Nestled like a precious gem in the rolling green fields of Sussex, three stories high and constructed of creamy yellow Cotswold stone, the huge house dominated the landscape for miles around.

Kinleigh. Caleb hadn't been there in years, but he had never forgot the beauty of the home constructed by the Marquess's ancestors sometime during the seventeenth century. The entry was high, the ceiling vaulted and crisscrossed by heavy beams. The walls were paneled with different types of wood carved in idyllic country scenes and the windows near the top were fashioned of brightly colored stained glass.

As Caleb followed the stately, gray-haired butler across polished wooden floors inlaid in delicate patterns, down a wide corridor lit by gilded sconces to the room where the marquess would receive him, he thought of the man who owned the house, a longtime acquaintance of his father's, and wondered what he would say about the news Caleb had come to deliver.

The butler paused in the doorway to announce him. "Captain Tanner, my lord."

Caleb walked past him into an elegant drawing room done in black and gold. The butler backed out of the room, sliding the doors closed behind him. The marquess stood a few feet away, gray-haired and smiling, a kind man, Caleb had always thought him. But a kind man wouldn't have abandoned a young woman and her unborn child.

"Caleb, my boy! It's good to see you. How long has it been?"

"Nearly five years, I believe, my lord. I was here on the occasion of your son Bronson's twenty-third birthday."

"Yes, yes. I remember it well. Quite an evening, as I recall. I believe my son paid the price for that night for several days thereafter."

He chuckled, remembering Bronson's overindulgence that night. "How is he?"

"Fine. Beginning to think of marriage at last. I believe I have finally convinced him 'tis past time he wed and began to think of providing an heir."

"And Aaron? How does your younger son fare?"

Kinleigh sighed. "The boy is a handful. Spoiled rotten, just like most of his friends. But he fares well enough, I suppose."

Caleb digested this bit of news. If memory served, Aaron Montague was perhaps fifteen. Luc had once hinted at the younger boy's willful nature. Apparently it was true.

"Your father keeps me informed of your travels," the marquess continued. "It's unfortunate we don't see each other more often." Kinleigh walked toward an ornate black lacquer sideboard resting against a gold-flocked wall.

"According to Lucas, Father has been winning a number of races, which always makes him happy. Unfortunately, my assignment in London has kept me from paying him a call. I hope to journey to Selhurst the end of the week."

"Give him my regards, will you?"

"Yes, sir. I'd be more than happy to do that."

"Would you care for a drink? Brandy, perhaps or something else?"

"No, sir. Thank you."

"You won't mind if I have a glass, will you? Something tells me the reason for your visit isn't simply to renew an old acquaintance." The marquess poured himself a brandy, motioned Caleb over to the sofa, then sat down in a gold brocade chair across from him.

"All right, Captain Tanner, what can I do for you?"

Caleb shifted on the sofa. "I'm not exactly certain where to begin, your lordship. Let me start by saying I've discovered information you may find interesting. I can't be certain, however. There is every chance you already know, but I had to find out and so I am here."

Kinleigh took a sip of his brandy. "Go on."

"I realize you have two very healthy sons. The fact is, Lord Kinleigh, you also have a daughter."

The marquess straightened in his chair. "That is preposterous. Whoever told you that is lying. My late wife and I were together for more than ten years before she died. I never cheated on her. Not once. As to my more recent needs—"

"She is just turned nineteen, your lordship. Her mother was a woman named Angelique Durant. I believe the two of you were acquainted before your marriage to Lady Kinleigh."

The marquess's face went utterly pale. All the bravado seeped from his body and he sank more deeply into his chair.

"It can't be true. Angelique would have told me."

"From what I've learned, she discovered your betrothal to Lady Sarah Wickham, the woman you later wed. Angelique must have decided to keep her secret. She died when the little girl was four years old."

Kinleigh sat unmoving. A fine tremor shook the hand that held the brandy. "Perhaps the girl is mistaken. Perhaps her father is someone else."

"I don't think so, sir. She carries the same mark your son Bronson carries on his shoulder. I remembered seeing it when we were at Oxford together. When I pressed her about the mark, she admitted that you were her father. She told me the story of her mother and how much Angelique loved you."

Something flickered in the Marquess's eyes. He looked years older than he had when Caleb walked into the room. "If my Angel had a daughter… if what you are saying is true…" He shook his head. "Dear God, what have I done?"

His gaze fixed on the glass of brandy he gripped in his hand. He stared into the amber liquid as if it were a door leading into the past.

"I loved her so much. I knew about Angelique's mother, of course, Simone Durant. Everyone did. But Angel wasn't like that. She was sweet and gentle. She didn't want that sort of life. More than anything in the world, she wanted a husband and family."

"How did the two of you meet?" Caleb gently prodded.

"Simone owned a number of different estates. She was wealthy by then. One of her properties was a small manor house next to an estate my father owned in Kent. The Durant women spent time there in the summers. It was purely by chance that I met her daughter that day down by the stream."

His hand trembled and brandy sloshed up on the side of the glass. "Angelique Durant was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen. Long red hair and the prettiest smile… this deep, warm sort of laughter. She had tied up her skirt that day and was wading barefoot in the water. I was enchanted. I fell in love with her the first moment I saw her." He glanced up and there were tears in his eyes. "And I will love her until the day I die."

Caleb looked away from the pain in the marquess's face.

Kinleigh's voice turned rough as he went on. "When my family found out I'd been seeing her, they were horrified. I was young but already a widower with a two-year-old son. The scandal would ruin the family, they said, ruin Bronson's life as well as my own. I didn't want to listen. I wanted Angelique. She was all I ever wanted. But I had Bronson's future to consider. In the end, I gave in to the pressure. I married Sarah—and regretted it the rest of my life."

The marquess looked up. "I never cheated on Sarah. The only woman I ever wanted was Angelique and I could not have her." The marquess struggled to collect himself and Caleb couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

"If you loved Angelique as you say," Caleb said gently, "there is something you can do to make amends. You can see to the future of your daughter."

Kinleigh stared off toward the window. "Tell me about her."

Lee's image appeared in his mind and Caleb felt the pull of a smile. "She is lovely, as you say her mother was, with the same fiery hair and sunny smile. She is independent in the extreme, with money of her own, and an education some men would envy. She plays the harp like an angel, she loves horse racing and manages her own small stable—and she rides like the wind." Once Caleb started talking, he couldn't seem to stop. "She never puts herself above anyone else. She thinks of her servants as friends and cares for a number of those less fortunate. Simply put, your daughter, sir, is quite unique."

The marquess watched him closely. "It's obvious you care for the girl. What is it you aren't telling me?"

Caleb's stomach knotted. This was the part of the story he dreaded. "She's a Durant, my lord. After her mother died, she was raised to follow in that tradition."

One of his silver eyebrows shot up. "Are you telling me my daughter is a courtesan?"

"No, sir." He cleared his throat. "The only man who has ever touched her… is me." Briefly he explained the mistake that had resulted in his daughter's loss of virtue. "If you want me to wed her, I will, but—"

"But? You tell me you have seduced my daughter and then seek excuses not to marry her?"

"My life is the army, sir. You know that as well as I do. And you also understand what that means. I'll be returning to duty in Spain in ten more days. The battlefield is hardly the place for a lady. I want your daughter to be happy. With me, I'm not certain she ever would be. Aside from that, I'm not the least bit certain she would agree. Vermillion doesn't much believe in marriage. I think you can understand why."

He flushed, color creeping into the gray at his temples. "Vermillion? That is my daughter's name?"

He nodded. "Yes, but she prefers to call herself Lee. That is her middle name. Vermillion Lee Durant."

The marquess's throat moved up and down. The moisture returned to his eyes and he stood up from his chair, walked over to the mullioned windows. "That is my name as well. Robert Leland Montague. Angelique always… she always called me Lee." His hands were shaking. He took a healthy swig of his brandy, then set the glass down on the mother-of-pearl inlaid top of a black lacquer table.

"If you will excuse me, Caleb. I need some time to adjust to this news you have brought."

"Of course, my lord. I'll be returning to London. You may reach me at my father's town house in Berkeley Square."

Kinleigh took a step toward him as if he wished to block his escape. "Is there… is there a chance you will stay to supper? I should like to hear more of this daughter of mine." He gazed off again, as if the past were right there in the room. "I always wanted a daughter. Aside from Angelique, it was my heart's greatest desire. If you would stay, perhaps we could arrange a time when it might be possible for me to meet the daughter I didn't know I had."