The Midnight Angel Of Bodmin Moor

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The Midnight Angel Of Bodmin Moor Flouting convention, the Marquis had removed his coat, vest, and stock. His silky, white shirt was open at the throat to reveal firm, tanned flesh covered by a sprinkling of curly black hairs. When she rounded the table, Kara’s quick glance noted how his brown doeskin breeches hugged his flat stomach and powerful legs. He looked like the pirate he was alleged to be, a very compelling, very dangerous pirate. Then, the subtle shifting of his hipsdrew her eyes to the juncture of his thighs. Her eyes darted away from the bulge that confirmed his masculinity only to find amusement dancing in his. Her grip on her sword tightened as she jerked her gaze away from his, her thoughts momentarily muddled. "You have no liking for jewels, Witch?" the sexy pirate asked in a low voice when her men ignored the jewels his companions wore. His ruby earstud twinkled with red fire. Her rich laughter teased his taut body. "Too easy to trace, my fine piratical friend, as you undoubtedly know. And, Sir Pirate, I am an angel, not a witch." "Angel?" he drawled slowly, suggestively. "Of heaven or hell?"

What They Are Saying About Rising Star Judy Mays "Celtic RendezvousThis is an intense but a fun read!… Grab a comforting drink and cozy seat to enjoy this romantic suspense story that promises many thrilling hours." The Write Life Style "Ms. Mays has penned an enjoyable, exciting story withCeltic Rendezvous . For a romantic story to curl up on the sofa with, get your copy ofCeltic Rendezvous today." Romance Reviews Today "Celtic RendezvousJudy has written a story that has everything, action, intrigue, and a wonderful love. It’s a fast read because you want to keep turning the page to find out what will happen next. I would recommend this book to anyone whose favorite genre is romantic suspense; it fulfills the promise." A Romance Review "Judy Mays' writing is a shear delight as it is so fresh and sends you to the stars with ecstasy and into gales of laughter with her spontaneous and effortless sense of humor. I'm so glad I didn't missA Rhythm Divine , which to me was a "divine" romance, and I don't want readers to miss it either. I'm ready for more from this talented author." Suzanne Coleburn

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Sean follows Maggie out to a small terrace and, after a brief discussion, kisses her. It's hot. Very hot. The storm that is raised in this kiss could go to all kinds of places.Please take my advice and read the book. I liked A Rhythm Divine. I hope there's a sequel so that I can check back with the Garrison Clan and see what's new. Simegen (InA Rhythm Divine) Judy Mays writes a very funny story of two people who overcome every obstacle to find that where love is concerned… your heart not the calendar should make your decision. This book is definitely a keeper and I recommend it for a tale of love told in a humorous, touching and enduring style. --Sharon Bressen sensualromance

Wings

The Midnight Angel Of Bodmin Moor

by

Judy Mays

A Wings ePress, Inc. Historical Romance Novel

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Wings ePress, Inc.

Edited by: Lorraine Stephens Copy Edited by: Crystal Laver Senior Editor: Sara V. Olds Managing Editor: Crystal Laver Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens Cover Artist: Pat Casey

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 © 2002 by Judy Buranich ISBN 1-59088-092-7

Published In the United States Of America July 2002 Wings ePress Inc. P. O. Box 38 Richmond, KY 40476-0038

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Dedication Special thanks Canadian musician/songwriter Loreena McKennitt whose haunting rendition of Alfred Noyes’ poem "The Highwayman" inspired my own version of the old story. More thanks to the following: Amber Rowles--"Angel’s" first editor and my number one cheerleader. Jean Drew--she preserved and pounded the concept of POV into my head and verified everything I needed to know about Cornwall. Imo Hardin--Thanks to Imo, I now know that a woman on a side-saddle was as good or better at riding than any man riding astride. Lorraine Stephens--A woman whose patience stretches far beyond the ordinary, especially when I’m correcting my galleys. Special acknowledgement to Alfred Noyes and his poem "The Highwayman" Portions reprinted with permission from The Society of Authors, 84 Drayton Gardens, London, England

Prologue

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The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas: The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor… Chill, ghost-like mists dipped and eddied among the desolate hills and hollows. Jagged standing stones, raised by giants in days long past, rose eerily from the swirling fog. On such a night, the superstitious Cornishmen barred their doors and windows against the unknown. "It’s nights like this that Death stalks Bodmin Moor," muttered the old man hunched over the bar as the door opened and an eerie wind followed two more patrons into the old inn. The wind blew out two of the lanterns closest to the door. Shivering in the sudden darkness, her feelings of foreboding growing stronger, Bess’ heart clenched at the old man’s words. Ale spilled from the pints she set on the scarred table. Both men waved her apology away. They knew her mind rode the dark moors with the man she loved. Wiping her ale soaked hands on her apron, Bess inhaled deeply, battling the hysteria that threatened to engulf her. Commanding her feet to move, she lurched back to the bar, a silent litany repeating itself in her mind.Please, Edward, come home to me .Please, Edward, come home to me . When she reached the bar, her father patted her shoulder and said, "Don’t listen to the likes of him, Bess. John is always spouting nonsense about ghosts and such. Go on home. I can manage without you." She shook her head. "Not with Will sick, you can’t. I promised to help you tonight." Outside, the wind moaned again. Conversations sputtered then picked up as more than one man tossed a troubled glance over his shoulder. The innkeeper patted his daughter’s shoulder again. "Don’t be worrying about your Ned. He’ll be fine. He’s smarter than every redcoat on the moor." She sniffed and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "I didn’t want him to go out tonight, Da. That new redcoat officer promised to hang him." Her father tsked as he drew two more pints. "Now, Bess," he cajoled, "every redcoat officer who comes to the moor has promised to hang him. This one’s no different. Now either serve these thirsty men their ale or go home to your babes. Mrs. Palser has her hands full enough with her own little one." A ghost of a smile appeared on Bess’ lips at her father’s gentle teasing. With a sigh, she lifted two pints and set them before two of her father’s closest friends. The elder patted the back of her hand. "Don’t be worryin’, Bess. Your husband won’t be caught by no Englishman." Smiling weakly at his encouragement, Bess returned to the bar for more pints, trying to ignore the moaning wail of the wind that continued to assault the inn. ~*~ When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,

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A red-coat troop came marching-Marching--marching No sooner had the last boom of thunder faded away than the door crashed open. The old inn’s rafters rattled, and a fine, misty dust settled over the patrons. Bayonets at the ready, nervous fingers trembling on sweat-slick triggers, a troop of scowling redcoats streamed through the doorway and circled the room. The rank odors of wet wool and nervous perspiration shouldered its way across the room to Bess. She stepped back and braced herself against the large fireplace’s soot-blackened stones. The hard eyes of the closest dragoon locked with hers. Hiding her shaking hands in her apron, she raised her chin defiantly. "Is he here?" the tall, blond haired officer growled to the sandy haired man at his side. He muttered something unintelligible. A hard cuff from a brutal sergeant brought forth an audible response. "No, Sir," Tim gasped. "He ain’t here." The two burly guards released him, and he dropped to the floor to cower at the officer’s feet. Raising his foot, the officer planted his boot on Tim’s shoulder and shoved him away. He cast a sinister gaze about the taproom. "You promised me the highwayman, you sniveling cur," he stated in an ominously quiet tone. His searching eyes halted on Bess’ face. Knees shaking uncontrollably, Bess had felt the color drain from her cheeks at the officer’s words. She grasped the chair before her for support and stared at the man huddled on the floor. "Tim! What have you done?" And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked. …But he loved the landlord’s daughter, Slapping his riding crop against his gloved hand, the lieutenant sauntered across the room until he stood before her. He lifted her chin with the drop. "You must be Bess." He grinned when she jerked her face away. Pulling the glove from his left hand, he caressed the soft skin of her cheek with his knuckles. "I’d heard rumors of your beauty, but mere words don’t do you justice, my dear." Bess clasped fistfuls of her apron and stepped back. "Leave me be." He laughed--cruelly. "Take her." A grotesque leer on his face, the burly sergeant complied. He and another man grabbed her arms and dragged her up the stairs. Her struggles were futile. "Nooooooo!" Angry men rose out of their chairs, but the musket ball fired into the leg of the closest stopped their attempted chivalry. Bess’ would-be rescuer fell to the floor screaming, clutching his thigh as blood

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spurted from between his fingers. Every Cornish eye turned towards Tim whose terrified gaze darted from one face to another. Condemnation and hate simmered in their combined glares. However, the soldiers blocked his escape into the inhospitable night. Moaning, he slithered into a dark corner. The sneering, over-proud officer turned to survey the room. "Please, my friends, sit. Go back to your ale. No one will be leaving for some time. My men and I have business with one of your--compatriots. Innkeeper, ale for my men." The bald man in a clean, white apron stumbled forward. "Sir, my daughter?" "Has been harboring a fugitive of the crown. Get that ale before you find yourself in irons," the lieutenant snapped. "Corporal, you’re in charge. I’ll be upstairs." The thud of his boots on the steps cut through the stillness of the inn as he disappeared into the darkness at the top of the stairs. ~*~ Tears streaming from her eyes, Bess struggled to escape the two soldiers who were amusing themselves by pushing her back and forth between them, tearing off a bit of her clothing with each pass. Bess struggled against them. She had to fight. Edward would want her to fight. The door creaked open, and the lieutenant entered. Both men snapped to attention, and Bess fell to the floor in a heap of torn clothing. Gasping for breath, anger mixed with the terror flashing in her dark eyes, she pulled herself to her feet with the aid of the bedpost until she stood defiantly before them, holding the torn remnants of her bodice closed. Glimpses of her shapely legs flashed through tears in her skirt. The burly sergeant licked his lips. The lieutenant’s gaze heated. "Out." With knowing grins, the two soldiers left, closing the door firmly behind them. Three strides and the arrogant redcoat stood before her. Frantically, Bess tried to duck past him, but he gripped her upper arm, backhanded her across the mouth, and flung her down onto the bed. "Now, my dear," he said as he unbuckled his sword belt, "tell me all about your highwayman lover." Never!Eyes flashing with hate, Bess cringed against the headboard yet raised her chin stubbornly. The officer chuckled and moved closer. A single sapphire hung from a gold chain about her neck. Reaching out, he ripped it from her. She bit her lips against the sharp pain. Blood seeped slowly from the golden chain’s delicate scratch. "I do so love reticent women," he said as he slowly freed each button on his hated red jacket. Shrugging it from his shoulders, he dropped it negligently onto the room’s only chair. His vest and shirt followed the jacket. Her hands curled into claws, she reached for his face as he leaned over her. "Bitch!" he snarled as her nails drew four rivulets of blood from his left cheek.

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Another backhand drove her back down onto to the bed. He ripped what remained of her bodice to shreds and pushed her skirt up around her waist. Her screams echoed throughout the inn. ~*~ The two soldiers leaning against the wall pulled themselves to attention when their lieutenant strode from the room, his usually immaculate hair mussed, his face scratched. "Don’t touch her except to tie her. I haven’t finished with her yet." Then he was gone. On the bed, Bess coiled into a tight ball. She gagged, rolled off the side of the bed, and fell to her knees. Shuddering uncontrollably, she heaved the contents of her stomach onto the floor. Perspiration beaded on her forehead. Every muscle and joint in her body ached. And, every fiber of her being hated the man who just left the room. The door banged open. Grinning lasciviously, the two dragoons reentered the room and pulled her from the bed, their hands roaming freely over her battered and bruised body. They mocked her weak struggles and the Cornish curses she called down on their heads as they bound her to the bed’s railing. "Here, bitch," said the burly sergeant with a malevolent grin. She struggled in vain as he jerked her from the bed and shoved her against the footboard of the bed. Positioning a musket stock between her battered thighs, he bound the muzzle beneath her bruised, left breast. "Here’s a new lover for you, whore of a highwayman. When the lieutenant finishes with you, you’ll learn about its cold steel." Both men laughed uproariously as they tied Bess upright, making sure she had a clear view out the window to the bright, moonlit road her lover would ride down. They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest; They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! Settling down at the window, they readied their muskets. Beth moaned as she determined their intent. "No, not Edward! Stay away, my love." But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed; Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side, There was death at every window;

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and hell at one dark window; For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride. Downstairs, the lieutenant positioned his men at the westward facing windows and just inside the door, sending more men to the other upstairs room that had windows facing the west. Then he sat and motioned for ale, grimacing at its bitter flavor. He ignored the waves of hatred that washed over him from the Cornishmen seated helplessly about the room. ~*~ Her body a mass of aches and bruises, Bess struggled against her bonds. Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks as she fought in vain for her freedom. Somewhere out on the moor, the man she loved more than life itself rode towards certain death. She couldn’t let him die. She wouldn’t let him die. The rope holding her left hand loosened and hope flared in her breast only to be extinguished immediately when, no matter how hard she strained, her hand moved no more than a few inches. Frustrated, she jerked her hand. Her finger rubbed against the musket’s trigger. She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! They stretched and strained in the darkness and the hours crawled by like years! Till, now, on the stroke of midnight… The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers. Cautiously, she again stretched towards the trigger. Her finger curled easily around it. Closing her eyes, she searched her heart. The decision was easy to make. She loved Ned too much to let him die." ~*~ The utter silence of the inn’s common room was interrupted by the faint but rhythmic sound of a galloping horse’s hooves. The officer allowed himself a satisfied smile. The death of this particular highwayman was his opportunity for promotion. Supposedly, the thief was the disinherited younger son of some nobleman, but the lieutenant had his doubts. No true gentleman would so debase himself. Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,

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The highwayman came riding, riding, riding... The hoof beats grew louder, and the men at the windows and door primed their muskets. "Ready," commanded the lieutenant, "aim…" A soft smile on her lips, Bess gazed serenely out the window. "I love you, Edward," she said to the breeze that blew in through the window and swirled around her. "Please, understand why. Please, forgive me." Before she had a chance to think about what she was doing, her finger squeezed the trigger. ...her finger moved in the moonlight; Her musket shattered the moonlight, shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death. The pregnant silence of the inn was shattered by a musket’s muffled roar. In the instant of stillness that followed the echo of the shot, those in the inn heard the distant whinny of a horse. In his mind the officer saw the highwayman pull his horse to a halt, then wheel, and ride away. The sound of hoofbeats grew fainter and fainter until they disappeared. Raging, the lieutenant threw his chair to the floor with a crash and tore up the stairway. "Who discharged that musket?" he bellowed as he slammed open the door to the room where Bess was being held. He tore his gaze away from the shocked faces of his men to where Bess slumped over the musket, her life’s blood pooling on the floor about her feet. "Everyone out," he barked when he returned to the common room. "Get to your homes." "And us, sir?" He smiled maliciously at his sergeant. "We stay. There may be game afoot yet tonight." The innkeeper bobbed before him. "Sir, my daughter?" He laughed in the old man’s face. "She killed herself to warn her outlaw lover." The innkeeper collapsed onto one of his chairs, clutching his chest. A few short gasps and he lived no more. "Nooooo!" came an uncanny wail from Tim. "You promised she’d be mine!" The officer slapped him away from his leg. "Begone, you son of a cur. You’re of no use now." The hostler disappeared into the darkness of the moor. The lieutenant’s lips quirked as two of the inn’s more unsavory patrons followed him. ~*~

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Not till the dawn he heard it; his face grew grey to hear How Bess, the landlord’s daughter, The landlord’s black-eyed daughter Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. The news of Bess’ sacrifice reached Ned as he met with his partners behind the village church the following morning. "Ned," said the schoolmaster helplessly, "Bess…" The highwayman paled. "What? What’s happened?" "Last night, that musket shot that warned you…" The blood drained from Ned’s face. "Who shot her?" Helplessly, the schoolmaster looked to the village parson. "Who shot her!" Ned bellowed, rage rapidly replacing shock. Grabbing the schoolmaster by the coat, the highwayman shook him violently. "Ned! Stop!" ordered Reverend Simon Palser. "She shotherself . They tied her to a musket, and she… Well, she managed to reach the trigger." Nausea overpowered Ned. Flinging the schoolmaster from him, he doubled over and gagged and gagged and gagged. When even the bile had been emptied from his stomach, he staggered to his feet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Where?" he spit in a deadly voice. "Now, Ned," Simon pleaded. "Don’t make her sacrifice in vain." "Damn you! Where did she die?" Neither man answered him. "The inn. She was helping her father last night." The minister grabbed Ned’s arm. "Please, Ned," he begged. "The children." Ned tried to shrug off his arm. "She was my life, my love, my heart. I’m nothing without her, nothing, damn it. I will avenge her." The schoolmaster grabbed Ned’s other arm; but, howling with rage, tears streaming unchecked from his eyes, he tore himself free and flung both men to the ground. The minister pulled himself to his knees. "No, Ned, don’t go back there. It’s a trap."

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"They killed her," he snarled, leaping to his horse’s back. "I’ll send the bloody bastards to hell!" "Ned, what about the children?" "Bess," he cried to the morning sky, "I’m coming Bess." The schoolmaster shoved himself to his feet and stumbled towards Ned. "Edward, don’t go!" But the highwayman had already wheeled his horse and thundered out onto the moor. Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high. ~*~ Grinning triumphantly, the lieutenant watched the black clad rider gallop towards the inn. The fool was screaming insanely, whirling his rapier about his head. "Steady. Wait until he gets closer." "I’ll see you burn in hell!" screamed the highwayman. "Fire!" The black horse screamed as its legs buckled and it collapsed. White bursts of agony ripped through its rider’s chest. "I knew the fool would come back after his dead whore," the lieutenant muttered to no one in particular, as the highwayman was thrown from his dying horse onto the road. "Bess, Bess, my love," he gasped with his dying breath. ~*~ Blood red were his spurs i’ the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat, When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat. As the soldiers gathered around the body, the lieutenant nudged the dead man with the toe of his boot. "Stupid fool," he said, "no woman is worth your life. Bring him."

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A sneer of victory on his face, the lieutenant mounted his horse and rode away. ~*~ As his carriage passed the old, slate roof church, the young lieutenant mocked the small gathering in the churchyard where the thief and his slut were being buried. The colonel was too soft. Those bodies should have been strung up until they rotted. Why the old man had allowed them to be buried… Bah. At least they were dead. And a merry dance with the devil he wished them both.Allowing the leather curtain to drop over the open window, he leaned back against the seat and pulled his watch from his pocket. A single, sparkling sapphire dangled from its fob. The Reverend Simon Palser sighed as he finished his eulogy and tossed a handful of dirt into the grave of Edward Marshall and his wife Elizabeth. At his side, his wife Emma and son Micah stood silently. "What will you do with them?" asked the village schoolmaster. He looked at the four-year-old boy clinging to Emma’s skirts and the infant girl. Both children had the brilliant blue eyes of their father and the ebony black hair of their mother. "We’ll raise them as ours," Emma answered. "Will you tell them the truth?" "We must," Simon answered solemnly. "Edward doesn’t want his family to know of them." A sad smile settled onto the schoolmaster’s lips. "If young Robert is as much his father’s son as I think, he’ll seek revenge." ~*~ And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding--Riding--riding-A highwayman comes riding...

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One Eighteen years later Calais, France Adrian gaped at the man who sat across the table. When he finally slammed his fist on its scared, wine-stained surface, the mugs rattled. "I am not a traitor!" "I know that," his companion answered, "but the fact that a spy was found on your ship has some members of the council questioning your loyalty." "Damn it! I’m the one who turned the bastard over to you!" The cloaked man glanced surreptitiously around the inn. "Keep your voice down." Adrian’s eyes remained on his companion. They were the only patrons in the inn since it was nine o’clock in the morning. "What do you want, Remaly?" "Here," was his answer as he shoved a piece of paper across the table. Adrian unfolded it and read it quickly. His eyes darted to Remaly’s when he finished. "You fulfilled your part of the agreement. You’re a free man." The younger man cocked an eyebrow. "The most influential members of the council know you’re not a spy. You were promised a pardon when the ‘problems’ were eliminated. We received confirmation that the final problem was taken care of last month." Adrian stared at the man who’d been his contact with the British government for the last seven years. The other man’s eyes dropped. He still wanted something. What was it? The other man shifted uneasily under Adrian’s level gaze. Finally he said in a low voice, "There’s a spy…" Adrian snorted. "There are always spies." "This time it’s different. Messages and files from both army and naval headquarters have gone missing over the last couple of years, nothing that could cause major damage until recently. If the spy you caught had managed to get the papers he was carrying to France… Anyway, we now believe that all of these thefts are the work of a small group of men, no more than two or three." "So infiltrating their organization is impossible," Adrian interjected, tapping a finger on the scarred wood of the table.

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"Exactly. We want you to help us discover their identities." "Why me?" "Because as a newly pardoned criminal, there’s still a question about your loyalty. We’ll leak some information that you paid some bribes…" Adrian stiffened. "No! I did not bribe…" "Damn it, man. Will you just shut up and listen? Your reputation won’t suffer more than it already has. The entire country thinks you’ve been a bloody pirate for the last seven years, for Christ’s sake. With your questionable past, these men may come to you." "Why?" "Ravenrook. Your castle guards a deep-water inlet on the Cornish coast." Adrian leaned back in his chair and studied the man opposite him. Remaly met his gaze steadily. The single bead of perspiration on the man’s high forehead hinted at how important this mission was. "Very well. What do you want me to do?" "Go home to Cornwall." "And?" "You wait. We have absolutely no idea who’s been stealing government secrets. All we know is that the spy you caught was in Cornwall before he came to France. Keep your eyes open for anything suspicious." When Adrian nodded, Remaly rose. "Major Lucian Blake will be working with you on this one. He’ll be arriving in Cornwall soon after you with further orders." After his contact left, Adrian picked up the paper that still lay on the table. Folding it carefully, he slid it into a pocket he’d had sewn on the inside of his coat. "Monsieur would like some breakfast?" asked the innkeeper. "Not today, Jacques." After one more quick look about the room, he strode out the door. ~*~ Grey fog rolled and billowed through the reeking streets and alleys lining Calais’ wharves. Shadows materialized, fluctuated wildly, then melted--except for one. His left hand pressed flat against the slimy bricks of the wall behind him and the other gripping his saber tightly, Adrian Warrick, captain of the free ship Raven, inched his way cautiously through the fog shrouded alley, the stench of garbage, dead fish, and open sewers swirling lazily about him. A rat squeaked, and he sensed rather than saw the movement behind him. With a quick half turn, he brought up his sword to ward off his attacker. But, the sharp report of a pistol shattered the eerie silence, and Adrian dropped into the filthy gutter, the slimy water lapping about his face. "Thought ye had me, eh, laddie?" commented the burly Scot who knelt and rolled the body over

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to search for valuables. He died silently as Adrian’s dagger slid unhindered between his ribs and pierced his heart. Grimacing with pain and clutching the wound in his shoulder, Adrian pushed the body off his legs and staggered to his feet. Monroe was dead. Eleven more to go. Adrian’s eyes flew open as his dark dream faded. Naked, he lurched from his bunk to the open porthole. A tangy, salt breeze blew in through the open window as the Raven rocked gently at her moorings.Trying to ignore the tremors that racked his body, he finger combed his long, black hair back from his forehead. The blond haired woman who shared his sweat soaked bed muttered and rolled over, her heavy, brown tipped breasts revealed by the light of the single lantern. Shaking off the last images of his dream, Adrian leaned over the basin on the table and splashed tepid water onto his face and neck, thankful that his work as a secret agent for George III of England was finally at an end. Adrian Warrick, Marquis of Ravenrook, outlawed on mock charges of murder seven years ago, stripped of his title, his lands confiscated by the crown, was in possession of a full pardon. His days of piracy, of being a scourge to shipping on the seven seas, were over. Now, all twelve of those wanted by the crown were confirmed dead. And, once he caught this last spy, he was retiring. He’d had enough excitement in his life for ten men. Ignoring the naked woman who lay on the bed, he pulled on his britches and boots. Bare-chested, he joined his first mate, holding watch on deck. "Drag the men out of the Calais hellholes, Paddy," Adrian said. "We leave for Cornwall with the evening tide. And make sure Marie is escorted back to the tavern." Adrian took over the watch as Paddy disappeared below decks. With his pardon now official, Adrian and his crew had partied and caroused through the day and into the night. Unfortunately, neither the large quantities of wine Adrian had consumed nor the woman he’d used for his baser needs had kept at baythe demons that haunted his sleep. The last seven years had provided plenty of shadows for Adrian’s sleeping mind to explore. Dark dreams, which never fully revealed themselves, haunted his sleep, unsettling dreams that were shadows of darkness without tangible identities. Unlike those earlier dreams, however, this latest dream had been crystal clear. Monroe had been his first victim. Adrian readily recalled the malignant smells of the malodorous alley, the agony of the pistol ball in his shoulder, and the warm stickiness of the blood as it flowed over his hand. And the smell, not the smell of blood, but of death. The smell of death never left him. ~*~ Cornwall "I can’t say that Father would approve, Robbie," Karalyn said dryly from her narrow bed as her brother admired the cut of his new coat in her small mirror. Wearing the new uniform that declared him a lieutenant in His Majesty’s horse dragoons, Robert Marshall threw a cocky grin over his shoulder. "Not the uniform, perhaps, but the reason for wearing it, Kara."

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Karalyn rose from her bed, and joined her brother next to the mirror, a slight smile twitching her lips. "You’re too handsome for you own good, Robbie Marshall. Just as well you’re leaving. Grant’s mama’s looking for a husband for his older sister," she teased, enjoying how the blood rushed from Robert’s face. "Bite your tongue, you little witch!" growled Robert playfully as he started across the room towards her. She squealed and hurried to the other side of her bed. The door opened, and the Reverend and Mrs. Palser entered the room. "My, but aren’t you handsome, Robbie," the woman who had raised them as if they were her own said. Her gaze slipped fondly to Kara. "You could be twins with those piercing blue eyes and thick black hair." Kara grinned. "Too bad he broke his nose when he were a lad, Mum, but I don’t think Grant’s older sister would mind." Her foster mother grinned back. "I know for a fact she won’t. And Marie’s glad he’s so tall. Her mother told me…" A ruddy flush inched its way up Robert’s neck to his cheeks. "I am not marrying Marie…" "Just think, Robbie," Kara continued. "If I’d marry Grant and you’d marry Marie, we could have a double wedding." Robert’s eyes bulged. "Damn it, Kara!" She laughed, but before she could continue teasing him, Reverend Palser spoke. "You are set on this course of action then, Robert?" Robert turned his attention to their foster father. "Sir," he answered, his wide smile contradicting the moistness of his eyes, "you took us in and raised us with Micah as if we were his brother and sister. There’s nothing Kara and I wouldn’t do to repay you, but I must find the man who murdered our parents. Buying a commission with the dragoons will get me to London." A long drawn out sigh escaped the reverend, and with a weary shake of his head he continued, "Very well, I won’t try to stop you. I don’t approve, but I do send you to London with my blessings." "Thank-you, Sir, for everything," Robert answered as he gripped the Reverend’s hand firmly, "I’ll never forget everything you have done for us." He pulled his foster mother into his arms for a firm hug. "And you, Mum, watch over Kara for me." "I will, Robbie," she answered sniffing away her tears. "I promise." "Come, Emma," the reverend said, gently taking his wife’s arm. "Let them have a few moments alone before Robert leaves." Waiting until the door closed behind them, Robert asked, "Are you sure you want to go through with this, Kara?"

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He scowled as an elegant eyebrow arched and her nostrils flared. "Of course, Robert. We agreed. You work from London. I work from Cornwall. If you can’t locate him there, perhaps I can draw him back here." "You’re too stubborn for your own good," he said as she began to pace about the room. "Just because you can ride and shoot as well as I and are a better swordsman, you think you’re invincible. But, that damnable temper of yours…" he added when Kara glared at him. "Why did I ever agree to this?" Stopping at his side, she patted his arm. "You agreed because I’d do it anyway. Besides, it was your idea." He snorted. "The ramblings of a young stripling who didn’t know any better. And I was going to be the highwayman, not you!" "Well, you can’t so I will." Robert ran his hands through his hair. When did all his plans go awry? How could he ever get Kara safely married if she insisted on playing highwayman? Grasping her upper arms, he leaned over until his face was only inches from hers. "This is not one of your games, Kara. It’s dangerous. Remember what happened to father and mother." She pulled herself free and moved restlessly around the room, fingering one small possession after another. "How can I possibly forget? Because of that beast, I have no memories of them. I don’t even know what my mother looked like! You, at least, remember their faces. Only Old Gwyn and her stories has kept Mama alive for me." Robert scowled. Kara wasn’t even supposed to know how their mother died. If not for that meddling old woman… "You wouldn’t even know how mother died if she hadn’t told you. And quite a few people will believe Father got what he deserved. He was an outlaw after all." "Not when he was riding to mother’s rescue, he wasn’t. He was a husband trying to save his wife," she snapped, fists planted firmly on her hips, " and you wouldn’t know how mother died either if not for Gwyn. And then where would we be?" "Marrying Marie and Grant?" This time Kara snorted. "Please, can’t you be serious?" "I’m always serious, especially about Father and Mother. But I’m more worried about you and your blasted temper. Anger has no place in this fight. Think with your head not your heart." "I won’t forget, and I’ll be careful. Besides, Father always rode alone. I’ll have the boys to guard my back. And I promise never to go out without them." Shaking his head in defeat, Robert smiled anyway. Kara had always been his shadow. As children, they’d been inseparable, and she had insisted on learning and doing everything he did. More importantly, the steadfast group of friends he had gathered about him would protect her with their lives. Still, he had misgivings. "I must be daft, agreeing to this charade. Can’t you be patient..."

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She stamped her foot and blue sparks seemed to explode from her eyes. "Patient! While you’re off in London searching for the murderer. They were my parents, too, Robbie. I will not sit here like some vaporish miss who swoons at the sight of a spider. I can help. Iwill help find their murderer." Robert sighed. If he didn’t agree to this scheme of hers, she’d be haring off across the moor alone. This way, Tristan should be able to keep her out of trouble. Bracing his feet slightly apart, he planted his fists firmly on his hips. "Remember, only redcoat officers. Don’t get so carried away that you start robbing the gentry. As long as you harass only the officers and share the spoils with the villagers, the common people will support and hide you. And listen to Tristan and Dewi. They know their way about the moor better than anyone. And whatever you do, don’t get caught!" She stopped pacing when she reached the window. "I know how important this is, Robert. I won’t fail." With a sigh, he crossed the room to join her and rested his chin on top of her head as her arms went around his waist. "I know, Kara, but I can’t help worrying. I’ll be in London. Who will keep you out of trouble?" "Me--out of trouble!" she exclaimed and shoved her brother away. "Why you..." After a bark of laughter, he gave her another hug and planted a quick kiss on her forehead. "Well, at least you’ll get the army’s attention, a female highwayman. Then, once they realize you’ll kiss one of them after you rob them, they’ll be too busy talking about your audacity to chase after you properly." Shuddering, she threw him a disgusted look and stomped across the room. "Kissing them! I don’t know how I let you and Tristan talk me into kissing one of them. And then practicing with Tris!" Robert chuckled but didn’t tell her he and Tris had come up with that particular plan hoping Kara would balk and they’d be able to talk her out of becoming a highwayman. He should have known it wouldn’t work. "You could have practiced with Grant." She groaned. "Grant already follows me around like a puppy with those love sick eyes! If I let him kiss me, he’d think I really cared!" "You could do worse than the second son of a wealthy squire." "Don’t you start on me again, Robert Marshall!" she snapped. "I don’t want to marry Grant or anybody else. Revenge for Father and Mother is the most important thing in my life." Robert kept grinning at the sparks in Kara’s eyes, but he promised himself that somehow, someway, she’d never meet the man responsible for their parents’ death. "Robbie! Stop staring off into space like that. And stop worrying. Tristan and the boys will protect me. This a good plan. Even if I don’t like the idea, the kisses will help spread my notoriety. The sooner we flush out our parents’ murderer…"

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"Robert," called the muffled voice of Reverend Palser. "I have to go, Kara." Unable to stay angry with her brother, especially when he was leaving, she flew into his arms throwing her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. Burying her face in his chest, she said, "I know, but I’m going to miss you horribly." Smiling tenderly, he lifted her chin with a curled finger and said, "I’ll be back. I’m sure I’ll be given leave sometime." With a slight push she freed herself from her brother’s arms. Then she gathered her composure. "Do you have the gold Father left for you?" "I have it. Thank goodness Father had the foresight, to leave some money with Reverend Palser for safekeeping. Be a good girl, and I’ll see you before you know it." She buried her face in his chest. "Then get out of here before I start to cry." After a grin and another kiss on the cheek, he disappeared out the door. As her brother left the room, Kara turned back to the open window. Hanging over the sill, she waved gaily when Robert strode out the front door and mounted his fine chestnut gelding. Tossing his sister a grin and a kiss, he spurred away. After he disappeared, she gathered her skirts, striding purposefully from the Palser’s snug house towards the blacksmith’s cottage. With the help of her friend Jane’s quick needle, a new menace would ride Bodmin Moor this night. ~*~ Six months later Hands clasped behind his back, Adrian Warrick, seventh Marquis of Ravenrook, stood at the library window contemplating the dark, storm tossed waters that crashed against the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. The swirling, dark waves echoed his brooding mood perfectly. "Well, Adrian," said Lucian Blake, indicating the royal pardon lying on his friend’s desk, "you’re a free man. Announcements were posted in all the major newspapers. All reward offers were rescinded. Anyone attempting to ‘dispatch’ you now will be charged with murder." Adrian turned back to one of only two men he completely trusted and shrugged. "It would be a rather moot point if I were dead, now wouldn’t it?" Lucian grinned devilishly at his friend. "But I would then have a legitimate excuse to shoot Sedgewick. When word of your pardon got out, he was livid. Your capture was to promote him to colonel." One questioning eyebrow raised, Adrian’s knowing glance took in the new major’s epaulets on his friend’s shoulders. "I only found nine of those His Majesty’s ministers wanted eliminated." Lucian shrugged. "You spent most of your time at sea and in seaports. The other three remained inland. Someone had to take care of them."

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Turning back to the window, Adrian’s gaze once more locked on the pounding waves far below Ravenrook’s walls, churning waters that echoed the torment of his soul. The anticipated solace from his nightmares had not been found in his ancestral home. Isolating himself in the dark castle that seemed to grow out of the craggy cliffs, Warrick shunned all company, his mood growing more and more morose as dark dreams continued to haunt his sleeping hours. He spent long, lonely days brooding about his past and contemplating a bleak future rife with uncertainties. He’d accomplished his mission but could summon no satisfaction from the fact. He hadn’t spoken with anyone save his few servants--and them as little as possible--until Lucian’s arrival that morning. "How do you deal with it, Lucian?" "What?" "The fact that you were an assassin." Turning, Warrick locked eyes with those of his friend. The blond man dropped his gaze first, a weary expression crossing his countenance. "I don’t know. I do my best to lock it away in one corner of my brain and forget it’s there. And it’s over. We’re done with that, Adrian." The words of his friend failed to sooth his bleak emotions and once more Adrian turned to the window, hands clenched tightly behind his back. "There are nights, Lucian, when I wake up drenched with sweat. The specters of those I’ve killed chase each other through my dreams. What exactly made them dangerous to the crown? How do we know we were not merely tools to carry out the personal vendetta of some royal minister? What right did I have to end their lives? And now, now their faces have come to haunt me. They speak to me in my dreams. Their voices taunt me with the details of the hells they occupy. Am I sane, or am I mad?" Lucian’s shoulders slumped in agreement. "We both know what kind of man Monroe was. For sanity’s sake, we must assume the others were as bad or worse." Leaning his head against the cool glass, Adrian didn’t answer. He only knew that he hadn’t slept through an entire night in four years. A light knock on the door interrupted them. "Come," Adrian said. "Vedo whye cawas tabm?"asked the dark eyed servant. "No, I’ll be dining at the inn." Lucian grimaced. "Doesn’t anyone around here speak English?" he asked as the servant bowed out of the room. For the first time that evening, the corners of Adrian’s lips twitched with a smile. "Of course, Lucian. But why should they?" "Damn Cornish Celts."

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A full smile finally appeared. "I happen to be one of those ‘damn Cornish Celts’, Lucian." "But you had the good sense to come to England proper and be suitably educated." Laughing heartily for the first time in weeks, Adrian crossed the room and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Come, introduce me to your fellow officers who wish to play at cards. The Ravenrook coffers can always use more funds. And maybe we’ll be able to learn something about missing military documents." ~*~ Adrian allowed himself a satisfied smile. He’d won more hands than he’d lost and had a substantial pile of coins before him. Though he couldn’t say he’d actually enjoyed the evening, he hadn’t felt the ongoing restlessness that had been plaguing him since his return to Cornwall. And--his ghosts were silent. "Well, gentleman..." he said as he laid his cards on the table. The door slammed open with a resounding crash, "Gothewhar daa, gentlemen, no one moves and no one gets hurt," uttered a husky, feminine voice from the doorway. Five hooded men dressed in black flowed into the room, pistols cocked and pointed, while another whispered into the ear of the masked woman in the doorway. Pushing his chair back quietly, Adrian’s hands began to move slowly away from the cards, but the woman noticed immediately. "Those hands remain on the table, Sir Pirate," she commanded, pointing her pistol directly at his forehead. "Bind him first, my friends. He looks to be the most dangerous." Her men complied, relieving Adrian of the small pistol he’d hidden in one boot and the knife sheathed in the other. Only when his companions were also bound firmly to their chairs did the masked woman fully enter the brightly lit room. "Well met, Madam Highwayman," said the young lieutenant sitting across the table from Adrian. Curiosity nudged Adrian’s morose spirit. Stories of the female highwayman who preyed exclusively on the redcoat officers of King George were whispered among his servants. The people of the area called her the Midnight Angel of Bodmin Moor, for she would disappear into the mists that swirled across the moor, appearing later to distribute almost every coin she seized to the poor of the area’s hamlets and villages. Needless to say, the commonerswere fiercely loyal to her. If anyone knew her identity, he wasn’t talking. A huge reward had been offered to any who would come forward with information. The reward remained unclaimed. As the woman entered the room, Adrian’s gaze raked her from head to toe. Dressed entirely in black, her figure perfectly displayed in the tight, men’s clothing she wore, the Midnight Angel was a figure to inspire even a dead man’s lust. Black britches clung to her shapely legs, flared hips, and flat belly like a second skin. A red leather sword belt was pulled tight around her small waist, and her billowy, black shirt lay open at her throat, its deep vee offering a tantalizing view of a full, creamy, uncorseted bosom. Penetrating blue eyes searched the room from behind the blackness of her mask. Black gauntlets and a broad brimmed, black hat with a flowing, red ostrich plume completed her costume. The other men in the

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room concentrated on her blatantly displayed limbs and bosom, but the rich, ruby colored lips smiling over even white teeth drew Adrian’s gaze. Her pink tongue darted out to wet them, and he swore to himself that he would soon taste the nectar of her mouth. As Adrian watched with hooded eyes, the woman in black handed her pistol and cape to one of her men and unsheathed the ruby hinted rapier that hung at her side. She sauntered around the room, chuckling huskily; the eyes of the bound men locked on her gently swaying derriere. Stopping in front of Lieutenant Robert Marshall, she cut a button from his shirt with a quick flick of her wrist. "Such a dandified young cockerel," she murmured to him in a throaty whisper. "You should still be in leading strings." Adrian studied the beguiling woman who sauntered closer. She handled her blade with ease. Would she handle his between her thighs so deftly? "And you, sir," she continued patting the bulging stomach of the colonel next to the lieutenant, "should perhaps forego the pleasures of the table." "Only if you allow me the pleasure of your company, my dear," the stout officer answered with a devilish grin. Her sexy chortle pooled in Adrian’s groin, and he watched her as she made her way around the table with a word or two, a caress or two, for each of her victims. Finally, she arrived at his side. Flashing a challenging grin, he said, "Touch me, Witch, and your fingers will burn." From the moment Kara had stepped into the room, the dark demeanor of the man across the table from her brother had drawn her attention like a lodestone. Rumors about the return of the Marquis of Ravenrook flew about the moor. Most of them concerned his exploits as a pirate. Unfashionably long hair as black as her own was pulled back from his face with a silver clasp to reveal a strong jaw and high forehead--and a ruby stud in his left ear. Piercing grey eyes surrounded by unbelievably long, black lashes locked with hers, daring her silently. A hawkish nose rose above thin but mobile lips while the harsh planes of his deeply tanned face lacked any hint of tenderness. This pirate was not handsome in the conventional sense, but Kara found his blatant masculinity altogether fascinating. Flouting convention, the Marquis had removed his coat, vest, and stock. His silky, white shirt was open at the throat to reveal firm, tanned flesh covered by a sprinkling of curly black hairs. When she rounded the table, Kara’s quick glance noted how his brown doeskin breeches hugged his flat stomach and powerful legs. Rather, he looked like a pirate, a very dangerous, verycompelling pirate. Then, his subtle shifting of his hips drew her eyes to the juncture of his thighs. Her eyes darted away from the bulge that confirmed his masculinity only to find amusement dancing in his. Her grip on her sword tightened as she jerked her gaze away from his, her thoughts momentarily muddled. "You have no liking for jewels, Witch?" the sexy pirate asked in a low voice when her men ignored the jewels his companions wore. The ruby stud he wore twinkled with red fire. Her rich laughter teased his taut body. "Too easy to trace, my fine piratical friend, as you undoubtedly know. And, Sir Pirate, I am an angel, not a witch." "Of heaven or hell?"

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"Which of us will it be, Madam Highwayman," the young lieutenant interrupted. Without taking her eyes from the Marquis, she asked, "Which what, young pup?" The lieutenant’s eyes blazed, not with lust but with anger. "Rumor has it that you always leave one of your victims with a kiss. We await with baited breath." Again, that husky laughter. Witch or Angel, Adrian swore to himself that one day soon he would stretch her out on his bed and plunge himself into her tantalizing body. Turning away from the steel in Ravenrook’s eyes, Kara once more made a circuit of the table. When her gaze met her brother’s she had no trouble reading the message there.Buss the colonel’s cheek and get out of here! But Kara wasn’t ready to leave. Lately, she had become frustrated with her role. For the last six months, she interrupted many similar parties and gatherings and was no closer to discovering the identity of the officer who had murdered her parents. Robert had returned last week from London without learning anything of the man who’d raped their mother and ended the reign of the Bodmin Moor highwayman. She was tired of searching for a man who seemed nowhere to be found. She needed something--excitement. These Redcoat officers were no challenge. This pirate though, he was different, dangerous. She wondered what his kiss would be like. "Ah, yes, the kiss," she murmured looking into their eager faces. Shaking herself free of her reveries, she acknowledged the warning in her brother’s eyes. Her cohorts were also getting restless. Sauntering once more towards the Marquis, she said, "I’ve never kissed a pirate. Shall I choose you?" A smile of acknowledgement played across Adrian’s lips as he bent his head in a slight nod. The rope binding his right hand loosened as he continued to strain against it. Smiling, tracing her lips with her tongue to wet them, the masked woman slid onto his lap. Wrapping her arms around his neck, taking care not to stab him with her rapier, she boldly pressed her mouth and torso against his. Always before, Kara had carefully orchestrated her moves and placed a chaste kiss on the cheek or lips of the chosen victim. Then she would leave with a wink and a smile. She intended the same with the Marquis. But, when her lips met his, even though his hands were bound behind his back, he seized control. When she tilted her head and molded her lips to his, he immediately opened his mouth and used his tongue to delicately trace her lips. Surprised, she opened her mouth. Teasing pressure cajoled her to open wider. Then, his tongue invaded her mouth. Untutored in the art of seduction, Kara was immediately lost to the practiced carnality of his kiss. His sensuous lips and expertly teasing tongue had her senses reeling. His mouth moved possessively as his tongue teased hers into a passionate, mating dance. A low moan escaped from her throat, and the rapier clattered to the floor as she clenched his broad shoulders and pressed closer to his body. She could feel her nipples pebble beneath the silk of her shirt, and an aching wetness seemed to pool at the juncture of her thighs. The sharp report of a pistol brought her back to herself. The echo of the shot had not ceased reverberating about the room before she’d leaped from his lap, panting, a fiery blush rising from her soft bosom to her face.

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A satisfied grin twitched on Adrian’s lips as his hot gaze traveled from her bruised lips to the nipples pushing against the soft silk of her shirt. Bloody hell, but she was a passionate wench! "Comero weeth,lady," said the henchman by the door in a low, gravely voice. "Yes, take care," Adrian agreed in a low voice, his meaning entirely different, "you and I are not finished--Angel." His wrist twisted the ropes looser. Teeth gritted against the sensations racing though her body, Kara bent and retrieved her rapier. Gathering her scattered wits, she plastered a seductive smile on her tingling lips as she met the pirate’s hot gaze once again. "Not finished? Then I must have something to remember you, Sir Pirate." Bending so close that he was tempted to bury his face in the shadows between her breasts, she reached behind him and tore the intricate silver clasp from his hair, allowing its thick, ebony waves to fan his shoulders. Hot lust exploded from Adrian’s stare. His hands fisted and he jerked against his bounds. The rope loosened more. "You need only let me lie between your thighs and ride you until you scream with pleasure to remember me, Angel." Flushed with shock and embarrassment, she stepped back away from him and slipped the silver hair clasp under her belt. Blue fire burned in her eyes, and the knuckles of the hand clutching her rapier whitened. Adrian’s groin ached against his too tight breeches. Gods, what passion she had. He felt the knot holding his wrist to the chair slip. Her teeth clenched, Kara allowed her anger full reign. She lifted her free hand to slap him."Until then, Sir Pirate, I do not wish you to forget me!" Wrenching his hand free, Adrian reached to block her blow. Kara acted instinctively to the threat the Marquis presented. She lifted her rapier in defense only to have his hand knock it to the side. It slipped over his arm and laid his cheek open to the bone. Blood splattered across the cards that still lay before him as he jerked his head back, the lust in his eyes changing rapidly to pain and fury as he cursed her with words no lady should hear. Bosom heaving, Kara spun away from the bleeding Marquis and grabbed her cloak and pistol from her henchman. Her hands trembling, she threw the flowing cloak over her shoulders, she strode to the door, the sound of her boot heels rapping out her anger. Before she disappeared into the night, though, Lucian spoke, "Why, Madam Highwayman? Why do you prey only upon the King’s officers?" Kara lifted a shaking hand to swipe a stray tear from her cheek. She gasped when she saw droplets of the Marquis’ blood on her fingers. A shudder raced up her spine as she struggled to still the whirling maelstrom of her emotions. Her cape swirled as she spun once more to face her victims. In a voice that trembled, she spat, "Why? Because, Major, a redcoat officer raped my mother.Ternestatha or Noze daa whye, gentlemen."

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Darkness enveloped her and her men as the door slammed behind them. As his sister disappeared, Robert stared into the fire and fumed.When did she start kissing men on the lips? They’d agreed that she’d kiss them on the cheek. And she wasn’t wearing a corset! How could Tris allow her to display so much skin! And those britches were indecent! When he got home, he was going to put her over his knee! He would marry her off to Grant, that’s what he’d do. That would keep her out of trouble. She cut Ravenrook! How could she be so damn stupid! She was no match for him, and he’d seek revenge. While Robert’s thoughts roiled, the stout colonel glanced at his companions, cleared his throat, and asked, "What do we do now?" Adrian’s furious gaze was locked on the doorway through whichshe had disappeared. Thickening blood dripped from the slash on his cheek, and a deep, red stain rapidly appeared on the shoulder of his white shirt. Futilely, he jerked his free hand. His other bonds held firm. "We wait until one of the damned servants has the inclination to come and release us," he snarled. "Then...?" "Then, I hunt." ~*~ After the mists of Bodmin Moor hid Kara and her men, Grant Bolitho reached across the slight distance between their horses and clutched the bridle of Kara’s horse. As she halted her mare, he grasped her arm and pulled her around to face him. "What do you think you were doing in there?" She jerked her reins from his hand. Her mare shied. "I do what I always do, keep their attention on me while you rob them." "That’s not what I mean and you know it!" "Leave me be, Grant. I don’t have to explain anything to you!" "Shut up, both of you. You’re acting like fools," snarled Tristan Rees, the schoolmaster’s son. "The night has ears. You’ll get us all hanged." Digging her heels into her mare’s sides, Kara sprinted away from Grant. His overly protective attitude was becoming unbearable.

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Two Adrian cursed Ravenrook’s dark, dreary welcome as he stomped through the castle’s drafty passageways. Eventually, he emerged into the kitchen, brightly lit with the dozen lanterns the servants used to keep the castle’s ghosts at bay. Ignoring their stunned expressions at his presence, he jerked the strings of his cloak loose and tossed it onto the back of a chair. "It’s nothing," he stated when his bloodstained shirt drew shocked gasps. Striding past his ashen-faced butler, he yelled into a dark recess in the wall. "Gwyn, damn it, where are you?" Cackling laughter preceded the bent, old woman into the light, and mutters of "witch" drifted over Adrian’s shoulder. He sensed rather than saw the other servants draw away. "Gothwar daa,my lord," the old woman said as she shuffled out of the darkness. He dropped onto a chair and snapped, "It isnot a good evening. Sew up this damned cut." Slowly, she reached out and touched his blood encrusted cheek. A gap-toothed smile appeared as she probed gently. "The Midnight Angel met the Pirate of Ravenrook and mastered him this night." Adrian shifted uncomfortably and muttered an obscenity under his breath. Unperturbed, the old woman continued, "She set her mark upon you. You are hers now." "Damn superstitious nonsense, hag. She’s only a woman, nothing more." "Her destiny marches with yours," Gwyn continued. "Only she can vanquish the devils that haunt you." "You presume much, old woman," Adrian snarled. "If you’re not careful, someone will hang you for a witch." Her cackling laughter rolled over him, but she held her tongue and cleaned the cut on his cheek with warm water then stitched it shut. "You’ll scar, my lord." "What’s one more scar? I’ve plenty already." He held himself still as she jabbed the needle into his skin, mentally cursing the woman responsible. "I have finished, my lord," she stated after smearing a dark salve over the stitches. With a grudging thanks to the old woman, Adrian slipped out of the kitchen to the back stairway. He climbed two dimly lit flights then strode down another darkened hallway. Passing through his study directly into his bedchamber, he dropped his bloodied shirt onto the floor. Clad only in his breeches and boots, he poured brandy into a glass then fell into a worn leather chair. Stretching out his legs, he stared out the huge window that overlooked the cliffs.The image of a black-masked woman with full, ruby lips appeared in his mind. "Damn witch," he muttered into his glass. "She owes me for this cut. I’ll ride her ‘til she begs me to stop."

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~*~ Blue-gray smoke billowed around the two ships as they dipped and swayed amongst the rolling swells, jockeying for position among battle tossed waves. Cannons roared and muskets fired. The stench of gunpowder, sweat, and blood saturated the air. Screams and yells erupted as the ships ground together, and men engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Knocking the sword from the hand of one man and discharging his pistol into the face of another, Adrian fought his way across a deck slick with water, blood, and entrails--searching for his quarry. "Beauchamp! Where are you, you bloody bastard!" A bellow of rage spun Adrian around to meet the attack of the cursing pirate. Throwing his now useless pistol into his opponent’s face, he attacked, jerking a second saber from the body of a pirate pinned to the mast. This two handed attack was too much for Beauchamp, and soon he lay dying at Warrick’s feet, damning his killer to hell. The second of Adrian’s tasks was now complete. Adrian’s eyes flew open to moonlight shining through the great window of his chamber. With an oath he rose, poured another brandy, and tossed it down his throat. His second ghost had returned to haunt him. ~*~ Her face pale and her lips pressed tightly together, Kara sat in the Reverend Palser’s study as Robert paced back and forth. Her hands clenched and unclenched in her skirts as she listened to his tirade. When he glanced her way, she jerked her chin higher and met his icy gaze with one of her own. His piercing blue gaze would have cut to ribbons the composure of a lesser woman. However, never in her life had Kara feared her brother--or any other man. Robert halted before his sister and bent over until his face was only inches fromhers. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" he stormed. "Do you have any idea who it was that you kissed so wantonly last night? Adrian Warrick, the Marquis of Ravenrook. And then to cut him so viciously!" When she didn’t answer, Robert jerked himself away and began to pace again, his chopping arm emphasizing his rage. "Damn it, Kara!" "Don’t you ‘damn it, Kara’ me, Robert Marshall," she snapped back, her memory locked on a grey-eyed pirate and the challenge he had thrown into her face. "I knew it was Ravenrook. Dewi’s father is his gamekeeper, for goodness sake. The Marquis is all the villagers have been talking about since he returned. They say he killed some redcoats and was outlawed. When he was a pirate, he sank at least fifty ships and killed hundreds of men. Now he’s been pardoned, and he’s come home. Besides, he was tied to a chair! How was I to know he’d manage to free one of his hands? I didn’t mean to cut him. It just happened. Besides, I was curious." Astonishment tinting his anger, Robert stopped his angry pacing and turned to face his sister ignoring everything she said except one line. "You were curious? Curious--about Ravenrook? Damn it, Kara! You practically bedded him!" Flushing scarlet, Kara raised her chin and glared at him. "I don’t owe you any explanations, Robert." "Don’t owe me an explanation! I’m your brother."

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"My brother, not my father!" "And since he’s dead, I have as much control over you as he had. Blast it, Kara! We are not playing a game!" "I know that!" she snapped impatiently as she too rose and began to pace. "I knew you’d be there and planned to kiss you. You have no idea how utterly repugnant some of these kisses have been. But Ravenrook, there was something in his eyes, daring me." Her fingers strayed to her lips and in a softer, wondering voice, she continued, "I didn’t know anyone could kiss like that. All those men I kissed these last few months; they were nothing. But the Marquis. Robert, I finally met a man who knew how to kiss back!" Hands now clasped tightly together, Kara glanced imploringly at her brother. "Let’s not fight about this, Robbie. Please. It won’t happen again." A disgruntled tone replaced the anger in his voice. "I guess he could be compelling to women, what with his reputation and all," he agreed reluctantly and against his better judgment. Arguing with her would get him nowhere. "But why did you cut him?" "I didn’t mean to. He got his hand loose, and knocked my blade against his face. I was only going to slap him for what he said to me. No man has the right to say what he said to any woman," she answered heatedly, glaring at him. Robert gaped. "You practically bed the man in front of witnesses, and you take exception when he mentions it? What did you expect?" Her nostrils flared. "A gentlemen would have kept silent." "Gentleman! Warrick is no gentleman!" "I know thatnow !" Kara snapped back. The muscles of his stomach clenching at his sister’s revelations, Robert crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back against the mantle. Ravenrook had given his impressionable sister a taste of passion, and he didn’t like it one bit. Closing his eyes and wiping his face with his left hand, Robert felt most of his anger drain away.At least she was angry with Ravenrook. Once Kara got angry, she’d been almost impossible to control when she was a girl. Now that she was a woman grown--well, hopefully she’d learned her lesson. If Ravenrook learned who she was… Robert’s eyes returned to his sister. She stood with her back to him, staring out the window. As he watched silently, her shoulders slumped. When she turned back to him, a stray tear trickled down her cheek, and the unhappiness in her voice wrung his heart. "You don’t understand," she said in a quiet voice as she crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself. "All those redcoats leering at me, making me feel like, like… Sometimes I’d get home from a raid and just scrub and scrub my skin red because I felt so--dirty. And I’m no closer to finding our parents’ murderer. Will we ever find him, Robbie?" Robert crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. "It’s only been six months, Kara. Army headquarters in London is demanding your capture, and ballads extolling the exploits of the Midnight Angel of Bodmin Moor are being sung in towns and villages from Cornwall to London and back. I was

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barely in London three weeks before I was posted back here. My captain has orders to capture the woman bandit at all costs." "Which only makes it more dangerous for me," Kara answered tiredly as she rested her cheek against his chest. "There are extra dragoons patrolling the moor now. Thank goodness Dewi and Tris know their patrol schedules." "Promise me you’ll stay away from him," Robert said in a suddenly weary voice as he hugged her tighter. "Who?" "Ravenrook." Wrapping her arms around his waist, she answered in a gentler voice, "I promise. I love you, Robbie. Please don’t be angry with me. I’ll be more careful. I never want to see the Marquis of Ravenrook again." Outside the door to the study, Emma Palser closed her eyes and clasped her hands against her bosom. Both she and her husband were well aware of their foster daughter’s midnight exploits. However, if what she had heard was true, Kara had finally taken one chance too many. The Marquis of Ravenrook was no fool, and he made a deadly enemy. "I may be wife to a country minister now," she muttered to the cat curling around her legs, "but I’m still the youngest daughter of the Duke of Dearborne, and I have quite a few well-placed friends. And I know exactly which one will be able to help me. I’ve kept my promise to Edward long enough. It’s time Corinne knew." ~*~ "What have you learned this past week?" Adrian asked Lucian as they enjoyed a fine brandy. Lucian stretched his legs out and sipped his brandy. "Not much more than you’ve learned from your servants. The ‘Angel’ first appeared about six months ago at a private card party given by Colonel Baker for General Boscomb and his staff. Since then, she’s raided the social gatherings and traveling parties of British officers all about Bodmin Moor." Adrian frowned as he stared into the fire. "Never anyone other than soldiers?" "Only officers. She never bothers with the common troops. No one knew why until I asked her. That will raise all sorts of questions at headquarters. Some of our officers have been none too gentle dealing with the local population, especially those involved with smuggling." A smile twitched at the corners of Adrian’s mouth. "That’s the entire adult male population along Cornwall’s coast. Does she ever ride alone?" Lucian shook his head. "Never. There are four to six men with her at all times, and she never attacks any party larger than seven or eight." Adrian swirled the untouched brandy in his glass. "She’s careful and plans her raids ahead of time. Who are her informants?"

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Lucian snorted with disgust. "Every man, woman, or child living about Bodmin Moor will tell their ‘Angel’ everything he or she knows about every officer’s movements." The Marquis chuckled at that information. Above all else, he was, at heart, a Cornishman, and confounding Englishmen was an enjoyable pastime. "It’s no wonder the villagers are loyal to her," Lucian continued ignoring his friend’s smile. "According to rumor, she gives almost everything she steals back to them." His smile gone, Adrian said, "The common people’s loyalty will present some difficulties, but they’re not insurmountable." "You seek revenge for the cut?" Lucian asked indicating the still red gash on Adrian’s cheek. "If she proves to be as lively in bed as I think, I’ll forgive her this little scratch," Adrian answered with a slow grin. "You realize that there’s a reward of one hundred pounds offered for her?" Adrian laughed outright. "That reward has stood for four months. Has anyone even tried to claim it?" Lucian’s lips twitched. "No, but what will you do with her once you’ve got her? The army wants her, and they won’t take kindly to your interference." Adrian rose and sauntered to the window. As always he focused his attention on the rolling sea at the bottom of the cliffs. "I don’t give a bloody damn what the redcoats want," he answered possessively. "Once I have her in my bed, no one will take her from me." "There’s another possibility," Lucian continued. "She first appeared right before you captured that spy. She could be a decoy." Adrian frowned into his brandy. "By preying only on British officers," Lucian continued. "She has their complete attention. They aren’t watching for spies when they think a masked woman might appear out of the mist and kiss them. Then there’s that reward for her. No one seems to know who authorized it." "But why would these traitors want more dragoons here if Cornwall is a rendezvous point?" Adrian asked. "It doesn’t make sense." His friend shrugged. "Maybe there are other plans now. With the entire country’s attention on this Cornish highway woman, a spy could leave from London itself if he were careful. She’s managed to divide your attention, too. You’re supposed to be concentrating on finding spies, not getting a woman into your bed." Pursing his lips, Adrian frowned. "There are only a handful of men who knew I was working for the government. That could mean one of them is involved." Then, frowning at the knock that interrupted their conversation, he snapped, "Come." "My Lord, there’s a man here..."

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"Damn yer eyes, ye bleedin’ Cornishman," bellowed the short, bandy legged Irishman who barged into the study immediately behind the butler. "There’s four hundred and sixty-two bleedin’ steps ta climb up from tha’ bleedin’ slip o sand ye call a beach. I need a bleedin’ drink." Grinning, Adrian rose to his feet as the red headed Irishman grabbed the delicate brandy carafe and guzzled its contents. The Irishman dragged a sleeve across his mouth and asked, "Have ye more, Cap’n?" Nodding towards Adrian’s cheek, he continued, "Caught in bed wi’ another’s man’s wife, were ye boyo?" Adrian smiled and sent the butler for more brandy. After rescuing the delicate, crystal brandy decanter from the Irishman, he said, "Lucian Blake, Paddy O’Rourke. No man gave me this, Paddy. A kiss from a beautiful lady." "She’d be a lively piece then, Cap’n." "I’ll not share this one, Paddy," Adrian warned in a quietly dangerous voice. His gaze hardened as Paddy’s head jerked up. The Irishman never backed down from a fight. His stubby nose had to have been broken at least five times, and he was missing a number of teeth. A scar ran from the left side of his forehead across a permanently squinting eye to his right cheek. He looked like something out of a child’s nightmare. Dropping his gaze from Adrian’s, Paddy glowered at the redcoat officer lounging carelessly in the comfortable leather chair. "Keepin’ comp’ny wi’ bleedin’ redcoats are ye now, boyo?" Adrian motioned Paddy to another chair. "This is one redcoat you can trust. I expected you last week." "Bleedin’ storm," was Paddy’s short answer, "an one o’ Crazy George’s revenue cutters." Lucian’s head snapped up. "By God, Adrian, you haven’t turned to smuggling!" Adrian laughed louder than Paddy. "It’s called free trading in Cornwall, Lucian, but, no, not really. Whoever administered Ravenrook for the crown during my absence made himself very free with my wine cellar. Only fifty bottles were left when I returned. I’m simply restocking at his gracious Majesty’s expense." After a quick knock, the butler reentered the room along with the only footman Adrian employed. Each carried four bottles of fine brandy. After placing them on the sideboard, both men left silently. "This the only swill ye have, boyo?" Paddy grunted as he grabbed a bottle of very fine French brandy and smashed its neck against the edge of the oaken desk. Adrian grinned at Lucian’s wince when Paddy placed the shattered neck in his mouth and began guzzling. "You have the Raven anchored in the cove?" Adrian asked pouring more brandy for Lucian and himself. "Aye, but ye won’t be convincin’ the men to carry all those heavy cases o’ wine and such up all those bleedin’ steps." "Just have them transport it to the beach at the bottom of the cliff. We’ve a winch to bring up supplies."

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With a grunt of acknowledgement, Paddy tossed the now empty bottle into the fireplace and reached for another. "For a small man, he has a large thirst," murmured Lucian. A fond smile played across Adrian’s features as Paddy smashed open the third bottle of brandy. "Paddy takes his work seriously," he said as the Irishman threw back his head and guzzled the bottle’s contents. "He drinks nothing but water or tea while he’s captaining theRaven . He makes up for it when he’s ashore. Another minute or two and he’ll be passed out on the hearth." Exactly two minutes later, Paddy had smiled his wicked grin and slumped to the floor. Rising, Adrian said, "Give me a hand, Lucian." Lucian grabbed his feet. "Why don’t you just let him sleep it off here?" Adrian chuckled. "Paddy is a pirate, my friend, only semi-retired. If he awakens here, he won’t be able to resist the opportunity to steal something. There are a few things in this room I’d rather not lose." "What about the Midnight Angel?" "I’ll find her," Adrian answered as they carried Paddy out the door. "Once I’ve enjoyed her, if she’s involved with the missing military secrets, I’ll turn her over to the authorities." "If she’s not?" "I’ll enjoy her longer." Edging the door open with his elbow, Adrian, with Lucian’s help, carried Paddy to a comfortable but plain room deep in the bowels of the castle. ~*~ Adrian cantered his fine grey stallion through Bodmin Moor and across harvested fields towards the village that clung to the edge of his estate. For the last two days and nights, he’d searched the moor for clues to the hiding place of the Midnight Angel. Luck had not been with him. Approaching the old, slate-roofed church, Adrian slowed his horse to a walk. The stallion reared when a pair of small children appeared suddenly from behind an old tombstone. Kneeing his horse back to the ground, he grumbled under his breath about village children being underfoot. Glancing down at the tombstone that grazed his boot, he deciphered the words etched there. Mary Boson--wife. His eyes widened at the implications of what he’d so carelessly read on the tombstone. According to the rumors he’d heard, the Midnight Angel’s parents were dead. Her highwayman father shot by soldiers. Her mother from suicide. If that was so, they had to be buried somewhere, probably together. If he could find a tombstone that listed both husband and wife he might have her name. There weren’t that many graveyards about the moor and this one was a good place to start. Edging his way closer to the eastern side of the churchyard and the small, two-story house where the minister and his family lived, Adrian slowly rode his horse back and forth among the graves. A largish

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headstone caught his interest and he urged his horse towards it. He’d just about reached the stone when the flash of a drawn sword caught his eye. As he wheeled his horse, he pulled his saber from its scabbard and prepared to defend himself. It took him only a moment to recognize there was no threat from the man in the clerical collar stumbling back from the huge horse that reared over his head. Calming his stallion, he sheathed his sword and dismounted. "Forgive me, Reverend--Palser, is it?" With a nod and relieved smile, Reverend Palser accepted Adrian’s apology. "I fear the fault was mine, my lord. I wasn’t paying attention." "Nor do you regularly expect to find horsemen trotting about your churchyard," Adrian admitted good naturedly as he bent and retrieved the reverend’s sword. "I’ve not heard of many men of God who handle a sword." Palser’s dark eyes twinkled as he accepted his saber from the Marquis. "True, but I injured my back as a lad, and the doctor suggested I take up fencing to promote the strengthening of my muscles. But what are you doing riding among the tombstones, my lord?" Adrian glanced around him. "I’m searching for the graves of a husband and wife who died the same day." "Why?" "Let’s just say I have a debt to settle," Adrian answered, his gloved hand straying to his cheek. Reverend Simon Palser jogged his nimble brain into action. He knew all about the Marquis’ confrontation with Kara. He also knew of the Warrick family’s tenacity for seeking revenge. Both the father and grandfather had been known for quick tempers and long memories. That cut had the present Marquis searching for the Midnight Angel. If he found the graves for which he searched, he’d have a name. He was an intelligent man. With the information his wealth could buy, he’d eventually learn the Angel’s identity. Right now, Ravenrook stood not fifty feet from the grave of the Midnight Angel’s parents. Simon could not allow the Marquis to see that headstone. "My Lord," Simon asked as the younger man was about to remount. "Might I ask a favor of you? No," he continued with a chuckle at the Marquis’ guarded expression. "I’ll not impose on you for money or good deeds, though the parish could use both. Would you be willing to cross swords with me?" He grinned broadly at the astonishment on Adrian’s face. "It’s just that there’s no one else in the village who knows how to handle a blade, my lord, and I am tired of fencing with shadows." Adrian contemplated the older man who watched him so eagerly. Why not? He’d been the parish’s minister for years. He might be able to help in the search for the Angel. "It will be my honor, Reverend. Not every man can say he crossed swords with a man of God." Tying his horse to a stunted tree, Adrian drew his blade from its sheath. The Reverend Palser, a tallish, lanky man with a plain face, stood ready. After a respectful salute, Adrian engaged. He’d spar a bit and then disarm him as gently as possible. Though he was much younger, Adrian was forced to bring all his skill with a blade to bear for his defense, for Reverend Palser was a much more talented swordsman than he had anticipated. Then, after an especially intensive attack, his blade flew from his hand.

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Shocked, Adrian regarded the smiling man who stood before him. "How did you do that?" Palser retrieved Adrian’s blade and handed it back to him. "If you will follow along with me, my lord." Step by step, Reverend Palser led Adrian through the attack he’d used. "Is there a counter?" "Of course, my lord. You begin thus..." "Very good, my lord," beamed Reverend Palser as Adrian disarmed him. "You learn quickly." "A trait I have found to be very useful, Reverend," Adrian answered with a bow. "My deepest gratitude for your instruction." Somewhat bemused that a man at least twenty-five years his senior had so quickly disarmed him, Adrian nodded his agreement when Reverend Palser invited him into his house for a glass of sherry. He untied his horse and followed the older man from the churchyard unaware that the tombstone of the Midnight Angel’s parents stood only twenty feet away. ~*~ When Kara heard the clang of sabers, she rushed to the open window of her tiny bedroom. Her eyes widened when she recognized the Marquis of Ravenrook sparring with her foster father. She reached under her bed for her rapier, ready to fly to his defense when she heard their good-natured laughter. Returning to the window, her eyes widened in amazement when she saw the Marquis had lost his sword. Good. The arrogant Marquis needed humbling. But then indignation blossomed when she realized Reverend Palser was teaching both his special attack and its counter to the most infuriating man she had ever met. Then, even more disheartening was the fact that the good Reverend was leading that horrible man to the house. How can he do that? Why would he show that man how to counter his attack! Gathering up her skirts, Kara turned towards the door, but it opened before she reached it. Emma Palser came into the room and rested her back against the door she’d closed so quietly. "By the look on your face, you saw. Kara, if you value your freedom and that of your brother, you’ll remain in this room until the Marquis leaves." "But…" "No buts, Kara," Emma Palser continued in the sternest voice Kara had ever heard. "The Marquis of Ravenrook is an extremely astute man. You cannot risk..." "He won’t recognize me. I was wearing my mask." "And if he does, it’s not only your life but that of Robbie’s you forfeit. They’ll consider him your accomplice, and you’ll both hang. The Marquis won’t remain long. You ride tonight. Get what rest you can." Kara noddedgrudgingly. Muttering under her breath, she flopped down on her bed, but she didn’t argue with her stepmother’s logic. She wouldn’t endanger Robert for anything. She and Robert had never

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hidden their plans from the Palsers. They were always waiting for her at the end of every ride. After Emma left the room, Kara punched her pillow, sure she would never be able to rest as long asthat man was here. ~*~ "Ye want me to ride one o’ these great beasties! Take your bleedin’ redcoat mate with ye." Adrian grinned at the Irishman. "We’re going to a place where he wouldn’t be especially welcome, Paddy." Muttering blasphemies under his breath, Paddy crawled up onto his horse and followed Adrian through Ravenrook’s gates. Adrian smiled to himself. For all his grumbling, Paddy was a fairly decent rider. As they rode across the moor,Adrian ignored mist that swirled and eddied about the horses’ feet, but Paddy looked around anxiously. "Faith but the little people will be comin’ for us," he mumbled then took a pull on the flask he kept under his shirt. "Stay on the road and you’ll be fine," Adrian answered making no attempt to deny his friend’s comments. Convincing this particular Irishman that the "little people" didn’t exist was futile. After twenty-five minutes of steady riding, Adrian pulled his horse to a halt. "The inn is just ahead. You remember the plan?" "Aye, Captain. Meself goes in after you come out. I keep me ears open and me mouth shut. I remember." "And keep your ears open for any talk about strangers moving about the moor or asking for transportation to France." The Irishman’s ears would have pricked up if possible. "Something I need to know about, laddie?" "Not yet, Paddy. Just let me know if you hear anything." Ten minutes after Paddy left him, Adrian shoved open the door of the inn and stepped inside. Blue-grey smoke swirled and the odors of tobacco, sour ale, and unwashed bodies rose and eddied about the torch lit room. Conversations died as the inn’s patrons recognized Adrian. His lips quirked sardonically as some of the moor’s most dangerous men stirred restlessly and ducked away from his gaze. Even though he held an English title, his bloodlines reached as far back into Cornish history as did theirs. What’s more, his recent reputation preceded him. He had less to fear among these smugglers and cutthroats than did most others. After all conversations died, Adrian strode through the crowded room and stopped at one of the central tables, which was quickly vacated. With one sweep of his arm, he knocked the mugs and cups to the stained floor. "I want information, and I’m willing to pay well for it." Removing a pouch from inside his shirt, he untied its neck and upended it. A waterfall of yellow gold tumbled out and bounced onto the table. Eyes widened and mouths began to water.

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"Two hundred golden guineas to the man who can tell me where to find the Midnight Angel," Adrian said quietly, "and you have the promise of Ravenrook that the British will learn naught of her from me." A low buzz flew around the room, and he smiled to himself. There is no honor among thieves."I’ll leave the gold here. Send to me at Ravenrook when you wish to talk." Turning, he strode back through the company and disappeared into the night. Tristan Rees left the shadowed corner where he sat and strode to the table that held the gold. Voice dripping with lethal promise, he growled, "The first man who touches it will wake up to find himself dead." ~*~ Kara and her men waited on the edge of the moor. Grant Bolitho pointed. "There, there is the coach." Looking towards the east, Kara spotted the faint lights of a coach glimmering in the weak light of the crescent moon. "Come, then," she said adjusting her mask. "Let’s relieve the general of his gold." Touching her heels to her mare’s sides, Kara led her men towards the approaching coach. "Stand and deliver," she called as one of her men grabbed the bridle of the lead horse. She smiled cynically when the driver and his companion quickly raised their hands. Kara kept her pistol trained on the driver while one of her men flung open the coach and leaned inside. A frown replaced her smile as he quickly withdrew. She dismounted and approached the door and looked inside. Perusing her slowly through a jeweled quizzing glass was an elegantly dressed, grey-haired woman. "So, you are the infamous Midnight Angel," she said in a surprisingly strong voice. "Just what have you got to say for yourself, waylaying an old woman such as I?" Kara grinned at the woman’s temerity. Faced with four cocked pistols, she had the audacity to be indignant. "Forgive us," she said with an elegant bow. "We weren’t expecting a gentle lady. Pardon our intrusion. You may pass on.Dew boz geno ." Kara withdrew from the coach and mounted her horse. Followed by her men, she disappeared into the desolate moor. Inside the coach, Adrian’s aunt smiled to herself. Karalyn Marshall was all that she had expected and more. "And God be with you too, my child."

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Three As always, the billowing, fey mists of Bodmin Moor concealed Kara as she and her men galloped away from the coach. Only the muffled hoof beats of their horses broke the damp silence. Only those who knew the moor well would dare its maze of paths and bogs on such a night. When she reached the crest of a small hill, Kara pulled her mare to a halt. "Who gave us the information about the coach, Jock?" she snapped as her mount pirouetted, her anger communicated by the mare’s restiveness. "I’m sorry, Kara, but I did," Grant Bolitho said sheepishly. "I heard Father and John discussing the visit of one of Father’s old army acquaintances. When I heard of a coach journeying this way, I thought it was he." As she settled her mare, Kara grimaced. "Our first mistake. Thank goodness that old woman didn’t become hysterical.Well, it can’t be helped now. All we can hope is that she tells the red coats we didn’t steal anything. Now be off with you. We’ll meet in three days time in the usual place." Grant scowled. "You shouldn’t ride alone." "I’m not a child. I’ve been riding the moor since I was a girl. I’ll be fine. Just leave me be!" Muttering under her breath, Kara pivoted her mare and spurred south towards the village. Grant was getting worse; he was starting to act like he owned her. She was going to have to do something about him. Patting her cantering mare’s neck, she asked, "What do you think, girl?" The mare swiveled her ears back. "I know what we’re doing is dangerous, and Grant worries about me. So do the others. But I worry about them, too. That doesn’t mean I want to marry any of them!" As the mists shifted around her, Kara eased her mare to a trot and then to a slow walk. Bogs lined both sides of the path here, and she didn’t want to risk miring her mount. However, the mare was sure-footed and quite canny when it came to finding solid ground. She needed little guidance to remain on the path. As her mare moved along at a rapid walk, Kara allowed her mind to wander, as it did all too often lately, back tothat night. When she told Robbie she never wanted to see the Marquis again, she’d told the truth--at the time. Since then, though, the kiss she’d shared with him leaped into her mind more and more often--and how that kiss made her feel. Musing, she let her mare pick her own way along the path. She didn’t remember how many men she’d kissed since she started her masquerade. In the beginning, she’d done nothing more than press her lips to the cheek of the youngest man present. As time went on she became bolder, allowing her mouth to rest against the lips of her chosen victims. Eventually she moved her lips over theirs. More than once, the man had tried to take control of the kiss, but she simply pulled her mouth from his when that happened, until

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Adrian Warrick. Warrick was different. Warrick was dangerous. Warrick was--compelling. Sighing, she shifted uncomfortably in her saddle. From the moment she’d walked through the door, his magnetic gaze caught and held her attention, and his devil may care attitude had been a challenge she couldn’t resist. She should have listened to Dewi and stayed away from him. As soon as she touched his lips… If she hadn’t been sitting on his lap, she’d have fallen to the floor. Her legs wouldn’t have supported her. She trembled at her memories. How did he get her mouth open? And his tongue! She--liked it.Just remembering his mouth on hers shortened her breath, and her nipples pebbled at the memory. She moaned, her body demanding things she didn’t quite understand. Then she shivered and remorse stabbed at her brain. How could she have cut him the way she did! Even after what he said, he was bound! Well, he did have one hand free, but that didn’t matter. She’d attacked a man who couldn’t defend himself! My God, what kind of monster had she become? Was her revenge worth this? A soft whicker from her mare drew Kara’s attention. "You aren’t worried about my problems are you? All you want is a warm stall and bucket full of oats." Concentrating on her riding, Kara urged her mount towards home. ~*~ Adrian gave his horse his head. With the silvery mist swirling about his legs, the sure-footed beast seemed to float across the moor "Halt, in the name of the Crown!" He pulled his stallion to a halt as Lieutenant Robert Marshall led his troop of four red-coated soldiers out of the fog. Was this a regular patrol? Or had he stumbled onto something else? "My lord," the lieutenant said with a slight bow. "I didn’t realize you rode the moor tonight. My apologies for interrupting your journey." His eyes narrowing, Adrian contemplated the man before him. Since the night he’d been robbed by the Midnight Angel, he’d been in Robert Marshall’s company twice, and he didn’t trust him. His instincts told him there was more to the young man than was evident, but he couldn’t understand what. Could Marshall be involved with the spies? No. That wasn’t possible. According to the report Lucian had seen at army headquarters, he’d only received his commission a little less than two months ago and had never been in England before that. The young lieutenant had been raised in Wales by his grandfather after his parents had been killed in a carriage accident when he was a lad of ten. He had one younger sister, and would inherit a baronetcy when his grandfather died. He’d never been near naval headquarters and had been in London scarcely a month before he was posted here. He definitely was not a spy. Still, Adrian’s instincts clamored a warning about this affable young officer.

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Pulling his horse in step with Robert’s chestnut gelding, the Marquis said innocuously, "No offense given, lieutenant. Every now and then, this fellow decides he wants a good run, and there’s nothing to do but give in." Robert’s mind whirled as he chuckled.Why was Ravenrook looking at him like that? He could see the suspicion in the older man’s eyes. Why? He had to say something, but what? Horses. That was it. Now would be a good time to offer some of that false information Mum concocted about his parentage. "My grandfather had such a horse once, big chestnut brute. Insisted on having his own way. Savaged a groom once who wouldn’t let him into the paddock with some mares. This fellow I’m riding now is from his last crop of foals." "Your grandfather raises horses, then?" the Marquis asked casually. Time to change the subject. He’d not reveal more to him than he had to.Cocking his head,Robert pulled his horse to a halt. "Did you hear something, my lord? It’s been a week and a half since the Midnight Angel struck. She should soon be out and about again." All six men sat silently, the jingling of their horses’ bits softly punctuating the stillness. Adrian’s gaze shifted from the empty moor back to the lieutenant. What was he hiding? If he had more time…Then he asked, "Don’t you fear riding the moor with only four men?" A grin twitched the lieutenant’s lips, and he ducked his head in what seemed to be embarrassment as he urged his horse forward once more. "Ever since the night the Angel called me a young pup and said I should still be on leading strings, the colonel decided I have nothing to fear from her." Adrian nodded. So it was a regular patrol. Looking for the Angel, were they? They’ll not have her before he would. "What do you men think?" Adrian asked turning to the dragoons riding behind him. "We follow the lieutenant, yer lordship," answered the man wearing corporal’s stripes. Grinning, the lieutenant interrupted. "They’re all Welsh. And I’ve yet to meet a Welshman who didn’t think he could track a ghost in the fog." Barking with laughter, Adrian whirled his horse. He still believed there was more to this young officer than met the eye, but he wanted to get back to Ravenrook before Paddy returned. "Good luck to you, lieutenant. We’ve no fog, but there’s plenty of mist and more than a few ghosts haunt Bodmin Moor." ~*~ Lips pursed, Grant Bolitho drew his horse to a halt. His friends halted about him. "Grant?" He looked up as the voice of his friend Jock brought his thoughts back. "I don’t like it. We should never have allowed her to ride off alone."

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The huge man on the horse next to him nodded in agreement. Martin Harden, the blacksmith’s son and, at twenty-seven, the oldest member of the band, had been pulling allof them from one fix or another most of their lives. "Aye, no matter what she says, Kara should not ride alone. There be redcoats on the moor tonight." "Let’s go then," said Grant, eagerly spurring his horse south. ~*~ Halting next to one of the many standing stones that dotted the moor, Adrian’s stallion raised his head and whinnied. Sure his horse had scented a herd of wild ponies, Adrian patted the grey’s neck. When the Midnight Angel rode a particularly fine black mare out of the fog towards him, his eyes widened. Then, he grinned. "Well met, Angel," he greeted her in a low voice as he rested his arms on the pommel of his saddle. "You shouldn’t be riding alone. Danger roams Bodmin Moor at night." Kara gasped and reined her mare to an abrupt halt, thankful that she had not yet removed her mask. Then she recognized the man before her. "Damn and blast." Adrian grinned and urged his horse towards her. "Such words from a lady,Leannoin ." "Some of them I learned from you, my lord," she snapped, holding her ground, her eyes drawn to the angry red line that slashed across his cheek, "and I amnot your sweetheart." "You will be," he answered, his husky voice enveloping her like a soft, velvet cloak, causing the fine hairs on her arms to rise. Shivering, Kara raised her chin defiantly. "I--think--not." Adrian’s rich chuckle rolled over her again as his lust filled gaze raked her body. "I can promise you more pleasure in my bed than you’ve had from any of your other lovers, Angel, and I give you Ravenrook’s oath that the British will never know of our liaison. Afterwards, you will be free to leave--if you choose to do so. If not, I offer youcarte blanche ." Both astonished and insulted, Kara’s mouth dropped open as her gaze leaped from his cheek to his silvery eyes, and her mind leaped back to a conversation she’d had with her foster mother not so long ago. Emma Palser had very firm views about what a young lady should and should not know. Unscrupulous men abounded, her foster mother had said, and men would find her beautiful. Without a powerful family to protect her, some might consider her fruit ripe for the plucking. Therefore, the good reverend’s wife had explained some things to her that other girls never learned. Kara understood exactly what the Marquis meant. "Carte blanche! Why you insufferable, egotistical ass! I wouldn’t be your mistress if you were the last man on Earth!" Then, managing to rein in her rising temper and seeking to disarm him mentally, Kara swallowed most of her anger and said, "Besides, you don’t even know if I am worth so much, my lord." Adrian threw back his head, and roared with laughter. Then, with a challenge in his voice he said, "I’ll

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bargain with you, Angel. A duel, here, now. If you win, you’re free to go. "And if you win, my lord?" "You know what I want,m’ eudail ." "You have not yet won the right to call memy darling , Sir Pirate," Kara bantered saucily. His appalling proposal aside, trading verbal sallies with the handsome Marquis was becoming enjoyable. Besides, she was very good with a blade. He would not be prepared for her. Adrian dismounted and led his horse off to one side. Then he turned back to Kara. "Surely you wouldn’t chance that fine mare coming to harm, Angel?" With a snort of annoyance, she dismounted and slapped her mount on the rump. The mare immediately trotted over to the Marquis’ stallion and rubbed her nose against his shoulder. "Traitor," Kara mumbled under her breath. Adrian tossed his cloak to the ground, unbuckled his sword belt, and drew his saber from its sheath. Saluting Angel silently, he held himself ready. Kara jerked the strings of her own cape open and tossed it aside. Then she too undid her sword belt, drawing her rapier as it dropped to the ground. "I will give you another scar to match the first," she promised, twirling the point of her blade in a small circle. He touched his cheek. "I think not, Angel, and I shall have you impaled on another sword before this night is ended.En garde. " Kara closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, instinctively knowing that he would not attack until she was ready. She’d learned her lessons well from Reverend Palser. Anger was never part of a duel. To allow it in was to lose. Opening her eyes, she focused her steady, gaze on him. "Very well, Sir Pirate, I am ready." Adrian bowed to his opponent and then sprang to the attack reckoning that he had three advantages over the Angel, his size and weight, superior skill, and a superior weapon. The rapier she carried was a fine blade, but his heavier saber could snap it easily. The duel would be short, and he would spread her thighs for the first time this night here--surrounded by the mists. After the first few strokes, Adrian knew he’d miscalculated on all three counts. Obviously aware that his height and weight gave him an advantage, the Angel did not remain stationary and parry with him. Instead, she moved about gracefully in swift feints, making him chase her. Kara moved rapidly--a riposte here, a fleche there, never standing still. Instead, she concentrated on skill and finesse. Reverend Palser had taught her everything he learned from his Italian fencing master plus a few moves he’d invented himself, always emphasizing skill over strength. Though she was strong for a woman, he’d stated over and over, she would never be able to trade blows with a large man. But, if she relied on skill instead of brute force, she’d be able to hold her own against almost any man.

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"I compliment you--on your skill, Angel," Adrian hissed as her blade almost slipped past his guard. A tight smile on her lips, her eyes never leaving his face, Kara dipped her head in acknowledgement of his praise. She did not answer him. "Your blade is one of the finest I’ve ever seen, quite deceptive in appearance," he continued as he lunged. Kara sidestepped easily. The Marquis was not as skilled as she thought. "My father’s," she answered tersely. "Ah yes, the man killed by a British officer. Who was he?" She smiled but didn’t answer. In spite of the cool night air, Adrian could feel the sweat beading on his brow and trickling down his back as he traded blows with the masked woman. Hell, but she was good. Where in the world did she learn to fight? Adrian feinted to his left and grunted with dismay as she pulled back and waited for him to engage her again. She tossed her long ebony braid back over her shoulder and grinned at him. During the course of their duel, her hat had fallen and her hair had tumbled down her back. If he’d grab that braid, he’d have her. As soon as the thought entered his head, he discarded it. He’d not defeat her with trickery; he’d win her fairly. Kara stepped back and watched her opponent warily. She knew exactly how much endurance she had, and she was rapidly reaching her limit. That afternoon, Reverend Palser reminded her not to use his special attack if she ever crossed swords with Ravenrook. He could not only counter it, he would know where she learned it. She kept a smile plastered on her face and prayed for fate to lend a hand. Unfortunately, fate decided to aid the Marquis. After a particularly fierce exchange, Kara was forced back and her feet became entangled with the sword belt she’d dropped. As she fell, the back of her head hit the ground, and she became momentarily dazed. Recognizing victory, Adrian tossed his saber aside and fell upon her. Grabbing her rapier, he jerked it from her hand and tossed it aside. In seconds, Kara’s wits returned, and she found herself gazing into his triumphant, silver eyes. Still, she would not admit defeat. "You did not disarm me!" "No," Adrian murmured against her cheek when she twisted her mouth from his. "This was not a fair duel!" His rich chuckle played havoc with her rapidly deteriorating composure.

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"I wish to continue the duel!" she cried, twisting--frantically. Adrian’s warm mouth was successfully coaxing a response from her curious body as he nuzzled her neck and placed feather light kisses on whatever part of her skin he could reach. She struggled to no avail. He was pounds heavier and used his weight to control her struggles. "You’ve not lost,Leannoin ," he murmured against her throat, sending shivers of expectation up her spine as his warm lips nuzzled and nipped her slender neck. He brought his hands up to still her thrashing head, resting most of his weight on his forearms so he didn’t crush her and using his powerful thighs to imprison her legs. "You’ve won more than you can imagine." "Let me up," Kara gasped, fearing her body’s reaction to this virile man. "I think not, Angel," Adrian whispered huskily as his lips caressed the creamy skin displayed by the vee of her shirt. Then he brought his mouth up to capture hers. Once again, she was lost. Her nipples pebbled instantly, and a now familiar moisture seeped between her thighs. Adrian held nothing back. His kiss was both forceful and tender, demanding a response and sharing his passion. At first, he played with her mouth, molded his lips to hers, sucked on her lower lip, and teased with his tongue. Then, with a whimper, she surrendered completely. Shyly, she opened her mouth, touching her tongue to his. Adrian groaned deep in his throat. As her tongue caressed his, he deepened his kisses. "Yes,Leannoin ," he murmured as she arched her body against his. Sliding a knee between hers and spreading her thighs apart, he rested the hard bulge of his aching manhood against her. "Surrender to me," he cajoled softly against her lips. In one tiny, still sane corner of her mind, Kara knew she should be fighting him, but her body refused to obey her mental commands. Her arms crept up around his neck, and soon she answered his kisses with her own, her tentative but curious tongue dancing more boldly with his. A low moan escaped from her throat answered by another groan of pleasure from the Marquis. One hand slipped down to cup her full breast, and his thumb flicked her turgid nipple through the silk of her shirt. She arched into his hand. "Yes, Angel," he whispered, and as his kisses became even more demanding,andheground his hips into hers. She answered him with increased passion of her own, her hips arching against his. Stroking her cheek, Adrian’s fingers encountered the silk of her mask. Now he would learn who she was. As he was about to slip it over her head, the sharp report of a pistol shot echoed across the moor, and a bullet plowed into the ground by Adrian’s hip.

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"Rise slowly, my lord, without the mask. If it leaves her face, you will not see the dawning of another day. " "Blast!" Adrian mumbled. Then he added, "You would hang." "So be it." Adrian did not doubt the deadly words the young man threw at him. If he looked upon the face of Bodmin Moor’s Midnight Angel, he was a dead man. The woman who lay so suddenly still beneath him held the undying loyalty of her followers. With a silent curse, he lifted himself up off her body and held out his hand. She slapped it away. Pushing herself to her feet, she retrieved her cloak, sword, and sword belt and hastily joined her men. She ignored both the passion and anger in his gaze when she turned to face him again. "What should we do with him?" Angel’s confederate growled in a quietly furious voice from atop his horse. His pistol never wavered. For long moments, Kara’s blue gaze locked with the grey flint in Ravenrook’s. Emotionally exhausted, she fought to sustain her rage. The fact that her men had seen her wanton behavior gave her the strength of purpose she needed to maintain her anger--with herself. Furious for surrendering to the Marquis’ kisses, she turned away from his all too knowing gaze and mounted her mare. Nevertheless, she was unable to say the words that would bring harm to him. "Let him be. It was my own fault. I wasn’t paying attention. Come, let’s go." "My Lady..." stuttered Jock. "Let him be!" She grabbed the reins of Adrian’s stallion, straightened her shoulders, and glared at him. Then she said, "I’ll release him on the moor, my lord. Perhaps he will come home." Adrian clenched his fists but acknowledged her comment with a terse nod, remaining silent, blood pounding in the half healed cut on his cheek. Angry and sexually frustrated, he didn’t trust his voice. He was, however, quite aware that Angel had been more than flustered by his kisses--she had been an active participant. The hips that had pillowed his aching hardness had arched invitingly against his. The black haired vixen could have ordered her men to shoot him or beat him within an inch of his life--though he would have bestowed more damage on them than they’d have anticipated. But she’d ordered them away. In time, he was sure, she would come to his bed willingly. Silently, he watched as the Midnight Angel disappeared into the mist, her men following her one by one. Finally only one remained; his pistol pointed at Adrian’s chest. He tensed and the blood pounded more furiously in his cut as the muzzle lowered until it pointed at his groin. The woman’s control on this particular henchman was perilously close to an end. "Forget her, my lord. She is not one of your doxies to be used and tossed aside," the masked man said in a low, gravelly voice. Then he, too, wheeled his horse into the mist. Angry as he was, Adrian still registered the cultured strains of an educated voice even though the bandit did his best to disguise it. Angel’s voice bespoke gentle rearing as well. A smile appeared on his face.

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Bodmin Moor’s Midnight Angel and her band were undoubtedly members of the local gentry. Perhaps it was time he met his neighbors. He picked up the plumed hat that lay at his feet. The scent of her perfume still clung to it. "Tereba nessa, Leannoin," he murmured to the swirling mist. "We will meet again." After ten minutes of hard riding, Kara almost drew her blade again when Grant reached over and grabbed the rein of her mare, pulling her to a stop. "Kara!" he demanded in a low voice. "Stop! What are you doing?" "Running from the devil," she snarled. "How did you find me?" "The sounds of your blades clashing carried across the moor. Damn it, Kara, you can’t go riding on the moor by yourself anymore. There are too many flaming redcoats about. Not to mention that bastard Ravenrook!" "I have told you that I don’t need a nursemaid, Grant Bolitho. Leave me be!" "Grant’s right, Lass," Jori agreed. "It be too dangerous for ye to ride alone." "Damn right, it’s too dangerous," snapped an angry voice out of the mist. Pistols and sabers were drawn as Robert and his four dragoons rode into their midst. Luckily, Kara and her company were still masked. "I heard a pistol shot. What the hell is going on?" Robert snapped. "Ravenrook," was all Grant said, glancing uneasily at the four dragoons sitting quietly on their horses. Robert cursed fluently. Then, "What happened to the coach?" "This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion," Kara grumbled. "The Marquis is about two miles behind us." "On foot, I take it," Robert commented dryly, nodding towards the Marquis’ horse. "Well, I couldn’t just let him mount up and follow us!" "Here, give me the reins. I’ll go rescue his lordship. You get home." With an angry glare for Grant, Kara handed the grey’s reins to her brother and urged her horse away. Her men followed. Only Grant remained behind. In a low voice, mindful of the dragoons at Robert’s back, Grant said, "If we hadn’t arrived when we did, he’d have raped her then and there. It’s gone too far, Rob. It’s time to stop." With a scowl Robert said, "Move along. You shouldn’t be out here alone either." As soon as Grant was out of earshot, Robert turned to his men and commanded in a low voice, "You

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didn’t see or hear anything." Then he handed each of them a gold coin from his purse. According to their files, all four had been given one of two choices for crimes committed back in Wales, join the dragoons or hang. He was sure they’d keep what they’d seen tonight to themselves. The men grinned. If the lieutenant wanted to make a few extra guineas helping the smugglers, it was fine with them. After Grant left them, Robert led his men in search of the Marquis of Ravenrook. The piercing whistle that rolled out over the moor and caused the stallion to whinny and tug at the reins gave him a fairly good indication in which direction to search. As he led his men south, Robert tried to decide what to do about Kara. No matter what Grant said, he doubted very much that Warrick would have had to rape her. Given his sister’s earlier declarations, she’d have been a willing participant. ~*~ Kara pulled her mare to a halt behind the parish church and dismounted. "You’ve escorted me home, lads.Gothewhar daa." As she pulled at a hidden lever in the stonewall behind the church, five of her companions bid Kara good night. A portion of the church’s back wall silently moved to reveal a ramp, Kara stepped down into the darkness. "Kara, please," Grant pleaded. "You know I love you." "Grant, you think you love me because I don’t sit and embroider or paint water colors all day like your sisters. I think of you as a brother, nothing more. If you care for me as much as you say, you’ll leave me be," she answered. "Now go home." She hardened her heart as his shoulders slumped with defeat. When he opened his mouth, she quickly turned away and led her mare down into the darkness. Once she reached the bottom of the ramp, Kara pulled another lever and the wall slid back into place. Leading her mare around a corner, they were both soon bathed in the warm glow of lantern light. The mare joined the other two horses in the four stalls against the north wall. With a troubled mind, she pulled off her mask. Then she unsaddled her mare and fetched her oats. So intent was she on her musings, Kara didn’t realize she was not alone. "I must say, my dear, I am impressed." Shocked, Kara whirled, her eyes widening as she saw the same elderly, grey-haired woman whose coach they had stopped earlier on the moor. "Who? How?" "I brought her," Emma Palser stated in a determined tone as she walked out of the shadows. "This is Corinne Warrick, Marchioness of Ravenrook."

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The blood rushed from Kara’s face and she grabbed her mare’s mane before her knees buckled. "Mother! What have you done?" The Marchioness’s merry laughter echoed throughout the chamber. "Be easy, my child. I am not here to do you any harm." A whisper of air swirled around her ankles. Someone else had opened the secret door. "Damn it, Kara!" Robert bellowed as he rounded the corner. He stumbled to a halt when he saw the elegantly dressed woman standing with Mrs. Palser. "Robert," Kara said, nervously, "meet the Marchioness of Ravenrook." He paled at the implication. "Tush, children," the Marchioness said. "I told Emma not to introduce me as such." "They needed to understand what could happen," Emma stated, fists planted on her hips. "The game they play has become much too dangerous. And, with so many dragoons about, the free traders are having difficulties with their cargoes. My loves," Mrs. Palser continued in a pleading tone, "you are putting your stepfather and Master Rees in danger. They’ve had to cut back on the free trading since you started your riding, Kara. The poor people are beginning to suffer." "You only had to tell us," Robert interjected gently as Kara nodded with agreement. "We never wanted to cause harm to anyone, but you shouldn’t have brought a stranger here." "But I am no stranger, Robert, though I have never met you. Before I married into the Warrick family, I was the only daughter of Robert Marshall." "Robert--Marshall?" Robert stuttered as his sister’s eyes widened. "Yes, Robert. You were named for your grandfather even though your father thought he’d been disowned. I’m your Aunt Corinne." His hand braced against the wall so he didn’t fall to his knees, Robert stared at the Marchioness. "You mean, that the story Mum made up about me having a grandfather is true?" "Yes, it is." A suddenly tearful Kara lifted her hand, extending it towards the other woman. "We have a family? You’re my aunt?" Tears rolled down Corinne’s cheeks as well as she gathered Kara into her arms. "Yes, love. You have a family." As Kara cried on her aunt’s shoulder, Robert ran his fingers through his hair and locked gazes with the Marchioness. "Then why have we never heard of you before?" "Because I didn’t tell her where you were," Emma answered. "Your father made Simon and me swear that if anything should ever happen to him, we would not contact his father. But, I heard you two arguing in the study that morning. I knew then that things had gone too far. I’ve known Corinne since we were in

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school together; and, well, contacting her was not breaking my oath to your father, so to speak." Kara pushed herself out of her aunt’s arms. "But we still haven’t lured the murderer to us." "And you won’t," Corinne interjected. "He’s stationed on the Scottish border." Robert shifted his weight. This couldn’t be happening. Kara wasn’t supposed to ever discover the name of the man responsible for their parents’ death, at least not until after he was dead. He had to stop the Marchioness from revealing his name. He was too late. "Major Alexander Sedgewick," Corinne finished. A furious light began to burn in Kara’s eyes. "We must be off to Scotland, Robert." Robert closed his eyes and wiped his face with his hand. Now what was he supposed to do? Kara knew about Sedgewick. Corinne’s laughter trilled about the chamber, causing Kara’s eyes to harden and her lips to firm. "Silly girl," Corinne said with a smile, "by the time you arrive, he won’t be there anymore. He’s been recalled to London. Besides, Robert can’t just pick up and leave. He’d be hanged or shot as a deserter." Not at all pleased with her aunt’s reply, Kara snapped, "How do you know all of this? You’re only one old woman." Robert’s lips twitched as Emma gasped and covered her mouth with her hands at Kara’s comment. His sister was nothing if not direct. And just maybe, he’d be able to use this new family member to keep Kara out of trouble. Their aunt laughed outright. "I may be an old woman, Kara, but I have many friends in many places. Fifteen years ago, I attended a supper party where Sedgewick entertained the company with his daring tale of how he dispatched the infamous Highwayman of Bodmin Moor. Of course, at the time, I didn’t know the highwayman’s identity, and none of the villagers had divulged his name to Sedgewick." Robert pushed himself away from the wall and asked, "When did you learn our father was dead?" Corinne sighed. "Eight years ago, Emma sent a letter informing me of his death, explaining that it was his wish that I not be informed until then. Following your father’s orders, she never mentioned you." "Robert," she continued, "your father and I had an older brother, Richard. He and his wife died in a carriage accident, childless. You are heir to my father’s baronetcy." He paled. "That part of Mum’s story is true too?" "Yes," Corinne said with a smile, "Papa hoped Edward had sired a child, and he has spent these last eight years searching for you, but the Cornish... Let’s just say his men could discover nothing." "But what do we do now?" Kara interjected. "If this Sedgewick won’t be coming here, how do we catch him?" With a very bright smile, Corinne said, "Simple, my dear, you and I go to London."

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"London!" "Of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get on to Ravenrook and see just what my nephew is about." "How--Aunt?" Robert asked steadily, "are you aunt to both Kara and I and Warrick." With a smile, Corinne answered, "You are my brother’s children. My husband was Adrian’s uncle, his father’s older brother. We had no children, so Adrian became my husband’s heir." "I am family tohim !" Kara gasped. "I guess you might look at it that way, dear, though not through blood," Corinne answered with a chuckle. "Now I really must go. I’ll come for tea tomorrow, and we’ll make our plans. Good night, my loves," she said giving both Robert and Kara hugs. "I’ll see you tomorrow." "Well this is certainly a fine kettle of fish," Robert said after Emma led Corinne from the chamber. After a quick kiss of farewell on his sister’s forehead, he left the chamber. He had only a short time to report to headquarters. He also had a great deal to think about. The story Emma had fabricated about his parentage was true! He really did have a Welsh grandfather who was a baron. As he closed the secret door and mounted his horse, Robert pursed his lips. He was his grandfather’s heir. That meant there’d also be a dowry for Kara. A smile followed that thought. Maybe he could talk the Marchioness into chaperoning Kara for season in London. If he could get her betrothed and then married, she’d be safe. After Robert left, Kara remained in the hidden stable. That night, her mare got a more thorough grooming than usual, for she used the smooth, rhythmic stokes of the brush to steady her nerves. "I’d have surrendered all to the Marquis," she mumbled to her mare. "My God, what kind of power does he hold over me? He’s just a man."

Four Deep blue was the color at the center of the flames, a sharp, penetrating blue. The color of Angel’s eyes. Adrian stared into the fire burning before him, shifting uncomfortably in his chair as he thought back on his latest meeting with the Midnight Angel. Though her passionate response to his demanding kisses and ardent caresses lingered in his mind and had his body still partially aroused, his thoughts centered mostly

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on the fact that he never heard her men’s approach. He’d never been so involved in a woman that he didn’t know what was happening around him. Why did this one woman fascinate him so?She was only a woman, no different than any other. The memory returned of Angel’s body straining against his. He groaned and shifted in his chair--again. This almost constant state of partial arousal was damned uncomfortable! A knock on the door interrupted his fantasies. "What!" "There’s a lady here to see you, my lord," said his elderly butler as he shuffled into the room. "I put her in the library." For an instant, hope flared as hot as the embers before him. But then, the dark entity that ruled Adrian’s soul ruthlessly squashed it. For the last four years, hope was an emotion he had lived without. He followed his butler to the library and opened the door. With a cynical smile on his lips, he stepped into the room. The woman who turned towards him was a complete surprise. "Well, my dear boy," Corinne said holding her hands out to him, "what trouble have you gotten yourself into now?" A wide grin split Adrian’s face as he crossed the room. Ignoring her hands, he lifted her and twirled her about in a tight hug. "Aunt Cori, what are you doing here?" "Put me down, you silly boy. You’re making me dizzy." He set her on the floor next to the settee where she immediately collapsed. "I must say, Adrian, a man hasn’t swept me off my feet in years." His left eyebrow rose and a chuckle escaped him. "Surely you jest, Aunt. Each year you outshine every debutante in theton. I know for a fact that you’ve had eight marriage proposals in the last five years." Her rich chuckle filled the room. "Why have you come?" Adrian asked again as he sent Barrows for tea. Corinne cocked her head and stared into her nephew’s eyes. Rising, she walked to him and traced the red slash on his cheek. "So the stories are true." Gently grasping Corinne’s wrist, he eased her hand away from his cheek and kissed the backs of her knuckles. "What stories are those?" Pulling her hand free of his grasp, she turned and walked to the window. "The scenery hasn’t changed at all," she murmured. "Aunt Cori?" "The Midnight Angel of Bodmin Moor’s notoriety will soon outshine yours, Adrian. She’s become something of a celebrity in London, a sort of female Robin Hood. Now, her name has been linked to that

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of the Pirate of Ravenrook. One of the court’s sycophants has written an appalling ballad about that slash on your cheek, ‘The Kiss,’ he calls it. Dreadful composing aside, it’s become rather popular." The butler arrived with the tea. Corinne sat to pour, but Adrian declined her offer. Instead, he poured himself a liberal amount of brandy from the carafe that had been included. "What’s being said?" "There are many stories, love, but most believe that she slashed you in a fit of jealous rage because she found you in the bed of another woman." Adrian’s lips quirked as a pair of flashing blue eyes appeared in his memory. That rumor appealed to him. He completely missed his aunt’s speculative gaze as she asked, "What really happened?" Adrian grinned. "You are familiar with her penchant to kiss one of the company she robs?" She nodded as she returned to her seat. "I kissed her back." Corinne threw back her head and laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. Adrian continued to grin. "Was it worth it?" she asked after she stopped laughing. "Oh, yes, Aunt Cori," he said recalling his passionate meeting with Angel only a few hours earlier, "well worth it." Returning to the present, he sat down beside her. "My reputation is the only thing that brought you here?" "No, Adrian. I’m going to be very busy once the season starts, and I wanted to spend some time with you now that you’re home from abroad. You will be coming to London for the season, of course?" He shrugged negligently. He had his new assignment to complete. Besides, Angel was here in Cornwall. "Why will you be so busy?" he asked placing his half finished brandy on the table. "My niece is coming out this season. Would you mind terribly if I used your townhouse? The one I’ve rented these last four years is too small." "Anything I have is yours, Corinne," he said with a warm smile. "I’ll send a messenger to London in the morning. When do you expect to arrive?" She smiled her thanks. "I thought I’d visit with you a week or so and then journey to Wales for my niece." "I’ll tell them to make sure it’s ready for the beginning of next month. I didn’t know you had a niece." She threw her hands in the air and snorted. "Adrian! Did you ever stop to listen when I talked of my family in Wales?"

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He grinned. "You’re right. I never listened." "My brother Richard’s girl," she lied without batting an eye. "The brother who was killed in the carriage accident?" "Yes, poor dear. Left her and her brother orphans." Adrian frowned. "Orphans? I didn’t know Richard had any children." "Adrian," she answered in an exasperated tone. "I must have mentioned them at least a dozen times to you!" A sheepish grin appeared on Adrian’s face as he was forced to agree with his aunt. If Corinne said she’d talked about her niece and nephew, she probably had. He never did listen much when she talked about her family. "You’re father is Robert Marshall with a baronetcy in Wales, yes?" "Why yes, Adrian. But why the sudden interest in my family history?" "Because your nephew Robert is stationed here," he answered with a smile. Corinne’s face lit with joy. "Robert’s here? How wonderful! I saw him only once in London when he arrived to receive his commission," she lied with a happy smile. "He told me he was to be posted in Cornwall, but his captain hadn’t told him precisely where. Imagine, he’s here. How absolutely delightful!" "I’ll send a message to the garrison commander. Your nephew is welcome here at Ravenrook any time he’s free of duty. He seems a likable young man." A delicate eyebrow rose. "But?" Adrian shrugged. "He evaded my questions." Corinne sniffed. "How would you react if a stranger started asking you personal questions?" A rueful grin crossed his face. "I’m afraid I owe your nephew an apology. I’ve spent too much time among the dregs of society." She rose and patted his shoulder. "You’re home now, Adrian. The past is done. It’s time to get on with your life." Adrian smiled at his aunt. He’d never kept any secrets from her, for she had more courage and common sense than did most of his male acquaintances. He’d discussed the Crown’s commission with her before he’d accepted it. But, he wasn’t going to tell her about his new assignment, at least not yet. She worried too much. And she’d probably try to talk him out of this one too. Six years ago, she’d tried to warn him--that the life of a secret agent could not possibly be as simple for an honorable man as he thought. She did not doubt his ability or bravery. He just had too much compassion. An agent of the crown could not always afford compassion she had told him with a sad smile. Unfortunately, he’d shrugged off her warnings. Though he’d never admit it, now he wished he’d listened to her.

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Once he’d accepted the commission from King George himself, with the understanding that until he completed his mission he’d be considered an outlaw and his title and lands were forfeit, he’d been given a list of twelve names. The cabinet minister who handed it to him had told him point blank that it would be better for everyone if all of them died. Even though he’d been informed that those he pursued for the crown were supposedly some of the most loathsome, vicious, and cold-blooded examples of mankind in the known world, Adrian could not simply just kill them without warning. He’d done his best to engage them in a fair fight, to the point where his own life and mission were often at risk. He had survived; but, in order to do so, he had been forced to quash his tendency towards mercy and compassion. He had returned victorious, but his victory had carried a severe price. The blackness that ate at his soul was winning its battle. Shaking off his morbid thoughts, he glanced back at his aunt. Would she question him about those last seven years? Corinne turned back to her nephew, watching intently as he struggled to hide his thoughts from her. Her sharp eyes had been scrutinizing him closely ever since he’d walked into the library. To those who didn’t know him well, he hadn’t changed, except for the scar, of course. However, she’s raised Adrian since his sixth year. He was not the same man who left England seven years ago. His face was sharper, as if someone had taken a knife and cut the softness and compassion away from his features. His body was always tense, as if he were waiting to be attacked. And his eyes didn’t remain still. They moved constantly, searching the shadows--for what? Though he hadn’t changed much physically, he was no longer the trusting, compassionate man she’d known. The last seven years had changed him--and not for the better. His eyes shifted away from here and gazed into the fire. Tension radiated from him. He obviously didn’t want to talk about his past, and she couldn’t talk more about the niece and nephew she’d just discovered. The lies she’d told him about Kara and Robert were necessary for their protection and her plans. A strategic retreat on her part would be best for both of them. "My dear boy," Corinne said with a slight yawn, watching his reaction closely, "where can this old lady lay her head for the night. I must admit my journey has tired me more than I thought." Relief poured through Adrian’s tense body, and he roared with laughter. "You won’t be an old lady until you’re ten years in your grave, Aunt Cori!" Rising, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. Then he escorted her to the door. "Barrows," he said to the waiting butler, "show her ladyship to the blue suite." After his aunt had been tucked safely in her suite for the night, Paddy O’Rourke joined Adrian in his library. "Not a man there touched the gold, boyo," reported Paddy as he guzzled the bottle of brandy that had been sitting on the sideboard. Riding was thirsty work. "And their talk?" "Mostly ‘bout how the lassie’s helped ‘em all. They feel beholden to their Angel. You’ll no find a man there that’ll take your gold, boyo, or me name’s not Paddy O’Rourke." Adrian frowned. He’d been sure the temptation of gold sitting in front of them would be too much for at least one of them. Well, he’d let it sit awhile. No man could resist that much of a temptation. And no man

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would risk the wrath of Ravenrook by stealing it. "Was there any talk of strangers moving about the moor?" "Nay. I arrived shortly after you left. They were none too friendly at first, but after a few of my stories ‘bout fighting off crazy George’s revenue cutters, they opened up a bit. But all they’d talk about is their Angel. Mind yourself. Those cutthroats won’t abide you’re toying with her. Now I’m off to my bed. I’ll see you in the morning, Captain." Adrian growled a good night as his gaze returned to the fire. He intended to do much more than toy with their provocative Angel. ~*~ "You’ll not be rid of me as easily as the others, Warrick," said the man who held the knife at his throat. "I have no idea what you’re talking about, man," Adrian answered carefully. "I don’t even know who you are." The man laughed harshly. "Ye ain’t much of a liar, Warrick. Say yer prayers." The sound of a pistol being cocked echoed through the black night. "Seems ta me yer not offerin’ him a fair fight, Redmonds," said a lilting Irish voice. "Get while ye still can, O’Rourke," snarled the man with the knife. "McDonnell warned me ‘bout him. Yerprob’ly on his list, too." Adrian remained still, sweat beading on his forehead. The man with the pistol was his only hope. "If you’re talking ‘o Sean McDonnell, himself is already dead, the bastard," said the Irishman calmly, "and if ye don’t lower the knife, you’ll have a hole in yer back." The knife slipped from Adrian’s throat, and Redmonds pushed him away. The Irishman cocked a second pistol and kept one trained on each man. "Tis sure I am, that I’m not knowing the reason for your quarrel, but I’m a true believer in a fair fight. Ye both have sabers. Use ‘em." Redmonds and Adrian locked glances. Adrian shrugged. This was the death he’d originally planned for the old spy. "Well, lad, twill be better this way, I’m supposing," said the older man, drawing his sword slowly. Then he launched himself forward with no warning. Not caught completely unawares, Adrian sidestepped the first rush and drew his own sword. Spinning, he was ready when Redmonds charged again. Both men settled into their fighting rhythms. Evenly matched, superior conditioning would be the deciding factor in this fight.

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Eventually, the older man’s strokes began to slow. Adrian pushed Redmonds harder. He was beginningto tire himself, but a slight slip proved Redmonds’ undoing. Adrian’s saber slipped past his opponent’s guard and entered his chest. With a surprised look on his face, Redmonds sank to the ground. Breathing heavily, Adrian knelt by his side. "Ye done me, lad, but twas a fair fight, I’ll grant ye that. Tis a better way ta die than many others. I’ll not be holding it against ye. You’ve no reason to fear my ghost." With those words, Redmonds breathed his last. Adrian’s eyes opened. Redmonds had been wrong. The old spy’s ghost had come. He rose from his bed to stare out his window, pushing his dark dreams away by concentrating on his first meeting with Paddy O’Rourke. "What do you mean, Sean McDonnell’s dead?" Adrian had asked after he’d risen from the dead man’s side. "Cuba, it was," answered the Irishman, uncocking his pistols and shoving them into his waistband. Extending his hand, he said, "Paddy O’Rourke, at your service, boyo. Ye look to be a man who needs a sword at his back." "Perhaps," Adrian said as he motioned Paddy to follow him. At the least, he owed the man a drink. "Tell me about McDonnell." "Made off with some noble Spaniard’s daughter and raped ‘er. Fool that he was, Sean boasted about it in a tavern. Lass’ betrothed caught him the next day. The Spanish bastard cut off McDonnell’s bollocks then hanged him with a loose noose while the blood ran down his legs. Took the bastard the whole day to die." Adrian’s thoughts returned to the present. He hadn’t had anything to do with McDonnell’s death. At least that was one ghost who would not haunt him. ~*~ "Why would anybody in London pay any attention to me?" Kara asked, her eyes wide. "I don’t pretend to understand the workings of town society, but even I know that the granddaughter of a minor Welsh baron won’t cause much of a stir." "True," Corinne said as she sipped tea in the rectory’s parlor, "but not only are you very beautiful, you’re the granddaughter of a minor Welsh baron who just happens to own a Welsh copper mine." Kara almost dropped her teacup. "Copper mine. You mean Grandfather’s rich?" "So to speak," Corinne answered with a chuckle. "It’s not been mined in years, but all indications show there’s still a large amount of copper left. Once the women with marriageable sons and daughters discover that fact, you and Robert, when he’s in London, will be invited to every ball, supper party, and any other type of gathering you can imagine."

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"Mercenaries," Emma muttered as she sipped her tea. "How do you know Robert will be sent back to London?" Corinne took a sip of tea. "Because," she answered after the cup left her lips, "once the Midnight Angel of Bodmin Moor ceases her infamous rides, there will be no reason to keep all these dragoons stationed here." "If they believe she’s gone," Kara uttered. "Oh, they’ll believe she’s gone after she’s robbed a few army officers between here and London." "Corinne!" Emma exclaimed. "I sent for you to stop this nonsense!" "And it will stop, Emma," Corinne answered gently, "but the dragoons must know the Midnight Angel is gone. A few simple robberies of lone officers during our journey to London will accomplish that." "Kara has never ridden alone!" "We’ll take some of her men with us, if they’re willing to go. We’ll need another driver and a few footmen while we’re in London." "Well..." "Really, Emma," Corinne tsked, "you have nothing to fear. Here’s what we’ll do." Kara listened quietly while her aunt outlined her plan. They were still talking when a knock sounded upon the door. Emma left and soon returned opening a beautifully embossed envelope. "It’s an invitation from the Marquis to Reverend and Mrs. Palser and family. He’s having a dinner party in your honor next week, Corinne, and we are all invited." Corinne sat back and pursed her lips. "Now what is my devil of a nephew planning? If he sees Kara here--I’m amazed he hasn’t noticed her presence before this." Emma laid the invitation on the table and picked up her teacup. "Of course everyone knows we raised Kara and Robert, but few people know they’re Edward’s children. He was a highwayman, after all, and didn’t socialize with the local gentry. When he and Bess died, I told everyone Kara and Robert were the children of a consumptive cousin. Simon and I hadn’t been here very long, so everyone believed me. Most importantly, the Marquis hasn’t been in Cornwall for almost eight years now. Since Kara cut his cheek, he’s been asking a lot of questions, but the few people who know who Robert and Kara really are haven’t told him anything. "My nephew can count, Emma. You’ve raised three children. He’ll know that," Corinne muttered more to herself than to her friend. "He’ll expect all of you. How are we going to do this?" "We can tell the truth about Robert," Emma interjected. "He’s not here because he’s in the army."

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"Very good," Corinne agreed, new respect for her friend evident in her eyes. "What about Kara? She cannot attend the party. Adrian will see her in London and must believe she’s my niece from Wales." Emma pursed her lips and thought for a moment. "The villagers know her to be bookish. And she never had spent much time with the local gentry’s daughters." Kara leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "They are so boring!" Both older women ignored her. "That could work to our advantage. If she doesn’t socialize much with the gentry, we’ll say she’s a shy bluestocking and chose to stay home with her books. I’m sure I can keep Adrian’s attention away from your missing foster daughter if he asks." Listening to their conversation, Kara leaned forward, picked up the invitation, and ran her fingers over the embossed paper. A mental picture of the Marquis’ scared face appeared before her eyes. "Perhaps the invitation is just that, an invitation, nothing more," she interjected. "There is always a something more to what Adrian does," her aunt answered, "and you’d do well to remember it, my girl. Now, I must get back and see what he’s planning." "What are you smiling about, Kara?" Emma asked when they were alone. "The Marquis will not be roaming the moor the night of his party, will he?" she answered with a delicious chuckle. ~*~ As she swept into Adrian’s study, Corinne asked affectionately, "What are you plotting now, you nasty boy," Both Adrian and Lucian immediately rose to their feet. "Lucian, you remember my Aunt Corinne, don’t you?" Adrian asked by way of an introduction. "How could I forget one of the most beautiful women in all of England," Lucian answered as he bent over her hand, "one who only last year turned down my father’s marriage proposal." "Lucian Blake," Corinne said with a chuckle, "you grow more like your father every year. How is he?" "Devastated because you refused to marry him." "Piffle," Corinne said with a wave of her hand signaling them to sit. She lowered herself into one of her nephew’s comfortable chairs. "I too was disappointed with your refusal, my lady. I must admit that the prospect of having the incomparable Corrine as a stepmother intrigued me more than a little." Feminine laughter trilled about the room. "You certainly have your father’s silver tongue, Lucian." Listening to their conversation with only half an ear, Adrian’s memory wandered to a pair of luminous blue eyes.

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"Adrian!" Corinne demanded for the second time. Raising one eyebrow, Adrian turned his attention to his aunt. "Don’t try that innocuous look on me. I paddled your backside when you were a boy. I know when you’re stirring a pot of intrigue." A carefully cultivated look of surprise covered his face. "I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Aunt." She sniffed indignantly. "I taught you that expression, too. What’s this party about?" "You know of it already?" "Emma Palser, the vicar’s wife is an old school friend. I was having tea with her when your invitation was delivered." "Is there anywhere in all of Britain you don’t have an old school friend tucked away?" Adrian asked in an amused tone. "I simply seek to meet my neighbors. Surely you can’t fault me for that?" Her eyes locked with his. "Adrian, there is never anything simple about what you do. Now, what exactly are you planning?" He jerked his gaze away. "Aunt, you are one of the most exasperating women I have ever met!" "Oneof the most exasperating women? I thought I held that title exclusively," she said with a sly smile. After a moment she added, "She’s breached your defenses, hasn’t she?" "I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about," he growled as he rose and went to stand in front of the window. "Why, that woman bandit, of course. Don’t play sly with me, Adrian; this Midnight Angel has aroused your interest. What’s more, she’s started to rip down those walls you’ve built around your emotions, and you’re not quite sure what to do about it." Adrian kept his back towards his aunt, unwilling to face the truths she was flinging at him. Nor would he allow her the last word. "Of course, I’m interested, Corinne; interested in laying her out on my bed and spending the night riding between her thighs," he answered crudely. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a party to plan. I was rather hoping you’d help." After the door had been slammed shut, Corinne allowed herself a rich chuckle. "Masterfully done, my lady," said Lucian from where he still sat. "Oh?" Lucian allowed himself a small smile. "I have read your file, Madam Spymaster. There is little about you I don’t know." Corinne Warrick, one of Britain’s most gifted secret agents, allowed herself another small laugh. "And I, my dear Lucian, have read yours. There isnothing I don’t know about you. Now, have you discovered

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anything about the missing military papers or the men who stole them? And, remember, Adrian is not to know I’m involved." ~*~ Tapping her foot with frustration, Kara finally jumped from her chair and began to pace. Ravenrook’s increased interest in his neighbors, and his comings and goings in the villages about Bodmin Moor had severely limited her wanderings, both legal and illegal. So now she was forced to remain within the immediate vicinity of the Palser’s house. The Midnight Angel had not ridden since her disastrous duel with the Marquis, and she was beginning to chafe at her restraints. "The Marquis isn’t going to notice me walking about the village, Aunt Corinne," Kara complained. "He’s rarely ever here anyway." "You can’t take the chance," stated her aunt. "Even if he doesn’t recognize you as the Midnight Angel, he will eventually come to London. How could we possibly explain yourpresence here when you were supposed to have grown up in Wales? You simply must be patient." "Patient!" Kara exclaimed, arms flailing. "I have never felt so caged!" "Well," her aunt finally said sharply, "it cannot be helped. You sought notoriety. Now that you’ve gained it, you must accept the consequences." "About time someone gave you a good set down," Robert teased as he entered the room and kissed each woman in turn. "You’ve been indulged all your life. Well, you’ve finally reached a point where you can’t have what you want when you want it." Rebellion simmered in Kara’s brain but she remained silent. Carefully schooling her expression not to reveal her true thoughts, she sat down next to her brother and rejoined the conversation. Secretly, however, she smiled to herself. The Midnight Angel would ride the moor once more before she disappeared. ~*~ A strong wind blew inland as Adrian watched Paddy O’Rourke row out to the Raven. Every bale of wool he had been able to lay his hands on was finally loaded. The stiff breeze would make for rough sailing, especially if the storm that was brewing broke too soon. However, the Irishman was an excellent captain, and Adrian trusted him completely. If the trading went as planned, Paddy would bring home a small fortune. His horse nervously pawed the rocky sand. "Easy, boy, we’ll have a good run and then check the other cove to see if anyone’s been there lately." Once he was up in the saddle, Adrian gave his horse his head. The path up to the headland was steep, but the big grey was surefooted. He’d climbed this path many times since his master’s return. After an invigorating gallop, Adrian halted by the same standing stone where he’d met the Midnight Angel scarcely a week ago. Unlike that night, she did not appear out of the mist. He smiled as he remembered that meeting. He was looking forward to the next one.

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His mount stamped impatiently. With a disappointed grimace, Adrian turned to the cove where he hoped to find some kind of clue about the spies infiltrating the military. The echo of musket shots rolling across the moor caused him to wheel. Heart clenching, he galloped towards the sound of the shots. ~*~ The clock on the Palser’s mantle had just struck midnight when Kara led her mare up the ramp from the chamber under the church. For the first time since she assumed her disguise as the Midnight Angel, she would ride the moor without her protectors. She had no plans to waylay anyone. She simply had to feel the fresh night air on her face, just for a short while. Mounting her mare, she galloped off into the darkness. An hour later, as she turned the mare’s head towards home, a masculine voice called out, "Halt. Who goes there?" Kara cursed fluently. Pure bad luck had led her right into the path of a dragoon patrol. Luckily, her reactions were faster than theirs, and she wheeled her mare and galloped into the mist as they threw their muskets to their shoulders. She heard three musket balls whine past her on her left and was just congratulating herself on her escape when a sharp pain blasted its way through her shoulder. Biting her lips against the fiery agony radiating down her arm and back, desperately grabbing her saddle’s pommel, she swung her mare back the way she had come, hoping desperately that the dragoons would lose her in the mist. Luck was with her. The dragoons passed her off to the west. Reeling in agony, Kara urged her mount forward, and the game little mare complied. Blood oozed down her back and arm as she slumped forward. Soon, the reins slipped from her bloody fingers, consciousness left her, and she toppled from the saddle. ~*~ A horse whinnied off to Adrian’s left. Cursing the thick mist, he slowed his grey to trot, then a walk, finally pulling him to a halt. His stallion nickered, and a soft whinny answered him. Giving his horse his head, he cursed at the slowness of his pace. Something had happened on Bodmin Moor this night, something terrible. His instincts were never wrong. Stepping out of the swirling mist into a pocket of clear air, Adrian saw a black mare standing at the bottom of the incline, her head jerking nervously. At her feet lay a still figure. "Blast and damn!" Adrian spat and urged his mount down the hill, leaping from the saddle when he reached them. Closed eyes, hidden behind a black mask, greeted his searching gaze. "You little fool." Rolling her onto her stomach, Adrian examined the wound, cursing at the blood that seeped from her wound. Throwing off his cloak, he shrugged out of his coat and hastily tore the white sleeve from his silk shirt, using it to place pressure on the wound. Once the bleeding stopped, he carefully pulled her shirt off, completely ignoring her bared breasts, tore it into strips, and tied the makeshift bandage in place. After donning his coat and wrapping her in both their cloaks, he lifted her carefully into his arms and mounted. Once she was cradled safely against his chest, he snagged the trailing reins of her mount and urged the stallion forward. The black mare followed

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closely. Then, the sky began to weep steady tears of rain. Cursing even more fluently, Adrian turned the nearest shelter, an old abandoned inn said to be haunted by a pair of star-crossed lovers.

Five Hunching his shoulders against the pounding rain, Adrian shielded Angel from its stinging needles as best he could. After ten minutes of steady riding, the old inn came into view. Squatting between two low hills, the air of desolation about the place suited Adrian perfectly. He was sure of privacy and safety here for Angel. None of the local people would come near because the ghosts of a highwayman and his lover were supposed to haunt the premises. Loose shutters banged in the strengthening wind, which moaned through broken windows, as he rode into the inn yard with Angel in his arms. Straining to see through the driving rain, Adrian searched for and found the door. He urged his horse forward and then halted just beneath the door’s overhang, his thoughts rolling and swirling as much as the elements as water poured off the roof and onto the stallion’s hindquarters. "Good boy," he muttered. "Yes, I know you don’t like that cold water. Just let me get her inside where it’s dry." This storm would last all night. He had to get her out of the weather. With Angel cradled against his chest, he dismounted carefully and pushed his way past the door that swung crazily on one hinge. Picking his way slowly across the littered floor, he cursed vehemently when his feet tangled in a broken stool. Righting himself, he carefully navigated the dark interior of the inn and gently placed Angel on the floor next to the old hearth. The stallion trailed behind him, stopping just inside the door. The mare followed, happy to be out of the swirling wind and rain. After throwing some broken furniture into the hearth, he emptied some gunpowder from his saddlebag into a small pile beneath the kindling. The howling wind covered the sound of the pistol shot he used to ignite the powder, and he soon had a fire blazing. Carefully, he turned Angel onto her stomach, removed his makeshift bandage, and examined her wound by the light of the fire. "Damn, the ball’s still in her shoulder," he muttered. "I’ll need water." Pulling a burning chair leg from the fire, he got to his feet, and made his way to what was once the inn’s kitchen. Using an old kettle he found, he braved the elements to fetch water from the well. When he returned to the hearth, he placed the kettle on a hook above the fire. Then, he turned back to

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the unconscious woman. With a grimace, he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "I’ll have to sear the wound. Damn, Angel, I’m sorry," he murmured as he pulled his dagger from the concealed sheath in his boot and placed its blade near the fire. With one final look about the room, Adrian sighed. He was as prepared as he possibly could be. He’d removed his shirt and ripped it into strips for bandages. Thankful that she did not regain consciousness, he carefully removed her bandage and washed the dried blood from the wound, cursing as its jagged edges began to seep again. Lifting the knife, he passed the blade through the fire five or six times. He turned back to Angel and rested his knee firmly between her shoulder blades so she wouldn’t jerk out from under the knife. Regretting what he had to do more than anything he’d ever done in his life, he spread the wound as wide as he could, but if the bullet wasn’t removed, she’d sicken and die. "Forgive me,Annsachd ." After a deep breath, he jabbed the knife into her wound and probed for the bullet. The pain brought her back to consciousness and both horses shied away from the scream that rent the air. As she bucked beneath the knife, tears misted his eyes. "I never wanted to hurt you. Please forgive me,Annsachd ." As he tossed the musket ball he dug out of her wound into the kettle, she fainted. Once again she lay unconscious, unaware of what he did. After wiping the blood away from the wound, he placed a thick pad from his shirt over the hole in her shoulder and wound more strips from his shirt over her shoulder and between and under her breasts to hold the bandage in place. "She needs something to lie on. She can’t stay on the floor. Maybe there’s something upstairs." He rolled up her cloak and placed it under the side of her head. With a torch made from an old table leg, he searched the four rooms above the common room. In one of the back bedrooms, he found a straw tick that, though dusty, seemed relatively clean. On pegs on the wall were some articles of women’s clothing, most of them too moth eaten to be of use. Buried underneath everything was a skirt bodice that had only a few holes. It would do to satisfy Angel’s modesty. "I can find my way without this," he muttered throwing the torch out of the gaping window. The pouring rain doused it immediately. Shoving the skirt bodice into his waist, he pulled the tick over his shoulder with a grunt, cursing once when it caught on a broken board half way down the stairs. Dropping it next to Angel, he brushed her neck with his fingers. Her pulse was strong but erratic. She would undoubtedly contract a fever; but, with a little luck, the storm would pass by morning and they could leave. Hesitantly, Adrian’s fingers inched their way to the mask she still wore. She was at his mercy. But... He pulled his hand away. He would not unmask Angel while she lay near death at his feet. Carefully he pulled the skirt bodice over her head and tucked his heavy cloak around her. Then he rose to unsaddle and care for the horses. ~*~ Dreams circled, dipping and dodging through Kara’s feverish mind. Images of a black-cloaked devil who inflicted searing agony in her shoulder wove its way through her unconscious mind. Pain and fear

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stretched their crippling fingers towards her, and she struggled to climb out of the black well into which she was falling. Fear gripped her as she pleaded with the dark apparition to have mercy. "Please, don’t hurt me anymore." "Shhh,Annsachd , I’m here." Beloved?Warrick? Her pirate was here? She relaxed in the strong arms that held her. Her pirate would keep her safe. Feverish moaning woke Adrian. He’d fallen asleep with Angel cradled in his arms, for she’d started shivering uncontrollably soon after he’d finished bandaging her wound. He struggled to block any thought of her death from his mind. Angel brought purpose back into his life and banished the melancholy from his days. He would not allow her to die!Murmuring soft words into her ear, he cuddled her close until she stopped struggling. His soft words calmed Kara, but her fearsome dreams would not allow her to settle back into sleep. Slowly, she fought her way to wakefulness. She opened her eyes to find others as soft as a grey Cornish mist on a gentle summer morning staring into hers. "Well met,Leannoin ." "I am not your sweetheart," she muttered perversely, weak with pain and fever but feeling safer in the Marquis’ arms than she had ever felt before. Then her blue eyes widened. Correctly guessing the direction of her thoughts, he said, "I have not removed it." Her eyes grew puzzled. "Why?" Smiling tenderly, Adrian placed a kiss on her silk covered forehead. "Do not doubt, Angel, that I will have this mask from you. But not like this, not when you lay wounded and helpless. I want you fighting me for every victory I gain." Her eyes glowed and she smiled a weak but radiant smile. "Durdalada whye, Sir Pirate," she said in a husky whisper. His mouth dropped closer to hers. " My name is Adrian." "Adrian," she whispered against his mouth. His kiss was soft and gentle with the promise of passion behind it. He pulled her closer into his arms but winced when she moaned with pain. Immediately loosening his hold, he lifted his mouth. The soft longing in her feverish eyes was almost his undoing. "You’re too sore wounded for this,Leannoin ," he murmured with controlled passion. Regretfully, he gently laid her on the pallet he’d fashioned and leaned back against the wall. He would not allow himself to take advantage of Angel while she was sick, weak, and too feverish to fight him. As he laid her back down, Kara blushed and turned her face away. Once again he’d overcome her defenses. "Where are we?" she asked finally.

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"An abandoned inn on the moor. When the rain began, it was the closest shelter I could find." She stiffened. There was only one abandoned inn on the moor. "What is it?" Adrian asked, keyed to her every emotion. In a voice that fought the tears clogging her throat and eyes, Kara said, "My mother died in this inn." "Your mother?" he murmured sympathetically. "I was only a baby," she whispered with tears in her eyes. "I never knew her." "Did your father die here too?" he asked gently, yet eagerly. "No, he…" Kara frowned and tried to clear her mind. Why did he want to know about her father? What was she saying! Realizing that she had said too much, Kara refused to answer any more of the pointed questions he asked her. Nor did he push her. "Angel?" he asked desperation creeping into his voice as her neck and face flushed with fever. "The rain has stopped and dawn is near. You need care,Annsachd , more than I can give you here. Where can I take you?" "I can’t tell you," she argued fitfully. Her shoulder was paining her more and more. "There are others..." "I don’t give a damn about your men," he snapped as he leaned over her. "They can all go to the blasted devil for all I care." "No, I can’t," she moaned. With a curse, he rose to his feet and began to pace, clenching and unclenching his hands. "Damn it, Angel, if you won’t tell me where to take you, I’ll take you to Ravenrook. Once I have you there,Mo Cridhe , you’ll not leave so easily. And I will have that mask from your face!" Kara stirred restively.My heart, he called her one minute, and the next he threatened her. "No! I will not." "Then, Angel, you come to Ravenrook!" he snapped angrily turning to saddle the horses. "No, my lord," said the tallest of the three men who held pistols pointed at his chest," she comes with us. You’ve our gratitude for saving her life, but we’ll take her now." Adrian’s shocked gaze jumped from one man to another. Once again he hadn’t heard a sound when her men found them. Folding his arms across his chest, he placed himself directly between Angel and her men. "Why should I let you have her?" "My lord, you’re outnumbered, and I’d rather not thank you for her life with a lead ball." With his pistol, the masked man motioned Adrian towards his horse. "It’s best if you leave now. We’ll care for her." Before Adrian could answer, there was a commotion outside the doorway. A tall, black clad, masked man shouldered his way into the room, his blue eyes searching. His voice cracked like a whip. "Where is she?"

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Adrian’s gaze followed the new man across the room. Surely he’d heard that voice before? As the man pushed past him, he turned his head and followed the tall man with his eyes. A memory tickled his mind. Just as it was to reveal itself, pain exploded in the back of his head. Without a sound, he fell to the floor. "Kara, are you all right?" Robert asked anxiously as he knelt beside his sister and gathered her into a gentle embrace. "How did you know to look for me?" she asked in a weak, restless voice. Her fever was beginning to assert control. "Some dragoons were bragging about shooting the Midnight Angel. When Mum discovered you weren’t in your bed, I feared the worst. We split into two groups and searched for you all night. This was the last place left to look." "Adrian saved my life," she mumbled, now only half conscious. "You must let me thank him." "Ravenrook won’t be hearing anything for awhile, lass," Tristan said as he knelt beside them and pulled off her mask. "What have you done to him?" she pleaded, panic in her voice. She tried to struggle out of Robert’s arms but had not the strength. "Just a light blow on the back of his head. It was either that or have him recognize Robert. He’ll be well." Rising, Tristan signaled Jock and Jori to saddle the horses. "Saddle and leave the stallion. Considering the headache the Marquis will have when he wakes, it’s the least we can do." "At least you don’t have Grant with you," Kara muttered. "He’d have shot Adrian for saving my life." She moaned with pain as Robert rose to his feet, jarring the wound in her shoulder. "Hurry," Tristan said as he held Kara while Robert mounted. Passing her back to her brother’s arms, Tristan and the others mounted their own horses. "As the Marquis said, her fever is rising--and the dragoons will be out to search soon." "I know. Make sure you cover our trail, Tris, and hurry home. The rain will have washed any blood away, so there will be no proof." "What about his lordship?" asked Jori. "He’ll have to find his own way home," Robert answered flippantly. "Come, we ride." As they galloped away, Robert’s mind pondered the ramifications of all that had happened. He had many things to think about and discuss with his friends, stepparents, and aunt. One thing he was sure of, however, Adrian Warrick and his sister were not yet finished with each other. ~*~ The corpse swayed slightly, the warm tropical breeze causing it to spin slowly. Adrian grimaced in disgust as the corpse’s eyeless face turned towards him. He froze as its lids opened and locked its gaze with his! How!! There are no eyes!

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The blackened, swollen tongue slid back into the corpse’s mouth, and a ghastly moan issued forth. "Warrrrrrrrr-ick..." "I did not kill you, McDonnell!" Adrian screamed to the heavens. A macabre grin appeared on the bloodless, crow-pecked face as an eerie voice oozed out of its mouth. "Do ye no ken, Laddie?" said the ghostly voice. "Assassins live wi’ their pasts. Y’ll ne’er be free." A horrible, eerie laugh oozed from the throat of the corpse. "Re..mem..ber..." Adrian regained consciousness screaming into the dirt floor of the abandoned inn. "I did not murder you, McDonnell!" As he shoved himself up onto his hands and knees, the back of his head seemed to explode with appalling pain. Slowly he pushed himself off the floor, his memory returning. He did not bother to turn back to the pallet, for he knew she was gone. He did, however, retrieve the lead bullet he’d taken from her shoulder. Turning towards his horse, he grunted with surprise when he saw the grey stood waiting for him, saddled and bridled. The pain in his head flared; he should have known better than to trust thieves even though he had helped them. The sun had crested the horizon when he led his horse from the inn. Still dazed, he did not see the old signboard that had fallen from its place above the door until he tripped over it. With a curse, for the jolt caused his head to pound harder, he turned to mount his horse. Something about the board, though, stayed him. Falling to his knees, cursing the man who had caused the pain in his head, Adrian brushed the dirt away from sign to reveal a masked rider on a galloping horse.The Galloping Highwayman was painted in now faded and peeling letters. Beneath that, he read, Peder Keigwin, proprietor. A satisfied smile spread across his harsh features. Angel’s mother had died in this inn. Was this Peder Keigwin her mother’s father, her husband, her brother? Who? Now--now he had a name. ~*~ The low buzzing of voices brought Kara back from the depths of oblivion. However, she didn’t have the strength to open her eyes. "The wound is clean though there will be an ugly scar. Considering what he had to work with, it’s a wonder it looks as good as it does," Emma said as she finished bandaging the wound and pulled a soft blanket up over Kara’s shoulders. "She’ll live, Robert. The salve will heal the wound, and the tea will keep her fever down. Go back to the barracks. The colonel will be wondering where you are." "I swear I’ll paddle her backside this time," Robert grumbled in a still worried voice as his foster mother shooed him from the room. Kara kept her eyes closed and smiled. "Annsachd," said the deep, masculine voice in her memory.

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~*~ "Damn and blast, what idiocy is this?" Adrian cursed as he stumbled over yet another rolled up rug when he wearily reached the top of the staircase. He’d dropped his filthy coat somewhere between the front door and the staircase and traversed the now well-lit halls of his castle bare-chested. Growling because there seemed to be servants everywhere, he bellowed for his aunt, causing the now dull pounding in his head to explode again. "Damn it, Corinne. Where are you? What the hell are all these people doing underfoot? Corinne!" Word passed swiftly through the castle. The lord was home, and he was in a foul mood. Two women reacted in two entirely different ways. Corinne sighed with exasperation, and Gwyn cackled with laughter. Muttering some very unladylike words under her breath, Corinne left the maids she was supervising and headed for her nephew’s rooms. Gwyn continued to cackle and began brewing a tea to still the pounding in his head. "Really, Adrian," Corinne complained when she walked unannounced into his chambers, "you have better manners than this. What is wrong with… Adrian! What happened to you?" When her nephew hadn’t returned to the castle last night, Corinne simply assumed he was in some woman’s bed; the Warricks were not ones to deny their passions. However, one look at his filthy britches and the dirt smeared on his arms, face, and bare chest told her a far different story. Then she noted the blood on the back of his head and neck. "Adrian!" she demanded again when he didn’t answer. "Please, Corinne," he growled with a grimace of pain as he gulped a large amount of brandy, "must you shriek?’ Corinne’s eyebrows rose. In a quieter voice she commented, "Shriek? I? You were bellowing rather loudly a few moments ago." "And I regret it now." "Here, sit down," she said softly as she pushed him into a chair. Stepping to the small table that held a ewer, she poured water into the bowl and wet a cloth. Turning back to her nephew, she carefully pushed his long hair out of the way and gently began to wash the blood from the back of his head. "Since you made it home," she commented dryly, "I’ll assume you’ll live. Do you want to tell me about it?" She was rinsing the blood out of the cloth when he said, "Angel was shot last night." Corinne fussed with the water and cloth to cover her shock--and fear. "Is she dead?" she asked in an unbelievably level voice. "No, hit in the shoulder." In seconds, she gathered her composure and returned to ministering to his head. "What happened?" "The little fool was riding by herself and ran into a dragoon patrol. I found her lying on the ground,

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bleeding. With the rain, I took her to the closest shelter I could find, the old, abandoned inn. There, I cut the bullet from her shoulder and tended the wound as best I could. Her men found us this morning, and a blow on the head was the thanks I got." "Not very appreciative of your efforts, were they?" murmured Corinne, placing pressure on his wound to stem the sluggish bleeding her ministrations had caused. "I’d have done the same in their place. They know I’d have followed them." She had nothing to say about his last comment as she finished with his wound. "There, you only have a small cut and a rather largish bump; the one you got when you fell out of the apple tree your eleventh summer was larger." "You always said my head was too hard to hurt," he said with a weary smile. "Will you please order a bath? And what the hell are all these servants doing here?" Corinne feigned a look of surprise as she rang for a footman. He appeared quickly. "Bath water for his lordship, immediately." "Aye, my lady," said the footman with a bow. "You asked me to help with your party," Corinne commented with her hands on her hips. "You really didn’t expect me to pull it off with one maid, a butler, one footman, and a cook, did you? I hired back most of the servants who were let go when you were outlawed seven years ago." Adrian rested his head against the soft leather of his chair and closed his eyes. "Plus a few extra, I’ll warrant." "It’s the lord’s job to take care of his people, Adrian," she lectured in an amused voice as she opened the door after a sharp knock. "You know that. Many of them had been unable to find other jobs. You should have rehired them as soon as you were back." Adrian opened his eyes as the door opened and four footmen entered, each carrying two large buckets of water and headed into his bedchamber. Carrying a steaming pot in her hands, Gwyn, cackling with laughter, followed behind them. "Drink this, lord." He glared at the old woman. "I’ll not drink any of your noxious potions, hag." She shrugged as she set the pot on the table next to his chair. "Let your head ache then. It is of no matter to me." She shuffled back to the door. When she reached it, she paused at the threshold, turned, and said, "She lives, lord, and mends apace." Adrian tensed slightly at her words. Then he closed his eyes and relaxed. Angel was safe. Amused, Corinne watched the old woman’s interaction with her nephew. He never questioned the validity of Gwyn’s statement, but then, neither did she. Gwyn had been a fixture at Ravenrook when Corinne herself had come as a new bride, and she’d looked just as old then. The servants whispered she was a witch and was hundreds of years old. Corinne had no idea just how old Gwyn was, but she never doubted the old woman’s pronouncements. Perhaps she did have a touch of thetaisch , the second sight,

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as the Highland Scots called it. Corinne grabbed hold of the doorknob. "Drink the tea, Adrian. It will ease your head. Gwyn’s potions always work. I’ve still a great deal to do before your party, so I’ll leave you to your bath." Adrian grunted as the door closed. He struggled out of his muddy boots, and then rose and stripped off his filthy britches. With a grimace at the pain in his head, he poured some of Gwyn’s tea into a mug. Surprise crossed his countenance as he swallowed it, for it did not have the bitter flavor he expected. She’d laced it liberally with honey. Mug still in hand, Adrian walked into his bedchamber and stepped into the steaming tub. The hot water eased his stiff muscles while Gwyn’s potion worked its magic on his pounding head. He was getting old if one night on a hard floor made him ache so. With a sigh, he laid his head back against the cloth his aunt had so thoughtfully ordered folded over the edge of the tub, he once again closed his eyes, wishing that he could sleep uninterrupted by the ghosts of his past. Then, his eyes flew open as he realized that last night, as he’d slept with Angel in his arms, his usual dark dreams had not haunted him. ~*~ Her skirts and petticoats flying about her legs--she hadn’t wasted time donning her riding habit--Corinne guided her galloping horse to a sliding halt before Emma’s door. Gobs of mud splattered the mounting block when she jerked her mount to a halt. Dismounting, she tethered the bay gelding. Hurrying up to the front door, she waited impatiently for her knock to be answered. When Emma opened the door, she pushed her way in. "How is she?" "She’ll be fine, thanks to the Marquis. If he hadn’t found her last night, well, I don’t want to think about it," Emma answered, lines of exhaustion etched on her face as she led the way up the steps. "I expected you earlier than this, Corrine. Her room is the first door on your left." Her hand on the doorknob, Corrine paused. "I didn’t find out until late this morning. Then I had to wait until I could slip away; Adrian can be entirely too perceptive at times." "I can’t understand why he didn’t unmask her. Robert said she was still wearing it when they found them." "Adrian has a sometimes unconventional sense of honor. She was at his mercy. That was reason enough for him not to. He prefers a challenge," Corinne answered in a low voice as she opened the door to Kara’s room and entered. Still lying on her stomach, Kara slept soundly thanks to the drops of poppy her aunt added in her fever medicine. The blanket had slipped from her bare back, revealing the thick wad of linen on her shoulder. Easing herself onto the bed next to her sleeping niece, Corinne lifted the pad and stared at the wound. Still quite red and oozing a bit, it showed no pus or other signs of infection. "It looks terrible, but the swelling has gone down. He used a hot knife and seared the wound as he removed the ball."

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"Considering the circumstances," Corinne agreed, "there wasn’t much else he could do. Riding with her through the rain could have meant her death. Is this Gwyn’s salve?" "Yes, she showed me how to make it years ago." Rising, Corinne placed a clean linen pad on the wound and pulled the blanket back up over Kara’s shoulders. She followed Emma out of the room and back down the steps. "I dare say she’s learned her lesson about riding the moors by herself now." Emma nodded with pursed lips. As soon as Kara was stronger, she was going to get a lecture about responsibility that would make her ears ring. "Will you stay for tea?" "I can’t. Adrian’s party is only three nights away, and I have entirely too much still to do." With a smile, Emma hugged Corinne at the door. "Where will you tell Adrian you’ve been?" "For a ride. Supervising servants at housecleaning can become quite tedious--dusty. A brisk ride does wonders for clearing the head." Emma shook her head at Corinne’s audacity as her friend galloped back towards the castle. Even the Marquis would know his aunt was not so eccentric as to ride in any dress other than a riding habit. ~*~ From the balcony outside his chambers, Adrian watched his aunt hurrying across the wide, grass and flower filled terrace that lay before his front door. She’d probably been down making sure the stables were properly swept out. One would think the king himself was attending this dinner party. Then with no more thought to his aunt, he retraced his steps through the open French doors back into his study. Traversing the length of the room, he entered his bedchamber through the connecting door and walked to a large window that looked out over the cliffs. If he heard them again, he’d recognize the educated voices of at least two of Angel’s men, and every educated man in the county had been invited to Ravenrook. Within the next few days, he would know the identity of two of her men. The third man, the new one who had come for Angel in the inn, though, troubled him more. This man hadn’t been with her men before. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember exactly how the man’s voice sounded. What he did remember was the anguish and terror and, yes, love, that was apparent when he spoke. Who was this man whose feelings for Angel were so transparent? And what were her exact feelings for him? His chest seemed to tighten as he contemplated the possible implications this new man presented. The thought that his Angel might love another man disturbed him more than he cared to admit. Squaring his shoulders, he turned from the window, a dangerous glint in his flinty, grey eyes. No man would take what was his.

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Six As the dowager at her side rambled on, Corinne watched Adrian navigate through the sea of his guests, an impersonal but welcoming expression on his face. Impeccably dressed in black evening clothes, his cravat snow white, his long, blue-black hair pulled back with gold and ruby clasp, he sauntered casually from one group to another, exuding graciousness and charm. The blood red ruby in his ear flashed fire in the light of hundreds of candles as he bowed over every lady’s hand be she sixteen or sixty. Amusement leaped into her eyes as another matron approached him, unmarried daughter in tow. Corinne smiled at the frown that appeared on his face. Every woman with a daughter of marriageable age had approached him this evening. All were thinking the same thing. At thirty years of age, it was time the Marquis sired an heir. Not even the ugly gash on his cheek kept the opportunistic mothers at bay. After all, one woman had told her earlier that evening, why should a good Cornish lord such as Adrian Warrick look beyond Cornwall for his Marchioness? "What are you smiling about, Aunt?" he asked in a disgruntled voice as he stopped at her side. "The fact that every woman here with a marriageable daughter has already spoken to me," Corinne answered. "They’re all sure I’ll have an influence on your choice of a wife." Her laughter rippled from behind her fan as Adrian stalked away from his aunt, muttering to himself that he didn’t need a wife. A pair of bright blue eyes appeared in his mind, but he immediately thrust them away. As another mother with daughter in tow made her way purposefully towards him, he changed direction. Corinne choose his wife? Not bloody likely. Another mother glanced his way and he changed direction again. Parasites. Most of them either wanted to use him somehow or wanted something from him. They were almost as bad as the sycophants in London. "My lord," said the Reverend Simon Palser interrupting Adrian’s troubled thoughts, "I’d like to introduce my son Micah and his fiancée Sarah Bolitho." Smoothing the frown from his face, Adrian gallantly bent over the blushing Sarah’s hand. "Bolitho? You’re the squire’s daughter?" "Yes," she answered hesitantly with a quick curtsy, quite flustered by a peer of the realm behaving so gentlemanly towards her. From across the room, her mother beamed. Sarah’s sister Marie was, as of yet, unbetrothed. Clapping Micah Palser on the shoulder, Adrian said, "You’re a lucky man to have so beautiful a future wife. Will you be following your father into the church?" He was tall enough to be Angel’s lieutenant. Could he be one of her men?

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A quiet, self-conscious, young man, Micah flushed darker than Sarah and shook his head. "No, my lord, I’ve been offered a position in a counting house in Plymouth." After a short conversation, Adrian was certain the minister’s son was not one of the men he sought; his voice didn’t match either of the tall men he’d heard speak. And, after seven years captaining his own ship and leading men, Adrian was sure Micah Palser didn’t have disposition to be a highwayman. So he moved on, searching, listening. The vicar’s son might not be one of those he sought, but somewhere in this room, he was sure, were at least some of Angel’s confederates. Tristan Rees slouched nonchalantly against the wall listening aimlessly to his nervous companion. "He’s coming this way, Tris," Grant hissed. "What should we do?" "You do exactly as we planned," Tristan answered in a low voice as he pushed himself away form the wall and straightened to his full height. "Let’s join my father; your mother has just pointed you out to Ravenrook." ~*~ Now that’s a likely looking pair, Adrian thought when he spied the two young men talking with the schoolmaster. Bolitho’s wife said the blond man was her second son Grant. The other must be the schoolmaster’s son. He was the very image of his father. Adrian sauntered over to join the schoolmaster’s group. Speculation danced in his eyes as the squire’s son backed away nervously. Instantly, Adrian increased his pace. The fool was going knock over that Chinese vase his mother had loved so much. Gyrating in what Adrian considered impossible angles, the squire’s younger son managed to catch the vase just before it hit the floor, knocking over the table it sat on, no mean feat since it was solid marble and weighed at least seventy-five pounds. Even though Adrian tried to catch it, the table tottered, fell, and rolled against the gout-ridden toe of the local magistrate who bellowed with pain, thoroughly frightening one of the more flighty young women in attendance. Adrian cringed mentally as her high-pitched shriek rent the air. "Look out!" he called as Squire Bolitho’s older son Richard turned to see what the commotion was. He bumped the maid who was carrying a tray of full champagne glasses and knocked it from her hands. Most of the champagne spilled over a group of dignified matrons. Adrian’s lips were twitching as the dowagers loudly proclaimed their indignation. As he began to reassure them that the maid had not spilled the wine on purpose, Squire Bolitho’s bellow of anger drowned out their caterwauling. The old man was glaring at his blushing son, who was trying his best to vanish into the wall, still holding the vase, up-side-down, water and roses swirling about his feet. "Grant! When the devil will you learn to keep your demned feet under you! I’m sorry, my lord," the squire continued to an amused Adrian, "the lad’s so blasted clumsy, I fear he’ll never amount to anything." "No harm done, Squire," Adrian said still struggling, as were many of his guests, to keep a straight face. Most of the ladies tittered behind their fans, and many of the gentlemen were overcome by fits of coughing. "Give this to me, lad," he said to the abashed young man as he took the vase from Grant and handed it to the butler who quickly transported it to safety.

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With a wry smile on his face, Arthur Rees, the schoolmaster stepped next to Adrian. "I’m afraid the Squire’s quite correct, my lord. Grant is an intelligent lad with a great deal of promise, except..." "H--H--He c--c--can h--hardly k--k--keep from t--tripping over h--his own f--f--feet," stuttered the young man at Master Rees’ side. A swift look of disappointment flashed across the schoolmaster’s face, quickly hidden behind a mask of politeness. "My lord, may I present my son, Tristan." "H--H--How do y--y--you do, y--your lo--lordship?" the younger man managed with a quick dip of his head. He made no attempt to speak again as Adrian and the schoolmaster discussed the needs of the village school for the next year. Soon, an eager look on his face, the young man guided his friend Grant towards a group of giggling girls. Adrian noted the pain that flashed through Arthur Rees’ eyes as his son walked away. "He’s such a bright boy," the schoolmaster said sadly, "but ever since his mother died when he was a lad of seven, he’s been afflicted with that stutter." "You’ve had him examined?" Adrian asked sympathetically, mentally crossing Tristan from his list of Angel’s suspected henchmen. A very real scowl appeared on the schoolmaster’s face. "We’ve been all the way to London to see physicians, my lord, but to no avail. Pompous asses. If a woman prescribed boiled bat wing, she’d be hanged as a witch." Adrian was hard pressed to keep a sober expression on his face since the man was so obviously serious. Nor did he doubt what the schoolmaster said. Many physicians were quacks. After a few more sympathetic comments, Adrian excused himself and joined Lucian who was standing with the other members of the local dragoon garrison. One never knew. More than one British officer had been known to line his pockets with ill-gotten gains. Besides, he’d been neglecting his mission. No one had sought to contact him, and he had discovered no information about who was stealing military secrets. He also doubted that Angel was involved with the spies. He may not have been able to learn anything about the spies, but many people about the moor were willing to talk about their Angel. Nothing he had discovered could possibly link her with the spying. "I say, my lord, much obliged for the invitation," Colonel Fletcher--the same man whose ample stomach Angel had patted--harrumphed. "Ain’t many members of the local gentry willing to invite me into their homes. Appreciate your thoughtfulness. Don’t often get out of my headquarters. Wife’s visiting in London, you know. Damned boring about headquarters without her." "I’m not one who judges a man by the color of his coat, Colonel," Adrian commented. After numerous discussions with his tenants and the local magistrate, he’d come to the conclusion that, as far as British officers went, Fletcher was far more decent than most. If abject poverty was the reason for a man’s small transgressions, Fletcher was apt to look the other way. Blatant lawlessness, however, he could not ignore. Hence, the increased patrols and request for more troops since the appearance of the Midnight Angel. Secretly, Adrian believed, Fletcher was amused by her exploits. Officially, however, he sought her capture. "Delightful get-together you’ve thrown, Ravenrook," Fletcher continued as Adrian nodded his head

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politely. "I miss getting out in society, such as it is here. Bolitho’s the only other Cornishman who’ll invite me into his home. Served in the army himself for a while. Quite a show young Grant put on, wot? Bolitho’s entire manor is devoid of anything the boy could break. Thought of offering the lad a commission, him being the younger son and all, but he’d either stab himself with his own sword or shoot one of his own men. Have I told you that your Aunt Corinne and my wife Honoria were school friends?" Adrian grimaced mentally as Lucian tossed him a slight smile. Colonel Fletcher had little difficulty monopolizing a conversation or rambling on about myriad subjects. After listening patiently to his comments a few more minutes, Adrian broke in when the colonel paused to catch his breath. "I don’t see Lieutenant Marshall among your officers, Colonel." "Humph, and wasn’t that the luck for him. He drew duty tonight. Cut up about it. Hasn’t been able to spend as much time with his aunt as he’d like. Rather intriguing, Marshall and you sharing the same aunt." Adrian shrugged at the his comment. "I’m sure there are stranger familial connections than ours." "Right you are, my lord, why I remember..." Adrian was beginning to chafe with impatience. When the colonel paused for another breath, he hastily interrupted. "Do you mind, Colonel, if I speak with the major?" Adrian asked indicating Lucian. "Not at all, not at all," he answered. "Bolitho’s coming this way. We can reminisce about our days on the Continent." Adrian led Lucian across the ballroom, politely but firmly excusing himself from the company of each individual or group who tried to monopolize him. The convivial noise of the assembled company was muted when they gained the sanctuary of the study. "What do you think?" he asked as he handed Lucian a brandy. "Any likely candidates?" Lucian shrugged. "I’d have been willing to wager on young Bolitho and Tristan Rees, but now I’m not sure. Grant’s performance was not just for your benefit. He’s been tripping over everything all night. And Rees, well, that stutter eliminates him." "Who’s not here tonight?" "Only a few. The Reverent Palser’s stepson joined the army six months ago and his stepdaughter rarely ever attends any social gatherings. According to everything I could learn, she’s a regular bluestocking. Any other possibilities can also have his whereabouts confirmed." "Angel wouldn’t be here. Her wound is not sufficiently healed." Besides, he’d know her anywhere, mask or no mask. "How about the garrison? Anything about the missing papers?" "Nothing. I’m beginning to believe that whoever took them has no contacts here." Scowling, Adrian settled into his favorite chair and stretched out his feet before the fire. "I was sure I’d discover something with this party." "About the spy--or the Angel?"

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"Shut the hell up, Lucian." "Don’t become so obsessed with the woman that you lose track of your mission, Adrian. We must discover who’s selling military secrets to the French." "I’m quite capable of completing my mission," Adrian growled. Then, "Do you think she’s involved?" After a pregnant pause the major answered. "No, I don’t. Simply coincidence that she appeared roughly the same time as that spy was discovered on your ship. The Midnight Angel is exactly what she says she is, a woman bent on revenge. Have you learned anything more about her parents?" "Only that her mother died in the abandoned inn and the name of its last proprietor. I’ll get a look at the parish records in a day or two and see what I can learn about him." A smile played across Lucian’s mouth. "You did discover one thing, my friend." "What?" snapped Adrian, frustration evident in his tone. "More than a few mothers in the county have eligible daughters." Swearing colorfully, Adrian rose to his feet. Without a backward glance, he left Lucian to the relative peacefulness of the study and returned to his guests. He was well aware of the speculation in the eyes of every matron there who had an unmarried daughter--and he did not like it. The last thing in the world he wanted at this time in his life was a wife. ~*~ Kara sat on her narrow bed, knees pulled up under her chin, fretting over her forced inactivity. Her friend Jane, the blacksmith’s daughter, was keeping her company. "Hush, now, Kara. You couldn’t have gone to the party anyway." "I didn’t want to go to the party," Kara answered with a pout, banishing a scarred face with soft grey eyes from her mind. "Most of the officers from the garrison were invited. I could’ve robbed at least one of them on his way home." "You can’t! Not alone. Tristan and Grant are at the party." "Tristan and Grant were invited because they’re the sons of educated men. But, the others could have gone with me. You could even have come. Two angels--that would certainly confuse them." "Not me! I’ll not be riding about the moor in men’s clothes!" Kara’s chuckle turned into a grimace as a small stab of pain pricked her shoulder. Gwyn’s salve had worked what seemed to be a miracle. Her wound was healing rapidly and no longer pained her unless she moved too suddenly. Earlier that evening, with the aid of a hand mirror and Jane, Kara had examined the scar. Not as bad as she had expected--it had felt as if her entire shoulder was ripped open when the ball entered--the scar was still the size of an egg. She’d probably never be able to wear certain gowns--unless she wanted to flaunt her scar.

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"What do you think London will be like?" asked Jane in a dreamy voice. "Tris’ been there, remember? He said it was dirty and smoky and full of poor people," answered Kara, wrapping her arms around her legs. "Do you think we’ll be able to visit the Tower of London?" "We’re not going there to enjoy ourselves, Jane. We’re going to find my parents’ murderer. Then we’ll come home." "Well, I’m glad I’m not the only one going with you," Jane declared, picking up a hairbrush. "It will seem more like home with Tristan, Grant, Jock, and Jori along." Kara sighed with pleasure when Jane sat down behind her and started brushing her hair. "Four men will be enough," Kara muttered more to herself than to the other girl. "I wished Grant wasn’t going with us, but Robert promised to talk to him. I’m not marrying Grant no matter what anyone says." Jane remained silent as her friend rambled on. Kara didn’t know that Robert had already spoken with Grant, revealing to the young man his status as the heir to a Welsh baronetcy. He’d told Grant, as gently as possible with a dowry from their wealthy grandfather, his sister could look much higher than the second son of a Cornish squire for a husband. Jane was sure Grant thought his heart was broken, but he still asked to join the party to London. He said that Cornwall held nothing for him, and Kara would need to be protected from men like Adrian Warrick. "Well, I plan to see as much as I can," Jane finally interjected. "I’ll not be leavin’ Cornwall again when we come back, I’m thinking. This is my adventure." In the mirror, Kara locked eyes with her dearest friend at the word adventure--word that pulled up a host of memories. "Do you remember," she asked, "the day we put the frog in..." Both girls giggled and the hours until the Palsers would return home began to pass much more quickly. ~*~ Blood flowed sluggishly from the shallow cut on Adrian’s arm as the two men rolled on the ground, wrestling for the sweat slick dagger. All about them, roaring flames raged out of control. The tavern brawl Adrian started in an effort to get to his next victim had erupted into the streets, and one of the spectator’s torches had been knocked into a puddle of pitch that had leaked from a barrel. The strong wind had fanned the flames back onto the dry, wooden buildings. Soon, the fire burned out of control. Adrian wrapped his fingers around Morgan’s wrist as the other man’s hand finally grasped the dagger. His muscles bulged as he struggled to prevent the dagger from inching to his throat. Unfortunately, Morgan was stronger. The explosion saved Adrian’s life. The warehouse that housed a large supply of gunpowder caught fire, and the force of the explosion flattened all the buildings around it and blew the two men apart. Adrian regained consciousness as hands pulled him away from the fire.

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"Wait! There’s another..." "Your friend’s dead, Mon!" shouted the Scotsman who dragged him clear of the flames. "He’s got a chunk o’ wood the size o’ me leg through his chest." Warrick gasped at the pain in his ribs as he was lowered into a boat. Only seven left. Wearily, Adrian pushed himself off of his bed. Padding barefoot across the dark room, he halted before the huge window, staring out into the dark Cornish night. As his nightmares went, that one hadn’t been so bad. Perhaps because he hadn’t actually seen Morgan die. ~*~ Two days after his party, the Marquis halted his horse in front of Reverend Palser’s modest house. As he waited at the front door, he heard a loud thump and some sort of scuffling from the inside. Adrian’s frown greeted Mrs. Palser when she opened the door. "Is something wrong, madam?" A puzzled look appeared on Emma Palser’s face. "Wrong?" she began. Then comprehension dawned on her face. "Oh! You heard the chair fall? The reverend’s cat. He’s not supposed to sit on that particular chair. I saw him, and, well...I was holding the broom, and..." she rambled, her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment. Adrian mastered the smile that twitched at the corners of his mouth. "Of course, Mrs. Palser, is Reverend Palser in? I’d like to speak with him." "He’s in his study," she answered, recovering from her embarrassment. "Please follow me." As she led the Marquis back to her husband’s study, Emma prayed fervently that God would forgive the lies she’d just told. Up in her room, Kara sank down on her bed in relief, her shoulder aching from her quick scramble up the stairs. Wasn’t it just like Adrian to appear when she was finally permitted to leave her bedroom! ~*~ "How can I help you, my lord?" asked Reverend Palser motioning Adrian to take the seat across from his desk. "I was just working on Sunday’s sermon, but I’ve hit a snag. Perhaps talking of something else will help clear my mind. Please..." "I’d like to view the parish records if you don’t mind. A man named Peder Keigwin owned an inn named The Galloping Highwayman. I want to know if he had a daughter who married." "Yes, well..." An ear-splitting shriek shattered the silence. "Emma!" the minister exclaimed as he jumped to his feet and headed for the door with Adrian following close behind. When they reached the kitchen, the minister’s wife flew into her husband’s arms.

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"Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!’ she screamed burying her face in her husband’s chest. Turning her tear-drenched face towards Adrian, she continued, "You’ve your sword, my lord. You’ll kill it, won’t you?" Helplessly, Adrian looked at Reverend Palser. "What, Emma?" the older man questioned gently, awkwardly patting his wife’s shoulder. "What has so frightened you?" "A rat." Tension ebbed from both men. "A great, ugly brute of a rat. Blacker than all the shades of Hades, Simon, sitting up on its hind legs and staring at me with its beady eyes. Then it hissed at me! It hissed! Where’s your lazy cat, Simon, when I have need of him?" "Emma, dearest, rats don’t hiss. They squeak." "This one hissed! You believe me, don’t you, your lordship?" Struggling to maintain a serious expression, Adrian said, "Madam, if you say the rat hissed, it hissed." With a slight bow to Simon, he continued, "Perhaps it would be more convenient if I returned at another time." "Yes, of course, my lord," agreed the other man as he comforted his wife. Emma remained sobbing in her husband’s arms until the marquis mounted his horse and rode down the street. Instantly, she straightened and dried her eyes. "A masterful performance, my dear," her husband said with a huge grin. "Oh, Simon," she answered, wringing her hands, "such lies I’ve told today." "But all in a good cause, my love. God understands." Both heads turned when Kara came down the steps. "What was all the screaming about?" she asked. Emma proceeded to tell her stepdaughter all that had transpired. Soon all three were laughing merrily. ~*~ The old man leaned back against the wall observing the loud and raucous company crowded about the scarred tables in the smugglers’ inn, all the tables except for the one in the exact center of the room. There, the gold that Warrick had poured so carelessly almost a fortnight ago remained where it had fallen, gleaming dully in the lantern light. No one had claimed it; not a piece had been touched, a trophy to the steadfastness of these men for their Midnight Angel. Nevertheless, the debate that moonless night was lively. Ever since the redcoats claimed to have shot her, their Angel had not been seen on or about Bodmin Moor. Some in the inn were beginning to believe the lies of the British. "She’s na dead," growled a gap-toothed herder. "We’d a heard if’n Angel’s dead."

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"Then where she be?" asked another man well gone with ale. "She saved m’ Becky, she did. Gave us good silver for med’cine." The stranger shifted deeper into the shadows as the fire in the hearth flared brighter from the gust of wind that swirled about the tables when the door opened. Four masked men flowed into the inn, pistols holstered, swords in their scabbards. After a quick look around, one of them ducked back outside. Soon he returned, followed by two more men. The Midnight Angel followed them. With his ragged cloak pulled closer about his face, the stranger watched the Angel’s men spread out, relaxed but wary as she sauntered past them. Whispers and grins raced around the room as men slapped each other on the back. A ragged cheer erupted spontaneously. The innkeeper pushed past him in the joyful tumult. "My lady, how ken I serve ye?" "Cyder,"the Angel answered in Cornish, wading into the crowd, unafraid, smiling beneath her mask. These were her people, and they would not harm her. Stopping before the table laden with Ravenrook’s gold, her smile widened into a grin. "The Marquis seems to place great value on me," she commented, a hint of laughter in her voice. Pulling up a chair offered by one of the men, she turned it around, straddled it, and leaned her arms on its back, the first to sit at that particular table since the Marquis had dumped his gold onto it. The innkeeper set her cider at her elbow, beaming when she bestowed one of her breathtaking smiles on him. "Kernow rag nevra," she said as she lifted her mug. "Cornwall forever!" shouted the men as they returned her toast. "Redcoats ‘as sayin ye been shot," yelled one man from across the room. The Angel’s husky laughter rippled about the room. "Do I look shot?" "Where ye been, lady?" another asked. "Searching for a murderer, my friends, and I have found him." Silence. "Ye found him? Ye know his name?" "Aye, my friends. I know him." "Where be he?" "London." Another silence filled the room. "Ye’ll be leaving us then," the innkeeper said as he handed mugs of cider to each of her men. "Aye, I must go," she agreed, "but I’ll return. The rolling moors ofKernaw are my home. I’d not be happy elsewhere."

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The stranger felt the waves of relief that lapped about the room. He’d listened carefully to the stories the people told about her. Though she denied any responsibility, the people of Bodmin Moor believed she’d improved their lives. Their tiny fields gave larger yields this year. The wool on the sheep was thicker, and sickness has declined. To the superstitious Cornish, Angel was their luck. If she left them, they’d all suffer. The Angel rose as she addressed the men. "Do not fear for me, my friends. I’ll return to you soon." Looking down at the gold before her, she added with a grin, "Until I return, Ravenrook has left us the means to provide for those who will need it. You know where to go if you’re in need." Motioning towards one of her henchman with her black-gloved hand, she accepted the sturdy bag he handed her. Tossing one gold coin to the beaming innkeeper in payment for the cider worth no more than a few copper pennies, she put the rest of the money in the sack. Pulling the mouth shut, she handed the bag back to her silent companion. The old man shifted closer as Angel paused and looked once more at the table now bare of it’s gold. "Innkeeper," she asked with a smile, "have you paper, pen, and ink? Warrick deserves an explanation as to what happened to his gold." The men crowded about her chuckled at the joke. The very woman for whom the marquis offered gold was taking it. She wrote quickly on the paper and folded it. With a rueful smile she said, "I seem to be lacking the proper seal." "My lady, I... If’n it pleases yer ladyship," interrupted a leather-skinned man as he shuffled forward and placed something on the table. "I carved this, an I want for ye to have it." The stranger’s eyes narrowed as he watched Angel’s men tense when the small man, one of the most notorious thieves on the moor, moved towards her, but she motioned them back. Reaching over, she picked up the small cylinder of wood. A tiny angel was carved on one end. "It’s beautiful," she said as she examined it. With a dazzling smile to its carver, she added, "I will always treasure it." She turned to the innkeeper. "Have you any colored wax?" The innkeeper frowned. Colored wax was not a luxury typically found in a place such as his. But his frown disappeared to be replaced by a grin. "Aye, Lady, I do," he said disappearing behind his counter. In a short time, he reappeared and slid a small leather pouch on the table. "A free trader bartered me this fer a drink. Said he had no use fer it." As everyone watched, Angel dumped an assortment of seals and sealing wax for letters onto the table. Choosing a stick colored a deep red, she used the stub of a candle to melt wax onto the note she had written. The she pressed her angel into the hot wax. Returning the wax and seals to their pouch, she lifted it back towards the innkeeper. He held up his hands and shook his head. "Nay, lady, ye be usin’ it more than I." "Thank you, my friend," she said, tucking the pouch beneath her sword belt. "Now, I need a dagger."

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The stranger blanched and involuntarily stepped back at the array of daggers suddenly pointed at the Midnight Angel, but the she didn’t so much as bat an eye. She looked them all over until she found one she liked, a slender stiletto with an intricately carved silver hilt tipped with a small but very fine ruby. "Where did you get this?" she asked curiously. Anyone else asking that question of the one eyed man who held the slim dagger would have found his throat slit. But the Angel had given him money to aid his sick wife. "Feriner," was his terse answer, the only one he’d give. "I would not take such a valuable piece from you. Three," she said holding out her hand. Three golden guineas rolled into her hand, and she held them out to the one eyed man. He was honestly abashed. He, too, held up his hands and shook his head. "Nay, lady. Gift." "Then take these for your wife, and have her knit me a shawl. I’ll claim it when I return." Dipping his head in respect, the man accepted the gold. After she placed the note in the center of the table, Angel stabbed the dagger down into the hard wood of the table, pinning the paper to its center. In the torchlight, the ruby sparkled with red fire. After a final wave to the inn’s patrons, the Midnight Angel strode towards the door, her laughter floating back over her shoulder. Then she and her men disappeared into the night. Moving slowly and unobtrusively as possible, the old man made his way to the door. The other occupants of the room were too busy discussing the visit of their angel to take much notice of him. When he’d arrived early that afternoon, identifying himself as a Breton free trader who’d brought some barrels of French wine to trade for wool. His accent and words had been right, so the Cornishmen accepted him for what he claimed to be. Once he was well out of sight of the inn, Lucian Blake straightened and strode across the moor to the small coomb where he’d hidden his horse. This had been his final visit to the inn to discover if anyone at the inn had information about anyone selling military secrets. He’d been astonished when the Midnight Angel appeared in the doorway and had stayed hidden in the shadows watching her interaction with the inn’s patrons, most of whom were thieves and murderers. Even her own men had tensed when certain men stood too near. But the Angel hadn’t so much as batted an eye at the appearance of the men who had surrounded her. Deep in thought, Lucian allowed his horse to pick its own way. Every man in that inn would lay down his life for the woman they called the Midnight Angel. It was a sobering thought.

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Seven "An rud nach gabh leasachadh ‘s fheudar cur suas leis," Gwyn muttered as she hobbled past Corinne. "What’s that, Gwyn?" "What cannot be helped must be put up with," the old woman grumbled. "Oh, Adrian," Corinne said with a sigh of commiseration. Snorting in agreement, the old woman continued towards the kitchen. "Adrian," Corinne asked in a frustrated tone when she joined her nephew in the library, "why are you bedeviling that poor, old woman?" "That poor, old woman is bedeviling me," he answered in a surly tone, looking up from his estate accounts. "Oh?" Corinne’s eyebrows rose as he looked at her askance. "You’re just as bad." She smiled innocently. "Perhaps, but only because I love you." A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. "Come," he said, obviously grateful. "A dragoon brought this message, my lord," the butler said and handed the missive to Adrian. He then discreetly withdrew. "Lucian’s been called back to London." Folding the note, Adrian rose, walked from behind his desk, and kissed Corinne on the forehead. "I’d like to see him off. If you’ll excuse me?" "Of course. I’ll see you for dinner." "Don’t wait. Colonel Fletcher will undoubtedly ask me to dine with him." Not waiting to hear if she had anything else to add to the conversation, he hurried from the library. Corinne’s exasperated sigh followed him. "An rud nach gabh leasachadh ‘s fheudar cur suas leis," she muttered in agreement with Gwen. ~*~ Eagerly, Adrian guided his galloping mount across the moor, not to the British garrison but to the inn where his gold lay. He’d told his aunt the truth. Lucian had been recalled to London, but he’d left early

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this morning. The last line of the note, however, explained that a message waited at the inn. Adrian allowed himself a satisfied grin. He’d known that sooner or later, someone would tell him where to find the Midnight Angel. His stallion was blowing hard when Adrian pulled him to a halt in the inn yard. "Walk him, then give him a little water," he said, tossing the young hostler a silver coin, "and rub his legs down." "Aye, my lord." As he entered the inn, his gaze leaped immediately to the central table where a slender stiletto pinned a folded paper to the table. His gold was gone. Ignoring the few patrons, Adrian strode to the table, jerked the stiletto from the wood, and dropped it onto the table. He reached for the paper, the small, blood red angel readily apparent to his questing eyes. Breaking the seal, he unfolded the paper. A slight smile etched his lips as he read the message. Then he refolded it and laid it back on the table. Picking up the stiletto, he examined the intricately carved angels circling its hilt. The ruby twinkled in a shaft of sunlight. "What did she say?" he asked softly to no one in particular. Silence answered him. Raising his eyes, he locked gazes with the innkeeper who was shifting nervously from foot to foot behind the bar. "I could have this place razed to the ground," Adrian stated in a very quiet, very deadly voice. "My lord, please..." "What did she say!" His hands crunching his apron into a wrinkled mess, the innkeeper said, "She said ye put a high value on her. Then she asked for paper ta write the letter." "The gold?" "Said it was for the poor." The small smile on his face, Adrian nodded. Pulling some silver from his purse, he dropped it on the table, slid the stiletto into his boot, and tucked the note beneath his belt. Without another word, he walked out the door. Mounting his horse, he spurred away, back across the moor, the words of the note echoing in his mind. Ma genam a chaz. Tereba nessa, Angel. I am well. Till next time, Angel

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~*~ Sweat drenched Adrian’s body, and he thrashed about on his bed as his dream darkened. Another ghost challenged his sanity. "I don’t like this, Paddy. Poison is a woman’s weapon," Adrian snarled as he carefully reinserted the cork into the wine bottle--an extremely trying task. "You’ve tried everything else. Montfort is more woman than man, Boyo, and you’ve no other choice. He won’t come out, and ye can’t get in," answered the short Irishman. Adrian swore colorfully as he placed the bottle back in the basket with the other two. The bottle with the poison was a very fine vintage of Montfort’s favorite wine, supposedly a gift from the abbot of the local monastery. All they could do was wait for word from their spy inside the house. Heart aching, Adrian covered his face with his hands. Now he was a true murderer, a true assassin. How would he be able to live with himself? But Montfort wasn’t only a spy and kidnapper; he enjoyed torturing his victims. Still, Adrian was sickened with what he believed he’d become. After waiting impatiently as the moon sailed across the sky, Adrian pulled his watch from his pocket. Midnight. Finally, he thought to himself as the servants began slipping silently from Montfort’s mansion. Another hour after that, Adrian felt it was safe to enter. The huge house was silent as a tomb, and Adrian cast an uneasy glance at Paddy as they searched each room. Eventually, behind a heavy oak door in the cellars, they found what they had been searching for. Adrian cursed fluently as he beheld the luxurious chamber of horrors. Knives and whips of various lengths lay or hung in neat rows. Antiquated, medieval torture devices set about the room. Henri Montfort lay dead on the richly carpeted floor; the poison had accomplished its task. Adrian ignored the body; the girl sagging from the manacles pounded high into the wall drew his attention. He knew she was dead before he reached her. Gently, he brushed the ebony hair from her bare shoulder and turned her face towards him. He pulled back as if burned when he gazed into sightless blue eyes hidden by a black silk mask. Adrian jerked himself from his nightmare and flung himself from his bed. "Noooo! She is alive!!!!" Sweat cooling rapidly on his naked body, Adrian braced his hands on the windowsill and shivered in the cold air that swirled about his bedchamber. Utter desolation filled his soul and dry sobs wracked his body. His chin fell to his chest. She was not dead! She couldn’t be dead! He needed her. The warning Gwyn had passed on to him earlier that night returned as the old woman’s eerie voice seemed to resonate from the darkness.Heed my words, Lord. Death stalks your Angel. Just as you need her, she needs you. ~*~ "Kara, what are you about?" Tristan thundered as he pulled his horse to a sliding halt beside Kara and

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her other men. "Robert didn’t say anything to me about another robbery." Damn, how did Tris find out?Kara thought turning a steely gaze to Grant’s who refused to meet her eyes."And what Robert doesn’t know won’t hurt him. The British need to know I still live, Tris. The Midnight Angel hasn’t ridden since my accident, and they think she’s dead. Besides, Robert will be there." "Better if they think the Angel is dead," he stated. "Sedgewick won’t know you’re coming. Forget this raid and go home. We’re leaving for London tomorrow." Shoulders back and chin up, Kara glared at Tristan. The silence lengthened. Then, after cursing fluently, he acquiesced. "Very well, Kara. But we’re in and out, and you kiss Robert," he finally growled. "Where’s Ravenrook?" Kara ground her teeth as her mare danced under her. "How do I know where he is? I’m not his keeper. What does it matter anyway?" "His presence seems to muddle your thinking," Tris snapped. Kara ignored Tristan’s skeptical gaze. "I don’t give a damn about where he is, and he doesn’t ‘muddle my thinking.’ If tonight’s excursion offends you so much, go home. Now, let’s ride." Kara’s black mare sprang forward as she clapped her heels to its sides, her men following reluctantly. ~*~ Robert stretched his legs out before the fire in the inn’s private dining room. He and his captain had been ordered back to London. Colonel Fletcher, in Robert’s opinion a very decent man even if he was English, had insisted on this final dinner with them. Two of his other officers had joined them. Contentedly, he gazed into the fire, only half listening to the conversation buzzing about him. Tomorrow, Kara would leave for London. Once she was there, he could stop worrying about her. Corinne would show her the wonders of London and a life of privilege. He had no doubts his impressionable sister would be enchanted. And, with her beauty and the dowry Corinne said their grandfather would provide, she could look as high as she wanted for a husband. Once surrounded by the handsome young bucks of London’s high society, he’d be able to convince her to forget about revenge. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about her safety any longer. A knock at the door brought him back to the present. "Forgive me, Colonel, Sir," said the obsequious innkeeper, "but the Marquis of Ravenrook would like a word wi’ ye. The Colonel straightened in his chair. "By all means, Master Innkeeper, show him in." Robert kept his face carefully empty of the consternation he felt when the Marquis of Ravenrook sauntered into the room. "Forgive me, Colonel," he said, "but I heard you have some men returning to London. I’d like to send a message for Major Blake with them, if you don’t mind." The colonel waved him further into the room. "Not at all, your lordship, not at all. Both Marshall and

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Hawkins are returning. Either one will be happy to deliver it, I’m sure." Robert said, "I’ll be glad to deliver the message for you, my lord, if you’ll tell me Major Blake’s direction." The Marquis handed him the letter. "Leave it at army headquarters. I can’t be sure if Lucian will be in London when you arrive." With a nod in the colonel’s direction, Ravenrook turned to leave. "Join us for a drink, my lord. ‘Tis too dreary a night to be riding without brandy warming the blood," invited the Colonel. Robert’s smile remained affable. His thoughts weren’t. He certainly didn’t want to spend his last night in Cornwall with the Marquis of Ravenrook. Adrian shrugged out of his clock and draped it over the back of a chair. "Thank you, sir. I’d enjoy a drink before I ride home." He settled into a chair as the conversation he’d interrupted resumed, grateful for the colonel’s invitation. In the company of others, he was able to shake off the terror and emptiness of soul caused by his nightly dreams. ~*~ "There’s four officers inside," the inn’s cook told the masked men who crowded into her kitchen. "I’ll keep the maids and lads here outta yer way." When the Angel walked in, the women dipped curtsies to her. "Oh, me lady, thanks be to God that y’re not hurt." "No, Mrs. Baharie, I’m not hurt," the Angel answered with a laugh as she handed the stout woman a small bag of silver. "Your daughter is recovering apace?" "Aye, thank ye, Lady," answered the beaming cook, "and a fine lad she birthed." "Four," Tristan murmured, "and the innkeeper is busy in the common room." "Easy enough, then," she said. "Jock, make sure the innkeeper stays where he is. Come along lads, and we’ll relieve the redcoats of their gold." Adrian had just risen to make his farewells when the door burst open. A sense ofdeja vu enveloped him when the masked men melted into the room followed by Bodmin Moor’s Midnight Angel. As always, her presence banished any melancholy that lingered about his heart. She brought him life. "Gothewhar daa, gentlemen..." Kara began her standard greeting, but her voice faltered as her eyes met Adrian’s. Every muscle in her body tensed as Kara gaped at the Marquis. What was he doing here! Passion leaped into his eyes, and a satisfied smile crawled onto his face. But, the colonel spoke first. "So, you’re still alive, lovely bandit," he stated with a slight chuckle, "I wondered, when we hadn’t the pleasure of your company for so long."

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"Other obligations, Colonel," she answered, grateful for his interruption so she could regain her composure. She tore her eyes away from Warrick’s and checked her men. All but Tristan had his pistol trained on the marquis. All of them knew the greatest danger lay with him. The sight of Adrian made Kara catch her breath and caused her heart to skip, but she refused to acknowledge her feelings. She wouldn’t have attempted this final theft if she’d known he was here. The cook said there were only four men, so he must have been a late arrival. She chanced another quick glance in his direction. He leaned negligently against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, his hands well away from the saber at his side. She turned her attention back to the redcoats. "Your gold, gentlemen, on the table, please. Not you, my lord Pirate," she added, her voice a caressing whisper, as Warrick started to push himself away from the wall. "Your contributions to the poor are sufficient." "Will you not bind us tonight, Angel?" he cajoled in a dangerously seductive voice. Sorely tempted to walk over to him, Kara knew better than to rise to his baiting. She also knew better than to allow either herself or any of her men to get within arm’s reach. He would not be caught off guard a second time. Her teeth flashed as she smiled, but she refused to answer his question. Every muscle in Adrian’s body was tensed for action. A slight frown creased his brow as he watched Angel, curious about the change in her usual routine. She didn’t move close to any of the officers, taunting them with her lovely body. Observing her closely, however, he noticed her lips twitch whenever she moved her arm suddenly. So that was it. Her shoulder wasn’t completely healed. Adrian frowned. Why was she risking a still unhealed wound and the possibility of capture for the little bit of coin she’d gather here tonight? She had his two hundred guineas. Thoughtfully, Adrian looked about the room. Four pistols were pointed directly at his chest. He doubted very much that his Angel would order him shot, but he was sure none of these masked men would hesitate if he took one step towards her. "Durdalada whye, gentlemen," she said as her henchman finished collecting the money. "It has been an enjoyable evening, but I must leave you now. However, before I go..." Adrian swore softly to himself. Angel was not going to put herself within his reach this night. He’d be damned if she kissed another man. "Angel," he interrupted in his husky voice, "I found something you seemed to have misplaced." All eyes turned to the Marquis as he bent and pulled the stiletto from his boot. "Hold," Kara said to her men as the marquis slowly straightened, the dagger’s ruby flashing in the firelight. She too now pointed her pistol at him. Could she shoot him? Her revenge... She must have her revenge, Adrian’s kisses be damned!However, she answered his smile with one of her own. "No, my pirate, I remember exactly where I left it." "Allow me then to return it to you, Angel," he coaxed, flipping it over and holding it towards her, hilt forward.

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The caressing promise he wrapped around her name sent shivers tingling along her spine. More and more often, she wondered what it would be like to allow him more kisses. Adrian allowed his gaze to wander down Angel’s body stopping at her breasts where her nipples pebbled against her shirt. His nostrils flared and he felt his body tighten as he remembered how lovely those creamy breasts with their rosy nipples had looked when he’d tended her wound that night in the abandoned inn. Then his eyes returned to hers. Hell, but he wanted her. Kara shook herself free of the passionate promise in the Marquis’ hooded gaze and glanced at her men. Then, throwing caution to the winds, she decided to play with fire. Her men tensed, and Tristan hissed a warning, but she slowly sauntered across the room and reached for dagger’s hilt. She no sooner had it in her hand than Warrick grasped her wrist. The sound of triggers cocking filled the room. Well aware of the alarm coursing through her men, Kara allowed the marquis to pull her a few steps closer. He bowed his head towards her hand, completely ignoring the dagger so close to his face. If she had wanted to, she could have given him another scar to match the first. Or, she could have blown his brains out with the pistol she held in her other hand. She chose, however, to allow him his kiss. She held her breath as he placed his parted lips on the inside of her wrist, his tongue tracing lazy circles against the pulse that now pounded so fiercely. Then, he released her and stepped back. When he released her wrist, Kara began to breathe again. Ever so slowly, she pulled her arm back to her side. His eyes were afire with promised passion, and she almost took a step towards him. Almost. Remembering where she was and what she was about, she smiled. "Thank you, my pirate, for returning my dagger." Then she bent and slid the dagger into her boot, naively offering him a gaping view of her lovely bosom. The sight of Angel’s creamy breasts fired Adrian’s passions higher. She straightened, and he watched silently as she nodded to the British officers. His eyes narrowed as he contemplated the redcoats. The two captains were openly hostile, and the colonel was chuckling as if he were the only one who understood a joke. Lieutenant Marshall sat with a brooding look on his face. Before he was able to think too much about their reactions, Angel’s throaty chuckle drew his eyes back to her face. Her smile flashed again; then she disappeared through the doorway followed by her men. The door slammed shut, and he heard the key turn in the lock. "Why the bloody hell didn’t you grab her when you had the chance?" growled Captain Hawkins. "Because her men would have opened fire." Adrian sat back down and poured himself another brandy. He knew the inn’s servants wouldn’t unlock the door before Angel and her men had enough time to flee. Granted, he could probably break the door down, but he didn’t want Angel captured by the army. She was his. "His Lordship did the right thing, Hawkins," Colonel Fletcher added. "One only had to look into the eyes of her men to know they would have fired. Need I remind you, we want this woman alive. We don’t need another martyr like eighteen years ago. Sedgewick erred in the handling of that situation." Adrian raised his glass to his lips, hiding the satisfied smile. Another piece to the puzzle, an officer’s name. All the better Sedgewick, the bastard. He’d have no qualms about killing him, no matter how many nightmares followed. Lucian had told him how Sedgewick had torched a hut that held only women

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and children during the Scottish uprising. ~*~ Kara pulled her mare to a halt behind the church, slid from her saddle, and handed the reins to Tristan, she said, "Take her out onto the moor and set her free." "Are you sure about this, Kara?" "Aye, Tris. She can’t spend the rest of her life hidden under the church, and I can’t abide the thought of selling her. Let her run free with the moor ponies." As her men galloped away, Kara hurried across the churchyard to the Palser’s house. Tomorrow, she would leave for London. ~*~ The following morning, Adrian’s thoughts drifted to Angel as he rode beside his aunt’s carriage. Last night, when he’d kissed her wrist, he’d recognized the passion, longing, and acceptance in her eyes. If they’d been alone, she’d have been his. Now, it was only a matter of finding her, for he knew she’d never simply surrender. He had to best her, and when he did, she’d come willingly to his bed. His mount’s small stumble brought him back to himself. Corinne was stopping to say farewell to the Palsers and then she was off to Wales to fetch her niece. Thank God she was finally leaving. When Angel was finally his, he didn’t want anyone interrupting them. Corinne’s face appeared at the carriage window. He saluted her with his crop and galloped off across the moor. ~*~ "You promise you’ll write to me?" Emma said, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron. "I’ll write everyday," her foster daughter answered, sniffling back her own tears. "Now, Emma, they must be off," Reverend Palser said, a trace of moistness in his eyes also. "I know, Simon. Kara, you mind your Aunt Corinne." "I will." Tears now flowing unashamedly down her cheeks, Kara threw her arms around first Emma and then Simon. "Come along now, Kara," said her Aunt Corinne, her tapping foot betraying her impatience. Jane was already seated in the coach, her tearful farewells to her father and brother finished. "I’m coming, Aunt Corinne," Kara answered after one more tearful hug for Emma. "The first thing to remember," her aunt instructed as Kara sat down next to her, "is to allow the footman or a gentleman to help you into the coach. A lady does not haul herself in as if she were a bag of grain."

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As the coach rocked forward, Kara managed to smile through her tears and wave to her foster parents. Once out of the village, she settled back, contemplating the plans she and Corinne had devised. Jock rode the back as a footman. Tristan, Grant, and Jori would meet them along the road, each riding his own horse and leading Jock’s. As armed outriders, the three young men would be guard enough against real highwaymen. After a half an hour of small talk, she drifted off to sleep. She’d gotten little sleep; the previous night had been restless. She’d never left Cornwall before. As her niece slept, Corinne smiled to herself. Unknown to all but a few, the Midnight Angel was off to London. Gut instinct told her Sedgewick was somehow involved with whoever was selling military secrets. With the Midnight Angel seeking revenge, he might make a mistake. Then, she would have him. ~*~ Frustrated, Adrian galloped his horse across Bodmin Moor, searching for a clue as to Angel’s whereabouts. After that night at the inn, he’d been sure she was ready to come to his bed. Why did women have be so difficult? They both know what they wanted. Why did Angel have to act like a coy virgin! The stallion bugled across the moor at the small herd of ponies. Patting him on the neck, Adrian said, "Those mares aren’t for you, lad." An answering whinny caught his attention, and a black mare, mane and tail flying in the breeze, galloped over the hill. Immediately recognizing the Midnight Angel’s fine Eastern mare, Adrian whistled and nudged his horse towards her. His stallion needed no urging. Her nostrils flaring, the mare coquettishly minced towards his stallion, garnering a humorous snort from Adrian. She was as much of a tease as her mistress! When the mare drew near enough, he could see that she wore neither saddle nor bridle. She had obviously slipped her tether. A slow smile formed on his lips as he mentally composed the note he would send to the moor inn.I have your mare, Angel. If you want her back, you’ll have to come to Ravenrook to fetch her--alone. After he dismounted, he removed his sword belt and slid the scabbard off. Sliding the end back through the buckle, he made a loop and walked slowly towards the mare. With a soft whicker, the mare suffered his approach and accepted the makeshift halter. "I think you would have just followed me home, sweet," Adrian murmured as he rubbed her neck. "Too bad your mistress isn’t as accommodating." Once remounted, Adrian slipped his sword between his thigh and saddle. Then, keeping a firm grip on his belt, he led the spirited mare towards Ravenrook. "We’ve a new boarder, Tom," Adrian called as he rode into his stable yard. When the head groom appeared, he started with surprise. Everyone who lived about Bodmin Moor knew who rode that particular black mare. "Where’d ye find her, my lord?" "Frolicking about the moor." Adrian was already planning his first night with his Angel. "She must have slipped her tether."

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"Aye, you’re probably right." Adrian handed the makeshift halter to his groom. "See that she has the best care. We wouldn’t want her mistress disappointed when she comes to claim her." "Aye, my lord," he answered as he led the mare into the stable. Then he returned for Adrian’s grey. Whistling a merry tune, Adrian started up the path to the castle but stopped after only a few steps and spun around. He needed to discuss a sore hoof on one of his carriage horses. Adrian walked back into the stable as Tom was grooming the mare, talking to her in a low voice. "Left ye, did sheAndraste ? Set ye free, but you’d rather stay here where it’s warm and dry. She’ll come back, lass, when her work is done." The mare whickered and leaned into the groom’s steady strokes. "Where did she go, Tom?" Tom stepped back away from the mare, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "My lord, I din hear ye’." Anger blazed in Adrian’s eyes, but his voice was low. "Obviously. Where is Angel now?" "I swear, I don’t know, Lord. They say she leftKernow , but she’ll be home again." "When?" "No one kin tell ye that, lord." Adrian stalked away fists clenched at his sides, teeth clamped tight against the obscenities that threatened to gush forth. She played him for a fool.He thought back to the name Tom had called her mare, Andraste--warrior goddess of the Celts. If Angel wanted a war, she’d get one. And he never lost. Almost immediately, his anger left him. Shoulders slumped and head bowed, Adrian trudged wearily up the path, his initial anger replaced by despair. He entered the castle silently and waved away his butler’s questioning look. Once he was in his chambers, he stripped down to his shirt and britches. Falling into his favorite chair, he stared despondently into the fire, his thoughts whirling.Why, Angel? Why did you leave me? I’d never hurt you. I need you. His dreams were especially vicious that night. ~*~ Shifting her weight from foot to foot, Kara licked her lips and fingered her mask. She ignored the heated mutterings of her men, her own thoughts a maelstrom of fear, uncertainty, and--curiosity. Shortly after stopping at this inn in Devon, her aunt had sent a boy off with a message. As soon as she received a reply, she’d ordered Kara into her Angel costume and given her instructions. Now, she stood staring at the back door of a bordello. How did Aunt Corinne arrange this? Did she know a--fallen woman? How could she? Kara shivered. How could she possibly go in here? What would Robert say? "Let’s get this over with," she mumbled gesturing to Tristan. Robertwould marry her off to Grant if he

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heard about this. "Kara. Are you sure? Robert would never..." "Robert’s not here, Tris, and even he agreed that Aunt Corinne’s plan to have me rob a few officers on the way to London was a good idea. Now knock on the damn door." Lips drawn in a thin line, Tristan knocked twice and then three more times. The door opened and a flamboyantly dressed woman with hair an unnatural shade of red motioned them in. "So you’re the Midnight Angel," she said carefully perusing Kara, whose blush was evident below her mask. "If you ever decide to change professions, come see me. I know more than a few gentlemen who’d be titillated mounting a woman wearing a mask." As they stepped inside, Kara eagerly glanced around then struggled to hide her disappointment. With a pot of stew bubbling above a merrily burning fire and freshly baked bread sitting on a table, it looked like the kitchen of any inn. She turned her attention back to the woman. "We are not here to discuss your business, Madam. Which room?" The woman chuckled. "Best if you hurry, I suppose. Come this way. We’ve a major and a captain upstairs. Just don’t hurt the girls, and they won’t fuss." "We’ll have to tie and gag them to make it look real." "Aye, they know.’ She led them up two flights of stairs, away from the music and laughter at the front of the house to a door at the end of the hallway draped with red and gold silk. "Once you’re done, remember your way out. I can’t guarantee your safety if you stumble into the main parlor. It’s full of redcoats." The madam disappeared back down the stairway. Low, masculine laughter and high-pitched squeals could be heard through the doorway. "Kara, stop gawking," Tristan hissed. As she bit back a scathing retort, Kara drew her sword and nodded. After Tristan pushed the door open, she followed her men into the room, stumbling over her own feet at the sight that greeted her. Two semi clad women sat on the laps of two completely naked men. "Not a sound," she finally choked out. "You fire that pistol, and everyone will hear. Other dragoons are in this house," said one of the men as he pushed the woman off his lap. "Perhaps, my fine young cockerel," Kara said more strongly but still with a catch in her voice, keeping her eyes trained desperately on his face, "but you will be quite dead." "Who the bloody hell are you?" he growled reaching for a blanket to cover himself.

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The low sexy laugh curled around the two men. "I was told my fame had reached as far as London." Comprehension dawned in the eyes of the younger man, and his mouth dropped open. "You’re her, the Midnight Angel." "Your gold?" she asked. But Grant had already gone through their clothing and found their money pouches. A leer appeared on the face of the older of the two, and his flagging shaft surged with new life. "You always kiss one of your victims, is that not true, witch? Perhaps you’d like more than a kiss. A ride?" The cocky young man leaned back and spread his legs wide. The engorged shaft between his legs jerked in anticipation. Kara’s blade flashed in the firelight."I have been known to share a kiss with gentlemen, my ill-mannered knave," she spat in a tight voice, the point of her rapier a hair’s breath from the man’s now rapidly shrinking member. "And, if I were a witch, that little man would never raise his head again. However, my sword is sharper than any spell." "Comero weeth!" Tristan’s low warning intruded on her anger. Frustrated but glad her mask hid her blush, she growled. "Be glad my man takes pity on you. Bind and gag them." Her men leaped to do her bidding. After both the men and women were bound and gagged, Kara saluted them. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, if you can. Farewell." Kara and her men disappeared down the stairway and into the darkness. The next morning, Corinne chuckled merrily at the tale the innkeeper related at breakfast. The Midnight Angel was no longer on Bodmin Moor. Where would she strike next? ~*~ Twice more Corinne carefully orchestrated robberies for the Midnight Angel and her men, once in Dorset and once in Surrey, though neither of these took place in whorehouses. Kara adamantly refused to enter another, and Tristan and Grant were emphatic in their support. ~*~ Kara sighed with relief when their coach finally pulled to a halt before the Marquis of Ravenrook’s townhouse. Night had fallen hours ago, but Corinne refused to stop when they were so close to London. Kara was tired of traveling and sleeping on hard beds. All she wanted now was a hot bath, a good meal, and a soft bed, in that order. Corinne had already disappeared into the house when Tristan helped her out of the coach. "Do you think we can pull this off, Tris? What do you know about being a secretary anyway?"

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His smile was as tired as hers. "Father’s a schoolmaster and my penmanship is tolerably good, Kara. How hard can it be? At least I’ll be in the house with you instead of mucking out stalls in the stable with Jock." "Are you sure Grant and Jori will find the house Corinne told them about? Do they have enough money?" Kara fretted as they entered the front door and stepped into the imposing foyer of the town house. "Stop worrying," he whispered mindful of the servants flocking around them. "Everyone will believe he’s the son of a country squire come to spend a season in London." "Are you sure Jori doesn’t mind being his servant? We could find him something else." His tone became exasperated. "Kara! Stop worrying! As a servant, he’ll be able to go places Grant and I can’t." "Come along, Kara," interjected her aunt as she walked back into the hall. "I’ve ordered you a bath and a tray sent to your room. We can introduce you to the staff tomorrow." Too tired to argue Kara followed a fresh-faced maid up the staircase. An hour and a half later, she was fast asleep. ~*~ The next night, the Midnight Angel emerged from behind some bushes in a small park, startling the old man. Aunt Corinne had assured her retired General Horace Somerset walked his spaniel in the park every night. All she had to do was wait for him. "What do you want, you rascals," he growled in a gruff voice eyeing the strangely clad woman and the four men holding cocked pistols. "I have no money with me." "I’m not here to rob you, General," she answered. "I’d like you to deliver a message for me to Major Sedgewick. I am the Midnight Angel, and I have come to London to avenge the murder of my parents on Bodmin Moor twenty years ago." After placing a chaste kiss on the general’s bewhiskered cheek, Kara and her men melted into the darkness. "Damned if she wasn’t polite about it," General Somerset related to a group of his cronies later that evening. "Just wants me to tell Sedgewick she’s here for revenge. Who the bloody hellis Major Sedgewick, anyway?" ~*~ "Come," Adrian said to the soft knock on his door. "A message from Major Blake, my lord." He pointed to the table with his chin. "Put it there, and leave me." "Yes, my lord."

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With a sigh, Adrian rose. Glancing in the mirror, he simply stared at his haggard countenance. Dark circles swam under his eyes and whiskers covered his cheeks. Ever since his Angel had left him, he hadn’t been able to eat or sleep. And his ghosts haunted him constantly. Shoulders slumping, his chin dropped to his chest. Bracing his hands against the table, he closed his eyes and muttered, "My God, Angel. Why did you leave me? I need you." When his eyes opened, he was staring at the missive his butler had laid there. With a sigh, he straightened and picked it up. Lucian had probably finally learned something in London about who was stealing military documents. He might as well join him. There was nothing to learn about the spies in Cornwall and with his Angel gone, he had no reason to stay here. Adrian’s breath caught in his throat and hope surged in his heart for the first time in weeks as he read his friend’s terse message. She is here.

Eight London Kara dropped the heavy drape, lifted her skirts well above her ankles, and bolted from the front window. An oath escaped her lips when she skidded on the well-polished floor and slid into the drawing room. "He’s here! Aunt Corrine! What am I going to do?" Exasperation evident on her face, her aunt set her teacup on the table and patted the sofa next her. "Calm yourself, Kara. We’ve discussed this, and you’ve practiced. Everything will be fine. The best place to hide is right out in the open. Adrian doesn’t expect to find the Midnight Angel living in his own house. Now sit here, and, when I introduce you, act exactly as we’ve planned." "My lady," announced Ivors, their very proper English butler, "the Marquis of Ravenrook." "Adrian, my dear," Corinne gushed as she rose, both hands extended, "I never expected to see you in London so soon." "I have some business," snapped a dirty and mud spattered Adrian. With a sigh, he added, "I’m sorry for my temper, Aunt, but it rained much of the way here." Then he smiled tiredly, grasped both of her hands, and kissed her on the cheek.

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Hands clenched until her knuckles turned white, Kara observed Adrian and Corinne’s greeting from beneath her lashes. She swallowed and her heart began to race when her aunt said, "Come and meet my niece, Karalyn. Karalyn, my nephew Adrian." Blast, her damn niece is in here,Adrian groaned to himself and flicked his eyes to the young woman seated on the settee. He remembered to breath two minutes later. She was dressed in a rather old-fashioned blue day dress that accentuated the sapphires in her eyes. Her complexion was flawless; her lips were ruby red; and her black hair shone with blue highlights. For a moment, Adrian thought his wits had deserted him. Only one woman had eyes that shade of blue. Surely she... "Angel," he whispered in a barely audible voice. A high-pitched giggle escaped the girl’s lips, and the giddy tone of her voice immediately had Adrian blanching and glancing towards the door and his escape. "Oh, my lord!" she exclaimed in a shrill voice as she bounced up off the settee and bobbed into multiple curtsies. "How do you do? I am so very pleased to meet you. Imagine! Me, staying in the same house as a Marquis, properly chaperoned, of course." Nodding his head but making no effort to take her hand, Adrian ground his teeth at Corinne’s obvious amusement. Corrine’s precious little niece was a scatter-brained ninny. How could he have even considered that she and Angel... Bloody hell! How would he live in the same house as, as--her? The girl prattled on. "I’m just so happy to be in London for the Season, aren’t you, my lord? Aunt Corinne says that I have a good chance for an excellent match. She says that you will probably be looking for a wife, too. But she said I wasn’t to look in your direction since she is aunt to both of us. We’re cousins of a sort, don’t you think? But I should be able to attract the notice of at least an earl. Do you know my grandfather has a copper mine? Aunt Corrine said that might attract even a duke, or at least a younger son." Marvelously amused, Corinne watched Adrian’s countenance become paler and paler as Kara babbled on, bobbing a curtsey every tenth word or so. When she mentioned the possibility of marriage, his eyes bulged; and he began to inch nervously towards the door. "Pardon me," he interrupted when Kara finally paused for breath, "but it has been a rather tiring journey, and I am somewhat fatigued. If you will excuse me, I’d like to wash away the mud of travel." "Oh, my lord!" she exclaimed, her eyes becoming round and both hands flying to her mouth. "I’m soooo sorry! Here I am nattering on and on, and you’re exhausted. Why, I remember how tired I was when we arrived. I wanted to take to my bed for the next three days. And I did. The maid had to bring me all of my meals on trays, and..." Years had passed since Corinne had seen such a nauseated look on her nephew’s face. "Karalyn," she interrupted, her lips twitching, "please allow Adrian to leave. He’ll be able to talk more at dinner." When Corinne interrupted, Adrian spun around and practically ran from the room.

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After the door closed, Kara collapsed onto the settee grasping her shaking hands together. "I thought he would never leave," she said in a voice that shook as much as her hands. "Did you see the way he looked at me when he came in? And he called me Angel. For a moment, I thought he knew." When the older woman finally stopped laughing, she said, "I told you, Kara, Adrian fears only two things in this world, talk of his marriage and making conversation with empty headed debutantes. You managed to combine both of those fears at once. That comment about marriage was sheer genius. My dear, you should trod the boards." "How long will I have to pretend to be such a ninny?" Her hands were still shaking. "As long as he stays, my love, but have no fear. After the performance you just gave, he’ll stay as far away from you as he possibly can. He’ll have to be dragged into your presence," her aunt replied, a chuckle still in her voice. Kara wiped her hands on her skirt. "I certainly hope so. I was running out of things to say." Corinne lifted a cup of tea to her lips. "As soon as that high pitched squeak issued from your throat, he stopped listening. He was concentrating on how to get out of here without insulting me." "He wasn’t worried about insulting me?" Kara asked curiously, a confused expression appearing on her face. "Kara, Adrian is firmly convinced that you don’t have enough of a brain in your head to understand an insult." "Oh!" Corinne smiled to herself at the dissatisfied look that appeared on the younger woman’s face. She agreed with Robert that the sooner Kara was out of this business of revenge the better. A betrothal and marriage would end her midnight exploits. Corinne intended that betrothal and marriage to be to Adrian. ~*~ Kara’s own thoughts were following much the same vein. When she’d realized that Adrian had arrived, her pulse had quickened with joy. And when he’d walked in the door, her eyes had greedily roamed over him, noting immediately how tired he was. Her heart had clenched when she saw how unhappy he seemed. At first, after her performance had chased him from the room, Kara mentally congratulated herself. Adrian was extremely perceptive and very hard to deceive. However, his eagerness to flee her presence twisted her heart. Deep down, she had been hoping that he would recognize her. Her mind now dwelled all too often on his kisses, and her adventure in the bordello made her wonder exactly how Adrian would look naked and--aroused. ~*~ Adrian literally ran up the stairs as quickly as he could just in case his aunt’s niece decided to follow him out into the hallway. He’d had more than a little experience with well-bred, noble, scatterbrained girls

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before his banishment, and he did his best to avoid them and their marriage minded mamas at all costs. Shaking his head, he negotiated the short distance from the top of the stairs to the master’s suite. For a moment, when he’d first seen Karalyn--surely there couldn’t be two women with eyes such a bewitching blue--but then, when she’d opened her mouth and he’d seen the absolute obliviousness in those beguiling blue eyes, he’d known that Karalyn Marshall was exactly who Corinne said she was. Bodmin Moor’s Angel might be many things, but scatterbrained was not one of them. He doubted that there were many women whose wits were as sharp as his Angel’s. Entering his chamber, he pulled up short and glaredat the small, pinch-faced man who was busy unpacking his bag. "Who the bloody hell are you?" The man straightened. "I am Simmons, my lord, your valet." "Damn and blast." Turning, Adrian stomped back to the landing at the top of the steps. "Corinne!" Down in the sitting room, despite the closed door, Corinne heard her nephew’s bellow. Chuckling deliciously, she rose. "Adrian has met Simmons," she said to her startled niece. "I must say, I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in years." Looking askance at her aunt as the older woman left the room, Kara hoped fervently that the older woman never decided to meddle so much in her life. ~*~ "Adrian," Corinne admonished into her nephew’s flinty eyes, "you simply cannot do without a valet. You can’t expect Ivors to come pick up after you as Barrows does." "Why the hell not?" His tone was surly. Her voice was icy. "Really, Adrian! Ivors has enough with his own duties, as do the footman. Just how many people do you want tramping about in your chamber anyway? Simmons is modest and discreet, as a good valet should be." "Bugger him!" Corinne held her ground, a slight smile now on her lips. Audibly gnashing his teeth when he didn’t get the reaction he wanted for his reprehensible language, Adrian cursed again and turned back towards his rooms. "And keep that empty-headed niece of yours away from me!" A cat smile on her face as the door to his chamber slammed, a very satisfied Corinne glided towards the stairway. After his aunt left, Adrian turned to his new servant. "You will stay out from under my feet, and I do not want you in these chambers when I am home unless I specifically request you to be here," he growled. "And keep your damn hands off of me. I am fully capable of dressing myself." "Of course, my lord," answered the unperturbed Simmons. "Everything will be as you wish."

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"Don’t think that you can change my wardrobe, either. I’ll not be wearing any of those bloody puce coats." Simmons bowed. "Of course, my lord." Continuing to curse under his breath, a still travel stained Adrian stomped back out of his rooms and down the stairs. Surprised, Ivors handed Adrian his hat and cloak and then motioned the footman to open the front door. "Tell my aunt I won’t be home for dinner. I’m going to my club." "Yes, my lord." With a sad sigh, Ivors turned towards the sitting room where his mistress was enjoying her tea. The house had been so quiet and peaceful. Then Lady Warrick had arrived with her scatter-brained niece, a secretary that stuttered horribly, and a Cornish maid who spent more time staring at the house’s furnishing than she did tending to the young mistress. Without a doubt, this Season would be anything but peaceful. ~*~ "Why so morose, my friend?" Lucian asked as he sat down next to Adrian. Gulping another mouth full of brandy, Adrian growled, "Damn all women to hell." Covering a questionable snort of laughter with a sip of brandy, Lucian asked, "Your Angel still leading you a merry chase?" "As if she weren’t enough of a problem, I’ve my aunt and her addle-pated niece in my house." "And what is the fair Karalyn like?" Adrian guzzled the rest of the brandy in the glass. "How do you know her name?" Lucian leaned back in his chair. "Your aunt has been around to friends with daughters and granddaughters. Rumor has it the chit’s quite lovely." Adrian grunted. He’d drunk a great deal of brandy. "There’s not one coherent thought in her empty head." "Giddy, is she?" "Giddy does not come near to describing her," Adrian mumbled in a slurred voice as he reached for the bottle of brandy sitting on the table. He captured it on his second try. Lucian grinned outright. "You’ve had enough brandy for one evening." Adrian ignored him. "Damn meddling Corinne hired me a valet! A valet! I’ve been dressing myself for the last seven years. I don’t need a blasted valet," Adrian growled in a louder voice. "And stop glaring at me," he snarled over Lucian’s shoulder to the elderly club members who had been leveling frowns at him

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all evening. His gaze sought Lucian’s face, both of them. "The damn butler said I was too dirty. He wasn’t going to let me in until I threatened to throw him out into the street." Lucian sipped his brandy. "Nice of Corinne to keep your dues up." Adrian glared over his friend’s shoulder again. "Most of them wanted to throw me out on my ass when I came back." Lucian shook his head. "I know. Father wouldn’t allow it. You were exonerated of all crimes. You’d done nothing to warrant expulsion. However, your appearance today is another thing. Why didn’t you bathe and change before you came here? A number of your supporters are regretting their decisions." Adrian snorted. He didn’t care; he was aching for a fight. When he entered his club in a temper with both his britches and boots mud splattered, his crimson-lined black cloak billowing behind him, his long hair fanning his shoulders, wearing no coat and his dusty white shirt hanging open at the neck, more than a few members had risen to their feet. Then they got a good look at the pulsing red scar on his cheek, and the golden earring dangling above his shoulder reminded all of his questionable past. He knew he looked like a blasted pirate, and he dared anyone to say anything about it. None of them had the courage. "I need a woman," he mumbled into his glass. "I’ve been too long without a woman, Lucian. I need to ease myself between a pair of willing thighs. Any whore will do. Take me to a pleasure house." Chuckling, Lucian pulled his friend to his feet. "You wouldn’t be much good to a whore in your present condition." "Lucian," Adrian said with the dignity only a drunken man could muster as he swayed to his feet and staggered across the room, "I have never in my life had that much brandy." Laughing outright, Lucian slipped one of Adrian’s arms over his shoulder and led his friend from the club and signaled a hack. Giving the driver the direction, he climbed in next to his now snoring friend. Adrian was in no condition to discuss what he’d discovered about the spy network. He could get his opinion tomorrow. Once home they arrived at the townhouse, with the help of a strong footman, Lucian steered a staggering Adrian up the two flights of stairs, laughing heartily as an unflappable Simmons put his master to bed. ~*~ He clung to Adrian’s leg, begging. "Please, Master, save me." "Be off, man. Leave me be," Adrian growled at the old man cowering at his feet. All of his attention was focused on the small house before him, the house where his next victim lay hidden. "Please, Master..." sobbed the groveling, wreck of a man. "Be--gone!" Adrian snarled shoving the pathetic wreck of humanity away from him. A scrabbling sound led Adrian to believe the old man was finally scurrying away; however, some sound or his sixth sense warned him. He jerked to the right as the old man struck. A burning pain streamed through his left side, but the knife missed his heart. However, blood flowed from the

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wound rapidly. "You are just like all the others, fool," rasped the old man, his eyes glowing madly in the darkness. "You accepted me for what your eyes thought I was. Now you will die." Panting with pain, Adrian pulled his saber from its sheath. "I’m not dead yet." Eerie laughter issued from the old man’s mouth. "You think I’m fool enough to get close enough for you to usethat?" With far more dexterity than an old man should have, Delgado juggled the knife between his two hands. The explosion rocked the night as the dagger buried itself in the wall next to Adrian’s head, drawing blood from his cheek as it passed. Paddy emerged from the darkness, a smoking pistol in his hand. "Did I not tell ye, Laddie," the Irishman said with a chuckle, "that Delgado is one of the best knife men in the world?" But then, the little Irishman shoved his pistol into his belt with a curse as Adrian sank to the ground, the bloodstain at his side growing. Waking, the remembered pain in his side as bad as the real ache now in his head, Adrian opened his eyes slowly and discovered he was in his own chamber. He still wore his clothing, but his boots were off. How the hell did he get here? Rising to sit on the edge of his bed, he swore vehemently and grasped his head with both hands. He glared with bloodshot eyes at the door as it opened. Simmons entered carrying a steaming mug. "Coffee, my lord." With a grunt that could have been thanks, Adrian accepted the cup and sipped carefully. "How did I get here?" he asked after the hot liquid had burned a path down his gullet. "Major Blake saw you home, my lord." Adrian grunted again and took another swallow of coffee. His pinched face expressionless, the valet turned and walked to the door. "I have had the water for your bath prepared, my lord," he said as he signaled a footman to carry the steaming buckets into the room. Adrian’s only communication was another grunt. Once the bath was ready, Simmons said, "I will leave your lordship to your bath." He closed the door firmly as he bowed himself out of the room. As the clock in the hallway struck two, a much-refreshed Adrian descended the stairway. His head still ached, but the tray of assorted foodstuffs Simmons sent to his sitting room had been a great help to his disposition. With a bit of luck, he’d be able to leave the house before Corinne or her goose of a niece saw him. "I do not wish to stand still!" The feminine snarl that cracked from the slightly open sitting room door stopped Adrian in midstep. The memory of a blue-eyed temptress who bared his cheek to the bone flashed into his mind. After three long strides, he shoved the door open.

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The tableau that greeted him was not what he expected. Standing upon a stool in the middle of the floor, a length of white muslin draped over her like a sack, his aunt’s niece was surrounded by five other women, three of whom had pins stuck in their mouths. "Oh!" Karalyn exclaimed, her hands clutching the muslin to her bosom when she saw Adrian in the doorway. "My lord," she continued in a high-pitched squeak. "We did not know you were about." Corinne rose from her seat and hurried towards him. "Adrian! Karalyn is being fitted for dresses. This is no place for you." "Why the hell," he grumbled--two of the seamstresses blushed and covered their ears-- "isn’t she in her room where this should be done?" "Because," his aunt snapped irately, "her room happens to be next to yours. Since you seemed to need extra rest this morning, we didn’t want to disturb you." Scowling thunderously, Adrian muttered something uncomplimentary about women in general and spun away from the sitting room door. Ivors waited by the front door with his hat, cane, and cape. "I’ll be dining with Lucian this evening. Don’t expect me until late," Adrian called over his shoulder. Corinne allowed her anger to remain on her face until Ivors closed the door behind her irritable nephew. Then she entered the sitting room, closing the door firmly behind her. "Kara..." The younger woman stomped her foot. "They keep sticking me with pins!" "Begging your pardon, Miss," said one of the seamstresses, "but we wouldn’t stick you if you stood still!" Corinne’s lips quivered as she looked from Kara to the woman in charge. Margaret Thatcher was a favored seamstress of the nobility, especially when dresses for tender young debutantes were required. She was not about to be intimidated by what she considered a spoiled child used to getting her own way. "You will listen to Mrs. Thatcher, Karalyn. We are invited to supper at Lady Henderson’s on Friday, and you must have a dress ready to wear." "Well, at least let me have something other than white!" she complained, wincing when another pin stuck her. "I’d better wearing something in red to hide all the blood these pins are drawing." As one, all the seamstresses gasped. "Ladies, Kara, do not wear red!" Corinne snapped, standing with her arms crossed over her bosom. "This is your first season. You will wear white." Corinne tapped her lips with her finger. "However, Mrs. Thatcher, do you think you could do something with brightly colored ribbons?" The woman pursed her lips then nodded. "Yes, my lady. It would suit to have some color about her." Kara shifted when another pin jabbed her and cursed silently. Blasted women were sticking her on purpose. "Please, Aunt Corinne."

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Ignoring Kara, Corinne wandered over to the cloth-draped table. "The riding habit, I think. Yes, we will want something other than black for a riding habit," Corinne murmured while she searched through the bolts of material the seamstress had brought. "Ah, this will do very well." "But, my lady!" gasped the seamstress when Corinne held up the wine red velvet, "that’s not a proper color for a young girl’s riding habit!" Ignoring the woman’s shock, Corinne continued. "You shall make me one of the same material following the design of my old habit. Kara and I will set a new style, and I’ll be sure to tell everyone who made them." Corinne smiled when the seamstress didn’t argue. Mrs. Thatcher knew when to shut her mouth. If Corinne Warrick started wearing red velvet riding habits, then so would others. That would mean more business and more profits. Kara still grumbled and swore under her breath as Mrs. Thatcher’s assistants poked, prodded, pinned and fitted. It was the most boring afternoon of her entire life. ~*~ Early that evening, Kara sat alone in the library, contentedly reading a book She wore one of her new dresses, a sprigged white muslin with bright pink ribbons sewn about the bodice waist, sleeves, and hem. The seamstresses had sewn it up for her before they left, thanks to Aunt Corinne’s promise to pay double for it. "Just let me get Farring’s book and we’ll be off," Adrian said as he and another man walked into the room. "Oh!" Karalyn exclaimed jumping to her feet and bobbing a curtsey. "God’s blood, girl, is that the only word you know?" Adrian complained as he stopped. Corinne’s niece was the last person he wished to see. "And you don’t have to curtsey every time you see me." Lucian almost plowed into his back. Bobbing another curtsey, she sputtered, "Please forgive me, my lord." As she was drawing breathe to launch into whatever nonsense she could think of, Lucian interrupted. "So this is Corinne’s niece. Adrian, introduce us." "Major Lucian Blake, Miss Karalyn Marshall," Adrian said with some humor. He recognized the interested tone of Lucian’s voice. He knew exactly what his friend was thinking. Karalyn Marshall was damn pretty, andLucian always appreciated a pretty woman. "How do you do, Major Blake," Karalyn babbled with an inane smile on her face and a vapid look in her eyes--and another curtsy. "Aunt Corinne told me that you were Cousin Adrian’s best friend. His Lordship and I aren’t really cousins, you know, but since we share Aunt Corinne, she said it would be perfectly all right for me to call him Cousin Adrian. It will keep people from thinking she’s trying to make a match between us."

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She took a deep breath and rattled on. "Aunt Corinne is sure someone will offer for me. She said that with my dowry, I could even look as high as a duke. I would so love to be a duchess, you know. Aunt Corinne said that your father is a duke, but you’re the fourth son, and I could do much better. Do you think so, Major Blake?" As Karalyn prattled on and on, the expression on Lucian’s face changed rapidly from interest to amusement to dismay to horror. "Excuse me, Miss Marshall," interrupted Adrian, who was smiling for the first time in days, "but we really must be off." Her hands popped to her mouth again. "Oh! You gentlemen have an appointment, and I have been gossiping on and on." A grinning Adrian interrupted her once again. "Goodbye, Miss Marshall." Grabbing Lucian’s arm, Adrian steered him out the library door, through the hallway, and out the front door. "Adrian! Why didn’t you warn me?" his friend demanded, shock still evident on his features. "Good God, your aunt will never get her married off." "I did warn you. Addle-pated, I think I called her. However, there will be plenty of suitors. Just the thought of her grandfather’s copper mine will have more than a few debt ridden bachelors knocking at the door after she is formally presented." Lucian shuddered. "When will that be? I’ll make every effort not to be there." "Too bad, old boy. Corinne is one step ahead of both of us, for that was my very plan. Karalyn’s first ball will be the crush General Deppen’s wife is planning. Neither of us can possibly get out of it." Lucian paled. "We’ll have to dance with her?" Adrian grinned wider, his spirits lighter than they had been in days. "Yes, Corinne was quite emphatic. Wouldn’t be proper if we danced with Corinne and not Karalyn." "Who said we would dance with your aunt?" "She did." "Damn!" ~*~ Leaden clouds hid the moon as Kara followed Tristan through London’s back alleys. Her other three men trailed behind them, slogging through filth that reached their ankles in some spots. A beady-eyed rat ran across the garbage strewn alley while the odor of rotting refuse and stale urine swirled about her. Kara gagged--again. "Are you sure we have to do this, Tris?" "Yes," he answered as he helped her over a rather large pile of reeking garbage. "We can’t just arrive in London and start robbing people."

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"I can’t believe this," she muttered wincing as her boot squelched into a puddle of noxious liquid. "You mean there is a leader of thieves and everyone follows his orders?" "There’s more than one." He led her around an odorous drunk who was lying in the gutter. "This one happens to be the most powerful, at the moment." She clutched his arm when what she thought was a pile of old rags moved. "How do you know all this?" He patted the hand locked onto his forearm. "My father hinted at it before we left, but I got most of the pertinent information from your aunt." She stumbled. "Aunt Corinne!" "Yes, Aunt Corrine. She knows an awful lot about London’s underbelly for a rich noblewoman." "We’re being followed," warned Jori. "I expected that. We’re getting close. Make sure your masks are in place and do not remove them for any reason, especially you, Kara." Stopping before the door at the end of the street, he knocked twice, waited, and knocked twice again. The door opened a crack and then swung wide to admit them. Once all five of them were inside, the door slammed shut. As the bolt slide home, the hair on the back of Kara’s neck rose. Ten to twelve rough looking men lounged about the room, but her attention was drawn to the handsome man of about forty who sat on a dais at the end of the room. Taking an envelope from inside his coat, Tristan handed it to the man closest to him. He took it to the dais. "So, you are the infamous Midnight Angel," said the auburn haired man after he perused the letter. "Just what is it you want from me?’ "Nothing more than to be left alone," Tristan answered. He steepled his fingers under his chin. "Let the Angel speak for herself." Shaking off Tris’ hand, Kara took a step forward. "You know why I have come to London," she challenged. "Everyone knows I search for the murderer of my parents. My man said I had to meet with you, so here I am. What do you want of me?" Husky, feminine laughter issued from behind a curtain at the back of the room. The blond woman who emerged was well into her thirties; nevertheless, she was beautiful; her emerald green eyes sparkled with mirth, and like Kara, her svelte figure was clad in men’s clothing. She, too, wore a rapier. "She has spirit, Jack," the woman said with a chuckle as she leaned against his chair. His arm snaked out and he wrapped it around her hips. "Angel, my wife, Abigail," he said gesturing towards Kara with his free hand. "Abby, the Midnight Angel of Bodmin Moor."

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"So you’re the young woman who’s caused such an uproar at army headquarters. My congratulations. Jack, we could collect quite a reward if we so wished." Acutely aware that they were hopelessly outnumbered, Kara shifted nervously. Fighting their way out of this trap would be next to impossible. Tris had only Corinne’s word that everything would work out. "Ah, my love," Jack sighed and lifted her hand to his lips, "I gave my word." "So be it," his wife answered with a casual shrug as she drew her sword, "but I’m curious, Angel. Just how good are you with that blade?" A slow smile meandered across Kara’s mouth. "I would be happy to demonstrate." Untying her cape, she handed it to Jock, doing the same with her sword belt once she unsheathed her rapier. Nodding to her opponent, she indicated her readiness. With a hearty laugh, the blond woman attacked. Metal crashed on metal as Kara met the other woman’s attack. In seconds she realized that this woman, who was slightly shorter than she, was the stronger, so she adopted the same strategy she’d used with Adrian. With a feint to the left, Abby launched herself at Angel. After a flurry of blows, she slid her foot between Kara’s and tripped the younger woman. However, Kara did not simply fall to the floor. Instead, she hit the ground rolling, her left hand going to her boot. When she gained her feet, she had her rapier in her right hand and her ruby hilted dagger in her left. "You are wounded, my lady," Kara panted, using the stiletto to point out the slight cut on Abby’s arm. Abby was breathing just as hard. "One for her, my love," Jack said with a chuckle. He was leaning back in his chair, one leg thrown negligently over the padded arm. "Have you had enough, Angel?" Abby challenged. Kara smiled. "I’m the one who’s winning. Do you wish to continue?" When she hurled herself at Kara, Abby gave the younger woman the opening she was waiting for. After a feint to the right followed by a quick riposte, Kara initiated Reverend Palser’s attack. Abby’s sword flew from her hand. "Do you yield?" Kara asked as she held her rapier at the blond woman’s throat. Abby threw back her head and laughed. "I yield, I yield. Welcome to London, Angel."

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Nine "I don’t suppose you’d consider removing the mask?" Kara could understand Abby’s curiosity. She’d probably never before had another woman defeat her in a duel. With a slight smile, Kara shook her head. "It’s better for all concerned if you don’t know my identity," she answered as she sat down in the offered chair and accepted a glass of wine. "What do you want from us?" Jack asked after he dismissed most of his men. Kara sipped her wine. "We need men. General Deppen’s wife is giving a ball on Friday night, and we don’t have enough men to carry off the robbery. We will also need Abby." Jack straightened in his seat. "Abby?" Understanding dawned in the blond woman’s eyes. "You’re Quality, aren’t you, Angel? And you’re invited. What an absolutely delicious plan. If the Midnight Angel burglarizes the party while you’re there, no one could possibly suspect you. Brilliant!" After a nod of thanks, Kara sipped her wine while Tristan began bargaining with Jack. Her mind drifted to Abby. The blond woman was much more than she pretended to be. She dressed as a common thief and was married to one, but she was born and bred a lady. Her speech and mannerisms gave her away. Why had she chosen a life such as this?She loves him, and he loves her , Kara decided. Love. Was love possible for Adrian and her? She snorted mentally. Adrian might want her in his bed, but no peer of England would marry a common thief even if she did have a wealthy grandfather. Shaking herself free of her musings, Kara returned her attention to the bargaining. "It’s agreed then," Tris said finally. "Abby will pose as the Midnight Angel at the Deppen ball. You’ll supply ten or twelve more men, and keep sixty percent of the take." Jack leaned back in his chair. "I’m surprised you give up such a large percentage so willingly." Kara smiled at the suspicion in Jack’s voice. "Our purpose is to flush out a particular officer, not to get rich, and remember, the Midnight Angel takes only gold. You cannot touch the jewelry." Mick, Jack’s lieutenant, growled at that revelation. "Sorry, my dear friend," Abby said with a chuckle as she patted Mick’s wrist. "The Midnight Angel never filches the sparkles. That’s the entire point of this robbery. Everyone there has to believe I’m Angel." "You have an appropriate costume?" Kara asked and set her empty glass on a nearby table. Abby nodded. "I’ll be able to duplicate everything except the sword and dagger."

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"The dagger is new. Keep your sword sheathed and use your pistol. Keep your voice low and husky and say as little as possible. I always greet my ‘victims’ withGothewhar daa. That’sgood evening in Cornish. Say the same when you leave," continued Kara. She waited until Abby was able to repeat the greeting to her satisfaction. "Stay away from Adrian Warrick," Tristan interjected when Kara rose. Both Abby’s and Jack’s heads snapped up. "The Marquis of Ravenrook? Why?" he asked. "My capture is something of a preoccupation with him," Kara answered as a nonchalantly as possible. "Of course, the scar," Abby murmured. "How well does he know you?" "He doesn’t know my identity, of course." "But he’s come awfully close," she guessed with a laugh. "You remember, my love." Abby said nothing more to Jack, but the glances Kara watched them toss to each other spoke of a colorful past. "I’ll keep the room between Ravenrook and me, if he’s there." "He’ll be there," Kara murmured, then she added. "Remember to kiss someone before you leave." "Now wait a bloody damn minute!" Jack snapped, slapping both hands on the table and rising to his feet. "I’m willing to chance my wife being shot at, but she’s not kissing another man!" Abby’s rich laughter filled the room. "Sorry, love, but if we want everyone to believe I’m the Angel, I have to kiss someone." "Well it better be someone old enough to be your grandfather!" "Might I suggest General Deppen," Kara said with a grin. "He’s the host and much older than Abby. From what I’ve learned, he’s more interested in the pleasures of the table than he is in women." Still frowning, Jack growled his agreement. Abby simply laughed. "That’s everything then." Jack rose to his feet. "If you need to contact me before then, send a message to the Will o’ the Wisp down by the docks. The bartender there will make sure I get it." Jack and Mick shook hands with Grant and Tristan. Then Jack lifted Kara’s gloved hand to his lips. With a laugh Kara said, "You are a dashing rogue, Jack." Abby’s laughter joined Kara’s. "Why do you think I married him, Angel?" Jack gestured towards a grinning Mick. "Mick will see you safely through the alleys. Until Friday." Kara smiled as they parted congenially. The introduction of the Midnight Angel of Bodmin Moor to London society was now set. ~*~ Adrian stepped out of his library and crashed into Tristan as the younger man was hurrying towards the

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day room with the correspondence Corinne wanted answered. Cards and paper went flying in every direction. "I beg your pardon," Adrian said as he grasped the young man’s arm to keep him from falling. His eyes widened when he recognized the young Cornishman. "M--M--My a--apologies, m--m--my l--lord," he stuttered. "I w--was n--n--not w--watching w--where I w--was going." "What are you doing here?" "H--H--her la--ladyship..." "I hired him as my secretary, Adrian," Corinne explained as she exited the sitting room. "Now stop bedeviling the boy and let him be about his business. He has at least forty invitations to answer. Go along, Tristan." The younger man bowed. "Y--Yes, m--my la--lady." With a sad sigh, Corinne watched as Tristan gathered up all that had fallen and hurried down the hall. "You seem to have developed a great liking for Cornish servants, Aunt," Adrian said softly. There had to something here he was missing. His aunt smiled and patted his arm. "Adrian, Tristan has the most beautiful handwriting I have ever seen. Why already the Dowager Duchess of Westlake has tried to lure him away from me," she continued, as she tucked her arm in Adrian’s and led him towards the dining room. "And that stutter is such a challenge, don’t you think?" Adrian grunted. The stutter. That explained Corinne’s interest in Tristan; she never could resist a challenge. "And you know very well I had to hire Jock," she continued referring to the young Cornishman in the stables. "He got down on his knees in front of the entire village and begged me to bring him." Again Adrian was forced to agree. The entire district had been agog about how Jock Parnell, the son of a local fisherman, had gotten down on his knees and begged the Marchioness of Ravenrook to hire him away to London to help support his family. His father had ten mouths to feed besides himself and his wife. If Jock left, there’d be one less to worry about. And Jock promised to send most of his wages home to his family. Adrian smiled at the memory. For one of the few times in her life, Corinne had been struck dumb. "I’d have given the boy a job in the stables. He had only to ask." She snorted. "Need I remind you how many servants you had when I arrived?" He scowled but said nothing. His aunt had a point. "I also hired one of the village girls to be Karalyn’s maid, Jane her name is," she continued as Adrian opened the dining room door for her. "Karalyn is--high-spirited. A down to earth country girl is a calming influence on her."

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"You mean," Adrian answered with a bark of laughter, "that none of your father’s Welsh maids would accompany such a scatterbrained ninny to London, and any maid you hired here would never stay." "Adrian! Karalyn is not scatterbrained. She’s simply..." "...unable to keep two cohesive thoughts together in her mind at one time. Don’t try to defend your niece to me, Corinne. I know exactly what she is. Now, enjoy your lunch. I’ve an appointment. I’ll see you at Deppen’s bash this evening." Corinne chuckled after Adrian disappeared toward the front of the house. Yes, Adrian certainly knew exactly what Karalyn Marshall was. ~*~ Kara was tired. She was tired of eating. She was tired of drinking. She was tired of dancing with men young and not so young who stepped on her toes. But, most of all, she was tired of the role she was playing as an empty headed ninny. Since coming to London, she’d been introduced to a number of girls her age. More than a few seemed truly interested in becoming friends. Unfortunately, most of those she would choose as friends were polite but distant because of her masquerade. On the other hand, every silly, empty-headed girl of noble blood saw her as acompatriot. "Finally," muttered her aunt from her side. Looking up, Kara saw Adrian striding towards them. The crowd parted, obviously unsure about what to make of the pardoned pirate with the scar on his cheek and long black hair that flowed loosely about his shoulders. A soft sigh escaped her lips and her heart fluttered as she watched him approach. He was dressed completely in black, and a large jade teardrop mounted in silver dangled from his ear. He was, without a doubt, the most handsome man in the room. Kara glanced at the group of mothers and their debutante daughters standing with her and Corinne. Her partner for this dance had failed to appear, much to her relief. Some of the young men in London were as empty headed as the young women. From the corner of her eye, she saw fans rise to hide whispers. "Aunt Corinne, Miss Marshall," Adrian said, bending over both of their hands. His ebony hair fanned forward and brushed Kara’s gloved hand with a gentle whisper. "You could have at least tied it back," Corinne hissed in a low voice, still smiling. To all who watched, she seemed honestly delighted to see her nephew. Kara was jostled out of the way as mothers with marriageable daughters hastened to have Corinne present them to her nephew. Scar, hair, and earring not withstanding, he was a Marquis; and he needed to breed an heir. The Dowager Countess of Severn was bolder than the others. Her daughter Cynthia

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was thin and rather plain, but she had an enormous dowry. "Out and about on the marriage mart, eh, my lord. This is my Cynthia’s first season." In other words, thought Adrian cynically,Cynthia is young, unspoiled, and available. His eyes narrowed, and his expression darkened. Throwing a black expression at the women and girls surrounding Corinne and Karalyn, he said, "Madam, I doubt if there is one young woman here who has the stamina for the ride I would give her in my bed." A plethora of outraged gasps and maidenly blushes enveloped him, and the woman departed their company, en mass. Karalyn Marshall stood before him, her bright eyes wide with shock and her hands over her mouth. He could have sworn he heard a rich chuckle escape her lips. "Really, Adrian, it will take me a week to undo the damage you just did," his aunt scolded, unable to completely subdue her own laughter. "They fear your displeasure too much to put up much of a fight, Aunt," he answered with a smile. "Lucian asked me to extend his deepest regrets. He was ordered to Bath, lucky bastard." "Honestly, Adrian, you sound like you don’t want to be here. Now be a good boy and dance with Karalyn." Schooling his features to be perfectly bland, Adrian turned to Karalyn. As Corinne suggested earlier that week, her niece was an instant success. No matter how scatterbrained she was, her rumored dowry had men interested, so Adrian was prepared to do his duty. One dance, and he wouldn’t have to go near her again. When the strains of the waltz began, he presented his arm. The look of absolute joy on her face brought him up short. Then amazement replaced the surprise when she set both hands on his chest, pushed him out of the way, and hurried out among the dancers. "Robert!" she squealed happily as she threw herself into her brother’s arms. With a wide grin, he spun her out onto the dance floor. "I say, Corinne," asked an old friend who had joined her, "who’s the young officer dancing with your niece? Raised some eyebrows when she launched herself into his arms like that." One of the worst gossips in London, John Cleaves was perfect for Corinne’s purpose. The more gossip about this particular brother and sister, the sooner Sedgewick would make a mistake. "That’s Robert, her brother. They’ve always been very close, and she hasn’t seen him since he accepted his commission with the dragoons. Stunning together, aren’t they?" Even Adrianhad to agree with his aunt’s assessment. Together, Robert and Karalyn were stunning. Not only were their dark good looks mesmerizing, but also they moved as one while they waltzed. The red coat of Robert’s well-cut uniform set off the white airiness of her red ribbon trimmed gown to perfection. Soon, the other couples had drawn back so they could watch the effortless way the two of them glided about the room. The joy and affection they shared was apparent to everyone. As he watched them, Adrian slumped against a nearby column, a bleak, black sense of despair darting insidiously towards his heart. Would he ever know such happiness and joy as they shared? Could he? Ever? He watched morosely, his thoughts becoming bleaker as Karalyn whirled blissfully in her brother’s

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arms. When the music slowed to a halt, she dipped into a deep curtsy as Robert bowed over her hand. Rich, husky laughter bubbled from her throat as the other guests applauded. Nostrils flaring as if he’d caught a familiar scent, Adrian’s entire body jerked to attention. He’d heard that laugh before. Was it possible? A pistol roared and the blast reverberated around the ballroom. Adrian’s head whipped towards the open door that led to the gardens. He took two steps towards the dancers as fragments from the crystal chandelier showered the crowd. When he saw that Robert had thrown himself over his sister to protect her from the falling glass, he stopped worrying about his aunt’s niece. He turned his attention to the woman framed in the doorway. A smoking pistol in her hand, the Midnight Angel smiled at the crowd. At least a dozen, possibly more, black clad and masked men poured into the room, pistols cocked and ready. The crowd readily scattered before them, women screaming. Another pistol shot echoed. "Silence!" bellowed the shorter of the two men standing to either side of the infamous highwaywoman. The crowd stilled. Adrian smiled and a warm feeling spread from his heart outward. "Gothewhar daa,ladies and gentlemen," his Angel drawled in a husky voice, "you’re enjoying yourselves, I trust?" One officer, braver than the rest, spoke up, "How do you expect to get away with this? Even with your guns, you are outnumbered." "True," the woman in black answered, "but would you chance any of the ladies being shot?" With those words, she lifted another pistol and pointed it straight at Karalyn. Adrian muttered a blasphemy under his breath when his aunt’s flighty niece screamed something about being shot and promptly collapsed into her brother’s arms, knocking him to the floor and falling across his lap. Silly chit. Angel wasn’t going to shoot anybody. It was only a ruse. "It’s arranged, Robbie," Kara hissed into her brother’s ear as she observed Abby’s masquerade from beneath lowered lashes. "Do nothing." "You better have a good reason for this," he whispered back as he held her sprawled on his lap, his long legs tangled in her petticoats. She sniffed as she glanced covertly about the room. Her faint galvanized some of the other more weak-willed ladies to similar actions, and more than a few unconscious women were lying about the room. Three of the black clad thieves hurried about the room carrying bags. The others kept their pistols ready. "Only your gold, gentlemen," instructed one of her men. "Drop it into my friends’ bags. And do not think to hold back." "No, Sir," another masked man growled hoarsely at an old, indignant gentleman ready to drop his money into his bag. "Officers only. You may keep your gold."

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Kara smiled to herself when gasps and whispers began to fly about the room. The rumors were true then. Not one piece of jewelry was taken, and only the officers were being robbed. This woman highwayman was unlike any other thief that had ever lived! Then Adrian stepped into her field of vision. "You are far afield, Angel," he called as he stepped in front of her and Robert. He made no attempt to interfere with any of the masked men. Kara stiffened in her brother’s arms, her eyes darting from Adrian to the fake Angel and back again. Abby had to be careful. Adrian could be extremely perceptive. Abby’s eyes narrowed as she contemplated the handsome man who sauntered confidently across the room towards her, the man who glanced disdainfully at the silly chit who had fainted into her partner’s arms in the middle of the dance floor. Jack pointed his pistol squarely at Adrian’s chest. "Stop right there." Warrick stopped, crossed his arms over his chest, and said, "You seem to have acquired some new friends, Angel." Beginning to truly enjoy her role, Abby answered in a low, husky voice, "New city, new friends, Warrick." He frowned. "Why London, Angel?" "You know why, my lord. I’ve come for revenge." Adrian ignored the hurried whispers racing through the crowd, especially the speculative whispers about his own relationship with Angel, sneering at the one that said he’d received the scar on his cheek from her when she found him with another lover. She didn’t have another lover now, and she didn’t want one. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Her damn revenge was keeping them apart. Three men materialized at Angel’s side with heavy bags. Whispering in her ear, the taller of her two companions nodded back towards the door with his head. "I have enjoyed our evening, ladies and gentlemen," his Angel said, "but before I leave..." Adrian dared her with his eyes. She ignored him. His lips twitched with amusement, but he didn’t challenge her. There were far too many gossips here. Others in the room tossed covert glances his way as General Deppen was prodded to Angel’s side by the pistol in his back. He continued to smile as Angel rose on her toes and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek."Gothewhar daa , my friends. Enjoy your party." Then the Midnight Angel and her men disappeared through the door. Some of the men tried to follow them, but the pistol balls flying over their heads drove them back into the ballroom. Arms still crossed over his chest, Adrian was oblivious to the shouting all around him as he analyzed his latest encounter with his Angel. She had stood before him, yet something was not quite right. He’d recognized her tall lieutenant readily enough, and he was absolutely sure of the identity of her auburn haired companion. What was Madman Jack doing in her company? Did Abby know? He had a message to send to the Will o’ the Wisp. And why had she called him Warrick? She’d never called him Warrick before. She always referred to him as my lord or Sir Pirate.

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Robert was helping his sister to her feet when he turned around. "I trust you weren’t hurt, Miss Marshall?" he asked politely. "Oh, my lord," she gasped forcing herself to shiver and grab her brother’s arm. "It was awful. I just know she was going to shoot me. What a horrid woman! Who do you suppose she’s after? Did she really give you that scar on your cheek? Did you really know her in Cornwall?" "I see you are none the worse for your experience, Miss Marshall," he quickly interrupted. "I must see to my aunt." If Adrian hadn’t been in such a hurry to escape, he would have seen the astonishment on Robert’s face. "What in God’s name was that all about?" "Come to tea tomorrow. We’ll explain everything," Kara whispered as she watched Adrian disappear into the crowd. In an out of the way alcove, Major Alexander Sedgewick pondered the events of the evening. He’d gone out of his way to avoid Ravenrook, well aware of the hate the Marquis held for him. Stupid bastard. War was war, and if a handful of women and brats died--well, they were only uncivilized Scots. He’d had orders to make sure the Highlands would never rise again. What did Ravenrook know about real war anyway? He’d been a pirate, cowardly scum who only attacked ships that couldn’t fight back. How the hell had he managed that pardon? He must have paid some hefty bribes. Frowning, he pulled his watch from his pocket and held it up. The four jewels dangling from the fob sparkled in the candlelight. As always, they calmed the turmoil in his mind. Lucian Blake was already getting too close to him. With Ravenrook watching every move he made, certain meetings would be harder to arrange. He had to get rid of both men before they ruined all his plans. As for the Midnight Angel, he remembered very well what had happened on Bodmin Moor approximately twenty years ago. Obviously, that highwayman and his whore had left a bastard daughter. He always regretted not discovering the name of that particular criminal. He tucked the watch back in his pocket, his mind whirling with possible plans. He paused in his considerations when Robert and Karalyn Marshall passed him, completely unaware of his presence. Something about them, especially the girl, tugged at his memory. With a shrug, he let it go. Eventually he would remember. He always remembered everything. After she sent Adrian for a glass of water to "calm her nerves," Corinne slipped behind a column, very pleased with Abby’s impersonation. She had seen Sedgewick slip into that alcove as soon as the Midnight Angel appeared. Nor did she miss the glare of hatred he’d thrown Adrian’s way or the momentary looked of puzzlement that crossed his face when he glanced towards Kara and Robert. Sedgewick had to be the spy. And she was going to prove it. ~*~ Adrian was leaving his townhouse the next afternoon when Grant Bolitho placed his foot upon the first step that led to the door. A slight frown appeared on Adrian’s face then he remembered the young man. "Bolitho, isn’t it? The squire’s son? What are you doing in London?" His sudden appearance must have started the boy because he missed the step his foot sought and

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tumbled against a small, stone gargoyle that stood at the base of the stoop. As it tottered, Bolitho caught it but scraped his knuckles in the process. Cursing, the young man pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped his hand. "Yes, my lord, his younger son, Grant. Forgive me, my lord." "No harm done, Bolitho," Adrian answered remembering exactly how much havoc the boy had spread at Ravenrook. "What are you doing in London?"And why, his eyes asked silently,are you at my door? "My father advanced me some of my inheritance and sent me here to acquire some polish," Grant answered sourly, "but I’m sure it was my brother’s idea. He’s courting the magistrate’s daughter and doesn’t want me around. I don’t mean to disturb you, my lord," he continued, "but I chanced upon Tristan Rees in the park last week. Your aunt sent a message to my rooms saying I was free to visit with him whenever his duties permitted. We have an engagement for this afternoon." Adrian could well understand the motivation of Bolitho’s family. Even though he was horribly clumsy, pretty Jeanne Ryder, the magistrate’s daughter, had seemed much more interested in Grant than his dour older brother. Adrian wouldn’t be surprised if Ryder had added some money to the pot. The squire was a wealthy man, and Richard was his heir. Jeanne could not expect to do better. "If you’d rather I use the servant’s entrance, my lord, I’d be happy to comply." That brought Adrian back to himself. "Good God, man, the Squire was one of my father’s closest friends. I’d not stain the memory of their friendship by having his son enter my house by the back door!" "Thank you, my lord. Have a nice day, my lord," the young man answered as he tripped past Adrian through the still open door. A tortured sigh escaped from Ivors as Grant practically fell through the door. No, it would not be a peaceful Season. ~*~ Leaning back against the plush squabs of the coach, Adrian contemplated the last few months of his life and the upheaval one, small blue-eyed woman had caused. His thoughts returned to the previous evening and Angel’s every action from the moment she entered the ballroom until she left. Searching his mind, he carefully examined every memory of the Angel stored there. Then, his eyes widened. Last night, Angel had held the smoking pistol in her left hand. His Angel was right handed. "Very good, my dear, a counterfeit Angel. Abby, I’d wager. That’s just the sort of masquerade she’d enjoy," he muttered with a smile, proud of Angel in spite of the fact she was avoiding him. "If I didn’t know you so well, you’d have fooled me just as you did everyone else. And four of those men were yours. I recognized them from our encounters. So, since Abby was playing you, you, my dear, must have been a guest." A very satisfied smile appeared on his face. Angel was of the nobility. Now, it was only a matter of discovering who had arrived in London from Cornwall in the last month. That thought brought Corinne’s new servants and their friend Grant Bolitho to mind. His eyes widened. Angel was nothing if not crafty. Corinne had mentioned a maid for Karalyn. What if...?" Tempted to order the carriage to return home, he quickly changed his mind. He’d seen Karalyn Marshall’s maid busying herself about the house. She was not Angel. No, Angel would not chance hiding within his house, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to infiltrate some of her men. Aunt Cori was such

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a trusting soul. It would require very little effort for someone as cunning as Angel to insert her men into his aunt’s entourage. Mentally dressing Tristan Rees in black with a mask brought a picture of Angel’s right hand man. The same was true of Grant Bolitho. Their afflictions had to be an act. With little effort, Jock Parnell, Corinne’s new stable boy, also fit into Adrian’s mental picture. The fourth man was undoubtedly here as Bolitho’s servant. Yes, that was it. A picture of Karalyn Marshall appeared in his mind. Was it possible? Karalyn’s vapid giggle screeched into his mind. No, impossible. Aunt Corinne had no reason to lie. The chit was her niece. She’d grown up in Wales not Cornwall. His Angel was somewhere in the city having a tremendous laugh at his expense. He had to chuckle along with her. Later he would raise a glass to her audacity. Mentally congratulating himself, Adrian began to contemplate a plan of attack. If these men had any hint he was on to them, they would immediately warn Angel. Then she would disappear again. No, he would go along with their game. Sooner or later, one of them would make a mistake. Then, Angel would finally be in his bed with him where she belonged; and, after they finally lay sated in each other’s arms, they’d both laugh about the merry chase she’d led him. Tapping his cane against the roof of the carriage, he instructed his driver to change directions. Before arriving at his other appointment with other members of army and naval intelligence, he would make a trip to Bow Street. Soon, Angel’s men would not make a move without him knowing about it.

Ten "Of all the harebrained, idiotic, witless..." A dangerous glint in her eye, Kara glared at her pacing brother. Four steps to the fireplace and four steps back to her. Back and forth, back and forth. If he soon didn’t sit down, she was going to kick him in the shin. Leaning back, she crossed her arms over her chest. Until Robert finished his tirade, she would do well to keep her mouth shut. Arms wind milling, Robert ranted on. "Tristan, what the hell were you thinking? Or weren’t you? How could you take Kara through the stews near London’s docks? And Grant! Surely you knew better. She could have been killed. You all could have been murdered. To think, you went looking for Madman Jack. Damn it, Kara, he’s more notorious than you are!" As soon as he turned his back again, she leaned over and whispered, "Whatever you do, Tris, don’t remind Robbie of that fancy house in Devon."

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Settling back, she shivered at that particular memory. The ton’s gossip about that robbery had the Midnight Angel threatening to geld Major James Tolliver because he had offered to pleasure her with his rampant member. And, according to rumor, ever since that night when the Midnight Angel’s razor sharp rapier had ventured so close to his privates, Major Tolliver was unable to become aroused. Now the butt of many a joke, he’d sworn revenge. "Robert," Corinne cautioned from where she sat behind the tea service, "calm down. The servants will hear." Kara relaxed a little. Interrupting Robbie while he was ranting only refocused his attention. Now he was staring at their aunt. Halting in midstride, Robert glowered at Corinne. "I don’t give a bloody damn about the servants! And you, Corinne, how could you possibly endorse such a preposterous scheme? What’s more," he continued, a speculative gleam leaping into his eyes, "how in God’s name did you even know how to contact Madman Jack?" Then he directed his glare at the other three. "Don’t you have something to say for yourselves?" Everyone did, and they all tried to explain at the same time. With everyone talking at once, no one heard Ivors open the door. "My Lady," he hollered above the din, for they hadn’t heard his knock, "Lady Cranston and her daughter have come to call." Silence. "Do you think they heard us?" Kara whispered. "Yes, Miss," Ivors answered with profound weariness, "they heard you." "Show them in, Ivors, and have fresh tea brought," Corinne instructed briskly. "Robert, stop pacing and sit down." Kara dipped her head to hide her smile when he glared at his aunt icily and rested one arm along the top of the mantle. Robert would not jump to their aunt’s commands as Adrian sometimes did. "Marianne," said her aunt as she rose to greet Lady Cranston and her eldest daughter Sophia, "how wonderful to see you." "If we have come at a bad time," Lady Cranston said doubtfully. "Nothing more than a family squabble," Corinne answered jovially. "Robert was not pleased about some of the young men I’ve allowed to call on Kara." Smiling tentatively, Lady Cranston, who had had the same arguments with her husband about Sophia’s callers, lowered herself next to Corinne. "Please, allow me to introduce my nephew, Lieutenant Robert Marshall of his Majesty’s Dragoons. The young man with the blond hair is Grant Bolitho, the son of a dear friend from Cornwall, and this is Tristan Rees, my secretary. Since he is known to Robert and a special friend of Grant’s, I asked him to join us for tea."

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Kara’s lips twitched because Robert was forced to behave. Grant and Tristan had risen when the ladies entered the room. All three men bowed and murmured acceptable greetings, Grant and Tristan honestly. Robert only bowed because good manners dictated that he do so. When Sophia caught her eye, Kara’s smile brightened. Jumping to her feet, she grabbed the other girl’s hand and pulled her down on the settee. Of all the young woman she’d met since she’d been in London, Sophia was the one she liked the best. She did not judge Kara by her actions, simply accepted her as she was. The Cranston family was considered one of the most eccentric among the ton. One could attend a dinner at their home and find oneself sitting next to a merchant, sailor, or peer of the realm. Lord Cranston had friends in all levels of society and treated them all equally. He’d raised his daughters to do the same. As conversation flowed from one topic to another, Robert’s anger slowly drained away. His sister and Sophia Cranston sat with their heads close together, giggling. This part of his plan, at least, was working. Kara was finally making female friends her own age. From there, betrothal and marriage were only a short step away. Once she was safely married, she’d forget her obsession with their parents’ murderer and leave the vengeance to him. With a mental grimace, Robert continued to watch his sister covertly. He had not been totally honest with her. When he originally reported to the dragoon’s headquarters in London, he had learned very quickly that twenty years before, Lieutenant Alexander Sedgewick had been sent to Cornwall to either capture or kill the Bodmin Moor highwayman. A major now, Sedgewick had been posted in Scotland until recently. Corinne’s arrival in Cornwall had been untimely in that respect because Kara had learned Sedgewick’s name and location. The major was in London now, and Robert intended to keep that bit of information from Kara as long as possible. Their friends agreed with him. They would figure out how to take care of Sedgewick without Kara’s involvement. Corinne, unfortunately, was a piece in this dangerous game he played over whom he had no control. Nor could he figure out exactly how she fit in. The teasing tone in Kara’s voice brought Robert’s wandering attention back to the conversation, which had turned to music. "Grant has a wonderful voice," Kara said, " and you should hear him play the lute." "Really," said Sophia turning her chocolately brown eyes to Grant. "So few people still play a lute. Could you play for us, Mr. Bolitho, please?" Robert winked in Tristan’s direction. Grant could never resist Kara’s requests. It looked like he couldn’t say no to pretty Sophia Cranston either. After a bit more encouragement from the young ladies, Grant agreed. A servant was sent to the music room where several lutes were kept. After adjusting the strings, he began to strum. Softly, he began to sing a Welsh ballad that was currently popular with the ton. By the second verse, Sophia’s lyrical soprano had joined Grant’s rich baritone. Their voices complimented each other perfectly. When the song ended, the silence was deafening. Lady Cranston wiped the tears from her eyes. "Oh my, I have never heard anything so beautiful. Young man, you simply must attend the supper and musical evening we are having next Thursday."

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"Yes, Mr. Bolitho," Sophia beseeched quite prettily, "you must come." Robert winked at Tris again. Never before having been the object of a pretty young woman’s adoration, Grant had no defense. "I shall be delighted to attend, Miss Cranston," he answered sincerely, "if you don’t mind having the second son of a lowly county squire at your table." "Piffle!" exclaimed Lady Cranston. "Our blacksmith will be there. He has the most amazing bass voice. Sophie," she added and rose, "we must be off." Sophia rose and followed her mother to the door. When she reached it, she turned back. "Will you ride with us in the park Friday morning, Kara?" "Well..." Kara began. Her riding habit had been delivered, but she did not have a horse. "She’ll be happy to join you, Sophia," Corinne answered for her. "As a matter of fact, I shall join you, too. Both of us have new riding habits to show off." After Sophie and her mother left, Robert also rose to leave. He had his duties to attend to. "Don’t think this is finished, Corinne," he warned as Adrian walked into the room. "What is that, Marshall?" he asked in a dangerously soft voice. Even though Robert Marshall was Corinne’s nephew, no one had the right to use that tone of voice with Corinne. "Corinne understands what I mean," Robert answered completely unintimidated by Adrian’s menacing tone of voice. Surprised, Adrian regarded the younger man. "Warrick," the younger man said with a nod of farewell. He disappeared out the door. Adrian eyebrow lifted. Few younger men had the courage to refer to him with such familiarity. Sensing Adrian’s foul mood, Grant quickly bid his hostess and Kara hasty farewells and followed Robert. Adrian glared after the young Cornishman. After hiring some Bow Street Runners to follow him and Tristan, Adrian had spent the day searching for clues as to Angel’s whereabouts himself, with no success. His message to the Will O’ the Wisp had gone unanswered, and Madman Jack was not to be found in any of his usual haunts. Scowling, Adrian strode to the brandy decanter and poured a glass. His frustrations, both physical and mental, were beginning to take their toll. Last night, after he’d left Dawson’s ball, he’d visited one of the more exclusive pleasure houses in London. Unfortunately, the voluptuous redhead he’d hired for the night had failed to arouse him. A much slimmer woman with startling blue eyes and long ebony curls tugged at his memory. He left the pleasure house even more frustrated than when he entered. Now, feeling as if he were a pariah in his own home, he locked eyes with his aunt’s secretary, comfortably ensconced on the sofa next to Karalyn.

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"Well?" Adrian snapped in a surely tone. "M--M--My l--lord," the younger man began. "Damn it man," Adrian snarled, "stop that bloody stuttering and speak correctly." The blood ran from Kara’s face. Did Adrian know? He couldn’t. "Adrian..." Corinne began in a censorious tone. Kara didn’t give her aunt a chance to finish. Adrian couldn’t be permitted to focus too much attention on Tristan. She jumped to his defense. "How dare you!" she hissed as she leaped to her feet, her hands clasped tightly before her. "How dare you take out your anger on someone so afflicted? Tris cannot help the way he is no more than you can help your boorish personality!" Grasping Tristan’s arm, she yanked him up from the sofa, and shoved an astonished Adrian from her path as they left the room. "That was a stupid thing to do," Tristan murmured when they were out in the hall. "It was either berate him for his poor manners or let him pick a fight with you," Kara answered in a much calmer voice. "Couldn’t you tell? Adrian was spoiling for a fight, and you were handy. He would learn very quickly you are more than you seem when you defended yourself more adequately than a simple secretary should be able to manage. Then we wouldn’t have to worry about hiding anything. Let Aunt Corinne handle him. She can defend herself and us." Amazed, Adrian swung his attention away from the closed door to his aunt. "Karalyn feels very strongly about how one should treat others," she said cautiously by way of explanation. He threw himself into a chair and continued to sip his brandy. "Well, at least she has some coherent thoughts in her head then." However, a puzzled frown appeared on his visage. Once again, something about her sharp, commanding tone tugged at his memory. "That Robert," Corinne interjected, desperately seeking to interrupt Adrian’s train of thought, "imagine, not wanting his sister courted by an Earl. True, Charles Montgomery is a bit older." Adrian’s thoughts ceased their wanderings as what his aunt said sunk in. "Good God, Montgomery favors perversions in his bed. Not even your empty-headed niece deserves that!" Corinne allowed a shocked expression to appear on her face. "Well, how am I to know? Sexual perversions are not exactly a topic for dinner conversation." Steering the conversation to safer topics, Corinne mentally sighed with relief. Adrian grimaced to think just how gullible his aunt was. ~*~

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"Adrian," hissed the woman lying next to him. "There is someone in the house." Adrian had awakened as soon as her soft hand had touched his shoulder. "Stay here," he commanded. "I’ll return shortly." Rising from the bed, he slid silently into his breeches. Carefully lifting his naked sword from where it lay on the floor, Adrian padded on bare feet to the door. Opening it, he disappeared into the dark hallway. Quietly, but with controlled haste, he searched the house. He found nothing. Returning to the bedroom, he spoke into the darkness. "There was nothing, my pet," he said as he crossed the chamber to his bed. There, the woman who had loved him so ardently earlier that eveningwaited. A dark cloud sailed across the full moon. A warm, gentle breeze wafted gently through the open window carrying the sweet scents of myriads of vibrant blossoms. As the cloud sailed past the moon, Luna’s gentle glow flowed back across the bed and illuminated the hilt of the dagger protruding from between her soft breasts. The loose board in the floor creaked. Adrian spun around and met theplunging sword with his own. "Why? Why kill her?" "Because she was yours, Warrick," was the hooded man’s haunting answer. Another flurry of blows, and Adrian’s saber slipped past the intruder’s guard. Adrian’s sword pierced the man’s heart, and the assassin fell dead. Pulling his sword from the body, he knelt and pulled the mask from the dead man’s head. "What’s all the noise, Cap’in," asked a half dressed Paddy O’Rourke from the open doorway. He motioned towards the corpse on the floor. "That be Johnson, Boyo," Paddy said as he knelt next to the body. Four more to go. "I’ll send the message if ye want, Lad," Paddy said gently as Adrian turned towards the bed. Her long black hair fell in waves over the side of the bed, and the once brilliant blue eyes behind her mask were now lifeless. "No! She is not dead!" Adrian howled to the darkness as he awoke. "Fiends, cease this torment! My Angel is not dead!" As he did every night, he rose from his bed to pace, seeking to bring his soul’s demons under control. In the room next to his, a tearful Kara lay awake again--wondering what devils haunted Adrian night after night. ~*~

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Corinne ignored the frowns and glowers from many of the men around them. "Come along, Kara," she commanded briskly. "The riding hacks are over here." More than one startled gentleman turned to stare after the two women. Tattersalls held the best horseflesh in London, but women rarely attended. They trusted their men folk to purchase mounts that were suitable. Corinne believed in doing as much for herself as possible. Adrian heard the shocked murmurs spreading through the stalls. Sighing resignedly, he signaled to the handler holding the spirited black stallion to follow him. Then he turned towards where the largest group of the ton’s young bucks had gathered. Knowing Corinne’s penchant for choosing her own horses, Adrian correctly guessed she had her niece with her. And, empty-headed ninny that she was, Karalyn Marshall drew men like a honey pot drew ants. "That one will not do at all," Kara said confidently of the showy, white-stockinged chestnut mare led back and forth by her handler. "All show and no bottom." Her aunt had started the haggling over prospective mounts, but Corinne quickly bowed to Kara’s surprising knowledge of prime horseflesh. They had already selected a well-mannered bay gelding for Corinne, and now Kara was searching for a proper mount for herself. So far, she’d rejected four horses. Adrian held himself back in the crowd. Karalyn Marshall’s confoundingly knowledgeable tones and natural air of command were very much at odds with her usual flighty behavior. An angry squeal erupted from within the shed. Kara’s head turned towards the sound. "What have you there?" "She is not worth your notice, my lady," answered a surly handler. "She’s a rogue." "There is no such thing," Kara snapped. "Bring her out." Watching, gentlemen scattered as a dirty, grey mare, her forelegs hobbled and a heavy chain attached to her halter, tried to escape through the crowd. A sharp jerk to the rope attached to her hobbles brought her crashing to the ground. Chin up, Kara stepped forward to confront the dirty man who abused the mare. "How dare you! How dare you treat a poor dumb beast in such a manner!" She threw a handful of silver on the ground at his feet. "Begone! My grandfather would have you whipped from his stables if you sotreated a horse of his!" Adrian nodded slightly. Corinne’s father was acknowledged a superior horse breeder. That explained Karalyn’s change in personality. She’d probably learned horse care and breeding at her grandfather’s knee. "She’s only good for the knackers," growled the mare’s handler as he scrambled in the dirt for the coins. Then he disappeared among the stalls. Now that the mare was down, the crowd of gentlemen reformed. Adrian inched forward, curious to see what Karalyn would do next. Walking over to where the mare lay shuddering on the ground, she dropped fearlessly to the ground at

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her head. Kneeling beside the quivering horse, she stroked the mare’s head whispering so softly none could hear what she said. Without looking up, she held up her hand and snapped, "Knife." A hilt was placed in her gloved hand. With a surprisingly deft movement, she leaned over and cut the hobbles from the mare’s chafed ankles. Then she unsnapped the heavy chain from her halter. Rising, she stepped back and waited to see what the mare would do, her lips still moving as she spoke in a quiet voice. Cautiously, the mare heaved herself to her feet, shaking her head when she discovered the heavy chain was no longer dragging at her chin. Her ears pricked forward, and she took first one tentative step and then another towards the young woman who spoke so softly. With a low whicker, she placed her nose in Kara’s hand. An amazed murmuring broke out in the crowd of men. A few had expressed interest in the mare. Her Barbary blood was evident underneath all the dirt, but the mare’s behavior and the surely attitude of her handler had chased all potential buyers away. The crowd slowly dispersed and Adrian made his way to Kara’s side. "I am impressed, Miss Marshall," Adrian said softly so as not to spook the mare. Kara tensed. She was treading a very fine line, and she knew it. Her actions today did not at all fit with the character she’d been playing. Well, as Corinne was fond of saying, the best place to hide something was right out in the open. "Oh, your lordship," she said with a long, drawn out sigh. "Did you see how that horrid man treated this poor mare? My grandfather would be appalled. He made me promise when I was just a little girl never to mistreat a horse and never let any one else mistreat one either. What else was I to do? The poor thing was being so terribly treated." Adrian nodded. This was the babbling Karalyn he knew. "Why, Grandfather would have horsewhipped that man himself," Kara rambled on. "Why, he would disown me if I just stood by and did nothing to aid an abused horse. You would have helped her if I hadn’t been here, wouldn’t you, my lord? Aunt Corinne said you are very good with your horses. Oh? Have you purchased that black stallion over there? What is his name?" Shutting out most of Karalyn’s ramblings, Adrian studied the mare that stood so docilely under her calming hands. Her lines were superb, and her injuries looked superficial. "What did you say?" "What is your new stallion’s name, my lord?" Kara asked again indicating the black horse standing nearby. Adrian shrugged. "He’s a horse. He doesn’t need a name." Kara was astounded. "Of course, he needs a name, my lord. He is an individual and must be treated as such. If you won’t name him, I will. Tane, yes, that will be a good name."

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Adrian quickly straightened from where he’d bent to examine the mare’s legs. "What did you call him?" "Tane. Why?" Kara answered with a vapid smile. "In Cornish, Tane means coal," Adrian said suspiciously. "It does?" Kara said in an astonishingly happy tone. "Why, Tane also means coal in Welsh. Isn’t that an amazing coincidence?" ~*~ Corinne had watched the interaction between Adrian and Kara with much amusement. However, she quickly stepped between them when Kara named Adrian’s new stallion. She certainly didn’t remember the Welsh word for coal, and she hoped that Adrian didn’t know it either. Later that evening, after Corinne and Karalyn had left for another of the innumerable entertainments of the ton, Adrian directed the public hack he had hired in an altogether different direction. Eventually it stopped, the driver refusing to go further into London’s slums. With a careless shrug, he dismounted and tossed the driver his fee. He knew better than to ask the driver to stay. After ten minutes of brisk walking, the noxious odors rising from the sewers precluding a leisurely stroll, Adrian stood before the Will o’ the Wisp. Pushing the door open, he ducked his head and entered. Conversation ceased as Adrian stood in the doorway, peering through the blue-grey smoke at the inn’s unwashed patrons. The man he sought was not there. Stalking to a table that sat in a back corner, he glared at the two unsavory toughs sitting there and said, "I want this table. Move. Now." Both men took umbrage to Adrian’s demands the larger rose to attack; the smaller reached for his knife. This was one rich lord who would regret his slumming. The bartender, who recognized Adrian, hurried to warn the men, but he was too late. Reaching across the scarred table with his left hand, Adrian grabbed the larger of the two men by the collar, dragged him forward, and smashed his right fist into the man’s nose. Then he slammed the man’s face onto the tabletop. Immediately releasing his now unconscious victim, he ducked the knife the smaller man threw and pulled his own sword. The shorter man found Adrian’s saber at his throat before he could escape from behind the table. "Please," Adrian encouraged, devilish lights flashing in his eyes, "give me reason to slit your scrawny throat." "Please, my lord Warrick," the bartender implored, " ‘Arry meant no ‘arm. ‘E di’n know who ya was." "Warrick!" The name darted about the room from one mouth to another. Adrian jerked his sword away from the smaller man’s throat and snarled, "Get from my sight." Harry disappeared as Adrian sheathed his sword. "Wine, and not that swill you serve to everyone else. I

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want what you serve Jack," Adrian demanded to the bartender. Bending, Adrian gripped the unconscious man sprawled over the table by his collar and dragged him from his chair. He dropped him to the floor and took the seat for himself. Then he settled down to wait. Word would spread. Jack would soon know he was here. ~*~ The auburn haired man gazed through the peephole into the common room of the Will o’ the Wisp. "‘E’s been sittin’ ‘ere all night, Jack," the bartender explained. "And he hasn’t broken anything?" "Only Big John’s face." Mick stood at Jack’s back, cracking his knuckles. "Want me ta help him home, Jack?" Jack sighed. He’d known Warrick would be trouble as soon as he received the message. Abby thought it was a great joke, but she didn’t have to face the man. "I’d best see what he wants." Mick only grunted. He knew what Warrick wanted. Adrian’s scowled at Madman Jack Winters as he strolled across the room and slid into the chair on the other side of the table. A glowering Mick guarded his back. Leaning back, Adrian contemplated one of the most dangerous men in London. Jack signaled the bartender for more wine. "I got your message. What do you want?" "Who is she, Jack?" "She?" Leaning forward, Adrian said in a very low, very dangerous voice, "Don’t play the fool with me, Jack." Jack grimaced in what was either pain or amusement. "I don’t know." "Damn it, Jack..." "I said I don’t know!" Jack hissed in an equally deadly whisper. "She never removed her mask. We made a deal and fulfilled the contract. That’s all. I haven’t heard from her since." "Why did Abby play her part?" Jack froze. Warrick knew the truth and wouldn’t be bluffed. "How could you tell?" "Angel is right handed. Abby used her left to shoot the chandelier."

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Jack said nothing. "I want you to let me know if she contacts you again." "I can’t do that," Jack stated emphatically. "My clients know they can trust me." "If you don’t tell me when she contacts you again, everyone in London is going to learn that Lady Abigail St. Clair is not married to Sir Jack Halston, war hero, but to Madman Jack Winters, the most wanted man in London." "You can’t prove it." "Maybe not, but just think what it would do to Abby’s reputation." "Warrick, you’re a bloody, damn pirate." "Yes, Jack, I am--and so very much more. You would do well to remember that. Do not think to double cross me!" Jack growled. "The Angel should have slit your bloody throat instead of just kissing your cheek with her blade." "She may try, before I’m finished with her. Remember, Jack, she’s mine." "I hope she gelds you like she should have done to Tolliver." Adrian smiled sardonically. "I promise you, Jack, gelding me is the last thing she wants to do." Jack rose. "I have another to meet yet tonight. Stay and drink as long as you like. The wine is on me." Adrian’s eyes followed Jack from the room. Then he signaled the bartender for more wine. ~*~ "What do you think, love?" Jack asked as he joined Abby behind the wall Adrian leaned against. "Warrick is a man in lust," she answered with a delicious chuckle, "a very dangerous, unpredictable man. Reminds me of a certain auburn haired brigand I met many years ago." Jack pulled his wife into his arms. "And what brigand was that, love?" "Come closer, brigand," she whispered as her hands ran down his chest, "and I’ll tell you all about him." Mick recognized the husky laughter coming from behind the door. As he had so many times in the past, he placed himself as a living barrier between the two people he loved the most and the rest of the world. ~*~ "You the bloke wot smashed me brother’s face?" asked the giant who stood before Adrian. Somewhat bleary eyed since he had been drinking steadily all night, the Marquis of Ravenrook smiled an

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evil smile. Adrian had a tendency to brood when he drank alone, and he had been doing a great deal of drinking. He disliked being interrupted when doing either. "If you mean the big, ugly bugger who refused to give me this fine table when I asked for it, then, yes, I smashed his face," he answered in a surly voice. "What of it?" With a roar, the huge man launched himself across the table. Grinning maniacally, Adrian surged upward to meet him. At last, he had someone to fight. Later, with a sigh of resignation Jack surveyed the damage to the tavern. "What do ya want done wi’ ‘im, Jack?" the bartender asked. Adrian lay unconscious on the floor, the bear of a man who had attacked him sprawled not so far away. "Send Luke home to his wife," Jack answered with a disgusted sigh. "Put Warrick in a hack and take him home." "Rather throw ‘im in the river," Mick growled.

Eleven "I’ll never get used to these late nights," Kara said with a yawn as Ivors closed the door behind her. "I’m so glad we came home early. How do you do it, Aunt Corinne? Another night staying out until four or five in the morning, and I’d have to stay in bed for a week. I’m going to see if Cook has some fresh milk in the kitchen. Would you like some?" More tired than she wanted to admit, Corinne mumbled, "No thank-you, dear, I’m going straight to bed. Good night." "Good night, Aunt Corinne." ~*~ The thunderous pounding echoed all the way back to the kitchen. Kara reached the front hallway just as Ivors opened the door. A somewhat familiar voice ordered, "Hurry up an open the bloody door, man. His bleedin’ Lordship is damned heavy." Kara’s hands flew to her mouth as Mick, Madman Jack’s lieutenant, shouldered Ivors out of the way. He and another man carried an unconscious Adrian into the hallway and simply dropped him face down,

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unconcerned that his head bounced on the hardwood floor. "Here, he’s home." Both men ignored the shocked expressions on Ivors’ and Kara’s faces. They turned and disappeared back out into the darkness. Hands now clenched before her, Kara looked helplessly at Ivors. Closing and locking the door with a long, drawn out sigh of suffering, the butler said, "I’ll fetch some footmen, Miss." "We’ll take care of his lordship, Ivors," said Tristan, as he and Jock appeared from the back of the house. "Thank you, Mr. Rees," Ivors said with sincere gratitude. Closing and locking the door, the butler disappeared towards the back of the house. His lordship was home and the door was locked. His duties were over until morning. "Tris, you forgot to stutter," Kara hissed as she glanced nervously around. "Ivors knows I don’t stutter," he answered in a low voice as he stared down at Adrian, "all the servants do. Corinne made it very clear to all of them no one was to tell his lordship. Don’t worry. All of the servants have been in your aunt’s employ for years and their loyalty is unshakable." Kara started wringing her hands as she looked down at Adrian. "What’s wrong with him, Tris?" "Use your nose, Kara," he answered with a short bark of laugher. "He’s drunk." When she took a step closer, Kara was forced to acknowledge the truth of Tristan’s statement. Sour, alcoholic fumes drifted upward from Adrian’s inert form. "Ugh," she gasped pulling her handkerchief from her sleeve and holding it to her nose. "How did you know he was--brought home?" "All those street urchins I’ve befriended." Kneeling down next to Adrian, he continued, "I promised them a steady income if they reported anything of interest to me. One of them told me when the hack stopped out front." "You’re having Adrian followed!" "Better to know where he is all the time than run into him unexpectedly when we’re not expecting it. Father taught me never to take anything for granted." Stepping back as Tristan and Jock hoisted Adrian between them, Kara gasped when she got a good look at his face. "Tris! What happened to him?" He glanced at Adrian’s face and grinned at her, then shrugged nonchalantly. "He’s been well beaten, but he got in his share of blows. Knuckles are busted. Take the lamp and light the way, Kara. We’ll follow you." "You don’t have to be so cavalier about it," she scolded over her shoulder in a low voice. "He’s got to be in pain." Her heart tightened with every one of Adrian’s groans as they maneuvered him up two flights

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of stairs. Simmons met them at the door of his master’s chamber, his nostrils pinching with displeasure at the stench wafting from his employer. Taking the lamp from Kara’s hands, he led the way into the room. Fretting, Kara stopped at the door; it would have been most improper for her to follow. She waited impatiently in the hallway for Tristan and Jock to reappear. "Will he be all right, Tris?" "Off to bed with you, Kara," her friend answered with a wink and a grin when they appeared. "His lordship is in capable hands." Lips pursed and her hands fisted on her hips, Kara glared at the two young men who disappeared down the stairs, chuckling about the discomfort the Marquis would be feeling in the morning. Once they were out of sight, she hurried into her room, leaving her door slightly ajar. Within minutes, she heard Simmons pass, grumbling quietly to himself about his master’s eccentricities as he headed up the stairs to his room on the fifth floor. Shutting her door softly but firmly, she hurried to change her clothing, thankful that once Corinne fell asleep, nothing would wake her. Jane was already in bed so she was alone. Twisting her hands behind her, she undid her gown and let it and the myriad of petticoats she wore beneath billow to the floor. The hated corset fell to the floor next, and she breathed deeply for the first time all night. Hastening to her wardrobe, she dug deeply behind a pile of clothing, retrieving her black costume. In minutes, she was garbed as the Midnight Angel. Cautiously, Kara moved to the door that connected her room with Adrian’s. When he’d discovered Corinne’s scatterbrained niece had been placed in the bedchamber adjoining his, the one usually reserved for the master’s wife, he’d insisted on having the key so he could make sure to lock the empty-headed ninny out. Undoubtedly, she would one day mistake the door connecting their rooms for the one that led to the hall and enter his bedchamber. Adrian had also threatened to have his heavy wardrobe placed before the door. She hoped he’d forgotten about his threat. Turning the knob, she pulled slowly. Locked. Muttering an obscenity under her breath, she retrieved a hatpin from her nightstand and returned to the door. After a few quick flicks of her wrist, the now unlocked door opened silently, and she slipped into Adrian’s darkened room. A single candle burned on the stand next to the bed. The harsh sound of tortured breathing filled the chamber. He lay sprawled on the bed and began to thrash about almost as soon as she entered the room. "Oh, Adrian, what have you done to yourself?" His left eye was swollen shut and both lips were split and bloody. The cut on his chin, thankfully, was not serious enough to require stitches. The skin on the knuckles of both hands was broken and bruised. A large, already discolored bump was visible on his right temple, and he was filthy and stank of sour wine. Kara filled the basin with water from the ewer on the night table and carried it to the bed where she carefully washed the cuts and bruises on his face, murmuring softly in Cornish all the while. As had been the case with the frightened mare, her soft voice calmed Adrian, and he lay still under her ministrations. After cleaning the blood and dirt away from his face, she brushed his silky hair away from his forehead and placed a cold compress on the knot on his temple. When she finished with his knuckles, she stepped back and contemplated the rest of him. He still wore his breeches and shirt. Simmons, probably with the help of Tristan and Jock, had removed only his boots, coat, and waistcoat. After a deep breath, Kara slipped her dagger from its sheath in her boot and cut his shirt from his body.

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A sprinkling of dark, curly hair covered his well-muscled chest, narrowing to a thin line that disappeared beneath the waistband of his breeches. Scars from old wounds were visible, but the rapidly darkening bruises on his rib cage demanded all of Kara’s attention. "Oh, Adrian," she murmured her hands gently stroking his torso, "how can I possibly help you?" "Angel," he whispered. "Why? Why did you leave me?" Gasping, she looked at Adrian’s face, but his eyes were still closed. "Why, Angel? Why?" Sure that he was in the throes of another of his tortured nightmares, Kara leaned over and pressed her mouth gently against his bruised lips. "Shhh, Adrian. Sleep, you’re safe. I’m here." Adrian’s fingers closed over hers. "Angel? Is that you?" he asked as she brushed his hair back off his forehead. She started when he opened the eye that was not swollen shut. Thankful she had donned her mask, Kara sat on the edge of the bed--he was in no condition to be a threat this night and laced her fingers through his. "Aye, Adrian, I’m here." A huge sigh escaped his lips and his entire body relaxed. His hand gripped hers tightly. "You’ve come back to me." Kara pulled her hand from his. Once again she brushed his hair away from his forehead. Then she gently traced the scar from the cut she had given him. Wringing out the moist cloth, Kara replaced it and whispered, "Stay still, Adrian. You’ve been hurt." He reached again for her hand. "Don’t leave me," he pleaded desperately as he closed his eye. "Please, Angel. I need you." "Oh, Adrian, what have you done to yourself?" "Stay with me,Annsachd ." Tears slipped from beneath her mask as she leaned close and said, "I will stay,Mo Cridhe ." She lowered her mouth to his and placed another tender kiss on his broken lips. His mouth clung to hers, seeking to draw as much tenderness from her as possible. "Annsachd," he whispered when their lips parted. Then the effects of the beating and wine claimed him once more. However, his Angel’s presence drove away his nightly demons, and his slumber that night was free of his usual hauntings. Kara remained at Adrian’s side for the rest of the night, leaving him only when the light of dawn began to play about the windows. She left no trace of her presence and fell into an exhausted sleep when she finally collapsed on her bed. Corinne ordered that she be permitted to sleep as long as she wanted; they’d been keeping many late nights. ~*~

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Adrian woke with a pounding head and sharp pains radiating from various other body parts. A deep moan escaped his throat as he pushed himself from his bed; he rang for his valet and commanded a bath. After the footmen had filled his tub with steaming water, he carefully stripped away his breeches. More than a few bruises covered his torso, and his right knee was swollen. He remembered little of the fight except for the satisfaction he felt when his blows landed. Nor had his usual black specters haunted him last night. Last night’s dreams had been far worse. Sighing as hot water enveloped his body, he closed his eyes. Last night, he’d dreamed his Angel had come to him and tended his wounds. She’d placed many a soft kiss on his battered lips, face, and hands. He was far more shaken by this visage than any of his usual specters. He would much rather be haunted by all the shades from hell than to feel Angel’s sweet kisses on his lips and wake to find himself utterly alone. The afternoon sun shone down upon London when Kara finally awoke. Anxious to know how Adrian fared, she wasted no time with her toilette, instructing Jane to simply brush her long hair back and fasten it with a clip. Hastily donning a simple green dress--Corinne had reluctantly agreed that not every new dress had to be white--she hurried from her room and down the steps. Entering the sitting room, she found Corinne pouring herself a cup of tea and enjoying some of cook’s cucumber sandwiches and teacakes. Famished, she eagerly joined her aunt. "That Adrian," Corinne muttered as she sipped her tea. "What has he done now?" Kara asked between bites. "He got himself involved in a tavern brawl," her aunt answered sourly. "His eye is swollen almost shut, and his face is a mass of bruises. How he could possibly wish to appear in public looking like that, I don’t understand." "He probably enjoys shocking everyone," Kara answered calmly. "I think he likes it when new rumors about him are bandied about the ton." Her aunt contented herself with an unlady-like snort, and launched into a discussion about an upcoming party. Kara pretended to listen, but her thoughts were with Adrian. If he had gone out, he must not feel too badly. ~*~ Adrian sat in his club, unconcerned that his battered appearance was the object of several other member’s speculative conversations,though he listened to their disgruntled comments with half an ear. "Man should have the common decency to keep himself at home till he’s healed," an older gentleman muttered to his cronies. "Makes you wonder what the other fellow looks like," contemplated another. "Never saw Warrick’s father or grandfather in such straits," complained the first gentlemen. "I have to disagree with you, Cyril," a third man interjected. "Knew the grandfather. Damian Warrick suffered black moods. When one was upon him, he went looking for fights. The stories of the brawls he

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started are still bandied about the taverns on the east side of London." "I still think it’s damned impertinent of him to look like that." Turning his back, Adrian stared down at his boots. He’d come here for peace and quiet so he could think. All the comings and goings of Corinne’s acquaintances and Karalyn’s new friends and suitors provided too many distractions. Whenever he tried to work at home, one suitor or another was requesting an audience. As the man of the house, he had already received six offers for Karalyn Marshall. His aunt had waved all of them off, except for that of Ashton St. Clair, Viscount Brentwood. Orphaned as a baby, he’d come into his title and inheritance when he attained his majority two years ago. Abby, the wife of Madman Jack Winters, was his older sister. In Adrian’s opinion, St. Clair would be a fine match for Karalyn. Corinne agreed, but she had instructed Adrian to tell the young lord that, while his suit was not unacceptable, Corinne wished for her niece to enjoy the season without the announcement of a formal betrothal. Naturally, St. Clair took this as an acceptance of his proposal and ignored all other eligible ladies, dancing exclusive attendance on Karalyn. The entire ton expected an announcement at any time. Karalyn had not been informed of St. Clair’s offer. To Adrian, it mattered little if Karolyn’s engagement was announced now or later. His thoughts, as always, turned to Angel. This morning, Simmons had seemed surprised to find the bruises on his face and hands treated. When pressed, the valet commented that Adrian himself must have tended them in the night and didn’t remember doing so. He had to admit the possibility. He’d certainly drunk enough wine not to remember everything. However, he wouldn’t have cut his shirt from his body. Therefore--Angel? No! Impossible! She couldn’t have been there last night! Two separate men were watching the house twenty-four hours a day. No one who wasn’t supposed to be there entered and everyone, including all of the servants were home last night. He must have been dreaming! Adrian shuddered; such dreams would drive him mad far more rapidly than his usual nightmares. He glanced up when he heard footsteps. "You seemed to have had an interesting evening," Lucian stated as he sat down next to his friend. "Nothing out of the ordinary. You’ve seen me look worse. How was Bath?" "Interesting, but I’d rather tell you about it in a less public place." "Your apartments?" "Your house would be safer." "You have no idea what you’ve just said," Adrian growled. "The sitting room is undoubtedly filled with eager, young swains as we speak." "Corinne’s niece is a success, then?" "They must have their ears stopped with wax. How they can stand her inane prattle..." Lucian laughed. "Not wax, my friend. Their ears are ringing with the sound copper makes as it’s dug from a mine."

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Before Adrian could answer, they were interrupted by small group of obviously intoxicated men. "Had the bloody hell beaten out of you, did you Ravenrook?" sneered one of the company. Both Adrian and Lucian glanced up in surprise. Few men had the courage to address the ill-tempered Marquis of Ravenrook in such an insolent manner. Adrian’s good eye--the other was still half swollen shut--narrowed as he recognized one of the men in the group. "Your friend seems to be drunk, Sedgewick." The older man shrugged. "Horace is offended by your presence. Can’t say that I blame him." "Fought over that whore, didn’t you, Ravenrook?" the drunken man continued. "Found her pleasuring another man." "I have no idea what you’re talking about," Adrian growled as he and Lucian rose to leave. "Now, if you’ll excuse us." "That Midnight Angel likes to spread her favors around, I hear," Horace added. "Where can I find her? My prick won’t flag like Tolliver’s. Is she as lively a ride as they say?" Even though Lucian tried to interpose himself between the two men, he was too late to stop Adrian. His hand shot out. He grabbed Horace’s collar and jerked the man closer. "Name your seconds, bastard," he snarled. Then he threw the drunken man to the heavily carpeted floor. "Lucian, take care of the details and let me know the particulars. I’ll be home." As everyone else watched Adrian stomp from the room, Lucian watched Sedgewick. The satisfied smirk on the older man’s face told him all he wanted to know. Lucian sighed. New rumors would spread through the ton like wildfire. By this evening everyone would be gossiping about how the Marquis of Ravenrook was fighting a duel to defend the honor of the Midnight Angel. "Damn, but how could I be so stupid to be taunted into a duel?" Adrian growled to himself, as he stepped out of his carriage. "That bastard Sedgewick is behind this, I’m sure of it. Why? Why does he want me dead?" Angry with himself for succumbing to Newley’s taunts, he stalked up the steps to his door. Unsummoned, a picture of his Angel kissing another man appeared in his mind’s eye. Though he knew better than to believe a drunken man’s ravings, an oath slipped from his lips. His body still ached from the beating he’d received, and now his imagination was attacking his common sense with vivid mental pictures of his Angel being unfaithful. Bursting through the front door before Ivors could open it, he ordered, "Tell anyone who doesn’t belong here to leave, Ivors. I am tired of all the damned company." "There is no one here, my lord. Her ladyship and Miss Marshall are not ‘at home’ today." "About bloody time Corinne got tired of all those salivating fortune hunters." As Adrian handed his cloak and hat to the butler, Karalyn appeared carrying a book. He glared at her. The last thing he wanted right now was to make conversation with her. Then he relaxed slightly. She must have had enough sense to recognize his black mood, because she kept her mouth shut and dipped a hasty curtsy. With a slight nod, she turned to ascend the staircase. A silver glint from the back of her

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head caught his attention, and he perused her more closely. The clasp holding her hair was the one Angel had taken from him. Seizing her arm in a vise-like grip, he demanded, "Where did you get that?" Gasping with pain, she replied, "The library, my lord. I’ll put it back if you wish. I’m sorry." "Not the blasted book, you feeble-minded twit, this!" Reaching behind her, he tore the clasp from the back of her head, heedless of the long black strands of hair he ripped out with it. "Where did you get this?" "I bought it in a shop, my lord," Kara lied frantically as the book thudded to the floor. "She sold it? How could she?"Adrian’s grip became tighter. "Faithless bitch!" The blood drained from Kara’s face; Adrian was looking directly into her eyes. "Adrian!" exclaimed his horrified aunt. "What are you doing? Release Karalyn immediately!" The appalled shock in his aunt’s voice brought Adrian back to himself. Realizing he still held the girl’s arm, he immediately released her. Lifting her skirts, she fled back to the library, tears streaming down her cheeks. Adrian thought he saw a flash of red near her ankle, but his thoughts were centered on the hair clasp. "Adrian," his aunt angrily demanded again. "What have you done?" He held up the hair clasp. "Where did your niece get this?" "She found it in a shop last week. But why should that matter?" "It’s mine. It was stolen from me." "Well, Karalyn didn’t steal it. Did you have to call her a faithless bitch?" Those words got Adrian’s complete attention. "I did not call your niece a faithless bitch!" "Who do you think you were talking to? You had her by the arm and yelled into her face." Shocked, Adrian eyes widened. He had never treated a decent woman in such a manner. "I wasn’t talking to her," he finally muttered. "Well, Karalyn certainly thought you were. So did I. I am ashamed of you, Adrian. I never thought to see you treat a lady in such a manner." Adrian ran his fingers through his loose hair. "I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings." "Then go apologize," Corinne demanded indignantly. Then she added, "Adrian, at times I am amazed at how incredibly stupid you can be." Head high, she swept back into the sitting room. Ivors strangled a cough as he shut the door, drawing a glare from Adrian. Muttering blasphemies, Adrian stomped towards the library. How he hated to apologize!

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Karalyn’s sobs had quieted, but fat tears were still rolling down her cheeks. At a loss for words, Adrian stepped just inside the door and cleared his throat. "Miss Marshall--Karalyn, I’m sorry. I was not speaking to you. I was... It’s too complicated to explain." When she didn’t answer him, he left the door open behind him and walked further into the room. Huddled on a chair by the window, she had her feet drawn up under her skirts and her face buried in the soft fabric covering her knees. "This clasp was stolen from me some months ago," Adrian went on in a quiet voice. "It belonged to my mother. I’m sorry I offended you. That was not my intention." Running his fingers through his loose hair again, he shifted nervously from foot to foot. "It belonged to your mother?" she questioned in a muffled voice. "I’m sorry; I didn’t know." Adrian completely missed the real meaning behind her words. As he sat down in the chair opposite her, he opened his mouth to speak but then stopped. Resting his hands on his knees, he simply stared at Karalyn, totally at a loss for what to say next. Apologizing to and comforting innocent, young girls was completely out of his realm of experience. As a rule, he completely avoided them. She glanced into his brooding countenance and hiccupped. "My lord, you look horrible." A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. "A slight disagreement with an acquaintance." "Does it hurt very much?" Now that was a question Adrian expected from Corinne’s niece. "A little." In reality, his head was pounding, his ribs ached, and his knee sent a shooting pain up his leg whenever he put too much weight on it. "Perhaps you should rest." "I shall take your advice, Miss Marshall. May I tell Aunt Corinne you’ve forgiven me?" A sigh and another half sob--half hiccup. For some reason, the sound tugged at his heart, and he cursed himself for being heartless and cruel. "Yes, Adrian, I forgive you." He had begun to rise from his chair, but those whispered words, especially the caress wrapped around his name suspended his movement. That voice.... He looked into Karalyn’s deep blue gaze, suspicion flaring in his eyes, but a knock on the open door interrupted his astounding train of thought. "Major Blake is here, my lord," Ivors announced. "Shall I show him in?" "I’ll leave you to talk with Major Blake, my lord," she said wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She jumped to her feet. "Show the major in here, Ivors." With those words, she was gone. "What was that all about?" Lucian asked as he entered the library and made sure the door was closed firmly behind him. "I never thought to see you in the same room with Corinne’s niece if you could avoid

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it." Adrian stared at the closed door. No. It wasn’t possible. Corinne’s niece...? Turning to Lucian, he held out the hair clasp and asked, "Recognize this?" Lifting the clasp from Adrian’s hand, Lucian’s eyes widened a fraction. "Where did you find it?" "Corinne’s niece was wearing it." "Really? Where did she get it?" "A shop here in London." Lucian nodded. "That explains it then. The Angel pawned it when she got here. Be glad Karalyn happened upon it. I know how much it means to you." Adrian grunted but said nothing. He refused to believe that his Angel would part with this particular memento of their first meeting, especially considering the token she’d given him. But, the only other way the clasp could have come into Karalyn Marshall’s possession… That idea was just too farfetched to contemplate! Still, Karalyn and his Angel were of a size… "Sedgewick orchestrated everything with Newley." Those words pulled Adrian’s attention back to his friend. All else was forgotten at the mention of Sedgewick’s name. "He started last night," Lucian continued, "plying Horace Newley with just enough alcohol to keep him belligerent but not completely intoxicated. After a night at Madam Marie’s, Sedgewick recommenced encouraging Newley’s animosity this morning. Seems you sank a ship in which Newley had invested heavily when you were playing at being pirate. Took him three years to recoup his losses." Lucian’s words didn’t surprise Adrian. Since he’d returned to London more than one gentleman had damned him because of investments lost on ships he’d supposedly sunk. Trying to explain that he’d never sunk a ship flying the British flag would do no good. No one would believe him anyway. "When and where?" "Tomorrow morning, the usual place." "Weapons?" "Swords." "Newley’s a fool." "Yes, "Lucian agreed," but according to my sources, a very competent fool with a blade." Adrian shrugged. "What’s done is done. I’ll defeat Newley. Now what did you learn in Bath?" Lucian grimaced. "Not as much as I thought I would. I was sure my informant would have a name for

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me. Unfortunately, he was dead when I got to our rendezvous spot." "So you learned nothing?" "His purse was rifled and all his money taken to make it look like a robbery. However, I was able to retrieve this." Pulling a piece of paper from inside his coat, he laid it on the table. Adrian picked it up. "What is it?" "The name of his French contact." Adrian smiled. "It’s a start." As they continued discussing possible traitors, Adrian forgot to wonder how his mother’s hair clasp had come into Karalyn Marshall’s possession. Later that night at one of the innumerable balls she attended, Kara heard the latest rumor that galloped through the ton like a team of runaway horses. "But it is true!" the sycophants of London society whispered to all who would listen. "The Marquis of Ravenrook is fighting a duel to defend the honor of his lover, the Midnight Angel."

Twelve Small wisps of fog still eddied about the meadow not far from the Thames when Adrian arrived riding the black stallion Kara had named Tane. Pulling his restive mount to a halt, he did not try to mask his surprise when he saw Robert Marshall standing next to Lucian. A short distance away, Newley and his seconds talked with two other men who must be the judge and doctor. Sedgewick was conspicuously absent. "Marshall," he said with a nod as he dismounted, "can’t say I expected to see you here." "I’ve never been involved in a duel. I was curious," the younger man answered with a negligent shrug. He didn’t like Adrian Warwick, but he did respect the man. Besides, he learned from some fellow officers how Sedgewick had maneuvered Horace Newley into challenging the Marquis to this duel. Wanting to see what the murderer of his parents hoped to accomplish, he had accepted Lucian Blake’s request that he second Ravenrook.

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"Are you going to stand and exchange pleasantries with your seconds, my lord," goaded Newley, "or are you man enough to fight me?" Face impassive, Adrian remained silent. His face still displayed the discolored bruises from his fight, but judicious applications of raw steak had reduced the swelling about his eye. He would have to be careful of his knee, though. A wrong step and it would collapse under him. Adrian presented his sword for the judge to examine, as did Newley. Their seconds had agreed that each man could use his own saber providing an impartial judge found them acceptable. As both Adrian and Newley removed their coats and stretched to loosen their muscles, the judge went over the rules with their seconds. Lucian and Robert listened politely. Newley’s seconds asked a few questions. Both sides were in agreement. "Where’s Sedgewick?" Adrian asked in a low voice when Lucian and Robert returned to his side. "In a closed carriage over by the trees. He’s maneuvered you both into this, but he doesn’t want his involvement known," Robert answered. Adrian started, surprised at the younger man’s knowledge. Either Lucian had let some things slip to the young Welshman, something Adrian seriously doubted, or Robert Marshall was an extremely astute young man. Either way, Karalyn’s older brother bore close watching. Then, after a nod to Lucian and Robert, Adrian sauntered over to Newley and the judge. Positioning himself facing his opponent, he raised his saber. Taking the tips of both swords in his gloved hand, the judge held the points together. "To the first blood only, gentlemen. En guarde." As the judge sprang away, Newley attacked. Still aching from his beating two nights before, Adrian fought conservatively, seeking out his opponent’s strengths and weakness. He soon discovered that while Newley was a more than adequate swordsman by the ton’s standards, he lacked the skill necessary to win the duel. However, Adrian didn’t want Sedgewick to determine his level of expertise with a blade. He allowed the fight to drag on longer than necessary. Finally, though, Newley made a mistake too obvious to ignore, and Adrian slashed his shoulder. "First blood to the Marquis of Ravenrook," the judge shouted signaling for the combatants’ seconds to subdue their men if necessary. "Honor has been satisfied." Newley had had enough. Very early into the duel, he’d recognized that he was outmatched. Warrick could have ended this fight much sooner than he had. To his way of thinking, the Marquis was allowing him to save face. "Honor is satisfied," he agreed with a grimace as the doctor cleaned the cut on his shoulder. "My lord, I must have been mistaken about certain comments I made. My apologies." The guarded look never left Adrian’s eyes, but he nodded his acceptance. Retrieving his sword belt from Lucian, he cleaned and sheathed his saber, then buckled the belt about his waist. Shrugging into the coat Robert held for him, he said, "Shall we adjourn to my townhouse for breakfast?" Both his seconds agreed. All three had taken note of Sedgewick’s carriage hurrying away. ~*~

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As her Aunt Corinne had told her, everyone who was anyone rode in the park. When Kara and her aunt appeared, their appearance raised eyebrows and caused more than a few comments. Certain dowagers--ensconced in their richly appointed carriages like queens on their thrones--voiced their disapproval, some vehemently. Kara stood out from the other girls riding in the park in her new wine red habit like a crimson cardinal amongst a flock of drab sparrows, Head high, Kara followed Corinne’s advice and ignored them all. Mrs. Thatcher had outdone herself with her new riding habit. Modeled after Robert’s dragoon uniform, the deep burgundy velvet was double breasted with two rows of gold buttons, connected by black braid, disappearing into a wide white sash. Golden epaulets with silky gold fringe rode both Kara’s shoulders. Mrs. Thatcher had also obtained a child’s replica of a dragoon’s dress helmet. With some modifications and judicious applications of velvet ribbon, it complimented the habit perfectly. The long velvet skirt, burgundy with a few ornamental rows of black braid flowed down her horse’s side. White, not the usual black or brown riding gloves completed the ensemble. As she met the glare of a haughty matron, Kara patted her mount’s neck. Her new mare added to the stunning picture she presented. Once she’d been cleaned and brushed, the damage she’d suffered had proved to be not nearly as extensive as feared. The mare was a little thin, but her injuries weren’t serious. None would scar; and, most importantly, the poor treatment she had experienced had not led to a mistrust of all humans. She willingly allowed Jock to handle her once she’d been delivered to the Marquis’ stables. Now groomed until her coat shone and with a handful of burgundy ribbons--thoughtfully provided by Jane--braided into her mane and tail, the mare complimented her mistress far more than anyone would have considered possible. A good washing followed by a good brushing had revealed a beautiful dappled, grey coat, and her full mane and tail had washed out completely white. A white star sat in the center of her broad forehead, and white stockings reached to her knees and hocks. Jock had buffed her black hooves until they shone. With her ears cocked forward, her nostrils flared, and her tail carried high as only hot-blooded Eastern horses carried them, she caused as much comment as Karalyn’s riding habit--more from true horsemen. Kara received four offers for the mare their first hour in the park. "Kara," Sophia said in an awed tone, "you are absolutely beautiful. I swear, not a man will look at any of the rest of us as long as you are here." "Oh, posh, Sophie," Kara answered as they rode next to each other at a sedate walk. "Don’t be silly." "But it’s true. Everyone is watching you." "Only because I’m not wearing good, black broadcloth as a young girl should," Kara answered with a giggle. "Did you see how red Lady Thompson’s face was? Come on; let’s have a canter. My mare is champing at the bit." With an acquiescing smile, Sophie urged her own well-bred mare to a faster pace. Kara looked to her aunt who had stopped to talk to some acquaintances in one of the carriages, but Corinne waved the girls on. Kara had assured Corinne that Jock, who was playing groom, would stick close to them. His heavy headed, bad tempered, mud-uglygelding was one of the fastest horses on Bodmin Moor. Corinne needn’t have any worries about him keeping pace with them. Though Kara’s new mare undoubtedly had a lot of bottom, Sophia’s mount was all show. She’d not run very fast or very far, and Kara promised not to leave her friend behind.

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Ignoring the censorious frowns, Kara and Sophie urged their trotting horses to an easy canter with Jock following along a few strides in their wake. Then, the girls’ cantering mares spooked a skittish carriage horse, and it bolted in front of Jock, blocking the path they were following. With a curse that drew a withering glare from the Duchess in the carriage and a merry laugh from Kara, Jock was forced to pull up his horse and maneuver around the mass of halted carriages. Mischief sparkling in her eyes, Kara urged her mare on. Finally, a chance to ignore the strictures of London society, at least for a little while! When the path narrowed, a laughing Kara motioned Sophia ahead of her. The unexpected crack of the pistol caused Sophia’s mare to bolt. Thanks to the tangle of carriages, Jock was too far away to do more than give chase. Ducking instinctively as the whining bullet passed close by her head, Kara’s complexion turned ghastly white as she remembered her experience on Bodmin Moor. Screaming with pain, Sophia’s mare reared then bolted, her ashen-faced rider clutching the saddle desperately. Forgetting her own fears and with an unladylike curse, Kara threw discretion to the wind and slapped the mare with her riding crop--hard. Urging her mount on, she rode off to rescue her friend. ~*~ "What the devil was that?" Robert asked as the crack of a pistol shot echoed from somewhere ahead of them. "Sounded like it came from the park," Adrian said. "Bloody hell! Kara is riding this morning! What has she gotten herself into now?" Spurring his mount, Robert galloped off. "It’s probably nothing, Adrian," Lucian said glumly, "but I suppose we should lend Marshall moral support." Amused, Adrian urged his horse forward. Ever since his initial meeting of Robert’s sister, Lucian avoided her like the plague. He despised empty-headed, giddy debutantes more than Adrian did. Adrian smiled. For some strange reason, Karalyn Marshall’s flighty personality didn’t bother him as much any more. "Why did Marshall automatically assume his sister had anything to do with that pistol shot?" Lucian asked in a curious voice. Adrian’s smile melted away. Lucian had asked a very interesting question. ~*~ After his afternoon spent singing with Sophia Cranston, Grant Bolitho spent a great deal of time thinking about her. Remembering that the girls had agreed to ride in the park this morning, he decided to do the same, planning to meet them accidentally. Then he could spend more time with the charming Miss Cranston. He’d just spied the two young women when the pistol cracked. Grant’s gelding was much like Jock’s horse, though it had better breeding. A dark bay with no distinguishing marks, it was, nevertheless, the fastest horse in the Midnight Angel’s band. As soon as Sophia’s mare bolted, Grant spurred after her.

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~*~ Robert cursed as first Sophia and then Kara flashed by him. Unfortunately, the path was too narrow for him to turn. By the time his galloping horse reached an open space, he found himself upon the tangle of carriages and horsemen who were trying to follow after the two girls. Hauling his chestnut to a sliding halt, he wheeled his mount. Cursing and laying his crop indiscriminately on the haunches and shoulders of other horses, he forced his powerful gelding past anyone blocking his way. Once clear of the snarl or carriages and horses, he spurred his horse to a gallop. Another curse was ripped from his throat. Kara and her friend had disappeared. Since Adrian and Lucian followed at a slower pace, they had a clearer view of the unfolding scenario when they halted on the brow of the hill. After one quick glance, Adrian relaxed. Even though Sophia’s mare was still lengths beyond Karalyn’s, the mare was obviously tiring. As long as Sophia kept her seat, she would be fine. Tearing his attention from Sophia, Adrian focused on Karalyn. Her hat had blown from her head, and her long black braid streamed out behind her, as did the skirt of her riding habit revealing her frilly, white petticoats. He had a fine view of a trim, white stockinged leg as she raced by. "Damn fine rider for a woman," he muttered mostly to himself. A feminine scream rolled back along the path and both men’s attention snapped back to Sophia. Her mare had spooked and bucked, causing the girl to lose her balance. Any more missteps by the mare would throw her rider to the ground. "Blast and damn!" Adrian exclaimed as he and Lucian urged their horses after the girls. Taking a fall at this speed could badly hurt, possibly even kill the girl. ~*~ "Come on girl," Kara encouraged her mare. "You can catch her." If she were in top form, the grey mare would have caught Sophia’s mount easily. Unfortunately, the abuse she’d suffered had affected her wind and stamina, and she was tiring quickly. Kara caught sight of a familiar bay gelding out of the corner of her eye. With a sigh of relief, she began to ease up.. In minutes, Grant was beside Sophia, pulling the girl from her stumbling mount onto his lap. Slowly he pulled his horse to a stop, speaking in a low voice to the young woman shaking in his arms. Kara started as Lucian galloped past, intent on capturing Sophia’s mare before she did any damage to herself. She had just about pulled her own mare to a halt when Adrian’s hand grasped the mare’s reins. "Are you all right, Miss Marshall?" "Of course, I’m all right, no thanks to whomever shot that pistol," she snapped, angry now that she had time to think. A dark eyebrow rose, but he kept his eyes on her flushed face. There was something familiar about the angry set of her mouth. "Pistol?"

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"I know a pistol shot when I hear one, Adrian!" Before he could question her further about that particular knowledge, Robert was upon them. "Damn it, Karalyn!" he bellowed. "I can see your leg all the way to your knee!" "Oh!" she exclaimed, her appearance suddenly dawning on her. Hastily, she readjusted her skirt and petticoats. Adrian had a very close look at a very lovely leg, and he was man enough to appreciate it. "Bloody damn hell, Karalyn," Robert began once he jerked his mount to a stop, "every time I let you out of my sight you manage to get yourself into trouble." "Don’t you ‘bloody damn hell’ me, Robert Marshall," his sister snapped back before he could finish, too angry to care that Adrian sat listening with both amusement and speculation on his face. "It’s not my fault. Somebody fired a pistol and spooked Sophie’s mare. What was I supposed to do, sit back and watch when her mare bolted?" "Damn it, Kara..." "You’ve already used ‘damn’, Robert," she goaded. "Your vocabulary is much more colorful than that. Should I remind you?" Kara’s slowly building frustration finally exploded. After weeks in London, she hadn’t found Sedgewick, no matter how many boring parties and balls she attended. What’s more, Adrian’s presence was causing a different set of problems. Even now, her body was reacting to his nearness. She kept remembering how she felt when he kissed her, and that robbery in the bordello would not stay buried in her mind. On more than one occasion, she wondered how Adrian would look if he were aroused and exactly how his--male part--would feel if it were inside of her. She welcomed this chance to argue with Robert. "Excuse me," Grant interrupted as he rode up with a now calmed Sophia, "but the entire ton can hear your argument." "Shut up, Grant," Robert and Kara snapped together. That sounded like it’s been said before, thought a fascinated Adrian. The flighty Karalyn Marshall he thought he knew had been replaced by this very new, very dauntless young woman with eyes that flashed blue fire. Even Sophia Cranston, he noticed, had stopped dwelling on her near brush with death to instead focus on the argument between Kara and her brother. Adrian’s lips quirked. Even as eccentric as the Cranstons were, Sophia undoubtedly never encountered anyone like the Marshall siblings. Well-bred people simply did not display so much emotion, especially in public. "Ahem," Adrian finally said, "but youare becoming rather loud." His amused voice stopped both Robert and Kara in mid sentence. "Oh my!" Kara exclaimed both hands flying to her mouth. "Bloody damn hell!"

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"Robert! Really!" Robert cursed again, under his breath this time. Both Grant and Ravenrook were correct. Soon the entire ton would know their business. "Miss Marshall was right, I’m afraid," Lucian interjected as he trotted up leading Sophie’s mare. "Someone did fire a pistol." A bloody welt crossed the mare’s rump; and, though she seemed calmer, the whites of her eyes still showed and her nostrils flared nervously. "Who would shoot a pistol in a crowded park?" Robert growled. "May I be of some help, gentlemen?" asked an oily voice. Robert, Adrian, and Lucian all tensed. None of them noticed the man ride up. Cursing to himself as Adrian opened his mouth, Robert couldn’t keep Kara from hearing what he was about to say. "No, Sedgewick, we have things well in hand." When none of the men there made any effort to introduce him to the ladies, Major Alexander Sedgewick presented them with a mocking bow and spurred his horse away. As soon as Adrian uttered the name Sedgewick, Kara’s attention snapped from her mare to the tall blond man who had placed himself before the group. Well into his forties, the major was still a handsome man if one could overlook his weak chin and receding hairline. And though he sat straight in the saddle and had his coat tightly buttoned, he couldn’t conceal the slight potbelly that strained against it. When he urged his horse away from them, Kara would have followed if her brother’s voice hadn’t stopped her. "Kara!" her brother hissed. "Remember where we are!" Holding his restive black stallion in check beside Karalyn’s mare, Adrian carefully mulled over her reaction to Sedgewick. Her body had stiffened and hatred as virulent as any he’d ever seen blazed from her eyes. He patted his horse’s neck but remained quiet. This Karalyn Marshall was a completely different person from the giddy chit who lived in his house. Swinging her head around, she glared at her brother and opened her mouth. Again, the timely intervention of someone else saved her. The sound of galloping hooves announced the arrival of the Cranston carriage. "Sophia, Sophia, my child," shrieked a hysterical Lady Cranston. "I’m fine, Mother," Sophia answered, "thanks to the timely intervention of Mr. Bolitho." "Mr. Bolitho," Lady Cranston cried as tears ran down her cheeks. "How can we ever repay you? You must come to dinner tonight. Lord Cranston will insist upon meeting you." "I will be honored, Lady Cranston," the young Cornishman answered as he guided his horse over to the Cranston carriage. There, he helped Sophie slide off his lap and down onto the seat next to her mother. "Please, Major Blake, hand Sophie’s mare over to my groom. He will see her home. Why would

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anyone want to shoot my dear Sophie?" Sophia herself provided a logical explanation for the entire episode. "Posh, Mother," she said dryly, "no one wanted to shoot me. I dare say that some young man got hold of his father’s pistol and discharged it by accident." "You are undoubtedly correct, Miss Cranston," Lucian interjected seeking to make the incident less than it probably was and calm Lady Cranston. As Lucian was talking with Lady Cranston, Adrian sidled his horse even closer to Karalyn, anxiously wanting to be rid of as many of these people as possible. His aunt’s niece had become something of an enigma, and his curiosity was piqued. "How is your mare, Karalyn?" "Niwlis fine, my lord. A slow walk home will work out any stiffness." "Niwl, Karalyn?" "It means mist, my lord." "In Cornish or Welsh?" Did he imagine a slight hesitation before she answered? "Why, Welsh, of course, my lord." "Don’t you think you should call me Adrian?" Kara recognized that trap immediately. Vapidly she answered, "But, my lord, that wouldn’t be proper." "You called me Adrian a few moments ago," he coaxed in a seductive tone that wrapped itself around her. "I--I was overset." Hearing the murmuring beside him, Robert turned to see the dismay on his sister’s face and the all too penetrating look on the Marquis’. Kneeing his horse between their mounts, he said, "It’s time you were getting home, Kara. Here comes Aunt Corinne. Come, I’ll escort you." Using his chestnut to shoulder her mare away from Adrian, Robert followed his sister to where his aunt waited with Jock. Silently, his thoughts whirling, Adrian watched them ride away. The crowd that had gathered dispersed rapidly once the principals in the adventure had disappeared. Gossip ran rampant, and there would surely be at least ten different stories about what had happened. Adrian turned his attention to Grant Bolitho. "Fine horse you have there, Bolitho." "Thank you, my lord," he answered, his eyes on the Cranston carriage as it disappeared. "Not much to look at, but he has a lot of bottom. Not a horse in the county can catch him, not even Kara’s mare.

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Good day to you, my lord." With a nod, Grant rode off, leaving Adrian and Lucian alone. "Now what did Bolitho mean by that? Karalyn’s mare is still too weak to outrun any of our horses." Adrian didn’t answer Lucian’s question, but the suspicion that had been taking root in his mind began to bloom. ~*~ "Aunt Corrine said it’s only a small card party, Tris," Kara murmured in a low voice as they stumbled through the back alley of one of London’s better residential areas, "General Mitterling and three of his cronies." "We have to be quick," he answered. "The watch has regular patrols on this street. I wish you would learn to control that devilish temper of yours, Kara." "My temper!" she hissed indignantly. "If Robert hadn’t been bellowing loud enough for all of London to hear, we wouldn’t have this problem. Now, let’s get this over and done with so I can go home to bed." Tristan clapped his hand over her mouth. "Quiet!" he hissed. "We don’t have time for arguments. Without Grant, we’re far more vulnerable, but, after that performance in the park, the Marquis’ suspicious. Angel has to strike when he’s sure you’re at home." Her eyes blazed as he removed his hand from her mouth, but she controlled her temper. "Are you sure we won’t have any trouble getting in?" she asked in a low voice. "The cook was bribed to leave the back door open," Tristan answered as he slowly turned the doorknob. "How do you know it’s not a trap?" "Mitterling fired the cook’s niece when he caught her stealing the silver. The girl was guilty, but his cook wants to get even," he answered, leading them through the kitchen and into a darkened hallway. "Quiet now." Stealthily, Kara and her three men crept through the house towards the study. The low rumble of male voices and laughter permeated the closed door. "Ready?" After Kara’s nod, Tris shoved the door open. "Gothewhar Daa,Gentleman," Kara began. Her eyes widened when she found herself staring into Lucian Blake’s steady gaze.Damn, damn, damn. Can I never get away from Adrian or his henchman! The surprise in Angel’s eyes was mirrored on Lucian’s face. What the devil was she doing there? He’d never learn anything about the spying at headquarters if Adrian’s Angel kept interrupting the card parties he attended.

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"I say, what’s the meaning of this?" demanded the General indignantly. With the ghost of a smile, Lucian said, "May I have the honor, General, of presenting the Midnight Angel." Flashing a beguiling smile, she executed an elegant bow. An interested expression appeared on the general’s face. "So, you’re the gel causing all the mischief. What have you got to say for yourself?" An elegant shrug. "I find myself in need of funds, General. London living is so frightfully expensive," she answered in her husky voice. Turning to her men, she added, "Tie them." While Angel and her lieutenant kept their pistols trained on the seated men, her other two men tied each one, Lucian first. As he watched, they quickly gathered up the money on the table. Lucian smiled when General Mitterling received a chaste peck on the cheek. Then, they disappeared back into the darkness of the hallway. The general chuckled. "Twenty pounds. Meeting her was worth losing it." Lucian tested his bonds. Adrian wasn’t going to be happy about this. ~*~ Leaning back in the soft leather chair, Adrian absently listened to the clock as it chimed two A.M., contemplating the fire that burned so merrily on the library hearth. The brandy in his snifter was exceptionally fine, and the girl who lay sleeping in the room upstairs presented him with a fascinating puzzle. She couldn’t possibly be the Midnight Angel, yet... Too many unbelievable coincidences were manifesting themselves. But--Corinne, she why would she lie about the girl? Loud pounding on the front door interrupted his musings, and he rose and stalked down the hallway to confront who was disturbing the peace of his house. "Lucian!" Adrian said with surprise as he swung the door open. "Angel’s struck again." "But..." Leaving Lucian standing in the open doorway, he bounded up the stairway. Stopping before Kara’s door, he carefully turned the knob. Slowly he pushed it open and stood in the doorway. Pale light from the now waning moon shone in the window, illuminating the dark-haired woman sleeping peacefully. With a frown, he backed softly out of the room. In Kara’s bed, Jane sighed with relief. For a moment, she thought the Marquis was going to come right over to the bed! Hurrying back down the steps, Adrian found Lucian had shut the door and made his way to the library. "Are you sure it was Angel? There’s already been one impersonation."

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"I was there, Adrian. Your Angel robbed General Mitterling." "But she’s here," Adrian muttered to himself. Lucian raised questioning eyebrows at his friend. "Who?’ Adrian spat an unintelligible curse then muttered, "No one." Lucian chuckled. Adrian glanced back at his friend. "Who did she kiss?" Lucian grinned. "A daughterly peck for the General." I’ll paddle her backside until she can’t sit down if I catch her kissing another man,Adrian swore to himself. Then he continued, "Were you able to learn anything?" "No. Your Angel arrived before they had enough to drink, and I hurried here as soon as the butler found and released us." Then he continued, "You’ve got to do something about your fascination with the Angel, Adrian. She’s interfering with your assignment." Adrian snorted. "I am quite capable of handling two things at once, Lucian." His friend laughed outright. "Shut up, Lucian." ~*~ "Careful, Kara," Tris told her in a low voice as he hurried her along the rough passageway that ran under the street and back to the cellars of Adrian’s house. "Don’t trip over the loose stones." "Then stop hauling me along faster than I can walk." "We have to hurry. The boy who stopped us in the park told me Lucian Blake is already here, damn him. You have to get back into your bed before Warrick decides to take a good close look underneath all that black hair." "How in the world did you find this passage, Tris?" Kara grumbled, tripping over yet another loose flagstone. "It can’t have been used in years." "I heard a hollow sound behind one of the cellar walls," he answered as Jock held up his hand. The lanterns flickered as he pushed open the door that led into the cellars. "Now, remember, use the back steps. Lucian and Adrian are somewhere in the house, probably the library." Hastening up the steps from the cellar, she paused in the kitchen, listening. When she heard nothing, she hurried up the back stairs, gliding like a black shadow down the hallway to her door. Opening it softly, she eased in and closed it behind her. Hurrying to the bed, she placed her hand over Jane’s mouth, startling the girl.

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"Oh, thank Goodness you’re back, Kara, he’s been in to see if you were here." "Hurry then, get to your own room," Kara said as she tore her shirt over her head and slipped on her nightgown. The squeak of a floorboard outside her door caused both girls to freeze and stare into each other’s eyes. "Quick, under the bed!" Kara hissed as she dove into her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. Just as Jane rolled beneath the dust ruffle, the door opened, and Adrian trod stealthily into the room. Shielding the candle with his hand, he stopped at the side of the bed and bent down to stare at the young woman who lay before him. Her hands tucked under her cheek, Karalyn Marshall slept peacefully on her side, her blanket pulled up to her white clad shoulder. The light of the single candle Adrian held illuminated her translucent beauty. Sighing, Kara stirred uneasily. He was here, in the room, right next to her. If she opened her eyes and he looked at her, she would kiss him--even with Jane under the bed! And, if he soon didn’t leave, she would open her eyes. Muttering something incomprehensible, Adrian straightened and backed hurriedly away from the bed. If Karalyn woke and saw him, she’d probably scream, and he didn’t have a reasonable explanation for being there. Servants talked. The entire ton would soon know that the Marquis of Ravenrook had been found in the bedroom of his aunt’s niece. ~*~ Groaning with relief when she heard the door close, Kara cautiously opened her eyes and looked about her empty chamber. "Jane," she whispered, "you can come out now." "Don’t ask me to do this again, Kara. I thought the devil himself was coming when the Marquis appeared holding that candle up to his scarred face," Jane moaned as she rolled out from beneath the bed. Kara rose and with Jane’s help removed her boots. Then she slipped her breeches off from beneath her nightgown. "Here, give them to me. I’ll wash them myself. You’ll not be needin’ them again for awhile, I’m thinkin’." "Have them done as quickly as possible. I want to be prepared. I may need them sooner than we think." Two hours later Adrian’s nightly rendezvous with his demons again awakened Kara. She could not stop the tears that slid down her cheeks as she listened to his anguished cursing.

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Thirteen Kara breathed deeply and inhaled the fresh, crisp air. With a contented smile, she turned her face to warm, morning sun as she and her brother guided their horses down a little used bridle path. She glance at Robert, expecting another lecture about her behavior yesterday, but he remained silent. Running her tongue over her teeth, she decided to grab the bull by the horns. "I’m tired of all this playacting, Robbie. We know who Sedgewick is. Let’s end this and go home." "Is Ravenrook bothering you?" Looking askance at her brother’s tone of voice, one Robert used more and more in conjunction with Adrian’s name, Kara answered, "No, he’s rarely at home and barely speaks to me when he is. I’m sure last night’s raid put him off." "He was in your bedroom!" A sigh of exasperation escaped Kara. She’d like to strangle Jane for telling Robert about that particular incident. "We’ve been through this, Robert. He believes me to be giddy and irresponsible." As she intended, Robert’s lips twitched. He still had trouble seeing her as a scatterbrained ninny. He’d almost given away her disguise the first time he’d heard that high-pitched giggle. Even now, he often left her presence when she spouted an exceptionally long string of vapid nonsense. Congratulating herself, Kara smiled with satisfaction. She always knew exactly how to sooth Robert’s temper, especially when she was the cause of it. "Hey, guv’ner," hissed a voice from the bushes. "Who’s there?" Robert asked pulling a pistol from his saddle holster. "Tristan sent me," said a dirty urchin who appeared from behind some bushes. "He said to give you this." Looking about and ascertaining that they were alone, Robert took the dirty scrap of paper from the ragged lad, passing him a small coin. The boy disappeared. Kara craned her neck, trying to see the message. "What is it?" Robert cursed silently as he read the note. Kara would have to be with him. If he lied about what the message contained and she found out, she’d never forgive him. "Robert?" Her tone was impatient. "The Marquis is going to be waylaid tonight. Someone wants him dead." The blood drained from her face. "When? Where?" "It’s none of your concern, Kara."

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"It is my concern, Robert!" "Why, Kara? What is this obsession you have with him? He could ruin all of our plans. Has your desire for revenge lessened?" "Damn it, Robert. I don’t know! I don’t understand why. I just know he needs me, and I-- well I--I need him, too." "I swear, Kara," Robert growled in a deadly tone, "if I learn that you’ve crawled into his bed, I’ll beat you black and blue--after I cut off his balls!" "Robert!" At the sound of approaching riders, Kara urged her horse forward and ended their conversation. Robert glared at his sister’s back. He had to get her out of Ravenrook’s house! Kara fumed at her brother’s high handedness. He’d bedded his share of women beginning with that tavern maid when he was sixteen. What right did he have to tell her how to live her life! Or, who to take to her bed. ~*~ Adrian slid into the same rough chair he’d occupied the last time he was at the Will O’ the Wisp. The three men who had been sitting there had quickly vacated before he crossed the room. The fight he had started a week ago was still the main topic of conversation. Madman Jack slid into the seat next to him and handed him a mug of surprisingly decent ale as he did so. "What do you want, Jack?" Adrian’s eyes darted about the room as he sipped his ale. "That’s a surely tone from a man whose life I’m about to save." Adrian’s eyebrow rose, but he said nothing. "Someone wants you dead, my friend." "Lots of people want me dead." "But now someone is offering a very large amount of money to see the deed done." "Who?" Jack shrugged and swallowed more ale. "An intermediary contacted me. Wanted to know how much to murder you. I refused." "Your kindness knows no bounds, Jack." Jack snorted. "Abby’d have my balls. She’s fond of you."

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Adrian chuckled. "Anyway, I’ve heard that German Hans has agreed to have a go at you." "When?" Jack shrugged. "Can’t help you there. Informant refused to talk anymore." Adrian leaned back, contemplating the mug in his hand. "Any idea who wants you dead that badly?" "Only about half of London," Adrian answered finishing his ale. With a nod to his host, he rose and sauntered from the inn. With Lucian’s help, he’d discover exactly how his demise was planned. ~*~ "When and where, Tristan?" Kara demanded again in a firmer tone of voice. "Kara..." "I don’t care what Robert said, Tris. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I swear I’ll follow Adrian every night, alone if I must." "Damn it, Kara!" She smiled triumphantly. Tris never cursed in her presence unless she forced him to do something he didn’t want to. ~*~ "Sedgewick’s hands are all over this," Lucian said in a low voice as he and Adrian waited in the alley. "He’s getting bolder. The question is why?" Adrian had no chance to answer, for the Ravenrook carriage had just rounded the corner. As they watched, two men darted out of the shadows and climbed onto the coachman’s perch. The Bow Street Runner who had replaced Adrian’s usual driver toppled from the carriage without a sound, even though he had been expecting the attack. "They’ve done this before," Adrian commented dryly. One of the two men took up the reins of the horses and urged them on at the same pace. If Adrian had been in the carriage, he’d never have known anything had happened. "Let’s go," he said as the coach passed them. "I don’t like this," Lucian said as they followed the carriage, not an especially hard task since the horses were kept to a walk. "I expected them to make a play for you immediately." "As I said," Adrian answered, "they seem to have done this before." Twenty minutes later, they were deep inside the park. As the carriage stopped, they dismounted and

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inched forward slowly. Another man appeared out of the bushes and jerked open the door as the other two men jumped down from the box. Pistols in their hands, Adrian and Lucian left their cover. "Find what you expected?" Adrian asked, his voice grim with satisfaction. All three men whirled. Both Lucian and Adrian tensed at the smiles that appeared on the three toughs’ faces. "Nay, my lord, we found ‘xacly wot we wanted," answered the smallest of the three. Blows to the backs of their heads rendered both of them unconscious. ~*~ "You was right, Guv’ner," said the same man ten minutes later in a different part of the park. "Once they decided there was a trap, they were mine," Sedgewick said his voice dripping with satisfaction. Blake was a bonus. The major had been asking too many questions lately about certain business transactions. Now he would be able to get rid of both of them. "Tie them up and throw them into the Thames. Make sure they have plenty of weight about them." "Aye, Guv’ner." With a nod, Sedgewick rode away. Two problems were now eliminated. ~*~ "Are you sure this is the place, Tris?" Kara asked in a low voice as she struggled with the hard-mouthed black gelding he’d found for her to ride. "Keep quiet. We’re almost there," he growled back. Kara frowned at his tone. All four men were in surly moods. Only her threat to come out alone had convinced them to accompany her. "There," Jori said, pointing to Adrian’s coach. "Let’s go," Kara said spurring forward. "Kara, wait. Damn it," Tristan snapped. "She’ll be the death of us yet," Grant muttered as they urged their horses after hers. ~*~ The sound of hoof beats caused the men working over Adrian and Lucian to look up. The sight of the five masked riders bearing down on them brought them all to their feet. All of them gasped when the Midnight Angel pulled her big, black horse to a sliding halt before them.

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"Gothewhar daa, gentlemen," she said as her men spread out. All of them held cocked pistols in their hands, and one of them rode around to the other side of the coach to make sure no one hid there. "Wot you want with us?" the leader asked suspiciously. "We ain’t redcoats." The Angel’s teeth flashed in a grin. "No, my ugly friend, but you do have something I want. Him," she answered nodding towards Adrian. "He belongs to me." "Told ya she’s ‘is lover. Told ya no good ‘id come o’ this," whined one of the other men. "Shut your mouth!" "I am becoming impatient, my friend," Angel snapped, her unruly horse moving restively beneath her. "Now, if you wish to remain alive, you’ll leave this instant and disappear back into whatever hell hole you crawled out of." ~*~ At her side, Grant groaned as he looked into the other man’s eyes. Kara had pushed the little man too far. The knife flew from his hand and embedded itself in the small man’s chest before he finished raising his pistol. "I’ve got five more knives just like that one," he stated unemotionally. "I recommend that you all stay very still." The remaining men complied. With a sad shake of her head, Kara said, "I gave you the opportunity to leave. Tie them up. His lordship will undoubtedly be pleased with the gift." Moving swiftly, Jock and Jori tied the three men. As soon as they were safely bound, Kara gave in to her desire to go to Adrian. Sliding to the ground, she hurried to his side and dropped to her knees beside him. Sliding her knife from its sheath, she quickly cut his bonds. As soon as the ropes fell free, Adrian’s arms wrapped themselves around her and pulled her down onto his prone body. "Hello, Angel," he said huskily. Then his mouth claimed hers. ~*~ "Bloody hell," Grant hissed. "What do we do now?’ "An rud nach gabh leasachadh ‘s fheudar cur suas leis," Tristan mumbled, mostly to himself. What could not be helped… Kara wasn’t struggling in Ravenrook’s arms. At the moment, she seemed quite happy where she was. They’d have to put up with it for the time being. "We have to stop this. Blake’s waking. We have to get out of here," Grant continued. "Jock, put the barrel of your pistol in Warrick’s ear. That should get his attention," Tristan instructed in a tired voice. "I’ll get her." Her kisses as eager and passionate as his, Kara was oblivious to everything around her, her senses

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awash with her pirate. Brandy and fine cigars. And Adrian. He tasted like Adrian. Lost in the passion that enveloped the two of them, Adrian quickly returned to his senses when he felt the cold steel in his ear. His arms tensed as Angel was lifted off of him, but he did not try to hold her. "Thank you for you cooperation, my lord," growled the gravelly voice Adrian had come to recognize as that of Angel’s lieutenant. "May I rise?" "Only if you give Ravenrook’s oath that you’ll not try anything." Adrian paused a moment. That oath would effectively bind him. "Done." The masked man motioned with his pistol. Rising, Adrian tensed to see Angel standing in her lieutenant’s arms. However, the man made no attempt to hold her when she stepped away from him. "Will you untie my friend?" "It’s better that he remain the way he is," was Angel’s husky answer. "Leannoin?" Shivers rippled up and down Kara’s spine at the sound of his seductive endearment. Her husky laugh followed. "Stay. You are far safer there, Adrian," she said as he took a step towards her. "My men are none to happy to be here." "Why did you come?" A soft smile appeared beneath the black mask. "You saved my life. I could do no less for you." To her men’s relief, Angel turned and mounted her horse."Tereba nessa , Adrian." With a wave, she urged her horse away. Her men mounted and followed the rapidly disappearing woman. Kneeling, Adrian picked up the ruby hilted dagger she’d forgotten and cut Lucian free. "You seem to have formed an attachment," Lucian said as he rose and rubbed the back of his head. Adrian stared into the dark where Angel had disappeared. "She’ll be in my bed inside of a week." Lucian grunted, then said, "The knife thrower was Bolitho. I recognized his voice." "I know," Adrian answered as he knelt and examined the dead man. "Amazing how such a clumsy lad can be so accurate with a knife. Her lieutenant is Rees, Corinne’s secretary." "What exactly is going on, Adrian?" Both men grabbed their bound assailants and tossed them into the coach.

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"When I know, I’ll tell you, Lucian. Just keep the bloody army away from me and them," Adrian answered as they climbed up onto the driver’s box. "Them?" "The group who accompanied my aunt out of Cornwall." Lucian grunted his agreement. Corrine Warrick. How could he have missed that? Just what the hell was she up to? ~*~ "No, my lord, no one left or entered. The ladies and all the servants stayed home," answered the Bow Street runner watching the house. "No visitors, either." Cursing with frustration, Adrian entered his townhouse and climbed the stairs to his room. Without looking, he knew that Karalyn was tucked snugly in her bed. Neither Rees nor the stableman Jock had left the premises. They were two of Angel’s men; they had to be! But how could they have been in two places at once? A smug smile bent the corners of his lips as he remembered the shocked surprise in Angel’s blue eyes as he’d pulled her into his arms, but her kiss had been anything but hesitant. He could have taken her there before her men, she’d been that eager. Again, the frown crossed his brow. Just who the bloody hell was Angel? ~*~ The gentlemen would have lingered over their port and cigars, but their host hurried them along. "My wife and daughters have come up with a new bit of entertainment, and I promised them we’d be along directly," Lord Cranston offered by way of explanation. Good-natured grumbling followed his announcement. Cranston’s wife and daughters were renowned for their musical talents. "Why did you drag me here this evening, Adrian?" Lucian asked in a bored voice as they lagged behind the other gentlemen. "One of my informants has new information for me." Adrian shrugged. He hadn’t planned on attending this evening’s entertainment either, normally the type of evening the Marquis of Ravenrook avoided like the plague, but some unnamed urge had sent him off to fetch Lucian and bully him into joining him. Something was going to happen tonight, and Adrian knew when to trust his instincts. As the two men approached the drawing room, he tensed and scowled at the melody drifting through the doorway. Whispering together behind their fans as they passed, two women glanced at Adrian’s cheek meaningfully. Lucian made no effort to control his laughter. Adrian paused at the entrance to the drawing room, forced once again to hear the ballad he despised. "If I could get my hands on the damn fool who wrote that bloody ballad, I’d break every bone in his body."

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An angel haunts Bodmin Moor by night, but for heaven or hell does she ride? On a mare as black as the blackest of nights with only the moon as her guide. Tis Redcoat officers only she lures, brave men of royal George’s Dragoons, From the mist of Cornwall’s moors she appears, neath the light of a silver moon. A woman of fire, a woman of ice, a woman of beauty rare, Creamy white bosom, teeth like pearls, and ebony locks of hair, Black mask over eyes as blue as the sea, black thews shapely limbs do reveal. Ruby red lips to offer has she, to the men whose gold she would steal. "Gothewhar daa, my virile young bucks, a good even’ to all, young and old, Tonight, my friends, you have lost lady luck; for this night I take your bright gold. Poorer I leave thee, in gold, mayhap, but richer for knowing my kiss, One kiss from my lips, and base riches as gold, no longer, Sirs, shall you miss." "The kiss, the kiss, her victims they cried, who shall it be this eve? The kiss, the kiss, from your ruby red lips, for whom here, ere you leave? Which man among us this dour, dark night? Which among us do you choose? For one kiss, Angel, yea, only one kiss, any man here all his riches would lose." A noble pirate holds Angel’s heart in his hands, her dark lover from the sea. A nobleman’s spawn, Cornwall bred, Raven born, this master of the sea. He promised his heart, his undying love, to the Angel of Bodmin moor, His angel’s heart was his to hold, of his love she was doubly sure. But, how dear is love to a man of the sea, a man of ports far and near, A man who has loved in all ports of the world, a man most other men fear? In the arms of another Angel found him one night, her noble pirate lover, Rage, fury, anger, and hate had she, the peal of her heart’s breaking to cover. "Faithless cad, heartless fool, witless knave! Your love is a traitorous lie! After one more kiss, one last kiss, farewell, untrue Pirate, Goodbye!"

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Blue fire flashed from her eyes that night, flashed with fire that wouldn’t fade, Her rapier from her side she drew and kissed his cheek with her blade. A final salute to her pirate love, blood seeped from the slash on his cheek. Into the swirling mists she fled, into the night mists he must now seek. Crimson tears he bled for his Angel’s lost love, salty tears for a faith that died. Into the mists of Bodmin Moor he rode, "Angel’s heart will be mine," he cried. Deep into Cornwall’s haunted night, the pirate his angel pursued, With a scar on his cheek and new love in his heart, to end their passionate feud. Did the pirate find the angel he sought, the angel whose kiss was a lure? Do the lovers ride together at last, through the dark mists of Bodmin Moor? Various members of the company smirked as Adrian growled something unintelligible. Many of the women hid smiles and titters behind their fans. None though, laughed outright, for none would dare the wrath of the Marquis of Ravenrook except, they believed, his highwaywoman lover. Adrian crossed his arms and glared at anyone who dared glance his way. "Why does every one who thinks he’s a musician play that damn ballad?" However, their hostess cut short any comment Lucian would have made. Cranston’s wife was standing next to an ornate harpsichord. The two middle daughters each held a violin, while the youngest sat with an interesting array of small drums, bells, and wooden sticks before her. The eldest, Sophia, stood next to her mother. Even Adrian agreed that she had the voice of an angel. The ladies and some of the gentlemen seated themselves in the chairs that had been provided while those gentlemen without seats arranged themselves in a rough semicircle behind them. Adrian scanned the crowd until he found where Karalyn was seated. She had her usual vapid expression on her face and was giggling behind her fan at something young St. Clair said to her. He caught himself scowling. St. Clair was sitting entirely too close. Though she knew exactly where he stood, Kara didn’t glance Adrian’s way. These last two days had been the worst of her life. Every time he’d come near, she’d expected him to accuse her of being the Midnight Angel. Therefore, she’d made it a point to be even more giddy than normal, but her actions seemed to have no effect. He treated her as he always had, with some amusement and much disdain. Ringing a small bell, Lady Cranston cleared her throat and said, "I would like to explain the next selection for tonight’s entertainment. Sophia heard a story from her dear friend Karalyn Marshall about a highwayman from Cornwall." Suspicion glinted in Adrian’s eyes. Why would she tell stories from Cornwall rather than Wales? Seating herself before the harpsichord, Lady Cranston began to play softly. Constance joined in on

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violin. After the soft music drifted once around the room, Sophia began to sing: The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees; The moon was a ghostly galleon upon the cloudy seas The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor And the highwayman came riding, Riding, riding, The highwayman came riding, Up to the old inn-door. As Sophia’s clear soprano voice glided and soared around the room, the haunting melody wrapped itself around all those present. As the tragic tale of the highwayman and Bess his lover unfolded, ladies began to reach for the handkerchiefs. Barely audible sniffles became more obvious as Bess was taken captive. Sobs, gasps, and groans were hastily muffled when she reached for the trigger of the musket bound to her breast. A young woman at the back of the group swooned as Sophia’s clear voice related how Bess gave up her life to save her lover. More than a few of the men were heard to murmur their approval when the tale told of the highwayman’s ill-fated attempt to avenge Bess. Then, as the last notes faded away, the girls lowered their instruments to awed silence. The applause that followed was deafening. Adrian grunted to himself. Without a doubt, the Cranston women were talented. His eyes sought out Karalyn. The expression on her face was the revelation he’d been seeking for months. Her mask had fallen from her features. The silly, vapid expression she normally was gone, replaced by one of devastating pain. Teary eyes that were far bluer than he remembered seemed to stare into a painful past only she could understand. Her expression lasted mere seconds, and he would have missed it if he hadn’t been looking directly at her. In that short space of time, he forswore logical thought and listened to his heart. Karalyn Marshall and his Angel were the same woman. As Adrian watched, Karalyn remembered where she was, and the giddy mask of frivolousness she hid behind returned. However, she did allow her emotions full rein and burst into tears. Adrian edged closer so he could hear what would undoubtedly be the second great performance of the evening. "Your song was so beautiful, Sophie!" she cried, tears streaming down her face as she leaped to her feet and threw arms around her friend. "The melody was so utterly melancholy, the imagery you provoke! Imagine! To be betrayed by one you trusted! To love so much to give up one’s life! Oh, Sophie!" A sarcastic smile hovered on Adrian’s lips. Karalyn’s performance was just as spectacular as Sophia Cranston’s. A scowl quickly replaced his smile as the young bucks of the ton surrounded Sophia and Karalyn, offering congratulations to one and a myriad of handkerchiefs and offers of cool refreshment to calm the emotions of the other. All in all, Karalyn’s performance was without equal. She had almost every eligible

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man there firmly within her grasp, including the ones who should know better. "Adrian, is your aunt’s niece ever unemotional?" Lucian asked with a shudder. "Emotional, giddy, vapid, scatterbrained, canny, astute, brilliant, shrewd, choose one or all of them," he murmured proudly. "Absolutely remarkable, isn’t she?" Lucian gapped at him. "Are you mad?" "You’re powers of observation are slipping, Lucian. That ballad was about the Bodmin Moor Highwayman. Karalyn told the Cranston girls the story. How would she be so familiar with it if she were from Wales?" Slowly, comprehension replaced the confusion in Lucian’s eyes, and he turned his gaze once more to Karalyn Marshall. "I’ll be damned. I never once considered. What will you do now?" His tone was triumphant. "Now, Lucian--I win." As Adrian pushed his way through the crowd, servants cleared the chairs away and opened the doors that led out onto the huge terrace that bordered the gardens. The hired musicians took their places. Soon the strains of a waltz were heard. With a jaundiced smile, Lucian watched as the crowd parted for the piratical looking Marquis of Ravenrook. Stopping before Karalyn and the young man presenting his arm to her, Adrian said, "Sorry, St. Clair, she’s mine." With those words and heedless of the searing glance leveled at him by the young viscount, Adrian swept Kara into his arms and onto the dance floor. Lucian went looking for Corinne. If he knew Adrian, and he knew Adrian very well, Karalyn Marshall’s reputation was about to be compromised. ~*~ "My lord," Kara gasped in the silly, breathless voice she affected, "this was to be Viscount Brentwood’s dance. Your aunt will not be pleased. She’s sure he’ll offer for me." "He already has," the Marquis answered in a husky voice as he pulled her closer than decorum allowed, "but you don’t really want to marry him, do you? You’ve come to London for a far different purpose, haven’t you?" "I--I don’t know what you’re talking about, my lord," she stammered as she pushed futilely against his shoulder. He raised one sardonic eyebrow as he twirled her about the room. Kara’s eyes darted around the room. She looked everywhere but at Adrian. His propriety comment when he’d swept her away from Ashton St. Clair had drawn speculative glances. He was holding her too close! Everyone was looking at them!"Please," she begged in a low, desperate voice, "everyone is staring!" "We can’t have that now, can we?" he continued seductively though he did loosen his grasp. "The last thing you want is the wrong kind of attention."

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"I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about!" she snapped her eyes finally locking with his. Adrian smiled. Her mask was beginning to slip again. How had he not seen what she had been hiding sooner? He should have realized who she was the first time he looked into those sapphire eyes. As he spun her about the room, Kara held tightly to Adrian’s hand and shoulder. Dancing with Robert was sheer pleasure. They complimented each other so well that they seemed to move as one. Waltzing with Adrian was entirely different. While they moved just as effortlessly and gracefully, his controlled movements exuded far more sensuality and passion. She was succumbing rapidly. "You really should call me Adrian," he said as he twirled her through the open doors and into the shadows on the terrace. "My lord--Adrian--what are you doing?" she gasped when he stopped them in the deepest shadows he could find, well aware of how her reputation could suffer if she remained outside with him. Sliding his hand up her arm, he slipped his fingers underneath the soft muslin and caressed the scar that it had hidden. He bent his head close to hers. "I still have the bullet, Angel," he answered against her lips. "I keep it next to my heart." Then his mouth covered hers with a searing kiss. Yes. This was Angel. No other woman tasted like she did. Earthy, sweet--and passionate. He should have kissed her that first day he arrived in London. He’d have known then that Karalyn and his Angel were the same woman. When Adrian’s mouth closed on hers, Kara fought against the passion that flamed in her soul. He knew. What would she do?Her struggles increased. Placing her hands against his chest, she pushed with all her might, trying to wrench her mouth from his. Her struggles were in vain. Adrian only pulled her closer. "Oh no, Angel. I have you now. You’re mine." he murmured against her mouth.Changing his tactics, he gentled his kiss, begging, teasing, promising. Kara ceased struggling. She couldn’t fight both Adrian and her own traitorous body. With a low moan, she surrendered to the desire sweeping through her and opened her mouth to his questing tongue. As she melted into his arms, her tongue joined his in a passionate dance. With a smile of satisfaction, Adrian surrendered to the passion that had haunted him since that first kiss in Cornwall, no more doubt in his mind. Sweet, scatterbrained Karalyn Marshall was the Midnight Angel of Bodmin Moor. Murmuring unintelligibly, his mouth left hers to trail hungry nibbles down the side of her neck to her now bare shoulder. Shivering with expectation, she threw her head back to allow him greater access. Her arms crept up around his neck when his mouth returned to hers. One hand slid up her side to cup her breast, his thumb flicking the pebbled nipple. "Adrian!" hissed an angry voice. "Stop at once!" Slowly, his mouth left her clinging lips. Lifting his head, he smiled into Karalyn’s passion clouded eyes. Oh, yes, he’d found his Angel. Releasing her, slowly, he stepped back. "Tereba nessa, Angel." Then, after one, final searing kiss, Adrian disappeared into the night

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Panting, seeking to gain control of her pounding heart, Kara leaned back against the wall to support her shaking legs. "Well, that’s that," Corinne said, pursing her lips impatiently. "He was bound to discover the truth sooner or later. What do you intend to do now?" Fighting to regain her composure, Kara raised her hands to her flaming cheeks. "I intend to do what I came to London for. Sedgewick’s here. I know what he looks like now. As soon as Tristan devises a plan, he’s mine." But what will you do with him once you have him, Kara? And what do you plan to do about Adrian?Corinne wondered. Aloud, she said, "I’ve put it about that I have a migraine and sent a servant to have the carriage brought around to the side of the house. You can’t go back inside looking like you’ve been tumbled in the bushes." Kara touched her bruised lips and blushed. Truth was, if her aunt hadn’t interfered, Adrian could have tumbled her in the bushes, and she would have loved every minute of it. Inside the ballroom, Sophia and Grant had begun an impromptu duet. With everyone’s attention on them, no one noticed Corinne’s and Karalyn’s departure. Kara’s reputation was safe--for now. Lucian caught hold of Adrian’s arm as his friend exited the Cranston’s gardens. Adrian shook him off. "Not now, Lucian." With a sigh, Lucian watched his friend disappear. It would be useless to pursue him. Adrian had found his Angel, and that was all that mattered to him now. He obviously hadn’t given any thought to what they now knew of Angel’s background. If her father had been the Bodmin Moor Highwayman, Sedgewick was the one who caused her parents’ deaths. He was the redcoat she was pursuing. And if Lucian’s instincts were correct, and they usually were, Sedgewick was also involved with whoever was stealing military secrets. They had to keep Angel away from him.

Fourteen Her stomach dipping and roiling wildly, Kara paced from one side of her bedroom to the other. He was there, on the other side of the door. She knew he was. A frown on her brow, Jane stopped tidying up and said, "What’s gotten in to you tonight? You’re acting

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like a bride waiting for her groom." Kara stopped in the middle of the room and threw a quick glance at the door connecting Adrian’s chamber to hers. She snorted with mirthless laughter. "Well, we both know that’s not true." She wiped her sweaty palms on her nightgown. "I swear," her friend scolded in a voice tinged with frustration while she gathered up the white gown Kara had worn that evening, "you’re in a fey mood. You’ve been too long away from the moor. The mists are part of your blood. You need to go home." What was he waiting for? Jane to leave?Still tense, Kara walked to her vanity and sank onto the stool. She began to brush her hair--again. "I know," she answered in a sad voice. "London is stifling me; there are too many rules. I need to be free, to breath air not dirtied by soot but fresh with earthiness of the moor." "Let’s go home," pleaded Jane. Kara shook her head. "I can’t, not until Mother and Father are avenged." "Stubborn..." Kara’s shoulders slumped. Why put off the inevitable. "Go to bed, Jane. I’ll see you in the morning." With a snort and a huff, Jane blew out all but the candle next to the bed and slipped from the room. Kara was left to face the night alone. For a long time, she sat tense and uncertain, waiting for the door to open. It remained closed. Slowly, she relaxed; her rapidly beating heart slowed. Closing her eyes, she swallowed once and took a deep breath. Glancing down, at her whitened knuckles, she unclenched her hands. Adrian was not coming. He’d have been in here by now if he were. She rose to her feet, and dropped her wrapper onto the stool. Wearing only her modest nightgown, she drew back the curtains on her bed--and gasped. Her ruby hilted stiletto lay on the pillow, a spray of blood red roses entwined around its blade. She didn’t hear the door open. "You seem to keep misplacing your dagger, Angel." As she whirled, her soft gown floated around her. Adrian stood in the shadowed doorway between their rooms. Clad only in a flowing white shirt and black breeches, his hair fanning his shoulders, he leaned nonchalantly against the doorjamb. Her gaze dropped to the floor. "I knew exactly where I left it, my lord." Smiling in mock amazement, he pushed himself away from the door and sauntered into her room. "No denials, no stories?" "No denials, no stories. I am the Midnight Angel, my lord," she answered as he stopped before her. When his bare feet appeared beneath her downcast eyes, she began to tremble. His knuckles lifted her chin, and she was forced to meet his grey gaze, a gaze filled with triumph. "My lord, Angel?" he asked gently. Bending, his lips brushed hers.

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"Adrian," she breathed against his mouth and her arms rose to wrap themselves around his neck as she stretched her body against his. Their first kiss was tender and searching and filled with longing. Then Adrian wrapped his arms around his Angel and pulled her into a tight embrace, bending her back over his arm, his hand cupping her head as he buried his fingers in her silky hair. Hard and aching, he hungered to plunge into her welcoming body. Angel was finally his! Tracing her lips with his tongue, he groaned when her mouth opened for him. His kiss deepened; his hand left her head and bunched the gown at her hip. He jerked it up. His hand connected with the bare skin of her thigh. Kara felt herself being swept away on the wings of a passion she was unable to control. "Adrian," she moaned when his mouth left hers to leave a trail of moist kisses down the slender column of her neck to her shoulder. He slid his hand up her thigh and around to her bare buttock to pull her closer, his unmistakable hardness rubbing against her stomach. "Adrian, please," she pleaded in a louder voice. She pushed against his shoulders. He lifted his head away from the base of her throat, his passion filled eyes tinged with sarcasm. "No denials?" he asked in a mocking voice. His fingers slipped into the cleft of her buttocks. Shuddering in his arms, Kara buried her face in his chest as his fingers probed and teased. "Adrian--I--I have never done this." He froze. Loosening his hold, he stepped back, using his right hand to steady her when her knees would have given way. The knuckles of his left hand lifted her chin until her eyes met his. "Never?" Unable to meet his questioning gaze, Kara shook her head. Pulling her back into his arms, he hugged her tightly against his chest. With the life she led, he’d never dreamed that his Angel was untouched. Joy and a sense of possessiveness such as he’d never before experienced surged through him. Lifting her high into his arms he swung her onto the bed. Slipping his arms out from beneath her, Adrian retrieved the dagger from her pillow and drove it into the wood of the bedpost, hard. The circlet of roses dangled, their rich perfume wafting through the air. "Just so you are not tempted to geld me," he said in a teasing tone, his eyes now as grey as the soft mists that flowed about the moor after a gentle spring rain. Blushing furiously, Kara sat up, uncertain what to do. "Why did you go into that whorehouse?" he continued in a curious tone as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Though he ached to push her onto the bed and thrust himself into her soft body, he curbed himself. He meant for this night to mean as much to Angel as it would to him. Still blushing, she answered, "We had to let the redcoats know I’d left Cornwall, but I didn’t...." "…expect to encounter naked men?" Adrian finished with a chuckle, his fingers caressing her arm softly. Goose bumps rose as she buried her flaming face in her drawn up knees.

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"Did you really threaten to geld Tolliver?" Her voice was muffled. "I didn’t know his name, but he lay there, and his... and then he offered to--and--Adrian, he made me so angry!" He laughed delightedly, well aware of what happened to a man who made his Angel angry while she held a sword in her hand. "Then, Angel," he teased, "I will be certain your sword is no where near when I’m in your bed." "It’s underneath," she answered, still embarrassed but unable not to respond to his teasing challenge. She tensed when Adrian leaned towards her but didn’t pull away when his lips molded themselves to hers. A soft, contented sigh escaped her and she leaned against him. When he pulled away, he chuckled to see the disappointment in her eyes. "Adrian?" Still chuckling as he rose to his feet, he answered the question in her blue eyes with a negative shake. "No, Angel, I am not leaving. I’ve hungered for you too long to leave now." Wariness replaced the disappointment in her eyes. "Aren’t you curious,Leannoin ?" he whispered seductively as he began to unbutton his shirt. He dropped it to the floor. Her eyes widened. She didn’t answer him, but he saw the curiosity, speculation, and... desire in her gaze. Virgin or not, she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Pulling Angel to her knees before him, he kissed first one palm and then the other. Then he placed both of them on his bare chest. "I’m yours,Leannoin ," he said softly and then clasped his hands behind his back. A swift glance into his face confirmed his intentions. Slowly, her hands began to move. His shirt had fallen to the floor, and her supple fingers and smooth palms explored the broad expanse of his naked chest, shoulders, and muscular upper arms. The night she spent tending his wounds had been one of worry. As her hands swept across the firm muscles, her breath caught in her throat. Passion would rule this night. "So many scars," she murmured as she traced first one and then another. She looked up into his silver eyes and trailed her fingers through the springy hairs growing on his chest. His sensitive male nipples fascinated her, and her tentative fingers became surer as his body reacted to her caresses. "You’re so hard." "More than you can possibly imagine, Angel." Eventually, her questing hands satisfied her curiosity about his torso. His breath quickened when her hands slid down his sides to stop at the waistband of his britches. Raising her head, she looked deep into his eyes and, in a low whisper, pleaded, "Help me."

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Bringing his arms back around his body, he gently grasped her wrists. Together, they slipped his breeches down over his thighs, and he stepped out of them as they fell to the floor. Memories of the robbery in the bordello jumped to the forefront of Kara’s mind, but when she gathered the courage to lookthere , the blood drained from her face. Surely that naked redcoat in the bordello had not been so--endowed! Jutting proudly from its dark nest of curly, black hair, the proof of Adrian’s desire rose, long and thick and masculine, a single tear of clear liquid at its tip. Her eyes widened. It moved by itself! She’d only looked and it jerked! He couldn’t mean to put that inside of her! She’d be split in half! No, this couldn’t be done! "Adrian," she said swallowing nervously, "I don’t..." A husky chuckle drew her attention back to his face, the dark lashes around his grey eyes shadowing the depths of his desire. "It will fit, Angel. I promise." "But..." The uncertainty in her face urged him to take control before her fear overcame her curiosity. He covered her mouth with his. Soon she was so lost in his passionate kisses, she didn’t realize that he had pushed her back against the pillows and stretched out next to her. Nor did she realize exactly when his stroking hands removed her nightgown. But the night air wasn’t cold; and she was hot, hotter than she’d ever felt. His longing and frustration bursting free of their bonds, Adrian was fast reaching his limits of control. The butterfly movements of her hands over his chest had sired a hardness in him that he’d never experienced before. Her white face when she’d seen the size of him had charmed him, and he’d felt himself jerk in anticipation of entering her. He’d wanted his Angel for months, and now he had her. Once he slipped her nightgown over her head, he devoted himself to worshiping her breasts. When his mouth first closed onto her nipple, she arched into him with a gasp of pleasure. He laved first one pebbled rose and then the other until her gasps turned to moans and whimpers, and her legs and hips began to move restlessly. Only then did he allow his fingers to leave her breast to caress first her clenching belly and then tangle in the soft hair below. Lifting his mouth from hers, he watched the expressions that flew across her face as he stroked the soft hair at the apex of her thighs. When he slid his fingers into the wet folds beneath them, her unseeing eyes widened. When his finger slipped inside her tight, moist passage, her hand grasped his wrist. "Shhh,Annsachd , it will be all right," he whispered huskily as his head dipped again to her rosy breasts. He suckled her nipple and then trailed kisses to her belly, his long, silky hair caressing her body. "Shhh," he repeated again as he allowed her to pull his hand from her mons. When his mouth took his hand’s place, she almost flew off the bed. "Adrian!"

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But he ignored her. Squirming under his mouth, she tried to pull away, but he shifted his body over hers, grasping her hips and stilling her struggles. When his tongue found the nub hidden in her slick folds, she stopped struggling. Her hips lifted off the bed as her back arched as he licked, suckled, and stroked. Another moan escaped her lips and she opened her legs wider. His erection pulsed. Angel was more than ready for him. Writhing under his skillful mouth, Kara’s hands tangled in the long, black hair, hair that caressed her thighs with its silky softness. His experienced hands and mouth were playing havoc with a body that no longer seemed hers. Finally, his mouth trailed back up her hips to return to her aching nipples; his fingers returned their devastating play beneath her mons. A fierce pressure she had never felt before was building--and she was afraid. "Adrian," she sobbed, "please. I don’t know..." "Shhh,Annsachd ," he murmured against her mouth as he brought both hands up to cup her face, "I’m here." Rolling onto Kara’s trembling body, Adrian pushed her thighs further open with his knees, rubbing his bulging shaft against the slick wetness of her. She bucked as he rocked against her bringing her to the brink of--something. Frustration gripped her and she filled her fists with his hair and tried to bring his mouth down to hers. "Please, Adrian," she begged as her body strained beneath his. A victorious grin appeared on his face as his Angel’s passion clouded eyes locked with his. "You are mine, Angel," Adrian growled fiercely as she rubbed herself against the hot iron of his manhood. "Mine!" Gathering her scattered senses, Kara focused on the dark face that hovered over hers, gazing deeply into his impassioned, steely eyes and saw the blackness that hovered just beneath the surface of his soul. In that instant, she understood. Adrian needed her to hold this blackness at bay. Slowly, she loosened the fingers that held fistfuls of his dark hair, and its ebony waves fell about his shoulders, falling forward to caress her face. Her hands fell to his shoulders. She slid her palms up the thick column of his neck until she cupped his cheeks. "Yours,Mo Cridhe ," she agreed and lifted her mouth to his. Adrian growled in exultation. His body, sweat slick with suppressed passion, demanded satisfaction, and she had just freely given herself to him. "Mine!" he repeated, hoarse with triumph, and surged into her willing body. The sharp pain caused Kara to cry out and dig her fingers into his shoulders, but now was not the time for second thoughts. The pain abated, and she felt stretched, full, complete. Opening her eyes, she looked into Adrian’s face, noting the beads of sweat on his forehead as he struggled to hold himself still while her body adjusted to his. Her seductive smile appeared as she writhed slowly beneath him. "Surely you are not finished yet, Sir Pirate?" A triumphant sound that was half laugh, half moan escaped his throat as his hips began to move. Slowly

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at first, he eased himself out of her tight passage and then slid back in, long and smooth. A second slow thrust. Her hips caught his rhythm and rose to meet his. She moaned at the indescribable sensation that pooled and spread with each plunge. As his lips covered her with passionate kisses, his thrusts quickened. She clung to him, spreading her legs wider, lost to hitherto unknown sensations. "Wrap your legs around my waist, Angel!" She complied. Grasping her buttocks, he lifted her hips to meet his thrusts, plunging deeper and deeper. Her legs tightened about his waist, pulling him deeper, then deeper yet. Finally, he could hold back no longer. When he felt her begin to shudder, his hands left her buttocks to tangle in her hair. His tongue matched the thrusts of his hips. Then, his mouth released hers. Throwing back his head, he rose up on his forearms and he thrust into her as hard and as deeply as he could. A shudder racked his body, and a long, low growl of triumph issued from his throat. Kara’s senses exploded.There! There! Right there! Adrian! Wave after wave of sensation flooded her. Arching her back, she met his final grinding thrust and pulled him as far into her body as she could. Her nails dug into his back as she sought to anchor herself, her body rigid with release. Explosions of light flashed behind her closed eyes, and a sob escaped from her throat. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Slowly, the tension left them. Her legs fell from his hips, and her hands dropped from his shoulders. Dropping his forehead onto hers, Adrian drew great gasps of air into his lungs. Eyes closed, he reveled in his body’s sexual gratification. And his soul--he could not see the blackness that dwelt behind his eyes. His restless soul lay quiet. Beneath him, Angel stirred, and he slid his heavy body from hers, rolling onto his side. Wrapping her in his arms, he pulled her onto his chest, allowing the blanket of her hair to cover their bodies. When she would have spoken, he placed his fingers on her lips. "Shhh, Angel. Rest now. The night is young." Blue sparks flew from her eyes, but then came her slow, seductive smile. Content, she lowered her head onto his wide chest. Listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart, she soon slept, the new emotions and sensations she’d experienced dominating her body. Adrian clasped her tighter. His Angel had taken him to heaven. Twice more that night, his insistent caresses roused her body to a feverish pitch. As he’d told her so many months before, he rode her until she screamed with pleasure--screams Corinne heard and understood in her room across the hall. Finally Kara was safe. Not much longer, and Sedgewick would be hers. Corinne would have her revenge for her brother’s death. ~*~ Dawn had just begun to color the city with its soft light when Adrian rose from Kara’s bed and returned to his own room. She mumbled something in her sleep and rolled over pulling into her arms the pillow where he’d so recently rested his head. With a smile, he pulled the blankets over her shoulders. Once he was back in his own room, he stretched out on his bed and closed his eyes. Again he slept without dreams.

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Slowly, the house stirred about them. Corinne instructed that her nephew and niece be left to sleep as long as they wanted. She also ordered hot water to be ready for baths when they awoke. Carrying on with her own plans, she told Ivors she and Kara were home to no one except Lieutenant Marshall, Major Blake, and Mr. Bolitho. Then she sent invitations off to all three to come to tea. She knew Adrian very well; a more possessive man never lived, and Kara had not yet learned to mask her feelings. If everything went as planned, the afternoon would prove to be very interesting. ~*~ Adrian awoke first. He rose and bathed, donning the clothing Simmons had laid out for him. Weeks ago he had grudgingly admitted, to himself only, that having a valet was--convenient. After descending the steps and learning the ladies would not be making any calls that day, he allowed a contented smile to cross his lips. Ordering a tray of food, he disappeared into the library. For the first time since he’d arrived in London, Adrian looked forward to spending the day at home. Noon had come and gone when Kara awoke. Though he was not physically there, Adrian’s presence remained, remained in the spicy scent he left on the pillow she clasped to her breast, remained in the seductive memories of the previous night, remained in the lingering aches and soreness of her body, especially between her thighs. Stretching, wincing at new aches as she did so, she rose and pulled her wrapper about her. She pulled the bell cord to signal Jane and then noticed the blood stains on her sheets. Her cheeks warming, she pulled the linens from the bed, something she’d done on numerous occasions. Jane had been her friend before she became her maid, and Kara tried to make her chores as easy as possible. A flash of red caught Kara’s eye. Sunlight glinted off the ruby hilted dagger. Grasping it, she tried to remove it from the bedpost. She had to climb on the bed and use both hands, wiggling it up and down until it came loose. When it did, she flopped down onto the bed, landing with a giggle on her derriere. "Glad I am to see your in a better mood this morning," Jane said as she entered the room. "What are you doing?" "Nothing," Kara answered, hiding the dagger behind her back. "I’m happy. Is there anything wrong with that? Where is everyone?" she continued as she rolled off the bed and dropped the dagger on a small chest when Jane’s back was turned. "Lady Warrick said to let you sleep. She’s downstairs with Tris, answering invitations and such. Lord Warrick is in the library," Jane added in a warning tone. "I heard him tell Ivors he’s only in to Major Blake. Said he had paper work to do." Kara smiled. She knew why Adrian had stayed home. Two hours later, after a long, leisurely bath and a quick lunch sent up from the kitchen, Kara descended the stairway and joined her aunt in the sitting room. She had taken extra time with her toilette, and had donned a lovely blue dress that emphasized the color of her eyes. She longed to go to Adrian, but that would be completely out of character. Their new relationship had to remain a secret. If Robert found out... ~* ~

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"Good morning," Corinne said when Kara joined her, "I should say afternoon, I suppose. I trust you slept well?" A dreamy smile on her face, Kara said, "I slept just fine, thank you, Aunt Corinne." Ivors timely knock on the door saved her from further questions. "Mr. Bolitho and Miss Cranston, my lady." Corinne did not allow a frown to cross her brow, but she was not especially pleased to see Sophia Cranston. At this point, however, she could do nothing about it. Grant bowed over her hand. "I hope you don’t mind, Lady Warrick, that I fetched Miss Cranston along." "Not at all, Grant. Please sit down; you too Sophia." She waved them towards the sette. Kara patted the cushion next to her, and soon the two girls were gossiping merrily while Grant wandered over to Tristan. Corinne waited. The most important player in today’s theatrical had yet to arrive. Approximately fifteen minutes later, Robert was admitted to his aunt’s presence. Now, only one more player was needed. ~*~ Ivors showed Lucian into the study. Glancing up, Adrian nodded then went back to reading. "From these reports, Lucian," he began, "I say no more than two men are responsible for the missing files." Lucian’s lips quirked. "Your hunt was successful, I assume?" He was not discussing missing army documents. Adrian allowed a slow, triumphant smile to caress his lips. "Very successful, Lucian." Ivors knocked and entered the room. "Lady Warrick requests that you join her for tea, my lord." With a shrug, Adrian nodded to Lucian, and both men followed Ivors. Corinne was pouring tea when they arrived. With a satisfied smile, she glanced around the room. Sophie and Kara were sitting together on the settee while Grant and Robert were standing by the fireplace discussing the merits of a horse the younger man wished to purchase. Adrian sat down in the chair across from Kara’s while Lucian joined the other two men by the fireplace. "Good afternoon, Adrian," she said, handing her nephew a cup of tea. "You’ve had a productive morning, I trust." "Very," her nephew answered his eyes on Kara. Warrick had uttered only that one word, but something in the tone of his voice drew Robert’s attention,

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a sense of accomplishment, of possessiveness. The triumphantly arrogant,tender smile he bestowed on Kara set warning bells ringing in Robert’s mind. Kara’s seductively beguiling,knowledgeable eyes when she met Warrick’s gaze shattered any doubts he may have had. Adrian Warrick had bedded his sister. "You bloody son of a bitch!" Robert snarled reaching for the saber he was not wearing. "Robert!" Kara exclaimed, trepidation surging through her with Robert’s words. "Robert, really!" Corinne exclaimed at the same instant, anticipation gleaming in her eyes. Adrian lifted his teacup to his lips, his gaze now locked on the furious young man across the room. "You son of a bitch," Robert repeated taking a step towards Adrian. "You took her to your bed." "Actually," Adrian answered calmly, setting his cup on the table at his side, "it was her bed." Kara’s teacup clattered to the floor, and the blood drained from her face. Both Grant and Lucian grabbed hold of Robert to keep him from launching himself at Adrian. "Tristan!" Robert bellowed as he struggled against the two men. "Tristan, damn it, get in here!" Tristan entered at a dead run, skidding to a halt when he saw the tableau before him. "W--W--What d--do..." "Stop the bloody stuttering and get me your sword," Robert snarled. "The game is up." Jumping to her feet as Tristan left the room, Kara gathered her scattered wits and attempted to reason with her brother. "Robert, please, calm yourself." He would not be calmed. "Shut up, Kara, and sit down!" Lucian and Grant still struggled with Robert. Kara did not back down. "Don’t you dare order me about, Robert Marshall!" Adrian watched with amusement and no little pride. His Angel was not reticent about defending herself. Tristan reentered the room with his sword. "Grant," Robert commanded, his voice cracking like a whip, "you will release me--now." A memory leaped to the forefront of Adrian’s mind. That voice. The man at the deserted inn. Her brother. He should have known. With a sheepish glance to Lucian, Grant complied. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold Kara’s brother himself, Lucian released his other arm. Tristan tossed his sword to Robert. "I hope you know what you’re doing, Rob," he said with a glance at Kara. Adrian’s eyes flew to Tristan. And that voice. Yes, Rees definitely was Angel’s right hand man.

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The knuckles of the hand gripping the sword were white. "Get up, Warrick, or I’ll run you through where you sit!" Kara placed herself directly in front of her brother, her eyes flashing blue fire. "I forbid you to do this, Robert." Placing his hand on her shoulder, Robert shoved her back onto the settee. Adrian erupted from his chair with a snarl of rage. "Shove her again, Marshall, you’re a dead man! Lucian, the wall behind you." Turning, Lucian grasped one of the crossed sabers hanging on the wall and tossed it to Adrian. Kara scrambled to her feet. "You can not do this. I will not allow it!" "Tris, get her out of here," Robert growled, never taking his eyes from Adrian. "Touch her, Rees," Adrian answered in a very deadly voice, "and I will slit you open from groin to gullet." Easing himself away from Robert, Grant allowed the knife concealed in his sleeve to slide into his hand. Kara whirled to face him. "If you throw that knife, Grant, I will never forgive you!" Sophia’s gaze darted from one face to another. When Kara snapped at Grant, she slewed around and stared at Grant. "You have a knife?" He sent her a devil-may-care grin, but his eyes returned immediately to Adrian. "Just exactly what do you hope to accomplish, lieutenant?" Lucian asked in a voice that exuded authority and caused both Robert and Adrian to pause. "You’ll never fulfill your quest if you murder a peer of the realm." Frustration appeared on Robert’s countenance to be rapidly replaced with a grim sense of purpose. Lowering his sword, he began to remove his coat. "A duel," he answered, "here, now! If I lose, I will walk out that door and never say another word. But Kara goes with me." Adrian’s nostrils flared as he too shrugged out of his coat. Angel would leave this house only over his dead body."And if you win?" he questioned in a deadly voice. "You marry Kara." All of Kara’s breath left her body in a loud huff. Then she breathed again and shouted. "Marry! I will not marry Adrian!" "And what will you do when you birth his bastard in nine months?" her brother threw at his sister angrily. For once Kara was speechless. A child. She had never considered the possibility of a child. Adrian’s child. Neither had Adrian. Only Lucian--and Corinne--noticed the slight furrowing of his brow. "Agreed," he

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answered. Kara spun to face him "Adrian, please..." He waved her away. "Not now, Angel. Your brother and I will settle this." She stomped her foot. "This is my life!" "You should have thought of that before you let him crawl into your bed," Robert snapped. "Now get out of the way." "Kara, you must move," Sophia whispered as she grasped her friend’s arm and pulled her to the side of the room. "What if one of them gets hurt trying to avoid you?" "Smart girl," Grant said approvingly, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Tristan stood behind Corinne, scowling, his hands clasped behind his back. Lucian remained next to the mantle, warily watching Tristan and Grant. Adrian and Robert kicked and shoved various pieces of furniture to the sides of the room. Once a large enough space was cleared, they paused and lifted their swords. Then, they leaped at each other, their swords hissing and clanging as they met. Standing next to a dumbfounded Sophia, Kara chewed on her knuckles. How can they do this to her! She should skewer both of them. Except for the clash of sword meeting sword and the pants and grunts of the duelists, no sound was heard in the room. Silent tears rolled down Kara’s cheeks as the two men fought. Evenly matched, the fight seemed to go on forever. Then Robert implemented Reverend Palser’s attack. Kara sucked in her breath and held it. That wouldn’t work. Adrian knew the counter. If Adrian hurt her brother... But Adrian didn’t fall into the Reverend’s defense. Within minutes, his sword flew from his hand, and Robert had his saber at Adrian’s throat. Kara’s thoughts turned and twisted, rushing back and forth between her brother and her lover.Why didn’t Adrian use the counter to Papa’s attack? Adrian, if you do something to hurt Robert… Robert, don’t you dare hurt Adrian! "Do you yield, Warrick?" Robert asked, death in his eyes. Drawing himself up to his full height, Adrian threw his hair back over his shoulder. He nodded curtly, "I will marry Angel." Robert’s sword remained at his throat. "Ravenrook’s oath?" "My oath," Adrian snarled back. Time seemed to stand still as Robert glared at Adrian. Finally, the sword dropped. "So be it. Get a special license today. I want you married tomorrow."

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A superior sneer on his face, Adrian nodded his acquiescence. "Marry?" Kara choked out. "Marry? Adrian? No! I will not be forced. This is my life! I do not wish to marry!" Robert spun about. Tossing his sword to the floor where it clattered against the fireplace, he strode over to his sister and grasped her upper arms. Pulling her face close to his, he demanded, "Can you promise me that Warrick will never crawl into your bed again?" Kara’s chin rose, and her fiery blue gaze locked with one so like her own. Silence. Robert shook her--slightly. "I thought not. You will birth no bastard, Kara. You will marry Warrick." Before she could spit another denial into his face, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. She staggered from his grip as he was spun around. Adrian’s fist connected with Robert’s jaw, and he sprawled on the floor from the force of the blow. Clasping and unclasping his hand, Adrian growled, "Don’t threaten her again, Marshall. She’s my responsibility now." Hands fisted on her hips, Kara stamped her foot. "I am not a piece of property to be passed from one man to another! I do not agree to this! And Adrian! How dare you hit Robert!" "He does not have the right to man-handle you," Adrian pointed out with a superior air, "and you have no choice but to marry me, Angel." Her voice rose. "I always have a choice, Adrian! I won’t marry you, not tomorrow or any other day! You can drag me before the minister, but I will not say the words!" Gathering her skirts about her, she fled from the room. After a startled look about, Sophia ran after her. Picking himself up off the floor, Robert rubbed his jaw. "Did you have to hit me so blasted hard, Warrick?" he asked in a reasonable tone, rubbing his jaw. Adrian’s eyes widened. "Correct me if I’m wrong, weren’t you trying to spit me not ten minutes ago?" Robert shrugged. "Sliding my saber into belly and twirling your guts around it would give me great satisfaction, but Kara would never have forgiven me. For some indecipherable reason, she seems to be fond of you. Be glad your sword didn’t touch me. She wouldn’t have forgiven you either." Amazement leaped onto Adrian’s face. "Do you mean to tell me, this was all an act?" "No," Robert answered the anger once again evident in his voice, "if you hadn’t agreed to marry Kara, I would have spitted you like a pig." "Then why…" Robert grinned. "Do you honestly believe Kara would calmly submit to my dictates if she thought she had any other choice?"

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"She will submit to mine," Adrian stated confidently. Both Tristan and Grant joined in Robert’s sardonic laughter. "I’d keep all sharp objects out of your bedchamber then," Tristan interjected with a grin, "or you’ll be wearing more pretty scratches to match the one on your face." Adrian’s gaze turned to Tristan. "You took her into a whorehouse," he said in an angry voice. "And how in the hell do you get in and out of this house without my men seeing you?" Tristan took great joy from the shocked expression on Adrian’s face when he answered, "You’ve a secret passage leading from your cellars to the park across the street. As for the whorehouse, that was Corinne’s idea, not mine." "Secret passage?" Then he turned his now incredulous expression on his aunt. "Corinne’s idea?" Glaring at Tristan, Corinne lifted her teacup to her lips. This afternoon had proved to be very enjoyable, and everything had gone according to her plans, except for the presence of Sophia Cranston and that tidbit of information Rees had just revealed. Well, she had a prepared explanation that would calm Adrian’s suspicions. "Really, Adrian…" A new voice interrupted her from the doorway. "Still keeping secrets, eh, Corinne?" Adrian turned to the door. "Who the hell are you?" he growled at the white haired man. Corinne’s teacup shattered when it hit the floor. "Father! What are you doing here?"

Fifteen "My lord, my lady," Ivors interjected in a tired voice, "Sir Robert Marshall, Baron Westerly." Adrian crossed his arms over his chest as the baron entered the room. He hadn’t seen Corinne’s father since he was a boy, some twenty years ago, but the old man hadn’t changed much. He was tall, taller even than Robert. A full head of white hair was swept back from his high forehead and piercing blue eyes locked with his grandson’s as the elder Marshall, leaning lightly on his cane, walked across the room to stand before his wary namesake. Drawing himself up to his full height, the baron stated, "Aye, you’re Edward’s son. He too acted before

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he thought." Anger flashed in his grandson’s eyes. "My sister’s honor..." "Bah!" the old man interrupted with a wave of his hand. "From what I heard from the front door, that chit can take care of herself. She’s attached herself to a Warrick, after all." Adrian’s nostrils flared, but Robert spoke first. "All the more reason..." His grandfather’s snort of laughter cut him off again. "The Warricks are pure Cornish Celt, boy; they wear their emotions on their sleeves, even more than we Welsh do. And, they’ve a blackness in their souls that constantly fights for dominance. Once a Warrick finds his anchor, he’ll not let it go. Adrian here, his anchor is your sister. He could no sooner live without her than your father was willing to live without your mother." Adrian gritted his teeth and glared at the old Welsh Baron. How the devil could he possibly know? "My daughter married your uncle, boy," he said to Adrian’s unasked question. "Even before that, your grandfather and I were close friends. I know your family very well, better than you probably." Before Adrian could answer, the old man turned his attention to Tristan and Grant. Both shifted uneasily on their feet. "If you’ll excuse us, my lord," Tristan began. The old baron didn’t give him a chance to finish. "Bolitho’s younger son, and young Rees. Tristan, tell your father I was disappointed with that last shipment of brandy." Rees’ eyes bulged, and Adrian centered his attention on the young man. "The school master," he stated in a pleased tone, "he’s the one organizing the smuggling. And is your father also a free trader, Bolitho?" With a gleeful chuckle, Sir Robert answered, "He gave it up years ago, Warrick. Look instead to your rectory." "You old fool," Robert snapped as he took a step towards his grandfather. A very soft, joyful smile appeared on Sir Robert’s face as he stepped back and sat down in a comfortable chair. Adrian’s expression mirrored the baron’s satisfaction. Why hadn’t he thought of the sword-wielding parson before? He tossed an amused glance in Robert’s direction. He now held the balance of power. Robert glared back. "What do you intend to do, Warrick?" With a mocking smile, Adrian eased himself down onto a chair, rested his elbows on its arms, and steepled his fingers before him. He did not miss the slight movement of Grant’s arm. Neither did the baron. "Your father was a wonder with knives, Bolitho. Did he teach you to play them?" "Flowers Grant," Robert ordered.

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Before Adrian could blink, Grant’s knife appeared in the wall next to Lucian’s shoulder neatly slicing the heads from some flowers in the vase at his side. Only Corinne started. Neither Adrian nor Lucian flinched. They’d both been conscious the night Kara and her men saved them from Sedgewick’s thugs. Both remembered how one of them died. "I don’t intend to do anything," Adrian answered as if the knife had never appeared, "as long as you never assist Angel on a midnight ride again. The Midnight Angel of Bodmin Moor, gentlemen, will ride no more." Both Tristan and Grant grinned, partly with relief, partly with skepticism. Saying Kara would no longer ride the moor at night was one thing; keeping her from doing it was another. But that would be the marquis’ problem. Adrian turned his flinty grey gaze towards his aunt. "Just what secrets have you been keeping, Corinne?" Teeth clenched, Corinne glared at her father. Sir Robert chuckled gleefully. Adrian laced his fingers together. The old man was enjoying all the commotion he caused. What other tidbits of information would he reveal? "Would you mind pouring me a cup of tea, daughter?" Sir Robert asked, "and should I tell your nephew you’re a secret agent for the crown or will you?" Adrian’s shocked gaze leaped from the baron’s amused expression to Corinne’s red face. Then he noted the consternation on Lucian’s. "You knew." Lucian shrugged. "I was ordered to keep her secret--one which must not leave this room." Adrian grunted. The old baron had given them a bargaining chip. Robert, Tristan, and Grant all had very satisfied smiles on their faces. If he revealed anything about the free traders to the authorities, they’d compromise Corinne’s secret identity. The baron was not a man to be underestimated. Before he could comment, the door slammed open, and Jane burst in. "Kara’s packed a bag and is threatening to leave. I don’t think Miss Cranston will be able to keep her here much longer." After her revelation, Jane disappeared towards the back of the house yelling for Jock. With an oath, Adrian rose from his chair and hastened from the room. When he reached Kara’s bedroom, he grasped the doorknob and shoved the door open. The two young women in the room gasped, and Sophia leaped to her friend’s defense. "You may not enter, my lord," she stated firmly as she crossed the room and did her best to block the doorway. "It’s not proper." "I spent the bloody night in her bed, Miss Cranston, and we did not sleep," Adrian growled. "Now get out of my way before I move you!" Sophia blushed beet red at Adrian’s words, but she held her ground. "You are a Marquis and a

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gentlemen. You will not lay hands on me." Letting loose a string of colorful oaths that brought a deeper flush to her cheeks, Adrian bellowed, "Bolitho!" When Grant appeared, Adrian lifted Sophia in his arms and tossed her to Grant in a flurry of petticoats. "Take care of your woman, Bolitho. I’ve enough trouble with my own." A huge grin split the younger man’s face as he caught an indignant Sophia in his arms. "Glad to oblige, my lord." Turning, he carried the struggling young woman out the door and down the stairs. Adrian slammed the door behind him and stalked towards Kara. "Get out of my room!" she demanded. "Your greeting was so much more--satisfying--last night, Angel," he stated with a low chuckle. Her quick glance towards the bed galvanized him into action. Springing across the room, he pulled Angel into his arms before she could retrieve her sword from where it lay. "I should have gelded you last night!" she shrieked, fists pounding against his chest. A low, sexy chuckle emerged from Adrian’s throat as he captured her arms. His eyes glittered with pleasure as she continued to struggle in his arms, her breasts rubbing against his chest. Bending her back over his arm, Adrian lowered his head until his lips touched hers. "But then,Leannoin , you wouldn’t have enjoyed our night so enthusiastically," he murmured against her mouth. He silenced her protests with his lips and used his free hand to tug her chin down, opening her mouth to his questing tongue. At first, she struggled in his arms. However, her traitorous body yielded--again. With a shudder she surrendered and wrapped her arms around his neck, tugging the clip from his hair. As it fell forward, she buried her hands in its thick waves. "Yes, Angel, yes," he murmured into the hollow of her throat as they fell onto the bed. Deft fingers pulled the lace flichu from her bodice and freed her breasts to his kneading fingers and warm mouth. Kara moaned, lost in the whirlwind of passion that surrounded them. ~*~ Tristan threw an amused glance at Robert. Once the door had slammed, quiet reigned upstairs. Considering Warrick and Kara couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other whenever they were together, he had a pretty good idea what was happening. How long would it take Robert to come to that conclusion? "I don’t hear anything breaking, Rob, do you?" A frown crossed Robert’s face, and he rose from his chair and stalked from the room. Lucian, Sir Robert, and Corinne interrupted their conversation to follow him. "Bloody hell, Grant!" came Robert’s roar from the hallway. "You left her alone with him!" When the other three reached the hallway, they found a very flustered Sophia still in Grant’s arms, and

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Robert sprinting up the stairs. Tristan chuckled as Sir Robert sighed. "I’d best go and make sure there’s no bloodshed," commented the old man. "Grant," Corinne snapped, "take Sophia home. And Sophia, you will not breathe a word of what you have seen and heard today to anyone, do you understand?" The threat in Corinne’s words was unmistakable. So was the dagger that entered the wall beside her face. "You will not threaten Sophia again, Lady Warrick," the young Cornishman ordered quietly. Corinne blanched. When did she lose control? Grant retrieved his knife from the wall. Accepting his coat and gloves from an expressionless Ivors, he escorted Sophie from the house as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. ~*~ Far spryer than anyone realized, Sir Robert reached Kara’s door as his grandson grasped the knob. "Allow me," Sir Robert said gently. Robert glared at him. "Why should I?" "Because I’m an old man," he said with a chuckle, indicating the rapidly forming bruise on Robert’s chin, "Warrick won’t hit me. And I’d rather not have you take any more damage today. Go back downstairs and keep Corinne out of trouble. I’ll deal with the marquis." Robert stared into his grandfather’s enigmatic eyes; then he nodded. "I’ll be downstairs if you need me." After his grandson started down the stairs, Sir Robert turned the knob and pushed the door open. "You really should lock the door," he said as he entered Kara’s bedchamber, not in the least bit surprised to find them on the bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. "Go to hell," Adrian growled, but he left off his worship of Angel’s breasts. "Put yourself together, Angel," he whispered, grinning down into her passion befogged eyes. "We’ve got a visitor." Comprehension replaced desire, and Kara flushed beet red. With a chuckle, Adrian rose from the bed and turned towards Sir Robert. Quickly adjusting her bodice, Kara reached for the dagger she had strapped to her calf. "Warrick!" Spinning and twisting to the side, Adrian narrowly avoided the stiletto in her hand. "Now, Angel," he said from between gritted teeth as he grasped her wrist and squeezed until pain made

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her drop it, "is that any way to greet your grandfather?" "You bloody, damn pirate," Kara bit out as she struggled against his grip. "You arrogant, detestable, insolent... Grandfather?" Her struggles stopped, and she turned her head towards the elderly man who leaned on his cane so nonchalantly in the middle of her bedroom. "Grandfather? He’s my grandfather? Oh, Adrian! How could you?" His mouth fell open then snapped shut. "Me? What did I do? You were the one with the knife!" As long as he lived, Adrian would not understand women. Sir Robert chuckled. "Leave me alone with her, Warrick. I’d like to speak with my granddaughter." With a perplexed shake of his head, Adrian laid the dagger on her dressing table. In doing so, he unknowingly told Sir Robert a great deal about his feelings for Kara, feelings he had not yet admitted to himself. "I’ll have Ivors prepare you a chamber." "Have him prepare one for you. I’ll be sleeping in your room tonight." Adrian grimaced. "I’ll give you the key to the connecting door." Barking with laughter, Sir Robert said, "A locked door wouldn’t keep you out of her bed. You are your grandfather all over again, Adrian. Your grandmother was seven months gone with child when they finally married. The same won’t happen to my granddaughter." Adrian scowled, but then a slow grin spread over his features. This old man was too sharp by far. Just as well. He had things to do tonight, and the thought of Angel’s luscious body with naught but a locked door between them would keep him from his tasks. After the younger man left, Sir Robert turned back to his granddaughter. With anger still sparkling in her eyes, she strode over to her dressing table. Without a hint of embarrassment, she pulled up her gown and replaced the dagger in its ankle sheath. The old man chuckled. "Your grandmother kept hers strapped to her thigh." Kara’s motions stilled. Then she smoothed her skirts. "I can get to it quicker there. Besides, I usually wear it in a boot. Are you really my grandfather?" "Yes," he answered. "May I sit down," he continued indicating the chair by the bed. "It’s been a rather tiring day, and I’m not as young as I used to be." "Oh, yes, please," she answered immediately. He did look rather white about the eyes. "I am not accustomed to entertaining gentlemen in my bed chamber," she added. "Oh?" Kara blushed, but she refused to be intimidated. "Adrian is no gentleman." Sir Robert’s eyes twinkled even more. "I would stop now, if I were you, Karalyn, before you say something that really embarrasses you."

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She glared at him. "What the bloody hell do you want?" He chuckled. There was so much of his late wife in her. "To tell you about your father, Child. I regret that I can tell you nothing of your mother, but I never met her." All of the anger drained from Kara as her grandfather began. "Edward was a headstrong child; nevertheless, I loved him very much. You see, Karalyn, he was a great deal like me. As a boy..." Kara’s eyes grew wide as her grandfather reminisced about her father’s childhood. ~*~ "What’s taking so long?" Robert growled as he paced the floor. Adrian had come downstairs to find Tristan, Lucian, and Robert in the library. Corinne had retired to her room, undoubtedly to save herself from Adrian’s probing questions. Adrian stretched his long legs out and watched Robert pace. Then he turned his brooding gaze on Tristan. "Brilliant, Rees," he finally commented, "that stutter. I had you pegged as one of her men until that night at Ravenrook when you opened your mouth. Bolitho’s clumsiness was also ingenious." Tristan shrugged. "What else could we do? You’d have had us otherwise." Throughout the entire afternoon, Lucian had said very little and observed a great deal, quite amused that Corinne had finally gotten her comeuppance for her manipulations. But, of all the afternoon’s players, Lucian noted, Tristan Rees was the least surprised at all that had occurred. "Rees," Lucian asked curiously, "why are you so unsurprised at all that has happened?" Tristan turned his gaze on Lucian. Leaning back in his chair, he grinned and said, "Destiny. Even that first night in the tavern, did you not sense the pull between them?" "Adrian and Karalyn?" Tristan nodded. Adrian snorted and glared at Tristan, who simply saluted him with the brandy he held. Adrian snorted again. "Horse shit." "Doubt if you will, my lord, but you could no more stay away from Kara than she could stay away from you. You were fated to meet." This time Robert snorted. Tristan threw back his head and laughed. They were so much alike, Warrick and Robert. Neither was willing to trust his heart. ~*~ By the time her grandfather finished speaking, tears flowed freely down Kara’s cheeks. She now knew

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that her grandfather had loved his son and had been deeply pained when Edward left without a word. "I never knew him, Grandfather," she whispered. "Thank you." "There is much of Edward in you, child," her grandfather answered as he rose and walked over to her bed and seated himself beside her. "You are brave, impetuous, and stubborn to the point of folly. You must marry Warrick." A bitter smile appeared on Kara’s lips. "You too, old man?" Sir Robert chuckled. "Think, Karalyn, of everything I’ve told you of your father. If you leave this house now, will you ever find a love such as he and your mother had?" Kara’s eyes widened at the implications. Then she acknowledged the truth in her heart. "I love him," she said in a quiet voice. The admission gave her no comfort, and a sorrowful look appeared on her face. Her grandfather pulled her into his arms. "Is that such a bad thing?" A short bitter laugh. "Adrian doesn’t love me, Grandfather." It was Sir Robert’s turn to laugh. "What would Warrick do if you fled his house?" "Follow me and drag me back." "Need I say more?" A thoughtful expression manifested itself on Kara’s face. "Yes, Karalyn," agreed Sir Robert as he rose to his feet, "but Adrian does not yet understand love." "He needs me," Kara stated mostly to herself. "More than you realize," answered Sir Robert, grasping his granddaughter’s hand and urging her to her feet. "For now, it must be enough. In time, Adrian will understand his true feelings. Patience is needed." "Patience," Kara muttered, "where am I to find patience? And what about my revenge?" Sir Robert sighed. She was more tenacious than Edward. "One thing at a time, my dear, one thing at a time." And he led her down the stairs. All three men rose when Kara entered the library with Sir Robert. Adrian’s eyes warmed but it was Robert who hurried across the room to her. With a glare, Kara snubbed both of them and sailed across the room to stand by Tristan. "I hope you know what you’re doing, Kara," Tristan murmured out of the side of his mouth, "because I’d like to live a little longer." Adrian glared at Tristan, dissatisfaction evident on his face. "Angel, come here." Kara’s chin rose. "I will not! I’ll marry you, but until then, I am my own woman. Do not think to order me about!"

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Adrian frowned but didn’t argue. He hadn’t been seeking marriage when he first began his pursuit of Angel. Since spending the night in her bed, however, he knew he would not tire of her for a long time; perhaps he never would. She was well born, and he did need to breed an heir. A mental picture of Kara round with his son grew in his mind, and he smiled softly. Yes, a child with Angel. His smile became contented. Across the room, Kara watched Adrian suspiciously. She acknowledged the necessity of their marriage and admitted to herself that she loved him. But that didn’t mean she trusted him. She purposely baited him by walking to Tristan when she entered the room. But, except for his first demand that she come to him, his reaction was not what she had expected. Adrian didn’t seem angry at all. He was smiling like an idiot. What was he planning now? She tensed as Adrian rose, but he made no move towards her. "If you’ll excuse me, I must see about that license. Lucian?" Followed by the major, the Marquis of Ravenrook left the room. They heard him speak with Ivors. Then the front door opened and closed. "Well, at least that’s settled," Robert mumbled. Kara turned her incensed blue gaze on her brother. Hurrying across the room, Tristan took Sir Robert’s arm and backed him out the door, closing it firmly behind them. "What do you think you’re doing, Rees?" Sir Robert snapped. "I finally found my grandchildren and want to get to know them." Something shattered against the closed door. "Saving your life, Sir Robert," Tristan answered with a grin. "I hope the Marquis doesn’t have anything especially valuable in there." Kara’s voice permeated the closed door, and something large bounced off the wall. ~*~ Thanks to an old friend of his father’s, Adrian was able to procure a special marriage license late that afternoon. He also took the time to speak with the vicar of a nearby church. After a very liberal donation to the poor, the good reverend agreed to conduct the wedding ceremony the following afternoon. "Now, my fine friend," Lucian queried as Adrian’s carriage pulled away from the church, "just exactly what are you planning?" Adrian allowed a quick smile to cross his lips. "All in good time, Lucian, all in good time." In an unmarked carriage across the street, Major Alexander Sedgewick frowned as the two men exited the old church and their carriage disappeared into traffic. He scowled. He’d followed them discreetly since they left the Marquis’ house.What are they planning? If he didn’t soon get rid of Ravenrook and Blake, all of his plans would be ruined.

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~*~ Darkness was falling as Adrian’s carriage halted on the docks. Paddy O’Rourke rose from the cask on which he sat. "Well, me boyo, what are ye needin’ me for?" The Raven swung gently at her berth, and realization dawned on Lucian’s countenance. He began to chuckle. "Corinne has already begun planning the ball to announce your marriage, Adrian." His friend grinned back. "I hope she and her guests enjoy themselves." Paddy regarded Adrian in amazement. "Married! You! Bleedin’ hell!" Adrian tapped his scarred cheek. "I cannot resist her kisses, Paddy." The scared pirate shook his head. "Ach well, it’s your life you’re ruining, sure as shamrocks grow in Ireland, laddie. Don be saying I din’t warn ye." Adrian laughed. "Just have theRaven ready to sail on the evening tide tomorrow. Half the crew will do, those most trustworthy. You’ll be back in London to take on cargo within the week." "No extended voyage?" Lucian asked. "No, I’m taking Angel home." "What about your mission?" "The hell with it. You know the guilty parties. All you have to do is catch them. You don’t need me for that." Lucian sighed and nodded. Adrian would do what Adrian wanted to do, mission be damned. ~*~ Later that evening, after he returned to his townhouse, Adrian barged into Tristan Rees’ small room, jumping back quickly when Rees rose from his bed with a dagger in his hand. "What do you want?" No longer forced to play the stuttering secretary, Tristan allowed his true persona to emerge. In his own way, he was more dangerous than Adrian. Mentally reevaluating the dangerousness of the young Cornishman, Adrian stepped back, his palms held up. "I want you to show me that secret passage." With a shrug, Tristan acquiesced. "It’s your house." ~*~ Adrian stripped out of his dusty clothing and stretched out on the bed in one of the house’s guest rooms.

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The secret passage Rees had found was quite a revelation. There had always been rumors about the passage, but not even his grandfather had been able to confirm its existence. As a boy, he’s spent hours searching for it. Now, he finally knew the truth. Stretching his arms over his head, he yawned. Momentarily, he considered sneaking into Angel’s room. With a sigh, he mentally castigated himself. He wouldn’t so dishonor her the night before her wedding. He could wait. Tomorrow, after the wedding, he’d have her to himself where no one would bother them. In her room, Kara slept fitfully, her dreams alternating between her scar-faced pirate and her desire for revenge. The following morning, she awoke, filled with misgivings. Marriage, forever bound to a man who would have absolute control over her life. Longingly, she remembered the freedom she enjoyed in Cornwall. Why had she ever left? Her parents. The man who killed them was here, in London. No matter what Adrian thought or did, she would not rest until she had her revenge. Adrian approached his coming nuptials far more calmly than did Kara, but with much more trepidation. His demons had haunted him again last night. Without his Angel’s buffering presence, he’d been unable to hold them at bay. His dead had howled through his dreams refusing him respite. When dawn finally came, Simmons found him sitting in the library, staring into the fire. The valet shrugged. Many men had second thoughts the night before their weddings. Adrian’s thoughts were bleak. Last night’s dreams had been some of the worst he’d experienced, and the blackness in his soul was close to conquering him. He leaned forward and dropped his face into his hands, closing his eyes against the agony he felt. How could he subject any woman to this foulness? Angel. Was she strong enough to save him? ~*~ "Are you sure this is what you want to wear?" Sophia asked uneasily. Because Sophia was privy to everything that had happened yesterday, Kara asked her to stand as a witness to the wedding. Since Sophia’s parents’ permission was necessary, the Cranstons also knew of the wedding. They would attend as Kara’s guests, Adrian be damned. Staring at herself in the mirror, she smiled. The day after Abby impersonated the Midnight Angel, Karalyn Marshall had stopped in Mrs. Thatcher’s Dress Shoppe and dropped a bag of gold on one of her tables. In very short order, the good woman had agreed to make her some new gowns, gowns in deep, vibrant colors. Kara chose the red one for her wedding. Not a true red, the gown was instead the deep, dark red of an old burgundy wine. Cream-colored lace cascaded from the elbow length sleeves to Kara’s wrists. Streams of the lace plunged from the high waist of the dress. The same lace filled the deeply cut bodice. Jane had brushed Kara’s waist length hair until it crackled, its rich, ebony waves falling to her hips, for she refused to wear it in an elaborate coiffure. Nor would she don the gloves Sophie held out to her. Beneath her gown, Kara wore soft boots, and her ruby hilted dagger was in its sheath. "I’m ready," Kara stated after on last look in her mirror. "Let’s get this over with."

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Kara had barely left the house with Sophia and Corinne, who had looked askance at her dress but shrugged in resignation, when Adrian appeared at her bedroom door. Jane gasped when he walked into the room. "Pack a small trunk for Angel," he commanded as he looked about the room. Only fond memories lingered here. "But yer lordship… "Your brother is a big man, Jane," he said softly. "So is one of the Midnight Angel’s men. Transportation or hanging? Which would he prefer, do you think?" Jane knew she had lost. "I’ll pack the trunk, my lord." "A man will fetch it in half an hour, so be quick." With those words, Adrian disappeared. He had a wedding to attend. Jane stared at the door after Adrian left. "He’s good at givin’ orders, is his lordship," muttered Jane. "Kara won’t be standing for that kind of high handed nonsense." The costume for the Midnight Angel was the first thing she packed. ~*~ Dressed completely in black except for the snow-white cravat at his throat and the blood red ruby that lay amongst its folds, Adrian stood before the minister. A ruby stud flashed fire in his ear, and his hair was pulled back revealing the harsh planes of his face. Adrian Warrick, seventh Marquis of Ravenrook, awaited his bride. When the music started, he turned and watched his bride walk up the aisle on her grandfather’s arm. His eyes blazed. Who other than his Angel would have the audacity to wear red to her own wedding! Damn, but she was beautiful. Her sword was missing, but he’d wager a thousand pounds her dagger was strapped to her ankle. Refusing to be intimidated, Kara locked eyes with Adrian as her rich burgundy skirts swirled about her ankles. During the rather abbreviated ceremony, her voice hesitated only once over the wordobey . After a rather prolonged silence, she choked out the vow. Haughty triumph gleamed from Adrian’s eyes as he slid the square cut ruby on her finger, proclaiming to one and all Angel was his. Recognizing the passion that blazed in his eyes, Kara allowed herself a small, triumphant smile. Arrogant pirate. Obey! Him! Never! Karalyn, Lady Warrick, the new Marchioness of Ravenrook, the Midnight Angel of Bodmin Moor, equaled her groom in aplomb, fortitude, and--passion. Always keen on weddings, the commoners flocking the street stopped their daily business to wish the bride and groom well as Kara and Adrian left the church. With family and friends behind them, the newly married couple hurried to their carriage. Rather, Adrian hurried his Angel. Handing her up into the plush interior of the Ravenrook carriage, he signaled to Lucian. In seconds, the major leaped to the driver’s box and whipped up the horses, leaving shocked family members standing with mouths agape.

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"What does he think he’s doing!" Corinne snapped. "I have one hundred guests coming for the wedding supper." Sir Robert chuckled. "How long were you at your wedding supper, Corinne?" For the first time in thirty years, Corinne blushed, much to the amusement of their companions. "Leave them be, Corinne," Sir Robert continued. "He wants her to himself for a few days. If what you told me is true, she’s led him a devilish chase. They’ll come back in good time." Grumbling, Corinne was forced to agree. After all, none of them had any idea exactly where Adrian was taking his Angel.

Sixteen "I demand that you take me back!" Adrian grinned. His Angel was none too pleased that they wouldn’t be returning to the townhouse. Ignoring her blustering, he leaned back against the soft cushions of his carriage and looked his fill. She was his now. No one could take her from him. When the carriage stopped, he stepped down and politely held his hand out. She refused to accept it. Unperturbed, he grabbed his wife’s wrist and pulled her into his arms. Then he tossed her over his shoulder and strode up the gangplank. "Where are you taking me!" "Hoist anchor, Paddy. We don’t want to miss the tide." "Aye, Cap’n. Yer lovely bride?" Slapping her well-padded derriere--she shrieked indignantly--Adrian grinned in acknowledgement as he headed across the deck. A flash of red caught his eye. With an even wider grin, he deftly removed the dagger from the boot that kicked before his eyes. Amid catcalls and shouts of encouragement, he disappeared into the companionway of his ship, her fists pounding ineffectually on his broad back. "Put me down!" "Your wish is my command, Angel."

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After tossing her onto his bunk, Adrian turned and locked the door and placed the key above the doorjamb, well out of her reach. Her hand went to her boot only to return empty. Muttering an oath in a low voice, she lifted her skirt. "Looking for this, Angel?" Eyes twinkling, he held her stiletto in his hand. "Give that back!" Crossing his cabin, he buried the dagger in the hardwood wall beside his bunk. The ruby in its hilt sparkled in the lantern light. "Damn you, you bloody pirate." Reaching high above her head, she was able to grasp the dagger, but he embedded it too deeply for her to pull it out. "Such language from a lady." He was in the best of spirits. "I learned it from you." Memories of a night on Bodmin Moor surfaced, and her lips twitched. Adrian noted the change in her demeanor immediately. "Is your rapier hidden underneath your skirt, too, Angel?" The caress in Adrian’s voice tracked shivers up and down her spine. He stood near enough for her to smell the spicy cologne he used. Even though she was still angry with him, her heart began to beat faster. "I wish it were," she purred. "Would you like something to drink, Angel? Brandy? Sherry? Champagne?" His soft voice raised thousands of icy prickles on her arms. Whirling away from his befuddling presence, she said, "Brandy." He cocked an eyebrow. Brandy! She was a bold wench." Brandy it is,Leannoin ." His voice was a caress, and her body shivered in anticipation. After pouring her half a glass of brandy, he filled one for himself. Then he carried them across the room and handed his wife hers. "To us,Leannoin ." He lifted his glass to his lips and swallowed its contents. "To revenge," she declared defiantly. Throwing back her head, she gulped down her drink. It burned all the way down. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she coughed and gasped for breath. Adrian chuckled as he took the glass from her hand. Then he slapped her on the back. "Brandy should be sipped until one develops a tolerance, Angel." "I’m--fine!" she choked out between coughs. And she was. A delicious warmth was creeping into her limbs. Adrian returned to the table and poured more brandy. "Here, Angel," he whispered, "but drink it slowly."

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When he handed her another half glass of brandy, she complied with his suggestion. Amazingly, these small sips of brandy did not burn; they warmed her, from the inside out. When Adrian handed his bride her third glass, she did not hesitate to accept it. She felt--invincible. Settling on the edge of the large bunk, she leaned back on her elbows, her empty glass rolling to the floor as she watched Adrian through half closed eyes. Her skin was flushed, and she slowly licked her lips to catch the last drops of brandy. Adrian’s groin tightened. That delectable, pink tongue! Little minx. Bloody hell, but he wanted that tongue licking him. Seeking to maintain control and refrain from throwing himself onto Angel and immediately ravishing her, Adrian busied himself placing bottles of wine into a special cupboard. When he finished that, he shrugged out of his coat and hung it in a wardrobe. After he removed the ruby from his cravat, he jerked the tight cloth from his neck and released his hair from the clasp. Sitting on a chair, he removed his half boots. Finally, Adrian rose. Barefoot, wearing only his black shirt and breeches, he sauntered across the cabin towards Angel, hair fanning his shoulders in thick, ebony waves, eyes glittering with promise. Breath quickening, Kara lifted her chin and locked her eyes with his. When he reached the bunk he bent over, placing a hand to each side of her hips. His eyes were mere inches from hers. She refused to retreat even an inch. "Are you not warm, Angel?" he asked, provocatively. Kara’s voice was a throaty whisper. "Nay, Sir Pirate. Not warm... Hot, so very--very--hot." Desire pooled in Adrian’s groin, and his manhood stiffened, bulging against his tight breeches. He leaned closer, his lips seeking her. She gently shoved him, and he to fell to his side onto the covers, content to see what game she played. He could be patient. They had all night. No one would dare disturb them here. Pushing herself up, Kara rose, her fingers fumbling with the buttons at the back of her dress. "Damn corsets. I hate them." Adrian rose. "Allow me to act as lady’s maid,Leannoin ," he whispered into her ear, his breath warm on her shoulder. Nimble fingers unbuttoned her dress, and Kara allowed it to slip to her waist. When he loosened the strings of her corset, she inhaled deeply, gratefully. "Oh, yes." As Angel’s corset fell to the floor, Adrian’s warm hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs toying with her turgid nipples through the silk of her camisole. "Ummmm." She leaned back against the powerful muscles of his chest. When he dropped moist kisses on her bare shoulder, she canted her head to the side to give him greater access to her neck. Her hands caressed the sides of his thighs. Her blood boiled from the brandy. Fire flared at the core of her womanhood.

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Still behind her, Adrian deftly opened the tiny buttons on her camisole, and it fell to the floor. His hands stroked the satin soft skin of her rib cage. He loosened the waist of her dress and allowed it, too, to fall to the floor. Her petticoats fell in a frothy pool to the floor also--one after the other until she wore only her gartered stockings and half boots. "Angel, look," he whispered, rubbing his aroused but imprisoned manhood against her back and buttocks. She opened her eyes and met his lust filled gaze in the mirror that hung from the door of the wardrobe. Fascinated, she watched his tanned hands roam freely over her creamy white body, cupping her breasts, fondling her nipples, lacing themselves through the soft curls above her womanhood and disappearing in the slick folds beneath them. Her arousal intensified. She felt her breasts become fuller; her nipples tingled. And there, at the apex of her thighs, a blossoming ache flowered. She opened her thighs wider to allow Adrian greater access. There! Kara closed her eyes and threw her head back against his chest, her hands now desperately grasping at the tight material of his breeches, her rubbery legs unable to support her. Moaning, she arched against the magic of his skilled fingers. Her hips jerked once, then again. Circling her rib cage just beneath her breasts with his arm, Adrian held his Angel tightly against his body, concentrating entirely on her pleasure. "Angel," he commanded in a low, tight voice, "open your eyes." She complied. The mirror reflected her passion. She writhed in his arms as his fingers stroked her gyrating hips rhythmically. She blushed, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the torrid response Adrian drew from her body. Her hips thrust against his hand. His fingers dipped and rolled and rubbed. The pressure built. She moaned. Breathing harshly, his face taut with his own passion, Adrian slid two fingers into her body and groaned, "Let it go, Angel." She exploded into a thousand pieces. Shudders racked her body as her internal muscles tensed and relaxed around his fingers. If he hadn’t been bracing her, she would have collapsed to the floor. Lifting her into his arms, he carried the still shuddering Angel to the bunk and laid her down. First he pulled off her boots and stockings; then he stripped off the rest of his own clothing. His aching, swollen manhood jerked as he fell onto the bunk next to his wife. His fingers dipped into her slick folds. Her sensitive nub was still hard and swollen. "Adrian," she moaned when he removed his fingers.

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Grasping her about the waist, Adrian rolled onto his back and set her on his thighs. "Ride me, Angel," he growled as he squeezed and kneaded her breasts and flicked his fingers over her aching nipples. "Ride me like you ride that black mare across the moors." Kara looked down into Adrian’s face--all harsh planes and angles in his passion. Steaming desire rose like smoke from the grey wells of his eyes, and his harsh breathing pulled the tendons in his neck taut. Her gaze lowered to trace the line of his fine, black, body hair, which grew in an ever increasingly thin line, from his muscular chest down over his flat stomach to the rich, ebony nest at the juncture of his thighs. Kara inched forward until his turgid manhood rose between her thighs against her own ebony curls. His breathing became harsher as she rose up onto her knees. Slowly, she positioned herself over Adrian and lowered herself onto him. His passionate growl drowned out her moan as her body swallowed his long, hard length. Quickly recognizing that she controlled the pace of their loving, Kara experimented, obviously delighted with her power. Adrian’s own pleasure was heightened by his Angel’s exhilaration and rapture. Soon, her sliding and rocking and grinding drove her to the edge of paradise--again. Adrian himself could wait no longer. Placing his hands on her hips, he thrust powerfully as she slid down his fullness. She threw back her head and screamed in ecstasy. Adrian thrust hard, again. And again. Grinding into her with one, last, powerful surge, his seed exploded from his body. She collapsed onto his chest, sobbing. He wrapped his arms around her, his own body shaking with sexual gratification. For what seemed a lifetime, they lay in each other’s arms. Finally, Adrian spoke. "Ah,Annsachd , I will never tire of you in my bed." When her breathing finally returned to normal, Kara raised her head, her long hair draped across their bodies. "If you ever stray from my bed, Adrian, I will geld you," she promised with fire in her eyes. "You insisted on this marriage. As I honor it, so will you." Adrian smiled at her threat. He’d never known a woman such as she. He didn’t want any other. "Very well, Angel," he agreed with a smile. "Only you." Kara had expected an argument. Most married men kept a mistress. Could she trust him? For now, maybe. But, if she caught him with another woman, well, that ballad would come true. Kara dropped her head back on her husband’s shoulder. The combination of sexual gratification and brandy was making her drowsy. A series of small yawns teased the hairs on his chest as she rubbed her cheek against them. She snuggled closer to his side. Adrian tightened his arm around her. He had planned to make love all night. However, his own sleepless night before his wedding, and his utter satisfaction with claiming his Angel ensnared him. Soon, he too slept. A strong, easterly wind from the North Sea blew, and theRaven ’s sails billowed and filled. Paddy expected a fast passage to Cornwall and the spit of sand that lay beneath Ravenrook Castle.

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Later that night, Adrian’s sleep was once again disturbed but not by hate-filled specters. Light, butterfly-like probes caressed his thighs, and he awoke to find his wife bent over his hips, studying his manhood by the light of the still burning lantern. Her ebony curls flowed over his thighs like a river of black silk. Just the thought of her mouth that close! His manhood reacted accordingly. Flaccid, curled over the soft sacks that rested beneath it, her husband’s manhood fascinated Kara. Ever since that night in the bordello, she’d been insatiably curious about that part of the male anatomy. Then, it twitched, jerked, and rose--long, thick, rigid, rock hard. "Oh my!" Glittering eyes met hers when Kara raised her face to Adrian’s. "Look, Angel," her pirate whispered, temptation in his voice. "Touch, stroke--taste." She was already looking. Touch, yes.How could anything that felt so soft be so unbelievably hard? Stroke?Kara’s fingers slid first up one side and down the other. She cupped the sack that held his seed, and Adrian groaned. Taste? Dare she? That slow, seductive smile that so bewitched Adrian on Bodmin Moor appeared on her face. She bent closer; she placed a light kiss on the tip. A long, low groan escaped his lips. Soft lips. A sensuous tongue. A warm, moist mouth. Adrian grasped handfuls of sheet, spread his legs, and arched his hips. The hard muscles of his stomach shuddered. Kara chuckled, long and low. He was in her power. ~*~ She was alone when she awoke. A swinging lantern cast a soft light about the cabin, a cabin that pitched and rolled. Shocked, she wrapped the sheet around herself, rose from the bunk, and walked to the window that made up almost the entire back wall. A foaming, grey-green sea greeted her gaze. All during their long, passion filled night, she hadn’t realized the ship was moving. The door opened, and Adrian carried a tray into the room. Appetizing smells wafted from beneath its cover. "Good morning, Angel," Adrian said, his voice a caressing promise. "You slept well?" Actually neither of them had slept much at all. "Where are we going?" "Home,Leannoin ."

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"We must go back to London." "Oh?" queried Adrian with a look of feigned surprise. His Angel was nothing if not tenacious. "Come eat, the ship’s cook is quite talented." "I want to go back to London," she demanded. "I must have..." "Your revenge," Adrian answered flatly as he filled his plate. "So you’ve said on more than one occasion, Angel. That was the past. My wife will not go haring about London with murder on her mind." Hissing with anger, Kara strode across the room. With one quick motion, she slapped the plate from his hand. "How dare you! How dare you condescend to dictate my life." Adrian gripped her upper arms and shook her. Anger surged. "Stop this childishness, Angel. You can no more expect to exact revenge on Sedgewick than I can fly circles around the turrets of Ravenrook." She struggled in his tight grip. "I will! Revenge is the most important thing in my life." "I am the most important thing in your life!" Adrian growled. "You are my wife. You will obey me in this." "Obey! You? Never!" "Damn it, Angel! Your father was a bloody highwayman. He was a thief. Sooner or later he’d have died from a bullet or been hanged. Your mother chose to end her own life to warn him. How can you blame someone else for their deaths?" "Sedgewick beat my mother bloody and then raped her, you dim-witted ass! My father was riding to her rescue when they shot him down. Sedgewick made no attempt to capture him." With that revelation, the fight left Kara and she slumped against his chest, sobbing. Surprised, Adrian wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Rape.That was why she was so determined. And it explained why Robert was even more eager for vengeance than his sister. "Shhhh,Leannoin , look at me," he said softly holding her at arm’s length. "What would you do if you finally caught up to him?" She opened her mouth, but Adrian continued before she could answer. "Do you have any idea what’s it’s like to kill a man, Angel? Could you push your sword through his body? Could you watch the light die in his eyes? Do you wish to watch the warm blood pour from his wound, run down your sword, and feel it cover your hand? Could you live with the curses he heaped on you while he lay dying? Could you live with yourself afterwards? Live with the ghost that will haunt your sleep for the rest of your life?" Defiant, ignoring the agony that tinged his voice, she tore herself from his arms. "Yes! Yes, I could. And I would happily dance on his grave day and night for an entire week. For my mother, anything!" Striding to the wall next to the bed, he jerked Kara’s dagger from her wall. "Here," he said, burying the dagger into the floor at her feet. "Try. I’ve hounded you across England. I forced myself into your bed and took your virginity. You were forced to marry me against your wishes. You’ve already taken a blade

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to me once. There. Take your dagger. I won’t fight you. End this forced marriage, Angel, and return to London to seek your revenge." Kara looked at the dagger quivering at her feet and then at Adrian. "Damn you, Warrick! Damn you to hell!" she cried and flung herself onto the bed, great sobs racking her body. He had made her face the truth; she could not kill anyone. And, at that moment, she hated him for it. Easing himself onto the bed beside her, he stroked her hair. "Hush,Annsachd , don’t cry. It will be all right. Soon we’ll be at Ravenrook. You’ll be happy there." "I’ll never be happy," she moaned. "My happiness died on Bodmin Moor almost twenty years ago. Go away. Leave me alone" "It’s better this way, Angel. You’ll see." He patted her shoulder, but she jerked away from his awkward caress. Again, he rested his hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off. Bewildered, not knowing how to comfort her, he rose. He started to speak, but... She sounded so utterly lost, as if her soul had lost all will to live. Those sobs shook Adrian to the core. His own tortured soul called to hers, and his demons surged within him. Shuddering, he backed away, clenching and unclenching his hands. Howling shrieks echoed through his mind, and a familiar blackness leaped behind his eyes and began to wrestle with his soul. He couldn’t allow that blackness to take his Angel. Turning, he stumbled from the room and fled from her presence. On deck, Paddy nodded to Adrian as he approached. The Raven was a small ship. Everyone on board had heard at least parts of their argument. "Spirited wench, yer new wife," commented Paddy with a straight face. Adrian as stalked past Paddy to the rail. "Shut your Goddamn mouth, O’Rourke." Paddy chucked. Warrick may finally have met his match. Eventually, Kara’s sobs changed to hiccups and finally to sniffles. Damn, Adrian. Why did he torment her so! Why couldn’t he leave her be! Pulling herself to her feet, she caught her reflection in mirror and grimaced. Her normally clear complexion was blotchy from crying. Her hair was tangled, and she wore nothing but a sheet. And she was hungry. Shuffling over to the table, she looked over the assortment of now cold food. She contented herself with dry toast and fruit as she looked about the cabin. Shoved against the wall, she recognized the trunk that had carried her belongings from Cornwall to London. Sinking beside it, she pushed the lid back to find something to wear. With a smile, Kara reached into the trunk and stroked the brightly colored gown that lay there. Not a white dress to be seen. Jane had obviously packed for her. After a bit of searching, she found one of the dresses she’d worn in Cornwall, a simple grey skirt that needed only one petticoat and its matching shirtwaist. After washing her face with some tepid water she found in the ewer, she donned a silk camisole then the shirtwaist. Sliding her boots onto her stocking feet, she retrieved her dagger from the floor where Adrian had thrown it and slid it into its sheath out of habit. Warrick had certainly proved she couldn’t use it on him! After she retrieved her brush from the trunk, Kara spotted her corset where it still lay on the floor. She kicked it viciously. How she wished it were Adrian!

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Sitting on the window seat built into the back wall, Kara first studied the ruby ring Adrian had placed on her finger. Then she stared moodily out at the white-tipped ocean swells as she brushed her hair. Dark land was visible off to her left, the rocky coastline of Cornwall. Home. Damn Adrian. ~*~ She heard the door open but did not turn to face her husband. Adrian scrutinized his bride’s pensive expression, wincing mentally at the dark circles under her eyes. Now that he had his Angel, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with her. "We’ll reach Ravenrook within the hour, Angel." She shrugged, her head turned away from him. Sighing resignedly, Adrian walked to the window seat and sat down. She drew away from him as far as she could. "Returning to Ravenrook’s for the best, Angel. You will see." She threw a scathing look at Adrian. "How could you even begin to imagine what is best for me, Warrick? You don’t even know me." "But I shall enjoy learning all about you," he answered huskily, leaning towards her. There was time before they made landfall. She turned a rage filled glare on Adrian. "Do not touch me!" she snapped. "You have succeeded, my lord. You have captured the Midnight Angel. I’m yours, for now. But do not doubt that you will not hold me if I choose to go." Rising quickly lest he do or say something he’d regret, Adrian stomped to the door. Jerking it open, he turned back to his wife. "Yes, Angel. You are mine! You’d do well to remember it. For I will hold you until death frees us." The door slammed behind Adrian as he left. Turning back to the window, her head dropped to her knees. She never realized a heart could ache so much. How she wished she had listened to Dewi those many months ago when he warned her about Warrick. But how could she have ignored the challenge in his eyes, the passion in that first kiss? She sighed. Even now, her body ached for his caresses. Damn Adrian. He had ruined her life. ~*~ Major Alexander Sedgewick sat comfortably amidst his fellow officers in a London tavern that catered mostly to King George’s dragoons. Swirling the port in his glass, he stared into the fire pondering the events of the past few days. Warrick had eloped with his aunt’s niece. All of London was abuzz. The Midnight Angel was supposedly Warrick’s lover, a very jealous lover. Would she stand for such a betrayal?

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But Warrick was a peer, the gossip went on; he had to breed up an heir. Karalyn Marshall had decent bloodlines and a grandfather with a Welsh copper mine. Even if the chit was a scatterbrained ninny, well, Warrick needed only to plant his seed. Once an heir was born, he could mire her in that drafty castle in Cornwall and disport himself with as many women as he liked. Still Sedgewick pondered all he had heard. Why would Warrick marry that addle-pated chit? He didn’t need the money. He could have done much better for himself. He recalled a picture of Kara to his mind. Yes, she was beautiful, but so were many others. And she’d practically been betrothed to Ashton St. Clair. Warrick had made an enemy there. Reaching into his pocket, Sedgewick pulled out his watch, the four jewels that dangled from the fob caught his eye. The blue clarity of the sapphire reminded him of the Marshall chit’s eyes. From the corner of his eye, the major caught sight of the white-aproned, jovial innkeeper placing a tray of drinks next to another man’s elbow. Sedgewick frowned, glancing once more at the sapphire. A dead body sprawled on the road, sightless blue eyes staring at nothing, jogged his memory. A black haired, dark eyed siren who’d fought him harder than any other woman and willingly gave up her life for her lover smiled viciously from behind his eyes. Realization dawned. "Bloody hell!" The other men in the room stared at him, but the major ignored them. Adrian Warrick, Marquis of Ravenrook, had married the Midnight Angel of Bodmin Moor. She wasn’t his mistress! She was his wife! A door slammed, and Robert Marshall walked into the inn in the company of Lucian Blake. How would the arrogant Lucian Blake react if he knew he was keeping company with the brother of a wanted felon? Sedgewick’s eyes narrowed. Blake and Warrick were as thick as thieves--what an appropriate simile. Blake had to know everything. And Blake was a very dangerous man, even more so than Warrick. If he knew the Angel’s identity, then so did others. What game was this? Sedgewick shifted uneasily and rose to his feet. His own plans were too far along to alter now. Warrick’s marriage required intensive analysis and careful deliberation as to how it could either help or hinder him. Both were better accomplished in his own rooms. Nodding to a few acquaintances,the major left the convivial atmosphere of the inn and stepped outside into a cold rain. Somehow, his discoveries could be used to his advantage, he was sure of it.

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Seventeen Cornwall As the small boat ground against the rocky shore, Adrain slid over the side into ankle deep water. Kara simply stared at the hand he held out to her. With a shrug, he bent over and swung her into his arms. She stiffened, but when he cradled her against his chest rather than throw her over his shoulder, she relaxed. When he reached the rocky shore, he set her on his feet. "Stop pouting and follow me." Then he disappeared beneath a rocky overhang. Water splashed when she stamped her foot. Follow him? Just like that. Bastard! Dark waves boomed against the nearby cliffs, and Kara minced forward. Adrian’s peremptory tone infuriated her. However, her stubbornness did not go so far as to stand on a spit of rocky sand, wet from sea spray and battered by a chill wind while the wild Cornish surf pounded relentlessly towards her. "Four hundred and sixty two bleeding steps," Paddy grumbled from behind her. "I’m hoping ye have a strong pair of legs, my lady." Once past the overhang, she understood why O’Rourke was grumbling. Steps had been cut into the living rock of the cliff, ascending skyward into the falling darkness. Trepidation mated with her anger. "Four hundred and sixty-two of them?" Adrian appeared beside her. "Have you brought your wings, Angel?" Pulling a pistol from beneath his coat, he pointed it skyward. The sound of the shot echoed off the cliffs. "Step back,Leannoin ," Adrian instructed as he gently grasped her arm and pulled her back against his hard body. She tensed and would have pulled away, but a loud rumble drew her attention. A large basket dropped into view and came to rest on the ground before them. Scooping her into his arms, he placed her in the basket. Hoisting himself over the side, he joined her there. "Adrian! What do you..." Except to clamp his arm firmly around her waist when she tried to climb back out of the basket, Adrian ignored his wife. "Paddy?" "I’ll not be swinging in a bleeding basket! I’ll just be getting back ta me ship and getting me cargo." Kara struggled against the hard arm that held her. "Damn it, Adrian! Let me go." He continued to ignore her. "Send the trunks up when the basket returns. I’ll see you in a few months." He jerked a rope that hung next to the basket’s thick cable. When the basket swung off the ground, Kara stopped trying to pull free of her husband and instead clamped her hands onto the arm wrapped around her waist. "Adrian, I’m not sure about this," she said in a quavering voice.

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He chuckled. He’d been unsure himself the first time he’d ridden in the basket. But the view was worth it. Twirling slowly, swaying with every gust of wind, the basket rose higher and higher. Kara clutched Adrian’s arm tighter and tighter as her face began to turn green. He wrapped his other arm around her. "Don’t think about it, Angel, and don’t look down." Of course, she looked down. She paled even more. Her stomach fluttered. She gulped and swallowed thickly. "Look over there." Wrenching her eyes from the ocean that swirled and crashed so far below them, she followed the line of Adrian’s pointing arm to the view of the rich reds, yellows, oranges, blues, and purples of the sunset. "Oh, Adrian, it’s so beautiful." "As are you, Angel." He spun her around and captured he mouth with his. Unprepared for his attack, she melted against him, her mouth opening to his questing tongue. The raw, primordial elements surrounding them ceased to exist. Time itself seemed to stand still as Kara surrendered herself to the rhythms of her heart. Adrian was even more profoundly affected. Angel was everything to him. She harried the black shades of hell from his soul. Why? How? He had to keep her safe. She held his sanity in the palms of her small hands. The sound of throats clearing brought them back to themselves. Blushing, Kara pushed out of his arms. Adrian released her and vaulted out of the basket. Reaching over the side, he quickly scooped his wife from the basket and set her on her feet. Once she had her balance, he released her. Glancing up, she looked straight into the eyes of a shocked Dewi. Paling, she looked back over her shoulder, but Adrian was busy sending the basket back down for their luggage. With a quick slash of her hand, she assured herself of his silence. She’d have to find time to talk with him--somehow. "Come,Leannoin ," Adrian said after he finished instructing the men lowering the basket, "this way." Taking his Angel’s arm, he led her into a well-lighted tunnel. Kara clung to her husband’s arm as he led her through Ravenrook’s tunnels. Towering high above the rocky coast, the castle seemed to rise out of the cliff on which it sat. A distant ancestor of Adrian’s had built the castle over a series of caves and tunnels. Topmost were the cellars and dungeons of the castle itself. The lower caves--they were the haunts of its ghosts. So legend said. "Don’t come down here alone, Angel," he cautioned, "until you learn the passage ways. You’ll become lost."

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Kara didn’t dispute this particular command. She doubted if she’d be able to find her way back to the outcrop where they’d disembarked from the basket. After climbing a stone staircase and stepping through a small doorway, she found herself in a large hallway. As they paused before a line of servants, Adrian said, "Barrows, my wife. You’ll see to it that she’s made as comfortable as possible; I’m sure she’d like to rest after our journey. There’s something that requires my immediate attention." With those words, Adrian retraced his steps and disappeared through a doorway. Kara’s anger returned, twofold.He left her here! Alone! To face his staff without a decent introduction! Without a word of explanation! Just wait until she... "Welcome, My Lady," said Barrows with a deep bow, "if you will follow me please." She had to calm herself. It wasn’t the butler’s fault he had a boorish imbecile for a master. "Yes, of course," she answered, "but first, I’d like to be introduced to the staff." With a nod, Barrows led Kara down the line of servants, introducing each and explaining his or her position. She already knew most of them. More than a few knew her as the orphan girl the Palsers had raised. Not one of them, however, knew her secret identity as the Midnight Angel. After the introductions, she followed the butler to a staircase that rose from the left side of the hallway. "This staircase leads to the family’s private apartments, my lady," Barrows explained. "The staircase on the right leads to the south wing. One must cross the main hall of the old castle to enter the north wing. I’ll arrange a complete tour for you tomorrow." When Kara and Barrows reached the first landing, the butler paused for a moment. "This floor contains the nursery and school rooms; the master’s chambers are on the third floor." Another flight of stairs, and they reached a richly paneled hallway. Only three doors lined the walls, one on the right and one on the left and one directly in front of her at the end of the hallway. Barrows opened the door on the right for her. "These are your rooms, my lady. Your baggage will be delivered shortly, and I shall send a maid to you." "Thank you, Barrows. That will be all for now." With a final bow, the butler left Kara to her own devices. She stood in a tastefully decorated sitting room. A large set of French doors claimed most of the west wall. Walking to them, she pushed them open and discovered herself on a huge balcony that spread across the front of the castle. The view was spectacular, but it was too cold to remain outside. Closing the doors firmly behind her, she studied her sitting room. Decorated in shades of yellow with white furniture, it was light and airy. Though she didn’t like admitting so, even to herself, she felt comfortable here. Opposite the French doors was the door that led to her bedchamber. Turning the knob, Kara pushed it open and walked in. This room, too, was pleasant, green the predominant color. A door in the far wall drew Kara’s attention.

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That one led, undoubtedly, to Adrian’s bedchamber. Turning the knob, Kara frowned when it would not open. Why would it be locked? A knock on her sitting room door halted Kara’s explorations. There, she found a fresh-faced maid directing two footmen who carried her trunk and buckets of steaming water. "Good evenin’, mi’ lady," the maid said with a curtsy. "My name is Eleanor, and I’m to serve you ‘til your own maid arrives." The maid was efficient, and soon Kara was soaking in a large tub behind the screen in her bedchamber. The delicate scent of rose oil permeated the moist air. Eleanor bustled about the chamber then left, promising to return shortly. A door opened once more. "Will you please add more hot water, Eleanor; this bath is heavenly." "I’d be happy to oblige, Angel. I so dislike a tepid bath." Kara sank down into the water until only her head was visible. "Adrian! What are you doing here?" He wore nothing but his breeches. Muscles rippled on his arms and clenched across his flat stomach as he lifted a bucket and added hot water to her bath. "I thought I’d offer to scrub your back,Leannoin , and, perhaps, join you?" Before she could protest, he stripped out of the breeches he wore and stepped into the tub. Again, Adrian gave Kara no chance to protest but pulled her into his arms. Without a chance to prepare her defenses, she was unable to offer resistance. As always, she melted into his arms. Soon, his soapy hands roamed freely over her body. Then he positioned her on his lap, and Kara learned the joys of sharing her bath with her husband. "Oh my God!" "Now, Angel, now!" As she shuddered in his arms, Adrian lifted his Angel from the tub and wrapped the both of them in a large towel. Laying his wife to her bed, he kissed and fondled until she was again lost to the throes of passion. Later, much later, they partook of the cold supper Eleanor had placed in her sitting room. Too bemused by Adrian’s constant attention--he didn’t allow her to lift a fork, but fed her himself--she was unable to concentrate on anything except how he made her feel. Nor had she ever imagined eating as especially erotic, but the things Adrian did with the meal they ate in her bed! Especially the grapes! Fully aware of his wife’s tenaciousness, Adrian didn’t allow her the opportunity to think at all. She slept little that first night in Castle Ravenrook; he kept her wrapped in a cocoon of sensuous lovemaking. Finally, just as dawn was beginning to break, he allowed her to sleep. Slipping from her bed, he first returned the tray and dishes from their meal to her sitting room. Then he disappeared into his bedchamber, locking the door behind him. His rooms were his private retreat. Even his Angel was unwelcome within their confines.

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Well satisfied, Adrian stretched out on his own bed. A few hours of sleep would refresh him. He rarely got more than four or five hours of sleep a night anyway. While Adrian and Kara slept, the castle came to life. Old Gwyn chuckled in her chamber beneath the kitchen. The pirate had captured his angel, or had the angel captured her pirate? As always, rumors flew across the moor. Warrick had come home with a bride, Karalyn Marshall, foster daughter of the good Reverend Palser and his wife. Emma was beside herself with joy when she heard the news and badgered her husband into an afternoon visit. Kara had come home, as a Marchioness, no less. For a select few, the news brought consternation. Dewi, Ros, and Martin met in the private room of the inn to discuss Kara’s new circumstances. Somehow, they knew, she would contact them. Whether or not she’d be able to elude Ravenrook was the question. The Marquis had sworn to have the Midnight Angel--and now he did. ~*~ The delicately carved clock on her mantel was chiming two when Kara awoke. Stretching, she grimaced. Adrian had attacked her with passion and defeated her soundly the preceding night. He would not fare so well this night. She’d have time to prepare her defenses against his sexual onslaught. She’d be ready for him this time. He wouldn’t sway her from her revenge. Ringing for Eleanor, Kara rose and donned her wrapper. Very soon, she was once again soaking in her bathtub. Uncertain of Adrian’s whereabouts, she kept the maid with her. She did not want a repeat of last night. She snorted to herself. As if having a maid in the room would stop Adrian. "His Lordship said to tell you that the Reverend and Mrs. Palser’s trap was spotted headed this way." "Papa and Mum are coming?" "Aye, if ye’ll be hurrin’, ye’ll be downstairs before they get to the front door." Water splashed as Kara jumped out of her tub. "I’ll wear whatever gown you have in your hand." In half an hour, she was hurrying down the stairs in a lovely green frock, her raven curls bouncing and floating on the breeze created by her own passing. When she reached the foot of the staircase, she was momentarily nonplused. Damn this drafty castle, where was she? Barrows appeared almost immediately. "This way, my lady," he said indicating the first door to his left. "Your guests are in the drawing room." Rushing past a startled Barrows, she burst into the drawing room. Emma Palser rose to her feet as the door opened, and Kara launched herself into her foster mother’s arms. "Oh, Mum," she cried with tears of joy dripping down her cheeks, "I’ve missed you so much." "And I missed you too, love," Emma sniffed. "The house just wasn’t the same without you." Pulling herself from Emma’s embrace, Kara threw herself into the Reverend’s arms also.

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"Papa! How are you?" "I am well, my child," Simon answered with suspiciously wet eyes as he patted her shoulder. "We’ve missed you. We’re so glad the Marquis brought you home." For the first time, Kara notice Adrian standing with his back to the windows, a strange smile on his face. "Good afternoon,Leannoin ." Nodding, she turned her attention back to her stepparents. Amused, Adrian listened with one ear as Angel told them about London and the parties she’d attended. Mostly, however, he thought of the radiant joy that had been on her face when she flew into Emma Palser’s arms. Would she ever display such joy to see him? He had no doubts about being welcomed in her bed. Their passion was mutually--explosive. Unfortunately, they would not be able to spend all of their waking hours there. He did have the estate to run, and he planned to have his wife assume control of the household. Ravenrook had no housekeeper, and the lack clearly showed. Could he convince Angel to be content with the role he had chosen for her? With luck--he would be in her bed every night--Angel would soon be pregnant. Motherhood, yes, that would content her. Then there would be no question of her revenge. Revenge. Her obsession hung between them like a dark veil, a veil that only their passion transcended and that for only brief moments. She had to give up her obsession! As the two women chatted, Simon Palser watched Adrian. The younger man’s expression was carefully guarded, but Simon had been reading men’s souls for almost thirty years, both for the Lord and the protection of his free traders. Adrian Warrick was a man at war with himself. Simon glanced towards his wife and Kara and then back to his Adrian. What so bedeviled his soul that it cast black shadows behind his eyes? What was Kara’s place in all this? And what of the revenge she nurtured like a snake in her bosom? Whose will would be stronger? Unaware of the Reverend’s too astute insight to his character, Adrian continued to observe his wife and brood on their relationship. How long would passion hold them together? Their souls touched, caressed, and intertwined every time they made love, yet they never fully united. Both had almost insurmountable obstacles to overcome. She said she would not give up her need for revenge, and he--he had his own ghosts to fight. Moving away from the windows, he sat in a chair close to his wife and her stepparents, but his thoughts continued in the same vein. He would not allow his Angel to go riding about the moors at night. It had taken him months to find and snare her, and he wasn’t going to lose her now. Another night had passed without his usual hauntings. Angel was his soul’s salvation. She kept the devils from his mind. He could not lose her! So Adrian was content to watch his bride’s reunion with her stepparents, captivated by the genuine love she felt for them, hoping beyond hope that she would feel the same about him one day. "And do you agree, my lord?" asked Reverend Palser. Shaking himself from his revelries, Adrian said, "Call me Adrian. Since I have had the good fortune to marry your foster daughter, it only seems right. And please, feel free to call here at Ravenrook whenever

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you wish." A delighted expression appeared on Simon’s face. "Why, thank you, my--er--Adrian. And you must address us as Simon and Emma." Amused by the fierce glare Angel threw his way, Adrian nodded. She was so easy to read. Now, her plan to use the Palser’s as refuge from her "cruel" husband had just been nipped in the bud. Sensing the restive undercurrents rippling back and forth between Adrian and Kara, Emma pursed her lips. There was much here she didn’t understand. None of the letters she had received from Kara had hinted at any romance with Warrick. Yet, Kara was now the Marchioness of Ravenrook; and, from the tender looks Adrian had directed at her stepdaughter, he held her deep in his affections. Emma shot another glance at Kara. Simon and Adrian were deep in a political conversation, and Kara watched them. Rather she watched Adrian. She looked angry, perplexed, and--something in her eyes--hunger, that was it. Well, Warrick had obviously awakened her sensual side. "I must say your marriage is something of a surprise, Kara," Emma commented. "Just how long have you been married?" Flushing, Kara turned her attention back to her foster mother. "Three days, Mum." Emma started with surprise. "Three days!" "My fault, Emma," interjected Adrian easily. "Angel would have preferred to come home to be married by your husband, but…" He shrugged. "I’m afraid I wasn’t willing to wait. At times, I’m not a patient man." Snorting inelegantly, Kara scowled at her husband. Emma’s eyebrows rose at Kara’s reaction to her husband’s statement. Yes, that was a reasonable explanation for the anger she sensed, but... no one was more impetuous than Kara, not even Adrian Warrick. No, there was something else between them. Kara’s revenge, perhaps? Ah well, newlyweds must be allowed to work out their own problems. Rising, Emma said, "We really must be going, Kara. Simon promised a visit to the Millers tonight. Mrs. Miller’s father is doing poorly, and regular visits from Simon seem to cheer him up." Kara leaped to her feet. "But you’ve barely come." A warm smile appeared on Emma’s face. "I shall be back, Kara." Affectionately, Simon grunted. "Emma will undoubtedly out stay her welcome, Adrian, and you’ll be wishing yourself back in London." Kara threw herself into Emma’s arms. "Promise you’ll come back soon." "Of course I will, Kara," Emma said pocketing the note her foster daughter slipped her, "and you shall come and visit me. You--and Adrian are welcome any time." Adrian came to stand beside his wife. Holding out his hand to Simon, he shook it firmly. Then he lifted

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Emma’s hand to his lips. "As I said, you are always welcome here at Ravenrook, but I must ask you to return the missive Angel slipped to you." Kara stomped her foot. "Damn it, Adrian!" "Kara!" Emma and Simon exclaimed simultaneously. Adrian chuckled when she blushed. "We really must do something about your language, Angel." Taking the note from Emma’s hand, he unfolded it and read it. Then he casually threw it into the fire. "My wife," he said in a controlled voice, "will no longer be riding about the moors at night. Please pass that word along to her compatriots." While Emma looked pleased, Simon was troubled. Adrian’s highhandedness would not set well with Kara. Even now, rebellion shone in her eyes. Ah, well, she was his wife now.He only hoped the Marquis was a more patient man than he indicated. "Come, Emma," he said. "We must be gone. Goodbye, my dear." Simon placed a gentle kiss on Kara’s forehead as she threw her arms around him in a tight hug. Both Kara and Adrian saw her stepparents to the door. After Barrows closed it, Kara rounded on Adrian. "How dare you steal my private correspondence!" On the other side of the door, Emma winced. Simon smiled. "I tried, Simon," reflected Emma in a small voice. "I truly tried to make her a lady." Simon chuckled as he led his wife down the path towards the stables and lower wall. One could only walk to the front door of Ravenrook. It sat on a small plateau above a second larger plateau, which was surrounded by a ten-foot wall. The stables and cottages of the castle’s retainers were also located below the house. "Kara will be fine," he answered. "Warrick is obviously infatuated. She’ll lead him a merry chase, and he’ll keep her safe." With a sigh, Emma nodded in agreement. But, with a frown of bewilderment, she added, "He never called her Kara, Simon. Did you notice, the Marquis never said her name?" Simon frowned and looked back towards the castle. Why didn’t Adrian use his own wife’s name? ~*~ Kara stormed into her sitting room and began pacing. How dare he! How dare Adrian deny her the right to see her friends. She’d leave the castle whenever she wanted to. He wouldn’t hold her here! The door to her sitting room slammed open, and Adrian stalked into the room. "I was not done speaking to you, madam." She drew herself up to her full height. "Well, I was done listening! I’ve never heard such nonsense in my life!" "Nonsense! Remember your wedding vows? You promised to obey me, Angel. You will do so!"

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"Obey! Ha! If I hadn’t said that detestable word, we’d still be standing before the minister!" "I’d have waited," he growled as he crossed the room to stand before her. "How can you do this to me, Adrian?" she cried impulsively. "You’d make me your prisoner." "No, Angel," he answered, struggling for a gentler voice, "not my prisoner, my wife. I honor you above all women,Leannoin , why must you fight me?" He would have taken her into his arms, but she turned away from him. "My name’s Karalyn," she whispered. Adrian placed his hands on her upper arms and stroked gently. "What?" "Karalyn, my name’s Karalyn," she said turning to face him once more. She looked up into his eyes. "Never once have you called my by my name." Adrian frowned. "You’re my Angel. Karalyn Marshall is a scatterbrained twit." Karalyn stiffened and her eyes widened. What did he mean?"Who am I to you, Adrian? The Midnight Angel rode the moors freely; she’s the woman you chased across England. Yet, she’s a fabrication. The Karalyn Marshall you met in London doesn’t exist either; she was another fabrication to hide the Midnight Angel from you. You treat me as that ‘scatterbrained twit’ you so despised, with little or no trust. Yet, you call me your Angel. Angel doesn’t exist without Karalyn Marshall nor Karalyn Marshall without Angel. Both women are the same person. Who am I to you, Adrian?" "You are whomever I want you to be!" He would have pulled her into his arms, but she turned and fled to her bedroom. He’d taken one step towards her door when he heard the key turn in the lock. With an oath, Adrian spun about and left her chambers. If that was the way Angel wanted it, so be it. Besides, she couldn’t lock the connecting door between their bedchambers. He had the only key. ~*~ Kara picked listlessly at her food. In the last few weeks, the rumored ghosts of Ravenrook no longer terrified the servants. The frigid distance between Adrian and her was far more disheartening. She rarely saw him. Sometimes, they would meet for dinner; but, often as not, Adrian was away and did not return to Ravenrook until well after dark. On those nights, Kara took her evening meal in her sitting room rather than face the emptiness of the formal dining room alone, though the icy, stilted conversation they engaged in when she dined with Adrian was, in its own way, equally as bad. The nights were worse. Kara let her fork drop. She couldn’t keep him from her bed. Again last night, he had come to her, kissing and fondling, until her traitorous body refused to hold her anger. Then, she would answer his passion with hers, only to cry afterwards. The first two nights, he tried to comfort her, whispering endearments in both English and Cornish, but only to Angel, never to Kara. Until Adrian acknowledged she was more than Angel, Kara wouldn’t be able to stop the pain in her heart. Pushing her chair away from the table, she left the table and returned to her chambers. There, she

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disrobed quickly. She’d barely pulled the bedcovers down when Adrian slipped into her room. She didn’t fight him when he pulled her into his arms. First her robe, then her gown fell to the floor. She turned her head away when he sought her mouth. "You have me guarded like I’m a prisoner. You can’t keep me locked away like this forever." "You’re my wife. I’m only protecting you." "From what?" He cupped her breasts. "You’re so beautiful, Angel." She stiffened. "I’m Kara." "Angel, damn it, you’re Angel." Lifting her, he tossed her onto the bed and ripped off the robe he wore. Falling onto the bed beside her, he pulled her into his arms. At first, she lay stiff and unresponsive. But soon his skilled hands and devastating kisses were impossible to resist. Her arms slipped around his neck. She bit his shoulder. "Yes,Leannoin , give me your passion." His knee parted her thighs. She arched her hips. One thrust and he was buried deep. Lifting her legs, she wrapped them around his waist and met his thrusts with her own. She moaned as he surged and ground his hips against hers. She buried her hands in his hair. His mouth locked onto her nipple, and he suckled in time with his thrusts. "Adrian!" When she began to shudder around him, he plunged as deeply as he could, shuddering with his own orgasm. Gasping, Adrian rolled onto his back, pulling her with him, cradling her in his arms. Her tears wet his chest. "Leannoin,please." Her silent tears became sobs. Adrian left her bed with a vicious oath and slammed the connecting door between their bedchambers. "Bloody hell," he muttered into the darkness. "What does she expect from me?" If she went riding about the moor at night, she could be shot again. He still carried the ball he cut from her shoulder! Never again would he be so powerless. Never again would she lie bleeding in his arms, not if he had to lock her in her rooms for the rest of her life. He’d almost lost her once. It would not happen again. Brooding, Adrian stared out his window at the endlessly rolling waves far below the castle. With an oath, he swallowed the brandy in the snifter he held and threw himself onto his bed. Sleep claimed him eventually. In the early hours of the morning, now that his defenses were lowered from more than two weeks of dreamless slumber, Adrian’s ghosts returned with a vengeance. Their death-pale visages haunted him

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from his bed well before dawn. ~*~ Glancing at the clock on the mantle, Kara fiddled with some bric-a-brac on a table. Adrian was gone again, but her ever presents guards were close by. "Damn it!" she snapped into the empty room. One of the delicate figurines crashed to the floor. She had to get out of the castle. Today. Now. Adrian had told Barrows that he’d be away until well after midnight. That would give her enough time. It had to be enough time. She had an appointment to keep. She started as a footman appeared behind her. "Excuse me, my lady, but Cook would like to see you in the kitchen." "Of course, Hugh. I’ll go immediately." Hopefully, her plan would work. Cook felt sorry for her. She had heard the plump woman telling Barrows that his lordship shouldn’t treat her ladyship like she was some sort of prisoner. She’d been here over two weeks and hadn’t left the castle grounds. Cook thought she was too pale and needed fresh air to put the roses back in her cheeks. Thank God the woman had agreed to help her. "Hurry," the cook hissed when Kara reached the kitchen. "I’ve yer guard fetching wood with the promise of honey cakes for supper. Old Gwyn waits below." A quick hug had the woman sniffling in her apron. Then Kara disappeared into the dark passage. Old Gwen had watched over her ever since she was a child, and Kara knew she could trust her. When Kara reached the old woman’s chamber, Gwyn held her finger to her lips and opened a door concealed behind a threadbare tapestry. Holding her candle aloft, she led Kara down a seemingly endless, steep passageway to a hidden opening below the lower wall. There, Gwyn’s cart waited. "Cover yourself with these rugs, child. We’ll be there and back without his lordship knowing you were gone." With a nod, Kara curled up in the bed of the cart and pulled the rugs over her. Soon the cart jerked forward. She heard Gwyn cackle a greeting to Tom, the stableman. Then they rolled slowly down the road towards the village where Kara grewup. ~*~ Lucian tossed an amused smile towards Adrian. Both men sat before the fire of the inn where he had taken rooms. His presence was unknown to the British garrison’s commander. "I take it married life isn’t all that you expected." "Angel," Adrian growled, "doesn’t understand what’s best for her." Lucian chuckled. Adrian was thoroughly frustrated with his wife. "Rumors are flying about the moor, my friend. The most prevalent say you’ve captured the Midnight Angel and keep her chained to your bed." Adrian snorted. "If only that were the case! Life would be a damn sight easier. She’s obsessed with

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revenge. She will not let it be." "An obsession? Sounds like someone else I know," Lucian commented with yet another chuckle. "Would you have me allow her to ride the moor at night?" Lucian’s answer surprised Adrian. "At least once, yes, if for no other reason than for the commons to know their Angel is safe." "She’s my angel." "She belonged to them first, Adrian. I told you about that night at the inn. Those cutthroats and murderers would require very little encouragement to storm your castle if they thought their Angel needed rescuing. And more than a few are probably more familiar with those passageways than you." "Damn it, Lucian! Whose side are you on?" Rising, he stalked across the room and braced his hand on the mantle. He stared at the brandy he held in his other hand. "The dreams are back, aren’t they?" "I never expected them to stay away," he lied. Lucian’s eyebrows rose. If Adrian wanted to lie to himself, well, that was his problem. "Robert Marshall has been ordered back here. If he finds his sister as unhappy as I think she is, you’ll have to answer to him." Adrian hurled his glass into the fireplace where it splintered into a thousand sparkling shards. "I find your company to be less than appealing, Lucian. I’m going home." "To a wife who eagerly awaits your return? To her bed?" Lucian asked pointedly. "By the way, just what is her name, Adrian?" As his friend stomped out the door, Lucian silently toasted Adrian and his untamable bride. Adrian had just mounted his grey stallion when one of Angel’s guards appeared. "She’s gone, mi’ lord." Fury blazed from Adrian’s flinty eyes. "How?" The guard stepped back. "We don’t know. None of the horses are gone." "Are you sure she hasn’t lost her way in the passageways?" "We searched them all." His horse half reared. "Damn and blast." Then he spied Gwyn’s cart before the rectory. With an oath, Adrian urged his horse forward. As he approached, he spied his wife walking from the churchyard. Urging his stallion to a canter, he reached down and swept her onto the saddle in front of him. "We will discuss this when we get home, madam." Kara held herself rigidly away from her husband. He wouldn’t understand anyway.

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Eighteen The solid stonewalls seemed to shake with the force of the door’s slam as Kara retreated to her bedchamber, locking the door to her sitting room behind her. She heard the door to the hallway bounce off the wall when Adrian slammed it open. His angry footsteps marched to the door she had locked against him. The doorknob rattled. "Angel," he said in a very quiet, very angry voice, "open this door now." "There’s no Angel here. My name is Karalyn!" On the other side of the door, Adrian’s temper exploded. Lifting his booted foot, he kicked the door, splintering the wood about the lock. The door slammed open, bounced off the wall, and slammed back against his hand. Standing defiantly in the middle of the room, Kara refused to cower. Adrian filled the doorway. "Where is it?" "What?" "You’re costume." Confusion joined the anger on her face. "Get your bloody costume now," he growled, "and put it on. Tonight, I will exorcise one of the demons that ride me. In the morning you will be free to go where ever you will." Understanding dawned on her face and her anger fled. "Don’t do this, Adrian." An ugly laugh exploded from his lips. "What? The indomitable Midnight Angel afraid? I thought she didn’t fear anything." Kara’s voice dropped to a whisper. "Please, Adrian." "You’ll dress now, madam," he commanded with a snarl, "or you’ll spend the rest of your life locked in these rooms."

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White-faced but with her head held proudly, Kara disappeared behind the screen on the other side of her chamber. He heard a drawer open and close. Ten minutes later, the Midnight Angel stood before him. "Put on the mask." "Please, Adrian." Fists clenched at his sides, he commanded. "Put on the bloody, damn mask!" Kara complied and threw her head back as she tied her mask in place. The Midnight Angel finally stood before her pirate, and she would not grovel, even if her heart was breaking. "No sword, Angel?" he sneered. A bitter smile twisted her lips. "You’ve already proved that I can’t use it against you again." Another short, ugly laugh escaped him. Reaching out, he pulled his Angel hard against his aroused body. Sliding his hand behind her neck, he wrapped her long braid around his fist and pulled her head back. She offered no resistance when he captured her mouth with a brutal kiss. With his other hand, he ripped her shirt open, his large hands closing painfully on her breasts. Lifting his mouth form her bruised lips, he mocked, "No answering kiss for your Pirate, Angel?" Hopelessly, she stared at him, seeing only the black evil gloating behind his eyes. "My pirate’s dead, Adrian, killed by the blackness that lives in your soul. How long before it kills you too?" For a long moment, Adrian stared into his wife’s pain-filled eyes. Then, with a curse, he flung her from him. She grasped the bedpost for support as she fell against it. "I didn’t leave Ravenrook today as the Midnight Angel, Adrian. I had to go home. Twenty years ago tonight, my mother died. I have placed a rose on her grave on this day every year since I was five." He stared at the woman he had so carelessly flung away from him. "I love you, Adrian," she whispered to the floor. Snarling something unintelligible, he spun away from his Angel. Jerking the door connecting their bedchambers open, he slammed it behind him. Uncontrollable sobs racking her body, Kara collapsed to the floor. In his own room, Adrian jerked the brandy off of the table and drank it straight from the decanter, his thoughts a maelstrom of shame.Bloody hell, I almost raped my own wife. I almost raped Angel. What kind of monster have I become? Confusion quickly replaced the anger in his soul.She loves me. Why? How can she? I’m a beast in man’s form. Angel’s right, a blackness eats my soul, one that kills compassion... or love. I am not worthy of her. Oh Angel, how can you love a man such as I? Pulling the bell cord, Adrian ordered more brandy. Then, after stripping down to his shirt and britches, he dropped into his favorite chair to stare out into the dark, oblivious night.

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~*~ "Come, Adrian," she purred. "I’ve had the chef prepare special dishes for tonight. Adrian looked over the assortment of foods, all purported to be aphrodisiacs. "I didn’t expect you to allow me back, after the way I treated you, Leannoin." "You are always welcome here," she purred as she stretched, the transparent negligee hiding none of her abundant charms. He chuckled low in his throat as he pulled her into his arms. Her mouth reached eagerly for his, and her hand caressed the hard bulge in his britches while her other hand pulled his shirt loose. Her fingers tangled themselves in the crisp, black hair of his chest. Soon, kisses and caresses were not enough. He tugged at her negligee and the delicate material ripped. With a sigh, she pulled her hand away from his chest, caressing the length of his arm, up and over his broad shoulder. Lifting her hand away from his body, she reached to the side of her head and pulled the long, thin dagger from her elaborate hair arrangement. He caught her wrist as she lifted the dagger to plunge into his back. With little effort, he forced her arm down. With his arm wrapped around her waist, she couldn’t escape him. Soon the dagger was between them. "Adrian, don’t do this," begged the black haired woman, theshimmering blue eyes behind her black mask locked on his. The dagger’s tip lodged between her breasts. "I love you, Adrian," the masked woman said as the dagger slid between her ribs. Warm blood ran down over Adrian’s hand and the light died in her blue eyes. Adrian’s last ghost had come to haunt him. "Noooooo!" he howled as he shot up from his chair. "I did not kill her!" In his heart, Adrian knew the woman who’d tried to kill him had brown hair and eyes, nor had he purposely plunged the dagger into her heart. She’d taken her own life rather than be returned to England for trial. But, his dreams betrayed him as he had betrayed his Angel’s love. "I did not kill her!" he cried to the heavens again. Then he collapsed onto the rug at his feet, great, shuddering sobs seizing his body. ~*~ Kara woke on the floor. Emotionally exhausted, she had fallen asleep, her mask still in place. An unearthly howl echoed from Adrian’s room, followed by another and another.

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Terrified and uncertain, she rose and hesitantly, one slow step following another, walked to the door that connected her husband’s bedchamber to hers. Her hand reached for the knob. Slowly, she turned it. It opened on silent hinges. At first, she wavered but the pitiful sounds emanating from the center of the room drew her in. Cautiously, she walked into the darkened room, her gaze seeking. Adrian crouched on the floor before a huge window. Gray clouds billowed on the other side of the glass as a storm formed before her eyes. "Adrian?" she called softly, uncertainly. "Adrian?" Raising his head, Adrian saw his nightmare walking towards him. The Midnight Angel’s ghost paced slowly across his floor. "Damn you, Witch. Begone!" he howled. "Go back to my nightmares where you belong." Frightened, Kara stopped. Reaching out her hand, she said, "Adrian, it is I, Kara. I am no dream. I am flesh and blood,Mo Cridhe ." Desperately seeking truth in her words, Adrian’s demon haunted eyes bored into hers. "Angel, Annsachd , are you alive? I didn’t kill you?" Releasing her breath, Kara walked to his side and knelt on the thick rug before him. Her hands pressed against his chest. "I am your Angel, Sir Pirate." A trembling hand lifted towards her face and cupped her cheek. "Annsachd, Beloved?" Questing fingers slipped under her mask and pulled it from her face. "Annsachd, Angel? Karalyn? My Kara?" "Yes, Adrian," she whispered as both her hands cupped his face, "your Kara." With a shuddering moan he pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. "I didn’t kill you? I didn’t kill your love? Don’t leave me, Kara,Annsachd . I couldn’t bear the pain.My awra cara whye ." "Oh, Adrian, I love you, too." she answered with tears of joy in her eyes, "you have muddled my senses since the night we met. I will always love you." Wrapping her arms around him, her mouth sought his. Holding her as tightly as he could, he allowed himself to drown in her love. Lowering herself to the floor, she pulled him with her as she lay back. As Adrian’s hard body covered hers, Kara slid her hands inside of his shirt, caressing the smooth muscles beneath her palms. When his mouth left hers to suck her neck gently, she tugged at the waistband of his breeches. "I want you now, Adrian. I need you." He needed no further encouragement. At this moment, he needed her far more than she needed him. Soon, they were both naked, locked in a dance as old as time. Some time later, Adrian lay in his bed, cuddling his wife to his chest. Pushing herself up onto her elbows, Kara stared into his still haunted, grey gaze. "Why did you think you killed me?" Adrian tensed, the wound too raw to discuss.

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"Mo Cridhe," she whispered, "you’ll never be free if you don’t tell me." Closing his eyes, Adrian’s mind warred with his heart. His heart won. Tucking her against his chest, he told her of his life for the past six years, of six men and one woman who died by his hand. An hour later, she lay rocking his tense body in her arms. "How can you possibly love a man such as I, Karalyn," he moaned, his face buried in her breasts, anguish evident in his tired voice. "Because you are a brave, honorable, and loving man, Adrian. You did what you thought was right. Those were not people,Mo Cridhe . Evil can take on human form. They were evil, Adrian. Think how many lives you saved." Rolling onto his back, Adrian locked Kara into a tight hug. "I will never let you go,Annsachd ." "I don’t ever want to leave, my love." She kissed him--gently. More kisses. Then more. Once more they loved, less desperately, more tenderly. Finally exhausted, Adrian fell asleep in his Angel’s arms. As she lay back against the pillows, Kara cradled Adrian’s heavy body against her breasts and gently brushed his hair back from his face. The depths of his torments had shaken her, as had his haunted revelation of his past. She shuddered as she clasped him more tightly. But, she loved him. Their present mattered and their future. Adrian’s past was just that, his past. But what of her revenge? Two ghostly figures seemed to materialize before her, one with long, black hair, the other with bright, blue eyes.Wait , they seemed to say,patience daughter. Trust in your pirate. Kara blinked and they were gone. What? No, that was impossible.She was tired. Adrian’s confession had unsettled her. Closing her eyes, she too slept. The fiendish demons that haunted Adrian’s soul tried one last time. They invaded his dreams en mass, drawing upon all the horror they could muster. He shuddered in his sleep, his arms tightening around Kara, but he did not wake. However, this night, a new entity arose in his dreams; the Midnight Angel appeared, brandishing her sword in one hand and her dagger in the other, the rubies on their hilts flashing vermilion fire. Yanking the mask from her face, Adrian’s dream Angel looked directly into his eyes. With a throaty, seductive laugh, she commanded, "Come, my pirate. Let’s have done with these hellish fiends once and for all." With a salute and a grin, her sword and dagger whirling, she launched herself into the howling horde of ghouls. He found himself beside his Angel, his own sword flashing silver. Together, they vanquished the ghosts that had haunted him for the last six years. With one final thrust, she dispatched a brown haired woman, the last of Adrian’s phantoms. Then, with a spectral kiss to his lips, she disappeared. "Angel!" Adrian cried jerking to a sitting position, searching blindly for Kara. "I’m here, Adrian."

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"Oh, Kara, how I love you." Adrian pulled Kara into his arms and rolled her over. With his mouth on hers, she willingly opened her thighs to his questing hardness. When he slid into her moist softness, a great shudder seized his body. He was home. ~*~ When she woke, Adrian was leaning on his elbow looking down at her. "You’re very beautiful, Kara," he whispered as he trailed a finger between her breasts. A blush climbed to her face. With a rich chuckle, he kissed her lips lightly and rose from the bed. Unabashedly, Kara admired his nude body. "Unless you plan to display your loveliness to the footmen, either burrow beneath the blankets or hide in the other room." As she bounded from the bed with a gasp, he grasped her arm. "All of your things will be moved in here, Kara. You will never sleep anywhere but in my bed again." A dazzling smile lit her face, but the knock on the door had her diving back beneath the blankets. With a chuckle, Adrian shrugged into a robe and opened the door. Keeping their eyes discreetly on the floor, the footmen quickly emptied the water into the tub and left the room. "You can come out now,Annsachd , our bath is ready." ~*~ Corinne and Sir Robert arrived that afternoon, accompanied by Lord and Lady Cranston and their daughter Sophia. Arm in arm, Adrian and Kara met them cordially at the front door. Jane, Tristan, Grant, Jori, and Jock had all gone home to reunions with their own families. "I’ve heard of Ravenrook’s walk, Warrick," panted Lord Cranston as his wife fanned herself, "but I didn’t believe the stories. I was wrong. No wonder your father and grandfather were so demned fit. Demned hard walk to the front door." While Kara smothered a giggle, Adrian welcomed their guests. "Come into the drawing room while the servants ready your rooms, Cranston, Lady Cranston. I’ll have chilled lemonade and wine brought." "Thank you, my dear boy," Lady Cranston gasped when she finally caught her breath. "Sophia, take my arm and help me, please." With a giggle in Kara’s direction, Sophia gamely held her mother’s arm as they followed Cranston. "Adrian," his aunt snapped, "I am not pleased with you at all. Bad enough that you had such a hasty wedding but then to run from the wedding supper. Do you have any idea what people think?" "It’s good to see you too, Aunt," he answered with a chuckle, "and I don’t really give a damn about what the sycophants in London are saying. Do you,Annsachd ?"

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"Not at all,Mo Cridhe ," Kara answered with a gentle laugh, "in another week, some other gossip will claim their attention." Both Adrian and Kara grinned at Corinne, who was momentarily speechless at the open affection they displayed. Sir Robert had a very pleased smile on his lips as he pulled his granddaughter into his arms for a hug and gentle kiss to her forehead. As she hugged him back, he whispered, "Did I not tell you he loved you?" "Aye, Grandfather, you were right. He does love me." Linking her arm in her grandfather’s, Kara led him to the drawing room, leaving Adrian to escort his scolding aunt. Much later that night, after their guests had gone to bed, Adrian pulled Kara’s costume from a drawer. "Adrian..." Kara began with trepidation. "Don’t you think it’s time you paid a visit to the inn and let your people know their Angel is safely home?" The joy that blazed from her eyes was worth more than all his wealth and titles. "Oh, Adrian. " She threw herself into his arms, laced her fingers through his hair, and pulled his mouth down to kiss him passionately. After a long while, Adrian reluctantly lifted his head. "Dress now, Kara," he muttered hoarsely, "or we won’t leave this room before noon tomorrow." Chuckling joyfully, she hurriedly donned her costume. After sliding her dagger into her boot, she turned to Adrian and smiled. Her pirate had returned. Clad completely in black with his hair pulled back and the ruby flashing in his ear, he grinned wolfishly. Buckling his sword belt around his waist, he added his own dagger to his boot. "Ready, Angel?" Her cape swirled about her shoulders. "Ready, my pirate." Fifteen minutes later, Adrian led Kara into the stables. A familiar whinny greeted her. "Andraste! Adrian, you found her." "More like she found me, my love. She came cantering over the hill swishing that saucy tail at my grey. I was hard put to hold him." "His name isCaddug , Adrian," Kara scolded as she patted her mare. Adrian sighed, but more than willing to tolerate his wife’s penchant for naming his horses. "Why would you name my horsefog ?" "That first night on the moor, you seemed to be riding the fog itself.Caddug fits him."

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A fond smile on his face, Adrian grabbed his wife by the waist and tossed her into her saddle. "Make sure that mask is in place, Kara. I don’t want to try and explain to Colonel Fletcher why my Marchioness was riding about the moor impersonating the Midnight Angel." With a rich chuckle, she answered, "Not even a frustrated pirate was able to dislodge this mask, my lord." With a roar of laughter, Adrian swung onto his stallion and followed his wife out onto the moor. As they galloped along, black clad riders joined them. She threw another blinding smile Adrian’s way as her men formed ranks around them. ~ * ~. A somber mood hung over the patrons of Bodmin Moor’s Inn as rumors ran rife. Where was their Angel? The Marquis had returned with a new wife, the bookish foster daughter of Reverend Palser. Supposedly, their Angel had followed him back to Cornwall, but no one had seen her. Some said she was in the castle where the Marquis would leave his wife’s bed and creep deep beneath the castle to a secret chamber where their Angel waited for him. Other’s claimed she was his prisoner. More than a few men whispered of rescue The door slammed open and masked, black clad men sauntered in, swords sheathed, pistols holstered. Every man there held his breath when Ravenrook’s scarred master followed them in. Striding to the same table he had used before, Adrian swept it clear again. Again, gold poured from a bag he held. Then he spoke. "I have heard rumors lately concerning our Angel. Most of you were here during my last visit. You also know what happened to the gold I left here then. Your Angel sends more." "Where she be, mi’ lord?" one man, braver than the rest, asked. "Tis said ye hold her prisoner." With a grin, Adrian acknowledged the cutthroat’s question. "More like she holds me, my friend." Turning towards the door, he called, "Angel, they believe I’ve chained you to my bed." Her familiar husky chuckle preceding her, the Midnight Angel sashayed into the room to stand by Adrian’s side. "Gothewhar daa, my friends." Cheers broke out as men slapped each other on the back. The innkeeper hurried forward with mugs of cider. "Durdalada whye, my friend, thank you," she said to the innkeeper as she accepted her cider. Raising her mug, she toasted the assembly. "Kernow rag nevra!" Adrian watched vigilantly as Kara talked freely with the dangerous looking men who surrounded them. Her men were wary but relaxed. Tristan guarded the door, and Adrian could see Grant fingering one of his daggers. Still, she exhibited no fear. Stopping his mental wanderings, he returned his attention to the conversation. "And what of him, lady?" asked a particularly ruthless looking man. The rich, husky chortle that Adrian loved so much swirled around the room. "Warrick?" she asked still smiling. "I have become very fond of this particular pirate, my friends." Chuckles rolled around the inn.

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"But that will be our secret, yes? Especially if you see him tooling about the moor with his--wife?" Loud guffaws greeted that statement. Who were they to complain if Angel and the Marquis were cuckolding his wife. Few men in the inn knew that Angel and the Marquis’ new wife were the same woman. Placing her mug on the table, she said, "I must go, my friends." "What ‘bout yer revenge, Lady?" called a harsh voice. I will strangle you when next we meet, Lucian,Adrian promised himself. "The time is not yet ripe," Adrian answered for her, "but it will come. Until then, we wait." A chorus of ayes followed Adrian’s statement as he steered Angel out the door. Tossing her up onto Andraste, he mounted his stallion. As soon as her men were mounted, they were off. And again rumor followed the mists across the Bodmin Moor. Their Angel was home, and she’d tamed her pirate. ~*~ Once they were safely away from the inn, Kara stopped her mare and had her friends down off their horses for hugs and greetings. A fondly tolerant expression on his face, Adrian watched his wife. "You seem to have come to terms with our Angel," Tristan commented as he stepped next to Adrian. Adrian’s soft chuckle did not carry. "Did I ever have a choice, Rees?" With an answering grin, Tristan answered, "No, but you fought her longer than any of the rest of us." With that enigmatic statement, Tristan sauntered over to Kara. Grant Bolitho strolled to Adrian’s side, casually juggling three knives. "You see," he explained, "Kara decided we each had particular skills she needed in her band of thieves. Dewi’s tracking ability, Tristan’s organizational skills, Martin’s strength, and so on. Then she set about convincing us." "Your skill with knives?" A grin. "Right you are. But all of us refused to ride with her, at first. Even though Kara’s masquerade was as much Robert’s idea as hers, we didn’t think playing at highwayman would be safe. Robert was unable to convince us. However, Kara is more tenacious. She’d have been robbing redcoats without us. Once Tristan gave in, the rest of us fell quite easily." Adrian didn’t doubt Grant’s words. When Kara decided she wanted something, she got it. "How long have you been playing with knives?" he asked as he watched the flashing blades. Grant grinned again. A fourth knife joined the other three. "My father taught me the fundamentals when I was ten. I killed my first man when I was sixteen."

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Adrian started at that frank admission. Grant gave him a sad smile and went on. "I found a drunk soldier trying to rape my fourteen year old sister. I never thought twice. I simply planted a knife between his shoulder blades." "How many others?" Grant tossed another glance at Adrian. Again, his grin flashed. "I rarely speak of it, but there have been four." "You seem very casual about it." After a rueful shake of his head, he answered, "That first time, I lost my stomach and was unable to eat for three days. My father finally took me aside and convinced me I wasn’t a murderer. He made me understand that while killing is a last resort, sometimes it is necessary. The man in London was the first I was unable to discuss with my father, but the bastard would have had Kara. I never felt a drop of remorse over his death." "Thank you." "And forgive me, Warrick. Kara was never for me. I understand that now." Adrian nodded. If Bolitho wanted to believe he was thanking him for saving Kara’s life, so be it. However, he was more grateful for his words of wisdom about the men Grant had killed and how he dealt with the aftermath. "Stop showing off for Adrian, Grant," Kara said with a chuckle as she walked towards them. "Dewi says there’ll be a redcoat patrol coming by here in ten minutes." "You know their schedule so well?" Adrian asked the son of his gamekeeper. "Aye, my lord." A sigh of exasperation escaped from Adrian. "Just make sure no one sees you anywhere near Ravenrook." "Aye, my lord," Dewi grinned in answer. There were passages and caverns beneath Ravenrook that even its lord didn’t know about. The free traders knew every one of them. "Time to go, Angel," Adrian said as he set her up on her mare. "Really, Adrian. I can mount by myself." "But I do so enjoy touching you,Leannoin ." Kara blushed while her men chuckled. Then, with her men gathered around her and her pirate by her side, the Midnight Angel of Bodmin Moor galloped off into the darkness. ~*~ Adrian was going over his ledgers when a knock at his door interrupted him.

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"Come." Sir Robert entered the room. "I’m sorry to disturb you, Adrian, but..." "Cranston can be an insufferable boor," finished Adrian with a smile. "Feel free to make use of my study any time, Sir Robert. I’ll inform Barrows you are to have free access to this room." "Thank you," Sir Robert answered with a sigh of relief. Without another word, he sat down in a chair next to the window and proceeded to read the paper he’d brought with him. Adrian soon forgot his presence. The door slammed open and a blue-eyed whirlwind stormed in. "I swear, Adrian, but Aunt Corinne and Lady Cranston will drive me to Bedlam!" With a sigh at this second interruption, Adrian looked up at his wife. "They want me to change everything about Ravenrook," she continued before he could say a word. "Certainly, some of the rooms need new wall hangings, fresh paint, and new draperies, but, Adrian, I like Ravenrook the way it is." "So do I," Adrian answered with a grin. "Tell them I won’t let you change anything." Making a face at her husband, Kara dropped into a chair and said, "They won’t believe me. I have you ‘wrapped around my little finger. You’ll do anything I want, you are so infatuated’." While he barked with laughter, his wife rose and leaned over his desk, affording him an excellent view of her cleavage and asked in a sultry tone, "Are you infatuated, Adrian?" Mentally cursing Sir Robert’s presence, he responded in a low voice, "You know the answer to that question,Annsachd ." With a husky chuckle, Kara leaned further over the desk. "I always found an emphatic ‘No’ worked well with Corinne," Sir Robert said from behind his paper. "Grandfather!" she exclaimed, straightening and spinning around to be greeted by the London Times. "You’re here!" "That much was obvious, my dear." She whirled back to Adrian. "Don’t you dare laugh!" Adrian’s eyes darted back to his ledgers, but a sound suspiciously like a chuckle escaped him. "Just where is Corinne now?" Sir Robert asked. "She normally doesn’t allow anyone to escape. Can we expect her to join us, too?" "I sent her and the Cranston’s off to Squire Bolitho’s. Sophie is sweet on Grant."

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Sir Robert’s paper dropped away from his face. "Percy went with them?" Kara grinned. "Yes." Rising from his chair, a wide smile on his face, Sir Robert said, "Finally. I can have the library to myself. No offense, Adrian, but I do enjoy my privacy." "None taken, Sir Robert. I understand exactly how you feel." "See that I’m not disturbed, my dear," Sir Robert said as he kissed her forehead. Then he turned and walked out the door, closing it firmly behind him. A low, sexy chuckle drew Kara’s attention back to her husband. "What, my love," he asked as he rose and leaned over his desk to thread his fingers through hers, "were you saying about infatuation?" Allowing him to pull her closer, Kara reached around behind him and loosened his hair. As it fanned forward, he buried his face in her bosom. That afternoon, ledgers weren’t the only things Adrian had on his desk. ~*~ "You really must hold a ball, Kara," Corinne stated at dinner that evening. "Do you think of nothing but balls and parties, Corinne?" Adrian grumbled. Now that he and Kara had settled their differences, he wanted his wife to himself as much as possible. All these people running about the castle precluded many of his more amorous intentions. He intended to make love to his wife in every single room of Ravenrook. There were a lot of rooms. "Oh, Adrian!" Kara exclaimed enthusiastically, "it would be such fun." He lifted her hand to his lips. "For you,Annsachd, anything. If you want a ball, we shall have the finest ball this county has ever seen." "Good, that’s settled," Corinne declared. "Come, Ladies, we have plans to make." With an amused look over her shoulder, Kara followed her aunt, Sophie, and Lady Cranston from the room. "Best warn your wife not to allow your aunt to run things," commented Lord Cranston as he lit a cigar. "My wife had that problem with my mother until I banished the old dear to her dower house." Grant Bolitho, who had been invited to dinner to round out the number--four ladies, four gentlemen so Kara explained to Lord and Lady Cranston--laughed outright as Adrian chuckled. "Don’t fear for my wife’s authority, Cranston. Kara--indulges our aunt." The gentlemen proceeded to puff contentedly on Adrian’s fine cigars and sip his equally fine brandy. ~*~ Some miles away, the replacements Colonel Fletcher had requested arrived along with a compliment of

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new officers. Lieutenant Robert Marshall was eager to see his sister and learn how her marriage fared. If Warrick made her unhappy... As Robert had, Majors Sedgewick and Tolliver had volunteered for duty in Cornwall. However, their reasons were vastly different from his. The Midnight Angel hadn’t been seen in London for weeks. Gossip was she had chased her unfaithful lover, the Marquis of Ravenrook, back to Cornwall. Both Sedgewick and Tolliver wanted her, though for different reasons. Sedgewick saw her capture as a means to further promotion. Besides, Cranston had brought their eldest daughter to visit Lady Warrick. Sedgewick wanted her as much as he did the Angel. She was a means to another end. Tolliver wanted only one thing from the Midnight Angel--revenge. He hadn’t been able to enjoy a woman since that night in the Devon brothel. The Midnight Angel would pay for his affliction--with her blood.

Nineteen "Robert!" Kara exclaimed joyfully when she saw her brother striding across the wind swept lawn. He held his arms wide as she ran towards him. "When did you arrive?" she asked breathlessly as he twirled her around. "Last night, Minx," he answered returning her to her feet and tweaking her nose. "You look well." "I am," she answered happily sliding under his arm and leading him towards the door where her husband now stood. "Adrian, look who’s here." Adrian grinned and held out his hand. "Welcome, Robert," he said to his brother-in-law’s skeptical face as he pulled Kara close to his side. Kara stamped her foot. "Robert, if you don’t shake Adrian’s hand, you won’t be invited to supper. And Mum and Papa are coming." "You haven’t been able to do anything with her temper, then," he said to Adrian in an off-handed way as he shook his brother-in-law’s hand. "Don’t want to," was Adrian’s pithy answer.

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"Don’t you two start on each other, or I’ll slice some of that egotistical pride from both of you!" "Knife?" Robert asked. Adrian grinned. "Boot." "Oh! Men!" Kara turned and flounced into the house. "You may come in when you promise to behave like gentlemen." Robert grinned as his sister flounced through the door. "You have made her happy, haven’t you, Warrick?" "I like to think so. Call me Adrian." ~*~ One week later Castle Ravenrook glowed with lights. Kara had worked tirelessly. This was her first ball, and she wanted everything to be perfect. The main hall of the old castle was decked with tapestries retrieved from storage. The antique weapons that had hung on the old, stonewalls for uncounted years were removed and polished until they gleamed. Colorfully clad guests meandered among the trestle tables that groaned under mountains of food, and musicians, brought all the way from Portsmouth, played from the balcony for those who wished to dance. "Wonderful party, Karalyn," Corinne declared. "I must admit, I wasn’t sure about this medieval theme, but I was wrong. If you were in London, you’d be the toast of the ton." With a smile to all who watched them, Kara managed to mutter out of the side of her mouth. "I don’t care to be the ‘toast of the ton’, Aunt Corinne. Frankly, I don’t care if I ever go back to London. Now, please excuse me," she continued when Adrian caught her eye, "Colonel Fletcher has arrived, and I must greet him." She joined her husband, slipped her arm through his, and turned towards the colonel with a bright smile. She looked at the man standing behind him and stiffened. Her heart caught in her throat and hatred blazed from her eyes. "Evening, Warrick, Lady Warrick," Major Alexander Sedgewick said in a smooth voice. Adrian’s nostrils flared. The bastard had the audacity to greet him as if he were a friend! Squeezing Kara’s arm lightly, he said, "Colonel Fletcher, Major Sedgewick is not welcome in my home." Sedgewick’s head snapped back and his eyes widened in anger. Ravenrook wouldn’t dare deny him entrance. Colonel Fletcher was obviously confused. "I say..." After one quick commanding glace at Kara--she had no trouble interpreting that look and stayed where she was--Adrian stepped around the colonel and placed himself before Sedgewick "He ordered the torching of a Scottish croft filled with women and children. He should be shot-- or hanged." The major’s nostrils flared and his hand grabbed for the saber that normally would have hung at his side. "How dare you…"

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Adrian crossed his arms over his chest. "I’ll dare anything I damn well please, Sedgewick. Now get the hell out of Ravenrook and do not step foot on my land again." The major jerked his gaze from Adrian’s to glare at Kara. The hatred that blazed from her eyes caused him to step back involuntarily. Adrian stepped forward again, not so subtlety herding him back towards the door. Sedgewick grabbed his hat and clock from the footman. "We’re not finished, Warrick. You’ll regret this night." Then he disappeared into the night. Adrian turned to the footman. "Follow him down. Make sure he leaves, and send word to Dewi to follow him off the estate. I want to know immediately if he doesn’t leave." "Yes, mi’ lord." After his man left, Adrian turned back to Colonel Fletcher. "I apologize, Colonel." "Please accept my apologies, Warrick," stated a frowning Colonel Fletcher. "Had no idea about Sedgewick. Don’t know why he requested another tour here. Most men are glad to be gone from Cornwall." Seeking to ease the tension in the air, Adrian said, "Fools all, we have the most beautiful women in England here. Colonel Fletcher, my wife, Karalyn." "Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Warrick," Colonel Fletcher said as he bent over her hand. "And I am pleased to meet you, Colonel," Kara answered, her hatred for Sedgewick now firmly under control. Since living with Adrian, she was becoming much more adept at hiding her anger. Eyes twinkling, Colonel Fletcher said, "There’s something about you, Lady Warrick. Are you sure we haven’t met before?" A slight pause, but she maintained her composure. "Have you ever been to Wales, Colonel? I spent most of my life there on my grandfather’s estate." "Reggie, Reggie Fletcher, is that you?" bellowed Sir Robert as he limped across the floor. Obviously surprised, the colonel bellowed, "Robert Marshall, you old war horse, what are you doing here?" "Karalyn’s mi granddaughter, you old fool," Sir Robert said fondly. "She is? Marshall--Robert Marshall yer grandson?" Sir Robert grinned and thumped the colonel on the shoulder. "That he is, Reggie. Finer grandson a man couldn’t ask for." "I’ll be damned, beg pardon, Lady Warrick. You really do have a Welsh grandfather." "Of course, I do, Colonel," Kara said as she linked her arm through his, conquering the urge to pat his

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stomach as she had done once before. "Why ever would you think I didn’t?" "He’s sharper than he looks, Adrian," Sir Robert murmured as Kara led an eager Colonel Fletcher towards the groaning tables. "Don’t underestimate him." "I know, Sir Robert. I won’t." ~*~ Adrian smiled fondly at his wife. Her first entertainment as his Marchioness was a huge success. When the music stopped, Robert bowed over his sister’s hand. As they had in London, they’d drawn everyone’s applause after their waltz. Adrian stifled a small laugh as Robert crossed the floor, refusing to allow Kara to leave his side. Unfortunately for him, Grant Bolitho’s indomitable mother decided that he was the perfect match for her unmarried daughter Eugenie. Grant’s father had insisted that Sarah marry Micah Palser if she wanted. Louisa Bolitho had always felt Sarah could have done better than a simple country parson’s son, but the Squire wouldn’t be swayed. Therefore, she would make sure her other daughter married well. As the heir to a baronetcy, Robert could give Eugenie everything Louisa believed her daughter deserved. Much to Kara’s family’s amusement, Robert was spending a great deal of the evening trying to avoid Eugenie’s very determined Mama. "If you ever invite that woman to your house again when I am here," Robert hissed as he placed Kara’s hand in Adrian’s, "I’ll turn you over my knee." She pouted prettily. "Adrian, are you going to let him talk to me like that?" He grinned from brother to sister and back again. "Annsachd, at one time, Louisa Bolitho had her sights set on me for the dour Eugenie." "She is rather grim, isn’t she?" she agreed as she glanced across the room at the sour-faced girl dressed in white. "Just like John," Robert added. "Sarah and Grant got all the personality in that family. Now, I think I’ll go dance with Sophie. Grant will understand." "But will Lady Cranston?" Kara said with a chuckle as Robert bowed before her friend. "If Robert isn’t careful, he’ll have two Mamas after him." "Far more than those two," Adrian said in a sultry whisper. "Your grandfather’s copper mine, you know." But Kara wasn’t paying attention to Adrian’s words. He stood behind her; his breath was warm on her neck, and his hands rested on her hips only to slide upwards until his thumbs brushed against the bottoms of her breasts. "We haven’t waltzed yet, Lady Warrick. Shall we?" Pulling his wife into his arms, Adrian twirled her out amongst the dancers. They made a striking pair. Even though Corinne had brought all the new clothing she’d left in London, Kara had chosen to wear the same burgundy gown she’d worn for her wedding. Removing the lace insert from the bodice had made room for the magnificent ruby necklace Adrian presented to her that afternoon. Matching ruby earrings, bracelets, and rings sparkled in the candlelight. Rubies also glittered from the dark curls piled on her head. She smiled at the whispers flying among the crowd. She wore the Ravenrook rubies, and more than one woman had glared at her jealously.

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As always, her husband was dressed immaculately, almost exclusively in black, his ruby stickpin buried amongst the intricate folds of his white cravat--Corinne had also brought Simmons from London. The ruby stud flashed fire from Adrian’s ear. At Kara’s behest, he had pulled his hair back with a gold and ruby clip. More than one Mama suffered pangs of frustration that the Ravenrook wealth had escaped her. Again, as with that one waltz in London, Kara and Adrian became oblivious to everyone else. This time, she didn’t protest when he pulled her too close. As she floated in his arms, his smoky grey gaze glittered with barely curbed passion. Her lips parted as his smile promised delightful pleasures later that night. When the music ended and he lowered his mouth to hers for a single, searing kiss, Kara reached behind his heck and released the clip that held his hair. The ebony waves fanned forward to hide them from the prying eyes of their guests. Robert’s voice eventually penetrated. "Damn it, Adrian, you’re blocking the floor. Are you going to dance again, or... what?" Flushing to the roots of her hair, Kara disengaged herself from her husband’s arms. Not willing to release her completely, he tucked her hand under his arm and led her from the dance floor, flinging his hair back over his shoulder with his free hand. "Absolutely disgraceful," Louisa Bolitho was hissing to a friend. "To think, my poor Eugenie was subjected to such an appalling display. Can you image what people will be saying?" Adrian covered the hand Kara had tucked under his arm and halted next to the indignant matron. "They’ll be saying Warrick can’t keep his hands off his wife, but then I don’t give a bloody damn what people think, Madam. Feel free to leave anytime." "Adrian!" Kara gasped as he led her towards Sophie. "How could you say that?" "Because it is true, love. I never could stand Louisa Bolitho. And I can’t keep my hands off of you." The last guests left shortly before dawn. Adrian knew that many had hoped for invitations to stay the night--there were many empty rooms in Ravenrook, after all. However, even the most determined finally realized that such invitations would not be forthcoming. "Damned if you don’t know how to throw a party, Kara," Robert said with a yawn. Unlike almost everyone else, he’d been invited to stay, and Colonel Fletcher had been gracious enough to rescind all of his duties for the following day. "Only one of her many talents, Robert," answered an equally tired Adrian. "A conversation I don’t think I want to pursue," Robert teased provocatively. Kara rose to the bait. Robert and she were closer than most siblings and had discussed many things most brothers and sisters would fumble over in embarrassment. With a sultry chuckle, she said, "Adrian seems satisfied. Why just this morning he said..." "Kara!" Adrian was not in the habit of discussing his sex life so casually.

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With a wave of his hand, Robert headed for his rooms. His sister was happy. That’s all that mattered. A muffled giggle caught Kara’s attention. Looking about, she saw the door to the north wing was partially open. "Adrian?" He frowned. With Sedgewick about, he couldn’t be too careful. However, when he pulled the door open, a very disheveled Sophia was revealed, held tightly in Grant’s arms. "Oh!" she exclaimed as her hands tried to cover her exposed bosom. "Too late or too early, Bolitho?" Adrian asked dryly. The frustrated expression on Grant’s face answered that question. "Sophie!" Kara exclaimed, grasping her friend’s hand and pulling her away from Grant. "If your mother catches you, you’ll be packed off to your family’s estate in Wessex so fast, your head will spin." Grant threw a dissatisfied glance into Adrian’s grinning face as Sophie and Kara disappeared. "And what did you do before you managed to snare your Angel, Warrick," he growled. "I drank a great deal of brandy and sent the ache to the opposite end of my body," Adrian replied with a laugh and a clap on the shoulder. "For all it’s worth, you have my sympathy and my support. The front guest room is empty. Stay if you wish." How Bolitho utilized this unexpected invitation, Adrian didn’t really care. He had Kara to warm his bed, and he intended to keep her there the rest of the day. No one but the servants saw them until the following morning. ~*~ Kara sighed with contentment as she stared into the cheery fire. She was comfortably ensconced in Adrian’s private study with Sophia; and, except for the servants, they had the castle to themselves. Adrian was in the tunnels supervising the storing of the wool bales that would be Paddy O’Rourke’s next cargo. Corinne and Lady Cranston had accepted an invitation to tea with Emma Palser. Lord Cranston had gone off to Colonel Fletcher’s headquarters for a game of chess, for the two men had discovered they were mutual enthusiasts of the game. Sir Robert was in the stables inspecting Adrian’s bloodstock with the express purpose of providing more horses to his new grandson-in-law. "What’s it like?" Kara pulled her gaze away from the fire. "What?’ "You know--when you and the Marquis…" Sophia said, blushing to the roots of her hair. Kara grinned. "Grant didn’t get you into bed yet, then. Adrian thought he might when he invited him to stay in that spare room. It was next to yours, after all." Sophia’s blush deepened. "I fell asleep before he got there. I never heard him knock on my door." Kara’s laughter rippled around the room. "Loving Adrian is wonderful Sophie. Just wonderful."

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"It doesn’t hurt? Pamela Greyson’s older sister married last spring, and she absolutely hates when her husband comes to her bed." Kara snorted inelegantly. "He must not know what he is doing--or care." Sophia looked down at her hands. Silence. Then, "Do you think Grant knows?" Thinking back on some of the things Robert had revealed to her about his friends, Kara grinned, "Oh, yes, Sophie. I think Grant will know what to do." "He sent me a note to meet him today, Kara, but I’m afraid if I do..." "…you won’t be able to control your passions." Sophie blushed even more brightly. "Won’t your parents agree to his suit? I know he’s only the second son of a Cornish squire, but his father is very wealthy. And your parents are the most open-minded people I know." "I wish it were as simple as that." "What do you mean?" "My father holds a very old and prestigious Baronetcy, Abbotsford in Wessex. He’s the last male of his line. He has no sons, uncles, nephews, or male cousins so distantly related that they’ve been forgotten, not even on the wrong side of the blanket. Believe me, Father has spared no expense to find an heir. There are none." "So the title will die with him. Why is that a problem?" "But, you see, Kara, it won’t. Abbotsford’s charter was drawn up just after the conquest and sealed by William the Conqueror himself. If there are no male heirs, the baronetcy will pass through the oldest surviving female heir. My husband cannot be Abbotsford’s baron, but my son will, no matter who the father." Astonishment colored Kara’s face. "Few people know of this clause," Sophie continued, "but the rumors have started. The vultures were beginning to circle. Mama and Papa gave in to my pleas to come here just to escape the fortune hunters. I think they like Grant. Papa is just not sure yet; however, mother wants me to look higher, a younger son of a peer." Kara clasped her friend’s hands. "Do you want to marry Grant?" Sophia bowed her head. "I love him, Kara."

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"Then, you shall have him." Hope blazed in Sophia’s eyes. "But how? Mama and Papa respect you, and the Marquis’ opinion would mean a great deal, but it will not sway them if they’ve decided against Grant. And I think we’ll be returning to London soon. I heard Mama telling Papa she missed my sisters." Kara grinned. "Well, then, Grant will have to compromise you, Sophie. If you’d have told me this sooner, I would never have interrupted you two nights ago." Sophie flushed, but her voice contained hope. "Do you think it would work? How will..." "Go change into your riding habit, and I’ll send a note to Grant. I know the perfect place to meet. And then, well, I’ll visit with some other friends, and you and Grant can let nature take its course." Ten minutes later, Dewi was galloping across the moor. Kara had told him to get to Grant as quickly as possible, a matter of life or death. If Kara said it was that important, it must be. Dewi wouldn’t spare his mount. He’d find Grant. Twenty minutes after Dewi left, Kara and Sophie cantered from beneath the great gate of Ravenrook. Adrian had rescinded his order that Kara was confined to the upper level of the castle grounds. All he asked of her was that she not ride at night, and when she rode during the day, she take a groom with her. She had no trouble agreeing to his request. Mounted on Andraste with Sophie on Niwl--Sir Robert had insisted the horses also be brought to Cornwall--Kara led her friend to her date with destiny. Jock followed close behind. With him at her back, and her knife in her boot, Kara felt invincible. ~*~ His boot heels rapping against the wooden floor, Major Alexander Sedgewick pondered his present circumstances. Damn Ravenrook to hell! Under the circumstances, Fletcher had said, it seemed prudent for the major to return to London for reassignment. As soon as his replacement arrived, he would be posted back to London. That meant he had at the most two weeks to prove Lady Warrick was the Midnight Angel and to compromise Sophia Cranston so her father would have no choice but to agree to his marriage proposal. What’s more, his rendezvous with his French contact was set for tomorrow night. A knock on the door interrupted both his pacing and his deliberations. "What is it?" The thoroughly disreputable individual who traveled everywhere with the major entered the room. "Two ladies left the castle." A slow smile appeared on Sedgewick’s face, a smile that caused his servant to step back. They were coming to him. Lady luck was with him after all. "Find Corporal Morgan and have him ready the men we discussed. I want to leave in ten minutes." "Yes, Sir." After his man was gone, the major strapped his sword to his side and grabbed his hat. Hopefully, the men he’d recruited would suffice. Wherever he was posted, he always sought out the malcontents among the dragoons, the soldiers most dissatisfied with their lots. Liberal bribes of money, wine, and women soon had their complete loyalty. They’d do anything he wanted.

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A few minutes later, Sedgewick sat his horse impatiently. He hadn’t been here long enough to impress upon his chosen men that haste was important. Pulling out his watch, the major checked the time. He had to intercept the women before they left the moor. ~*~ As he handed the reins of his horse to the company holster, a sparkling flash of light caught Robert’s attention. Turning his head, he spied Sedgewick frowning at the watch in his hand. Another flash of light, light that came from the jewels dangling on the major’s watch fob. An arrogant smile crossed Sedgewick’s lips as he looked up and met the younger man’s gaze. He nudged his horse forward until it stood next to Robert. "Admiring the fob, Marshall?" the major said in a provoking tone. "Gifts from appreciative ladies." Robert said nothing and his expression never changed, but shock and hatred coursed through his body. Four gems dangled from Sedgewick’s fob, a fire opal, a golden yellow topaz, the greenest emerald he’d ever seen, and--the deep, blue sapphire his mother had worn around her neck. One of the few memories he had of her was sitting on her lap and playing with the sparkling gem. "Lovely, aren’t they, Marshall," Sedgewick taunted, "as were the women who wore them." Struggling internally to maintain control, Robert shrugged. At that moment, a troop of dragoons led their horses from the stable and the major turned his attention to them. As they mounted, he flashed a triumphant smile Robert’s way. With a sneer on his lips, he saluted the younger man with his crop as Major Tolliver hurried out of the stable to join Sedgewick. "Wish us good--hunting, Marshall." With those ambiguous words, Sedgewick led the troop out of the yard. The last rider, Corporal Morgan cast a meaningful glance Robert’s way and galloped after his men. Frowning, Robert watched them go. Morgan would inform him of what transpired. Still, that final comment about the jewels--and that triumphant smile. Then, Robert’s blood ran cold as it came to him. That taunting smile. Sedgewick knew! Kara! With a curse, Robert bellowed for a fresh horse. At the same time, howls of rage erupted from the stable. Every saddle cinch had been cut. Cursing vehemently, Robert hurried into to the stable to help repair the damage. ~*~ As the two young women cantered along, Kara breathed deeply. Though the air was brisk, the day was beautiful. The afternoon sun drew muted but vibrant purples and dusty greens from the seemingly lifeless moor. "Kara, the moor is more beautiful than I’d imagined." "Wait till you see it in the spring, Sophie, when the flowers seem to erupt overnight."

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The two young women cantered along purposefully. Kara knew Grant would be waiting for Sophia. "Sophie, I believe I could talk my foster father into marrying you and Grant, especially if I tell them you two..." "Kara! Your groom." Kara tossed a fond look over her shoulder at Jock. He had been hired to work in the stables and proved so adept with the horses, Adrian talked of making him head stableman when Tom finally decided to retire. Jane had also finally given in to Jock’s pleas and agreed to marry him. She would make a wonderful housekeeper for Ravenrook. "Grant and Jock are great friends, Sophie. There’s little they don’t know about each other." Sophia reddened and cast a quick glance over her shoulder. "Oh dear." Jock wasn’t paying any attention to their conversation. He pointed to the north. "Redcoats, an entire troop." Kara lifted her chin. "I doubt that they will trouble the Marchioness of Ravenrook, Jock." She was wrong. ~*~ As his men surrounded Kara and her companions, Sedgewick saluted them with a leering grin. "Good day, Lady Warrick. Pleasant afternoon for a ride, wot?" "Until you happened along, Major," she snapped. "Now if you will excuse us, we will be on our way." Andraste jerked her head as Sedgewick drew up along side her and grabbed her rein. "I think not, Lady Warrick, or should I call you Angel?" "I have no idea what you’re talking about, major." "No? Pity. You are the image of your mother, except for your eyes." Though she was shorter than he, Kara managed to give the impression she was looking down her nose at him. "Let us go." His voice was mocking. "Do I look like a fool?" A nod from his head, and Jock was bludgeoned with a pistol butt. He fell from his saddle without a sound. "Jock!" Kara tried to force her mount between the redcoat’s horses. "Oh no, bitch," Major Tolliver growled as he pulled Kara from her saddle and onto his lap. She struggled. "Let me go!" Sedgewick’s voice interrupted her. "Unless you want to watch my men take their pleasure on your friend," he said quite calmly, "you will cease your struggles."

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Kara snapped her head around to see Sophie sitting before Sedgewick. The front of her riding habit had been ripped open, and her lacy chemise was revealed. "Warrick will kill you for this, you bastard." "Such language from a lady, my dear," taunted the major with a cruel chuckle, "but then your mother’s breeding was somewhat lacking. Does your arrogant husband know he married an inn keeper’s granddaughter?" Hatred in her eyes, she spat, "My warrior ancestors trod the halls of Tintagel and Camelot while yours were sleeping with their pigs." Sedgewick reached across the space between the horses and slapped her--hard. The force of his blow had blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. She lifted her head--and spit in his face. Sedgewick’s eyes gleamed as spittle ran down his cheek. "You will be so much more of a challenge to tame than your mother was. I look forward to our time together." "You said she would be mine!" Tolliver said petulantly. "I never wished to claim her. All I ask is the pleasure of watching." Tears were streaming down Sophie’s face, and her trembling was such that she’d have fallen from the saddle if Sedgewick hadn’t had his arm clamped about her waist. "Pay attention, my dear," Sedgewick said to her, "I expect you to be a cooperative wife. I would hate to have to discipline you excessively." "We should move, sir," interjected Corporal Morgan. Sedgewick nodded in agreement. "The abandoned inn. Take us there." As the troop of dragoons thundered off, Jock raised his head. He’d recognized four of the dragoons as the Welshmen who’d been with Robert that night on the moor so long ago. Whichever one had hit him had made the blow look much harder than it was. Rising to his feet, he mounted his horse. But he did not return to Ravenrook. Spurring across the moor, he rode to intercept Dewi who could ride on to inform the Marquis of his wife’s abduction. Jock would then head straight for the inn on Bodmin Moor. The men there would give up their lives for their Angel.

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Twenty Blown by tumultuous winds, black clouds billowed about the grey turrets of Ravenrook in a frenzied dance. Waves crashed violently far below as Adrian paced restively. His Angel had not returned. Frowning at the approaching storm, he swore softly to himself. The blackness in his soul, beaten down since the night Kara had defeated his demons, sought to rear its ugly head. Something was wrong. "Kara’s a smart young woman, Adrian. She and Sophie are probably sitting warm and dry at Palser’s," Sir Robert said from a chair before the roaring fireplace. Adrian shook his head. "She knows the weather on the moor. She’d have headed straight home the minute she saw those clouds, and she wouldn’t stay away without informing me." "I say, Warrick," Lord Cranston interjected as he walked into the library. "Your wife and my Sophie should have been back by now. What could be keeping them?" Adrian’s frown developed into a scowl. Jock had accompanied the ladies, Tom had informed him. Still--there was something... Striding to the door, Adrian jerked it open. "Barrows!" he bellowed. "Send to the stable to have my black saddled." Then, "She better have a damn good explanation," he muttered mostly to himself as he vaulted up the stone staircase. Reaching his chambers, he quickly stripped out of his clothing and donned the black shirt, coat, and breeches he preferred when he rode. Two pistols were removed from their case, and his sword was sheathed at his side. His knife was in his boot. Gwyn appeared when Adrian reached the bottom of the staircase. "Go quickly, lord. The ghosts of the Angel’s past are restive. Death stalks Bodmin Moor this night." Cursing vehemently, he sprinted from the castle to the stable. The black stallion Kara had named Tane waited for him. Sensing his master’s haste and worry, the stallion shook his head and pawed the ground. Shoving his pistols into the saddle holsters and springing into the saddle, Adrian shouted, "Get word to Robert Marshall, Tom. His sister’s in danger." Leaping forward at his master’s urging, the impatient black stallion had barely cleared the gate when Adrian pulled him up short. Galloping towards him on a lathered horse, Jori shouted, "Robert sent me, my lord. Sedgewick knows!" "Damn, bloody damn hell! Get a fresh horse and follow me." "Where?" Jori asked, shivering at Adrian’s black look. There was only one place Sedgewick could go, the old abandoned inn. "The Galloping Highwayman." The stallion raced away. The time for Kara’s revenge had come. ~*~ Pulling his horse to a halt before the deserted inn, Sedgewick motioned for his men to dismount. All

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complied but one. He galloped off. Sedgewick reached for his pistol. "Where the hell is he going, Morgan?" "Perimeter patrol, major," the corporal answered easily. "I like to know if someone tries to sneak up on me." Sedgewick gazed at the Welshman silently. Then he smiled. "I like initiative, corporal. Keep your head about you, and there’ll be sergeant stripes and a transfer out of this backwater. I can always use a man with brains in his head." Jerking Sophie from his horse, Sedgewick held her arm in a vise-like grip as he half led, half dragged her inside the old inn. Tolliver followed, his knife in the small of Kara’s back. He looked forward to using it on her. "Take them upstairs, Tolliver, and take two men with you. It never pays to underestimate the Midnight Angel. Have you searched her?" "She’s dressed as a woman, no sword." "Bloody fool, it’s a wonder she didn’t cut your prick off," Sedgewick growled as he pushed Kara into the arms of a dragoon. Bending over, he ripped the skirt of her riding habit from hem to knee, much to the lecherous delight of the dragoons standing in the room. She tried to kick him, but he grabbed her foot and twisted her leg until tears came to her eyes. Then he removed the dagger from her boot. "Very pretty, Lady Warrick," he said with a chuckle as he examined the ruby in the hilt of the stiletto. "I’ll have this ruby to add to my collection." Pulling the watch from his pocket, the major dangled it before Kara’s eyes. "Do you recognize the sapphire? No. You must have been a mere babe. I tore it from your mother’s neck. I believe she spit in my face." "My father would have killed you in a fair fight." Sedgewick laughed. "A mere highwayman? I think not, my dear." Glancing at the men holding the women, he ordered. "Take them upstairs." As Tolliver and the two dragoons complied, Sedgewick turned to his corporal, "Morgan, post the men. I want to be ready for Warrick when he comes." Sedgewick smiled as he played with the dagger. How amusing it would be to slit Ravenrook’s throat with his wife’s stiletto. Upstairs, Tolliver entered one of the front rooms, and the dragoons pushed Sophia and Kara in behind him. Surprise momentarily crossed Kara’s face, to be quickly masked, when she felt a dagger slipped into her palm. "You two guard the door," Tolliver ordered. "Yes, Sir," and they were gone.

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Gossamer cobwebs fluttered from the ceiling, quaking in the windy gusts gliding through the broken windows, and a thick layer of dust covered every surface. Kara pushed her friend behind her. Her chin rose belligerently at the lecherous sneer on Tolliver’s face. "I’ve had women in worse places. Take off your clothes, bitch." Sophia gasped, but Kara drew herself to her full height. "I will not." Tolliver’s saber gleamed as he drew it from its sheath. "I have been looking forward to this. I shall savor every moment." As Tolliver advanced on her, Kara feinted to her right. The bullet that furrowed the floor at her feet stopped her advance. She kept the dagger hidden in the folds of her skirt. None of them had heard Sedgewick enter the room. "One more step, Lady Warrick, and the bullet from my other pistol goes into your leg. It won’t kill you, but the pain will certainly slow you down. Since I returned, I’ve heard rumors that you’d been shot once already. Tell me, is it true? "I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about." "No?" Moving more swiftly than Kara anticipated, he pulled her into his arms, pinning her arms at her side. Dropping the now useless pistol to the floor, he grabbed her riding habit’s collar and ripped the shoulder seam open. Then, he ripped the back of her habit away." Her struggles increased. "Warrick will kill you for this!" "Interesting scar, don’t you think, Tolliver?" he said ignoring her struggles. "What do you think, Sophia, my dear? Did you know your friend was the infamous Midnight Angel of Bodmin Moor?" His arms loosened, only a little, but it was enough. Kara’s arm moved and her elbow bent. Twisting in his arms, she held the dagger point under his chin. Triumphantly she demanded, "Release us, or I will slit your throat." He chuckled--carefully. "Lady Warrick, you are a delight. You have far more spirit and initiative than your mother." "Let us go." "No." Kara’s eyes widened with disbelief. The triumph in his eyes mocked her. "Go ahead, slit my throat. Revel in my blood as it spurts into your face. Do you know what warm blood feels like? Will you watch as I choke on the blood that runs down my throat? Will you enjoy watching me die?" Horrified, Kara stared into the major’s eyes. Despair surged. Adrian was right. She couldn’t kill a man

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in cold blood, not even the man who’d raped her mother. Wailing with frustration, she dropped the dagger and threw herself from his arms. He released her with victorious laugh as she sank to the floor, covering her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed out her failure. Bending, he picked up the dagger. "I have never met a lady so resourceful. Where did you have this one hidden?" Sophia dropped to the floor and pulled a sobbing Kara into her arms. "Leave her be, you thoroughly odious man." He pondered Sophia’s words for a moment. "Very well, my dear, I’ll let her be, for now. Consider my momentary capitulation your wedding present." "Marry you! Never!" He laughed cruelly. "Yes, Sophia, you shall, or every man in this inn will enjoy that sweet body of yours." "You won’t dare!" "No? Are you sure?" Wisely, Sophia refused to be bated. Sliding the dagger into his belt, Sedgewick said, "We can leave them now, Tolliver. The Midnight Angel has been thoroughly conquered." "But I want..." "You can do with her what you want," Sedgewick barked, "later, after we dispose of Ravenrook. Do you really want him to find you with your breeches round your ankles? Unlike his wife, he would have no qualms about cutting off your cock." The younger man paled, but he didn’t argue. With one last glare at Kara, he followed Sedgewick from the room. Sophia clasped her weeping friend tightly. "I couldn’t do it, Sophie," Kara sobbed. "Adrian was right. That monster raped my mother, but I could not..." "Could not murder him, Kara? Of course you couldn’t. You are not a beast such as he with no feelings. Don’t berate yourself so." "But I failed, Sophie, and I have lost the dagger." A slight smile trickled across Sophia’s lips. "But I still have mine." She lifted her skirt and pulled a wicked looking dagger from her boot. "Grant made me promise never to step foot outside without it." "Grant gave you one of his daggers? He must really love you," Kara sniffed, wiping the tears from her cheeks. She was not defeated. They had a weapon, and she wouldn’t hesitate again, not in a fight. And fight they would. And Adrian would come.

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"Kara?" "What Sophie?’ "Just what do I do with this dagger?" A small, ugly smile appeared on Kara’s face. "For now, Sophie, we wait. We’ve been missed by now. Adrian and Grant and Robert and the others will come. Sedgewick has blundered. He’s made Adrian angry." ~*~ Adrian was beyond angry; he was furious--and very, very frightened. If Sedgewick had Kara... He could only think of what happened to her mother. As he galloped towards the old inn, two dark shadows appeared out of the mist, and Adrian pulled a pistol from his saddle. "Hold, Warrick, it’s Grant and me," shouted Tristan. "You could get yourself shot coming up on a man like that, you bloody fool," Adrian growled. When the younger man grasped his stallion’s reins, Adrian grabbed the hilt of his saber. "Either get out of my way or follow me." "And how will you help Kara if you’re dead?" "Bloody hell, Rees, he’ll rape her!" "Yes, if he gets the chance, but not yet. He doesn’t have you." Adrian froze in his saddle. "Sedgewick’s predictable," continued the younger man. "He’ll want to gloat. What better way than to bedevil you both at the same time? He knows you’ll come for her. He’ll have an ambush waiting, and you’ll gallop right into his trap." Slowly, reason replaced the fury in his mind. Eye’s as cold as death glared at the younger man, but Adrian now acknowledged that he let his feelings override his logic. "What do you suggest?" Tristan relaxed. The Marquis was thinking again. "The others will soon be with us, and your friend Lucian is at the Bodmin Moor inn. Sedgewick will find more of a reception than he planned for." Adrian grunted, but the sound of galloping horses drew their attention. In minutes, Robert, Martin, and Ros had joined them. In their midst was a red coated dragoon. Something about that particular redcoat nagged at Adrian’s memory. Then, he remembered. "He’s one of your Welshmen, isn’t he, Marshall?"

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"Aye." Death looked at Adrian from his brother-in-law’s eyes. "They’ve taken them to the old inn." "I thought as much. Your other Welshmen?" "Are with them. A quarter of Sedgewick’s troop is on our side." Tense muscles started to relax as Adrian pondered that bit of information. "And all those cutthroats at the moor inn know Sedgewick has taken her?" "Aye." "It’s time I paid Sedgewick a little visit." ~*~ "Someone’s coming, Major." Triumph shining from his eyes Sedgewick rose to his feet. Warrick couldn’t be so stupid as to come here alone, could he? "Is there anyone else with him?" "Didn’t see nobody else." "Morgan, your watchman?" "Had orders to report a large group. I told him to let a single man through. Figured we could handle one man alone even if he was the pirate." Frowning at the reminder of Warrick’s past, Sedgewick pondered his next move. With all his contacts and all the bribes he had paid, he hadn’t been able to discover why Ravenrook had been pardoned. He didn’t like loose ends. Then he shrugged. "He’s so predictable. Let him come in. Disarm him, but don’t injure him. He’s mine. And get the women down here. Let him see what he’s going to die for." "Yes, Sir." Upstairs, Sophie and Kara started when to door burst open, and Tolliver and one of the dragoons entered. Seizing Kara’s arm, the major wrenched her to her feet and commanded, "Downstairs, now." Kara tried to shrug out of his grasp, but he only laughed, lust shining from his eyes. With his other hand, he grabbed the dangling shoulder of her riding habit and ripped it to her waist until only her silk chemise protected her modesty. The dragoon who lifted Sophie to her feet was far more gentle, and she was shocked when he gave her a reassuring grin and a wink. The grip he had on her arm was not as tight as it looked, and hope bloomed in her heart. They were barely to the bottom of the steps when Adrian burst through the door. He didn’t fight the men who tackled him. Instead, he allowed himself to be disarmed. Soon he was back on his feet. Nonchalantly, he shrugged his cape from his shoulders and brushed the dust from his clothing.

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"Adrian!" Kara called struggling against Tolliver’s grip. Swinging his head until he found her, anger surged anew when he saw the condition of her clothing and the bruise on her face. "Are you all right,Annsachd ," he asked gently, his voice at odds with the fury in his flinty eyes. "Yes." "How touching," Sedgewick sneered, "a pirate and his whore." Smiling, viciously, Adrian taunted, "Is that the best you can do, Sedgewick? Are you reduced to petty name calling?" Ignoring Adrian’s baiting, the major strode over to Kara and pulled her away from Tolliver. Adrian stepped forward, but the cocking of four pistols stopped him in his tracks. Crossing his arms over his chest, he asked, "Just what do you want, Sedgewick?" "Want? I want nothing, my lord pirate. I have your whore, and I have you. You--you will be dead before morning, and your lovely wife will be awaiting her date with the hangman, after my men and I have enjoyed ourselves first." "Murdering a peer of the realm and raping his wife will not endear you to His Majesty." "It will when I show him the secret naval documents found on your person. Because of his close association with you and his access to the documents, Lucian Blake will also be implicated. I shall be rid of you both." "And Miss Cranston?" "Will become my wife, and my son will become Baron of Abbottsford." "Every last detail, eh Sedgewick?" "I never leave anything to chance." "No?" "No." Removing his glove, Adrian threw it in the major’s face. "You are a baseborn coward, Sedgewick, who preys upon women. You don’t have the courage to face a man in a duel." An insane light began to shine in Sedgewick’s eyes, and his laugh was fiendish. "Why should I? I have you at my mercy." "Because if you don’t, every man here will know you for the spineless bastard you are." Barely suppressed anger radiated from the older man as he flung Kara into the arms of one of the Welsh dragoons. "Give him a sword."

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"Sedgewick," Tolliver interrupted in a worried voice, "this isn’t what we planned. Just kill him and be done with it." "Shut up," the major snarled maniacally. "He’ll die on my sword while his whore watches." Kara glanced around the room as she and Sophie huddled together at the bottom of the staircase. The dragoon who escorted Sophie downstairs remained behind them. Only the fire in the hearth illuminated the room, so they were practically invisible in the shadows. As Tolliver strode across the floor towards Sedgewick, two other dragoons edged over apparently to block the women from trying to escape. The other dragoons watched Sedgewick and Adrian, jostling each other and placing bets as to who would win. Kara maneuvered herself so that she stood between the two dragoons and had a clear view of the duel. Sophie’s dagger was clenched in her hand. She wouldn’t fail Adrian. "Damn it, Sedgewick, Ravenrook is a devil with a blade," Tolliver hissed fearfully as the major removed his coat. "I wouldn’t agree to this duel if I wasn’t sure I’d win, Tolliver. I’ve seen him fight. I’m better. Have the men keep their pistols trained on him, though. One false move, shoot him." Accepting the saber one of the dragoons handed him, Adrian didn’t need to look closely to know it was an inferior blade in poor condition. Sedgewick would know that too. But he had to buy time for Robert and the others. With no warning, the major launched himself at his opponent, bringing his saber down with as much force as he could against Adrian’s blade, hoping to snap it in two. Adrian turned his blade so that Sedgewick’s slid off his, absorbing most of the force of the blow in his arm. With a grunt, he pushed the major away. As he feinted away from him, the major laughed demonically and pulled Kara’s dagger from his belt. "Appropriate, don’t you think, my lord, if I slit your throat with your wife’s blade?" "Adrian!" A dagger seemed to sprout from the floor at his feet. Adrian’s wonderful sensuous grin heartened her. "Thank-you,Annsachd ." "Where does she keep getting those knives?" Sedgewick spat as he lunged forward. Adrian parried the blow. "My wife is a woman of many talents." "Talents my men and I will sample when you’re dead. After we spread her legs and take our pleasure, the bitch shall hang." Ignoring Sedgewick’s taunts, Adrian fenced cautiously, protecting his blade. Thanks to the dagger Kara had thrown him, Sedgewick had no unprotected left to attack. Confident of his victory, Sedgewick played with Adrian. A master swordsman himself, he had paid careful attention to Adrian’s prowess during the duel with Newley. Even taking into consideration the Marquis wasn’t suffering from the effects of a beating, he was certain that Ravenrook was no match for him. Sedgewick attacked. Another quick feint, and a runnel of blood appeared on his opponent’s shoulder. The feminine gasp he heard exhorted him to a more aggressive attack. Ravenrook’s wife would see him die this night.

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Kara buried her hand’s in her skirt, clutching the soft velvet until her knuckles whitened. For long minutes, the two men traded blows, Sedgewick’s hard and vicious, Adrian’s deft and cautious. Worry appeared in her eyes as she chewed her lip. The inferior blade in Adrian’s hand wouldn’t take much more battering. She moaned when Sedgewick lunged forward after an especially wicked riposte. As she called out a warning, Adrian rotated so slightly to the left that his opponent’s blade sliced his shirt. Then he shifted his weight forward, bringing his inferior blade to play against Sedgewick’s with Reverend Palser’s attack. The major’s eyes widened in shock when the point of Adrian’s blade entered his chest. He staggered back, dumbfounded, looking down at the blood streaming from the mortal wound. "How?" As the major crumpled to the floor, Kara took a step forward. "Shoot him, you fools!" Tolliver bellowed. Chaos exploded as a knife blossomed from the young officer’s throat. In seconds, the old inn was swarming with angry men. The bandits and brigands of Bodmin Moor had come to rescue their Angel. Kara quickly placed herself in front of the three dragoons at her side. When one particularly villainous looking rogue turned towards them, she calmly said, "Harm one hair on their heads, and the Midnight Angel will seek revenge." "Best listen to the lady, Harry," Grant said from behind him. "Lady Warrick’s a personal friend of Angel." "Grant!" Sophia cried and launched herself into his arms. "Give me your sword, Grant. I feel naked without mine," Kara demanded, knowing Grant was too busy comforting Sophia to refuse. Looking about the room, she spotted Adrian finishing off a huge brute of a dragoon. Most of Sedgewick’s troops lay wounded or dead. But, with his back to her, Adrian did not see the man who staggered to his feet, hate lending him the strength his mortal wound was draining from his body. "Adrian!" she screamed and leaped towards them. He turned, too late to stop Sedgewick’s blow--but it never fell. Instead, the major fell forward, Kara’s sword in his back. White faced, she stared first at Sedgewick’s body, and then into Adrian’s face. Color surged back to her cheeks and sparks flashed from her sapphire eyes. "I’d do it again." "For your mother." "For you." Stepping over Sedgewick’s body, Adrian bent to the floor and, picking up his cape, wrapped it around Kara’s shoulders. Then he hauled his wife into his arms, his mouth seeking hers. Kara’s hands grasped her husband’s shoulders. He winced when she squeezed the cut Sedgewick had given him.

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"You’re hurt!" She tried to push herself out of his arms, but Adrian wouldn’t release her. "It’s only a scratch, Kara, I’ve had worse." Raising his head, Adrian looked about the room. Only Sophia, Kara, and her men remained. The criminals who haunted the moor disappeared as quickly and quietly as they came. Only one, very dirty, old man remained, sitting calmly on a broken chair. Under his feet lay another man, dressed in dark brown. "Lucian, what the hell are you doing here?" "That’s what I’d like to know," Colonel Fletcher demanded as he entered the room followed by his own heavily armed dragoons. "What in the name of all the hells is going on?" Kara’s eyes widened. Gone was the congenial, somewhat bumbling persona Fletcher adopted on most occasions. The British officer who now regarded them so shrewdly was not the same man whose stomach she had so blithely patted. "Sedgewick kidnapped both my wife and Miss Cranston," Adrian stated, the look in his eyes daring the Colonel to call him a liar. "And all these dead dragoons?" "Were with him." "What about those three?" Fletcher asked indicating the dragoons standing with Sophia and Grant. "Men loyal to me, Colonel," Robert answered as he stepped forward. "What are you doing here, Lieutenant?" "Lady Warrick is my sister." "And these other men?" Fletcher asked indicating Robert’s childhood companions. "Friends of the family." Fletcher’s countenance darkened. Rising from his seat, Lucian crossed the room and said, "You should read this, colonel." Grabbing the document from Lucian’s hand, Fletcher perused it quickly, gasping at the information it contained. "Sergeant, take the men and wait outside. All the men," he added indicating Robert’s Welshman. After the room was cleared, Fletcher nodded towards the unconscious man in brown. "Sedgewick’s French contact," answered Lucian. "You’ll find the missing naval documents in his coat." After perusing the paper he held in his hand, the colonel looked up at Lucian. "Are you really who this says you are, Major Blake?"

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A rueful grin crossed Lucian’s face, but he nodded affirmatively. "And you’re saying that Lady Warrick’s masquerade as Bodmin Moor’s Midnight Angel was approved by the war department with the hopes of flushing out the thief?" "That’s what my orders say." The colonel did not notice the shocked expression on Kara’s face. Adrian squeezed his wife’s arm to keep her quiet. Fletcher looked at the people who surrounded him. "This is the damnedest farce… I’ve got a bloody woman bandit haring about the moor robbing British officers, and the government’s top spy tells me I’m not to arrest her. What’s more, I have another government spy somewhere in my district whose identity I don’t know. In my entire career, I have never encountered anything like this." "Nonsense, Reggie, I seem to remember an incident much like this in Italy," commented Sir Robert as he and Corinne entered the inn. "Is the King going to be joining us next?" the Colonel growled in frustration. "I thought you retired, Robert." "I did." "If you’re not Ajax, then who is?" No one answered Fletcher’s question, but Corinne crossed the room until she stood by Sedgewick’s body. "Roll him over, Adrian. I’m required to make a positive identification." Adrian complied with a smile. Stooping, Corinne removed the signet ring from Sedgewick’s finger. "This should do." The colonel’s mouth fell open. Then it snapped shut. "My lady! You’re Ajax?" With a smile, Corinne crossed the room. "I’ll need an escort of five dragoons. Have them ready to leave at noon tomorrow." With those words, she swept grandly out of the inn. "Go with her, Jori, Martin, Dewi," Robert commanded. "But...." stuttered Colonel Fletcher. "She outranks you, you know," Sir Robert pointed out. "Damn! Ajax is a woman!" Fletcher exclaimed as he sank onto a rickety chair. "Who’d have thought it?" Crossing the room, Robert knelt by Sedgewick’s body. Slipping his hand inside the dead man’s coat, he withdrew the major’s watch. With one jerk, he ripped the fob from the timepiece, dropping the watch back onto the dead man’s chest. Slowly, he raised the fob and the four jewels that dangled from it. Multicolored sparks glimmered in the firelight. "This was Mother’s," he said softly as he gently removed the sapphire from its chain. Rising, he stepped across the body to Kara. "She would want you to have this, luv," Robert gently said to his sister as he laid the deep blue jewel onto the palm of her hand.

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"Oh, Robert," she whispered with a sob as she clasped the jewel to her heart, "thank-you." Pulling his sister into his arms for a commiserating hug, Robert locked eyes with Adrian. Any questions he might have had were answered silently when his brother-in-law nodded--once. Never again would Robert fear for his sister. Her pirate would protect her with his life. Pushing his sister gently away from his chest, Robert used his thumb to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "Be happy, Kara," he said for her ears alone. Then he pushed her back into her pirate’s arms. Adrian pulled his wife against his chest, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her head. She sighed, content to nestle in her husband’s powerful arms, completely unmindful of the death about her. At last she had her revenge. Robert lifted the three remaining jewels into the light once more. The fire opal gleamed in the torchlight. Something about it … He pulled it free from the chain. Something deep in his soul called to it. For now, he would keep it. "This one I keep," he said, his voice brooking no argument. "Give the others to me," Lucian commanded. All heads turned towards him. "I know the emerald. I’ll return it to its proper owners." "And the topaz?" Adrian asked. Lucian frowned, unwilling to admit that the deep golden jewelcalled to him. "I’ll keep it. It, too, has an owner, somewhere." Without a word, Robert handed the two jewels to Lucian, locking eyes with the older man. In Robert’s gaze, Lucian read understanding. The fire opal hadcalled to Robert. Pushing herself out of her husband’s arms, Kara looked around and asked, "Where’s Sophie?" "She left with Grant," Adrian answered with a sly grin. Kara’s lips twitched. "I wonder if Grant knows his first son will become Baron Abbottsford." A groan from the unconscious man on the floor drew everyone’s attention. "Sergeant," bellowed Colonel Fletcher. "Yes, sir?" "Take that man into custody and get those bodies out of here." Besides Sedgewick and Tolliver, eight dead dragoons lay in the inn. The other traitors had met their deaths outside. Adrian led Kara towards the door as the sergeant motioned into the darkness behind him. "I’m taking my wife home, Colonel," Adrian stated. "You may call on us in the morning if you have any questions."

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Fletcher mumbled something under his breath. Kara’s remaining men melted out the door ahead of her and Adrian. Just as Kara, her husband, and her brother were exiting the inn, Fletcher called out, "Lady Warrick!" She turned. At her side, Adrian stiffened. "Yes, Colonel?" "I trust the Midnight Angel’s rides will stop?" "Why, Colonel," she said with feigned innocence, clasping her hands to her breast and her blue eyes widening, "I would hope so, though, since I don’t know this woman, I couldn’t say. What do you think, Adrian?" A slight smile flickered across his lips. "I think it’s safe to say that lovely brigand will waylay British officers no longer." Fletcher grunted. Ravenrook’s word was good enough for him. Outside, Kara embraced her brother once again. "Come tomorrow for tea," she whispered into his ear. "You can congratulate Adrian." His brow furrowed. Then he grinned as realization dawned. He was going to be an uncle! Throwing back his head, Robert laughed with joy. Clapping a puzzled Adrian on the shoulder, he mounted his horse and signaled to his Welsh dragoons. The darkness swallowed them almost immediately. Kara turned to Sir Robert. "Grandfather?" With a smile, he kissed her gently on the forehead. "I’ll go along with the Colonel to headquarters, just to be sure all the paper work is properly filed. Don’t worry about me." After a firm handclasp with his wife’s grandfather, Adrian lifted his Angel onto her mare. The flaring torches lit by Fletcher’s dragoons illuminated Kara as she bent down; her lips met those of her pirate for a lingering kiss. "Take me home, Sir Pirate," she whispered for his ears alone. After a second tender kiss, Adrian mounted his stallion. With a salute and a smile to her men, Kara turned her mare towards Ravenrook, Adrian galloping at her side. Lucian and Tristan halted by Sir Robert’s side and watched with him as Kara and Adrian rode away. Sir Robert turned to Tristan. "Are you sure about this, Rees?" "I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life." "I’ll write the necessary recommendations. With mine and those you get from Lucian and Corinne, England will soon have another agent for the crown." ~*~ The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees;

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The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon stormy seas; the road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor... All three men looked up as lightening flashed from dark, roiling clouds and thunder echoed as the looming storm finally broke. One especially bright bolt of lightening illuminated two distant riders. Then the Midnight Angel and her pirate disappeared into the jumble of legends that swirled about Bodmin Moor. Did the pirate find the angel he sought, the angel whose kiss was a lure? Do the lovers ride together at last, through the mists of Bodmin Moor?

Meet Judy Mays Judy Mays lives in Central Pennsylvania with her husband, three sons, one large dog, and one old cat who rules the roost. Her "day" job is teaching English to 10th graders in a neighboring school district. Her first novel,Celtic Rendezvous , was published by Wings in October 2001.A Rhythm Divine followed in May 2002. Midnight Angel of Bodmin Moor is her third published novel and the first in her Angel series.

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