No, keeping an eye on her wouldn't pose a problem.

Unfortunately, he suspected that keeping his hands off her would.


********

Geoffrey Hadmore paced the length of his private study. Afternoon sunlight cut a bright path across the Persian carpet, faint dust motes danced in the swatch. Pausing at the fireplace, he glared at the mantel clock. Half past one. Exactly three minutes later than when he had last glared at the damn instrument.

Where the hell was Redfern? Why had he not heard from the bastard? There could only be one reason: He had failed. Again.

Or perhaps Redfern has it in his mind to cross me somehow? A combination of unease and fury tightened his hands into fists. Surely Redfern wouldn't be stupid enough to attempt such a thing. Geoffrey forced his hands to relax, then flexed his stiff fingers. No, Redfern might not be a scholar, but he was no fool. He knew better than to cross him. Yet if he were foolish enough… well, then, it would be the last foolish thing Redfern ever did.

Bending down, he gently petted Thorndyke's silky, fire-warmed brown fur. The dozing mastiff lifted its massive head. "Ah, Thorndyke, if only Redfern were as trustworthy as you, I'd not be in this mess."

Thorndyke made a sympathetic noise deep in his throat. Geoffrey patted his smooth head one last time, then rose to once again pace the room. This time he halted at his desk. Grabbing a piece of vellum, he composed a quick note. Not bothering to summon Willis with the bellcord, he strode into the foyer and handed the note to the butler.

"I want this delivered. Immediately." He rattled off Red-fern's direction. "If he's there, wait for a reply. If not, leave it."

"Yes, my lord."

"I'll be at my club. Bring any correspondence from him there as soon as you have it."


********

Redfern held the wax-sealed letter in his hand. He knew who it was from. He didn't even need to read the bloody thing to know what it contained. He hadn't answered the persistent knocking on his door, not retrieving the note until the man had finally left.

But now the hour of reckoning were at hand. And he'd failed. Failed to find the ring, failed to get rid of Mrs. Brown. How had his plan gone so awry? Oh, things had started off swimmingly, with Mrs. Brown even presenting herself in the garden, like a gift, saving him the trouble of snatching her from the house. Even coshing the bloke in the alley hadn't proved much of a problem.

Yes, with the two of them well out of the way and tied up nice and pretty, he'd nipped back to the town house. Only had to find the ring. Then he could finish off Mrs. Brown. Would have to get rid of the bloke as well. The earl surely wouldn't want any witnesses flappin' their gums. Maybe he'd even ask the earl for a bonus, seein' as how he had to kill two people instead of one. Yes, things were lookin' rosy indeed.

But after searching for over an hour, he hadn't found the ring. Panic edged down his spine. If he didn't find that ring, he wouldn't get his blunt. But he'd looked everywhere. Had even put everything back in its place so no one would suspect anything. He'd just have to tell the earl there just weren't no ring-a prospect that cramped his belly.

The earl's final words had echoed in his mind. Find that ring. And if you do, I want her gone. Well, what the bloody blue blazes were he supposed to do with Mrs. Brown if he didn't find the ring? Kill her? Let her go?

He'd think about it on his way back to the warehouse. Surely by the time he arrived he'd know what to do.

Yet when he'd returned, all that were left of Mrs. Brown and the bloke had been a pile of cut ropes. Bastard must have had a blade on him. Bloody rotten bit o' bad luck that was. Never in his entire career had circumstances thwarted him so. But the earl wouldn't be interested in hearin' about no unforeseen circumstances.

Now, with a trembling hand, he broke the seal and read the terse message. Sweat broke out on his brow. There were no mistaking the earl's meaning.

He had to find that ring. Today.

If he didn't, he were a dead man.

And Lester Redfern had no intention of dying.


********

Allie exited her bedchamber clutching the letter she'd just sealed. Walking quickly down the curving staircase, she entered the foyer. She'd expected to see Carters, but instead a young footman stood near the door.

"I'd like to have a letter delivered," she said. "To the earl of Shelbourne's London residence."

"Of course, ma'am." He held out his gloved hand. "I'll see to it at once."

Allie handed over the missive with a prayer that the earl was indeed in town. Hopefully Lord Robert had already sent off his note. He should have… she'd left him in the breakfast room over two hours ago. Surely enough time for him to go home and compose a short letter.

"Was there something else, Mrs. Brown?" the young man asked.

"No, nothing. Thank you." She looked both ways down the corridors fanning out from the foyer. How best to spend her time while she awaited a reply? She needed a diversion, something to keep her mind occupied. Otherwise she'd simply resort to pacing.

"If you're looking for Lord Robert," the footman said, "he's in the billiards room."

"Lord Robert is here?”

"Yes, ma'am. In the billiards room." He pointed down the left corridor. "Second doorway on the right. If there's nothing further, I'll see to your letter."

"Thank you," she murmured.

She looked down the left corridor. He was here. In the second room. She should avoid him and his disturbing presence. His laughing eyes that held secrets. Yes, she should return to her bedchamber and read. Take a nap. Something. Anything. Her mind knew it, as did her heart.

Her feet, however, knew nothing of the sort and promptly headed down the left corridor.

The second door was ajar. Pushing it open a bit more, she stood frozen in the threshold and simply stared. Lord Robert stood with his back to her, clearly studying the billiards table, a long tapered, highly polished stick in one hand. He wore the same buff breeches as earlier, but he'd discarded his jacket. A snowy-white shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. Her gaze wandered slowly downward, taking in his trim waist and the snug fit of his breeches. Her gaze settled on his backside and she swallowed. No matter what else she might think of him, there was no denying that Lord Robert was very… finely put together.

An involuntary sigh of pure feminine appreciation sneaked past her lips-a sigh he apparently heard, for he turned around. And instead of staring at his buttocks, she suddenly found herself staring at his…

Oh my. He was indeed very nicely made. She'd suspected so after their close touching last evening, but now there was no doubt.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Brown."

His huskily voiced words yanked her from her stupor, and her gaze snapped up to meet his. Dark blue eyes assessed her with a questioning, yet somehow knowing look. Heat rushed into her face, and she barely resisted the urge to clap her palms to her flaming cheeks. Perhaps if she prayed hard enough, the parquet flooring would yawn open and swallow her. Dear God, he'd caught her staring. And not simply staring, but staring at that.

Determined to regain her composure, she lifted her chin and raised her brows. "Good afternoon, Lord Robert. I didn't know you'd returned."

"Returned? I never departed."

"I thought you'd left. To write the letter you promised."

"I wrote it and sent it off ages ago. Borrowed a sheet of Austin 's stationery. I trust you completed your own correspondence?"

"Yes."

"In that case, perhaps you'd care to ride through the park? The weather is exceptionally fine."

The thought of sharing a carriage with him, sitting close enough to breathe in his masculine scent, near enough to study his teasing eyes, and watch his lips curve upward with that devastating, devilish grin, was terrifyingly tempting. And therefore absolutely out of the question.

"No, thank you," she said. "But please don't let me stop you from enjoying the afternoon." She inwardly cringed at her stiff tone. She hadn't meant to sound so abrupt.

But instead of taking offense, he laughed. "Ah, but I am enjoying myself, honing my game." He nodded toward the baize-covered table. "Do you play?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Would you like to learn?"

An automatic "no" rose to her lips, but she hesitated. She desperately needed some diversion, and she was very fond of games. Her gaze drifted over the table. It was easily twelve feet long and six feet across. Certainly big enough to maintain a safe distance from him… much more distance than a carriage could provide.

"Why, yes, I believe that would be lovely." And safe.

"Excellent. It's a very simple game. Only three balls-one red and two white-and a few rules. All the rest is practice, skill, and a bit of luck." Striding across the room, he lifted another tapered stick from a holder on the wall, then returned to her.

"This is a cue," he said, handing her the stick. "The object of the game is to be the first to score the number of points we agree upon."

"How does one score points?"

"Several ways." He went on to describe the game, explaining unfamiliar terms such as "potting," "cannons," and "in off." Leaning over the table, he demonstrated as he spoke, educating her regarding cushions, pockets, the balk line, and the "D."

"Any questions so far?" he asked when he finished.

"Not yet, but I'm certain I'll have dozens once we begin." In truth, the game sounded quite simple.