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  “Are you all right, my darling?” he asked, concerned.

  She pulled away from him and sat down. She was trembling from head to toe as she shook her head. “I cannot see you again, Stephen, ever,” she whispered.

  *

  She moved restlessly in her sleep and brought a hand to her face as though to ward off something unpleasant. A faint noise penetrated her half-conscious state, and in a trice she was awake, the dream forgotten. She lay still, letting the silence of the night wash over her, and was finally rewarded by hearing someone move stealthily across the carpet. She had no idea of that person’s direction or intent, but she feared it was the comte.

  A dangerous man, Sir Nicholas had warned, used to taking what he wanted. Well, the comte had made no secret of the fact that he desired her, and she was equally determined not to be taken.

  In one swift movement calculated to surprise the intruder, she reached out for the flint and candle that reposed on her bed table and kindled the wick. She sat up and held the feeble light aloft in both hands and moved it in an unsteady arc about the room. The flickering flame danced, creating shadows within shadows, and she was forced to wonder whether or not she had imagined any noise at all.

  Slowly, she put the candle down on the commode and sank back against the pillows, her breathing irregular. She stared first at the door, and then at the wardrobe that held her traveling gown at the far end of the room. She squinted, thinking at first that it was a trick of the light that produced the soft bulge to the side of the wardrobe, and then sat upright, rigid with fear, as the bulge moved.

  “Papa?” she questioned, her voice no more than a whimper.

  The bulge took shape as it detached itself from its hiding place, and Roberta, whose eyes were now accustomed to the half-light, could see that her second guess had been correct.

  “Sir Nicholas!”

  “And I had so hoped, Miss Rushforth, that I wouldn’t disturb your sleep,” he mocked, making her a half-bow.

  “What on earth are you doing in my room at this time of night?” she gasped. “I demand an explanation for this unwarranted intrusion.” She grabbed the bedclothes and held them high to her chin.

  “Claiming my property,” Sir Nicholas answered smoothly. “I believe you took a piece of paper from my cabin last night, and I want it back.”

  “You talk in riddles,” she said defiantly.

  “I don’t mean to be obtuse,” he answered as he moved closer to her bed.

  “I will scream if you come any closer,” Roberta warned him. “I think you had better go before I call for help.”

  His answer was to step right up to her. She watched his catlike movements in fascination and was taken completely by surprise when he bent down and brushed her lips with his.

  “How dare you!” she exclaimed angrily, and brought a hand across his cheek in a resounding smack, heedless of the fact that her action had caused the bedclothes to slip to her waist.

  “My dear Miss Rushforth, I have no intention of leaving this room without that piece of paper.” He sat down beside her and twirled one of her short curls around his index finger. “Just tell me where you have hidden it, and I will leave you in peace.”

  As he spoke, his hand moved from her hair to her shoulder and gripped it with an intensity that hurt.

  “Get out of my room, Sir Nicholas, before I scream,” she hissed, struggling vainly to free herself.

  He brought his face within an inch of hers and grinned. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Miss Rushforth,” he replied amiably, leaving no doubt in her mind that he was in full control of the situation. “You are in an extremely vulnerable position.”

  Her reflexes felt numb, except for the pounding of her heart, which she couldn’t control. She tried to sink back again to her pillow, but his hand held her arm.

  “Now tell me where it is, and I will leave you in peace.”

  “In the pocket of the dress in the wardrobe,” she said wildly. “Take it and go!”

  She looked away, afraid that he would ask her why she had taken it, that he would guess she had made a copy. He didn’t, though, and she breathed a sigh of relief when he relinquished his hold of her. He rose and stood towering over her for several seconds, his shadow dancing on the walls in the candlelight. Her nerves felt frayed; she opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came.

  “It was very foolish of you to take that,” he said. “What did you hope to gain except my attention?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he picked up the candle and walked over to the wardrobe. Then, with his injured arm, he gingerly prised open the door and fumbled awkwardly with her dress until he finally found what he was looking for. He grunted in satisfaction and scanned it quickly, then placed it in his pocket.

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Rushforth,” he said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I am sorry if I have caused you any discomfort.”

  She sat, transfixed, as he allowed his gaze to wander over her. Then, without warning, he blew the candle out. Then, and only then, did she sink back.

  “I would advise you to lock the door behind me, Miss Rushforth,” he said, his voice penetrating the darkness like the crack of a whip. “Your lack of modesty will, of a certainty, land you in a great deal of trouble.”

  She heard him returning the candlestick to the commode, and in a fit of ungovernable rage, she reached behind her for a pillow. She hurled it at him with all her might, but he was out of the door before it landed. She relit the candle to see what had caused his final comment, and blushed. The coverlet had slipped right down to her waist, and beneath her transparent gown, her breasts were clearly visible.

  “Damn you, Sir Nicholas,” she muttered in most unladylike tones. “You are going to pay dearly for this.”

  Chapter 7

  The final stage of the journey was concluded in silence. Mrs. Ashley, who felt some resentment that no one had acknowledged her efforts to hoodwink the stranger the previous night, could not but notice the deliberate rudeness Roberta displayed toward Sir Nicholas. She was perplexed by Roberta’s attitude, for she had never before seen her charge act in such a way.

  She stole a look at Sir Nicholas, who appeared to be composed, almost to the point of boredom. Roberta, on the other hand, looked angrier than a wet hen. Mrs. Ashley shrugged and decided to ask Roberta what it was all about, when they were alone.

  This, however, didn’t occur until long after they had reached Lord Bromley’s house in Grosvenor Square. After such a long absence, all the servants had lined up to welcome Roberta home. The house steward, with his prepared speech, managed to put a smile on Roberta’s face, Mrs. Ashley was pleased to note. Perhaps afterward would be a good time to question her charge. Unfortunately, the housekeeper, a motherly soul, whisked Roberta away before Mrs. Ashley could even beg a private word, and she felt exceedingly annoyed.

  By late afternoon, though, when the excitement of their arrival had died down and the household staff had resumed its normal duties, Mrs. Ashley sent word to Roberta to come and join her for a cup of tea.

  “I received the distinct impression this morning that you were annoyed with Sir Nicholas over something,” she said without preamble when Roberta eventually joined her.

  “Annoyed, Ashley?” Roberta queried with a laugh. “No, annoyed is to be provoked, and I refuse to acknowledge that someone of Sir Nicholas’s color can affect me so. I have merely followed your lead, Ashley, dear, and have taken him in dislike. I cannot think why I let myself be persuaded to help him, and feel that I cannot apologize to you sufficiently for not heeding your initial advice.”

  “But what happened? You both seemed at ease with each other over dinner last night. Indeed, I was quite charmed by his exceedingly gracious manner myself, and revised my earlier opinion of him, despite the circumstances that necessitated his escape from France.”

  “I have nothing further to say on that particular topic, Ashley, until I have spoken to my uncle,” Roberta repl
ied firmly. “Unfortunately, Perkins, Uncle’s new secretary, has informed me he will be out of town until next week.”

  Mrs. Ashley sighed unhappily. She knew better than to argue. Roberta sighed as well, but hers was one of frustration. She had simply not expected that Lord Bromley would be anywhere but London, and when she had learned he was in the north of England, she had vented the exasperation she had felt on the unfortunate Mr. Perkins. Now there was nothing left for her to do but while away the days until he returned, and hope that Sir Nicholas would not vanish in the meantime.

  She paid scant attention to Mrs. Ashley as she sipped the hot tea, for she was caught up in forming a plan that would enable her to keep an eye on Sir Nicholas. There had to be a way that would not arouse his suspicions.

  “Dear Ashley, what a bore I am,” she exclaimed when she realized her companion had been talking. “Here I am, rapt in my own maudlin reflections and not paying the slightest heed to what you are saying. Forgive me, please.”

  “Think nothing of it, Roberta. I was merely reproaching myself for not showing a greater understanding of your mood. You must be in a turmoil about meeting Mr. Davenport again.” She broke off, as if afraid she had said too much.

  Roberta, startled by this deduction, averted her gaze. Two days ago she would have agreed, but now she had something far more worrisome with which to concern herself. She looked out of the window and absentmindedly watched the wind ripple the leaves of the weeping pear tree.

  “It will not be easy,” she conceded. “People are bound to gossip, but…” She paused as the final solution to her dilemma, how to keep Sir Nicholas at her side, came to her.

  “Yes?” Mrs. Ashley asked impatiently.

  “I don’t want to shock you by the forwardness of my suggestion, but I thought to enlist Sir Nicholas’s aid. In a way, you could say I would be asking him to repay the debt he owes us.”

  “Whatever do you have in mind?”

  “I’m going to ask him if he will squire me about Town. Just until I’m settled in Society, you understand. But you must see that if it appears I have a beau dangling after me, any gossip attendant to my past association with Stephen will be short-lived.” Roberta could see that her idea both appalled and intrigued Mrs. Ashley, and she pressed her advantage. “I didn’t tell you before, for fear of upsetting you, but I met the comte on the boat, and he was the man at the inn last night. He intimated then that he would try to see me in London.”

  “Oh, Lordy me!” Mrs. Ashley moaned. “How perfectly horrendous. Why on earth did Lord Bromley have to choose this week to absent himself?”

  “Then do you agree with me that if Sir Nicholas will consent to my scheme, he will provide the perfect, double-edged protection we need until my uncle returns?”

  Mrs. Ashley nodded. “I will send him a card immediately, asking him to call on me first thing in the morning. Do we know where he is staying? No matter,” she continued, all aflutter in the wake of Roberta’s disclosure. “Williams will know, for he took him home after he delivered us safely.”

  Roberta smiled sweetly. She was happy to let Mrs. Ashley take charge. Somehow she knew her preposterous suggestion would not seem so outrageous to Sir Nicholas if it were put forward by someone else. Also, she was of the opinion that Sir Nicholas would find a way to refuse her request, but he wouldn’t treat Mrs. Ashley in the insolent fashion with which he would treat her.

  *

  Sir Nicholas’s lodgings, spartan when compared to Lord Bromley’s luxuriously appointed town house, suited his present needs to perfection. He seldom spent more than two nights of any week there, yet it was safe enough to house the documents and papers that were necessary for his work. He kept two servants: Jenkins, a butler, who doubled as a groom, and Davids, a valet, who was also his chef. Both men he regarded as faithful watchdogs, and he trusted them implicitly.

  When the mood for a grander style of living came upon him, he took himself off to Stanway, his estate near Tewkesbury. Whenever he stayed at Stanway, Sir Nicholas was content to accept the unsophisticated entertainment offered by the local gentry, for it provided a pleasing contrast to the life his work forced him to lead in London. For the moment, though, he was content to be in Town.

  After Williams had set him down in Albemarle Street, he had been whisked away by his two servants and had allowed them to tend his wound. It pleased him to discover it wasn’t as serious as he had first suspected. He had refused to go to bed. Instead, he ordered Jenkins to stoke up the fire in his study and asked Davids to prepare him a tempting meal. He was hungry, but he had a lot of work to do. Then, when he was alone, he pulled out the papers he had brought with him from France and spread them out on his desk.

  By early evening, his eyes had tired from studying the hieroglyphics, and he pushed the papers to one side. He stood up and stretched, letting out a loud oath when he jammed his injured shoulder. He was rubbing it ruefully when Jenkins entered.

  “Is dinner ready?” Sir Nicholas asked, suddenly remembering his hunger.

  “In twenty minutes, my lord,” Jenkins replied as he held out a silver salver on which reposed a thick ivory vellum envelope. “This came for you an hour ago.”

  Sir Nicholas took the envelope and slit it open slowly. He scanned the spidery writing and then whistled in surprise.

  “Will that be all, Sir Nicholas?” Jenkins inquired. “I told the messenger not to wait and that we would send a reply if it was necessary.”

  “No, there is no need for a reply. My presence at Grosvenor Square at eleven tomorrow morning will be answer enough.”

  “Lord Bromley?” Jenkins exclaimed in surprise.

  “No; Roberta, his niece, or should I say his niece’s companion, Mrs. Ashley, requests the dubious pleasure of my company.”

  “I see, Sir Nicholas,” Jenkins said, his face resuming its impassive expression. “I didn’t think Lord Bromley had returned from Mr. Lambert’s funeral.”

  “It’s no good trying to pump any answers out of me,” Sir Nicholas said with a laugh, “for I must confess I have no idea what this note means. When I parted company from the two ladies this morning, I thought I had seen the last of them. I suspect Miss Rushforth is behind this summons, though, and that I find intriguing.”

  “Will you be taking Davids with you?”

  Sir Nicholas shook his head. “I’ll go on foot. I hardly think I need any protection from Mrs. Ashley.”

  “But the comte. Will he not be looking for you?”

  Sir Nicholas arched an eyebrow disdainfully, giving Jenkins the clear impression he was not concerned over that possibility. “I can hardly prevent him from walking the streets of London, can I, Jenkins? He has no proof that it was I he saw leaving his chateau, so I think it unlikely he will accost me in public.”

  “Your injury?” Jenkins interposed.

  “Unless he is able to strip me, he will never see it. Look,” he continued as he rotated his arm slowly, “the stiffness has almost disappeared. In another day or two, I will be as good as new. Now tell Davids I am ready to eat.”

  The matter was closed, as far as he was concerned, and he watched in some amusement as Jenkins, with an unhappy sigh, withdrew.

  Roberta watched the traffic in Grosvenor Square from the vantage point of her bedroom window, waiting the arrival of Sir Nicholas. Finally, she saw him enter the square on foot. He was wearing an expertly tailored cloak that hugged his shoulders like a glove, and his high beaver hat was pulled low over his forehead. The cloak protected him to a nicety against the cool wind, and the hat hid his face.

  There was only one way of identifying him—by his long, purposeful stride.

  The sound of the door knocker echoed up the stairs. Roberta glanced at herself in the mirror and laughed at her image. The lace cap atop her curls, which she was wearing despite Mrs. Ashley’s entreaties, looked faintly ridiculous. Her morning dress of gray silk was buttoned high to her neck, and the long sleeves were edged in white. Matching gray slippers on her dainty fe
et peeked out beneath the folds of the gathered skirt, and about her waist she had tied a twisted rope belt of white silk. She wanted to appear demure, and she had succeeded admirably.

  She heard the hall clock chime the quarter hour and began to make her way downstairs. Mrs. Ashley had suggested she present herself in the green sitting room twenty minutes after Sir Nicholas’s arrival, deeming it sufficient time in which to persuade him to help them.

  Roberta tapped lightly on the door and walked in. Avoiding looking directly at Sir Nicholas, she hesitated and waited for Mrs. Ashley to drop a handkerchief to the floor. It was their prearranged signal that Mrs. Ashley had been successful in her endeavors. Only when Roberta saw it flutter down did she acknowledge his presence.

  “Sir Nicholas,” she exclaimed, feigning a haughty surprise. “I had not expected to see you again so soon.”

  “Your servant, Miss Rushforth,” he replied. He paused briefly before bowing over her hand, giving her plenty of time to see his amused expression. He quite obviously didn’t believe she was surprised, but she didn’t care.

  “How is your shoulder?” she inquired coldly. “I trust you haven’t suffered any further setbacks.”

  “None at all, Miss Rushforth. I am quite on the mend, as you can see.”

  Roberta looked at him quizzically, determined to play her part to the end. She would never give him the pleasure of confirming his suspicions that she had been behind Mrs. Ashley’s summons. “I am sorry I was not here to receive you. I trust Mrs. Ashley has kept you entertained?”