She kissed him, or he kissed her; it mattered not to either who made the first move. Wriggling her arms up, she wound them about his neck, held him to her.

His lips on hers, Gervase inwardly smiled, and locked his arms around her. He had her now, she was his and he would never let her go.


Two hours later they walked into the breakfast parlor to find everyone else had got there before them. Sybil, Belinda, Annabel and Jane called cheery good mornings. Returning their greetings, acknowledging others, Madeline was surprised to see Muriel and all three of her brothers seated at the table avidly chatting with Dalziel, Christian, Penny and Charles.

Muriel leaned back and caught her hand. “We had to come. Harry and Ben couldn’t wait to hear what had occurred-and I couldn’t either.”

Madeline smiled, squeezed Muriel’s hand, then followed Gervase to the sideboard.

They helped themselves to sausages, kidneys, ham, kedgeree and kippers, then Gervase held the chair beside his place at the head of the table for her; once she’d settled, he took his seat.

Edmond was relating what had occurred when he’d been seized. “The man-the London gentleman-told me he already knew that we’d found the brooch on Kynance beach. He told me so I wouldn’t bother lying. All he wanted was for me to point out where on the beach we’d found it-so of course I pointed at the middle.”

Christian nodded. “Very clever.”

“What happened when they reached the cove and discovered the tide was in?” Charles asked.

Edmond explained, describing events much as they’d imagined them-that the man had cursed, then driven away with the lady, leaving his gathered crew hiding in a barn. He’d returned alone on horseback just before sunset. Later still, they’d stumbled into the arms of the wreckers, and, as they’d guessed, their traitor had persuaded the local villains to lend him their aid.

From Dalziel’s and Christian’s politely urbane expressions and the tiredness behind their eyes, it was obvious they had no good news to report regarding their London gentleman. Gervase caught their eyes, arched a brow. “Not even a sighting?”

Dalziel’s lips turned down in a grimace. “He must somehow have slipped behind us.”

Charles shook his head. “God only knows where he was hiding.”

Madeline, studying her brothers with a sister’s fond eye, noted the light-a light she knew to be wary of-shining in Edmond’s and Ben’s eyes. She followed their gazes…to Dalziel.

She glanced at Harry, but he hadn’t been as exposed to Dalziel as the other two. Then she looked at Christian, Charles and Gervase…and fought against the urge to narrow her eyes. Dalziel, she suspected, was one of those men who too often proved to be a dangerous influence on a certain type of suggestible male. To her mind, all the males at the table, except Dalziel, fell into that certain suggestible class.

As for Dalziel himself, she doubted he was in any way suggestible; he was a man born to rule.

“If only there were some way to get just one good clue to his identity.” Dalziel’s eyes held a faraway, distant, predatory look. “It seems he doesn’t want me to see him, which presumably means I’ll recognize him…but none of you others will.”

“None of the men he’d brought from London had any idea? An address? A way to make contact?” Gervase looked at Christian.

Who shook his head. “Not a clue. He walked into taverns in London, hired them, and gave orders to gather down here in a run-down cottage. He spoke to them there a few times. Other than that, they never saw him and have no idea where he might have been staying. He always wore a muffler and hat to shade his face, even when he was pacing up and down on Kynance beach.” Christian looked across the table at Edmond. “Edmond’s description was the same.”

Edmond smiled shyly, shifting under their gazes, then he glanced at Dalziel. “Perhaps Lady Hardesty knows his name.”

All conversation halted. Everyone turned to stare at Edmond, puzzled…

Dalziel made the connection first. “The lady in the curricle?”

Edmond nodded, but the action was uncertain. He looked up the table to Madeline and Gervase. “I haven’t met her but I think it was her. Tall, oldish, dark-haired-and she wasn’t from around here. She was wrapped up in a cloak and kept the hood around her face most of the time, but she had a London accent, like the man.”

Further down the table, Belinda leaned forward, peering at Edmond. “Did she have a mole-just here?” She pointed to a spot just above the left corner of her lips.

“Yes!” Edmond nodded. “I saw it. It was black.”

Belinda looked at the others and nodded. “Lady Hardesty. Katherine and Melissa mentioned the mole.”

Madeline recalled, nodded too. “She does have a mole there.”

Around her chairs scraped as all the men got to their feet.

Dalziel set down his napkin. “You’ll have to excuse us.” He nodded to Madeline, then Sybil. “We need to reach Lady Hardesty as soon as we can.”

Madeline remembered that their villain had a habit of killing all those who could identify him. She felt herself pale. “Yes, of course.” She pushed back from the table.

Gervase had already sent a footman flying to the stables for four fast horses to be saddled and brought around. He exchanged a glance with Madeline, then led the men to the gun room for pistols.

The ladies looked at each other, then, breakfasts forgotten, everyone rose and went out to the front hall, milling before the open front door.

The men came striding back, each carrying two pistols, checking them while Gervase described the way to Helston Grange, Robert Hardesty’s house.

Hooves clattered in the forecourt. Charles bussed Penny on the cheek as he passed. Gervase paused to brush his lips across Madeline’s. “I don’t know what we’ll find, or when we’ll be back.”

She squeezed his arm, nodded and released him. “Go-and good hunting.”

Dalziel heard and saluted her as he went past. His face was set.

The four checked saddle girths and stirrups, then mounted. In less than a minute, they were wheeling toward the forecourt’s entry arch.

With Sybil and Penny flanking her, Madeline stood on the porch and watched them go. “I just hope they get there in time.”

Sybil patted her arm, then gathered the youngsters and ushered them indoors.

Penny remained beside Madeline, staring at the dwindling figures of their men. “I hope they reach her before him, but from all I’ve heard of this blackguard, we’re going to be disappointed in that, too.”

Madeline glanced at her, met her eyes. After a moment, they turned and went inside.


They covered the distance to Helston Grange at a blistering pace. It was the first time Gervase had ridden with Dalziel; he wasn’t surprised to learn his ex-commander was as bruising a rider as the rest of them.

They arrived to discover the majority of residents at the Grange had yet to rise for the day. When summoned to his drawing room, Robert Hardesty came rather diffidently in, puzzled rather than irritated by the intrusion.

“Lord Crowhurst.” He smiled at Gervase and extended his hand. “It’s been rather a long time.”

“Indeed.” Gervase grasped his hand, nodded curtly. “I apologize for the abruptness, Robert-we’ll explain in a moment, but it’s Lady Hardesty we’ve come to see. It’s urgent that we speak with her.”

His grim expression-and those of Charles, Christian and Dalziel ranged at his back-made Robert’s eyes widen. Then Gervase’s request sank in. “Ah…they-my wife and her friends-tend to keep London hours. I doubt my wife would be awake-”

“Lord Hardesty.” Dalziel captured Robert’s gaze. “We wouldn’t be here, making such a request at this hour, were the need not great. If you could send a maid to summon your wife?”

Robert Hardesty blushed. His gaze shifted away. It was apparent he didn’t know if his wife was alone in her bed. But then he swallowed, flicked a glance at Gervase and nodded. “If you insist.”

He rang the bell, gave the order.

Gervase was conscious of the urge to pace, something he rarely did; he could feel the effort Charles and Dalziel were making not to circle the room. Tension rode them all, unnerving Robert Hardesty even more than their expressions.

Then they heard the first scream.

Gervase pushed past Robert and headed straight for the stairs, Dalziel on his heels. He didn’t have to look to know Charles and Christian had gone the other way, out of the front door to circle the house. Just in case.

There was no need to ask for directions; they followed the screams, gaining in intensity, rocketing toward hysteria.

Reaching the room at the end of the wing, they opened the door. A maid was backed against the wall a few feet away, her knuckles pressed to her mouth, her eyes huge, her gaze fixed on the bed.

On the figure sprawled across it.

The bulging eyes, the protruding tongue, the necklace of bruises ringing the long throat, the indescribable horror of what had once been a beautiful face clearly stated that life was long extinct.

Dalziel pushed past and went to the bed.

Gervase grabbed the maid and bundled her out-into the arms of the butler who had come rushing up. “Lady Hardesty’s dead. Sit her”-he nodded at the maid-“downstairs in the kitchen and give her tea. And send for the doctor.”

Although plainly shocked, the butler nodded. “Yes, my lord.” He turned the now-weeping maid away.

Gervase went back into the room.

Dalziel withdrew his fingers from the side of Lady Hardesty’s bruised throat. “Not cold, but cooling. She’s been dead for hours.”

He turned to the long windows giving onto a balcony; one was open. Gervase followed Dalziel out; the balcony looked toward a stretch of woodland bordering the Helford River.