“Then she must be relieved that you have Lady Elizabeth to accompany you on your outings instead,” Miles drawled, taking pleasure from his friend’s obvious discomfiture.

“Leave it, Miles,” Nat snapped, “before I dissect your feelings for Miss Lister, which are nowhere near as straightforward as you appear to think.”

“Gentlemen,” Dexter said, a smile lurking in his eyes, “before you come to blows, did either of you see anyone else out riding this morning?”

“Miss Lister and I saw one other horseman,” Miles said. “A gentleman riding a black hunter.”

“Not exactly a detailed description,” Nat said. “There are half a dozen of those in Fortune’s Folly and Dexter is one of them.”

“I had Miss Lister in the carriage with me,” Miles said, glaring at him. “Do you think I was concentrating on anyone else?” He turned to Dexter. “I sent Chester to the livery stables to inquire if anyone had hired a hack like that this morning.”

“Good,” Dexter said. He seemed to be trying hard not to laugh at the overt aggression between his colleagues. “I think we need to interview Miss Cole and see if it is true Tom Fortune has tried to contact her.” He rubbed a hand over his brow. “I know she will be reluctant but perhaps she can be persuaded to speak to Laura. They are cousins, after all, and Laura has always had a kindness for her.”

Nat nodded. “A good idea, Dexter.”

“Meanwhile you need to discuss with Miss Lister who would benefit from her death,” Dexter said to Miles, “and see if there is any other reason why anyone might try to kill her.”

Miles stood up, driving his hands into his pockets. “I don’t care for this,” he said. “If it is Tom Fortune who is behind this then all those women are in danger-Miss Lister, Miss Cole and Lady Elizabeth. There is no one with them at Spring House other than servants. One of us should be there to protect them.”

“You think that one of us should move in there?” Dexter raised his brows. “That would be highly irregular.”

“This is a highly irregular situation,” Miles pointed out.

“It would be better to move them all to a place of safety,” Nat said, “if we can get them to agree.” He looked at Dexter. “Could they stay with you and Laura at the Old Palace?”

“They could,” Dexter said. “There certainly is room, but I suspect you would have the devil of a job persuading Miss Lister of the need for it, and it’s hardly a place of safety. Spring House is more secure.” He turned to Miles. “I agree that it would be better if you can persuade Miss Lister to allow you to stay there, I think.”

“Oh, I will persuade her,” Miles said. He felt a little easier to think that he would be on hand to protect Alice if anything happened. He turned to Dexter, slight color creeping up under his skin.

“I never thanked you and Laura for giving Mama and Celia and Philip refuge at the Old Palace,” he said gruffly. “Truth is that I never wanted them to stay but I am glad now that they are not out at Drum.”

“Don’t give it another thought, old fellow,” Dexter said, slapping him on the shoulder. “Laura’s blue-deviled that she is currently too sick with her pregnancy to go out much. She is enjoying the company.”

“The story of the shooting is bound to have traveled around the village by now,” Nat said thoughtfully. “How do we play it? As a bit of wayward target practice by some of the local youths?”

“That sounds ideal,” Miles said. “Let us dampen down the speculation. Now all I have to do is persuade Miss Lister of the opposite and that her life is in danger.” He saw Nat and Dexter exchange a look and raised his brows sharply. “What is it that you aren’t saying to me?”

“We did wonder,” Dexter said after a moment, “whether there was one other possibility that we have not already discussed.”

“Well?” Miles said interrogatively.

“You told me a while ago that you are blackmailing Miss Lister into marriage, Miles,” Nat said slowly. “People are notoriously dangerous when put under pressure in that way. You don’t need me to tell you that. Would Miss Lister dislike you enough and resent your hold over her sufficiently to kill you?”

“No.” Miles was shocked at how deeply and instinctively he repudiated the suggestion. He took a careful breath and tried to think dispassionately. “I suppose that she has good enough reason,” he admitted. He ran a hand over his hair. “I cannot imagine that she would do it,” he said. “She is too good a person-”

“Are you sure?” Dexter probed. “If you are pushing her too hard…”

“No,” Miles said again. Agitated, he stood up abruptly and paced across the room. The thought of Alice betraying him in such a sickening way appalled him. “No,” he repeated. “God knows, I deserve it, but I still maintain that Miss Lister herself is the target, not I.”

“She could have paid someone else,” Nat pointed out. “Or it could be the work of Miss Lister and her brother together, perhaps.”

“No!” Miles almost shouted. He grabbed his coat, which was steaming gently by the fire, and shrugged it on. “I am going back to Spring House,” he said abruptly. “I will see you both later.”

There was a short silence after he had gone out. Then Dexter raised his brows at Nat Waterhouse and Nat smiled.

“I saw his face when he realized that Miss Lister was injured,” Nat said. “He’s in a devil of a mess.”

“He certainly is,” Dexter agreed, pouring more coffee.

CELIA VICKERY WAS TAKEN aback to recognize the gentleman who held open the door of the Fortune’s Folly Post Office for her with such exemplary courtesy.

“Mr. Gaines,” she said, “I did not expect to see you this morning. So few people venture out when it is snowing. Silly of them, of course, for what harm can a few flakes do, but even so…”

She was chattering. She was aware of it. She, who was known for a glacial froideur when confronting the opposite sex, she who could reduce young men to stammers and then pitiful silence, was stuttering herself. Remembering the ball the previous night and the way in which she had importuned Frank Gaines for four dances, she felt an uncharacteristic mortification wash over her. He must imagine that she had taken too much rum punch-or that she was so desperate to engage the interest of a man that she would throw herself at his head. And now for him to find her here! Had he arrived a minute sooner she would still have been in the process of dispatching her parcel and that would have been very hard to explain. Had he seen the address, he might guess…

“Lady Celia.” Gaines bowed. “May I escort you anywhere? The Pump Rooms, perhaps?”

“Gracious, no!” Celia exclaimed. “I am not so feeble as to require spa water to bolster my constitution.”

“I am sure you are not,” Frank Gaines said, falling into step beside her. She became aware once again of how very tall and powerfully built he was. His broad shoulders practically blocked out the light. “In that case,” he said, “I wonder whether I might beg a word with you, Lady Celia? In private?”

Celia looked at him. He looked directly back. Her heart missed a beat. The trouble with lawyers like Frank Gaines, she thought, was that they were very shrewd. Gaines would, she was sure, have been digging into Miles’s past to discover anything that might be to his discredit and might ruin the match with Alice Lister. It was his job, after all. But the danger was that in the process he would discover other secrets…

“Of course,” she murmured, “although I am not sure what you could possibly wish to say to me.”

“We shall leave that for a moment, if we may,” Frank Gaines said blandly. His bright, perceptive gaze seemed to see through her and see all the things she was hiding.

Oh dear, Celia thought helplessly. He knows.

“It is too inclement to sit outside today,” Gaines continued. “Would you be so good as to join me in a cup of tea at the spa?”

“Very well,” Celia said, bowing to the inevitable.

In very short order she found herself installed on a charming wrought-iron bench in the tiled tearooms. Gaines seated himself beside her and summoned a maid with no more than a slight inclination of his head. When the girl had taken their order he turned to Celia, a thoughtful look in his eyes. She was very aware of the way in which his hand rested along the back of the seat, almost, but not quite, touching her shoulder.

“You know, don’t you!” she burst out, wishing that she did not sound quite so gauche but somehow feeling that fifteen years of town bronze had deserted her in an instant.

“Yes,” Gaines said slowly. “I do.”

“I had to do it.” Celia met his eyes. “We need the money and Mama has no idea how to economize. Not really. Oh, she thinks she is frightfully good at saving a little here and there but there is never enough to meet the bills and so…” Her voice trailed away. “I know no one could possibly approve-”

“Approve?” Gaines said. There was a spark of laughter deep in his gray eyes. “I should rather think not, Lady Celia. You are a bishop’s daughter.”

Celia spread her hands appealingly. “But don’t you see that I had no choice? I had to think of something for which I had a talent-”

“And you came up with this?” There was unflattering surprise in Frank Gaines’s tone and it stiffened Celia’s spine.

“Yes,” she snapped. “I did. You may think it surprising, Mr. Gaines, but I assure you I am very good at it!”

“I do not doubt that.” Frank Gaines sounded unruffled. “My inquiries show me that you make a good income, but what puzzles me…” He paused, a slight frown on his brow as he looked at her. Celia’s heart was beating very fast. She did not quite understand why it was important to have this man’s respect, and yet it had been from the first. She had met so many men over the long years of the London Season. She was not a heiress, nor was she especially good-looking, and she had always had decided opinions, so she had never found a particular gentleman who was her match, and perversely it would have to be Frank Gaines who had engaged her regard. She sighed in exasperation. She and her brother Miles, both so determined not to love…They had more in common than Miles had ever realized.