Secret Ways

"I know it must be frightening whenever your child falls ill, but Mr. Dunworthy says he's seen a number of children lately with the same affliction and it doesn't last very long." She walked over to where the child lay sleeping beneath a soft woolen blanket on the sofa, his fat cheeks a little rosier than they should have been. "Is he running a fever, do you think?"

"I think he might be."

"Mr. Dunworthy says that's to be expected. He says the sickness seems to last about a week. Robbie should be better by then. Send word to me if he isn't and I'll get a physician to come round."

Helen took her hand. "You've a good heart, Lee. You always seem to be here when we need you. You'll never know how much your friendship has meant to me—to all of us." In a spontaneous moment, Helen leaned over and hugged her.

"You all mean a great deal to me as well."

Annie walked into the room just then. There were only four women now in the house and though it should have made things easier, Mary's presence was sorely missed.

" 'Ave ye any news of poor Mary? 'Ave they found the bloke what kilt 'er?"

"I'm sorry, Annie. There is nothing new to report. It seems there has been very little progress made in solving the crime. It's as if the man who killed her simply disappeared."

"We heard about that other woman who was killed," Helen said, "the other maid from Parklands… Miss LeCroix? Do you think their deaths were connected?" Marie's death had been reported as a small item in the London papers, but no link between the two murdered women was mentioned.

"I really don't know, Helen." That was the truth—she didn't know for sure, though she believed there was a very good chance there was. "All I can say is I hope they catch whoever is responsible."

"And 'ang the bloody bastard," Annie grumbled.

Lee made no comment since she staunchly agreed.

She didn't stay long, just made a last check of little Robbie and bid the ladies farewell. The women had sewing that needed to be done and Lee had other errands to run. As she made her way out to the carriage, she was thinking of the stop she needed to make at the dress shop for a final fitting of her new clothes when she spotted Andrew Mondale standing next to the rear wheel of the carriage.

"Lord Andrew—what a coincidence. Whatever are you doing here?" Mondale's snappy red high-perch phaeton, she saw, was parked directly behind the carriage that Caleb had provided for her use.

"I wanted to see you. I thought we needed to talk."

She frowned. "Then this isn't mere chance. How did you know where to find me, Andrew?" A memory returned of the man in the shadows. She thought of the late night vigil that Lord Andrew must have been keeping outside her bedchamber and her temper went up. "Have you been following me? Tell me you haven't been spying on me, Andrew."

Andrew sauntered toward her. Dressed more soberly than usual, in a dark blue tailcoat and silver waistcoat, he looked less foppish, older than the young man he often appeared.

"I told you I wanted to see you. I want to know what Tanner did to convince you to become his mistress." He stopped just in front of her. "You scarcely knew the man, Vermillion. Were you really so enthralled? Or was it something else? Money, perhaps? Jewelry? What was it, pet? What could Tanner give you that I could not?"

She lifted her chin, tried to think like Vermillion but it was getting harder and harder to do. "I chose Captain Tanner because he was interested in the woman I am inside and not some façade that my aunt created. Now, if you will excuse me…"

Heading toward the door of the carriage the coachman held open, she tried to brush past him, but Andrew caught her arm.

"Not so fast, my sweet. I won't be brushed off like a piece of lint on the hem of your skirt. I spent weeks courting you, Vermillion. We both know what you promised to deliver and sooner or later I intend to collect."

She didn't like the way he was looking at her, his mouth hard-set and his shoulders rigid. "I'm sorry if you were disappointed, Andrew, but you knew the game we were playing. Someone had to lose."

His mouth barely curved. "But the game goes on, doesn't it, pet—once Captain Tanner is gone." He reached out and touched a strand of her hair that had escaped from her bonnet, coiled it around his finger and tugged on the end. "This time I intend to be the winner."

Lee said nothing. For an instant, she was afraid of Andrew Mondale.

Then he smiled and let go of her hair. He swept her a bow, and his usual carefree demeanor returned. "Think of me, pet, when you are ready to play the game again."

And then he was gone.

More shaken than she should have been, Lee climbed into the carriage and leaned back against the seat. She thought of telling Caleb about the encounter but changed her mind.

Mondale was her concern, not Caleb's. And even if Lord Andrew became a problem, that wouldn't happen until Caleb had returned to Spain.

Nestled like a precious gem in the rolling green fields of Sussex, three stories high and constructed of creamy yellow Cotswold stone, the huge house dominated the landscape for miles around.

Kinleigh. Caleb hadn't been there in years, but he had never forgot the beauty of the home constructed by the Marquess's ancestors sometime during the seventeenth century. The entry was high, the ceiling vaulted and crisscrossed by heavy beams. The walls were paneled with different types of wood carved in idyllic country scenes and the windows near the top were fashioned of brightly colored stained glass.

As Caleb followed the stately, gray-haired butler across polished wooden floors inlaid in delicate patterns, down a wide corridor lit by gilded sconces to the room where the marquess would receive him, he thought of the man who owned the house, a longtime acquaintance of his father's, and wondered what he would say about the news Caleb had come to deliver.

The butler paused in the doorway to announce him. "Captain Tanner, my lord."

Caleb walked past him into an elegant drawing room done in black and gold. The butler backed out of the room, sliding the doors closed behind him. The marquess stood a few feet away, gray-haired and smiling, a kind man, Caleb had always thought him. But a kind man wouldn't have abandoned a young woman and her unborn child.

"Caleb, my boy! It's good to see you. How long has it been?"

"Nearly five years, I believe, my lord. I was here on the occasion of your son Bronson's twenty-third birthday."

"Yes, yes. I remember it well. Quite an evening, as I recall. I believe my son paid the price for that night for several days thereafter."

He chuckled, remembering Bronson's overindulgence that night. "How is he?"

"Fine. Beginning to think of marriage at last. I believe I have finally convinced him 'tis past time he wed and began to think of providing an heir."

"And Aaron? How does your younger son fare?"

Kinleigh sighed. "The boy is a handful. Spoiled rotten, just like most of his friends. But he fares well enough, I suppose."

Caleb digested this bit of news. If memory served, Aaron Montague was perhaps fifteen. Luc had once hinted at the younger boy's willful nature. Apparently it was true.

"Your father keeps me informed of your travels," the marquess continued. "It's unfortunate we don't see each other more often." Kinleigh walked toward an ornate black lacquer sideboard resting against a gold-flocked wall.

"According to Lucas, Father has been winning a number of races, which always makes him happy. Unfortunately, my assignment in London has kept me from paying him a call. I hope to journey to Selhurst the end of the week."

"Give him my regards, will you?"

"Yes, sir. I'd be more than happy to do that."

"Would you care for a drink? Brandy, perhaps or something else?"

"No, sir. Thank you."

"You won't mind if I have a glass, will you? Something tells me the reason for your visit isn't simply to renew an old acquaintance." The marquess poured himself a brandy, motioned Caleb over to the sofa, then sat down in a gold brocade chair across from him.

"All right, Captain Tanner, what can I do for you?"

Caleb shifted on the sofa. "I'm not exactly certain where to begin, your lordship. Let me start by saying I've discovered information you may find interesting. I can't be certain, however. There is every chance you already know, but I had to find out and so I am here."

Kinleigh took a sip of his brandy. "Go on."

"I realize you have two very healthy sons. The fact is, Lord Kinleigh, you also have a daughter."

The marquess straightened in his chair. "That is preposterous. Whoever told you that is lying. My late wife and I were together for more than ten years before she died. I never cheated on her. Not once. As to my more recent needs—"

"She is just turned nineteen, your lordship. Her mother was a woman named Angelique Durant. I believe the two of you were acquainted before your marriage to Lady Kinleigh."

The marquess's face went utterly pale. All the bravado seeped from his body and he sank more deeply into his chair.

"It can't be true. Angelique would have told me."

"From what I've learned, she discovered your betrothal to Lady Sarah Wickham, the woman you later wed. Angelique must have decided to keep her secret. She died when the little girl was four years old."

Kinleigh sat unmoving. A fine tremor shook the hand that held the brandy. "Perhaps the girl is mistaken. Perhaps her father is someone else."

"I don't think so, sir. She carries the same mark your son Bronson carries on his shoulder. I remembered seeing it when we were at Oxford together. When I pressed her about the mark, she admitted that you were her father. She told me the story of her mother and how much Angelique loved you."

Something flickered in the Marquess's eyes. He looked years older than he had when Caleb walked into the room. "If my Angel had a daughter… if what you are saying is true…" He shook his head. "Dear God, what have I done?"

His gaze fixed on the glass of brandy he gripped in his hand. He stared into the amber liquid as if it were a door leading into the past.

"I loved her so much. I knew about Angelique's mother, of course, Simone Durant. Everyone did. But Angel wasn't like that. She was sweet and gentle. She didn't want that sort of life. More than anything in the world, she wanted a husband and family."

"How did the two of you meet?" Caleb gently prodded.

"Simone owned a number of different estates. She was wealthy by then. One of her properties was a small manor house next to an estate my father owned in Kent. The Durant women spent time there in the summers. It was purely by chance that I met her daughter that day down by the stream."

His hand trembled and brandy sloshed up on the side of the glass. "Angelique Durant was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen. Long red hair and the prettiest smile… this deep, warm sort of laughter. She had tied up her skirt that day and was wading barefoot in the water. I was enchanted. I fell in love with her the first moment I saw her." He glanced up and there were tears in his eyes. "And I will love her until the day I die."

Caleb looked away from the pain in the marquess's face.

Kinleigh's voice turned rough as he went on. "When my family found out I'd been seeing her, they were horrified. I was young but already a widower with a two-year-old son. The scandal would ruin the family, they said, ruin Bronson's life as well as my own. I didn't want to listen. I wanted Angelique. She was all I ever wanted. But I had Bronson's future to consider. In the end, I gave in to the pressure. I married Sarah—and regretted it the rest of my life."

The marquess looked up. "I never cheated on Sarah. The only woman I ever wanted was Angelique and I could not have her." The marquess struggled to collect himself and Caleb couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

"If you loved Angelique as you say," Caleb said gently, "there is something you can do to make amends. You can see to the future of your daughter."

Kinleigh stared off toward the window. "Tell me about her."

Lee's image appeared in his mind and Caleb felt the pull of a smile. "She is lovely, as you say her mother was, with the same fiery hair and sunny smile. She is independent in the extreme, with money of her own, and an education some men would envy. She plays the harp like an angel, she loves horse racing and manages her own small stable—and she rides like the wind." Once Caleb started talking, he couldn't seem to stop. "She never puts herself above anyone else. She thinks of her servants as friends and cares for a number of those less fortunate. Simply put, your daughter, sir, is quite unique."

The marquess watched him closely. "It's obvious you care for the girl. What is it you aren't telling me?"

Caleb's stomach knotted. This was the part of the story he dreaded. "She's a Durant, my lord. After her mother died, she was raised to follow in that tradition."

One of his silver eyebrows shot up. "Are you telling me my daughter is a courtesan?"

"No, sir." He cleared his throat. "The only man who has ever touched her… is me." Briefly he explained the mistake that had resulted in his daughter's loss of virtue. "If you want me to wed her, I will, but—"

"But? You tell me you have seduced my daughter and then seek excuses not to marry her?"

"My life is the army, sir. You know that as well as I do. And you also understand what that means. I'll be returning to duty in Spain in ten more days. The battlefield is hardly the place for a lady. I want your daughter to be happy. With me, I'm not certain she ever would be. Aside from that, I'm not the least bit certain she would agree. Vermillion doesn't much believe in marriage. I think you can understand why."

He flushed, color creeping into the gray at his temples. "Vermillion? That is my daughter's name?"

He nodded. "Yes, but she prefers to call herself Lee. That is her middle name. Vermillion Lee Durant."

The marquess's throat moved up and down. The moisture returned to his eyes and he stood up from his chair, walked over to the mullioned windows. "That is my name as well. Robert Leland Montague. Angelique always… she always called me Lee." His hands were shaking. He took a healthy swig of his brandy, then set the glass down on the mother-of-pearl inlaid top of a black lacquer table.

"If you will excuse me, Caleb. I need some time to adjust to this news you have brought."

"Of course, my lord. I'll be returning to London. You may reach me at my father's town house in Berkeley Square."

Kinleigh took a step toward him as if he wished to block his escape. "Is there… is there a chance you will stay to supper? I should like to hear more of this daughter of mine." He gazed off again, as if the past were right there in the room. "I always wanted a daughter. Aside from Angelique, it was my heart's greatest desire. If you would stay, perhaps we could arrange a time when it might be possible for me to meet the daughter I didn't know I had."

The pressure in Caleb's chest began to ease. "Yes, sir. I suddenly find myself inordinately hungry. I should be delighted to stay for supper."

The marquess simply nodded, his gaze sliding back to the window.

Caleb turned away and quietly left the drawing room, pretending not to notice the tears on the older man's cheeks.

21

« ^ »

"You did what?" Standing in the sitting room of her hotel suite, wearing one of her new muslin gowns, Lee clamped her hands on her hips. "That is where you have been? You said you had an important meeting out of town that might keep you overnight. You never mentioned Kinleigh. You never said you were going to see him! You never said a word, Caleb. I can't believe you would do such a thing!"

"I told you I had an important meeting out of town and I did." He had known she would be angry, furious, in fact. Her eyes were bright and snapping, her cheeks as fiery as her hair. But there was no help for it. He'd had to do what he did. Now all he had to do was find a way to make her see reason. "He didn't know about you, Lee. Your mother never told him she was carrying his child."

"I don't blame her! The man is a blackguard. He is selfish and cruel and I hate him for what he did to her."

"And for what he did to you?" he asked softly, knowing the pain she must have felt as a child, abandoned by her father, grieving for her mother. "Isn't that right, Lee?"

She spun away from him, walked over to the hearth, and turned her back to him. He could see a frantic pulse beating in the side of her neck.

Caleb walked up behind her, gently rested his hands on her shoulders. "I can only imagine what you must be feeling. My father and I never got along, not until after I went into the army. But he was always there if I needed him. I knew that. That kind of caring isn't something you've ever had, Lee."

She whirled to face him. "My aunt cared for me. She has always loved me. I don't need Kinleigh. I didn't need him when I was a child and I don't need him now!"

"Your aunt did the very best she could and I know she loves you very much. But you have a father, too. One who wants more than anything to know you, to somehow bridge the terrible years of loss you both have suffered."

"Tell him it's too late. I don't want to meet him."

"You're not the least bit curious? Not at all interested in knowing what your father might be like?"

"No." But she didn't look as certain as she had a few moments before.

"There's something I have to tell you, Lee. I know I should have said something sooner, but—"

"What? What else have you done, Caleb?"

"I got my orders, Lee."

"Orders? What kind of… ? Y-you don't mean… ?"

"I'm afraid so."

"But I-I thought you were staying in London until they found the traitor."

"I thought so, too, but Wellesley has ordered my return to Spain. I leave on Wednesday next. That's little more than a week."

Her throat moved up and down. "A week?"

"I tried to get them to extend the time but apparently the army believes I'm worth more to them there than I am here. I have to go, Lee. There's going to be fighting and I have to do my share. When I leave, I want to know there is someone here who will take care of you."

"I can take care of myself." But her face had gone pale and he thought he caught the faint reflection of tears.

"I know you can." But he hated the thought of her fending for herself as she had done before, of perhaps returning to Parklands, putting herself at the mercy of men like Andrew Mondale or Oliver Wingate. "I need you to do this for me, Lee. I need to know your future is secure."

She only shook her head.

He reached for her, prayed she wouldn't pull away, and eased her into his arms. "Just meet him. That's all I ask."

She looked up at him. "How can I meet him? What will he think of me? Sooner of later he is bound to find out who I am."

"You're not Vermillion, you're Lee. Your father knows the truth and he understands."

Her fingers curled over the lapels of his coat and she pressed her face into his chest. He could feel her trembling and his throat went tight. She meant so much to him. So much. He didn't dare tell her. It would only make things worse.

He kissed the top of her head. "Please, Lee."

She hung on to him a moment more, then dragged in a long, shaky breath and stepped away. "All right—I'll meet him. But I won't promise any more than that."

It was the news of his leaving that had convinced her. He could hear the sadness and defeat in her voice. His chest squeezed hard. He couldn't let her know he felt exactly the same. "Day after the morrow, then. We don't have much time."

She looked up at him and tears welled in her eyes. "No. We don't have much time."

Caleb made no reply. His throat ached and his heart hurt. He hadn't expected this, hadn't known he would feel this crushing despair when he left her.

He hadn't known until that very moment that he had fallen in love with her.

As lovely as Parklands was, it couldn't compare to the beauty and charm of Kinleigh. Creamy yellow stone gleamed like golden sheaves of wheat against the grassy knolls surrounding it. Tall mullioned windows glittered like diamonds in the late afternoon sunlight.

As the carriage approached the house, Lee counted dozens of chimney pots rising above the gabled slate roof. The front doors were tall and arched and they seemed to beckon her in. The Jacobean architecture was exquisite, the jewel-like setting almost too perfect to be real, though it was difficult to take in the details with her mind on what lay ahead.

Today she would be meeting her father.

Though she had never imagined it would happen, had vowed to Caleb to dislike the man on sight, there was some deep part of her that wanted to know him, wanted him to care for her as a father cared for his daughter, as she had pretended as a little girl that he would.

"Are you nervous?" The coach rolled up the impressive gravel drive and Caleb leaned toward her from the opposite side of the carriage. They had barely spoken since their argument the day before yesterday—since he had interfered in her life and had told her that he would be leaving.

"I'm not the least bit nervous. He is only a man, after all—not a god of some sort, or a king or a saint. Why should I be nervous?" But Caleb only smiled, knowing very well that she was.

"If you give him the slightest chance, you're going to like him."

"I shall loathe him."

Caleb straightened away from her. "I pray, for all our sakes, that you do not."

They said nothing more as a footman swung open the carriage door. Caleb departed the conveyance, took her hand and helped her down the narrow iron stairs, then they followed the golden stone path to the house. The butler, a stately man with gray hair and roses in his cheeks, ushered them in with grand aplomb, and the housekeeper, a sturdy woman named Mrs. Winkle, led them upstairs to their quarters.

Since Jeannie remained yet at Parklands, the housekeeper assigned a fair-haired young woman named Beatrice to act as her lady's maid. Beatrice was older than Lee, perhaps in her thirties, very efficient and pleasant company. She quickly unpacked Lee's traveling valise and saw to her comfort after the two-hour journey from London, helping her to freshen and change.

"These are lovely," Beatrice said, laying out her dresses for inspection after the trip. "Perhaps this one would do for your interview with his lordship." It was a gown of striped aqua silk with short, capped sleeves and a bit of ruching around the hem, the very dress she had brought for the occasion.

Lee smiled, determined to hide her nervousness and thinking that she and Beatrice should rub along very well for the brief time she would be remaining at Kinleigh.

"Yes, I think that will do nicely." With Beatrice's help, she was dressed and ready in record time, her hair in a thick plait the maid pinned into a simple coronet atop her head.

Her nervousness increased. She tried not to think of Caleb and that he was leaving and that his departure was the reason she was there to meet Lord Kinleigh.

"My, Miss, you do look quite splendid," Beatrice said. "Have you never met his lordship, then?"

"No. No, I haven't."

"I'm certain you are going to like him. He is ever so nice a man."

But she didn't really believe it. Not after what he had done to her mother.

"Is there anything else you need, Miss?" Beatrice flicked a telling a glance at the clock on the mantel.

"No. Thank you, Beatrice. I believe it's time I made my way downstairs." Leaving the bedchamber, an opulent suite done in pale blue and gold with molded ceilings and a silk-draped bed, as well as a charming little sitting room with a marble-manteled hearth, she made her way down the hall and descended the stairs.

She wasn't surprised to find Caleb waiting.

"You look lovely," he said, lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. "Any father would be proud to have you for a daughter."

A shiver of unease ran through her. She had no idea what to expect from the man, so she prepared herself for the worst. "I suppose that remains to be seen."

Dressed in his immaculate scarlet and navy uniform, Caleb offered her his arm and she rested her fingers on the sleeve of his coat. His hair was freshly washed and still damp and it looked nearly black in the light of the sconces along the walls of the corridor. He looked so handsome it made her breath catch, made her think again of how soon he would be leaving, and an ache welled in her chest.

She took a deep breath and let him guide her down the passage, into an elegant salon of creamy yellow accented with pale jade green. The sofas reflected the colors, as did the serpentine mantel on the hearth. Like the rest of the house, it was a beautiful room, and at the edge of a deep Oriental carpet, the Marquess of Kinleigh stood waiting.

Caleb paused while a footman closed the door behind them, giving her time to assess the man who had sired her. He was of only medium height, she saw, but his body looked fit and trim. His silver hair was perfectly groomed and his burgundy, velvet-collared tailcoat fit precisely over his shoulders. He was still a handsome man, for his near fifty years, and there was a sense of power and purpose about him. She thought that perhaps she could see how her mother might have fallen prey to his charms.

"Good afternoon, my lord," Caleb said formally. "May I present to you Miss Lee Durant."

The marquess smiled. "Yes… I can see that she is indeed a Durant. And there is no doubt that she is Angelique's child."

Angelique's child, not his. The marquess started toward her and she stiffened, certain he meant to deny his parentage, to accuse her mother of lying.

"You look so much like her." He stopped just in front of where she stood, pale blue eyes assessing her from head to foot. "Your mother was perhaps a little taller, her hair a little brighter shade of red. But you are her daughter and of an age that you could only belong to me."

The admission stunned her. She knew she should speak but the words refused to come. What did one say to a father she had never seen? She thought to feel nothing but hatred but what she felt was far different than that.

"I loved her, you know," he said. "I loved her more than my own life. I gave her up because I thought it was the only thing to do. Because I worried about social dictates and I listened to the people around me. I should have fought for her. I should never have let her go. I've regretted it every day of my life for nearly twenty years."

Her eyes burned. She hadn't expected that, for him to admit that he loved her mother. That he ached for her loss as she had ached.

"My mother loved you," Lee said. "She was never interested in any other man. She whispered your name with her last dying breath."

Something glittered in the marquess's eyes. It took a moment for her to realize it was tears.

"She must have loved you greatly," he said. "She wanted a child very much. And I can see that you still love her."

She was aching inside. She wanted to turn and walk out of the room, to leave the painful memories behind, to forget the past, forget this man she wanted to hate but somehow couldn't. She wanted to flee the pain his words caused but her feet refused to move. She felt Caleb's hand settle solidly at her waist and the ache eased a little.

"If I had known about you," the marquess said, "I would have brought you into my home the day she died. I would have raised you as my own."

A sob escaped. She couldn't help it. Caleb drew her closer and she could see he was fighting to keep from pulling her into his arms.

"It isn't too late," the marquess said. "You're young yet. I'm the one who is losing the battle with time. Say you'll at least give me a chance to know you. Say that you will consider staying at Kinleigh—at least for a while."

She wanted to say no. That it was impossible—inconceivable—for her to stay. She told herself to say the words. Told herself she owed it to her mother to deny him, reminded herself this man had abandoned her, abandoned them both. But when she opened her mouth, different words spilled out.

"I… would like that," she said. "I would like that very much."

He was standing closer than she realized. She hadn't expected him to reach for her, to pull her against his chest and simply hold her. She hadn't expected she would rest her head against his shoulder and simply hang on.

But that is what she did.

It was evening at Rotham Hall. The boys were in bed and the hour grew late. Elizabeth sat alone by the fire in the small salon she favored at the back of the house. Outside a summer storm had blown in, rustling the branches on the trees, tugging at the leaves. She hadn't seen Charles since supper, since he had joined her in the dining room as had become his custom of late.

She tried to tell herself it meant nothing, that he was simply being polite, but each time he arrived to take his place at the head of the table, each time he smiled at her and inquired after her day, listening to some small accomplishment the boys had made as if he actually cared, another tiny piece of the ice around her heart melted away.

She had begun to look forward to the evenings, to the time they spent together. She had begun to imagine that Charles felt something for her beyond duty, and a traitorous part of her had begun to hope that they might reconcile, as Charles seemed to want, and make their marriage more than one in name only.

As she sat on the sofa in the drawing room, her slippers off and her feet tucked up beneath her, those thoughts swirled around in Elizabeth's head. She wasn't a coward. And in truth, she still loved him—though she had tried to deny it for nearly ten years.

She loved him and she wanted him. She wanted him to be her husband and she wanted to be his wife.

And so when the letter had come, she had been crushed more deeply than she ever could have imagined. Because she had begun to believe in him again. Because she had begun to trust him.

Her hand shook as she reread the message that had arrived just after supper, a note for her, penned in a feminine hand. A note unsigned, but the author did not matter.

Your husband loves another. Do not be deceived again. It was signed simply, A friend.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and wiped at the tears on her cheeks. She didn't hear Charles come in, didn't realize he was standing there in the drawing room until she heard his voice.

"You're crying. Darling, what is it? What's happened?" He strode toward her, was there by her side in an instant, gently drawing the note from her shaking hands.

His worried gaze left her face and fell to the sheet of paper. He read the words and his expression turned as black as the night outside. "This is a lie! A terrible, vicious, savagely cruel lie!" He waded the note up in a shaking fist and tossed it violently against the wall.

He went down on his knee in front of her, reached for her hand, gripped it between his own. "I was afraid she might do something like this. I should have warned you. I should have said something. I was afraid of what you would say… what you would think. I wanted your trust. I've tried so hard to win it. Now…" Charles shook his head.

Elizabeth swallowed past the knot in her throat. "Who wrote this?"

"There is only one woman vicious enough to do something like this. Moll Cinders wrote it. She came to see me in London several weeks ago. She told me she wanted more money than the amount I had settled on her when I ended the affair."

Elizabeth couldn't look at him. "I thought… I thought you did that some years back."

"Quite a number of years, in fact. Apparently, she is desperately in need of funds. She heard that I intended to reconcile with my wife. She came to see me, demanded more money. I refused. I had been more than generous already." He hung his head. "I should have paid her. If I had known what she intended—"

"You're telling me this note is a lie?"

"God, Beth. I love you so much. I don't want any other woman. I was young then, foolish. I rebelled against my father's dictates and the fact that the marriage was arranged. It took years before I realized what I really wanted… what a treasure I had already lost. I love you, Beth. So very much."

She sat there stunned. He had never mentioned love. Not ever. Not in the beginning, not in the weeks he had been pursuing her. She didn't know what to say.

The corner of his mouth curved up. "I've surprised you, haven't I? That isn't an easy thing to do. You didn't know? You couldn't guess the way I felt?"

"If you loved me, why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think you would believe me. I thought that perhaps… once we were no longer estranged and living again as man and wife, you would be able to see the truth."

She thought again of the note. "I want to believe you, Charles. I want that more than anything in the world, but—"

"But you don't." He stood up, towering over where she sat on the sofa, his expression hard now, oddly determined. Lamplight gleamed on his fine, sandy hair. He was so unbelievably handsome. "Moll Cinders means nothing to me. Nothing! I am a lot of things, Beth, but I am no liar. I haven't been with another woman in more than two years. I haven't wanted anyone else." He paced away from her, walked back. "You're my wife. If I can't convince you with words, perhaps there is another way, something I should have done weeks ago."

Elizabeth gasped as he lifted her into his arms, turned and began to stride across the drawing room.

"Where… where are you taking me?"

"Upstairs, my lady. To my bed. From this day forward you will spend every night there. I am still lord here. Perhaps it is time I began to act like it again."

Every night with Charles. Every night in his bed, making love with him. More children, perhaps, the sort of life she had once dreamed of. It was all there—finally within her reach. If only she had the courage to grasp it.

Charles shoved open the door to the master's suite, carried her into his bedchamber and straight to his big tester bed. "If you are here and I am here, you will see that it is you that I cleave to. You I want and no other." He caught her chin, lifted it, looked deeply into her eyes. "I was always afraid of love. I had seen what it had done to my father, to other men of my acquaintance. But there comes a time, Beth, when one must put his fears aside and grasp the thing he holds most dear. For me it is you, my darling." And then he kissed her.

Elizabeth's heart squeezed. Melted. It was time, she knew, to put aside her own fears. No matter the outcome, love was worth the risk.

22

« ^ »

Caleb strode down the long marble corridor toward the marquess's study. Lamplight flickered on the walls, casting his length in shadow. Supper was over and Lee had retired upstairs to her room, but the marquess had asked to see him and he was on his way there now.

For the past three days, Caleb had remained with Lee at Kinleigh. The marquess had spent each day with her and the bond between them seemed to have deepened to a surprising degree. It was amazing how much they had in common: Kinleigh's love of music and Lee's gifted playing of the harp; the marquess's stable of beautiful, blooded horses and Lee's love of racing; they both loved children and animals; even their laughter at times sounded the same.

With Bronson in London and Aaron away at boarding school, the past was the only obstacle between them. Though Caleb had missed having Lee in his bed, he was happy for her. He had taken something precious when he had taken her innocence. In finding her father, he had tried to give something back.

Still, it was time he returned to London. He had promised to visit his own father at Selhurst and the days were slipping away. He had to return and though he wouldn't take Lee to Selhurst, wouldn't subject her to his father's scrutiny, he wanted her with him as much as possible these last few precious days.

Caleb knocked on the door of the study, turned the silver handle at the sound of the marquess's voice bidding him enter, and walked into the room.

"Caleb. Thank you for coming." Like the rest of the house, it was a pleasant room, paneled in walnut and lined with books, in a bit more disarray, perhaps, with several days' newspapers strewn over a rosewood table and a stack of ledgers perched on a corner of the desk. The marquess walked past it, over to the sideboard. "Brandy?"

"Thank you. I believe I will." There was something in the older man's manner that warned him he might need it. Caleb accepted the crystal snifter, then followed the marquess to a deep red leather sofa and chairs grouped around the hearth.

A small fire crackled in the grate. A summer storm had blown in, cooling the early July night, and outside the window, a layer of clouds crept over the valley.

"First, Caleb, I want to thank you. In bringing my daughter here, you have given me the greatest gift any man has ever bestowed upon me."

Caleb smiled. "I'm glad things have worked out as they have."

"Actually, things have worked out even better than you know." He leaned back in his chair. "You see, Lee has agreed to stay with me here at Kinleigh."

He was more than a little surprised—at the marquess for offering and Lee for accepting. "Won't that create a problem for you? Considering that Lee is a Durant?"

"It might. Even if it does, it will be worth it. But in truth, I hope to head off any problems that might arise before they occur. You see, I plan to adopt Lee as my daughter."

Caleb's brandy glass paused halfway to his lips.

"As soon as matters can be legally arranged," the marquess went on, "Lee Durant will become Lee Montague. There is no way to deny that she was born out of wedlock, but even should her mother's name be discovered, it will scarcely matter, once I have claimed her as my own flesh and blood."

It just might work, Caleb thought. Lee looked little like the Vermillion he had first met, the sophisticated courtesan who was the darling of Parklands. She dressed more simply now and no longer wore face paint. In truth, her entire demeanor had changed. The marquess's interest went far beyond what he had imagined, but it just might work.

"I'm a powerful man, Caleb. Even should people speculate, they would never dare offend her."

Caleb swirled the brandy in his glass. "That's extremely generous, Lord Kinleigh."

"Generous? It is nothing less than she deserves. Had I been more of a man all those years ago and married her mother as I wished, she would already carry my name and with it her legitimate birthright."

It was true, Caleb thought. And if Kinleigh claimed her, her future would be completely secure.

"As for you, Captain, and your relationship with my daughter—we both know you will soon be leaving the country."

"That's right, sir. In just a few more days." Caleb set his brandy glass down on the side table and sat up a little straighter. "As I said, I would gladly marry—"

"I'm afraid I've changed my mind in that regard." The marquess's eyes fixed on Caleb's face. "When you came to me, you asked me to see to my daughter's welfare. As her father, that is exactly what I intend to do. You're an officer in His Majesty's Army. You'll be leaving for Spain and there is no way to know when you will return." Or if you will return, were the words that went unsaid. "Unless there are… consequences to your association with Lee, I don't believe a marriage between the two of you would be in either of your best interests."

He was right. Most certainly he was. So why did he feel this crushing weight on his chest?

"I know how much my daughter cares for you. In the brief time she has been here, she has certainly spoken your name often enough. But as you say, I want her to be happy. Both of us do. I intend to make that happen."

The marquess rose from his chair and Caleb stood up as well. He felt cold though the room was becoming overly warm. His heart was beating and yet it felt as if the blood had slowed to a crawl through his veins.

"You said at supper the two of you are planning to return to London on the morrow."

"That's correct. Even if Lee has decided to stay, she'll want to pick up her things and inform her aunt of her plans before returning on a permanent basis."

"I'm sure that is her plan. However, I am going to call on your honor, Caleb. As the gentleman I know you are, I am asking that you do the honorable thing where my daughter is concerned. I want you to travel at first light. I want you to leave Lee at Kinleigh. I don't want her hurt any more than she already has been."

He understood. In a way, he had expected this to happen. Lee was an unmarried woman and he was her lover. If she were his daughter, he would probably shoot the man who had stolen her innocence. But God, he didn't want to leave her. Not like this.

"I suppose it would be in Lee's best interest," he said, hoping the marquess didn't notice the rusty note in his voice.

"We both know it is. I'll make your farewells for you after you've gone. I'll tell her the truth—that I thought it would be less painful for you both." And lessen the chances of his fathering a child. The marquess didn't have to speak the words.

Caleb forced himself to nod.

"Then I have your word, Captain, as an officer and a gentleman? You'll agree to stay away from Lee until you leave for Spain?"

He couldn't breathe. He needed to escape the room, needed to escape the powerful emotions he hadn't expected to feel. Didn't want to feel.

"You have my word, Lord Kinleigh." He wouldn't make love to her again, wouldn't risk her future any more than he already had.

The older man relaxed. He walked beside Caleb to the door. "Do you still plan to visit your father?"

"Yes, sir. As soon as I leave here." He had planned to spend a couple of days with his father, no more. He didn't want to be away from Lee that long. Now it wouldn't matter.

"Take care of yourself over there, Caleb. And as I said, give my regards to Lord Selhurst."

He simply nodded, unable to manage any more words. Turning away from the marquess, he left the study. He didn't intend to wait till morning to return to London. He couldn't bear to stay in the house a moment more.

He wanted to go to Lee, wanted to say a final farewell, but he had given his word and he would abide by it.

It was going to be the hardest thing he had ever done.

Standing in the shadows outside the study, Lee pressed a hand against her mouth to still her trembling lips. Caleb was leaving. Her father had convinced him to go away without a word of farewell. She had been afraid something like this might result from the summons Caleb had received to join the marquess later in his study.

The thought had unsettled her so much she had slipped out of her room in only her night rail and wrapper. She had crept into the garden and sneaked up to the study window to hear what her father had to say.

Now, as she watched Caleb walk out the study door and disappear, anger poured through her. Her father was forcing Caleb to leave. She was furious with him! She hardly knew him and already he was trying to run her life!

But she had also seen the worry on his face, seen the protective look in his eyes when he spoke to Caleb about her future. He had asked her to come and live with him, told Caleb he planned to give her his name. It was beyond anything she could have imagined.

He was trying to protect her, behaving exactly the way a father who cared for his daughter ought to behave, and as hard as she tried, she could not fault him for it.

In truth, she felt deeply moved.

And she knew he was right.

Caleb was returning to duty. Any offer of marriage he had made had come out of duty, not love. He was leaving her behind and she had to get over him. A tearful good-bye would only make losing him more painful. It was better if she never saw Caleb Tanner again.

She repeated the words in her head. Let him go. Let him go. Let him go. And as she moved along the path toward the door leading back inside the house, she tried to convince herself.

Then a lamp went on in one of the rooms upstairs and she paused, guessing the room must be Caleb's. If she went upstairs and knocked on his door, would he let her in? He might, but he had given his word that he would stay away from her, and Caleb was a man of honor.

There was every chance the door would remain locked against her.

She told herself to keep walking, to ignore the lilac-covered trellis that beckoned her to climb up to the second floor balcony and slip into his bedchamber, as he had once entered her room at Parklands.

She tried to convince herself, but it was no use.

Reaching down, she grasped the hem of her nightgown and blue silk wrapper, dragged them above her knees, and set her bare foot on the first rung of the trellis.

Caleb stripped off his uniform and changed into a comfortable pair of buckskin breeches for the return trip to London. Dragging his satchel from beneath the four-poster bed, he began to stuff in the clothing he had brought with him to Kinleigh Hall. Downstairs, he had sent word to his coachman to ready his carriage and bring it round front. Now that his mind was set, Caleb couldn't wait to leave.

He was desperate to get out of the house, anxious to get away from Kinleigh. Away from Lee.

Just thinking about her made his chest ache. God, he'd been a fool to think he could escape unscathed when half the men in London had fallen in love with her.

But Lee wasn't Vermillion. She didn't pander to a man's ego, didn't play games. She didn't even look the same.

And he had foolishly believed he was immune.

Instead, he had fallen wildly, desperately in love with her, and now he had to leave.

Caleb closed the satchel, snapped the brass latches, and started for the door, anxious to be away. The night was cloudy and a little bit cold, but at least it wasn't raining.

"Caleb?"

The sound of her voice whispered through him, slipped softly over his skin. He turned to see her standing beside the door leading in from the balcony dressed only in her night clothes. He remembered the lilac-covered trellis. It was a long way to the ground. He didn't know whether to be angry or amused. In the end, even knowing he would have to send her away, he felt grateful she had come.

"You shouldn't be here," he said softly, afraid to move closer, afraid he might reach for her, and he couldn't afford to do that.

"You were leaving. I heard you and my father talking in the study. You were going away without a word."

His eyes ran over her face, taking in the wisp of burnished hair against her cheek, the faint trembling of her lips, the look of regret in her eyes. He wondered if his own eyes looked the same. "You weren't supposed to be eavesdropping."

"I can't believe you would go away like this. I thought you cared for me… at least a little."

He cared for her. He loved her. So much it hurt. He cleared his throat. "Your father thought… we both thought it would be better this way."

"Would it?"

He knew he should lie. He looked into her face and saw the hurt there, saw the betrayal she felt. "No. Not for me."

She was in his arms in a heartbeat, bare feet flying across the carpet, her nightclothes sweeping out behind her. He held her. Just held her, his arms tight around her, pressing her into his chest. He inhaled her scent, felt the brush of her silky hair against his cheek. Her breasts pillowed against him. He could remember their weight and the softness, the way they filled his hands. He remembered how good it felt to be inside her and he began to go hard.

Gently, he set her away. "You have to go, Lee. Your father would be furious if he knew you were here."

"I've lived all my life without him. I can manage a little while longer." She reached out and touched him, went up on her toes and kissed him softly on the lips. "I'm going to miss you, Caleb."

He swallowed. "I'm going to miss you, too."

"I don't know what will happen to me. I'm frightened of the future. When I was with you, I was never afraid."

His throat tightened. "I know how brave you are. I know the marquess will take care of you. Already he loves you. He only wants what is best for you. You don't have to be afraid."

"Do you think… if I became the daughter of a marquess, things could be different? Between us, I mean."

Ah, God. He reached out, caught her shoulders. "Don't you know by now this has nothing to do with who you are. I can't marry you, Lee. I'm a soldier. It's what I do—what I am. I can't give you the life you want, the life you deserve." He reached out and cupped her cheek, ran his thumb along her jaw. "The war is far from over. I don't even know if I'll be alive when it's finished. I want you to be happy. You deserve it more than anyone I know."

She leaned her face into his palm and a painful longing tore through him. He was in love with her. God, it hurt to leave.

"I want you, Caleb. Make love to me one last time."

His hand fell away. He stepped back from her, wanting her, unsure how much control he had. "I can't, Lee. I gave your father my word."

Tears welled in her eyes and began to slip down her cheeks. The moon crept out from between the clouds and he thought how beautiful she looked, standing there with her fiery hair unbound, her pale skin bathed in the soft glow streaking in through the trees.

"I have to go," he said gently. "If I don't, I'll break my word."

She just stood there and for an instant, he wasn't sure he could leave her. In some primal way, she belonged to him. She was his, and he had come to need her in a way he had never needed anyone before. But it wasn't fair to Lee. She deserved to have a husband who would be there when she needed him. A man who would be a father to the children she would bear.

"I wish you didn't have to go. I wish I would wake up and find out all of this was a dream." Her eyes filled with tears and his own eyes burned. When she leaned toward him, he didn't push her away, just pulled her closer, held her until his throat closed up and the whisper of her name remained unspoken.

It took sheer force of will to set her away from him. He didn't look at her again, just reached down to pick up his satchel and started walking, one painful step at a time. Lee made no move to stop him. If she had, he might not have made it to the door.

Once he did, he turned to look at her one last time, saw the tears rolling down her cheeks. "Be happy, Lee."

She tried to smile. Failed. "Take care of yourself, Caleb."

He forced his legs to move. He didn't look back as he walked down the hall, descended the stairs, and walked out of her life into the lonely future that awaited him.

23

« ^ »

Life at Kinleigh Hall was as nothing Lee expected. In a way it was so much more. Her father was all that a father could be: gentle and caring, protective and loving. He began the legal proceedings to give her his name the day after Caleb left for London. He lavished her with gifts, had Grand Coeur and three other of her prized Parklands horses brought to his stable, and rode with her over the vast expanse of Kinleigh holdings nearly every day.

She was surprised at how often he spoke of her mother, making Angelique Durant seem real in a way she never had been before. Lee would have been happy—if it hadn't been for Caleb.

She tried not to think of him, tried not to let her heartbreak show. Her years of playing Vermillion enabled her to disguise her grief, but there were times she thought that her father suspected. After all, he had suffered the loss of the woman he loved. Perhaps he understood. If he did, he did not say.

She wondered why he hadn't forced Caleb to marry her, as a man of his position surely could have, but she wouldn't have wanted Caleb that way and she was grateful he seemed to know.

There was only one fly in the ointment. Well, two flies, actually: Bronson and Aaron Montague, the marquess's sons. Bronson had loathed her on sight. He'd been aghast when his father calmly informed him he had a sister he meant to make a member of the family.

"Good grief, Father, have you lost your wits? The girl is the daughter of your former paramour, for God's sake! She is a commoner, scarcely a suitable addition to the Montague line!"

"Need I remind you, Lee is my child as well. And her mother was scarcely common. She was a descendant Of French nobility. Had I married her as I wished, Lee would have been my legitimate offspring and I intend to rectify the situation as quickly as I can."

Bronson had threatened and they had argued.

"Lee is your sister," the marquess said, barely hanging on to his temper. "You will treat her with the respect she deserves or I shall cut you off without a farthing!"

"Perhaps Bronson is right, Father," Lee put in as Bronson stormed out the door. "I never wanted your family to suffer because of me. I have my own money. I can take care of myself. Perhaps—"

"Nonsense! You are my daughter. I intend that you should be treated as such."

Though his younger son, Aaron, had yet to arrive home from boarding school, Lee imagined once he did, the scene might be even worse. It would probably be better for all of them if she simply left Kinleigh and returned to Parklands, but she couldn't bear to think of resuming that sort of existence.

Thanks to Caleb, she was more sure of herself and what she really wanted.

Unfortunately, what she wanted was Caleb. If he had asked, she would have gone with him to Spain, though the army life wasn't the sort she would have chosen. She wanted a home of her own, a place in the country where she could raise her horses. More than that, loving Caleb had finally made her realize what she really wanted was a family of her own.

She tried not to think of him, to wonder where he was or if he had yet left London.

She tried, but she loved him so much it was simply no use.

The day was overly warm, the sun beating down from a washed-out, cloudless sky, the wind no more than a memory. Caleb walked between Luc and his father back from the fields toward the big Georgian house that was Selhurst Manor. They had been partridge hunting since early that morning. Caleb was dusty and tired, his long-gun heavy where it hung over his arm.

"What do you say to a brandy?" his father asked as they entered the house from the rear. "I know I could certainly use one."

"Sounds good to me," Luc said.

Caleb just nodded. He hadn't enjoyed the day the way he should have, the way he had as a boy. The sound of gunfire reminded him of the battles he had seen, the battles he knew were to come. But his father and brother had always loved the sport and once he had as well. Today, he was simply glad the day was over.

The three men went directly into the study. Dressed in their dusty shooting clothes, they were scarcely fit for a drawing room.

"It's good to have you home, Caleb," his father said as he walked to an ornate sideboard along the wall. He was getting older, Caleb saw, his once-brown hair mostly silver now, his shoulders a little less straight than they used to be. Still, there was command in his voice, and the smile he bestowed on Caleb still carried the power to move him.

"It's good to be here, Father. I just wish I had more time."

"So do I, son. So do I." He poured each of them a brandy and passed the glasses around.

"Any word of Ethan?" Caleb asked.

His father shook his head. "He is still at sea, I suspect." Ethan ran the family shipping interests. The sea had always been his love. "He has never been good at writing." The earl took a sip of his brandy. "You haven't mentioned the case you were working on. I heard about it, of course. There was a goodly bit of gossip going round for a while."

"Was there?" Caleb flicked a glance at his brother, wondering how much he had said, but Luc made a faint negative movement of his head. "How did you hear?"

"Jon Parker mentioned he saw you. He told me about the murderer you came home to help apprehend, though I am surprised they would send you all that way."

It was the story Caleb had told at Parklands, a flimsy tale at best, and his father was looking at him in that shrewd way he had of discerning the truth from a lie. But Caleb was too old to be intimidated the way he was when he was a boy.

"That was the story I told at the time. The truth is a bit more complicated. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to discuss it, Father, not even with you."

"I see." The earl said it almost proudly, as if he admired Caleb's integrity. Perhaps he did. Caleb hoped so.

The earl took a sip of his brandy and they all moved over to the leather sofa and chairs. "There were other rumors, as well. Something about a young woman, as I recall."

He was fishing now. Caleb wondered how much his father knew, and a pulse in his temple began to throb. "And this also came from Lord Nash?"

"No. Just a bit of gossip I picked up here and there. I usually don't pay much attention. As this particular gossip concerned my son, I took particular pains to discover whether or not it was true."

Caleb was on guard now. He couldn't begin to guess what his father might have learned about Vermillion. "Exactly what did you hear?"

"That you have been spending a great deal of time with a woman named Vermillion Durant. There is speculation as to your feelings about the girl. As this particular young woman is known to be a courtesan of some renown—"

"That's not true. She has never been anything of the sort." Caleb fought to control his temper. Where Lee was concerned it was never an easy task. "It was all a ruse, one she mistakenly got caught up in that has now come to an end."

Luc stepped into the breach, for which Caleb would always be grateful. "Miss Durant is a lovely young woman, Father. Caleb helped reunite her with her father, who turned out to be the Marquess of Kinleigh."

"Kinleigh? Now that is interesting. I'll bet the news came as quite a surprise."

"Believe it or not, the marquess was pleased," Caleb said. "He plans to give her his name, though he is trying to keep the matter as private as possible."

"If the lady in question has that sort of past, I can understand why."

Caleb's temper inched up. "Lee is innocent in all of this. Her father knows that. He sees her as the person she truly is and he is grateful to have found her."

"Your defense is admirable, Caleb. I hope that is all it is… a dashing captain of the cavalry defending the honor of an innocent young girl."

His father had a way of grating on his nerves. For the past few years, since Caleb had gone into the army, they had been getting along very well.

But they had not disagreed in the past few years.

"I will tell you this, Father. The lady means a great deal to me. Under different circumstances, I might have asked her to marry me. But as you say, I'm a captain of the cavalry. Duty calls, and I must obey." He said this last with a hint of sarcasm his father must have noticed.

"I thought you liked the army."

He sighed. "I do. It's just that there are times…"

"Go on."

"There are times I miss the sort of life you and Mother had. I never really thought I ever would."

The earl took a sip of his drink, his eyes on Caleb's face. "Surely this war cannot go on forever. Perhaps when it is over, you will be able to return home and settle down, raise a family, as your brother, Christian, has done."

Caleb sipped his brandy. "Perhaps." But he didn't really think so. The truth was, there was only one woman who had ever tempted him to marry. He doubted he would ever feel that way about a woman again.

He took a last swallow of his drink and set his brandy glass down on the table. "I'm beginning to taste the dust of the day. If you both will excuse me, I think I'll take a bath and rest for a while before supper." At his father's nod, he turned and headed for the door. Behind him he heard the earl speaking softly to Lucas, but he couldn't hear what they said.

"He has always been hot-tempered," the earl said to Luc, "and often too quick to act. I worried when I heard he was involved with this young woman, a lady of questionable reputation."

"Caleb told you the truth. Lee Durant was never a courtesan."

"It really doesn't matter. The girl is a Durant. You don't think your brother is in love with her?"

Luc swirled the brandy in his glass, trying to decide how much to say. "Whatever he feels, he'll return to duty. He has no other choice. He leaves in a couple of days and he won't take her with him. He has told me what it is like for a woman over there. Once he is gone, things will return to normal."

"I don't know… Caleb isn't the sort of man to get involved so deeply with a woman." He sighed, took a long swallow of his drink. "Bloody damned war. I have worried about him every moment that he has been gone. I just pray to God he comes home safely."

Dressed in his uniform, Caleb strode into the colonel's office in Whitehall. Major Sutton was there, he saw, in conversation with Cox. Their attention turned his way as he closed the door.

"It's good to see you, Captain." The colonel beckoned Caleb forward as he moved behind his desk. "Be at ease, gentlemen. You may both sit down."

Both Caleb and the major took a seat across from him.

"Your transportation has been arranged, Captain. Tomorrow morning, as scheduled, you leave for Portsmouth. From there, you will board His Majesty's ship Nimble for the trip to Spain. An escort will be waiting when you arrive. They will guide you back to your regiment at that time."

"That sounds good, sir." He shifted a little in his chair. "In regard to a previous matter, I've been wondering if anything new has turned up on the spy ring."

The colonel shook his head. "Not much. We intercepted another courier day before yesterday but the man resisted, and in trying to evade capture, he was killed."

"What sort of information was he carrying? Was there any way to trace the source?"

"Unfortunately, it was the latest information on Wellesley's position, accurate down to the finest points. The hell of it is, at least half a dozen top officials have access to that sort of knowledge. It is necessary for them to do their jobs."

"Have you considered feeding these people false information? Something we could trace back to a particular person?"

"An interesting notion. Major Sutton made the same suggestion."

Caleb cast the major a glance, then returned his attention to Cox. "And?"

"I daresay it wouldn't be an easy thing to do. These men communicate with each other. The information is checked and cross-checked. Since we don't know who might be passing it along, we don't know which of them we can trust."

"I'm still trying to convince the powers that be," the major added.

"We're thinking of sending someone in," the colonel said, "as we did with you, but it would have to be someone in the diplomatic corps. Time is the problem." He sighed. "But all of this is neither here nor there as far as you are concerned, Captain. In a matter of hours, you'll be leaving for Spain."

They spoke for a little while longer, then both Caleb and the major were dismissed. Caleb walked with Sutton out to the street. This time of day, the roadways were bustling with hackney carriages, clogged with people and animals making their way across the city.

"I wish there were something I could do," Caleb said.

"Don't worry, we'll catch the bastard—sooner or later."

"I'd feel better if it were sooner."

Sutton nodded. "So would I." They walked along the street together, both men thinking of the days ahead. "Looks like there's going to be one helluva fight over there. You had best take care, Captain."

"I plan to, Major."

"You taking that little light-skirt you were seeing? I know a lot of men take their women with them. I figure that is what I would do."

Caleb clamped hard on his jaw. He had never liked Mark Sutton. Apparently that wasn't going to change. "I wouldn't drag any woman I cared about into a hellhole like that. And she is not a light-skirt. I told you that before. Unless you care to meet me with pistols at dawn, I would suggest you remember that."

Sutton's mouth faintly curved. "I remind you, Captain Tanner, dueling is illegal. Besides, you leave for Portsmouth at dawn."

Caleb gritted his teeth. "With any luck at all, Major, I'll be back. If I hear you've said one word maligning Miss Durant's character, I shall expect that meeting."

But Sutton just smiled. Caleb had the oddest feeling the man was simply baiting him, that he knew exactly how to prod Caleb's temper and he was enjoying the show. Why he would want to, Caleb had no idea.

It didn't really matter. Tomorrow he was off to Portsmouth. He was away to Spain and he had no idea when—or if—he would return. As he went to collect his horse, he tried not to think of Lee, but his mind drifted in that direction.

He wondered how many times he would think of her in the days to come.

The night seemed endless. It was cold for this time of year and a mean wind whipped through the trees. Lee read for a while, but the pages seemed to blur and she finally gave up and put the book away. Tomorrow was Wednesday, the day Caleb would be leaving.

Was he still in London? Or had he already gone?

She paced in front of the hearth, thinking of him, wishing they could have had these few last days together. Wishing she had left Kinleigh Hall as her heart had told her to do and followed him to the city.

Vermillion would have done it. If she had wanted a man, she would simply have gone after him.

But Lee wasn't Vermillion and the role was now nearly impossible for her to play. Still there were times she could be just as bold and daring. In some ways, she was far stronger than Vermillion ever had been.

The notion gave her courage. Lee jumped up from the window seat and hurried toward the rosewood armoire in the corner. Ignoring the array of walking dresses, traveling gowns, ball gowns, cloaks and pelisses that had been brought to Kinleigh from the Hotel Purley, she pulled out a navy blue velvet riding habit.

Caleb was leaving. There would be fighting in Spain and he could be wounded or even killed. He had promised her father he would stay away from her, but she had made no such vow. If he didn't want to see her, she would return to Kinleigh and never think of him again.

But if he felt as she did… if his heart ached one tenth as badly as hers, then he would welcome her in.

Worried someone might try to stop her, she didn't ring for Beatrice but fought her way into the dress herself, grateful the garment buttoned in front. She penned a note to her maid, telling her she would return on the morrow and please not to worry her father. A few minutes later, she was on her way down the hall, descending the servants' stairs, making her way out to the stable.

She paused to light a lantern, then stepped inside. Grand Coeur nickered at her approach, then whinnied softly as she led him from the stall. She hadn't brought Noir or any of her racing stock. She still wasn't certain whether she would remain at Kinleigh.

"Whatcha doin', Miss?" It was Jack Johnson, the walker who had delivered her saddle horses. Lee had hoped none of the grooms would awaken.

"I have an errand to run." She turned to lift the heavy sidesaddle off of its rack, but Jack, a big, brawny man at least a head taller than she, reached over and hefted it as if were light as a feather. He settled it on Grand Coeur's back.

" 'Tis late, Miss. Ye can't be thinkin' of goin' off by yerself. There's a storm movin' in. And it's dangerous on the roads for a lady."

"I have to go, Jack. I'll be back some time tomorrow."

He shook his grizzled head. He was not a handsome man but there was kindness in his features. "I'll not be lettin' ye go, Miss. Not by yerself. If ye leave, I'll be goin' with ye." He didn't tighten the cinch and blocked her from doing it herself.

It was fifteen miles to London, but the road was well traveled and the inns along the way not far apart. She knew which house in Berkeley Square belonged to the Earl of Selhurst. It wasn't likely she would be assaulted, but there was no way to be sure. In truth, she felt a sweep of relief that Jack would be going with her.

"Thank you, Jack. Perhaps it would be better if you came along."

He nodded, went to saddle a horse for himself, and returned a few minutes later. "Mind tellin' me where we be goin'?"

Lee smiled as she flipped the hood of her woolen cloak up over her head. "London, Jack. We're off for London."

A few minutes later, they disappeared into the misty night.

Caleb couldn't sleep. Tomorrow he would begin his journey back to Spain. He wished it were already dawn so he could be on his way.

Instead, a black, moonless night darkened the sky outside his bedchamber window. A harsh, north wind howled over the chimneys and a slick mist dampened the cobbled streets. Caleb paced in front of the window, paused to watch a lone carriage roll past, then walked over to pour himself a drink.

He thought of Lee and wondered what she was doing this night and if she had settled in with the marquess's family. He hoped so. He wanted her to be happy. It was his most fervent wish.

He removed the stopper from the decanter and poured some of the amber liquid into his glass. He took a drink, hoping the brandy might help him to sleep, started to take another sip when a light rap sounded on his door. Caleb crossed the room to open it, wondering what Grimsley was doing up well past midnight.

"You've a visitor, sir." The old man's ears turned slightly pink. "A lady, sir. She has come a bit of a ways. She says if you do not wish to see her, you should tell her so and she will go away."

His heart started thudding. Surely she wouldn't come all this way. Then he remembered her riding like thunder over the fields, the reckless way she had taken jump after jump. Of course she would come. He set the snifter down on a table beside the door, fighting to curb his impatience to see her.

He wasn't dressed for company. He wore only his breeches, no shirt or boots. He dragged his shirt back on but didn't bother to button it, just followed the butler back down the stairs.

Lee stood in the foyer, a small, cloaked figure with damp, windblown hair the color of rubies and cheeks rosy from the chill in the late night air.

"I took the liberty of showing her groom into the kitchen, sir, for a bite to eat. There is a pallet in front of the fire should he wish to sleep."

A groom. At least she hadn't traveled alone. "Thank you, Grimsley." But his gaze remained on Lee and he couldn't seem to tear it away.

She didn't say a word until the butler had retired, then she hoisted her chin. "If you wish me to leave, merely say the word and I shall be on my way."

His mouth curved. "So I've been told." He wanted to sweep her up, to crush her in his arms, but he was afraid if he touched her he would never let her go.

"Well?"

"I leave for Portsmouth at dawn."

"I know that. That is the reason I am here." She waited for him to say something more, to invite her to stay. When he didn't, she whirled toward the door and started walking. "I'm sure you have a great deal to do before you leave. I'm sorry to have disturbed you. Good night, Captain Tanner."

She reached for the door but he was there behind her. He caught her waist, spun her around, and straight into his arms.

"Too late," he said softly. "You had your chance to escape. Now I won't let you out of my sight until dawn."

She looked up at him, ready to push him away. Whatever she saw in his face changed her mind. Her arms went around his neck and she pressed her cheek to his.

"Caleb…"

For long moments, he just held her. He could feel her heart beating nearly as fast as his own, feel the faint tremors running through her body. She was here. God only knew they would both regret these hours in the morning. Still, he swept her up in his arms and started up the stairs.

"I've missed you," he said as stepped inside his bedchamber and closed the door with his bare foot. "Every day that you have been gone I have thought of you and wished you were here."

He kissed her then, knowing he shouldn't, unable to help himself.

Wishing things could be different.

Knowing for him they never would be.

Lee could scarcely believe she was actually here, upstairs in Caleb's bedchamber. There was a time she wouldn't have been so bold, but that was long ago, before she had met him. Before she had become the person she was today.

She leaned toward him, went up on her toes and kissed him. "I've missed you, Caleb. So very much." She kissed his eyes, his cheeks, his lips. "I had to see you. I couldn't stay at Kinleigh, knowing you might still be here, knowing I might never see you again. I had to come, Caleb. I had to see you one last time."

His hand came up to her cheek. "I know I shouldn't say this, I know you're being here is bad for both of us, but I'm so very glad you came."

"I've thought of you every night. I've dreamed of touching you… of having you touch me. Once you are gone, all I'll have left of you are memories." She kissed him very softly. "I want to spend the night curled up beside you. I want you to hold me in your arms. Make love to me, Caleb. Please?"

His hands shook as he framed her face between his palms, bent his head, and kissed her, a kiss so soft and sweet it nearly broke her heart. Reaching up, he began to pull the pins from her hair, then he combed the heavy curls out with his fingers.

"I can't make love to you—not the way you mean. I gave your father my word." But he kissed her again and began to unbutton her clothes and she reached down to unbutton his.

Outside the window, the storm was moving in. Lightning cracked and she heard the roll of thunder. The black night seemed to echo the darkness creeping into her soul.

Caleb removed the rest of her clothes and the last of his own. In the glow of the lamp flickering beside the bed, she could see the bands of muscles across his chest and she ached to touch them. She watched the way they bunched and thickened as he moved and she yearned to press her mouth against his skin. His stomach was flat, and ridges of muscle rippled in the faint, golden lamplight. His hips were narrow, his buttocks round, and his long, thick shaft jutted out from its nest of protective dark curls.

God, he was so beautiful. And she loved him so much.

Caleb lifted her again, carried her over to his tall four-poster bed, and set her down on the edge of the mattress. Propping an arm on each side of her, he bent and kissed her, a long, lingering kiss laced with the faint, sweet taste of brandy. She could feel the heat of his mouth, the softness of his lips, and an ache throbbed inside her. He was leaving. In a few short hours, he would be gone.

Caleb kissed her long and deep. He took and took and at the same time, the pleasure he gave was nearly unbearable. He kissed the side of her neck, trailed soft, open-mouthed kisses over her shoulders, bent his head and took one of her breasts into his mouth. Desire washed through her. Love for him welled up so strong it nearly made her weep.

Beneath his mouth, her nipples pebbled, turned diamond-hard and he rolled them around on his tongue. "Like berries," he whispered. "I shall forever remember the taste."

He cupped them almost reverently, massaged them as he claimed her mouth again, took her deeply with his tongue.

"I won't break my word," he said as he knelt between her legs, but she could see the hunger in his eyes, the hot desire and something else, something that matched the longing in her own.

She felt his mouth on her belly, his tongue in her navel and waves of pleasure washed over her. He eased her back on the bed and moved lower, pressed his mouth into the curls at the apex of her legs. Lee gasped as he parted her slick, woman's flesh and began to taste her there. It felt as if a torch had set fire to her blood.

"Caleb!" She tried to sit up but he coaxed her back down, began to kiss her again.

"I won't come inside you," he whispered. "But there are other ways that I can make love to you."

And so he began to show her. Sliding his palms beneath her hips, he lifted her against his mouth. He caressed her with his lips and his tongue until her body was on fire for him, until thoughts of Caleb consumed her, until she began to whimper his name. She fisted her hands in his thick brown hair, but he did not stop. Just held her hips immobile as he laved and tasted, stroked her again and again. There was reverence in the way he held her, in the way he gave and gave and did not stop. She reached her pinnacle thinking about him, wishing he were inside her. Pleasure poured through her. Even then he did not stop, not until she peaked again.

She was limp and sobbing when the sweet torture ended. Lifting her up, he settled her on the bed, then lay down beside her. He was still so hard she could see a faint pulse beating in the rigid length resting on his belly and she realized that what he had done was a gift.

Outside the window, the storm went on, a mirror of her own turbulent emotions. Lightning flashed as she reached out to touch him, wanting to give him the same gift he had given to her.

Caleb caught her wrist. "It's all right. You don't have to—"

"I want to, Caleb," she said softly. Bending over him, she tasted him, felt the smooth, rigid texture of his hardness, took him into her mouth. Her hair swung forward, pooled against his groin, and she heard his sharp intake of breath. She wasn't sure exactly what to do, but when she felt the tension sweep through his body, when she heard him whisper her name, she thought that perhaps it didn't matter. She cupped him and tasted him, caressed him more deeply, and in minutes he reached release.

She could feel the beating of his heart as he pulled her down beside him in the bed and nestled her against his chest. "I don't want to leave you," he said. "If there were any other way…"

She pressed her trembling fingers over his lips and ignored the painful lump in her throat. Caleb's arms tightened protectively around her and she felt the brush of his lips against her hair.

I love you, she thought. I love you so much. But she didn't say it. It wouldn't be fair to either one of them.

"I don't want to fall asleep," she said instead. "I want these last few hours with you." But she was exhausted from the tiring ride to London and he had pleasured her well. As hard as she fought to stay awake, sleep crept over her.

When dawn broke over the horizon and her eyes slowly opened, Caleb was gone. Inside her chest, her heart simply shattered.

24

« ^ »

Lee's return to Kinleigh Hall the following day went unremarked. If her father knew where she had been, if he noticed the despair in her eyes or the weary defeat that weighed down her shoulders, he made no comment and she would forever be grateful. Caleb was gone from her life. She would make a fresh start without him. Her father seemed to read her thoughts and he was determined to help her.

In that regard, he continued the paperwork that would make her Lee Montague, daughter of a marquess and nearly untouchable by Society. Though she never intended to go forward among the ton, she was thankful for the cloak of protection her father had placed around her.

She hadn't realized how strong it would be until she received a letter from Oliver Wingate, asking for permission to call on her at Kinleigh Hall.

"I think you should receive him," her father said. "You will establish very clearly once and for all, exactly who you are."

She smiled. "Lee Montague, you mean?"

His mouth curved into a smile that resembled her own. "Exactly so, and the daughter of a peer."

And so she had received the colonel for an evening quite different from those they had shared at Parklands. As if in reminder of those times, a note arrived the following day from Andrew Mondale, suggesting a rendezvous, his intentions far less sterling than Wingate's. Lee simply ignored it.

The only person who stayed away was her aunt. Aunt Gabriella had written a lengthy letter, explaining that for Lee's sake, she would not come to Kinleigh Hall. Gabriella wished her every happiness and said that once Lee was settled securely in her new life, they could begin to discreetly see each other again. She had been so happy when Lee had chosen Caleb. Lee hoped she wouldn't despair at this latest turn of events.

In her aunt's stead, Elizabeth Sorenson, Lady Rotham, came to call and Lee was thrilled to see her. She was even more thrilled to learn that Beth and Charles had reconciled.

"We're in love, Lee." The countess laughed. "I feel like I'm twenty again. Charles is a wonderful husband and a marvelous father. I never would have believed it but he loves me. He proves it every day."

"I'm so glad for you, Elizabeth. You deserve to be happy."

"I hated being married, Lee. I believed it was a life of penance, but I was wrong. Sharing a life with someone who cares for you… it changes everything. It makes you feel complete."

Lee tried not to think of Caleb, and Elizabeth made a point not to mention him. No one did. It was as if he had never existed. Like everyone else, in an effort to protect her battered heart, Lee tried to pretend he never had.

Other people paid a visit, close friends of the marquess who came to lend their support. Still it was a surprise when Jonathan Parker arrived at the house.

"I've known your father for quite some years," Jon said as they sat in the drawing room. "He's an amazing man, Lee. I'm happy things have worked out for you as they have." Everyone called her Lee now. Like Caleb, Vermillion had vanished like a ghost of the past.

"It's wonderful to see you, Jon. You've always been a friend. It's good to know that hasn't changed."

The viscount reached over and caught her hand. "I told you once I wanted more from you than friendship—I still do."

Her shock couldn't have been more profound. The viscount had wanted her as his mistress. This was far different. In a thousand years, she would never have believed both Nash and Wingate would continue their pursuit, though now it would require no less than marriage.

"I know it's too soon," the viscount said. "You and your father need this time together, but when you are ready, I hope you will at least consider my offer."

What could she say? Jonathan Parker was a member of the aristocracy, one of the most respected men in England. It was an honor of the highest order. "Of course I will, Jon. I can't tell you how honored I am. But as you say, I need a little time."

More than a little, she thought. It might take years to get over losing Caleb. She wasn't sure she ever would.

Unfortunately, there were other considerations. Namely, her two half-brothers, Bronson and Aaron, who continued to make her life miserable whenever they were near. Aaron had arrived home from boarding school and received news of the sister who had become a member of the family with even more outrage than his brother, throwing such a tantrum his father had threatened to birch him, which—it was more than apparent—was something that had never been done before.

Though her father had given her his name and his protection and had offered her a new and different life, there were strings attached, and not everyone—especially her brothers—was happy she was there.

More and more, she wondered if perhaps she should leave Kinleigh Hall. In a way she was more trapped there than she had been at Parklands.

The hot July days crept past. Caleb's trip across the dry Spanish landscape had led him to Wellesley's encampment near Talavera, but the fighting had yet to begin and the waiting seemed interminable as men and equipment poured in.

In the last few days, the atmosphere in the camp had changed, as if the troops sensed that now the time was right; the attack on Joseph Bonaparte's massive army was ready to commence.

Mounted on Solomon, Caleb rode at the head of the column making its way to the top of a rise that overlooked the battlefield below. For miles around, the ground was barren and dusty. For the soldiers of Wellesley's army, the march to Talavera had been an arduous one and food supplies were low. The heat was unbearable, the sun scorching down with merciless intensity. At night lightning cracked overhead but not a drop of rain fell to quench the parched earth.

One of the horses nickered. Solomon sidestepped and tossed his head, beginning to get anxious. "Easy boy. It won't be long now." Not long before the carnage began, before bodies littered the desolate landscape as far as the eye could see. Scattered along a defensive line across the field, Joseph Bonaparte's forty thousand men waited to face nineteen thousand of Wellesley's troops aided by the Spanish army commanded by General Cuesta.

Caleb had been assigned to the 4th Dragoons, led by General Sherbrooke, Wellesley's second in command. His squadron had been ordered to the rise, ordered to take up their position for the assault. For the past twenty-four hours, a calm detachment had been with him, a skill he had developed over the years. He used it now to study the tens of thousands of armed soldiers across the field, the dozens of cannon loaded with grapeshot, ready to rip men and animals apart.

He knew what he would face once the fighting began, knew he might not survive it. But today was the first time he had ever felt regret.

Regret for the life he had chosen, for all he had so readily given up. The keen ache of loss for the woman he loved and the children he would never have. He thought of Lee and prayed that whatever fate awaited him, she would be happy.

A bugle sounded. Caleb watched a sweep of men and horses rush down from the knoll onto the field at his left. Cannon roared. Guns began firing, clouds of thick black smoke filled the air. Horses screamed and dozens of men fell beneath the vicious barrage.

"Hold your position!" his commanding officer shouted.

Solomon pawed the earth. In minutes, it would be time. He wasn't afraid to die. Perhaps, in truth, he had been afraid to live.

In joining the army, he had found a retreat from the world and at the same time, a way to prove himself to his father. He had chosen this life, gained the love and approval he had always wanted and never had, but now he wondered…

If he could choose again, if he could start over, would the choice he made be different? As clearly as if a voice had spoken in his head, Caleb knew that he would not choose the solitary existence he lived now. He would choose a home and family. He would choose Lee.

But he had sworn an oath to protect his country. He was an officer in the British Army and he had a duty to perform. If only things could be different.

But it was too late for that. Too late the moment he heard his resounding command, "Charge!"

Caleb raised his saber above his head, urged Solomon into a gallop, and plunged off down the hill.

There was no word from Caleb. No letters, not even a note. Lee hadn't expected there would be. The newspapers were filled with accounts of the terrible battle that had been fought at Talavera and the costly victory the British had won. Lists of casualties were printed, more than fifty-five hundred British soldiers had been wounded or killed. Caleb's name had not appeared on any of the lists and for that she was grateful. Still she worried about him.

She thought about the traitor who had been passing information to the French and wondered if he had been responsible in some way for the high number of British casualties, but there was no way for her to know.

The days drifted past. August was slipping away. She was officially Lee Montague now, though the upheaval it caused between her father and his sons made her question whether the price was worth it.

It was a warm summer afternoon when the marquess called her into his study. Lee knew he wanted to talk to her about the problems with Aaron and Bronson, but she wasn't exactly sure what he would say.

Or what she should say in return.

"I cannot begin to tell you how disappointed I am in both of them," her father began.

"It isn't entirely their fault," Lee said. "They see me as an intruder. In a way they are not wrong."

"I know that's the way you feel. That is the reason I wished to speak to you." He indicated the teapot on the tea cart a few feet away. "Will you pour for us?"

She did as he asked, handing him the cup, nervous at the set of his features.

"Yesterday Jon Parker came to see me." Her head came up. "Jon has asked for permission to marry you, Lee."

She tried not to let her uneasiness show. She had known of his interest, of course. She wasn't certain he would actually make an official offer. "Jonathan is a very fine man," she said carefully.

"Yes, he is. He is kind and generous and very well respected. I think you should accept him, Lee."

The tea cup rattled. She steadied it with her hand. "I don't love him, Father."

"I know you don't—not now, but in time perhaps you could come to love him." He set his untouched cup and saucer down on the table in front of him. "I loved your mother very much. I didn't believe I would ever get over losing her and in some ways I never did. But I found great comfort in Aaron's mother, Sarah. I never told you that. In my own way, I came to love her."

Lee mulled that over. Was it possible? Could love grow out of mutual caring and respect? Over the years, Charles had fallen deeply in love with Elizabeth. They were happy. Unbelievably so. In her life at Parklands, Lee would have chosen Jon as her protector. Why not a husband instead?

"Jon wants children, Lee. I know how much you would love to have a family of your own."

It was said that when one door closed another opened. Perhaps this, at last, was a door to the life she had finally discovered she wanted. Certainly she could be happier with Jon than she had been in the world of the demimonde, where she had never fit in.

"Jon enjoys racing," the marquess went on. "Your horses will have the very best of care."

She set her cup and saucer down next to his. "Do you really believe marrying Lord Nash is the right thing to do?"

The marquess reached out and captured her hand. "I have done all I can to protect you. Jon is aware of your former… relationship… with Captain Tanner and yet he believes, in time, you will come to care for him. As the wife of a viscount and respected member of the ton, your future would be completely secure."

His hold gently tightened around her fingers. "Shall I give him my approval?"

She thought of Caleb, closed her eyes and forced his image away. "Tell him if he proposes marriage… if he is certain that is what he wants, I shall be honored to accept."

Lee could scarcely believe it. In only a few short months, her life had completely changed. She was betrothed to a well-respected member of the aristocracy and soon would be wed.

It was less than three weeks till the wedding when she made a trip to London for the final fitting of her trousseau. Though she missed Jeannie, her maid was happier at Parklands where she was more readily accepted. Beatrice was her lady's maid now, the two of them staying at her father's town house. She had buried thoughts of Caleb deep in her heart, never to be resurrected, and so she was surprised when, standing at the top of the stairs, she saw his brother, Lucas, striding into the entry.

The moment she realized who it was, a wave of fear hit her and the breath froze in her lungs. She flew down the stairs, her pulse hammering so madly she was afraid she might swoon. "Do not say he is dead!"

Lucas shook his head and relief rushed over her, so strong her legs went weak. Luc took her arm and led her into the nearest drawing room, urged her down onto the sofa.

"Caleb is alive, Lee, but I'm afraid he's been very gravely injured. There was some sort of mix-up and he was believed to be someone else. Word only reached us a few days ago."

Her hands were shaking. She clasped them together in her lap. "Where… where is he?"

"The hospital at Portsmouth."

She started to get up. She had to go upstairs, change into something for the journey.

Luc caught her arm. "My brother is in some sort of a coma, Lee. He has sustained a serious head injury. On top of that, he took a musket ball in the chest. He's been out of his mind with fever off and on for days. The hospital is a place of horrors, but they are afraid to move him. I came because in his lucid moments, Caleb calls your name."

Her eyes burned with tears.

"I heard you were here," Luc continued. "I thought that perhaps—"

"It won't take me a moment to change and pack a few things for the trip. If you would see me to Portsmouth, Lord Halford, I would be forever in your debt."

He gave her a weary smile. "I hoped you would say that." He looked tired. Faint smudges darkened the skin beneath his blue eyes and beard-stubble roughened his usually clean-shaven cheeks. "I probably shouldn't have come here, but if you are willing to suffer the horrors of that place and there is any chance you can help my brother, I can only say that I am grateful."

She simply nodded. Caleb was injured, perhaps even dying. Her throat ached and a film of tears blurred her vision. Turning away from Luc, she hurried out of the drawing room and raced up the stairs shouting for Beatrice.

In minutes, she had changed into traveling clothes, secured her bonnet strings beneath her chin, told Beatrice where she was going and asked her not to worry her father unless she had to. Then she hurried back down the stairs, tapestry satchel in hand. Luc took the bag from her trembling fingers and together they walked out the door.

Luc's carriage was waiting. He was the Viscount Halford and his crest blazed in gold on the door. He helped her inside and she settled against the carriage seat. They wouldn't reach Portsmouth before tomorrow.

She thought of Caleb and prayed he would still be alive when she got there.

The military hospital at Portsmouth overflowed with wounded men. The fighting at Talavera had been fierce, the casualties in the thousands. Some of the soldiers remained in hospital camps in Spain. Others, like Caleb, had been shipped home to England.

As Luc settled a steadying hand at Lee's waist and led her into the three-story brick building, she tried to prepare herself. But nothing could have prepared her for the moans of the wounded and dying men, the terrible stench of blood and death that hung in the fetid air.

"Are you all right?" Luc asked worriedly.

She knew her face was pale and her hands were shaking. Her stomach rolled with nausea and she prayed she wouldn't embarrass herself. "I'm fine," she lied. "This just takes a bit of getting used to is all."

Luc's face looked hard. "A good bit, I would say. I don't believe anyone ever gets used to a place like this." He took her arm, lending her some of his strength, and they walked down row after row of sick and wounded men.

Besides the bloodstained bandages and the odor of putrid flesh, she saw men with severed limbs and a number who had been badly burned.

"There was a grass fire after the battle. A lot of the wounded were killed in the fire or very badly burned."

She stopped, looked up at him. "Caleb?"

He shook his head. "The chest wound I mentioned and a saber gash in the leg. I'm afraid the leg is infected." Lucas caught her shoulders. "They may have to take it, Lee."

Her heart nearly broke. "Oh, dear God. Caleb would hate that more than anything. He's a cavalry officer. He needs to be able to ride." And she wouldn't let them take his leg unless there was no other choice.

Unfortunately, when she reached his bedside and saw how ghostly pale he was, saw the blood leaking through the bandages on his chest and leg, she thought removing the limb might be his only hope.

Lee knelt beside him, reached out and took his hand. It felt even colder than her own. The other, she saw, was bandaged.

"He escaped the fire himself," Luc gently explained. "He was trying to help some of the others."

"Caleb? Can you hear me? It's Lee." But Caleb said nothing. His eyes were closed, his cheeks gaunt, his complexion as pale as the sheet.

"He hasn't spoken in days," a tall blond man said from the opposite side of the bed. "I'm Christian, one of Caleb's brothers." The married one, she thought. "Our brother, Ethan, is out of the country. This is my father, Lord Selhurst."

The earl was mostly silver-haired, his shoulders slightly bent, and worry for his son was written in the lines of his face. "I'm sorry Lucas troubled you to come," he said a little stiffly. "I told him he shouldn't. This is no place for a woman."

She straightened a little. "Caleb asked for me. That is why I came. I won't leave him until he is recovered."

The marquess said nothing more but his gaze faintly sharpened.

"There seems to be a shortage of surgeons," she said, glancing around the room, thinking what an understatement that was. "Over the years, I have tended a number of injured horses." Actually, Jacob and Arlie had done most of the work, but at least she had been there. "Since there is no one else, I should like to take a look at the wounds myself."

"That is absurd," Lord Selhurst said. "I've sent for the best physician in London. Once he arrives, my son will be in the very best possible hands."

"That is good to hear, my lord. But until your physician gets here, I intend to do what I can."

"I'll help you remove the bandages," Luc said gently. "Father, why don't you and Chris get a breath of fresh air and something to eat? You've been here the past two days. Let Lee and me take over for a while."

The earl seemed unwilling to leave, but Christian Tanner gently took his father's arm and the two men left the building. Luc helped her unwrap the wound in Caleb's chest and the one in his thigh, then he stepped away.

Her heart squeezed. She was scarcely a physician. All she could really tell was that the injuries were severe. If Caleb were a horse, she would have at least some idea what to do, but he wasn't a horse, he was a man.

Then again, he had always been as stubborn as a mule.

"What do you think?" Luc asked.

Lee worried her bottom lip. "How long before the doctor arrives?"

"He was out of town when we sent for him. He is probably on his way by now, but there is no way to know for sure."

"We can't just sit here. Not when we don't know how long it might be until the physician gets here." She reached down, touched Caleb's pale face, and silently willed him to hang on. She turned to Luc, thinking of the mare several months back who had cut herself badly on a downed rock fence and trying to remember exactly what Jacob had done.

She gazed down at Caleb and took a steadying breath. "There are things I'm going to need. The herbs, you will find at the apothecary shop. The rest you will find in the nearest stable."

Luc flashed her a look of disbelief.

"Bring me pen and ink and I'll make you a list," she went on, as if she didn't see the doubt etched into his face.

Then very slowly he smiled. It was the first real smile she had seen since his arrival at the door of her father's town house. "I'll get the herbs. And there are stables right here with any number of horse supplies. You shall have the items you need as quickly as I can collect them."

True to his word, he returned not long after with milkweed and rue, boneset and dogwood, horse liniment, and fresh bandages. Lee took them gratefully and set to work, saying a silent prayer she could remember exactly what to do.

25

« ^ »

It was an endless night and most of the following day before the earl's physician finally arrived. In the meantime, Lee cleaned the wounds as best she could, then made salves and poultices, remedies old Arlie and Jacob Boswell had taught her, and applied them to Caleb's wounds. Still, during the night, his fever returned and he began to hallucinate.

Over and over he relived the terrible battle, and the pain in his voice made her ache for him. It was just before dawn that he whispered her name and when she heard it, her heart nearly shattered.

"I'm here, Caleb." She stroked his cheek with a hand that trembled and tears clogged her throat. "I'm right here, my love." But he said no more and by morning, she was exhausted.

She hadn't eaten since her arrival. Her stomach rebelled at the mere thought of food and her clothes were wrinkled and bloodstained and smelled of the same stench that hung like a shroud over the endless rows of hospital beds.

Lee was bathing Caleb's face, smoothing back his sweat-damp hair when she spotted the Earl of Selhurst striding toward them between the rows of beds. The man at his side, a thin man with a light-brown mustache, she presumed to be the physician the earl had summoned from London.

"Get out of my way, young woman." The doctor, a man Luc said was named Criffle, walked up to Caleb's bedside. "Let us see how much harm you have done."

Her hopeful smile faded. "I did what I could. I didn't believe it was in Caleb's best interest to wait."

The doctor harrumphed. Stripping away the dressings and poultices, he surveyed the wound in Caleb's chest, then turned his attention to the infection ravaging the gash in his thigh. He was frowning and Lee's heart began to thud with fear.

What if she had made matters worse? Dear God, what if she had done something that would kill him!

For the next half hour, Dr. Criffle worked over Caleb's still figure, cleaning and redressing the wounds. All the while, she stood fearfully between Lucas and Christian, praying Caleb would be all right.

Finally the doctor turned. "Young lady—I owe you an apology. You did an excellent job, considering what little you had to work with. I have no idea what exactly you used on Captain Tanner, but it seems to have helped the swelling in his chest and leg and some of the redness is beginning to fade. I do not believe putrefaction has set in as I had expected and whatever you used seems to have helped."

Relief made her weak and she felt Luc's hand close over her fingers in a grateful, reassuring squeeze.

"The problem now, I'm afraid, is the head injury he has sustained. For that there is nothing I can do. If he cares for you as his brother suggests, perhaps your presence here will make a difference."

She nodded, and prayed that it would.

It was a strange world Caleb lived in. At times the battle still raged inside his head. He remembered the cannon fire, remembered men falling beneath a barrage of gunfire and grapeshot, remembered the big French cavalry officer he had clashed with, the saber cut that had nearly unhorsed him. He remembered the searing pain of the musket ball that had slammed into his chest, the flames racing over the grass.

Most of the time, he lived in a world of darkness, an odd nothingness that engulfed him, made his body feel weightless, the days and hours seem to have no end.

But there were those few rare moments when he no longer drifted, when he thought he recognized voices. His father. His brothers. Lee.

It couldn't be, he told himself, but still he could hear her, gently calling his name. He wanted to answer, but he knew if he opened his eyes, she wouldn't be there. She was just an illusion and once he knew that for sure, then the pain of losing her would return and it was nearly as bad as the terrible ache in his chest.

"Caleb? Caleb, can you hear me?" She was there again, drifting through his mind. Peace settled over him and in his mind he smiled. He didn't try to awaken. Instead, he would far rather dream.

"I think we should take him home to Selhurst," the earl said.

"Dr. Criffle believes it's still too risky," Luc argued. "He says Caleb should remain here until he is more fully recovered."

But Lee wondered if the earl might not be right. Caleb's wounds were healing. At Selhurst, he would receive the care and attention he needed. He hadn't yet spoken, but each day he grew stronger. His body was recovering very well. It was his mind that held him hostage.

"Let's give him another few days," Luc argued, and she thought that it was because she was there and wouldn't be with him at Selhurst. "Perhaps by then he will be lucid."

As she watched him sleep, she wondered what Caleb was thinking, wondered if he heard her when she spoke to him during the night. Sometimes she believed he did, when his mouth twitched at the corners and it seemed as if at any moment he would smile.

She wanted to shake him then, to shout at him and demand he open his eyes. And so that afternoon, while the others had gone off for something to eat and she had returned to his bedside, while she sat there speaking his name again and again, talking to him about Grand Coeur and Noir, telling him racing stories, her frustration mounted. She reminded him of the day they had raced and he had pretended to lose, told him he owed her a rematch, and bet him another week of mucking out stalls, and to her complete frustration, his lips faintly curved.

"You heard me! I know you did! That's it, Caleb Tanner! You open your eyes this instant! I won't put up with your nonsense a moment more!"

To her surprise and utter amazement, he did exactly that. For an instant, they simply sat there staring at each other.

"You're… really… here," Caleb finally said, the words so scratchy she could barely hear them.

"Caleb!" She hugged him so hard he groaned. "I'm sorry. Oh, God, I didn't mean to hurt you. Say something. Anything. Just so I know you're all right."

"Tired…" he said, but he smiled at her as his eyes drifted closed, and she started to cry.

Lucas found her that way, clinging to Caleb's hand, tears running down her cheeks. "He spoke to me, Luc. He knew who I was."

Relief eased the worry in Luc's handsome face. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Thank you. For coming here. For taking care of Caleb. For everything."

She nodded. She had done what she could and Caleb would recover.

She had tried not to think what that might mean and she refused to do it now. Instead, when she glanced toward the door, she saw Jonathan Parker striding toward her and there wasn't the least hint of a smile on his face.

"I can't believe you are here," he said, "in a dreadful place like this. When your father told me, I thought he had gone mad."

Luc stepped up beside her. "I brought her, Jon. I know it was a good deal to ask. I was fighting for my brother's life. I thought perhaps if Lee were here, it might make a difference."

Jon glanced down at Caleb, who seemed to be sleeping more peacefully than he had before. "Did it?"

"Yes. It looks as if my brother will recover. My family owes Miss Montague a very great debt."

Jon's amber gaze lingered on Caleb. "I've always liked your brother. I am glad to hear he's going to make it." He returned his attention to Lee. "Nevertheless, this is not a place where you should be. You are betrothed to me and in little more than a week, we are to marry. I'm here to see you safely back to London."

She didn't want to go. She wanted to stay with Caleb. But Luc was looking at her with pity, as if he knew that now that his brother would live, things would return to the way they were before.

"Come," Jon said. "I took the liberty of collecting your things from the inn. The carriage is waiting."

She forced herself not to look at Caleb, simply accepted Jon's arm and let him guide her out of the hospital. They didn't speak again till they reached his carriage.

"I realize you have feelings for Captain Tanner. But he is a soldier. Once he is fully recovered, he will be returning to war."

She stared down at the hands she clutched in her lap. "I know."

"I'll make you happy, Vermillion, I swear it. Once we are wed, you will see."

She raised her eyes to his face. "Lee," she said softly. "I would rather you called me Lee."

Jon bent his head and lightly kissed her. "Of course, dearest." His knuckles brushed along her jaw. "In time you will realize that this is for the best. It's your destiny, Lee. It always has been."

Lee didn't answer. She didn't like the way he was looking at her. Then again, she was tired and depressed. She ached inside and she simply wanted to be alone. Instead, she bumped along in the viscount's carriage, so exhausted she finally tipped her head back against the velvet squabs and fell asleep.

All the way to London she dreamed of a tall man in a scarlet uniform boarding a ship to return to Spain.

For the next six days, she hoped to hear from Caleb but no word came. Instead, a note arrived from Lucas, saying that Caleb was recovering well, that he was completely lucid and rapidly mending. He had been moved to Selhurst Manor to complete his recuperation. There was nothing to indicate Caleb wished to see her. Instead, Lucas wished her felicitations on her upcoming wedding and promised that he would attend.

Lee carefully folded the note and tucked it into her jewelry box. Nothing had changed. She should have known better than to hope for a miracle after the ones she had already been granted. Instead, Friday night, Beatrice pampered her with a bath scented with sandalwood oil and insisted she go to bed early.

Tomorrow was her wedding day.

Lee prayed that God would give her the courage to go through with it.

It was a nearly moonless night. A layer of dense black clouds hung over the streets and a thin mist hung in the air. The courier accepted the wax-sealed sheet of foolscap and slid it into the small leather pouch beneath his arm. Earlier, he had received a message telling him about the pickup and advising him this would be the last he would receive for some time.

Reggie Bags didn't care. He liked the coin well enough, but the risk was bloody steep. Already two of his mates had been caught, one of them killed when he tried to escape John Law. Reggie wasn't a man with much of a conscience, and he was Irish, not bloody English, so that part didn't trouble him, but riskin' his neck this way… well, part of him was relieved his employer had decided to pull in his horns for a bit.

In the meantime, Reggie had a message to deliver and if he wanted the rest of his blunt, he would have to see it done.

He moved away from the rear of the tavern, off into the dark London streets toward the stable down in the East End off Smithfield Market, where he had rented a saddle horse. It was a long ride to Dover, but once he got there, he would leave the message in the usual place and his part in this rotten business would be done. He wasn't sure what would happen after that, but he figured from Dover, a man could row a small boat quietly across the channel to Calais and deliver the message to someone there. All he had to do was get to the coast.

A noise somewhere behind him filtered into his brain and Reggie stopped. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, but when he looked, all he saw was darkness. Still, he had a nose for trouble and the scent was heavy in his nostrils now.

His heart hammered like a kettledrum as he hurried along the mist-slick streets and disappeared into a deserted alley. He paused a couple of times to look back over his shoulder, but no one was there. Then, just ahead of him, a shadow loomed out of the darkness and a tall man with curly black hair stepped in front of him.

"Hello, Reggie," the man said. "I believe you have something I need."

Reggie took one look in those cold blue eyes and his knees started to wobble. "Yes, sir," he said. "I believe I do at that."

"What the devil do you think you're doing?" William Tanner, Earl of Selhurst, strode toward Caleb, whose muscles strained in an effort to lift himself out of the deep feather mattress in his upstairs bedchamber at Selhurst.

"I have to go to London, Father. I need to speak to Colonel Cox." Caleb reached over and tugged on the bell pull to ring for his valet and that small effort made perspiration pop out on his forehead.

"Are you insane? You are barely well enough to eat. Your body needs time to recover. You can scarcely hie yourself off to London!"

Just then former footman Harry Prince, recently promoted to Caleb's valet, came dashing into the room. "You rang, sir?"

"I need a uniform. There's a clean one in the armoire. Help me get it on, will you, Harry?"

"You can hardly stand," William argued, his worry mounting. "What could possibly be so urgent you cannot remain in bed for another few days?"

Caleb's features shifted and an implacable expression appeared on his face. "I'm resigning my commission, Father. I'm leaving the army. I realize you probably won't approve, but this is something I've had a good deal of time to think about. I might have done it sooner, but there was a battle to be fought. There was the matter of duty and honor and the debt I owed my country. That debt has been paid and the duty I owe now is to myself."

The valet rushed forward to help him into his navy blue breeches. The effort cost him and he sank down heavily on the bed.

"Even should that be your decision," William said, "why can't you wait? It's obvious you're in no condition to travel. In a few more days—"

"I want to see Lee. There are things I need to say to her. Things I've already waited too long to say."

Lee. Vermillion Durant. William had been afraid of this from the moment Lucas had arrived with the girl at the hospital. "Things? What sort of things… ?"

"To start with, I want to thank her for helping to save my life. Luc told me how she stayed at my bedside for hours on end. There is no other woman like her and I mean to tell her so. And then I am going to ask her to marry me and pray that she will accept."

William's jaw imperceptibly tightened. He had been worried from the start that Caleb was in love with the girl. But a marquess's daughter or not, she was a bastard child with a blackened reputation and hardly a suitable match for his son.

He glanced up at the clock on the mantel. At two o'clock this afternoon, Vermillion Durant would marry Jonathan Parker. Luc had wanted to tell his brother about the marriage, but William had refused to let him.

"Not until he is back on his feet," he had said firmly. "As soon as he is, I will tell him myself. If he still wishes to intercede, he may do so then." Luc had argued, but concern for Caleb's health and William's words had finally convinced him.

"He'll want the girl to be happy and he knows marrying Nash is her best chance."

But William had never told Caleb about the marriage and he didn't mention it now. By the time he did, it would be too late.

By then, Vermillion would be Jonathan Parker's problem and Caleb would be free to make a more suitable match.

"I'll have the carriage brought round," William told him. "It will take you a while to reach Whitehall. I don't like your color. I think it would be best if I went along."

Caleb didn't argue. William could see he was trying to conserve his strength. As he walked out the door of the bedchamber, he thought of what Caleb might do when he discovered Vermillion belonged to another man, and a shiver ran down his spine.

You are doing what is best for your son, he told himself and headed downstairs to summon his carriage.

Lee finished dressing in her bedchamber at Lord Kinleigh's town house near Portman Square. Her friend, Elizabeth Sorenson, hovered over her, helping with the final details.

All morning the household had been frantic, the servants in an uproar as they scurried about completing last minute preparations before the family's departure to the chapel at Westminster where Lee and Lord Nash would be wed.

"Sit here, Miss," Beatrice commanded, barking orders like a sergeant in the army. "I need to finish weaving the ribbons into your hair."

Lee sat down in front of the mirror above her dresser and Elizabeth followed her across the room.

"You look beautiful," the countess said, surveying Lee's cream silk gown. Lee wished her aunt could have come, but it wouldn't have been seemly for her to appear in the marquess's house. She still wasn't sure Gabriella would come to the church.

Elizabeth knelt down to straighten Lee's train, her fingers sliding over the wide embroidered band of pale blue roses that decorated the skirt, the bodice, and the small puffed sleeves. Beatrice twined small blue roses and matching satin ribbons through her upswept hair, then Elizabeth fastened a single, square-cut diamond, a gift from Lee's future husband, around her neck.

"I hope I'm doing the right thing," Lee said, speaking the words she had repeated to herself a thousand times.

Elizabeth took her hand. "Of course you are. Jon is handsome and charming and he cares for you so very much. He wants children and so do you. It's a good match, Lee. And in time, you will surely fall in love with him—just as Charles has fallen in love with me."

Lee didn't remind her friend it had taken nearly ten years for the two of them to find happiness together. Still, her choices were limited. She could no longer stay at Kinleigh. The discord she caused was making all their lives miserable and she didn't want that.

"He's a good man," Lee said, more to herself than Elizabeth. "I'll do my best to make him happy."

"Jon is in love with you. He has been pursuing you for months. All you have to do to make him happy is repeat the vows that will make you his wife."

Lee made no reply, just finished the last of her toilette and made the final preparations to depart for the chapel at Westminster. She prayed that in time, marriage to Jonathan would make her happy, too.

A measure of Caleb's strength returned as the carriage rolled toward London. He had a great deal to do and he was eager to see it done. Two days ago, he had sent a message ahead, advising the colonel of his decision to leave the army and requesting an appointment to see him. The interview was scheduled for one o'clock.

"I still think you should have remained abed," his father grumbled from the other side of the carriage. The coach wove its way through the crowded London streets but traffic was heavy and their progress was slow.

"I've waited long enough," Caleb said. "My enlistment is up and I am resigning my commission. I want to advise Colonel Cox in person of my decision. I've also written a letter to General Wellesley, thanking him for his support. Cox can see it delivered."

"And the girl? She is the reason for your sudden change of heart, is she not?"

"In part I suppose she is. Perhaps if I hadn't met her, I would have remained in the army. Now that I have, there is no way I can stay. Not when I have been given a gift few men are lucky enough ever to possess."

Caleb's eyes searched his father's face, hoping for a hint of understanding. "Mother has been gone for years, but I still remember the way you used to look at her. Do you remember that, Father? Do you remember how much you loved her?"

The earl sat up a little straighter on the tufted leather seat. "Your mother was special. There has never been any woman like her and there never will be."

"Perhaps not. But when I look at Lee, I see a treasure any man would cherish. I see a chance for the sort of happiness you and Mother had, the sort I never thought I would ever find for myself."

His father said nothing, but an odd look began to come over his features. "You love her that much?"

"More than my own life. I want to marry her, Father. I want us to raise a family together. I want that more than anything in the world."

The earl's eyes slid closed and he leaned back against the carriage seat. "Sweet God, forgive me." He straightened, took on the look of authority Caleb recognized only to well. "There is something I need to tell you, son. I think I may have made a very grave mistake."

But just then the carriage rolled up in front of Whitehall and a footman jerked open the door. "We're 'ere, Captain Tanner."

"I'll be back in a minute, Father."

"Caleb, wait!"

But he was already down the iron stairs and limping along on the lion-headed cane he had borrowed, heading toward the office Colonel Richard Cox occupied at Whitehall.

Cox was waiting. "Come in, Captain." He motioned for Caleb to sit down in a chair in front of his desk. "I'm glad to see you up and about. How's the leg?"

"I'll probably be left with a bit of a limp. Other than that, it's mending very well. I take it you received my letter."

"Yes, I did."

For the next few minutes, Caleb reiterated his reasons for wanting to leave the army.

"You're being promoted, you know. As of today, you are Major Caleb Tanner."

Caleb smiled. "That's nice to hear, but it really doesn't matter. My enlistment has been up for some time. I'm resigning my commission as of today."

"Are you certain this is what you want to do?"

"Very certain."

"All right, then—"

"Colonel Cox!" The door swung open and Mark Sutton strode into the room. "I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but I believe we've found our man." Sutton flicked only the briefest glance in Caleb's direction. "Last night, our efforts finally paid off. As we suspected, Reggie Bags was carrying the false information we fed to one of our suspects."

"Who's Reggie Bags?" Caleb asked.

"One of the couriers who was passing information," Sutton answered.

"Major Sutton has what seems to be an endless supply of sources," Cox explained. "We have had Bags under surveillance for the past several weeks."

"Last night we were waiting for dear old Reggie." Sutton handed the colonel a folded piece of foolscap, the wax seal broken. "You know which man received this information?"

The colonel nodded as he skimmed the page. "Jonathan Parker, Viscount Nash, advisor to the Lord Chancellor of England."

Caleb's heart slammed to a very sudden halt. "It can't be. There has to be some mistake. Why would Nash turn traitor?"

"No mistake, I'm afraid," Cox said. "Personally, I was hoping we were wrong. But the fact is, the man got himself into very deep financial straits. He was able to keep his problems secret far longer than he should have been. The money he was being paid extricated him from his debts, but to continue his role would mean even greater risk than he had already been taking."

"I imagine that is the reason for his upcoming marriage," the major added. "Aside from his attraction to the girl, she has a good deal of money, enough to end his problems, at least for a while."

"Nash is getting married?" Caleb said, feeling the first stirrings of alarm.

"That's right," the major said. "I figured you knew, as you and the lady were once involved."

"When?" he said with growing urgency. "When is the wedding?"

"Two o'clock."

"Today?" he practically roared.

"Easy, Captain. Lord Nash may wed the girl, but he will never consummate the marriage."

"If he tries, she will soon be a widow," Caleb said.

Cox cast him a warning glance. "Major Sutton will take a contingency of men to the chapel at Westminster Abbey and place Lord Nash under arrest."

"Yes, sir!" Sutton said.

"I'm going with you." Caleb had already risen from his chair. He leaned a little on his cane.

"I thought you had resigned your commission," Cox said.

"I did, sir. At four o'clock this afternoon."

Cox just smiled and nodded. "Be careful, gentlemen. I remind you the man is dangerous, responsible most likely for the deaths of at least two young women."

Sutton led the way out the door, Caleb close behind. "My carriage is out in front," Caleb said to the major. "I'll meet you at the church."

Sutton grabbed his arm. "If you get there first, wait for us before you go in."

Caleb gave him a look that said he would do whatever he had to, turned and limped off toward the coach.

26

« ^ »

"Are you ready?" The Marquess of Kinleigh stood beside Lee in the doorway of the chapel, ready to escort her down the aisle to her waiting groom.

Lee nodded. "Yes, Father." In front of her, the small chapel held perhaps forty guests, mostly friends and acquaintances of her father or Jonathan Parker. But her aunt was there, she saw to her surprise and pleasure, seated next to the Earl of Claymont, who gave her a warm, encouraging smile. Two rows back, Lucas Tanner sat in a pew in the rear. He was dark and attractive and he reminded her so much of Caleb that for a moment she wished he hadn't come.

Lee took a deep breath and focused her attention on the altar, where Charles and Elizabeth Sorenson stood as witnesses to the event.

The organ music began to play. At the front of the chapel, rays of sunlight gleamed down through brightly colored stained-glass windows. Rows of candles had been lit and stands filled with pale cream roses clustered throughout the interior of the church.

"Have I told you how lovely you look?" her father said. "Have I said how proud I am that you are my daughter?"

The words filled her with love for him. She was so lucky to have found him. "Thank you, Father." If only the man waiting at the altar had been Caleb, this would be the happiest day of her life.

Lee fixed her attention on the man she would wed. In a dark gray tailcoat, silver waistcoat and black breeches, he was the epitome of an aristocratic male. Candlelight glinted on the few strands of gray in his dark hair and his mouth showed the hint of a smile. He was a handsome man, she saw, the sort any woman would be proud to marry.

She tried not to think of the wedding night that lay ahead, simply told herself she would get through it, just as she would have done had he become her protector.

"Who gives this woman to be wedded to this man?" The archbishop stood at the altar, a stately man in heavy satin robes. Lee hadn't realized they had already reached the front of the church.

"I do, her father, the Marquess of Kinleigh."

The ceremony began, the words and prayers swirling round and round in her head. When the moment came to repeat her vows, Jon gently nudged her or she might have missed what the archbishop said.

"Do you, Lee Montague, take this man, Jonathan Parker, Viscount Nash, as your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey him till death do you part?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but the words caught in her throat. Jon cast her a look that held a note of warning and she started to speak again. "I—"

The door of the chapel slammed open. Every head in the room turned to look up the aisle. Caleb stood in the doorway, and her heart just seemed to stop. A thousand thoughts rushed into her head, foremost among them, Dear God, Caleb has come for me. He loves me, she thought wildly. He's come to rescue me. Secretly, she had prayed she would be saved from this loveless marriage and now he was here!

Her chest was aching. Her eyes filled with tears.

Caleb cast her a sideways glance as he strode forward down the aisle, fighting not to limp, his jaw granite-hard. But his gaze was fixed not on her but the man who would be her husband.

"What is the meaning of this, Tanner? You have no right to interrupt my wedding."

"There isn't going to be a wedding, Nash. You're under arrest in the name of the Crown—for treason against your country."

The guests erupted in a disbelieving roar. Lee looked at Caleb and with heartbreaking clarity, realized that he wasn't there for her at all. He hadn't come to rescue her, hadn't discovered that he loved her. He was there to finish the job he had started, and she simply wanted to lie down and die.

After that, everything happened at once. Lee's gaze swung to Nash, who still stood beside her. The viscount stepped closer, caught her around the neck, and jerked her back against his chest. The barrel of a tiny pistol appeared in his hand and he pressed it into the side of her head.

"Your timing is rotten," Nash said to Caleb. "Stand back. I wouldn't want anyone getting hurt."

"Let her go, Nash. There are twenty men outside this building. There isn't a chance in hell you're going to get away." From the corner of her eye, she saw Lucas Tanner ease out of his pew and flatten himself against the wall.

Nash grunted. "You don't think so? If someone shoots me, I'll pull the trigger. Which of those men outside is willing to cause the death of the Marquess of Kinleigh's daughter?"

Nash stepped backward toward a door at the rear of the chapel. Careful to stay in the shadows, Lucas crept forward. Then every door in the chapel burst open and a dozen uniformed soldiers rushed in. They took in the scene in an instant and fanned out around Jonathan Parker.

"Hold steady, lads." That from Major Sutton, the officer she had met at Parklands. "We wouldn't want Captain Tanner's lady getting caught in the crossfire."

At the mention of Caleb's name, her gaze swung to him. Captain Tanner's lady. Once she had been. Not anymore.

Caleb's face was slightly flushed, she saw, his strength not fully returned. But his jaw was set and when he looked at Jonathan Parker, the vengeance in his eyes was unmistakable.

"I'm warning you, Nash. You hurt her and I swear I will take you apart piece by piece."

Nash just laughed. "You've all been such fools. Why should that change? I'm leaving and Vermillion is going with me. Try to stop us and I'll kill her."

Nash's hold tightened around her neck and he started backing her toward the door. Her heart was racing, pounding painfully against her ribs. She had to do something. Sweet God, she refused to just go with him!

A candle flickered as he took another step back. She remembered there was a row of them in long wrought-iron candleholders along the pathway to the door.

"Let her go," Caleb repeated and she felt Nash's hold ease as he glanced behind him, gauging his route of escape.

Lee moved in that instant, turning and shoving with all her strength. Luc leapt forward and so did Caleb as Nash staggered, lost his balance, fell toward one of the candles, and the sleeve of his dove gray coat went up in flames. Nash screamed at the fire racing up his arm and a half dozen British soldiers rushed forward. Luc got there first and Nash went down beneath his weight.

In seconds the flames were out and Jonathan Parker lay immobile on the stone floor of the chapel.

Lee's gaze searched for Caleb and then she was in his arms, clinging to him and feeling such a surge of love and pain that even if she tried, she could not speak.

"It's all right, love, it's over."

For long moments, she clung to him. Dear God, she loved him so much. She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent, felt the fierce beating of his heart, and wondered how she ever could have thought she could be happy with any other man.

Caleb bent his head and very gently kissed her. "I didn't know about the wedding," he said, easing her a little away. "It's a long story." He handed her into the care of his brother, a bit reluctantly, she thought. "I'll be back in a minute." He flashed Luc a smile. "Don't let her out of your sight until I return."

Luc just grinned and she noticed there was a dimple in his cheek.

Lee watched Caleb walk over to her father, his limp a little more pronounced. She couldn't hear what was said, but her father was nodding and when Caleb finished, the marquess' face lit up in a smile.

While the troopers and Major Sutton escorted the viscount out of the church, Caleb made his way to her aunt. Aunt Gabby started nodding and smiling, took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. Lee watched Caleb's limping progression back to her side and her heart squeezed almost painfully.

Hope had started rising. Perhaps he had come for her, after all. It was madness to hope for such a thing, but there it was, blooming to life in her chest.

Caleb paused to speak to the archbishop, then returned to where she stood next to Luc. By now the guests in the church had all sat back down and were waiting for the drama to play out. Caleb dropped down on one knee in front of her and took hold of her trembling hand. He looked unbearably handsome and there was so much tenderness in his expression, her eyes filled with tears.

His hand tightened around her fingers. "My dear Miss Montague. I would have stopped this wedding sometime back if I had known about it. I love you, Lee. More than life itself. Will you marry me?"

The audience gave up a collective sigh.

The tears in Lee's eyes spilled over and ran down her cheeks. "Caleb… I love you so much."

He lifted her hand and pressed it against his lips. "If that is a yes, my love, please say it so the archbishop can finish this wedding—this time with the proper man."

She smiled at him and spoke around the tears in her throat. "I'll marry you. I would have married you when I thought you were a groom."

Caleb's expression softened and something tender flashed in his dark eyes. He drew her into his arms as he came to his feet and she clung to him.

"I love you," she said. "I love you so much."

A man cleared his throat and she realized the Earl of Selhurst had walked up beside them. "I believe a special license has been procured from the archbishop so that this wedding may proceed."

Caleb cast a look at his father. Clearly, he was surprised to see the smile the earl wore on his face.

Selhurst turned the warmth of that smile in her direction. "It is a pleasure, Miss Montague, to welcome you into the family."

Caleb gazed at his father and something passed between them, something that seemed to bridge the differences they had had.

"You heard the earl," Luc said, with a dimpled grin. "Let's get this wedding finished."

Caleb caught her hand and brought it to his lips. There was so much love in his eyes a lump formed in her throat.

The wedding went forward as if it had never been interrupted, and when the archbishop instructed the groom to kiss the bride, Caleb made certain she knew which man she had wed. She was Mrs. Caleb Tanner. And this was, indeed, the happiest day of her life.

Epilogue

« ^

Riding over the green rolling fields of Shadow's Keep, the estate in Surrey that Caleb and Lee had bought just after their wedding, Caleb pulled rein on his tall black gelding, Solomon. The horse carried several battle scars from the awful fighting at Talavera, but like his owner, the animal had survived.

Caleb smiled as he surveyed his surroundings. The land was beautiful, verdant and rolling, more than a thousand acres of prim grasslands, perfect for raising horses. And the woman at his side was Lee.

Caleb was happy. So very happy.

Still, he had work to do in the stable, preparing it to receive the new batch of mares they had purchased at Tattersall's just last week. He should be there now, but his wife had shown up with an overflowing picnic basket that smelled so inviting he couldn't refuse her invitation to share it with him.

"What's the occasion?" he had asked. "I know I didn't forget your birthday." He grinned. "I doubt I ever will."

Lee laughed. He had always loved her soft, smoky laughter.

"I've a surprise for you. Come on—we'll picnic in the grove at the top of the hill."

He couldn't resist her, of course. He never could. They reached the rise and Caleb pulled rein on his horse.

"All right, you've kept me waiting long enough. What is the surprise?"

Lee just laughed. "Not yet. I'll not be hurried with news as important as this. I'm hungry. This is the perfect spot for a picnic. Let's eat first and then I shall be more than happy to tell you."

Caleb swung down from his horse. "You little vixen. I want to know what you're keeping from me. You're torturing me and enjoying every moment."

"Of course I am. One thing I learned as Vermillion was how to tease a man."

Caleb laughed. He reached up and lifted Lee down from her sidesaddle. "That teasing goes both ways, you know." And after a long, lingering kiss that left them both slightly breathless, he thought he had proved his point.

Lee just smiled. "As soon as we finish our picnic, not before."

He kissed her nearly senseless. "Tell me now."

"All right. Aunt Gabriella has agreed to marry Lord Claymont."

"God's breath—she is finally putting the old boy out of his misery."

She grinned. "Aunt Gabby says she loves him. She says that after watching us make cakes of ourselves these past eight months and knowing how happy Charles and Elizabeth have been, she has come to believe in happy endings."

Caleb nuzzled the side of her neck. "I'm really glad for them."

"Me, too." She went up on her toes and pressed a last kiss on his lips. "But that isn't the secret I came out here to tell you."

"What!"

She laughed and spun away from him. "This secret is a great deal bigger."

He started stalking her. With every step he took closer, Lee took a step away. "Give me a hint," he said. "I demand that right as your husband."

She rolled her eyes. "Well… it's something you've been wanting."

"I've got it! You bought me that stallion I've been hoping to talk Claymont into selling."

"Better than that."

"What could possibly be better? That horse is remarkable. He'll sire a line of Thoroughbreds that will make our racing stable famous."

She gave him a playful smile. "What else have you been wanting?"

"Right now, I'm wanting to throttle you—or better yet, drag you down in the grass and make love to you until you're too tired to give me any more trouble."

Lee laughed. Slowly the laughter faded. She walked closer, slid her arms around his neck. "I'm giving you a son, Caleb. Or perhaps it will be a daughter."

His heart stopped beating. He had to take a long deep breath to get it started again. "Sweet God, Lee." The kiss he gave her was fierce and yet he hoped she could feel the tenderness. "I'm going to be a father." He could hardly believe it. As much as he wanted a family, he had never really believed it would happen. "That's the very best surprise I've ever had. Thank you, my love."

They talked of the future. She told him the child would not arrive for six more months, and they began making plans for its arrival. All the while, he kept glancing down at the soft curve of her belly and thinking that she carried his babe. Caleb didn't care whether the child was a boy or a girl; he simply wanted it to be healthy.

They picnicked in the small copse of trees, well out of sight of the house, and when they were finished, he stretched out on the blanket and pulled her down on top of him.

"I'm still hungry," he said, nibbling the side of her neck. "The chicken was delicious but I want you for dessert."

Lee laughed softly. She didn't resist when Caleb began to unfasten the front of her riding habit. He filled his hands with her breasts and noticed how full they were, wondered why he hadn't noticed before. He kissed her deeply, wildly aroused, wanting her even more than he usually did. She was his wife, soon to be the mother of his child. He wanted to imprint himself upon her, claim her in some primitive fashion and so, as he kissed her, he rolled her beneath him and dragged up her skirt.

"I want you, Caleb," she said, coaxing his mouth down to hers and kissing him again.

Caleb opened the front of his breeches and freed himself. "God, you are so sweet," he whispered. He slid himself inside her, felt her close around him. Like a schoolboy, he found himself fighting for control. Beneath her skirt, he cupped her bottom, lifted her against him, and slowly started to move.

Her soft flesh surrounded him, took him even deeper.

"More," Lee whispered, meeting each of his thrusts, urging him deeper still. He took what she offered, gave back what he could. He didn't stop until she reached release, then he allowed himself to follow. She was his. He wanted her to know it. She smiled at him as if she did.

It was late afternoon when they returned to their horses and started back to the house, a lovely sprawling stone mansion built in the shadow of what had once been an ancient keep.

"I never thought that in just eight months I would feel so utterly tamed," Caleb said with a feeling of contentment.

Lee just laughed. "I doubt, my love, that you will ever be truly tamed—and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Caleb just smiled. Under that sweet exterior, there remained a trace of Vermillion, just enough to keep things interesting. Caleb thought how much he loved her and hoped she never knew exactly the sort of power she held over him.

"Are you up for a race?" she asked, casting him an impish smile.

"What about the babe?"

"He is yet some months away. It isn't a problem."

Caleb grinned. "All right, then. Anytime you are ready."

Lee grinned and leaned over her horse. At breakneck speed, they set off down the hill.

^