"Huh? What…?" Pushing her thick brown hair from her face, Anne groggily sat up, peering at Amelia. "What's the matter?"

Amelia beamed at her. Relief and newfound excitement rushed through her. "Nothing, nothing — nothing to worry about."

Sounds from outside reached them; Amelia rushed to the window, flung back the curtains, threw up the sash. Behind her, she heard Luc reach the room and step inside.

"What's going on?" Anne asked from the bed.

After the faintest pause, Luc replied, "I'm not sure."

Amelia heard the profound relief in his voice, could feel the irrational dread lift from his—their—shoulders. Holding back the curtains, she leaned out as Luc joined her. A second later, Anne, dragging a robe about her, pushed in alongside.

The sight that met their eyes was at first incomprehensible — a trio of figures wrestling on the lawn, detail obscured by the dense shadows cast by the huge trees of the wood. Then the trio resolved into two larger figures supporting the third toward the house; the smaller figure resisted, but weakly.

Beneath them, a door opened; Amanda stepped onto the terrace. She waved to the group. "Bring her here."

They changed direction; a moment later they passed out of the shadows and features became clear. Martin and Lucifer were gently but determinedly escorting a slight female, cloaked, shaking her head, sobbing hysterically. Her hood had fallen back revealing lustrous brown locks.

Luc frowned. "Who is it?"

Amelia suddenly realized.

It was Anne who answered, staring at the figure round-eyed. "My God — that's Fiona! What on earth is going on?"

It was the third time she'd asked, but the explanation wasn't going to be easy, and they didn't have all the answers.

"We'll explain tomorrow." Luc swung around and strode out of the room; they heard him running down the corridor toward the stairs.

Amelia started after him.

"Amelia!"

She turned back, met Anne's eyes. "I truly can't stop now, but I promise we'll explain all tomorrow morning. Please — just go back to bed."

Fervently hoping Anne would do so, Amelia hurried out, closing the bedroom door behind her. She started down the corridor, then remembered Emily. She paused by Emily's door, listening, then eased it open. She tiptoed in, just close enough to be sure Emily was still sound asleep — doubtless dreaming innocent — or possibly not so innocent — dreams.

Inwardly sighing with relief, she retreated, then hurried on toward the stairs. At their head, she came upon Helena and Minerva being escorted down by Simon.

Simon looked up. "They've got her."

"I know. I saw."

Minerva sighed. "The poor child. We'll have to get to the bottom of this, for I simply will not believe it was all her doing. She was never a bad girl." She paused, one hand gripping the balustrade, a frown forming in her eyes. Then she glanced upward. "Someone should check on Portia and Penelope." Minerva glanced at Amelia.

She nodded. "I will. Then I'll come down."

Minerva resumed her descent. "Tell them they must stay in their beds."

Already headed up the stairs, Amelia doubted any such injunction was likely to stop those two; to her mind, their only hope was that they'd slept soundly and hadn't been disturbed.

That hope was dashed the instant she cracked open Portia's door — and discovered Luc's younger sisters fully dressed, leaning far out of the window, presumably watching Fiona being led into the house two floors below.

She stepped inside, shut the door with a click. "What do the pair of you think you're doing?"

They glanced back at her; not a glimmer of guilt showed in either face.

"We're observing the culmination of your plan." Penelope turned back to the window.

"They've got her inside." Portia straightened, then walked to Amanda.

Penelope followed. "I really didn't think the plan would work, but it has. I did think it might be Fiona — she was at all the places where things were taken, after all." She fixed her spectacled gaze on Amelia's face. "Do we have any idea why she did it?"

Amelia had no idea where to start in the task of putting these two in their place. She wasn't even sure it was possible. Nevertheless, she drew a deep breath. "I bear a message from your mama — you're to stay in your beds."

Both girls looked at her as if she'd run mad.

"What?" Portia said. "While all this is going on—"

"You expect us meekly to close our eyes and fall asleep?"

One breath wasn't going to be enough. "No, but—"

Amelia broke off, raised her head. Listened.

Portia and Penelope did, too. An instant later, they all heard it again — a muffled scream. They rushed to the window.

"Can you see…?" Amelia asked.

They all scanned the gardens, even darker now; the moon was rapidly waning.

"There!" Penelope pointed across the lawn to where two struggling figures were just discernible on the path beside the rose garden.

"Who…?" Amelia asked, but the clenching of her heart told her.

"Well, if Fiona's downstairs," Portia said, "then that must be Anne."

"The fool!" Penelope said. "How senseless."

Amelia didn't stop to argue; she was already out of the door.

"No — just think," Portia said. "That man must be part of the syndicate—

Amelia left them to their deductions — they were better at it than her — and with luck it would keep them where they were, arguing, well out of harm's way. She plunged down the main stairs, screaming for Luc, knowing she dared not stop to explain.

As far as she'd been able to see, the man — whoever he was — had his hands around Anne's throat.

"Luc!" She hit the front hall at a run, skidded on the tiles as she turned and flung herself down the east corridor. Via the garden hall was the fastest route to Anne — she took it without thinking.

She burst onto the lawn, much closer to the struggling pair — still struggling, thank God! As she pounded on, she realized, and called, "Anne! Anne!"

The larger figure stilled, then the configuration rearranged itself — then with a curse she heard, the man flung Anne aside and raced for the wood.

She was gasping when she reached Anne; at least the blackguard had flung her onto the lawn, not into the stone wall. Anne was coughing, gasping, struggling to sit up. Amelia helped her to sit. "Who was it? Do you know?"

Anne shook her head. "But—" She wheezed, then tried gamely again, "I think he was among the guests last night." She hauled in another breath. "He thought I was Fiona." Her fingers clutched Amelia's. "If you hadn't called… he was trying to kill me — her. As soon as he looked and realized I wasn't her…"

Amelia patted her shoulder. "Stay here." She looked at the darkness, of the wood. She had to make an immediate decision. Had Fiona taken the necklace and passed it on before being caught? She didn't know. Nor did Anne. "When Luc comes, tell him I've followed the man — I'm not going to tackle him, just keep him in sight until Luc and the others reach us."

Freeing her fingers from Anne's, Amelia rose and ran on. The path led straight into the wood; the trees closed around her, enclosing her in gloom. She hurried on, no longer running but moving fast, her slipper-shod feet padding all but silently on the leaf-strewn paths. She knew these woods, not as well as Luc did, but better than anyone who'd only recently come to the area possibly could.

There were only so many ways the man could go; it was easy to guess he'd veer to the east, putting as much distance between himself and the Chase as he could. She doubted he'd keep running — crashing along the narrow tracks would invite pursuit — so with luck…

Ten minutes into the wood, her decision bore fruit. She caught a glimpse of a large shadowy figure through the trees ahead. A minute later, she saw him clearly.

He was walking, striding along, quickly but without panic.

Silent and determined, she settled to track him.

Astonished, Anne watched Amelia disappear into the wood, her throat too raw to voice any protest. As soon as she'd caught her breath, she struggled to her feet and limped back to the house.

She didn't have to go far to find Luc. He was standing on the path outside the east wing, looking up at the window high above from which Portia and Penelope hung, yelling and gesticulating toward the rose garden and the wood.

They saw Anne, and shrieked, "There she is!"

Luc swung around, then he was beside her, hugging her, holding her. "Are you all right?"

Anne nodded. "Amelia…"

Luc felt his heart plummet. "Where is she?"

He held Anne away from him and looked into her face.

She coughed, then hoarsely enunciated, "In the woods — she said to tell you she wasn't going to try and catch him, just keep him in sight until you came…"

He smothered a curse — an expression of sheer horror Anne didn't need to hear. Amelia might not intend to catch the man, but he might catch her. He pushed Anne toward the house. "Go inside — tell the others."

His mind was already with Amelia. Turning, he raced for the wood.

Amelia slipped along beneath the trees, increasingly cautious. While the wood at first had felt, if not comfortable, then at least familiar, the trees had grown progressively denser, older, the paths beneath their gnarled branches more dark, the air more weighted with age. Ahead, she could hear the regular thud of the man's boots; he wasn't trying to skulk but was steadily tramping on. A quick mental survey had suggested he intended keeping to the wood to where it ended on the rise above Lyddington.