Lee's heart filled with a weighty despair. She had tried so hard not to love him, but part of her was deeply in love and that part would never forgive him. She told herself it was better this way, better he was gone and she could go on with the life laid out for her.

Crumbling the note in her hand, she swallowed past the tight knot in her throat and ignored the sting of tears. Caleb was gone. That part of her life was over.

Vermillion tossed the paper into the waste bin and vowed not to think of Caleb Tanner again.


The afternoon slipped past and the hour grew late. The moon slid away, disappearing behind a cover of dense black clouds that boded rain. A heavy mist hung over the earth, dampening the long black woolen cloak draped over the woman's shoulders. Beneath the hood, her hair was damp, and fine strands clung to the nape of her slender neck.

She didn't like being out on a night like this. As she walked the narrow path toward the village, every shadow seemed a villainous creature ready to spring out of the darkness, and the damp, spongy ground distorted the sounds in the inky night.

It didn't matter. She had to see him. He would expect her to have something for him by now and she didn't want to fail him.

They were meeting at their usual place in the village, a small attic room above the Red Boar Inn. They never spoke at the house. It was too dangerous, he said, people might see them. It didn't matter. She didn't mind slipping away, even on a night like this. Not for him. And here she didn't have to share him.

He was waiting as she climbed the outside stairs along a shadowy wall protected by dense gray-green ivy. Standing in the darkness lit only by a single tallow candle, he was as attractive as he had been the first time she had seen him, more so with each passing year. His eyes ran over her, surveying her from head to foot, and she smiled at the gleam of interest that appeared in his eyes.

"You look extremely fetching tonight, my sweet."

She blushed and smiled, pleased that he seemed to approve of the new blue muslin gown she'd had made with the money he had given her the last time they were together.

He eased back the hood of her cloak, then pulled the drawstring and removed the wet garment, draped it over the back of a wooden chair.

"The gown suits you. It brings out the color of your eyes." The room was small and stark, with only a slatted bed and nightstand, a dresser with a chipped basin and pitcher, and the lone wooden chair. Perhaps that was the reason his elegant figure seemed such a powerful force.

"I 'ave learned something," she said with her soft French accent. "It may be important. I knew you would wish to 'ear it as soon as it could be arranged."

He moved closer, till she could smell a hint of brandy on his breath and his expensive cologne. "I thought perhaps you had simply missed me." His hands were encased in butter soft kidskin. He tugged on the end of each finger, slowly removing the gloves, then he tossed them onto the seat of the chair. "I was hoping you might wish to continue where we left off the last time we were here."

The last time they were there. A little thrill went through her. She hadn't forgotten. She never forgot the brief hours she'd spent with him. "I always wish to be with you. It 'as been far too long since we are together."

He reached up and stroked her cheek and her insides trembled. All he had to do was look at her and she melted a little inside. His hand encircled the nape of her neck, drew her toward him. He reached out, cupped one of her breasts, squeezed it, gently at first, then harder, just to the point of pleasure-pain.

She sucked in a breath, unconsciously tried to draw away, but he pulled her back and his touch turned gentle. He stroked her nipple through the bodice of her gown and pleasure washed over her again.

"What have you brought me?"

She told him what she had learned, knew by the slight curl of his lips that she had pleased him. She knew the taste of those lips, knew the feel of them moving over her body, knew the sweet, unbearable excitement they could bring.

But first she would give to him. He had come to expect that now and she would never disappoint him. When he rested his hands on her shoulders and gently urged her down, she knelt in front of him. She waited while he opened the front of his breeches and freed himself, admired the length of him, the hardness that would soon be inside her.

She knew exactly how to please him. She felt his fingers on the back of her neck, holding her immobile as she took him into her mouth. She had told him something of value and in return for her loyalty, soon he would make her his.

Once this was over and his job was complete, they would go away together, leave this country, travel to a place they could live together in luxury and peace.

She thought of those things as his body tightened and he spilled his seed, then drew her to her feet. He brought her hand to his lips, then led her over to the bed. Soon he would be ready to make love again and if he used her a little roughly she didn't care. As long as she could be with him, she would give him anything he wanted.

And he would see to her pleasure as well.

"Tell me," he commanded. "Say it." Reaching out, he cupped her breast, massaged the fullness, pinched the end.

She told him what every man wanted to hear and especially this one, that he was what she needed, fully aroused and embedded deeply inside her. The words seemed to please him. It was always better when she pleased him, and it seemed she had done so tonight.

He took her hand, pressed it against the front of his breeches, and she could tell that he was hard. A little shiver went through her as she turned her back so that he could help her remove her gown, then he paused to remove his own clothes.

Soon you will be mine, she thought, enjoying the sight of him naked. Soon I will have you all to myself. She smiled as he drew her down on the bed, leaned over, and kissed her. Sliding himself inside her, he slowly began to move.


Four days had passed since Caleb had left. As he had promised in his emotionless note, Jacob Boswell had returned that same day to resume his job as trainer and groom. In the time that had passed, Lee had become surprisingly adept at banning Caleb Tanner from her thoughts.

As angry as she was at his callous departure, she could scarcely fault him for his lack of feelings. He had never spoken of love nor even mere affection. He had wanted her, nothing more. It was a simple case of lust.

Lee wished she had been able to keep her own emotions as carefully contained. Instead, on the rare occasion she allowed herself to think of him, she felt a sharp sting of longing. She reminded herself she had known from the start her time with Caleb would be brief. If the unlikely circumstance occurred that she found herself with child, she would manage without him. That also, she had known.

At least he hadn't lied to her.

She thought of the women in the house on Buford Street, all of them abandoned by men who professed to love them. And, of course, there was her mother.

Though Vermillion could barely recall her face, she knew her mother had suffered from abandonment and shame. Angelique Durant, the daughter of a courtesan, had fallen hopelessly in love with a nobleman. The man, heir to one of the most powerful titles in England, had rashly spoken of marriage, and Angelique had been foolish enough to believe him. When she learned of his betrothal to another woman, she had been devastated.

One of Lee's few early memories was of her mother sitting on a bench in the garden, sobbing uncontrollably. Years later, Aunt Gabby had explained that an article had appeared in the Times that day, announcing the birth of a son to Robert Leland Montague, Marquess of Kinleigh.

Kinleigh. The man who was Vermillion's father.

Seated on a stool in the music room, Lee lovingly plucked the strings of a gilded harp, evoking the chords of a melancholy song. As she rested her cheek against the finely curved wood, she thought of her mother and began to feel grateful that Caleb was gone.

It was over between them. She had lost a piece of her heart, but not all. She wasn't an innocent any longer and making it known to Lord Nash that it was he she intended to choose the night of her birthday would be far easier now.

"Excuse me, Miss."

Her hands went still. She looked up to see the butler in the doorway.

"Terribly sorry to disturb you, Miss, but your Aunt Gabriella wishes to see you in the Green Drawing Room."

"Thank you, Jones." Tilting the harp back onto its base, Vermillion rose from her stool and started across the library toward the door. In a simple apricot muslin gown and wearing only a hint of rouge, she wasn't dressed for visitors and there was every chance her aunt would be in company with someone.

Then again, it was the middle of the day. Surely, her appearance would be suitable enough.

Making her way along the hall, she heard the husky ring of male voices and again considered a change of attire. But something had happened to her in the past few weeks since she had met Caleb, and she was beginning to feel more comfortable in her own clothes, her own skin. She waited while Jones slid open the drawing-room door, then drew in a steadying breath, pasted on a smile, and walked in.

As she had guessed, her aunt was not alone. There were two uniformed British officers seated across from her, men in scarlet tunics laden with heavy gold braid. Their breeches were navy blue, as well as the cuffs on their immaculate, perfectly tailored scarlet jackets, and tall Hessian boots gleamed in the sunlight coming through the mullioned windows.