Allie pressed her hands to her midsection and breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness he was gone. The man somehow managed to make her feel crowded even when several yards separated them. And she refused to be amused by the outrageous sobriquet he'd assigned Carters. Or Elizabeth 's dog.

She could not decide which was worse-his gentle teasing, which had filled her with unexpected, unwanted warmth, or his sympathetic compassion, which had riddled her with guilt. She glanced down at her black dress. Like everyone else, Lord Robert had assumed that her widow's weeds meant she still mourned David. As with everyone else she met, she had not disabused him of that notion.

How could she possibly share the humiliating fact that she still wore mourning clothes because she could afford no others? That she could afford no others because her husband had turned out to be a common criminal, and all her funds were exhausted by her determination to repay the people he'd cheated?

Of course, wearing the mourning gowns provided another advantage in addition to saving her money. They repelled any possible suitors. Another man was the absolute last thing she wanted.

Still, she hated dishonesty, and remorse filled her at her deception. But she firmly shoved the guilt aside. There was no doubt that Lord Robert Jamison was nothing more than spun glass-lovely to look at, able to hold one's attention for a short period, but without the slightest bit of substance behind his shiny exterior. The hint of secrets shadowed his eyes, and according to Lady Gaddlestone, some misconduct clouded his past. Yes, she knew his sort, and she was an expert at dealing with men like him.

But she needed to banish him from her thoughts. First on the agenda was a bath to rinse away the remnants of seawater.

Then she needed to hire a hack.


********

In his town house in Grosvenor Square, Geoffrey Hadmore, earl of Shelbourne, sat behind the mahogany desk in his private study. He slowly alternated his gaze between the tarnished silver ring resting upon the highly polished wood and the man who had just given it to him, all the while fighting to tame the tempest brewing inside him. He prided himself on always presenting a calm exterior, unlike many of his peers who were given to vulgar outbursts of emotion.

Still, it cost him not to reach out and wrap his hands around Redfern's scrawny neck. His scrawny, stupid neck. Picking up the ring, he held it between his thumb and forefinger, then pinned Redfern with his iciest glare. "What is this, Redfern?"

Redfern had the temerity to look at him as if he were the village idiot. " 'Tis the ring you bid me to steal from Mrs. Brown."

"Tell me, Redfern," Geoffrey said in a deadly calm voice, "does this in any way resemble a coat-of-arms ring?"

Redfern scratched his sparse gray hair. "Not a bit. But this were the only ring the lady had. I searched her cabin real careful-like."

"Was this ring in a box?"

"No, my lord."

"Well, this is not the correct ring," Geoffrey said in frigid voice. "You have failed miserably at a very simple assignment: get the ring and its matching box, then get rid of the woman. Did you get the ring and its box?"

Ruddy color suffused Redfern's cheeks. " 'Parently not."

"And did you get rid of the woman?"

"No, but not fer lack o' tryin'. The bloody woman was always with that infernal baroness biddy and her yappin' mutts. But don't you worry, my lord. I'll off Mrs. Brown before tomorrow's done."

Damn it, he supposed he should be thankful Redfern's attempts to kill Mrs. Brown had proved unsuccessful. He needed her alive until he had the ring-and its box. But the question that plagued him daily rushed into his mind. What if she did not have it?

If she did not have the ring… he squeezed his eyes shut, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the barrage of hideous possibilities. What if she'd lost it? Or sold it? What if it was sitting in some dusty pawnshop in America, just waiting for someone to purchase it and discover the secret that could ruin his life?

A sharp pain throbbed behind his eyes, and he clenched his teeth, forcing himself to concentrate on the immediate problem at hand. He needed to ascertain if she had the ring, and if so, get it back. And if she did not have it, he still needed to know if she was aware of his secret.

"You will not kill Mrs. Brown. Not until I have my ring. Where is she now?"

"I followed her to a right fancy town house. In Mayfair, on Park Lane. Number six."

A frown pulled down Geoffrey's brows. "That is the duke of Bradford 's residence."

Recognition lit in Redfern's eyes. "That's the name of the bloke I heard Mrs. Brown and the old biddy talkin' 'bout on the ship. 'Parently Mrs. Brown is great friends with the duchess. Grew up together or some such. Believe she even mentioned they're distant cousins."

Geoffrey rose, pacing across the maroon-and-gold Persian carpet to the crystal decanters near the window. He poured himself a brandy, then stared into the liquor's amber depths, his stomach cramping at Redfern's news. Rotten piece of luck that Mrs. Brown had a connection to the Bradford family. If the duke were ever to get wind of any of this-

He sliced the thought off, discarding the possibility. If Mrs. Brown planned to extort funds from him, she wouldn't be likely to share that information with Bradford -or anyone else. Everyone knew the duke and duchess were at their country estate awaiting the birth of their child. If Mrs. Brown had come to England to visit the duchess, then why hadn't she gone on to Bradford Hall? Had she remained in London to see him'? To blackmail him? If so, she certainly must have the ring. If so, you won't have it much longer, Mrs. Brown. And once the ring is in my possession, your usefulness will be finished. And so will you.

He tossed back his brandy, savoring the slow burn down his throat, then turned to Redfern. "I hired you, Redfern, because I thought you both discreet and capable."

Unmistakable anger flared in Redfern's eyes. "I'm both, my lord. Don't you doubt it. Just had a bit of bad luck and circumstances. That'll change."

"See to it that it does. I believe Mrs. Brown has the ring. Search her belongings again. Thoroughly. It should pose no problem, as the duke and duchess are not in residence. Get Mrs. Brown away from the house. Then find that ring." He pinned Redfern with a stare. "And if you do, I want her gone."

"Yes, my lord."

"And Redfern? Do it tonight."


*******

Allie stepped from the hack and looked up at the painted sign hanging above the door of the Bond Street establishment. Fitzmoreland Antiques.

"Fitzmoreland's the best antiques man in London," the hackney said from his driver's perch, jerking his head toward the sign. "Shall I wait fer ye?"

"Yes, please. I'll only be a few minutes." She entered the shop, blinking to adjust her eyes to the dimly lit interior. Neat rows of books, vases, and porcelains lined floor to ceiling shelves, while tables and larger pieces of furniture were tastefully scattered about, lending the shop the appearance of an elegant sitting room. An impeccably dressed, middle-aged gentleman with graying hair approached her.

"May I assist you, madam?"

His gaze swept over her black gown, and although he was very discreet, he was clearly taking her measure. No doubt he was accustomed to dealing with wealthy clientele, and she was thankful she'd taken extra time after her bath to arrange her hair and dress in her best gown. Raising her chin, she said, "I am looking for Mr. Fitzmoreland."

He bowed his head. "Then look no further, madam, for I am he. How may I help you?"

No other customers were in the shop, and Allie relaxed a bit. Opening her reticule, she withdrew a piece of vellum and handed it to him. "I need to identify the coat of arms depicted here. I was informed you are an expert at such matters."

His brows lifted. "Your accent indicates you are American. May I ask who recommended me?"

His question was spoken in a perfectly polite tone, but Allie easily heard the tinge of underlying scorn. No doubt he thought her some destitute foreign widow, desperate to sell him some cheap baubles. If only I had some cheap baubles to sell…

She lifted her brows exactly as he had. "The duchess of Bradford -"

"The duchess recommended me?" His demeanor instantly transformed, and he seemed to grow two inches taller. " 'Twas very kind of her."

Allie suppressed the urge to inform him that it was actually the duchess's butler who had recommended him, and that if he'd allowed her to finish her sentence, he would know that. Instead, she pushed aside her guilt for allowing him his incorrect assumption and asked, "Do you think you can help me?"

Mr. Fitzmoreland studied the drawing for several seconds, then nodded slowly. "I'm certain I can. It may take several days, however."

"I'm more concerned with discretion than speed."

"Of course."

His keen eyes seemed to bore through her to see all her secrets, but she forced herself not to avert her gaze. "My name is Mrs. Brown and I'm staying at the Bradford town house here in London."

He inclined his head. "I shall report my findings to you as soon as I know anything."

Thanking him, she exited the shop, breathing a sigh of relief at having chipped away another small piece of the burden she carried.

With any luck, she'd soon learn to whom the ring belonged. She would return it, and then, for the first time in three years, she'd be free.

Chapter 3

Shortly before eight that evening, Robert arrived at the town house for dinner. As the night air was delightfully cool and the usual fog had not yet rolled in, he'd walked from his rooms on Chesterfield.