Whirlwind Affair

Chapter 6

Noon the next day found Allie finishing a late, informal breakfast of eggs, ham, and thinly sliced pheasant. The hearty meal, as well as the much-needed sleep and a hot bath upon rising, left her feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. Her wrists and feet were still tender, but so much improved that she pushed the mild discomfort away. Just as a footman was filling her china cup with a second serving of coffee, Carters entered the room bearing a silver salver.

"A message for you, Mrs. Brown," he said in his sonorous voice, holding out the gleaming tray. "The messenger indicated no reply was expected."

Allie accepted the missive. Was it from Elizabeth? Turning over the ivory vellum, she broke the wax seal and read the contents.

Mrs. Brown,

I have traced the coat of arms you gave me. It is the family crest belonging to the earl of Shelbourne. The title dates back to the sixteenth century, when the first earl was given the title and familial holdings in gratitude for his service to the Crown. The current earl, Geoffrey Hadmore, is undoubtedly known to your good friend the duchess of Bradford and her husband.

I hope this information proves useful to you, and I again thank you for your patronage and for the kind recommendation of the duchess. Please let me know if I may be of any further assistance to you.

Sincerely yours,

Charles Fitzmoreland

Allie reread the letter, her heart speeding up with anticipation. This news brought her one crucial step closer to ending her quest. With any luck, she would soon return the last of David's pilfered goods to its rightful owner, thus ending this long, arduous, humiliating chapter of her life. Thank God.

The earl of Shelbourne. All she needed to do now was locate this man and-

"Good morning, Mrs. Brown."

She jerked her head up. Lord Robert stood in the doorway. Dressed in a dark brown cutaway jacket and buff-colored breeches, he looked every inch the English gentleman. And much too handsome by half.

"Good morning," she echoed, slipping her missive into the pocket of her black bombazine gown.

He approached her slowly, stopping when he stood directly across the table from her. Cupping his chin in his hand, he made a great show of looking her over, inclining his head left, then right, like an art critic studying a sculpture.

"Hmmm. Just as I suspected. You're looking V.M.I." At her questioning look, he shot her a jaunty grin. "Very Much Improved. How do you feel?"

"As you say, VM.I. Head, hands, feet-they barely hurt at all. And you?"

"Vastly better than when I saw you last. Amazing what wonders a few hours' sleep, a substantial breakfast, and a chat with the magistrate will wrought."

"What did he say?"

"He found the case most puzzling." Moving to the sideboard, he helped himself to a plate of ham and eggs, then sat opposite her at the long mahogany table. "While he assured me he'd do his utmost to locate the man responsible, he also warned me that it is unlikely the perpetrator will ever be found. Unless, of course, he was to strike again." He fixed her with a serious dark blue stare. "Which he won't do at this town house since there will be no one to abduct as there will be no one wandering about in the gardens. Correct?"

She inclined her head in acquiescence.

"Excellent. Now, regarding your plans for today… I’ve arranged for a carriage to be at your disposal. I am also at your disposal, available to squire you around town, or escort you to the shops, assist you with any errands… whatever you'd like."

Her fingers brushed the edge of Mr. Fitzmoreland's letter. "Actually, there is something you might be able to help me with. Do you know the earl of Shelbourne?"

His brows lifted in obvious surprise. After what seemed to be a prolonged silence, he said, "I am acquainted with him, yes."

Questions clearly lurked in his eyes, but he said nothing further, just watched her in a way that left her wondering if he and the earl were on bad terms. When it became obvious he wasn't going to elaborate, she pushed on, "Do you know where he lives?"

His egg-laden fork froze halfway to his mouth. A wary expression, filled with something else she couldn't define, came over his face. "His family seat is in Cornwall."

"I see. Is that far from here?"

"Very. At least a week's traveling time."

Robert watched her expression turn crestfallen, and a dozen questions buzzed through his mind. Why on earth would she inquire about Geoffrey Hadmore? How had she even heard of him? Clearing his throat, he added, "He also keeps a residence here in town."

Unmistakable hope leapt into her eyes. "Do you think it possible he is in London?"

"I think it most likely. He detests the country. Why do you ask about him?"

She leaned forward and a tantalizing whiff of her flowery scent drifted across to him. While she did not smile, there was no denying this was the most animated he'd seen her features, a fact that both confused and, irrationally, annoyed him. Her eyes were all but sparkling. Bloody hell, why was she so… whatever she was, at the prospect that Shelbourne was in town?

"I wish to meet him. As soon as possible. Could you arrange the introduction?"

He leaned back, studying her. An introduction? To one of the worst rogues in London? Good God, Elizabeth would have his head. Not to mention the tight feeling that cramped his stomach at the thought of the very eligible earl meeting the lovely widow. True, he didn't know Shelbourne very well, but the man's reputation with women was well known. He charmed them, bedded them, then discarded them frequently, with a cold dispassion that Robert neither liked nor understood. There was no doubt in his mind that the beautiful Mrs. Brown would capture Shelbourne's interest. As she’s captured yours.

His teeth clenched at his inner voice's unwanted opinion, and he refocused his attention to the matter at hand. What possible reason could she have for wanting to meet such a libertine? He suddenly stilled. Was there a chance she was already aware of Shelbourne's reputation? Could she possibly be contemplating a liaison with the man?

His hands fisted at the mere thought. Instead of answering her question, he posed one of his own. "I wasn't aware you knew anyone in England save Elizabeth. How did you come to hear about Shelbourne?"

"He… he knew my husband."

Some of the tension drained from his shoulders, and he mentally chastised himself for his unwarranted suspicions. She simply wished to become acquainted with a friend of her husband's. Perfectly understandable. And as long as he accompanied her, Shelbourne would behave. "In that case, I shall send round a note to his town house requesting an audience. If he is in town, I'll escort you."

A curtain seemed to fall over her expression. "Thank you. I appreciate you sending the note, however, I do not require an escort."

Something that felt suspiciously like jealousy, but couldn't possibly be, rippled through him, a feeling made all the more pronounced by the crimson blush staining her cheeks. Perhaps his suspicions weren't unfounded after all. Forcing a smile, he said, "I'm afraid I must insist. English protocol and all that, you know."

A frown creased her brow, and she worried her lower lip between her teeth, clearly torn between not wanting his company and not wishing to flout propriety. And if he weren't so distracted by the sight of her nibbling on her full lip, he'd no doubt be colossally annoyed at her not wanting him around.

Finally, she nodded stiffly. "Very well. You may accompany me."

In spite of his annoyance, he couldn't help but be a tiny bit amused at her disgruntled tone. "Why, thank you."

She rose. "I shall leave you to attend to your correspondence to the earl."

"Again I thank you. However, I hardly ever write letters in the breakfast room. Nothing worse than eggs on the vellum. As soon as I finish my meal, I'll compose a note."

Her blush deepened. "Forgive me. I'm merely anxious to…"

Her words drifted off, and he found himself very much wanting her to finish the sentence. Yes, Mrs. Brown… what exactly are you anxious to do?

But instead of satisfying his ever-growing curiosity, she inclined her head. "As I have my own correspondence to see to, I shall bid you good day, sir."

She swiftly departed the room before he had a chance to reply. Clearly she considered him dismissed-at least until such time as he received a response from Shelbourne. And if not for the events of last evening, he might have left her to her own devices. Indeed, he had planned to visit his solicitor today.

But last night had changed his plans. He could visit his solicitor another day. Until he delivered her safely to Bradford Hall, he intended to keep a very close eye on her.

Her lovely face rose in his mind's eye and he stifled a groan. He'd claimed when he'd arrived that a few hours' sleep had wrought wonders, but his sleep had been anything but refreshing.

Indeed, the moment he'd climbed into his bed his thoughts had been filled with her. The feel of her soft body pressed against him. Her scent curling around him. Her eyes, wide with a combination of fear and strength, that filled him with both concern and admiration. And something else. Something warm that spread through him like honey. And something heated that fired his blood and left him restless and frustrated and aching. He'd lain in his bed unable to erase her from his mind. And when he'd finally drifted off, she'd invaded his dreams. She'd shed her black clothing and beckoned him. He'd reached for her, filled with hunger, but before he could touch her, she'd vanished, like a wisp of smoke. He'd awakened feeling empty and bereft. And aroused as hell.

No, keeping an eye on her wouldn't pose a problem.

Unfortunately, he suspected that keeping his hands off her would.

Geoffrey Hadmore paced the length of his private study. Afternoon sunlight cut a bright path across the Persian carpet, faint dust motes danced in the swatch. Pausing at the fireplace, he glared at the mantel clock. Half past one. Exactly three minutes later than when he had last glared at the damn instrument.

Where the hell was Redfern? Why had he not heard from the bastard? There could only be one reason: He had failed. Again.

Or perhaps Redfern has it in his mind to cross me somehow? A combination of unease and fury tightened his hands into fists. Surely Redfern wouldn't be stupid enough to attempt such a thing. Geoffrey forced his hands to relax, then flexed his stiff fingers. No, Redfern might not be a scholar, but he was no fool. He knew better than to cross him. Yet if he were foolish enough… well, then, it would be the last foolish thing Redfern ever did.

Bending down, he gently petted Thorndyke's silky, fire-warmed brown fur. The dozing mastiff lifted its massive head. "Ah, Thorndyke, if only Redfern were as trustworthy as you, I'd not be in this mess."

Thorndyke made a sympathetic noise deep in his throat. Geoffrey patted his smooth head one last time, then rose to once again pace the room. This time he halted at his desk. Grabbing a piece of vellum, he composed a quick note. Not bothering to summon Willis with the bellcord, he strode into the foyer and handed the note to the butler.

"I want this delivered. Immediately." He rattled off Red-fern's direction. "If he's there, wait for a reply. If not, leave it."

"Yes, my lord."

"I'll be at my club. Bring any correspondence from him there as soon as you have it."

Redfern held the wax-sealed letter in his hand. He knew who it was from. He didn't even need to read the bloody thing to know what it contained. He hadn't answered the persistent knocking on his door, not retrieving the note until the man had finally left.

But now the hour of reckoning were at hand. And he'd failed. Failed to find the ring, failed to get rid of Mrs. Brown. How had his plan gone so awry? Oh, things had started off swimmingly, with Mrs. Brown even presenting herself in the garden, like a gift, saving him the trouble of snatching her from the house. Even coshing the bloke in the alley hadn't proved much of a problem.

Yes, with the two of them well out of the way and tied up nice and pretty, he'd nipped back to the town house. Only had to find the ring. Then he could finish off Mrs. Brown. Would have to get rid of the bloke as well. The earl surely wouldn't want any witnesses flappin' their gums. Maybe he'd even ask the earl for a bonus, seein' as how he had to kill two people instead of one. Yes, things were lookin' rosy indeed.

But after searching for over an hour, he hadn't found the ring. Panic edged down his spine. If he didn't find that ring, he wouldn't get his blunt. But he'd looked everywhere. Had even put everything back in its place so no one would suspect anything. He'd just have to tell the earl there just weren't no ring-a prospect that cramped his belly.

The earl's final words had echoed in his mind. Find that ring. And if you do, I want her gone. Well, what the bloody blue blazes were he supposed to do with Mrs. Brown if he didn't find the ring? Kill her? Let her go?

He'd think about it on his way back to the warehouse. Surely by the time he arrived he'd know what to do.

Yet when he'd returned, all that were left of Mrs. Brown and the bloke had been a pile of cut ropes. Bastard must have had a blade on him. Bloody rotten bit o' bad luck that was. Never in his entire career had circumstances thwarted him so. But the earl wouldn't be interested in hearin' about no unforeseen circumstances.

Now, with a trembling hand, he broke the seal and read the terse message. Sweat broke out on his brow. There were no mistaking the earl's meaning.

He had to find that ring. Today.

If he didn't, he were a dead man.

And Lester Redfern had no intention of dying.

Allie exited her bedchamber clutching the letter she'd just sealed. Walking quickly down the curving staircase, she entered the foyer. She'd expected to see Carters, but instead a young footman stood near the door.

"I'd like to have a letter delivered," she said. "To the earl of Shelbourne's London residence."

"Of course, ma'am." He held out his gloved hand. "I'll see to it at once."

Allie handed over the missive with a prayer that the earl was indeed in town. Hopefully Lord Robert had already sent off his note. He should have… she'd left him in the breakfast room over two hours ago. Surely enough time for him to go home and compose a short letter.

"Was there something else, Mrs. Brown?" the young man asked.

"No, nothing. Thank you." She looked both ways down the corridors fanning out from the foyer. How best to spend her time while she awaited a reply? She needed a diversion, something to keep her mind occupied. Otherwise she'd simply resort to pacing.

"If you're looking for Lord Robert," the footman said, "he's in the billiards room."

"Lord Robert is here?”

"Yes, ma'am. In the billiards room." He pointed down the left corridor. "Second doorway on the right. If there's nothing further, I'll see to your letter."

"Thank you," she murmured.

She looked down the left corridor. He was here. In the second room. She should avoid him and his disturbing presence. His laughing eyes that held secrets. Yes, she should return to her bedchamber and read. Take a nap. Something. Anything. Her mind knew it, as did her heart.

Her feet, however, knew nothing of the sort and promptly headed down the left corridor.

The second door was ajar. Pushing it open a bit more, she stood frozen in the threshold and simply stared. Lord Robert stood with his back to her, clearly studying the billiards table, a long tapered, highly polished stick in one hand. He wore the same buff breeches as earlier, but he'd discarded his jacket. A snowy-white shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. Her gaze wandered slowly downward, taking in his trim waist and the snug fit of his breeches. Her gaze settled on his backside and she swallowed. No matter what else she might think of him, there was no denying that Lord Robert was very… finely put together.

An involuntary sigh of pure feminine appreciation sneaked past her lips-a sigh he apparently heard, for he turned around. And instead of staring at his buttocks, she suddenly found herself staring at his…

Oh my. He was indeed very nicely made. She'd suspected so after their close touching last evening, but now there was no doubt.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Brown."

His huskily voiced words yanked her from her stupor, and her gaze snapped up to meet his. Dark blue eyes assessed her with a questioning, yet somehow knowing look. Heat rushed into her face, and she barely resisted the urge to clap her palms to her flaming cheeks. Perhaps if she prayed hard enough, the parquet flooring would yawn open and swallow her. Dear God, he'd caught her staring. And not simply staring, but staring at that.

Determined to regain her composure, she lifted her chin and raised her brows. "Good afternoon, Lord Robert. I didn't know you'd returned."

"Returned? I never departed."

"I thought you'd left. To write the letter you promised."

"I wrote it and sent it off ages ago. Borrowed a sheet of Austin 's stationery. I trust you completed your own correspondence?"

"Yes."

"In that case, perhaps you'd care to ride through the park? The weather is exceptionally fine."

The thought of sharing a carriage with him, sitting close enough to breathe in his masculine scent, near enough to study his teasing eyes, and watch his lips curve upward with that devastating, devilish grin, was terrifyingly tempting. And therefore absolutely out of the question.

"No, thank you," she said. "But please don't let me stop you from enjoying the afternoon." She inwardly cringed at her stiff tone. She hadn't meant to sound so abrupt.

But instead of taking offense, he laughed. "Ah, but I am enjoying myself, honing my game." He nodded toward the baize-covered table. "Do you play?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Would you like to learn?"

An automatic "no" rose to her lips, but she hesitated. She desperately needed some diversion, and she was very fond of games. Her gaze drifted over the table. It was easily twelve feet long and six feet across. Certainly big enough to maintain a safe distance from him… much more distance than a carriage could provide.

"Why, yes, I believe that would be lovely." And safe.

"Excellent. It's a very simple game. Only three balls-one red and two white-and a few rules. All the rest is practice, skill, and a bit of luck." Striding across the room, he lifted another tapered stick from a holder on the wall, then returned to her.

"This is a cue," he said, handing her the stick. "The object of the game is to be the first to score the number of points we agree upon."

"How does one score points?"

"Several ways." He went on to describe the game, explaining unfamiliar terms such as "potting," "cannons," and "in off." Leaning over the table, he demonstrated as he spoke, educating her regarding cushions, pockets, the balk line, and the "D."

"Any questions so far?" he asked when he finished.

"Not yet, but I'm certain I'll have dozens once we begin." In truth, the game sounded quite simple.

"Then let's start you off with some practice shots. The proper way to hold the cue is like this…" He demonstrated, and she mimicked him. "Good," he praised. "Now line up your shot, slide the cue stick back, then bring it forward, nice and smoothly." His actions mirrored his words. The tip of his stick hit the cue ball, knocking it into the red ball, which rolled across the baize surface and fell into the corner pocket. "That shot would earn me three points for potting the red ball." He retrieved the ball from the pocket and placed it back on the table. "Now you try."

Holding the stick as he had, she leaned over the table. Taking careful aim, she slid the cue stick toward the cue ball. And missed it completely.

Humph. She tried again. This time she firmly struck the ball. It shot up and forward, sailing off the table, and landed on the carpet with a dull thud.

"Oh, dear," she said, dismayed. "This is more difficult than it looks. I'm sorry. As much as I enjoy games, I fear I do not excel at them." A memory suddenly assailed her, tightening her grip on the cue stick. She and David, sitting in their parlor near the fireplace. He'd tried to teach her to play chess, but quickly lost patience with her when she moved her pieces incorrectly. Shaking his head, he'd heaved a long sigh. "Obviously the game is beyond you, Allie."

She shook off the remnants of the past and looked at Lord Robert. Not the tiniest hint of impatience glimmered in his eyes. In fact, he appeared wholly amused.

"Quite good for a first attempt," he said with an approving nod. "Much better than mine. I broke a window my first game. To this day Austin is fond of telling anyone who will listen about my 'shatteringly' poor performance. And I tell anyone who will listen that my performance was merely a reflection of my teacher's dubious talents." He retrieved the ball and set it back on the table. Then he walked around the table to stand behind her. "Try it again. I'll help you." Reaching around her, he placed his hands over hers on the cue stick. "You just need to get the feel of it… like this."

And suddenly she did get the feel of it… of his warm, hard body pressing against her back from shoulder to thigh. Of his large, callused hands covering hers.

"You're gripping the stick too tightly. Just relax."

If her lungs hadn't ceased functioning, she would have huffed out an incredulous breath. Relax? How could she possibly hope to do so while his body surrounded her like a heated blanket, cloaking her in an onslaught of sensation?

"Ease up your grip, and move your arm smoothly. Like this." His breath ruffled the hair at her temple, rippling tingles down her spine. With his hand covering hers, he moved her arm slowly forward and back, demonstrating the motion. But all she could concentrate on was the feel of his muscles bunching against her arm and back. The sensation of his skin touching hers. He'd rolled back his shirtsleeves, and her gaze riveted on his strong, sinewy forearms, dusted with dark hair. A brush fire of heat rushed through her, overwhelming her with its intensity.

Step away… get away from him! Her inner voice all but screamed at her. But it had been so long since anyone… a man… had touched her. Held her. She simply couldn't deny herself the pleasure. Her eyes drifted closed, and for one insane instant she allowed herself to absorb the feel of him. Just one more second… he's behind me… can't see me… he won't know…

Robert raised his gaze, intending to adjust his stance to offer further instructions, when his eye was caught by a movement across the room. There, reflected in the small mirror hanging on the opposite wall, he saw her. Standing in the circle of his arms, her eyes closed, her face flushed, her full lips slightly parted. She looked beautiful. Sensual. And aroused.

Everything inside him stilled. Heart, pulse, breath. A delicate shudder ran through her, a feather-soft vibration against his chest that reverberated through him.

Her silky hair tickled his jaw, and he had only to turn his head to touch his lips to her temple, yet he didn't dare move. Couldn't move. He was spellbound, riveted by the sight of her, of them, together. He drew in a slow, shaky breath and his head filled with her delicate floral fragrance.

Desire hit him low and hard. His jaw clenched, and he tried to will away the heat coursing through him, but there was no stopping it. Damn it, he shouldn't be feeling this toward her. He barely knew her. She lived an ocean away. She remained in mourning… Her heart belonged to another man.

Another man? Perhaps. Yet as he watched the color rising in her cheeks, felt the quickening of her breath, there was no denying that her body responded to him. He'd seen it earlier, when he'd turned around and caught her staring at him, but he'd convinced himself that that was an aberration. But this… this heat they clearly both felt, was very real. Fright-eningly so. And if he didn't move away from her, she would be left in no doubt exactly how much heat she inspired in him.

With an effort that cost him, he released her. Stepping back two paces, he watched her in the mirror. Her eyes opened slowly, then she blinked several times. She swayed slightly, and he fisted his hands at his sides to keep from reaching for her. Her tongue peeked out and moistened her lips, and it was all he could do to swallow his groan of longing.

In that instant, however, she clearly recalled herself. Her eyes widened, and crimson flooded her cheeks. Her back went ramrod stiff, and her knuckles turned white around the cue stick. There was no mistaking her distress, and guilt slapped him, branding him a cad. You have no business touching her. Smelling her skin. Desiring her.

Hoping to put her at ease and dispel the tension thickening the air, he said, "I think you've got it now." Damn it, his voice sounded like he'd swallowed a mouthful of gravel. Clearing his throat, he moved to the end of the table, putting more distance between them. "Try it again."

She stared at the table. What was she thinking? Was she angry with him? Should he apologize? He hadn't meant to touch her-

Liar. His inner voice sliced off the falsehood before his mind could even finish the thought, and shame filled him. Indeed, he rarely indulged in the useless exercise of lying to himself, and there was no point in doing so now. He'd wanted to touch her. Desperately. And billiards had offered him a seemingly innocent excuse to do so. But God help him, the lust she inspired was the furthest thing from innocent he'd ever experienced.

Well, he'd simply have to stop touching her. Yes, that should be simple enough. No more touching. He drew in a much needed deep breath, and her scent wafted into his head. Hmmm. Breathing around her was not a good idea. Unfortunately, that would be harder to avoid. His gaze skimmed over her and his jaw tightened. She was bent over the table, her full lips pursed with concentration. Desire skidded through him and he looked away. No more looking, either.

Yes, that was his plan. No more touching, no more breathing, no more looking. Or at least, no more breathing than absolutely necessary.

Cheered by his ingenious plan, he forced himself to focus on the game and his role as teacher. Keeping his distance and his gaze firmly trained on the table, he offered pointers and advice. Within an hour, she'd improved immensely and he suggested they begin a game.

"It's the best way to develop your skills," he assured her.

She agreed, and they began. Thirty minutes later, after he'd made an exceptionally tricky shot, she remarked in a dry voice, "I believe someone spends entirely too much time playing this game."

For the first time since enforcing his ingenious plan, he looked directly at her. It proved a mistake. Her full lips were pursed in a way that immediately generated thoughts of kissing, and a gleam of wry humor sparkled in her golden-brown eyes. His heart thumped, then galloped. And now that he'd looked at her, he couldn't look away.

Slowly straightening from his position leaning over the table, he raised his brows and arranged his features into an exaggerated, haughty expression. "Too much time?" He affected a sniff. "Sounds like the sort of comment a player who was lagging in the score would mutter."

"Hmmm. Exactly how much behind am I?"

"You've scored a total of twelve points. Very impressive for a beginner."

"And your score?"

"Three hundred and forty-two."

She nodded her head solemnly. "I haven't a prayer of winning, do I?"

"Not this game, I'm afraid. But you show great promise."

"I'm abysmal."

"Merely inexperienced."

"Awkward."

"Unpracticed," he corrected.

An expression he couldn't decipher came into her eyes. She studied him for several seconds, then said, "You're remarkably patient."

And you're remarkably lovely. He shoved the unbidden thought away and offered her a lopsided grin. "I'm certain you don't mean to sound so surprised."

A delicate blush colored her cheeks and she averted her gaze. "Forgive me. It's just that…"

He waited for her to continue, but she merely shook her head. Setting her cue stick on the table, she made him a bow. "In light of the news that I trail you by three hundred and twenty points-"

"Three hundred and thirty, actually."

"-and that my chance of winning is slim-"

"Nonexistent."

"-I suggest we call this game a draw."

"Very generous of you, I'm sure."

She shot him an arch look. "Although my performance today indicates otherwise, I am not completely inept. Observe." Reaching out, she scooped up the three billiards balls and tossed them into the air. The trio of spheres rotated around as she juggled them with deftness and skill.

"Very impressive," he said. "Who taught you that?"

"My father. It is a skill that proved quite useful for entertaining and distracting my rambunctious siblings. I remember one afternoon when Joshua was four," she said as she tossed the balls ever faster, "he'd fallen down that morning and scraped his elbows and knees. Poor darling, he was so miserable and sore. To divert his attention, I brought him outside. We walked to the chicken coop, where I decided to entertain him by juggling… with the nearest available objects, which happened to be eggs."

An odd feeling invaded his chest at the incongruous but utterly charming picture she made-a grown woman garbed in mourning, her face flushed with unmistakable pleasure, juggling billiards balls. "Was your brother entertained?"

"Oh, my, yes. Especially when I missed."

"The egg fell on the ground?"

"No. It fell on my face. The second hit my shoulder, and the third landed on top of my head."

Laughter rumbled in his throat. "You must have looked quite the sight."

"Indeed. Joshua, of course, nearly split his sides laughing. And his hilarity only increased when the egg began to dry. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is to have hardened egg on your face?"

"I'm afraid not. While I've frequently suffered from having egg on my face, it's been strictly of the figurative, as opposed to the literal, nature."

"Well, it's horribly uncomfortable," she informed him. "I'd strongly advise against it."

"And this egg-on-the-face miss you made… was it deliberate?"

He fancied she shrugged. "It was a small price to pay to see him smile. And now, to end the show…" She tossed the balls high in the air, spun around in a quick circle, then expertly caught them.

"Bravo," he said, clapping. "Very well done."

"Thank you, kind sir. That is exactly what Joshua said… once he ceased laughing." A faraway look entered her eyes. "I remember that afternoon so vividly. It was lovely. A very happy day…"

Her voice trailed off, and she was clearly lost in her memories. Robert watched her, imagining her as a young girl, irrepressible and full of fun, mischief, and laughter, letting eggs fall upon her to entertain an injured boy. That was the woman in the sketch Elizabeth had drawn of her. Where had that woman gone? Was she so far lost as to be beyond recall?

His question was answered at that exact instant when she looked at him.

And smiled.

A beautiful, full smile that bloomed on her face like an unfurling flower. It was like the sun appearing from behind a dark cloud. It embraced her entire face, etching a pair of tiny dimples near the corners of her mouth, lighting her eyes, and casting her features with pure pleasure and a hint of deviltry. It was, without question, the most winsome, enchanting smile he'd ever seen.

The impact was like a punch to his heart. Yet before he could gather himself, she dealt him another reeling blow. She laughed. A delighted, mischievous, full-bodied laugh that surely would have beckoned him to join in if she hadn't already struck him senseless.

"Oh, you should have seen Mama's face when she saw me," she said, shaking her head. "It was priceless."

He managed to find his voice. "She was shocked?"

"Shocked?" An enchanting sound that could only be described as a giggle escaped her. "Heavens no! With four boisterous children, nothing shocked Mama. She didn't even turn a hair. But when I entered the house, Mrs. Yardly, the nosiest, most disagreeable woman in the village, was visiting." She screwed her face into a comical pucker, stuck her nose in the air, and mimicked in a high-pitched tone, " 'What unladylike mess has your hoyden daughter gotten herself into now?"

Her features relaxed and she continued in her normal voice, "I wanted to crawl under the braided rug, but Mama, bless her, simply looked at Mrs. Yardly as if she'd grown another head. 'Why, Harriet,' Mama said, 'I'm stunned that you do not know that dried egg on one's hair and face is the secret to shinier curls and smoother skin. You'd best start using it, immediately, every day. Unless, of course, you want more lines on your face.'"

She covered her lips with her fingertips, but there was no containing her merriment. "Mama could be quite wicked, I'm afraid."

His lips curved upward in a grin, and although he knew he appeared perfectly relaxed on the outside, a maelstrom of feelings swirled inside him-all of them warm and aching. Unsettling. And unexpected in their intensity.

"Actually, she sounds delightful," he said. "And very much like my own mother, who can somehow convey more with the simple lift of her brows than most people can with an hour of oratory. Fabulous talent, but quite frightening." He looked heavenward and affected an angelic expression. "I, of course, being a perfect child, rarely was the victim of Duchess Lifts-the-Brows." He made a tsking noise. "Sadly, I fear my brothers did not fare as well."

She shot him a clearly dubious look, laughter still dancing in her eyes. "I believe you are telling me what Lady Gaddlestone would refer to as a Banbury tale."

"I? Never. What makes you suspect such a thing?"

"Several anecdotes Elizabeth shared with me in her letters."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Can't believe a word she says, as she obviously hears these tales from Austin, who of course would repeat them in a wholly fictitious manner in order to show himself in the best light."

"I see. So you didn't try to scare off Caroline's governess by rigging a bucket of water and barrel of flour over her bedchamber door?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"And you didn't dare your brothers to shuck their clothing and swim in the lake?"

"Dare is a rather strong word-"

"Banbury tale," she decreed. "I suspect your poor mother has a permanent wrinkle etched on her forehead from all the brow-raising you induced."

"To match the one you gave your mother, I'm sure."

They simply stood there, smiling at each other for the space of several heartbeats, and Robert could almost feel something pass between them. A sense of kinship and understanding, yet something more… an intimate awareness that sent a fissure of heat through him.

"I'll acknowledge that Lady Gaddlestone's saying is apt," he said. "As were other words I recall her saying."

"Indeed? What were those?"

"She said you need laughter. And that you're far too serious by half." He walked slowly toward her, drawn like a moth to flame, stopping when only two feet separated them. All vestiges of amusement faded from her eyes, replaced by the guarded, wary expression normally there. The urge to reach out and glide his fingers over her silky cheek nearly overwhelmed him, as did the desire to see her laugh again.

The happy, smiling woman she once was clearly still dwelled within her. A mere glimpse of her had utterly captivated him. And by damn, he wanted to see her again.

But it was obvious from her expression that she'd once again retreated behind the walls she'd erected around herself. His heart protested, swelling in sympathy for her.

"I know all too well what it is like to have your laughter stolen, and a heavy weight upon your heart," he said softly, unable to stop the words.

Something that looked like anger flashed in her eyes, but it disappeared before he could be certain. "You don't understand-"

"I do." Reaching out, he gently squeezed her hand. Nate's death would haunt him for the rest of his life. The only difference between his sorrow and hers was that she wore her sadness and loneliness on her sleeve-literally with her mourning clothes-whereas he'd learned to hide his inner sadness from the world.

Damn it, she was young. And lovely. And had suffered the same sort of deep, personal loss as he. She deserved some fun. And by damn, he was going to provide it.

He pulled her toward the door. "Come. It's far too lovely a day to remain indoors. Let us ride through the park. There's something I want to show you… Something you'd enjoy."

She hesitated and he tugged gently on her hand. "Please. It is one of my nieces' and nephew's favorite things to do when they're in town. One of Elizabeth 's as well. She'd never forgive me if I neglected to show you."

"What is it?"

"That would spoil the surprise." He smiled at her. "Trust me."

The expression that passed over her face made him wonder if he'd mistakenly suggested they chop the furniture to pieces with an axe. Her features cleared, but then she studied him for so long he was prompted to tease, "I promise not to try to extract national secrets from you, Mrs. Brown. I’ve suggested a ride in the park, not high treason."

A blush stained her cheeks. "Of course. I’m sorry. It's just that for a moment, you very much reminded me of… my husband."

She'd said as much to him once before. Compassion for her filled him, along with pride at the compliment she'd bestowed. To be compared to a man she clearly adored was an honor, and one that filled him with warmth, and something else he couldn't name.

"Thank you. And now, let us be off."

Geoffrey Hadmore sat in the plush leather wing chair at White's, nursing his third brandy. His reflection in the mirror across the richly paneled room indicated an outward calm he was far from feeling. Pain thumped behind his eyes and rage seethed just beneath the surface, churning in his gut. Where the hell are you, Redfern?

He rolled the crystal snifter between his palms, staring into the brandy's gently undulating amber depths. A plan took shape in his mind, and he slowly nodded to himself. Yes, if he didn't hear from the bastard by the end of the day, he'd simply take matters into his own hands.

Lester Redfern watched Mrs. Brown and a gentleman settle themselves in a fancy black lacquer carriage led by a handsome set of matched grays. They entered the park, then disappeared from his view. About bloody time she'd gone out.

He patted his jacket. Pistol and knife were in place. His mouth flattened with grim determination. Pulling his hat low over his brow, he made his way toward the town house.