

### Contents

Runaway Heart

The schoolgirl was gone...

Also by Claudy Conn

What reviewers are saying about Claudy's books

Copyright Page

Dedication

~ One ~

~ Two ~

~ Three ~

~ Four ~

~ Five ~

~ Six ~

~ Seven ~

~ Eight ~

~ Nine ~

~ Ten ~

~ Eleven ~

~ Twelve ~

~ Thirteen ~

~ Fourteen ~

~ Fifteen ~

~ Sixteen ~

~ Seventeen ~

~ Eighteen ~

~ Nineteen ~

~ Epilogue ~

Excerpt: Netherby Halls

~ Prologue ~

~ One ~

Excerpt: Wildfire Kiss

~ One ~

Excerpt: Rogues, Rakes & Jewels

~ One ~

~ Two ~

~ Three ~

Excerpt: Prince Prelude—Legend

~ Prologue ~

~ One ~

~ Two ~

About Claudy Conn

More about Claudy Conn's Books

Runaway Heart

The schoolgirl was gone,  
and in her place was a young and provocative woman

The door to the study opened just as he had poured himself a glass of wine, and he looked up to find Chelsea entering the room. She was completely ravishing—so much more than he had imagined. Was this the same girl who'd scolded the wagon driver?

Zounds! The schoolgirl was gone, and in her place was a young and provocative woman. Her auburn curls were alive with gold highlights, and they were clustered in a Grecian style at the top of her head and allowed to dangle enticingly around a face that was breathtaking.

He had not expected a transformation of this size. She was without a doubt a mesmerizing beauty! As she moved forward, the silk of her cream-colored gown swayed and flowed around a trim waist, slim hips, and very fine legs almost visible because of the fashionable and clinging material. Her silver eyes were alight, but they glittered militantly, surrounded by dark lashes that had been slightly blackened. Her cheeks were rosy, and her full lips made him suddenly uncomfortable in his breeches.

She gave him her hand as he approached, and as he bent over it to leave a light kiss on her ungloved fingers, she said, "Good evening, my lord."

Her voice went through his mind and spurred his imagination. It was husky, low, and sweet, but something about the expression on her face and in her eyes made him feel she had decided to reserve her opinion of him.

"Miss Halloway, I am enchanted," he said smoothly.

"Ah, not the same girl you met this morning?" she said with a smile and an arched brow.

His brow went up, and he met her gaze. "Indeed, the very same, with a bit of finery that you display to advantage. You make your attire, my dear, and your hair dressed like that... well, you look radiant."

"Radiant? Another form of glitter to fool the eye. Men are often bedazzled by glitter, if you will, and fail to look past the ordinary," she said with a touch of dry contempt.

His lordship was taken aback. He was used to women of all ages, sizes, and styles fawning over him and anything he had to say. He regarded her with wary interest. "Should these things not be admired? After all, females take care to wear the finest glitter, don't they?"

She laughed, and the musical sound swept deliciously through him. She eyed him and said, "Very good, my lord. True, we like the glitter as well, but the most discerning of us are able to see past it."

"Ah, _do you_ see past it?" He shook his head. "When a handsome young man approaches you and smiles and tells you what you want to hear— _glitter_ —do you see past it?"

"I hope when that happens I will see past it," she answered on a slight frown. "Peel all of that away and then what do you have, is what I should ask myself." She gave him a demure smile and purposely fluttered her dark lashes. "When I do that— _glitter_ —would a man see more than the prettiness of the flirtation? _W_ _ould you?_ "

Also by Claudy Conn

Risqué Regencies

Myriah Fire

Oh, Cherry Ripe

Rogues, Rakes & Jewels

Taffeta & Hotspur

Wildfire Kiss

Netherby Halls

After the Storm (coming in Feb. 2013)

~

Legend Series

Prince Prelude—Legend

Spellbound—Legend

Aaibhe—Shee Queen (Novelette)

Shee Willow—Legend

Prince in the Mist (Novella)

Trapped—Legend

Free Falling—Legend

Catch & Hold—Legend

~

Shadow Series

ShadowLove—Stalkers

ShadowHeart—Slayer

ShadowLife—Hybrid

~

Through Time Series

Through Time-Pursuit

Through Time-Whiplash (coming in Feb. 2013)

~

Hungry Moon Series

Hungry Moon: Quicksilver

~

DarkLove ( _published by Wild Rose Press_ )

What reviewers are saying  
about Claudy's books

ShadowLove—Stalkers is hot, Hot, HOT

_ShadowLove—Stalkers_ is filled with steaming action and dramatic tension... Claudy delicately plants the seeds for future development and characters without distracting from the excitement and romance of Stalkers. The result is that she has a paranormal, vampire series, of romance novels, which carries her own unique and spicy aroma.

_ShadowLove—Stalkers_ is hot, Hot, HOT... and yes, I am blushing.

~ Vonnie Faroqui, _Ink Slinger's Whimsey_

Five Cups and a CTTR (Coffee Time Reviewer's Recommend) Award

_ShadowLove—Stalkers_ is a story that immediately hooks the reader. It reminds me of a roller coaster just beginning, only to plunge into speed, drawing the reader into non-stop action. Intense and spellbinding, this paranormal romance kept this reader engrossed until the conclusion. I loved the passion and chemistry between the main characters. With tremendous action and well thought out characters, this fantastic read sizzles and sparks like a firecracker.

~ _Coffee Time Romance & More_

Trapped Legend has my pulse skyrocketing!

A clever, fast paced, unpredictable blend of action, adventure, mystery, magic and steamy hot loving... I picked it up and couldn't tear myself away from it until I read the last page.

I highly recommend each book in Claudy's Legend series. You're seriously missing out on some wonderful adventures if you haven't read the previous stories. It's by far one of the most exceptionally crafted, enchanting Fae series I've ever read.

~ Candice Stauffer, author

Five Stars for ShadowHeart—Slayer

This second in Conn's Shadow series is filled with vampires, a vampire slayer, demons, wizards, a Fae prince and an unlikely romance. Claudy Conn does an excellent job of making this a standalone story while incorporating some of the characters from the first book and introducing us to several new characters. The war is still brewing and now the fae are becoming involved. Can't wait for the next book in the series.

This is another one I couldn't put down and read in a single sitting. I got so caught up in the action I was sad to see it end. Fans of the paranormal romance, urban fantasy and vampire genres should enjoy this as well.

~ Wild About Bones _on GoodReads_

One hot and thrilling book

I fell for all three of the main characters, fun loving Maxie, dark and brooding Julian, and one hot Fae, Breslyn. However, it wasn't just the characters that kept me on the edge of my seat, it was the entire involved plot that included jealously, betrayal, magic, murder, and, of course, hot passion... The well-written out mixture of myth and legend, not to mention the characters, all in today's world has me Joyfully Recommending _Spellbound—Legend_ as one book you won't want to miss.

~ Jo, Joyfully Reviewed

5 out of 5 stars

Fanning the flames of Myriah Fire!

What was once an innocent, if rollicking, regency romance has exploded with passion as Claudy Conn revisits Myriah Fire to turn up the heat.

The addition of unbridled sexual passion to Myriah Fire's strong story brings dimensions of maturity and depth to the struggles faced by Myriah and Kit, without diminishing any of the innocence, joy or charm found in the original story. This revised version of Myriah Fire allows Claudy's regency followers to appreciate what her paranormal romance fans have discovered—mind-bending eroticism.

A truly captivating tale with a blast of added sizzle, Myriah Fire will kindle the flames of your heart and burn up the night.

~ Vonnie Faroqui, _Ink Slinger's Whimsey_

Love, love, love Myriah Fire!

It's a brilliant, fast-paced, and 'true to its title', 'going to catch you on fire' romance. Looking forward to more! Hoping Claudy Conn plans to share more of her historical treasures with us.

~ Candice Stauffer, author

Myriah has always been my favorite

This is a sweet, funny, charming romance. The characters are likeable and the story is well told. I loved all of the Claudette Williams (now Claudy Conn) books, but this one has always been my favorite. I hope she will put out more of her backlist.

~ lmjolicoeur on _Smashwords_

_5 Stars for_ Rogues, Rakes, and Jewels _!_

Being a huge fan of Jane Austen, with _Emma_ and _Pride and Prejudice_ being two of my favorite romance novels, I was thrilled when Claudy sent me her regency romance to review. This novel had everything: danger, a villain, twists, and more secrets between characters then I could count. I really enjoyed the story and the strong female lead. One thing that I will say about Conn's Regency romance is this is no Jane Austen. There was serious heat in the book between the main characters. That just made this an even better Regency piece. I recommend it for a fun and delightful read. I will look to read her other Regency romances now.

~ _Emily Walker's Reviews_

5 Stars

Another fun regency by Claudy Conn. Full of characters who come to life and pull you into the story. And as always the evil villain lurking about ready for his chance to wreak havoc. From the forests of Nottingham to the streets of London, there is plenty of excitement and page-turning adventure from beginning to end.

~ Reviews by Jutzie

### Runaway Heart

By

Claudy Conn

Copyright Page

Runaway Heart

By Claudy Conn

http://www.claudyconn.com

Copyright © 2013 by Claudy Conn

Edited by: Karen Babcock

Cover Artist: Kendra Egert

All rights reserved

Published in the United States of America

Smashwords Edition

First edition, 2012

Second edition, January 2013

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Names, characters, and events depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

Excerpt of _Netherby Halls_

Copyright © 2013 by Claudy Conn

Excerpt of _Wildfire Kiss_

Copyright © 2012 by Claudy Conn

Excerpt of _Rogues, Rakes, & Jewels_

Copyright © 2012 by Claudy Conn

Excerpt of _Prince Prelude—Legend_

Copyright © 2012 by Claudy Conn

Discover this and other titles by Claudy Conn at Smashwords.com:

Risqué Regencies

_Oh, Cherry Ripe_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/135532>

_Myriah Fire_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/109011>

_Rogues, Rakes & Jewels_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/171997>

_Taffeta and Hotspur –_ <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/179452>

_Wildfire Kiss_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/221331>

_Runaway Heart_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/239110>

_Netherby Halls –_ <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/272171>

Legend Series

_Prince Prelude—Legend_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/159840>

_Spellbound—Legend_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/96103>

_Aaibhe—Shee Queen_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/110252>

_Shee Willow—Legend_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/103389>

_Prince in the Mist_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/104045>

_Trapped—Legend_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/112028>

_Free Falling—Legend_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/92368>

_Catch & Hold—Legend_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/124602>

Shadow Series

_ShadowLove—Stalkers_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/63037>

_ShadowHeart—Slayer_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/84350>

_ShadowLife—Hybrid_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/143173>

Time Series

_Through Time-Pursuit_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/210166>

Hungry Moon Series

_Hungry Moon: Quicksivler_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/257284>

Dedication

This is for a friend, a fellow author, and such a dear person,

Teresa Bohannon

~ One ~

PERT, SASSY, AND although about to turn nineteen still full of mischief, Chelsea Halloway stood before the headmistress of Strubett's Finishing School.

Mrs. Farthing sighed. "I hold you, in spite of your rebellious nature, in great affection, my dear girl—and do not think you can tease me with those bright silver eyes." She took a long strand of Chelsea's gold-lit auburn hair and sighed again.

"No, Mrs. Farthing, but—"

"No buts. We must deal with this situation now."

"Yes, Mrs. Farthing, but—"

Mrs. Farthing sighed loudly once more and repeated, "No buts. It is now beyond my scope to do anything more about this. You shouldn't be here—at school. You should be enjoying your London season. Oh my, but this situation is shameful!"

When Chelsea had lost her parents at age fourteen, her guardianship had gone to her uncle, who had looked after her fortune and doted on her until his death the year before. Responsibility for Chelsea had then passed to her aunt, a young widow determined not to grieve. No more than thirty, attractive, vain, and selfish, Augusta Halloway had scarcely bothered with Chelsea in the past year. She'd even left Chelsea to amuse herself at school over Christmas, as she was busy gadding about; outraged, Mrs. Farthing had taken Chelsea home with her.

"I won't go to her," Chelsea said heatedly. "She doesn't really want me—and why should I go where I am not wanted?" She put up her chin. "I shall set up an establishment of my own. There is nothing in Papa's will that prohibits me from doing that."

"Perhaps not, but you do not get control of your immediate inheritance until you are one and twenty—or married. In the meantime, your trustee would have to agree to such a scheme, and let me assure you, Chelsea, _he will not_. It just isn't done..."

"Well, my aunt doesn't want me underfoot. She would be happy to set me loose."

"Well, be that as it may, I think she is smart enough to know that she would be severely criticized by the members of the _ton_ for it, and I don't think she wants that either. You will have to go to your aunt for the time being." Mrs. Farthing tried to pat Chelsea's hand, but she was already pacing away.

"Who is my trustee, please?" asked Chelsea.

"Your dear father's friend, Lord Rupurt Lytton."

"Is he also living in London?"

"Well... I am not certain. I know he resides in London now and then, but—"

Chelsea interrupted. "I shall apply to him."

"My dear, do you not think I already did that? I inquired if there was anyone more suitable than your frivolous aunt to see to your season, and he said there was not. However, it was his influence that prompted your aunt to send for you. I daresay he threatened to withdraw the handsome allowance your father's will allows your guardian."

"I shall write to him and implore his lordship. Where does he reside?"

"Lytton House in Lymington, but, Chelsea—"

"Dear Mrs. Farthing, you are not to worry about me. I won't do anything rash," Chelsea assured her.

"Then you will pack and make ready to leave—as your aunt wrote that she expects me to send you right to her."

"Yes, immediately," agreed Chelsea.

"I do hate to lose you, my dear, but it is your time to enter the _haute ton_ , take your rightful place, make a good marriage, and enjoy your womanhood. The time for being a child is done."

Chelsea smiled affectionately at her. "I understand," she said and then added under her breath as she left the room, " _Ha—not if I_ _can help it!"_

* * *

"Here. Take this—quickly," Chelsea whispered as she threw her portmanteau down from her window. She then proceeded to lower the knotted sheets that she had tied to a sturdy side table leg out the window.

"Careful, you silly chit!" her cohort admonished as Chelsea wrapped her hands and legs around the sheet. She was hampered by the folds of her long skirt but managed through sheer determination to hold onto the sheet. She closed her eyes and made her way down from her second-story bedroom, dangling at times and afraid she wouldn't be able to hold on.

The sheets stopped about eight feet short of the grass, but it was close enough, and with her partner in crime urging her to hurry, she made the jump.

She giggled from a combination of nerves and accomplishment upon landing, and the young man who held her one piece of luggage snorted and said, "You are a complete hand."

"Am I, Sam? Is that not good?"

"If you were a man, aye... that would be good. But you are not. You are a woman and nearly nineteen."

"And here you are helping me even so," she said on a short laugh.

"Because you are a twiddle-poop that cannot be left to her own devices," he answered.

"What an unhandsome thing to say," she answered slapping him lightly across the back of his head.

"Well, never mind that now," he returned impatiently as he led her forward. "It just happens that tonight I am a bit in agreement with you as to this scheme. You don't seem to have a choice." He bent and picked up his peaked hat, which had fallen off when she had slapped him. He looked around and said on a tease, "But on second thought, still a twiddle-poop."

She managed to control herself and did not knock off his hat again, though she pinched his cheek a bit roughly.

"Come on..." He frowned at her. "We haven't any time for foolishness."

"Which horse did you bring me?"

"Well, as to that, I didn't bring you a horse, Chelsea. Thought it best to tweak m'father's gig."

"Mr. Martin!" Chelsea objected in shocked accents. "You will catch holy horror for this... and be in the suds forever. Never say you have your father's bays?"

"Aye," Mr. Sam Martin said, his voice edged with a touch of concern.

"No—we simply cannot take them," Chelsea argued.

"Well, and we must. We can make the road to Lymington and be there by morning tea. It is four now, and we should reach the Lytton House by eight or so. Then, I can rest the team a bit, turn around, get home, groom 'em, and none the wiser. Papa is away and won't be back for a couple of days yet."

"Sam, you are the best of good friends to do this for me." Chelsea flung her arms around him. He smiled at her, and in the morning duskiness, she fancied she saw him blush. _How odd_ , she thought before realizing he must be flushed from the adventure.

He had been like a brother to her for so long. They had met at a pond when she had been twelve; it was her first year away from her parents and up at school. She had walked up to him as he sat quietly fishing and shoved a frog in his face with a proud giggle and demanded to know if he had ever seen any frog quite that large.

They immediately became fast friends.

He was a bit older, having just attained his majority the week before. He was one and twenty and was forever lording his age over hers, but he had told Chelsea he would help her. Given what he considered her deplorable situation, he felt it his duty to look after her. "As though I would let that mean-spirited woman gain financially from your inheritance. She doesn't give a fig about your welfare."

"Oh, Sam." Chelsea sighed sadly. "She doesn't at all. Truth is, I think she never loved my uncle. Married him for his money..."

"Come on then," he said gruffly. "Let's go, can't keep m'horses standing, you know." He took her elbow, and they rushed down to the lane where he had his team tethered to a nearby tree. He helped her up, climbed up beside her, and put a blanket over her lap, which she shared with him by stretching it across his lap, and onward they went in comfortable silence for a time.

"You were very brilliant to think of a blanket as well," Chelsea commented.

"Aye, so I was," he agreed happily.

Chelsea sighed. "Poor Mrs. Farthing. I am afraid the note I left her won't be enough to alleviate her discomfort in this situation, but I had no choice. I did not mention your part in all of this."

"Don't worry yourself over it. Lord Lytton will no doubt send her word that you arrived safe and sound."

"Do you think he will try and force me to go to my aunt? _For I shan't!"_

"Don't think he would be such a rum touch as to send you there after you tell him how you have been used since your uncle died." He shook his head and said with disgust, "Left to rot at a boarding school you have been too old to attend for more than a year!"

Chelsea sighed and patted his arm. "You are quite wonderful... and I shall miss you so very terribly."

"Won't have to miss me. Will visit you wherever you are." He grinned broadly, and Chelsea put her face against his arm and sighed.

He glanced at her and patted her head, and the two once again fell into a comfortable silence.

This, however, did not last very long, as all at once Chelsea sat up straight before shouting, "Stop! Sam—stop!"

He pulled up his team and exclaimed, "What, Chels—what is it?"

As an answer, she jumped from the curricle and headed towards a group of young boys no more than seven or eight years old.

Sam shook his head, for he knew Chelsea all too well. "Oh no, Chelsea!" he called out. "We don't have time for this."

However, by the time he got these words out, Chelsea had two young lads by their blazer collars and looked as though she were just about ready to knock them into one another. A much smaller and younger lad lay flat in the dirt and not moving.

"What do you two think you are doing? Cowards. Little scoundrels! Look at him—he is smaller and younger, and there are two of you!" Chelsea declared while shaking them roughly.

Sam set the brake in placed and secured his team before rushing into the scene. The two boys began to cry when he arrived and hurriedly disengaged Chelsea's hands from their coats to say to them, "Go on with you two ruffians, _go on!_ "

Feeling this was not quite enough, Chelsea shouted after them, "If ever you go after someone who can not defend themselves against you, you will be asking for terrible trouble. Understand?"

They blubbered and nodded and ran as fast as they could while Chelsea and Sam saw to the youth on the ground.

Sam set him on his feet and Chelsea took his chin. "Fine and dandy are we now, lad?"

"Fine and dandy," he repeated with a small smile.

"Shall we see you home, then?" Sam asked him.

"No, if ye please—they'll be calling me a baby then," he said with some concern. "But, oi do thankee... oi do."

"Right then, off with you," said Sam.

Chelsea and Sam watched him rush off, and he turned to her and said impatiently, "Chels, you can't save the world."

"No, I can't, but I can try to help when I am on the spot, now can't I?"

Some moments later, they were once again traveling down the road in thoughtful, if not quite comfortable, silence.

~ Two ~

"IT IS SO good, Daisy, to see you again. I hope I didn't put you at an inconvenience, asking you to come here for such an early breakfast, but I thought we needed to put my plan into action." Lord Lytton shrugged his broad shoulders as Lady Daisy Dobson swept her gaze over him.

"Nonsense. Like you, I have always been an early riser, and the five-minute drive here was lovely." She gazed at him for a moment and said softly, "It is a great pleasure to share morning tea with you."

He smiled warmly at her and leaned to touch her hand. "I am sorry that I am going to have to spoil it all by telling you we have a dire situation on our hands with your goddaughter. As trustee for her estate, I have come to discover that my dear friend's niece has suffered intolerable treatment at the hands of her guardian and that we have been duped by Augusta."

"Oh, Lytton never say so! What is towards?"

He grasped her ungloved fingers, put them to his lips, and then sighed heavily.

Lady Daisy smiled softly at him. He always made her heart flutter, and how silly, at her age to feel that way, she told herself. Though her marriage had been one of convenience arranged by her father, she had been a caring and dutiful wife. Her late husband had been a dear man, but she had never experienced the 'grand passion' until she met Lord Lytton.

She had been ashamed to admit to herself that she had 'felt' something for him from the moment she met him six years ago. Since she became a widow two years ago, he had become a constant attendant, and that 'feeling' for him always made her blush.

How warm his dark gray eyes. How gentle his character. He had been a bachelor for so long, perhaps he intended to always be... and yet?

He sat frowning and finally said, "The long and the short of it is, and there is no sugar-coating this, Daisy, but Miss Chelsea has been misused by her Aunt Augusta, and we have been lied to!"

"How so?" She stood up suddenly and clenched her hands together. "Is Chelsea unwell? Augusta advised me that she was in the North visiting with a friend of hers from school." She put a fist to her lips and then added, "I have wondered at it. I have asked for the direction so that I could write her there, but Augusta always had an excuse of one sort or another."

"No, Chelsea is not unwell, but Augusta has thrown her away, left her at school as though she were unwanted baggage.. She is eighteen and completed her graduation _last year_. She will turn nineteen very shortly, and yet there she remains in a small schoolgirl's room, in schoolgirls' clothes, when she should be presented as the season's leading debutante."

"Oh my word... oh no..." Daisy sank back onto the sofa.

He patted her hand. "Not your fault—it was my job to insist that I be told her exact location. I should have..." He shook his head. "Well, I didn't, and it has come to this. Her dear friend and dean of the school, Mrs. Farthing, wrote to advise me that my inquiries about Chelsea have at least had the effect on Augusta of sending for her. However, Mrs. Farthing wanted us to know to what extent Chelsea has been neglected, that she'd been left at school even during the holidays!" He frowned darkly.

"Oh, that dreadful woman! Chelsea's mother was my dearest friend. You must know that at Chelsea's birth I promised to always look out for her if anything—oh, _faith,_ I had no idea! I blame myself in this. I should have—"

"My dear, we were told she was visiting with friends. How could either of us have known what Augusta was about? How could we have suspected? I am only glad Mrs. Farthing wrote and told me how matters really stand."

Lady Daisy looked at his face. "The thing is, I must blame myself. I should not have just accepted that Chelsea was away with friends." She wrung her hands. "We have always been, I thought, close. I should have realized something was wrong when I did not hear from her in recent months. I just thought she was young and busy."

"No doubt Chelsea did not want to worry you about something she may have believed you could do little about," he said with a grim shake of his head. "Mrs. Farthing tells me Chelsea did not even know that I was the trustee of her father's will. I haven't really met the child since she was very young." He sighed heavily. "No, I am the one who has botched this entire affair by conducting my business with her aunt Augusta. I should have gone up to the school when her uncle died, but that is neither here nor there—what is done, is done."

Daisy silently raged at herself. Why had she not checked in on the child? "Oh, I feel a monster. I had no legal rights, but I should have doubted Augusta and demanded to see Chelsea. I am utterly undone in this."

"There, there, I did not mean to overly alarm you. We shall handle this right and tight, so do not sit there thinking all is lost. Far from it, my dear—we shall set things to rights, you and I," he said with determination. "I have a plan I think will meet with your approval."

When he kissed her fingertips and stared into her eyes, Lady Daisy felt his warm gaze, felt his competence to right an awful situation, and leaned hopefully towards him. "Yes, Lytton, how shall we intervene?" she asked gravely. "For legal right or no _, I_ mean to do something. Instead of living in obscurity at school, Chelsea should be enjoying a London season."

"And so she will. That is part of my plan. She must be presented to the _ton_. After all, Daisy, she is a Halloway!"

"Yes, she is, and now is the time for action," said Lady Daisy. "What is our first step?"

"Well, in fact, I have already visited with Augusta, and after our... er... talk, she said she rather thought it was time Chelsea's situation was altered."

Daisy's voice was dry. "Really, Rupurt, you amaze me. How did she explain Chelsea staying at school so long and through the holidays? What could she say to erase her obvious neglect?"

"Nothing I believed. She claimed that immediately after her husband died and shortly after the funeral, Chelsea got into a scrape. Augusta said she sent Chelsea back to school because the girl was trouble—and when I pressed her to tell me what sort of scrape, all she would say was that she wouldn't hurt the girl's reputation by recounting the incident."

"'Tis all nonsense. She sent her back to school for one reason, and one reason only, in my estimation. Chelsea was showing signs of becoming a great beauty, and I'd wager Augusta did not fancy the competition in her own home.

"You are my wise puss," he said, touching her chin. She felt a blush work its way into her cheeks and averted her face for a moment.

He sighed heavily, got to his feet, and paced a moment before adding, "I made my own inquiries, and servants, for a coin, will repeat what they know. Apparently, a week after her husband's demise, Augusta began entertaining bachelors at her home. In fact, her servants were shocked to report that she even had music on one occasion. Chelsea had been disgusted and disapproving. The next thing they knew, off she was sent to school."

"As well I can imagine," said Daisy dryly. "What the deuce can Augusta have been thinking?"

"And before Chelsea was shipped off, one of Augusta's male guests bothered Chelsea, an incident with the servants present."

Daisy put a hand to her heart. "Oh... oh... my poor darling girl!"

"I believe it was no more than the gentleman speaking with Chelsea a moment longer than Augusta liked, as it took away the attention from herself. But she turned on Chelsea and accused her of indecent behavior."

"Outrageous that Chelsea should have been subjected..."

"Augusta is what she is," said Rupurt softly.

"What are we to do now?" Daisy asked, and then added, "For I see you have a plan all mapped out, and I am very pleased that I am to be a part of your plan."

"Well, here is the thing. I don't see that we have a choice," he returned softly. "Obviously, Augusta is not the proper chaperon for Chelsea. Fortunately I have the authority to make changes for Chelsea's welfare."

"You are a rogue. But though I see what you have in mind, tell me and let me be clear. Do we rush off to Chelsea's school and abduct her in the middle of the night?"

"Something much like that. I have already informed Augusta that her services as a chaperon are no longer required." He eyed Daisy. "However, as I am a bachelor, I cannot attend to her season." An unmistakable suggestion lit in his eyes.

Daisy laughed. "Yes, Rupurt if you are asking me to host my goddaughter's season, the answer is yes. I can think of nothing I want to do more."

"Are you certain? It might pall on you after awhile." His voice had become husky with a feeling that engendered one in herself, and she reached out and took his han.

She felt those flutters travel from her heart to her stomach. "Yes," she answered on a very low note. "I will think of my dear friend and be content knowing that Chelsea, an extension of her, is under my care and not that beastly woman's. In fact, it would be a great pleasure to show my little Chelsea about."

He took her shoulders. "I could kiss you." His lordship's voice was as intent as his gaze.

She closed her eyes and was preparing for that kiss when they were rudely interrupted by the sound of arguing in the hall just outside the door.

"I told you, miss," the butler's voice said loudly, "I should announce you first—"

The door opened, and Miss Chelsea Halloway stood on the threshold. "I beg your pardon, I sincerely do, _but, oh_ —we have come such a long way and..."

~ Three ~

"AUNT DAISY!" CHELSEA spied her godmother—her connection in her heart to her mother—and dove at her as though she were a safe house in a storm. She found she couldn't speak and felt an overwhelming urge to cry.

Lady Daisy sat with her and held her even as Chelsea sank to her knees on the floor and put her head on the woman's delicate lap. Chelsea adored Lady Daisy. She was a part of a life that had been lost, a link to memories she held sacred. Lady Daisy had been kind and completely there for her after her parents' passing and when her uncle had been alive. Then, when Daisy lost her husband and went into mourning, Chelsea had seen less of her.

After Chelsea's uncle died, she had hoped she could go and live with Lady Daisy instead of horrid Aunt Augusta. Chelsea's last letter had only hinted of it, however, for she had been too proud to ask. When she had not received a reply, she thought she had overstepped.

Now, here she was, and Chelsea instinctively knew that everything would work out. She had no idea why her godmother was sitting in Lord Lytton's library, but here she was— _like a miracle._

Daisy took her hand and encouraged her to sit with her on the sofa. More thankful than she'd ever imagined being, Chelsea immediately sniffed away a stray tear and sat with her. All she knew, all she could think, was that her godmother, who was not a blood relation, was more dear to her than any of the distant relations she had met whilst growing up. Here was a friend in a raging ocean, extending a lifeline. Here was someone who shared so much of her early years...

She had no idea why her godmother had not written to her at school, but she knew there would be a reasonable explanation.

Chelsea found a constriction in her throat as she murmured, "Aunt Daisy," and felt the enormity of her godmother's obvious affection. She pulled away on a relieved laugh and glanced towards Lord Lytton standing to the side and to Sam, who held his wool peaked cap in hand and beamed with satisfaction.

Finally Chelsea hugged her once more and was able to speak coherently. "How good, how very wonderful it is to find you here!" Her eyes still brimming with tears, she added, "I have missed you so much, Aunt Daisy."

Daisy's face was a mixture of guilt and pleasure as she touched Chelsea's chin. "The only thing that has kept us apart, my dear, dear child _, is a lie_. I thought you away with friends. I never suspected you were up at school. How should I when you have already graduated? It is beyond thinkable."

"I knew there was a reason. Aunt Augusta hates me. She _must_ hate me to keep even you from me!" Chelsea said with heat.

"How is it _you didn't write_... and tell me how matters stood? Did you... not trust me to handle it and your Aunt Augusta?" Daisy nearly choked on a sob as she spoke.

"I—I did write to you, but did not wish to say too much," Chelsea replied, "and Sam mailed it for me, as I did not even have the funds to do that. Augusta kept me in school clothes and penniless. I was fortunate she paid for my room and board, and I was able to help the teachers as my lessons were at an end..."

"Yes, but, Chelsea, when you wrote why did you not advise me how matters stood?"

"I couldn't trouble you while you were in mourning, could I? But I hinted that I should dearly love to see you... hoping you might send for me."

"Oh, my dear, I hadn't a clue that was what you meant. I thought you were just being kind. You see, we believed you were staying with friends..." Daisy wrung her hands and exclaimed, "Oh my dear, my dear!" No longer able to sit, Lady Daisy stood, pulled Chelsea to her feet, and hugged her close. "We shall right this wrong, my girl."

Apparently feeling he should interject at this point, Sam cleared his throat loudly.

"Oh, Sam—Sam Martin, I think you might remember my godmother. You have met on several occasions when Aunt Daisy visited me at school." She turned and eyed the distinguished gentleman standing with his hands clasped at his back. "And, oh, you must be Lord Lytton, and I do beg your pardon, _but we had to come_ —we simply had to, and I do hope you will hear me out before... before you ask us to leave."

"My dear girl, I am honored that you have come. You have saved me a trip to go and fetch you," said Lytton.

Sam interrupted by stepping forward bravely at this point, hand extended toward his lordship and head politely inclined to Lady Dobson. "My lady, so happy to see you again, My lord, it is a very great honor to meet you and introduce myself to you. I am Miss Chelsea Halloway's devoted servant and friend. I er... well..."

"Sam was good enough to steal his father's prime goers and bring me here, you see," supplied Chelsea, incurably honest.

Lord Lytton choked back a laugh and managed to put on a grave face. "Ah, but of course." He turned to Sam, who was fidgeting and red faced. "I am very grateful to you, sir, for without your help, I have no doubt that Miss Halloway would have taken to the open stage."

Obviously pleased at Lord Lytton's ready understanding, Sam breathed a loud sigh of relief and managed to add to this, "That's it, my lord. Had some doltish notion that she could take the stagecoach and find you. My father is bound to understand, don't you think, when I explain it all to him? He is fond of Chelsea, you know... and well, I went real easy on his bays."

"Ah, I am so glad. Your father must be an estimable individual, my boy," returned his lordship, and Chelsea liked him from that moment on, for she saw the twinkle in his eyes.

Sam beamed. "My father is the best of all good fathers." He glanced towards the wall clock.

"Er... will he be expecting you back this day?" his lordship asked idly, his face alive with humor.

"Well, as to that, not immediately, thank the saints. He won't be home until tomorrow evening. He is away on business. I should have the bays safely in their stalls long before—" Sam blushed to the roots of his hair as he met his lordship's gaze. "But... I do mean to confess the whole, you know. I just thought that if he first sees that the bays have taken no ill at my hands, and I can report that Chelsea is safely with you... well..."

"I understand and don't wish to intrude on your hopes, but Chelsea cannot stay with me. _I am a bachelor_ ," returned his lordship, his eyes twinkling still.

Chelsea narrowed her eyes, for she had no doubt in her mind he was enjoying himself immensely, and that led her to believe he had a solution. She turned to see the panic on her friend's face and rushed to him to take his hands in both of hers.

"Never mind—it isn't your fault, Sam."

"Zounds, Chels," exclaimed Sam. "What now? I just assumed his lordship was old and married."

"Well, he may be mature, but not what I would call... 'old'... really, Sam. But I must admit this to being a problem I had not anticipated," Chelsea said, frowning as she collected her thoughts. She and Sam stood looking at one another while she chewed her bottom lip and Sam played with the hat he still held in his hands.

"I could of course escort you to your aunt and guardian..." his lordship offered casually.

Chelsea stepped away from everyone as though she were about to bolt. _"Never!_ I will never go to her—"

Lady Daisy stamped her foot at his lordship at this point. "No more, Rupurt! You have had your fun, and if your game was to make Chelsea think before she acts, that has been accomplished."

"Indeed," he answered her, "so it has. I did have to know our Miss Halloway's mind, though, and it seems things are much worse than we can have imagined."

"Darling..." Daisy went and put an arm around Chelsea. "I am here because his lordship requested me to visit and discuss this very problem."

" _Me?_ You are here because of me?" Chelsea asked as her heart filled with hope. She put a weary head on Lady Daisy's shoulder and found her forehead kissed.

"We only just became aware that your aunt has not been honest with us. Every single time either one of us asked to visit with you, she said you were away from home visiting friends," offered Lord Lytton.

"Indeed, it wasn't until I demanded to know which friends that I became suspicious as she hemmed and hawed and finally said," Lady Daisy stuck in, "that she thought they were friends from school."

"And then I received a letter from Mrs. Farthing confirming my worst fears," his lordship added. He shook his head. "We had no idea you had been literally abandoned."

Chelsea looked at Daisy. "I... you were in mourning still... and I could not bring myself to foist my problems on you."

"Dear child, oh my dear." Lady Daisy was near to tears. "Never mind all that now. We shall do."

"I shall use some of the money from my trust fund, hire a companion and lease a residence, and go on very well," Chelsea announced then.

"Stop such nonsense, my love, as though I should allow you to do that. Why... look at you!" Daisy turned to his lordship. "She is quite a beauty. I daresay she will take the _ton_ by storm."

Mr. Martin glanced sharply at Chelsea then, and Chelsea felt herself blush as he said, "Well... well... as to that..."

"Don't you think, Sam, that I could make a mark?" she teased.

He got red faced, and to all but Chelsea it became obvious he had a bit of a crush on her himself.

"Let us first deal with the very immediate future." Lord Rupurt brought the subject around.

"Indeed," Lady Daisy agreed. "Come, Chelsea, we must return immediately to my establishment in London and see about your clothes—why, I cannot believe what you have been subjected to wear." Her hand waved over Chelsea's drab schoolgirl gown and cloak. She turned to his lordship. "I will have her fitted in the best, by the best, my dear, and it shall be costly."

He smiled. "The trust welcomes the expense, but, my dear, even if it couldn't have withstood it, _I would_." He inclined his head, and Chelsea watched the exchanged glance between the two with a sudden dawning that she filed away for later contemplation.

"And as for Mr. Martin," Lady Daisy said sweetly, "do make him stay and eat before he returns home."

Lord Lytton moved to her and took her hand up to his lips, bending his head only so that he was eye level with her, and all this under Chelsea's interested scrutiny.

"I shall miss you until next we meet, and I promise that shall be soon—very soon."

"I look forward to it," Daisy said softly, and their gazes locked.

Chelsea turned to Sam. "Sam... you won't forget me?"

"I will be in London to see you as soon as I may," Mr. Martin answered with a great show of feeling.

His lordship walked the ladies out to Lady Daisy's coach, whose driver had been grooming the horses while he waited for her ladyship's return.

"Do you return home to pack first?" Lytton inquired of Daisy as he stood with her at the carriage door.

"Yes, I will stop by my grange and ask my dear Thelma to pack, and she and Wrigley will meet us at my lodgings in Kensington as soon as they can."

"How far are we from London?" Chelsea asked.

"Two hours, no more," said Lytton, smiling. "Now then, enjoy your shopping." And with this his lordship backed away from the coach with a wave.

Daisy laughed. "Indeed, you know that is something I promise you we shall do," she said as her driver closed the coach door.

Mr. Martin came up behind his lordship and said, "Chels and I have been friends forever... it seems odd to watch her go off like this."

His lordship chuckled. "Never mind, lad. You have other matters to attend to—for instance, getting your father's steeds back unharmed and, I think, preparing yourself for a severe lecture... but first, come in and let's have a late breakfast."

Mr. Martin imagined his father's face when he finally would make his confession, and he closed his eyes. "Aye—though I think I just lost my appetite."

His lordship barked a laugh and slapped Sam on the back. "You'll do," he said, leading the way back inside and to the dining room.

~ Four ~

DAISY STOOD LOOKING into a shop window, concentrating on the pretty gown. She turned to ask Chelsea her opinion but did not find her at her side. A quick survey showed that her goddaughter had moved towards a supply wagon and seemed to be engaging a ruffian of a man in conversation.

"Oh, there you are," Daisy said out loud. "Chelsea, what are you doing?"

Chelsea apparently didn't hear her, but before Daisy could repeat her question, a strong male voice said at her back. "Aunt Daisy! I say, dearest Aunt..."

She turned and saw her nephew, who she noted looked as handsome as ever. He was certainly the very broth of a man. As he walked towards her he smiled warmly, and she noted that his cutaway of dark blue fit his wondrous shoulders and trim waist to perfection. His dark blue top hat was tilted rakishly on his fine head of silky ginger waves, and as he drew closer still, she could see his deep blue eyes glittering with amused affection.

"Brett, my dear! You are just the man I wanted to see." She turned to call her goddaughter over to introduce them, wishing Chelsea were not still in her school clothes, when she noticed something unfortunate afoot.

* * *

Chelsea had her hands on her hips as she watched the grimy-looking driver of a supply wagon grumbling and yanking roughly on the bit of his cob horse.

"You there, that is no way to work his mouth!" Chelsea called.

The driver ignored her and snarled at the horse. He had a long driving whip in his hand, and while shouting at his aged animal to move he shook the whip in the poor horse's face.

The cob shied away but pranced in place, as he was hindered by two things: the brake that kept the wagon in place and the fact that his shoe had come loose and was caught at the curbing, stuck between stone and mortar. Obviously infuriated, the driver moved in on the old horse, slamming him hard across the nose with his open hand.

The horse whinnied and threw up his head, his eyes filled with fear, and Chelsea could stand no more.

She marched over to the driver, and without thought to herself or to the picture she presented reached out and grabbed hold of the long whip.

"How dare you!" she demanded in outraged accents. "This poor horse carries and works for you, and without him you will not be able to make a living! How dare you beat him because he didn't move out fast enough. He can't, _you fool_ —don't you see, half of his shoe is hanging off, and it is caught at the curbing!"

The driver turned on her and, seeing her in school clothes, smirked. "And ye think ye can tell me whot to do with m'own?"

"I just have," she snapped.

"How ye gonna make me listen to the loikes of ye?"

" _You will_ listen to me, however," a man said, appearing (to Chelsea) out of nowhere. The large gentleman in his fine clothing went right up to the driver and gave him a look that would have wilted a stronger man.

"Lookee now, this 'orse is in m'care... and oi'll do as I please..." spluttered the driver.

"And did you know there is a law against the abuse of horses? I shall lay witness against you, and the beadles I will call here will confiscate your wagon and your supplies and, for that matter, your horse."

"Well... they can't! Ain' m'rig—it belongs to the smithy I work fer."

"Then he will not like that you have caused him to lose his belongings, will he?"

"Right then, right... oi'll be on m'way," he said, about to hoist himself up onto the driver's seat.

"Wait!" Chelsea called. "You need to pull off your horse's shoe—it is caught."

The driver grumbled but did, in fact, bend and inspect the horse's hoof. He hurriedly retrieved a tool from a box behind his seat and with this aid removed the offending shoe.

The gentleman and Chelsea stood and watched the driver pull the wagon into traffic.

Daisy moved to her other side, sighed with relief, and hugged her charge. "My dear, you cannot go about being a champion in public and facing men like that!"

"I can, and I must—we all must when we see a poor animal abused!" Chelsea answered with feeling.

To Chelsea's surprise, instead of responding, Daisy sighed and turned to the man standing next to her. "Darling, I am very happy you sent the brute off." She turned back to Chelsea. "I should like you to meet my nephew, Lord Bretton Wainwright, my dear."

Chelsea gazed at him and found his eyes of blue twinkling, but then he gave her a glance from head to toe and very obviously turned his attention back to his aunt.

"Shopping, eh, Daisy love?" he teased as he bent over her fingers.

"I am so very happy that you have come along, Brett," returned Daisy warmly. "I did not know you were back in London. This is beyond everything perfect. You are just what I need."

"That," put in his lordship with a warning finger, "sounds like my cue to leave."

Daisy's laugh was sweet, and she answered with an admonishing expression and tone. "Nonsense, Brett, now don't be disagreeable. I don't think I need remind you how cooperative I was when you came to me last season and asked me to extricate you from a certain, shall we say, uncomfortable situation?" She eyed him with one delicate brow up.

Chelsea took it all in and filed it away for later examination. She was finding London town manners very intriguing, and her godmother's nephew even more so. He had been very good to help her with that awful man, but then he'd dismissed her as though she were nothing but a child. She sighed; that was, after all, what she looked like.

Another week and she would be nineteen. She thought of her friends, some of whom were already married, and grimaced to herself. She wasn't quite ready for marriage. She wanted to spread her wings first...

"Aha!" Brett returned jovially, looking only at her godmother and giving Chelsea more time to study him. She was happy he had come along, but she couldn't warm to him. He seemed so arrogantly cool.

"Stop that!" Daisy laughed.

"But you are, aren't you... calling in your marker, eh, my dearest aunt?"

"If you must put it that way, yes, yes I am," she answered and shrugged her delicate shoulders. She scanned his face and spoke to him as though he were still a youth. "Now, darling, don't get that odious look on your face. What I want from you is the veriest nothing, and though I have heard that you have a dreadful, snubbing way at times, I have never thought you would use it on me or that you would ever be unkind."

"You are quite correct. I would never snub you, but I can be unkind," he warned with a twinkle that belied the words. "Not ever to you. Aunt Daisy. You know I adore you."

"Excellent! I am so very pleased to hear it, dearest." She turned towards Chelsea, who stood silently soaking up every word, and said sweetly, "Chelsea, my nephew teases us, I know." She pulled her goddaughter close and then lifted her eyes to her nephew.

A flickering smile curved Chelsea's lips, but she was amazingly at a loss for words. She found herself intimidated by the gentleman's air of sophistication and his bold good looks. She felt her heart fluttering, and she was all too conscious of her schoolgirl clothes and her schoolgirl mass of hair—and of his sweeping gaze and the look of dismissal that followed.

"Darling," Daisy continued, "this is my goddaughter, the daughter of my dearest friend, whom I lost some years ago, Miss Chelsea Halloway."

"Ah, yes. We were not formally introduced during our run-in with that scoundrel earlier. I am very happy to meet you, Miss Chelsea Halloway." He inclined his head and then said, "Halloway...? Are you related to Augusta?"

"She was married to my late uncle..." Chelsea answered but allowed her voice to trail off , as he didn't really seem interested.

"Brett, I am so happy to have Chelsea with me for the season. She is so like her mother, Cybil, that I feel my heart is full having her with me."

She wasn't sure she liked this arrogant man. He was scarcely making an effort to be polite. He had dismissed her each and every single time attention had been drawn to her, and, oh, she was embarrassed standing there in clothes that were no better than rags. She looked a dowd.

He glanced again at Chelsea and then back at his aunt. "And did you just bring her down from school?"

"You could say that," Chelsea answered evasively to save her godmother from any awkward reply.

"I am very well acquainted with your aunt Augusta, and she has never mentioned you to me at all," he said almost absently.

"Precisely why Chelsea will be staying with me," stuck in Daisy immediately. "Augusta would rather not be troubled with her ward."

"Her ward?" his lordship was surprised into repeating.

"Well, yes, but we cannot stand about in the street this way discussing it," Daisy said. "And I cannot invite you over now to Kensington, for we have a great deal to do this afternoon. However, you may dine with us this evening."

He laughed and dropped a kiss on her cheek. "You are a complete hand. May I indeed dine with you this evening? As it happens, I am engaged to dine with friends, but I shall put them off and appear in Kensington as commanded, where you will continue this very intriguing story."

He turned to Chelsea then and surprised her with a slight smile. "Enjoy your shopping," he said lightly and with a nod and a wink at his aunt before he walked away under Chelsea's watchful eyes.

"Aunt Daisy?"

"Yes, dear," Daisy returned as they entered the shop.

"I have a great deal of growing up to do, and so much to learn..."

"And you shall do so in your own good time, never fear, love."

* * *

Chelsea tried on gown after gown. Some needed alterations, and others fit so perfectly she couldn't believe, when she gazed at her reflection, who the young woman in the looking glass could be.

She was sighing happily as she prepared to wear one of the walking ensembles out of the shop, when Daisy remarked, "We will go now and purchase some hats and ribbons, and then we will go to my own hairdresser—she will know just how to trim your hair in the style that will best suit your exquisite face. And then, you will be ready for Brett."

"Ready for Brett?" Chelsea cut in anxiously. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean for him to squire us about this season. It will do you quite a bit of good to be noticed on his arm."

"But... oh... but..."

Daisy eyed her and said quietly, " _Ah,_ you don't like him."

"Oh, I am sorry," Chelsea replied, not wanting to hurt her godmother or to appear ungrateful. "I know he is your nephew, and I know you must love him, but I do hope you will not impose on him. He would hate to have to take me about... and I do not wish to be a burden."

" _Nonsense_. It is the most natural thing in the world for him to take you under his wing. After all, as my goddaughter and my guest for the season, you are also my protégé. As such, I mean for you to become the belle of the _ton_ , and everyone will take notice if you are seen in my nephew's company!"

"But... but... he will not wish to, and I am certain... and I don't want to be liked for the company I keep."

"You may not want that, and I do agree, but the point is to get you noticed, and then they can like you for who you are." She sighed and patted Chelsea's hand. "I know a first impression of him might have made you think that he thinks too much of himself, and perhaps, as of late, he does. However, there is more to him than the façade he dons in public for the _haute ton_. That isn't who he is, believe me. Oh my dear, I can imagine your mother looking at you now... seeing you enter society and taking your place. It warms my heart."

Chelsea thought about her mother, and a silent tear trickled down her cheek. For a moment she couldn't speak. Finally she hugged Daisy and whispered, "Thank you... I imagine her as well."

Daisy sighed. "However, you are quite right—my Brett wants manners. I fancy, my girl, you just might be the one to teach him one or two."

"Me?"

Daisy laughed. "Yes, you. You see, he is not quite the devil you imagine. There is another side to him, though it is quickly vanishing as he continues to travel in the rakish company he keeps."

"Yes, but—"

"What he needs is a set-down to open up his eyes," Daisy said thoughtfully.

"Yes, but—"

"And you, my sweet Chelsea, you..." She held Chelsea at arm's length and admired her figure. "You are, I think, the one to deliver it."

"Oh, no... I would never..."

"Come along—there is no time to dawdle, for we have an engagement this evening with the subject of our discussion." So saying she laughed musically, and Chelsea joined in, swept up in her godmother's enthusiasm.

~ Five ~

LORD WAINWRIGHT PUT his cloak, hat, and gloves into Wrigley's gloved hands and winked at the butler, who had been with his aunt for as long as he could remember. "Am I late, ol' fellow?"

The elderly man smiled fondly at the man he had watched grow up and answered quietly, "No, my lord. The ladies are still above-stairs. We have a fire for you in the study, and I have taken the liberty of putting out your favorite wine."

"Good man. I'll show myself in and make myself comfortable, then," his lordship said as he strode across the marble flooring and moved to the single study door.

His lordship had just celebrated his twenty-ninth birthday. He was considered because of his title, his looks, and his wealth to be one of the most sought-after marriage prizes on the market, but he had done everything he could to steer clear of the dreaded event.

He had been early on disillusioned by the fairer sex and was no longer amused by missish giggles or coy games. When he dallied, and he did so quite often, it was usually with older, experienced females who expected him to take them to bed, and he was always happy to fulfill this expectation.

This latest duty-call was most irritating and interfered with his plans for a convivial evening with his friends. He had no doubt that this 'veriest nothing' she wanted of him involved the girl, but just what did Daisy think he could do? The chit looked to be just out of the schoolroom. But, his conscience argued, this was his beloved Daisy, who had always been there for him. Not some of the time— _but all of the time_. In those early months when he had lost his mother and was an inconsolable lad, Daisy had been there...

He could not refuse anything she asked, and he knew she had asked him to dinner for a specific purpose. He was certain the only thing she wanted from him was to squire the country child about. Damn! Pretty the girl might be, but this was bound to be a bore. Though, he acknowledged as an afterthought, she _was_ pretty, for it had not escaped him that beneath the schoolgirl hair and clothes was quite an attractive little thing. However, what could they talk about? This was not what he wanted to do; he closed his eyes at the thought.

He could not refuse. There was nothing for it.

The door to the study opened just as he had poured himself a glass of wine, and he looked up to find Chelsea entering the room.

She stopped, looking momentarily panic-stricken. He suspected she was just about to bolt and run back out, but then she suddenly managed to get control of herself. He almost chuckled out loud. _Cute_ , he thought and waited.

As she approached, he could see she had steeled herself for this meeting. What held him captive and almost speechless was the fact that she was completely ravishing—so much more than he had imagined. Was this the same girl who'd scolded the wagon driver?

Zounds! The schoolgirl was gone, and in her place was a young and provocative woman. Her auburn curls were alive with gold highlights, and they were clustered in a Grecian style at the top of her head and allowed to dangle enticingly around a face that was breathtaking.

He had not expected a transformation of this size. She was without a doubt a mesmerizing beauty! As she moved forward, the silk of her cream-colored gown swayed and flowed around a trim waist, slim hips, and very fine legs almost visible because of the fashionable and clinging material. Her silver eyes were alight, but they glittered militantly, surrounded by dark lashes that had been slightly blackened. Her cheeks were rosy, and her full lips made him suddenly uncomfortable in his breeches.

She gave him her hand as he approached, and as he bent over it to leave a light kiss on her ungloved fingers, she said, "Good evening, my lord."

Her voice went through his mind and spurred his imagination. It was husky, low, and sweet, but something about the expression on her face and in her eyes made him feel she had decided to reserve her opinion of him.

"Miss Halloway, I am enchanted," he said smoothly.

"Ah, not the same girl you met this morning?" she said with a smile and an arched brow.

His brow went up, and he met her gaze. "Indeed, the very same, with a bit of finery that you display to advantage. You make your attire, my dear, and your hair dressed like that... well, you look radiant."

"Radiant? Another form of glitter to fool the eye. Men are often bedazzled by glitter, if you will, and fail to look past the ordinary," she said with a touch of dry contempt.

His lordship was taken aback. He was used to women of all ages, sizes, and styles fawning over him and anything he had to say. He regarded her with wary interest. "Should these things not be admired? After all, females take care to wear the finest glitter, don't they?"

She laughed, and the musical sound swept deliciously through him. She eyed him and said, "Very good, my lord. True, we like the glitter as well, but the most discerning of us are able to see past it."

"Ah, _do you_ see past it?" He shook his head. "When a handsome young man approaches you and smiles and tells you what you want to hear— _glitter_ —do you see past it?"

"I hope when that happens I will see past it," she answered on a slight frown. "Peel all of that away and then what do you have, is what I should ask myself." She gave him a demure smile and purposely fluttered her dark lashes. "When I do that— _glitter_ —would a man see more than the prettiness of the flirtation? _W_ _ould you?_ "

Before he could reply, Lady Daisy entered, chattering away and smiling. "Ah, Brett darling. I declare this is a first. You are actually on time. No doubt because you mean to rush off as soon as dinner is over. You can't fool me, you scamp, but I forgive you in advance, for I can see that you and Chelsea have been getting acquainted, and that is precisely what I want."

_Brett darling_ was, much to his surprise, thoroughly intrigued. The little minx had entertained him very well. Indeed, he wasn't sure he liked her, but he had just enjoyed her company. If Daisy asked him to take her about, perhaps he could manage to escort her to a ball or two—but no more...

The little Chelsea didn't seem to like him. Why, he wondered. He had been charming; he had been attentive. He had played her games of words. And yet, it was obvious, she thought poorly of him.

He moved towards his aunt, placed a perfunctory kiss upon her forehead, and said, "So, you have ulterior motives? I thought you wanted me to dine with you for the pleasure of my company?"

"That I am already enjoying, as I always do, for better company I could not ask, and I think you know that very well." She looked around herself with a frown. "Now that is odd."

"What is, Aunt Daisy?" Chelsea asked, following her ladyship's line of vision.

"I rather thought I had left my shawl down here, and I don't see it about." She clucked her tongue. "Chelsea love, could I bother you to find Thelma and see if she knows where the dratted thing might be? Tell her the one with the ivory lace that goes so well with everything... for I do feel a chill..."

Chelsea's mind worked fast. This was contrived, and Lady Daisy did it so well. No doubt she wanted a private moment with her nephew. Chelsea felt a flush light up her cheeks, for she was quite certain she knew what Daisy wanted to discuss with him. However, she smiled and said, "Of course, Aunt Daisy," made a pretty curtsey, and excused herself.

As she closed the door she heard her aunt say, "Well, I must say, you two did not look as though you were getting along."

"Right you are—your darling little ward has been throwing poison darts at me!"

Daisy laughed. "Ah, has she snubbed you then? Good. I am sure you deserved it."

Chelsea smiled to herself and hurried up the stairs.

* * *

"Now, " said Lord Wainwright's aunt, "sit beside me... I want to discuss something with you."

"Of course, you do," he said with a resigned tone. He sat beside her, and his blue eyes twinkled as she patted his ungloved hand.

"There." She sighed heavily before she continued. "You are the devil, but you shall be good and listen. That girl is an exceptional beauty, yes, but she has such a lovely soul. You must remember that. She has breeding, and she is quite comfortably endowed with a living from a most respectable trust. However, she was literally thrown away—left to fend for herself at a boarding school she had long grown out of." She wagged a finger at him. "This was done to her by that awful tart of yours, Augusta, who as soon as her husband passed on sent Chelsea back to school and forgot her there. She is about to turn nineteen in a few days, and I mean for her to make a splash amongst our set."

"Do you?"

"Brett, have you not heard me? Are you so cold-blooded that you would not offer on your own, without my pushing you..."

"What do you want me to offer, exactly what, my dearest aunt?"

"She has been mistreated, but she is a spirited young woman who ran way and went directly to Lord Lytton and told him she would not live with Augusta. It was something to see." Daisy smiled proudly.

"Did she?" He said softly, "You intrigue me. Go on..."

"She has managed in spite of open neglect..." Daisy began to tear up.

He patted her hand. "I am beginning to see. Do not fret yourself."

"Cybil was my dearest friend... I... I should not have believed Augusta. I should have known..."

"Daisy, tell me, just what it is you want me to do?"

"You are right. What has been done, cannot be undone."

Wainwright had developed a ragged opinion of most of the females he had known while he grew into manhood. He had watched them at play, he had watched them at games all their own, and he had watched them when they were in earnest. Few had altered his poor opinion of the sex. His mother had died when he was still young, and his father had died before he was thirteen. He had inherited the title, the responsibility, and the wealth all while he was still a lad. To this sweeping point of view of women and the mystery in which they enshrouded themselves there were always exceptions, such as his Daisy, whom he adored. She had always been there for him, and more than that, he completely admired her mind, her character, her heart.

When he had, on his very first heartbreak, advised her that females were cold-blooded, mercenary creatures who prevaricated, swooned, flirted, fluttered, and forever spoke in riddles, she had not laughed it away. She had understood.

"I am not the one to help you in this matter." He sighed and tried to indicate that he was not at all interested in Chelsea Halloway.

When she gazed at him, he saw disappointment in her eyes. "Is it possible that you have crossed the line, my dear heart? I have always known you had a cynical leaning, but I have never thought you devoid of sensibility." She touched his arm. "I tell you that this child has been orphaned... and then left alone again by her uncle's death, left to look after herself, without the benefit of a woman to guide her for the last fourteen months, and you _look bored!_ "

He frowned and felt a pang of guilt. Not once had Daisy asked anything of him. Not once, and now, when she was genuinely upset, he had shrugged it off as nothing. However, he so disliked being forced into anything, and it made him defensive. "Well..." he started.

"Brett!"

He capitulated. "What would you have me do? I shall do it."

"Only what you will," she answered, looking away from him.

"I will do whatever lies in my power." He acknowledged himself totally conquered.

"Well then, you have it in your power to bring her into fashion. I think she is a diamond... You could launch her in such a way that all the _beau monde_ will think it as well."

"Famous!" he shouted, throwing his hands up. "How shall I do that?"

"Escort her about. Show yourself intrigued, amused, charmed by our Chelsea Halloway, and all the rest will follow. That is all."

" _That is all_?" He nearly choked. "That is quite enough, thank you. As it happens, I have a life of my own to pursue, and pretending an infatuation with your sharp-tongued Miss Halloway might just be something of a complication."

"Nonsense. I don't want you to pretend anything of the kind. All I want is for you to stand up with her now and then for a dance or two. Be seen taking her for a drive through Hyde Park at the fashionable hour." She waved her hand in the air. "That sort of thing. Chelsea has a refreshing style all her own—she will quite manage the rest." She tilted her head a bit. "Ah, perhaps I do overstep? Perhaps Augusta's claims on you might—"

He quickly interrupted her. "Augusta has no claim on me."

"Then where is the harm?"

The door burst open. Chelsea stood before him, and he got a full glimpse of her breathless, open smile. Her gold-lit auburn curls were in disarray around her piquant face. Her lovely new gown was slightly bedraggled, and she held by the scruff of the neck a white piece of fluff. "Look, Aunt Daisy!" she cried. "Oh, do please come quick!"

~ Six ~

"WHAT IN HEAVEN'S name...?" Daisy stepped forward, hands outstretched to the tiny, ragged thing Chelsea held up for inspection.

"'Tis a kitten," Chelsea explained to his lordship, quite forgetting that she was at war with him.

"I can see that," he answered, sudden amusement in his blue eyes. "But what the deuce is it doing here?"

She led them to the kitchen and there began her explanation. "I went to look for Aunt Daisy's shawl because Thelma was nowhere about... but, oh do come with me while I explain." She released the fluff to Daisy and, satisfied to hear it purr in Daisy's arms, led them out, down the corridor, and straight to the kitchen.

She spoke the entire time over her shoulder. "Well, as I was saying, there was no one about, and of course not, because everyone was out back trying to save this little thing from Daisy's dreadful Pug!"

"He is not dreadful. He is a dear, sweet dog," declared Daisy in defense of her pet.

"So he is when he hasn't got a baby by the throat, for that is what she is—just a baby," Chelsea said, pursing her lips and talking in purring accents herself. "And," she continued her tale, "somehow there was Pug in the kitchen sneaking off with some scrap Cook had thrown his way, and then, Cook said, this little thing came, and apparently, _boom_ —out came Pug with snarling and commotion I heard from the top of the stairs. I came straightaway, and there was Pug pinning the poor baby down!"

She took a breath and immediately resumed her story with a wave of her hand towards the butler. "Wrigley jumped in to save the baby, but _Pug bit him_!" She nodded at her astonished audience and said, "Yes, indeed—he drew blood, and so there was nothing for it. I rushed in and got Pug by the scruff of his neck and told him he was a bad, very bad boy, and I grabbed the kitten. He tried biting at me, but I was too quick for him." She pointed. "There he is, hiding like a fugitive behind the beer keg, growling at everyone. I rather thought you were needed."

Lady Daisy shoved the frightened kitty into the arms of the unsuspecting Lord Wainwright and stormed through the kitchen, which was in a state of great disorder. Everywhere there were chairs, brooms, knocked-over wooden canisters, and servants all looking extremely harassed.

In the corner, behind the keg as Chelsea had reported, was a small pug dog with a black face and a loud growl.

"Puggly," called his mistress firmly. The growl became a whine. "Come here."

Head low and steps slow came the culprit until he reached Daisy's silk-shod feet.

Chelsea giggled and pronounced, "Little criminal."

His mistress bent and scooped him up. "Look here at what you have done!" She clucked her tongue. "Granted you thought, and rightly so, that you were ridding the house of a trespasser, but how dare you bite poor Wrigley? And can you not see the trespasser is but a baby? Well, you shall go to your room and be quiet for the remainder of the evening." She handed him to Thelma, who took up the wayward creature and told him he was a naughty boy.

"What," asked his lordship, "would you like me to do with this?"

Chelsea giggled again. "I'll see to her." She turned to Daisy. "May I call her my own? May I keep her... poor little hungry thing?"

"Well, of course," her ladyship answered sweetly. "But she wants a bath. I daresay she won't like it, but have it she must. Also, my dear cat Susie won't like her, but never mind, Susie is too old and fat to bother much about her. Take her upstairs, darling, and see what you can do to mend your tresses, and then join us quickly as you can, for I am quite famished." Daisy was already turning to her servants, complimenting them and telling them that she was very pleased that they'd saved the little kitten from her naughty pug.

Chelsea beamed and rushed to give her a hug. "Oh, thank you, thank you Aunt Daisy!"

"There, there," her ladyship said, patting Chelsea's back. "Go on then."

All this time, his lordship had stood patiently, and Chelsea also noticed that he used this time to stroke and comfort the kitten. When she reached for it, he relinquished it to her, saying, "Well then, Miss Halloway, what shall you call it?"

"See, here and there?" Chelsea pointed to the two black squares on its white fur. "Patches, and so she shall be named."

"Ah, so be it then." He smiled. "You are aptly named, Patches," he said, speaking to the kitten.

* * *

Chelsea left them with her new charge, and his lordship turned to Daisy. "She is no more than a child. Do you think she is ready to face the harsh world we call our own?"

"Probably not, but then we shall help her along." She looked at him archly. "Shan't we?"

He laughed. "First round to you. Indeed, your darling Miss Halloway has thus far proved herself worthy of some attention."

"Aha! You like the chit," her ladyship accused. "Admit it and be done."

"That is doing it too brown, but I will admit that she is at least not like most of her kind. We shall see, we shall see."

~ Seven ~

CHELSEA'S MIND WANDERED. A week—and now here she was with his handsome self sitting tall beside her. Any other girl might swoon, she told herself, but she was not going to do that.

A week had already passed since Lord Wainwright's dinner visit to Daisy's home in Kensington Square. This was not due to neglect on his part but because of his aunt's command to leave the child be until she had time to outfit her for every occasion—and outfit her, Daisy did.

Chelsea sat proudly, knowing her chip straw bonnet, tilted roguishly on her head of abundant auburn curls, was all 'the thing'. She also knew the pretty blue ribbon tied neatly just below one ear was very stylish and, she thought, roguish as well. A straw-colored silk ensemble hugged her figure, and she could not keep the smile off her face. She was enjoying everything so immensely and not at all ashamed to show it.

She had been gaining friends, admirers, and confidence through her Aunt Daisy's skill and had decided to forgive his lordship's previous sin of arrogance when he very obligingly invited her to ride with him in Hyde Park.

His carriage was of the latest style, and his horses were prime blood—high steppers—and she was very happily situated at his side.

She smiled at him and interrupted her own lively chatter to say, "This is very kind of you."

He looked sideways at her and asked in some mild surprise, "What is?"

"This," she said with a wide show of her hands over the carriage and the horses. And lest he still not understand, she further explained, "Taking me about, showing me all the sights... introducing me to that magnificent-looking colonel..."

He laughed right out loud. "I don't know if Daisy would thank me for that."

She eyed him with shock. "Is he a bad man?"

He laughed again and eyed her with a glint in his blue eyes that made her heart flutter. "No, not _a bad man_ , but rather something of a rake, and he preys on young, pretty, and if he can find them, wealthy chits like yourself."

"Ah, but he was such fun," Chelsea teased saucily.

"Those types usually are," his lordship returned dryly.

Chelsea was all too aware of his lordship's height, breadth, and mesmerizing good looks. Those alone could would not have intrigued her. It was more. It was what she saw beneath it all, behind the handsome countenance and sophisticated air. She saw a very genuine heart lurking in him ever ready to emerge. And she could not deny that she was attracted to him. He had a way of moving that was extremely masculine, like a warrior daring anyone to challenge him. He had a self-assurance that was natural. He had a way, a style all his own, that presented an attitude of 'here I am—like me or not, your choice, and if not, your loss!'

Chelsea found she liked the way he wore his dark beaver top hat, so rakishly on his ginger-colored, oh such beautiful waves of hair. And his nose, straight and perfectly manly, and his lips... firm and forever teasing and catching her eye. Since their first meeting, she had wondered, just before she went to sleep, what it would be like to be kissed by such an experienced man. He would know the knack of it, she told herself; thinking this now as she gazed at him, she suddenly felt her cheeks heat up as she silently told herself to _stop!_

She dimpled up at him and said, "You say those types are... usually fun—like you, my lord?"

His expressive brows moved. "Like me? No, my little girl. I am not in the petticoat line, nor am I chasing after a wife, rich or otherwise!"

"So what do you chase after? For I have seen that you have an... 'eye' for the ladies."

He laughed and shook his head. "You should not be saying things like that—or taking note of things like that."

"Why not? I think every woman should know the sort of men that are ever ready to flirt and seduce."

"Chelsea Halloway!" he said on a chuckle.

"So then," she continued, not at all deterred. "What does it all mean? Do you not have an 'eye' for the ladies?"

"It means I don't chase young, marriageable chits," he answered, still chuckling, "for money or beauty."

"Oh! You probably like what Sam calls... er... bits of muslin," she said in a knowing tone but avoided meeting his eye.

He was shocked, and it swept through him as he turned to gaze at her. "Who the devil is Sam, and how dare he speak to you about such things?"

She gurgled deliciously and twinkled at him. "Sam is, besides Frederica and Sally from my school, my dearest, closest friend. He only told me about such women because he came upon me once in town after church, and I was having a very wonderful conversation with a woman whom he insisted was a... _lightskirt_. He ushered me away and told me I must never speak to bits of muslins and lightskirts, as it was not the thing, and I insisted on knowing why."

"Well, then, I revise my opinion of the lad," said his lordship with a note of approval. "Sam, is it? Sam... what?"

"Martin, Sam Martin," she returned happily. "He is twenty-one, you know, but every now and then, I have felt years older than he. You will probably meet him, for he promised to come to London to visit me as soon as his father will allow, which I hope will be very soon, for I do miss him."

"Ah," his lordship said thoughtfully.

* * *

This was an unexpected bit of information his lordship thought as he glanced away from her. Was this Sam Martin a suitor for her hand? He made a mental note to inquire about him when next he had private speech with his aunt. Then immediately he wondered at himself. What business was it of his? However, he had no time to contemplate these internal questions as Chelsea was pulling on his sleeve.

"Look there—over there. That is the Beau, Beau Brummell, isn't it?

He smiled and nodded. "So it is. Would you like to meet him?" He was already reining in his team.

"No... oh no... from what I have heard... he is very good at handing out snubs," she said nervously.

He laughed. "Where have you heard that?"

"Sam says he has a damned sharp tongue and—"

"Young lady!" his lordship objected. "Sam may say so, but you certainly may not!"

She giggled. "You are quite right, but all the same..."

"Too late, minx. He is a good friend of mine, and he is coming over," his lordship warned, putting out a hand to the Beau and introducing him to Chelsea.

"Miss Halloway." Beau greeted her with a bow and a sweeping glance. "I am acquainted with your aunt Augusta."

Brett Wainwright considered his friend, for this statement told him nothing of his opinion, though he fancied he knew it. Then Chelsea stunned him once again with her reply.

"Never mind—I hope you will judge me on my own, for I am not well acquainted with my aunt Augusta and cannot claim to be anything like her."

His lordship choked and chuckled and choked some more, and he saw the open amusement alive in the Beau's eyes. The Beau inclined his head and said sweetly, "Indeed, my dear, you are very, very different." It was said as an obvious compliment.

Wainwright saw the instant approval in his friend's expression and felt a wave of relief. It was said the Beau could make or break almost anyone's standing in society.

Chelsea once again stole the show as she allowed her lashes to drop with her head and said, "Thank you. I was told you could be disagreeable if you did not like someone, and I will admit that I don't see that in you..."

The Beau, who rarely laughed out loud, did so, turning heads. "Indeed, child. You are a refreshing young woman whom I hope to see more of."

His lordship was mesmerized by Chelsea's aplomb and daring, and he was very nearly floored when the Beau pursued the conversation to ask, "I trust I shall see you tonight at Lady Jersey's soirée?"

"I do hope so," Chelsea answered earnestly. "Lady Daisy said we would be attending, and I am so looking forward to it."

The Beau chatted idly for another few minutes and was seen to be highly amused with the new debutante's direct manners before he proceeded down the avenue, a smile on his face.

"Well done," exclaimed his lordship proudly. "The Beau was keenly taken with you."

"Was he? That is good, right?" Even as she said this with a bright and beautiful smile, the smile faded right before his eyes. Then she said in a small voice, "That... that is my Aunt Augusta..."

His lordship looked in the direction of Chelsea's gaze and cursed softly, "The devil." Then he realized Augusta was lifting her parasol at them for attention. "Confound the woman, she wants us to pull over." This was not what he wanted—not at all!

* * *

Augusta Halloway was a tall, voluptuous woman of some style and a great deal of prettiness who knew well how to use her good looks. She knew how to flirt, and she knew with whom to flirt to get what she wanted.

Lord Brett Wainwright meant more to her than an amusing pastime. He, in fact, meant more than a lover with divine expertise in her widowed bed. She wanted to bring him to point. She rarely formed an affection for her lovers and had despised her elderly husband, but Brett Wainwright had a way of making her 'feel', and she rather thought she would have him as a husband.

She knew her niece was staying with Lady Daisy, who had invoked the right of her position as Chelsea's godmother to take her under her wing. Augusta was happy to be relieved of the burden; however, she had not realized that this would put the pretty under Brett's eye.

She didn't like it— _not at all._ This was not something she would tolerate, and her mind began to work.

One glance at her beautiful young niece filled her with rampant jealousy. Augusta was not in love with Wainwright, but she considered him a prize worth the fight. As he drew closer and pulled his horses to a stop, she had a full view of Chelsea's piquant face and cherry lips, and she nearly lost her usual good sense.

"Why, Brett, my love," she coed, ignoring Chelsea. "How I have missed you. When did you return to London?"

"Last week," he answered. From the corner of his eye he looked at Chelsea, concern in his glance. Augusta noted this at once. Her own eyes narrowed, and her temper started to rise.

"Last week?" she was startled into repeating with some shock. "You have been here an entire week and have not called on me?" She did not see any contrition in his eyes or in his expression. What was this?

"I was busy with estate matters, and knowing that Chelsea..." His smile encompassed Chelsea and forced Augusta to acknowledge her. "... _is_ your niece, thought you might be busy as well."

August heard the mild disapproval of his tone and also the unspoken reprimand. She immediately blamed Chelsea and assumed the girl had been speaking ill of her. She would not tolerate this. She was furious with Chelsea, and the anger she felt in regards to Brett's neglect she turned on her niece.

She felt flush with her immediate agitation, and she steeled herself to maintain a pretense of affection as she regarded her niece. "Chelsea darling, can it really be you? Why, you are everything Lytton said— _all grown up_. You shall take London by storm." She reached to pat Chelsea's knee, noting the girl sat stiffly and unsmiling in her seat. " _La_ , but I did not know until the other day that you had decided to stay in London for the entire season with Lady Daisy. I thought certain you would come to _me_ after a short visit with your godmother, and we two could have some private time."

Both his lordship and Augusta witnessed Chelsea's shoulders stiffen. She bit her bottom lip, and her retort was clipped. "How lovely you look, Aunt Augusta."

Augusta was no fool; she could not help but see the granite look in Chelsea's silver eyes and was sure the girl had bit back what she really wanted to say to her. Well, well, perhaps she had a worthy opponent here. After all, look how far along she had gotten on her own.

Augusta held up her gloved hand to his lordship. Seeing him busy with his team, she waved it instead as she started to walk away. "La, but, _I am_ late for an appointment and must run. I shall no doubt see you soon, Chelsea... and Brett... _very soon_ , I hope."

"As soon as I am able," he answered quietly a frown, drawing his well-shaped, thick brows together.

Augusta saw that he was not pleased but gave him a flirtatious parting smile. "And I shall miss you till then..."

"And I, you," he answered gallantly.

She tittered and once more glanced at her niece. Something malicious moved her to add one parting shot. "Good-bye, Chelsea dear... and don't take advantage of Lord Wainwright's kindness. Daisy must not make him escort you about too much." So saying, she waved herself off and signaled for her maid to follow.

* * *

Chelsea watched her go before she turned with a hurt sensation clutching her heart and making its way to her lips, drawing them down as she looked up at his face. Her eyes were wide as she inquired, "Is it true?"

"Is what true?" It appeared he honestly did not know. He reached for her chin and lifted it. "Chelsea, what is it?"

When he looked so intently at her, she felt a quiver shake her. She got control of herself and asked, "Did Daisy make you take me up in your phaeton?" Augusta's words had made her heart feel as though someone had pricked it in a dozen places. All pleasure in the outing had suddenly, swiftly burst and vanished.

"Do I look like a man who could be forced to do anything he doesn't want to do?" he returned on a frown.

She eyed him for a moment. No, he was not that sort of man, her good sense told her, and so she answered doubtfully, "Noo... but... I do so wish you would not take me about only to please Aunt Daisy. If she has put you up to it... I would be so humiliated."

"It was my idea to fetch you for this ride. I thought you might like a ride in my perch phaeton and had in fact a devil of a time convincing Daisy that no propriety would be breached, and," he added, "I rather thought you would enjoy Hyde Park during the fashionable hour. _W_ _as I wrong_?"

She beamed at him. "Oh, no, my lord. You were quite right, and I have enjoyed myself oh so very much, but, now I see you are just being kind and—"

"Absurd child. I am rarely kind for kindness' sake. I find..." He cast her a sideways look. "... that I quite enjoy your company. What I do, I do because I choose to. Learn that about me, and we shall deal famously together," he answered her on a rough note.

She was content once more and changed the subject. "When we return to Kensington House, will you come in and see how well Patches is doing? She has already grown so much and filled out and is nearly friends with Susie, but Pug still hates her quite a bit, although there have been no more incidents."

"We'll see," he answered and then pointed with his chin. "Now if you will look there you will see the Prince Regent, but I am going to take the first turn so that I won't have to stop."

She squealed with delight, and he admonished her, advising her she was a naughty brat and must not squeak and stare. They laughed, and Chelsea discovered once more that she liked his lordship—a great deal. There was so much more to him than the 'glitter.'

~ Eight ~

DAISY SAT AT her newly installed Regency-styled desk situated nicely in the bow window of her brightly decorated morning room. The sun's rays were just beginning to pop through the clouds, and London's early morning mist was lifting.

From the corner of her eye she watched Chelsea fidgeting with paper and quill. She smiled to herself. The girl was certainly an odd combination of wisdom and innocence, and the two qualities seemed forever at war. Chelsea was good with her fashion sense and seemed to have an eye for what would suit her, and had already created her own very fetching style.

She was clothed now in an exquisite morning gown of pale gold muslin. Her tawny-lit auburn curls were dressed in fine disorder over one ear, and she looked a veritable beauty but for the fact that she was sprawled in hoydenish freedom on the hearth rug.

Chelsea put down the quill, stood up, and took up the poker to play with the fire in the small hearth. Knowing something was coming, Daisy waited.

Chelsea turned and regarded her with wistful eyes. Daisy sighed and put down her writing to inquire, "Yes, out with it—whatever is the matter?"

"' _Tis Sam_ ," Chelsea whined dramatically. "He has not written— _he is not here_ , and, well, I rather thought he would be here by now. He missed my birthday... and we have been there for each other's birthdays for so long... and do not misunderstand, I thoroughly enjoyed dinner with you and Lord Wainwright. It was lovely, and then the soirée afterwards was so much fun... but, well, I have been worried about Sam. I do hope his father did not give him the devil of a time... all because of me, and I am so very worried, for it was my idea, and I dragged him into it, though I did not think he would take his father's bays." She shook her head and wrung her hands.

Daisy took a moment to consider this. She had not hitherto thought Sam was a viable candidate for Chelsea's hand. He was a very nice _boy_... but to her way of thinking, Chelsea needed a _man._

Sam would one day be a country squire, and Daisy could not see, in spite of all of Chelsea's rough and tumble ways, that she would be happy buried forever in the country. She enjoyed town life too much. She had too quickly become society's pet and seemed to enjoy all the festivities and late hours. She was well liked by London's top hostesses and would one day contract a very eligible match—someone whom she hoped Chelsea would fall deeply in love with—and on this thought Daisy sighed sweetly. She had, upon becoming reacquainted with her godchild, discovered herself totally attached. She had not been fortunate enough to have a child, and Chelsea had quickly filled this void.

"Do you miss him terribly?" Daisy gazed at Chelsea, hoping to see nothing more than the bond of a long-time friendship in her answer.

Chelsea wrinkled her pert little nose and gave this careful consideration. "Well, not in the usual sense. You know, Aunt Daisy, when I am gadding about with you—with Selina and the other friends I have made here, like yesterday when I was introduced to that very nice Colonel Strand—there isn't time to really miss Sam, but while everyone here is quite good fun, there is nothing like the comfort of the easy friendship I have always had with Sam. So, yes, in that sense, I miss him very much."

Daisy smiled to herself. She did not see a _grand passion_ in those words.

Chelsea then ventured further, "It is odd... how many people put so much attention into what you have and what you wear and how you look before they will be pleasant."

"What do you mean, child?" Daisy smiled.

"Well, for example, Lord Wainwright scarcely noticed me when we first met. I was dressed in schoolgirl and shabby attire... and well, it wasn't until I was rigged in the first stare that he has been genuinely kind, and it isn't just him, I am persuaded. A great many people seem to put so much stock in such nonsense."

"Yes, my dear, 'tis the way of the world." Daisy sighed. "Society must appear a shallow assembly of characters to my discerning goddaughter."

" _Oh_! Not you, Aunt Daisy—never you, and I definitely don't think Lord Lytton—"

"But my nephew, Brett?" Daisy interrupted to ask.

"He has been most gracious to me, I think because you have asked him to squire me about, but well... I am sure he has his reasons for his... cold façade," Chelsea said cautiously.

* * *

Unexpectedly the morning room doors opened wide, and Lady Daisy's elderly retainer announced, "Lord Rupurt Lytton and Mr. Samuel Martin."

Chelsea jumped, turned, and dove madcap style at Mr. Martin just as his tall, lanky form appeared. He responded in same, swinging her around and saying her name as he took her shoulders and set her apart. "Zounds, girl! You look a fashion plate, and your hair—what have you done to your hair?" This last was said in an uncomplimentary tone.

Chelsea touched her auburn curls and frowned. "Don't you like it, Sam? 'Tis trimmed and up... and..."

"Yes, but it makes you look... _older_ ," he objected.

"Oh pooh, it makes me look my age, and I am older. I have turned nineteen, you know!" she returned with a bright smile. She turned to Lord Lytton, who was still bent over Lady Daisy's fingers, and watched for a moment. She waited for him to pull himself up and made him a pretty curtsey. "My lord, you are wonderful to bring Sam, and how good to see you again. How, of all things, did you know that I so wanted Sam...?"

Mr. Martin, who had been bowing to Lady Daisy, turned around, grimaced at Chelsea's last remark, and objected, "She makes me sound a piece of property!" But he smiled and shoved a small box at her. "For your birthday, Chels... m'mother picked it out."

Chelsea opened it to find a pretty bracelet of gold and hugged it to herself. " _Oh_... no... this is too much... Oh..." She threw herself onto Sam to hug him around the neck.

"Come on, Chels, give over do—you are choking me," he said on a laugh.

Lytton chuckled and broke in on this to explain, "We would have been here sooner, but Mr. Martin remained with me overnight and then persuaded me to return with him the next morning with his father's bays and stand in as friend when he confessed the whole to his father. We got through that quite well I believe, and after a lovely few days stay with the Martins, Sam's father agreed that it would do the lad some good to spend a little time as my guest in London."

"Rupurt, how delightful, and you are, as always, so thoughtful," said Lady Daisy. "Did you open your town house for the season then?"

"Indeed, as Mr. Martin and I mean to squire you and Chelsea about as much as we may."

Daisy smiled but looked at her goddaughter to see a slight frown take over her features. Now what? Chelsea should have been thrilled to hear this news. She put a finger to her lips and sighed.

"What is it?" whispered his lordship as Chelsea and Sam fell into deep conversation.

"He is a most delightful boy. However, I have hopes for an outstanding match for Chelsea. I know they are dear friends, but I did hope Chelsea would fix her interests elsewhere."

He laughed. "As to _that_ , _he_ might think himself in love with her, but a few days here with her in London should cure him of the notion. In my estimation, they are totally unsuited for one another. It is a wonder that they are even friends. They are more like siblings, and I can see for myself that is exactly how she regards him, as a brother. Only look at how she slaps and teases him."

"Yes, I do think you are right there," Daisy replied, "but even so, people sometimes mistake friendship for love."

"Not in Chelsea's case. That is a young lady who knows herself and much more. Only look how she carries herself, as though she has been on the town forever." He took Daisy's chin. "She is pleased to have a port, though, in the storm of parties, and right now that port is Sam. He is good for her. He just may keep her grounded," his lordship offered reasonably.

"You are very wise." Daisy felt a wave of love envelop her. He was so perfect, so knowing...

He took her fingers once more and kissed them before saying on a low, husky note, "I have missed you."

"Have you, Rupurt?"

"Do you doubt it?" He seemed puzzled.

"Indeed, should I not?" the lady teased, but a challenge lit in her bright eyes.

"Ah, my sweet love, have I been negligent? I shall hasten to repair the damage."

However, Chelsea and Sam's conversation had become something of a shouting match, and they turned to watch the two. Chelsea had her hands on her hips while Sam wagged finger as Chelsea announced, "Yes! _I waltzed_. Why shouldn't I waltz?"

"'Tis indecent. I cannot believe you allowed a complete stranger to put his hand on your waist and lead you about."

"Well, the Jersey gave her permission. At Almack's one needs only permission from the Princess Esterhazy or the Jersey, and I received it, so there!"

"Yes, well, and that may do very well for London ways—"

She cut him off. "And where do you think we are, if not in London?"

"Ho there!" cut in Lord Lytton. "Sam, can it be that you doubt Lady Daisy's guidance?"

"Er... no... no... of course not," Sam replied, stammering just a bit.

"Then whatever she sanctions, we must allow as above reproach," Lord Lytton said gently.

Sam evidently found himself trapped. He lowered his gaze to the floor and clasped his hands behind his back. "Yes, yes, of course."

Chelsea nudged him with her shoulder. "Don't sulk, and guess what?"

He eyed her moodily. "How the deuce should I guess what? Isn't that just like you? Well, you may be in London trotting about with all the pinks, but a green girl is what you are and a baby at that. Guess what, indeed!"

Chelsea adored Sam, but he had, of course, gone too far. She fulminated a moment and contemplated shoving him hard. However, instead she said grimly, "If you mean to insult me, I won't tell you even though I have been wishing you were here, wishing you would come to London, so that just we two might attend—" She broke off the sentence on purpose and said with a wave of her hand, " _Never mind._ "

He immediately relented, and both his hands went up with exasperation. "Now don't get into a huff, for pity's sake. I came to London to see you, Chels, so I give up... don't know what guess what is."

She laughed and took his hand. "Sam— _there is a fair_ , but it is on the Thames, and Daisy says I must not go unless escorted. I can think of no one else who would make a better and more fun escort." It was very prettily said, and both Daisy and Lord Lytton were astonished to witness Mr. Martin's reaction.

"Of all the cork-brained notions!" he exclaimed. "Do you never get tired of such things? You have dragged me to every carnival and fair in Devonshire over the last three years." He shook his head. "Could we not go and see the Bloody Tower and Westminster Abbey instead?"

Chelsea laughed and turned to Daisy to explain. "You wouldn't know it to look at him, but Sam's leanings are far more academic than one realizes. He really would enjoy Westminster Abbey more than a fair. _Can you imagine_? Though in truth, I wouldn't mind a trip to the Bloody Tower—how excitingly gruesome." Then she thought for a moment and quickly announced, "The Bloody Tower will be there next week, but the fair will not. To the fair it must be." She turned to her godmother. "That seems acceptable, don't you think?"

Daisy looked to Lytton, who signaled with only a glance, and answered, "Very well, providing you two return here by high tea. We have guests coming, and I should like you both here." She turned to Lytton. "Rupurt, I know you have a great deal to arrange, having just arrived in London, but you will join us, won't you?"

"Nothing could keep me away, my dearest heart," he replied softly.

Surveying them once again, Chelsea made up her mind: she was looking at a definite love match, and a warm feeling shot through her. She turned to Sam and said, "If you hail a hack, I'll be very quick about fetching my cloak and bonnet."

"Presumptuous little chit!" Sam called after her. "A man knows what a man should do." He then mumbled something incoherent to himself before he announced, "I think I'll go hail a hackney."

Rupurt and Daisy watched him depart to do this office, and then both burst into laughter.

~ Nine ~

"OH, RUPURT, I AM so glad you have come!" Daisy exclaimed as she floated across her Oriental carpet and allowed him to take both her hands to his lips.

"Why? What is this? Did you doubt it?" He was teasing her, for he could see that Chelsea and Sam were absent from her ladyship's richly appointed drawing room and drew his own conclusion.

"No, no, of course not, but, Rupurt, that dreadful boy has not brought Chelsea back yet and—"

Rupurt laughed and said, "I rather think it is Chelsea who has not brought him back."

She pouted. "Yes, probably so, which is why I believe he is just too young for her. She needs a man... to guide her... and..."

"I quite agree," he said, leading her to the sofa. "Let's sit and be comfortable, for I have no doubt they will be here any moment, and you can spend the time telling me what 'man' you have in mind for our Chelsea, for I can see that you do indeed have one."

"Well, I must tell you that Sir Reginald Aldwych swears he has fallen in love with her, and he seems—"

"Sir Reginald? My dear, sweet Daisy, you cannot mean it?"

"Why? What is wrong with Sir Reginald? He is attractive and quite charming."

"And totally unsuitable for Chelsea. He is a total bore, by Gad!"

"Well, yes... I can see you might think that, but not everyone is as dashing as you," she said, her eyes meeting his.

He had her hand still to his heart and lifted it then to his lips. "My love..."

She sighed happily and remarked, "But she did stand up with him the other night, and I am persuaded that she did not find Sir Reginald's company undesirable."

Rupurt clucked, but at that moment a man's deep voice called out as he entered the room, "Rupurt! How are you?" Lord Wainwright went forward and shook the older man's hand with a warm and sincere greeting.

"What is my aunt telling you, that Sir Reggie is the one for our Chelsea?" He barked a laugh.

"Brett! You are a veritable rogue. Why are you forever coming in on me unannounced?" Lady Daisy demanded in some exasperation.

"If I did not do so, how then would I ever find anything out?" He laughed and then looked around with an inkling of a frown but said in lively terms, "Chelsea does not in the least find herself attracted to ol' Reggie. She says he is self-righteous, staid, dull, and horribly, wickedly boring. _Her words_ , Daisy dearest, not mine, though I heartily concur with the intuitive girl."

"Hmm, did Chelsea come to that conclusion all on her own?"

"Within the first fifteen minutes of their first meeting," Brett said and chuckled. "A knowing little monkey.

"I agree, clever puss," said Lytton.

"Stop it! You terrible, naughty men, and they say women gossip—ha!" Daisy exclaimed, but Lytton saw the twinkle in her eye. He also could not help but notice Brett's restless behavior and wondered at it curiously.

However, all their attentions turned towards the open doors as they heard Chelsea say impatiently, "What, then, would you have me do with the poor little thing?"

Mr. Martin appeared to be hot on her heels as he answered with great force, " _Do?_ Why, it was not your place to do anything!" They stood for a moment in the doorway's frame glaring at one another before Lord Lytton managed a deprecatory cough and caught their attention.

"Oh, I am sorry," Chelsea said at once as she stepped into the drawing room.

"I beg your pardon, Lady Daisy." Sam blushed. "I... I did not realize... you have a guest here already."

Lord Lytton felt for Sam, who had turned quite red, and said quickly, "Ah, Mr. Sam Martin, Lady Daisy's nephew, Lord Bretton Wainwright. Come in and tell us, what seems to be the problem?"

* * *

Chelsea shot Sam a meaningful look and stepped further into the room, sweeping the occupants with a social smile and allowing Lord Lytton to step forward and bend a perfunctory kiss over her gloved fingers. He winked at her and said, "I trust you enjoyed the Thames Fair?"

"Well, we _were_ enjoying it immensely, until Chels lost her mind," Mr. Martin stuck in ungallantly.

Chelsea wheeled around and wagged a finger as she glared fire and brimstone at him. "Tread carefully, Mr. Martin." Once again she turned to the assembled company with her social smile and realized that Lord Wainwright was scanning both her and Sam with avid interest.

Sam rolled his eyes, and said, "Now, Chels..."

She didn't heed this as she was all too conscious of Wainwright, of his twinkling blue eyes, of the way he moved. It seemed to her that his presence occupied more space than any other when he was in a room. His aura seemed to electrify the air, and it was difficult for her to look elsewhere.

Inwardly, she found herself quivering with anticipation. She was always excited when he was present. He looked breathtakingly handsome in his brown velvet short tails, and she had to remind herself he was a rogue of hearts and would break hers if she allowed him to. He proved this point to her by coming up close, taking her hand, removing her glove, and placing a warm kiss on her knuckles and then her wrist. Their eyes met for a moment, and he asked in a soft tone that made her want him—want his kiss, his arms around her—right there and then, "What is it, little one? What has overset you?"

"Ah, Sam here, whom you have just met, has made the problem. I do not have a problem," she said, turning to glare at Sam and keeping her wayward thoughts about Wainwright under control. If she stayed so close... she had to move away, or she would lean into him... she had to... She stepped away and towards her godmother as Sam mumbled something incoherent.

Lytton had taken Sam aside and was amiably trying to defuse the situation, but Sam was barely listening as he glared at Wainwright, who was looking at her. Her breath caught in her throat at the way Wainwright's gaze touched her all over...

"Aunt Daisy, could we perhaps, speak privately for a moment?"

"Oh, my dear, can it not wait? Sir Reginald should be here at any moment..."

Once again the parlor door was opened, but this time the butler shot Lady Daisy a look of great need. His tone when he spoke sounded harassed. "My lady... a word...?"

A loud sound coming from the kitchen caused him to turn to Chelsea, who was already looking anxious. "Miss Chelsea, the person you instructed Thelma to bathe and feed... well, she is causing something of a disturbance in the household."

Chelsea turned to Daisy with all eyes on her and dropped a pretty if hurried curtsey. "Aunt Daisy, I beg your pardon, but I must go." She was already on the move.

" _What is going on?"_ Lady Daisy demanded as she followed, with the men trailing after her.

"In short, I have found the lady's maid you have been telling me I shall need. I will explain it all in a moment," Chelsea said over her shoulder.

"Yes, but Chelsea..." Her ladyship tried to waggle out more information, but Chelsea was rushing towards the kitchen.

A footman appeared in the hallway, and Wrigley stepped aside to allow him to whisper something, at which he turned and announced, "Sir Reginald Aldwych is in the central hall."

Reginald had already come across the entire group and stood back in astonishment. Chelsea grinned at his expression and said amiably as she passed, "Hallo, Reggie."

"Chelsea, I say, Miss Chelsea," Sir Reginald called after her. He turned to the assembled company and found himself ushered forward by Lord Wainwright, who seemed more than ordinarily amused.

Wainwright had taken two glasses of brandy before the adventure had started; he placed one in Reginald's hands and handed the other to Sam before ducking back into the parlor to pour two more glasses. He hurried to catch up to the group, gave a glass to Lytton, and then turned to Reginald, who still looked dumbfounded. "Drink up, man," he said with a laugh. "You look as though you need it."

"Well... but I would much rather have tea... and..."

Wainwright advised him that he could have both if he would be quiet so that they could discover what was towards.

Short of the kitchen Sam had second thoughts about following Chelsea into that region and offered, "Perhaps we should let the ladies... er... deal with this..."

"Deal with what, my lad?" Lytton inquired.

Mr. Martin looked disgusted. "It's Chelsea as usual. Gets a thing into her head... and there is no stopping her. Too warm-hearted for her own good, or anyone's trying to look after her. She _would_ go to the fair, wouldn't she, when I told her we should look in on the Bloody Tower instead—but off to the fair we went. _Fortunes_ , says she, so off we go to have our fortunes read. There was this girl, fetching and scraping for the old gypsy, and what must the old woman do but take a stick to the girl for not doing something or other just as she wanted. Well, _I don't_ hold with that, but what must Chels do? Stands up like a beacon of justice and tells the gypsy what she thinks of her. Out comes this brute of a ruffian, says the child is his property and he'll do what he pleases with her."

Sam shook his head and then continued, "Well, that drew me into it— _how could it not_? Couldn't let him speak to Chels that way, could I? Didn't think I could plant him a facer, as he had some height on me, but did tell him I would fetch the beadle to look into the matter. He backed off a bit, but the child was in his way, and what must the devil go and do but kick her— _kicked her_!"

This seemed to shock Sam enough that he stopped and shook his head again. "It sent the poor ragged thing flying and knocked down a basket of trinkets and such, and all hell broke loose." An admiring smile curved his lips in spite of his annoyance. _"Should have_ _seen her_ —Chels, that is. Stood up to the brute—right in his face, and tells him she will have him arrested. Before you know it, a crowd gathers around us. I tried getting her away, but nothing would do for Chels but to see this thing through." He paused again.

"You astound me," said Lord Wainwright. "Do please go on."

"Right, so a beadle appears and demands to know what or who was at the bottom of the disturbance. Chels gives him a long speech, and he says that there is naught he can do, the child is the brawny brute's property, and, in fact, that _she_ was in the wrong of it." Sam shook his head. "You never saw its like after that. Chelsea tells him, 'Really,' slaps down five gold pieces, and says, 'Consider her sold to me'. No, says the brute, not for less than six gold pieces. She slaps down the pearl ring she was wearing and takes the child's dirty hand and marches off, cool as you please." Sam still held the glass of brandy, and at that point poured it down his throat and nearly choked.

"My word," said Sir Reginald. "I have never heard the like... bought a street urchin?"

"She did just as she ought," Lord Lytton said quietly.

"Not quite as she ought... she went over and above that," Lord Wainwright said, for a moment caught up in the vision of it all.

"It is beyond comprehension, my lord, but Chelsea now has it in her mind to clean her up and teach her to be a lady's maid."

"You object to our Chelsea's behavior?" Lord Wainwright asked, too busy removing a speck of lint from his brown velvet to look at Sam.

"Well, and who wouldn't?" returned Sam, provoked to exasperation. "There is never any peace when you go about with Chels. She is forever rushing headlong to save someone better left alone."

"And you consider that this unfortunate creature would have been better off with people who abused and beat her?" Wainwright's tone was conversational—neither censure or approval was displayed—though from the moment this story had unfolded, he had found himself reluctantly admiring Chelsea's behavior on a level he had not thought possible for him to feel.

"Well, no," Mr. Martin started to say in some confusion. "But it wasn't _our_ business, was it? Things like that go on, don't they?"

"So they do, which brings us to the question, should we allow such things to go on?" stuck in Lord Lytton, suddenly very animated on the subject. "If we find ourselves in a position where we can put a stop to it, isn't it our duty to do so?"

"Can't be helped," stuck in Sir Reginald, getting into the spirit of the argument. "Can't be bringing home all these little dirty people... however—" He stopped himself at this juncture to turn on Sam and say, "I don't know who the deuce you are, and I don't think you should be criticizing Miss Halloway, as her actions stemmed from goodness, a kindness of heart, that must have overwhelmed her good sense, for indeed, those people are better left to their own devices." He found a side table and put down the glass of half-sipped brandy. Then he added, much to Mr. Martin's outraged chagrin, "And I don't think our ladies should be subjected to that world by taking them to carnivals and such!"

Wainwright, much amused, folded his arms into one another across his chest in order to watch the spectacle.

Mr. Martin spluttered on this.

Lytton said, "Anyone with any moral fiber would have stepped in and prevented a child from being abused. That a diminutive young woman, our very own Chelsea, did so, is remarkable, don't you think, Sam?"

"What I think is that a young woman should leave those decisions to her male escort. That is what I think," Sam said.

Wainwright took this all in and then was surprised to see Sir Reggie take umbrage. Apparently, Sir Reggie was insulted on Chelsea's behalf, and he stared frigidly at Sam, evidently moved by what Brett was sure was jealousy of Mr. Martin's easy relationship with the new object of his affection.

"Is that what you think, Mr. Martin?" Sir Reggie stood straight and continued, "Well, I shall tell you what I think, and that is, yes—she should leave those decisions to her male escort, but..." He spluttered at this point and then continued, "I think, Mr. Martin, a young lady of breeding should not be exposed to such horrors, and it is also correct that _she should not_ be impugned by someone who claims a friendship with her!"

Wainwright and Lytton exchanged comical glances, and Wainwright was moved to hide his grin behind his hand.

* * *

During their exchange, Chelsea had seen her new 'charge', whose name she'd learned was Josey, was supplied with an ample food. While the young girl shoved food into her chapped lips, Chelsea proceed to advise her that if she wished to stay in her employ, she must go with Thelma upstairs to the servants' quarters, where a lovely hot bath had been prepared in what would be her very own room.

"M'room? M'own room?" This seemed to astonish the child into silence, for until then she had been telling Chelsea, "Jem'll come after me, 'e will," between bites.

"That is correct. When you have eaten everything on your plate... bathed, and then put on fresh, crisp, lovely clothes. If they need alterations, we shall see to them—and you are to mind Thelma."

"Will ye just walk me up... please then?" Josey said, shoving the last bit of food into her mouth and swallowing hard.

"Right then, come along."

Daisy had watched silently, smiling to herself. She touched Chelsea's shoulder before she escorted her new charge upstairs and said, "Chelsea, do come down as soon as you may. I shall go see to our guests."

"Yes, of course, Aunt Daisy... thank you."

Josey told them to turn around as she dropped her clothing and wrapped herself in a linen. There she stood staring at the tub and said fearfully, "But... there be bubbles in it..."

"You will like it, Josey. It will soothe you and help get you clean without too much scrubbing if you soak for a bit. You are probably too young to be a lady's maid, but I shan't need much from you for now, and you can take your time learning from Thelma, Lady Daisy's maid. Will you like that?"

"Oi would... Oi would loik anything ye mean fer me... as long as oi can stay wit' ye."

"Then I need you to be clean and tidy. In the bath, now."

Josey looked at Thelma and sniffed. "Oi don't think she loikes me."

"That is because you look like a dirty and mean little urchin. She will like you much better when you are clean and dressed in your pretty little gray muslin with the white apron."

Josey looked at the dress and then back at Chelsea. "Oi'll do it fer ye... only fer ye..."

"Good girl. When you are done and comfortable you may seek out Thelma and see what she might need you to help her with this afternoon."

"Aye, that oi will," said Josey, suddenly looking hopeful.

Chelsea smiled warmly at her and left. Then, with a pat to her own curls and a hand to smooth over her gown, she headed for the drawing room.

~ Ten ~

LORD WAINWRIGHT WATCHED Chelsea as she gazed around the glittering gallery of the Drury Theatre. It was full to overflowing with fashionables from the new middle class as well as the _haute ton_ of Regency society.

He leaned against her bare shoulder and was startled to feel a rush of electric sensation. He shifted and straightened, but that only served to bring his focus on her full and luscious breasts popping out of her squared bodice just beneath his eye level. Desire swept through him, a sure explosion of wayward heat surged through his veins, and damn, he had a hard-on—once more. This uncomfortable circumstance had been occurring whenever he was with the chit, and he chastised himself.

Once he managed to find his voice, he was surprised to hear the huskiness in his tone. "Are you enjoying yourself, little beauty?"

"Immensely—is it not all wonderful?" She beamed, looking up at his face. He thought she might clap her hands and leaned into her again, cursing himself silently because he couldn't resist wanting the connection.

"Indeed, do you know that it has been said that when this theater burned, not so long ago, in 1809, Sheridan stood outside at the tavern, a drink in hand, and when a friend said he was surprised to see him there, Sheridan replied, 'Why? Can't a man take a glass of wine at his own fireside?'"

Her musical laugh went through him, and then she said, "Heroic wit!"

He chuckled and nodded. "Heroic wit, indeed! He loved the theater almost as much as he loved politics."

"And you?" Chelsea eyed him curiously. "What do you love?"

"Besides sport and the cut of my clothes?" His lordship released a short laugh and shrugged. He wanted to make light of his answer. This was not the sort of thing he wished to discuss with anyone, especially an enticing little beauty whose silver eyes caught his attention more than was comfortable.

"Yes, besides those estimable occupations, what _drives you_ , my lord?"

He saw she wouldn't give it up and decided perhaps he should shock her with his answer. Hs said, "The pursuit of hedonism."

"You lie," she returned at once with a grimace. "You do it well, and I suppose it preserves the façade you have created around yourself, but I know you lie." Chelsea regarded him gravely, and he found her bright eyes penetratingly magnetic.

"Perhaps, my dear," he said on a grim note, "just perhaps, what you see... _is what I_ _am."_

"But that is just my point," she answered openly. "I see so much more than you pretend to be." She put a finger up. "Indeed, you like to pretend to be so much less than what you are. I wonder why?"

He flicked her nose. "You are an innocent."

"Am I? Don't confuse my lack of experience with innocence," she said quietly. "I know a great deal more than meets the average eye's notice, and I know there is so much more to Lord Brett Wainwright than you wish people to see."

"Time will tell," he answered her softly. This chit excited a response from him that was not appropriate, he told himself. He wanted to scoop her up and kiss her. He wanted to taste her tongue, touch her full, ripe breasts, suckle at her nipples—damn, bloody damn, he wanted to lay her back and drive himself deep inside and make her his own!

He tried to break from this train of thought, as it was making him dashed uncomfortable. He needed to converse and get his mind off such thoughts. "My turn to ask a question, minx."

"Go ahead, and perhaps like you I will throw dust in your eyes." She laughed.

_Egad, she's a handful of woman!_ Damn if she didn't amuse him a mite too much. He shook this thought off and asked, if only to change the subject and calm down his body because his cock was throbbing in his breeches, "Tell me, brat, how goes it with your little orphan and the kitten? Have the two met?"

Chelsea gurgled with a delicious laugh and clapped her hands lightly. "Josey does much better each day and makes herself so useful to Thelma that Thelma has quite taken her under her wing and is determined to make her the best lady's maid ever there was. Patches, my kitten, adores Josey and follows her about. She is more with Josey than she is with me, but that horrid little creature Pug still hates Patches." She shrugged. "However, he no longer attacks her, so that is—" She cut herself off with an exclamation. " _Oh_! Look there, tell me, my lord, is that Byron? It is, isn't it... 'tis Byron himself."

"Indeed. Would you like to meet him?"

"Above all things, yes. I adore his poetry, but I will tell you something," she confided in a lowered voice. "I don't think him as beautiful as they say."

"No, he is not quite in _your_ style," agreed his lordship, smiling broadly.

"And what is in my style?" she returned, her eyes challenging him. Those eyes, those silver eyes that seemed to look right inside him and drag out all the feelings he had long ago suppressed.

"Well, young Sam Martin for one. Tall, youthful, rugged, and doting," he answered at once and watched for her reaction.

He got one, swift and totally unexpected. She laughed, arched her head, and laughed again, saying finally, " _How absolutely absurd_. Doting? You know nothing if you think that!" She shook her head and giggled again. "My style— _Sam_? We are such friends... have known each other forever. I consider him nearly a brother."

"Ah, my mistake," Brett said, surprised at the inordinate relief he felt. "I had thought Sam a suitor for your hand, and I simply thought you not adverse to his advances."

"Advances? No such thing. We are friends."

"And yet, he jumped at the chance to go and fetch you a lemonade just moments ago."

"Yes, that _was_ odd, as ordinarily the most I could have hoped for was an escort while I fetched it myself," Chelsea acceded but shook her head again with a short laugh. "However, it is a leap to call him a suitor. No doubt he wanted to _outdo you_ , for I don't know what it is, but he seems to hold you up as some sort of challenge—very odd, that."

She sighed and offered, "If you really want to know who is in my style, 'tis Colonel John Strand. He is absolutely wondrously good-looking, isn't he?" She paused for breath but hurried on, "And he is charming, and I so liked the way his hand felt on my waist when we waltzed. In fact, I have been wondering what it would be like to be _kissed by him_."

His lordship found himself exclaiming in shocked accents, "Chelsea Halloway!"

"What? Don't you wonder when you see a pretty woman what it would be like to kiss her—touch her...?" she asked audaciously, and although he saw the twinkle in her silver eyes and suspected she was teasing, he felt moved to reprimand her.

"Never mind that," he ordered. "You will stop wondering about such things."

"I don't think I can," she returned honestly. "I wonder about being kissed like that all the time..."

He was spared the necessity of a reply, which he thought a good thing, as her words had moved him to the point where he nearly took her in his arms and showed her what it would be like to have a man's kiss.

Sam arrived, lemonade in hand and grumpiness written all over his face as he handed it to Chelsea and said, "Deuce of a crowd—all thirsty it seems."

She laughed and said, "Oh, Sam, I would not have asked for it had I known you would be bothered to stand in a queue."

This mollified him, and he shrugged. "Here now. Drink up and enjoy it."

She took a sip. "Hmmm, delicious! Here, Sam, take a sip."

"From your glass? Would I not?" he replied gallantly and shot a superior look towards Wainwright.

Oddly enough, his lordship watched this with growing irritation. What the devil was wrong with him? Jealous—of a boy? Jealous over...

He looked at her, really looked at her, and hell and brimstone, he told himself. She wasn't just a chit, or a child of a woman. She was more special than any other woman of his acquaintance.

And just as these thoughts jumbled and confused his usually well-ordered mind, he gritted his teeth and called for a stop to this sort of wayward thinking. It had to stop— _it simply had to stop._

* * *

Lord Lytton and Daisy arrived at the box Wainwright had leased for the season. Lytton was mumbling still to Daisy about the Prince Regent and the Jersey detaining them with absurd gossip in the vestibule.

Daisy dropped a kiss on Chelsea's cheek and said proudly as she sat beside her, "You were quite right to wear this gown, my love. The emerald green suits you to perfection, and everyone, including the Beau, has remarked that you are a veritable diamond." She leaned slightly over Chelsea's lap to tell her nephew in a tone that displayed her pleasure, "And Augusta was seething with envy."

Chelsea laughed out loud at the expression on her godmother's face and smiled warmly. She returned her attention to Brett's face, curious as to his reaction to this. She had to ask herself why she should care. She only knew that she did. Something was happening inside her. Butterflies had invaded her stomach, and they fluttered whenever Brett Wainwright was near.

Dreams were filled with his face _. Faith_ , she exclaimed to herself, as she recalled how lately he was the first thing she thought of when she awoke in the morning and the last thing she thought of at night. When she was in his company, she felt wondrously alive, and when he was not present, she felt curiously restless and dissatisfied. Just what was wrong with her?

Daisy had also been watching Brett's face, and she sighed.

He chuckled. "What is it, my dear Daisy? Is there more?"

"That awful woman, Augusta, actually bade me send you a message, and I am loathe to do it."

"What message?" Brett's fine, dark brow was up.

"She wishes you to _attend_ her as soon as you find yourself free _from your duties_. That is how she put it. Can it be, Brett, that she considers _me_ a duty?" She shook her head and said, "I did tell her that I did not think _you_ could be commanded to perform a pleasure or a duty."

Chelsea listened to all this with a frown, and then all at once she felt a shiver as his lips brushed against her ear and he whispered, "Remember what I told you, minx. I cannot be made to do what I do not wish to do. Being here, _with you_ and my aunt, is precisely where I want to be. Do you understand, child?"

"I am not a child," Chelsea answered, her chin up. It was obvious to her he was about to leave their box, and for a ridiculous moment she felt a constriction in her throat. Just what was wrong with her? As he got to his feet, she worked to retain her composure.

He stood, but he bent to look at her face and touched her nose lightly. "Are you not? We shall debate that at another time."

Chelsea raised her eyes. She felt a rush of disappointment as she realized he was really leaving and going to Augusta. "You... you are going...?"

He lifted her chin. "A veritable child," he whispered in sweet accents.

Daisy stuck in, "You are not actually going _to her_?"

"Have I not been summoned?" he answered on a hard note.

Chelsea retreated into silence. Matters were very clear to her, because no matter what she might appear to be, _she was not a child_. She had a worldly sense far beyond her innocent years. He was going to Augusta because, like the rumors blatantly pronounced, they were lovers!

The thought was disheartening, though why she should care she could not say. After all, it was nothing to her—other than the fact that she found she liked Brett Wainwright so much more than she had at first and thought him too good for horrid Aunt Augusta.

She bolstered herself and looked away and into the galley below. There she saw Colonel John Strand. He was attempting to gain her attention by throwing her kisses across the way. Just whom she needed to pick up her spirits, she thought as she gave him a flirtatious smile.

Sam bent to tell her something in her ear that she couldn't quite hear, and she pursed her lips as she listened. Evidently the colonel believed she had sent a kiss back to him, for he caught it in the air and took it to his lips. Chelsea saw this and blushed hotly, even though she giggled to herself. To have someone like the dashing colonel pay her such attention was most flattering.

The next thing she knew, she was watching him vanish into the crowd. As she realized he was making his way to her, she giggled with some excitement.

Sam looked at her. "What the deuce ails you, Chels? Giggling like a fool. _Oh_ —there is Thomas! Bumped into him yesterday. Must go have a word—be back shortly."

A moment later, she heard a man's sensual voice say her name. "Miss Halloway, I find myself ravished by your beauty. Fly with me, my love, so that I may prove the madness of heart I feel for you."

Chelsea's soft giggle exploded into a laugh at these words. She wagged a finger and said, "Colonel, you quite frighten me. _Madness of heart_ , indeed—I certainly hope not. If I take a lover, I should like him to be sane."

Shock flitted over his features, and Chelsea laughed at his expression. He moved closer and said softly, "You intrigue me."

"Do I?" she said flirtatiously, still thinking about Brett and her aunt.

Uninvited, he pulled up Wainwright's vacated chair. "Sanity is not always comfortable, beauty." He looked into her eyes, and she batted her lashes at him teasingly and only for fun. He put a hand to a place above his heart and declared, "You slay me with your words, you capture me with your beauty, you enslave me with your eyes _. I am yours!_ "

She laughed again. "Oh my, poor Colonel, you sound most uncomfortable."

"And so I shall be until you fly with me..."

* * *

Lord Wainwright had been heartily tired of Augusta's clinging ways, and now she had stepped over the line. He would not allow her to use their affair and throw it up to his aunt, or to anyone else for that matter—especially not to Chelsea. It was most unbecoming of her and palled on him.

He made short work of telling her that he was delightfully engaged with his family and friends and would not be seeing her at all that evening. He scarcely gave her a moment to reply before turning on his heel. He made his way back to his aunt's theatre box, only to be met with the sight of Colonel Strand sweeping Chelsea off her feet!

He first turned an arched brow to Daisy, who opened her fan and gave him an amused look from behind its lace. Lord Lytton looked on with quiet tolerance, and Mr. Martin was not present. So, he thought, it was up to him to send the villain packing!

In truth, he could not really claim the colonel to be a villain, but he wasn't dealing with truths at that moment, only with what met the eye—and what met the eye was damned annoying!

"John," said Wainwright, "I fancy you have my chair." Something in the tone of his voice made the colonel look a moment longer at Brett, a thoughtful expression flitting over his face.

"Do I? It was empty, you see, and I am forever snatching at opportunities."

"Sometimes that sort of action can be dangerous," Wainwright returned. "But we rattle on, and I believe the curtain is about to rise." He slapped the colonel on the back and watched him wink at Chelsea before taking his leave.

"Presumptuous scamp," Lady Daisy pronounced with just a hint of annoyance.

"Oh?" stuck in Chelsea. "Don't you like him? I must say that _I do._ He is very good fun, and so very handsome with that blond hair... and..."

"Chelsea!" Lady Daisy said shaking her head.

Lord Wainwright thought the situation needed watching. He wasn't about to allow his loveable little minx to be swept off her feet by the likes of John Strand.

_His loveable little_ _minx?_ When the devil had he started thinking of her in such terms!

~ Eleven ~

THE SUN'S RAYS were glorious as they filled the morning room. Chelsea was pacing, however, and oblivious to it. She stopped to consider Lady Daisy, who was quietly seated on the maroon damask sofa, working her stitching and clucking unhappily over the results.

"Aunt Daisy, do you not ride any longer? As I recall, you and Mama often rode—and very aggressively, as well. Indeed, even as a child I was wont to admire how well you both sat your horses."

"Of course I ride—to hounds as well—but not as often these days, though I can't think why," Lady Daisy answered absently.

"Well, I should so like to have my own horse and set up a stable. Not anything extravagant, but when I spoke to Lord Lytton about having a horse, he said my estate could well afford it and that he rather thought my parents would have wished me to continue in the sport they loved so much." She sighed. "If it hadn't been for Sam, I probably would have forgotten how to ride over these last few years."

"Nonsense, one never forgets how to ride, though one gets seriously sore if one does not carry on regularly, you know." Her ladyship looked at Chelsea and smiled vaguely, and Chelsea wondered where her godmother's mind really was.

"Right then, so you do not mind if I get a riding horse... and probably my own phaeton as well and a driving horse."

"Fine, my love..." Again, Lady Daisy sighed sweetly and appeared absent.

"Today?" Chelsea watched her closely.

Lady Daisy regarded her goddaughter. "You are entitled to own your own horse, my love. I see no reason to object. However, did you say today? These things cannot be accomplished with the snap of your fingers, you know."

"Well, of course not, I understand, but—"

"Chelsea, I shall ask Lord Lytton to attend to the matter for you. I expect he will be here shortly..."

Ah, thought Chelsea, Lord Lytton. That was what had her godmother all dreamy-eyed. She smiled to herself, for she liked the match and wished his lordship would come up to scratch already. _What is he waiting for_ , she asked herself with a shake of her head before returning to the matter at hand.

"Well, as to that, Aunt Daisy, if you don't mind, this is something I should like to do for myself. I have an eye for prime blood. Papa taught me what to look for in a horse, and I should like to choose my horses myself."

"You simply cannot go off to Tattersall's on your own. Perhaps you could go with Lord Lytton?"

"I thought Colonel Strand would accompany me. He has an eye for horses as well, you see, and..." Chelsea said tentatively. She knew what she was doing. She wasn't really interested in Colonel Strand. He was heaven to look at, he was fun to be with, but he wasn't what she wanted. He wasn't the man who entered her dreams.

"I don't consider the colonel the right chaperon for you," returned Daisy with a frown.

"Oh, and why not?" Chelsea asked, though she knew exactly why not. She had her reasons for wanting to be seen with him, for when she'd woken up earlier, she knew just what she wanted, and she rather thought she knew how to bring it about.

"He simply is not a suitable companion for a young, impressionable girl," Lady Daisy returned.

"I am not as young as I seem—I am nineteen, quite old by some of my friends' standards." She put up a hand to forestall the remark on her godmother's lips. "And I am certainly not impressionable. I am enjoying myself immensely in London, but I fancy I am _not stupid_ and have a good instinct for who would be suitable and who would not be suitable."

Daisy's brows went up. "Really? Then I wonder why you should wish to have the colonel's escort?"

"Hallo," a strong, familiar male voice said from the doorway. "Am I interrupting an argument? Shall I join in or vanish...?"

"Brett, darling," his aunt exclaimed thankfully. "You have arrived just in time."

"Have I? This sounds ominous," he answered with an arched expression that made Chelsea's heart flutter. He stepped forward and bent over his aunt's extended hand. Then he turned to Chelsea, his blue eyes sweeping over her with obvious approval, if not open affection, and she thought the world had stopped, the air had electrified, the ground had fallen away, and she was floating.

Flushed with a heat that had quickly swept through her veins and made her feel dizzy, she tried to think, tried to get control, and still could not help herself as she stepped towards him. Staring into her eyes, he stepped towards her as he moved to take her fingers up to his lips. All she could see was his twinkling blue eyes as he gazed at her. All she could feel was his name sweeping through her...

What was happening to her? Was this love? It was, wasn't it... was it love?

His voice was filled with a fondness she could hear, could feel as it caressed her. "What are you playing at this morning, my minx?"

"Er... ah... oh yes." She gathered her wits. "Horses... need to go to Tattersall's and purchase a riding horse and driving horses."

"Of course you do," he said on a chuckle and turned to his aunt. "Nothing wrong in that, eh, Daisy?"

"No, of course not, but she thinks that the colonel is chaperon enough for the job!"

"No?" He turned to Chelsea. "That couldn't be right? When you could turn to Lord Lytton... or even to me?"

"The thing is, I mean to set up my own curricle—a phaeton, preferably—and thought Colonel Strand might aid me in this matter without prejudice to what is or isn't suitable for a lady... as I like a bit of spirit in my horses."

"Colonel Strand might not care what is suitable because he had an ulterior motive to please you. However, while I do care, I think I know a thing or two about horses and am perfectly willing to allow you a lively horse without allowing you the mistake of choosing a dangerous one. Is that not fair?"

She raised thankful eyes to him. "Oh, yes, very fair, but I did not think you would like to be bothered with such a task."

"Nonsense. Horses, riding, and driving are passions of mine." He winked conspiratorially at her. "I think between us we shall do very well. Now, go and fetch your spencer, and we shall be on our way."

Chelsea could not restrain her excitement and was moved to fling her arms around his trim waist. She murmured into his waistcoat, "Oh, thank you!"

A spark of electricity swept through her as he put one arm around her and held her in place just the fraction of a moment, but a moment enough for her to discover she was irrevocably falling for him.

She was suspended in time when she looked up into his blue eyes. Suddenly both his arms were around her as he squeezed her tightly and said, "There's a good monkey—go on now, before Aunt Daisy changes her mind."

She managed to lightly step away but not before she looked up at him; she thought he looked as though he wanted to kiss her... and oh, she wanted him to.

Somehow they parted.

Somehow she found the ability to breathe.

With a final look at him, she hurried out of the room without another word.

* * *

Lady Daisy had watched their exchange with growing interest, and suddenly her bottom lip dropped. What was this? Oh no, had the child formed an attachment for her rogue of a nephew? She couldn't have Chelsea pining away for Brett. It would never serve...

Her nephew turned to his aunt and ignored the questioning look on her face to say with a frown, " _Does she,_ do you think, have a tendre for Strand?"

"He seems forever on our doorstep or wherever we happen to be," Daisy returned.

"Then tread carefully. No need to make him any more desirable than he already is," said his lordship.

"What can you mean?"

"Forbidden fruit is always very intriguing—though never as tasty as one imagined it would be."

"Yes, and what do you think of Charles Peters? He is an ardent suitor for her hand," Daisy said, looking at him thoughtfully.

"Courting her, is he?" Again a frown descended on her nephew's face.

"Indeed, and hotly. He sends a poem or a posy if he cannot see her."

"Chelsea. What does she think of him?"

"She is, I think, flattered by his attentions." Daisy watched her nephew with a growing frown. Why all this interest in Chelsea? This was not like him. He seemed supremely irritated by this news that Charles Peters might come up to scratch and ask for Chelsea's hand. While Charles was not perhaps the best catch in town, he certainly was an acceptable match and an heir to a fortune; yet, the way Brett behaved...? Just what was wrong with him?

"Brett, come to think of it, isn't Charles one of your cronies?" she asked, studying his reaction for a clue.

"Yes, yes, he is , but—"

"Yet you object to him courting our Chelsea?"

"No... yes... I, I am not sure..."

"I see," she said quietly.

"He is perhaps too old for her. Why, he is two years older than I."

"That means nothing where there is a meaningful love. My own dear husband was fifteen years older than I, and we were so very suited." She smiled sadly.

"That may be so, Daisy, because you were a biddable daughter and he was a kind man, but I would not call what you and he had... love."

"Brett!" she objected.

"Never mind that. We are now speaking of Chelsea. She will have her pick, you know."

"Yes, she already has her pick. They flock to our door," said Daisy as Chelsea arrived to stand in the doorway grinning like a youth.

Chelsea had changed into a smart dark blue riding ensemble. Her matching top hat with its white sheer band set off her gold-lit auburn hair to perfection. The skirt was hiked up just a touch to show off her gleaming boots, and she was in the process of pulling on her kid riding gloves. She looked exquisite, and Daisy watched her nephew's face as he watched her.

_Oh my,_ thought Daisy, _oh my_ indeed!

~ Twelve ~

SAM WATCHED THE prancing black do his dance under Chelsea and pulled a face at her. "Why you must needs go and purchase such a high stepper is beyond me. Damnation, Chels, he will prove too much for you, and you'll end in a bush."

Gently Chelsea worked her reins and her leg. It had been a long time since she'd really enjoyed a prime blood. She knew her muscles were going to ache later that day. However, she was proud of her riding skill and her quiet hands, and she neatly brought him under her with a manipulation that seemed to calm the beautiful horse. "There, there, Cricket... shhh... what a good boy... no need to worry. I won't take you where you aren't ready to go..."

The black's ears moved to the sound of her voice as he grew accustomed to her gentle handling. For all his high-stepping style, he did not appear nervous in Hyde Park. It was one of the reasons she'd chosen him. He was full of spirit but had not spooked at anything she had set him at when she tried him out the other day under Lord Wainwright's watchful eye.

Oh, but he had been wonderfully patient and understanding! What had nearly made her swoon, though, was the manner in which he held her when he helped her out of the saddle. With the horse at her back, he pressed up close, his hands on her waist, his blue eyes smoldering with intention. He leaned in, and she waited for that kiss.

Instead, he leaned in and whispered at her ear, "Look at a man like that, minx, and you will get more than you bargained for."

She had allowed him to hold her because she wanted to look up at him with a womanly, sexy expression. She wanted to entice him. She wanted him to think of her as more than a child. "How do you know what I mean to bargain for?" There, she saw it: _desire_ , absolute desire on his face, and yet, somehow he had pulled away from her and stepped back. She even thought that he was breathing hard...

Then all at once someone had slapped Brett on the back with a hearty greeting.

Had she been right? Had he wanted to kiss her? If he had, why hadn't he? _Fool_ , her inner voice said, _how could he kiss you with grooms and strangers milling about? He would not subject you to that. You aren't a chambermaid!_ But, for a moment, that was exactly what she wished she were—just to get into his arms and stay there. Oh, she was shameless. And what was more, she didn't care!

Sam's voice broke through her daydreaming. He was still complaining about something. Just what was he saying?

"I am surprised, I tell you... Chels, are you listening to me?"

"Yes, you are surprised. About what, Sam?"

"I told you, I am surprised Wainwright allowed you to purchase this goer!"

"Well, after all, he is not my guardian," she returned with a short laugh and then added, "However, his lordship evidently has more faith in my riding ability than you do."

He grunted and changed the subject abruptly. "The Jersey is waving to us."

"Hmmm. We better stop and say hello." Chelsea was already slowing her jogging horse to a walk.

"Darlings," Lady Jersey said jovially. "How splendid you two look together." She turned to the tall, well-dressed man at her side and cocked a brow. "Don't you think so, Charles?"

Sir Charles's hazel eyes caressed Chelsea, and his quiet voice spoke only to her. "Miss Halloway would look splendid anywhere and with anyone."

"Indeed." The Jersey laughed. She had never seen her good friend, Sir Charles Peters, so infatuated before. She liked Chelsea Halloway, and Lady Daisy was one of her dearest friends. She had no objection to such a match. "Your horse is magnificent," she said as she patted the horse's nose.

"And your seat superb!" Charles added.

"For pity's sake, I beg that you both will stop, or Chelsea's head will puff up, and I shall have the devil of a morning with her." Sam laughed good-naturedly. His gaze shifted towards two young women whom he had met recently. The taller of the two, blonde and attractive, smiled shyly at Sam. Her sister, also blonde, more bubbly, and a bit on the plump side, greeted both Sir Charles and the Jersey, who they knew well.

"Miss Breccon," said Sam softly as he gazed at her, "you look so lovely."

Chelsea greeted them warmly, as the Breccon sisters and she had recently struck up a comfortable friendship. However, something in the gaze the elder Miss Breccon and Sam exchanged caught her interest, and she tried to watch as imperceptibly as she could.

Charles, however, took this moment to move close to Chelsea's knee. He nonchalantly placed his fingers on her boot as he raised his eyes to her and said, "I think I must point out to you, Miss Halloway, that your horse is fidgeting into a sweat." He smiled warmly at her. "I think even at the heartache of watching you go, I must allow you to walk him."

"Thank you, Sir Charles. You are quite right and most kind to point it out," she returned at once.

Sam and Miss Susan Breccon were in a quiet conversation together as Chelsea interrupted. "I am so sorry, Susan, but Cricket is in a sweat... and I do think I need to walk him out."

Sam glanced her way. "I should say so... yes, why even my nag is in a bit of a fidget... warm day... and they still have their winter coats... off we go." He tipped his hat to the Breccon sisters and respectfully to Lady Jersey, and they were off.

Chelsea had the devil in her as she said, "Of the two, I like the younger Miss Breccon over her sister."

"Chels, how can you say so! Susan... Susan is an... _angel_."

Still driven to get a rise out of him she said, "Yes, well, angels you know are very good, but very dull."

"Dull?" Sam returned in outrage. "Never one moment of dullness have I experienced in her company. Peaceful, restful—"

Chelsea burst out laughing, and his face slowly relaxed into a smile as he said, "All a hum."

"Yes, but a useful one, for now we know don't we...?"

He sighed. "She is special, isn't she?"

"Very, and I was teasing you as you guessed. I like her very well." Chelsea smiled at his expression of bliss and suffered a moment's loss she could admit only to herself. Sam had been her friend, her confidante, her devoted cohort for so long. Things would change now, as they must, and she recognized the change that was coming. She put it down to the natural order of things. The past was over. The present and the future lay ahead. So be it!

* * *

Wainwright sat his horse and watched from a secluded distance while Sir Charles brushed up against Chelsea's knee. Brett's brow went up, and he felt a sudden rush of temper. He watched Sir Charles linger a farewell over Chelsea's kid-gloved hand, and he saw Chelsea's smile. It had been warm and inviting.

He started his horse across the avenue towards them and picked up his horse's clipped walk, moving it into a trot as he cut through a narrow path to catch up to them.

"Hallo!" he called as he slowed his horse once more.

Chelsea turned her bright gaze to him, and he momentarily got lost in those silver, sparkling eyes of hers.

The sound of her breathless voice worked his imagination, and he was damned bloody hard and uncomfortable once more, more so on his horse. "Hallo! How do you like Cricket under my own tack?" she answered as he got closer.

He had an absurd urge to lean into her and drop a kiss on her full, sensuous mouth. What the hell was wrong with him? He cleared his throat and said, "He looks like he still is a bit green—he wants manners, you know. See that you teach him some." He realized at once how harsh he sounded and knew why. He didn't want to lead her on. He didn't want her to see the hunger in his eyes... and mistake it for anything other than the pure male lust he felt. It was nothing more. He was a male, and she was a beautiful woman—it was nothing more. He had seen that she was forming opinions about love and lovers and the difference between real love and lust. He was sure she understood...

Chelsea lifted eyes to his face that were full of surprise. She obviously had not expected such curtness out of him, but she put up her chin and said in a cold voice, "Yes, of course, but that will take time. What I was asking was how does he look? _I think, magnificent_."

"You know that he does," he said in a softer tone and felt his features relax. He had to be firm and strong. He had to show her how disagreeable he could be. "But now, you need to walk him." He felt Sam's eyes boring a whole into him, and he looked around. "Don't you think, Sam?"

"I do. Chelsea, come on—we don't want to keep his lordship, who obviously must have somewhere to go."

Wainwright smiled to himself. Clearly Sam had taken offense on behalf of Chelsea, who was nodding a good-bye to him as she started off. She turned to throw over her shoulder, however, "Do you attend the Rubbard soirée tonight, my lord?"

"Perhaps," he said, meaning to sound bored. He did not want her hurt, but he did not want her to misinterpret his attentions or the fact that he was obviously attracted to her charms.

She surprised him. He wanted her to think badly of him, but he had not been prepared for the little spitfire that stayed her steed and turned on him. " _Perhaps, indeed._ Well then, never mind. I believe my dance card will be filled before ever you get there, and I, therefore, wouldn't notice whether you were there or not!"

He snapped back, "Than I shan't bother to approach you for a dance. No doubt you would turn me up cold?"

"Oh, you are quite correct—there is no doubt of that whatsoever!" She turned in her seat and started her horse off once more.

Mr. Martin grinned broadly at Wainwright and before turning to follow Chelsea said for his ears alone, "You had that coming, you know."

~ Thirteen ~

CHELSEA REGARDED LADY Rubbard with silent amusement. The woman seemed to be congratulating herself on the success of her soirée as she fluttered around and swished her horrible purple gown around her rail-thin figure.

The champagne, and the music flowed in provocative quantity. Her guests were laughing and enjoying themselves, and her rooms were full to overflowing. With a wave of her fan she flirted with passing and gallant gentlemen and sighed with great satisfaction.

Chelsea turned and put her nose to the hothouse roses at her shoulder. "Hmmm," she said out loud, "lovely." Everything was, indeed, quite perfect—except for the fact that she was miserable.

All she could think about was the evasive Lord Wainwright. All she wanted was to find him striding across the marble ballroom floor to take her up in his arms. All she wanted was for him to squirrel her away and kiss her and—

"You take my breath away," Colonel Strand said into her ear and interrupted her dream. "That gown... fits your figure to perfection, and that soft shade of yellow matches the highlights in your glorious curls."

"You know just what to say to a woman, don't you, John?" She flirted in return, thinking, _Are you here, my big, handsome Lord Wainwright? Are you watching—are you jealous? What will it take for you to act on your desire?_

"Come, waltz with me," he said intensely as he took her long white satin–gloved hand.

She had already been given permission to waltz, and so she allowed him to lead her onto the crowded floor. He was not the one she wanted to be dancing with. His was not the voice she wanted to hear in her ear.

As he spun her and held her close, he bent his head to whisper huskily, "You know how I feel, don't you, beauty?"

"Indeed," she teased. "You want to scoop me up and run off to a world of pleasure and sin." She laughed at his shocked expression, for she had meant to make a jest of it, to make light of his flirtation.

"Yes, yes, I do, but, my dear one... I would first put a ring on your finger," he answered more seriously.

She sighed and looked around but could not see Brett Wainwright anywhere. "I think I feel too warm... could we... _rest a bit?_ "

"Indeed, we need some air," he said, taking her hand and leading her to the garden doors.

The garden was a small courtyard of evergreens and neatly placed benches, only dimly lit with a few torches. "I... oh, I don't know..." said Chelsea, hanging back in the wide doorway.

He tugged gently but insistently on her hand. "Do come—the air will do us good."

"No, I think I would like to go back inside now," she objected.

"Just walk with me for a moment. Let the air cool you down. It will do you good," he coaxed. He took her elbow as he nudged her forward and onto the patio stones towards a narrow path just ahead.

The breeze _was c_ ool and refreshing, and Chelsea did feel its soothing effects. She took a long breath of air and said, "What a beautiful night. Just look at those stars!" She felt him maneuver her steps and looked away from the night's sky to find they were partially hidden by a row of evergreens. She started to frown at him.

"I can't," returned the colonel, "because I can't take my eyes off you." He bent and whispered, "Forgive me, Chelsea, I can't stop myself." His kiss started as a light touching of his lips to hers.

She wasn't quite willing, and as his lips brushed up against hers, she was sure: she didn't want him to kiss her. She thought a flirtation would be easy and fun, but this suddenly felt all wrong. She didn't want him to take her into his arms. She didn't want to be alone here with him...

She wanted someone else altogether, and this was all wrong. She shoved at his chest and said, "Stop it, John."

The curiosity she had experienced when she was at school and allowed a boy or two from the neighboring school to kiss her at an arranged dance was very different. And then his hand went from her back to her butt, and he grabbed her hard and thrust himself against her.

She was momentarily stunned and then outraged. She pushed hard at him and broke away to say angrily, "How dare you!"

He laughed. "No, you can't mean it... no... _one more kiss_ , Chelsea sweet..." He pulled her hard into his embrace while she punched at his chest and advised him that he was most certainly a cad!

* * *

Lord Wainwright stepped into the small and overcrowded ballroom and sighed to himself. _Why the devil was he here?_ He hadn't really wanted to come. He had meant to spend a quiet evening at home... reflecting.

No sooner did he walk into the ballroom than he found himself surrounded by a set of fashionable females, with Augusta heading the list. She took his arm and eyed him coquettishly as she remarked, " _La_ , darling, but I have been waiting for you to arrive."

"Have you?" he returned with the slightest of smirks but a warm enough smile to make her wonder. He would not be so cruel as to turn her up cold in front of all her friends. That was not his style, but he damned well wanted to get away from her.

He put her gloved fingers to his lips and said softly, "Augusta, do excuse me, but I have someone I must speak with." He moved away, nodding to the other chattering women who seemed bent on encircling him.

All the while he realized he was looking for only one person— _Chelsea._

Chelsea—her name conjured up her face in his mind, and he felt hell-bent on finding her.

And _bloody_ _hell_ —he didn't want to contemplate the meaning of this need.

He found Daisy in quiet conversation with Lord Lytton, and the expression they both wore gave him a moment's pause. What was going on in that quarter? Further scanning of the room revealed Sam dancing with a tall blonde he recognized as one of the Breccon girls, but nowhere could he find Chelsea.

"Daisy..." He smiled a greeting, but his brows were drawn together. "Where is your brat?"

Daisy laughed. "Now, here is the thing. She isn't, you know—a brat, not at all. She wants always to please me and do as she ought, _but_ she—like you, I might add—has this charming, naughty streak in her." She shook her head. "The last I saw of her she was being waltzed about the room by Strand... and I have told you, I don't like his attentions, though I do think he means to propose."

A nervous shudder went through Wainwright.

He glanced around the ballroom and said on a troubled note, "The waltz is not over... and I don't see them on the floor." He was irritated, and that irritation made its way through his mind and blocked all logical thought. Chelsea had admitted to him that she fancied the colonel; indeed, she liked when Strand's hand had been on her waist... damn, bloody damn!

Wainwright felt a churning in his gut; excusing himself, he quietly wielded his way towards the garden doors. He was a man and knew where a man would take the object of his desire—a quiet stroll in the gardens, eh? Well, he would have the man's head and return it to him on a silver platter!

He stepped outside and rounded the gravel path, aware of a strange sensation racing through his body. His pulse rate had dangerously quickened, and he thought he could hear his heart actually pounding through his chest.

Another step, and all at once he heard the colonel request a damned kiss! A kiss, eh, he would give him a kiss, and one that would leave him planted in the ground!

He heard Chelsea object, and then everything before him took on a shade of red. He moved in and saw Chelsea at once. She was trying to stop the colonel even as the man wrapped himself around her.

"Oh... please... do let me go." Chelsea did not sound frightened, but she did sound supremely annoyed.

Wainwright found himself closing his fists and closing in. He damn well was going to pommel the colonel into the ground.

Chelsea saw him and called out, "Brett... oh thank goodness!"

The colonel released her and spun around to face him.

Chelsea jumped to him and put a restraining hand on his arm.

And somehow he maintained his composure, if only not to ring in a scene around them. He said, in a voice that would catch any man's full attention, "You deserve to be called out on this one. However, I would not have Miss Halloway exposed to gaping eyes and tattle mongers, so you are going to be able to walk away, and quietly." His lordship's words held a threat. His face was drawn determination.

The colonel, obviously meaning no real harm, was a bit overtaken by the turn of the moment. He clearly had not expected Chelsea to refuse him a kiss, and he had not expected Wainwright to appear on the scene.

Chelsea had been taken aback by the colonel's aggressiveness. She was moved by Wainwright's sudden appearance on the scene, and she felt both gratefulness and something she couldn't name. She dove at him, pressed against the comfort of his large, strong body. She felt his arm encircle her protectively, his fingers press against her waist, and sighed happily. This was all she wanted—to be beside him, touching him, having him touch her.

"Yes, but... you misunderstand..." the colonel attempted helplessly to explain.

Wainwright held Chelsea protectively and glared back at the colonel. "I take leave to advise you that your conduct is contemptible. You will in the future keep your hands to yourself if ever you are fortunate enough to find yourself in Miss Halloway's company."

The colonel snapped his heels together as he bowed his head and begged Chelsea's pardon before he hurried away and back into the ballroom.

Wainwright turned Chelsea to face him with one sweeping move, and he held her by her shoulders. "What in thunder were you thinking of when you went outside with him?"

Wainwright, seething, watched her flitting expressions with a mixture of exasperation and understanding. She was so young. This was her first season, and he knew she was experimenting. What young person didn't?

She gazed up at him with those bright silver eyes and said as he tried to contain his agitation, "Well... I know it wasn't quite the thing..."

"Not quite the thing at all! You invited the poor fellow's advances. It is no wonder he took advantage of you... looking as you do... flirting with that way you have. Chelsea, you cannot be so naïve as to think he wouldn't try and kiss you when you came out here?"

"Well, as to that," Chelsea answered in her forthright manner, "I didn't really mind the first kiss. I was curious, you see, what a kiss from a real man would be like."

Something inside him snapped.

She wanted a kiss from a real man? What... was she going to go through a list of men she thought real men to find that special kiss she was looking for? He wouldn't have it!

Well, if she was curious about kissing a real man, he would satisfy that curiosity here and now and be done!

The next thing he knew, he had swept her into his arms and found her mouth with his own. He brushed her lips lightly with his lips, once, twice, until he felt her yield, and then he licked them gently with his tongue. Her lips parted, and he found her delicious tongue waiting just within. Lord Wainwright invited it to dance...

* * *

Wainwright was angry and speaking roughly to her because he was jealous, Chelsea told herself, and all hopes became pinned on that notion. And then, when she least expected it, he had her in his strong, muscular arms. She was filled with sensation as his lips brushed against hers, teased her mouth to open, gave her his tongue. Hers entwined with his, and shivers made her entire body tremble. She tasted him, and she knew she was lost. This was not a schoolgirl infatuation. This was something deeper and never ending. She had already seen beneath his façade of carefree rogue. She had already seen that his soul was strong, and beautiful, and now she gave herself over to him.

She had never been kissed like this, but it was more—it was as though a connection had electrified their bodies and fused their spirits. She didn't want this to stop.

She wanted his kisses to go on, and she wanted to go on to the next level—proprieties be dashed to another realm. She wanted him to touch her because her body was on fire, and only his touch could assuage the burn...

Then all at once he wrenched himself away and declared, " _There,_ you have it, a kiss from _a real man_ —you don't need to experiment with strangers."

Her voice was husky even to her own ears as she said, "Does that mean you will teach me everything I want to know...?"

He eyed her then, and she saw it in his eyes, on his face: pure, frothing desire. He wanted her, and the woman in her who wanted him knew it, felt it, encouraged it. His body demanded he have her. His conscience kept him ramrod straight, and he held her away as though she were an endless dark abyss and he was tottering on the edge.

"Come with me now. We can't be found out here alone like this," he said as he took her gloved hand and led her to the garden doors, but there he turned and asked, "Chelsea, why didn't you let him kiss you again?"

"He wasn't the one," she said lightly.

"And how many do you mean to kiss... looking for this _one?_ " he asked on a frown.

"As many as it takes, my lord," she said with a light shrug of her shoulders. She knew what she was doing. You could lead a horse to water, but you couldn't make him drink until he was thirsty. Well, she had the answer, for she dashed well meant to keep him at the water trough until he was ready. She gave him a saucy look and said, "You are not my keeper. I am very pleased you came when you did, and I thank you for the 'real man kiss' you gave me. It taught me what I should look for."

"Not your keeper? Perhaps not, but I consider that I stand as such in lieu of my aunt," he retorted hotly. "And I forbid you from going about kissing—"

" _Ah-ha_!" she exclaimed, cutting him off. "And is giving out _real man kisses_... part of your duty, my lord?"

He didn't answer her but lightly pushed her back inside the ballroom. Chelsea smiled to herself, most thrilled with the results of the evening thus far!

~ Fourteen ~

THE PANTHEON BAZAAR was a fascinating arena of brightly decorated tents and shopping booths. Here shopkeepers and Gypsies who could not afford to establish themselves in the fashionable quarters of London set up their wares and were most willing to strike wondrous bargains.

It was here that the Breccon sisters, Susan and Lyla, led Chelsea on a shopping expedition that had all three wide-eyed. They were thrilled with the bargains they had found on various items and were congratulating one another on their cleverness for having thought to come to such a magical place.

Chelsea had purchased a pair of kid gloves that she advised Susan Breccon were the softest she had ever come across.

"And the price," Susan agreed. "The price is so low I think I might buy a pair as well. "Those... see, the ones in the darker shade?"

"Yes, lovely... while you do that, I think I shall go over to that booth just there." Chelsea indicated with her chin. "They have such lovely ribbons, and I need a few different sizes and colors still."

Chelsea was in the midst of selecting an array of pretty ribbons when a familiar but unwelcome voice sent an uncomfortable sensation through her. She pivoted and found her aunt Augusta, elegantly clothed in burgundy velvet with a high white lace collar. She wore a matching velvet hat over her sandy-colored curls, and her eyes glinted as she smiled. "Darling Chelsea, how delighted I am to find you."

"Yes, what a pleasant surprise," Chelsea answered quietly, noting the strikingly handsome man standing beside her aunt. He had taken off his top hat and displayed a full head of white gold hair. It was arranged in layered waves of careful disorder. His eyes were a pale shade of blue, and his countenance was chiseled in classic lines. His smile was very nearly devastating and full with charm. He stared at Chelsea, allowing his gaze to linger over her body as it traveled over her neck, down over the fullness of her breasts, and down further to the small waist in the fitted blue spencer she wore.

Chelsea was sure she was blushing as her aunt said, "Dearest, I must make you known to my brother, Patrick Radway." Augusta turned to her tall, well-built brother and very nearly winked. "Patrick, you have heard me mention Chelsea Halloway..."

_Well,_ Chelsea thought, she had never heard Augusta ever mention a brother. She wondered why.

She found her gloved fingers taken up and met his eyes as he softly said, "Enchanted. May I call you Chelsea? We may, I think dispense with formalities as we are connected... are we not?"

Chelsea smiled, but for a reason she could not name, she felt uncomfortable. His expression as he stared at her and something in the tone of his voice—the way he held himself—made her feel uneasy, but she said politely, "Of course, if you like."

"I do," he said on a low note. "Very much." He leaned in and asked, "Were you eating strawberries just now?"

"Strawberries?" Chelsea returned innocently. "Why... no..."

"Your lips are so full and red I thought you must have been," he said so quietly she almost did not hear him.

It was a compliment. She should not feel like running away, but she did.

Augusta said, _"La,_ but look at the hour... darling Patrick, we must rush off." She turned to Chelsea. "You are not here alone, I am persuaded?"

"No, no... I am with friends... there they are—" She indicated with her chin. "—in the next booth."

"My sister has been dragging me all over London, but I don't mind. It is good to be back," Patrick said casually.

"Oh, were you away?" Chelsea's curiosity moved her to ask.

"Yes, I was in Barbados for four years."

"Oh, how very exciting," Chelsea returned, her brow clearing as she realized that was why he had the dark complexion against the light blonde hair.

"Darling, tell Chelsea you will see her another time." Augusta pulled at his sleeve. "We really must be off."

He leaned conspiratorially into Chelsea and said, "We must be off." He grinned and shrugged. "May I call on you tomorrow morning?"

Chelsea smiled amiably. "I won't be in. I am promised for a ride in Hyde Park with friends, but you are welcome to join us."

"Time?"

She laughed. "My, you are to the point. Nine o'clock."

"Egad! Country hours in London." He grimaced. "I shall be there."

Chelsea watched them move off and turned to find the Breccon sisters at her side.

"Hmmm," said Susan. "Who was that?"

"My aunt's brother," Chelsea said on a thoughtful note.

"Faith—he was good looking, wasn't he?" Lyla said breathlessly. "He looked like an Adonis "

"Come on then." Chelsea laughed with a shake of her head. "We don't have much time before Daisy's man returns with the carriage for us."

* * *

Augusta sat beside her younger brother in the hack they shared and pressed into his shoulder as she gave him an arched look. "Well, did I not tell you she is an attractive little thing... _in her own way_?"

"Attractive? Good God, Gussie, _she is a diamond_. Absolutely stunning, and what's more, she doesn't seem to know it."

Augusta pulled a frown. "Don't call me Gussie, and I wouldn't go that far. A diamond indeed!" She sniffed and shook her shoulders with her irritation. "Never mind. If you think so, it will make your job even easier, for you will enjoy your work."

"Indeed." He gazed at his sister with a thoughtful expression. "How great is her fortune?"

Augusta shrugged. "I never was able to discover the exact amount her parents had left her, but while I don't think she is quite the richest woman in all of London, she is much more than comfortably well off." She studied her brother and paused to ask, "And you—you are certain that none of that trouble you had in Barbados will follow you here?"

"I told you, that was all settled. I was cleared. The matter never went to trial."

"Yes, but to be suspected of killing your wife...? Patrick, why did they suspect you?"

"Why was I a suspect?" He shook his head. "If you must know, I was not in love with her. Gussie, she was an heiress... running a sugar plantation. She was older than I and not very pleasant to look at. People will talk."

"Yes, but you were accused, Patrick... accused of murdering her, and I should like to know why."

"Her uncle never liked me, and he discovered that I had a mistress in Georgetown. When my wife overdosed on laudanum, _he_ blamed me. He was sure I had something to do with it, but he couldn't prove it, and as I said, the matter never went to trial."

"Did you have something to do with it?" she asked, and he knew she really didn't care but was simply curious.

"Are you asking if I loathed her? Yes, I hated the sight of her, but don't ask questions you may not want to know the answers to."

She eyed him and asked, "And you are very well endowed now, aren't you?"

"Gussie... people will talk, and I thought it best to remove myself. I sold everything, and, yes, for now, I am happily no longer in debt." He sighed. "Will you give up on the inquisition now?"

"Indeed, at any rate, the faster you move in on Chelsea the better—and by any means... Seduce the plaguey chit, and she will have no choice but to marry you to save her reputation."

He studied his sister for a long moment. "Why is this so important to you, Gussie?"

"Why indeed!" she huffed. "Because she is in my way. She has that youthful prettiness that makes men—men like Wainwright—cater to her innocence. Until she arrived in London, Wainwright was mine, or very nearly mine. Now all he does is dance attendance on that child! It is infuriating, and I want her out of the way by almost any means..."

"What do you mean, exactly...?"

"I mean, if she won't have you, then trick her into an outing. Take her to an inn and keep her overnight—whether you bed her or not, it won't matter. Her reputation will be ruined unless she returns a married woman."

He regarded his sister with lazy interest and thought once more that she had the heart of a devil, _as he did_ , as did their mother before them... who had taught them well, very well.

~ Fifteen ~

CHELSEA TOOK A MOMENT to smooth her hands over her gown of pale blue satin. It was a beautiful gown embroidered throughout with silken rosebuds and knots of silver twists. It was confined at the waist with a silver sash, and its low-cut bodice provocatively displayed Chelsea's charms.

She touched her auburn curls, which were threaded with silver ribbon and set in the Grecian style around her exquisite countenance. In her ears were diamond drops, and on her lovely neck was a matching diamond pendant that had belonged to her mother.

She stood, unaware of the radiant picture she presented standing between Almack's hallways pillars, and watched the double doors intently.

Patrick Radway smiled warmly at her as he approached, and his eyes danced with playfulness as he whispered something naughty into her ear.

She moved a step away, ignored his bold dalliance as she gave him a friendly smile, and said softly, "I am so thirsty, Patrick... do you know where the negus is being served?"

"I will fetch it for you," he answered gallantly.

She wanted him—everyone—to leave her alone. She was restless and unhappy.

Patrick was a very handsome man, and although she mildly enjoyed his company, she was in a fidget and no longer wished to converse with him or anyone else... save one man, and that one man had not yet made an appearance.

She knew that she was losing control of her emotions. She knew they were all colliding into one huge passion—a passion for him, for Lord Bretton Wainwright. She berated herself, saying silently, _Haven't you laughed this evening? Haven't you enjoyed your friends? Did you not enjoy the thin slices of ham that were served? Wasn't the music superb? This is Almack's... famous Almack's..._

Didn't you enjoy the lively cotillion with that young buck—whose name you can't presently recall, but no matter—didn't you enjoy the dance? Wasn't watching Sam and Susan fall deeper into love a fetching scene?

Yes! But the doors of Almack's will soon be locked against even the Regent himself!

Promptly at eleven o'clock the doors were always locked, and the love of her life had not arrived, taking all pleasure out of the evening. Her shoulders began to droop.

She had heard that Wellington himself had arrived some minutes after the hour once and had actually been refused!

And Wainwright... had not yet arrived.

She gazed at her pale blue satin slippers and felt a tear start in her eyes. She silently shouted at herself. _What_ , _Chelsea, is wrong with you_?

So, what does it matter if his lordship doesn't arrive and dance with you? What does it matter if you don't hear his voice, or look into his blue eyes, or feel his body close to yours?

She knew the answer. Wainwright made her feel totally alive. His presence blotted out the rest of the world. He made her laugh from the heart... _he made her dream._

Why wasn't he here? Just that morning he had told her that he detested this Radway fellow and didn't want him dancing attendance on her. She had said he was being archaic but secretly agreed with him. Something about Patrick Radway made her feel uneasy. Perhaps it was because he was Augusta's brother?

_The doors opened, and Wainwright appeared_. It was as though a chorus of glorious music suddenly played in her head. It was as though the sun's rays burst and sparkled all around him.

He stood in his black velvet cutaway tails and his black breeches, tall and masculine with his rugged good looks dominating her mind. How superior he was in every way to every man of her acquaintance.

He turned his head and saw her at once, and for a moment the connection between them was impossible to deny. _He must feel it_ , she told herself.

His strides were hard and purposeful, and a warm, wide smile curved his sensuous lips. "Hallo, monkey, have you been waiting long for me?"

"Odious man!" She nearly stamped her foot at him. "What makes you think I was waiting for _you_ to arrive?"

"Weren't you?" he quizzed.

She wanted to lie to him but settled for evading the question. "I was just cooling off here while Patrick was kind enough to go off and find me some negus. Oh—I think I see him coming now."

He ignored this and stood back, though he had taken her blue satin–gloved hands into his and said, " _Exquisite_ , my minx. Absolutely, breathtakingly exquisite. Your taste improves each day."

"Improves? What was wrong with what I wore the other night?" she huffed.

He laughed and flicked her nose, and his deep blue eyes were impossible for her to avoid. She saw his gaze linger at her bodice and felt a swelter of heat infuse her body as he softly, huskily said, "What I meant to say was that, as you gain confidence, your daring allows you to explore all facets of fashion. There, now am I forgiven?"

She gazed at him archly but had not time to reply as he pulled her along. She called to him, "Brett—Patrick... the negus... _What are you doing?_ "

"I mean to demand they strike up a waltz, for a waltz is what I wish to do with you right now." He eyed her for one doubtful moment. "No one has asked Jersey for permission to waltz with you yet, correct?"

"No... no one but you would dare do all of that," she peeped.

He grinned appreciatively, and as he saw his aunt in conversation with Lord Lytton, he swept Chelsea along until he stopped in front of them. Inclining his head, he said, "Daisy, I give you my brat. Hold her till I return." So saying, he made his way through the crowd towards the Jersey.

Daisy and Lord Lytton looked at one another and then at Chelsea, who said, "He means to waltz with me."

* * *

Brett Wainwright was burning from the inside out.

He had never wanted to get anywhere as much as he had wanted to get to Almack's that evening. He had first been delayed by his man of business. And then by an appointment at the Home Office he had not been able to put off. Now, hell and brimstone, all he wanted to do was get to Almack's and see her, hear her laugh, hold her during the waltz, whisk her off somewhere where he could kiss her again...

It was madness.

And he was out of control!

"My lady." Wainwright bent low over the Jersey's hand. "How lovely you are, as always."

"Scoundrel," the Jersey returned, her eyes bright with interest. "You have not been to see me in a decade, but I forgive you, for it has come to my knowledge..." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. "... that neither have you been to see Augusta Halloway, and that _pleases_ me greatly."

"In your regard, my clever woman, 'tis because you are forever gadding about and in so much demand that you are never home."

She allowed him a naughty smile. "And in Augusta's regard?"

"Ah, quite another story."

The Jersey laughed loudly, throwing her head back with pleasure, before bringing her eyes in line to look up at his, "Right then, we understand one another. Why are you not dancing?"

"With your permission, I should like to waltz with Miss Chelsea Halloway."

"Ah, but, darling, this is not like you. I have never known you to dance attendance on ingénues... and I like the chit—wouldn't want to see her... _hurt_."

"Indeed, it is a bore, but my aunt wishes me to give her some attention..."

"Don't try and bamboozle me, Brett," the Jersey returned, rapping him with her unfurled fan. "She is a spirited beauty and an engaging minx, and I rather think she does not bore you at all." She waved off any reply he had in mind. "Look there... Augusta's brother... not sure about him. He plans to have our Chelsea, you know. I would watch him if I were you. Don't trust him, and I don't like the match. Your Aunt Daisy is one of my dearest friends... and therefore, forgive me for my plain speaking, but I didn't want to trouble her just now when she has been looking so happy... but this brother of Augusta's...?" She clucked her tongue.

"Jersey, dearest, what are you talking about? I understood that he has a fortune of his own and was not one of the fortune hunters?"

"Do you remember Thomas Wolfson?" She waved his answer off and continued, "Doesn't matter. He is an old friend of mine. He had been to Barbados a year or so ago to help his young brother and has only just returned with the most remarkable story."

"And this has to do with us...?" he prompted, as she had stopped to throw kisses to a passing gentleman.

"Don't be impatient. I am getting to it. Apparently, Patrick Radway was involved in a bit of a scandal regarding the death of his rich wife..." She gave him a meaningful look.

" _Radway_? Are you certain?"

"Indeed, I am. It appears that handsome creature married an older woman just to get his hands on her fortune, and when he tired of catering to her whims... well, she died of an overdose of laudanum. Can you imagine? They couldn't gather enough evidence against him, and he was not charged. However, as soon as he was able, he sold everything, and, _voila,_ here he is!" She gave him another look. "Miss Halloway is something of an heiress..."

He bent over her gloved fingers. "Thank you, sweet beauty."

"Ah, and here is your waltz." She signaled to the orchestra.

Wainwright forced himself to relax his features as he moved to collect Chelsea for the waltz. He had not liked Radway, but this, this had been unexpected.

He smiled at Chelsea and was again struck by the look in her silver eyes. She had the power to turn his thoughts into a bursting collection of bubbles and fill his mind with fog and mist instead of logical thought. He put out his gloved hand, received hers, and led her onto the floor.

He twirled her around the dance floor, silent a moment as he thought of what he had just learned. Then he realized she was staring at his cravat. He chuckled. "Indeed, I rather liked the result as well."

"Result?" She looked up, and he sucked in air.

"Ah, much better," he murmured. "Have I told you yet, minx, that the sparkle of your eyes absolutely hypnotizes me?"

"Are you flirting with me? Or are you teaching me how to do it up right?"

He laughed. "Touché, brat."

"Now tell me, what did you mean—you liked the result?" she asked and smiled brightly.

"The results of my efforts at establishing a waterfall with my cravat. It was made famous by the Beau himself."

"How did you learn the knack?" she asked, her delicate brow arching and drawing his attention.

He found it difficult to concentrate on their conversation. All he wanted to do was to hide away with her... to kiss her... touch her... take off her damn clothes that clung to her beautiful body and ram his hard-on into her! Bloody hell, he was hot, and she was so soft, and... w _hat was he thinking?_

"Aye, I was lucky enough to have Beau Brummell show me the knack. I noticed you could not tear your gaze away from my cravat a moment ago and thought you were admiring it."

She giggled and said with a shake of her pretty head, "Oh, I was minding my steps, you see."

"And have continued to do so during our conversation," he said, as his gaze swept her face. She smiled prettily up at him, and he whispered as he bent his head to hers, "Indeed, those eyes of yours... silver, warm and glittering..." He heard the huskiness in his voice but he couldn't stop himself and sighed to say, "What am I to do with you?"

"Well, my eyes are nothing next to yours," she returned on a laugh.

"What?" He was surprised a moment and chuckled appreciatively. He was beginning to think he would not be able to keep from bedding her, but bedding her would mean he would have to marry her, and he... he couldn't think of that!

"Your eyes, my lord. Their blue color is as rich and deep as the sky on a clear day, and you laugh with them all the time. It is most inviting. It happens more often than not—your eyes light up just before you laugh... before your lips... well... you have lovely lips as well," Chelsea said frankly.

He saw the blush in her cheeks and shook his head. "You are incorrigible. Do you always say what you think? You must not, you know—at least, _not to everyone_."

"I am more selective than that," she answered demurely.

He was entranced but needed to pursue this subject. "For example... you are open with Sam there?"

"That's right," she answered, looking away from him.

"And perhaps... Augusta's brother?"

She wrinkled her nose. "He is great fun, you know... and I have told him that... but..."

"But...?"

"Oh, never mind him. Look there, that tall, pleasant-looking young man standing to one side of Sam," she said.

His lordship had to turn slightly even as they waltzed to see whom it was she was speaking about. "Y-es?"

"That is Vincent Tillbury, and I met him yesterday. He is very pleasant."

Wainwright's chest tightened. "Is he? I don't believe I am acquainted with the gentleman."

"No, probably not, because he has only just arrived in London. He wishes to take me in his phaeton tomorrow during the fashionable hour."

"I see," said his lordship, his mind moving into top speed.

"I told him that I should like to go with him very much if he would let me take the ribbons."

"Blackmail, my Chelsea?" In spite of his irritation, his lordship laughed. "Did the poor fellow agree?"

"He did."

He took a moment and then said, "Well, perhaps I may find you there, for I shall be passing through the park at that hour."

She said out of nowhere, "Sam, I think, has formed a lasting attachment to Susan Breccon."

"Do you find that fact upsetting, pet?"

"Well, no, but... they are well suited for one another... but everything is changing. I was wont to think Sam would always be in my life, my close and truest friend, but when he marries... _that will change_. His wife will be his truest friend... and that is as it should be, but... well, I suppose things have already changed." She wrinkled her nose. "He is much more critical of the things I do now. He used to think me a madcap... but never disapproved, and now he does, all the time." She looked up at him and for a moment, just a moment, rested her cheek against his chest before she pulled away.

Her little gesture moved him to the point of distraction. He wanted to lift her into his arms, cradle her, and hold her. He wanted to soothe her during this wise but sad moment, for she was leaving behind her childhood.

"He... Sam... has changed. He is suddenly so different," she added with a sigh.

Brett laughed. "My pet, my dear heart, you cannot see it, but you are different as well."

"No," she answered gravely. " _I am not_. Oh, I am clothed in style, but..." She gazed at his face. "I am very much who I have always been, only now I am able to hide it with a façade of sophistication."

"How do you mean?"

"I still prefer a ballad to an opera. I prefer a comedy at the theater to _Hamlet_. I would rather a romp in the grass with the man of my dreams than have a staid evening with friends discussing the next art display."

He found his heart full with everything she was—he found her adorable, and dear, and just the sort of character he needed. The waltz was at an end, but he held her still in his arms a moment before he led her off the floor, her hand tucked into his. "Chelsea—" he started to say.

"Darling." Augusta had his sleeve. "There you are..."

* * *

Mr. Tillbury arrived at that moment and bent low.

"Miss Halloway, may I lead you out for the country dance?"

"Ah, Mr. Tillbury..." she answered whilst peeking to see what his lordship was doing with her aunt Augusta.

"May I say that I am looking forward to taking you up in my phaeton tomorrow," Mr. Tillbury continued.

"Are you?" She giggled. "You may not feel that way once you have placed the ribbons in my hands."

He looked worried for a moment. "Yes, but Sam assured me that you could handle a team..."

"Aha! So you went and checked up on my reputation as a horsewoman," she accused amiably.

He blushed. "Well... not exactly. Somehow the subject came up... '

"Hmmm. I am sure it did." She smiled, but the smile faded as she watched Augusta run her hands possessively over Wainwright's chest.

It wasn't until later, however, when Patrick was with her, that her heart sank nearly beyond recovery.

"Well, looks as though my sister and Wainwright mean to make a match of it," a male voice said at her ear.

Chelsea's head nearly snapped off her neck as she turned around to stare at him. "You cannot be serious?"

"I am most serious. Only look how closeted they are."

"Indeed," Chelsea returned, holding back her feelings on the matter. They did look as though... they were conversing privately together... it did have the look...

Could it be? Had she been so blinded by her own feelings that she did not see Wainwright and her aunt really were lovers and he meant to make Augusta his bride?

For a moment, she thought something had pierced through her chest and pricked her heart.

"Excuse me," she said and moved towards her godmother. "Aunt Daisy, would you mind terribly if I went home... I will send your coach back for you. I simply cannot keep my eyes open."

"My dear, shall I come with you?"

"No, I wouldn't dream of it. I will just be going up and straight to bed."

Lord Lytton said quietly, "Go ahead, my dear. You have been running yourself ragged day and night. Get some rest. I will see your aunt home in my carriage. No need for the coachman to return here, only wait till I send a lackey to fetch your driver."

"Thank you," Chelsea said. She then took her leave of the Jersey as hurriedly as she could before she made her way out of Almack's and to her waiting coach.

Once inside, she bit her gloved knuckle and thought of Wainwright. Could he look at her the way he had one minute and... be off making love to Augusta the next?

_Of course!_ _You are just a maid—a virgin without talent—while Augusta knows how to please a man. What do you know except giggles and missish ways? You are a stupid fool to think someone_ like him _could feel more than a mild friendship for someone_ like you _..._

This thought brought on her tears, and she sat the ten minutes in the coach silently crying.

A few moments later, she opened the front door and quietly ran up the stairs. She threw off her velvet cloak and then her clothes and dove under the covers to sob her heart out.

He would marry Augusta, and he would never be hers... and how could she live without her heart beating in her chest?

Her dream had been... a dream.

~ Sixteen ~

WAINWRIGHT LEFT AUGUSTA at his back, his lips set in grim lines, and Augusta was visibly annoyed.

Daisy, having closely watched all this, turned to Lord Lytton. "Oh my! I wonder what has taken place in that quarter."

"I fancy your nephew has made a decision, my love," Lytton said into her ear. "And for my way of thinking, it appears to be the right one."

Brett stood and scanned the room, a growing frown descending over his face before his gaze came to rest on them. They exchanged a glance before Brett arrived and gave them a brief nod to inquire, "Where is my lovely brat?"

Daisy gazed at him irritably, for she had not been fooled by Chelsea's excuse. She knew her goddaughter had not suddenly been too fatigued to enjoy her first night at Almack's. She had seen her Chelsea watch her nephew take Augusta into a quiet corner, watch him touch Augusta's cheek and stroke the woman's bare arm. What did he expect the child would think?

"You have allowed Chelsea to form a tendre in your direction, and then you conducted your love affair with Augusta right before her eyes."

He stiffened. "If you must know, I was telling Augusta that we were at an end and trying to do so in a kindly manner, nothing more." He looked around. "So then, where is she—having a good sulk?"

"You know nothing of the child if you think she would 'sulk', as you call it, for all the world to see. She went home... I think to have a good and private cry before she writes you out of her heart."

Wainwright looked at Lord Lytton, who gave him a sympathetic eye and said, " _Not_ irreparable damage in my estimation."

"Men! What do you know of such things?" Daisy put up her chin.

Her nephew made a decision in that moment and bowed his way off. "Well, then, I suppose, that is that. Good night, Aunt," he said and turned to Lytton. "My lord." He turned on his heel and made his way towards the exit.

"Now what?" Daisy said, exasperated.

" _Now_ , my dear heart, it plays out," he answered wisely, "and we may only sit back and watch."

"Yes, you are quite right... but, oh, Lytton, I have quite changed my way of thinking on this matter. Recently I have noticed that his affections have been genuinely engaged, and that would serve. He does seem to be what she needs. He would never curb her spirit, for he enjoys it, and in his care she would grow and blossom as she should. And she brings out the best in him and allows him to be who he really is..."

"We can't manage it— _only they_ can do that. However, what I can manage is where _you and I_ are going," he said in a low, hungry tone. "And I mean to start tonight, my dear sweet life."

"Tonight? Just what did you have in mind?"

"My love, will you trust me? Will you come home with me tonight?"

"My lord!"

"I mean to ask you something in the privacy of my home, and I mean to do it tonight."

"Oh, my lord," Daisy said with her heart fluttering pleasurably.

* * *

It didn't take Wainwright long to get to his aunt's lodgings. He was surprised when he reached the front door to find it _not_ fully closed, and although he was pleased to be able to enter without the aid of a servant, he was momentarily irritated that Chelsea had been so careless.

It occurred to him that this was yet another thing that displayed the distress she had felt. How had things come to this pass? Why was he rushing off to assuage a young woman's heart? What was it to him...?

Heedless of the proprieties and no longer interested in his motives, he took the stairs and guessed wrongly the first time at which room was Chelsea's. The second door, however, displayed her by the light of only one candle. He heard her sniff, and the sound went through him sharply.

He was at a loss to understand himself at that moment. He was a man driven by needs, both emotional and sensual. And the sound of her crying nearly dragged out his heart and slammed it into the wall! She was his darling brat, and he wanted to make her laugh, not cry! He had to make this better. He had to make this right. It was his fault she was infatuated with him. He knew it was his fault. His undisguised desires had led her to this moment. _He was a cad._

He went right to the edge of the bed, touched the quilt, and said her name softly. "Chelsea... Chelsea..."

She jumped halfway up in her bed, holding the quilt up to her neck and over her body as she gasped, "Brett... what... what are you doing here?"

He was at her bedside, crouched down on one knee. "Chelsea... you left without saying good-bye... and I couldn't let you think that Augusta and I—"

"It is your business who you take as a lover... it has naught to do with me," she said in a small voice.

He moved to sit on the bed, lifting her chin up so he could look into her eyes. "Yes, it _is my_ business, but this time, it is important to me that you know... I was with her because I wanted her to know that I simply couldn't see her anymore."

When she looked at him fully, his mind clouded over and his body's need for her took over. He was in a primal state of blood-rush. She had magic, lovely tendrils that reached into his chest, wrapped themselves around his heart, and made him come alive.

She was a fairy princess with power, the power to turn his brain into her obedient servant. And all he knew was that he wanted her in a way he had never wanted a woman before. He wanted to possess her, her body, her heart, her soul...

As Chelsea's hand reached for him, he clasped it with a desperation he had never known before. He held her fingers and placed feverish kisses on them. They looked into one another's eyes, and it was as though a magnetic force emanating from them both pulled them together. It was one erotic, exultant, and fluid movement.

He found himself crushing her in his arms, saying her name before his lips brushed against hers. He whispered, "I have been dreaming of kissing you again, since that first kiss..."

"You mean the 'real man kiss' you gave me?" She peeped a look at him, and it was all over—he was lost. His mouth parted her lips as his tongue slowly found hers and stroked it with a tenderness that blossomed and opened into passion full blown.

She responded, and he felt the tentativeness of her innocence as she gave herself to his kiss. It took him beyond thought as it drove him wild with a headiness that made him forget all other considerations.

She pulled off his velvet coat, and for one moment, he couldn't look away from her full and naked breasts with her hard, pink nipples begging for a kiss.

He bent his head as he cupped them in his hands and kissed first one nipple, to then move on and lick the other. She whimpered with pleasure, and he almost cried out her name. He couldn't think; he was consumed with need—need for her, only her!

Somehow his clothes were on the floor... and he stood and worked his boots off. He moved closer to the head of the bed as he managed to shrug out of his breeches and formal stockings and shoes. Clothes gone, he stood naked before her, suddenly unsure. What was the expression on her face—was it fear, or, no... no... it was excitement. And that realization spurred him on. _What are you doing, Wainwright_? It was a voice in his head, and it demanded he stop and get a hold of himself. _Sneck up!_ he told the voice silently. _She belongs to me... no other... mine... no other... and after tonight..._

_Yes, after tonight_? He banished the voice. He didn't have the answer. The only thing he knew was that he wanted her and she wanted him.

He saw her eyes grow wide as his cock became harder than it had ever been, as it danced and jerked for attention. She made a small sound and looked up at his face, her own so beautiful, so full with need that for a moment he couldn't breathe.

He went to her then, took her hand, put it on his shaft, and taught her the motion. She gave herself to it with relish, and suddenly she was kissing his cock and saying his name, and he thought he would explode if he didn't get some control. He pushed her back onto the mattress and stretched out beside her... _damn, how had he resisted her this long?_ That voice, that damnable warning voice, told him to stop... _to wait..._

_Wait?_ Why? Why should he wait? She was everything he needed, wanted and... oh hell, she touched him again, pulled him closer... her lips traveled over his chest... and back up again... to his mouth...

* * *

Life without Brett Wainwright in it had been a possibility that had suddenly sent Chelsea reeling into terror. She tried outrunning the thought, but it had followed her home. _He would never be hers_. And why should he be? He had beautiful Augusta and women like her who could please every desire.

Then, out of nowhere... his voice, calling her name. At first she thought she was imagining it, and then... _there he was!_

He stood, like a god, taking up all the space, the air, the room. There he stood, making her body _vibrate,_ making her pulse accelerate, turning her brain into mush. She was naked beneath the quilt, and she wanted him to look at her... want her. She was desperate to see want in his eyes!

All at once she was in his arms. His mouth covered hers, and she had never felt like that ever before. Her body's sensations intensified, and she wanted it to go on. He touched her breasts, he kissed her nipples, and she arched for him as she grew wet and that wetness soaked the soft skin between her thighs.

What she knew about all this was only what she and her friends had whispered about and giggled over whilst growing up. This was so much more than what she expected, so much more pleasurable than what she had ever imagined.

And then he stood, naked, with his huge shaft pointing at her, and she had this overwhelming need to touch... and stroke, and cherish...

What was happening to her?

Love had already happened, weeks ago... but this was more feral and so much a part of what she felt for him. She wanted to please him, but she'd never imagined the pleasure she would receive... her body was tensing as though ready to explode, and when his fingers explored the cleft between her thighs, she arched and called out his name.

He growled low in his throat and told her she had bewitched him while he played with her wet opening with a style that made her pump into his fingers and press for more...

"I want to please you over and over..." His voice was husky with passion as his tongue licked at her nipples again.

He took her on a journey of sensation as his kisses traveled over her tits, returned once more and lingered at her nipples, and then made a path down her midriff to her belly, and then lower... lower as he spread her thighs wide and buried his face.

She felt his tongue there even as he nibbled at her sensitive nub, even as his finger explored and engendered a heat in her that consumed all rational thought. Once again, sweet release, and this time, she couldn't stop the gasping, panting with moans that accompanied the uncontrollable tremors and shudders that swept her body.

His blue eyes gazed into hers, and she touched his long, ginger-colored waves of hair as he whispered soft nothings. He then put his cock on her belly and asked, "Are you ready, my pet?"

"Yes... more..." she whispered, never wanting this to stop.

He backed away on the bed and got onto his knees. His shaft visibly throbbed and bounced, demanding their union, and his expression set her burning with anticipation. She lusted for him and looked at him fully, eagerly as he took her rump and lifted her up to meet his first thrust.

He was so controlled, Chelsea thought, as he put his cock between her thighs and prodded her tight opening. His finger rubbed her nub, and she was filled with a desire that threatened to drive her mad. He was driving her mad with hunger... she wanted him inside...

He made his first push, and she felt her body cringe with the sudden pain. She had a sudden doubt. This wasn't going to work. He was too huge... she wasn't big enough... She mumbled her doubts out loud.

He chuckled and said huskily, "Leave it to me... my own beauty... ahh... there... better?"

He had pushed in deeper, and she pumped against him once more. She wanted him, but she also wanted to please him. He groaned and whispered, "Now, my heart... now...?"

She nodded and added lest he not understand, _"Now... right now..."_

He rammed himself inside, and she pumped into him instinctively; as he moved and as she shifted to meet his every thrust, she knew she was his. Supreme pleasure coursed through her as he rocked her body with wild thrusts and kneaded her rump with his expert hands. She called out his name as once more he brought her to resounding climax that rocked her body into tremors of pleasure. He joined her in that moment and allowed himself to climax with her, shooting his hot seed deep inside her and saying her name, over and over.

This, she thought, this was what love was meant to be. This was the culmination of love, and yet neither one, not she, not he, had spoken of it. Then he was lifting her onto her hands and knees and saying, "Now, sweet... let me please you another way..." And he did, and she never wanted it to stop.

The word love came unbidden, but she stopped it from crossing her lips. She was afraid to say it first. She didn't want to hear herself say it and get nothing in return, and she wasn't sure he was ready to admit it to himself let alone to her. Did he love her? She thought he might... _she hoped_...

He held her to him, with his cock on her rump and his arms tightly around her, and he told her she was incredible. He told her she was ravishing and enchanting and that he had never wanted anyone more.

She turned to him and said somberly, "You must go... before Daisy gets home..."

"Throwing me out of your bed already?" He chuckled and then said on a more serious note, "Indeed..." He got up, but before he rushed to get dressed, he dropped a kiss on her nose and said, "What I need now is to have you in my bed all day and all night and show you how it is really done."

She laughed. "I will hardly be able to walk as it is."

A few moments later, he was gone, and she hugged her pillows to herself. What had she done? She smiled a saucy smile in the dim candlelight. She had behaved like a tart for the man she loved. That was what she had done.

And now?

And now would have to work itself out, she thought with a sigh as she tried to sleep, and though she doubted she would sleep, she fell right off into a deep and restful one.

~ Seventeen ~

CHELSEA PRESENTED SAM and Susan Breccon with the chaperonage they needed as they walked leisurely in Kensington Gardens; however, Sam had on more than one occasion noticed and asked what was troubling her. She had smiled and said, "Naught," but she was as blue-deviled as a girl could be.

Patrick Radway appeared and joined them as they strolled along. Chelsea tried to pay attention to what he was saying, but it was difficult, so difficult.

He gazed at her and finally gave up trying to win a smile. "What is it, Chelsea love?"

"Oh, I think I am just weary from all this gadding about," she answered. She couldn't tell him or anyone else the truth, that she had fallen headlong in love with Wainwright, had given her body and soul to him, only to discover that perhaps she had been nothing more than a fool. He had not visited her or been anywhere she was present in three days. She had been at first disappointed, then was surprised, and now was totally despondent. She blamed herself. This was all her fault—she had given herself to him like a tart, and he had run off rather than face her again!

"I noticed that Lord Wainwright... has not been about lately...?" Radway offered, and she felt his eyes watch her for a reaction.

"Has he not?" she said, purposely evasive.

Radway was a determined man; she saw it, and it worried her. She needed to put a stop to his constant attentions, as she wasn't even sure she liked him.

He did make her look up sharply when he said, "Gussie tells me she has found a new seamstress and means to use her when she has her bride clothes designed." An intensity in his eyes made her cringe.

She said with a touch of disbelief, "My aunt is getting married?"

"I believe she and Wainwright have but to set the date," he returned.

A short, gruff laugh escaped her. "My aunt is delusional." She was no fool. Wainwright might not love her, but he was not going to marry her aunt Augusta.

His brow shot up. "Oh... and why is that?"

"Patrick, as it happens, I know his lordship, and he has no plans of marrying Augusta or anyone like her."

"Perhaps you don't know him as well as you think, for as it happens, Gussie tells me he went to put his estate into order to receive his new bride!"

"Impossible. My godmother would have known it, and she has no idea where he might be." She hadn't meant that to slip out. Something was wrong. Suddenly an icy feeling swept over her. What was Augusta up to? What, in fact, was Patrick Radway up to, for he was obviously trying to put a seed of doubt in her mind. She didn't trust him.

She suddenly picked up her skirts and curtly excused herself to cut into Sam's conversation. "Forgive me, Sam... Susan, I must hurry and catch Aunt Daisy before she leaves."

"Yes, but—" Sam objected.

Susan touched his arm. "Let her go, Sam. We need to meet up with my sister now anyway—tea, remember?"

Chelsea smiled at Susan and started off, picking up her pace and leaving the gardens at her back. It was only a short walk back to her godmother's lodgings.

She burst into the drawing room to find Lord Lytton dropping a kiss on Daisy's lips and was diverted a moment. She smiled and clapped her hands. "Well, this is famous! I am ever so pleased, and I do not mean to put a damper on the mood, but I am worried about Brett!"

Daisy held out her hands and said, "Yes, so are we. It is not like him to vanish in the middle of the night."

Chelsea moved closer to clasp her godmother's hands and touch Lord Lytton's arm. She smiled warmly at them before a frown returned to her face. "What do you mean? He vanished in the middle of the night? What does his household say?"

"He received a message and promptly called for his horse."

"What was the message?" Chelsea asked.

"He told his valet to pack his bags, as he had been called to Wainwright Manor—something about a fire."

" _No—_ I don't know why it is, but I don't believe it. This is foul play, because if something had been amiss, you would have heard from him by now. I know Brett. He is a caring, responsible man... he..." Chelsea shook her head. Things were off kilter, and she was worried. Instincts guided her. "Someone has played a prank... or means him ill... someone like Augusta for revenge... or her brother, whom I do not trust to tell me the right time of day! Daisy, if Brett left for his manor, he would know we would worry— _you_ , I mean, would worry—and he would have sent word by now."

Daisy turned to Lord Lytton. "Darling, I agree with Chelsea. What should we do?"

He eyed both women, and his voice was somber. "Leave this matter to me." He hugged Daisy tightly and said, "I will return shortly."

He left the two women to face each other, but Chelsea could not sit. She began pacing as she repeated her fears and wrung her hands together.

* * *

Brett's eyes focused as he tried to shake the dizziness off. He knew he had been slipping in and out of consciousness.

It was all coming back to him. Suddenly it was a picture in his mind, and he remembered it all.

The message that his ancestral home was on fire.

The odd feeling he had when he had stopped at the old posting house, to rest and water his horse...

Damn his stupidity.

He should have known. He had felt it, hadn't he? In his gut he had felt something was not right. He had not recognized the writing on the slip of paper, and the paper... had certainly not come from his manor home.

He remembered feeling as though something was off; something at the dark old posting house was eerily wrong. And then out of nowhere, just as he heard a sound and turned— _wham!_

He had seen the flash of metal... something like a shovel...

He awoke briefly to find himself gagged, his hands tied behind his back and his feet tethered together. He'd been on his belly, lying flat in a wagon going down a badly rutted road.

He had tried to stay clear and focused, but he had lost consciousness again and had been out, he suspected, most of the early and late morning. Judging from the sun's position through the barn window, it was near noon?

Barn. He looked around. He was tied to a center post in an old barn. He was still gagged, and he began working his tongue and teeth, wetting the cloth with his saliva and chewing patiently until he managed to move it into place and spit. He repeated this several times until he was able to disgorge the dirty cloth. Finally, he took a few gasps of air.

Right. Why someone had done this did not at the moment matter.

What mattered was taking in his surroundings and figuring out what he could use to get himself out of his predicament.

The first thing he felt was a jagged and large splinter of wood that stuck out sharply from the wooden beam. He began the slow process of rubbing the rope that tied his hands to the post at his back. It took some effort and no little discomfort as he was tied up tightly against the post, but with each rub, he loosened his position.

He stopped and listened when he suddenly heard a man's voice.

Oddly familiar, it was a gentleman's voice...?

What the bloody hell?

An old enemy? He didn't think he had any that would go to such obscure lengths for revenge. Just what was this all about?

He had left Chelsea—his beautiful, beloved Chelsea—and had been floating as he made his way home, making plans, imagining the look on his Aunt Daisy's face when he told her Chelsea was the love of his life and he meant to make her his bride as soon as she could finalize wedding plans. He had been happy in his absurdity, like a boy as he thought of posting the banns.

But then... the note was placed in his hands by his butler, who said he had remained awake and awaiting his lordship, as the lad who'd brought it had said it was 'urgent.'

Again that voice—that familiar male voice filtered through his thoughts.

_Who was that_? He knew the voice.

What was he saying?

"I need him kept here for a few more days—just until I conclude my business. Be sure to lace his food with laudanum and keep him asleep as much as you may."

_Laudanum?_ And then Brett put it together. It was Patrick Radway.

Why? Why would Radway need him out of the way? What the bloody hell was this all about? And then he knew.

_Chelsea_ —this was about Chelsea _._

~ Eighteen ~

LORD LYTTON HAD returned to Kensington and was attempting to soothe Lady Daisy's frazzled nerves as he advised both her and Chelsea that he had formulated a plan of action. "However, we cannot move until we get word from the boy I sent to Wainwright's manor. We need to know exactly what we are dealing with so we may proceed properly warned."

Chelsea almost snorted with frustration. " _I know what we are dealing with_ —I know. He broke it off with Augusta last evening, and I would bet a monkey she does not take rejection very well."

"Yes, but my dear," his lordship said calmly, "you cannot mean that she hired some common thugs to—what, abduct Brett? It sounds too fantastic to be true."

"Precisely why I think it is so. There is no one else, is there, that would do such a thing? We have not received any demands for money." Chelsea wrung her hands. "Why don't you see what I see so clearly? We... we must set out to find him!"

"And where, my dear child, do you suggest we start?" Lytton asked reasonably while Daisy looked frazzled. He saw this and put a comforting arm around her.

"You are patronizing me, and I won't have it. I am not a child... and every instinct tells me I am right." Chelsea was beside herself.

Daisy held Lytton's hands. "I find I agree with Chelsea..."

The drawing room doors opened wide, and Mr. Martin entered to announce, " _I am_ _here_ —what has happened?"

All but Chelsea gazed at him with utter surprise, and she explained, "I sent for Sam."

"But, my dear, we must keep this securely between us," Lytton said with a frown.

"What? You don't trust me, my lord?" Sam took umbrage. He had been staying with Lytton, and they had grown (he was sure) very close.

"Nonsense, my lad," Lytton said reassuringly. "This has naught to do with trust."

Chelsea grabbed Sam's hands. She hurriedly told him everything about Brett's disappearance and was satisfied when he said, "Well, then, what are we waiting for? Shouldn't we at least get the beadles in to help?"

"Yes, I agree. We are running out of time," Chelsea announced.

"You are overwrought," said Lytton. "What we need now is careful planning and caution—not beadles spreading rumor and gossip and getting nowhere."

"Caution?" All at once, Chelsea realized she would get nowhere with Lord Lytton's careful plans. She wasn't made to be patient, especially when she believed time was of the essence. She lowered her eyes. "Yes, of course... I am a bit tired... I think I will just go lie down for a short while." So saying she turned on her heel but gave Sam a meaningful look as she passed him.

Outside the drawing room doors, Chelsea hurriedly took up her gloves and spencer and stepped outside to wait for Sam, who she was sure would follow.

Their old signal had worked. He had excused himself to say he would return later in the day when Lytton was ready for action.

"What the deuce?" he demanded of Chelsea.

"You and I will take the road to Wainwright Manor and see what we can find. These scoundrels were not expecting to be followed. They were expecting Lord Lytton's reaction, caution and inquiry... _not sleuthing_."

"By Jove, yes, Chelsea, but I came here in a hack."

"You will borrow one of Lady Daisy's horses, and I will ride astride, and we will ride as though we are riding to hounds..."

* * *

Across the avenue, Patrick Radway watched Chelsea and Sam from the protection of his coach. He had been about to call on Chelsea when he saw her step outside; instead, he called his driver to pull over and wait. He watched Chelsea as she stood on her steps and fidgeted. When her friend Mr. Martin appeared at her back and they fell into deep conversation, he became curious and remained in his carriage.

Suddenly the two were on the move.

He got out of his carriage and told his driver he needed a walk.

He was very apt at his game. Life for him and Augusta when they had been children had been a series of games to keep out of debtors' prison. Their father had gambled away everything, even their home, and then he had shot himself in the head.

Their mother had not survived the shame of living in a hovel, where she had to actually take in sewing to feed herself and her children. She had been a gentry-bred woman whose family had disowned her when she married their father.

She soon learned that taking in men paid much more than taking in sewing jobs. However, a few years down the line, she ended up dying of consumption. Radway had been greatly affected by all this, even more than his sister. After all, it had been his inheritance his father had used—and lost.

With their mother gone, so was the income. Augusta was seventeen when their mother died, and she'd recently met Cecil Halloway. She soon had the older man wrapped around her fingers and became his bride. She was safe, and she was generous to her brother. She paid for his passage to Barbados so he could go off to make his fortune, and so he had.

Meeting Chelsea changed everything for him. Something about her drew on the soul he was sure already belonged to the devil. He wanted her—in his bed, under him, on top of him, on her knees...

He dreamt of her... imagined her naked...

She, he knew, wanted Wainwright. He saw it, felt it. It was so real he could almost reach out and touch the connection between them.

There was only one way he would have her: _Augusta's way._ He would have to abduct her and sail off...

Brett Wainwright was an obstacle. He seemed to watch over the chit. Radway didn't want to raise up a cry by killing him, but he needed him where he could not interfere. A ship was sailing for the States on the morrow, and Radway meant to be on it with Chelsea Halloway!

Here now was a glitch. Chelsea, with that boy, had the look of a woman on a mission. By now, of course, they might have realized Wainwright was in some kind of trouble, but even so, why would they worry? Wainwright was a rogue. Why didn't they think he was off with some harlot of a woman?

Why would they suspect foul play?

His plan had been brilliant—except he had not foreseen this. Chelsea seemed to know Wainwright better than he had realized. Perhaps he would have to kill him after all?

He had to go forward with the next step: the abduction of Chelsea Halloway. Perhaps if he followed her and her young friend Sam, he might come up with an opportunity.

Of course, Mr. Martin would have to be eliminated.

He returned to his carriage. If she veered off and took the road to Wainwright Manor, as he expected, he knew a shortcut and could reach the first posting house where she would be bound to stop and inquire after his lordship...

* * *

Brett's fingers bled onto the dirt floor, and he felt the sticky warmth dribble down his hand as he worked the rope. The aged hemp was giving way. He could feel it loosen as the constant rubbing worked to fray it.

His anger and his plan to beat Radway to a pulp were nothing compared to his concern for Chelsea. He was certain his abduction had something to do with her. Radway wanted her. He knew it, had seen it in Radway's gaze when he looked her way, but he had not known to what lengths the devil would go to achieve his goals.

He should have been prepared for this—he should have realized. After all, he knew that Radway was suspected of killing his wife!

Chelsea had everything he wanted. She was desirable, was beautiful beyond description, and had a neat income. He had not thought Radway was in need of additional income. His sources had told him that Augusta's brother was quite wealthy; however, a man like Radway could never have enough. This last thought made him nearly growl with built-up rage, and he pulled at his restraint with a fierceness that finally made the rope give way. He hurriedly flung the offending bonds from his raw wrists and worked to free his ankles.

Getting to his feet and standing up straight was another matter.

He was stiff from the two days and nights he had been tethered to the post. He was filthy, and his mouth felt as though he still had a wad of cotton in it.

He had no time to contemplate his condition. He had to act, and he had to act immediately.

He looked around for a weapon he could use.

A hammer on the wall shelf made him smile.

Now, to get into position and start a commotion that would bring at least one of Radway's guards into his waiting arms...

* * *

Chelsea's hair had flopped out of place. She slowed her horse a moment to adjust her ribbon and tie its lengths back and out of her face. A strong wind had struck up, and it had been constantly blowing about her nose and eyes.

She wasn't dressed for riding, and her hat had blown off some minutes earlier, but at least they were on the main pike towards Brett's manor house.

Sam slowed his horse to a trot. "We shouldn't keep our horses at this pace, Chels—must rest them soon."

"You are right of course," she said, easing her black into a walk. "Sam, where would they have taken him?"

"Assuming that you are right, they would have had to waylay him along the road, I think... which if he left in the middle of the night, would have been an easy thing."

"Yes, but I know that he keeps a pistol in his saddle," Chelsea said thoughtfully.

Sam snorted. "Much good it would do him if they had come out of the dark—their own guns leveled. From then on, they would have had the upper hand."

"Yes, but what if they didn't accost him on the main pike? What if he stopped to water his horse, as we will... after a distance?"

"Aye, there is that. If they came up behind him, knocked him out... took him along in a carriage or a wagon... something like that? Aye then, Chels, I think you have it. That seems a likely scenario to me."

"To me too. So far we have not come across a posting house, but I fancy we shall soon, and if our horses need a rest before we press on, his would have as well. He must have been concerned for his home—he would have ridden hard. He would have stopped to give his horse a rest, a little water, and then someone came up behind him, and, oh dear, they must have hurt him to knock him out." She looked at Sam. "We have to find him, Sam! We have to."

"Yes, and so we shall, but why, I ask you? No ransom—so why?"

"I don't know why, and it doesn't matter. There must be a reason we might not know of, but it doesn't change the cause and affect, does it?"

"No, it doesn't. Such a right 'un—you know that, don't you, Chels?"

She would have laughed at the expression, but matters for her were too dire. "Come on then, my Sam . There is no time to lose!"

* * *

Wainwright called out, "Come on, blackguards, or do you mean to starve a man to death?" He waited a moment and began shouting, "You, out there— _come on_!"

"Hold yer 'orses, guv... or oi'll be shoving that hanky back in yer big mouth," said a large, greasy-looking man with a large paunch for a stomach as he opened the barn door.

He didn't have time to say or think anything more, for his lordship brought down the hammer on his head and neatly knocked him down. He dragged the erstwhile guard to the post and grinned as he tethered him there. "Now, I think you'll keep till I have time to send the authorities to collect you."

He relieved the man of the pistol he had in his wide, black belt and returned to the barn door. He slowly crept out, hammer in his waistband and pistol in his hand. No one was there. He looked at the small farmhouse nearby and made his way there, but it was naught but a dilapidated shed of a building with no one inside.

He saw yet another small building with a lean-to attached, and there he found three horses, his own included. _Right then_ , he thought, _there is one more ruffian to deal with._

The blackguard made things easy for him as he appeared from the back of the shed and called out, "Tom... ye ol' fool... Tom...?"

Wainwright stealthily came up behind him and said, "Tom is otherwise occupied—as you soon will be." He hit the fellow on the head as the man turned, and the butt of his pistol caught him soundly. Brett smiled as the man fell to the grass. A quick search of the tool shed produced another round of rope, and he quickly tethered the man's wrists behind his back and his ankles together. "That should hold you for a time."

Wainwright then went to the outdoor water pump. He worked it until the water flowed and then stuck his head beneath it. That done, he shook his head free of the wet as best as he could and made his way to his horse.

~ Nineteen ~

"THERE, SAM—I SEE the posting house sign. It is just off the road some."

"Aye, but... doesn't look quite respectable, does it, Chels? Would his lordship have stopped here?"

"It was nighttime..."

"Aye, but he has traveled this road back and forth to his manor... he would know—"

"Yes, but he wasn't expecting any foul play, was he? Why should he? The place was closed up for the night, and he had been riding for nearly an hour. Perhaps he only meant to rest his horse... probably needed water himself. I think he stopped here, Sam—my gut tells me he stopped here."

" _Your gut?_ Well, it was all well and right for you to talk like that when you were up at school, but you can't go around throwing remarks like that—"

"Sneck up, Sam," returned Chelsea, throwing another one of 'those' remarks out. "I don't watch my manners with you, silly."

He smiled and shook his head. "Aye, he is just what you need... his lordship. Been thinking it now for a long while. You bring out the best in one another. I'm thinking that is what love is. I know Susan brings out the best in me..."

Chelsea smiled. "Oh Sam... yes, but this is not the time and... here we are. Oh you are right—it is a terrible place."

"Not really comfortable stopping here."

"I know—do you have your pistol ready? I have my little one in my boot. However, I don't really expect any trouble in broad daylight."

"No, and, Chels... I think you are right about that back road. I noticed a small dirt turnoff from the main pike a short while back and didn't think anything of it. But look there, that path... it leads to a back road... a dirt back road..."

"So it does," said Chelsea, hopping off her horse. "Would you take my horse along and let him drink only a little? He isn't hot enough for it to do any harm, but can't take any chances."

"Aye, but what are you going to do?" he asked doubtfully as he scanned the overgrown courtyard for a groom. A young and dirty urchin came running out at that moment and offered to take their horses. Sam dismounted lightly and said, "Right then, but I'll come with you..."

Chelsea watched until they were out of sight. She didn't want the young groom to see where she was headed as she walked around the corner of the stable to investigate the wide, sandy path.

Just as she suspected, it led to a dirt road.

_That was it_. She didn't know how she knew it, but she did.

That was her last thought—that they had found the right road.

A hand seemed to come out of nowhere and pressed a horrid-smelling handkerchief hard over her nose and mouth. She struggled like a tigress, but the awful concoction took over. She slumped, thinking, _No, oh no... stupid girl..._

* * *

Patrick Radway was a man of opportunity.

He had sent his driver and coach ahead to Pike Road minutes before Chelsea and Mr. Martin reached Lady Daisy's stable and had their horses tacked up and ready.

A moment later he was on his own horse, cutting through the city to a road he knew very well. He took the shortcut to the first posting house on Pike Road. He couldn't be sure that Chelsea would stop there. It was a chance he would have to take.

He reached it only seconds before Chelsea and Mr. Martin, but it was enough time for him to throw a gold coin to the livery boy who had worked for him when he had abducted Wainwright. He told him now to lead Mr. Martin deep into the stable.

He was waiting for young Sam, a heavy wooden pail in his hands. He swung it hard and hit Sam across the back of his head, and down he went.

He told the groom to vanish for the day.

He didn't care about trussing Mr. Martin up—there was no need. No one would find him until it was too late. What he needed to do now was get his hands on Chelsea.

No one other than himself would ever put their hands on her. She was his, and he would have her at any cost.

He had the prepared handkerchief with him because he had earlier thought he would take Chelsea for a drive, overpower her, and then deliver her to the cabin he had reserved on the ship leaving for the colonies. He had planned it all so thoroughly.

He had used a formula he had come up with in Barbados when he was suffering from his wife's ceaseless conversations.

She would never shut up.

He found that he hated her.

Hate had moved into the need to keep her quiet more often than not, and quite by accident he read about an anesthesia being used for surgery.

He explored the properties of 'laughing gas' and also discovered that when laced with specific herbs, it would act within seconds. Those herbs were introduced to him by his beautiful, exotic voodoo lover, who taught him just how to put it all together.

He had experimented with the total effect, using it to put his late wife to sleep many a night when she would blabber on and on... he would put it on her lace handkerchief, and when she used it to dab at her nose, within moments, off she went to sleep, never the wiser.

He smiled to himself as he followed the unsuspecting Chelsea and then ran up on her from behind before she could turn.

_She had heard something._ He saw it as she stopped, suddenly aware...

She had started to turn— _too late_. He easily had her then.

Now, to carry her to his waiting carriage just out of sight on the dirt road she had meant to inspect. Clever girl—but not quite clever enough.

"Very soon, sweetheart, we will be in my cabin... and on our way. You will have no choice but to marry me at sea, and you and your properties will be mine."

* * *

As he rode home, Wainwright was thankful that the scoundrels had at least fed and watered his horse; the animal looked none the worse for being holed up in an open stall for so long. He had walked him a good distance to work out his stiffness before he took him into a trot and then a canter.

An hour later he marched into his townhouse and called for a bath as he took his steps two by two.

His man hurried to get all ready for him and met him as he stepped out, now with only a dark brocade dressing gown. He realized his man was deeply upset.

"What is it, Pratt?"

"My lord, Lady Daisy is greatly concerned, and Lord Lytton advised us that he was sending someone to the manor after you."

"I see. Right then—I had better not linger in the bath... and thank you, Pratt. Will you see to laying out my clothes?"

"Would you like me to send one of the cook's sons over to Kensington and advise her ladyship that you have returned?"

"No, no... I will be ready soon enough and will go directly there. You are a good man, Pratt. Thank you."

An hour later he was at his aunt's door and being ushered into the drawing room, where Daisy ran to him, shook his arms, and then hugged him as best she could as she cried his name. "You are here! Oh, but what happened, and now of all things, that brat of ours has vanished, taking Sam with her, and I know she is on the road— _looking for you_. Lytton has just left with every intention of finding them... but you are here... and safe, but... no... you are hurt... what has happened to your hands...?" She lifted his lace cuffs. Seeing the bruises and cuts on his wrist, she appeared to be ready to faint.

He saw her seated and said soothingly, "Never mind that, Aunt Daisy. What is this about Chelsea?"

"She would not sit here and wait. She pretended to go to her room, but she must have slipped out, and Sam went with her—at least we think he did, for he is nowhere to be found, and Lytton went to my stables and found that Chelsea took her black and that they saw Sam mounted on one of my bays... and where can they be?"

Brett Wainwright closed his eyes as terror struck his heart.

Radway was a desperate man.

If he knew that Chelsea was on the open Pike Road, would he chance snatching her away? What would he do to accomplish what he wanted? Sam was at her side, and knowing that lad, Radway would have to go through him to get to her.

Would he—would he harm the boy?

The answer came to him in sharp, staccato beats. _Yes, Radway would do that and more._

* * *

Chelsea was groggy, but her head had begun to clear. What had happened? Somehow she had been drugged? She was young, and her fighting nature kept her from panicking as she surveyed her surroundings. She was slumped in a partially sitting position, if she could call it that. She was on the seat of a coach— _that's where she was, in a vehicle._

Right. One mystery solved. Her mouth was dry, no doubt from the affects of whatever she had inhaled, and that much she knew. She had heard something, and before she could turn, a hand... a hand had pressed a faintly aromatic cloth over her face... she had tried not to breathe, and then... everything went blank.

She was being abducted. Where was Sam? Oh no—had they hurt Sam?

She couldn't stifle the groan as she unbent, for she was stiff from the awkwardness of the position she had been in. Then a familiar voice swept through her and made her snap into position. _Patrick Radway!_

"What...?" she managed to ask and realized her voice was hoarse. Again, she told herself, the affects of the drug...

"My love," he said easily. "Awake so soon. I had thought you would be asleep for hours. Hmm... the handkerchief I prepared must have dried out some. I shall have to remember that for the future," he added thoughtfully.

"What...?" she repeated and then said, "What are you doing? Why... where is Sam...?"

"Your friend must be catering to an awful bump on his head by now, fully awake and well—and probably wondering what has become of you."

"Become of me? And what _has_ become of me?" she asked quietly. Her head was aching, and a headache threatened as she closed her eyes and attempted to make sense of all this.

"We are going on a wild adventure together... with both our fortunes intact."

"What are you saying to me?"

"Oh my poor dear, still groggy from my little sleeping formula? We are headed for the colonies—the United States of America, as they call themselves—but don't worry... I mean to marry you."

"Marry me?" Chelsea started to bring her thoughts into order. "Ah... marry me? Let me ask you something, Patrick. Why did you think you had to drug me unconscious and drag me off in this odious manner? Why not court me in the usual style?" She was stalling for time. She didn't want to scream. She didn't want to fuss and have another cloth put over her face. She had to be smart and wait for an opportunity to escape.

"Because of two things. One, _I am not a fool_. Don't you think I saw how you and Wainwright look at one another? And two, I don't leave things to chance. Augusta wanted you out of the way. Though I think she is out there—Wainwright doesn't want her—he won't be coming to your rescue, and by the morning you will be my wife."

"No one will marry us when I tell them I have been abducted and forced to the altar," she snapped. She managed to sit up straight, though she leaned away from him.

"Ah, already taken care of. The captain of the ship is going to give us a very private ceremony and has agreed, for a hefty price I might add, to ignore anything you might say—and if I have to, I am not above having you sleep throughout the entire ceremony!" His voice was calm and yet held a resolve that sent a shiver of fear through her.

She had to do something.

She had to escape. She looked away from him and out the window. They were not on the main pike. However, eventually, if he was headed for London's ports, Patrick's driver would have to veer off onto the main road. There would be traffic. Would her door be locked somehow against her escape? Yes, it would, _but his door_ , she was sure, would not be.

_Think, Chelsea—think!_ And then, she remembered the gun in her boot.

* * *

Sam was only unconscious a moment or two—Patrick's first mistake, because Sam Martin was tenacious.

He was up on his booted feet and rushing out of the stables and down the dirt path just in time to see a coach lumber off.

He ran back for his horse and found that the damned livery boy had taken off the bridle and saddle. It took him another few moments to tack up and attach a lead line to Chelsea's black (thinking when he caught up to her she would need her horse). Then off he rode down the dirt path to the dirt road, but eventually he stopped when he came to a wide fork in the road.

He had no idea which way the coach had gone, as both roads were littered with wheel tracks, and finally he had to make a decision. That decision brought him out onto Pike Road.

"Dash it, Sam," he said out loud to himself. "What now?" Another decision had to be made. Should he waste more time, taking what might be the wrong road, or backtrack to the road he thought they might have taken, or just go and seek help?

He needed reinforcements. They would have to spread out and scour the vicinity for Chelsea. Some villain had abducted her, and the scoundrel had outwitted them. He must have been in waiting, but how had he known? Had he followed them? Couldn't have followed them— _he had been waiting for him in the posting house stable._

Had it been just their damned luck? Had they stumbled into this?

Well, no more willy-nilly running about. What he needed was Lord Lytton, whom he had grown to trust and respect. Lytton would know what to do, and thus, Sam headed back towards Kensington.

* * *

Wainwright stood for a moment. He had to think. He had absolutely nothing to go on and had no reason at that moment to think Chelsea would be in any kind of immediate danger.

And then the door burst open and Sam rushed inside. He had worked himself into a frenzy of worry and was nearly shouting as he raced into the room.

" _They have her!"_ Sam's voice was high-pitched, and his eyes were wide with fear, and he took a step towards Lord Lytton, who had only just returned after making his own inquiries. He gulped and repeated, "They have her, my lord." Then he spied Brett. "You here, Wainwright? Damn if that don't beat all. Told her, but would she listen? Told her you were up to every rig and would do, but, no, she was sure you needed rescuing—now look what has come of it!"

"She was right, Sam. I had been abducted, but I managed to escape. Now tell me, who has her?" Wainwright felt something tear at his heart but tried to remain calm.

"Don't know... bashed me on the head... knocked out, couldn't have been long because I got up and gave chase in time to see a plain coach, black, no emblem... no crest... took a dirt road, but I am pretty damn sure they went the other way, not on the Pike..."

"Slow down," interjected Lytton, who had remained silently during their exchange. "Now... start at the beginning—"

"No time—she has been abducted, I tell you!" Sam had worked himself into a state of fear for his friend. "We need to mount up and give chase!"

"From where was she taken?" Brett asked as calmly as he could while his body tensed and his stomach churned with dread. He already knew who was behind this—Patrick Radway. It was all clear to him.

"The first, very shady-looking posting house off the Pike Road. Told Chels we shouldn't stop there, but she was sure _you had_ stopped there. Had some notion that you stopped for water and that it was the perfect place to waylay you. Thought we might pick up some kind of clue..."

Wainwright felt a wave of pride and love. His Chelsea, pluck to the backbone. He said, "Right, backtracking won't help. Unlike me, I doubt that Radway means to squirrel her away at some dilapidated barn."

Daisy had been silently (except for intermittent groans) wringing her hands, but she put in at this juncture, "Radway? Patrick Radway, Augusta's brother?"

"One and the same. It is my belief that he means to force her into marriage," Wainwright said with a sneer. "In which case, my Chelsea will be a young widow. There is no one that shall have Chelsea save me..."

Lytton ignored this as he seemed deep in thought, but he put up a finger and said, "Radway, eh? It occurs to me that a visit to Augusta Halloway is in order."

All eyes turned to him.

"Damn, if that isn't brilliant!" Wainwright said, already on the move.

"I'm with you," Sam said at his back.

Daisy grabbed Lytton's hand. "Bring them all back safe to me, darling!"

"I shall—have no fear of that, my love," Lytton said, placing a kiss on her forehead.

* * *

As it happened Augusta was just looking in her small center hallway's long mirror and adjusting her hat when the doorknocker sounded. She turned to find her butler opening the door wide.

Wainwright strode inside looking like a storm, and his voice was the low roll of thunder as he said, "Well, well, Augusta. I had not thought you would go this far."

Her delicate brows arched with surprise as Mr. Martin and Lord Lytton stood quietly at his side, and she put up her chin. "What is the meaning of this? How dare you, all of you, come into my home staring daggers at me and... you..." She looked at Wainwright. "... accuse me of what, may I ask?"

Wainwright fisted his hands at his side, and Augusta appeared just a bit frightened, which was precisely what he wanted. "I shall not lay a hand on you, Augusta, but I am here to threaten you. I shall ruin you in this town if you don't tell me where he has taken her!"

"I haven't the slightest notion what you are talking—"

"Don't you, by God?" Wainwright thought he might not be able to prevent his hands from grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. He felt Lytton's calming hand on his shoulder and heard Lytton's low, careful words.

"You know me, Augusta. I do not threaten what I cannot accomplish, and Wainwright is quite right. You will be ruined at the end of the day. You had better make up your mind to tell us where your brother has taken your niece."

"Damn the child!" Augusta's temper got the better of her. "She has always been in the way... _is so now_."

Wainwright reached for her, but Lytton stayed him again. "I shall not warn you again. We will find her with or without your help. The difference is this—tell us now, and we shall not report your part in this ugly affair. Make us search her out on our own, and we shall have the beadles here to question you within the hour, and we will make certain the Jersey knows... everything we know..."

"You wouldn't dare!" she whispered on a frightened note.

"That and more, and I promise you," growled Wainwright, "if my Chelsea is harmed, I shall make certain you suffer, and there are many ways I can make you suffer..."

"My lord." She turned to Lytton. "Are you going to allow him to speak to me like that?"

" _Yes_ , and you should listen," Lord Lytton advised softly.

"I tell you what," stuck in Sam. "You may have scruples about laying hands on a lady, but the thing is, she isn't, a lady that is—not sure she is anything more than a criminal. I have no scruples about shaking her. She has always behaved cruelly to Chels, and I think I would enjoy shaking the truth out of her."

Sam took a step forward, and this time Lytton sighed and said, "Oh, very well—perhaps that is the only thing she will understand."

Augusta stepped back and put out her hand. "No... no... wait... it wasn't my idea. I had nothing to do with it... my brother... _he has gone mad!_ "

"Your brother, eh? And he is acting alone?" Wainwright sneered. "Tell us then, where has he taken her?"

"I honestly did not know he actually managed to... I only knew his plan was to... to take her with him to the Colonies... to marry her on board the ship..."

"Which ship?" Wainwright grabbed her wrist, and he squeezed it hard.

"You are hurting me!" she complained.

"Am I? Which ship?"

"Oh, I didn't really listen..." She winced and cried out, "Oh please..."

"You call this hurt? _Wait._ Now, which ship?"

"The _Tides_." She whimpered, and when he released her wrist she took a few steps back.

The men didn't bother to excuse themselves as they followed Wainwright, who was at that point charging out of the house.

Augusta screamed after them, "How dare you accost a woman in her own home? How dare you!"

* * *

Chelsea stretched out her legs and made a show of trying to stand. When Patrick took her hand and tugged at her, she cried out as she pretended to twist her ankle. She plopped heavily onto the leather-upholstered seat across from him and rubbed at her ankle. "I have twisted it I think," she complained.

"Why did you try and stand, love? You were bound to get hurt..." He leaned in and patted her knee. Even through the muslin material his touch made her squirm away.

He frowned. "So disgusted by me? I rather thought you liked me?"

"You were just barely likeable. You _are not_ anymore," she answered sharply.

He looked out the window and did not answer her at first, and she used the moment to dive into her boot as though soothing her ankle. She retrieved her small ladies gun and shifted in her seat to hide it beneath her.

He put a thumb to his lips and rubbed them a moment before he turned back to her. "You will like me and soon. It is just a matter of time, and I mean to court you in style even after we are married." He became animated then. "Chelsea, my love, we are embarking on a grand adventure. The Colonies—or the States—are wide open, ready for exploration. You and I will build a life there together, and all this will be forgotten... or remembered as a romantic escapade."

"Really? Is it your notion that a woman wants to be abducted with only the clothes on her back and married to a stranger without her family or friends... and whisked off to another country... without so much as a by your leave?"

He laughed and said, "I do love your spirit—we'll do."

She didn't argue. What was the point? Better to let him believe she might grow accustomed to his plans. She bided her time. She had access now to his door, which she believed was unlocked. She had a gun, ready to be aimed, and all she needed was the right moment.

_It came_.

Hawkers called out to passersby. They had goods to sell before the end of the day, and the streets were filled with the people milling about and traffic's daily congestion. She looked out onto the sea and the big ships preparing for their various voyages.

The coach crawled along; she would have to be nimble when she jumped out so as not to fall and lose her chance at running. She wrapped her fist around the little gun, slipped it out from under her thigh, brought it up to his face, and said, "I think I'll get out now."

He appeared surprised but not frightened. " _Bravo_ , little woman," he said. "You are indeed everything I want, but I know you and do not believe you will shoot me."

"Try me," she said, cocking her gun. Because she saw a vein of doubt she added, "Now... swing your door wide open... and move over there... slide nice and easy so that my gun doesn't go off by accident and cause you a terrible hole that will no doubt become infected. I have heard that just as many men die from infection as they do from the bullet itself."

He did what she asked and watched her. "You won't get far—I will be right behind you."

"So you will, but then you will have to accost me in public... in broad daylight... and I fancy that won't be as easy as it has been for you thus far."

Without another word she started for the open door. He reached for her, but Chelsea Halloway would have none of it. Aiming her gun with great precision, she shot him in the foot, and as she jumped from the carriage she cried out, "Try chasing me now, Patrick Radway!"

* * *

The two men followed Wainwright's heady pace as he weaved through traffic. They cut through the parks and ignored the shaking fists of many a pedestrian as they intruded on walking paths and cut across manicured lawns.

However, their concerted efforts had been successful. They had reached the docks in record time, and now they sat their horses and looked around.

"There." Lytton nodded towards one of the tall ships in the harbor.

"Yes, but... what is his plan—to take her willy nilly and unconscious? Wouldn't someone notice?" Sam asked, perplexed.

"No doubt he means to secret her away in a trunk," said Wainwright.

"Blackguard!" Sam returned heatedly.

"Just so, my lad... just so," Wainwright agreed as he gritted his teeth and imagined beating Radway into the ground.

It was at that moment Wainwright noticed a commotion in the street and heard a familiar male voice shout in pained outrage, " _Get her!_ Follow her—get her now!"

They took in the scene and saw a plain black coach stationary next to the curbing. The driver jumped down and screamed after someone, " _Stop, thief!_ Stop the little beggar—stop her!"

Three pairs of eyes discovered Chelsea on the run, and three men moved into action. Wainwright saw her with an overwhelming sense of relief. This was replaced by pride and love, so much love, and then he found himself near laughing when he said out loud, " _Yes, my love—you give them what for!_ "

Because even as they galloped down the avenue, Chelsea had turned to stand her ground and level her little pistol at the oncoming burly heathen bearing down on her.

* * *

Her gun was small—fortunate, she thought, as easily concealed. However, the drawback was it held only one bullet. That bullet had already been spent and was in Radway's foot.

The burly scoundrel charging at her didn't know that, she told herself.

He might assume the gun was loaded. It was time to take a stand. She turned, faced him, and pointed the gun at his chest. "I wouldn't come any closer—I am sure he doesn't pay you enough to die."

"'E pays me, though... and oi should like the rest of whot 'e offered when this day be done."

"You won't be able to collect if you are dead," she said and stood her ground, noting that a small group of men had gathered near and were frowning. With her free hand she dug into her pocket and produced a handful of coins, which she flung at them. "There, lads, for no more than keeping that brute away from me..."

The men near her grinned and tipped their hats. They had already decided she was gentry, and what did the fat man mean calling her a thief?

At any rate, they preferred to let her pass and keep him at bay.

It was at that moment that they parted to let a hard-riding Corinthian enter their circle. They stood back, as did Chelsea, and watched that Corinthian jump off his horse, stride up hard and fast, and land the coach driver a facer that sent him sprawling to the ground.

Wainwright spun around and caught Chelsea, who dove at him hard. He covered her face with kisses and repeated her name under the shocked eyes of Sam and the satisfied gaze of Lord Lytton.

Sam leaned into Lytton and said, "I thought it was moving in that direction, but this rather clinches it, eh?"

"Indeed, it does."

"Chelsea, where is Radway?" Wainwright asked when he could once more take a breath.

"Oh, I suppose in his carriage. I shot him in the foot," she said before fiercely hugging his lordship again.

The three men surrounded her, laughing all the while, and Wainwright said softly, "My own wild madcap. You shot him in the foot?" With that he burst out laughing again.

* * *

A few moments went by while the three men discussed their options and decided the best thing they could do to avoid scandal and get Radway out of the picture was to allow him to leave for the Colonies. Wainwright entrusted his Chelsea's care to Lord Lytton, hailed her a cab, and said he had some business he had to conclude.

Chelsea took his arm in a firm grasp. "You won't kill him, will you, Brett? I mean, he deserves it I am sure, but I won't have you in a predicament because of _him._ "

"Should you not wait until you are my wife to begin ordering me about?" He chuckled and kissed her nose.

"Brett... please...?" And then she realized what he had said. "Your wife...? Oh... oh..." With that her arms went around his trim waist, and her cheek rubbed his waistcoat.

He laughed and ran a hand over her tangled hair. "No, I won't kill him, but while I am very pleased you shot him in the foot, I should like to have a few moments with him myself." This said, he turned firmly around and went to the driver of the coach being held by the seamen. He took him by his collar, shook him, and said, "Come on then... shall we."

He threw the man against the carriage and opened the door wide to find Radway, his foot in a pool of blood, visibly shaken.

"Patrick, you will go to a surgeon, attend to your foot... and make your way to the ship you plan to take to the States. However, you will be traveling without my fiancée. If you ever bother us again, it won't be your foot _I_ will aim at. _Are we clear_?"

Patrick couldn't speak. He was in pain, and he was thinking about what Chelsea had said about infection.

Wainwright smirked and turned to the driver. "Take him to the surgeon and then directly back to the ship—understood?"

"Aye, aye... understood, don't want any trouble..."

Wainwright stood for a long moment before he mounted his horse and headed for Kensington and his beloved, adorable love. He chuckled when he thought of his brave little monkey taking aim with a gun...

~ Epilogue ~

THE MONTHS THAT followed were busy beyond Chelsea's imagination.

Gowns for this... riding habits for that...

An engagement ball... flowers to be arranged...

Josey had turned out to be an apt student under Thelma's tutelage, and Chelsea spent time with her every day, teaching her how to read, and was so proud of her progress.

Her kitten, Patches, had taken over the hearts of the staff, and the cook declared her to be a wonderful mouser.

Not only was Chelsea flitting about securing bride clothes and choosing flowers, but her Brett insisted she visit with him both at his town house and his manor home to redecorate the master bedroom to suit them both.

Added to this excitement was the fact that her godmother and her trustee were also engaged and meant to marry shortly after her honeymoon was at an end.

Sam's father told him he was too young to propose to Susan, but Sam couldn't help himself, and that was exactly what he did. However, he agreed to wait a year before they wed. Weddings and thoughts of them took over Chelsea's days, but her nights... ah, her nights found her planning ways to sneak away and be with her beloved, although fate—all too often aided by Aunt Daisy or Lord Lytton—managed to foil those plans.

Augusta Halloway retired to her country home when she heard of Wainwright's upcoming nuptials. When asked about her brother's sudden departure, she merely remarked that it had always been his dream to explore the wild Colonies.

Chelsea and Brett's wedding was nearly upon them, and her only frustration was the fact that she and Brett had scarcely been alone in the past few weeks. They had enjoyed a stolen hour here, a moment there, but what she wanted was much more of their first intimate encounter.

So it was that she allowed her godmother to believe she was rushing over to Bond Street for another fitting when, in fact, she was meeting Brett for a secret picnic in the country.

She watched him spread out a blanket, and then she lay back against it and whispered, "What, my lord, do you plan to do with me...?"

He was on her, kissing her like he would never stop, touching her and setting them both on fire...

"What would you like me to do...?" he answered on a husky note.

" _Love me_ ," she said hoarsely.

"I shall love you from this life into the next. Whither you go, I go, my very own heart and soul," he said softly as his lips closed on hers.

~ End ~

### A young woman just coming into her powers as a white witch,

### hidden evil in a school for high-born orphan girls,

### a dashing marquis with a hidden agenda of his own.

### Enjoy a sneak preview of

Netherby Halls

~ Prologue ~

Sutton Village, England

1815

SASSY WALKED THE short distance from the livery, where'd she left her cob horse and curricle, and made her way to the curio shop that also served as their village book shop. It was a busy time of the morning, nearly lunch, and the wide avenue was bustling with people, horse-drawn wagons, and quite an impressive number of carriages of all sizes, ages, and styles for their quaint village.

The dust they kicked up didn't do her well-worn blue cloak any good. With a grimace, she brushed and shook off some of the offending dirt as she made her way to the lead-paned window of Mrs. Plummet's Curio Shop and stepped beneath the awning.

A little bell announced her arrival, and the tall, buxom woman Sassy had known forever looked up from the counter where she was arranging a stack of the new and latest novel that had only just come in. The woman smiled and welcomed Sassy. "Hallo, m'dear, and how is the vicar today?"

Pushing a stray hair away from her ear, Sassy adjusted her chip hat and sighed as she gave Mrs. Plummet a warm smile. "Papa is cranky today, I am afraid. He shooed me off and told me to come into town and purchase a book to keep me busy. He says I am always fussing about him, and he won't have it."

Mrs. Plummet laughed and said, "Good then, Sassy love. If he is feeling feisty, perhaps we will have a small miracle and he will take a turn for the better."

Sassy almost released her pent-up emotions but fought back the urge to dive into Mrs. Plummet's arms and cry. She held herself in check and unconsciously rubbed the ring on her right hand beneath her glove.

She couldn't very well tell Mrs. Plummet about the guilt she carried because, once again, she felt useless. She hadn't been able to save her mother two years ago when she had suddenly fallen ill and died within a week. What good was _the power_ if she couldn't rid the ones she loved of disease?

Now, her father was not getting any better, and not all the tisanes in the world were helping. Not even those her mother had taught her to concoct had worked to do more than ease his discomfort.

She picked up the latest novel by an author whose name she did not recognize and looked it over. "What do you think?"

"I started reading it last evening. It was very... absorbing."

"Right then, I'll give it a try." Sassy fished in her knit purse for a coin. She shouldn't be wasting her father's money on a book, but he had insisted and she didn't want him to worry about her. It was all he talked about these last few days— _her future_.

She knew she was going to lose him, and her heart was being ripped to shreds at the thought. How could she do without him and his guidance, especially now?

When her mother had passed, Sassy had been left to carry the burden of what she was alone, except for her father. He had kept her secret, even as he had her mother's. Now that she had reached her majority, she was experiencing the 'transition'; without her mother to advise her, only her father could help her.

She should, of course, be able to turn to her mother's family, but they had disowned their only daughter when she'd defied them to marry a poor young man of the cloth. No, Sassy would get no guidance from them, although like her they had the 'power'.

She set these disturbing thoughts aside as she took up the package Mrs. Plummet handed her and made her way outdoors.

Before crossing the avenue, she meandered down the walkway, stopping to look in the window of the village dress shop. It was still there—a gown that had caught her eye the week before. It was breathtaking. Yellow and in the fashionable A-line, low cut, trimmed with Belgium lace, and much too expensive for her. She sighed as she turned away from it.

Her own ensemble beneath the aged cloak, though once a pretty shade of blue, was becoming threadbare. She hadn't thought much about refurbishing her wardrobe in the last two years. She had been devastated at her mother's death, and then this year, while her father's health dwindled, socializing had been out of the question.

The sound of laughter across the street caught her attention, and she glanced in the direction of the hearty noise.

Two men stood at the curbing at the edge of the avenue, but only one of them stood out. It was as though the atmosphere around him glowed, and her heart actually skipped a beat and then made up for the offense by beating faster.

His beaver-skin top hat was set saucily on his head of black silky hair. His black cloak had been rakishly thrown back over one shoulder, revealing not only the cream silk lining but the breadth of his obviously muscular chest.

As Sassy's gaze traveled up to his face, unconsciously a small breath of air left her lungs, swished up her throat, and escaped in an audible gasp.

He was the most handsome man she had ever seen, but more than that, he was the man who had been making passionate love to her in her dreams!

This was madness. This was... Before she could complete the thought _, it_ _happened._ Only this time it was different. This time he was right there. He was nearby—the man of her dreams was standing only thirty feet away.

His blue eyes had suddenly locked with hers, and all at once she felt herself transported to another place.

It was a bedroom—and she recognized the bedroom, for she had been there many times in her dreams. It was as though she were in a theater shamelessly watching herself, watching him—watching, experiencing things she had no physical knowledge of.

She was a virgin, and yet in her dream she had been his intimately many times. Now, with him so near, she saw herself naked and lying across dark, smooth sheets.

He was bending towards her, his blue eyes glittering, his black, silky hair falling across and touching her breasts as he licked her nipple and then suckled there with expertise that sent her body into a convulsion of pleasure. His fingers moved over her flesh, and she could feel herself clench with desire as he touched—

_What... ? No! No—this was just schoolgirls' talk coming back to haunt her. This had to stop. She had to stop._ She tried to break with the vision. How could she know what it would feel like to have a man... how could she know?

And then she saw something in his eyes across the avenue that told her a fact she could not deny: _s_ _he wasn't having this illusion alone. He was as well. It was so real and not only for her—but for him also!_

When he took a step into the street towards her, Sassy Winthrop ran as fast as her little walking boots could take her and escaped around the corner.

~ One ~

THE VICAR'S ROOM was in darkness as Sassy got up from her chair, where she had been keeping vigil. She opened the curtains to allow morning light into the room.

"Sassy," her father whispered hoarsely.

She turned and ran to sit near him on the bed. The sheets felt cold to the touch, and she frowned.

The vicar of Sutton moved fretfully for a moment and then stopped to stare at her. He reached a hand, and she took it to kiss his fingers. "I'm here, Papa."

It had been a long and difficult night. "Papa," she said, gently brushing his hair back from his brow, "I am here. Everything is fine. You are getting better." She didn't believe her words, but she needed to comfort him somehow.

"Hush, child, I need to remind you before I go... keep your secret close. Never allow anyone to know, and never use it in any but life-and-death matters."

"Yes, Papa. You and Mama taught me well, and I understand, so don't worry," she answered, laying a damp cloth on his sweating forehead.

"Yes, my dear... but there will be times when you are tempted to use what is in you... _Be careful._ "

"Yes, Papa, I know," she repeated. He was saying good-bye. How could she bear it?

"Your mother always told me that you were special. She said yours was the gift of many... that it had passed over her and into you."

"Don't think about it, Papa."

"Hush now. I have made arrangements for you, my beloved girl, to go to... Lady... Lady... I... made... arrangements... Lady... Margate..." His words were labored; she had to lean forward to hear him.

"I know, Papa," she said, the words catching in her throat as she struggled not to cry. "I know."

"Promise you will go to her... for the new vicar will arrive here... and you... will lose your home." He moved again fretfully. "I thought you would be safely married before I had to go... _My fault_... all my fault."

"Nonsense—nothing is your fault."

"Promise me, child... you will let Lady Margate protect you..." His voice was scarcely a whisper.

"I promise, but I shan't have to go anywhere. You will get better and..." He slumped, and she touched him gently. "Papa?"

Realization sped through her, and with an anguished cry she bent her head onto his hand and sobbed.

* * *

Sassy put down the miniature of her mother and paced as she thought about the last few months. Nightmarish? Nearly, though most of the time she had felt numb. Within two years of each other, both her parents were gone, and now, now she had to leave her home—the only home she had ever known.

She gazed at herself in the long mirror. She had lost weight, and her pretty day gown of pale green needed taking in at the waist. Her black hair, though still full of luster and curls as it hung about her shoulders and back, also needed attention. Sad green eyes looked back at her.

Her father had been a vicar in a small village and thus had brought in very little income. It had been supplemented by her mother's small trust, which her family had not been able to undo, though in all other ways they'd turned their backs on her when she married Sassy's father, for she had spurned the plans they'd had for her.

Now that small living was Sassy's, but the home... the home would go to the new vicar.

Lady Margate had called on Sassy immediately after the funeral and reiterated the vicar's wish for Sassy to join her at Tanderlay Place, and thus Sassy began putting her affairs in order. Even so, leaving had been something she found she just didn't wish to do, and she'd put it off until she received the letter that a new vicar had been appointed and would soon be arriving. Thus forced to act, Sassy dispatched a note to Lady Margate, advising her that she was ready to move to Tanderlay Place.

And so it was Sassy, with her well-kept secrets, unsure, grieving, and unsteady, prepared to leave the only life she had ever known.

### What happens when two rule-breakers

### go head to head? Find out in

Wildfire Kiss

~ One ~

LADY BARBARA CURLED a long, thick tress of black hair around her slender finger and bit her full lower lip. A tear formed in one dark eye, but she held it back. She wouldn't cry. Not one tear would she shed. He had reason to be angry, but she was not going to allow him to make her cry. She had done nothing wrong, whatever the world might think.

She stood against his tirade and allowed him to finish.

"And it is no use standing there looking for all the world like an innocent kitten, for we know that you are not! Don't we?"

"I have never claimed to be innocent, and I am certainly not a kitten," she answered, knowing in advance this would fuel his irritation.

It did.

He spluttered incoherently before he finally shouted, "No, by..." He managed to stop the curse that sprang to his tongue; what followed, she knew, had been greatly tempered with admirable control. " _Certes!_ You think yourself a tigress, don't you? You think you are ready to take on the jungle out there all alone?" He didn't wait for her to answer the question as he rattled on, wagging a finger at her, "Well, by God, you are _not_ a tigress, and the jungle out there will slaughter you!" He turned his back on her as he made an obvious attempt to regain control of himself.

Lady Babs watched him silently, believing more of the same was on its way.

She was correct.

He turned back to her, and said in a low, hard voice, "That you could have gone behind my back, without my knowledge, against my expressed wishes—"

"Papa," she cut in on a plea. "I used a pseudonym. No one will ever find out the true identity of the author. I have Mr. Murry's word on it."

"Ha! What do you know of Murry? Who is to say he won't reveal your name for a price?"

"He won't. Besides, Byron publishes through him, and Byron said he is to be trusted."

She watched her father as he struggled with his temper once more, and she fancied she saw spittle at his thin lips. _"Byron?_ _I don't trust Byron_! And that is another thing. I won't have you in Byron's pocket. The man is a libertine. Why, it is rumored that he and his sister—" He stopped himself, obviously realizing he shouldn't speak of such things with her. Barbara chewed at her bottom lip to keep herself from smiling.

"You will stay away from Byron!" her father finally commanded.

"Papa, Lord Byron has always stood a friend to me." Lady Babs felt her cheeks get hot in spite of the fact that she knew her father had a point. "I won't gossip about him, and I won't give up the friendship. The subject here is _my novel_ and how well my secret may be kept."

"Your friend? Well, let me tell you, young miss, Byron was responsible for bringing Lady Caroline low... _ruined her_..." Lord Waverly persisted and leveled a dark frown at her.

"I think Lady Caroline brought herself low. He did not ask her to make a cake of herself all over town." Barbara sighed heavily, and then added, "Papa... we need the money, and Mr. Murry was kind enough to advance me for my book..."

"And you are not supposed to worry about such matters! _I_ would have found the blunt in the end..." His answer was sharp, and his ruddy cheeks took on even more color.

"Of course, Papa," his daughter answered dutifully. The truth was that her father had turned to gambling after her mother had passed on three years ago, and they were nearly wiped out of funds. "My book will probably sell only enough to make up the advance... and will soon be forgotten. The name I chose, Felix Gumble, is unknown and will be forgotten. 'Tis nothing to fuss about, and the advance will stave off the—"

"You should not be the one to have to manage our financial matters..." Her father sat heavily in the winged chair at his elbow.

Their housekeeper, Maudly, appeared at the library door after having opened it a fraction and said quietly, "Count Otto Stauffenberg is here to see Lady Barbara."

Waverly was an old name, but theirs was an impoverished estate, and Babs knew that her father's hope was to marry her off to a wealthy peer. The count was a favored swain, and though Babs had him ever by her side, her father often complained that it was time she brought matters to a point. She couldn't though—oh, she loved having Otto about but only as a dear friend.

Her father leveled a 'look' at her and said in a hushed tone, "We will discuss all of this later." To Maudly he said, "Show the count in at once, and thank you, Maudly."

Babs looked up and smiled. The German count was tall, and built along husky lines. His years numbered some two and thirty; his hair was auburn and lightly laced with gray. His lips were ever curved with merriment and his light brown eyes sparkled with fun. He was a dashing figure, though not precisely handsome. His accent was only slight, as he had lived in England nearly all his life.

He had suffered through an early marriage that had left him widowed and quite rich. He had made a show of choosing to be at Lady Babs' side, for in addition to the fact that they enjoyed one another immensely, they gave each other cover on the marriage mart.

"There you are," he said brightly, the smile already growing wider across his round face. "If you don't hurry, we will be late, you know." He turned and bent a respectful head towards her father. "With your permission, of course, my lord?"

Barbara laughed out loud. "You say that as though 'tis my fault, and how could it be when I have been here waiting for you, sir?"

"Barbara!" objected her father, and then with his hand extended, he said, "Count... how nice, yes, of course, you have my permission."

"Excellent." The count smiled broadly and then turned his attention to her. "Now go and get your spencer while I chat with your father."

She bobbed him a curtsy and hurried off. What she would do without the count, she did not know. His constant attentions had raised her father's hopes in his direction and had allowed her some peace at home and abroad. So many assumed she and the count would make a match of it, and it gave her a measure of peace because she was not interested in any of her would-be suitors.

It was a problem. She was already one and twenty, and her father was outraged that she had turned down every suitor to date. Otto was a dear friend, and thus far he seemed pleased to keep it that way. Their friendship served them both. He announced himself her devoted servant but made no push in that direction in private, and she was well pleased with the silent arrangement. She believed he was still in love with his late wife.

Re-entering the library, she slowed and noted with concern that while Otto chatted happily, her father was red-faced and seemed to be seriously annoyed.

"That's right," Otto said. "They say it has sold five thousand copies already. Everyone is talking about it. I want to pick a copy up on the way to the fairgrounds today. They say—" He saw that Barbara had arrived and cut himself off. "I say, Barbara, have you heard about it?"

"Heard? About what, Otto?" She held her breath, for she was certain she knew what he was talking about. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she waited for his reply.

"The new book, _Passion's Seed,_ " he returned in a tone of excited expectancy.

"Nooo..." she answered hesitantly. Faith! What was she going to do? This was beyond her hopes for her book. It was a fearsome thing and, yet, so very satisfying. She couldn't tell anyone, but it would be natural for her to show an interest. "What about it?" She purposely glanced away from her father.

"I am told that the author—whom no one seems to know—knows everything about the _haute ton_. Everything we have done for the last three, maybe two seasons. She describes all our antics in fine comical style, and while it is most amusing to most, Lady Hester tells me she has certainly ruffled any number of feathers!"

"Really?"

"Yes, in fact, Lady Hester said she was convulsed with giggles when the author obviously described Lord Butterworth and dubbed him Lord Butterball."

"Yes, but is it not fiction?" Babs asked, hoping to appear innocent.

"Oh, as to that, the names have been changed... but fiction? Hester says, 'not'." He laughed and shook his head. "Come on then, we'll pick up a copy on our way."

Babs chewed her bottom lip. This was not what she had thought would happen. She had written her book for the growing middle class—not for the _haute ton_ who would recognize themselves! She had never dreamt that any of the aristocracy would pick up a book by an unknown and then make it famous overnight.

She took up her straw bonnet and tied the blue ribbon under her chin. Otto smiled and said, "Fetching... you have superb taste."

She laughed and slipped into her blue spencer. She gave her black curls a twirl around her ears as she glanced into the sidewall mirror.

Otto stopped, ran a critical eye over her, and set her bonnet perfectly before he turned and bid her father good day as he offered Babs his arm.

She stalled him a moment and said hesitatingly, "Until later then, Papa...?"

Otto added quickly, "Don't worry, my lord. I will take care of our darling Babs."

"How you will manage that is beyond me, for I tell you frankly I have never been able to handle that particular chore!" her father pronounced with a smile, both rueful and affectionate.

"Oh, Papa!" the lady objected.

"Go on then, go on." He waved them off and then stood away from them as they left him to his own thoughts.

### An eligible bachelor pretends to be a rogue,

### a young lady dons a seductive disguise,

### and no one is who they seem in

Rogues, Rakes & Jewels

~ One ~

"SOMEONE TOLD ME once that the road to hell was paved with good intentions. Fiend seize me if I am not just about to cut such a path!" grumbled the Marquis Ryker of Lyndhurst, kicking a well-appointed stool for emphasis.

His cousin, the Honorable Oscar Robendale, gave him a rather blank stare and reached for his glass of sherry. He dared not question the volatile marquis when he was in such a mood.

"She has tricked me again—bless her, Robby. She is the best of good mothers, but damn if I can take much more of this. I'd swear there is none sweeter or finer in all Albion, but... but..." He seethed, searching for a proper description of his present opinion of his only surviving parent.

"Wants you neatly married—wants grandchildren, only natural you know," offered his cousin unwisely.

"Married—aye, she wants that!" said his lordship dryly. He moved to the great marble fireplace and placed his elbow on the mantle, touched his thumb and knuckle to his mouth, and lost himself in thought. His mother had presented him with yet another challenge—one that he had taken up only to find it irritating beyond endurance.

The Honorable Oscar Robendale fell into studied quiet as he stared at the back of the marquis' ginger-colored locks, but then he ventured a question. "Why so hot about it? After all, it isn't the first time."

"Because I have had it, old boy—I have just had it. This time, she wants me to travel to the Isle of Wight of all places. Can you believe it?"

Robby shook his head. "No... damn silly place to go."

"Aye... but that is where we are going."

"We? I'm not courting anyone. I don't have to go—not going." He shook his head emphatically. "Isle of Wight? Cuz, love you and all... but... there is just so much a man must do in the name of friendship and family."

The marquis ignored this and said, "She thinks that because I am about to turn thirty I am in my dotage and plagues me more than ever. What? Does she think I am about to dive into senility?"

"No, no, dear boy. Don't think m'aunt had senility in mind—really, old fellow," his cousin stuck in hastily. "Told you, wants grandchildren... you being the heir... stands to reason, don't it?"

"Yes, and she shall get them _when I am_ ready!" the marquis snapped.

"The thing is, you will be thirty inside of three months..."

"And what does that signify?"

"Might not be so easy, as you get older. Look at Foster—he got married at forty and couldn't have a one... not one brat did he have. And then there was Merriweather—although you are the very broth of a man, fitter than most..."

"Thank you, Robby..." The Marquis sighed. "But as it happens, I have agreed to her scheme, because I have a scheme of my own that will see us through a day or two, and then we will be able to make our way back to London."

"Really?" Robby's hazel eyes widened. "How will you explain that to your mother?"

"Won't have to—we will do as she asked, get through a few days, and be off."

Robby sighed. "Time you should tie the knot though... owe it to the name."

"The devil you say. Tie the knot, indeed. Noddy! How you came to be in the family is beyond me..."

"Shouldn't be—thought you understood. Your mother and mine are first cousins—that makes us..."

The marquis eyed him for a long moment before he burst out laughing and patted his shoulder affectionately. "Never mind, cuz... we'll do, you and I."

"Will we?"

"Yes, for, as I said, I have a plan."

"Do you? Well, you were ever a knowing one, Ryker ol' man."

"Here is the thing—Mama expects me to travel to the Isle of Wight to introduce myself to this little country child, and I have agreed to do so."

"Upon my soul—seems an odd thing to do, go to the Isle of Wight. I mean, plenty of chits to meet right here in London."

"To appease the old dear, I have accepted, so we shall. We'll do the polite and get the devil out of there as soon as we may."

"We'll go? What do you mean, we'll go?"

"You will enjoy yourself immensely."

"No, I won't." Robby was frowning darkly.

"There is, I think, a gaming house..."

Robby brightened. "Never say so... well, upon my word—perhaps it won't be too bad then. At least I don't have to court any young thing..."

~ Two ~

HENSHAW HOUSE WAS situated at the top of a clear knoll. Only scattered elms and pines broke the starkness of the landscape surrounding its Tudor lines. What had once been a magnificently maintained park was now being allowed to run to weeds, for its present inhabitants had not a penny to their name.

However, young Sir James and his sister, Jewelene Henshaw, were optimists at heart. They never allowed the shabbiness of the home they loved to weigh them down for more than a moment or two, and both worked toward reviving its previous glory.

Sir James, who was eighteen months younger than his twenty-one-year-old sister, had some time back hatched up a scheme, a scheme the orphans thought would serve to save their home.

They sat dressed in shabby buckskin jackets and breeches upon the fence line and watched as their old groom, Jonas, led a magnificent black Arabian stallion toward them.

"I say, Jewel... he'll do!" exclaimed Sir James, thwacking his knee for emphasis.

Jewelene brushed her long, honey-gold hair away from her eyes and cooed to the horse. The stallion flicked his ears and nodded his head, which made her brother laugh. "Look at that... he knows us!"

"He should—after all the training we've given him," she replied with a smile.

"Aye, that's the truth," he agreed.

She glanced wistfully above his curly, light brown hair. "If only we can get a win at Derby... oh imagine, Jimmy, just imagine how much we could make with Lightning as a breeder..."

"Aye, trouble is, he is ready, but we ain't. Face it, Jewel... we still don't have the blunt it takes to meet the entrance fee."

"We shall. If I have to marry that wretched creature Omsbury to get it—"

"I'd sell my soul before I'd let you marry that devil. What a rum touch that one is!" Jimmy shouted, his face taking on a reddish color.

She laughed and touched his hand. "I didn't mean it, Jimmy... I don't think I could, for it would mean I would have to... you know... go to bed with the bloke, and I think I would have to kill myself before I could do that."

"Aye," said Jimmy, nodding his head vigorously.

"Jimmy!" His sister laughed and then sighed. "However, he did tell me he would send you off to Cambridge and pay for the entire thing if I married him. He would restore Henshaw House, and that would make you independent again. It is tempting, you know..."

"You loathe the ground he walks upon... I loathe the ground he might ever walk upon!"

She giggled. "Oh Jimmy... it is the truth..." She sighed. "I'll just have to find a way to get the entrance fee—there has to be a way..."

Sir James looked up at the sky and the sun's position. They had already disregarded his aunt's wishes. She had explicitly told him to bring his sister home in time to change before the Marquis of Lyndhurst's arrival. He shot his sister a quizzical look. "Lord, girl, you look a sight. Aunt will go into convulsions if you should walk in on the marquis looking like that."

"Oh pooh. Besides, he will probably be late. All high and mighty lords of London arrive late. What does he want with a poor country bumpkin lass like me?" She batted her eyelashes.

He laughed. "You know, even a brother can see that _you are_ a beauty, Jewels... and the marquis' mother was a sweet woman. We liked her, in fact, so maybe he isn't so bad?"

"Yes, I suppose." Jewelene sighed and then asked him sadly, "Do you miss them terribly, Jimmy? Mother and Father?"

"Yes," he said, looking away and into the distance as though recalling them in a childhood event.

"Sometimes... it is unbearable... so hard..."

He nudged her shoulder. "Give over, girl. Won't help. It has been two years since their accident. Come on then—we have to get back."

~ Three ~

A DARK COACH BEARING the crest of Lyndhurst, together with its horses, luggage, and riding mounts, reposed aboard a schooner in the harbor of Portsmouth. The marquis and his companion, the Honorable Oscar Robendale, stood at the bow, leaning on their elbows and staring into the dark blue water in the harbor. Their capes were flapping in the wind, as was their hair beneath their top hats.

"Don't know how you convinced me to do this," grumbled Robby, though he wore a smile as the sea wind caressed his face.

Ryker laughed. "Give over and admit it, you devil... you are having a splendid time. I let you beat me two rubbers at piquet, didn't I? And you love the salt air!"

Robby cast him a sharp look and then said enthusiastically, "Here we go—Rye, we are off!"

"Aye," Ryker said with a sigh. "Devil take it... so we are. Lord, I wish I could get out of this. The notion of having another cloying chit trying to interest me in her when all she wants is m'title and m'fortune..."

"Aye, but can't get out of it now," returned his cousin practically.

"It is just that I hate being fawned over."

"I should think you would be used to it by now." Robby shrugged. "Besides, she might take you in dislike and not dangle after you at all."

"She wouldn't care if I were the devil himself. She won't take the time to know me. She will be interested only in what my fortune and position can do for her."

"Cynical..."

"But true."

"You can't know that. I'd wager that she might like you even if you were in my position as a second son with only a respectable living. Why, deuce take it, Rye... look at you! Damned good looking chap..."

The marquis's eyes narrowed as his thoughts began to formulate. He put a gloved fist to his lips and said, "Robby... I have an idea... and a wager to offer."

" _Oh no..."_

"Aye, now do but listen—"

"No, it will get me into trouble," Robby said, putting his gloved hands to his ears.

"We are going to play a game and have a wager."

"Ah, a wager, eh? What kind of a wager?" he made the mistake of asking.

"I am going to masquerade as you, and you will be me—let's see who the chit wants."

"Don't like it... we don't even look like one another. For one thing... you have at least six inches on me."

"No one there has ever seen us... so that doesn't signify."

"Yes, but... why? I tell you what—sit down, old boy... rest... all this has gone to your head..."

"No, no, Robby. This will liven up our stay. They want to marry off their country bumpkin to a rich marquis. We will trade places. I will put up my hunter as the wager. I say the Henshaw chit will try and marry you in spite of your inability to turn a flattering line and in spite of your disinterest. I will flirt outrageously with her... attempt to gain her attention, and she still will put out her hooks for you—simply for your name and your money..."

"You are daft, Ryker... daft!"

"Perhaps... is it a bet?"

"What if I slip up with the name?"

"I'll just keep m'given name, and you will keep yours. I will continue to call you Robby, not Oscar, so no one will be the wiser." The Marquis eyed him. "Is it a bet?"

Robby looked at him with a quizzical eye and shook his head. "I don't like it, but, aye, it is a wager."

* * *

At the Henshaw house, Mrs. Debbs, the late Mrs. Henshaw's sister, paced about the parlor. Her lavender silks rustled about her short, plump figure as she moved about deep in thought.

She glanced at her daughter sitting serenely with her embroidery and let out an exasperated sigh. "My word, Elizabeth, I should think you would at least show some interest."

Her daughter raised soft brown eyes. She was a slender girl, quietly pretty, whose gentleness had won a warm welcome in the Henshaw household. However, her more erratic though capable mama was wont to see this characteristic as a fault. Mrs. Dora Debbs had come to Henshaw House with her only child two years ago, after the Henshaws' tragic accident. She had always been close to both her sister and brother-in-law, and their deaths had been a terrible blow. She loved her sister's children and wished to help them in any way she could, but alas, a poor widow herself, she was not in any better straits financially to do more than offer a caring and much appreciated hand in the running of a severely understaffed estate.

"Interest in what, Mama?"

"Faith, child—I have told you the Marquis of Lyndhurst will be arriving soon, and just look at you... could you not find a brighter, prettier gown? I do so dislike this dove color you seem to prefer."

"Mama, my gown is both serviceable and pretty. What is wrong with this shade? And doves are lovely. Besides, it is Jewelene _we_ wish him to notice."

"That is quite true, child, but Jewelene is... Jewelene, and it may be that she might not encourage his interest. Or he may not find her to his taste..."

"Oh, Mama..." Elizabeth scoffed without rancor. She was a practical-minded girl. "What man would not find Jewels not to his taste? What man would look elsewhere once he has seen Jewelene?"

Mrs. Debbs cast an appraising eye over her daughter, who had long, fawn-colored hair. Its texture was soft, and its shine was nothing to scorn. Her gentle grace, lovely smile, youth, and gentle mannerisms were most becoming, and while her mother knew that Elizabeth's prettiness could not compare to Jewelene's exceptional beauty, she also knew that gentlemen's tastes were often surprising.

Ah, but it was true that Jewelene's bright green eyes slew, and her rich, honey-colored hair captured a man's imagination. Mrs. Debbs had often seen how heads turned when Jewelene walked by, not that her niece noticed or gave a fig. Jewelene didn't seem interested in anything but horses, while Elizabeth's gentle ways were quite taking and she also captured the eye.

In fact, John Hopps, the local vicar, had applied for Elizabeth's hand twice already, but Mrs. Debbs was in agreement with her daughter that he was not the man for her.

At any rate, there was very little she could do other than hope for a fortunate outcome to what looked like dire straits at Henshaw. And now there was no time to think more about the problem, as their elderly butler, Stanton, appeared to announce the arrival of the marquis.

Mrs. Debbs clasped her hands and felt as though she were about to faint. "Good God... here already?"

She turned to her daughter. "I did not expect them for another hour... where—oh faith, where is Jewelene?"

Elizabeth laughed out loud to hear her mother so frazzled. "Mama..."

The gentlemen were announced, and Mrs. Debbs, just a bit flustered, went forward to greet them. Introductions having gone round, Ryker, who had been introduced as merely the Honorable Ryker Robendale by his cousin, asked, "And where is the lovely Miss Henshaw I have heard so much about?"

Mrs. Debbs' hands flew about herself as she searched for an answer. Elizabeth smiled sweetly and had just said she was sure her cousins would be back any moment when they heard the sound of laughter as the front door opened and closed and then boots on hardwood flooring as two people made their way to the open double doors of the parlor.

All heads turned around, and the real marquis of Lyndhurst found his gray eyes filled with the sight of two very shabbily dressed young adults. A lad of somewhat above average height, on the lean and lanky side with a pleasant, oval-shaped face and a mass of wavy brown hair, stepped in and towards him, hand extended. However, it was the beauty at his side that took his breath away.

She was absolutely remarkable, though completely and utterly shabbily clothed. Her exceptionally long hair flowed in vibrant, honey-colored waves to her small waist. He then brought his gaze up to find that her cherry lips had formed a warm and welcoming smile. She was not shy about her manner of dress, and in fact, her green eyes were bright with amusement. Mrs. Debbs started to make the introductions, and he had another moment in which to peruse her from head to toe, and he found that her figure was provocatively sensual, perhaps more so in her breeches!

Damn, even in her buckskins—hell, this one was ravishing. No other word for it, and for a moment he wished he could claim his real identity. Even as he thought that, he shrugged such a nonsensical thought away. What was wrong with him?

And then all hell broke loose!

On the heels of these two youths came a huge black and white harlequin Great Dane. Its tongue lolled as it pranced, and it made its way first to the plump young man (which of course was Robby), eyed him, sniffed him, and decided he adored him.

"Oh... oh... nice doggie..." Robby said nervously.

Thusly encouraged, doggie jumped up to further make his acquaintance, placed his two front paws on Robby's shoulders, and matched him in height. This left Robby speechless but produced objections from the remaining party.

"No, Caesar!" Jewelene rebuked.

Caesar immediately thought it best he show he meant no harm and painted Robby's face with his large tongue.

"No, Caesar... do not do that to the marquis's face!" cried James, thinking of course that Robby was the marquis. He could hear his aunt crying and screaming that Caesar was _killing the marquis,_ at which point he stopped to turn and tell his aunt that his dog meant no harm and was just being playful and loving.

"Down, you silly brute!" cried Jewelene, jumping over a stool to grab at the Great Dane and wrestle him to the ground.

Caesar, finding himself the object of attack, went down and turned over, offering his belly to all and any who might want to rub it. Jewels, who was already there, laughed and accommodated him but told him he was a horrid animal all the while.

Her brother joined her on the floor, and although he admonished her, saying, "Jewels, he will never behave if you are going to coddle him," he then merely turned on his beloved pet and wagged a finger. "Bad dog."

Caesar rolled over onto his belly, put his head between his two huge front paws, and sighed heavily.

"Oh, poor brute," said Robby, ever soft-hearted. "He really didn't do anything..."

Sir James grinned as rose up and extended his hand. "Hello... we have gotten off to a wild start. So then you are the Marquis of Lyndhurst... welcome to Henshaw House... I suppose you've all got acquainted already. Hope we aren't too late... just couldn't break away from a chore at the stables, but... here now." He turned and eyed the tall, good-looking man standing off a bit to one side, and Robby blushed and hurriedly introduced him. "Oh... ah... yes... my cousin, the, er... Honorable Ryker... Robendale..."

Mrs. Debbs waved fluttering fingers. "Please... everyone do sit and be comfortable—except you, Jewelene, as I am sure would like to go upstairs and freshen up..."

"Oh, Auntie, since Stanton is already here with the tea, I'll go freshen up afterwards," Jewelene said, not at all embarrassed by her unladylike outfit. "It's too late anyway—already caught in the act..." With that Jewels laughed unselfconsciously and took charge of the tea tray, easily pouring and handing out the tea cups.

She handed over a cup to the huge, outstandingly good-looking gentleman she had been led to believe was the Honorable Ryker Robendale and met his deep gray eyes. A definite sensation sped through her, and she felt a flutter of butterflies in her tummy, a thing most unusual, as she had never before been so affected by a handsome beau. She found that she liked the way his long and layered waves of dark blonde hair framed his handsome face. She liked the cut of his broad shoulders and the manner in which he held himself.

She felt taken by a sudden interest and felt a blush steal into her cheeks as she hurriedly looked away and picked up a cup to hand it to Elizabeth, who was nearest to the man they believed was the marquis. "Why don't you give this to the marquis," she said softly to her pretty cousin and stole another glance at the tall, quiet gentleman who had casually walked over and taken a seat so very near to her own.

"You really should go up and change, dear." Her aunt clucked her tongue. "You smell of the stables."

"Never mind, Mrs. Debbs... I have always had a fondness of horses," Ryker said with a smile.

"And there isn't any time. Going back out," said her nephew.

"Going back out?" Mrs. Debbs looked incredulous. "What can you mean, you are going back out?" She eyed her nephew dubiously. "You cannot—"

"Sorry, Aunt, previous arrangement. Have no choice..." Jewelene turned to the marquis to smile and then glanced at his cousin. "You understand... we shall return by dinner."

"But where... why?" Mrs. Debbs shook her head.

"To see Ben... it is important," Sir James stuck in with a look at Robby. "You understand, my lord... wouldn't go, if it weren't... but no doubt you two have had a long journey and might like to take a nap..."

Ryker burst out with a laugh, "Not in our dotage, Sir James!"

Jimmy grinned. "No, of course not..."

"We are so sorry, but we won't be gone long," Jewelene said softly and smiled at Robby, whom, of course, she believed to be the marquis. "I must tell you, my lord, that I adore your mama... she absolutely quite captivated our hearts. She is so very lively, and it was quite good fun hearing the many tales she had to tell us about our mother when they were at school together. It brought our mother back to us so very vividly..." Jewelene's eyes glistened for a moment, and her voice trailed off as she pursed her lips.

Robby seemed to become flustered as he blushed and said, "Ah, yes—well, just so..."

Jewelene cocked a quizzical look his way, but his cousin Ryker stuck in quietly, "Yes, Lady Lyndhurst is quite a woman. How nice that she was able to regale you with stories of your mother..."

"We had a wonderful time with her." She eyed the plump marquis and frowned. "You do not favor her, though, at all. No doubt you look like your father." Jewelene sat back with a sweet cake and plopped it into her mouth, saying, "Oh, I haven't eaten a thing all day, and this is quite good."

Ryker looked at his cousin and eyed him for a long moment, as Robby was blushing profusely. He turned away and smiled at Jewelene. "Busy in the stables I take it? May I ask what sort of blood you are schooling?"

"Lightning is a pure Arabian. My father made the purchase... just before his death," she said turning away slightly. She recovered herself and added, "He is fast, really fast. I know what they say about Arabs—Jack of all trades, master of none—but it isn't true... at least not with Lightning. We hope to enter him at Derby this month."

"Arabian, eh? They make good show horses, strong in the work, but I'd not pit an Arabian against a thoroughbred," Robby answered, entering the conversation.

Jewelene smiled wickedly. "Good... I shall take your wager next month, my lord."

"Ah, a betting girl..." Ryker chuckled.

"This is most unseemly... honestly, gentlemen..." Aunt Dora objected half-heartedly, looking at her daughter to enter the conversation.

Elizabeth, though, remained quiet until Jewelene started to move off her chair. Then she put out a hand. "Oh, Jewels, do take my wishes to Mrs. Clay and Lyla... and, of course, to Ben."

Jewel walked over to her, bent, and whispered something in Elizabeth's ear, who then blushed profusely before Jewelene laughed and stood straight. "Come on, Jimmy..."

The gentlemen got to their feet as brother and sister started to depart and Aunt Dora began a series of objections. Caesar jumped up and padded after his most favorite people in the world without a backward glance at the company he was leaving behind.

Outside, however, he received a tremendous let down as Jewelene commanded heartlessly, "No, boy, you are not coming this time. _S_ _tay_... that's right... down and stay!"

Caesar sat, was petted by brother and sister and much pitied, but left behind to sprawl out on the grass and in the shade to watch his adored humans depart.

### What happens when Claudy tells a paranormal romance

### in a Regency setting? Find out in

Prince Prelude—Legend

~ Prologue ~

ACCORDING TO THE humans' _Encyclopedia Britannica_ , Fairy is a race of supernatural beings who have magic powers and sometimes meddle in human affairs.

(I must agree, and I meddle more than my brethren.)

It goes on to explain that we are well known in Ireland, Scotland, and Wales and that we are very powerful and sometimes dangerous beings who can be friendly, mischievous, or cruel, depending on our whim. Sadly, it is true.

The human reference advises that we occasionally take human lovers, as the Fae find human sexuality inviting and are drawn to the passion humans possess. However, it cautions, Fae, unlike humans, are immortal. True again.

History has called us the Tuatha Dé Danaan, and we're also known as the Seelie Fae. I should like you to know more about who we are. You see, the truth is we came long before the written word put us in Ireland at 1000 BC, and we are so much greater than the written word can describe. We are, to a one, quite stunning—and I am even more captivating than my peers. In fact, let me describe myself. I am, Prince Breslyn, last male of the Dagda line, which is one of the four Royal Houses of the Seelie Fae.

If you have read the Legend books, or my first novella, then I need no introduction, but for those of you who haven't yet read the series, I will give you a brief description of who and what I am.

As I mentioned, I am a Royal Fae Prince of the Tuatha Dé Danaan. I am a Council member (although I rarely attend the boring meetings). I am well over six feet six inches and taller than most male Fae, who are as a race quite unusually tall and warrior built.

My dark blonde hair is long, and I usually slick it back and keep it tethered at the back of my neck with leathers. My eyes are silver, my face chiseled, and I have been described by Fae and human alike as much more than handsome.

I wear a gold torque with the etchings of my Royal House—Dagda—and I like tattoos and wear a band of Celtic knots and ancient runes around my biceps.

What is really important is this: I adore humans, especially female humans.

That gets me into all kinds of trouble with my Queen Aaibhe, who feels that my interactions with humans are a break from our treaty and an infringement on the rules of Fate.

Five hundred years ago I fell in love for the first time with a human. Her name was Chartelle, and we were happy for a time.

When human life and immortal life meet, there is only one conclusion, and when it happens, the one left behind will find himself or herself heartbroken.

We Fae are rumored to lack the equivalent of a human heart. Untrue—I know, because my heart broke, and I grieved and went on missing my Chartelle for centuries.

Those centuries—just about five—were a blur, and had it not been for my young sister and charge, Aida, and her friend Ete, who in later years was appointed to sit on the Council, I think that first depression I felt would not have lifted.

A human friend, one of the MacCleans in fact, said something once to me about 'time healing'. For me that is totally incorrect: time doesn't heal per say, but it does dull the pain of loss, a pain that returns in quiet moments when one least expects it to. I was suffering just such a discomfort when visiting the MacCleans in the year 1814 in their home in Scotland. They were entertaining... hosting a thing they called a 'cotillion', and I looked across the room and saw _her..._

Her name, I was told, was Destinee, and she was exquisite.

In fact, I could not look away. Her long black hair, black as the velvet night sky, was piled in dangling curls around her angelic face. Stars twinkled through the curls. Her heart-shaped countenance was classically beautiful, her eyes almond-shaped and bright blue, her neck long. _By Danu_ , I started walking in her direction, thinking that the silk of her form-fitting Regency gown of blue needed to come off—and I was just the one to accomplish the feat.

She looked up, and our eyes met. I can tell you that I saw her catch her breath; I know I was breathing in short spurts of desire. I bent and took her white-gloved hand and brought it up even as I opened the buttons of the glove, found her flesh, and pressed it to my lips.

She blushed, and her lashes lowered. "Sir! I must object..."

"Must you?" I quipped as I started to introduce myself. "My beauty...allow me to intro—"

She cut me off. "Oh, I know who you are, you are Lord Dagda...Breslyn, in fact. Lady MacClean spoke of you to me only this morning."

"Did she?" I frowned, for although her ladyship and I have been friends for all her life (the MacCleans all know the truth of who I am), I was not sure just what she would tell her female acquaintances.

"Oh, yes...she says that you are the best of all good men."

As one can imagine, I was much relieved, as I had decided that this beauty and I must get to know one another. "And you have the advantage of me—you know who I am, but I do not know who you are."

"I am Destinee LaBlanc..."

I must have frowned, for she blushed. I realized she saw I had heard the gossip; I hurriedly tried to put her at ease. "That is a lovely name and suits you."

"Lady MacClean has been very kind and has offered me a situation here. She, in fact, provided me with the clothes upon my back, for just before my father shot himself to death, he had lost everything...and had even gambled..." She broke off and looked away.

"I know—you needn't speak of it. Yours is not the shame. It is on him. How a father can offer up his daughter...but Lord MacClean put a stop to it and brought you here to his wife, proving once again the worth of the MacClean clan."

"Yes, and I am so happy to be able to assist with the children. They are all wonderful..."

I wanted to take her into my arms right at that moment. I wanted to hold her, kiss her, seduce her, and tear the clothing from her delectable body so tat I could ram the hard-on beating in my pants inside her.

I saw at once, however, that she was a delicate flower, and thus, I made up my mind to do something else entirely. I decided to court Destinee LaBlanc.

* * *

The Regency time was an era of fashion, art, culture, and extreme social etiquette. It was also headed for war with Napoleon.

There seemed to be an urgency about the business of hedonism, especially in Brussels, where balls were being given nearly every night in spite of the pending war. And at those balls and soirees, hushed whispers centered on what Wellington was about to do or what information had just escaped the Home Office.

We were removed from the main hub of gossip in Scotland but peripherally interested all the same. I found myself more and more attracted to Destinee as time flew by during my courtship. For the first time in a long time, I wanted the woman, not just the bedding of her. You may ask at some point if I loved her, and to this day, I cannot tell you that I did. I most certainly wanted her...

You may recognize the name Gaiscioch. He plays a major role in the Legend series, and he and I were always at opposite ends of the Council, very much in each other's way. He was a dear friend of the queen's, and yet, I had for centuries sensed an evil in him.

I should have known. I should have realized that day when I walked with Destinee in the village and he appeared and bent over her hand demanding an introduction. She seemed...taken with him.

He had not used compulsion on her, and still she seemed to like him. It troubled me. As I drove her home in the MacClean carriage, she said, "He is very striking with that white streak in his hair...and so very handsome."

"Do you think so?" I felt myself stiffen and wondered how it was that both Fae and human females did not see past Gais's good looks. He wasn't even a royal, but even in Faery, he captured Fae hearts. It annoyed the hell out of me.

She laughed, held my arm, and looked up into my eyes. "Not, by any means, as attractive as you, my big handsome Lord Dagda."

"Why do you never call me Breslyn?" It was a sticking point between us.

"It would not be seemly. I work for the MacCleans."

"Whatever I wish is seemly," I answered. "Say my name, Destinee...for I have a desire to hear it on your lips."

"No, I shall not cross that line."

"You will say it before this day is done," I answered, much annoyed with her. I clicked the horses forward and into a faster pace.

But I did not see her the remainder of the day, as she stayed with the children in the schoolroom and then later retired to her own chambers, not even emerging for dinner.

I went to Casey—Lady MacClean—and took her hand. "Walk with me, Cass."

She fell into step with me as we took a tour of the halls of MacClean and said, "Ah, has she rejected your offer?"

"My offer? No...I didn't think she was ready, so I did not offer," I answered, a bit taken aback. "Would she reject it if I were to offer?"

"Yes." She touched my cheek. "She loves you and thinks you the most handsome man in all of Scotland, but she is _not in love_ with you."

Oddly enough, I was not hurt. I was taken with her and I wanted her, but love? I don't think I was in love. "I see..."

She laughed and said, "Yes, you do, don't you...this is not the one, my darling Breslyn. She is but a diversion for you. She intrigues you more than any other female of your acquaintance, but you and I...we both know, she is not the one."

I grinned; Casey always made me grin. She was full with child and was due any day, and I found her absolutely lovely. "Aye then, but you are, my sweet..."

"What's that?" Shawn MacClean—a big brute of a Scotsman, Casey's husband, and one of my dearest friends—shouted out as he came down the hall at us. "I'll thank ye to get yer grubby hands off m'woman!"

I didn't know at that moment why Destinee had remained above stairs. I didn't know that she had a visitor who had decided to hurt us both.

I didn't know what Gaiscioch had done...

Until the next morning, when Shawn stormed through the castle and grabbed me by the shoulders to exclaim, "Casey is beside herself! Ye must do something, old friend."

"Anything...what is it?"

"The LaBlanc chit is gone, and she left a note saying that she is off with someone called Gaiscioch."

"Damnation and bloody hell! I'll have his neck for this, I will."

"He is a Fae then?" Shawn asked on a dark look.

"Aye...and for the moment, there be naught we can do...for, Shawn, I fear she went with him of her own free will." I shook my head. "I saw her face when she met him, and I saw the way she looked at him. He didn't compel her...but, to leave in this fashion...?"

"He must have compelled her in the end. She would not have gone with him otherwise, would she?"

I wasn't sure at that point, and so I went with Shawn to her room. There I saw the evidence of their night of lovemaking and imagined the promises he must have made her: life eternal at Faery with him.

However, at that moment, a chambermaid came running at us, screaming for Shawn and advising us that Casey had gone into labor.

I went with him to Casey, but she told us we were devils. That all men were devils forever doing terrible things to women, and that we had better get out while we could, so we did. We ran for the safety of the study and threw down some brandy as fast as we could.

I was hurting though. I may not have been fully in love, deep or otherwise, but she was the woman of my dreams at that point, and both pride and my so-called non-existent heart were taking a beating.

I stayed with the MacCleans for another week and then returned to Faery, where I got word Gaiscioch had a human squirreled away with him at his private retreat. I shook it off. So be it. She had made her bed, so to speak.

* * *

Here was the kicker: Gais had taken her only to get at me. He had her at his retreat, oh yeah, and he used her in every conceivable manner. He tortured her mentally, physically, and in ways I could not bear to think about. _Because of me,_ he took this poor human beauty and ruined her for all time.

A month after Destinee had gone off with Gais, I returned from Faery to visit with Shawn MacClean. We went to the local tavern for a couple of pints. I love engaging in human pastimes, and this ritual men have of drowning their sorrows together at a tavern is most satisfying. At any rate, Gais chose that moment to complete his _coup de gras_. He dumped (and there is no other word for it) my little Destinee into the tavern. He dragged her through the tavern door, shouting at her that she was a worthless whore, and he threw her across the floor to lie naked, dirty, and totally out of her mind.

We Fae can cure almost all things, but we cannot cure, either in Fae or human, madness.

I was ahead of Shawn, covering her with my long coat, picking her up in my arms, and carrying her out of the tavern, where Shawn took her from me and put her ahead of him on his horse.

"Take her home, Shawn."

"Of course, my friend, we will see to her..."

I turned and saw Gaiscioch with a look on his face that made me lose all control. I was on him before he could shift away.

Rage filled me as I tore into him, beating him even though he attempted to ward off my blows. I am a royal, with powers untold, power and might never to be used in such a physical fashion against a lesser Fae. It is a sacred rule, one I broke that evening.

I screamed obscenities at him, and every time he tried to land a blow my way or block my onslaught, I pounded him. He fell, and I was on top of him, hammering and beating; I had called for my Death Sword and it was in my leveled grip when suddenly my wrist was held fast.

I looked up to see my closest, most dearest friend, Danté, Prince of Lugh, holding me with back with determination. He whispered, "You may not kill a fellow Fae, Bres..."

"Get off me!" I demanded.

"No, Bres...if you kill him, you will be forever banished...or worse. He is the queen's trusted friend."

"Do you know what he did?"

"Yes, I ran into Shawn on my way to visit with you at MacClean...I know."

"Aaibhe will not punish him for this."

"She is a just, good queen and will sanction him. We will see to it. He has interfered with a human life. He will be sanctioned before all the Council."

He pulled me off Gaiscioch, who was lying in a pool of his own blood. He was an immortal, and he would heal quickly. The Death Sword would have put an end to his miserable life, and knowing now what he would become, I often think of that day and wish I had incurred banishment rather than allow him to live.

* * *

Proof is a tenuous thing, and when I brought Gais up on charges before the Council, Danté stood at my side ready to support my accusations; however, the only thing he had witnessed was me beating the hell out of Gaiscioch.

The devil covered himself well. I proclaimed, "He threw her naked in the tavern."

He answered, "She tore off her clothes just outside the tavern and threw herself down in the mud, hugging my ankles, begging me to keep her."

"You tortured her till she went mad!" I spat at him.

"She was insane...I didn't know it till it was too late," Gais responded.

He had an answer for everything I threw at him, and he was the queen's trusted friend. They decided to believe I had been mistaken—that I had seen things through my clouded dislike of him, my jealousy that the human had gone with him instead of me. It was humiliating and defeating.

The queen came to me and said what I needed was a mission, and one in which only I could help her as her worthy prince. I knew she was trying to bolster my spirits. I knew she wanted to get me away from Gais because she saw the 'intent to kill' in my eyes.

Ete tells me that was a defining moment for me and that writing it all down will be important, and Ete is wise beyond her years.

All these things went into making me the Fae prince I am now, she says, and so I am putting pen to paper so to speak because I did learn a great deal from that experience.

Destinee remained with the MacCleans. She was a broken woman...off in a world of her own... and the name she called in her sleep was his, Gaiscioch, for she had been a woman in love... _with him_.

I visited with her often, sat with her, and now and then she would be lucid and laugh before vanishing once more into her 'other world', but each time before her thoughts wandered and took her to safety, she told me of Gais's false promises and then of his endless abuse. I have often thought I should lie in wait for him and return the favor...

And then the queen came for me at MacClean and said we had a mission. A creature, a vampire-like creature, Lamia DuLaine, was about to ruin the life of a member of the queen's favorite Druid families. Queen Aaibhe said the time had come to act, and yet, how could we prevent the inevitable if we adhered to the rules of non-interference?

My queen said we would find a way to help without breaking the rules.

Yeah, right—and at this point I think it time to hand over the pen, because this is where Legend truly begins...

~ One ~

IN THE SPRING in the year of 1814 was when DuLaine first saw him. It was as though she felt the humanity in herself all at once, all over again.

However, in reality more than a thousand years had passed, and the humanity in Lamia DuLaine had been extinguished long ago.

She watched him. He was tall, and his black waves of hair framed a chiseled, roguishly handsome face. His deep blue eyes twinkled as he conversed and laughed with his companions, unaware of her stare.

She watched and chided herself. He was a man, only a man. However, there was something magnetic in his appearance. There was something glowing in his aura. There was something that made her feel—and she never felt anything for anyone, other than Shamon.

She sensed greatness in this man and more...something she could not name. She felt suddenly alive. She could feel electricity vibrate off his body and fluctuate in a rhythm that penetrated to a place her soul had once occupied.

She couldn't look away from him.

She felt a fire heat her forehead, burn her cheeks from deep within her body.

In that short space of time, she knew she had to have him. She had to walk beside him, lust with him, and make him her own!

It had been a glance, just a glance, but it would change her life forever!

That was how it all began to crumble. That was when it all went wrong for _h_ _er._

Until then, she had reigned supreme. No one had ever touched her essence in such a manner. No one alive, no one human, knew the full secrets of her powers. Until then, until the spring of 1814, she had been mistress of her world.

Until then, no one had defied her will. Because of him her life, her needs, her force would change. Because _of them_ , Legend began...

* * *

The queen and Breslyn hovered in another dimension to observe the creature DuLaine and plan their strategy. At this point, the queen advised Breslyn, his mission was to observe and report—nothing more.

His silver eyes glittered with irritation and uncertainty. "Observation isn't going to be enough. At what point do we do something to avert disaster? For that is where the situation is headed."

"You are too impatient, my prince," said his queen softly.

Her behavior and explanations thus far were things he found frustrating. What he needed was action and possibly a good fight to dispel his mood.

The Queen of the Fae was amazingly beautiful—so much so that few humans could look directly at her. She had a grace of form and movement. Her light blonde hair fell in silky waves to her waist. Her eyes of many colors were full with the wisdom of her age, her experience, and her rare intelligence. She rarely took any deep interest in humans, for their lives were too short to concern her; however, these particular humans were different.

Maxine Reigate and Julian Talbot mattered to her for deep-seated reasons. She had carried her secret for centuries, and suddenly things were beginning to unravel indelicately. The matter had to be handled, and she trusted Prince Breslyn to aid her in this.

"Breslyn...you must watch both the Reigate child and Julian for me. I have other proceedings to attend to in Council."

He looked down through the airwaves she had parted like a curtain and there saw Lord Talbot. He switched scenes and saw the woman he had come to think of as _the beast,_ Lamia DuLaine.

"We could arrange to have the DuLaine taken—that doesn't break the treaty exactly, now does it? I mean, she isn't really human anymore."

The queen bristled. "You know better. We may not play with Destiny. Anything we do must be the least invasive of all possibilities. You must try and explore other avenues. I trust in you to do this, Breslyn."

He bowed his head. "Perhaps my Queen could be a little more forthcoming with what the bloody hell she wants me to do then?"

She smiled indulgently. He was her favorite prince, her most loyal council member, and she allowed him much. "Indeed, my Prince. You may tweak matters...you may bend situations, but you may not cut the threads. Understood?"

He gave her a slight nod. It was going to be a nuisance. Such things always were. However, he knew the queen of his race had a compellingly personal stake in the outcome of this mission. Thus, he would unquestioningly do what she asked—well, perhaps not quite unquestioningly, for that was not his way, but in the end he would get the job done. He knew he should be remembering something, something about the Talbot fellow and the queen, but he couldn't quite grasp just what it was. At any rate, he knew that the Talbot Druids were favorites of the queen, and at the moment that was all he needed to know.

"And, my Prince, try and control that propensity you have for getting involved with humans. Use the Féth Fiada whenever you can. Remain invisible...there is no need for you to speak or interact with these people. The MacCleans are one thing because of your connection to Chartelle and her family...but please do not become embroiled with these particular humans—understood?"

He thought of Destinee...broken and living with his human family, the MacCleans, and for a moment thought to argue. Humans were fascinating, and he loved interacting with them. He sighed over this edict. It would be most difficult—for how was he to protect the queen's interests if he didn't become involved? However, the prince nodded dutifully—though what she didn't know, he thought, wouldn't hurt her.

~ Two ~

JULIAN TALBOT'S BLUE eyes glittered as he guided his horse down the long drive of Reigate towards the wide, square courtyard. His thoughts rushed at one another for first place, but they didn't stand a chance against the one overwhelming need to be with Maxine.

Brussels had been hell, and then he'd come home, only to find shortly afterwards that their victory at Waterloo had lost them so many... many of his dear friends among them.

Done, he told himself. The war was over, and business as well had been put into order. London was at his back, and Maxie's beautiful, waiting arms were ahead.

As he pulled his horse up, a neatly dressed stable boy hurried forward to take the reins. The youth grinned broadly, showing an expanse of unhealthy looking teeth. "Aye then, oi bid ye welcome, m'lord."

"Walk him a bit for me, lad, and have someone saddle up your mistress's steed. With any good luck we should be out here again shortly."

"If it's luck ye be wantin', well then oi be wishing it for ye, and that's the truth of it, m'lord."

Talbot's eyes twinkled as he flipped the urchin a coin. A moment later he was taking the stone steps two by two to Squire Reigate's ample front doors, where the Reigates' long-established and formidable butler met him. In fact, Talbot still held the knocker in his kid-gloved hand as the door started to open; he grinned appreciatively.

Kettles (the staid butler) held the door open wide and displayed an acceptable hint of a smile as he informed his lordship that the squire was not at home.

Julian Talbot dropped his hat, gloves, and heavily tiered riding coat into Kettle's waiting arms with a wink. "No? By Jove, fancy that! But then, it isn't the squire I am here to see."

Kettles rarely betrayed his emotions. He was extremely proud of his station in life and knew well the obligations of his position. However, he had watched his little mistress grow up, and he absolutely adored her. Thus, a smile in his faded eyes betrayed his pleasure. "Just so, m'lord. I will show you into the library, where Miss is busy about some work or—"

"Ah, but, Kettles..." declared his lordship, cutting him off, "I know the way." With that Julian strode forward confidently towards his goal. He was a happy man with his future all before him.

She sat sprawled on the floor, heedless of her fashionable yellow gown and looking much like a hoyden. She was attempting to concentrate on the novel she had picked to read. _Julian, Julian, Julian_ was all she could think. _Where are you, Julian? You are late. Are you safe? Oh, Julian love..._

Julian opened the library door quietly and watched her a moment. She was the most precious thing in his life. In a few quick, easy strides he had crossed the room's dark Oriental rug and came to stand before her.

Maxie was flat on her belly and at first saw his legs before following this path up further to his crotch. More often than not she had been wondering just what it was going to be like to get her fingers around what was hidden there.

She said his name as she jumped to her feet, and then she screeched with delight. Her silk skirts flounced in the air as he took her up and into his arms and laughingly declared, "And now my day is finally made! Have you a warm welcome kiss for me, Maxie-girl?"

Maxine Reigate was a petite young woman with black, gleaming ringlets and twinkling green eyes. She was considered to be a refreshing beauty amongst the Haute Ton of London. However, it had been more than her beauty that had won the experienced, nearly jaded heart of Julian, Lord of Talbot.

Without a word, he found that she did indeed have a most welcoming and enthusiastic kiss for him. He was hungry all at once. He couldn't stop himself as he had so many other times before, as decorum insisted. No, this time his tongue found its way all on its own and teased a response from her. He tasted her, letting her have a taste of him as he pressed her body closely up against himself. Damn, the wedding was too far off...

A moment later he was setting her on her feet and putting an arm between them. She pouted at him. "What, my lord, are you doing...?" She moved his hand away from her shoulder with a shrug and pressed up against him again.

"No... no...minx! This won't do."

"You started it..." she teased.

"Indeed...which gives me the right to put a stop to it as well!"

"Very well, so be it. Then instead, you may tell me just where you have been. I have been waiting hours and hours for you. I think myself very ill-used, my lord." Her green eyes flashed playfully.

"Ah, if I have kept my love waiting I must be no more than a lowly cad." He hung his head, but his eyes twinkled as he brought his glance to her reproving glare.

"Fie! Fie on you! You mock me, my buck, and I shall have none of it." She giggled and then said, "Why, why have I been waiting all day when your letter said you would be here by noon?"

"Business, pet. The estates were in need of updating with my man...it took longer than I expected." He glanced over at the _Quarterly Review_ and noted that it contained a scathing review of Lord Byron. His brow went up before he looked away and added, "There are things that need to be done and put in order if we are to take that extended honeymoon of ours." He pinched her chin. "In fact, after these last few days, you should dole out some pity on me, for I am being grossly taxed..."

She released a full-throttled giggle. "Oh, poor, dear love. Dull work, I know, and there are other more enjoyable things you could be doing..." She gave him a saucy look, and he pinched her cheek.

"Duty, beloved, and..." he whispered, his blue eyes were lit with dark sparks. He held her captive in his embrace, and his voice was husky with desire. "I must ensure the riches you are accustomed to enjoying."

She gave him a hearty slap to his upper arm. "Rapper! As though _I_ give a fig for such things!" She frowned then. "Duty, however, is quite another thing, isn't it? I mean, so many people depend on you to manage their land so they can make their living. All your farmers and—"

" _And kiss me again, minx_..." What the hell was he doing, he asked himself. He had to get control, and yet, here he was taking her into his arms to kiss her once more.

However, this second kiss eluded him as Maxine's mother entered the room noisily at that moment and fondly cleared her throat. "Engaged you two may be, but not, my dears, yet married."

His lordship laughed and took Maxie's arm as he moved forward and bent over his future mother-in-law's hand. "Well met, ma'am, and may I say you are looking as lovely as ever."

"Scamp!" Mrs. Reigate smiled as she moved to the yellow winged ladies' chair and took her position. "Now, sit and tell us your news. I will ring for coffee."

"Dare I refuse, when I need to ask you a favor?" His lordship eyed her hopefully, and his charm filled the room.

"Ah." Mrs. Reigate silently thought his winning smile irresistible. "What then, my lord?"

"While we still have some day left, I thought I would steal your daughter for a short while so we might enjoy a little riding jaunt through the fields."

Mrs. Reigate knew her daughter had been itching to ride all day but had refrained from doing so while she waited for his lordship's arrival. She smiled to herself as she looked from one to the other. They were perfect for one another. She was also cognizant of the undeniable fact that when Lord Julian Talbot had asked for Maxine's hand in marriage a month ago, her daughter had not only made the match of the season, but of the decade! In any event, she was a doting and indulgent parent and didn't see the harm in his request.

She smiled ruefully as she said, "Very well—a quick jaunt...home before dark."

Maxine laughed and dropped a kiss on her mother's cheek. She was in high spirits and ran with childlike happiness for the door, blowing a kiss to Julian and exclaiming with glee, "I'll throw on my riding habit in less than ten minutes, see if I don't! Time me...I shall be true to my word."

His lordship laughed out loud. He had never known a woman who could change her clothes in ten minutes. He called after her, "The wonder of it is you are a speedy little monkey. Go on then, girl, for I do mean to time you."

Mrs. Reigate smiled and watch her daughter bounce off before she turned to ask his lordship, "What news have you of Wellington? Everyone is still crying over our terrible casualties at Waterloo. 'Tis heart-wrenching."

"Indeed, and in such a contrast to the wild frivolity that commanded Brussels only days before the battle." His lordship had spent two weeks in Brussels. He had only just become engaged to Maxine when the Home Office had entrusted him with a secret errand. That accomplished, he had returned to London only days before Wellington met Napoleon at Waterloo. Now, it was all so cuttingly fresh in his mind.

Mrs. Reigate reached out for his hand and gave it a squeeze. "I am sorry for your loss...I know that you and Colonel Reynolds were dear friends..."

"Thank you, yes..." It was all he could say. He and Tom had been at Eton and then at Cambridge together. Tom would have been his best man at his upcoming wedding.

It seemed only a moment or so had passed when Maxine entered the room with a gleeful, "Ta da! Less than ten minutes!"

Fiancé and mother looked at her and broke out laughing. She certainly had changed into a stunning royal blue velvet riding habit, but the matching top hat was on askew, and her jacket was not buttoned correctly. She stole his lordship's heart all over again. She was everything he had ever wanted.

Her mother went about the business of tidying her up before his lordship took her light kid-gloved fingers to his lips and whispered, "Are you mine? Are you really mine?"

She looked up at him provocatively and replied, "Not yet, my lord...not quite yet..."

"Why you naughty minx!" He chuckled and wanted to crush her in his arms but restrained himself, as he was fully aware that her mother's eyebrow was already up.

"Go on then...and remember I would like you back, my darlings, before dark...I don't know what it is, but...something has had me on edge. I suppose it is just that I would like you home when the squire returns."

* * *

She went to the large panoramic window they had installed just the year before and watched them mount their horses. She was being foolish, of course, but she couldn't shake the notion that something felt off. It was as though something watched them from afar; the atmosphere around her daughter didn't feel right. She felt a threat in the air, and although she swept it away, telling herself she was foolish, her better sense knew better. She had reason to trust her instincts...

However, she had nothing concrete to go on. She shook her head; she was just being fanciful. Maxie was with his lordship. A voice in her head, however, whispered that, even so, Maxie was in danger. A dark cloud hovered over her lovely child, and it was sparked by venom. Such a thought shocked her, and she hastily brushed it aside. It was all nonsense. Her mind was just playing tricks on her heart. That was all.

What else could it possibly be? Something cackled in her brain, and that awful whisper lingered in the air, telling her to take her Maxie and run...

About Claudy Conn

Claudy Conn, a native New Yorker, now lives with her husband, Bob; their wolf, Cherokee; and Cherokee's son, Rocky Man, who weighs in presently at 190 pounds.

She loves horses and riding and raised her ten-year-old gelding Southern Pride from the moment he was born. She also loves gardening, swimming, skiing, hiking, and travel—and of course, reading, writing, but no, she says, no arithmetic!

To get her monthly news, her reviews for all her new paranormal romances, and excerpts, come on and visit her at her website: http://www.claudyconn.com

To see pictures of Cherokee—and her shepherd-wolf son!—have a look at her Facebook page:

 http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Claudy-Conn-Paranormal-Romance-Author/135826686471445

Discover this and other titles by Claudy Conn at Smashwords.com:

Risqué Regencies

_Oh, Cherry Ripe_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/135532>

_Myriah Fire_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/109011>

_Rogues, Rakes & Jewels_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/171997>

_Taffeta and Hotspur –_ <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/179452>

_Wildfire Kiss_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/221331>

_Runaway Heart_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/239110>

_Netherby Halls_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/272171>

Legend Series

_Prince Prelude—Legend_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/159840>

_Spellbound—Legend_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/96103>

_Aaibhe—Shee Queen_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/110252>

_Shee Willow—Legend_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/103389>

_Prince in the Mist_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/104045>

_Trapped—Legend_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/112028>

_Free Falling—Legend_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/92368>

_Catch & Hold—Legend_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/124602>

Shadow Series

_ShadowLove—Stalkers_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/63037>

_ShadowHeart—Slayer_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/84350>

_ShadowLife—Hybrid_ – <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/143173>

Time Series

_Through Time-Pursuit_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/210166>

Hungry Moon Series

_Hungry Moon: Quicksivler_ – <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/257284>

Read more about Claudy Conn's books

### Risqué Regencies

Myriah Fire

Myriah Whitney wants thunder and lightning, not a proper courtship and a sensible marriage. Then circumstances lead to an encounter with the mysterious Lord Kit Wimborne—in his bed, with both of them naked, no less!—and the meeting is an explosion of wills that finally sets Myriah on fire...

Oh, Cherry Ripe

Cheryl Elton has been in London for three seasons and refuses to be courted. When her mother takes matters into her own hands, Cherry runs!

Rogues, Rakes & Jewels

What happens when an eligible marquis pretends to be a rake and a gambler, and the woman he is supposed to be courting disguises herself as a masked French card dealer? Find out in this spicy, risqué Regency romance.

Taffeta and Hotspur

Hotspur wants Taffeta—how far will he go to make her his? Taffeta has a secret—will it land her in trouble?

Wildfire Kiss

Lady Babs is a rule-breaker, but has she met her match in Lord Wildfire?

Runaway Heart

Chelsea takes London by storm, but the only man she wants thinks she is no more than a child.

Netherby Halls

Circumstances have forced Sassy to take on a teaching position at Netherby Halls, a school for well-bred orphaned girls, but her developing powers as a white witch tell her something wrong, something evil, lurks there. And what about the dashing marquis who keeps appearing in her life?

### Legend Series

Prince Prelude—Legend

In this stand-alone tale and the backstory for the Legend series, we find ourselves in 1814. Gais and the prince come head to head over a woman. We will see Lamia DuLaine when she first sees Julian Talbot, and we will meet the first Maxie Reigate. Come along and see their world unfold...

Spellbound—Legend

Maxie is a reluctant heroine who travels to Scotland to find and save herself. Julian is a Druid priest in a modern age, and he is full of guilt—Can Maxie turn to him? Or will she turn to Prince Breslyn, a Royal Fae hunk offering her everything?

Aaibhe—Shee Queen (Novelette)

This is a love story but it is fringed with envy, jealousy, and bitterness—oh and more. It is laced with the havoc those devastating emotions can bring. It is about the seeds of hate born of love, and what havoc that hate can wantonly roar over even immortals. This is a story of Aaibhe, Queen of the Seelie Fae, because she deserves that it be told.

Shee Willow—Legend

Half-human, half-Fae Willow Lang has never felt she truly fit in either world, but she's doing her best to ignore her Fae nature. But when she finds herself in the middle of a conflict between the Seelie Fae and the evil Dark Fae, she must embrace her Fae powers in order to protect the Human world.

Prince in the Mist (Novella)

Fact one: By tradition and treaty, Fae do not interfere with the human world—it is against the rules. Fact two: For a Royal Fae prince who suffers from the ennui of immortality, watching and interacting with humans—especially lovely, spirited human females—can be entertaining. Fact three: When entertainment changes to affection, and affection becomes love, rules will be broken.

Trapped—Legend

Magical powers, a castle, and a charming prince sound like the ingredients for a fairy-tale life, but for BJ Mulroy, reality turns out to be a whole lot more complicated. The war between the Seelie and the Unseelie is heating up, BJ has been drawn into the fray... and there's the matter of the seventeenth-century hunk in the painting.

Free Falling—Legend

They call her Z, and she is a handful ready to explode. She has entered the war against Gais and the Dark Fae and means to take him on all by herself. She is driven. Aaibhe, Queen of the Seelie Fae, has other plans, and she sends in Prince Danté to execute and preserve her wishes. When Z and the prince meet, hackles go up on both sides.

Catch & Hold—Legend

Half-human/half-Daoine Fae Radzia MacDaun—Z to her friends—finds herself in the Dark Realm, where she'll have to fight Gaiscioch on his own turf. Danté, Prince of the Tuatha Dé and Z's lover, is not about to let her face this danger alone, however, and the two of them are thrust on a ride that takes them to the edge of life as we know it...

### Shadow Series

ShadowLove—Stalkers

Shawna Rawley has no choice but to run when Pentim Rawley, one of the most evil vampires who has ever lived, discovers she is his daughter. Chad MacFare has an offer for Shawna he thinks she can't afford to refuse: he'll protect her from Pentim and his minions. But Shawna doesn't trust the sexy immortal. She knows he has his own agenda—he wants to kill her father, and he wants to set her up as bait...

ShadowHeart—Slayer

Damon Drummond and Nikki Walker are on opposite sides. He is a potent vampire—she is a skilled and powerful vampire slayer. Problem right there... but when they look at each other, sparks of all kinds fly. Too much stands between them: He will live forever, she will not, and yet...

ShadowLife—Hybrid

WB and his clan have moved in, and section by section Dublin is going dark. When the team needs help, they turn to a shapeshifter, Roxie MacBran.

### Time Series

Through Time-Pursuit

Revenge is the driver. Will love be the equalizer in _Through Time-Pursuit_? Chance LeBlanc and Princess Royce are about to find out in this contemporary fantasy romance, picking up where _Catch & Hold—Legend_ left off.

### Hungry Moon Series

Hungry Moon: Quicksilver

Seeking a haven in which to recover from heartache and betrayal, Ravena MacAllister returns to the Scottish Highlands she loves. But instead of peaceful solitude, Rave discovers a passion she had never dreamt possible and an adventure that will change her life—if she survives. Oh, and she's also going to have to face a truth she has long tried to deny: _she is not exactly human_.

