Secret Ways

To my mother.

For her years of love and constant encouragement,

and for always being there when I needed her.

I love you, Mom.

1

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Outskirts of London

May 1809

Her name was Vermillion. It came from the Old French, a color, a bright Chinese red; cinnabar, some called it.

Vermillion. The word conjured sultry, mysterious images. Hot, lurid, untamed images.

She had always hated the name.

In private, she called herself Lee. Simple. Straightforward. The middle name she carried that was more like the person she was inside. Vermillion Lee Durant, a pretty name, she supposed.

If only it belonged to someone else.

"Hurry, Vermillion, darling. We mustn't keep the colonel waiting."

Lee sighed. No, one must never keep a gentleman waiting. At least not here, in the world of the demimonde, where every man was king, or at least made to believe he was.

Lee paused in front of the tall cheval glass to check the fit of her scarlet velvet gown, a complement to the thick dark red curls swept up on her head, the style not really à la mode, as was the gown, but softer, more alluring, more pleasing to the gentlemen.

The elaborate coiffure was laced with gold ribbon to match the trim beneath the high waist of her gown, which was cut shockingly low, displaying an abundance of cleavage. The slim skirt, slashed nearly to the knee, was the height of London fashion, though hardly suitable for a young unmarried woman of Lee's mere eighteen years.

Still, she was used to the clothes and her sophisticated appearance. She stood patiently as her little French maid, Jeannie, swung the gold-lined, red velvet cape around her shoulders and fastened the diamond and garnet pin at her throat.

" 'Ave a good time, chérie," the woman said, though surely by now she knew it wouldn't be the least bit of fun for Lee.

"Good night, Jeannie." Pasting on the practiced, enigmatic smile her aunt and her admirers expected to see, she paused at the bedchamber door. "I'll be late coming home. I'll ring if I need help getting out of the gown."

Her artificial smile firmly in place, Vermillion swept out into the hallway and descended the curving staircase into the entry of her aunt's elegant mansion in Parkwood, a small village on the outskirts of London. Gowned in sapphire silk scattered with brilliants, Aunt Gabriella waited at the bottom of the stairs, her own, far more sincere smile in place.

Gabriella Durant was forty-six years old, taller than Vermillion and more slender, her breasts still high, her blond hair thick and luxurious, woven with only a few strands of silver gray. But fine lines had begun to appear around her mouth and eyes, and the flesh had loosened beneath her jaw. Though Gabriella loathed each small flaw, she was still a beautiful woman.

"You look lovely, darling." Aunt Gabby surveyed the ruby velvet gown and the upsweep of Vermillion's flame-red hair. "More beautiful every year."

Vermillion made no reply. The Durant women were known for their beauty. It was a simple statement of fact that Lee saw as more of a curse than a blessing. The butler, Wendell Perkin Jones, a thin, elegant little man who wore his dark hair parted down the middle and curled at the sides like an emperor, pulled open the door, and Vermillion caught a glimpse of the carriage, a sleek black barouche pulled by a pair of matched gray horses, a gift from the Earl of Claymont, her aunt's current cher ami.

"The coach is waiting," Aunt Gabby said. "Claymont is meeting us at the theater." Gabriella smiled, looking forward to the evening with a relish Vermillion rarely felt. She would rather stay at home, ride one of her precious horses if the sun were still up, or read a book, perhaps, or enjoy an hour on the harp, though none of those thoughts appeared on her face.

Instead, her smile widened as she settled into her role, almost second nature after so many years of learning the part. "I'm ready to go anytime you are. As you say, we mustn't keep the gentlemen waiting." Sweeping her cloak out behind her, Vermillion joined her aunt in the entry and the two Durant women walked gracefully out the door, into the glittering London night that awaited.

Captain Caleb Tanner held the harness of the lead horse of the pair in front of the carriage, keeping the flashy grays calm in their traces. The expensive black barouche sat in front of the Durant mansion, which was fashioned of brick, stood three stories high, and sat on several hundred acres of rolling green hills just outside London. Tall white Corinthian columns held up a decorative portico designed to shelter arriving visitors from inclement weather and a long curving driveway led up from the road.

The owner, Gabriella Durant, had inherited the mansion along with a very tidy fortune from her mother, a well-known courtesan of her day. Gabriella had followed in her mother's footsteps, amassing even greater wealth and continuing what appeared to have become a family tradition, currently being carried on by Gabriella's red-haired niece, Vermillion.

Caleb knew a great deal about the Durants, who traced their ancestry back to the time displaced French nobles arrived penniless in London to escape the guillotine. Using her great beauty and charm, Simone Durant had saved the near-destitute family and prospered, her skill as a lover legendary in the world of the demimonde. After Simone's death, her daughter, Gabriella, had become the reigning queen, La Belle, the toast of London.

Caleb cast a glance toward the door of the mansion, waiting for the women to appear. Rumor was, the niece Gabriella had raised as a daughter intended to claim the throne for the third generation.

Caleb had never seen Vermillion, but he had heard stories about her, gossip about her loveliness and skill in the boudoir.

He knew she must be beautiful.

But he wasn't prepared for the impact that hit him like a fall from his horse the moment she stepped out onto the porch. As he watched her in the glow of the whale oil lanterns beside the door, Caleb couldn't seem to tear his eyes away. He had never seen such fiery hair or skin so flawless. He had never seen eyes the color of aquamarines.

She was smaller than he had imagined, her figure fuller, more womanly. Beneath the clasp of her scarlet velvet opera cape, her breasts were high and lush and nearly spilled out of the bodice of her gown. His hands itched to cup them. He wanted to pluck the pins from her fiery hair and run his fingers through it. The true color of her lips was masked by the rouge that turned them a dark ruby red, but they curved in a sultry smile that made a man want to own them.

Caleb shook himself, a feeling of distaste rising inside him. Vermillion Durant was nothing but an expensive plaything, an object to satisfy men's lust, a woman who used her body to gain power over foolish, unwary men. Perhaps she was even a spy.

Which was the reason Caleb Tanner stood next to the horses, the newly hired head groom of Parklands, the name used by those who attended the lavish and notorious balls, ridottos, and house parties hosted by Gabriella Durant.

This assignment was different than any he had had before. Caleb had been ordered back to England during his tenure in Spain, having served in the cavalry under General Sir Arthur Wellesley through the Oporto campaign. The youngest son of the Earl of Selhurst, he had enlisted in the army just out of Oxford. Caleb had served in India and the Netherlands. On orders from the general, he was in England now.

At Parklands—trying to catch a traitor.

Caleb watched the women walking toward the carriage, felt the pull of Vermillion's aqua eyes the moment they touched his face, and a second jolt of lust hit him, making his dislike of her harden even more than the erection pressing against the front of his breeches.

Inwardly he cursed.

But he didn't look away.

Vermillion paused as she reached the carriage, her glance straying to the beautiful matched grays standing calmly in their traces. She loved horses. The animals at Parklands were her pride and her passion, but she didn't recognize the groom who stood next to the grays and she knew every man and boy who worked in the stable. She had personally hired each one.

Except for this man. This tall, broad-shouldered stranger with the hard, dark eyes and faintly insolent smile.

Instead of following her aunt into the carriage, Vermillion kept walking, pausing when she reached the man beside the horses.

"Where is Jacob?" Jacob had been the head groom and trainer at Parklands for the past fifteen years. "Why are you here? Has Jacob fallen ill?"

"He was fine the last time I saw him."

She didn't like his tone any better than she liked the smug look on his face. "Then where is he? And just exactly who are you?"

His gaze ran over her, starting at her toes, moving to the top of her sophisticated coiffure, then returning to her breasts. She received that same too-bold perusal from a gallery of males every night, yet when this man did it, it made her cheeks begin to burn. He wasn't one of her admirers—he made that clear by the casualness of his regard and the faintly cynical twist of his lips.

"I'm Caleb Tanner. Parklands's new head groom. Jacob had some family problems in Surrey he needed to attend. He hired me to take his place until he is able to return."

She lifted her chin, wishing for once she were taller. "I'm in charge of the stable. If Jacob had some sort of problem, he should have come to me. Do you have papers to recommend you? How do I know you can handle the job?"

He was a big man, not brawny, just tall and broad-shouldered, perhaps in his late twenties, with brown hair a little too long that curled against the nape of his neck.

"I was raised around horses," he said. "I worked mainly in the north…York, mostly. My specialty is racing stock."

"So you're a trainer as well?"

"That's right. Jacob spoke of a stallion named Noir you'll be racing at Epsom this week. At least give me till after the race to prove I can handle the position."

That seemed fair enough. Jacob had a knack with horses and he loved them as much as she did. He wouldn't turn them over to just anyone and certainly not to a man he didn't trust completely. Still, there was something about this man…

"All right. You have till the end of the week. If Noir wins the race, you stay on until Jacob returns."

A dark brown eyebrow arched up. "You believe if the stallion loses, the fault will be mine?"

Of course not. He would have been there less than a week, but it would be a way to get rid of him and for reasons she couldn't seem to explain, she wanted exactly that.

"Noir is a champion. It's up to his trainer to see that he wins. If he does, you can stay."

His mouth barely curved. "Then I had better make certain he wins."

It was said as if there were no doubt he could do it, as if the outcome had already been decided. Vermillion made no reply, just turned and started back to the carriage, her scarlet cape whirling out behind her. They were heading into London, to the box they kept at the Royal Opera House. Though they would be snubbed by the nobles and other members of the ton, on the third floor of the building, where certain wealthy but less socially acceptable members of society watched the performance, they would be treated like royalty.

"Hurry up, darling, we're going to be late." Aunt Gabby's voice floated out through the carriage window.

Vermillion cast a last glance over her shoulder at the groom, who was stroking the neck of the gray, speaking softly into the animal's ear. Both horses had impressive bloodlines. They were beautiful, spirited, and often difficult to handle. Not tonight. Tonight, they stood with their elegant heads hanging down while the groom's long fingers scratched between their ears.

Perhaps the man was as capable as he appeared, his oversized ego well deserved. As she settled back against the tufted red leather seat, Vermillion found the notion irritating in the extreme.

The purple flush of dawn brightened the sky by the time Vermillion returned to Parklands the following morning. After the opera, Spontini's La Vestale, Aunt Gabby had insisted they attend a party given by Elizabeth Sorenson, Countess of Rotham, a woman with a scandalous reputation whom Lee and Gabriella both adored.

The party was an outrageous affair held at the countess's town house, with boundless amounts of Russian caviar, crystal goblets overflowing with champagne, and no shortage of attractive men.

A number of Vermillion's admirers were there: Jonathan Parker, Viscount Nash; Oliver Wingate, a colonel of the Life Guards; and the outrageously handsome and utterly notorious rake Lord Andrew Mondale.

There were other men, of course, dozens of them, but these were the three who vied most strongly for a place in Vermillion's bed.

Lee shoved the distasteful thought away as she wearily climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the fresh bouquet of flowers Jeannie had placed on the rosewood dresser. The deep mauve counterpane was welcomingly turned back beneath the matching satin bed curtains.

Jeannie would be sleeping and Lee hated to wake her at such a late hour. She struggled with the gown and finally managed to undo the buttons, put on a long white night rail and climbed beneath the sheets. Exhausted from the events of the evening, the champagne and the dancing, she slept the sleep of the dead, lacking even the energy for her usual morning ride, and didn't wake up until nearly noon.

She had indulged herself on purpose, knowing tonight would be another late night. Colonel Wingate would be escorting them to an evening of gaming in Jermyn Street. Then tomorrow night she and her aunt would be attending the theater. Lee had lost track of her schedule after that, but she knew that at each event, her tireless pursuers would be present.

While other girls her age entered the Season in search of a husband, Vermillion searched for a protector—the man who would become her first lover.

An image of the arrogant groom popped into her head. Why, she couldn't imagine. It was a fleeting vision, instantly forgotten.

She didn't think of Tanner again until three days later, when she saw him in the stable. The late afternoon sun had begun to fade and the soft glow of evening settled over the landscape. Aunt Gabby was giving a house party, so the servants were busy inside. Though none of the guests had yet arrived, they were sure to appear very soon. Dressed in a low-cut turquoise silk gown trimmed in black lace in preparation for the festivities, Lee slipped away from the house and made her way out to the stable.

She was worried about her beautiful horses, still not confident of Jacob's replacement.

She didn't expect to see the man himself, Caleb Tanner, standing in the middle of the exercise ring. He faced away from her, his collarless, full-sleeved shirt damp with perspiration and clinging to the extraordinary width of his back. The shirt was tucked into simple brown breeches that showed a narrow waist, curved over a round behind, and outlined a pair of long, muscular legs.

When he turned, she could see a vee of darkly tanned skin at his throat where the neck of the shirt stood open. The man was impressive. There was no denying that. Lee knew men—dozens of them—but she couldn't name one more beautifully built than Caleb Tanner.

He was busily working, Noir circling at the end of Tanner's lead line, the Thoroughbred's shiny black coat glistening in the fading rays of sunlight. Tanner didn't see her approaching. Or if he did, he simply ignored her.

Vermillion wasn't used to being ignored.

"You're jerking the line too much," she said as she came up to the fence. "He works better with a gentler touch."

The corner of his mouth curved up in a mocking half smile. "I'll keep that in mind." His dark gaze said he knew she had just made that up, which of course, she had. The stallion was working beautifully, doing his new trainer's bidding without the slightest hesitation. The man hadn't lied. He definitely knew horses. Noir could be fussy, and the stallion had never really liked being exercised on a lead.

Now the horse seemed to be enjoying every lap he made round the practice ring. Lee watched them for a while, unable to take her eyes off man and horse working so perfectly together. Then Tanner tugged on the rope and the stallion began to slow. Noir nickered and trotted over to where the groom stood in the center of the ring. Tanner reached into his pocket, pulled out a treat, and fed it to Noir on the flat of his hand. Speaking to the horse in that soft way of his, he ran his fingers through the stallion's course black mane.

Tanner led the animal over to the fence and stopped in front of her, and Lee tried not to think what a magnificent pair they made.

"He's in excellent condition," Caleb Tanner said, patting the horse's neck. "Jacob's done a fine job with him."

"Then you think he's going to win."

"I think he has a very good chance. Who's riding him?"

"Mickey Warner."

"Warner's good, one of the best riders in the country." His eyes moved from her face down to the cleavage swelling up at the front of her turquoise gown. She rarely dressed this way when she came to the stable. Lee had forgotten that tonight she was Vermillion.

His smile held a trace of insolence it was impossible to miss. "But then, I imagine you know a great deal about riding… wouldn't you say so, Miss Durant?"

Her cheeks went warm. She knew what he was implying. At least she understood he was referring to the act of making love. She'd been raised in the world of the demimonde. Her aunt, though wealthy and many years now with the same man, was once a notorious courtesan with a long string of lovers. All of London believed that Vermillion was a courtesan as well, as very soon she would be. Having accepted that future long ago, a subtle innuendo here and there, spoken by one of her admirers, had never upset her before.

But when Caleb Tanner looked at her the way he was now, as if she were less than the manure on his boots, her face flamed the same fiery color as her hair.

"Win the race," she said simply. "Or get a job somewhere else." Turning, she forgot to walk with her usual provocative, hip-swaying gait, and stomped all the way back to the house.

Caleb cursed himself. Dammit, Colonel Cox had gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange for the trainer, Jacob Boswell, to relinquish his position at Parklands for the next few weeks so that Caleb could work in his stead. All he needed was for the little chit to fire him.

He had to start controlling his tongue, he knew, but somehow, whenever he looked at Vermillion's exotically beautiful face, her luscious breasts displayed like pale, ripe fruit, he couldn't seem to do it.

It bothered him that she was so young. Even with the rouge on her lips and cheeks, he guessed her not yet twenty. It bothered him that she had so willingly abandoned the chance for a respectable life in pursuit of power and greed.

It bothered him that his body wanted her just as much as every other man in London while his mind absolutely did not.

A shuffling sound alerted him to someone's arrival in the big stone barn.

"Ye want ta be keepin' yer job, ye young buck, ye'd best be keepin' a civil tongue in yer head when ye speak ta Miss Lee." Arlie Spooner, retired Parklands groom, tottered toward him, his few sparse strands of dull gray hair whipping in the breeze coming in through the open stable door. He had a wrinkled, liver-spotted face and a spine that looked painfully curved. The old man was no longer able to work in the stable, but still retained a position. At least the Durant women had conscience enough to take care of a man who had been loyal to them for so long.

"Who's Miss Lee?"

"Miss Vermillion." Arlie continued to shuffle past the stall where Caleb stood brushing Noir and continued on his way toward the small room he occupied at the far end of the barn. "Miss Lee won't tolerate yer disrespect. Ye weren't so blasted good with them horses a' hers, ye'd already be lookin' fer someplace else ta work."

The old man was loyal, all right. Caleb hadn't missed the affection in the old man's voice when he spoke his employer's name. Caleb wondered how much Arlie Spooner knew about Vermillion and her aunt and determined that as soon as he got the chance he would see what he could find out.

In the meantime, he would keep his eyes and ears open, as he was there to do. Caleb's superiors, including General Sir Arthur Wellesley, believed information was being leaked to the French. The casualties in Spain had been staggering—more than five thousand British troops. Wellesley was convinced the numbers at Oporto would have been far less if a person—or persons—hadn't provided information directly to Napoleon.

Colonel Richard Cox and Major Mark Sutton had been assigned to find the traitors responsible, and both Cox and Sutton were convinced the source could be found at Parklands. It was Caleb's knowledge of horses and racing that had brought him into the equation and home to England.

Caleb watched old Arlie disappear into his room and finished brushing the stallion, thinking of Vermillion and the dozens of men who frequented the house, many of them military officers and gentlemen highly placed in the government. Had one of them traded his soul for the chance to satisfy himself in Vermillion's tantalizing young body?

As Caleb stood in the shadows outside the house later that night, watching carriage after carriage roll up the circular drive and its elegantly garbed occupants make their way up the steps to the entry, as he felt the pull of Vermillion's cool, smoky laughter coming from inside the house, he thought that it just might be true.

2

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"Vermillion, darling, I don't believe you've met Lord Derry." In the midst of her circle of admirers, Aunt Gabby stood smiling, enjoying the gaiety around her. The high-ceilinged drawing room rang with noise and laughter, a crush of men and women dressed in expensive satins and silks. If the ladies' gowns were cut a little lower, the fabrics a bit more colorful than those one might find in a fashionable London drawing room, it went unremarked.

Vermillion studied Lord Derry from beneath her lowered lashes and her lips curved into a provocative smile. "No, I don't believe we've yet been introduced. Lord Derry." She sank into a curtsey and offered him a black-gloved hand. The Earl of Derry bowed over it, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on the breasts nearly spilling out of the top of her gown.

"A pleasure, Miss Durant."

"Not at all, my lord. The pleasure is most certainly mine." It wasn't, of course. The earl was a decrepit old bag of bones, his shoulders, breeches, and calves padded so heavily he looked like an overstuffed mattress with feet.

"The earl has just returned to England," Aunt Gabby said. "He owns a very successful cocoa plantation in the West Indies."

"How terribly exciting," Vermillion lied, wondering, as she had a thousand times, how her aunt could possibly be enjoying herself. Yet Vermillion knew that she was. Lee had lived with her aunt since she was four years old, when her mother had died and Aunt Gabriella had appeared like a golden-haired angel at the orphanage and taken Vermillion into her home. The two sisters were nothing alike. Angelique Durant was shy and reserved while Gabriella was La Belle, celebrated and adored in the world in which she lived.

She surrounded herself with the wealthy elite and made friends of artisans, actors, and aristocrats, most of them men, of course. She loved her life and the power she wielded, and she couldn't imagine that Vermillion would want to live any other sort of existence.

"Would you care to dance, my dear?" Lord Derry asked, hovering far too close to suit her. "Afterward I shall be happy to tell you all about life in the Indies."

Vermillion inwardly groaned, imagining an hour-long discourse on heat and bugs and the necessity of owning other human beings. But her smile remained in place. "I should adore dancing with you, my lord." The words came out with a throaty purr that seemed to change men from lions into lambs.

She let the earl guide her away from her aunt and her friends, onto the parquet floor at the end of the salon where a four-piece orchestra, garbed in pale blue livery, played the upbeat strains of a contradanse.

Vermillion smiled her practiced smile and fell into the steps of the dance, but her mind was as far from Lord Derry's plantation as it could possibly get. It was a trick her aunt's friend, Lisette Moreau, had taught her. Separate yourself, assume an outward appearance designed to please the gentlemen while inside you go wherever you most wish to be.

As she executed the steps her dancing master had hammered into her, Lee rode like the wind over the green fields of Parklands. Tomorrow morning, she vowed, no matter how tired she was, she would indulge herself in her heart's greatest pleasure.

At the edge of her mind, she heard the music, felt his lordship's bony fingers leading her into a turn. Letting her lashes sweep down to veil her eyes, she moistened her lips, and mentally went back to the feel of the wind in her hair and the sound of thundering hoofbeats. Mounted on Noir, she approached a high rock wall. She could feel the horse straining beneath her, his powerful muscles collecting as they soared over the wall, came down on the opposite side, and made a perfectly executed landing.

"That was marvelous, my dear," Lord Derry was saying, placing a kiss on the back of her hand.

"Yes, it was," she said, remembering the thrill of a perfectly executed jump. "Thank you, my lord."

His lordship's watery blue eyes remained glued to her breasts. "Now… about my cocoa plantation… Perhaps a turn round the terrace would—"

"Sorry to interrupt, but Miss Durant has promised her next dance to me." Jonathan Parker, Viscount Nash, stood just a few feet away, a warm smile on his face. Of all the men of her acquaintance, Nash was among those Vermillion liked best.

"They are playing a waltz, I believe." He took hold of her hand. "Shall we?" The viscount was a tall, attractive man in his late thirties with dark hair silvered at the temples. He was a true gentleman, she thought, a widower these past three years. Jon was intelligent and kind and he had made it clear he was among those men who wished to become her protector.

Perhaps he is the one I should choose, she thought. Jon would be good to her and his demands in the boudoir would likely be less than those of a young stallion like Lord Andrew Mondale.

It was in that moment she spotted that particular gentleman striding toward her, Andrew Mondale, blond and handsome, if a bit foppishly dressed in a grass-green tailcoat with glittering gold and emerald buttons.

Vermillion inwardly sighed, steeled herself, and gave him a sultry smile. The night, it seemed, was going to be a long one.

In the end, to her good fortune, the evening had ended earlier than she had imagined. Midway through the dancing, while her aunt was holding court with her never-ending circle of friends, Lee had given in to her secret wish to retire, pled the headache, and slipped upstairs to her bedchamber.

This morning, amazingly alert and energetic, she climbed out of bed before dawn looking forward to the outing she had promised herself. Eager to reach the stable, she finished her brief toilette, ignored the expensive forest green velvet riding habit that had just arrived from London, and chose instead the form-fitting breeches and full-sleeved shirt she'd had custom-made for her several years ago at L.T. Piver's in London.

Lee had to admit there were advantages to the world in which she lived. One of them was that social dictates did not apply. By the nature of their business, the Durant women were exempt. Walking past the rosewood armoire that contained the cumbersome habit, her long red hair plaited into a single thick braid, Lee reached into a drawer of her rosewood dresser and grabbed a woolen cap in concession to the morning chill, pulled on her kidskin riding boots, and set off for the servants' stairs at the rear of the house.

The mid-May weather was crisp and clear, the sky a purple-tinged haze just beginning to brighten. She preferred to leave before the servants were up and beginning their chores, while the stable was still quiet, giving her a sense of freedom she found only out here with her beautiful horses.

She loved them all but especially Noir Diamant, Black Diamond, her prize Thoroughbred stallion, and Grand Coeur, Great Heart, the tall gray jumper she usually rode. She paused in front of Noir's stall to rub his velvety nose, but the stallion would be racing later in the week, so she chose Grand Coeur instead.

Coeur was an amazing horse that could run like the wind and jump the way she had imagined last night. Her gaze skipped to her comfortable sidesaddle with its padded tapestry seat, but Lee ignored it, just bridled Coeur and led him from his stall. She had worn the shirt and breeches so that she could ride bareback, completely unfettered and free.

Lee smoothed the stallion's dapple-gray coat, spoke to him gently, and led him out of the barn into the pale golden glow of early morning. Coeur nudged her with his beautiful head, danced and sidestepped, as eager for the morning's exercise as she.

Looping the reins over the horse's neck, she climbed up on the mounting block and settled herself on the stallion's back. The gray looked back at her and flicked his ears. Beneath her, his long, sleek muscles bunched in anticipation.

"You want this as much as I do, don't you, boy?"

As if in answer, the stallion nickered softly. Lee nudged her bootheels into the horse's ribs, urging him into a trot that carried them away from the barn and out into the open fields. Pulling on her woolen cap to keep her ears warm, she bent over the stallion's neck, urging him to pick up his pace. The horse responded to her subtle commands as if he could read her thoughts and her troubles began to fade.

She felt the rush of wind past her cheeks, felt a stray curl flutter at the base of her neck, and began to smile.

Pouring water into the porcelain basin in his room at the far end of the stable, Caleb splashed water on his face to chase away the cobwebs of sleep and dressed to begin the day. The night had been a long one, spent in the damp shadows outside the mansion, watching for anything that might be amiss inside, watching Vermillion charm her endless admirers with the cool smiles and throaty laughter that seemed to ripple through his insides.

She had gone to bed earlier than he expected. Caleb had scraped his knuckles and ripped his breeches, climbing the trellis behind the house to reach the balcony outside her bedchamber only to discover that she slept alone. It bothered him how much he wanted to slip into the room and join her in her satin-draped bed.

He was thinking about her as he walked from stall to stall to check on the horses, stopping stock-still when he noticed the door to Grand Coeur's stall stood open and the stallion was nowhere in sight. Caleb quickly scanned the interior of the barn. Noir stood lazily in his stall, one of half-dozen other horses who stuck their heads over the open stall doors to see who had entered.

One of the stalls was empty except for a fat yellow cat contentedly sleeping in the straw, her stomach stretched to near bursting with the kittens that appeared long overdue. Everything was the same as it had been last night—except that the expensive gray was missing.

Bloody hell! Caleb clenched his jaw as he turned toward the door. He could just imagine what his petite employer would say if she discovered he had lost one of her most valuable horses. He didn't much like the idea himself.

Striding out of the barn, Caleb made his way outside to survey the rolling fields in the ridiculous hope he would spot the animal placidly grazing in the pasture. He was amazed to see the gray disappearing over a rise, a rider clinging to his back, the horse in a flat-out run.

Caleb cursed again, more foully this time, and raced back into the barn. Grabbing a bridle off the rack, he hurriedly dragged it over the head of a big bay gelding that was one of the stable's fastest runners and swung up on the animal's back. In seconds, he rode in pursuit of the thief who was making off with Coeur. Somewhere behind him, he heard old Arlie shuffle out of the barn. He was shouting something, but the sound disappeared in the rush of wind and the thunder of the big bay's hooves.

Caleb urged the horse faster, settling into the chase, beginning to enjoy himself, now that he was sure of the outcome. With the horse's long, ground-eating strides, it didn't take long before he spotted the thief in the distance, the figure atop the horse smaller than he had imagined, a village lad, perhaps. One who was about to wish he had never tangled with Caleb Tanner.

Unaware he was being pursued, the youth reined the horse off to the right, riding straight for a low rock wall. Up and over he went, clearing the barrier with ease. Caleb's temper heated as the lad turned the animal to the left and sailed over a wide, meandering stream, then leaped up the bank on the opposite side, startling a hedgehog out of its burrow.

The horse could jump. Caleb had never seen such power in motion, such fluid grace. And he wasn't about to lose such a magnificent beast to the likes of some village miscreant. His jaw tightened, his anger building by the moment. Caleb gained a little more ground but the lad still didn't spot him. Or if he did, he was cocky enough to believe he could get away.

Horse and rider pounded on, Caleb in determined pursuit. The pair would soon reach the end of the field where a high rock wall separated the lower pasture from the one above. Caleb swore and urged the bay faster as he realized the lad's intent. The obstacle would pose a difficult hazard for even the most skillful rider. The horse could be injured—both of them could be killed. The boy seemed not to care.

Caleb's hands tightened on the reins as horse and rider approached the wall, and for an instant the breath froze in his lungs. If the boy brought harm to the horse, Caleb vowed, he would personally thrash the little thief within an inch of his reckless life!

To his relief and amazement, the pair sailed over the wall with absolute precision and made an impeccable landing on the opposite side.

That's it, boyo, your luck has just run out. Caleb's fury was so great he could feel it burning into the back of his neck. Reining away from the wall, he urged the bay along a path that led him through a copse of trees, a line that would cut off the youth's anticipated route of escape.

Watching through the trees as the lad took several more hazards, Caleb began to think perhaps the young man hadn't meant to steal the horse, but had merely taken him out for the pleasure of a wild morning ride. Either way, there was going to be hell to pay and the boy was about to pay it.

Lee glanced behind her, her body shaking with laughter. Tanner was gone. She had lost him. She couldn't remember having this much fun in years. It had taken less than an instant to recognize the tall figure with the wide shoulders mounted on the bay, riding like fury behind her. From the start, she had led him a merry chase. Another rider would have been hard-pressed to follow, but Tanner had stayed right on her tail. She had to give him credit. The man was a magnificent horseman.

Still, in the end, she had lost him, as she had intended from the moment she had spotted him behind her.

Lee reined in the gray, slowing the animal to a canter, letting him blow a little before she found a nice shady place for them to rest. Coeur had worked beautifully this morning, an exhilarating outing for both of them.

She grinned. More so with Caleb Tanner in relentless pursuit.

Whatever his reason for following her, it could wait until she returned to the stable. From morning to night, she was at someone else's beck and call. She had claimed this morning for herself and she would tolerate no interference.

At least those were her thoughts before a rider burst out of the woods and raced his horse up next to Coeur. She recognized Caleb Tanner's furious face the instant before his arm snaked out and he jerked her off her horse. With a shriek of outrage, her cap flying into the air, Lee landed facedown across Caleb Tanner's hard thighs, the air whooshing out of her lungs.

The last thing she expected was the impact of his big hand slamming down on her bottom, burning like fire through her breeches.

She shrieked as he delivered a second stinging blow and his palm went up again.

"Don't you dare!" she shouted, freezing his hand in midair. "You… you… madman! You jackanapes!"

Over her shoulder she saw a look of pure astonishment appear on his handsome face. "What the bloody—?"

"Put me down this instant!"

The horse danced beneath them, but Tanner made no move to release her, just kept staring at her as if he had never seen her before.

"Did you hear what I said? Put me down!"

He jerked her up so quickly her braid, already loose, came completely undone. The next thing she knew, she was standing on her feet beside his horse, her long hair curling around her shoulders, Caleb Tanner sliding off the bay and turning to face her, his expression as dark as a thundercloud.

Lee's own temper heated. "Why were you following me? What did you think you were doing?"

Hard brown eyes locked on her face. "I thought you were a thief."

"A thief!"

"That's right. When I went into the barn, the gray was missing. I saw you riding away, roaring over the fields like a Bedlamite, and I thought you were trying to steal him."

She could feel his eyes on her, taking in her clean, unmade-up face, the freckles across her nose that rice powder usually covered, the pinkness of her unrouged lips and the heightened color in her cheeks.

Something shifted in his features and some of the harshness eased from his expression. "I thought you were a boy."

She hoisted her chin, wishing she could grow about a foot, just for a moment or two. "Well, I'm not a thief and I'm not a boy."

His gaze moved down her body, taking in the breeches that fit so snugly over her legs and rump. His mouth curved into an insolent smile and she knew he was thinking of the way she had looked draped over his thighs and the stinging blows he had delivered to her bottom. "So I noticed."

More color washed into her face. She couldn't imagine how he managed to do that, when no other male seemed able. "The horse is mine to do with as I please, just like all of the animals in the stable. I ride every morning and I shall continue to do so whether that meets with your approval or not."

He made a slight bow of his head, but the mocking glint in his eyes remained. "Whatever you say, Miss Durant."

"I won't stand for insolence from the men I employ. I ought to dismiss you for what you did." His expression remained inscrutable, but she thought she caught a hint of uneasiness in his eyes.

"I didn't want to lose the horse," he said.

"I gathered that." She sighed. "I'll admit it seems unfair to dismiss a man for doing his job, perhaps even putting himself at risk to do it. If I had been a thief, you could have been injured or even killed."

He looked into her face. "And I suppose you would have cared."

Lee forced herself not to glance away from those dark, probing eyes. "Of course I would have cared. As long as you're working at Parklands, you're my responsibility. I do, however, expect an apology. There was hardly a need to manhandle me the way you did."

The tension eased from his shoulders and a corner of his mouth edged up. His eyes looked warmer, a rich chocolate brown circled by a fringe of thick black lashes. "I assure you, Miss Durant, had I known you were a woman, I would have restrained myself. Dressed as you are, I don't think you can fault my assumptions. You're lucky your hat flew off. If it hadn't, I might have given you the thrashing I intended to give the thief."

Her bottom still burned from the blows he had delivered and his impudent smile said he knew. "If that is your idea of an apology, Mr. Tanner, perhaps you had better find employment—"

"I'm sorry. You're right, I should have been more careful. I should have checked to be sure the boy I thought was stealing a valuable horse wasn't the mistress of the house dressed up like a man."

Irritation bubbled through her. It occurred to her the man was amazingly well-spoken for a groom and she wondered vaguely where he might have come from. Wherever it was, he could return, for all she cared. Let him find another job somewhere far distant from Parklands.

"This discussion is over, Mr. Tanner. You may pick up your things when you get back to the barn." Lee turned to reach for Coeur's reins, intending to swing up on his back and ride away. She didn't need a surly head groom. Even if he was one of the best horse handlers she had ever seen, she would manage somehow without him.

Tanner caught her wrist. His hand felt big and warm and a tingle of awareness went through her. "I need this job, Miss Durant. I promise I won't interfere with your riding again."

Lee sighed. She didn't like the man, but he was good at his job. And with Jacob gone, she really did need him. "All right, I suppose that will have to do."

Caleb Tanner smiled and something warm slid into her stomach.

"Thank you for letting me stay," he said. Reaching toward the gray, he caught Coeur's reins and handed them over. "You're a very good rider, by the way. You and the horse performed extremely well together."

"Thank you." She found herself smiling at the compliment and realized it wasn't the usual pasted-on sort but actually sincere. "I enjoyed the chase… all but the end."

His mouth twitched. His lips had a sensuous curve she had noticed the first time she saw him.

"If that is the case," he said, "perhaps I could join you some morning. Maybe you could give me some pointers, help me improve my seat."

As if he needed any help. They both knew he was every bit as competent a rider as she, maybe better.

"Perhaps I could," she said loftily, just to annoy him. Reaching out to catch the reins, she waited while Tanner cupped his hands, then placed her knee in his locked palms and allowed him to lift her up onto the horse. "Good day, Mr. Tanner."

"Good day, Miss Durant."

And then she reined away, she and Coeur running like fire back toward the stable, wishing she didn't have to go, that she could stay outside in the sun and the fresh spring air.

That she didn't have to return to the house and once more become Vermillion.

Caleb watched the girl ride away. He still couldn't believe the fresh-faced young woman he had pulled off the gray was the infamous courtesan Vermillion. Without her face paint, she didn't look nearly as sophisticated as she had through the windows of the house last night, nor nearly as stunningly beautiful. Without the kohl beneath her eyes, they weren't the same too-bold blue-green, nor half as seductive as they had seemed.

She looked young and fresh and innocent. She looked sweet and lovely—and infinitely appealing. If he didn't know who she was, if he didn't suspect she might be involved in selling information to the French, he would have found himself completely enthralled.

As it was, as he rode at a distance behind her back to the stable, he found himself wondering about her, wondering at the life she had chosen, at the men she invited into her bed.

By the time he arrived at the stable, he expected to find her gone. Instead, she was there in the stall with the gray, brushing the horse's dappled coat to a brilliant sheen and currying its mane.

Caleb stepped up behind her, took the currycomb from her hand. She smelled of soap and horses, but he caught the faint whiff of rosewater. She had replaited her hair, he noticed, but the image remained of the way it looked tumbled free, in a riot of fiery curls around her shoulders.

"I'll take care of the horse," he said. "That's what I get paid for."

"Thank you, but I enjoy it." She retrieved the comb from his hand and started pulling it through the animal's mane. Standing behind her, he could feel the warmth of her body and his loins began to fill. He was hard by the time he stepped away, grateful when Arlie Spooner's head appeared over the top of the stall.

"Beg pardon, Miss Lee. Your aunt's askin' after ye, wantin' ta know when ye'll be comin' back ta the house."

Vermillion made a sound that might have been a sigh of regret. "Tell her I'll only be a few more minutes."

"Aye, Miss." Arlie tottered away in his slow, shuffling gait, his back hunched over, making him a full foot shorter than Caleb.

"Why does he call you that?" Caleb asked. "Why does he call you Lee?"

The currycomb paused. "Lee is my middle name. It's the name I prefer. It's what my friends call me."

"And Arlie Spooner is your friend?"

She looked up at him from the shadows of the barn and even without the kohl her eyes were the color of aquamarines. "Of course. Arlie has worked at Parklands since I was a little girl. He loves horses as much as I do. I consider him a very dear friend."

Caleb frowned. She was Vermillion, a seductress, a power-hungry female who took countless lovers and tossed them away like tattered clothes. She wasn't supposed to love horses and claim servants as her friends.

"Did I say something to displease you?"

Caleb shook his head. "No, not at all." His fingers brushed hers as he took the currycomb from her hand, and he tried not to notice how soft her skin felt. "You'd better go. Your aunt will be looking for you."

She tossed him a look. "Thank you for reminding me. I suppose for the short duration that you will be employed here, I shall have to get used to taking orders."

Caleb glanced away. "Sorry." He said nothing more but inwardly he cursed. He was too damned used to taking charge, too used to being in command. If he wasn't careful, Vermillion was going to suspect he was more than just a servant.

Vermillion. But the young woman he had seen this morning bore little resemblance to the image conjured by the name. As he finished grooming the gray and started on the tall bay gelding, Caleb found himself wondering about the pretty young woman who called herself Lee.

3

« ^ »

The horse races at Epsom Downs were attended by patrons from every level of society. From the lowliest ragpicker who stood watching from behind the rail to the royal party in their private boxes above the starting line.

The Durant women, longtime racing aficionados and owners of some of the finest racing stock in the country, sat with their own entourage, guests for the occasion who had traveled behind them in a string of expensive black carriages along the route to the track.

Activity swirled around them: apple sellers cooking on their tiny coal stoves, ale men selling beer at a penny a pot; an organ-grinder making music while one of those silly little monkeys jumped up and down on his shoulder. There were pickpockets and blacklegs, too, lying in wait for the unwary. Lee marveled at all of it, enjoying the cacophony of sights and sounds.

Anxiously awaiting the most important event of the day—the sweepstakes race in which Noir would be running—she sat next to Colonel Wingate, one of the three men most seriously vying for her affections.

A position soon to be filled.

At her aunt's insistence, Vermillion had agreed to announce her choice of lover on her upcoming nineteenth birthday. It was time she made a place for herself in the world, her aunt believed, past time, in fact.

On that particular point, Vermillion agreed. Aunt Gabby had her own life to live. She couldn't be expected to shelter her niece beneath her protective wing forever. For more than a year, Gabriella had scrupulously worked toward the goal of setting her young charge free. Vermillion would choose her first lover and assume her place as the toast of the demimonde.

And Colonel Wingate, Viscount Nash, and Lord Andrew Mondale each believed he was the man she would choose.

Vermillion sighed as she listened to the merry tune of the organ-grinder. She appreciated her suitors' confidence, but even she was not yet certain. Wingate was an attractive, imposing man somewhere near Lord Nash's age, perhaps close to forty, a military officer who had traveled extensively and was worth a goodly sum. He was intelligent and solicitous. He was also gone a great deal, which infinitely suited Vermillion.

Nash she considered a friend. He was in his late thirties, attractive in a genteel sort of way, and always interesting to talk to. The viscount was involved in politics and currently served as an advisor to the Lord Chancellor of England.

She liked Lord Nash. She just wasn't sure she wished to risk destroying the friendship she felt for him by turning it into a more intimate sort of relationship.

And then there was Mondale. Andrew was the youngest of the trio, perhaps seven and twenty, the best-looking of the three, the man she found the most attractive. Lord Andrew constantly professed his grand amour and he had kissed her more than once. They weren't the sort of kisses she had dreamed of, mashing her lips against her teeth and holding her a little too tightly, certainly not the sort her aunt described that made her knees feel weak, but her heart had certainly beat faster and her palms had grown a little damp.

Aunt Gabby's timely arrival in the garden had made certain the kisses were brief. There was no doubt what Mondale would do if he were given the least encouragement, but Vermillion wasn't yet ready to make that sort of commitment. Still, he was probably the man she should choose, being tall, blond, and handsome, and possessed of a passionate nature she imagined would make a good first lover.

He was also a complete and utter rogue where women were concerned, and though he read poetry to her and vowed to be faithful for the duration of their arrangement, she didn't believe for a moment that he would be.

But then, in the world of the demimonde, fidelity wasn't considered important.

"Are you comfortable?" Seated beside her in the grandstand, Lord Andrew cast a look at his competition. "The view might be better a bit farther to the right. I'm sure Colonel Wingate would be happy to give up his seat so that you might better view the race."

"Of course," the colonel said, drilling Mondale with a glare. "I should be happy to move, dearest, if that is your pleasure." Wingate's hair was black and he wore it slicked back and neatly trimmed. His eyes were light green and he had very handsome side-whiskers and a small mustache. "Or perhaps Lord Andrew's seat would better suit."

Used to the men's squabbling attentions, Vermillion simply smiled. "Thank you both for your concern, but I can see perfectly well where I am." She gazed off toward the track, then over to the stables where Noir and other competing horses were being readied for the race. She tried not to wish she were there with them instead of here with her aunt and her friends. "Besides, from here I can watch them leading the horses onto the racecourse."

Aunt Gabriella shifted on her seat in front of Lee. "Does anyone have the time?" she asked. Gowned in lavender silk with a matching silk bonnet, she sat next to Lord Claymont on her right and the colonel's aide, a young Lieutenant named Oxley on her left, next to the Countess, Lady Rotham.

" 'Tis nearly post time," the young lieutenant said, not bothering to hide his excitement.

Aunt Gabby smiled at Vermillion. "You're looking far too serious, darling. You mustn't worry. Noir is going to win."

"Of course he is," Lord Andrew said firmly. "As a matter of fact, I have placed a goodly wager to that end."

"As have I," the colonel chimed in.

"Oh, dear, that reminds me. I meant to send one of the footmen to the betting shop yesterday to place my wager—I can't imagine how I could have forgot." Seizing on the chance for a moment's escape, Vermillion surged to her feet. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I promise I shan't be gone more than a moment."

"Allow me to escort you," Lord Andrew said, snapping to attention beside her. "It would be highly unseemly for a lady to place such a bet on her own."

"Mondale is right," the colonel grudgingly agreed. "You must allow one of us to escort you." His look said he clearly preferred that she chose him while next to her, Lord Nash merely smiled, his manner, as always, gracious in the extreme.

Perhaps she should reconsider. Mondale might be handsome, but Nash would be gentle and constant.

"Hurry back, luvie. You don't want to miss the start." This from Lisette Moreau, a well-known courtesan and close friend of her aunt's, who sat next to Sir Peter Peasley, another of Gabriella's inner circle of acquaintances.

"The charming Mrs. Moreau is quite correct." Lord Andrew offered Lee his arm. "We had best be off." Accepting defeat, she placed a gloved hand on the sleeve of his saffron kerseymere tailcoat and they started making their way out of the stands.

"Please, pet, allow me to place the wager in your name."

Some of Vermillion's excitement seeped away. Those are the things a man is supposed to do for a woman, her aunt would have said. Charm her, lavish her with money and jewels. Vermillion figured she had enough money and jewelry already and she enjoyed the betting far more when the money at risk was her own.

Knowing it would do no good to argue, she simply smiled. "The betting post is just over there." She pointed in that direction and let him lead her toward their destination.

The day was warm and sunny, the sky an azure blue with just a few wispy clouds floating above the racecourse. As Mondale guided her across the grass to place her wager, Vermillion's gaze strayed toward the horse barns. The first of the Thoroughbreds entered in the sweepstakes were being led out of their stalls and into the sunlight. Her gaze went in search of Noir and she spotted his gleaming black coat emerging through the wide double doors, prancing along beside his trainer.

The horse shied once, but Tanner spoke to him softly and Noir settled back down. Lee watched Tanner control the powerful horse with a skill she had rarely seen, saw the way his big hands slid so gently along the stallion's neck, and her stomach fluttered oddly. Vermillion fixed her eyes on Noir and stood rigidly next to Mondale as trainer and stallion approached.

For an instant, Tanner's dark gaze sliced to Lord Andrew before returning to her, and an expression of disdain appeared on the hard, handsome planes of his face.

"He is really quite something," Mondale said. "Prime horseflesh and no doubt." He reached out to pet the horse's nose. Noir snorted, tossed his beautiful head, and tried to back away.

"Easy, boy," Tanner said in a voice as soft and smooth as honey left out in the sun. He flicked a glance at Lord Andrew. "The color of your coat hurts his eyes. Maybe you'd better not get too close."

Though Mondale's features tightened, Vermillion fought down a laugh. She tried to be offended in Andrew's behalf, but the saffron yellow coat was atrocious. The amazing thing was that Tanner had the audacity to point it out.

"As Lord Andrew was, until now, unaware of Noir's taste in men's fashion," she said, "I'm sure the color of his tailcoat can be overlooked just this once."

The corner of Tanner's mouth edged up.

Andrew fixed the trainer with a warning glare, then returned his attention to her. "Your stallion looks in fine form, pet. I daresay, he's a rare galloper. I think he has a very good chance of winning."

"Chance has little to do with it," Tanner put in from a few feet away. "Noir has by far the best breeding. He's the fastest of the lot and the best prepared."

Andrew's face began to turn red. He wasn't used to receiving setdowns from the servants. Vermillion cast Tanner a look that told him he had better remember his place and stepped into the breach.

"He is definitely facing a difficult field of competitors," she said to Lord Andrew, "but Noir loves to race and he's going to win. Which is why we must hurry, my lord, and get our bets in place before the race begins."

Mondale cast a last disdainful glance at Tanner. "Exactly so." He extended his arm. "Come, my beauty."

Lee felt Tanner's eyes on her the moment she took Andrew's arm. She didn't miss the disapproval on his face as they walked away. She tried to smile, but it wasn't that easy to do.

Noir won the race, beating the next two horses, both top competitors in the field, by more than three lengths. Caleb kept his job and even received a faintly grudging compliment from the stallion's pretty owner, who hadn't spoken to him since.

By day he continued his work with the horses. As the youngest son of the Earl of Selhurst, he had been raised at the family estate in York. At Selhurst Manor, his father owned and bred some of the finest racing stock in England. Love of horses and racing were the two things he and his father had in common.

Horses had led him to a commission in the cavalry and a decision to make the service his career. Now, in a strange, unexpected way, he was enjoying his simple day's work in the stable, enjoying the thrill of seeing an animal he had worked with pit itself against a field of the very best livestock—and win.

It was the nights that left him tense and edgy, frustrated with the lack of progress he was making in his assignment.

On top of that, watching Vermillion with her endless string of wilting admirers left a bad taste in his mouth. At Epsom, she had spent most of her time with Mondale. Having lived only briefly in London and rarely moving about in Society, Caleb had never met the man, but gossip about him was rampant. Mondale was one of the most notorious rakes in London.

Caleb couldn't imagine what Vermillion saw in the simpering fop. He was a swaggering boor, as far as Caleb was concerned, and just thinking about the two of them together made a knot form in his stomach. He tried not to think of the man's pale hands on Vermillion's luscious breasts, tried not to imagine him lying next to her in bed. Determinedly he shoved the unwelcome image away and forced himself to concentrate on the job he had come there to do.

It was almost midnight. Darkness had settled over the fields and meadows around the house and quiet enveloped the landscape. Caleb moved away from the window at the rear of the mansion. With a dense growth of leafy foliage surrounding the mullioned panes, it was a safe place to view the drawing room and the stairwell leading to the second floor. The house was quiet tonight—an unusual occurrence—the Durant women retired upstairs to their respective bedchambers.

Earlier, he had seen Lord Claymont arrive, an imposing man in his late forties, and watched him make his way to the rear of the mansion to a private entrance heavily overgrown with ivy. There was a staircase just inside the door, Caleb saw, presumably to the room occupied by his mistress, Gabriella Durant.

Word was, for the past four years, Gabriella had forsaken her other lovers in favor of a long-term liaison with Claymont. From Caleb's observations thus far, the gossip appeared to be true. The woman was getting older, her looks very subtly beginning to fade. Perhaps she felt it was time to fix her interest on an individual. Whatever the reason, Gabriella was in bed with her lover and Vermillion had gone upstairs as well, and as she had done each night since his arrival, she had retired alone.

Caleb still wasn't certain what that meant. During the briefing he had received on his arrival in London, Colonel Cox had relayed a rumor that Vermillion meant to end her string of affairs. On the occasion of her birthday, she had vowed to choose a protector from one of her current lovers. Perhaps she had decided to remain celibate until then.

Whatever the reason, there was little he could discover tonight. Caleb turned away from the house and made his way across the courtyard to the stable, determined to get some long-overdue sleep. Expecting the barn to be dark, he slowed when he noticed the glow of a lantern burning in one of the stalls and heard the soft sound of straw being shuffled about.

Entering quietly, Caleb approached the stall. It was the empty one, he saw, the one the fat yellow cat had commandeered for herself. The animal was stretched out on a bed of fresh hay, her insides heaving in and out as if she had just finished a race. Five tiny yellow kittens lay beside her, and stroking the cat's striped fur, Vermillion bent over, giving Caleb a glimpse of her thick red braid. Dressed in a simple brown skirt and white blouse, she looked more like a servant than an occupant of the house.

He must have made some sound. Her head jerked up and her gaze turned toward him. He saw that her face was free of paint. Her expression was bleak, her aqua eyes luminous with tears. This woman was Lee, not Vermillion, and her obvious distress bothered him in a way he hadn't expected.

"What's wrong?" His stride lengthened as he walked toward her. "What's happened?"

She swallowed, shook her head. "It's Muffin. I came out to check on her and found her in labor. It must have been going on for hours. She's had five kittens so far, but there's still one more. It think it may be breached or something. She can't push it out. I think she's dying."

Caleb moved farther into the stall and quietly knelt next to the cat and her tiny newborn kittens, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Vermillion was out here in the middle of the night, helping to birth a litter of kittens. "What have you done so far?"

"I fixed her some warm milk laced with choke-cherry and honey. I thought it might help with the pain, but I couldn't get her to take it." She gnawed her bottom lip. "I've seen Jacob reach into a mare to turn a foal. I know that can sometimes be done with a woman who's with child, but Muffin is too small."

Caleb ran his hand over the cat's protruding stomach. He could feel her fluttering heartbeat, her too-rapid panting breaths. The cat looked up at him and he could have sworn he saw resignation in her deep blue eyes.

"My hands are too large, but yours might not be." He reached over and caught her wrist, lifted her small, pale hand and examined it. Her fingers were slim, the nails carefully trimmed and buffed to a glossy sheen. The backs had a few stray freckles Caleb somehow found appealing. Her skin felt soft. He had the oddest urge to press his lips against her palm, to suck on the tips of her fingers.

He let go of her hand as if it had just caught flame. "I think you should try it. Perhaps if you could manage to get your fingers inside the womb, you could stretch the opening. Perhaps you could adjust the kitten and it would be able to slide out as the others have done."

She sniffed, dried her eyes on the sleeve of her blouse and looked up at him. He could read the spark of hope he had just ignited, and something tightened in his chest.

"All right. Yes… let's give it a try." She blotted her eyes again, bent over and petted the cat, stroking its soft fur, whispering encouragement into its ear. Licking her fingers, she eased them inside the mother cat. She stretched the opening and began to probe the womb.

Muffin meowed, but barely moved. Caleb gentled the cat, praying her efforts would work.

"I think the kitten is turned a little bit sideways," Vermillion said. "Maybe it's caught or something."

"Can you move it?"

"I'm not sure." Moving very slowly, Vermillion continued to work. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead and he thought she might give up. She stopped once during a contraction and spoke a few encouraging words to the cat. Then she took a deep breath and started all over again.

"I think I moved it," she said, looking up. "I think I turned it so it's lined up in the proper direction." She removed her fingers and leaned down to stroke the cat. "Now if Muffin just has enough strength left to push the kitten out."

But it was only a few seconds later that the pouch slid onto the straw, the tiny kitten enclosed in its protective sack.

Vermillion grinned and laughed with relief. "We did it, Caleb, we did it!"

It was the first time she had used his first name and the intimacy washed over him like a gentle spring breeze. "Yes…" he said softly. "We did."

Very carefully, she helped the exhausted mother cat turn around in the straw enough to lick the sack from the kitten, then sat back on her heels in the stall, her entire face wreathed in a smile.

"She's going to be all right," she said. "I can hardly believe it." She turned to look at him and he thought she appeared almost shy. "Thank you, Caleb. She would have died if you hadn't come to help."

"You did all the work."

Vermillion made no reply, just turned and gazed softly down at the kittens. "They're beautiful, aren't they?" But he was thinking it was she who was lovely, this girl who cried over a barnyard cat, who sat in the straw like a servant, who called him Caleb and smiled so sweetly an ache formed in his chest.

Vermillion turned to the yellow-striped cat. "Mon Petit Pain," she whispered, saying the cat's name in French. More French words poured out, the endearments reminding him of who she really was and why he was there at Parklands, jolting him out of the fantasy he had allowed to creep into his head.

"It looks like your cat is going to be fine," he said brusquely. "If you don't require my services any longer, I think it's time I went to bed."

She glanced up, saw the harshness that had seeped into his features, and her gaze turned uncertain. "No… I won't be needing you any more tonight. You're free to go anytime you wish."

He made a curt nod of his head. "Good night, Miss Durant."

She stiffened a little where she sat in the straw. "Good night, Mr. Tanner."

He started walking, trying not to wish she had called him Caleb instead.

Caleb saw Vermillion again the next day. She came to check on the kittens and their mother, all of whom appeared to be doing very well, then ordered Jimmy Murphy, the youngest of the grooms, to saddle Grand Coeur for a late-morning ride. She was wearing her tailored men's breeches and a pair of Spanish riding boots, her hair in a single thick braid. She had never brought one of her lovers into the stable and he thought that perhaps this was her refuge, the place she could simply be Lee.

Unless, of course, she rode out each day for some more nefarious purpose.

Caleb's jaw hardened. There was every chance the woman was a spy, that she or her aunt were responsible for the deaths of thousands of British troops, a thought that sent him striding through the barn in search of a suitable mount. Saddling the big bay gelding he had ridden before, he set off behind his quarry, riding at a leisurely pace some distance away.

Careful to keep her in his sight but remaining far enough back that she wouldn't know she was being followed, he watched her gallop over the rise and for a moment disappear out of sight. When Caleb saw her again, she was riding less recklessly than she had been before but no less skillfully, putting the horse through its paces with perfect timing and precision, apparently enjoying the sun and the wind in her face.

She met no one during the ride, encountered none of her lovers or anyone else, and as she turned and started back to the stable, Caleb sat a little easier in his saddle. As yet some distance from home, he watched her ride into a copse of trees and gave in to a sudden urge to follow, knowing she would spot him the minute he rode out on the opposite side.

She was waiting, as he had expected, sitting astride the gray, her back ramrod straight and her pretty mouth thinned into an angry line.

"You're following me again. I believe you gave me your word that you wouldn't interfere."

"I'm not trying to interfere. If you recall, you agreed to give me some pointers. Or are you the one who intends to break her word?"

Her spine went even stiffer. "I believe I said I might be willing to give you some pointers. We both know you ride as well as or better than I do."

He shrugged his shoulders. "I can hardly argue with a compliment." He looked out over the rolling fields, at the sheep that grazed in one of the upper pastures and the black-and-white dog there to watch over them.

"I guess, since you don't think I'm in need of a lesson, we could simply enjoy ourselves, take a couple of fences before we head back to the stable."

She eyed him with a look of suspicion that turned to one of interest. She glanced toward the stable, judging the distance. "The bay is faster than Coeur but I'm a good bit lighter, so we should be fairly evenly matched. What do you say we race back to the barn?"

Caleb looked at her small frame perched on the gray and found himself smiling. "All right—if you promise not to fire me if you lose."

Vermillion rolled her eyes. "I vow your employment is in no jeopardy. Now… what shall we wager? It is always more fun if one has something at risk."

He knew exactly what he'd like to win—a good, long taste of her, but the woman in his bed would have to be Lee, not Vermillion.

"I have it!" she said with a grin. "If I win, you muck out the stalls for Jimmy Murphy the rest of the week."

Caleb cocked an eyebrow. He didn't mind the work. He had done his share in his father's barn as punishment for one indiscretion or another. Besides, he didn't plan to lose. "And if I win?"

"If you are the winner, you may take the balance of the week for yourself—with pay, of course."

He shook his head. "Not good enough. If I win… let me see… How about, if I win, you muck out the stalls for Jimmy Murphy for the rest of the week?"

The gray pawed the ground, eager to be away. "You can't be serious."

"What's the matter? Afraid you'll lose?" He could almost see her mind working, spinning around the possibilities, intrigued by the challenge. Unable to resist.

"All right, fine. If I lose, I'll muck out the stalls for the rest of the week." She whirled her horse toward the stable. "Are you ready?"

Caleb turned the bay. "Whenever you say the word."

Vermillion grinned. "Go!" she shouted and dug her small heels into the side of the gray. The animal leaped into action and she settled low over its neck, urging the horse into a flat-out run. Caleb watched the mesmerizing sight for an instant longer than he should have, then set his heels to the bay.

It took longer than he thought it would to catch her. With her lighter frame and skillful handling of the horse, the pair flew over low rock walls and thundered across the open green fields. They were riding neck and neck, saddles groaning, legs brushing, hooves thundering as they approached the final stretch of the race and headed toward the big stone barn behind the house.

The bay began pulling ahead. He was going to beat her, but not by much. An image appeared of her small figure shoveling the heavy muck out of a stall and at the very last minute he found himself easing back on the reins. Vermillion shot past him with a whoop of glee, streaking into the courtyard in front of the stable, her braid bouncing up and down on her back. Tendrils of fiery hair whipped around her smiling face and he found himself smiling, too.

"I did it! I won!"

Caleb pulled his horse to a stop and swung down from the saddle, the laughter still in his eyes. "Yes, I guess you did."

Vermillion kept a tight rein on Grand Coeur, who snorted and blew and danced beneath her, then finally began to settle down. Caleb reached up and clamped his hands around her waist to lift her down and tried not to notice the feminine flare of her hips, how light she felt in his hands. For a moment, her breasts crushed into his chest as he swung her to the ground and he could feel the weight of them, the softness. They were round and full and he went instantly hard.

Swearing softly, Caleb took a step away.

"That was marvelous," Vermillion said, oblivious to the havoc she wreaked in his body. "Grand Coeur ran like the wind." Leading her horse next to his toward the door of the stable, she gave him a saucy grin. "Tomorrow morning, I expect you shall make Jimmy Murphy very happy."

Caleb chuckled. They continued leading the horses and had nearly reached the entrance when a man stepped out of the shadowy interior of the barn. It was Oliver Wingate, a colonel of the Life Guards. Spying Vermillion without her sophisticated rice powder and rouge and dressed in men's clothes, his face went utterly pale.

"My God, Vermillion! I can't believe it. Is that really you?"

She blinked as if waking from a dream. Caleb saw the transformation in the squaring of her shoulders, the haughty look she gave the colonel down her small, lightly freckled nose.

When it came to men, Vermillion gave no quarter.

"I wasn't expecting you, Oliver. Had you sent word ahead of your arrival, I should have been able to greet you in a more proper manner. The fault lies with you and not me."

The colonel's gaze ran over the tight brown breeches that curved over her small round bottom and Caleb could see the lust seep into his eyes. Caleb had never met Oliver Wingate, though he had a full dossier on the man and had seen him many times there at the house. Wingate, a high-ranking officer of the Guards, had access to a good deal of sensitive information.

"My apologies," the colonel said, making a very slight bow. "I can't say I approve your choice of garments, my dear, but I daresay I shouldn't quibble if you wished to wear them for me in private sometime." His look said he wouldn't mind peeling them off her right now, and Caleb's jaw knotted.

Vermillion paid not the slightest attention. Turning away from the colonel, she handed Caleb her reins. "Give Coeur an extra ration of oats, won't you? And see he gets a good long rubdown."

Caleb made a slightly mocking bow, wishing he hadn't let her win the race, wishing instead the colonel had come upon her shoveling manure out of one of the stalls.

"Your wish is my command… Miss Durant." Of course she probably would have reneged on the bet, at any rate. Undoubtedly would have, he told himself.

Vermillion didn't miss the sarcasm in his voice. As if they hadn't been laughing together just moments ago, she cast him a speaking glance and started walking back toward the house, allowing Colonel Wingate to trail along in her wake. All the way back to the mansion, Wingate's eyes remained glued to her rump and Caleb knew the man was thinking of the hours he hoped to spend in her bed.

Caleb made a mental note to find out what secrets the colonel might know that could be valuable to the French. What might Wingate be willing to divulge for a chance to spill his seed in Vermillion's delectable little body?

As Caleb turned to lead the horses back into the barn, unconsciously his hand tightened into a fist.

4

« ^ »

Caleb received a summons from the footman the following morning. Miss Durant would be traveling to Tattersall's Auction House in the matter of the purchase of several more head of blooded stock and she required his expertise in helping her make her selections.

As soon as his duties in the stable had been performed—including, to Jimmy Murphy's great delight, mucking out the stalls—Caleb freshened and changed into clean clothing and made his way up to the rear of the house.

"Miss Durant has summoned the carriage," the butler told him when he reached the back door. "She instructs you to await her out front."

He made his way round to the front of the house and Vermillion arrived a few minutes later, in company with a slight, brown-haired woman who appeared to be her maid. He was mildly surprised to see the maid, having expected Vermillion, never one to succumb to convention, to be traveling unchaperoned. Then he saw that today she wasn't dressed in the bold, bright colors she usually wore, but gowned very simply in a high-waisted garment of pale green muslin, her red hair covered by a matching flowered bonnet. Her unadorned features were shaded by the parasol resting on one of her small shoulders, an unremarkable young lady at first glance.

Unfortunately, Caleb thought she looked more appealing than he had ever seen her.

"Good morning, Mr. Tanner."

"Good morning, Miss Durant."

"This is Jeannie Fontenelle. She'll be accompanying us today. Jeannie, this is Mr. Tanner. He's taking Jacob's place for a while."

"Bonjour, M'sieur," the little maid said in French, reminding him again of the undercurrents swirling through the house and the Durant women's possible sympathies toward the French. The maid was slender and pretty, a few years older than Vermillion, with brown hair and warm brown eyes. He managed a smile, only a little surprised to have been introduced to a person who was, perhaps, another servant Vermillion considered a friend.

She carefully folded her parasol and he helped her climb into the open carriage, followed by her little French maid. The conveyance wasn't the fancy barouche she traveled in most evenings with her aunt, but a shiny black calèche. Caleb took a place next to the coachman, who smartly slapped the reins against the rumps of a nicely matched set of bays and they set off for Tattersall's.

Caleb had been to the auction house on several occasions: as a boy once with his father, in later years with one or another of his three brothers. Lucas, the eldest, enjoyed horse racing nearly as much as Caleb. Christian and Ethan also owned some very fine bloodstock.

Caleb thought of his father and brothers as the horses clopped along the road between the low stone walls surrounding the rolling green fields, wishing he'd had time to pay his family a visit before he had begun his assignment. Hopefully, there would be time to see them before his return to Spain.

The sun had warmed the air by the time the carriage arrived at Tattersall's and Caleb helped Vermillion and her maid descend the iron stairs onto the grass. Two ladies among the throng of mostly well-dressed men caused a momentary buzz, but there were several other women in attendance and soon their presence at the edge of the crowd was forgotten.

"This is the big spring sale," Vermillion said. "They'll be auctioning broodmares, foals, and yearlings. I was hoping you could make a cursory examination of the horses coming up for bid and then I could take a look at the ones you've initially selected."

"All right, that sounds like a workable plan. I won't be gone long." He cast her a glance. "In a crowd like this, there are bound to be pickpockets and sharpers. You and Jeannie had better stay here." Where hopefully they would stay out of trouble and he would be able to find them.

But the crowd was different at the auction house, a little more sophisticated than it was at the races, so he wasn't all that worried—aristocrats and men of the upper classes, a few in company with ladies, men with purses hefty enough to pay the price demanded by the very high caliber of breeding stock Tattersall's made available through its sales. Still, he didn't like leaving the women alone for too long.

With that thought in mind, Caleb made his way along the line of horses coming up for bid, making a brief examination of each and a mental note of those he thought might be of benefit to a stable the quality of the one at Parklands.

As he had vowed, he wasn't gone long. Still, when he returned to the spot where he had left her, Vermillion was nowhere to be seen.

Caleb softly cursed. As fashionable as the crowd appeared, there were always blacklegs ready to fleece the unwary. And a woman unaccompanied by a man was always fair game.

He released a sigh of relief when he spotted Vermillion standing near the fence examining a newborn foal and its mother about to come up for bid. Caleb could tell by the look on her face as she stared at the white-stockinged sorrel and its spindly-legged colt that she had already fallen in love.

"What do you think of Hannibal's Lady?" she asked, clearly having already made the decision to bid on both horses.

Caleb stepped closer, examined the mare's teeth, walked around her, ran his hands up and down each of her legs, checked her hooves. He took a few minutes to assess the tiny stud colt the horse had foaled.

"The mare has excellent confirmation. She looks sound and so does the foal. What about the breeding?"

"She's out of Hannibal's Bride, sired by Lochinvar. The breeding book shows a direct line to the Godolphin Arabian."

"I know Lochinvar. He won the Derby at Epsom four years ago. With that sort of breeding, they're going to be expensive. I've found a couple of others you might be able to buy at a better price."

Her chin went up. "I want Hannibal's Lady and her foal, Lochinvar's Fist. I think whatever they cost will be worth paying."

It galled him to admit she likely might be right. He couldn't help feeling a grudging admiration at her selection. "If that is the case, why don't we go somewhere where we can enter the bidding?" He started to turn, but she caught his arm.

"I'd like you to handle that for me."

He hadn't thought of that, though he should have. A woman didn't enter the bidding, it wouldn't be seemly, perhaps wasn't even allowed. And she didn't want to be recognized as Vermillion—not that there was much chance of that. Still, she was always more circumspect when she was Lee.

Considering he also had no desire to be discovered, Caleb had hoped to stay in the background himself. Unfortunately, Vermillion hadn't left him any choice.

"As you wish," he said, not really all that concerned. His acquaintances were mostly in the military and he hardly looked like an officer of the British Army with his overlong hair and dressed in the clothes of a groom. "Come. Let's find a place to stand before Hannibal's Lady and her foal come up for bid."

The horses entered the ring not long after. By waiting for the bidding to near an end, he was able to step in without driving up the price, which seemed to please Vermillion. The financial deals were concluded and a promise made to pick up both horses on the morrow.

"It's been a good day," Vermillion said as Caleb returned the women to the carriage.

"You're sure you don't want to look at any of the others?"

"I'm satisfied for now. Perhaps another day."

"You chose exceptionally well. The mare and her foal are well worth the price you paid."

"Actually, I would have gone higher. You're a shrewd negotiator, Mr. Tanner."

He didn't mention that he had learned the trick from his father. The earl was a master of manipulation. Caleb knew that firsthand. He had joined the army to please his father and though it suited him very well, he often wondered if he would have made the same choice if it hadn't been for his father's subtle hand.

Continuing through the crowd, they had almost reached the coach when he heard someone shouting his name. Recognizing his brother Lucas's voice, Caleb silently cursed.

"That man," Vermillion said, her footsteps beginning to slow. "He seems to know you."

There was no avoiding the confrontation. Damn, Lucas. His eldest brother had a knack for stirring up trouble. Praying Lucas would follow his lead, Caleb turned and smiled.

"Lord Halford," he said, using his brother's courtesy title. "It's good to see you, sir."

His brother's dark eyebrows narrowed for an instant as he took in Caleb's homespun shirt and course brown breeches, and his hair, usually kept short, curling now at the nape of his neck. Lucas wasn't a fool. His look said whatever might be transpiring, he would play along for now—though Caleb couldn't begin to imagine the scenarios that must be swirling through his head.

"It's good to see you as well," Lucas replied easily, giving him a chance to invent whatever story he liked. His brother made a quick perusal of Vermillion, and the faint darkening of his pupils said he recognized the beauty she seemed unaware of, dressed as simply as she was.

"I used to work as a trainer for his lordship in York," Caleb supplied, making no attempt at introductions that would scarcely be appropriate for a groom.

"That's right," Lucas agreed. "I was sorry to lose you. I was hoping perhaps you might be ready to return to the north again."

"No, sir, not at present, but I'm flattered by your interest."

Lucas, ever a man with an eye for beauty, turned the full force of his charm on Vermillion. Luc was as tall as Caleb, his hair as dark. His shoulders were wide, though Lucas was slimmer, more leanly built. He also had a wicked reputation with the ladies nearly as sordid as Andrew Mondale's.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance," Lucas said, making her a very dashing bow. "Viscount Halford at your service, madam." His brother was beginning to enjoy himself. Considering his scandalous reputation and the fact he often sampled the delights of a beautiful Cyprian, he might already have met her, even spent the night in her bed. If not, he clearly wished to. Caleb felt a sudden urge to hit him.

"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse us, my lord," Vermillion said, determined not to give him her name; certainly it wouldn't have been proper if she had done so. "My aunt will be worried should I be gone overly long." Turning away, she started walking, almost bolting for the carriage, Jeannie close at her skirts.

"Beautiful woman," Luc said, his gaze still following Vermillion. Caleb could see by the interest in his eyes he had never made her acquaintance. He was surprised by the enormity of his relief.

Lucas shifted his gaze back to Caleb. "So what are you doing with a chit just out of the schoolroom? Or are you so besotted you are posing as her groom simply to be near her?"

"Sorry to disillusion you, brother, but she isn't the innocent she seems. I'll explain everything later. In the meantime, it would be best if you forgot you ever saw me."

Luc smiled. "That shouldn't be too hard to do. Now the lady… that might be a more difficult matter. What did you say was her name… ?"

The corner of Caleb's mouth barely curved. "I'll see you when this is over. Not a word of the matter until then." His brother's smile faded as he recognized the seriousness in Caleb's tone.

"I gather there is more at stake than at first it might appear. Take care of yourself, brother." Lucas gently grasped his shoulder.

"You as well, Luc." Turning away, Caleb headed for his seat on the carriage next to the driver, grateful it had been Lucas he had encountered and not another of his brothers or one of his more rapscallion friends.

Yesterday had been more enjoyable than she had expected and Lee was delighted by the purchase of the mare and her foal. But the pleasant interlude was over and tonight her life had returned to normal. Aunt Gabriella was holding a small soiree in honor of the occasion of Lady Rotham's birthday. The countess would be turning thirty years old, not an auspicious event for some, but Elizabeth Sorenson seemed to see it as a portal into another, more hopeful phase of her existence.

"Charles has always thought of me as a child," she explained as they stood beneath one of the chandeliers in the drawing room, a crush of guests swirling around them.

Most of them were men, of course, but there were women as well, a novelist and poet named Sally Grisham, who thought herself something of a bohemian; Lisette Moreau, Sir Peter Peasley's current chère amie; and a couple of actresses up from Drury Lane. Colonel Wingate was there along with his aide, Lieutenant Oxley; and Jonathan Parker, Viscount Nash.

"Now that I have entered into my middle years," Elizabeth continued, "Charles shall be forced to see me as the woman I have become, rather than the innocent I was when we married."

Elizabeth rarely spoke of the man she had wed at her parents' insistence. It was interesting, Vermillion thought. Lady Rotham flouted convention at every turn. As soon as she had delivered her husband of an heir and a spare, she had begun to take lovers. She had a reputation for being shamelessly wicked and embroiling herself in one scandal after another, yet Vermillion thought that perhaps she had once been desperately in love with her husband.

Lee cast a glance at the Earl of Rotham. Charles Sorenson was refined and handsome, with light brown hair and pale blue eyes. Though he had always been more discreet than his wife in his affairs, it was rumored that just days after his marriage, Charles had returned to his mistress, a widow named Molly Cinders. Vermillion wondered if perhaps Elizabeth had been crushed by the faithless act.

"Vermillion, my beauty! At last I've found you. I've been looking all over." Mondale strode toward her. Tonight he was dressed in a peacock blue tailcoat, even brighter than his brilliant blue eyes. "The music has begun. The orchestra is playing a waltz and I believe you have promised this particular dance to me."

He cut quite a dashing figure with his handsome face and gleaming blond hair. Distantly she wondered why it was that Caleb Tanner seemed more appealing in a pair of coarse brown breeches and a simple homespun shirt.

"Good evening, my lord."

He made an extravagant bow over her hand. "You look ravishing, as always."

Lee thought that she did look pretty tonight, in a simpler gown than she usually wore, a tunic dress she had ordered in a moment of weakness that looked rather placid in contrast to Vermillion's usual extravagant attire. Though the bodice was so low it barely concealed her nipples, the silk was a soft shade of aquamarine. The tunic fit over a slightly darker lingerie skirt, both of them trimmed with cream lace. There were tiny bowknots down the front of the tunic and pearls sewn into the lace.

"Thank you, my lord. You look extremely dashing yourself." The coat might be a little bright, but it was a lovely shade of blue, slightly darker than his eyes, and the fit was perfect. Behind him, she could hear the strains of the waltz as Mondale reached for her hand. In a way she didn't mind. She loved to waltz, scandalous as many thought it was, and Lord Andrew was an excellent dancer.

Leading her onto the polished wood floor, he pulled her into his arms, swept her into the rhythm of the music, and she felt as if she were floating. She tried to imagine what it might be like if Andrew were her lover, but her aunt had always been protective of her in that regard. She had seen a stallion mounting a mare, and during a party or ball, some of the guests might sneak away to the rooms upstairs. She had heard the odd sounds they made and of course Gabriella's friends often talked about it, so at least she knew what occurred. Still, there was no real way to envision what it might be like should they make love.

She felt Andrew's hand at her waist, drawing her shamelessly close.

"You don't have to wait, you know… till your birthday, I mean. We could simply go off together. We could leave tonight, if you wanted." He led her into a sweeping turn and she felt his hardened male anatomy pressing against her hip. She tried not to flush but a hint of color crept into her cheeks.

"It's too soon, Andrew. I'm not ready to make my choice." He was pressing her more and more. The men in the drawing room all believed she was a seasoned courtesan, an illusion her aunt had skillfully woven. They believed she held herself back from her string of eager admirers only to heighten the excitement when she chose her next lover.

But as Vermillion felt Lord Andrew's growing arousal and recalled what the stallion had done to the mare, she felt more and more uncertain.

When the dance came to a close, she stepped away. "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, my lord. There's a somewhat pressing matter I need to attend."

"Remember what I said." Andrew smiled, certain she was headed for the ladies' retiring room. "I shall remain just here, eagerly awaiting your return. Perhaps when you arrive, you will join me for a walk in the garden."

She should, she knew. The time to make her decision grew nearer each day. Perhaps if she were better acquainted with Andrew, if she allowed him to take certain liberties with her person, she would be more reassured in her choice.

She glanced up at him, remembered the dampness of his hands as his stiff length rubbed against her, and fled the drawing room instead. With a glance around to be certain no one witnessed her escape, she disappeared down the hall to the study and quietly made her way out to the garden.

Lee didn't stop until she was well away from the house, away from the light of the crystal chandeliers glowing like jewels through the drawing room windows. It was quiet in this distant part of the garden, except for the sound of her slippers crunching on the gravel path. She could see the roof of the gazebo through the branches of a sycamore tree, hear the hum of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl.

Seating herself on a wrought-iron bench near the fountain, she inhaled the musk of damp leaves, the soft scent of lilacs just beginning to blossom.

She felt better out here among the flowers, able to escape her turbulent thoughts for a while. She was listening to the trickle of water into the bowl of the fountain, beginning to relax, when she heard the rustle of leaves and recognized the sound as someone moving along the path toward the rear of the garden.

She knew she shouldn't be out there by herself. She was too far away from the house. If it were Mondale or Wingate, she might find herself with a problem. She started to rise from the bench when she heard Caleb Tanner's familiar, insolent drawl.

"You don't have to go. Not on my account."

She stood up anyway, not wishing to be at such a disadvantage. As he strolled toward her along the path, a distant torch illuminated his profile, but she couldn't read his face.

"What are you doing out here in the garden?" She tried to look affronted and ignore the little leap her heart made at his approach.

"I was listening to the music… watching the dancing."

"You're not supposed to be out here. You're hardly one of the guests."

"True enough." He sauntered toward her, stopped a few feet away. Propping a wide shoulder against the trunk of a tree, he gave her a sweeping perusal, then his dark gaze returned to her breasts. For an instant, she couldn't seem to breathe. When she did, each breath came much too fast and forced her bosom even nearer the top of her dress.

Tanner's eyes went dark. "And, of course, there is always the chance that someone might see me. Lord Andrew would scarcely approve your being out here alone, conversing with one of the servants."

But Caleb Tanner was as far from a servant as she had ever encountered. He was arrogant and impertinent. He was overbearing and at times even rude. In short, he was nothing at all like any man she had ever met and every time she saw him, her attraction to him grew.

It was ridiculous. She was a wealthy woman with a circle of admirers that stretched across the whole of London. She couldn't imagine how it was that he could make her feel so off balance every time they chanced to meet.

He pushed away from the tree and strolled toward her, looking dark and male and unbelievably handsome. Since the day they had spent together at Tattersall's, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about him.

"And then there is Wingate," he drawled, moving closer still. "Perhaps he'll be the one to follow you outside. I'm sure the colonel would like nothing better than to catch you alone out here, perhaps convince you to give him a tumble on the cushions in the gazebo. Or perhaps he has already done that. Perhaps he would prefer to take you right here by the fountain."

Anger shot through her, dissolving any of the ridiculous attraction she might have felt for him. "How dare you speak to me that way!" Caleb stood right in front of her, close enough that when her hand swept out, it made a resounding crack across his cheek.

He didn't move, not a muscle. He didn't even flinch. But she could see into his eyes and they had turned as black as pitch.

"My apologies," he said coolly. "More likely it will be Nash who follows, come to check on your welfare. Perhaps he hopes you will reward him for his concern."

The anger mixed with hurt. Was that the way he thought of her? No better than a whore? Her bottom lip threatened to tremble. She reminded herself that she was Vermillion. She didn't tolerate condemnation from a servant, and especially not this one.

"You have two choices, Mr. Tanner. You may remove yourself from my sight this instant, or you may pack your things and leave Parklands for good."

Something flickered in his eyes. Tanner stared down at her for several long moments and there was turmoil in his gaze.

"Why do you do it?" he asked very softly. "You don't need the money. Is it really so exciting? Is it worth the price you pay?"

Why did she pretend to be the most sought after courtesan in London? Why, on the night of her nineteenth birthday, would she meekly accept the life her aunt had so neatly laid out for her?

Because it was what Aunt Gabby wanted. What Gabriella Durant needed as other people needed to breathe.

The years were stealing away her aunt's beauty. Little by little, Gabriella was losing her vaunted position as La Belle, but through Vermillion she could continue the life she loved.

Because Lee owed her everything.

Because Gabriella had saved her from the terrors and loneliness of the orphanage she had been taken to after her mother had died, had brought her instead to London and given her a home. Because she had provided Lee with a brilliant education and set up a trust fund that would protect her as her own mother could not.

Because, should Lee choose another, different sort of future, she would be showing contempt for the life her aunt had chosen, spitting on the woman who had been the only real family she had ever known.

There were a thousand different reasons that Lee had become Vermillion, but none that Caleb Tanner would understand.

"I'm a Durant," she answered softly. "It's what Durant women do."

Caleb said nothing, just stood there in the shadows silently searching her face.

There was something in his expression as he turned and walked out of the garden. Vermillion couldn't tell if it was contempt or if it was pity.

5

« ^ »

"Good afternoon, Captain Tanner."

"Good afternoon, Colonel. I apologize for my appearance. I didn't have time to change." Still wearing his homespun shirt and breeches, Caleb stood in front of Colonel Cox's desk in an office in Whitehall that Cox had commandeered for his use. Two chairs sat on the opposite side, one of them empty, the other occupied by Major Mark Sutton, the third member of this small band of men under special orders from General Sir Arthur Wellesley.

"Yes, well, that is understandable, given the nature of your assignment. We had hoped to hear from you sooner, but perhaps that was a bit optimistic. What have you got to report?"

"I'm sorry to say, Colonel, I haven't learned all that much." Dressed in the clothes of a groom, Caleb felt vaguely uncomfortable in the presence of his direct superiors, but his time away from Parklands without arousing suspicion was limited, as both of them understood. "The potential for collecting information is certainly there. Both of the women keep company with men who are highly connected, either in the military or in the government."

"You're speaking mainly of Nash and Wingate." The colonel was a man in his late fifties, silver-haired and strong-featured, with an air of vitality that seemed almost palpable.

"In Vermillion's case. The Earl of Claymont is also well connected. For the last several years, he has been keeping a close association with Gabriella Durant."

"You mean she is his mistress," the major put in. Sutton was only a few years older than Caleb, perhaps thirty-one or -two, a tall man with curly black hair. He had been studying to become a barrister before his enlistment. No one seemed to know why he'd changed his mind, but he seemed to have a number of interesting—if seemingly illicit—connections that had, on numerous occasions, proved useful in assignments like these.

"From what I've been able to discern," Caleb said, "Claymont and Gabriella Durant share a mutually exclusive relationship."

Colonel Cox plucked a quill pen from the shiny brass holder on his desk. "That would make a certain amount of sense. According to gossip, Claymont's been in love with the woman for years."

"Hardly surprising," Caleb said. "Both the Durant women are highly skilled in the art of pleasing a man."

Cox's paused in the act of dipping the pen into a crystal inkwell and one of his bushy gray eyebrows went up. "Are you speaking from personal experience, Captain?"

Caleb thought of the well-deserved slap he had received in the garden and shook his head. "No, sir. Merely from observation."

"For the present, you should probably keep it that way. You need to remain objective. That might become more difficult if you are bedding one of the wenches."

Major Sutton uncrossed his legs. "On the other hand, it might prove an interesting means of obtaining information. It is, after all, the means we suspect the Durant women may be employing to aid the French."

Cox scratched something on the sheet of foolscap in front of him. "I don't believe seducing a woman falls under the category of Captain Tanner's current duties, though as the major says, it does pose certain possibilities."

Caleb thought of Vermillion as she had looked in her snug boy's breeches and ignored a subtle throbbing in his groin. He fixed his attention firmly on the colonel.

"I was wondering, sir, if perhaps you might know what sort of information Colonel Wingate might have access to that might be valuable to the French."

The pen stopped moving. Cox looked up. "Colonel Wingate was injured six months ago during a training exercise when he suffered a fall from his horse. At that time, he was reassigned to the command of General Ulysses Stevens of the Royal Life Guards. The general is among those men whose advice is highly valued. He is kept abreast of troop movements on the Continent and would have had full knowledge of Wellesley's intention to confront the enemy at Oporto."

"Are you saying Wingate would also have that sort of knowledge?"

"I'm sure he does." Cox stuck the quill pen back into its holder. "Unfortunately, Captain Tanner, unless one of us can prove Colonel Wingate relayed that information to a person or persons other than those in proper circles, we cannot impinge upon his honor by making any sort of accusation."

"I understand, sir."

"What do you think of Lord Nash?" Cox asked. "Jonathan Parker is far more subtle than most of the Durant girl's admirers, but the plain truth is, he is just as eager to have her as the next man."

"Nash has made it clear he wishes to become her protector," Caleb said. "I'm uncertain whether or not he has ever been one of her lovers."

The colonel plucked a bit of lint off the front of his scarlet uniform jacket. "I realize Nash is a close friend of your father's, Captain, but as an advisor to the chancellor, he has access to a good deal of useful information. Is there any possibility he might be passing some of that along to the French, either through Vermillion or Gabriella Durant?"

"Lord Nash has always been a loyal Englishman, sir. I don't believe he would ever betray his country." And Caleb admired him greatly, had since he was a boy.

While his father was busy with his horses or running his earldom, Nash, the son of a peer who was his father's friend, always managed to find a spare moment for him.

That was years ago, of course. Caleb had rarely seen the man since. He doubted Nash would even recognize him now, though he made a point of avoiding him at Parklands.

"Just remember," the colonel warned, "Nash wants the girl—perhaps more than any other of her admirers—and when it comes to a woman he wants, no man is completely immune."

No, Caleb thought. It would be difficult for any man to be completely immune to Vermillion. "I'll keep that in mind, sir."

"Make certain that you do. Now, I suppose you had better hie yourself back to Parklands before you are missed."

"Yes, sir."

"Keep your eyes and ears open, Captain."

"I will, sir."

"That is all. You are dismissed."

Cox watched the youngest of the three men assigned to help him uncover a traitor, or more likely a ring of them, and thought that Wellesley had chosen extremely well. Captain Tanner was a fine officer, a skilled cavalryman and decorated hero of the war. He knew horses and racing—the reason he had been chosen—was intelligent and loyal, with a father who was a powerful friend to the Tories and extremely proud of his son. The captain would do the job that had been assigned him.

Across the desk, the major shifted in his chair. "Perhaps he'll wind up seducing one of them. I still think a more intimate relationship might be the answer to our prayers."

Cox raised an eyebrow. "You may be right, Major. If you are, Tanner is likely the man for the job. I don't believe even the practiced skills of a courtesan could seduce our handsome young captain away from his duties."

"Tanner's a good man," Sutton agreed. "And you're right. His career means everything to him. He won't let a woman come between him and his job."

It was past time she made a trip into London. Lee tried to go at least once a week, but somehow the days had rushed past and she had been unable to slip away. Forgoing her usual morning ride, she dressed in a simple gown of yellow muslin, summoned her smart little park phaeton, and along with Jeannie set out for the house she had rented in a quiet neighborhood at the edge of Bloomsbury a little over two years ago.

Though the three-story brick structure didn't perch on a street in Mayfair or any of the fashionable districts of London, the buildings in the area were clean and well cared for, the occupants mostly of the working classes, and there was a small park just a few blocks to the east.

"We should 'ave come in zee carriage," Jeannie grumbled in her heavy French accent, looking up at a sky that had begun to grow cloudy. "It will probably rain before we get back to the 'ouse."

"If it does," Lee said cheerfully, "we will simply put up the top. It might get a little damp going home but I'm sure we'll survive it."

Jeannie muttered something Vermillion ignored. Like a number of the servants in her aunt's employ, Jeannie was the child of a French immigrant who had fled to England during the Revolution. The ongoing troubles with Napoleon often made it difficult for French-speaking persons to find employment. Being part French herself, Gabriella felt it her duty to help whenever she could.

It was a similar sort of empathy that had led Vermillion to rent the house in Buford Street. Stepping up on the porch, she used the lion's head knocker to announce her arrival, and a few minutes later, the wooden door swung wide.

"Lee! We've missed you! Please come in." This from Helen Wilson, a plump, smiling young woman three years Lee's senior who had worked as a chambermaid for Lisette Moreau. Helen wasn't French but she had been in need, and Lee had decided to help her.

Since that time, four other young women, each enceinte and unmarried, had come to her for help. All of them now lived in the house in Buford Street.

"How are you, Helen? How is the baby?"

"Robbie is fine. So am I. Come and see. He always gets so excited when you come for a visit."

Lee smiled, pleased at the words. She loved little Robert Wilson, loved all of the children in the house. Helen set the boy on his feet and the baby of twenty-two months waddled toward her, a slobbery grin on his face. He held up his chubby little arms and she scooped him high against her breast.

"Hello, sweetheart. I've missed you so much. What a big boy you're getting to be."

Robbie giggled and banged his little fists up and down on her shoulders. Lee hugged him fiercely, then set him back down on his feet. Turning away, the little boy toddled over to where little Jilly, two months old, lay on a blanket near her mother's feet.

Lee stopped to talk to Jilly's mother, Annie Hickam, where she sat bent over her sewing. Born in a Southwark slum, Annie was a former prostitute who had earned her living on the street. Never a beauty, she was rawboned and rough-skinned, but she fiercely loved her child and she had vowed to make a better life for both of them.

" 'Tis good to see ya, Miss," Annie said. They talked about the baby and the colic she had suffered last week.

"She's fine now, don't ya see? Such a good lass, she is." She reached down, picked up the blanket-wrapped infant, and cuddled the child against her breast. "Aren't ya, sweet luv?"

Lee held the baby for a while, then handed her back to her mother and went over to check on the other two newborns in the house, Joshua Sweet and Benjamin Carey, and their mothers, Sarah and Rose. When she finished, she walked over to chat with a young pregnant woman named Mary Goodhouse, the newest addition to the group.

Mary was a chambermaid from Parklands who had gotten involved with a young man named Fredrick Hully, a lad from the village. A few months with Freddie, and Mary found herself with child, her belly swollen, and Freddie gone off to seek his fortune in the Colonies.

"He promised he would send for me," Mary had said, her soft brown eyes glossy with tears. "If he had known about the babe, he would have taken me with him."

Perhaps he would have, but Lee didn't think so. In the meantime, the house in Buford Street was the answer to Mary's prayers.

"How are you feeling, Mary?" She was small and brown-haired, her round belly ill-concealed by the apron she wore over her skirt. "You aren't still having those bouts of sickness in the mornings?"

"Oh, no, Miss. Not anymore. Annie made me 'er special tea, and I 'aven't 'ad nary a problem since."

"I'm glad to hear it. Have you chosen a name yet?"

"I was thinkin' maybe Jack, if it's a boy. I thought I might call 'er Lee if it's a girl." She glanced up, a little embarrassed. "That is, if ye wouldn't mind."

"I wouldn't mind at all," Lee said softly, touched by the gesture. "I'd be extremely pleased."

Mary flushed and turned away and all of the women busied themselves with their work. Lee paid the rent, but the women took care of the rest of the expenses. They took in sewing and word of their skill had spread. Lee thought that perhaps in time, they wouldn't need her help at all, which meant she would probably not see them as often. Considering how fond she had grown of the children, it was a notion she found oddly depressing.

A courtesan used every trick she knew not to become enceinte, but Lee had always thought it would be wonderful to have a child of her own. At least if it happened, she thought, she wouldn't need a man's financial support. But what about the child?

Secretly, she had always yearned for a father. Wouldn't a child, even one born out of wedlock as she had been, benefit from some sort of relationship with its sire?

Lee pondered the question a little while later as she and Jeannie left the house and made their way out to the carriage. What if by accident—and the women she had just left proved how easily it could occur—she were to find herself with child?

Mondale might be handsome, but he wasn't the sort to be bothered with children. Wingate would rarely be around. Lord Nash, widowed and childless, would undoubtedly be a solid, responsible father to any offspring he might sire.

As she settled herself on the seat of the phaeton and picked up the reins, a memory flashed of Caleb Tanner, kneeling in the straw next to the kittens. She thought of his gentleness with the foal.

Very firmly, she slapped the reins, setting the carriage into motion and pushing the unwelcome images away.

Caleb watched the smart little phaeton disappear down the street and simply shook his head. Of all the scenarios he had envisioned as he had followed Vermillion to London, traveling to the city to visit a home for unwed mothers was scarcely among them.

In truth, even though today she wasn't dressed in the garb of an expensive courtesan, he had imagined she might be meeting a secret lover, perhaps the man who transported information she or her aunt garnered from one of their numerous beaux. On her arrival at the house in Buford Street, determined to find out who that man might be, Caleb had made his way down the alley to the rear of the house. Checking the windows, he found one of them unlocked and quietly slipped inside.

From a downstairs bedchamber, he could see along the hall into a parlor that was—to his utter dismay—filled with women and babies. It didn't take a master of deduction to realize Vermillion wasn't there to meet a lover. Caleb had listened to a portion of the women's conversation, just to be sure, then returned outside and waited until she left.

As soon as her carriage rolled out of sight, he knocked on the kitchen door and the woman called Annie pulled it open.

"I hope you can help me. I must have made a wrong turn somewhere. I'm looking for Langston Street in Covent Garden. Can you point me in that direction?"

Annie smiled. She was a big, rough-edged woman, and there was a look of weariness in her eyes that spoke of the hard life she had lived. Annie was cordial and accommodating, giving him directions, even a crust of bread and a hunk of cheese to take with him. She seemed a little lonely and he took advantage of her need for conversation, letting her tell him about her friends.

When he mentioned the young woman he had seen leaving the house, Annie told him her name was Lee Durant and she was their guardian angel, the one who paid their quarterly rent.

"I'd think such a pretty little thing would have a gentleman escort," he said.

"Oh, no, not Miss Lee. She comes just with her maid. That way she can spend more time with the babies."

Caleb bade Annie farewell and returned to where he had left his horse. As he mounted the gelding and started the journey back to Parklands, he couldn't help thinking about the women, wondering at Vermillion's motives. None of the mothers appeared to be French. And only the girl named Mary had come from Parklands.

Perhaps, as she had with the cat and its kittens, Lee was simply the sort who took in strays.

Caleb wished it weren't so easy to believe.

6

« ^ »

From the window of her bedchamber, Lee looked out across the rolling green fields. She could see the racecourse her aunt had constructed three years ago when Lee had convinced her—with the help of Lord Claymont—they should not only breed Thoroughbreds, but race them as well.

The track wasn't large, but it was sufficient for flat-race training and Caleb Tanner was there, working with Noir. She couldn't be certain, but she caught a glimpse of bright red hair and thought Jimmy Murphy must be riding him. Jimmy had started as a stable boy, doing the most menial tasks, but Tanner had recognized a talent that had thus far been overlooked.

At sixteen, Jimmy was small for his age, and with older brothers who were also small, there was every chance he wasn't going to get a whole lot larger. From the upstairs window, Lee watched horse and rider pounding around the course east of the stable. Most of the morning was already gone, but there was still time to get in a ride if she hurried.

In concession to the lateness of the hour and the fact that the household was awake, she dressed in her forest green riding habit and made her way out to the stable. Coeur poked his head over the stall and nickered softly. She led him out and brushed his coat, hoping one of the grooms would appear to help her with the cumbersome sidesaddle. Instead, old Arlie creaked toward her.

" 'Ere, Miss, let me saddle 'im fer ye."

The sidesaddle was heavy. There was no way Arlie could lift it. Together they might manage, but she didn't want to hurt the old man's feelings.

"It's all right, Arlie. I think Billy is around here somewhere. Why don't we let him take care of it?"

"Don't be daft, gel. How many 'orses 'ave I saddled fer ye over the years?" Before she could stop him, Arlie hefted the heavy saddle off the wall. For a moment, he teetered backward, then he swayed forward, his thin legs wobbling with the effort of holding the heavy saddle against his bony chest.

"Arlie!" Lee cried as he teetered backward again. Racing forward, she reached up to help him hold the saddle. An instant later, Lee, Arlie, and the heavy sidesaddle with its padded tapestry seat all went crashing to the ground.

For several seconds, Lee just lay there beneath the saddle, on top of Artie, the breath knocked out of her lungs, terrified she had killed her ancient groom.

Then the sidesaddle lifted away. A grinning Caleb Tanner stood above her, the saddle hoisted up on one of his wide shoulders. "Need some help?"

Reaching down, he took her hand and hauled her to her feet. Embarrassed, wishing she could wipe the grin off his handsome face, she turned her attention to Arlie, still sprawled on the floor of the barn, blinking owlishly up at her as if he had no idea where he was.

"Arlie! Are you all right?"

He reached for the hand Caleb offered him and struggled back to his feet. "Just fine, Miss. Right as rain. Fit as a fiddle. Got a mite off balance, is all."

"Yes, I could see that." She turned, saw that Caleb was fighting another grin. "What are you staring at, Mr. Tanner? Since you don't seem to have any trouble hoisting that saddle, why don't you rig out Grand Coeur?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched. Caleb turned to his task while Lee brushed straw and dirt off her habit, and a few minutes later, the tall dappled stallion was saddled and ready to go.

Walking beside her, Caleb led him over to the mounting block. "Nice day for a ride," he said.

"Yes… yes, it is."

"That big red gelding could use some exercise. I don't suppose you'd want company."

Her stomach contracted. Women often rode out with their grooms. It was a matter of protection. But most grooms didn't look like Caleb Tanner. They weren't the sort to make a woman's insides tremble or her heart start to sputter. And after his cruel words in the garden…

But Caleb always seemed different out here.

Then again, so was she.

"As you say, the red could probably use some exercise." She cast him a look and couldn't resist adding, "And there is a chance I might be willing to give you a pointer or two on how to improve your seat."

A corner of his mouth edged up. "One thing I know for sure… yours doesn't need the least bit of improvement."

She could tell by the wicked glint in his eyes he wasn't talking about riding. She opened her mouth but couldn't seem to think of a single thing to say. She felt his big hands at her waist, lifting her up onto the sidesaddle, then he turned and walked away.

"I'll catch up with you at the top of the rise," he said to her over his shoulder.

Setting a leisurely pace up the hill, Lee reined up to wait for him there, letting Grand Coeur graze contentedly among the deep green grasses. As Caleb rode up the hill to meet her, she couldn't help admiring the ease with which he sat his horse, the way his shoulders remained erect while his body moved gracefully with the rhythm of the animal beneath him.

He rode with the confidence of an aristocrat, and she wondered, as she had more than once, who he was and where he had come from. There was something about him… something that simply did not fit. His speech was that of a gentleman and when he wasn't being surly, his manners were the equal of any of Aunt Gabriella's wealthy guests. Perhaps he was the son of a nobleman fallen on hard times, she thought romantically, trying to imagine what travails he might have suffered that had forced him into the ranks of the lower classes.

He reined up beside her and patted the big gelding's neck. "Duke is full of himself this morning. Perhaps a jump or two will help even out his disposition."

The horse's real name was Le Duc de Gar, but that was too long to say, so they just called him Duke. She smiled, liking the idea. "Let's head north, toward the boundary line." An uphill journey, crisscrossed with streams and low rock walls. "That little run should take some of the starch out of him."

Caleb nodded and they rode off in that direction. The sun was warm on her back and the breeze felt cool against her cheeks. Coeur performed solidly and as Caleb put the bay through its paces, the horse settled into an easy gallop.

Lee was breathing a little faster, exhilarated by the thrill of the chase. They reached a small copse of trees at the north end of the property and Caleb pulled rein on his horse in the shade of the trees.

"I thought we'd rest here for a while," he said. "Let the horses graze a little."

"Sounds like a good idea."

Caleb swung down from his saddle, walked over and caught her round the waist. As she rested her hands on his shoulders to balance herself, his gaze locked on her face. She could see a faint ring of gold in the centers of his eyes, see the way they began to darken. Something thickened in the air between them, grew warm and soft, seemed to swirl around them like an invisible red-hot mist.

Slowly, inch by inch, Caleb lowered her to the ground, his body so close she brushed against him the length of her slow descent. She could feel the heat of him, the solid wall of his chest. She couldn't breathe. The air seemed to burn in her lungs. Caleb set her on her feet but didn't let her go. Instead his hand came up and very gently caught her chin.

He was close. So close that if he lowered his head the least little bit…

"Caleb…" she whispered the instant before his mouth settled softly over hers.

Lee closed her eyes. She could feel the fullness of his bottom lip, the softness, the heat of his mouth moving over hers. His thumb felt warm where it lightly brushed her jaw, controlling the kiss, allowing him to take what he wanted, and yet it was nothing like any other kiss she'd had before.

He tilted her head back and kissed her again, sampling her lips, the corners of her mouth, coaxing her to open for him. She felt the slick heat of his tongue sliding over hers, taking what she had never given a man before. She hadn't expected the quick surge of pleasure, the soft heat coiling in her belly, the urgent pull low in her womb.

He smelled faintly of leather and horses, a pleasant, masculine scent, and where her palms rested on his chest, bands of muscle flexed beneath her fingers.

She knew she should stop him. Mondale would be furious and Wingate would go into a snit. Aunt Gabriella would be wildly disappointed. But she made no protest when Caleb pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, and a sweep of desire washed over her.

Lee clung to his powerful shoulders, drowning in the slow, deep, lingering feel of his mouth and tongue, wishing the moment never had to end. He kissed her one way and then another, kissed her fiercely then gently, kissed her the way she had dreamed a man should kiss. It made her head spin and her knees go weak. It made her heart pound so hard she was sure it would tear through her chest.

"Caleb…"

He didn't answer, but she felt his mouth against the side of her neck, felt the warmth of soft, moist kisses on the skin beneath her ear. She moaned when he took her mouth again, more possessively this time, and her legs began to tremble. One of his big hands moved up to cup her breast while the other began to work the buttons on the front of the short velvet jacket of her riding habit.

Dear God, it was time to bring this to an end. Plans had been made for her future, plans that didn't include Caleb Tanner.

Trembling all over, she turned her face away, ending the kiss, then breaking free of his arms, dizzy for a moment, swaying a little on her feet.

"Easy," he said, reaching out to steady her. "Why don't we go someplace where we can be private? There's a little shepherds' cabin not far away. I saw it the last time I was out here."

She only shook her head. "I have to go," she said, backing away, wetting her kiss-swollen lips, tasting him there. "They'll be… they'll be wondering where I've got off to."

Caleb frowned. "You're frightened," he said, his eyebrows drawing together as she stepped even farther away. "I didn't mean to scare you."

I'm not afraid, she told herself. I'm Vermillion. I'm not afraid of any man, and especially not Caleb Tanner.

She tossed her head, wishing her hair was fashionably done up and she was wearing rice powder and rouge, wishing she felt more like Vermillion and less like Lee. "Don't be silly. I wasn't afraid. I was enjoying a bit of sport, is all. I wanted to see what it might be like to kiss you."

He stiffened and a muscle tightened in his cheek. "That's what you were doing? Having a bit of sport?"

She glanced away, then turned back and forced herself to smile. "I didn't see any harm in it."

Caleb stalked her, looking hard, even dangerous. "Then tell me, Miss Durant, did my kisses meet with your approval?"

She shrugged her shoulders, feeling not at all like Vermillion and trying so very hard to pretend. "I suppose so. Andrew's kisses are a bit more forceful. Yours were—"

Caleb jerked her hard against him, cutting off her words. "So you like things rough—is that it? Then rough is what you'll get."

She tried to turn away, but he caught her jaw, holding her immobile, and his mouth crushed down with brutal force.

It was a hard, taking kiss. A fierce, plundering kiss with none of the gentleness he had shown her before and yet her whole body went liquid with heat. Her fingers dug into the front of his shirt and she wasn't sure if she were trying to pull him closer or push him away. It took sheer force of will to tear herself free and step away from him.

Once she did, for an instant she just stood there, staring into his face, amazed that even his rough, brutal kisses had the power to move her, trying not to flinch beneath his cold regard. Something burned at the back of her eyes, though she wasn't quite sure why. Afraid she was about to embarrass herself, she turned and grabbed the reins of her horse.

There was a rock not far away. She tugged Grand Coeur in that direction, settled herself in the sidesaddle, whirled the gray, and urged the horse into a gallop, bolting out of the trees and riding like fury back to the house.

She would be safe there, she told herself Safe from Caleb Tanner. Safe from herself.

It was the latter that Lee feared the most.

Caleb watched the small figure riding off down the hill. He was hard and throbbing, aching with unspent desire, but it was the tightness in his chest he couldn't ignore. If he closed his eyes, he could still see Vermillion's face when she had looked up at him, see the moisture in her beautiful aqua eyes. She had stared at him as if he had wounded her in some way, as if she had given him a measure of her trust and he had betrayed her.

Damn it to hell, it was madness. The woman was one of the most notorious courtesans in England. She might be young, but already she'd had countless lovers. Stories of her exploits circulated with regularity in gentlemen's clubs all over London. Even now, the betting books laid odds as to which of her lovers she would choose as her protector.

So how was it her soft mouth had trembled under his as if she were an innocent? As if she had rarely been kissed before and certainly never in a way that had stirred her to passion?

It was insane to have kissed her at all, he knew, but ever since his meeting with Colonel Cox, visions of her full lips and ripe body had haunted him. He couldn't seem to think of anything else.

An intimate relationship, Major Sutton believed, might prove highly useful. Seduce the seductress. Why not? Even Colonel Cox believed the notion might have merit. Who knew what might be discovered?

But he hadn't expected her kisses to be so sweet. Hadn't expected her to behave like the innocent she often appeared. He hadn't expected the wild surge of jealousy he had felt when she mentioned her lover.

Or the tears in her eyes when she turned and rode away.

Dammit to bloody hell!

Caleb cursed himself as he swung up onto the back of the bay. He was an officer in the British Army, a man with an important assignment. What was he going to say to Colonel Cox if Vermillion sent him packing? If she dismissed him because he couldn't control his lust? God's teeth, it didn't bear thinking about.

He would have to apologize. There was no way around it. He just prayed it would be enough.

Sitting across from her friend, Elizabeth Sorenson, Lady Rotham, Gabriella Durant heard the sound of a door slamming closed at the rear of the house. A few minutes later, she recognized Vermillion's footsteps in the hall, then the thump of her kidskin boots racing up the stairs.

Gabriella rose from the sofa in the drawing room and made her way into the entry. "Vermillion? Darling, you mustn't be too long. Lord Nash is coming over this afternoon. I hope you haven't forgotten. He's promised to drive us into town to see the latest addition to Madame Tussaud's waxworks."

But Vermillion didn't answer. Gabriella sighed as she returned to the drawing room, an impressive salon done in cream and pale blue with ivory and gilt furniture and blue-and-gold damask curtains. A Chinese cloisonné vase overflowing with tulips sat on the marble mantel.

"I hope she's all right. I've been worried about her lately."

Elizabeth picked up her gold-rimmed porcelain teacup and took a sip of tea. "Why on earth would you be worried?"

"I don't exactly know. She's been behaving a little bit strangely. Perhaps she is nervous. Her birthday is coming up soon. She has promised to choose a protector. Perhaps she is having second thoughts."

"It was her idea, wasn't it?"

"For the most part, though I thought it well past time. Perhaps I pressed her a bit more than I should have."

"Nonsense. Vermillion is a vibrant, intelligent young woman—one who is currently being wooed by the some of the wealthiest, most sought after men in England. It's time she started living, made a place for herself in the world."

"That is what I always believed. From the day I brought her home from the orphanage, I began to think of her future. Marriage, of course, was never a consideration." She flicked a glance at her friend. "You and I both know being a wife is nothing more than a lifetime of discontent. Being shut away in the country, little more than a broodmare for one's husband." She shuddered dramatically. "It is hardly something I would wish for my niece, even were it possible to find a suitable match—which of course is out of the question."

"Choosing a lover is the only solution," Elizabeth agreed, one of the few who knew the truth of Vermillion's virginity. "We must simply be certain she picks the right man."

Gabby smoothed a wrinkle from the front of her bright blue muslin gown. "She seems to have narrowed it down to three."

Elizabeth nodded. "Lord Nash, Colonel Wingate, and Lord Andrew Mondale. I think she would probably be better off with Nash, but Mondale is terribly dashing and he carries a desperate tendre for her. If I were to choose, I would pick someone young and passionate for my first lover." She studied the leaves in the bottom of her cup. "Charles was that way when we were first wed. Unfortunately, the passion he felt was not for me."

"Charles was a fool," Gabriella snapped, setting her cup and saucer down with a clatter. "Moll Cinders was little more than a prostitute off the streets. She had no style, no sense of class."

Elizabeth laughed bitterly. "That is scarcely a consolation, Gabriella."

"The man was an idiot. You are beautiful and talented, intelligent and kind." She sighed. "But then, husbands all seem to carry the singular trait of being enamored of any woman other than the one they married."

Elizabeth made no reply, just returned her cup and saucer to the Hepplewhite table beside her chair. "At least I was smart enough to find a way out." She grinned, a look of remembrance creeping into her bright blue eyes. "I shall always think of Lord Halford with genuine fondness. Lucas is as talented in bed as he is at the gaming tables. He was younger then, of course, not so jaded. But he was a wonderful lover."

Elizabeth gazed upward, toward Vermillion's room on the second floor. "Yes… if I were your niece, I would definitely choose a young man for my first time."

"And gossip has it Mondale is nearly insatiable in bed." Gabriella gave up a wistful sigh. "Oh, to be that young again."

Elizabeth just laughed. "You needn't mourn your lost youth, Gabby, certainly not as long as Claymont continues to share your bed."

Gabriella thought of the handsome man who was her longtime lover and her worry for Vermillion faded. It was a good life for a woman, a life of excitement and freedom, living as you pleased, under no man's thumb.

Yes, she was doing exactly the right thing.

Two days passed. Vermillion was avoiding him, and knowing how much pleasure she took in her horses only made Caleb feel worse. It was late in the afternoon when he passed behind the house and chanced to see her slipping out the back door. Determined to head her off, he watched her descend the terrace steps and make her way to the spot she liked at the rear of the garden.

Caleb glanced around, checking to be certain no one saw him, then entered the garden and started walking quietly through the foliage, emerging a few minutes later in front of the bench next to the fountain. The moment she saw him, Vermillion surged to her feet.

"I told you before—you're not welcome here."

"I know," he said softly. "I came to apologize."

Vermillion glanced away. She looked paler than she should have, less vibrant, and he wondered if he were the cause. "You have nothing to apologize for. The fault was mine. I shouldn't have let you kiss me."

He eased a little closer, caught a whiff of her soft perfume, and his groin subtly tightened. "You didn't really let me. Things just got a little out of hand. I work for you. I shouldn't have forgotten that. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you and I know that I did."

She swallowed. She didn't look much like Vermillion today, in her pale green muslin gown sprigged with little pink roses. She looked softer, more vulnerable. More like Lee. He found himself saying things he hadn't intended.

"I just… you just looked so pretty that day and I… I wanted to kiss you. If you hadn't mentioned Mondale—"

Her head came up. "What does Andrew have to do with it?"

He cleared his throat, embarrassed that he had reacted as strongly as he had. "You said you preferred the way Mondale kissed and—"

"I never said that." She looked down at her slippers, studied the leaves on the path beside her toes. She lifted her gaze to his face. "I liked your kisses, Caleb. No one's ever kissed me quite that way. I liked it very much."

Whatever he was feeling, the pressure in his chest began to ease. "As I said, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

She nodded, but instead of looking pleased she looked regretful and thoughts of seduction slithered like a serpent back into his head. His body clenched and his loins began to fill. Caleb silently cursed.

"Thank you for the apology," Vermillion said, pulling his thoughts in a safer direction. "You didn't really have to. I wouldn't have fired you. Not for that."

Caleb gazed off toward the stable, wondering if he really had come just to keep his job. "I could use your help with the foal. His mother will be weaning him soon. It would be easier if there were someone he was attached to, someone who could take his mother's place for a while until he gets adjusted to being on his own."

Her features seemed to brighten. The sparkle returned to her eyes, but perhaps he had only imagined it had been gone. "I suppose I could come out early in the morning."

He nodded, tried not to feel quite so pleased. "I would really appreciate it if you would. I know it will be good for the foal."

"All right, then, yes. I'll come on the morrow." She was smiling when he left the garden. For the first time in the last two days, Caleb found himself smiling, too.

He told himself it was relief that his job was secure, that he could continue working to discover what was going on at Parklands, trying to ferret out a traitor. But he wasn't convinced it was entirely the truth. He reminded himself that the traitor might be the very female who had begun to haunt his thoughts, but convincing himself of that, he found, was even harder to do.

7

« ^ »

From the doorway of the small room she occupied on the bottom floor of the house in Buford Street, Mary Goodhouse waited in the darkness as Annie kissed baby Jillian good night. She smoothed back the infant's fine, light brown hair, then tucked the child into the cradle Miss Durant had provided each of the newborns at birth.

"Sleep tight, sweet luv," Annie whispered.

As soon as Annie disappeared upstairs to the bedchamber she shared with Rose, Mary drew her shawl around her shoulders and slipped quietly out of her room. The floors creaked in the hall and so did the hinges on the door at the back of the house, but none of the lamps came on inside as she slipped out into the darkness.

It was cold this late in the evening, the stars like crystal specks in the black expanse of sky above her head. Mary shivered as she walked the deserted streets, unnerved by the echo of her worn soles on the cobbles. An occasional hackney rumbled past. She spotted a ladybird talking to a group of sailors and kept on walking.

There was something important she had to do, a matter that would secure a future for herself and her babe and provide the money she needed to make the long sea voyage to the Colonies.

Freddie would be waiting. He had sailed for a town named Charleston in a place called South Carolina and she intended to find him. But she had to leave soon, before it was too near her time to make the journey.

Mary pulled her shawl a little tighter and kept on walking. She had sent a message with one of the local chimney sweeps, a note she had hired a scribe to write that simply read I know everything. Meet me at the Cock and Thistle Tuesday at midnight.

Mary was certain he would come. He had too much to lose not to answer her summons.

It was a bit of a walk to the tavern, but she didn't have much money, not enough for a hackney, at any rate. She had picked the Cock and Thistle because it was far enough away that she wouldn't be recognized but not so far that she couldn't make it afoot.

She glanced at her surroundings. In the daytime, she hadn't really noticed the dilapidated buildings with their boarded-up windows or the scraps of paper and trash lying in the gutters. She hadn't smelled the odor of sewage or seen the darkened alleys where drunken men slept off their stupor against the rough brick walls.

Mary ignored a trickle of fear and told herself not to worry; she was almost to the tavern. In the distance, she could see the glow of lamplight shining through the letters on the glass in the wide front window, hear the muted laughter of the patrons inside.

Still, as she passed the entrance to a deserted alley and a man stepped out of the shadows, a chill swept through her. His clothes were worn and a battered brown slouch hat covered most of his greasy hair. She would simply cross the street, she told herself, put herself a safe distance away from him. She turned and started walking in that direction when a second man appeared, this one wearing a woolen hat, tattered greatcoat, and old knit gloves with his fingers poking out through the ends.

The men were on her before she had time to run. Mary tried to scream but a dirty hand clamped over her mouth and an arm tightened viciously around her belly. She thought of the babe and kicked backward, connecting with the man's shin as he dragged her off the street and into the darkness of the alley. Mary struggled but his arms were like steel, his hold so tight she could barely breathe. Her heels bumped over the cobbles, then slid into the mud and dirt of the alley, and fear unlike anything she had known welled up inside her.

" 'Urry up, Shamus," the first man said. "We 'aven't got all night."

"Od's teeth! The bawd is heavier than she looks," the second man grumbled. "Got a bun in the oven, can't ye see?"

The first man moved closer, and in a thin ray of moonlight she could see the blackened stumps of his teeth, the perspiration glistening in the deep grooves and lines in his forehead.

"Ye shouldna' tried ta bargain with the devil, luv. 'Tis only gonna buy ye a ticket straight ta hell."

Fresh fear shot through her. Mary looked into the man's grizzled face and knew in that instant the message she had sent was a warrant for her death. She would never see her Freddie again, never live to birth her babe. Trying to get money from the man she had overheard that night at Parklands was the maddest, most dangerous thing she had ever done.

As Mary stared into the brooding dark eyes of her attacker, felt his fingers wrap around her neck and begin to squeeze, they were the last thoughts she ever had.

Dressed in breeches and boots, standing next to Arlie in the middle of the barn, Lee watched Caleb Tanner shoveling manure from one of the open stalls. His week was over. When he finished today, the wager he had lost would be paid.

Arlie chuckled softly. " 'E won, ye know."

She dragged her attention from Caleb back to her ancient groom. "What are you talking about? I won the race. That is why he is paying the forfeit."

His thin lips curved, showing a couple of missing teeth. "Pulled up, 'e did. Just at the last. Seen it plain. Standin' right outside when 'e did it."

Disbelief widened her eyes. "What are you talking about? Are you telling me Caleb Tanner let me win that race?"

"I'm sayin' the man 'ad ye beat. Behaved like a real gen'l'man, 'e did."

Lee shook her head. "I don't believe it. Caleb Tanner would have liked nothing better than to see me out here mucking out those stalls." She cast him a look. "If he won the race, why didn't you say something sooner?"

Arlie shrugged a pair of bony shoulders. "Couldn't do that now, could I? Ain't fittin' fer a lady ta be doin' that sorta' work. Figured better 'im doin' the shovelin' than ye doin' it yerself."

Lee fixed her gaze on Caleb, who bent to his task down at the end of the barn. His shirt was gone, draped over the side of the stall. The muscles in his broad back gleamed with sweat, flexing every time he hefted the shovel. His skin was smooth and tanned dark from the sun, his hair damp with sweat and curling at the back of his neck. For a moment, she just stood there, mesmerized by the sight of him, trying to ignore an odd sort of breathlessness and a funny little flutter in the pit of her stomach.

Arlie shuffled away, still chuckling, and Lee's temper heated. Jerking a pitchfork off the wall, she stormed down to the end of the barn.

"Get out! You're finished in here." Ignoring the astonished look on his face, she bent over and started forking the wet straw and manure out of the stall.

Caleb jerked the pitchfork out of her hand. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Lee whirled toward him, clamping her hands on her hips. "You won that race! Arlie said so! Now get out of this stall and let me go to work!"

Caleb started to smile, then he grinned. "You actually would have done it? You would have cleaned out the stalls?"

"What did you think? That I wouldn't stand by my wager? You figured you might as well let me win because it really wouldn't matter?" She reached out, grabbed the pitchfork out of his hands, and started furiously filling the wheelbarrow.

Caleb frowned. Stalking toward her, he reached over and jerked the pitchfork away. "Arlie's mistaken. You won the race."

She eyed him skeptically. "You're lying—I can see it in your eyes. What I can't figure out is why. Arlie says you were playing the gentleman. But you aren't a gentleman, are you, Caleb Tanner?"

His gaze ran over her, skimming the fullness of her breasts, the swell of her hips, outlined so clearly by the breeches. He reached out and caught the tops of her arms, and she didn't resist when he drew her toward him. His eyes were a darker shade of brown and there was a glint in them that hadn't been there before. Unconsciously, her palms came to rest on his naked, sweat-slick chest.

"No…" he said softly, "I'm no gentleman." Their eyes locked for an instant, then his mouth came down over hers.

Lee staggered at the jolt of unexpected heat. Beneath her palms, his skin felt hot and slick. He smelled of sweat and horses, and the powerful muscles across his chest flexed each time he moved. He took what he wanted, but his lips felt softer than they should have and heat spiraled out through her limbs. His tongue slid into her mouth as he deepened the kiss and she started to tremble.

All too soon, Caleb ended the kiss. He let her go and when he stepped away, she could see the heavy ridge of his sex pressing against the front of his breeches. Instead of fear or repulsion, she felt a strange blend of curiosity and excitement.

"The week is over," Caleb said as if the kiss had never occurred. "Which of us won no longer matters. With your permission, now that Jimmy will be busy riding for you, I'll hire one of the village lads to help Billy do the dirty work in here."

Lee swallowed and nodded, tried to sound as nonchalant as he. "All right, that will be fine." She turned and started walking, her heart still beating madly, her legs like India rubber. Outside the stall, she stopped and turned. "I want a rematch. You owe me at least that much."

Caleb's lips curved. She remembered the heat of them moving over hers. "Anytime, Miss Durant." But the hunger in his eyes warned that racing him today could have dangerous consequences. Lee ignored the little voice daring her to accept the unspoken challenge; she turned and walked away.

It was later that same night that Vermillion joined her aunt Gabriella and a small party for a night at the theater. Jonathan Parker, Lord Nash, was their escort, handsome with his silver-touched brown hair, impeccably dressed in a blue, velvet-collared tailcoat, blue-and-silver waistcoat, and dove gray breeches.

"I'm glad you and your aunt accepted my invitation," he said as he escorted Vermillion into the Theatre Royale in Haymarket for a production of Richard III. "It seems eons since we've enjoyed a moment to ourselves."

Which was true, of course, with Wingate and Mondale hovering over her every moment, to say nothing of Aunt Gabby's usual throng of hangers-on. But she had purposely excluded the others tonight. If she were going to make the right choice, she needed to get to know each of the men a little better.

And Nash was certainly charming. He smiled as he offered his arm and led her through the lobby, which blazed with the light of a dozen crystal chandeliers. Candles gleamed against the deep-red velvet draperies, and gilt-framed paintings hung on the walls. Nash guided them up the sweeping staircase to his private box on the second floor and they sat down in small, round, velvet-covered chairs.

He leaned toward her and she felt the brush of his coat. "I hear Noir will be racing at Newmarket come week's end. I imagine he'll sweep the field."

"It's going to be a difficult race, but I believe Noir will win."

The red velvet curtains moved just then and Aunt Gabby, dressed to kill in an exquisite gown of black and silver, turned to see Lord Claymont walk in.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, smiling at Gabriella. "Though it doesn't appear I've missed anything yet." The earl was average in height and build, with lightly graying black hair and intense blue eyes. He was attractive and intelligent, a generous, kind-hearted man, and Vermillion had grown extremely fond of him.

"We've been invited to a party in honor of Michael Cutberth, darling. Isn't that exciting?" The actor was one of England's most renowned thespians and Gabriella was wild to meet him.

Not surprising. Aunt Gabby lived for nights like this.

The earl whispered something in Gabriella's ear and she laughed.

The viscount moved a little closer. "You must be looking forward to the race," he said. "When will you be leaving?"

"On the seventh. The horses have already departed."

He flashed her one of his charming smiles. He really was a handsome man. "I'm sure they'll all do very well."

Aunt Gabby tapped his sleeve with her painted fan. "It's going to be great fun, Jon. I've taken a house for the occasion—quite a lovely place, actually. I plan to do a little entertaining. Why don't you come with us?"

He flicked a glance at Vermillion, but regretfully shook his head. "I should like nothing better, believe me. Unfortunately, I've a ministers' meeting I cannot escape." He smiled. "I promise, however, I shall find a way to make amends." His eyes were warm on her face and Vermillion felt a smile of her own appearing.

They talked more of racing and a little of the war, the threat of invasion a constant worry on everyone's mind.

"Some say the little corporal will try to make the crossing with an armada of steam-powered airships," Nash told her.

Vermillion toyed with the diamond and ruby necklace at her throat. "Airships? I should think if Napoleon has been building steam-powered engines, using them on real ships would be far more efficient."

"I agree," Nash said. "But who can know the mind of the enemy?"

"I've heard rumors he is amassing more troops in Spain, which I suppose makes sense, in light of what happened at Oporto."

Jonathan turned toward her. "I'm certain General Wellesley has the matter well in hand. At least we must pray that he does."

Amazingly, the viscount actually spoke to her as if she had a brain. It was one of the things she liked about him. They didn't discuss the latest on dit, but matters of importance.

"They'll be starting the play any moment," Nash said as the candles at the foot of the stage were doused. A few minutes later, the red velvet curtain went up and Vermillion settled back to enjoy the performance.

It was late when Lord Nash's carriage returned them to the house at the edge of the city. Aunt Gabriella excused herself and retired upstairs, allowing Vermillion and the viscount a moment in the salon. Claymont would be waiting for Aunt Gabby in her bedchamber, having used the stairs at the rear of the house. It was a silly pretense, done mainly for the servants, but Claymont insisted, and occasionally even Aunt Gabby demurred to certain of Society's dictates.

"I hope you enjoyed the evening, Vermillion." The viscount's deep voice drew her attention. His gaze took in her low-cut sapphire gown with its black lace trim and nearly unobstructed view of her breasts, but didn't linger as another man's would have. "I know I certainly did."

Lee glanced away, finding it harder and harder to maintain her façade when she was with the viscount, a man she considered a friend. She forced her chin up and smiled her Vermillion smile.

"It was a wonderful evening. Mr. Cutberth did a marvelous job as Richard the Third."

"I hope you enjoyed the company, as well."

She thought she caught a glimpse of the desire he usually kept well-hidden. "I enjoy your company very much, Jonathan. I've come to consider you a very dear friend."

Nash drew her closer. Raising one of her black-gloved hands, he pressed a kiss into her palm. "I am hoping for more than mere friendship, Vermillion. In that regard, I've made my intentions perfectly clear. I wish to provide for you, dearest, to see to your pleasure in any way I can."

She didn't miss the faint roughening of his voice. She wished she felt at least some measure of passion for him, this man whose friendship she valued so highly.

Jonathan bent and brushed a kiss over her lips, then kissed her more deeply. A memory arose of Caleb Tanner's kisses and inwardly she prayed to feel some of the fire he stirred. Instead, when the viscount touched his tongue to her lips, she turned away.

"Thank you for a very lovely evening, my lord."

Nash stood rigid, a frown on his face. "I realize you are enjoying the chase, my dear, but I won't wait longer than your birthday. Think what a man of my position can do for you. Think of your future. I pray you choose well, Vermillion."

She moistened her lips, which suddenly felt dry. "I promise to do my best, your lordship."

Turning away, he strode out of the drawing room and Vermillion released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her aunt had made choosing a lover sound simple, as if it were some kind of a game that could be played with the veriest ease. Instead, her nights grew more and more restless and images of Caleb Tanner continued to creep in.

She dreamt of him that night, though in the morning she only vaguely recalled. She thought of him again as she dressed in her comfortable men's clothing and made her way out to the stable to check on the foal. The gangly little colt with the fuzzy, sandy coat grew bigger every day. She smiled as she watched the tiny horse nursing, then laughed when he tugged with determination at his mother's swollen teat.

She was so engrossed in the foal she didn't hear Caleb approaching until he stood directly behind her.

"Up early this morning, aren't you?… Considering the lateness of the hour you returned home last night."

She stiffened at the sarcasm in his voice and turned to face him. He stood so close she could feel the heat of his body, look into his penetrating dark eyes. Even dressed in the simple garments of a servant, he looked big and strong, and more handsome than any other man of her acquaintance.

"What business is it of yours what time I returned?"

"Why, it's none of my business in the least," he said blandly, but disapproval formed a tight line around his lips. "It isn't my business where you go or when you return or whom you decide to kiss, though I would refrain from doing so in front of the windows if I were you. Might upset one of your other admirers."

Her temper inched up. "And if I were you, I would refrain from playing the role of Peeping Tom. It scarcely suits you, Caleb Tanner."

"You want to know what suits me?" His gaze raked her from head to foot. "Dragging you down in that nice clean pile of straw, tossing up your skirts, and doing what every other man you know wants to do—that is what would suit me. I shall, however, restrain from doing so, since I can hardly afford to lose my position."

Her face must have been scarlet. "You are rude and ill-mannered. I should have dismissed you for your insolence long ago." She glanced down at her breeches. "And if you haven't noticed, I am not wearing a skirt!"

Dark eyes slid over her hips and down her legs, and the edge of his mouth barely curved. "So I see. But if you're interested, I'm willing to make the adjustment. I find the notion of making love to a woman in breeches in some ways even more exciting."

For a heartbeat, she didn't move. Images of lying naked in the straw with Caleb Tanner floated round in her head. All of her suitors went out of their way to play the gallant, yet none of them could excite her with a single word, a single hot glance, the way Caleb could.

What would it be like if instead of Andrew or Jonathan, Caleb were her lover?

She let her gaze roam over his tall, broad-shouldered frame, the narrow hips, and long legs. Trying to gain control of the moment, she cast him the sort of seductive smile Vermillion would use on one of her admirers.

"If you're serious, perhaps I'll give it some thought. It might be amusing to consort in that fashion with a groom."

Those dark eyes glinted. "Make no mistake, Vermillion. The role you play for the others holds no appeal for me. The woman I want helps to birth kittens and rides like the wind. And I don't give a damn what she's wearing."

Then he bent his head and kissed her.

Oh, dear God! It was a searing, reckless, soul-stealing kiss and it set her on fire. She swayed toward him and her hands trembled as she reached up to grip his shoulders. They felt like steel beneath her fingers. He teased her lips apart and she felt the hot, damp slickness of his tongue. Caleb's arms came hard around her. He hauled her against his chest and deepened the kiss, claiming her mouth until she was utterly breathless. Then as suddenly as he had started, he stepped away.

Lee swayed unsteadily, reached out and gripped the top rail of the stall for support.

A corner of Caleb's mouth faintly lifted. "Shall I saddle your horse, Miss Durant?" Though his voice was cool, his eyes remained hot, filled with promises of the pleasure he could give her.

Lee swallowed, tried to calm the tremors coursing through her. "Yes… thank you. I believe I'm in need of a little fresh air."

One of his dark eyebrows went up. "Perhaps you would like some company. I could also saddle the—"

"No! I mean… no, I should rather go by myself, thank you." She tossed her head as Vermillion would have done, determined to put some distance between them. "The sun is shining and I need some time to myself." Careful not to look at Caleb, she walked out of the barn and into the cooling breeze, hoping it would sweep away the unsettling emotions his scorching kiss had stirred.

Knowing deep down even a North Sea storm could not succeed.

As Lee had feared, the ride through the fields gave her plenty of time to think, but she wound up feeling even more confused. Sitting in her bedchamber later that afternoon, she watched Jeannie fussing over the gowns spread out on the big four-poster bed and thought of Caleb and the way he made her feel. Even Andrew couldn't stir her to passion the way Caleb could.

"I think you should wear zee turquoise silk," Jeannie said in her thickly accented English. "It will bring out the color of your eyes." Jeannie Fontenelle was ten years older than Lee. During her years as lady's maid to the Countess of Essex, she had been married to a footman, but he had died of an influenza just months after the two were wed. Jeannie had been summarily dismissed, too tempting a morsel to dangle before the countess's roving-eyed husband.

For the last six years, Jeannie had worked for Aunt Gabby, the past two as Lee's personal maid. The relationship had turned into a friendship that Lee had come to cherish.

"I like the turquoise, as well," Lee agreed, not really caring what she wore to General Stevens's military ball she and her aunt would be attending with Colonel Wingate that night.

Lee flicked a glance at her maid. "I was wondering, Jeannie, if I could ask you something."

Jeannie stopped fussing with the gown. "Of course, chérie. What is it you wish to know?"

"There is a man I have met…"

Jeannie rolled her eyes. "A man? You meet legions of men every night, n'est-ce pas?"

"Yes, but this one is different. He has no wealth, no social position, nothing to recommend him, and yet I find him infinitely attractive. I wondered if… well, what you would think about taking such a man for a lover."

One of Jeannie's brown eyebrows shot up. "Your aunt Gabriella… you know she would not approve."

"I'm well aware of that. She wants me to choose a man of distinction, someone with money, perhaps even a title. She thinks that will make me happy."

"What do you think, chérie?"

"I don't really care about those things."

Jeannie reached over and squeezed her hand. "I believe in the end, you will 'ave to choose a man who can provide certain things for you, a man who moves among those with the same kind of wealth that you have been raised with. But you are young yet. Though your aunt has kept the secret well guarded, you are an innocent where men are concerned. If you want this man—if 'e can lead you into the world of passion that will be so big a part of your future, then I think you should 'ave 'im." Jeannie smiled. "Every woman deserves one man who can give 'er the dreams of 'er heart."

"Even if those dreams can't last?"

The older woman nodded. "Oui, chérie. Especially if those dreams cannot last."

Lee turned to stare out the window, her mind swollen with turbulent thoughts. "I shall think about it, Jeannie. My birthday is only a few weeks away. It is past time I began to make a life of my own. It seems the only way a woman my age is allowed to do that is either to marry or choose a man who will act as a protector. I've promised my aunt and I intend to keep my word. But perhaps between now and then, I can choose something for myself."

Jeannie smiled. "Do whatever it is your 'eart tells you. I lost my Robert, but for a time I loved him and 'e loved me. I would not trade the short time we 'ad together."

Lee thought of Caleb Tanner. Jacob would be returning soon and Caleb would be moving on.

Perhaps in a way, he would make the perfect lover.

8

« ^ »

"I am terribly sorry to disturb you, miss, but there is a Mrs. Hickam here to see you." Jones, the butler, stood perfectly erect, pale skin showing in the part through the middle of his hair.

"Thank you, Mr. Jones. I'll speak to her in here, if you please." Annie Hickam was here? Had the poor thing walked all the way from Buford Street? If she had, the matter must be important. Lee's heart kicked worriedly into gear.

Jones made an elegant bow, making the curls bob next to his ears. Departing the Cirrus Room, he returned a few minutes later with "Mrs." Annie Hickam in tow. She was staring upward as she walked in, awed by the chandeliers and the scene of cherub-filled clouds in a blue sky painted on the ceiling.

"Gor—ain't this bloomin' grand!" She spun herself around to look at the room from different angles, her simple brown skirt belling out around the scuffed brown shoes on her feet.

"Hello, Annie. It's good to see you." Lee greeted her with a smile and reached for her hand and for the first time Annie seemed to realize where she was.

"Afternoon, Miss," she said, looking a little embarrassed. "Thanks for lettin' me in."

"I'll admit I'm a little surprised you have traveled so far from the city. Is everything all right?"

Annie released a weary breath. "I don't know, Miss. That's why I come."

"Why don't we sit down and I'll have Mr. Jones bring us some tea."

Annie shook her head, self-consciously toying with the cuff on her plain white blouse. "Oh, no, Miss, I wouldn't want to be a bother."

"It's all right. I promise it's no trouble at all." She motioned to the butler, who still stood guard at the door, and he turned and disappeared down the hall. As soon as Jones slipped out of sight, Lee urged Annie over to one of the cream brocade sofas. The tall woman sank down wearily onto the seat.

"All right," Lee said. "Now tell me what has upset you enough to travel all the way across London."

"It's Mary, Miss. She's gone."

"Gone? What do you mean? Gone where?"

"That's just it. None of us has the slightest notion. The last time we seen her was three nights past. Mary went to bed like the rest of us. She was already in her room when I doused the lamp next to little Jilly's cradle. Next mornin', Mary wasn't there. We thought maybe she got up early and left to visit friends, but if she did, she never come back."

"Have you spoken to the authorities?"

"Yes, Miss. Only just this mornin' before I left town. The night watch promised to keep an eye out, but I can tell ya, Miss, I am fearful. This ain't like our Mary… not a'tall."

A noise in the hall diverted Lee's worry for an instant. She watched Jones roll the tea cart into the salon, thinking no, this isn't like Mary at all. She was a sweet girl, rather shy, and not one to go off on her own. She had been easy prey for young Freddie Hully—and she was still desperately in love with him.

"I can't imagine where she might have gone," Lee said, walking toward the tea cart. "If she'd had enough money, she might have followed Freddie—not that it would have done her any good."

"No, Miss. The boy was up to no good where poor Mary was concerned."

Lee began to pour the tea, catching the flowerlike scent of the chamomile. "I'll take you back to the city and speak to the authorities myself. My aunt can consult Lord Claymont. Perhaps he'll be able to help."

"Thank ya, Miss. Rose, Sarah, Helen, and me—we knew ya would help us."

It was several hours later that Vermillion returned to Parklands from her trip into town, no less frustrated than Annie had been. The Magistrates' Office refused to believe anything untoward had occurred. They had found no sign of Mary, neither dead nor injured. No body meant no crime. In a way, Lee was grateful for the hope that provided.

She had spoken to Aunt Gabby, of course, who had little interest in the house in Buford Street but had always been supportive. Gabriella was sad to think that one of the poor girls might have fallen into even worse trouble than she had faced already.