Jessica heaved up the lid of the nearest trunk, which happened to be one that Wolfe had brought in. A sound of surprise came from her lips when she realized the trunk was already full. She had assumed both trunks were empty by the ease with which Wolfe had handled them, but this one contained her fishing and hunting gear, her favorite books, and a small sidesaddle that looked elegant despite its off-center horn.

On the top of trunk, protected by a beautifully worked leather case, lay a wedding present from Lord Robert — a matched Winchester rifle and carbine, saddle scabbards, and enough cartridges to start a war. The weapons were inlaid with intricate patterns of gold and silver. The carbine magazine held thirteen shells and the rifle held fifteen. The loading port was cleverly placed so that shells could be loaded nearly as fast as they could be shot. Wolfe had taken one look at the gift, lifted out the repeating rifle, and run his hands over it like a man touching a lover.

It’s almost worth getting married to a useless aristocrat to own such a fine rifle.

Almost, but not quite.

The memory of Wolfe’s sardonic words made Jessica sigh as she set aside the case and turned to an empty trunk. The top tray came free after a struggle, leaving the rest of the trunk empty. At first she tried to work as Betsy had, putting in each piece as though it were a bit of a very fragile puzzle.

Quickly, Jessica realized that she would still be packing come sundown if she continued working with one item at a time. Besides, none of the items fit together anyway.

She began dumping armload after armload of things into the trunks. By the time she cleaned the wardrobe of shoes and purses and coats, she had filled three trunks with heaps of leather and boxes and cloth. Frowning, she tried to remember if there had been that many trunks full of accessories when Betsy had unpacked.

«I’m sure I had no more than a single trunk, and perhaps part of another that was filled with such things.»

With a sound of exasperation, Jessica heaped more things into two of the already full trunks. When she went to shut them, she found that the trunk lids were stubborn and ill-fitting. The contents were stiff and oddly shaped. No matter how she pushed with her hands, the lids wouldn’t close enough to fasten the hasp.

Finally, she crawled up on each lid in turn and bounced up and down to settle the contents. Only then could she force the top of the trunk to meet the bottom. The instant she climbed down to fasten the hasp, the lid popped up once more. In the end, she had to stay on the lid and struggle upside-down to close the hasps and fit the padlocks. Twice she almost locked the end of her hip-length braid in with the other contents.

«The trunks never behaved this badly for Betsy,» Jessica muttered.

After packing two more trunks, she opened the gold watch that was pinned to her dress, read the time, and frowned. Wolfe would be back at any moment. She wanted to prove she wasn’tauselessaristocrat by being packed and ready to go.

«Soonest begun, soonest ended,» Jessica told herself bracingly, and blew stray wisps of hair away from her flushed face.

She piled the rest of the day dresses on top of the others and began shoving cloth down into the trunk, leaning hard on the resilient material, trying to crush everything down to the size of the trunk. Just before she jumped onto the lid in order to force it shut, she remembered theballgown and the riding clothes. She looked at the trunk she had been jamming clothes into, then at the single remaining trunk she hadn’t yet opened. The trunk beneath her hands was definitely larger.

«Oh, blazes,» Jessica muttered. «The gown will have to go in this trunk.»

Theballgown felt as smooth and weightless as moonlight, but it had yard after yard of material. No matter how she rolled, stuffed, bunched, and punched the dress, she couldn’t get it to stay within the confines of the trunk.

Wearily, Jessica straightened. The sound of a rag picker crying his wares on the street lured her to the window. When she looked out, she saw a tall, familiar shape striding down the street toward the hotel.

Jessica rushed to the trunk, frantically smashed theballgown down, slammed the lid and leaned her weight on it. At first the lid hung up, but it finally managed to swallow all that it had been fed. She fumbled hasp and lock into position, and slammed the padlock shut.

«One left.»

As Jessica straightened and turned toward the remaining trunk, she was hauled up short by a yank on her braid. She glanced over her shoulder. The last third of her hair vanished into the locked trunk. She wrapped her hands around the braid and pulled. Nothing happened. She pulled harder. The hair remained firmly caught. She yanked and then yanked again, but stayed tethered to the trunk.

«Blast and blazes! I’ll have to unlock the confounded thing and do it all over again.»

Then Jessica discovered she couldn’t reach the key ring she had left on the bedside table. Nor could she drag the trunk closer. Pushing seemed to have a better effect. Shoving, panting, Jessica alternated between shoulder and hands as she inched the stubborn trunk closer to the bedside table. One of the trunk’s brassbound corners caught on an irregularity in the wood floor. No matter how she pushed, the trunk didn’t move.

The thought of Wolfe coming in the room and finding her prisoner to one of her own surly trunks gave Jessica a desperate surge of strength. She shoved repeatedly against the top edge of the trunk, trying to jostle it free.

Without warning, the heavy trunk tipped up and rolled over, taking Jessica with it, yanking her off her feet. She gave a startled shriek as she went head over heels and landed on the floor in a tangle of soft blue cloth.

An instant later the door to the suite banged open. Wolfe stood in the doorway looking as dangerous as the long knife in his hand. The steel blade was a stark contrast to his well-cut, dark wool suit and white linen shirt.

«Jessi? Where are you?»

She grimaced but knew there was no escape. «Over here.»

Wolfe stepped into the suite. He glanced in the direction of her voice, saw an upside-down trunk and a tangle of blue cloth, creamy lingerie, and dainty blue shoes. In three long strides he was next to her.

«Are you all right?»

«Just ducky,» she said through her teeth.

«What are you doing on the floor?»

«Packing.»

Wolfe raised black eyebrows. «It’s easier if the trunk is right side up.»

«Bloody hell.»

Wolfe’s eyes followed Jessica’s long red braid to the point where it disappeared into the trunk. He started to say something, but was laughing too hard to speak.

Normally, the sound of his laughter made Jessica smile, but not this time. This time flags of anger and humiliation burned on her cheeks.

«Lord, if you could only see yourself, like a turtle in a net…» Laughter took Wolfe’s voice again.

Jessica lay on the floor and thought longingly of the case and the weapons inside. Unfortunately, they were as out of reach as the key to the padlock.

Snickering, Wolfe sheathed his knife before he reached for Jessica. He took her braid and pulled gently, then with more force. It made no difference. She was well and truly caught.

«The key,» she said distinctly, «is on the bedside table.»

«Don’t go away, elf. I’ll be right back.»

The thought of Jessica going anywhere on her short tether set off another spate of laughter in Wolfe. It seemed like a long time until he sat on his heels next to her and started fitting keys in the lock to find the right one. The fact that he kept laughing at unexpected intervals slowed down the process of freeing her quite a bit.

The third time Wolfe leaned against the trunk, all but helpless with laughter, Jessica snatched the keys from his fingers and opened the padlock herself. She still wasn’t free. She couldn’t open the trunk while it was upside-down. Nor could she right it. She could, however, push her laughing husband over.

And she did.

Still laughing, Wolfe caught himself with feline ease and came to his feet by the trunk. He righted the trunk, pried open the lid, and pulled out the length of red hair.

«Yours, I believe,» he murmured, handing Jessica the braid.

She grabbed it with fingers that shook, wishing the braid was Wolfe’s throat. The look in his eyes told her that he knew just what she was thinking.

«You’re welcome,» he said gravely.

Not trusting herself, Jessica turned and slammed the trunk lid down, locked it once more, and went to the sixth trunk. When she opened it, she saw that it was packed right to the top with curling irons, clothes brushes, flatirons, tissue paper, linens, toiletries…

«Oh, no,» Jessica breathed.

Wolfe took a breath that kept dissolving into laughter. «Problems?»

«I’m missing a trunk.»

He counted the trunks with a lazy, raking glance. Six. «They’re all here.»

«They can’t be.»

«Why?»

«I haven’t packed my riding clothes and all the trunks are full.»

Wolfe shook his head. «Somehow I’m not surprised. Hand me some of that tissue paper.»

«Why?»

«I’ll help you pack.»

«What does tissue paper have to do with packing?» she asked.

Wolfe shot a sideways glance at Jessica. «Tissue paper keeps out the wrinkles.»

«Wrinkles?»

«The things you take out of clothes with a flatiron.»

She blinked. «You do?»

«No.Youdo. Ironing is a wife’s duty. So is washing, drying, and folding the clothes.»