She smiled up at the colonel. "Perhaps we could continue our discussion on the terrace? It's getting a little stuffy in here."

The colonel's eyes heated up. She hoped she could keep him in line long enough to ferret out any information he might have.

"Splendid idea, my dear." He started guiding her toward the French doors leading outside just as Caleb walked up.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Colonel, but I believe your aide, Lieutenant Oxley, is looking for you. It seems to be a matter of some importance."

"Thank you, Captain." He turned to Vermillion. "I'm terribly sorry, my dear, but duty calls."

She gave him a smile of regret. "I understand completely. Perhaps a little later… ?"

"Certainly, my dear." The colonel made a very proper bow. "I shall return to you the first instant I am able."

The moment Wingate turned away, Caleb gripped her arm and propelled her none too gently through the French doors out onto the terrace.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Hard dark eyes bored into her. "Or have you already forgotten that I am the man who spent a portion of last night in your bed?"

She planted her hands on her hips, her irritation beginning to build. "I haven't forgot anything—more's the pity. What I'm doing—as it appears you have already forgot—is trying to help you."

"Help me? You think throwing yourself at Wingate is helping me?"

A sudden suspicion hit her. "Oxley isn't looking for the colonel, is he? You just made that up."

A satisfied smile curved his lips. "Maybe the walk will cool his ardor."

Lee rolled her eyes. Men. "Wingate knows a lot about the war, Caleb. I'm trying to discover if his loyalties are not what they seem. You did ask for my help, whether you remember it or not."

"Not that kind of help, dammit."

"Can't you see? I know these men. I might uncover something useful."

"Forget it. In case you haven't figured it out, there is every chance your friend Mary Goodhouse wound up dead because of something she learned while she worked at Parklands. I don't want that happening to you."

"Good Lord—you think that's what happened? That Mary was killed because she knew something about the traitor? You think the traitor killed her?"

"Him or someone he hired. She was working here before she moved to the city. She could have overheard something she shouldn't have."

Lee settled back against the rough brick wall, suddenly needing the support. "If that is the case, then you must let me help you. Mary was my friend. I want to see her murderer captured and brought to justice."

Caleb caught her shoulders. "Listen to me, Lee. This isn't a game we're playing. If we're going to catch whoever is in league with the French, we have to be very, very careful."

She thought of Mary, strangled and dumped into the river, and a shiver crept down her spine. "I can certainly see your point."

"Does that mean you'll stay out of this, let Major Sutton and me handle things?"

"Surely there is some way I can help."

"You can keep your eyes and ears open. Watch the servants. Listen to the household gossip. If you notice anything suspicious, come to me."

She nodded. "All right." But she wasn't about to abandon her quest. She had ways of getting information that Caleb Tanner simply did not have. She saw his eyes move down to the soft flesh swelling out the front of her gown.

You see, Caleb Tanner. This is one job you simply are not equipped to handle.

"You'd better go back in," he said, but his eyes said he wanted her to stay, that he would very much like to do something far more exciting than return to the stuffy drawing room, something like what they had done in her room the night before.

"I suppose I should." But she didn't want to leave. She wanted to do exactly what they had done last night and it made her recall the offer he had made to act as her protector. It wasn't going to happen. He would be leaving soon and she would be left alone, facing the same uncertain future that she was facing now.

Whatever she decided, at present she had more important problems. She needed to concentrate on how she was going to help catch a traitor.


Elizabeth stood in the shadows cast by the torches on the far end of the terrace. In the past ten years, she had attended so many parties like this one she had long ago lost count. In truth, tonight she would rather have stayed home with her boys, Peter and Tom, but Charles hadn't been dressed to go out, so she thought he meant to stay at the house and that meant she was the one who had to leave.

Now he was here, looking so handsome it made her heart squeeze every time she happened to catch a glimpse of him. She told herself to leave, to return to Rotham Hall, forget Charles and his search for a new mistress, but some demon masochistic force seemed to hold her there.

"I thought I saw you walk out here."

She turned at the unexpected sound of his voice. "Charles…" She hadn't heard his approach, though she should have. She knew the rhythm of his footfalls as if they were her own, had listened for them returning up the stairs night after night for the past ten years.

"Beautiful evening, isn't it?"

She moistened her lips, which felt parchment dry. "Yes… yes, it's lovely."

"I thought perhaps you were going to stay home tonight. You mentioned something of the sort to Matilda." The housekeeper, a longtime family retainer who had become a confidant of sorts.

Her stomach tightened. He hadn't known she would be here, of course, or he wouldn't have come. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interfere with your evening. I had thought to stay home, but since it appeared that was your intention, I assumed it would be best if I went out."

"The house is quite large. As I said before, there is room enough for us both. You didn't have to leave just because I was there."

She frowned. This wasn't making any sense. "I'm afraid I don't understand. If you were planning to stay home, why are you here?"

"Because you are here, Beth."

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. "Wh-what are you talking about?"

"I know it's too soon, that I should wait, give you a chance to get to know me again, but it's agony, Beth. Watching you, wishing things were different. I'm talking about a reconciliation. I'm not the same man I was ten years ago. I don't believe you're the same woman. I want us to try again."

Disbelief mingled with fear and both of them coursed through her. It had taken years to get over the pain of losing the man she had fallen so deeply in love with. She couldn't survive that kind of pain again.

"I don't… I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

Because if we try, I'll start loving you again. Because if I lost you a second time, I couldn't bear it. "Because too many years have passed, Charles. There's too much water under the bridge."

"Is there someone else? I rather thought… you haven't seemed interested in anyone for quite some time. I imagined that perhaps…"

"Perhaps what, Charles?"

"That perhaps you might come to feel some affection for me. You did once… all those years ago. I was too arrogant, too wrapped up in myself to understand the gift you were offering me. I'm older now. I realize how precious that gift is. I wouldn't throw it away again."

Elizabeth swallowed. She couldn't stay out here with him a moment more. She couldn't bear to listen to another of his softly spoken words. If she did, she might weaken and she simply could not do that.

"I-I have to go in. Gabriella needs my help with the entertainment. If you'll excuse me, Charles—" She tried to walk past, but he caught her arm.

"Think about it, Beth. That's all I ask."

He let her go and she started walking, her legs trembling, hurrying as fast as she dared back to the safety of the house. She didn't look at Charles. Not once. She was afraid of what might happen if she did.


The party was winding down. Most of the servants had been dismissed or retired to their beds. In an intimate drawing room at the rear of the house, Gabriella Durant's laughter drifted through the hallways as she entertained her last few guests. Likely, she would keep them company for several more hours at least.

The house was mostly dark. The woman glanced around, stepped out of her third floor room and started down the hall. The servants' stairs were empty, most of the household asleep. She slipped out into the second-floor corridor, bare feet padding on the polished wooden floor. She knew which room was his, knew he would be there sleeping in the big room next to the mistress's extravagant suite, a quiet, airy room with a large, comfortable bed and a view out over the garden.

She shouldn't go to him here, she knew, but she wanted to see him. Needed to see him.

She knew he would be angry at first, but she would explain how careful she had been, that no one had seen her leave her room; and she would please him, give him the kind of pleasure that would make him forgive her small indiscretion.

She tapped on the door, then turned the knob, found it unlocked. She wouldn't need the skeleton key she had taken from the pantry. She slipped inside and closed the door, jumped a little when she heard the sound of his husky voice.

"What are you doing in here? You know better than to come here." The sheets rustled as he sat up in the wide, carved bed. "You know how disastrous it would be if we were discovered."

She moved silently toward the bed, saw him toss back the sheet, swing his legs to the side of the mattress, plant his feet on the floor.

"Please, mon cher … do not be angry. I 'ad to see you. I 'ave missed you. Let me show you 'ow much."