoner here. And I didn’t just go haring off on holiday. I went on urgent business. I cannot explain, though I do owe you an explanation. Suffice it to say, it couldn’t be avoided." "More secrets? It’s a wonder you can keep abreast of them. You owe me no explanations, and if this is supposed to be your idea of an apology, it’s too little, too late. I thank you for your contribution to my welfare, and your kind invitation, but I cannot stay where I’m in danger of being struck down should I stoop to pick a dandelion." She thrust the last of her gleanings into the bag. "Do you want these, too?" she scourged, shaking the bag. "Will you call Bow Street in if I leave with them in the morning? I’m going to you know. You may as well know it. I have no bank account, my lord. I’ve put on tick remember? I have to sort myself out and find a safe place for the notes you’ve given me, and a means of cashing them. I thought to buy hospitality with these gleanings elsewhere meanwhile, so I shan’t have to throw myself upon the parish while I order my financial situation. But if you’re going to have me carted off to jail for stealing, I shan’t need them after all, shall I? I shall have a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in, and food to eat that I shan’t be obliged to pay for. Or maybe you just want to stomp the goodness out of them as you did my other gleanings this afternoon. Will that slake your blood lust over gathering?" "Demelza," he said, taking a step toward her. "Have a care, my lord, theglass !" she warned, backing away. "The devil take the glass," he murmured huskily. Slivers of the broken jar crunched beneath his bare feet as he reached her in one stride, seized her in his arms, and covered her lips with his warm, trembling mouth. It was the last thing she expected him to do, and she wasn’t prepared for the way her body reacted. She had longed for this moment--dreamed of those strong arms around her, those lips tasting her own. He hadn’t shaved since he’d come home, and the roughness of his skin excited her, sending shockwaves to regions of her body that had never been awakened before. At first she strained against him. It was what she ought to do after all--resist, but when he deepened the kiss and his tongue slid between her teeth and mated with hers, her hands slipped beneath his shirt as though they had a will of their own, and she pulled him closer, clinging to the fantasy that had suddenly become real.

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He moaned at their touch. All at once he buried his fingers in her hair, sliding them down the length of her throat, slipping them beneath the wrapper, following the contours of her body through the fine French silk gown that was cut so low it had exposed her charms to his touch. She scarcely breathed. His passion overwhelmed her. She moaned as his thumbs grazed her breasts. He tasted of brandy and of something very male, the same something that had aroused her in his scent. It was his chemistry alone, a hallucinogen, mesmerizing, intoxicating, drawing her deeper and deeper toward a place she dared not go, could not go--would not go if she were in her right mind. Her heart was pounding wildly against him in concert with his own. Ragged, thudding heartbeats hammering so frantically, she could no longer tell them apart. All at once his lips left hers and slid along her throat. Then lower, the roughness of his budding beard excruciating ecstasy grazing the tender skin along the swell of her breast. She groaned as his tongue probed deeper, and his body responded, pulling her against an anxious hardness in that lean, corded physique that took her back to the night of the fire. "Drake? Is that you?" said a thick, slurred voice from the wine cellar doorway. "What the deuce are you doing down here at this hour?" It was Ellery. The earl let her go, raking his hair back from a moist brow with both hands. His eyes were cold, feral lights gleaming from beneath the ledge of his brow. "I see, my lady," he panted, his broad chest heaving. "Another assignation, eh? And I’ve interrupted it. You should have taken what I had to offer just now, because you’ll get nothing from him this night." The words were scarcely out, when he spun, lunged, and delivered a blow to the jaw that sent the steward backpedaling into the dust covered wine rack beside the door. Then grabbing him by his wine-stained neckcloth, he drew the deadly clenched fist back again and delivered another that sent Ellery sprawling unconscious on the floor, before quitting the cellar without a backward glance. Melly stood trembling, her eyes flung wide toward the thoroughly foxed steward out cold in the doorway. Her heart was racing, her head spinning with shock and confusion, not the least of which over something the earl had said: "another assignation". What could he have meant? Could he have imagined that she came there to meet James Ellery? And whyanother assignation, what had put it into his head that she had done such a thing before? It didn’t matter. As much as she hated to admit it, she owed the fallen steward a debt of gratitude. If he hadn’t come in on them when he did, she would have surrendered herself totally to a passion that she never even knew existed. She stared down at the broken jar on the floor. The spilt balm was streaked with blood where the earl’s feet had been cut by the broken glass. He hadn’t even seemed to notice crashing out of the cellar, though he’d left blood-streaked footprints behind in the dust. Suppose he should return. That thought set her in motion, and she snatched up the marketing bag, stepped gingerly over the unconscious steward, and literally fled up the back stairs to the safety of her apartments.

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Thirteen Drake limped back to his rooms, where Griggs helped him into his dressing gown, and spent the better part of an hour picking glass shards out of his feet. Then leaving him with them soaking in a basin of salts and warm water, the valet shuffled off to his compartment in the vast adjoining dressing room, and returned with a jar of salve. "What’s that?" said Drake, eyeing the dubious jar skeptically. "‘Tis… a balm that will heal your cuts, my lord," the valet replied haltingly, bending to dry Drake’s feet with a towel. "What sort of balm?" "Primarily chickweed and goldenseal, my lord. It’s very effective." "And, where did you get such a balm, from the apothecary?" "N-no, my lord, ‘tis one of Miss Mell… Lady Ahern’s." Drake erupted in mad, bitter laughter that halted the valet, jar suspended. "If you’d rather not, my lord…" "No, no, by all means proceed," Drake said with a defeated wave of his hand. "She’s bested me--had the last word after all--so be it! Slather the murderous stuff on and have done." "Y-yes, my lord." Placing Drake’s feet on a towel-draped footstool, the valet began massaging the balm into his cuts. In spite of himself, Drake groaned. The cool salve was soothing, and pleasant-smelling besides.Zeus ! There was no hope for it. The little witch was still weaving her spell. "Am I hurting you, my lord?" the valet queried. "No, no, carry on," he responded irritably. "I think I’ve gotten all the glass, the bleeding has stopped at any rate," the valet observed, scrutinizing his handiwork while he unrolled the gauze dressing. "Only two of the cuts are deep, my lord--this one on the side here, and the other on your heel. You’ll have to sleep in clean stockings tonight. Then we’ll see where we stand in the morning." "Whatever," Drake said wearily. He didn’t imagine he would be getting much sleep. "What has become of Mr. Ellery, my lord?" the valet queried, applying the dressing. "He’s out cold in the wine cellar." "Shouldn’t we--" "No," Drake said unequivocally. "He’s so jug-bit, you’d have to carry his dead weight up three flights.

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He stays were he lays." "You’re sure he’s… breathing, my lord?" "Reasonably. I really don’t care at this juncture." "S-shouldn’t I check… just to be sure, my lord?" "Do as you please. You are supposed to be keeping tabs on the bastard after all. Just don’t disturb him. And if he should be conscious, there is to be no discourse. You don’t know what happened. Am I plain?" "Yes, my lord." "It was another assignation," he explained, since he’d given the valet scant information thus far. "She was there on pretext of collecting her specimens, when I interrupted her. She wasn’t dressed, Griggs, she was decked out in one of Eva’s old night costumes that I supplied--a particularly revealing one. She broke a jar when I surprised her, hence the glass." "I see," said the valet. "No you don’t, but you may as well have it all. I made a complete fool of myself if you must know. Then, when Jim arrived, I lost my temper and planted him a leveler." "And that’s when you stepped on the glass, my lord?" "No, I did that making a fool of myself." Drake responded angrily. It was embarrassing, but he did need to get it off his chest, and Griggs had always been his sounding board and father confessor in the past. "Oh," said the valet, swallowing audibly. "Are you sure it was an assignation, my lord, I’ve known Miss… Lady Ahern for some time, and she just doesn’t impress me as the type." "What else could it have been? She was half naked in that costume." He shook his head adamantly. "No, Griggs, you’re forgetting Mr. Ellery’s charm. I’ve seen the most decorous of ladies succumb to his seductions." "She admitted it, then, did she?" "Of course she didn’t admit it. But why else would she be down there at this hour dressed in that manner? She said she was collecting her specimens to pay her way elsewhere, since she’s leaving tomorrow. She could have done that fully dressed in the morning, old boy. No, she was waiting there for Jim." "Begging your pardon, but, do you have… feelings for her, my lord?" "That doesn’t matter," he growled. He wasn’t going to make a further fool of himself. Nothing was ever going to come of his feelings, why expose them to ridicule? "The only feelings I have at the moment are in these damnable feet," he said. "I can get the stockings on by myself. Go and check on the Jack o’ napes if you must, and call it a night." "What about Lady Ahern, my lord? Shall I check on her as well?"

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"No," Drake snapped. "She won’t be having anymore assignations tonight. That, I can promise you." ~*~ Drake ate his breakfast alone. Neither Demelza nor Ellery joined him. To his surprise, the wounds on his feet were much improved, though Griggs insisted upon repeating the treatment, and even coerced him to spend the day in his stocking feet and bedroom slippers, since he had nothing pressing that required his attention abroad. Ellery, he told him, had already vacated the wine cellar when he looked in that morning. His doctoring duties in Drake’s suite had prevented him from monitoring Demelza’s movements. After breakfast, Drake limped off to the servant’ quarters in search of Mrs. Laity, prepared to end the meal with a healthy portion of humble pie. He found her red-eyed and sniffling in the servants’ hall, stacking the staff’s breakfast dishes for removal to the kitchen, and she quickly blocked the tower of plates with her bulk at sight of him advancing. "Take ease, take ease, Mrs. Laity," he said on a weary sigh, "I haven’t come to put us all in the workhouse over pottery. I give you my word, I shan’t break another dish." "Y-yes, m’lord," she said skeptically. "Sit down, if you please," he said, "so I may sit. I’m not at my most powerful today I’m afraid." "I see you’re limping, m’lord," she observed, sitting in the chair beside the dishes. "How have you hurt yourself?" "Doesn’t matter," he groaned in relief, with the weight off his feet as he joined her. "I’ll mend. I’ve come to tender my apologies to you, and to Cook, for my reprehensible behavior yesterday. I just want to reassure you that it shan’t be repeated." "Yes, m’lord." "I shall, of course, replace everything I broke. You have only to supply me with an inventory, and I shall see to it at once. Meanwhile, feel free to make use of the upstairs dishes if I’ve left you short." "Yes, m’lord, she said through a sniffle, meanwhile wiping her nose on her handkerchief. "You’ve been crying. What now?" "She’s gone, m’lord--up and left without a word to anyone, with nothing in her stomach, and not a stitch to her name save the nightgown she come in, one of Ella’s old uniforms that she can’t wear no more since she put on two stone, and a pair of Morocco slippers what belonged to Lady Eva. All o’ the fine frocks we hemmed up for her are still hanging in her dressing room wardrobe." "What time did she leave?" he said, gravel-voiced, his chair creaking with the quick shift of weight as his posture clenched. "I don’t rightly know exactly," she replied, crying openly now. "She was gone when Zoe got up, and that was at first light. She must have left just before. Zoe is that distressed, losing her lofty new station as abigail. I can’t do nothing with her. She loved Miss Melly."

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"Are you saying Lady Ahern left before daylight?" "She must have." "How?" "I dunno’ m’lord. She must have just walked off. Nobody in the stables even knew she was gone when Smithers went up there to inquire." "Well, I expect it’s for the best," he grumbled halfheartedly. "Begging your pardon, my lord, but… you didn’t…" "I didn’t what?" he demanded. "S-s-scare her, like you done to Cook and me?" she stammered. "Not nearly enough," he said absently, thinking of the assignation then. "She doesn’t scare easily, Mrs. Laity," he recovered. "I did try to put the fear of God into her over those damnable herbs, but the little witch gave as good as she got." "You was fair off your head you know, m’lord, I don’t need to tell you. We’re used to it down below stairs, but Miss Melly… she’s a gentle soul, and--" "She’s a tigress," he corrected. "And, believe me, I did her no harm--Iam the wounded one if you notice." "Y-yes, m’lord. I just meant--" "I know what you meant, Mrs. Laity. Let that be the end of the discussion. She is gone, so be it. Our bargain is sealed. I have paid her a royal sum for her useless land, and a work crew will commence raising a new cottage upon it before the sennight is out, which she may rent from me for a ridiculously low sum if she so chooses, or go to the devil if she doesn’t. She now has enough blunt to do as she pleases. Our business is concluded." "Y-yes, m’lord." "Now then, we shan’t broach this subject again. Tell Zoe that she may continue at lady’s maid wages. That should dry her tears. I shall go and have a word with Cook by way of apology. Then, I will be in the study for the remainder of the morning if anyone should inquire--locked in the study. I want you to pass the word. I do not wish to be disturbed. By anyone." ~*~ Melly reached St. Kevern village just after daybreak. She passed through the grounds of Drake’s Lair without incident, but not before stopping along the way to add to the specimens in the marketing bag--one final gathering, and why not? It was the last she would get. Once she’d put Drake’s Lair behind her, it was over. She would never be returning. She didn’t go to the Terrills. They would want to know why she had left the Lair so abruptly. It was too painful a subject of which to speak. She wouldn’t lie, and she wouldn’t tell tales to the earl’s tenants

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either under any circumstances. Her first order of business was arranging for a safe place to keep her money. She could either approach the vicar, or Dr. Hale to help her with that. She chose the doctor, because the vicar would insist upon putting one of the trustees in charge of such a sum in her behalf, and she would not be managed. She was perfectly capable of taking charge of her own finances. She had done so quite successfully, until her father’s suicide encumbered her with the vowels and bills he’d kept from her that relieved her of them. The doctor would allow her the dignity to order her own affairs. With that decided, she went to his cottage straightaway. "Is the man addled?" said Hale. They were seated in his study, the notes spread out upon his desk between them. "That sorry scrap of used-up land isn’t worth a quarter of this." "Oh, he is…aware of that," said Melly awkwardly. The last thing she wanted was to go into detail, but she had to tell him something. "He insisted, Dr. Hale," she went on, "it connects to his other properties, and there was nothing for it but to accept. What little I had put by went up in smoke when the cottage burned. I have nothing left, no home…not even a place to stay but with the Tinkers until I can sort it all out." "You’ve left Drake’s lair, then?" Melly nodded, avoiding the doctors scrutinizing eyes. "I couldn’t stay on there indefinitely," she said. "It would hardly be proper. His lordship plans to rebuild the cottage, and he’s given me an option to lease it once it’s ready, but that could take months, and I haven’t even decided if I will. I only need your help temporarily in these awkward circumstances. I have always managed my own affairs quite well, and I will do so again. Right now, I must be on my own to put my life in order, and get back to the work I love. I need peace of mind to do that, and it shan’t be had if I am to go about with such a sum on my person." "Ummm," the doctor grunted. "Well, I will be happy to put your mind at ease and hold onto your funds for you, my dear, for however long you wish." He shuffled the notes and handed several back to her across the desk. "You’ll need something to tide you over--for lodgings and necessities. As you well know, I am not always here. My work often keeps me away from home for days on end, and it wouldn’t do for you to be caught without a feather to fly with in one of my absences. Have you decided upon where you might seek accommodations-- surely not out of the parish?" "I thought I might apply at Maud Endean’s boarding house." The doctor wagged his head. "I have it on good authority that she is full-up until Thursday week," he said. "I’ve just treated one of her boarders out there." "That will give me time to order myself, and buy some suitable clothes," said Melly. She swatted at her wrinkled black twill skirt. "I wouldn’t think of applying as I am. I shall stay with the Tinkers meanwhile. I do not know how to thank you, Dr. Hale." "Nonsense!" said the doctor. "Just keep those preparations of yours in good supply, my dear. I couldn’t do without them." Melly parted with some of her roots and salves as a thank-you for the doctor’s help, since she now had the makings of more, and set out for the Tinkers camp. She did not allow herself to think about what happened in the wine cellar. That would come later, when

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she was alone, when she could cry, or scream, or pound her pillow in anger--if indeed she had a pillow to pound. That remained to be seen until she finally reached the clearing and sighted the familiar wagons, colorfully painted in teal, bright yellow, and rose. Her heart leapt. Yes. Thank the stars. The Tinkers had returned. ~*~ "It is too much," Rosen grunted, wagging her head as she looked over her yield. "I am asking much," Melly pointed out. "You are asking nothing," the Gypsy said flatly, "--a safe place to sleep, and food to eat--isnothing ." She picked a handful of the herbs that Melly had spread before her at random. "Is enough," she said, laying them aside. She shoved the rest back toward her. "Now you tell Rosen why you leave the dragon’s house?" "Do you remember the day you read my tealeaves?" Melly said guardedly. She didn’t really believe in fortunetelling. It had to be just coincidence. But it was enough of a coincidence to warrant discussion, and her curiosity was piqued. "I tell you one day you see Rosen’s gift, eh?" the Tinker said with a nod. "That very night, I knew I had an enemy," Melly told her. "That fire was not an accident. Someone set it deliberately." "The earl, he pull you out in time, yes?" "Yes," she replied, eyeing the Tinker cautiously. "It was he, who told me he saw someone running away as he rode up, and I heard someone outside before the fire started, but I have come to believe that perhaps it was the earl who set the fire." "Why would he do that?" "I have no idea." "Why you think it?" "M-maybe because of what you saw that day in my teacup. He has certainly behaved like my enemy--either that or he is a madman, a certifiable Bedlamite. And he does have a secret, something grave and dark that has doubtless caused his madness." "Ummmm," Rosen hummed, considering it. "You discover this secret?" "No, not entirely. What I have discovered makes absolutely no sense. I do believe that the madness spoke it." "That is not why you leave the dragon’s house." "No," Melly said in a low voice. "Ummmm, I need no tealeaves to see that, little friend, your face reads like a book--a book of sorrows.

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You wear your heart there." "None of that matters. I am well out of it." "The only thing you are out of is the dragon’s house," the Gypsy said, her words riding a wry laugh, "and there is still danger--more so now. But we talk another time of that. You can share Tisa’s wagon--my eldest. She will not be too pleased. She thinks she is all grown now at fifteen, no more in need of mothering. She will see. She keeps my youngest, Val. There will be plenty of room for you in Tisa’s wagon." "I don’t want to cause any trouble. It’s only temporary--no more than a sennight if things go as planned." "Ummmm," Rosen grunted, dismissing that with a wave of her hand. "Pascoe, he find woodruff, wood sage, and sorrel deep in the forest, and others, too. Tomorrow, he take you in the wagon. He show you. Now you rest. And later, you tell me all about the dragon’s house, and the earl’s madness."

Fourteen Drake’s first order of business was to examine the contents of the valuables chest. Inside, everything seemed to be in order. All the notes he’d left there were accounted for, as were the ledgers, and the Shelldrake diamond. He lifted it out and admired it, a single pear-shaped fifteen-carat drop, suspended from a filigree bail riding on a fine gold chain. He recalled with sinking heart how he’d envisioned it resting in the hollow of Demelza’s throat. He snapped the velvet case shut on that memory, chucked it back inside, and closed the chest. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t think about that… about her, but she was all he could think about. Her hair was just as he’d imagined it, soft as spun silk to the touch, warm and fragrant. She tasted golden, of honey and the sun, and her skin was softer than anything he had ever dreamed. And he had dreamed. Often. It was the exact color of the peach silk nightdress that followed her curves inviting his touch, the curves that had aroused him the night of the fire, when the sight and touch of her body alone had ravished him. It would have happened again, and properly this time, if her lover hadn’t arrived for their assignation in a timely fashion.Zeus ! Was this love? If it was, he’d never been there before, and it was overrated. It wasn’t the sort of ecstatic end-all-be-all wonder of wonders drivel that dripped from Byron’s pen. Not by a long shot. It was agony. A knock at the door jolted him out of his reverie, and his eyes narrowed on the dark paneled wood. He didn’t answer, and it came again--louder. "Are you in there, m’lord?" Mrs. Laity’s voice shrilled from the other side. Damn and blast! Did the woman not understand the King’s English? Had he not told her he didn’t want to be disturbed? "I’m sorry, m’lord, but you’d best come," she whined "Prowse can’t hold them off much longer!"

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"Hold whom off?" Drake demanded, throwing the study door wide. "What the devil is the press? You’ll bring down the house with that God-awful caterwauling." "Two men have come from Laddanvean to have a word with Mr. Ellery," she said. "Well, go and beat on his door, then. Don’t bother me." "I did, m’lord. He don’t answer. I think he’s still drunk as a wheelbarrow up there. The men, they aren’t exactly what you might call gentlemen, m’lord, they’re rather a rough sort. They say they won’t go without first speaking with Mr. Ellery, and Prowse is hard-pressed to hold them back from rooting him out all on their own." Muttering a string of obscenities in a low voice, Drake stepped over the sill and locked the study door behind him. Then shooing the housekeeper back toward the servants’ wing, he squared his posture and stormed toward the Great Hall, following the sound of raised voices echoing along the corridor, with little regard for his sore feet. "I’m sorry, m’lord," Prowse cried excitedly. "I couldn’t hold the brutes." "Look here, what the devil’s going on?" Drake demanded, come abreast of two stocky men in plain dress--stuff breeches, plain coats, and dark stockings, smelling of ale recently drunk, and the horses they’d arrived on. "Stand back from my man! I am the Earl of Shelldrake. This is my home, and you are trespassing. Who are you, and what business have you here?" "None with you, your lordship," said the taller of the two. "Our business is with a Mr. James Ellery. Get ‘im down here, and once we settle our affairs, we’ll go peaceable. We don’t want no trouble with you." "Well, you’ve got it nonetheless. You’re standing in my house, manhandling my butler, and I may as well warn you, I’m spoiling for a good fight. I haven’t had one since I bested Gentleman Jim at Jackson’s Salon in London over five years ago. So you see, I’m long overdue." "Like we said, we don’t want no trouble with you, just Mr. Ellery." "Mr. Ellery is indisposed. Identify yourselves and state your business to me, or leave your calling cards and take your chances." "We don’t have no cards. My name is Jeremy Stokes, and this here is Charlie Swinton," said the speaker. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a sheaf of wrinkled papers. "He’s inta us for near two hundred pounds, is Ellery. He’s had time enough to make good. We’re here to collect." "Hah!" Drake erupted. "Is that all? He’s into me for more than twenty times that. Well, you shan’t have satisfaction today. It’s quite impossible. I shall see that he knows of your visit. Now, I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to leave." "We ain’t leavin’ without our blunt!" Swinton put in. "I’m sorry to hear that," said Drake, balling his hands into fists at his sides. He needed something to hit, and these poor devils were going to be that something. "Stand back, Prowse," he said to the butler. And before the two intruders could blink, he’d grabbed them by their shirtfronts, cracked their heads together, and run them through the open doors, where they tumbled down the steps, and landed in a heap in the middle of the Welsh bluestone drive.

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"Now then," he said, standing over them arms-akimbo, "as I’ve said, I shall see that he knows you were here. But if you want money, you’re going to have to get in line. Don’t come here again." Straightening his waistcoat, Drake strode back inside, slammed the doors shut, and bolted them, then turned to face the butler, who stood staring mouth agape. "Keep them locked hereafter ‘till I tell you otherwise," he instructed him, nodding toward the doors behind. "Y-yes, m’lord. I… I couldn’t hold them. I’m sorry, m’lord." "You shouldn’t have had to," Drake returned. "Have those men been here before?" "Yes, m’lord, on several occasions." "All right, go on about your duties. They shan’t be returning anytime soon." "Y-yes, m’lord." Drake shuffled back to the study. His feet hurt again. What was he thinking? He should have taken them upstairs and letthem deal with Ellery. He was half-tempted to go outside, dust them off, and have them back in to do just that and save him the trouble. It was a fiendish thought, but he reveled in it nonetheless. He had just saved the steward’s neckagain . Old habits were hard to break, but break them he would. It was time. ~*~ Drake had scarcely gotten back to his ledgers, when it was time for nuncheon. Cooks summer salad, oysters, and poppy seed bread fresh from the oven, served with chive butter and Roquefort cheese tasted like straw. His palate seemed to have dried up along with his appetite. He ate halfheartedly. Alone. Ellery had still not made an appearance, which was just as well. He hadn’t quite slaked his craving for bloodlust. After the meal, he scrawled a hasty note on parchment to Bradshaw and Mills outlining his findings and asking them to come at once, then sealed it, and gave it to Smithers to post in the village. That done, he returned to the study. There were still a good many ledgers to justify, and that kept him occupied most of the day. It was late in the afternoon, when the sound of a key being tried in the study door brought his head up sharply. After several more tries someone knocked, and he set his quill aside and waited, watching the door handles jiggle." "Drake? Are you in there?" Ellery called, his voice surly and thick. He made no reply. "What’s wrong with this blasted door? Drake? Open up!" Still he waited.

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One vengeful thump on the paneled wood followed his silence, then a string of blue expletives spoken loud enough to penetrate the ancient wood, followed by the sound of heavy footfalls carrying the steward away. Drake heaved a sigh. It was just as well that he’d remained silent. He wasn’t looking forward to the confrontation with Ellery that must come. He wanted to wait until the auditors were in residence for that. There needed to be witnesses. But impatient hands rattling the French doors now snapped his head toward the noise, and he surged out of the chair behind the desk and reached them just short of broken glass. "What the deuce are you trying to do?" he demanded, flinging the door wide, though he barred Ellery’s way. "I’m trying to come in. I should think that would be fairly obvious. What’s wrong with that damnable door lock? My key wouldn’t work in it just now. Didn’t you hear me? What? Were you sleeping in here?" Drake didn’t answer. He stood aside assessing the ravages of his rage, while the steward limped in gingerly. One of Ellery’s eyes was blackened and almost closed, his jaw was bruised around swollen jowls, and his bottom lip was split down the center and distended. Judging from the way he moved, these were not the only injuries he’d sustained. "What happened to you?" he inquired, surmising that, if his current state was any indication, the steward had no idea what hit him. "I dunno’," he replied, his speech still slurred. "I went down to the cellar to fetch another bottle of wine. That’s all I know. I must have missed the step, or tripped over the wine crates we brought back from Porthallow. Some nodcock left them in the doorway. I woke up on the cellar floor right after first light. Odd thing is I dreamed we had a go-round, and you planted me a facer." "You shouldn’t drink wine. You know how you get. Once you start you can’t stop. You’ve no one but yourself to blame for the state of your condition, or that getting foxed cancelled your… appointment. It’s no less than you deserve, old boy." "What appointment?" "You forgot that, too, eh? Why doesn’t that surprise me? Never mind. I’m busy, Jim, that’s why I left instructions that I not be disturbed, but since you’re here in spite of that, we need to talk. Two men were here looking for you earlier--Swinton and Stokes, I believe they said their names were. Something about you being into them for a couple hundred pounds?" "I… I can explain that, Drake. I was drunk, and I bet too heavily. It got away from me. Odds fish, man, they’re sharks. I was way out of my element, and they plucked me. They aren’t the only ones. That’s why I came down just now. I need you to cover my vowels just once more. I swear I shan’t ever drink when I gamble again." "I can’t do that, Jim," Drake replied levelly, shaking a slow head. "I just staked you at Fenchman’s Creek. I’m not Golden Ball you know. "You’re on your own from now on. The joyride is over." "What do you mean? I need your help, Drake. You can’t just… just…"

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"I’m afraid I can, old boy." He yanked the bell rope, and unlocked the door. "Itwas locked!" Ellery snapped. "What’s wrong with that door? Why wouldn’t it open for me? I’m not so hung-over that I don’t know how to turn a key in a lock." "I’ve had the lock changed--and for the valuables chest as well." "Why?" the steward said, around a nervous laugh. Drake studied him then. That announcement had sobered him slightly, and his worried stare was all too readable. No. He wasn’t going to be able to wait for Bradshaw and Mills. "The contents of my chest--of this room--come to that, don’t concern you any longer, Jim," he said steadily, "I said we needed to talk. I’ll be brief. You may sit if you like. You look about to come down in any case." "Stubble that!" Ellery sputtered, incredulous. "Y-you changed the lock of the valuables chest?" "I had to, Jim, you’ve robbed me blind." "Robbed you? Have you gone addle-witted?" "There’s no use to lie. I know. You won’t be facing incarceration in the Fleet for debt. That would be the easy way out of this wouldn’t it? No. What I uncovered on the tour is more than enough to see you slapped into Newgate Gaol for good and all. That’s why we need to have this little talk." The steward lost his color. His pale eyes darkened, and his mustache began to twitch. The look alone damned him. Drake had seen it many times before, when he’d been caught cheating at cards. He would try to wriggle out of it, just as he always had in the past. The calculating wheels were already in motion. Those cold, blackened eyes he knew so well were darting madly around the room, as though he sought to pull the means to his salvation from the very air. "I… have no idea what you’re talking about," was the tack he finally took. "My accounts have been debited for supposed repairs that have never been made on about seventy percent of my lands--" "That is preposterous!" "--starting with the Terrill croft," Drake went on with raised voice. "That’s the one that nabbed you. Technically, you’ve done murder. You debited the accounts just six months ago for a new roof on that house, the one we just put on together less than a fortnight ago, the one that was rotted through, that hasn’t been touched since Father was alive. If the work had been done when you stole the money and doctored the ledgers, little Will Terrill would likely still be alive. I couldn’t let that go. It got me to thinking, and I did a few mathematical equations, with the help of Bradshaw, and Mills, of course. I’ve never been good at that. You knew it, too, didn’t you, Jim? You were counting upon it. It was a very clever ruse, but not clever enough. While I lack mathematical genius, Bradshaw and Mills do not; that’s why I employ them. Our collective findings prompted the tour, and I needn’t tell you what I found." "All right now, I can explain--"

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"It’s too late for that. There’s more. You’ve been paying salaries to six employees that have long since been sacked on this estate alone. There’s another five at the cottage. Those salaries were going straight into your pockets weren’t they, Jim? You needn’t bother to answer. I’ve been to the bank. You’re a thief. Plain and simple." "It’s not what you think. I didn’t steal… I wasborrowing . I never meant to keep the blunt. I always meant to pay you back." "Then why did you hide it when I came home? Why didn’t you own up to it?" "I’ve been going through a bad patch. That’s how I got in so deep. I… I was hoping to win enough back to replace it. I would have, too, but you came on too soon." "If you hadn’t stolen it in the first place, you wouldn’t have had to try and replace it would you? No, Jim, you were hoping that I wouldn’t come back. I’ve checked the ledgers. The heaviest debits occurred after I stopped writing. You thought I was dead. You knew I had you in my will. You had no intentions of paying anything back. You thought, with that besotted brain in there, that the blunt was yours. You were just waiting for word confirming my death weren’t you, so you could lay hold of your inheritance?" "We’ve been friends all of our lives. You can’t just cut me off like this. If you’ll just give me a chance to make it up… just stake me this one last time. They’ll kill me, Drake. You don’t know these men. They’re dangerous." "Oh, believe me, you’ll pay it back. You’re hardly off scot-free. And you can ask Prowse how ‘dangerous’ they are. Ask him how easily I pitched them out of here on their arses earlier. I should have showed them up to your rooms and let them have you. Instead, I bought you some time. That’s far more than you deserve, considering. You’ll be gone when they come back, and theywill come back, Jim, make no mistake. They’re going to run you to ground." "Y-you can’t just cut me loose. I have no blunt… I’m deep in under the hatches… I’ve nowhere to go." "You’ve been living in my pocket like a piece of lint for nearly seventeen years. At first I felt sorry for you. You got off to a bad start, just as I did, left to my own devices at sixteen, and there was a certain sporting camaraderie between us, when we were knocking about Town competing for this doxy, and that prize. It was all very exciting. But I didn’t do you any favors did I? Much of this is my fault, I’ll admit. I taught you to take--allowed you to use me. But no longer." Just then a light rap at the study door sent Drake to answer. Prowse was on the threshold, answering the bell call. "Yes, m’lord?" "Please have Voss pack a portmanteau for Mr. Ellery," he instructed. "Have Griggs supervise. Mr. Ellery is leaving directly. Voss will be leaving with him." "I can’t afford him!" Ellery cried, throwing his hands in the air. "In that case, he goes anyway," Drake returned. "He’s sacked. I don’t need two valets." "I can’t possibly fit all my things into one portmanteau," the steward objected.

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"We will send the rest of Mr. Ellery’s things on once he’s settled in his new residence, and repaid what is owed," Drake went on, addressing the butler. Have them pack only the bare necessities." "Yes, m’lord. Will that be all, m’lord?" said Prowse, his normally narrow eyes flung wide. "Instruct the stable that he may take the sorrel mare. Voss is on his own." "Y-yes, m’lord." "I presume the doors are still locked from before?" "Yes, m’lord." "Good. See that they stay that way. Mr. Ellery will be leaving as he came in just now, by way of the terrace. He is not to be admitted here again--ever. Pass the word." "Y-yes, m’lord." "That will be all, Prowse. See that the portmanteau is delivered to the stable once it’s packed. Mr. Ellery will be waiting for it there." "Very good, m’lord," said the butler, disappearing. "You would actually hold my belongings hostage here?" the steward snarled, moving toward the study door. "They’re my things, and I will pack them." "You’re wrong, they are mine," Drake contradicted, arresting him with a quick hand. "My money bought them, and I can do anything I like with them. I should send you packing naked as a jaybird. Don’t presume to fly in the face of my generosity." "You can’t put me out just like that! What will I use for blunt? I’ve got less than two quid on me. How will I live? For the sake of our friendship--" "That’s over. And, you’ll survive. Look how well you managed duping me. I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll find some slapskull to flummox before the sun sets on the meadow. You fancy yourself a gambler--gamble. Sell the horse, or let your ladybird support you. She’s plump enough in the pockets now, thanks to my stupidity, and she, too, seems to have a knack for survival. You’ll manage. There it is. It’s what I’ve just proposed, or Bow Street. You decide." "You would really do that… bring in the Runners?" the steward murmured. "I may have to in any case, once Bradshaw and Mills arrive," Drake said with a crisp nod. "I’ve already sent for them, and I may not have a choice when they view my findings. You’ve nearly rolled me up, old boy. There are bound to be criminal charges leveled against you--extortion and fraud. I shan’t have control over that. You’ve broken the law. For the sake of our… ‘friendship’, I’m giving you a running start. That’s the best I can do, and more than you deserve." "You’re going to be sorry you’ve done this, Drake," the steward snarled. "You’re going to rue the day." "I’m sorry I had to," he responded sadly. "And, if that was a threat, I am not intimidated. Just keep in mind that you have a great deal more to lose than I do. You’re a gambling man--calculate the odds. No,

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old boy, it would be very unwise of you to threaten me." He held out his hand. "Give me your keys." "Damn you, Drake!" the steward railed at him. Unlatching the key chatelaine from his waist, he thrust it toward him. "Satisfied?" "For the moment," Drake said, flinging the French doors wide. "Now, get out, before I change my mind." The steward stomped past, red-faced, his jaw muscles ticking. Drake monitored the rage in his step, and the bleary, glaring eyes boring into him. They left him cold. "This is not the end of it," the steward warned. "That’s up to you," Drake sallied. "Oh, and, by the way, that was no dream you had last night in the wine cellar, Jim, and it wasn’t a facer I planted. It was a leveler."

Fifteen James Ellery clung to two things Drake had reminded him of, like a drowning man clings to a timber--that Demelza wasparvenue now, suddenly wealthy, with plenty of blunt to stake him, and that Drake had included him in his will. He’d forgotten about that. Clopping along in the twilight on the swayback mare, he gave both considerable thought. Demelza had left Drake’s Lair. The servants spread that tale at lightning speed. It came as no surprise, however. Fear that her leaving was imminent had haunted him since he’d sneaked into her rooms and perused that contract--a hundred pounds. How he could make use of a hundred right now. It wasn’t nearly enough, of course, to cover all the vowels he had outstanding, but it would certainly do for a start, and if he dodged his pursuers and gambled wisely, he could triple it and then some. Easily. He knew it. It was true that she hadn’t responded to his overtures thus far, and become even cooler toward him since she met Drake, but he could remedy that. Once he finished telling all--running the Earl of Shelldrake into the ground, he had no doubt that he could turn her head. She was a lady after all, a real one, not the type to be flummoxed by a rake. His charm had never failed him in the past. Not even with Eva. If Drake only knew! Love-blinded, he was such an easy cuckold. Maybe he should have told him. It would have been a fitting final triumph. He rubbed his swollen jaw and flexed it stiffly. No. That would have been suicidal in Drake’s present state. But he would, when the time was right. Drake Hannaford hadn’t seen the last of him--not by a long shot. He would have had everything he’d ever wanted with Eva. He had always been jealous of Drake--of his dark good looks, his impeccable taste, his money, and charm. Drake had always shared the blunt, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more, he wanted it all. He wanted tobe Drake. He had always wanted that, ever since they were schoolboys together. It began as hero worship he would allow, but at some point along the way--he couldn’t put his finger on exactly when that was--the contest ceased to be a game, andhe became the hero. Besting Drake in every

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way imaginable was what drove him then--proving that he was the worthy one. He hung on like a leech attempting that. Drake never knew why. The nodcock felt ‘sorry’ for him. Sorry--forhim . That’s what he’d said. Eva’s money would have saved him. She would have been his final triumph--the last phase of his transformation in becoming the man he envied--worshiped--hated. Yes, hated. He was so much more deserving of everything that Drake possessed than Drake was. He would have had itall . He’d come so close. Then everything went wrong--terribly, fatally wrong. Eva had opted for Drake’s wealth rather than his charm. But all that was over now and he had a new opportunity in the person of Demelza Ahern. Not nearly as prestigious an opportunity as the countess would have been, of course, but an opportunity nonetheless, and in his current circumstance, he could hardly be choosy. That she was a beauty--a ripe little morsel--was a plus. He’d bedded many a plump-in-the-pockets harridan to feed his appetites before Drake went off and left him in charge of all that blunt. It was Drake’s own fault. He’d gotten just what he deserved. What? Did the man expect him to live on a measly steward’s stipend when he had access to a king’s ransom? Who knew that he would even be returning after five years? Yes, he considered the money his. He’d worked hard enough to attain it. Drake should never have come home. That isn’t how it was supposed to be. He wasn’t a professional soldier. He would have been killed eventually had he stayed in the army. That’s how it was supposed to be. Hadn’t he been the one who suggested Drake buy himself a commission? At the time, he had thought that strategy inspired. Let Napoleon do his dirty work for him. It had seemed the perfect solution. That thought brought to mind the other point Drake had made mention of--the most important point. The will. Drake had provided for him handsomely. He’d never disclosed the exact amount, of course, but now that Eva was gone and he had no heir, it would be substantial, certainly worth going after. Worth risking one’s life for. Could he have had time to change it? It was doubtful. Bradshaw and Mills couldn’t do it. His solicitor, Malcolm Snead, in Truro was in charge of that, as he had been with his father’s before him. It wouldn’t be long now before he did amend it, however. Something had to be done immediately--before he had the chance. That inheritance would set him up smartly--with or without Demelza Ahern. He was, of course, contemplating murder. His future depended upon it--necessitated it. But it would have to look like an accident. It would be tricky now that they’d had a falling out, but certainly not impossible. Drake said he’d sent for Bradshaw and Mills. It wanted to be done before they arrived, and in such a way that it couldn’t be traced to him. That was key. They would surely be here in a day or two. Yes, decidedly tricky, but not impossible if it were to happen now--right now--after everyone in residence witnessed his ejection--saw him ride off, portmanteau and all on the swayback mare into the low-sliding sun. That sun had set now, and he had reached the Black Stag Inn on the moor just outside St. Kevern village. Wild, daring plans were taking shape in his brain. Everything was meshing and, after taking a room at the back of the inn and very visibly stabling the mare at the livery with Drake’s Andalusians, which had finally arrived, he quietly stole away unseen, and returned eastward along the beck on foot through the wood toward Drake’s Lair. ~*~ After dinner, Drake assembled the staff in the servant’ hall. There could be no margin for error. James Ellery had been in charge of Drake’s Lair for five years. If there was to be any dissension in the ranks over booting him out, he needed to know it before he left for Truro. A sea of solemn gray faces stared in silence as he stood at the head of the table. It was plain that the word had spread lickety-split below stairs. There wasn’t a nonplussed expression among them, just a collective aura of sober apprehension.

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"I’ve assembled you all here," he began, "to explain my actions of this afternoon, not because I feel a need to defend them, but so that there shall be no speculativeon-dits making the rounds. Since gossip is inevitable, I shall provide you with the facts, in order to insure that the gossip shall at least be accurate. When I’ve had my say, you may act according to your own consciences. "Mr. Ellery is no longer residing at Drake’s Lair. He is not to be permitted to enter here again, and that includes the grounds, whether I am in residence or not. That must be understood before we go any further. Have I made myself plain?" A rumble of out of rhythm "yeses" replied. "Good," Drake responded, quelling the murmur of monotone sound that followed. "That will do for a start. Mr. Ellery has extorted money from my accounts--a great deal of money, over a long period of time--to cover his drinking and gambling debts. You are all acquainted with Mr. Bradshaw, and Mr. Mills. They will be arriving shortly to fully assess the damages. In the meanwhile, I want you to search yourselves deeply. Mr. Ellery has been your superior for the past five years. Some of you have known no other, and to those, I realize that I may indeed seem an interloper here. If that should be the case, I will understand. I need your loyalty, cooperation, and support. It is critical to your employment here. If you find that you cannot countenance giving it, that is your prerogative, and you are free to collect your wages with the appropriate severance, and my well wishes. If you choose to stay, I will expect your allegiance. Totally. Is that understood?" Another "yes" echoed through the hall in unison. "Good. There is one more thing. Should any of you have information regarding Mr. Ellery that might be helpful to me, I expect you to share it. Unfortunately, since I must leave for Truro on urgent business at first light tomorrow, I must ask you to make your decisions rather quickly. Therefore, anyone wishing to vacate his or her post please see me before I retire. I shall be in the study. This must be resolved before I go." He waited through another rumble of unintelligible sound. "Very well, then, that is all, you may carry on," he said. Then to his valet, who had risen to file out with the rest, he said, "Not you, Griggs, I need you in the study." The valet followed, and once they were inside, Drake closed the door and took his place behind the desk. "I hope to return before Bradshaw and Mills arrive, since the post is slow, but if not, I’m going to want you to make them comfortable, and see to their needs in my absence, just as you see to mine." "Yes, my lord." "I shall prepare everything they’ll need, all of the ledgers, my findings and notes, and lock them here in the desk before I go. I shall give you the key, and the spare study key. Keep the study door locked after I leave, and open it only to Bradshaw or Mills." "Yes, my lord. Begging your pardon, but, why are you going there if they are coming here?" "I’m not going to the bank. I’m going to Malcolm Snead’s office. Years ago, I made rather extravagant

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provisions for Mr. Ellery in my will and made the mistake of telling him. I’d totally forgotten about it until we had our confrontation here earlier. I’ve got to amend that. If something should happen to me before I do, he stands to inherit a great deal of money. That has to be cancelled at once." "Yes, of course, my lord, but nothing is going to happen to you," Griggs scoffed. "I certainly hope not, old boy, but if it should, you can bet your blunt Judas Iscariot isn’t going to benefit." "Of course not, my lord. How did you part?" "Not well," Drake said through a sigh. "We’ve been together a long time. No one knows that better than you; you’ve been with me just as long. Sending him packing was just about the most difficult thing I have ever had to do. I had no choice. That he could do this to me after everything we’ve been through together is beyond belief. I would have trusted him with my life, Griggs. Do you know he actually expected me to cover his vowels in spite of it all? One of us has to be mad." "We all make bad judgments, my lord." "Bad judgments?" Drake blurted. "Bloody hell!" "What about Miss Mell… Lady Ahern, my lord?" the valet said warily. "Another bad judgment. I seem to have a penchant for them don’t I? Well, she’s his problem now. So be it." The valet hung his head. "Y-yes, my lord." ~*~ It was late, and Drake was still poring over his ledgers. It was just as well. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep in any case. He couldn’t order his thoughts, Demelza kept creping into them. Ellery would go to her. He was probably with her right now. Why should it matter? It shouldn’t. But it did… oh how it did. Why had he just handed her over to him? Why hadn’t he fought for her? He would have in the old days--tooth and claw, and had done on a number of occasions over a bit of fluff that meant nothing to him. Was it just an act of chivalry, because Ellery saw her first? Balderdash. That never mattered in the past. Back then, it had been every man for himself--all’s fair--may the best man win. He loved her. He’d admitted that to his worst critic--himself, and he justgave her to him. Why? Because he thought that was what she wanted. Chivalry be damned! What about whathe wanted? If she only knew what the Jack o’ napes really was, knew what he’d done. Hah! She was probably in on it. That thought had crossed his mind. He didn’t want to believe it, but blunt was evidently all she wanted. She took it quickly enough--ran off the moment she had it in her hands. It didn’t matter. He would never know the truth of it now. He had driven her away. Still, the ghost of her soft, tender skin and honey sweetness haunted him. Reliving the rapid beat of her heart against him made his own beat faster. Recalling the throaty moan resonating through his body as their tongues conjoined, aroused him. The flutter of her tiny hands against his bare skin came again, tantalizing him. His fingers rubbed together, remembering those toffee-colored ringlets, softer than eiderdown that, even now, tormented him. The scent of her--peony and lavender, moss rose and sweet grass--foxed him still.Zeus ! Would it never leave him? He was obsessed. She had bewitched his heart.

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He began to pace before the cold study hearth.Nodcock.You should have toldher about Jim’s extortion.You should have told her about Eva--about the herbs--every last sordid, shocking detail . All at once a hesitant rap on the study door halted him mid-stride. He glanced at his pocket watch. It was nearly midnight. The rap came again, and he jammed the watch back into his waistcoat pocket. Could it be a defector--at this hour? "Come," he called wearily, expecting one of the newer servants on the threshold for their wages. But it was Mrs. Laity’s head that looked in as the doors creaked open. "What now?" he muttered under his breath. She had been crying again. "Well, come in, come in," he said testily. "Are you aware of the hour, Mrs. Laity?" "Yes, m’lord," she said through a sniffle. "You said that if any o’ us had something to say we should do so before you retired." "So I did," he conceded, "but I hardly expectedyou --" "Oh, no, no, I’m not giving my notice," she cried, interrupting, "--never that." "What, then? It’s nearly midnight." "I can’t countenance Miss Melly, m’lord. I should have come to you with it before, but she made me swear to hold my peace. Now I’m scared. He’s after her. I just know it, and she’s gone off God alone knows where. She thought it might have been you, but I told her you’d never--" "What the deuce are you talking about?" he said nonplussed. Her lower lip began to tremble, and he breathed a nasal sigh handing her his handkerchief, meanwhile steering her toward the wing chair beside his desk, then took his place behind it. "Now then, dry your eyes, and begin again… slowly." "It happened twice, or I wouldn’t be so overset." "Whathappened twice, Mrs. Laity? Do try and tell me calmly. Believe me I am not up to muddles at this hour after the day I’ve had." "Mr. Ellery, and Miss Melly," she said, through the handkerchief. "What about them?" "He’s up to no good, that’s what," she said. "The first time it happened was the night you came into the kitchen and called Zoe into the servants’ hall all out straight." "The first timewhat happened?" he demanded. "The first time he went into her rooms, m’lord." "Yes, yes, I know. They had an assignation. Mr. Ellery bribed Zoe with half-a crown to give them some time alone. I saw him enter her chamber myself. She came up shortly after, and they were occupied there for quite a time before I came down to speak with Zoe." "No," said the housekeeper, shaking her head. "He was in there all right, but ‘twasn’t an assignation, or

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anything like that. He was snooping around looking for something when Miss Melly went up, and he got caught in there--hiding behind the draperies, he was. She heard a noise in her sitting room, thinking it was Zoe, and called out, but it wasn’t Zoe, and when she went to investigate, the door had just clicked shut, and the draperies was still moving. Why, she even took a poker to them just in case, but he was gone." "What could he have been after?" "I dunno’," she replied, "but whatever it was, he never made his presence known." "You said there were two incidents?" he mused. "Yes, m’lord, the other was the night you came home from the tour, the night before you took Mr. Ellery off to the vineyards." "And…?" he prompted. "After that first time, she kept her doors locked up there, but Zoe forgot to lock up the dressing room that night. Miss Melly had just retired, when the door handles started rattling, first one then the other. She was that scared, she was, and she got to the dressing room just in time to throw the bolt before he started rattling the handles there. It was some time before he gave it over, and to hear her tell it, she didn’t go far from that poker all night. He was drunk on wine at the time, m’lord, but if you want the truth, you was acting so mean to the lass, she thought it could have been you both times. That’s what she said to me, yes, sir, she did, though I told her you would never take advantage of a lady like that." Drake surged to his feet all but toppling his chair, skirted the desk, and lifted the clearly flabbergasted housekeeper into his arms, spinning her around despite her size and shrill protests. "Mrs. Laity, I love you!" he said, kissing her wildly on the blush-crazed apples of her plump cheeks. "Here now, put me down, you rascal--lord or no!" she shrilled. "Besides, you’ll throw your back out hefting the likes o’ me!" "I don’t care," he rejoiced, finally letting her feet touch the floor. "You don’t know what you’ve just done." "W-would you mind telling me, then?" she panted, straightening her apron and mobcap, which had gone awry in the whirlwind. "I haven’t turned idiot," he assured her, addressing the skeptical look in her eyes, and feet edging toward escape. "I thought… well, never mind what I thought. I was mistaken. I’ve been such a fool. You were right to come to me. I only wish you’d done so sooner." "She made me promise not to tell it to anyone. She said that as soon as you settled the sum on her for her land, she would be off and good riddance. You treated her so poorly she couldn’t wait to see the back of Drake’s Lair, that’s what she said, m’lord." "She could well be in danger," he said, preoccupied. "No, this won’t wait until morning--not a minute longer. I have to go. I have to find her right now--tonight, before…" He had been thinking out loud, and all at once he realized that the housekeeper was staring up at him mouth-agape. There was no doubt that she thought him mad, and he laughed in spite of himself. "It’s all right, Mrs. Laity," he assured her. "Go on to bed. Just pray that I find her first."

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Streaking past her, he raced along the corridor and bounded up the staircase taking the steps two at a stride. Griggs was nodding in the boot chair when he looked in on him. He wouldn’t disturb him. This was something he needed to do alone. His feet were mending nicely, though the deeper cuts were still tender as he tugged on his boots and tested them. It couldn’t be helped. There was only so much a man could do in his bedroom slippers; riding an Andalusian was not among those options. Rummaging through his armoire, he grabbed a lightweight cloak, threw it over his shoulders, and went to the drop-leaf table beside the window, where he extinguished the candles. He glanced below at the grounds. A shadow not belonging to the shrubbery was slithering along the edge of the courtyard. He watched it until it came so close to the house that it was no longer visible through his window. Crossing to the chiffonier, he yanked open the top drawer and removed hisWheeler military flintlock and holster, loaded the pistol, strapped it in place, and stuffed the ammunition, copper powder flask, mallet, and rod into his pockets. Then, bolting down the back stairs, pistol at the ready, he slipped out through the servants’ entrance, and inched his way along the Gothic style facade, keeping to the shadows of the columns, and tall, pointed arches, while he accustomed his eyes to the dark. The fickle moon that showed him fleeting movement earlier was hidden again behind wind-driven clouds that promised rain before morning. Nothing seemed untoward until he approached the cobblestone terrace attached to the study. It was dark inside, and the French doors were slightly open. Had Mrs. Laity extinguished the lamps and candles? He knew he hadn’t, he’d rushed out ahead of her, and he raised the long-barreled flintlock, eased the French doors open wider, and stepped over the threshold. There wasn’t a sound. His sharp eyes darted this way and that. Nothing met them except reflected light from the bashful moon that came and went bouncing off metal objects in the well-appointed study, though he sensed a presence. He wasn’t given time to puzzle that out. A sharp, heavy blow to his head from behind brought him to his knees, and another sent him, groaning, into oblivion. ~*~ James Ellery relieved Drake of a handful of pound notes, the pistol, holster, and loading tools, and glanced around the room. All was still. He had just jimmied the French doors open, when he spied Drake rounding the column from the servants’ wing. Only one branch of candles was lit in the study, and he quickly extinguished them with the palm of his hand and ran back outside. Then, flattened in the shadows, he waited, hidden in the ivy climbing the stone outer wall, scarcely breathing, until Drake entered through the open door allowing him to creep up and attack from the rear. He couldn’t believe his luck. He was certain he would have to prowl the halls half the night seeking his opportunity. He eyed the chest longingly. Hundreds of pounds worth of notes and the Shelldrake diamond lay just inches away. He almost salivated at the prospect of possessing them, but that was impossible, and unnecessary. He would doubtless own it all anyway, once Drake’s will was probated, and he wasted no time agonizing over it. He removed Drakes cape, and donned it himself. Tipping the desk chair on its side at the edge of the hearthstone, he hauled Drake’s inert frame into it in such a way that it would appear he’d struck his head on the andiron, then twisted his foot inside the edge of the desk to make it look as though he had caught it there causing his fall.

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There was a decanter of brandy on the desk with two glasses on a silver salver and he removed the crystal stopper, forced some into Drake’s mouth, then loosened his shirtfront, and doused him with more. Filling one of the glasses, he laid it gently on its side, letting the brandy bleed across the ledger on the blotter in a wide, ragged circle, just as it would have if Drake had clumsily knocked it over when he fell then sprinkled some on the rug, chair, and lounge. Trying the desk drawers, he only found one unlocked. Two more ledgers were tucked inside, and he splashed them as well then laid the decanter beside Drake on the carpet. Relighting the branch of candles he’d extinguished when he set the scene earlier, he touched the flames first to the desk, then to the lounge and carpet, before dropping it on the floor as though it had fallen there naturally when Drake tipped the chair over. He considered striking him another blow, just to be certain, but decided against it. As it was his head was bleeding badly. It wouldn’t do to cause more damage than he would have done falling. It needed to look like an accident after all. Besides, it wasn’t necessary. The whole house was asleep by now, and he hadn’t made a sound to rouse anyone. Flames leapt up everywhere, tall, hungry columns of fire fed by the alcohol, eating their way toward Drake’s inert body on the hearthstone. Everything had gone according to plan. Exactly. And, snatching up the bloodied rock he’d struck him with, he fled through the open terrace doors and disappeared like a wraith in the darkness.

Sixteen Melly waited self-consciously for the mail coach to arrive at the coaching station. She was definitely not dressed for travel in her borrowed housemaid’s costume, without even a bonnet, shawl, or reticule to recommend her to gentility. The frock was soiled, and wrinkled as well from sleeping cramped for two nights in Tisa’s wagon in the penetrating dampness, and her hair was only finger-combed, but her face was clean, and her deportment flawless. The morning fog had not yet lifted. It drifted aimlessly in and out, ankle deep, among the passengers waiting on the platform, mercifully hiding her Morocco leather slippers that had not fared well on her trek from Drake’s Lair. They were badly scuffed, and one was torn at the instep. She tried to strike her most indifferent pose whenever one of her fellow travelers eyed her skeptically, though underneath it all she was mortified. But there was nothing for it. She was on her way to remedy the situation now that, thank the stars, Dr. Hale had agreed to help her, and she squared her shoulders, tossed her curls, and fixed her gaze on the highway steeped in mist for some sign of the coach. She promised herself not to think about the perplexing Earl of Shelldrake, but that was impossible while the taste of him still lingered on her tongue, while her body still responded to his strong arms wrapped around it, to the roughness of his budding beard against her breast, and his erection forced against her through the gossamer peach silk gown--Eva’s gown--Eva’s color, so right for the beautiful Lady Eva, Countess Shelldrake, so wrong for her. The hallucination was so real, it was as though he were holding her still, and when a hand touched her shoulder, she spun around with such a violent lurch she nearly knocked its owner off the platform. It was Ellery.

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"Odds fish, my lady," he gushed, steadying her. "I didn’t mean to frighten you. Didn’t you hear me calling?" "Mr. Ellery!" she exclaimed, deftly removing herself from his grasp. "Whatever are you doing here?" "I walked over to inquire the very same of you," he said, taking her measure openly. "Going on holiday with your newfound wealth?" "Hardly," she snapped, resisting the urge to tell him to mind his own affairs. "I am going to replace the clothes that I lost in the fire," she said instead, "to make an end to such rude looks as you have just given me, sir, not that I put any stock in such evaluations. I’ve grown quite accustomed to them actually." "You wound me," he replied tongue-in-cheek through a mock frown, "and you misread my look, it is strictly one of admiration. Dear lady, you would rival Venus in a grain sack." "Yes, well, thank the stars it shan’t quite come to that," she snapped. "So," he said buoyantly, rubbing his gloved hands together. "Where are you headed in order to squander Drake’s blunt?" "I never squander anything," she sallied. "And it isn’t his lordship’s blunt any longer. It’s mine. But if you must know, I’m going up to Truro for the day to do my shopping." "As coincidence would have it, so am I--" he returned, "--going to Truro, that is, on business. We shall be traveling companions. Isn’t this a pleasant surprise?" She didn’t answer. Craning her neck toward the highway, she prayed for the mail coach to materialize. Where was the deuced thing? They were notoriously prompt. She thanked the stars she’d opted for the mail over going post, or by a slower stagecoach, that stopped umpteen times an hour to let off and take on passengers. She cast more prayers of gratitude toward the heavens that the sleepy little village was on the mail route albeit only once a week. The rest of the time mail came in from Truro on the stage at random. The last person she wanted to be confined in a coach with alone for any length of time was James Ellery, even if it was only for a relatively short distance. The mail coaches seated four inside and usually up to eight outside up top, depending upon how much of the mail overflowed the boots. It would be too much to hope for that the steward would number among them, but at least there would be two others traveling inside as well, and there was always the chance that more would be picked up along the way, forcing him to relinquish his seat if they were female. "Since we both seem to be fated for the same destination, it would be my pleasure to accompany you on your little shopping spree," Ellery said silkily, breaking the awkward silence. "Are you familiar with Truro? It’s quite built up these days, nothing at all like our sleepy little St. Kevern." "Not really, but I assure you I am perfectly capable of shopping on my own." "I have no doubt," he responded, "but do you really think it wise, my dear? You’ve lived too long in the wild if you imagine that a young lady alone wouldn’t tarnish her reputation without, at the very least, the company of another lady, or more acceptably, a gentleman escort in town. Traipsing about on her own, she would surely be labeled a tart."

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"I should think a lady would more likely be in danger of being labeled that, were she to have a gentleman accompany her while she purchased her unmentionables, sir, unless, of course, he was a rake," she sallied sweetly. "Touché, my dear," he responded, with a dramatic bow from the waist, "but I think that I shall tag along in any case, since we both know what we are… and what we aren’t. My conscience wouldn’t have it any other way. They’re a rough lot down by the river, and you are obviously carrying a good deal of blunt. I would never forgive myself if harm befell you while I was right in town and could have prevented it. As a matter-of-fact, it might be best that you give it to me for safekeeping. I assure you, it will be quite safe. I see you have no reticule. Wherever have you hidden it, you clever creature?" "No thank you," she said tersely, "and where I keep my money while traveling is none of your business, sir." "I only meant to be of service, my dear," he said. "I stand justly rebuked, and I humbly beg your pardon. But if rumors have spread from Drake’s Lair already, I do hope you will give me the chance to defend myself." What was this now?No, she wouldn’t bite. Instead, she stood on tiptoe, her sharp eyes straining the stubborn mist for the uncommonly tardy coach. She glanced around the platform. There was only one other female passenger waiting, aside from herself. She was going to have to suffer his company all the way to Truro. She craned her neck toward the highway again.Where is the deuced thing?Why doesn’t it come,so I can have all this unpleasant banter behind me? The thought had scarcely crossed her mind, when the lumbering black and chocolate conveyance, with the familiar royal arms emblazoned on the doors, came tooling around the bend, its brilliant scarlet wheels and undercarriage breaking through the fog. Once the passengers had disembarked, the steward helped her inside and took his seat opposite, while an older woman and gentleman climbed in beside them. "We should be off in no time," Ellery said, "and it shan’t be a dreadfully long trip. They won’t be changing horses again ‘till Truro." "Thank you," she said curtly, "but I don’t need a tour guide. I’ve traveled the mail before." "Have you then? And here I thought you were quite the provincial lass." "Hardly. I am Manchester born and bred, sir, and groomed for society in London. I believe I can handle Truro." "I am impressed. But I do insist that you permit me to safeguard your reputation. You might even enjoy my company, especially since I have no qualms about sharing Drake’s Lair secrets." "Why should such secrets interest me, Mr. Ellery?" "They interested you well enough while you were residing in that grand medieval mausoleum under the dragon’s spell," he said through a shrug. "And, what makes you so eager to tell its tales?" "I am no longer obliged to keep confidences now that I find myself in the same situation as yourself."

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"As myself?" "Exiled." "You’ve left Drake’s Lair?" "Bag and baggage." This was news, and enough of a tease to pique her interest in his company, but only inasmuch as she could seize the opportunity to direct the topic of conversation away from herself. "When did that occur?" she queried. "Quite recently, as it happens," he returned. "Yesterday afternoon, actually. Drake and I agreed to disagree, as it were. He hasn’t been himself since he returned from Spain. He always was an ungrateful wretch, but never like this. He actually accused me of tampering with the accounts--me, his closest friend of nigh on two decades, after I scrimped and saved, like a cheeseparing miser for the past five years trying to keep his estates in order, his crofts producing, and his vineyards turning a profit single-handed, while he diddled about on the Peninsula. He’s on the road to Bedlam, if you ask me--has been since the tragedy five years ago. I knew then it was only a matter of time before he turned up addled in the beanbox. It was time that we part company for a while. One can’t reason with a madman." "What happened five years ago?" she queried, half-hoping he wouldn’t say. Her heart had begun to pound wildly at the prospect of finally discovering the secret Rosen had warned of, that the earl refused to share except in cryptic riddles, the mysterious secret that was supposed to hold danger for her. She could scarcely contain the battery of emotions coursing through her at the thought of discovering it at last. "Not here," he said in a low voice, glancing toward the elder pair alongside them who hadn’t missed a word. "I know a delightful little café on Boscawen Street. We’ll stop there for nuncheon, and I’ll tell you… privately." The nosy woman seated beside her bristled. Her companion began to yawn and doze, evidently bored, now that no furtheron-dits were forthcoming, and Melly focused her attention on the gray landscape zipping past the coach window as it sped along parting the stubborn fog. Devilish clever fellow, he was, holding her hostage with that juicy morsel. Now he had extended the coach ride to include a nuncheon invitation. There was nothing for it but to accept if she wanted to solve the mystery. But, did she? She wasn’t even sure of that herself anymore. She kept remembering the door handles rattling in her apartments at Drake’s Lair, and the heavy draperies shuddering, displaced by a fleeing intruder. Was he the one, or was it the earl prowling about her rooms both times? It could have been either. But what harm to sit in a public place and share a meal… as long as wine wasn’t served with it? "You left the Lair in rather a hurry yourself," he probed. "Why was that, if I may ask? Surely you had more benefits there than among the Tinkers?" "My stay was never meant to be a lengthy one," she responded cautiously. "Once the sale was finalized, there was no need that I remain." "But to go to theTinkers ."

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"The Tinkers are my friends, Mr. Ellery. I will not stand for disparaging remarks made against them," she said unequivocally. "I’ll thank you kindly to remember that." "I meant no offense, my dear," he hastened to amend, "It simply seems foolhardy to trade an eiderdown bed for tick stuffed with straw, and silk frocks for black twill when one doesn’t have to… unless, of course, the Jack o’ napes ejected you?" "Hardly. I was simply ready to get on with my life, now that I have the means. I was never happy with the countess’s hand-me-downs; they did not suit my tastes." "Hence this little shopping spree?" "Precisely," she replied. Trust the clever man to turn the conversation smoothly back in her direction. Well, two could play at that game. If she were going to have to put up with his company, she would be the one to control the topic of discussion. "I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Ellery," she said, stifling a mock yawn, "but I really must close my eyes for a bit; the motion of the coach, you see. It always makes me sleepy." "Of course, my dear, go right ahead. We’ve quite a day before us… quite a day, indeed." ~*~ Ellery counted his funds as privately as one could in a public conveyance. This little excursion had better be worth it, it was probably going to cost him more than he had to invest. Where the deuce was the little chit carrying her blunt? If only she’d let him hold it. He knew a nice little gambling hell down by the quay, where he might just have been able to parlay some of it into a neat profit, doubled--tripled it even, while she was buying her damned unmentionables. He’d jumped on that too soon. She didn’t trust him yet. That was what this little jaunt was all about--to win her trust enough to get his hands on some of Drake’s hundred pounds. Thus far, however, he had to admit that things were progressing far more smoothly than he ever imagined they would. No one had seen him leave or return to the inn last night. He had a leisurely breakfast in full view of all--hardly the behavior of a murderer--and they’d gotten off casually before word reached the village of the fire, or Drake’s untimely death. It had hardly been a chance meeting. The minute he saw her heading for the coaching station, the wheels began turning. He had no business in Truro, except chatting up Lady Demelza Ahern to the purpose of increasing his wealth. All in all, he was proud of himself--particularly proud of the way he’d behaved since the murder--of the way he would react to the news of his lifelong friend’s demise, because he’d already rehearsed it. Admitting that he and Drake had a falling out was a nice touch. A murderer would never have done such a thing. He just wished he’d had some news of Drake’s Lair before they embarked. Drake had gotten to the gel; that was obvious. He would have rather enjoyed comforting her over his demise, but the present plan would work just as well in the meanwhile. He’d be only too glad to tell her what happened five years ago, in order to cool whatever fire Drake had ignited in her, but he would tell it his way, in his own time, and if he had to use the information to hijack her for the day, so be it. He would just have to take care how the tale was told. It mustn’t be done vindictively, but rather a plain and simple statement of facts--unbiased, and without malice. He might even take some of the blame. Yes. He was very proud of himself.

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~*~ They reached Truro well before nuncheon, and Melly went first to Old Bridge Street, for a tour of the milliners and linen drapers, then on to Duke Street, for the bootmakers’ establishments. She would save the Lemon Street dressmakers, corsetieres and readymade establishments for after nuncheon when, hopefully, she would have bored the steward sufficiently enough to afford herself some privacy while he tended to his business. The first thing she purchased was a modest black faille reticule, with one stylish silk tassel at the bottom at the milliner’s shop. Then after a word aside to the proprietress, she was directed to a private dressing room at the back. There, she deftly transferred some--not all--of her notes to it, and tucked the rest back inside the little embroidered bag that Rosen had given her, which she wore about her neck beneath her bodice, with Ellery none the wiser. How dared he presume to ask her where her blunt was concealed? Before she left the shop, she also purchased gloves for dress, and a fetching straw bonnet with brown silk ruching inside the brim and a silk ribbon bow that tied under the chin. It was extravagant, but it didn’t come too dear, since it was nearly the end of the Season, and the milliner needed her space for the new fall and winter styles. She bought one of those as well, of the same black faille as the reticule, trimmed in a sumptuous shade of wine, with a plume dyed to match. She would, of course, save that one for dress. She wasn’t a skilled seamstress by any means, but Mrs. Laity was, and she had offered to make up a few everyday gardening frocks for her, and one or two more fashionable ones as well. She bought several dress lengths of serviceable muslin and twill, as well as a length of irresistible blue silk crepe, and another of patterned silk, strewn with dainty violet flowers on an ivory background. She may have left Drake’s Lair, but she knew she would see Mrs. Laity again. She was one of her best customers after all. By the time she’d left the bootery after choosing a sturdier pair of Morocco leather slippers than the ones she was wearing, and a serviceable pair of ankle boots for every day and herb gathering, Ellery was scarcely visible behind the packages he was carrying. He didn’t look too happy. It served him right. If he insisted upon tagging along, she would certainly make use of him, and that before they’d even stopped for nuncheon, with all of Lemon Street to shop before returning to St. Kevern. That, unfortunately, would have to be by two-seater post chaise, since the next stage wasn’t due until very late, and the mail coach wouldn’t be passing that way again for a sennight. She had counted on the stage returning. She wasn’t looking forward to going home post, but it couldn’t be helped. She was hardly about to wait around and get stuck traveling half the night with James Ellery. Wilburtson’s Cafe, on Boscawen Street, was clean and cozy, with fare that ranged from salads and chowders, served with fresh baked bread and assorted cheeses buffet style, to assorted meat and poultry pies and pasties, with removes. Unfortunately, it was crowded. Melly opted for savory rook pie and julienne soup, with her eye on a very tantalizing Charlotte Russe on display for dessert. She was ravenous. Ellery, who should have worked up a healthy appetite in his role as beast of burden, on the other hand, settled for a small bowl of watery fish chowder and a caraway roll. "Would you like some of mine?" she offered, since his eyes devoured her pie from across the table. "No, no, not at all," he replied. "I really haven’t much of an appetite. The coaches always do that to me. They turn my stomach inside out. The quality looks good, though. I just want to be sure you’re satisfied with the fare."

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"Ummmm," she groaned, rolling her eyes in reply as she took another mouthful, and after a moment he went back to his chowder. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence, and it wasn’t until Melly had her dessert before her that she attempted to broach the subject of the coil she longed to unravel and dreaded to hear about all at once. "You said that you would tell me what occurred five years ago at Drake’s Lair," she prompted. "I know," he said, glancing around the café, "but it’s awfully crowded just now." "Have you gotten me to come here with you under false pretenses, Mr. Ellery?" she demanded. "Certainly not," he said. "It’s just that it’s a rather… indelicate tale, my dear, hardly something a gentleman would be speaking of to a lady at all, let alone over nuncheon in a crowded café." "Why did you suggest it, then?" "I can hardly be held responsible for this establishment’s patronage today," he said smoothly. "I’ll make a bargain with you. I shall tell you what is respectable here now, and save that which is not for our return to St. Kevern. We will be alone in the post chaise, after all. Will that suit?" "I suppose," she said, "but we haven’t much time if I am to shop Lemon Street before we start back." "You see?" he said, gesturing toward her parcels. "I told you it was wise that I accompany you. How would you ever have managed all of this without me, my dear, and we’re only half done." "Easily," she pronounced, tossing her curls. "I would have had all this sent. What possible difference could a day or two more make, all things considered? But, since you did insist…" "Yes, yes,Touché again, my lady. My motion is… defeated." "Thank you. Now then, may we get on with your ‘respectable’ portion?" "First, I owe you an apology," he said, setting his serviette aside, since he hadn’t ordered dessert. "I had a little too much wine one evening not too long ago, and behaved like a boor--made a complete fool of myself as I recall. I know it’s hardly an excuse, but as I told you then, wine and I do not get on well. I had no right to presume to… take liberties. I have no defense except that I think you know how I feel about you… how I have felt about you since you first set foot in St. Kevern. I lost my head and overreached myself. I do hope you shan’t hold that against me. I sense… mistrust, and I certainly can’t say that I blame you. What I’m trying to do here now, and bungling badly, is put your mind at ease." "The plain and simple fact, Mr. Ellery, since we are being honest with each other, is that I do not think of you in that way. I believe I made myself plain at the time. I simply do not wish to encourage you." "I am content to be your friend, as I said then, but your hackles have been raised since in my presence, and that saddens me. May we have a truce?" "So long as you keep your distance, sir," she said coolly. "Good," he said, with a smile and a deep nod. "Now then, to get on with our discussion, it’s only fair to warn you that much of what I said about Drake that night was unfortunately true. He has always run fast

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and loose with the women. Why, he hardly left a bed un-slept in, in the old days--our Corinthian days. He was quite the rake back then--we both were, I’m sorry to say, so you know I shan’t embroider this to the purpose of slander. I am, for the most part, just as guilty as he is and would only be damming myself right along with him if I were to stoop to such tactics. We were both quite scandalous rapscallions… until Eva. "You’ve seen her portrait. She was irresistible--the catch of the Season when Drake swept her off her feet. He was the envy of all London, the golden boy of theton , parading her about at Almack’s, attending Hamlet, and Henry the V at Drury Lane Theatre. He exhibited her at Vauxhall, and Covent Garden, he had her to the races at Newmarket, took her riding in Hyde Park, displayed her like the jewel she was. There wasn’t a fête, tea, or ball that excluded them, and the wedding reception at Drake’s Lair went on for days, with everyone who was anyone attending." He had painted a vivid picture, and a lump rose in Melly’s throat. How foolish she had been to hope that the Earl of Shelldrake could ever have genuine feelings for the likes of her after such a checkered past amongst theton’s elite, after such a vivacious and exquisite wife? "They were inseparable then," he went on, "--madly in love, but Drake wanted an heir--needed an heir for the earldom, and Eva was not disposed toward providing him with one." "She didn’t want children?" Melly breathed. She couldn’t imagine it. "No, she did not." "But surely she must have known when they married what was expected of her?" "To be perfectly honest, my dear, I think she expected the social whirlwind to go on forever," he opined. "She was marrying the catch of the Season--taming theton’s bad boy, London’s most lovable, sought-after scapegrace. She had succeeded where all others had failed. That was quite a feather in her cap. Children would have cramped her style. And that is as far as I dare go in public, my dear. I know Drake and I have had a falling out, but that will eventually be put to rights; we’ve had them before. Two people cannot be as close as we have been for so long a time without a few sparks flying now and again. Meanwhile, I shall remain a gentleman. Far be it from me to air his dirty linen for him in a public place. He hardly deserves that. I’m only telling it to you at all, because you are entitled to an explanation, considering, and because, being the lady you are, I know I can trust you to keep it to yourself." He consulted his pocket watch. "It’s growing late," he said. "If you want to do Lemon Street, we’d best get on with it, my dear. There’ll be plenty of time to finish the tale in the post." Melly didn’t object. She watched him pay for their meal, and after he’d gathered up her parcels, they set out on the final lap of the shopping exposition. After offering one of the shop girls a generous tip for checking the purchases she had made thus far for safekeeping, Ellery disappeared for a time, explaining that he needed to be about the business he had come to Truro to conduct. She was relieved, since she would have gone home without underthings before she let him stand over her gawking at her selections. It was over an hour before he returned looking decidedly downcast. She had just finished shopping. Among her purchases were two serviceable dresses for gathering, one of which was made of plain gray twill almost identical to the one she had lost in the fire. The other was of cornflower blue, which wouldn’t be as forgiving when kneeling in the mud as the gray, but she simply couldn’t resist it. It reminded her of the bluebells she’d loved as a child growing up in Manchester. Ellery collected her earlier purchases,

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gathered up the new, and together they moved on to the coaching station to arrange for the chaise. Once his burden was lifted, and the groom was loading the packages onto the coach, she expected his spirits to lift, but they did not. There was no question that something was amiss. He had grown decidedly sullen, and she wondered if it would be prudent to address it. Curiosity once more won out. "Is something wrong, Mr. Ellery?" she said at last. "You look quite the thundercloud of a sudden." "No, no," he replied. "My business didn’t quite go as I’d hoped is all. You know how bankers are, I’m sure. A fiendish lot, I’ll be bound. It’s not all that catastrophic. Don’t give it another thought, my dear. Come, I do believe we are ready to board." It was a four-wheel coach drawn by two horses that were ridden by post boys. It promised to be a reasonably swift trip back. The groom had already taken his place on the dickey in back, and Ellery helped her inside. The squabs were thick and plush, and the interior roomy for a two-seater conveyance. That was a definite plus. They had scarcely rolled out of the station, when the steward took up his story where he had left off. "I told you that this was to be a rather indelicate tale," he began. "If you should find it… too indelicate, please feel free to stop me. We’ve just gotten back on congenial terms, and I certainly wouldn’t want to offend." "You may proceed, Mr. Ellery," she said. "I am no milk-and-water miss to ravel over ‘indelicacies’, I assure you." How anything could be more indelicate than that which he had already shared, she couldn’t imagine. "Very well," he said, clearing his voice, "but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Eva was so obsessed with keeping her lifestyle, and her figure, which she had been told by dowagers, who had knowledge of such things, would be gone forever once she started breeding, that she turned to herbs as a means of… preventing conception. You needn’t look so shocked, my dear, women have been using herbs for that since time out of mind. She wasn’t opposed to cohabitation, however, only conception. Drake was--and is--a laudable stud, if you will excuse the rather crude wordage, unfortunately no others come to mind that quite put it as well. And so, she paid a visit to your cousin, Calliope Dane, for instruction in the fine art of herbalism." "Cousin Calliope wouldnever have instructed her in the use of herbs for such a purpose!" Melly interrupted, indignant. She was scandalized at the thought, not to mention the conversation, but there was nothing for it but to let the man continue. "Of course she wouldn’t, my dear," he soothed. "No one is accusing your sainted cousin. Don’t misunderstand me. Eva went to her to learn the art of cultivating herbs for cosmetic purposes, but she was clever. She told your cousin that she was trying to conceive an heir for Drake, and, since it’s common knowledge that some herbs are toxic, begged her to tell what herbs she had bestavoid in that case." Melly’s scalp began to tingle. So this was why the earl was so opposed to her gathering herbs on Drake’s Lair. This was what he had against them. She was almost afraid to hear the rest. "Your cousin quite innocently armed her with the ammunition that ultimately killed her, my dear," he rambled on. "She was only too glad to tell her which herbs she should avoid ingesting if she were trying to conceive… and also, if you will forgive me, which herbs, when used cosmetically… as women often do

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when performing their… toilet, might kill the sperm, and then, of course, which herbs she must avoid after conception. This knowledge was all Eva needed." Melly gasped, and gasped again. "I warned you, my dear," he reminded her. "Shall I stop?" "N-no, go on, please, Mr. Ellery," she murmured, "but, how on earth could you possibly know all this?" "Drake literally took me in after his father passed," he explained. "I became his steward to justify my existence at Drake’s Lair, and at his London townhouse in Mayfair. We have always been as close as brothers, and I’ve always been underfoot, as it were, trying to earn my keep. What I didn’t observe for myself, he, of course, confided." "Are they his only estates, then?" she wondered. "Heavens, no. He has scads of them--in Scotland, Yorkshire, several others in the West Country up north, and a ‘cottage’ on the Downs. You should see it--a three story Tudor. It’s just that Drake’s Lair and the townhouse are the only two properties that aren’t let." "I’m sorry, Mr. Ellery, I didn’t mean to digress. Please, continue." "For awhile--two and a half years, in fact--Eva’s herbal remedies worked well enough, but as with any medication, herbal or otherwise, if one uses something long enough, one runs the risk of establishing an immunity to it. Whether that was the case, or she just grew careless, we shall never know, but she conceived. "Drake was ecstatic. I swear his feet scarcely touched the ground. He was so in love. I had seen him with women--all sorts of women--for years, but I never saw him like that. He did everything to insure her comfort--even abstained, if you take my meaning, and that was difficult for Drake. His… appetites are quite demanding, but he did it nonetheless, because he so desperately wanted the heir she was carrying, and she wasn’t well. The pregnancy wore on her. None of us knew why, until the end." He stopped then, shifting on the chaise seat. He wet his lips with his tongue, and tugged at his mustache in a way that she recalled him doing on other occasions when he was agitated. "Go on," she prodded. "I’m not sure that I ought," he hedged. "I shall surely lose your favor if I do for discussing such indecorous things so openly with you--a lady of quality." "I wish to have it all, Mr. Ellery, since you have begun. I have been treated badly without an explanation, and I mean to know why. Please continue." "Very well," he said skeptically, "if you insist, just remember that I advised against it, and please don’t fault me. This is something a gentleman simply does not discuss with a lady." "Agreed." "As I said, the pregnancy wore on her as time passed. We thought it was merely fatigue. But that wasn’t the case. She was… doing things to herself. The minute her waist started to thicken, she panicked and

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began secretly mixing dangerous herbal draughts and concoctions. When that didn’t work, she abused herself… internally. I shan’t elaborate, my dear. I am too much of a gentleman, and the details are quite unfit for your ears. Suffice it to say that the methods she used employed herbs of the poisonous variety, deadly during pregnancy, the very ones your cousin had warned her about. She was trying to abort the child in such a way that it would appear to be a natural miscarriage, like all the others." "S-she had others?" "Several. But she managed to abort them early on. It all appeared quite normal. The last was not so easily gotten rid of. She increased the potency of her draughts… and such, as time went on, and finally, a combination of the two abuses brought the child early and killed her in the process. She went toxic, and the child was stillborn. Afterward, she hemorrhaged and died, but not before wounding Drake with the truth of what she had done, and why she had done it, should he have any notions about more children. You see she didn’t know that she was breathing her last. Dying people rarely do you know--especially selfish, shallow ones such as Eva. She was a total narcissist, my dear. I have always wondered if she would have spared him had she known. We shall never learn that truth. "Dr. Hale was no fool. He knew, of course, but he put it down as natural death due to miscarriage, to spare Drake a scandal. The child was fully formed--a beautiful son. She was at the onset of her seventh month." "H-how dreadful for him," Melly despaired. "It set him on his present course toward madness, that," he replied. "Fearing suicide, I talked him into buying himself a commission, and he went off to war hell-bent upon, as he put it, a ‘noble death’ in battle. He has never really been in his right mind since, and I should know. I’m closer to him than anyone. This is why I’ve left Drake’s Lair. I remind him of his loss. You were wise to leave as well, because you did also, with your herb gathering. He’s totally mad, my dear. You were in dreadful danger. In his right mind, he would never have accused me, or abused you." She didn’t argue the point. There wasn’t any use. It would have been enough to drive anyone mad, and she said no more about it. She did not question that he’d told her the truth. What possible reason would he have to lie about such things? Feigning exhaustion, she excused herself and closed her eyes, but she would not sleep. Outside, the sun had set. She was glad of it. It hid the tears that she could no longer keep from sliding down her hot cheeks as the chaise sped along in the darkness.

Seventeen It was a very strange dream. He was floating--drifting without substance. Once before, he’d had such a dream. When was that… in Spain? Salamanca. Yes. There had been pain like this in Salamanca… then later, on the push to…? Where had he been going when the pain was so great… like it was now… where he floated… like he did now… where his eyes wouldn’t open, no matter how he tried to force them…just like now? It was no use. He couldn’t remember.

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Mrs. Laity was there in the dream. She was kneeling on the floor of all things. Why was she crying? How did she ever get down there, a woman of her size? Who but himself would be able to raise her up again? He couldn’t… not now… there was too much pain. He had swung her around once… lifted her feet right off the floor. That was a feat. Why did he do that? He must have had a reason. She must weigh nearly twenty stone. He couldn’t remember. It hurt, trying to remember… trying to think. Griggs? Was that Griggs? It sounded like Griggs. He couldn’t be sure. There was someone else in the dream, too… a man… he couldn’t make out his face, but he knew that voice… that gruff, gravelly voice… if he could only place it. What was that voice shouting so close in his face that its owner’s hot, strong smelling onion breath flared his nostrils? He was floating again, trying to open his eyes. His thoughts were halting and fragmented. Someone groaned. The sound rattled around in his head like cymbals clanging. Stop that God-awful racket… the pain…Zeus , thepain ! "V-Vitoria…" he moaned aloud. "That’s… where it was… on the march to… Vitoria." Drake Hannaford had forced his way back among the living. ~*~ It was the following afternoon before Drake was fully conscious. The valet’s face was the first one he recognized. Griggs had occupied the wing chair beside his mahogany four-poster since the fire. More than once he’d glimpsed him there in the dream. But it wasn’t a dream. He knew that now. They weren’t alone. Dr. Hale was there too, stooping over him, holding him down when he started to groan and flail about trying to raise his throbbing head off the pillow. It was no use. The pain was unbearable. "Easy, my lord," the doctor cautioned, "you’ve had a little accident, but you’re going to mend. Can you tell us what happened?" "No accident," Drake murmured. It was all slowly trickling back now… the shadow on the lawn… he was going out… where was he going? Why couldn’t he remember? The French doors… they shouldn’t have been open. Jim had come in that way earlier.Jim . "Demelza…!" he cried, trying to rise again, but his reeling head and that awful pain prevented him, not to mention Hale’s firm hand. "No! You don’t understand," he moaned. "She isn’t safe…" "All right, you have to lie still, Shelldrake," the doctor barked. "You’ve had a serious blow to the head. Do you remember the fire?" "Fire? What fire?" "You fell and struck your head on an andiron in the study. You must have knocked the candles over when you went down. They evidently set the room afire. You’d been drinking pretty heavily, my lord. Griggs pulled you out just in time." "Is he all right?Griggs …?" he pleaded, searching the shadow-steeped room for the valet’s familiar face. "I’m here my lord," the valet replied, coming nearer.

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"O-oh, my God," Drake groaned, focusing on the valet’s bandaged hands. "It’s nothing, my lord," said Griggs. "I was dozing in my quarters when you came up, and you woke me going out. I came down to catch you before you left, to see if you were going to be out for the night, or if you would want me further when you returned, and the study was ablaze. You were in the midst of it, unconscious. I rang for the others, dragged you free, and sent Fry for Dr. Hale, while they put the fire out." "Is there much damage?" "The fire was contained in the study, my lord," the valet replied. "I shan’t deceive you, the whole room’s been gutted. You’re fortunate to be alive." "The… desk? The ledgers?" Drake panicked. "Gone, my lord." "T-the valuables chest?" "Badly scorched, but intact, my lord, and a miracle at that, since we had to unbolt it from the floor to save it. We’ve moved it in to the library." "Thank God! The rest are in it." "My lord?" "The rest of the ledgers. Have Bradshaw and Mills arrived?" "Not yet, my lord." "Do you remember what happened, Shelldrake--" the doctor put in, "--anything at all?" "I saw… something from my window… a shadow moving across the lawn. I must have gone down to investigate. I remember being outside… the French doors in the study were ajar. They shouldn’t have been. I’d locked them myself earlier after Jim. I… I went to investigate… I think I had my pistol. It was dark in the study… I entered in, and someone struck me from behind. That’s all I remember." "How much had you drunk, my lord?" the doctor queried. "It was the brandy that fed the fire. The empty decanter was on the floor, and your shirt was soaked with it." "I hadn’t drunk a drop of brandy, only a glass of wine at dinner." "Mrs. Laity?" Hale called, beckoning her nearer. He stepped away to consult her. Their images were blurred. Why were they speaking as though he weren’t there? "Had he been drinking?" the doctor queried. "You were the last to see him before the fire." "I dunno’ that he had been drinking, Dr. Hale," she whined, "but he had been acting peculiar since he put Mr. Ellery out earlier yesterday afternoon. He called us all into the servants’ hall last night after dinner--give us a talking-to about loyalty--‘twas all very strange. Later, I went in to have a word with him. I was worried about Miss Melly, ‘twas personal. We was talking, and all at once, he lifted me clean

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off my feet and spun me around--kissed me on my cheeks, he did, scared me half to death, raving and carrying on, making no sense. And then he run off like a madman straight outa bedlam, he did." "Demelza!" Drake cried. "I remember now. I was going to try and find Demelza… Lady Ahern, because of Jim. She shouldn’t be with him. I put him out because he’s extorted half my estate in my absence. Bradshaw and Mills will back me up. They saw the ledgers. That’s why I went on the tour of my holdings." His eyes oscillated among them. "Good God, you’ve got to believe me," he pleaded. "Why are you all looking at me like that? I’m not mad! Mrs. Laity…Griggs? You know I’m not." "All right," the doctor barked. "Lie still, my lord, you’ll tear those stitches I’ve just sewn in your head. We’ll get to the bottom of all this, but not today. I’m going to put you back under awhile. What you need now is rest." He motioned to the housekeeper. "Bring the bottle," he charged. "What’s that?" Drake demanded, eyeing the spoon brimming with a thick, reddish liquid descending toward him. "Laudanum," said the doctor. "Open." "No, wait!" Drake cried. "Griggs, you’ve got to bring her back… go quickly, you’ve got to… to… before…!" The rest of his slurred speech descended into incoherent gurgling, the doctor having forced the opiate through his lips. Then it faded to slurred mumbles as he drifted off again into confusion, then oblivion. ~*~ James Ellery hurled his empty money pouch against the dingy wall in his room at the Black Stag Inn. He’d scarcely gotten inside the doors downstairs, before he’d become inundated with accounts of the fire at Drake’s Lair--of how fortunate the Earl of Shelldrake was to still be alive. They were toasting his ‘good fortune’ in the taproom at that very moment.Alive . He should have struck him a third time. Odds fish, what was he to do now? All in all, the day had been a disaster. It started out so well, too. He was tired and hungry all for naught. He’d scarcely eaten in order to afford Demelza’s nuncheon and still have enough blunt left to try and double it in the gambling hell while she shopped Lemon Street, only to lose the rest at the tables. The fare home had totally rolled him up. He had scarcely enough coins to buy breakfast in the morning, and though he’d cast out the line about things not having gone well with the bankers, she hadn’t taken a nibble. Now he was going to have to beg, and she was still wary. He hefted the candle stand, set to send it after his coin pouch, but decided against it. Better not. How would he pay for the damages? He flopped down on the bed and raked his hair back roughly. His throat was parched, his belly churning. What he wouldn’t give for a bottle of wine--for a decent meal, come to that. Thank God he’d paid for the room ‘till the end of the week in advance. If something didn’t turn up in his favor soon, he would have to sell the mare, if he could find a cod’s head fool enough to buy her. She wasn’t fit for much besides the knackery. Making matters worse, another flaw was brewing. He had three days. It would have to be enough. He had done well touting Drake in a good light. She would be hard pressed to hold him suspect after that. It was brilliant. But had he gone too far? Now that the blighter was still alive, he was sorry that he’d made him out the martyr. She would be sympathetic toward him now. He’d seen it in her beautiful face--that doe-eyed sadness. What he wouldn’t give to have that look cast in his direction. He couldn’t console her over Drake’s death as he’d fantasized now, but she could console Drake, and he would tell

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her everything. He could still die, of course. They had said he was bad off. But that was too much to hope for, and he couldn’t go after him again so soon without risk of being found out. There was one plus--an inspired plus--in that he’d suggested Drake was mad. That rumor was already circulating. If Demelza believed it, coming from others now as well as himself, it might just keep her away from him until he’d had a chance to make his move on her financially… and romantically. Clinging to that, he yielded to exhaustion, both mental and physical, and slept. ~*~ There wasn’t room for all of Melly’s new finery in Tisa’s wagon, and she arranged for the stationmaster to keep her purchases overnight, until she’d taken a room at Endean’s Boarding House on the outskirts of the village. The steward had offered to keep them for her at the inn, but she flatly refused. She wouldn’t be beholden to James Ellery under any circumstances. He had offered to see her to the Tinkers camp as well, so long as she didn’t mind riding double. The thought made her skin crawl. There was something too smooth and calculating about the man to be wholesome, and he was a self-confessed rake after all. The thought of being in such close proximity of him triggered an alarm. Thank the stars that Pascoe had the good sense to be waiting at the coaching station with the cart, or there surely would have been a scene over it. She took only a change of clothing, and the ankle boots. It wouldn’t do to apply for a room in dirty, wrinkled clothes and torn shoes, even though she was slightly acquainted with Maud Endean, who ran the establishment. Bone-weary from the journey, she slept soundly in Tisa’s cramped wagon, with Rosen’s youngest curled, like a kitten, at her feet. She would miss the children. She would miss their chubby little fingers sliding into her hands at the oddest moments. She would miss their laughter and their hugs, the magic of their reverent, wide-eyed trust, and gap-toothed smiles. She was glad that Endean’s Boarding House was so close by. She woke with the birds in the morning just before first light, not the customary larks, lapwings, and morning doves that usually sang her awake, it was the discordant voices of herring gulls, tern, curlew, cormorant, and plover that assailed her ears. The lightening sky was white with them. Another flaw was on the way. Rosen had already brewed the morning coffee when she left the wagon dressed in the blue twill frock she’d bought for gathering, and she took a cup before she set out for the boarding house. She was glad she’d brought that particular frock. A splotch of color was just what was needed to brighten the dreary day that seemed about to weep. In view of that, she set out at once, and she hadn’t gone far along the lane, when Dr. Hale’s trap blocked her way. He was coming from his cottage, which also served as his office, and at first she thought he was going to ask for one of her remedies, but a closer look at the gravity in his expression sent cold chills racing along her spine. "Melly," he greeted gruffly. "I was just coming to the Tinkers’ camp to fetch you, albeit against my better judgment. Have you heard about the fire at Drake’s Lair?" "Fire?" she breathed. "When? Was anyone hurt? Mrs. Laity…?" "Only Shelldrake and Griggs. His lordship got the worst of it--struck his head severely." "Is he…" Her heart had risen in her throat, preventing her from putting the fear that had all but paralyzed

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her into words. "He’s alive, but he’s seriously injured, Melly, and he’s asking for you." "Forme ? What could he possibly want with me?" "I’ll not lie to you, he’s addled. It could be the blow to his head. We’re watching him for coma. He wanted Griggs to fetch you, but the man’s got two burned hands, the bankers are due, and he’s needed to tend Shelldrake. He’s the only one who can make the blighter behave. Mrs. Laity’s too distraught. After his lordship came round yesterday afternoon raving and carrying on over fetching you, I had to sedate her." "My God," she murmured. "You say, Griggs was burned… was his lordship…?" "His left shoulder is blistered where his shirt caught fire," said the doctor, "Griggs got him out of there just in time. That’s how he burned his hands. Shelldrake’s clothes had caught fire, and he beat out the flames barehanded." "When did it happen, Dr. Hale?" "Night before last," he responded, tightening his grip on the horse’s reins. The handsome bay had begun to snort and dance nervously. "I’m going to tell you plain out, I’m not given over to the idea of taking you out there. I don’t like the way Shelldrake’s behaving; I don’t like it at all, but other than keeping him under with laudanum, I’ve got a raving Bedlamite on my hands unless you put in an appearance." "O-of course, I’ll come," she said, taking his hand to climb into the trap. "Where were you going at this hour and a flaw on the way?" he inquired. Then, clacking his tongue to the horse meanwhile, he commanded the animal, " Walk on!" "I was going to apply for a room at Maud Endean’s. I can’t stay with the Tinkers much longer, there just isn’t room for me, and they’ve been so gracious. Why, when I returned from Truro last evening, Pascoe was waiting at the coaching station with the cart to spare me the walk. God alone knows how long he was standing there." "What were you doing up to Truro?" "Replacing my clothes that burned when the cottage went. I’ve been going about as I was when I came to your cottage, living in a cast-off uniform that belonged to one of the housemaids at Drake’s Lair." "Ummmm, went up there all on your own, did you?" he said skeptically. "It started out that way, but it seems Mr. Ellery was going up, too. We traveled together." "Shelldrake says he booted him out… something about mishandling the estate." "That’s what Mr. Ellery told me as well." "Did he?" the doctor erupted. "Must be true, then, mustn’t it--that he’s been sacked, that is?" "Oh, quite true, yes. They evidently had a falling out of some sort."

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"Ummm," the doctor grunted. "There’s something strange going on here. I wish I knew what it was. Either Drake Hannaford is as mad as a brush, or there’s something very wrong afoot, and if I’ve put you in jeopardy bringing you out there, I’ll never forgive myself." "I want to go. Poor Mrs. Laity must be beside herself…and Griggs. They’re my friends. Please, doctor, stop at the Tinker’s camp. It’s right on our way. I have a salve of comfrey, houseleek, and elder blossom. I made it especially for burns." "I wish you had something for a broken heart, my dear, because, unless I miss my guess, that’s what’s at the root of his lordship’s madness. It didn’t happen in that fire, I guarantee you." "Believe me, Dr. Hale," she murmured, desolate, "if I had such a remedy… I would take it myself."

Eighteen Prowse led Melly to the kitchen, where Mrs. Laity sat slumped over a cup of cold tea at the worktable, while the doctor went upstairs to assess Drake’s condition. The housekeeper burst into tears at sight of her, and Melly sat for some time with comforting arms wrapped around her before any words passed between them. "It’s going to be all right, Mrs. Laity," she soothed at last, when the woman’s sobs died to a simper. "He’s not faring well, Miss Melly," she replied through her handkerchief. "He lapsed back unconscious again this morning. I dunno’ if it’s the laudanum Dr. Hale has been feeding him, or the blow on the head, or the madness. He… doesn’t… know… me!" she wailed. "Don’t cry. The doctor is here now. I came with him in his trap. See? I’ve brought some salve for Griggs’s hands… and his lordship’s shoulder." "Griggs won’t come down outa there," the housekeeper sobbed. "He won’t leave the master. Hands all bandaged--can’t even dress himself. Smithers had to go up and help him, but he won’t leave his lordship’s bedside nohow." "Someone will have to take it up to him, then," Melly said softly. "If the master goes, I’ll go right along with him. I’ve kept this house since he was a bairn… he’s like my own. And I’ll never be able to stand it if they fling him into the madhouse, either. I’ll die, I swear it." "No, you won’t," Melly said severely. She couldn’t brook the thought of either possibility now. She would come undone. "No such thing," she insisted. "I won’t hear of it. He isn’t going anywhere, and he’s too stubborn and mean to die, that’s a plain fact." "Now, now," said the housekeeper, almost smiling. "Don’t let him hear you say that. Why, he’s been bringing the house down over fetching you back here whenever he’s had a conscious spell."

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"I can’t imagine why." "Neither can I, lass. We had the strangest conversation before the fire about you." "What sort of conversation?" "I don’t even know… it was that strange. He had us all inta the servants’ hall to tell us about Mr. Ellery, and he said if we were keeping anything to ourselves that he should know about, we was to come to him with it straightaway. I went, because o’ what you told me about somebody hiding up in your rooms, and then somebody rattling the door handles trying to get in that other time." "I wish you hadn’t done that, Mrs. Laity." "No, lass, I had to, and I’m glad now that I did. It was Mr. Ellery up in your room, all right… at least that first time. He bribed Zoe with half-a crown to keep away so he could sneak up there. The master took it back from her. You can ask Zoe yourself if you don’t believe me." "But, why?" she cried, taken aback. "I dunno’. The master thought…" "Yes?" "He thought you and Mr. Ellery was having an… assignation up there." "Hewhat ?" Melly shrilled, interrupting. "He thought you two was meeting on the sly. Then, when I set him straight, and told him about the door handles, he had a mad spell--went clean off his head--picked me right up off the floor and spun me around like I was a feather--said heloved me, he did, and kissed me on my cheeks, babbling on all the while, making no sense. Then he run outa’ the study, and that was the last I saw o’ him ‘till half-an-hour later, when poor Griggs dragged him outa’ the fire." Melly stared. What could it all mean? God help him, he must be mad. It certainly didn’t sound like the same Earl of Shelldrake that she knew. But then, hadn’t he seemed ready to strike her down at the edge of the wood? She couldn’t exactly call his behavior that day normal either, even if she did finally know why he’d become so incensed. He could have prevented the whole unfortunate incident if he’d only told her. She’d certainly given him every opportunity to do so. "I know what happened five years ago, Mrs. Laity," she said low-voiced. The housekeeper gasped. "Who told you, lass?" "Mr. Ellery," she replied. "What was you doing withhim ?" "Believe me, it wasn’t out of choice. We shared the same conveyance traveling to Truro yesterday. I can almost understand why his lordship didn’t tell me. It was vile. It must have been horrible for him."

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"It was, Miss Melly, and it broke his lordship’s heart. Nobody else knows the truth of it, just Griggs, me, Mr. Ellery, and Dr. Hale, o’ course. His lordship made us swear an oath of secrecy, else we lose our situations. Nobody else below stairs knows, and nothing ever leaked out… ‘till now, thanks to Dr. Hale saying it was natural causes. Mr. Ellery had no business speaking such things to you--a lady! That Jack o’ napes is going to spread it all over the parish now outa’ spite over the master throwing him out; he’s no gentleman, Mr. Ellery, sneaking around up in your rooms, and telling tales." "Well, no one will ever hear of it from me." "Nobody knows how the fire started," the housekeeper moaned on the verge of tears again. "The way the master was found, it looked as though he fell and hit his head on the andiron. They say he’d been drinking, but I don’t know how that could be. There was no smell o’ drink on him when he kissed me on my cheeks, and the fire happened not half-an-hour after. He was just addled. When he come ‘round, he said somebody struck him from behind, but that makes no sense, either." "First my cottage burned… and now this. His lordship was present on both occasions. Doesn’t that strike you as… odd, Mrs. Laity?" "What do you mean, lass?" "You’ve said yourself that he’s mad. He told me he saw someone fleeing the night my cottage burned. I only have his word for that. Now this, another unexplained fire, and talk of another mysterious intruder. I have to tell you, Mrs. Laity, more than once it has crossed my mind that the earl himself might just have burned my cottage down, and now set the fire here as well." "Why would he burn your cottage, Miss Melly? Fie! That’s crazy." "Exactly." "No," the housekeeper cried, wagging her head. "You’re never going to make me believe that. What could he possibly hope to gain?" "He forced me to sell quickly enough, didn’t he?" "No, he done that to help you, lass. What possible reason could he have had to burn out his own study? He nearly died in that fire." "Madmen don’t need reasons." Cook shuffled in then, with Zoe on her heels, and their conversation became less fractious. They spoke of the salve she had brought, of the Tinkers, and the flaw on the way--anything and everything but what her heart was screaming:I’ve fallen in love with a man whom another woman has driven mad . Hopelessly mad . This was too terrible to tell, even to Mrs. Laity. And she went through the motions of the morning, sipping tea while she waited for the doctor to appear. Wouldhe never come down? What could be keeping him? She didn’t want to be here--didn’t want to see the earl, not like this. She shouldn’t have come. She was just about to bolt--try to reach St. Kevern ahead of the flaw, when the doctor put his head in. "I need you to come, Melly," he said gravely. "I-is he conscious?" she murmured.

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"I can’t bring him ‘round," he replied through a sigh. "He’s got fever. We aren’t dealing with the mild concussion as I had hoped. Unless I miss my guess, his skull is cracked." "What do you expect me to do?" "He’s delirious, calling for you. I’m hoping you can talk him out of it. He doesn’t respond to me… or Griggs." She hesitated. "No harm will come to you, Melly," the doctor assured her. "I’ll be right there the whole time, and Griggs. We shan’t leave you alone with him, and even if we did, he’s in no condition to be a threat to your person--mad or otherwise." But it wasn’t that of which she was afraid. What she feared was playing herself false, exposing her heart for all to view. Thus far, she had kept her secret. No one knew what lay buried in her heart, and she feared that the lump in her throat would dissolve into tears and betray her. Mrs. Laity broke into a chorus of fresh wails. Cook and Zoe stood like statues, their faces pale as milk. Melly had come, and now there was nothing for it but to try. Taking up the pot of salve she had brought along for the valet’s hands and the earl’s shoulder, she slowly rose and followed the doctor out of the kitchen. Outside, the wind had risen, rattling the windowpanes in their casings. The rain hadn’t yet begun sluicing down, but Melly knew it was only a matter of time before the coast would be besotted with it. The inevitable flaw, curse of the fading summer, it had never dampened her spirits as it did now climbing the carpeted staircase that she never expected her feet would tread again. She wasn’t prepared for the vastness of the earl’s bedchamber. It overwhelmed her, and much of the furnishings were lost in the shadows. He lay in the mahogany four-poster bare-chested, his angry, blistering shoulder exposed to the air. His head was wreathed in gauze, and his pillow showed traces of blood. She moved closer woodenly, forcing herself to put one foot before the other when all the while they were disposed toward retreat. He was tossing restlessly, throwing his head from side to side, and his mumblings were indistinguishable. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to see his pain. It stabbed her too, as surely as if she had been in those flames right along with him, and had done since the doctor first broke the news. How much longer could she feign indifference? She opened the jar and began slathering the balm over his burns with a feather-light touch. His blistered skin was on fire beneath her fingers as she spread the cool salve, and he groaned, but it wasn’t the groan of a man in pain. It was a groan of release--almost pleasure, and the lump in her throat grew larger, threatening. What would he say if he knew that the herbs he so despised had eased his pain, might even spare him scarring? Would he be grateful, or would he rail at her again? When she’d finished, she handed the jar to Dr. Hale absently, and he moved away to treat Griggs. The earl’s breathing, though ragged, had sought a calmer level. She had left a thin layer of the unction on the blisters. If he didn’t toss about too much, it would aid the healing process. Slowly, she let her hand slip away from his shoulder, though she didn’t leave his side--couldn’t leave him, not like that, so helpless, so vulnerable. She had never seen him that way, and it frightened her more than his madness.

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Behind, the doctor had unbound Griggs’s hands and begun treating his burns with the salve. The valet flashed her a smile of gratitude, and she was just about to join them, when the earl’s hot fingers closed around her wrist and tightened. Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected it, nor had she expected the rippling shock waves coursing through her body that his touch ignited. Her head snapped toward him. His eyes were still closed. The dark, sooty wreathes around them were more pronounced now, as the storm robbed the light from the room, but his skin that had been so hot and dry to the touch had begun to bead with sweat. "Doctor," she murmured, calling him from his chore. Griggs followed Hale to the bedside trailing bandages, and stood beside her while the doctor made his evaluation. The earl’s hand was still clamped around her wrist, but not as a restraint. It seemed more the grip of a man clinging to a lifeline. There was no menace in it, and she made no move to break away, though her knees had begun to tremble, undermined by the sexual energy flowing from those fingers through her body. It threatened her balance. When she started to sway, the valet nudged a Chippendale chair alongside the bed with the aid of his knee, and she sank into it gratefully, still tethered to the earl’s hot, dry hand. "Ummm," the doctor grunted. "Looks like the fever’s breaking. That’s a good sign, but I’m not liking this coma. He should have come ‘round by now. His next dose of laudanum is long past due." One by one, he lifted the earl’s eyelids, and held the branch of candles so close, she feared he would set the bedclothes afire. "Ummm, still dilated," he said through a sigh. "We’re not out of the woods yet, are we, Shelldrake?" "It is a good sign, though, the fever going down?" Griggs urged. "Ummm," the doctor grunted in reply. He shook the earl’s good shoulder roughly. "Wake up Shelldrake," he commanded, jostling him again. "Open your eyes, damn you, man!" "Doctor," Melly murmured, commanding his attention again. The earl’s hand was tightening around her wrist, and she nodded toward the phenomenon. "Shelldrake!" the doctor barked, jostling him a second time, and his eyes tried to open a crack on their own. "Can you hear me? Do you know me, my lord?" A grunt was all that responded before the eyes slid shut again. After a moment, the doctor stepped back and set the candle branch aside, but not before soiling the counterpane with a smattering of hot, melted wax. "All right," he grunted. "That’s something at least, and it’s come just in time. I can’t stay. I have other patients to see before this blasted storm lets loose. Melly, you’ll obviously have to remain," he observed, gesturing toward her tethered wrist, "and don’t break contact. That’s the most encouraging sign we’ve had here yet. With your free hand, until he loosens his grip, I need you to do just exactly as I have done once every hour until I return. Is that clear?" "Me? But--" "No matter what occurs, stay by his lordship’s side. Griggs will stay with you, but with his hands as they are, you will have to be the one to shake him. I’m trying to get him to respond. As long as he does, there’s a chance that he won’t lapse so deep into coma that we lose him. Head injuries are dangerous.

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The brain swells and the fluid around it causes pressure that could be fatal. As long as he’s responsive, there’s hope of recovery. I’ll have Mrs. Laity prepare some cold compresses. Place them so," he said, indicating the forehead and the wound itself. "And I want you to talk to him, even though he doesn’t answer. Talk about anything--anything at all, and keep talking. I’ll return just as soon as I can." "It will be all right, Miss Melly," Griggs soothed. "I’ll help you." "How are his hands?" she asked the doctor. There was no use to ask the valet, he would only minimize the damage. "Your balm will mend them," Hale replied. "And it looks like it’s taken some of the fire out of Shelldrake’s blisters already. You have a genuine talent, Demelza Ahern. Coming from me, that’s a compliment. I don’t give them easily, or often. I’ve seen too many charlatans." "It’s what I love to do," she said emptily, for it was the one thing the earl detested. "Ummm," he grunted. "Carry on then. Just see if, between you, you can keep him alive ‘till I get back." He marched out then, and Melly leaned her elbow on the bed and dropped her head into her free hand. The gentle strength in the earl’s grip was still constant. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. This was not how it was supposed to be. She was supposed to be arranging her new things in her neat, little room at Maud Endean’s. Pascoe would have delivered them by now in the cart. Rosen would have unwrapped the fine paisley shawl she’d bought for her in Lemon Street as a thank-you for her hospitality. Her new life would have begun. Instead, she was literally shackled to a man who despised her, very likely a madman, who would do, the stars only knew what, when he awoke and found her there, treating him with herbal remedies. She shuddered to wonder. The worst of it was that his touch alone had melted her--destroyed her--conquered her. Totally. Admitting that, she moaned aloud in spite of herself, and gave a violent lurch as the valet’s bandaged hand came to rest on her shoulder. "His lordship isn’t mad, Miss Melly," he said. "I’d stake my life upon it." "I’m not afraid of him, Griggs," she murmured, "I’m afraid… of myself." ~*~ Melly and Griggs spelled each other talking to the earl, and nudging him for a response. The valet rambled on about the bankers, who had not yet arrived, about what had been saved from the fire, and what had been salvaged afterward. He spoke of the Andalusians being boarded at the livery, about their beauty, and excellent health. He spoke of the wine from the Porthallow vineyards that he had taken the liberty of putting away in the wine cellar personally, and of the prospect of helping him refurbish his fall and winter wardrobe, pointing out that Byron black and white was positivelyde rigueur in Town now. He predicted that it was sure to be the hit of the coming Season amongst theton’s most fashion conscious gentlemen, and that his wardrobe simply wasn’t up to snuff; a thing he promised to help him remedy just as soon as he was on his feet. Melly, on the other hand, was at a loss for topics of conversation. She and the earl were polar opposites, having virtually nothing in common that she could see. He hated everything she loved. Albeit with good cause, she couldn’t help but allow the thought that he was wrong to damn the life-giving, God-given plants of the earth for the heinous crimes committed with them, and, yes,against them by one vile, depraved, murderous creature. She would not embark upon a dissertation in that direction, however. That would be suicidal.

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Instead, she harkened back to her childhood home in Manchester, mining her early memories for the pleasant ones. The yield was scant. Her mother had died when she was a child of ten, and her passing became the pivotal point that triggered her father’s gambling and led them to ruin. Nonetheless, she resurrected fond memories of the land, the exquisite gardens, the delicate, deep purple French lilacs that bloomed each spring sweetening the air for miles around them. She told him of the bluebells--fields of them--like blue lakes sidling through the patchwork hills, and how her mother warned her not to tread upon them for fear of angering the faeries that lived there and considered bluebells sacred. She told him how she’d gathered chestnuts in the fall, and watched the dainty rowan leaves dance in the spring wind. On and on, she rambled. Whether he heard her or not, she couldn’t tell, but her tales, like the bedtime stories she told to the Tinker children, certainly affected Griggs. He had fallen asleep in the wing chair at the edge of the carpet, his bandaged hands in his lap. It had grown late. They had both refused to touch the food that was sent up earlier, except for the tea. The storm had worsened. Rain pattered against the mullioned panes, and now and then hail tapped on the glass like anxious fingers demanding admittance. An oddity peculiar to the late summer storms driven landward by the prevailing wind that gave Cornwall its odd climate. Lulled by the rhythm of the rain, Melly began to nod. Several times she shook herself awake before the weight of her head became too heavy for her neck to bear, then finally she gave in to exhaustion, and laid it down on the counterpane beside her tethered hand. In her dreams, she soared over the bluebells. Her feet never touched them. Mustn’t anger the faeries. The wind, perfumed with lilacs, danced through her ringlets. It was warm, like fingers stroking gently--caressing--feeling the texture. But that was no dream, and her eyes snapped open. Her wrist was no longer tethered, and it wasn’t the wind, but the earl’s fingers that had buried themselves in her hair. "My lord!" she breathed, searching his face with sleep-dazed eyes, "Y-you’re awake!" "Demelza?" he murmured. "Are you another dream? You feel so real… this time, not like before. This hair… like eiderdown… no, it can’t be real… so soft… too soft to be real. I’m dreaming again, and you will go… just like you always do." "You aren’t dreaming, my lord," she said. "Dr. Hale brought me. You’ve had a dreadful accident. You must lie still. He will be back directly. You must rest, and mend." "M-my head," he groaned, "…no accident. I was struck… from behind. I was coming to find you… you’re in grave danger…" There was that word again. Rosen’s warnings echoed through her memory.Danger . But how much danger could she be in even if he were mad? Dr. Hale was right. In his altered state, the man couldn’t even part reality from dreams. "From you?" she couldn’t help asking. "Why would you say that? Why would you eventhink it?" he groaned. "You forget, my lord," she said bravely, attempting to rise, but his hand tethered her wrist again. "I can bear anything but that fear in your eyes," he said. "You put it there, my lord."

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"I’m not mad, Demelza--tormented, but not mad. You have nothing to fear from me." She gazed into his eyes, dilated black beneath the ledge of his brow indicating that the pain he was trying to suppress in order to speak was palpable. How she wanted to believe him. How she prayed his ravings were pain-induced, and not the babblings of a madman. It didn’t matter. There was no hope for it. She loved him regardless. "Let me go," she said steadily, against every instinct that pleaded with her, begging that she throw her arms around him and invite those lips to taste hers again. "No," he gritted, "you’ll leave me--real or apparition, you will leave me. I can’t prevent you. I can only beg you, Demelza, please--vision or flesh--stay until I get past this… until I can explain. That deuced butcher has got me foxed on laudanum… I’m not mad… Promise me you’ll stay." She didn’t pull away. The hand that had captured her wrist, though firm, was no longer scalding hot, but warm and moist and gentle. The fever had left him, but the madness and the pain had not. She searched his face. She wasn’t wise enough in such delicate medical matters to assess his sanity. His eyes held her relentlessly, but it was the glimmer of tears in them that unlocked her voice. "I promise," she murmured.

Nineteen It was past ten in the evening, when the bedraggled doctor returned and plodded wearily up the stairs to the earl’s bedchamber. Griggs had wakened from his nap, and Melly hadn’t been able to close her eyes again after her strange conversation with the earl. The doctor wasted no time making his evaluation of his sleeping patient, while she gave account of his progress. When he had finished, he returned the smoking candles to their stand, with a crisp nod. "It looks as though he’s on the mend, if he doesn’t muck it up," he said, handing her the jar of salve. She had managed to free her hand in increments, once the earl fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. "Best give him another application while he’s under; it’s helping," he charged. Then turning to Griggs, he began removing his bandages. "Now then, let’s see how well you’re coming along," he grunted. "Are you sure he’s not lapsed back into coma?" the valet urged. "He’s so still." "What? You’ve become doctor here now, have you, Griggs?" Hale returned gruffly. "If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have half-killed that poor old cob of mine, and nearly drowned myself in washed-out lanes, up to my knees in mud trying to coax the poor beast out here through hail and rain and fallen limbs. The fever is down and, from what Melly tells me, she and Shelldrake actually had a conversation. I’ll settle for that. He’s sleeping soundly--naturally, without the laudanum, I might add. His eyes are still dilated, and we’re going to have to be on the lookout for vomiting for the next forty-eight hours, I dare say. But, yes, all in all, I do believe he’s on the mend."

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"Shouldn’t he have the laudanum anyway," Griggs queried, "for the pain?" "Do you want to wake him and dose him?" Hale erupted, giving a start. "Well, no, I just thought--" "He’s the mad one, not me," the doctor barked. "He’s asleep. Let him stay so, unless you want to take on the responsibility of holding him down all the night when he starts thrashing and raving again. If he’s unruly when he wakes, dose him then. If we can get him through this, and keep him stable for the next few days, I might just be able to evaluate what’s going on in that jumbled brain of his." Melly, meanwhile, stroked the salve on the earl’s blistered shoulder with her lightest touch. She wasn’t ready for another confrontation with him then--if ever--and she took great pains not to wake him. The heat his burned skin generated didn’t seem so scorching now. That, at least, would mend. Why had he summoned her? What could he want with her? More pointedly, why had she consented to stay? He’d almost seemed… enamored. Had he confused her with Eva? Was this nightmare, this pain, all tangled up in his mind with what happened five years ago? Sadly, no matter what the reason, she had to admit that if this was madness, she much preferred him that way. That fiendish thought faded when the doctor called her closer with the salve to see to Griggs. She crossed the room on tiptoe glancing over her shoulder while she went to be sure she hadn’t wakened the earl, but aside from a fugitive snore escaping now and then, he slept soundly. "What would we ever do without you, Miss Melly," the valet said, as she helped the doctor with his hands. "The fire’s gone out of them already. I’ve never seen the like." "I made this balm for the Tinker children," she said vacantly, "They’re always getting too close to the campfires. Pascoe builds them too near the wagons, and those children have no sense of fear." "They’ll have gone deep into the woods again by now in this," the doctor opined. "Their wagons would never stand up to those winds out there. It’s a regular howler." Melly frowned. With so much press at hand, she hadn’t thought of that possibility until now. There was no way she would be able to find them deep in the forest in a maelstrom. She would have had to stay even if she hadn’t promised the earl she would. She had nowhere else to go until she could arrange for lodgings at the boarding house--if Maud Endean even had a room to let. She made a mental note to have the doctor inquire. "I’m going to get one of the footmen up here," Hale announced, looking down his nose at her, and then at Griggs. "You’re exhausted--the pair of you. Melly, you aren’t going anywhere in this. I want you to go and get some sleep. I’m going to need your help when I come back in the morning, assuming I can get back here on those roads out there. If I can’t, you’re going to be on your own ‘till this blows over. You, too, Griggs, you’ve been hovering here since the fire. We’ll have you down next." "I shan’t leave him, Dr. Hale," said the valet unequivocally. "Fall down, then," the doctor barked. "Go ahead! Give me one more thing to do in this godforsaken, hard luck mausoleum. I’m not spread thin enough as it is, eh?" "I need to stay with him," the valet insisted. "If he should wake, what use do you think Smithers or Fowler or any of the others would be?" He waved a bandaged hand toward the four-poster. "His

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lordship doesn’t even know half of them, most came after he left. All due respect, sir, but how do you suppose any one of them is going to make him behave, when it’s allI can do, and I’ve tended him for seventeen years?" The doctor delivered a hard, guttural growl, and threw wild hands into the air. "So be it!" he brayed. "Bunk on the lounge, but Iwill have Smithers up here to keep watch while you get some sleep. I know you want to help him, Griggs, and that’s laudable, but what use are you going to be to him abed yourself? You’ve got to use your head, man." "Shhhh, the pair of you!" Melly scolded. "You’re going to wake him, and then none of us is going to get any rest." "Iwill," said the doctor. "I’m going home, before I get stuck here as well. I do have a practice you know. You can fight it out amongst yourselves, and I’ll tend whatever is left of the lot you when I get back here again. I’ve no time to deal with insurrection. There’s a very sick man in that bed there. Make the best of it with what you’ve got to work with, and deal with it." ~*~ Melly dragged herself down to the kitchen for a hot cup of tea before she retired, and Mrs. Laity jumped to her feet the minute she crossed the threshold, looking stricken; as pale as Parian bisque. Circumstance had robbed the color from her painted-doll cheeks. "Oh, no, he’s better," Melly cried at sight of her. "He is. The fever is down, and he was conscious for a while. He even spoke to me." "You’re not lying to me are you, Miss Melly… to spare me?" "No, I would never do that. You can ask Dr. Hale yourself if you don’t believe me. He’s arranging for Smithers to spell Griggs awhile. The poor man’s exhausted." "Praise God," the housekeeper said through her handkerchief as she sank back into her chair at the table. "He’ll have to be watched now for at least two days," Melly said, pouring herself a cup of tea from the pot that always stood at the ready on the back of the coal stove. "Let me do that," the housekeeper offered, struggling to her feet again. "Stay. It’s done," Melly replied, joining her. "You don’t need to wait on me, Mrs. Laity. I see you still have some, or I’d pour one for you as well." "You’re staying?" the housekeeper urged. "For a little. Dr. Hale has asked for my help. As soon as the storm is over, I shall be moving to Maud Endean’s. He is going to inquire about a room for me when he gets back to St. Kevern." "Praise God--that you’re staying on--that is." "Temporarily," Melly pronounced. It would be cruel to raise her hopes.

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"Your old rooms are all made up… I was hoping. And Zoe will be only too glad to stay with you." She leaned across the table and whispered even though they were alone, "His lordship let her keep her abigail’s wages you know. She was that pleased." "Did he? That was generous of him." "He’s never been stingy, Miss Melly, a whole lot o’ other things, but not that." "Yes, well, I’m happy for Zoe, but I won’t need her. I hardly need a chaperon here now, and I’m not up to chitchat. I just want to sleep… and wake up in my cottage in the vale to find out all of this has been a bad dream… a horrible nightmare, over at last. If that could only be, I’d hug myself, and kiss the walls, and thank the stars every single day for the rest of my life." "Ahhh, miss," the housekeeper soothed. "But, I’ll wake in that bed up there--" Melly went on, "--the last place on earth that I want to be, and the only thing that will be real is the nightmare." "You’re just worn to a raveling," the housekeeper returned. "Why don’t you go on up. The bed’s all turned down. I left you a lamb’s wool carriage robe on the chair, and I laid out that pretty peach nightdress of the countess’s for you. It suits you so well." "It doesn’t suit me at all," Melly snapped. "And I wouldn’t have anything that… woman had on her body anywhere near mine. I’ll sleep in my frock first. I have done for days among the Tinkers’ you know, and I’d be there asleep in it now, but for… for…" She burst into tears then. Something she absolutely, positively never did. She had never been a watering pot, and she wasn’t about to become one now. After a moment, she wiped her eyes ruthlessly, and got to her feet. "I’m sorry, Mrs. Laity," she said. "I’m tired, and cross, and I’m railing at circumstance. I certainly didn’t mean to take it all out on you." "You can have one o’ my nightgowns, lass," the housekeeper offered. "It won’t fit you, that’s for sure--you and three others maybe--but I won’t have you sleeping up there in your frock, with a perfectly good gown in my drawer. I’d never forgive myself." "You’re very kind," Melly said, smiling, "and I don’t deserve you, but I will take that nightgown if you wouldn’t mind and go up before I fall asleep right here at this table." ~*~ Melly didn’t need to consult the cheval glass to see that Mrs. Laity was right. The nightgown was roomy enough to fit her three times over. She almost laughed looking down at the white batiste skirt, like a billowed sail dragging on the floor, and the neckline falling off her shoulders. But for her breasts to hold it up, it wouldn’t have stayed on five minutes, and even at that it was precarious. Thank the stars no one was going to see her. Without hesitation, she snuffed out all the candles but one, crawled in between the sheets, and pulled the counterpane up to her chin. She wiggled her toes. In spite of herself, she had to admit it was better than curling cramped with little Val in Tisa’s wagon.

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She started to drift off almost at once, hypnotized by the candle flame teased by the drafts, throwing flickering puddles of light on the Persian carpet. She listened to the rain tapping at the windowpanes. Falling in horizontal sheets driven by the wind, it seemed as though a giant’s hand were hurling pebbles at the glass. All at once another sound bled into the rest--the sound of raised voices in the hallway outside her locked bedchamber door. "Please, my lord," Griggs was shouting, over a rumble of other raised voices, "You’ve got to go back to your bed. You’ll undo all the doctor has done to mend you. I shan’t take responsibility when he demands and account." "Not until I’ve seen for myself," the earl roared. "Now get out of my way! Don’t paw at me. I don’t want to hurt you, Griggs, but I’m not going back ‘till I’ve seen her with my own two eyes. I will not be patronized!" A thunderous pounding at her door followed, and Melly bolted upright in the bed, every fiber in her body trembling. "She had better be in there," the earl warned. "If you’ve lied to me, so help me, God, I’ll--" "Miss Melly!" the valet’s broken voice shrilled, "for pity sake open the door a crack, so we can get him back to bed before he does himself a mischief." "The devil you will!" the earl thundered. This followed by a frantic pounding at the bedchamber door that moved the polished wood panels visibly. Melly threw back the covers, swung her feet over the edge of the bed, and snatched the carriage robe from the back of the chair. Tossing it over her shoulders, she padded to the door tripping over the hem of the diaphanous nightgown on the way. The pounding came again, along with the echo of two voices attempting to drown out a string of obscenities that caused her breath to catch. And she unlocked the door, trusting Griggs’s plea, for fear he would be the one to come to harm. "What do the lot of you mean, making such a racket at this hour?" she cried. "I couldn’t prevent him, Miss Melly," Griggs panted. His arm was looped through the earl’s despite the bandages. Smithers tethered him on the opposite side with both hands, while two other liveried footmen danced attendance. "I told Hale we should have dosed him. You heard me," the valet complained. "You promised you’d stay," the earl said to her. "And I have, but I shan’t if you don’t go back and get into bed at once, my lord. You have a cracked skull! If you should fall--" "I shan’t fall unless these fools trip me up. Unhand me--the pair of you! The rest of you, get back. I can stand on my own." They obliged, and when he swayed, Melly cried out as he steadied himself against the doorjamb. "I want a word with you alone," he said, pushing past her into the room.

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She glanced at Griggs, then at Smithers, who both tried to enter behind him, only to find themselves promptly ejected and the door slammed shut in their faces. "Stay out there, or go. I don’t care," he shouted through the door. "I mean to have a word with Lady Ahern alone. She is perfectly safe. If she wants rescuing, she has only to scream; it’s not locked. But if you dare open it before she does so, you’re all sacked. I mean it, Griggs. Don’t put me to the test." A hushed mumbling sound replied, and he turned back to face Melly where she stood staring at him, her hand over her lips. Another breath caught in her throat as he took a ragged step nearer. "Say your piece and leave, sir," she demanded, backing away. "This is most improper. I am exhausted from tending you, and I do not take it kindly that you do your best to render all of my hard work for naught." "May I sit?" he said, sweeping his arm toward the wing chair. "I’d rather you sit in your own chamber, my lord." He sank into the wing chair nonetheless. He was wearing a burgundy brocade dressing gown, which he shouldn’t have put on over his burned shoulder. His hooded eyes and tight lips attested to the bad judgment of that. The robe gapped as he sat, showing a broad, well-muscled chest, but the skirt gapped as well, exposing a lean, corded leg to the hip. She gasped in spite of herself. He was naked underneath it. "Please state your business and leave before the laudanum wears off and they have to carry you," she murmured, trying to keep her gaze from returning to that well-turned thigh. "What the deuce are you wearing?" he said, frowning toward her costume, and she shifted the carriage robe to cover more of her shoulders. "Mrs. Laity’s nightgown," she said, her voice breaking into falsetto. "Didn’t I provide you with nightgowns?" "You did, my lord. I prefer to wear this." "Why?" "I’d rather not say, my lord. You didn’t come here to critique my attire. Please state your business, and leave." "You’re beautiful even in that ridiculous rig," he said genuinely. "My lord,please ." "I forced my way in on you just now, because I awoke to find you gone, and I thought you’d broken your promise." "I’m not in the habit of breaking promises, my lord." "I see that now, and I’m sorry."

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"Apology accepted. May I now go to bed?" "Not quite yet," he returned. "Since I’m here, there is something I need to say to you. I greatly misjudged you, Demelza, and drove you from this house. I shan’t tell you what I thought--" "I know what you thought," she interrupted, tossing her ringlets haughtily. "How you could possibly think it is beyond me." "Circumstantial evidence," he replied. "Yes, well, that has condemned more than one innocent soul to the gallows I daresay. It doesn’t matter. It’s over and done with. I should like to forget it. Believe me, it isn’t important." "It’s important to me. In driving you away, I put you in danger. The threat still exists, more so now, outside of my protection. Jim Ellery has extorted thousands of pounds from me over the past five years, siphoning off blunt for repairs that were never made on my properties, and paying non-existent employees. The Terrill croft was among them. Six months ago, he debited my accounts for a new roof on that house. The repairs were never made. The roof was rotted through. Young Will Terrill died unnecessarily. A new roof would have held when that rotted tree fell. That’s why I went to help the work crew with the repairs, why I was in the area when your cottage burned. I wanted to see for myself. I needed to be sure." "My lord," she said in a softer voice, "mightn’t we have this conversation tomorrow… when you’ve rested. You look ghastly… your color--" "No. I’ll have this said tonight if you please. I’d rather die right here as I am than take the chance you might run from me again before it’s told. Old Hale wants me awake, does he not--jostling me every hour lest I lapse into coma? I know how badly I’m hurt. If I should die with this unsaid, and you came to harm…" Melly sank down on the edge of the bed. Her legs would no longer support her. Would the man never cover his leg? An inch or two to the right, and… "T-then, please be brief," she murmured, "or Iwill scream for Griggs. I won’t have your death on my conscience." "I didn’t run off insensitive to your situation and leave you here with no thought to our bargain," he went on. "I took Griggs with me on a tour of my crofts. It couldn’t wait. What I found there was quite shocking, but not unexpected. The evidence we uncovered was all in the ledgers, most of which were destroyed in that fire. But I still have enough proof in the ones in the valuables chest to put Jim Ellery away for a good long time. My bankers, Bradshaw and Mills, reviewed them all before I left with Griggs." "And all the while, you thought--" "That you and Jim were lovers? Yes. I hardly knew you, but I did know Jim, and unfortunately, I tarred you with the same brush. I knew he would never let someone like you slip through his fingers. And he did have the advantage. He’d known you longer." "But, why would that be of interest to you? I don’t understand."

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"I didn’t either, until you left Drake’s Lair, and then, the night of the fire, after I’d put Jim out, and Mrs. Laity told me what really happened here in your rooms… I’m not mad, Demelza, I’ve fallen in love with you. I was so happy that I was wrong, I behaved like a giddy schoolboy and frightened the poor woman half to death. I don’t blame her for labeling me a Bedlamite. "I was coming to find you--to warn you about Jim. I knew he’d come after you. He’s desperate. He’s rolled up. Two men came here after him with a handful of vowels just before I tossed him out of here. He knows that you have money now, and unless I miss my guess, he’s going to try to get his hands on it one way or another." Melly’s breath caught, and she stiffened. "I went upstairs to collect my cloak, and saw a shadow on the lawn from my chamber window," he went on. "The rest is still hazy. I know I went to investigate. I think I had my pistol, it’s missing from my chiffonier, and I know I was struck from behind. I believe it was Jim. I also believe it was Jim I saw running away from your burning cottage that night." "But, why would he?" she cried, vaulting off the bed. "I’ve no idea, but I’d bet what’s left of my blunt it was him, and I’d bet he started the fire downstairs in that study as well trying to get rid of me before I could expose him." "My God!" she breathed. "Demelza," he murmured, struggling to his feet. When he swayed, she reached to support him, and he pulled her close in his arms. "I wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to me again, but I can prove everything I’ve just said. Bradshaw and Mills will back me up. If you’ll only consent to stay until they arrive. They’re coming from Truro… the storm must have delayed them." She gave it thought, but not for long. "Zeus!" he cried suddenly. "Thewill ." "What will?" she murmured. "My will. After I’d warned you, I was going up to Truro to my solicitor there. Jim stands to inherit a goodly sum if I should die. I need to cancel that at once." He was clearly disoriented. His eyes flashed about the room, as though he were trying to conjure memory from the shadows. Melly’s head was reeling. She didn’t know what to believe. He seemed to be making sense, but, while her heart said one thing, her head was saying something else entirely, and she strained against his embrace. "You need to go back to your bed," she murmured. "Your burns… I can see that you’re in pain." "I’m in pain, Demelza, but not from the burns," he said, stripping the carriage robe away. His hand was trembling as he reached to fondle her shoulder. "We have differences," she said. "I don’t think we can resolve them, my lord."

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"Will you at least call me Drake?" "If you wish, but I doubt that will solve anything." "You are such a mystery," he whispered against her hair. "Why won’t you wear the nightgowns I gave you?" "Because they belonged to Eva," she said honestly, "because I’m not… elegant like she was… because I feel ridiculous in them… because I know how much you loved her… because--" "Who told you I loved her?" he snapped, holding her at arm’s length. "E-everyone," she stammered, trying to wrench free of his grip. "Did Jim tell you that?" "Please, you’re frightening me!" "Answer me! Who told you that?" "E-everyone says that you nearly went mad when she died." "I thought I loved her once," he admitted, "when we were courting. She was beautiful, yes, and sought after by every buck in Town. Maybe I would have married her if she hadn’t tricked me into it telling me she was pregnant with my child. I don’t honestly know. At any rate, she wasn’t pregnant, and our life together was… a disaster. Whatever I felt for her early on, I despised her when she died." "But you were so distraught, you--" "Because of myson , not because of Eva. God help me if she hadn’t died, I believe I would have killed her. Love her?Zeus , Demelza! You don’t know." "But I do, Drake--" she said bravely, "--all of it." His dark stare held her relentlessly. She had never seen such a look in the eyes of any living creature in all her life, and she twisted frantically in his grip in a desperate attempt to distance herself from it. "W-who told you?" he demanded. "I know it wasn’t Hale. Was it Griggs? Mrs. Laity?Who ?" "Let me go, Drake, you’re hurting me," she shrilled. "Jim! It was Jim wasn’t it? When? When, Demelza?" "Two days ago, I went up to Truro on the mail coach to replace my wardrobe," she said guardedly. "You were alone with him?" "O-only on the post chaise returning. That’s when he told me." "That tale wasn’t fit for your ears. That’s whyI never told you."

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"I asked him to tell me, Drake." "Why?" "I’d rather not say. I think you need to go back to bed now. You’re in pain, and there’s no point to this." "I’ll ask you again. Why did you want him to tell you?" She braved a look in his eyes. They were wild with rage, reminding her of that day at the edge of the wood, when she was so certain he was about to strike her, and tears threatened again. Was he lapsing back into madness? What would calm him? The truth? She wouldn’t lie. "I asked him because I knew I was falling in love with you," she murmured, "but I also love what I do, what I believe I was born to do. I told you that day in the meadow, when you grabbed me, and shook me, and hurt me like you’re doing now, when you nearly struck me down… This is who I am… this is what I do, and it helps people. That gives me purpose, and joy. I’m good at it, and I cannot--will not--give it up… not even for you. You may as well know that my herbal salve is what took the fire out of your burns… what’s healing Griggs’s hands--" "Demelza--" "No! It’s just as well we’ve had this conversation after all, because it’s shown me that exactly what I feared is true. Our differences are too great to resolve. Because of what happened five years ago, you would never be able to trust me." "You’re going to think for me now are you?" he snapped. Crushing her close, he cupped her face in his hand and raised it until their eyes met. "I smelled your lilacs last night," he murmured, speaking between feather-light kisses on her face, her throat, her shoulder, "I saw your bluebells, I listened to the rustling of the rowan leaves in the spring breeze. I felt your love of the land, of the things that come from the earth. I knew that balm you stroked on my shoulder was one of your deuced concoctions--" "You heard me… felt that?" she marveled. "You shouldn’t have put on the dressing gown. You’ve probably undone all the good it did." "I could take it off," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "Youare mad! Don’t youdare !" she breathed, pulling away from the pressure of his turgid body pressed against her with precious little in between. "Being in love is a kind of madness," he observed, "the worst kind of madness… the severest pain. I’ve never felt this way in my life. If this is love, then I have never been in love before, and quite frankly, I don’t know how to act. I know I’ve overwhelmed you, and I never meant to hurt you… not that day by the wood… not now. That you could love me is totally beyond my imagining, but what I felt in your arms in that wine cellar gave me hope. I shan’t ask for a commitment. I know it’s too soon. Please don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to force myself upon you, Demelza. Regardless of what Jim has doubtless told you, I have never forced myself upon a woman in my life; believe me, I’ve never had to. There isn’t a lady or ladybird in the realm that could say I ever conducted myself like anything other than a gentleman. Now then, I’ll go back to my room and behave myself if you’ll promise me one thing…" "What?" she murmured breathlessly, foxed by his closeness, by the taste of him, by the thud of his heart pounding against her, and the pressure of his hardness.

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"That you will stay here in this house until my bankers come and I can take action to see that you come to no harm from Jim. He can’t touch you here. He isn’t fool enough to come back to Drake’s Lair now. You’ll be safe if you let me protect you--only that." "Fromhim , yes," she murmured pointedly. "I told you, you have nothing to fear from me. If this isn’t restraint, then I don’t know what is. You know how I want you… you canfeel how I want you." "This from a man who has already compromised me," she scorned. "You’re not compromised, Melly," he said. "They all love you too much in this house to allow that, even from me. I assure you we aren’t alone. When I open this door, Griggs is going to fall right through it." And so he did.

Twenty As predicted, Drake’s activities the previous night took their toll. By morning, his fever was on the rise again, he was experiencing double vision, and his blisters, burst by the friction of burgundy brocade rubbing into them, had left behind patches of raw, weeping flesh. Melly had not accompanied Griggs and Smithers when they led Drake back to his rooms. He went without protest, but that was hardly result of his promise to behave and go quietly. He had overextended himself. Severely. And it had cost him. Her heart sank when she looked in on him in the morning. His breathing was rapid from the fever, and his skin was dry to the touch as she smoothed on the cool, green-tinted comfrey salve. "He’s bad again, isn’t he?" said Griggs, his brows knit in dismay. "He’s broken the blisters. The salve will mend him, but he will have to stay bare-chested until the weeping’s done, or risk infection. Whatever possessed him?" "I feel dreadful about last night," the valet said meekly. "I tried to prevent him, Miss Melly. He had it in his head that you’d run off again, and there was just no holding him." "If I’m still here tonight, you will dose him at bedtime regardless; I’ll take responsibility for the consequences," she decreed, "and I’ll have Zoe attend me if you please. I shan’t suffer such as that again." "You can’t go, Miss Melly!" the valet cried. "He… we… the doctor needs you." "Yes, well,I have needs, too. I need to get on with my life, to sort myself out. I need to find a place to

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stay, and collect my things from the coaching station. I told the stationmaster I would only need to store them for one day. It’s been two. For all I know, he could have sold them off by now, I only paid for the one day, and I don’t even have a place to put them yet." "Uh… yes you do," Griggs said in a low voice." "Griggggs?" she said, wary of his guilty expression. "H-his lordship sent Fry word last night to go ‘round to St. Kevern first thing this morning after your things, Miss Melly. They should be on their way up to your apartments right now." "Ohhhhh!" she shrilled, pounding the bed with clenched fists beside Drake sleeping soundly. "The devil take the man! I will not be held prisoner here!" "The storm’s still on," said the valet. "Listen to it. You can’t go traipsing off in a flaw just over standing on ceremony. You told him you’d stay ‘till the bankers come and set things to rights, and you can’t leave your things at the station. Not all folks are honest, you know." "Oh, howwell I know, with treachery right under my very nose on all fronts in this house," she sallied, slapping the bedclothes again. "Take care, you’ll wake him, and I’ve just now put him under," the valet pleaded. "Believe me, neither one of us is up to his ravings just now." "He sent the poor stabler all the way to St. Kevern inthat after a few fripperies?" she cried, gesturing toward the shivering window slick with sheeting rain. Aside from being in a genuine taking over the impertinence of the man, she was incredulous. The colossalnerve of the bounder, but that shouldn’t surprise her. Hadn’t he gone from ‘Lady Ahern’, to‘Demelza’ , to‘Melly’ , addressing her, without so much as a by your leave? And, worse yet, she hadlet him. "That he did, miss, wouldn’t close his eyes ‘till Smithers went up to the stables to give Fry his marching orders, and came back with a ‘yes, sir’ in regard to the matter. Why, you’d have thought he was still in Wellington’s army." She raised her hand to trounce the counterpane again, and would have, if Dr. Hale hadn’t entered. She dropped it to her side instead, then snapped the bedclothes taut around Drake’s naked torso none too gently. "What the devil have you done to him?" the doctor barked, facing them arms-akimbo. "I left a man, whose fever had broken, sleeping like a baby, on the way to mending, and what do I find not eight hours after? We’re right back where we started, if not worse than we were when we started. What happened?" "He got up out of bed," Griggs offered. "We couldn’t do one thing with him." "I left three grown adults in charge here!" the doctor railed. "How was I going to prevent him?" Griggs defended, exhibiting his bandaged hands. "That was what Smithers was for, he doesn’t have two lame paws," the doctor sallied. "I know he’s a lack-wit compared to yourself, but I did think the pair of you could manage one comatose invalid."

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"Begging your pardon, but I told you, you ought to have dosed him," the valet said hotly. "I will now, when I deem fitting, whether you say or no." "You do that, ‘Dr.’ Griggs. Dose him up good and proper. It’ll spare me the use of restraints, when I cart him off to the asylum. I knew it would eventually come to this five years ago." ~*~ The storm lingered over the coast for two more days, before finally dissipating as it moved farther northward, leaving in its wake a string of uprooted trees, fallen branches, and wounded outbuildings. Standing water on the flooded lanes and highways slowly started to recede, though coaches were hard-pressed to negotiate axel-deep rivers of mud, all of which made matters difficult for James Ellery, crouching weary and damp, somewhat sheltered from the wind inside the ragged, roofless shell of an abandoned barn just south of the village. His time was up. He had been able to glean no news of Demelza, and little of Drake’s Lair, come to that, except that Drake was still alive though there wereon-dits circulating regarding his sanity. That was his one ray of hope, until the morning the storm subsided, allowing the sun to struggle through the cloud cover. He had sought Demelza amongst the Tinkers, but he was too late, they had already gone deep into the wood to escape the flaw when he reached their campground in the clearing. Had she gone with them, or was she at the Lair? Dr. Hale would know, but he dared not approach him. He would also know that there had been a confrontation between himself and Drake, and what was behind it. Like it or not, he was an outcast, and now, a scorched outcast. He’d been dodging the innkeeper at the Black Stag for nearly two days, hence the dilapidated barn, surviving by fighting off cats and dogs for scraps in the trash heaps of St. Kevern. How had it come to this? Just a sennight ago, he had access to all the blunt he needed for a comfortable existence. Now, he was scrapping with animals for provender slated for livestock and compost piles, since it was unfit for sale at the markets, and for scraps of uneaten food tossed out behind the tea room, Maud Endean’s boarding house, and the local café. Drake probably hadn’t changed his will yet, but there was no hope to get to him before he did. He couldn’t go back to Drake’s Lair. He needed Demelza--not only her money, he wanted her. Totally. It wasn’t fair. He’d seen her first. He’d put a year’s worth of his valuable time into winning her. He wasn’t about to just bow out and let Drake have her. This wasn’t the old days. This was now, and his time had come. Drake should never have come back. Everything would have worked out to his advantage, if only Drake had gotten his wish for a noble death on the Peninsula. Those thoughts, however, were counterproductive. There was no use fondling regrets. He needed a course of action. Quickly. He didn’t have a farthing. If he could only lay his hands on some blunt to gamble with, he could double it at the tables. He knew it. His luck was due for a change. Once he’d made a killing, he could offer for Demelza. He would be a man of substance again. He would bowl her over--sweep her off her feet--spirit her away to London where she belonged, wherehe belonged. Drake was no threat now, even if she was at the Lair. There was actually talk of shutting him up in the madhouse. He’d been responsible for much of it. That was inspired. He’d had no idea what he was doing when he heaped fuel on that on-dit. How full of surprises was providence. People actuallybelieved him. And, why wouldn’t they? He had lived in that house with the man, hadn’t he?

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Yes, all this was well and good, but he needed blunt now--right now. He couldn’t go back to the Black Stag for his things. He’d fled by the back stairs just as the publican pounded on his door to evict him, leaving everything behind in his haste. The man could go to the devil. There was nothing of value in his portmanteau; Drake had seen to that. The only thing he possessed that could be turned into substantial cash was the swayback mare. So be it. With his winnings, he would buy a new horse at Tattersall’s--a decent horse befitting a man of substance and stature. All at once another inspiration struck--Drake’s townhouse in London. There would be money there, and he knew where to find it. There hadn’t been time for news to travel to Town. Of course, why hadn’t he thought of that before?Nodcock . One would think he was the one who’d been hit on the head. None of the servants at the townhouse in Mayfair would think anything untoward was afoot if he put his head in and visited the place. He’d done it dozens of times--hundredsof times over the years. He would go to the livery straightaway and arrange the sale of the nag. It didn’t matter how much she brought. All he needed, after all, was the price of coach fare into London. Stepping out from under the bare roof beams of the barn he turned down his soggy collar, and straightened his superfine coat. If it weren’t for the drenching, he would be quite presentable. But that hardly mattered anymore. There would be clothes at the townhouse as well--armoires full of them. Drake was a little taller, a little sleeker, but he would make due. His Hessians would cover a multitude of sins if the pantaloons were a tad too long. With a spring in his gait, he strode along the lane to the village. The stage had just let off passengers when he reached the coaching station, and he pulled up short at sight of Bradshaw and Mills standing on the platform awaiting their luggage to be loaded onto Drake’s brougham waiting alongside. He darted behind the corner of the building. A surge of adrenaline crippled him momentarily. Fry was in the driver’s seat. Had the deuced stabler seen him? He hoped not. He was getting more nervous by the second, wanting to get on with the sale and board that stage before it departed without him. Haste was crucial now that the deuced bankers had come. What were they waiting for? Their bags had been loaded. Drake’s tiger was already positioned on the dickey in back. Would they never be off? But wait. They weren’t alone. Had they brought a Bow Street Runner? Yes. He recognized the man’s plain dress the minute he stepped out of the stationmaster’s office--the black frock coat, stuff breeches with dark stockings, and those ridiculous buckled shoes. It was nothing short of a uniform. The blighter may as well have worn a sign around his neck. So Drake had turned him in after all. He hadn’t wasted much time, so much for his "running start". This was serious. They must have sent word ahead of their arrival time. How else would Fry have known to come to the village with the brougham? Yes, this was serious, indeed. Stepping farther back, in the shadow of the sign attached to the building, he watched the Runner climb into Drake’s brougham with the bankers. This changed everything. He would still go to London, but not on the stage. If he were to carry out his mission before that Runner had a chance to send word up to alert Mayfair, he would have to go on horseback now. But not on the swayback nag. His mind was racing, his heart thumping a ragged rhythm that echoed in his dry throat and pounded wildly in his ears. Finally, Fry cracked the whip, and the brougham pulled away from the platform headed for Drake’s Lair. Once they were out of sight, Ellery entered the stables, but he didn’t saddle the mare. Instead, he saddled one of Drake’s Andalusians, under the pretext of riding it out to the estate at Drake’s request. The simpleminded groom didn’t question him. Heading off in that general direction, he held the horse at a leisurely trot until the coaching station disappeared behind the bend in the road, then turned sharply and

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drove the animal north by northeast hard at a gallop, straight for London. ~*~ Drake received the bankers and the Runner in his sitting room adjoining the master bedchamber. That was as far from his bed as the doctor would allow. Though he had been improving steadily, Hale had thus far refused to grant him absolution from possible incarceration in asylum--even if only temporarily. Drake knew his moods swings were responsible for that. He and Melly were scarcely speaking, since he’d overstepped his bounds and had her things brought to the house, and he certainly wasn’t about to bare his soul to the crusty old doctor to be laughed at or put under scrutiny. He was in love, dammit, not addled. The crotchety old butcher never loved anything in his life save his instruments of pain. He’d make him the laughingstock of the Cornish coast, and still be convinced he was mad, considering all that had gone before. Mercifully, the good doctor was absent that afternoon. Bradshaw had brought the few intact ledgers that remained up from the valuables chest that now stood in the library, along with several that had only been partially burned. They all sat perusing them around a cherry wood gaming table set before the hearth that Smithers had lit to chase the dampness--Drake, Bradshaw, Mills, and one Jasper Q. Redmond, of Bow Street, London. "You should have pressed charges at once, my lord," said the Runner laying the ledger he’d been studying aside. "I put him out. I thought that action sufficient, until this," Drake responded, gesturing toward his bandaged head. "But you couldn’t have meant to just let him keep the money?" Redmond cut in. "That’s madness." There was that word again. Could he not open his mouth without damming himself? No, evidently not. "Mr. Redmond, there isn’t any money to keep," Drake defended. "It’s gone--frittered away. He’s lost it all in the gambling hells. The man is a very unlucky compulsive gambler, who doesn’t know when to quit when his winnings are running high. I saw no hope of recovery. My motive in booting him out was to prevent him from siphoning off more of my assets. I’ve known the man for better than seventeen years. He’s been my steward for most of that time. I would have--and did--trust him with my life." "So you let him off for old time’s sake?" the Runner queried. "Not exactly. I knew once Mr. Bradshaw and Mr. Mills got hold of my findings, they would press for a warrant. Then, after the fire, I knew I had no other recourse, but to press for it myself. I believe Mr. Ellery is the one responsible for that fire, and I believe he was the one who struck me from behind just minutes before he started it." "What makes you think so, my lord?" said Bradshaw. "Something I let slip when I sacked him. I made mention of my will. He stands to inherit a great deal of money, should I die. It’s a fair guess that he’d forgotten all about that, until I opened my bloody mouth. I was on my way to Truro to cancel it when I was struck down." "Has it been cancelled, my lord?" the Runner questioned.

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"Not yet," Drake regretted. "This happened before I got the chance. I’m just now out of bed." "Excuse me, my lord," Mills interrupted, clearing his voice. "You shan’t need both Mr. Bradshaw and myself, since Mr. Redmond is attending. If you like, I might go ‘round to your solicitor for you, if you give me leave and your wishes in writing." "That would be capital, Mr. Mills," Drake rejoiced. Then to the footman in attendance beside the door, he said, "Smithers, fetch me parchment, quill, and ink." The footman complied, and Drake scrawled a brief message, sealed it with the stylized dragon-shaped ‘S’ in red wax, and handed it to the banker. "Tell my coachman to drive you up in the brougham, it will be faster," he said. "I believe you know my solicitor, Malcolm Snead. He keeps offices in Falmouth St." "I do," said Mills, rising. "I shall leave at once." "Tell Malcolm that I shall come up myself just as soon as I’m fit to sign anything outstanding. Meanwhile, that codicil I just handed you should suffice to cut Ellery out of my will entirely forthwith once you’ve witnessed it." "Consider it done, my lord," the banker said, as Smithers showed him out. "Now then," the Runner said, leaning back in his chair, "there’s enough evidence in these ledgers to put Mr. Ellery behind bars for extortion, fraud, and if we stretch a point, negligence that led to wrongful death, in the unfortunate case of the Terrill boy. What I now need from you is your reasons for thinking that your steward is also responsible for the fire, and the attack upon your person. Firstly, was anything stolen from the study during the incident?" "Nothing significant, considering all the rest," Drake replied. "He took my pistol--my army service flintlock, and the loading tools and ammunition I had in my pockets." "Why were you armed, my lord?" the Runner interrupted. "Are you in the habit of carrying a holster pistol and ammunition around as a matter of course?" "Certainly not," Drake snapped. "I went upstairs for my cloak. When I went to the window to snuff out the candles, I saw… something on the lawn… a shadow, I believe. You must forgive me… that blow to the head. Some of what occurred is still quite fuzzy. Though the doctor tells me that such is quite normal, it’s exasperating nonetheless, and trying to force it brings on dreadful headaches. At any rate, I took my pistol from the chiffonier, loaded it, and took the tools and ammunition… as a precaution. I had just put Jim Ellery off the place, and earlier that day, I ejected two of his gambling associates, who came to collect two hundred pounds in outstanding vowels from him. They were rather unpleasant, and I had to throw them out bodily. For all I knew they could have returned." "So you went to investigate your ‘shadow’ armed?" the Runner queried. "Yes. I went outside… by way of the servants’ quarters, I believe, and followed the building around to the study. The terrace doors were open, not wide open, only partially. It was dark inside. I had just come from there before I went to fetch the cloak, and the candles were still lit when I left. The staff usually doesn’t extinguish them until I’ve retired. I remember un-holstering my pistol, and stepping over the threshold. Then something struck me on the back of the head. It made a God-awful thud. I fell to my

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knees then something struck me again. I don’t remember anything after that." "You don’t remember the fire, then?" "No, Mr. Redmond. Nothing until I woke the next day in my bed." "What else was taken, my lord?" "The pound notes I had in my waistcoat pocket, and my superfine cloak. That was all." "Your cloak, you say?" "Why would someone take your cloak? More to the point, why were you wearing one? It’s hardly cloak weather yet." "The flaw was brewing, and I was riding to Truro, since it would be faster than going by coach. I don’t know why he would have taken it, unless he wanted to make it look as though I had gotten drunk in my study, while I was at work on my ledgers, and accidentally set the room afire when I fell and hit my head. I would hardly have been doing that dressed for riding. It’s very hard for me to say this, but I believe that he was trying to murder me and make it look accidental, so no one would be suspicious when he inherited." "Ummm," the Runner growled, rubbing his chin with the back of his thumb. "Where do you think he is now?" "I’ve no idea," Drake regretted. "He can’t have gone far. He had no money to speak of, and I only had a few pound notes in my pocket. I kept nearly all of his belongings--gave him what he could carry away in a small portmanteau. My valet packed it, and I gave him an old mare from the stable. He knew I would amend that will straightaway. It’s my guess he’s somewhere in the village." "So you think he’s still close by do you? Would that be prudent… considering?" Drake hesitated. He didn’t want to involve Demelza, but he didn’t want her in harm’s way either. What would her reaction be if he dragged her into the coil? He didn’t want to imagine it. He was in enough trouble on that front already. "My lord?" the Runner prompted. "There is a young lady of my acquaintance whom I believe to be in danger," he said guardedly. "Mr. Ellery has been… pursuing her for nearly a year. She recently came into money, and he is desperate." "And you believe he might try and relieve her of it?" "I wouldn’t put it past him, Mr. Redmond." "Where did she get her newfound wealth?" Again Drake hesitated. It was going to sound more than a little suspicious, but better that than being caught in a lie. Still, it wasn’t really pertinent, except that he wanted her under the protection of the law… just in case. That seemed important enough to risk her wrath.

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"From me," he responded. "She is a lady, who has put on tick because of her father’s obsession for gambling… and subsequent death. She arrived here a year ago to live with her cousin, who then passed on, and when her cottage burned down, I contracted to buy the land from her." "I see," said the Runner, arching his brow. "No, you don’t," Drake said tersely, "but that’s irrelevant. She is residing here at Drake’s Lair, under my protection until all this is settled. He can’t touch her here, but I’ve no doubt in my mind that he’ll stay close by to get his hands on that blunt, should she leave the estate. Unless I am very much mistaken, he’s already laid the groundwork." "Ummm," the Runner hummed. "We shall begin with that, then. If you will lend me a mount from your stables, I shall have a look around the village while you continue your business with Mr. Bradshaw." "Take whatever you need," Drake offered. "Your rooms have been prepared--yours and Mr. Bradshaw’s. Feel free to stay just as long as you wish. I would prefer it, since I’m in no shape to be running after you, and--" "My lord… don’t you keep a townhouse in Mayfair?" Redmond interrupted. "Zeus!" Drake thundered followed by a string of colorful expletives that raised the banker’s brow. "Yes. He hasn’t got the keys any longer, but any one of the servants will open the doors to him--keys or no--and he knows where I keep my blunt." "I was afraid of that," the Runner replied. "I shall send a special messenger up to London straightaway. Have you any other estates closer at hand, where he might find ready cash?" "No. I have several other properties aside from my crofts, but they are all let." "Good. That narrows the field a bit," said the Runner, rising. "I had better get cracking. I should have some news of our man by the dinner hour. If I may say so, my lord, you could do with a rest. I’ve seen cadavers with more color than you’ve got." ~*~ Drake spent the better part of the morning going over his findings on the tour with Bradshaw. The doctor put his head in after nuncheon in agreement with the Runner that Drake should go back to his bed at once, but he refused to comply. He was quick to point out their findings thus far. Mad was he? He’d told the crusty old sawbones that he had the cannon to back up his infantry. Now he presented it in black and white with the banker’s corroboration. Hale, however, was not impressed. Melly hadn’t made an appearance, but that was no surprise. She was still in a pucker over his interference--and would be awhile from all accounts.Zeus ! Wait until she saw what he had in store for her next. That, however, was a secret for now. He hadn’t even shared it with Mrs. Laity, who had come in her place to doctor him with the comfrey salve. It was late in the afternoon before the Runner returned. Drake and Bradshaw were still sequestered in the sitting room in Drake’s suite, making copious lists of the extortions and referencing them in the ledgers themselves for presentation at the trial. It was a tedious job that was going to take more than one sitting,

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and Drake had resigned himself to the fact that he was likely to have houseguests for some time. When Redmond entered, a small parcel under his arm, they both turned toward him in anticipation, but the Friday-faced Runner’s body language showed little promise. "He’s gone off," he said flatly, sinking into the wing chair he had vacated earlier. "He took a room at the Black Stag Inn the night of the fire--paid in advance for a sennight--and left his horse at the livery with the Andalusians you’ve got boarding there, so he wouldn’t have to pay, since you’re good for the tab. When the week was up, he left the inn and never came back for his belongings--the portmanteau you mentioned. The innkeeper was set to keep it for the blunt he was owed, ‘till I confiscated it for evidence. Nobody saw Ellery after that, ‘till this morning. It seems he collected a horse from the livery, all right, but it wasn’t the mare you said you gave him. He took one of the Andalusians instead, told the young clunch of a groom he was bringing it out here for you, and the dunce didn’t question him since he knew Ellery was your steward." Drake surged to his feet, sorry the minute he reached his full height, for the white-starred dizziness that sat him back down with Bradshaw’s help on one side and Redmond’s on the other. "Bloody hell!" he trumpeted, more at his inadequacy than the loss of his prized stallion. "Now we can add horse thievery to his chit," said the Runner, taking his seat again. He took up the parcel wrapped in brown paper from the floor where he’d tossed it to jump to Drake’s aid. "There’s more," he said, "are you up to it, my lord? You don’t look too steady of a sudden." Drake stared dazed at the stocky little man. He hadn’t really taken his measure before now. His eyes were sharp, and blue. In the firelight, his hair appeared to be a dark, burnished red streaked with gray at the temples pulled back in an outdated queue. That brought back memories of his own handsome, ill-fated braid, and of what caused it be shorn, triggering a tightness in his loins that had no place in the current circumstance. Madness? Love? Had the little witch hexed him? Even he was beginning to question now, shifting his position in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure building between his thighs. "Just get on with it," he said testily. "Whatever it is, you certainly shan’t top that." "I wouldn’t count upon it," said the Runner drolly, as he unwrapped the parcel, and handed Drake its contents. "Would that be yours, my lord?" he said as Drake fingered the cloak he had put in his hands. "Zeus!" Drake snarled. "Where did you find it?" "In Ellery’s portmanteau." "Well, that’s it, then," Drake said in defeat. His posture collapsed, and he groaned. "Iknew it. What now?" "We’ll bring him in, my lord, have no fear of that. He’s done himself in with this last. They always slip up in one way or another. He probably forgot all about stuffing that there in the portmanteau with the rest. It’s fine quality superfine. He evidently intended to keep it." "Why not? He’s got everything else." Drake roared. Throwing wild arms into the air, he winced as his shirt rubbed against his burned shoulder with the motion. "Well? What are you waiting for, man?" he snapped. "Hadn’t you best get on with it, before he robs my townhouse as well?" "Take an ease, my lord, he’s as good as got." He reached for the cloak. "I’ll need that for evidence," he

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said, taking it back. "I confiscated the rest from the innkeeper as well. He wasn’t too happy about that, since Ellery left him short." "Don’t expectme to pick up his tab, if that’s where this is going," Drake warned. "No, my lord, we came to an… understanding, him and I. He is running illegal fights on the place and we reached an agreement of sorts. Believe me, Ellery’s tab is covered." "So, what happens next?" Drake asked. "I’ll want a word with the young lady you spoke of before I decide what I’m going to do here," Redmond replied. "Meanwhile, I’ve sent word up to London by messenger to warn the inmates at your townhouse. It will be watched." "Do you have any idea how fast the Andalusian breed can run?" Drake snapped. Redmond shook his head. "No, eh? Well, all I can say is, you’d best pray that your bloody messenger is endowed with a sturdy pair of wings."

Twenty-one Melly had her dinner on a tray in her sitting room, but that didn’t spare her an interview with Jasper Q. Redmond. He had Smithers summon her to the library for a private consultation, while Bradshaw joined Drake upstairs in his sitting room for brandy and cigars, since the doctor hadn’t yet given Drake leave to go down to the drawing room. The Runner sat in silence while she told him how she and Ellery met when she was delivering her cousin’s herbal remedies to the Terrill croft. She related what had occurred since--that Ellery seemed to shadow her, that she felt uncomfortable in his presence, that she never encouraged his attentions, and that he had made improper advances toward her one night in the library after he’d drunk too much wine, and she’d had to put him in his place. "That was while his lordship was touring his properties?" he queried. "Yes." "You and Ellery both left Drake’s Lair at about the same time," the Runner mused. "Look here, if you’re trying to insinuate that--" "Nothing of the kind, Lady Ahern," he cut in. "I’m simply setting a time frame here." "I left Drake’s Lair before Mr. Ellery was ejected, Mr. Redmond," she said defensively, "and went to stay with the Tinkers until lodgings were available at the local boarding house. I no longer needed to take advantage of his lordship’s hospitality, now that I was financially independent. I didn’t see Mr. Ellery

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again until I went up to Truro to replace my wardrobe, which was lost in the fire at my cottage. We went up on the same mail coach." "And you spent the day together?" "Hardly. Mr. Ellery insisted upon accompanying me as a gentlemanly gesture, which I protested. Continually. He simply would not take no for an answer. We returned on the same post chaise." "His lordship paints him as a sponger. He’s of the opinion that Mr. Ellery might have had designs on your funds, that he might have made overtures in that direction." "No. Well… possibly, now that I think about it. He left me for a time to tend to business. When he returned he had fallen into the dismals. He told me things hadn’t gone well. More than once, I saw him pouring over his money pouch when he thought I wasn’t looking. I think, looking back on it now, he may have been trying to entice me to inquire as to the nature of his dilemma. I did not, and he didn’t pursue it, but his black mood remained until we parted at the coaching station." "And you never saw him again?" "No." "His lordship believes that you might be in danger from Ellery. He wants you to remain here under his protection until all this is settled, and I agree." "But, I don’t want to stay here. I want to get on with my life. As I told you, I’d planned to take a room at the boarding house in the village until his lordship raises a new cottage on the land he purchased from me. I am to have first option to lease it if I wish. I haven’t decided yet. I am an herbalist, Mr. Redmond. This community depends upon what I do. I cannot do it here." "I understand, but I must insist that you remain… temporarily." "Is that an official order?" she cried, vaulting out of the Chippendale chair. Drake was at the bottom of this. There was no doubt in her mind. Would his meddling in her life never cease? "I willnot be held prisoner here!" she shrilled. "Sit down, Lady Ahern," the Runner said steadily. "There is something you aren’t aware of… something I had wanted to keep confidential for the present. But I can see now that shan’t be possible in your case, though I must insist that what I’m about to tell you go no further." "Yes?" she snapped, waiting. "It looks as though it was Mr. Ellery who attacked his lordship in the study downstairs and set the fire. We have all the evidence we need to bring him in. The cloak his lordship was wearing when he was struck down that night was found in Mr. Ellery’s portmanteau at the Black Stag Inn." Melly dropped slack-jawed into the chair like a stone. "Are you all right, Lady Ahern?" the Runner queried. "T-that occurred before we went up to Truro," she murmured, "and his behavior was above suspicion; he even praised his lordship--admitted they’d had a dust-up, and that they would eventually settle their

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differences. He said he’d been accused unjustly, and that his lordship hadn’t been ‘right’ since he returned from Spain. He was very gratuitous, Mr. Redmond… he--" "He was obviously desperate, "the Runner concluded. "He was soliciting your support, and he might have succeeded, given the time to pursue it." "I am not all that gullible, sir," she said haughtily. "Yes, well, the man’s a slippery eel, and a dangerous one. Neither his lordship nor I feel it prudent to put you in harm’s way. Therefore, we must ask you to remain under our protection until Ellery is apprehended." "Where is Mr. Ellery now?" she probed, almost afraid of the answer. "Why haven’t you put him under arrest?" "He’s on his way up to London. We believe to clean out his lordship’s blunt at the townhouse. He stole one of his lordship’s prize stallions from the livery this morning." "And you’re calmly sitting here wasting your time with me?" she cried, on her feet again. "Dosomething! Go after him!" "I have done. I’ve sent a messenger to Mayfair. They’re going to be on the lookout for him." "Well, if he’s in London, he’s certainly no threat to me. I can’t see why I must remain captive in this house." "If he reaches London and gets his hands on more money, chances are that he won’t return here--at least not directly. He’s a gambler, Lady Ahern, a compulsive one. He won’t be able to stay away from the hells, and we’ll get him. If, on the other hand, he does not succeed in Town, it will be because of our surveillance. He will know that we’re looking for him there, and he may well return to the coast and try to extort from you. With no blunt, and half of London looking to run him to ground for his outstanding vowels, you could well be his only option. He’s infatuated with you as well. That gives him two reasons to return. Don’t forget, he is desperate, my lady. Desperate men do desperate deeds. You are simply not safe on your own ‘till we sort all this out." Her head was spinning. She had sat in a coach--spent the day--with a man who had just tried to commit murder for money. He had given no clue. Long fingers of gooseflesh inched along her spine reliving their encounter in the library, recalling his forced closeness, his foul breath fetid with stale wine--his veiled threat. A visible shudder moved her. "You are not a prisoner here," the Runner said softly. "His lordship is concerned for your safety. Once we’ve got Ellery in hand, and there’s no more danger, you may go wherever you will." There was that deuced word again,danger --from all sides, so it seemed. But which was the greater danger? The madman who had taken her hostage? Or the desperate criminal who planned to do the stars only knew what to her? She didn’t know. Only one thing was certain--whether Jasper Q. Redmond chose to believe it or not, she most definitely was a prisoner. ~*~ Melly had scarcely changed into the new nightgown and wrapper of butter-colored lawn, with silk

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ribbon embroidery that she’d bought in Truro, when a knock on her bedchamber door sent her to answer. Drake stood on the threshold, dressed this time in black pantaloons, and a white linen shirt buttoned loosely over his burns. "May I come in?" he queried humbly. "It is late, my lord," she snapped, and as you can see, I am about to retire." "I shan’t keep you. There is something we need to discuss." "I don’t know what that could be," she returned frostily. "You’ve got your way, you’re my jailer, but this ismy cell, my lord, and you are not welcome here." "Melly, please, I’m not your jailer, though you need one--badly. Are you going to let me in, or must I just barge in like I did the last time. Make up your mind. This may be your cell, but so long as it’s in my house if I want to enter it, bigod, I shall do so." "Zoe is right next door in that dressing room," she warned him, pointing a wagging finger. "Good, then you’re properly chaperoned. Now, may I please come in?" She stepped aside and let him pass, meanwhile pulling the wrapper close around her in defense of his eyes. They devoured her. "That color becomes you," he said awkwardly. "Thank you, my lord," she served. "It is mine, the gown, not borrowed,mine ." "You have impeccable taste," he observed. "Was Jim with you when you purchased it? Did he perhaps help you pick it out?" "Certainly not!" she cried. "How dare you? Not that it’s any of your affair, because it’s not you know," she snapped, "I made my personal purchases while he was attending to business." "In the gambling hells no doubt?" Her hand flew to her lips. Perhaps Ellery didn’t have business in Truro at all… perhaps he had been stalking her… perhaps he had eaten such a spare nuncheon to save his blunt for the gambling hells down by the river, while she shopped Lemon Street. Losing at the tables would certainly explain the blue funk he was in when he rejoined her. Her breath caught in a gasp. He said things hadn’t gone well. He could well have been leading up to soliciting her for money. She gasped again and sank down on the lounge. He had asked her where she’d hidden her notes… offered to carry them for her to keep them…safe . "What is it, Melly?" Drake murmured, sitting beside her. "You’ve gone as white as chalk." "I didn’t tell Mr. Redmond about that," she said absently, thinking out loud. "About what?Zeus ! What’s this now?" "Mr. Redmond asked me about my trip to Truro," she told him. "He wanted to know if Mr. Ellery might have had designs on my funds. At first I said no, but then I remembered that he’d said the business he

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came to attend to hadn’t gone well." "And?" "Drake, I don’t think he had any business, except stalking me. I didn’t have a reticule you see, and before we ever left the platform, he insisted I tell him where I had hidden my notes… offered to hold onto them for me for safekeeping." "You didn’t--" "Certainly not, but he persisted. He scarcely ate any nuncheon, and then disappeared while I purchased the… unmentionables, you are so concerned about, and when he returned he was downcast. He said things hadn’t gone well. If I hadn’t kept him talking about you… and what happened five years ago on the return trip, I believe he would have gotten around to my money. He wanted to take me to the Tinkers camp on his horse when we got in, and he was quite put out that Pascoe had the good sense to collect me in the cart. When you mentioned the gambling hells just now, that’s certainly where he could have gone. If he did, he evidently lost at the tables. It would also explain why he ate like a sparrow at nuncheon." "You had nuncheon with him?" Drake said gravel-voiced. She bristled. His eyes were doing that strange thing again--sinking behind the ledge of his brow. She half expected smoke to come puffing out of his flared nostrils. "Yes, I did, at Wilburtson’s Café, in Boscawen Street; very crowded, and very proper," she informed him haughtily. "As I told Mr. Redmond, I couldn’t get rid of the man, so I put him to use toting my purchases until he left me in Lemon Street to go off and tend his ‘business’." "Now do you see why I want you here, where I can protect you? He had just tried to murder me when all that occurred, Melly. If he would do that to me after nearly twenty years of what I believed to be close friendship, what hope do you think you might have had if he’d gotten you alone? I shall thank Pascoe personally for being at that station. He probably saved your life! Iknow he saved your blunt." "I shan’t be flummoxed by the same trick twice, my lord." "I much preferred it when you called me Drake." "Yes, well, we can’t have everything we ‘prefer’ now can we? And, who gave you leave to call me Melly, I should like to know?" "Why didn’t you tell me Jim made advances toward you while I was away?" he interrupted. "Why should I? You left me here at the man’s mercy--even thought--" "I know, and I’m sorry for what I thought. I need to know what happened?" "Why? Because you want to ease your conscience?" "He… didn’t…" "No, he didn’t. He was foxed, and obnoxious, and I put him in his place. It happened just before dinner,

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and afterward I had mine in my chamber. Why don’t you go and interrogate Mrs. Laity? She’ll tell you. You certainly don’t suppose I’d sit at table with an unseemly elbow-bender who had just tried to maul me do you?" "It occurred in the library?" "Yes. I’d gone there to view the portrait of your wife. He recommended it." "I’ve no doubt he did. I’d forgotten all about Eva’s portrait. There’s been so much afoot here since I returned, it never even entered my mind. It will be gone in the morning." "You don’t have to do that on my account, my lord. If I had my way,I’d be gone in the morning also." "I’m doing it because it has no place here any longer," he said. "Look at me! Do I look as though I’ve had time to address silly women’s issues?" "No more time than you’ve had to address silly gentleman’s jealousies, my lord," she hurled at him. "All right, truce," he said, throwing his hands in the air. "I did not come here for this." "Why did you come, my lord? No wait, let me tell you--you came to make sure that you haven’t invested your time in damaged goods--you, who have bedded half of England! What would you call that, if not a double standard? Your male vanity is bruised. That’s what it amounts to, once the veneer is stripped away. Well, I shan’t stroke it for you. Think what you like--that he ravished me--that he helped me choose corsets and nightgowns and wrappers and shifts and--" His warm mouth swallowed the rest. All at once she was on her feet and in his arms. He deepened the kiss, and she melted against him, a casualty of the harnessed power in that lean, corded body molded so magically to her own considering the difference in their heights. He tasted of brandy drunk recently, and his own male essence, heightened with arousal. As he slid his hand along the curve of her side, his thumb grazed her breast, and she groaned in spite of herself. "You don’t need a girdle," he panted, "you’re perfect just as you are." "I’m not perfect, Drake, neither are you, that’s my point. I have my shortcomings, just as you do. You are… experienced. I am… not." "And I don’t deserve you, I know," he interrupted. His breath was warm as he spoke against her hair, and his fingers trembled roaming over her body through the thin nightgown underneath her wrapper. "I am the last man in England to aspire to your favors, and the first to admit it," he confessed. "I shan’t make excuses for my past. That would be pointless. I can only make promises for my future… our future if you will allow." "I have never asked for excuses or promises," she said levelly, though his feather-light kisses over her hair, her face, the hollow of her arched throat threatened to dissolve what composure she’d mustered. All at once he held her away and searched her face. Were those tears in his eyes? "Melly, all the while I lay in that bed downstairs unconscious, you were vulnerable. Jim nearly killed me, after seventeen years of living in my pocket, pretending to be my friend. I knew he was dangerous, and I was powerless to help you. Have you any idea how that made me feel? Do you know what it would have

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done to me if you had come to harm… if something had happened to you before I even had a chance to tell you that I love you?" "Drake…" "Say it," he murmured, searching her face. "Tell me you love me, too. Say it, Melly, just…say it ." It was no use. Her heart was pounding. Flocks of butterflies had invaded her body. They tampered with her balance. Her head was spinning, and while all these new sensations should have flagged caution, she wanted more. "Say it!" he urged, shaking her gently. "Yes, I love you," she moaned, as limp as a rag doll in his arms, "but I don’t want to love you. We are too different, Drake. I don’t want to even dare hope to resolve those differences. We are both too strong-willed in our convictions. I couldn’t bear it if we tried and failed. Better that we make an end to it here and now… while we still can… whileI still can." He crushed her close then and held her with the same gentle strength that had tethered her wrist in his delirium. It was the desperate grip of a man grasping at an apparition. Then, all at once he held her away. "Will you give me a chance… let me get to know you," he murmured, searching her face, "give yourself time to get to know me?" Yes, those were tears she saw sparkling in the candle glow. The unlikely sight of them in the eyes of this robust, virile man brought a lump to her throat that threatened her resolve. Before she could swallow it down, he’d swept her up in his arms, laid her on the bed atop the turned-down counterpane, and gathered her into a tender embrace. Scarcely breathing, she clung to him gazing into the misty eyes dilated black with passion holding her relentlessly. How they hypnotized her. They seemed to see into her very soul. His lips were almost touching hers, his long, lean body, turgid with desire, stretched out full length against her. His hand slipped underneath the wrapper and encircled her waist pulling her closer still. His heart was hammering wildly against her, his breathing deep and irregular as he lowered his mouth in the gentlest kiss she had ever imagined. It aroused her so totally her breath caught in concert with his moan. Both vibrations resonating through her body igniting firebrands of achy, icy heat that burned her defenses away like lit fuses. What would happen if those sizzling sparks ever conjoined? "Do you feel how I want you?" he panted, his lips lingering over her arched throat. His name in the shape of a groan was her only response. She was foxed by his closeness, lost in his tender strength, in the slow, lingering pressure of his fingers roaming her breasts, her belly, and thighs. His hands were still shaking as he spread the gauzy wrapper wide and exposed her shoulder to his gaze. His skin seemed on fire--so scalding the body heat drifting from him narrowed her eyes. Fisting her hands in the damp cambric cloth of his shirt, she clung to his back as he gathered her closer still. His warm lips traveled to her throat again and lingered over the blood-pumping pulse beating there, his tongue seeking--stroking--sucking--making her heart race until she feared her brain would burst. All at once, those renegade lips inched lower, displacing the gown, baring her breast to his kiss. The ghost of stubble on his face aroused her. The roughness of his skin against her tender flesh made her shudder with

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pleasure, and her breath caught as his mouth inched lower still. When his lips closed around the tawny tip of her breast, she thought her heart would surely stop. The nipple hardened beneath his skilled tongue, and crippling waves of pulsating heat ignited every nerve as they coursed through her body. He was awakening her to pleasures she never dreamed existed, pleasures she both feared and hungered for in equal desperation then. Just when she thought she could bear no more without dissolving there in his strong arms, his lips freed her breast and found her mouth. But his hand began roaming her body again--feather-light caresses that made her quiver from head to toe. When his fingers strayed between her thighs, her body responded arching against him. She groaned again. It was a husky, primal sound that she scarcely recognized as her own voice--a throaty rumble dredged up from the depths his passion had plumbed. "Are you all right in there, m’lady?" Zoe called through the closed dressing room door. They both froze where they lay, eyes trained on the door latch. "Y-yes, Zoe, q-quite all right," Melly stammered. Struggling to an upright position, for fear the abigail mightn’t take her at her word, she quickly covered her breast and tugged the wrapper close about her. Drake swung his feet over the edge of the bed, and raked his hair back with a shaking hand. "Yes, m’lady," Zoe called. "G’night, then." "G-good night, Zoe," she replied. Did her voice sound as fractured and strange to the abigail as it did to her? Would she ever recognize it again? Drake rose to his feet, pulled her up alongside him, and led her to the door on feet that made no sound. He was trembling. For one brief, magical moment, he held her close before he kissed her closed eyelids and let his hands slip away, sliding them along her spine, her hips, her thighs, before they rushed back to cup her face again guiding her toward one last, lingering kiss that left her weak and quivering, barely able to stand on her own. "I have to go--now, while I’m still able," he murmured, his voice grown deep with desire. He gripped the door handle. "Lock this after me," he charged. "Why?" she blurted. "I’m in no danger from Ellery here now." "Just… lock it."

Twenty-two Melly didn’t see Drake at all during the next two days. The phantom had once again disappeared. Griggs’s hands had healed well enough for him to apply the comfrey salve to his master’s shoulder on his own, which had twofold results, since the operation aided the valet’s burns in the process. Drake’s distance puzzled her in such stark contrast to his passionate behavior at their last meeting. Would she

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ever understand the man? Did she even want to? Yes. She did. Desperately. Dr. Hale still made daily visits to monitor both his patients’ progress, but Melly wasn’t sure if that had as much to do with their recovery as it did the good doctor’s piqued interest in the skullduggery afoot. By the end of the second day, she was convinced that the crusty old doctor had a genuine penchant for police work. However, his preoccupation with the investigation did quiet his usual ranting that Drake was quite mad, and headed straight for the asylum. Ironically, each time she was ready to discount those allegations, some bizarre twist in his behavior made her wonder. Being trapped as she was under the same roof with the man for the stars only knew how long in such circumstances was a very uncomfortable thing. Despite it all, no matter how she tried to deny it… she missed him. Terribly. Bradshaw and Redmond remained in residence, though they were for the most part invisible as well, appearing only at mealtime, and that was sporadic. Bradshaw spent much of his time closeted with Drake in his sitting room upstairs, since he had yet to be allowed to come downstairs, not even to dine with the rest. Despite his bold actions in her bedchamber, his injuries were still very debilitating, and each foolhardy exertion set him back severely. Redmond spent much of his time in the village. He haunted the coaching station and the livery, keeping watch, and interviewed the town folk and proprietors again and again gathering evidence, though they had all they needed to convict the steward. He was marking time, waiting for word from London that his colleagues from Bow Street had either caught Ellery, or inadvertently driven him back to the coast. On the third morning of Drake’s self-imposed exile, a work crew arrived to clear out the study, and he joined them to supervise, despite the doctor’s warning that he shouldn’t overexert himself. This Melly learned from Mrs. Laity, since Drake had given strict orders that the study was henceforth off limits to everybody. The noise the workmen were making echoed and boomed through the old Gothic corridors and passageway reaching as far distant as the servants’ quarters below stairs, where she spent most of her time out of sheer loneliness, since the Runner strictly forbade her access to the grounds after discovering that there were just too many ways for a person to invade the estate without detection. The southern approach was accessible along the beck, the north by the patchwork hills, the east by the forest that spread northeast clear to the vineyards, and the west, by all manner of secluded lanes and paths, to say nothing of the road between the Lair and St. Kevern village that intersected with the highway beyond the vale. "I shall die if I have to stay cooped up in this house much longer," she complained to Mrs. Laity. They were seated at the worktable in the kitchen helping Cook snap off the ends of the pole beans she planned to cook for dinner. "Being trapped on the estate was bad enough," she went on. "I know I am forbidden to gather, but being banned from the grounds, from my plants--from evenseeing them--is excessive, and unbearable, now that they are surely burgeoning after the storm. They’ll be gone with the next one, sure as check." "It’s for your own good, miss. We don’t want no harm to come to you," the housekeeper insisted. "And that God-awful racket in the study," Melly said, pouting. "You can hear it all through the house--clear to my apartments. What are they doing up there? All that noise can’t be good for his lordship, considering. It’s given me a headache, and I haven’t got a cracked skull." "He’s right in the middle o’ it, too," Mrs. Laity returned, "has been since the crew come at sunup. Nobody knows what’s going on except Prowse and Griggs, and they’re shut up tight as two clams in the

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sand. They say we’ll know soon enough and don’t bother them no more about it. Something’s going on besides clearing out all the slag and debris. A whole load of lumber just come up from the village, and a wagon full o’ glass besides. He must be daft, if he’s thinking o’ rebuilding that room outa’ wood. It won’t go with the rest o’ the place nohow. It’s going to stick out like a pig’s tail on a cow’s arse, and that’s a fact." "You know it’s flaw Season. Maybe he just means to board it up before another one hits." "Board what up? There’s nothing left o’ it but the hearth, and the ceiling up top. Though he don’t think Mr. Ellery would dare come back here, he’s got one o’ the footmen posted right outside on that hard old settle day and night, just in case, ‘cause it’s wide open to the outside. The lock works, but the door’s so charred a good gust o’ wind would likely blow it down. The whole room is gutted. I don’t, for the life of me, know what any one o’ the footmen would do if somebody decided to crash through it. They’d likely fall down in a dead faint, that lot. I think he posted them mostly just to keep us out ‘till the unveiling." She clicked her tongue, and shook her head. "When I think o’ all that fineDuncan Phyfe furniture, the Aubusson carpet, and the liquor cabinet--all that crystal and glass--everything gone. Why some o’ the artwork in there had been in the family for generations. He’s daft, I’m telling you, building it back up with nothing but wood and glass. It needs stonemasons, not carpenters." "Stonemasons would have been quieter," Melly said wearily, handing her beans to Cook. "What’s the matter, Miss Melly?’ the housekeeper soothed. "You aren’t yourself today. I don’t think I ever heard you complain before since I’ve known you." "I don’t want to be here, Mrs. Laity. I want to go…home and I don’t even know where that is. His lordship should have his work crew out in the vale rebuilding my cottage… well, his cottage now, but we did strike a bargain after all." "Would you live in it if he did?" the housekeeper queried. "Begging your pardon, Miss Melly, but I don’t think you would." "What makes you say that?" "It wouldn’t be the same." "Nothing is the same," Melly murmured. "Don’t you want to say what’s troubling you?" "I don’t feel comfortable here." "Is it because o’--" "Because of what?" Melly flashed. Her conscience was bothering her. She was certain what was in her heart was written all over her face. "Well, Zoe said--" "What did she say?" Melly interrupted defensively. "That his lordship was up to your rooms a couple o’ nights ago."

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"I shall have to speak with Zoe. She’s talking out of turn." "She was worried, miss. She said you was sounding like something was wrong, but she was that afraid to come in, he’s been acting so strange." "There was nothing amiss," Melly said steadily, though she’d begun to tremble. "I… I had forgotten to mention something regarding Mr. Ellery when Mr. Redmond questioned me, and his lordship wasn’t aware of something I did tell him. He wanted me to explain, and I did. Zoe shouldn’t be carrying tales." "I’ll give her a talking-to, don’t you worry." Melly was just about to reply, when Prowse entered with instructions for Cook to prepare nuncheon for the work crew, and all three converged upon him en masse. "What are they doing up there?" Melly queried. "I’m not allowed to say, my lady," he responded loftily. "Oh, you’re not?" Mrs. Laity chimed in. "Well, what’s to stop us three from marching right up those stairs to see for ourselves?" "His lordship," the butler pronounced succinctly. "I wouldn’t if I were you." "We’ll find out when Smithers and Fowler take up the nuncheon fare," Cook said smugly, with a crisp nod. "I’m afraid not. Nuncheon is to be served on the sideboard in the little dining room," the butler triumphed." "And, just how long is this to go on?" Mrs. Laity inquired. "Until the work’s done," he replied flatly. "Fie!" the housekeeper snapped at him. "You just go on and keep your secret. Have your nuncheon in the little dining room, well outa’ the way. I’m sure we’ll all find out soon enough, more’s the pity--something crack-brained, the way his lordship is behaving, and by the looks o’ what’s been coming up the lane all o’ the morning by the cartload." "Take care," Prowse warned her, "I am in charge here, and you overstep your bounds. It isn’t like you, Mrs. Laity, and it won’t be countenanced. I’m astonished at you!" "Has there been any word of Mr. Ellery?" Melly put in, anxious to quell what had the makings of a genuine shouting match over naught, in her opinion. "Mr. Redmond is still waiting for word from London, miss," he replied. "It’s too soon yet." "He’ll be staying on, then," she moaned. If he weren’t underfoot, she might be able to slip away. It didn’t look promising. "Yes, miss, just in case, ‘till Mr. Ellery’s caught."

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They continued their scrapping match despite Melly’s diversion, and she crept out unnoticed and went up to her suite. Curling up on the window seat in her bedchamber, she watched the groundskeepers below setting the dovecote to rights. It seemed a waste of time in flaw Season. It would only blow down again when the next storm rolled up the coast unless they sunk the supports deeper. Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to cry. Why had Drake kept his distance after nearly ravishing her? If it weren’t for Zoe, the stars only knew what would have happened in that bed. And now there was all this secrecy in the study. He had to be mad. There was no other explanation for his peculiar behavior. It didn’t matter, and that’s what was breaking her heart. Mad or sane, she loved him, and she was trapped. She would take her nuncheon and dinner alone in her rooms again. There was no denying that she was a prisoner now, no matter what fancy name they chose to give her incarceration. She may as well act the part. Mulling that over, she bitterly wished she’d never set eyes on the beck, or the wood, or the enigmatic phantom of Drake’s Lair. ~*~ It was twilight, and teaming with rain when James Ellery finally reached Mayfair. He was exhausted--bone weary--and soaked to the skin, watching just inside the edge of the park down the lane from Drake’s townhouse. Hidden amongst the trees he was protected from the downpour somewhat, but the leaves still dripped raindrops when the wind stirred them, and he turned up his lapels to keep them from running down his neck. He shuddered. He wished he hadn’t left in such a deuced hurry, wished he’d taken his portmanteau when he’d sneaked out of the inn in the dead of night to avoid the innkeeper once his room rental expired; Drake’s superfine cloak was in it. How he could use that right now. He wasn’t concerned for having left it behind there. The innkeeper would have confiscated his belongings by now to compensate for the money he owed on the room, and he would certainly have snapped up such a well-made cloak of superfine. That alone would have paid his tab and then some. Even if the Runner by some chance had gotten hold of it, a cloak was a cloak after all. He would be hard-put to connect it to Drake. He’d done a good job on that thick skull of his. It wasn’t likely that he’d ever be himself again, and with theon-dits buzzing about of how addled he was to begin with, who would take anything he said seriously? No. What worried him most was that those meddling bankers might have gotten word to the townhouse ahead of him. Drake may be addled, or unconscious, or dead, hoping for the best scenario, but Bradshaw and Mills were not. They would act with or without Drake on the strength of what was in the ledgers that he hadn’t been able to destroy, the ones that were in that damned valuables chest… with the Shelldrake diamond. How he wished he could get his hands on that bauble right now. It was only a matter of time before they caught him if he wasn’t very, very careful. There was nothing for it. He would have to go abroad. If he could just get into that house, into that chest, he’d have the blunt to do it. He would winter somewhere safe on the Continent. He would have to adopt a new name, of course, give himself a bogus title, and he would have to remain abroad… Switzerland perhaps, or Belgium; nobody ever went to Belgium. Deliberately. To stay, that is; too provincial. Yes. A bogus title would not be so easily questioned in Belgium. They would welcome a nobleman with plenty of blunt to spread about with open arms. He had been watching the townhouse for hours, and thus far there had been no unusual activity. But then, there wouldn’t be, would there? If the house were under surveillance, the Runners certainly

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wouldn’t be posted at the entrances. They would be lurking somewhere unseen in order to apprehend him when he arrived. Mustn’t be too hasty. He would wait a little, just to be sure. If there were Runners about, others would come to relieve them soon. If that didn’t occur by the dinner hour, it should be fairly safe for him to attempt to gain entrance. Then he would be in and out and quickly on his way. The plan sounded viable, and he waited there for nearly an hour before the black coach with the Bow Street device emblazoned on the doors and boot tooled around the corner and came to a halt in front of the townhouse. Four Runners poured out and sprinted up the walkway.Damn and blast ! They weren’t watching the place at all. They had just now come. If he had gone in when he first arrived, he might have finished his business and been on his way with no one the wiser. There was no hope of that now.The devil take the luck . Another coach pulled up behind the first now, and still more Runners climbed down. The place was swarming with them. He spat out a string of blasphemous expletives under his breath. Days wasted riding to Town, and more would be wasted now riding back. He had no other choice. Without money it was hopeless. He needed Demelza’s blunt. He would have to take her with him--at gunpoint if necessary. He gave Drake’s holster pistol strapped to his leg a little pat to reassure himself. That was the one thing he had taken with him when he left the inn. She would never go willingly. Not now that the truth was out. He wished he knew from what he was running. Was Drake alive or dead? Was he simply wanted for embezzlement, or was it murder they’d come to charge him with? Either one would see him tossed into Newgate Prison. No matter what he certainly couldn’t go home openly, even though, by the looks of things, they would be looking for him--expected him--here, in London. He soothed the snorting Andalusian. There was nothing for it. He hated to part with the valuable horse, but he would have to sell the animal soon and purchase a cheaper steed, if he were to have blunt enough to eat. Not yet. He needed a fast horse underneath him at the moment. Soon they would be searching the park. Exhausted though he was, he had to go now, before they came out and started doing just that, before they sent word back to Drake’s Lair that he hadn’t been found. He needed a head start, and he doubled back through the park and came out on the other side, losing himself in the crosshatched network of roads and lanes that stretched southward, then west, out of the city proper. He needed a new course of action, quickly, and he began mulling over his options. If Demelza had taken lodgings in the village, it would be a simple enough matter. If she were incarcerated at Drake’s Lair, it would be more difficult, of course, but hardly impossible. There was a surefire means of luring her away. All it needed was planning, and he had the whole return trip to fine-tune the logistics. His confidence in the new scheme he was hatching grew with every clop of the horse’s hooves carrying him toward the coast. Let the nodcock Runners wear themselves out looking for him in Town. By the time they figured out his strategy, he would have the gel’s blunt in hand and be well on the way to Belgium, with or--unhappily for her if she resisted him--without the lovely Lady Demelza Ahern. ~*~ Drake wouldn’t be able to keep his secret for long, not with that houseful of curious inmates, but he was determined to keep them guessing as long as he could--especially Melly, since he had no idea how she’d take it. She would either view the new conservatory and herbarium as what it was, a gift of his love, brought about by the winds of change that had stirred up a gale in his heart, and softened something he never would have believed malleable--ever again, or she would take it as just one more manipulation, simply one more interference in her life meant to imprison her, turning his gesture into a monument to his stupidity.Drake’s folly , they’d already begun to call it, just one more testament to his madness, as if he

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needed more. It didn’t go with the rest of the architecture, and it certainly wasn’t practical--far from it with all that glass, but he wasn’t about to let the elements best him. It was on the west side of the house after all, out of the brunt of gale force winds, even though the conservatory portion, which would rise from a slate floor to allow for watering, would extend outward from the façade. The glass panes would be small and leaded, shored up with timbers at the stress points, with the herbarium, fitted with shelves and tables and whatever else she might need occupying the study space adjoining. One good storm would weather the timbers and give the leading a nice patina, and by next Season it should look like it was part of the original design. He had kept his distance since he’d invaded Melly’s sanctuary--not out of choice, out of necessity. If he took her in his arms again, he would never be able to let her go. Every night since, he’d climbed those stairs and stood with his hand hovering over the gilded door handle wondering if she had taken his advice and locked the door, praying that, if she hadn’t, reason would prevent him from turning that handle and entering in. Thus far, he’d found the strength to resist temptation, a phenomenon he attributed to the fact that he’d worn himself out with physical labor in the study during the day, then worn Bradshaw and Redmond out with idle conversation well into the night, until his head began to ache, and his body was bone weary--too weary to act upon his fantasies and do them justice. Tonight, not even those sterling methods served him. Exhaustion had betrayed him. It had charged his libido as it always did, and he succumbed to wearing himself out on Griggs for lack of any other willing candidate. Dr. Hale had permitted him to bathe, so long as his burned shoulder was kept dry. Having slathered on a coat of Melly’s salve as a precaution, he sank into a tub of tepid water, and groaned for the blessed relief it gave his aching muscles. "I’m keeping you up," he said to the valet. "Sorry, old boy. I’ve been giving you a bad time of it haven’t I?" "No more than usual, my lord," Griggs grunted, adding more water from the kettle. His hands were still bandaged while he attended to his duties, but much improved. Drake surmised this was due to the fact that the valet was accustomed to following orders, and consequently adhered to Dr. Hale’s instructions tenaciously as a matter of course, unlike he had done, literally defying the man on all fronts out of pure obstinacy, for which he was paying the price of a slowly healing shoulder. "Do you think I’m addled?" he queried, almost afraid of the answer, since he’d begun to question his sanity himself. "No, my lord." "How is that, when everyone else is ready to fling me into the madhouse?" "Because, begging your pardon, I, too, was once young and foolish, like yourself, my lord." "YouGriggs? When was that--not since I’ve known you?" "No, my lord, ‘twas long before your time." "What happened?" "She died, my lord."

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"I’m sorry, old boy." "Will you permit me to overstep my station, and hear a bit of advice from one with naught but age to recommend him, my lord?" "Out with it. I’ll hear anything at this point. I’m in that much of a muddle here." "Very well, then, don’t let her go, my lord," the valet counseled. "She’s pure gold, and you’d have to be blind not to see how she loves you, even if she doesn’t quite know it yet herself, for the shameful way you’ve scared her half to death." "I never meant to frighten her, Griggs, but you know why… what was behind it." "Forgive me for saying it, but you never loved the lady Eva, not the way you love Miss Melly, and if you’re fortunate enough to win her, she will never play you false." "Like Eva did? Is that what you’re saying, that it’s all right to let her gather her deuced herbs… that she won’t murder my children with them like Eva did? Well, I’ve chopped the deuced portrait of my murdering wife that used to hang in the library up for firewood, and I should think what I’m doing down in that study for Melly would be proof enough that I’ve changed my resolve in regard to the herbs for love of her. Bloody hell, I’m being branded a Bedlamite by everyone in residence over both actions you know." "I’m saying what I’m saying, my lord," the valet replied steadily, meeting Drake’s eyes. "Nothing more, and nothing less." "Is there something you’re not saying, Griggs?" Drake probed. "Why do I get the distinct impression that you’re holding something back?" "I’ve said all I’m going to say, my lord," the valet responded. "I’ve said too much already. The past is dead and buried, my lord. We’d all do well to let it stay so."

Twenty-Three Three days later, Melly received a formal invitation to dinner in the dining hall by way of a missive delivered on a salver in Smithers’s gloved hand. Since her imprisonment, she had taken her meals in true detainee fashion--on a tray in her apartments. Fingering the stylized dragon-shaped ‘S’ imbedded in the red sealing wax, her heart leapt, though she broke the seal and perused it skeptically, while the liveried footman waited on the threshold, ramrod-rigid, for her reply. "Tell his lordship, that I shall… attend," she said hesitantly. It was the last thing she wanted to do, and the thing she wanted more desperately than anything to do, all at once. There went those deuced

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butterflies again. But the only reason she really accepted was that she was certain if she didn’t, she would find Drake on her doorstep in a trice. If that happened, she knew she would be powerless to prevail against his passion… and her own. Zoe helped her dress. She chose one of the ready-made gowns she’d bought in Truro, a delicate blue voile frock, with puffed sleeves, and a lower décolleté than she would have opted for if she had a choice. Fashion dictated that, however. All of the necklines had taken a plunge of late, her trip to Truro had enlightened her to that, and made her realize how long she had been out of touch with the world--fashion and otherwise. She should have bought fichus while she was there, but she’d hurried, expecting Ellery to pop in at any moment, and she flatly refused to take advantage of one of the makeshift ones Mrs. Laity had fashioned out of the excess material from hemming Eva’s gowns. She wouldn’t have one thing that had come in contact with the woman anywhere near her person. She had bought silk ribbons to match every costume, and Zoe helped her dress her hair with a lovely blue one threaded through her ringlets. Her choices weren’t in the manner of Eva’s sophisticated style by any stretch of the imagination. They were her style, and for some reason that she couldn’t even fathom it was important to her that he see what that style was. Bradshaw and the Runner were already in the drawing room sipping sherry when she reached it. Drake was conspicuously absent.Was he even coming down? Well, of course, he must be. He had sent the missive after all. No. It wasn’t going to be that easy. The minute the thought was out, he entered in elegant evening dress--Beau Brummell black and white. Modest shirt points and a flawlessly tied neckcloth completed his attire. How strikingly handsome he was. She glanced furtively at her frock and her heart sank. She was absolutely dowdy alongside him in her plain blue voile, as he escorted her into the dining hall. There was nothing for it but to hold her head high and take her seat with flourish. She knew how to present a queenly image, even if she did look like the stars alone knew what in her readymade frock. The meal was just as elegant as Drake’s mode of dress suggested, leaving her to wonder what the occasion could possibly be for such a feast, as she sipped her hare soup from one of Drake’s Lair’s finest silver spoons. It was primarily a game dinner, featuring pheasant pie, lark pudding, and wild duck. Braised ham was also in the offing, and a bevy of delectable entrements and removes, from brandied cherries to pear flan, with fruit flavored water ices to be served in between. Melly had never been so uncomfortable in all her life. Why did the man keep staring at her like that? If eyes were teeth, he would have devoured her before the liveried footman removed the soup plates. Still, she managed to remain aloof through the first and second courses. It wasn’t until they had been served the wild duck that she spoke directly to Drake in an attempt to avert his gaze, which seemed to have gotten stuck in the hollow of her throat. "You seem much improved, my lord," she said steadily, though she fought to keep the fork steady in her hand as his eyes shifted to hers. She should have left well enough alone. Those riveting changeable-blue eyes seemed to invade her very soul. "Has your shoulder healed then?" she inquired. "It’s coming along, thanks to your… remedy," he said, "though I must say that you have a lighter touch in the application than Griggs does." "And how are his hands coming?" she replied without missing a beat, despite the fact that the heat rushing to her cheeks had almost certainly flushed her beet red, if the color of her exposed flesh in the décolleté area was any indication. "He acted very bravely, dragging you out of that fire," she added.

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"He is much improved. I’m sure he’ll be glad of your inquiry. He likes you, you know. He upbraided me quite thoroughly over you just the other evening." There was no question. Her complexion had to rival the brandied cherries. He cheeks were absolutely on fire. "How long have you had him, your lordship?" the Runner put in, coming to her rescue, though it was clear he hadn’t a clue. He had gone into his interrogation mode as he usually did whenever he engaged in conversation. "Since I was sixteen," Drake replied. "I don’t know how I got on without him on the Peninsula." He laughed cryptically. "I don’t suppose I did, come to that," he amended. "If he’d been my batman out there, I might have been spared a wound or two." "He has been very generous with his time, considering," Bradshaw interjected, "spreading himself thin between Mr. Redmond and myself in his condition. He’s evidently of the old school. Valets today are quite a different breed altogether." "He was my father’s valet before I got him," said Drake. "And, while you were on the Peninsula, he served James Ellery, so he tells me," the Runner said, around a swallow from his wineglass. "That’s correct," Drake replied tersely. "He agreed to Jim’s conditions so he wouldn’t be sacked. He never gave up on me. I’m just now plumbing the depth of the man." "Speaking of Mr. Ellery," Melly interrupted, "has there been any news? Surely he must have arrived in London by now." "I’ve had no word as yet," Redmond replied. "I’ve left instructions at the post, and the coaching station to inform me at once in the event of news, or anything untoward happening in the village." He was studying her. The man didn’t let his guard down for an instant. He was a Runner to the core. "You are anxious to leave, I know," he said. "What if you have no word from London? What if he evades your colleagues? I can’t be cooped up here indefinitely." "I realize that, Lady Ahern, but right now, until we’re sure, this is the safest place for you. Take heart, my dear. It shan’t be forever." "I should certainly hope not," Melly said in a low voice. She cast a sidelong glance in Drake’s direction. Had he heard? He must have. His eyes darkened suddenly, and the handsome smile that had prevailed throughout most of the evening suddenly evolved into a frown. It wasn’t the churlish, angry sort she’d seen so often in the past, but rather one that seemed sad to her, and she regretted having spoken her mind--low-voiced or otherwise. They ate in silence until the main course was finished then one of the footmen removed the tablecloth and began to bring the flan and puddings to the tables, while the other set out the sweet dessert wines. Melly didn’t really want dessert. She wanted the sanctuary of her rooms upstairs. It was difficult facing Drake

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at the table after the intimacies they had shared. Difficult, and embarrassing, since she couldn’t understand why he’d invited her down to diner so formally after ignoring her for days on end. Again the possibility of madness pricked at the back of her mind. There were times, like that night in her chamber, when he seemed as sane as she was, then there were times like this, when nothing he did made any sense at all. "I really don’t want any dessert," she demurred, rising. She laid her serviette aside neatly folded. "I should like to retire, if you gentlemen will excuse me?" All three men rose with her, but it was Drake, who spoke. "There is something I should like to show you first, my lady," he told her, reaching for her hand. "Gentlemen, stay," he said to Bradshaw and Redmond, motioning to them to resume their seats as he steered her toward the arch. "When you’ve done, you’ll find brandy and cigars in the drawing room." "I really am quite exhausted, my lord," she protested, as he led her out into the hallway. "It shan’t take long," he said, looping her arm through his. What was this now, another mad spell?At first she comforted herself with the thought that she could cry out for the others’ help if needs must, but that hope soon faded as he put more and more distance between them, taking her first to the library, where he handed her over the threshold leaving the door flung wide behind them. She stared. The space above the hearth that Eva’s portrait had occupied was vacant. A dark blue rectangle lived there now in contrast to the rest of the walls, which had faded considerably over time. "I told you, you needn’t do that, my lord," she murmured, stifling a gasp. His finger laid across her lips silenced what she would have said next. "This isn’t all I wanted to show you," he said softly. "Come." They continued along the hallway in silence, and she gasped again as they neared the study.Was he going to divulge what everyone below stairs had been buzzing about for days? Yes. As he swept her over the sill, she nearly lost her footing. Before her stretched an ‘L’-shaped configuration. What had once been the study was a room fitted with shelves, and tables. Extending beyond the outer wall that had been burned and chopped away, was the framework of what would be a conservatory, with walls, a door, and a peaked roof made entirely of small glass panes in lead casings. Though only the preliminaries were begun, there was no mistaking what it was, and she slipped her arm out of his, and walked out on the slate flooring that had already been laid, with her hands clasped over her lips. Above her the stars blinked lazily in the night sky, and a gentle breeze blowing through the open walls riffled the hem of her blue voile frock. It was sweet with the perfume of rose, and lavender bordering the nearby garden wall, and she drank it in thirstily. "You once said that you dreamed of your own herbarium," he said, strolling closer, his Hessians echoing

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pleasantly on the slate underfoot. "I would have waited at least until the glass was in place, to show you, but I need to tell the workmen where to put the door, and I wanted to be sure the shelves are to your satisfaction--the right height, and such." She could scarcely believe her eyes. What had turned him? Hemust be mad. There was no other explanation. He had strolled very close, and she attempted to slip past him. "Don’t run from me, Melly," he murmured, laying a hand on her arm. "I swear to you, I haven’t taken leave of my senses. It’s a peace offering. Can’t you see? You’ve won. I yield to a higher power. You’ve bested me--enchanted me. I am conquered." All at once he took her in his arms and kissed her; a slow, tantalizing kiss that turned her knees to jelly. She should run--she should break away and flee, but instead she leaned into his kiss--moaned as he deepened it--threw her arms around him, until every cord and muscle, every sinew in him had molded to her trembling frame. If he were to let her go then, she would surely fall in a crumpled heap on that cold, hard slate, she would be powerless to prevent it. When at last he took his lips away, hers followed wanting more. "I love you, Melly," he murmured against her hair. "I think I knew it that first day down by the beck, when you defied me standing there with your hands on your hips in that ridiculous straw hat, tossing these silky curls." He buried his hand in her hair. "You can’t imagine how I longed to do this even then… to feel your softness… taste your sweetness. You’ve come between me and a good night’s sleep every night since." "Drake, you frighten me," she confessed. "Our differences… they are too vast. I don’t see how we can ever hope to bridge them." "That’s what I’m trying to do here," he said, sweeping his arm wide. "I don’t understand you," she moaned. "One minute you’re… like this, the next, you ignore me for days--" "Ignore you?" he blurted. "Melly, if Zoe hadn’t called out that last time, I would have ravished you. I wouldn’t have been able to help myself, and I won’t do that to you--not to you. That’s why we’re having this conversation here in the open, where there’s not a stick of furniture--no bed to tempt me. Did you do as I asked you that night? Did you lock that door? Tell me honestly." "No," she murmured. "Every night, I’ve passed by your rooms, wondering--scarcely able to keep my hand from turning that handle to find out," he said, pulling her close in his arms again. "But I didn’t, because of who you are--not a conquest, I don’t need any more conquests. That’s all in the past. Melly, I want a wife who loves me. That’s all I’ve ever really wanted. That night, when you first tended me, addled though I was, and foxed on laudanum, I thought I felt love in those tiny, soft hands of yours. I prayed I hadn’t dreamed it. And then when I reached out for you, you didn’t pull away. You stayed. After the way I treated you… you stayed , that’s when I hoped. That’s what brought me back from wherever I was. "I’ve wanted to die for years--went to war expecting to die. That’s why I didn’t take Griggs. I knew he would have died himself to protect me. I didn’t want to be protected. I wanted to die a noble death--a death that meant something, since my life hadn’t been worth a Tinker’s dam. Then, when I got there--away from all this here--I realized that she wasn’t worth dying over. There would be no noble

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death unless I earned it, and I turned my rage on the enemy, and tried for all I was worth to stay alive. I didn’t think I deserved to die, if that makes any sense. Well, I came close, but somehow I survived, until Jim gave me another crack at it. Then, that night, when I wasn’t even conscious, I heard your voice talking to me, telling me about your home, how much you loved the land. You gave me a glimpse inside yourself--took me to a place I knew I had to be. That night, I knew I had to have you at any cost… no matter how I had to change… what I had to do." "Drake, you are a gentleman, and I--" "You are a lady, Melly." "I haven’t lived that life--not really. I wouldn’t fit in with your peers. I wouldn’t know how. I don’t even want to. I’ve become someone… else." "And I am in love with the woman you have become. I don’t need theton , Melly--not if it means losing you. What have the aristocracy ever done for me? I just told you what it is that I need. But I won’t settle for less. I’ve had less." "Drake, you are a man of the world, and I am… just look at me! Look at you, and look at me. I would disgrace you." "Disgrace me?" He threw his head back and popped a deep, hearty laugh. "Silly goose, have you no idea how beautiful you are? I could hardly take my eyes off you all night. That color blue becomes you so. You have exquisite taste. You look… radiant." He found her lips again, opening her mouth to admit his tongue, and his husky moan filled her, vibrating to the very depths of her, stirring the butterflies that rushed through her body helter-skelter stirring the icy-hot sensation that tampered with her balance. He was aroused, and she rocked back on her heels as the turgid pressure of his hardness leaned against her. "Drake…" she murmured, gasping for air as their lips parted, though he held her still. "I’m asking you to be my wife, Melly," he said thickly. "Tell me I didn’t dream your love that night. Tell me what I felt was real." The moon had risen, full and clear. Were those tears in his eyes, glistening in the moonlight? Her heart was pounding. No, it hadn’t been a dream. She reached to stroke his face. That was all it took. He crushed her so close she could scarcely breathe. Lifting her off the floor, he spun her in circles, and when her feet touched the ground again, her head was spinning--reeling with the intoxicating scent of him, the taste of him, his unforgettable male essence heightened with arousal that had teased her memory since the first time he’d kissed her. Reaching inside his waistcoat pocket, he produced a flat velvet case, opened it, and placed it in her hands. She gazed down at the diamond alive with flash and light in the moon glow. Lifting it out of the case, he fastened it around her neck. "I’ve envisioned this in the hollow of that exquisite throat, since you set foot in this house," he murmured, brushing the swell of her breast with the back of his fingers as he drew his hand away. The feather-light touch aroused her. Totally. "The Shelldrake diamond," he explained. "It was created to live there."

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"I-it’s exquisite, but--" "No ‘but’," he interrupted, drawing her to him again. "Say you’ll marry me, Melly. Say it.Yes, Drake, I will marry you . Say it!" She gazed up into the strange, blue-white eyes that seemed lit from behind by an inner light radiating from deep beneath the shadow of his brow. They hypnotized her. Could she live without this strange madman--this enigmatic phantom that had stolen her heart--mated with her soul? No. "Y-yes, Drake," she murmured, dazed and breathless. "God help me, I will." He drew her to him softly then, and she trembled under the tender pressure of his hands drawing her closer still. Every sinew in him vibrated against her, and his heart was thumping wildly against her breast. Taking her face in both his hands, he kissed her so gently, she begged for more, but he held her away, his fingers buried deep in her ringlets. "Once this business with Jim is over and done, I will apply for a special license," he murmured. "Now I want you to go up to your suite while I can still put you from me, and this time, do as I asked you, Melly. Help me do this one thing right. You have bewitched me. Lock that deuced door."

Twenty-four With a spring in his step that had been absent for years, Drake approached the drawing room, where Bradshaw and Redmond had repaired for brandy and cigars. He had something to celebrate now, and he strode briskly through the doorway, only to crash head-on into Redmond sprinting toward the Great Hall. "What’s happened?" he queried, steadying him, the Runner’s stern-faced frown and Bradshaw’s faded complexion demanding an explanation. "I must go into the village, my lord," Redmond said, surging past him. "Wait!" Drake called after him, trying to catch up. In spite of the bold façade he’d adopted to reassure Melly, he was still prone to bouts of vertigo and double vision. Only then did he notice two missives in the Runner’s hand. "What are those?" he insisted, putting himself in the man’s path. "I really haven’t time to explain," Redmond hedged. "Besides, I need to look into the matter before I comment, my lord. Suffice it to say that they need my immediate attention. I must ask you to please stand aside." "Those missives evidently arrived after I left you in the dining hall," Drake said steadily, "and I will be privy to whatever comes through those doors." He gestured roughly toward the entrance at the end of the corridor. "Now then, I shall ask you again, sir, what the missives contain? This is still my house,

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regardless of who occupies it, and why." "Very well, my lord," the Runner responded curtly, holding up the parchments. "These came together. Since you insist upon wasting precious time, this, here is a message from Bow Street, delivered just after you left us. It came by special messenger. Ellery never appeared at the townhouse, but he evidently was in the area, and Runners will be watching the residence until he’s caught. He sold your Andalusian in Salisbury." "Salisbury? What the devil was he doing in Salisbury?" "Judging from the time frame, he was probably on his way back here, since his plans in London were thwarted." "And the other?" Drake pressed, gesturing toward the smaller parchment. "This was addressed to Lady Ahern. I took the liberty of opening it, considering the situation. It’s from a Bessie Terrill, asking that she come at once. It seems there’s a fire in the Tinker’s camp, and her ointments are needed. The same messenger brought both. I’m on my way to investigate. It seems to me that there are just too many fires hereabouts to be coincidental." Drake snatched the missive, and glanced over Bessie’s crooked scrawl. He was just about to comment, when a pounding at the doors sent them all running to answer. Drake reached them before the footman, and flung them open to a soot-streaked groom from the coaching station in the village. "What the deuce?" he muttered low-voice. "What is it, boy?" the Runner demanded, pushing past Drake in the doorway. "Ya’ said to come here after ya’ if any trouble come," the boy panted. "Station master said ta tell ya’, there’s a fire in the Gypsy camp." "When did it start?" The Runner queried. "Just now, it started, sir, I come straightaway." "Very well, I shall follow directly," Redmond said, dismissing the boy. "How can that be?" Drake questioned, holding the Runner back. "If the fire just now started, how is it that Bessie’s missive came over an hour ago? And how is it that it came from Bessie, and not Dr. Hale? There’s something foul afoot here. Bessie Terrill would never deliberately put Melly in danger--send for her at this hour with Hale right there in the village." "Can you vouch for the woman’s handwriting, my lord?" said the Runner. "Hardly. I wasn’t even aware that she could write." "I’ll soon get to the bottom of this," Redmond said, set in motion. "I’m going with you," Drake insisted, sprinting after him. "You aren’t anywhere near fit to ride, my lord, you’re scarcely out of bed." The Runner protested.

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"I am going with you," Drake pronounced unequivocally. And they both ran off toward the stables leaving Bradshaw staring slack-jawed on the doorstep. ~*~ Ellery watched hidden in the thicket at the edge of the wood beside the stables, as Drake and the Runner rode off toward the village at a gallop. He was marginally relieved. At least he wasn’t wanted for murder. This isn’t quite how he’d planned it, but he had to admit that providence had once more served him remarkably well. The events at Drake’s Lair were always the topic of gossip throughout the parish. He learned Demelza’s whereabouts at a public house in the hills, eavesdropping on loose-mouthed patrons dining there. He meant to lure her away from the estate with the missive, counting upon her fondness for the Tinkers to bring her without hesitation. But this was even better. She was alone at the house now, without Drake to protect her. Who would prevent him from spiriting her away, certainly not Griggs, or Prowse, Mrs. Laity, or any of the buffleheaded footmen? If he were very careful, none of them would even know. He would have her out of there and away before she was even missed. They wouldn’t be looking for her until morning. By then, he would have relieved her of her blunt. Then, he could leave the country, with or without the chit. The last place anyone expected him to be was Drake’s Lair. That was obvious, or Drake would never have left her. Nevertheless, he would move cautiously. There was no need for haste after all. The fire would occupy them for some time. He waited for a cloudbank he’d been watching drift lazily across the night sky to hide the moon, before he streaked across the lawn to the study, but he pulled up short when he reached it. What was this? Drakewas mad if he was building… what was it, a greenhouse, a conservatory… no, aherbarium , for Demelza, of course. He’d arrived just in time, before the glass was in place, while he could just walk right in. ~*~ The fire was raging by the time Drake and the Runner reached the village. Redmond went straight to the Tinkers’ camp, but Drake rode to the Terrill Croft, slid off his horse, and pounded frantically on the door calling Bessie at the top of his voice. "M-my lord!" she breathed, throwing the door open to him. "I’m sorry, Bessie," he panted, out of breath, "I need to know… did you send this?" He handed her the wrinkled missive and waited while she studied it. "Why, no, my lord," she said, clearly puzzled. "You’re sure you didn’t write that? It was delivered by messenger to the house over an hour ago." "‘Twasn’t me, my lord. I can’t read, nor write. ‘Twas only a few minutes ago that Will woke me to let me know he was going to help put out a fire what just started out at the Tinker’s camp. Is something wrong, my lord? We heard you was bad. You don’t look too steady. Do you want to come in and sit down for a bit? I can fix you a nice cup o’ tea." "I can’t, Bessie. I have to get back. I want you to lock this door, and don’t open it to anyone but Will or Mr. Redmond, the Bow Street Runner. You know him, don’t you, Bessie? He’s been questioning

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everyone hereabouts for days." "Y-yes, my lord," she stammered. "W-what is it? You’re scarin’ me now!" She was backing away from him. There was terror in her eyes. Had she heard the rumors of his madness? She must have, and he hadn’t helped matters barging in on her in the middle of the night. It couldn’t be helped. "I believe Mr. Ellery sent this to Drake’s Lair to lure Melly away from the manor," he said. "I haven’t time to explain. Mr. Redmond is at the Tinkers camp. He will come here straightaway looking for me after the investigation, because of this." He held up the missive clenched in his fist. "Was anyone hurt out at the camp?" "I dunno’, my lord," she whined. "Like I said, Will just woke me." "All right, when Mr. Redmond comes, tell him I’ve gone back to Drake’s Lair, and that he is to follow at once. If Will should come first, send him for Redmond with that message straightaway. Am I plain? It’s important, Bessie. Miss Melly’s life could well depend upon it." He didn’t wait for a verbal answer, her nervous nod sufficed. Bolting back down the walk, he mounted his snorting Andalusian, and rode off into the smoke-filled darkness. ~*~ Melly was too exhilarated to sleep. Drake had asked her tomarry him. And she had accepted. She was still wearing her blue voile frock, and the Shelldrake diamond. Tomorrow she would insist that Drake put it back in the chest. But tonight, oh,tonight , she would wear it--touch it--sleep in it. Not because of what it was, because of why it was around her neck, resting where he’d placed it, in the hollow of her throat. She hugged herself and spun around and around, closed her eyes and spun again, this time she nearly upset the gateleg table--candle branch and all--bumping into it in her giddy, whirling blindness. She stopped and steadied it. Mustn’t wake Zoe. She hadn’t locked the door half-hoping he would prowl the third floor corridor again, lift the gilded door handle, and enter in. It was a pleasant fantasy. The ghost of his scent still teased her nostrils. The taste of him haunted her. The rhythm of his heartbeat still echoed through her body, waking the butterflies--swarms of them--droves of them--herdsof them, if such a thing could be. When the door handle turned, she didn’t wait for Drake to enter, she ran to it, and flung the door wide. But it wasn’t Drake on the threshold, it was Ellery, and before she could scream, he’d clamped his hand over her mouth, dragged her back inside then shut the door, and locked it behind him. "Don’t struggle," he whispered, close in her ear, "because if you wake that little chit, Zoe, she’ll get worse than Smithers did just now, and I needn’t tell you what will happen to you." She relaxed in his arms, and he nodded. "That’s better. I’m going to take my hand away. Unless you want me to prove myself, keep that pretty mouth shut." He turned her around roughly, and took her measure. His hooded gaze, sliding the length of her, fastened on the diamond, and his eyebrow lifted as his fingers inched toward it.

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"Well, well, what have we here, the Shelldrake diamond?" he observed. "This is, indeed, better than I expected. He’s had you. Well, I suppose that was to be expected, but I’ll have this," he snarled, yanking the diamond free. Her breath caught as the chain cut into her neck before it snapped. What had he done to Smithers? Her heart and mind were racing. If only Drake would come to her door now.Please, God, don’t let this be the one night he keeps his distance . But she couldn’t depend upon anything then but her wits, and in order to do that, she needed to discover what he meant to do next. "How dare you come back into this house?" she snapped. "There’s a Bow Street Runner right downstairs. He’s been here since you tried to kill Drake, all I need do is--" "Nooooo, love," he interrupted, drawing Drake’s service pistol from the holster strapped to his leg. "Your Runner has ‘run’ off to the village with your lover, to see to the fire at the Tinkers camp." "Fire? What fire?" She gasped. "I had to get to you," he said. "There wasn’t really supposed tobe a fire, actually, it was only intended as a ruse to bring you to me, but providence designed a better plan. I sent a missive intended to lure you away from the Lair. When the lack-witted groom came back with word that Drake and your Runner were coming instead, I knew you hadn’t even see it, and so I set the fire in earnest to keep them occupied awhile. They went to it, and I came to you." "You like setting fires don’t you?" she snapped. "I was the one who set fire to your cottage," he boasted. "You? But… why?" "In order to rescue you, and bring you here, where I could seduce you properly," he replied, "but Drake got there before me." "What do you want with me?" she said steadily. "I’ve never led you to believe--" "Money," he blurted. "I should think that would be fairly obvious. "But now I have this," he concluded, exhibiting the diamond. "You didn’t have to go to such lengths," she said guardedly. "I’d have given you money to avoid what you’ve done here if that’s all you wanted--gladly. Let me go. The money isn’t here. Dr. Hale is keeping it for me. I’ll go to him and get it in the morning, I’ll--" "So that’s where you’ve hidden it away?" he interrupted. "I wish I’d known you would have given in so easily. It would have saved the Tinkers their wagons, and Smithers a knock on the head, not to mention what happened to Drake, all for a measly hundred pounds." "How do you know that? I never told you that." "I perused your contract right there in that sitting room one night, while you were at dinner. It was important then, but I don’t need it now." He exhibited the diamond again. "This is worth ten times your piddling hundred."

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"So, you have it. Now what do you intend to do?" "That depends entirely upon you, Demelza." "Why upon me?" "I need to take you with me… for insurance. Once I’m away, if you want, you may come with me. We could have a good life together on the Continent. If you choose not… well, I’m sure you can see my dilemma." "You mean to hold me hostage?" she queried. Her mind was racing. She needed to stall for time. Drake would be back, and there was no question that he would come to her chamber now. But Ellery had that pistol, and he would be walking into a trap. She dared not leave with Ellery, either. Drake would never find her if she did, and Ellery would definitely kill her. He couldn’t let her live. "You don’t need me," she hedged. "Just take the deuced diamond and go--now, before they return. I will only slow you down." "Ahhh, but I do need you, Demelza, even if only… temporarily. Drake and I always share our women. We even shared Eva. I think in all probability, he knew, but what he doesn’t know to this day is that the child she was carrying wasn’t his at all. It wasmine . Drake was in London for two months when it was conceived. It happened right after he left. She was afraid that after it was born, he would know it wasn’t his, that she wouldn’t be able to pass the bratling off as his heir. Aside from the fact that if it went full term she would have to convince him that it had come on early, there was the matter of our physical differences, Drake’s and mine, they are rather pronounced. Drake is no fool. Once the child grew, he might guess. She dared not take the chance. He had more to offer her than I did. She only meant to eliminate the child, however, not herself. So, the baby in the Shelldrake family crypt is not a Hannaford at all, it’s my bastard. And his five years of grief, his hell bent obsession for a noble death was for naught. If he had gotten his wish and died on the Peninsula, I would have been high in the instep for life. He’d provided for me quite handsomely in his will, you see. That’s how it was supposed to be. As it is now, I’ve had to make other arrangements." Melly opened her mouth to speak, but the jiggling door handle pried a scream from her instead. "No! Don’t come! He’s armed!" she shrilled. But something planted squarely against the handle delivered a blow that splintered the wood around it. She watched it give, and screamed again as Ellery raised the pistol, aimed to fire. "Melly, get down--out of the way!" Drake’s muffled voice thundered from the other side, as another blow widened the crack. She ignored him. Ellery had let her go to aim, and she lunged, grabbing his wrists with both her hands. The pistol fired, but the ball missed its mark, shattering a mirror in the corner of the room, and in the split-second it took him to knock her to the floor, Drake’s foot broke the latch and he careened into the room. Melly scrambled out of the way and righted herself. All she saw was a blur as Drake tackled Ellery and drove him down. The diamond went flying. Drake wasn’t armed, and she quickly snatched up the service pistol and tossed it through the gaping doorway. Outside in the hall, Zoe stood wailing, wrapped in a carriage robe. Melly had no idea when the abigail had fled the dressing room, but there was no time to puzzle over that then.

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She grabbed the branch of candles on the gateleg table and danced around the two men locked in combat on the Persian carpet. Drake was like a man possessed, delivering blow after blow to Ellery’s face, but the steward gave as good as he got, and blood was pouring from Drake’s nostrils. Her heart nearly stumbled to a halt looking on. It was too soon for anything like this after the head injury. He was losing the advantage. Clarity faded from his dazed eyes as he hauled Ellery to his feet, and he staggered just long enough for the steward to deliver a shattering blow to his jaw that sent him sprawling. Ellery searched the carpet frantically. That gave Melly the opening she needed. As he reached for the diamond, which had fallen to the floor and rolled under the gateleg table in the struggle, she lowered the branch of candles to the back of his head with all her strength, and he dropped like a stone on top of Drake at her feet. "Come and help me, Zoe," she charged. Laying the candles aside, she tugged at Ellery’s inert body. "He’s too heavy for me. I… can’t… lift him!" "Noooo," the abigail shrilled. "I’m scared o’ it, m’lady." "You get in here this minute and help me," Melly demanded, stamping her foot. "His lordship’s head is bleeding !" Aside from the obvious, he had opened his stitches when he fell, and the carpet underneath his head was soaked with blood. Zoe didn’t comply. Cowering in the shadows, she wailed shrilly, meanwhile shifting from one bare foot to the other. "Be still!" Melly cried, pounding her thighs with clenched fists. "Stop that sniveling. Go and bring Griggs, then, before the Jack o’ napes comes to and murders the lot of us.Move !" The girl ran off then, her sobs trailing after her, and Melly set the candle branch down beside her, just in case, and tore the blue ribbon from her hair. It would have to do. And she had just finished binding the steward’s wrists together with it, when Griggs burst through the open door, and rolled him aside. Together, they helped Drake to a sitting position, and she threw her arms around his neck. "D-don’t, Melly," he moaned, "you’ll get blood on you frock. I’m… fine." "You’re not fine," she sobbed, turning to the gray-faced valet. "Send for Dr. Hale, Griggs," she cried. "His eyes are dilated again, and he’s opened the stitches. Ellery did something to Smithers, too. The stars only know what!" "Smithers is all right," Drake panted. "I found him wandering about downstairs. Jim knocked him unconscious coming in." "And the Tinkers? Was anyone hurt… Rosen…the children ?" she pleaded. "No," he assured her… just two of the wagons. I’m going to replace them." "What the deuce is going on here?" said a gruff voice from the doorway. Melly and the valet spun toward the sound. It was Redmond, standing on the threshold arms-akimbo. "Nice work, Griggs," he barked, swaggering close. I’ll take charge from here."

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"It wasn’t me," the valet said. "It was Miss Melly. All I did was help roll the blighter off his lordship." "H-how long were you listening outside that door, before you broke through it, Drake?" she murmured, afraid of the answer to that question. "I heard, if that’s what you’re asking," he replied, taking her in his arms. "It doesn’t matter. You are all that matters. Once I realized what was afoot here, all I could think of was getting to you, before--" Her lips on his silenced the rest. There was no more concern over madness, or differences, or anything but that warm, wonderful, heart-stopping, soul-wrenching kiss.

Epilogue Melly sat on the edge of Drake’s four-poster. He was propped up with pillows in a sitting position. The doctor had come and gone, the Runner had taken his prisoner into the village, Griggs had repaired to his cubicle in the dressing room, and they were finally alone. "What will become of him?" Melly said, speaking of Ellery. "There’s enough evidence to see him hang at Tyburn," Drake said emptily. Running his hand along her arm until it captured hers he lifted it to his lips. "That distresses you," she replied. "What distresses me, is that I put my trust in someone for seventeen years, and couldn’t see that it was all a sham. I thought he was my friend, and all the while--" She silenced him with a finger on his swollen, split lip. "Thank you," he murmured, through another kiss as he clasped her hand again. "Though I hate to admit it, old Hale was right, I wasn’t up to fisticuffs. He would have bested me if you hadn’t swung that candlestick. I saw two of him. I didn’t know which one to hit." "His infernal greed gave me the opportunity," she said. "If he hadn’t bent to pick up that diamond, it might have all ended differently. I shudder to think." "Where is the diamond?" "Safe," she said, patting the pocket she wore about her waist. "He broke the chain, though." "That’s easily fixed. I’ll see to it as soon as I’m out of this deuced bed." "That can wait. You’ll stay in that deuced bed until Dr. Hale says you can leave it," she informed him.

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"Oh, I don’t think it can wait," he said, flashing a lopsided smile that melted her. "It’s your fault you know. You ravished me after all--and on horseback no less--violated me, took advantage of me when I was powerless to prevent it. Don’t you think it’s time you made an honest man of me, Lady Demelza Ahern, soon to be Hannaford, Countess Shelldrake?" "An honest man?" she said, nonplussed. Was he falling into madness again, just when she thought all that was behind her? Hehad to be mad. Ravished, indeed. Such babbling. Would she never understand this enigmatic, unpredictable, exasperating man? "Never mind, little witch," he said, tongue-in-cheek. "One day, when I’ve grown fat and gone bald, and that beautiful, toffee-colored hair of yours has turned to silver, I’ll tell you all about it.

Meet Dawn Thompson Dawn Thompson is a regular columnist featured in women’s special interest publications world and nationwide for over thirty years, one of which isCrochet World , published by House of White Birches, since its inception over twenty-five years ago. She is an award-winning poet, artist, and needlework designer. A multi-award-winning author, Dawn writes Historical fiction, primarily set in the Regency period. She is a member of RWA, Long Island Romance Writers, Gothic Romance Writers, Hearts Through History, Celtic Hearts, and the Beau Monde. Another of her works,The Ravencliff Bride, is a Dorchester Love Spell release for September, 2005. Dawn lives in Long Island New York with her Tuxedo cat, Shadowfax (alias Miss Fuzz), and Espirit, her scandalous Senegal parrot, an incurable flirt.

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