"Gaol fever!" the maid yelled. She threw her hands in the air and fled, almost knocking the bucket of water out of a wide-eyed boy's hands. Rex grabbed for the bucket as the boy stared at Miss Carville's half-naked body. Rex hastily pulled down the remnants of her skirt to cover her legs.

"You, out!" he bellowed at the boy. "Fetch more water, and some soup if you can find it, or biscuits and tea." Then he once more ordered the butler to send the footman for Murchison, a woman-any woman-and his cousin Daniel, in that order.

"I… I know of a woman nearby. My, ah, sister."

"Get her, man!"

In mere seconds-and mere doors away, obviously the one Dodd claimed was being redecorated-a female staggered into the room. She did not look like Dodd, but the patchouli she must have bathed in did smell like him. Dodd suddenly had his shoes on, Rex noted, but the female did not have her gown fastened. Her face paint was smeared and her lips were swollen. She had a bottle of wine-from the Royce wine cellars, Rex guessed-in her hand while the other hand held the gaping front of her gown over fleshy, flabby breasts.

"You've brought your whore into my mother's house?" Rex shouted at the butler, who was edging toward the doorway. Even Rex, as far from polite society's ways as he could get, knew that was an outrage. "And here, to tend to a lady?"

"Lady, my arse," the female said. "She's nobbut a light skirt from what they say, and a cold-blooded murderer to boot. Who's to say she's better'n old Nell?"

"I say it, damn it! Get out, before I throw you out. And you"-he turned toward Dodd-"if you want to keep your post past tomorrow, you'll make certain your doxy is gone without lifting any of the countess's silver, and then you will find a respectable woman to come help. Try next door if you need to. And when the footman gets back from finding my cousin and my valet, post a message to Lady Royce, saying that her goddaughter has arrived."

He did not speak his thoughts, that the countess should have been in London while her godchild was in peril, not leaving him to comfort a delicate female, not abandoning yet another innocent to his or her fate.

If Miss Carville was innocent. He still did not know.

"Tell Lady Royce to come home now."

"I cannot give orders to my mistress!"

"She sent for me. Now send for her. Miss Carville is her responsibility."

Dodd bowed, shoved Nell ahead of him, and ran to do Rex's bidding. "Yes sir, my lord. Right away, Captain, ah, your lordship." Good positions were hard to find. Besides, Viscount Rexford looked like he'd have Dodd's head if his demands were not met, no matter how unreasonable. The butler had heard the war reports as well as the rumors. Everyone had. No one, it seemed, disobeyed his lordship, not ever. Or else. Murder and mayhem flashed from those ice-blue eyes, for certain. Dodd vowed to get the housekeeper back if he had to drag her himself. Yes, and Lady Royce, too.

Once the room was empty of servants, Rex stared at the unmoving form on the bed. "You are Lady Royce's mess," he declared, more for his own sake than the febrile woman's. "Not mine."

But the countess could not come fast enough, and Rex could not walk away or lie to himself, which made it his mess after all.

He repeated Murchison's French blasphemies, then a few of the cavalry's finest curses. The woman was still lying atop the covers, in rags and in need. Damn. He could not leave her like that. He could not wait for a maidservant, either. Murchison was an hour away, at least. Who knew how long before the doctor would arrive? The female was shivering, despite beads of sweat on her forehead. He lit the coals in the room's fireplace.

Oh, lord. He gave up the curses and prayed harder than when he'd found himself facing that party of advance French scouts.

Hell, they were the enemy; Miss Carville was a lady, which was far worse. Rex had never undressed a lady in his life, much less washed one. He looked at the bucket of water, which was cooling, and the towel on the washstand. "Miss Carville? Please, miss, please wake up."

She did not open her eyes. So much for swearing, praying, and begging.

Rex took his coat off again, feeling perspiration dripping down his own back, but not from the heat of the room. He took a deep breath and straightened his spine. "Very well, please do not wake up then. That will be easier on both of us."

Like a general studying his maps and maneuvers, Rex planned his campaign. First he fetched a nightgown from the countess's room and a bottle of brandy from the earl's. Then he turned down the covers on the other side of Miss Carville's bed so he'd have some place to roll the female onto when she was clean. He had a sip of brandy.

He brought the water and towel closer, and had another swallow. He'd wipe her face and hands first. How bad could that be? The brandy was good.

As gently as he could, Rex wiped at the dirt and scrapes, avoiding the swollen, discolored skin around the woman's left eye and the bruise on her chin, her cut lips. The doctor would have to prescribe salve and ointments for those. Rex carefully cleaned her hands-how small they were in his-and marked the raw place where someone had pulled a ring off her finger, and the sores on her arms from what he assumed were manacles. Her wrists were so narrow he could reach around them with his fingers and still have room. Shackles on this wisp of a girl? The notion turned his stomach, or perhaps that was the brandy. No, he was queasy at his next job.

Where the devil was Dodd and a decent woman?

Rex took a long swallow and set the bottle aside. A man needed a clear head to face the enemy, and his demons.

He raised Miss Carville and slipped the nightgown over her head, stuffing her arms into the sleeves, which were much too long. The countess was far larger, and far away, blast her.

Rex's strategy was to cut away the rags of Miss Carville's gown, lowering the night rail as he went to preserve her modesty as much as possible. He'd leave the washing of her body to whatever woman Dodd found. He thought he could hear voices in the front hall, a door shutting, footsteps on the stairs. Reprieve! He reached for the brandy again.

Of course that was when Miss Carville opened her eyes. And saw a rough-looking, long-haired man bending over her, a bottle in one hand, a knife in the other.

She shrieked. What else could Amanda do, when she was too weak to raise her arms, and they seemed to be swathed with cloth bindings anyway, with more wrapped around her throat? There she'd been, safely cradled in her father's arms, tenderly comforted by her mother's cooling, soothing touch. Someone cared for her; someone loved her. How sweet her dreams. Then she awoke to yet another nightmare of stabbing, strangulation, torture. The loathsome demon's eyes were wide with evil intent. An angry scar ran down his cheek and he stank of spirits. A guard? A prisoner? Amanda had no doubt he meant to rape her, then kill her. She shrieked again. No one was going to hear and help her, but what did she have to lose?

Rex slapped his hand over her mouth. Then he apologized when she winced and tried to pull back. "Sorry. But think of your reputation." No, that was so far blackened, she might as well be dipped in tar. "Think of mine." Which was worse. Lud, her eyes were wide and terror-filled, except for the one that was half swollen shut. That was brown, but bloodshot. "Please do not be afraid. I am trying to help you."

She stayed rigid, gathering her breath for another scream, he thought. "Please. My… mother sent me to help." The words were almost as painful as this little kitten's fear of him. "I would not hurt you."

"J-Jordan?"

He sighed in relief, that she was not out of her mind in a blind panic. A rational creature could be reasoned with. "That is right. Jordan, Lord Rexford, Lady Royce's son." He tried for a smile to reassure her while he put the bottle on the floor. He bowed and said, "At your service."

Amanda blinked and tried to focus on the man's features, not the knife in his hand. He was dark while the countess was fair, and his eyes were a bright sapphire, unlike Lady Royce's baby blue. But there was something about his mouth, and the smile, that seemed familiar. Perhaps she was thinking of the portraits on Lady Royce's walls. She almost smiled back, except for the pain in her split lip. "She must be so happy to see you."

"Not if I let you sicken worse," he muttered, not wishing to discuss the countess or their eventual meeting. To avoid any talk of Lady Royce, Rex busied himself putting the knife away and searching for a cup near the wash-stand, then pouring a tiny bit of the brandy into it. "Here, have a sip. Lord knows you deserve it."

She swallowed and sputtered, then looked around. "I am not in prison?"

"No."

"Then it was all a bad dream?"

"I am sorry, but I cannot lie to you. You are not acquitted."

A tear ran down her cheek, so Rex hurried to add, "But I will work on it. I swear, on my honor."

Amanda brushed at her eyes with the sleeve of the voluminous gown she seemed to be bundled into, clean and smelling of lavender. "Your mother always said you were an honorable man, one who could be trusted to tell the truth. She thinks you can accomplish anything you want."

"Not quite." Or else he'd be in China right now instead of Grosvenor Square. "But before I can hire barristers and such, we need to get you well. And clean. Your clothes have to be burned to protect against the spread of disease." He did not mention the possibilities of lice and fleas.

"Lady Royce?" she asked, looking around the room for her godmother.

"She is on her way." Like lice and fleas, the details were not important right now. "As are a physician and hot tea."