He raised his head and watched Prudence's face as she gave her­self up to her climax.

"Beautiful," he whispered.

And then she went limp against him. She mumbled something into his shirt that Sebastian could not understand. He smiled and reluc­tantly withdrew his hand from between her legs.

Now it was his turn.

He inhaled Prudence's scent as he started to unfasten his breeches. He was so fully aroused that he doubted he would be able to last for more than a few strokes at the most. Hell, he thought, he would be lucky to last long enough to get inside her.

The muffled clank of a chain broke the spell.

Sebastian felt as if someone had just doused him with a bucket of ice-cold water. He went absolutely still. He felt Prudence tense.

"The ghost," she whispered.

"Bloody hell." Sebastian shook his head in an attempt to clear away the cobwebs of passion. He fumbled with the opening of his breeches and managed to get it closed. "If this is an example of the sort of poor timing that damned specter exhibited when he was alive, it's no wonder someone murdered him."

The heavy clanking sound came again. It was closer now, reverber­ating through the walls. A low moan came from the other side of the connecting door.

" Lydia . Lydia , I have come for you."

"Bastard." Sebastian pushed himself up off the bed.

"What are you doing?" Prudence mouthed the words as she strug­gled to right her clothing.

"I'm going to take care of that ghost." Sebastian yanked the bed­ding up over her head. "Don't move. Don't make a sound."

He left her lying there, a large, interesting lump under the quilt, and quickly crossed the room to the window. He yanked the heavy drapes together, cutting off the moonlight. The room was plunged into stygian darkness.

" Lydia , where are you? Your time has come. I have waited a long, long while for you to join me in my grave."

Chains rumbled again on the floorboards in the other room. From his vantage point near the wardrobe, Sebastian watched the crack under the door. Candlelight appeared.

The door opened slowly and the clanking was suddenly much louder. A startling figure moved into the room with slow, ponderous steps.

Sebastian retreated deeper into the dark shadows cast by the big wardrobe and watched with interest as the apparition clanked toward the bed.

The candle revealed a hideously scarred face partially concealed by the hood of a cloak. There was a great, gaping wound in the spec­ter's throat. One gloved hand held the candle. The other hand was hidden beneath the folds of the cloak. The chains appeared to be attached to the ghost's ankle.

The ghost moved inexorably toward the bed. " Lydia . Lydia . Where are you, Lydia ?"

Sebastian took a step forward. But before he could reach the appa­rition, Prudence tossed aside the bedclothes and sat up. She had her pistol clutched in her hand.

"Stop right where you are or I shall put a bullet in you," she announced.

"What the bloody hell?" the ghost squawked. "You're not Aunt Lydia."

"I most certainly am not. And you're no ghost." Prudence scram­bled off the bed, careful to keep the pistol pointed at the apparition. "And this sorry business has gone quite far enough." She fumbled with her glasses and managed to get them on her nose. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Christ, who the devil do you think you are? I'll teach you to interfere in my affairs."

The intruder withdrew his hand from beneath the folds of the cloak, revealing a long dagger. He raised the blade and started pur­posefully around the edge of the bed.

"Halt or I'll shoot." Prudence took a step back.

"Not bloody likely," the ghost said. "Ladies don't know how to use pistols."

Sebastian launched himself at the dagger-wielding ghost. He grabbed him by the shoulder, yanked the hood of the cloak down over the man's eyes from behind, and spun him around. The candle went flying.

"What in blazes?" The ghost struggled to throw aside the hood of the cloak which was effectively blinding him.

Sebastian gave him no chance to raise the hood. He could not risk having the ghost see him and recognize him. There would be far too much explaining to do.

Sebastian knocked the dagger aside with one hand. Then he slammed a fist straight into the ghost's jaw, which was just barely visible beneath the hood.

The intruder reeled backward, struck his head against the bedpost, and crumpled, unconscious, to the floor.

"Well done, my lord," Prudence exclaimed as she hurried to pick the candle up before it could singe the carpet. "And just in the very nick of time. I do believe he actually intended to use that dagger on me."

Sebastian stood over his victim and stared at her. Rage at the risks Prudence had taken mingled with relief that she was safe.

"You little fool. Do you realize what could have happened?"

She blinked at him in surprise. "Well, it was a bit of a near thing, I'll grant you. I really did not want to have to shoot him, you see. I've never actually fired a pistol and my aim might have been a bit off."

"A bit of a near thing?" Sebastian repeated in outraged disbelief. He stepped around the fallen body of the ghost and loomed over Prudence. "He could have slit your throat with that dagger. He might have killed you, you fluff-brained little idiot."

She started to frown. "Really, Sebastian, there is no need to shout."

"I am not shouting. But I am seriously considering putting you over my knee and paddling you so hard you won't be able to sit a horse for a week. You nearly got yourself killed tonight."

"I had my pistol," she reminded him.

"Have you any notion of how hard it is to actually bring a man down with a small pistol like that? I have seen men keep going with two bullets in their guts. I have seen them go on to kill other men before they collapsed."

Prudence stared at him. "Where did you see that sort of thing, my lord?"

"Never mind." This was hardly the time to describe the horrors of bandit hunting in the mountains of Saragstan. "But believe me when I say that a bullet does not always fell a man."

"Now, see here, Sebastian, this is my investigation and I was fully prepared to handle it. I did not ask for your assistance."

"No, you did not," he acknowledged through his teeth. "Instead you chose to risk your neck."

"What of it?" she flung back, equally outraged now. " Tis my af­fair, not yours."

"It is most certainly my affair, Miss Merryweather. You happen to be engaged to me."

"Yes, well, that can be remedied soon enough."

"Damnation, woman."

The man on the floor groaned. Sebastian scowled down at him, annoyed at the interruption.

"Oh, dear, I believe he is going to awaken soon," Prudence said. She held the candle over the fallen ghost. "He appears to be wearing a mask."

"Give me that candle." Sebastian realized there were matters to be attended to before he could continue his chastisement of Prudence. He took a grip on his temper and on the candle which Prudence obediently handed to him.

He knelt down beside the unconscious man, groped for and found the edge of the mask. With a single motion he wrenched it off, re­vealing an unfamiliar face.

"Do you recognize him?" Prudence asked.

"No, but I would lay odds he is one of Mrs. Leacock's infamous nephews."

"Most likely." Prudence reached for the bell rope. "I shall sum­mon assistance at once.‘Mrs. Leacock has several strong footmen in her employ. They can manage our ghost until the magistrate arrives. You had best be on your way, my lord."

"How do you intend to explain the fact that your damn ghost is unconscious?" he demanded.

Prudence thought a moment. "I shall say that he tripped and fell when he lunged at me. He hit his head against the bedpost and lost consciousness. Who can gainsay me?"

"I suppose that will work," Sebastian said reluctantly. "It has been my experience that people who suffer from being knocked uncon­scious rarely recall anything about what happened in the moments immediately before the incident. He'll likely believe that he did trip and fall, if that's what you tell him."

"Then that is precisely what I shall say. Now off with you, my lord."

He shot her a disgusted glance, knowing full well she was right. For her sake, he could not allow himself to be discovered by Mrs. Leacock and her staff. The rumpled condition of the bed, Prudence's dishev­eled appearance, and his state of undress would lead everyone to the obvious conclusion that he had been making love to his fiancee.

Being discovered like this with Prue would not be a complete di­saster. Society would wink and turn a blind eye. After all, the pair had already declared their intention to wed. Nevertheless, there were some limits. Society expected romantic assignations to be conducted with some discretion. Being found together in this situation would virtually require a special license.

A special license. Sebastian paused at that interesting thought.

"Well, my lord? Hadn't you better hurry?" Prudence handed him his shirt. "Pray, do not forget your boots."

"You are quite correct, my dear." Sebastian smiled grimly. "I should be on my way. Your reputation is already hanging by a thread, is it not?"

" Tis not my reputation which concerns me," she said tartly. "It is your own."

The woman never ceased to amaze him. "Mine? Why in God's name are you worried about my reputation?"

"You have the most to lose, do you not?" she asked softly. "People already take great pleasure in viewing your reputation in the worst possible light. I have no wish to see you titillate the ton with an esca­pade such as this."