Jamie's and Malcolm's faces were a collage of freckles, their sisters' only marginally less affected. His memory of the witch's complexion was of ivory cream, unblemished except for a dusting of freckles over her pert nose. He'd have to check when next he saw her; despite his wish to hasten that event, he made no mention of her. With no idea who she was-where she stood in relation to the family-he was too wise to mention their meeting, or express any interest in others who might be present.

Languidly, he rose, causing a nervous flutter among the ladies.

Jamie immediately rose, too. "Is there anything we can get you? I mean-anything you might need?"

While struggling to strike the right note as head of the family, Jamie had an openness of which Richard approved; he smiled lazily down at him. "No, thank you. I have all I need:" Bar an elusive witch.

With an easy smile and his usual faultless grace, he excused himself and withdrew to his room to refresh himself before luncheon.

Richard did not set eyes on his witch until that evening, when she glided into the drawing room, immediately preceding the butler. As that venerable individual intoned the words "Dinner is served," she swept the gathering with a calm and distant smile-until she came to him, standing beside Mary's chair.

Her smile died-stunned astonishment took its place.

Slowly, with deliberate intent, Richard smiled back.

For one quivering instant, her stunned silence held sway, then Jamie stepped forward. "Ah… Catriona, this is Mr. Cynster. He's been summoned for the reading of the will."

Deserting his face, she fixed her gaze on Jamie's. "He has?" Her tone conveyed much more than a simple question.

Jamie shuffled and shot an apologetic glance at Richard. "Da''s first wife made him a bequest. Da' held it until now."

Frowning, she opened her lips to quiz Jamie. Having silently prowled closer, Richard took her hand-she jumped and tried to snatch it back, but he didn't let go.

"Good evening, Miss…" Richard slanted a questioning glance at Jamie.

Instead, his witch answered, in tones colder than ice. "Miss Hennessy."

Again, she surreptitiously tugged, trying to free her hand; Richard unhurriedly brought his gaze to her face, waited until she looked up, trapped her eyes with his, then smoothly raised her hand. "A pleasure," he purred. Slowly, deliberately, he brushed her knuckles with his lips-and felt the shiver of awareness that raced through her-the shiver she couldn't hide. His smile deepened. "Miss Hennessy."

The look she sent him should have laid him out dead on the Aubusson rug; Richard merely lifted a brow, deliberately arrogant, deliberately provocative. And held onto her hand, and her gaze. "What Jamie is understandably hesitant over explaining, Miss Hennessy, is that Mr. McEnery's first wife was my mother."

Still frowning, she glanced at Jamie, who colored. "Your…?" Understanding dawned; she looked back at him. "Oh." The veriest hint of pink tinged her ivory cheeks. "I see."

There was, to Richard's surprise, no hint of condemnation, or consternation, in her voice-she didn't even yank her hand away, as he'd fully expected; her slim fingers lay quiescent in his grasp. Her eyes searched his, then she inclined her head, coldly gracious, the action clearly signifying her understanding, and a regal agreement to his right to be present. There was no suggestion in any element of her bearing that she was perturbed at learning he was a bastard.

In all his years, Richard had never met with such calm acceptance.

"Catriona is my father's-" Jamie broke off and cleared his throat. "Actually, my ward."

"Ah." Richard smiled urbanely at Catriona. "That explains her presence, then."

He fielded another of her lethal glances, but before he could respond, Mary bustled up and claimed Jamie's arm.

"If you could lead Catriona in, Mr. Cynster?"

With Jamie in tow, Mary led the way; entirely content, Richard placed the intriguing Miss Hennessey's hand on his sleeve and elegantly steered her in their wake.

She glided beside him, a galleon fully armed, queenly detachment hanging about her like a cloak. As they left the drawing room, Richard noted that the older woman had also appeared; she had been standing near the door.

"The lady who accompanies you?"

There was a palpable hesitation, then she elected to answer. "Miss O'Rourke is my companion."

The dining room lay across the cavernous hall; Richard led his fair charge to the chair beside Jamie, at the table's head, then, at Jamie's intimation, took the seat opposite, on Jamie's right. The rest of the family and Miss O'Rourke took their places. The room was large, the table long; the distance between the diners was enough to discourage those conversations not already dampened by the atmosphere. Despite the blaze roaring in the hearth, it was chilly; a sense of long-standing austerity hung over the room.

"Could you pass the condiments?"

With that the limit of conversation, as the courses came and went, Richard used the time to indulge his curiosity about Seamus McEnery. With no other avenue available, he studied Seamus's house, his household, his family, for what insights they could offer of the man.

A cursory inspection of those he'd met earlier told him little more; they were, one and all, meek, mild, self-effacing, their very timidity a comment on Seamus and how he'd reared his children. Miss O'Rourke had an interesting face, deeply lined and unusually weathered for a gentlewoman's; Richard didn't need to study it for long to know she distrusted him deeply. The fact did not perturb him; companions of beautiful ladies generally distrusted him on sight. Which left-Catriona Hennessy.

She was, without doubt, the most interesting body in the room. In a gown of deep lavender silk, with her lustrous locks-neither gold nor plain red, but true copper-piled high on her head, tendrils escaping to frame her face in flames, the round neckline of her gown scooped low enough to give a fair indication of the bounty beneath, her shoulders and arms sweetly turned and encased in skin like ivory satin, she was a sight designed for lecherous eyes.

Richard looked his fill. Her face was a delicate oval, with a straight, little nose and a smooth, wide brow. Her brows and lashes were light brown, framing eyes of vibrant green-something he hadn't been able to see in the moonlight, although he did recall how the gold flecks within the green had flared with indignation. He felt sure they would blaze in anger-and smolder with passion. Her only less-than-perfect feature was her chin; that, Richard considered, was a touch too firm, too determined. Too self-willed. She was of below average height, petite and slender, yet her figure, though sleek and supple, was not boyish. Indeed not. Her figure made his palms itch.

Unrestrained by the usual demands of polite dinner conversation, he surreptitiously let his gaze feast. Only when the desserts were set before them did he sit back and let his social senses take stock. Only then did he notice that while the others occasionally exchanged idle glances and the odd desultory comment, none looked at him, or at Catriona. Indeed, with the sole exception of the silent but watchful, and disapproving, Miss O'Rourke, they all kept their gazes carefully averted, as if fearful of drawing his attention. Only Jamie interacted with either Catriona or himself, and then only stiltedly, when need arose.

Curious, Richard tried to catch Malcolm's eye, and failed; the youth seemed, if anything, to sink further into his chair. Glancing at Catriona, Richard saw her look up and scan the table; everyone took care not to meet her gaze. Unperturbed, she patted her lips with her napkin. Richard focused on the soft pink curves, and remembered, with startling clarity, precisely how they tasted.

Shaking aside the memory, he inwardly shook his head. Apparently Seamus's family were so trenchantly timid, they were moved to treat both Catriona and himself like potentially dangerous animals who might bite if provoked.

Which definitely said something about his witch.

Maybe she really was a witch?

That thought provoked others-like what a witch would be like in bed; he was deep in salacious imaginings when Jamie nervously cleared his throat and turned to Catriona.

"Actually, Catriona, I've been thinking that, now Da"s gone and you'll be my ward, that it really would be better-more fitting, I mean-if you were to come and live here."

Caught in the act of swallowing a spoonful of trifle, Catriona stilled, then swallowed, laid down her spoon, and looked directly at Jamie.

"With us, the family," he hurried on "It must be very lonely at the vale all by yourself."

Catriona's expression grew stern, her green eyes held Jamie's. "Your father thought the same, if you recall?"

It was immediately clear everyone at the table, bar Richard, did; a communal shudder passed around the room, even including the footmen, silent by the walls.

"Luckily," Catriona went on, her gaze still locked with Jamie's, "Seamus thought better of it, and allowed me to live as The Lady wishes, at the manor." She paused, eyes steady, giving everyone time to feel the weight behind her words. Then she raised her brows. "Do you truly wish to set your will against that of The Lady?"

Jamie blanched. "No, no! We just thought you might like to…"He gestured vaguely.

Catriona looked down and picked up her spoon. "I'm perfectly content at the manor."

The matter was closed. Jamie exchanged a glance with Mary at the other end of the table; she shrugged lightly and grimaced. Other members of the family shot quick glances at Catriona, then rapidly looked away.