"I hope Vermillion will be all right," Gabriella said fretfully. "Perhaps after the captain leaves, she should move back in here for a while."

"She's in love with Tanner, you know."

Gabriella rolled her pretty blue eyes. "Don't be ridiculous." He noticed fine lines in the corners, knew how much she feared getting older, though to him she remained as lovely as she was the first time he had seen her.

"I'm afraid it's true. As much as you might wish your niece were more like you, she is different."

"She's infatuated with him. I don't believe she is in love with him. And if she were, how would you possibly know?"

Dylan gave her a tender smile. "I know, my love, because Lee looks at Caleb the way I look at you."


The evening was dark, the cobbled street slick with mist. On the corner, the sign for Wilton Street creaked in the wind sweeping in off the Thames. Somewhere in the distance, Lee heard the clatter of carriage wheels. Inside her suite at the Purley, Caleb sprawled in the comfortable bed across the way, naked beneath the sheet and sleeping soundly.

Lee glanced at the mound formed by his big body and thought of the hours they had spent making love, the several times he had brought her to fulfillment. Caleb was a skillful, considerate, extremely passionate lover, the sort of man her aunt would have wanted her to choose. He was kind and caring, solicitous of her wishes, and wildly protective of her.

He would have been the perfect choice—if she just hadn't fallen in love with him.

Her heart twisted painfully at the thought. How much longer did they have? Weeks? Months? Whatever time it was, it wouldn't be enough. She was deeply in love with him. She had never thought it would happen, worked to guard her heart, but it had happened just the same. She was in love with Caleb Tanner and more than anything in the world, she wanted him to love her in return.

I would marry you, Lee.

For an instant when he had said the words, her heart had simply turned over. But marriage had nothing at all to do with love—she knew that far better than most—and Caleb had spoken out of duty, a sense of responsibility that was completely and utterly Caleb and had nothing at all to do with whatever he might feel for her.

She told herself not to think about it and most of the time she succeeded. But not tonight.

Lee returned to her vigil at the window, gazing down at the mist-slick streets, wishing there was a way to change the way she felt, wishing Caleb didn't have to leave, wishing any number of things that hadn't the remotest chance of coming true.

The notion weighed her down and a feeling of hopelessness settled over her. Tired for the first time that night, she started to turn away from the window and return to bed when a movement below caught her eye.

In the shadows at the side of the building next to the hotel, she spotted the figure of a man. He was staring upward, toward the very place where she stood by the window, illuminated by the glow of a single burning candle.

Stepping back behind the curtain, she told herself she was mistaken, that the man was simply passing along the street and his presence had nothing to do with her, but an icy wariness trickled down her spine.

Lee blew out the candle. In the darkness, she inched nearer the window, looked down where the man had been standing, but there was no one there.

She should have been relieved that he was gone. She wasn't quite sure why she was not.


It was the afternoon of the following day that Lee returned to the house in Buford Street. Instructing the coachman to await her return, she waved a greeting to Helen Wilson, who stood on the front porch beside the open door. It was Lee's second visit to the house this week, but Helen's son, two-year-old Robbie, had come down with a pleurisy, an inflammation of the chest that kept him coughing all night, and Lee had returned to see if he had improved.

"I'm afraid he's the same," Helen said, her plump face lined with worry as she closed the door behind them. "He coughs and coughs. I'm just so worried about him."

"You mustn't fret, Helen. I stopped at the apothecary shop in Craven Street where my aunt usually trades. Mr. Dunworthy says there is some sort of illness going round. He says it is nothing to worry about. He sent some powdered mustard for a poultice along with these herbs." She handed Helen a small muslin bag. "It's a mixture of horehound, rue, and hyssop, combined with licorice and marshmallow roots. You're to place the herbs in a quart of water, boil it down to a pint, strain off the liquid, and give Robbie half a teaspoon of it every two hours."

Helen took the items with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Lee. It's hard when you're a mother. You worry about them constantly."

"I know it must be frightening whenever your child falls ill, but Mr. Dunworthy says he's seen a number of children lately with the same affliction and it doesn't last very long." She walked over to where the child lay sleeping beneath a soft woolen blanket on the sofa, his fat cheeks a little rosier than they should have been. "Is he running a fever, do you think?"

"I think he might be."

"Mr. Dunworthy says that's to be expected. He says the sickness seems to last about a week. Robbie should be better by then. Send word to me if he isn't and I'll get a physician to come round."

Helen took her hand. "You've a good heart, Lee. You always seem to be here when we need you. You'll never know how much your friendship has meant to me—to all of us." In a spontaneous moment, Helen leaned over and hugged her.

"You all mean a great deal to me as well."

Annie walked into the room just then. There were only four women now in the house and though it should have made things easier, Mary's presence was sorely missed.

" 'Ave ye any news of poor Mary? 'Ave they found the bloke what kilt 'er?"

"I'm sorry, Annie. There is nothing new to report. It seems there has been very little progress made in solving the crime. It's as if the man who killed her simply disappeared."

"We heard about that other woman who was killed," Helen said, "the other maid from Parklands… Miss LeCroix? Do you think their deaths were connected?" Marie's death had been reported as a small item in the London papers, but no link between the two murdered women was mentioned.

"I really don't know, Helen." That was the truth—she didn't know for sure, though she believed there was a very good chance there was. "All I can say is I hope they catch whoever is responsible."

"And 'ang the bloody bastard," Annie grumbled.

Lee made no comment since she staunchly agreed.

She didn't stay long, just made a last check of little Robbie and bid the ladies farewell. The women had sewing that needed to be done and Lee had other errands to run. As she made her way out to the carriage, she was thinking of the stop she needed to make at the dress shop for a final fitting of her new clothes when she spotted Andrew Mondale standing next to the rear wheel of the carriage.

"Lord Andrew—what a coincidence. Whatever are you doing here?" Mondale's snappy red high-perch phaeton, she saw, was parked directly behind the carriage that Caleb had provided for her use.

"I wanted to see you. I thought we needed to talk."

She frowned. "Then this isn't mere chance. How did you know where to find me, Andrew?" A memory returned of the man in the shadows. She thought of the late night vigil that Lord Andrew must have been keeping outside her bedchamber and her temper went up. "Have you been following me? Tell me you haven't been spying on me, Andrew."

Andrew sauntered toward her. Dressed more soberly than usual, in a dark blue tailcoat and silver waistcoat, he looked less foppish, older than the young man he often appeared.

"I told you I wanted to see you. I want to know what Tanner did to convince you to become his mistress." He stopped just in front of her. "You scarcely knew the man, Vermillion. Were you really so enthralled? Or was it something else? Money, perhaps? Jewelry? What was it, pet? What could Tanner give you that I could not?"

She lifted her chin, tried to think like Vermillion but it was getting harder and harder to do. "I chose Captain Tanner because he was interested in the woman I am inside and not some façade that my aunt created. Now, if you will excuse me…"

Heading toward the door of the carriage the coachman held open, she tried to brush past him, but Andrew caught her arm.

"Not so fast, my sweet. I won't be brushed off like a piece of lint on the hem of your skirt. I spent weeks courting you, Vermillion. We both know what you promised to deliver and sooner or later I intend to collect."

She didn't like the way he was looking at her, his mouth hard-set and his shoulders rigid. "I'm sorry if you were disappointed, Andrew, but you knew the game we were playing. Someone had to lose."

His mouth barely curved. "But the game goes on, doesn't it, pet—once Captain Tanner is gone." He reached out and touched a strand of her hair that had escaped from her bonnet, coiled it around his finger and tugged on the end. "This time I intend to be the winner."

Lee said nothing. For an instant, she was afraid of Andrew Mondale.

Then he smiled and let go of her hair. He swept her a bow, and his usual carefree demeanor returned. "Think of me, pet, when you are ready to play the game again."

And then he was gone.

More shaken than she should have been, Lee climbed into the carriage and leaned back against the seat. She thought of telling Caleb about the encounter but changed her mind.

Mondale was her concern, not Caleb's. And even if Lord Andrew became a problem, that wouldn't happen until Caleb had returned to Spain.