 
**MANDY**

By Claudy Conn

<http://claudyconn.embarqspace.com/>

**Copyright** © 2013 by Claudy Conn

Edited by: Kathy Riehl

**Cover Artist:** Kendra Egert

All rights reserved

Published in the United States of America

Excerpt of Journey

Copyright © 2014 by Claudy Conn

Excerpt of Lady X

Copyright © 2013 by Claudy Conn

Blurb: Disorderly Lady

Copyright © 2014 by Claudy Conn

CONTENTS

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Excerpt: LadyX

About Claudy
The past is certain, the future obscure.

Thales

**Prologue**

THE EIGHTH DUKE of Margate gazed at the lovely in his bed. The letter from Skip still nagged at him and diverted his attention.

He had been diligent when he saw to the twins' hefty inheritance. All was in order. Skip, who counted himself their devoted friend, had felt that the time had come for him to pay what he called, 'the wild pair' a visit.

His dear friend was quite correct of course. It was his duty to look in on them, even though they were young adults. Yes, but for the moment, he had other matters to attend to.

The duke returned his thoughts to the soft woman in his bed. Perhaps this was the time to make a trip into the wilds of Yorkshire. She was already becoming too clingy. She was already making demands that he had no intention of fulfilling.

He touched the lovely's luscious lips and gently said, "Sally, time to go."

The time for her to leave had come and gone, in fact, an hour ago, but somehow this afternoon had been different, Sally had lingered.

It worried him. He hoped she wasn't getting attached. He had been frank with her from the start. He was a confirmed bachelor who enjoyed his status and she was married. She had no business becoming attached to him. Look at what Lady Caro had just done in the Park Square—burning all of Lord Byron's love letters and humiliating her husband publically. One never knew what a woman might take into her head to do.

She had agreed that their time together was just for a bit of 'fun', yet now, she seemed to want more.

"Oh, no...Brock, my darling," Sally of Benthurst complained with a pout. "'Tis so early in the afternoon still. We have so much of it left to us."

"I have no wish to immerse either of us in scandal. It is getting late and that is precisely what will happen if you don't hurry home."

"Samuel doesn't care what I do," the dark haired woman murmured. "Let me stay just a bit longer."

The duke knew the time to end this was at hand. She was most certainly going beyond what they had agreed upon. He had no wish to humiliate her husband, and although it was true, Sally and Samuel seemed to openly lead different lives. Still, it would not do to be indiscreet.

He moved away from her and ran a hand through his locks. Glancing at his nightstand table, he saw the letter from Skippendon about the twins. He smiled ruefully to himself. Skip wanted him to travel to the wilds of Yorkshire and look in on his wards, because they were in need of direction. What precisely did that mean?

Why should he? They were young adults; in fact, they were only a few years younger than himself. In another couple of months, his guardianship would come to an end. He had breezed through this entire predicament fairly smoothly. Why ruin it all now, with a visit?

The woman in his bed scrambled up and held him from behind, "I love your black hair..." she turned his face sideways to meet hers, "Your blue eyes...and black thick lashes that any woman would die to own."

He removed her fingers from his locks and kissed their tips, "I am sorry, sweetings, but it is time. Up with you now." So saying he swung his legs out of the bed, stood and stretched.

She lay on her back and made a point of staring at his privates, "Wouldn't you like to rub that big hard thing on me...one more time before I leave?" she touched her breasts invitingly.

"Sally, _stop_. I want you safely out of here and on your way home. I may be a rake and a libertine, but I won't go out of my way to make a fool out of man who hasn't wronged me, by allowing anyone to find out about our trysts."

"Stuffy, old fashioned boy," she mumbled. "What do I care for what he or anyone else thinks? Lady Caro doesn't care and she is not ostracized."

He laughed, "Never mind others. I am what I am, and if that is stuffy, so be it. There is no point in being indiscreet. No point in embarrassing your husband." He reached for her hand and firmly pulled her into a sitting position. "I shall have my man call for a hack, so put your clothes on, hang your veil over your face, and put your cloak well over your hair. I shall watch the street for the right moment to usher you out of the house and into the hack without anyone the wiser." He had already turned away from her and pulled on his maroon brocade dressing gown.

He felt her eyes on his back as he heard the rustle of sheets and turned to find her wiggling her shoulders at him, attempting to entice him as she fondled first one breast and then another and whispered, "Touch me...love...touch me some more..."

She was absolutely luscious and provocative, but he suddenly knew he couldn't bear to touch her one more time. He no longer had any desire for her company or her body, and wasn't sure he even liked her.

However, he smiled and gently said, "Sally, you know this has to stop." He saw that she was shocked by the way her mouth dropped. He used that moment to hurry toward his bedroom door, saying just as he closed it at his back, "As I said, get dressed, my dear, and I shall await you downstairs and see you safely into the hack."

He heard her stomp her foot on the Oriental rug behind the door he had just closed and grinned to himself. He was picking himself out of a sticky tangle not one moment too soon! Perhaps, he would just give some serious thought to a trip to Yorkshire to visit with his wards?
**Chapter One**

"COME ON NED, let's wind it!" shouted a bright-eyed lady astride a fine looking gelding. "I do so need this run, don't you?" She knew that she looked like a hoyden as she brushed a wild strand of yellow hair away from her face and saw from the look on her brother's face, that he was about to lecture her both about the manner in which she was dressed and the fact that she refused to ride anyway but astride.

She pressed her horse lightly with the heal of her boot and the well-mannered gelding bounded forward, quite able to give his lady what she wanted.

"Ho there, Mandy!" her brother called with a frown as he caught up to her and indicated for her to slow down.

She eased her horse into a trot and then a walk as she allowed her brother to fall in step with her and sighed. She could see from his drawn brows that he was in what she called Friday-faced. "Whatever is the matter?"

"I'm in no fit mood to take m'fences flying this morn. Want to talk to you," he said shifting in his saddle to level a 'look' at her as he reined in his bay gelding.

She glanced sideways at his angular profile, so much like her own. She arched one fine brow slightly but slowed her horse to accommodate him.

"Time has come to give you a season, sis. You have been kept kicking your heels here in the Dales and it isn't right. Want you to know that I mean to apply to our guardian, the Duke and demand that he attend to the matter. After all, it is his duty to take care of such arrangements."

"I do not think he will bother with us, one bit Ned." She shook her head, "If he hasn't yet, why should he when there is little more than a couple of months left and we will be of age to conduct our own affairs," she answered reasonably. She frowned as she gave the matter some additional thought and added, "You know, we must not blame him entirely for his neglect. He may be just too old to journey here."

"Mandy, isn't that just like you? Always defending everyone. I daresay you would defend the devil himself!" He grimaced at her, "No, he can't be old, as I tell you that I didn't get that impression from m'cronies at school. Heard tell he is something of a rogue, in fact. Goes about stealing and breaking hearts."

"Really?" Mandy was surprised but not shocked. Her friends had always said that stealing hearts was the pastime of the most dashing of the _haute ton_ Corinthians. She considered the matter and objected, "But, I thought because he was Grandpapa's friend he had to be an older man. Your friends can not be right in this. Maybe they misunderstood what they had been told...maybe they didn't hear the name correctly?"

He frowned, but waved this off, "Doesn't matter. Going to apply to him. You _must_ have a season."

She met his dark eyes questioningly, but did not object at this point. Something else troubled him. He hadn't been himself lately and she was worried about it. He was her twin and more often than not, they didn't need many words. They understood one another completely. They had always been close and then more so, when they lost their parents and their beloved grandfather had taken on the job of raising them. Their harmony was deep-rooted, gentle and understanding in nature and quite unassailable. Mandy was very certain he was worried about another matter.

"Something else is festering in that head of yours, Ned," she said on a serious note. "You have not been yourself lately and don't try to fob me off." She gave him a penetrating look and added, "Because I am quite thoroughly aware that matters between you and Celia have done a complete turnabout."

He shot her a sharp look and moved his gloved hand through his waves of uncovered yellow hair. "Yes, you are right. 'Tis Celia. _Certes_ , Mandy, she has me fairly noddled," he groaned on this last pronouncement.

"Ah," smiled his sister. "The wiles of a woman." Mandy chuckled and added, "It can't be all that bad, Neddy?" She had slowed her horse to a walk and looked across at him encouragingly.

"It can't. But it is," he said moaning. "And it is my fault. I thought that... well... I thought that she was an angel. Then I saw she was casting lures elsewhere and I put my notions to rest. Told myself I am too young and came to see that I am, too young to settle down with my first... _infatuation_ , so to speak."

"Well that is good, isn't it?" She arched a look at him, "And Ned...I don't want to be harsh about it, but I am glad you have seen the situation for what it is. I don't mean to speak poorly about our cousin Celia, but I too have noticed that lately she seems intent on having you, whereas last week she did not even know you were alive." Mandy laughed, "Bantling that you are, I didn't think you were up to snuff about it."

Her brother cast her a withering look, "I don't appreciate being called a _bantling._ "

"Come Neddy, you are too sensitive. I do apologize. You evidently are not a bantling for you have seen for yourself what the situation is." He didn't appear to be placated and she added, "Don't be in a miff, Ned."

"I ain't in a miff. What I am, is surprised. Surprised by your lack of faith in my judgment. As though, well as though I'd let any skirt charm me into believing she cares for me if she doesn't. And I have come to see that the fair Celia is a shocking flirt. She doesn't care for me at all."

"Agreed. So what is the problem?"

"She seems to think I have led her on," Ned said totally dejected. "I would never do that. Did I do that? I had no idea I was doing that."

"Ned, you did no such thing. Granted you followed her about like a puppy dog at first, but it was obvious that she wanted someone else. I wish I could have discovered who it was, for I saw her forever sending off notes to him with her maid. No, if she has made a roundabout it is because he has not come up to scratch and she means to marry well...so she has her sights now on you, brother."

"Indeed, as mortifying as that is," Ned said grimacing, "it certainly seems to be true, and I tell you what sis, it does nothing for my fragile ego." He pulled a face at her.

"Fragile ego? Ha! Where is it this fragile ego?" His sister laughed and told him with a wag of her gloved finger, "Next week you shall be in love again." As she then thought of Celia trying to ensnare her brother she said, "She is outrageous. After all, she is five years older than you and while if both your hearts were engaged, that wouldn't matter, it does when it is obvious she is trying to take advantage of your inexperience with women."

"Hold on, what do you know about any experiences I may have had or not had?"

"Well..."

"You may be my twin, but you are also a female. Can't tell you everything."

Mandy laughed, "Nevertheless, in this instance, I do think she is trying to take advantage of you."

"Then you think she wants me for my inheritance?" Ned sighed over the fact.

"Oh my dear, any woman with a decent soul would want you—for who you are and even though you are my brother, I have eyes in my head. You are passably fair."

He snorted.

"But I have never thought Celia possessed much of a soul, decent or otherwise."

"Well, that is coming on a bit strong about her, but..."

His sister cut him off as something occurred to her, "Ned, think what it would be like to have Aunt Agatha as your mother-in-law!"

He choked and she gave over to a fit of the giggles. As they approached a large young farmer who stopped to tip his hat to her as he smiled flirtatiously, Mandy stopped laughing and gave him a warm "Good-morning."

"Aye then, lass, it is now," the farmer lad said.

She beamed and turned to find her brother frowning at her.

"You can't go around the countryside flirting with every man you see," Ned remarked disapprovingly.

She turned a shocked expression, "Now see here, brother. There is a world of difference between flirting and simply being pleasantly polite, and besides, he was ever so good looking!" This said, she burst out laughing.

"You know, even so, you don't want to..."

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, "It isn't fair, that men can go about saying outrageous things and stealing kisses and a woman can not."

"Well, as to that, if a woman is discreet, there is no saying what she can and can't do," Ned grinned broadly. "But, you are my sister, so I don't think I'll discuss such things with you."

Mandy laughed musically and shook her head and her brother said nothing more for a few minutes as they maneuvered through a wide gate and through a grassy field, but it became apparent to Mandy that he had in fact, returned his thoughts to the Celia situation when he remarked, "Aunt Agatha... _mother-in-law?_ Fiend seize such a notion and send it to perdition, sister! I never did one thing to lead Celia into thinking I was ready for marriage."

"Then tell her so and have done before she continues this game of hers." Mandy eyed him and added, her tone full of banter, "I did notice Neddy, that even yesterday she managed to take you off for a long walk and I am not green enough to think that all you two did _was walk_." She put up a hand to stall him. "We both know you have kissed her. So then, that allows her to say you led her on."

"No, it doesn't! If every man who kissed a woman could be forced to the altar, it would be all hell to pay."

"Neddy!" laughed his sister.

"Well, I did kiss her, or rather she kissed me and yes, I kissed her back, but then I set her away and walked her back to the house and only once, Mandy. I swear, only one kiss yesterday because I'm a man yes, but not at all interested in Celia."

Mandy grimaced, "Well, Ned, it's marriage the chit now seems to have in mind, so depend upon it, she will cease on anything to convince Aunt Agatha you led her on, she might even say...you tried already to seduce her. Better end this clearly the next time she tries to get you alone, for you just might be seduced before you realize what has happened."

He frowned across at her and admonished, "Mandy!"

"Faith Ned, think you are the only one up to snuff? Just because I haven't been to London for my season, doesn't mean I don't know the way of things. I have many friends already married and we have had our heads together a time or two." She laughed at his expression.

He made no response to this and they continued along the trail through the pasture, taking a shortcut to Harrowgate Village.

Both were lost in thought and neither paid any heed to the beauty of the landscape. The heather was near its glory and its purple held a tantalizing scent. Harebells fluttered in the summer breeze and invited admiration. However, Mandy was too preoccupied to do more than give it all a slight glance. She was far more disturbed than her bantering had indicated. Her brother, the young baron, Edward Sherborne was headed for trouble, and she did not see any easy way out if he would not immediately take a stand away from their cousin, Celia Brinley. Knowing Ned, he would hope it might all fade away and not seek her out to end it.

The young woman in question was a tall, elegant, fashionable (beyond her means), secretive and quite lovely chit. Their aunt and Celia's stepmother, Agatha Brinley, had brought her to Ned's attention, directly after their grandfather's funeral, a little more than a year ago.

Their aunt Agatha had inherited very little from their grandfather and being a widow of limited means, this had come as a blow. She invited herself to stay on at Sherborne Halls, in order according to her, look after the twins, who at nineteen did not think they needed looking after.

Distraught and grieving over their beloved grandfather's death, they had not put up too much of a fuss at the time.

The time came, however, for Ned to return to Cambridge, but Mandy's plans to be brought out by her maternal aunt had to be canceled as she did not wish to be brought out during the first year after her grandfather's death.

Thus, Mandy had remained at the Halls. At first she didn't mind. She loved the Dales countryside and there had been much at the estate to occupy her time.

As the months progressed, however, Mandy's youth pinched and made her restless. When Ned's term at Cambridge came to an end and he returned to Sherborne and began displaying an interest in Celia, she became concerned. It had in fact, gotten on her nerves.

Celia gave him very little attention when he had been with them during Easter and even as late as two weeks ago after Ned had been home for some weeks, Mandy could not recall Celia in the least interested in him.

Mandy had thought it remarkable actually, as most of her acquaintances and friends considered him a fair Adonis. In addition to that, he was titled, and would soon be extremely wealthy.

The secretive Celia had few prospects with her small dowry and her lonely location in the Dales. As Celia had been unable to afford a true London Season, she had somehow (for she was lovely) been passed over for marriage.

Such things happened when a woman had no dowry or entre into society.

Mandy had noticed the sudden shift in Celia's attentions toward her twin only recently. It was as though her cousin suddenly woke up to the fact that she could do much worse for herself than Lord Edward of Sherborne.

This could get complicated.

* * *

Ned had fallen into deep thought. He and Mandy were approaching their twenty-first birthday. She needed a Season, but their maternal aunt was away and unable to give her one this year. In addition to that, he would soon have to take over his vast inheritance. Was he up to challenge? He hoped so. His grandfather had taught him everything he needed to know.

Celia had become a sudden problem. He had as Mandy said followed her about like a puppy early on. However, he had seen her flirting with so many different gentlemen that he soon realized, she was not who he had fashioned her to be.

However, she was older, seductive and had a way of looking at him lately that made it difficult to resist her company. He wasn't ready to get married. He liked women, all sorts of women and one day he would marry, but he was far too young and had not truly fallen in love, yet.

He was, like his sister, a bit of a romantic. He wanted to be hopelessly 'in love' when he got married.

Mandy was right. He had to avoid the lovely Celia.

How to do it? He had not told Mandy everything. He had not told her that when he kissed her, she had taken his hand and put it to her breast and that for a moment, just a moment, he had actually fondled her. It had taken all his strength to pull away, and then he was able to only because she had asked in a whisper, "Do you love me, Ned?"

His blood had immediately started to freeze and he had jumped away from her and said, " _What?_ "

She had repeated the question, "Do you love me?"

"Love? Well, that is something quite...well, love is another subject," he uttered and felt a fool.

She had gotten up from the stone bench they had been sitting on by the reflective pool and huffed, "Think about that question the next time you try and make love to me."

He had thought about it, and the answer had been, no, I don't love you. And then that same night she had crept into his room in a scanty nightdress.

He had nearly been undone.

Miraculously, a loud clatter down the hall, made them both jump. He ushered Celia to the door and down the hall to her bedroom, while he went the opposite way toward the noise telling Celia he had to investigate.

At first he had thought he had been saved by a miracle, but it turned out to be Mandy. His sister had stood eyeing him oddly as she pointed to an armor shield lying on the floor. "I bumped into it in the dark and boom, it went down," she said.

He had eyed her suspiciously, but thankful all the same, he didn't bother to ask what she had been doing walking at this end of the hall in the middle of the night. Instead, he said, "Ah."

She folded her arms across the cream colored shawl she hugged around her nightclothes and added, "I mean to lock my door tonight _. You_ do the same, Ned...you just never know."

To this cryptic remark he said nothing because he did know. Mandy had surmised what was afoot. She was ever a knowing one. He knew she had saved him from Celia.

He had walked her to her room and she touched his hand, " _You will_ lock your door?" she had asked.

Mandy was right and it was precisely what he did. Now, he thought, he would do well to remember this incident and steer clear of Celia—no matter what.

* * *

As they worked their horses out of the field and back onto the country road just outside their village, Amanda sighed happily, "Lud, but I thought the rain would never leave us. 'Tis good to have the sun smiling, even if it is a bit sultry."

"Eh, oh, I suppose," Ned replied absently.

"Aunt Agatha drove me insane the last few days. I wish she would go home and leave us be at Sherborne, I mean after all, it has been well over a year!"

"Lord yes!" Her brother agreed. "Gadzooks, that woman does chatter on forever. Grandpa could never abide her company for long and she was his daughter." Ned sighed. "At least you had a respite a few months back when she went home to see to her place for a bit. I tell you what, Mandy...think I'll ask her to leave. I am Lord of Sherborne, I can do that. 'Tis my right. That would solve all the problems, wouldn't it? I'm not worried about hurting her feelings, you shouldn't be either. She has never worried about hurting ours."

Mandy gave him a rueful look and a low chuckle, "Indeed, yes. But she will need to be booted out if you want her to leave, as she won't go willingly. I know because I have tried hinting at it often enough and I am loathe to come right out and tell her to go."

"Aye, but I am weary of her, think I'll ask her to leave, give her a week or so to get her things together, after all Mandy, she has a home to go to, it isn't as though we are putting her out in the cold," Ned said on a groan. "Have you noticed the way she walks about the Halls as though she owns the place? I tell you what—one day soon, no doubt as soon as the beaus of London see you, you will get an offer that suits and off you will go _and I will_ be stuck with her." This so upset him that he seethed, "I won't have it, I tell you! I think it best to ask her to leave immediately...while you are about to back me up."

"Yes, Ned, but we don't want to be cruel," Mandy offered on a heavy sigh.

"I'll think of something," he answered.

"Will you?" she laughed.

"Bound to, for I tell you roundly, I have made up my mind on the matter. Sending her off. Will do it your way at first and if she doesn't go, then we'll do _it my way_. How is that?"

Mandy beamed at him, well pleased with this, "You are quite right. As to me getting an offer, I don't look for that happening any time soon." She shook her head, "I think I might just end up an 'old maid', Neddy."

"Zounds girl, you look like me, you know, and I am very handsome," he returned with a bright smile and a tease. "We have to do something though, for it is now or never. You'll be twenty-one, and you are right, people will start thinking of you as a spinster." He winked at her, his eyes alight with his banter.

"Odious thing," she answered with half a smile. The thing was she was truly beginning to feel like an old maid. Her friends were for the most part married and those unmarried were engaged and in her immediate circle. They were forever comparing notes about just what to do with a man in bed.

It was at the very least, shocking although she admitted to herself that she was more than curious. How could she not be? She listened to them always with longing because her body had been telling her for more than a year that it was overdue for a man's attention. Nature was insisting she take her body on its natural course...morality be damned. This thought made her smile.

"What of Sir Owen?" Ned asked with one brow up. "I have been thinking you have an eye in his direction."

"Ned!" she objected. "But, you are right. He is rather attractive...yet...?"

"Well, don't Ned me, I have seen you two together, so where is the rub?"

"I admit he is a charmer, but there is a _but_ in the equation."

"Why, what does that mean? Why do women forever have to over-think everything and then speak in riddles?"

She eyed him archly, "Over-think? Wherever did you get such a notion?"

He grinned sheepishly, "From m'friends. They are forever saying it and on occasion Mandy, I have found it true."

"Well, it isn't true. We women like to get to the heart of the matter and be certain...men skirt over it when it is uncomfortable to deal with. Men don't like to face their emotions, but women do. _That is not_ over-thinking." She sighed and added, "Have you never wondered what a rakehell...and make no doubt about it, Sir Owen is a rakehell, is doing in the Dales of Yorkshire?"

"Don't need to wonder. _Know!_ " her brother returned quite lording it over on her.

She eyed him, "Did I call you odious before? Yes and well, you are. Now tell me at once."

"He is on a repairing lease. Surprised you didn't guess. Thought you were up to snuff."

"Repairing lease? He doesn't look burnt to the socket—from wine or any other questionable pleasures."

"Ha!" Ned declared and then chuckled, "You may be _a few moments_ older than I, but you aren't any more knowing though you try and make yourself out to be. He is hiding out from dun territory. Heard about it whilst I was at Cambridge. Lud! Nearly everyone is these days, what with taxes what they are, and the banks so damn tight-fisted."

"You mean Sir Owen is in debt?" Mandy asked feeling almost stunned. Sir Owen had been an ardent admirer and now it would appear, it was her inheritance that he had been admiring. She was not a fool.

"Indeed. Not a sou to his name. Lost most of it on the gaming tables, they say. He'll come about. His kind usually does."

"Brummell did not," Mandy pointed out.

"No, shame in that, but the Beau made an enemy of Prinny. Unwise." He sighed, "'Tis why I honestly have not encouraged a match between you and Owen. However, if we can't get you a season, he may be the answer."

"Oh-ho!" Mandy's hands nearly went to her hips. "I would rather be a spinster than marry a man who only loved my money."

"Right, then what you need is a London Season and although our aunt Tess is away and can't manage it now. I will arrange something else, see if I don't."

"I did so want a season; at least I did, once upon a time. Now I fear, I shall be looked upon as 'too old'," Mandy sighed wistfully.

"Good Lord then girl, that settles it! I will arrange it all...for you are not too old. Not at all—at least not yet." He saw the worried look on her face and frowned as he added, "With your looks, Mandy...for even if you are m'sister, I must say all m'friends think you are a ravishing beauty. That being said and there is the fact that you have a sizeable dowry, well... it stands to reason you're bound to attract every single bachelor in London."

She smiled at him, "Neddy, you are the best brother any girl could have, but one needs a female sponsor for a season and for admittance to Almack's and for invitations to routs and balls..."

"I shall hire you a chaperone and I'll be there. Fancy going to London."

"Oh, if only it could be contrived."

He pondered this problem, "Told you, mean to apply to our guardian. After all, he is a duke. If anyone can see to it that you are well established, he can."

"Yes, but will he?" Mandy was not so sure. After all, she thought, he had not bothered with them since their grandfather's death fourteen months ago.

"He must. His duty, you know," Ned answered, but his sister heard the doubt in his voice.

"Yes, but remember that note of his that we received just after Grandpapa's funeral. It was filled with all sorts of good intentions and then we never heard from him again," Mandy said. "So odd, don't you think?"

"Yes, I do, because I remember Grandpapa mentioning him when he was ill. Said he was the best of good fellows," Ned agreed.

"Yes, it galled me that he never bothered with us after that very nice letter he initially sent. It doesn't make a lick of sense, does it?"

They had at that juncture arrived at a tavern whose weathered exterior was relieved by brightly filled flower boxes and a huge red sign depicting it as the Cock Pit, to all who looked to enter.

Among the Cock Pit's many charms, it boasted the best sport to be had for miles, which meant it held the very popular cock fights in its back courtyard.

Ned dismounted hurriedly and told his sister, "Well Mandy, old girl, I'm off. If you want m'company home, you'll have to keep yourself occupied for at least two hours or more, for depend upon it; that is how long I shall be."

She grimaced at him, "'Tis a horrid sport."

"Now don't be missish, not like you at all to be missish."

"Bloodthirsty lot, but at least you don't let them fight to the death like they do at that horrid place down the road. I'll give you that."

"Well makes no sense to let your favorite cock be killed, now does it? Always obvious when one is superior...just pull him off," her brother agreed amiably. "Right then, I'm off."

She smiled and called out, "Good luck to you and Skip for I assume he will be meeting you here and do give him a hug for me."

"I'll say hello for you, but I'll be dashed if I hug him for you," he brother grinned over his shoulder.

She laughed and headed her horse to Harrowgate's small but busy center.
**Chapter Two**

DUSK WRAPPED ITS smoky billows over the Dales and though it was a warm summer evening. Celia Brinley hugged her blue shawl tightly about her shoulders. She fidgeted on the cold stone bench as she peered thoughtfully into the blackness of the lily pond that reposed less than a few feet from her dainty boots.

Her reflection looked back at her in the dark water before her gaze and she smiled, much pleased with herself. Her plan would work because it was perfect.

She had them all arriving just in time to witness Ned in a compromising position with her. She would see to it that is what it would look like. Then no one would have any doubts about their relationship and he would have no way out. He would have to marry her and he would, because he was a kind hearted lad.

She had sent Ned a note demanding he meet her here this evening. He would not refuse for she had told him she would make a scene if he did not. He would come, if only to tell her gently that he was not ready to take on a bride. She knew that and that was why she was driven to desperate measures. She meant to undo his pants and climb on before he knew what she was about. She wouldn't scare him off this time by talking of love...only desire.

Even if he resisted her and did not give into her seduction, she would make it look as though he had. That wouldn't be hard. She would ask for a parting kiss and she would make certain it was timed perfectly. She would tear her dress and expose herself...

He was young, so young and innocent. He would not know her game until it was too late. She knew he would never love her, but he was young, and he could be easily seduced.

Her stepmother wanted her to marry Ned because of the position and wealth she would attain. However, though she needed and wanted those things, she had quite another reason for wanting to marry Ned.

Her hand went to her still very flat stomach. Flat now, but in a few months...? It was an unthinkable situation to be in. She had thought she had timed herself before going to his bed. How had she been so wrong?

How could she have been so wrong about him? She really believed he loved her. She had thought he would stand by her and acknowledge that she was worthy to be his bride and the mother of his child.

He was a cad. He told her he didn't want her or the child. He meant to leave her to fend for herself.

He was a wretch—wicked and deceitful. She had loved him, probably still did love him, wantonly so, but when she told him she carried his child...he had told her he would never marry her. Why had she fallen for his earlier lies?

She had been stunned at first, but now, now she had to protect herself and get her revenge. She had the means to destroy the blackguard and she would, but not until she was safely engaged to Ned.

She had forced a meeting with her lover the day before just to watch his expression when she told him what she knew, and what she would do with what she knew.

His eyes had filled with hate and had she not been so exultant at the prospect of getting her measure of blood, she would have probably been hurt. A part of her still wanted him—loved him. She hoped he would change his mind and take her as his bride. She knew she was a fool.

Now, her only hope was that Ned would be naïve enough to be seduced this night, and then believe he was the father of her child.

A sound behind her made her turn and thinking it was Ned, she put on a forced smile.

Surprise arched her brows. "What are _you_ doing here?" she exclaimed.

* * *

Ned had excused himself from the dinner table earlier than was his habit, leaving Mandy to suffer their chatty aunt alone, as Celia had taken dinner in her room.

Soon, Mandy's manners ebbed and she rose, making a vague excuse as she left her Aunt Agatha to linger over her second helping of peaches and cream alone.

Mandy wandered to the front parlor, a room that jutted out onto the front lawns at a right angle. It had a window seat where a collection of plants reposed in green array and she slipped in amongst these and gazed out the diamond panes at the dimly torch lit drive.

She was always telling her brother that she knew much more than he believed and tonight she knew exactly what was going on and was heartsick over it. Ned had gone off to meet Celia, even after all her warnings.

This could have disastrous consequences for Ned. Celia meant to have him one way or another and she rather thought that Ned could be seduced by the woman, in spite of what he had told her. He was young and Celia was beautiful and tempting.

A sound at her back, made her turn and she found Roberts, their butler clearing his throat to announce the arrival of Mr. Alfred Speenham.

This piece of news drew a resigned sigh from her as she folded her hands into one another against her middle. It was easy enough for her to smile in spite of the fact that this particular visitor was not welcome, for Mr. Speenham's figure often inspired a grin.

Her dark eyes looked past Roberts to find a thickset man of average height whose light brown curls gleamed with pomade and whose features seemed blurred in his puffed countenance. He pushed past the butler, saying that he was sure he was if not expected, most welcome.

Mandy nodded at the butler who then withdrew and she was left to stare at Alfred Speenham's long-tailed coat of bright blue over a florid waistcoat adorned with many fobs. His white-topped boots also caught the eye as he had regretfully decided to decorate the white tops with brass buttons.

Alfred was yet another cousin. His father had married into the maternal side of the family, received his one spawn and the same day his son entered the world, his wife, sadly left it. He became a complacent widower.

They lived some miles to the south of Sherborne Halls, and were more often than not forever popping in on them whether invited or not.

Mandy was only sure of one thing when it came to these two family members—she didn't know which she held in greater contempt, father or son.

"Amanda darling, how divinely angelic you do appear framed in all that verdure," Mr. Speenham declared as he smiled broadly and came across to her. "It suits you...most certainly it suits you."

Already bored and wishing she were elsewhere, she scarcely was able to do more than give him a half smile and say, "Do you think so? I wonder how I may contrive to have just such a background when I move about—since it finds favor in your eyes, so it must in everyone's." Mandy returned drily.

He gave her an indulgent smile, "Now, you are jesting with me again, Amanda. Are you never serious, cousin?"

"I am always serious, Alfred," retorted Mandy, her expression unfathomable.

He narrowed his hazel eyes sharply, obviously uncertain of her meaning behind the words. "I know you have a lively mind, 'tis why I have told father, we—you and I, should suit."

"Really, I rather think you and Celia would make a better match of it," Mandy said, trying to look pleasantly serious.

"Oh no, father does not at all approve of Celia, though he did once say that I would stand more of a chance chasing her than you."

"Did he say that? Well then, I should listen to him, if I were you," Mandy said nearly choking on the laugh she swallowed.

He waited for her to be seated and took up a chair opposite her and said casually, "I spotted Ned on my way up the drive."

"Oh?" Mandy returned, interested, "Alone?"

"Yes, why?" he frowned with a curious gleam entering his eye.

"Did you speak with him?" Mandy pursued, ignoring his question.

"Funny thing, that. Thought he saw me too, but couldn't have for he darted right into the thicket, away from the drive. Wouldn't have done that if he had seen me—stands to reason."

Again, Mandy had to choke back a giggle and said solemnly, "No, of course not Alfred," she agreed, fully aware that was exactly what Ned would have done had he noticed Alfred coming up the drive. "So tell me, do, what brings you to Sherborne this evening."

"You," he replied giving her a longing look.

Amanda found his monosyllabic reply exquisitely humorous and burst into laughter. She knew her cousin was not enamored with her. His interest was purely financial. He wanted to join their two estates.

Her cousin glared at her, obviously taking affront at her under appreciation of his gallantry. His chin went up, "You find that funny?"

She dabbed at her eyes with her lace handkerchief and gazed at him, her eyes brimful with mirth, "Oh, do forgive me Alfred, but yes, yes I do."

"I don't exactly perceive why you should," he retorted much peeved.

"Alfred, you know very well that 'tis Celia you always come here looking for... _not me."_

"I don't think you understand the situation," he said on a frown. Celia doesn't have m'heart. She was just, well, for sport," he said callously.

Mandy shot up to her feet. While Celia _was not_ amongst her favorite people, she could not allow such talk in her presence, it was too unkind. "You horrid thing! Why, it would serve you right if I were to repeat that to Aunt Agatha, or to Celia herself!"

He immediately shifted nervously and tried to change the subject, "Where are Celia and Aunt Agatha?"

"I don't know," Mandy said coldly, again worrying about Celia and her brother and fleetingly wondering why Agatha had not joined her in the parlor as was her habit. Surely she was done eating?

"Now Amanda, you needn't get into a huff." He had a moment to think about her earlier threat, "And no sense saying you will go off to Aunt Agatha with what I chance to say. T'would only cause her to get into a pucker. But really, I do wonder where Celia is...I was hoping to catch her here now..."

"What do you mean?" Mandy suddenly became suspicious.

"Had this note from her, rather, m'father had this note from her requesting him to attend her tonight at precisely at seven and of all places, at the lily pond. Makes no sense. M'father was very irritated by it, said he wouldn't go, but asked me to find out what the deuce was toward."

"Ah, so that is why you are here," Mandy arched a brow and gave him a bit of a smirk.

"No, no, you mistake. 'T'isn't yet seven," he retorted hastily. "Hoped I'd catch her here at the house...more comfortable."

"Then you are late," Mandy said. "Shouldn't you go and meet with her?" suggested Mandy wanting to be rid of him. "After all, then you can leave directly afterward and avoid getting caught up by the night and the dark..."

"Now just a moment, Amanda," Alfred sat up straight. "Do you mean to imply that I, Alfred Speenham, might be afraid of the dark?"

"Certainly not. Are you not your father's son?" she answered, knowing her mark, for it was a well established fact that Squire Bevis Speenham had several fears, one being about during the absence of light.

Alfred glared at her suspiciously. "Well, I have no qualms about riding home from Sherborne after dusk."

"You are brave, what with the main pike still in a state of such disrepair," Mandy returned sweetly.

"Well, that is naught. I shall use Abbey Road," he scoffed.

She saw that in spite of his bravado she had managed to do what she set out to do and he was already thinking about his ride home. She sighed and said ominously, "'Tis a good thing that you do not regard the gossip about Bolton Abbey Ruins and all its restless spirits."

"'Tis nothing. Bosh! What do I care for old tales! Ghosts, indeed."

Mandy was not daunted. She had always a naughty sense of fun and rarely reined it in. "Well, as I said, you are quite brave. I for one have not gone near the ruins after dusk, not since Lady Hatfield's recent experience."

"Eh? Lady Hatfield's experience?" He eyed her with growing alarm.

"I think it my duty to warn you since you are determined to take the Abbey Road at such a late hour."

"Yes, yes, and it will be late, no doubt by the time my meeting with Celia is at an end...but do tell me, what has occurred with Lady Hatfield, for she is a steady woman and one must give credence to anything she might say."

Mandy sat down opposite her cousin and leaned onto her bent knees beneath her pretty blue gown. She had always a wild imagination and gave in to it with her story, "It was already dark when Lady Hatfield's coach with her inside passed the abbey ruins when _suddenly_ ..." Mandy shouted the last word and flung out her arms making poor Alfred jump out of his seat and hold a hand to his heart. She bade him sit and returned her voice to a whisper as she continued. "Suddenly, from over the abbey's west wing they heard an unearthly cry. It wailed at them and cried for help. They stared through the darkness and found a wolf poised on the crumbling ledge, howling to his pack."

"A wolf?" cried Alfred. "There are no wolves in the Dales."

"Ah, but who is to say that for sure? But never mind, that in itself was naught. It was the fact that this wolf _glowed._ And faith, if that wasn't enough to make her poor heart beat faster, there...behind it stood the burning form of someone who did not look human. It raised its arms and pointed at the coach and bellowed out a warning to all, growling something about being _death_ ...and should they come nigh he would have them."

" _Death_? Have them? Not human? How can that be?" Alfred asked nervously.

"I am sure, I do not know, and Lady Hatfield asked her man to investigate the next day, but when he did, he fled the ruins, claiming that someone rattling chains, someone not of this earth reached for him..."

"Chains? Rattling...chains?" Alfred stood up.

"Indeed, and as he mounted his horse to flee, he heard the sound of a man in agony as though he were being torn to pieces by wild animals."

"This is dreadful...dreadful..." Alfred began pacing as he obviously envisioned the situation.

" _Precisely so._ Lady Hatfield ordered her servants to stay away from the ruins and she refuses to even drive by it during the day. She warned me not to go near the abbey—day or night."

Alfred gulped as he digested this and finally said, "Pray, Amanda, I have no wish to disturb your peace of mind regarding my safe journey home. _I have decided to stay the_ _night at Sherborne."_

Mandy's mouth dropped for that had not been the end result she had been looking for when she had freely embellished Lady Hatfield's story. _"Stay here_? Oh, no Alfred, you could not wish to do such a thing. Why your father will be expecting you and worry."

"Bosh," said Alfred. "He will assume that I have remained the night at the Halls, and at any rate, you can send a lackey to him with a message."

"Well, Alfred, really!" snapped Mandy, glaring at him. "If you are afraid to ride home in the dark, I certainly shall not put a man out to make the trip back and forth. It is outrageous. We do not treat our servants thusly at the Halls."

"You have an odd set of behavior with regards to your servants." He shook his head, "Ghosts and such creatures wouldn't bother with a lackey, but a Speenham, well, stands to reason the fiendish things would want a crack at _me."_

She was so flabbergasted at this pronouncement and this way of thinking, that she did not immediately have a ready retort.

He rubbed his hands together and said, "Well, if you don't wish to send a lackey, fine, but Amanda darling, do you think you could send for refreshments?"
**Chapter Three**

SIR OWEN TURNDALE wandered carefully down the deer path that dissected the woods surrounding the lily pond. His thoughts were at war with his heart.

He lusted heartily for the fair Celia, and making love to her had been more than satisfying. She was an exotic piece of fluff, but her letter seemed emboldened even considering their intimacy. What did she want?

He had decided to come earlier than she had prescribed, as she had made the mistake of threatening him in her missive.

He couldn't allow her to go forward with her threats. That was clear. He knew in that moment he would do anything to stop her from interfering with his future.

He found her alone, and she had started on him immediately.

She had turned into a shrew right before his eyes. Where had the lovely seductress gone? He certainly hadn't meant to raise his hand...

But, she had infuriated him with her threats. He had to keep her from telling Amanda about their affair. She had laughed at him. She had said she would tell Amanda that he had been making delicious love to her even as he courted Amanda. He couldn't allow that, could he? He hadn't meant to...

Now however, he had to get away unseen.

He pulled at his beaver hat and hurried to his horse, tethered to a tree not far away, but scarcely visible in the deep of the dark woods.

He had enjoyed his single life and the truth was he was not ready to relinquish it, but he had played hard and fast and found himself at _point non plus._ He was left with scarcely a sou to his name and Celia would ruin everything if she turned Amanda against him.

He winced as he saw himself raising that hand to Celia...he had turned into a monster.

Desperation had made him think he must shut her up. It was all he had cared about at that moment. He couldn't allow her to ruin everything he had accomplished with Amanda Sherborne.

The lovely heiress seemed flattered, amused, intrigued and a touch enchanted with his efforts. It was a start, a good start.

He got on his horse and started for the house, but a sound in the forest bordering the drive, made him turn and peer into its thick growth of trees. He saw the figure of a man weaving down a trail.

He waited, frowning, uncertain. He didn't want to be seen coming away from where he had left Celia.

He stood for nearly five minutes before he made up his mind to continue up to the house and visit with Amanda.

He took up his horse's reins and started for the drive when he heard a horrified male shout for help.

What the devil? That was Ned Sherborne's voice. He was almost sure of it—so it had been Ned making his way through the woods?

Had Ned seen him with Celia...or coming away from her? The thought made him blanch and once again he tethered his horse before running toward the short path that would take him toward the sound of Ned's voice.

The day was certainly growing dimmer, but it was a clear summer evening and not yet dark. He saw Ned visibly distressed not more than twenty feet ahead and said, "Ho there, Sherborne...what is toward?" But the lad couldn't speak, only point for he was standing over a very still young woman's body.

It was Celia.

Her lovely form fitted yellow muslin gown was bright against the green grass. Ned's face held a grim look of disbelief, as he seemed to find his voice and stammer, "'Tis Celia... _she has been strangled."_

Sir Owen put the distance between him and the woman on the ground away with long hard strides. He bent and surveyed Celia's still form, before he released a long breath and said grimly, "Indeed...my word...one can see the mark from a pair of strong large hands..." Sir Owen's voice trailed off.

Ned shook his head, "Strong hands? But who...who would do such a horrible thing?" He ran a hand through his uncovered blond hair and nearly sobbed, "Oh my God. _Dead_. But why? Who would even have known she was going to be here? I was late getting to her as I thought she meant the other larger pond, went there first. I don't understand any of this. It doesn't make sense."

Sir Owen did a quick scan of the surroundings and returned his attention to Celia's lifeless form. He frowned and asked Ned, "May I ask, Lord Sherborne, was this statue in its present form when you first arrived on the scene?"

"Statue?" Ned asked absently, his eyes still staring at Celia with disbelief. "No, no, when I saw her lying there...I knocked it over in my haste to get to her."

"Then, Miss Brinley was already...lying there when you first arrived?" Sir Owen asked, still frowning.

"Yes—of course. What kind of a question is that? Do you think I would not have stopped whoever was...?"

"May I ask why you happen to be here?" Sir Owen cut him off.

"If you must know, I had an assignation with Celia for seven this evening. I was late. If I had been on time...I could have saved her."

"What I would like to know is why she asked you here...when I too was sent a missive to meet her."

"Why are you standing here asking insane questions _? Blister it_ , Owen! Someone has strangled Celia!" Ned thundered beside himself with disbelief.

"Indeed, someone has."

* * *

Some hours later, the servants and household were in a state of buzzing commotion. The doctor had been fetched and added yet more distressing information with his announcement that Miss Celia had been murdered and that he agreed with Lord Sherborne, and Sir Owen, that it appeared as though someone had strangled her with their bare hands.

This piece of news delivered quietly, solemnly and as kindly as the doctor could muster, still served to prostrate Celia's stepmother. She was taken away to her room as she cried and carried on and declared that Celia, even in death, brought scandal down upon them.

The doctor hurried off, he said to notify the town magistrate and the assembled party took a moment of quiet as each considered the enormity of the situation. Mandy was heartsick, for while she and her cousin had not been friends, she had always felt a bit sorry for Celia. Besides that, no one deserved to have their life ended in such a way.

Mandy looked at her brother, but he appeared as though he was at a loss for words as he stared out the window.

She turned to Sir Owen and Alfred wishing they would go, and contemplated them and their reaction to Celia's death. It was evident to her that neither man seemed more than mildly distressed over the loss of the young woman and yet, she knew both had been interested in Celia.

Her brother, on the other hand, was very distraught, and she moved to put a comforting arm about his waist.

"We must talk about this," Alfred announced suddenly.

"Oh, Alfred, do stop always trying to sound so dashed portentous. Why must we talk?" Mandy returned on a frown. All she wanted was to be left with her brother. If anything was to be done, it was up to them to do.

"The seriousness of the situation absolutely demands it, Amanda," Alfred puffed up. "I don't think your flippancy is warranted here."

She sighed, "I understand your concerns, but our cousin has died and at the hands of a murderer. It is not for us to handle, is it? I can only imagine what poor Celia felt in her last moments. It is most distressing and I am sure when the doctor notifies the authorities it will be immediately investigated." She sighed heavily, "Even so, I don't think this is the moment to be throwing around unsubstantiated notions, do you? We can not know who did this or why. What we do know is our cousin has been murdered, and my brother and I need a moment to grieve," Mandy said quietly.

"That is because you have not considered..." Sir Owen put in gently. "That Celia was not killed by some random stranger traveling through the area. How could it be? A stranger couldn't possibly have known she would be where she was. And what was the motive? This was done by someone she knew..."

"Indeed, I quite agree," Alfred added, cutting Sir Owen off. Without thinking it out added, "No doubt her lover."

"Alfred!" Mandy objected somewhat shocked. "Why would a lover kill her?"

"Many reasons. Jealousy...or..." Alfred started to list suggestions.

"Oh do shut up," Ned stuck in. "Of all the foolish notions. Jealousy? Jealousy enough to kill her? Rubbish."

"Just a moment, Ned," Sir Owen said softly. "I do think it is likely someone romantically involved with Celia is her murderer, although I don't think it was jealousy that drove him."

"Why? What would drive him then?" Mandy asked frowning up at him.

"It is as yet, unclear," Sir Owen replied. "But I do think it unlikely that some mysterious stranger met her at the lily pond and took her life. Only do but consider. As I have already stated, how would he know she was going to be at that spot? She had little on her person to rob, and..."

Mandy turned on Alfred, cutting Sir Owen off. "Why did she write your father to meet her?"

"What?" Sir Owen answered before Alfred could. "I too received a note requesting me to meet her."

Ned ran a hand through his fair locks, "She sent me a note as well...she wanted me to come by at six thirty. I thought it an odd hour...and then I went to the wrong location as I wasn't sure and thought....but," he ran a hand roughly through his blond locks. "If only I had gone to the right location...if only I had been on time, I could have stopped the villain!"

"Why ask Ned to meet her at six thirty and you and my uncle at seven? It makes no sense." Mandy stuck in. "What did she hope to gain?"

"You were late then, Ned?" Alfred stuck in. "Saw you dash into the woods on my way up to the house."

"Aye," answered Ned. "I was up at the big pond on the other side of the house. Took me a few moments before I realized where she meant. I didn't see you though..."

Alfred ignored this as he turned on Mandy, "You see, I told you he didn't notice me. As though he would hide from me if he had."

"Are you certain it was six thirty, you were supposed to meet her?" Sir Owen asked as he stared hard at Ned.

"Here is the note...look for yourself," Ned said going into his pocket and coming up empty handed. His brows drew together, "Now where did I put it? I know I had it for Skippendon wanted my...and I had it in m'hand when I gave him..."

"Skippendon?" Sir Owen interrupted.

"Yes, you know him? Good friend, Skippy. We met earlier today at the Cock Pit, must have lost it then."

"Ah, yes, I was there myself...and saw you there. Indeed, perhaps you dropped it when you were with the viscount," Sir Owen murmured pulling at his lower lip thoughtfully.

"What does it matter, anyway?" Ned shrugged. "I don't see that it matters."

"It matters, or it will when the authorities arrive tomorrow and ask us all to produce the notes we had from Miss Brinley," Sir Owen replied curtly.

"Devil fly away with such nonsense. It has naught to do with..."

"Indeed," Mandy put in. "I don't see this point of questioning. It brings us no closer to understanding _who_ could have killed our cousin or why."

Ned's face brightened as he produced a crumpled piece of paper and held it up, "Here is the missive she sent asking me to come!" He sounded almost triumphant and Mandy understood. Thus far, the questions both Alfred and Sir Owen were shooting in her brother's direction felt almost accusatory.

She took the crumpled paper from him and perused it, "Here, indeed, she asks Ned to meet her at six thirty, saying it is urgent, nothing more."

Sir Owen put his hand out for the note and Mandy eyed him quizzically but did finally hand it over. Why shouldn't she, she thought. She and her brother had nothing to hide.

He looked at it only a moment and said, "This is in a different hand than the one that I have."

Mandy turned to Ned, "Who brought you this note?"

"Her maid," he said frowning.

Mandy went directly to the bell pull and gave it a hard tug. A moment later, a lackey appeared, and she requested him to ask Celia's ladies' maid to present herself in the library.

While they were waiting Sir Owen said quietly, "I believe the doctor will have more news for us tomorrow. You see, Celia confided in me earlier this week. She told me she was in a bit of a predicament because she was with child but she wouldn't tell me who the father was." He looked at Ned. " _Did you_ know anything about this?"

Ned's eyes opened wide and he turned to his sister and said, "I swear, I have never been with her...not like that..."

"And yet, she hinted to me that Ned here was the father," Sir Owen returned gravely.

Ned turned angry eyes on him, _"Fiend seize you_ , Sir Owen. How dare you accuse me of such a thing! What sort of scoundrel are you making me out to be? Damn, but I have a notion to call you out!"

Mandy stepped between the two before her brother could do something rash. "Stop, Neddy, I don't believe it for a moment. Celica, poor soul, was working one of her schemes, nothing more." She turned on Sir Owen, her cheeks felt as hot as she was sure they must look and she wagged a finger. "I thought you a friend. I realize now, how very wrong I was. A friend would know better...know better in his heart! A friend would not speak of insinuations which are not fact. A friend would not put that friend's brother under suspicion without cold hard facts and you do not have them. You have conjecture and I think it is time for you to take Alfred and go."

He stepped toward her, "Please, Miss Amanda...do not turn away from me. I am only pointing out what will be said on the morrow. The question had to be asked. I never thought it true. I still do not think it true. I had come to understand Celia and her machinations and still the question had to be asked. If she spoke _to me_ , she surely made mention of this to another."

"Indeed," said Alfred. "I believe she hinted the same to me."

Mandy rounded on him. She knew he was lying. Why was he doing so? Was he afraid suspicion might be cast upon himself? Were they trying to set Ned up as their scapegoat? She wouldn't have it. "Not true and do not try and tell me otherwise. I know better, Alfred."

He started to answer her, apparently thought better of it and kept quiet.

Sir Owen said sadly, "By now, I am certain the good doctor has already reported Miss Celia's murder to the local magistrate and I believe it will be left for him to sort out."

"M'father is a magistrate as well. He works with magistrate Connors, he does and he will be very upset," Alfred stuck in worriedly.

A knock sounded and all eyes turned to find the lackey nervously fidgeting from one foot to the other. His eyes were wide with the news as he called out, "Miss Amanda, 'tis Elly, Elly Bonner—Miss Brinley's maid. _She up and left_. Took her things, she did. Gone, _she be gone."_

Mandy's brows went up before she composed herself and thanked her servant, waited for him to leave and turned to the assembled company.

"Why on earth would she take off like that?"

"They will say Ned here paid her to go," Alfred said. "This is going to be a scandal and m'father won't like it. Not one bit."

"Do shut up, Alfred," Mandy turned on him.

"Look here! That is no way to speak to me! It's your brother that has gone and got himself mixed up in the blackest scrape ever I've seen, not I," Alfred retorted, much incensed.

Ned was at his cousin's throat, but Mandy managed to pull him off and away all the while her twin spluttered furiously, "Fiend seize your shriveled soul, you puling noddy," Ned shouted at him as Mandy gripped his arm.

Alfred announced that he would not be spoken to that way and said he was going home to confer with his father. He must have remembered the Bolton Abbey Ruins and turned to Sir Owen to inquire, "Do you come, sir?"

"If only to keep you from distorting the facts to your father," Sir Owen returned, and bowed low as he took Mandy's hand.

She removed her fingers from his and stared coolly at him.

His voice was sincere as he said, "Believe me, your obedient servant in this and all things, my sweet."

She wanted to slap him. How dare he pretend to be a friend while he held her brother in suspicion! "Good night, gentlemen," she responded, dismissing them both.

Brother and sister waited only long enough for them to be gone, before they looked at one another and Mandy said, "Ned, I don't like the insinuations behind everything both Sir Owen and Alfred said."

"Nor do I. What's more, m'girl, this is too smoky by half."

"Indeed, someone has killed Celia and knows enough about us, that they have managed to cast suspicion your way. We need help and there is but one person I know that can offer it. In the morning, we'll ride over to Skippendon," Mandy said grimly.

"Skippy?" Ned brightened. _"Certes_ , Mandy, you've hit upon the very thing. Skippy will see us through this."

Abovestairs, Celia's stepmother paced. This would be a dreadful ordeal ahead, but not as dreadful as the one she would have endured had Celia lived.

The last few months had been a horror for her.

Now Celia was dead. Thank goodness, because with Celia gone, so too were her fears for the future. Now, she had to make certain no one looked her way!
**Chapter Four**

VISCOUNT JOHN SKIPPENDON'S home lay some five miles southwest of the Sherborne estate. The extensive Wharfdale Manor grounds skirted a narrow channel through which the waters of the Wharfe poured its silver rills.

Mandy had always admired the viscount's lovely estate grounds, but this morning, she could see nothing past the worry in her mind. How would she convey her concerns to Skippy? What would he think? What would he do?

Skippendon's holdings, his fame, and his heart were known to be vast and wide open. He was a favorite both in and out of London, though recently, he seemed to prefer his home in the wilds of Yorkshire than his townhouse in London.

He had always been a beloved friend, despite the five years seniority he had on them. For years they had looked upon him as they would have an older brother. He seemed knowledgeable in all things and Ned was certain now, he could straighten out this entire mess. Mandy, however, was not so certain. Murder was quite a different matter than the ins and outs of the social mores of the beau monde.

"Good thing, Skip is in residence, don't know what we would do with this mess if he weren't," Ned said with a heavy sigh.

"Indeed, yes, but I am worried, Ned. I don't like what is happening up at the Halls. Aunt Agatha behaved most oddly this morning and I am worried about Alfred and his father. I don't trust them, either of them, especially in this matter."

"Aye, I quite agree...but, Mandy...I never bedded Celia. You must believe me. I simply can't be the father."

"I do believe you. Ned, you don't have to keep repeating it. I know you were not the father of her child, and I also know that if you were, you would have done the right thing by her in a heartbeat _. I know you, Ned."_

He sighed and kept quiet then, but Mandy knew he was seriously worried.

They had slowed their horses to a walk and Mandy flung the long pale blue scarf that banded her dark blue top hat away from her face. She set down her reins and tied it at a bow at the back of her hat and complained, "I shall remember to think less about fashion and more about practicality the next time I purchase a riding hat."

"Hats? This is no time to be bothering about hats," retorted her brother. They had reached the viscount's stables. Two young grooms had come running to take their horses as they dismounted.

Mandy took to smoothing the tight fitted blue velvet riding jacket over her matching skirt and pinch the white lace of her blouse while he fidgeted about and finally demanded, "Come on, girl. Lud, you look just fine."

She pulled a face but fell hurriedly into step beside him. They were welcome visitors at the Manor and taken immediately down the dark hall of the Tudor styled manor to the open doors of the morning room.

The viscount looked up from the coffee he was sipping in time to hear Mandy squeak.

He set down his cup and turned, bright-eyed and smiling as she exploded into the room. He grinned as he stood to take the full force of her onslaught, his arms held open for her.

He was still in his brocade dressing gown, although, this was worn over his shirt, breeches, and highly polished boots, as Mandy dove into his arms, and wailed his name, "Skippy— _oh Skippy!"_ It was such a release to be able to let down some of her guardedness with someone she completely trusted.

Ned met Skippy's eyes over his sister's head, but she turned in time to catch his expression and objected, "Do not be rolling your eyes like that." She turned back to the viscount, "We are in a devil of a scrape."

Ned plopped down on a nearby leather upholstered chair and put a fruit tart into his mouth.

The viscount set Mandy aside and frowned, "What's this? A scrape? What sort of scrape?" He then turned on Ned and shouted, "Hold there! You scoundrel, that is the last tart."

"Is it?" Ned returned and grinned. "Well then, you have the satisfaction of knowing it has been appreciated."

Skippy shot him a fiendish look, but as Mandy was tugging on his sleeve, he returned his attention to her and groaned. "Mandy my dear, you and your brother's descent into my peaceful morning is both unexpected and an unwanted pleasure, but do tell me, what scrape?"

"Don't be horrid, Skippy. We are in the rockiest of straits," Mandy declared wringing her hands. "Aunt Agatha's stepdaughter, our cousin Celia, was murdered last night."

"Good God!" the viscount returned his brows arching as his eyes widened with his shock. _"Murdered_? What do you mean, murdered? How? Why?" He waved her toward a chair, "Sit and tell me the whole." He waited for her to be seated and took up a hard backed chair and pulled it close to her.

"Someone strangled her," Ned said on a hushed note.

"Upon my word!" the viscount returned.

"Precisely," said Mandy, "But—that is not the whole of it."

"No? What can that mean?" the viscount's hazel eyes narrowed and he put a hand through the mass of light brown locks around his pleasant face.

"She was with child..." Mandy put in and felt the heat rush to her cheeks.

"Blister it! Are you saying someone killed the poor young thing...while she was... _upon my soul_!" Skippy was on the edge of his chair and looking thunderous. "Who would have...why, it is unthinkable. Who could have...?"

" _Me,_ they think it was me," Ned said miserably.

Skippy stood up. "What sort of Banbury story is that?"

"True, both Sir Owen and Alfred were pointing fingers at Ned last evening," Mandy put in.

"Time for you and your brother to take a jaunt to London," Skip said with some grimness.

"No, no, I must find out who did this, or people whether they can prove it or not, will always think it was me. That is the rumor already going about in 'm'own home, Skip. I know, my man told me this morning," Ned said obviously upset. "If we leave now, they are bound to believe that I am guilty." Ned sighed heavily, "I must find out who murdered her."

"Don't see that you should do that. Bound to be trouble if someone means to implicate you. Leave it to the runners," the viscount returned.

"Skippy, Ned had an assignation with Celia last night, he was the one that found her...and Sir Owen came upon them. Earlier, Alfred saw Ned go into the woods and well, it looks awful, you see."

It was then that the viscount made them tell him all from the first moment that Ned became interested in Celia to the very last moment when he found her body.

The butler arrived at that moment to announce the arrival of two gentlemen, Squire Bevis Speenham and Mr. Alfred Speenham.

Ned cursed beneath his breath, but Skippy's eyes had narrowed as he murmured, "Leave them to me, Ned...Mandy. Try not to engage them or get ruffled by them."

No more than the required amenities were exchanged when Squire Bevis nodded at Ned and said, "Edward, it grieves me deeply, for it is a blot against the entire family, but I must ask you to accompany me to Harrowgate to speak with Magistrate Connors."

"Why?" Mandy was on her feet.

"Because he must. His involvement in this situation, this ugly situation requires that he appear for questioning."

Mandy saw red color fill her twin's cheeks, "No! Why should he be questioned? Your son and Sir Owen both came to Sherborne last evening to meet with Celia. Either one of them could have murdered her. It is more likely that one of them committed the crime as it is my brother," Mandy retorted in high form. "How dare you charge my brother as a suspect! Two other men were supposed to meet her at the pond and for all we know, they did..."

"They are not suspect," Her uncle returned coldly.

The viscount stepped forward at this juncture and added his voice, "I must say, sir, that I find your behavior in my home most objectionable. You saunter in here with scarcely a by-your-leave, and think to accost a guest in my house? Depend upon it; you are out there, sir!"

Squire Speenham turned to the viscount. "I do beg your pardon, but this matter requires some immediate attention."

"Not in my house, _it does not."_

The squire turned to his nephew and said grimly, "Edward, I have always thought you and your sister's manners sorely lacking. Your scruples, I imagine are inadequate to the task of your title and great estate. This is what comes of your lax behavior over the years."

"Get out!" the viscount demanded at once. "Out... _now!_ I shall not have my dear, very dear friends insulted in my presence and in my home. You, as their uncle should be their protector...and instead, I find you are their worst enemy, pointing out your notions of what are their faults, instead of holding up their many honorable characteristics. Your suspicions are beneath the position you hold as their uncle. And besides all that, what possible motive could Ned have for killing poor Celia?"

"I am afraid you don't understand the seriousness of the situation. As it happens, Agatha Brinley found a page that was obviously torn from Celia's diary. It was in the paper bin and clearly states that Edward of Sherborne is the father of her unborn child!" the squire snapped.

" _Impossible_!" Ned retorted his face flushed. "We never did more than kiss..."

"And is it all not too convenient?" Mandy stuck in. _"A torn page_? Who would have torn it and left it to be found? Where is the entire diary? Do you mean to insinuate that Ned tore it out of the diary, killed her, and then left it for someone to find? Well that is absurd beyond thought. If he was the killer, why would he leave such a thing behind?"

The squire frowned over this but his son almost squealed with glee, "Celia points a finger at Ned from the..."

Mandy pointed her finger at Alfred's nose, "Don't say it. Don't you dare say it!"

Skippy stepped forward and touched Mandy's shoulder, "Calm yourself, for you are quite right. This so called torn page from a diary does not make sense."

Ned's face was white and Mandy bit her lip as she looked at him. He was in trouble. This was surely going to be very ugly.

"How can she have written such a thing?" Ned murmured and then looked at the squire, "Kindly allow me to see this page."

"In good time, in good time. Now without further delay, you had better come with us."

"Oh no, my man. Ned goes nowhere with you until I have seen this piece of work," Skippy said grimly. His usual even temper had been severely ruffled and he looked ready for a fight.

The paunchy squire pulled out a wrinkled sheet from his coat pocket and slapped it into the viscount's waiting hand but grumbled, "There. Though what right..."

"May I remind you once again, that you are in _my home,_ " returned the viscount with a show of disdain. He cast his eyes over the page, flanked with Ned on one side of him and Mandy on the other. When he raised his eyes back to the squire it was with hard look, "My dear sir, the poor girl writes that she intends to marry Edward and _make_ him the father of her unborn child. She does not say that he _is_ the father."

"Oh come now," blustered Squire Bevis. "'Tis there to be read. She has named him as father."

"No, sir, her exact words are, _'and as I have no choice, I shall tell Edward he is the_ _father of my child and he will do the honorable thing and marry me._ ' Such words are a far cry from saying he is in actuality the father. Apparently, the lady was unable to make the real father commit and schemed to trick young Edward into marriage."

"Yes, but I told you, I never more than kissed her..." Ned said puzzled. "She would know that...would not be able to tell me I was the father...so what was the game?"

"Apparently, when she wrote that, she meant for you to do more than kiss her. Perhaps that is why she wanted to meet you early...to seduce you, allow one of the others, to find you in a compromising position," stuck in the viscount thoughtfully. "Indeed, she did not expect Alfred. She expected the squire and that leaves me to ask..." He turned to Alfred, "You must have met her before you came to the house..."

"No, I decided to visit with Mandy first," Alfred answered blandly.

"But your father's note requested him to meet with her at seven," the viscount returned.

Alfred shrugged, "I went up to the house early...and I didn't care about being a bit late for a meeting with Celia."

The Viscount and Mandy exchanged glances and Mandy said, "Something here is off and I mean to get to the bottom of it. Alfred, I don't believe you. I think you met with Celia first, before you came up to the house."

"Preposterous," Alfred snorted.

"What a black scandal," the squire said. "Simply has never happened in our family before."

Ignoring her uncle, Mandy said, "No, what is preposterous you boor, is that you would rather think Ned a libertine and a murderer than think a woman in trouble was looking for an answer with a fraudulent claim," Mandy turned on him like a tigress and had the satisfaction of seeing him take a step away from her.

"Nevertheless, Edward must come and see what Connors has to say to all of this," the squire said on an unrelenting note.

"You had better go speak with Magistrate Connors then Ned. I will see Mandy home and never fear, we will get out of this absurd tangle," Skippy offered.

"No!" Mandy's hands were on her hips and she was momentarily taken aback as she turned open eyes to Skippy. "You can not mean to allow them to take Ned. Why, you can see...they will not stand up for him."

"I am certain that your uncle will take a different tune in public, after all, he is your uncle..." he stared at the squire. "The best way to avoid the scandal you seem to believe will be the worst your family has ever endured, is to make certain, Ned is cleared," Skippy glared at the squire.

"You call him our uncle, Skip, but here is the thing. He is not by blood, not by heart. He never liked us. Oh Skippy, he is pleased so pleased to see us brought low. Don't you see that?" Mandy was in great distress.

"Mandy, Ned must answer this accusation, if we are to clear his name," the viscount returned gently.

"No! The squire will try and display how good and honorable he is bringing in his own family." She stomped her foot, _"Ha!_ He is neither."

"Don't fret Mandy, we'll do," Ned said patting her back. "I'll go with them and clear it all up. I shall be home for dinner. Have cook truss up one of my favorite dishes, eh?"

Mandy watched them go and rounded on her friend. " _He won't be back_. I know they won't release him. Uncle will see to it. He will paint it black for Ned."

"Be quiet for a moment—let me think," Skip returned as he paced.

"You have to stop them from taking Ned! You have to!"

"Mandy, there was nothing for it. He had to go in to Harrowgate," Skip said walking away from her. "I must do something...and it can't wait, so be seated and calm yourself."

"What? What are you doing?"

"Writing your guardian," Skip said as he sat at his desk.

"That old thing? What can he do?" Mandy frowned.

"Old?" the viscount returned with some surprise. The Duke of Margate was one of his closest cronies and scarcely a year older than himself. He had never thought of him as an _old thing_. "He isn't old and he is a most powerful figure. He could do something—if I can bestir him to it."

"He hasn't bothered with us in this entire year—why should he now?" Mandy chewed her bottom lip nervously.

"Well, he is a bit of a rogue and didn't think he needed to bother with you two as Ned was off to school and you aren't a child, Mandy...and he said your aunt was in residence. But this changes everything. He won't like the scandal either."

"Indeed, he sounds a most selfish creature."

"Aren't we all at bottom," Skippy remarked and waved her off with a flick of his wrist, "Now be quiet, girl and let me get to the letter. I have to word it just so." He sighed, "I am very fond of him and won't dispute that he is a notorious rake, but he wouldn't like anyone falsely accused, especially when he is listed as the guardian."

Now it was Mandy's turn to pace and she did so while the viscount scribbled, sealed his letter and hastily got to his feet and rang for his man, saying, "The duke will come and he will know the way out of this muddle, see if he don't!"

* * *

The duke in question was unaware of the trouble his two 'wards' were presently suffering as he tooled his high stepping black gelding through the London hubbub with deft skill. A cart filled with vegetables had lost a wheel, spilling both owner and contents onto the road which caused havoc with the traffic.

Curses born of frustration were being hurled at the hapless merchant farmer who shook his dirty fists at one and all and did what he could to repair his day.

The duke felt for the man and his situation, but he had suffered a long hot ride from just outside of town and wanted to get his horse to its stables so the animal could be watered, fed and rested.

Seeing the farmer's predicament would take a long time to rectify, he stood about and contemplated his options. The traffic was quite impenetrable. And with a scan of his surroundings he saw he had but one choice left to him.

There was nothing for it and with as much skill as determination, he urged his horse up the curbing, ignored the protests of pedestrians and circumvented the fuss in the street.

A few moments later, having handed his favorite horse to his groom, he walked the short distance from his stables to his fashionable town house at the corner of Berkley Square.

He brushed the dust and dirt from his exquisite riding coat just as his butler opened the door wide. The duke smiled, thinking his man must have been on the look out for him and momentarily wondered at it. He dropped his riding coat, hat and gloves into his man's extended hands and greeted him warmly.

"Hello Graves, hot enough for you?" he remarked as he started forward.

"Indeed yes, Your Grace. I hope you did not find your ride too tiring," answered the elderly retainer. "And I do apologize for coming at you as soon as you have arrived, but there is a note from the Viscount Skippendon marked urgent, that I thought you might wish to have immediately."

"Indeed!" the duke was surprised. Skip was not given to melodrama. He saw the note on silver salver on the wall table and took it up, slapped it across his hand and after thanking his man, retired with the epistle to his library.

It read:

Margate,

To get to the point, you may recall that you are the guardian for the Sherborne twins, poor souls!

As it happens they are also very dear friends of mine, very dear.

_At any rate, better get yourself up here at once, for they managed to embroil themselves in murder and demmit Brock_ , _it don't look good!_

Yours,

Skip

The duke knuckled his eyes before re-reading the letter. _Murder?_ For Skip, this was a most astounding missive. He must have read it wrong, or Skip, must have left something off. _Murder?_

However, this doubt was soon laid to rest as he reviewed the letter for the third time. The wording was most precise and the duke realizing his plans for the immediate future had been abducted by twins he would soon be rid of when they reached their majority swore roundly and quite at length.

The truth was, they had never been any trouble and he had often felt a twinge of guilt for not having paid at least one visit to them. They were no more than six years his junior and he had not enjoyed the notion that he might have to travel to Yorkshire and play 'big brother guardian'. He wondered at his father, leaving this job to him instead of one of his more reliable cronies.

He had not bothered making the trip when he realized that their staid aunt Agatha had taken up residence with them. After all, the boy had gone off to school and the girl was grieving. What could he offer?

_Blister it!_ He was not meant to be a guardian. His father had been appointed that office, but when his father passed, just ten months ago, he left him the title, the Margate wealth and the Sherborne twins. Now look what came of his neglect _! But murder?_ Absurd.

Right then rogue and perhaps libertine, he might be, but only to a point. He could not allow his wards to be thrown to the wolves. If Skip vouched for them and apparently he had, there must be more than what appeared to meet the general 'look' of things.

As Skip was concerned for the two and seemed to know them well, the duke decided that was all that was needed. He must first assume the young lord innocent of such a heinous crime. Why then was he being accused?

It was most certainly his duty to hurry off and see to them. In addition to that, he once again felt that twinge of guilt for having neglected being a guardian to them from a distance. His father would have been disappointed.

This made him frown.

Hell and damnation, this was a bloody nuisance, but he would not allow the situation to proceed without him.

He would leave first thing in the morning and make his way to the Sherborne Estate, and see to those twins, _murder be damned!_

* * *

In the last week, things had gone awry at Sherborne and as Mandy had feared, Ned had not been allowed to return home.

He had been questioned thoroughly by the Harrowgate magistrate, who had decided to hold him in a single cell at Harrowgate Court Hall. Magistrate Connors, as it happened, had been a good friend to the Sherborne's grandfather and told Ned that because he might be accused of some partiality in the case, he needed to call in an impartial judge and hold a hearing. However, what Connors did not immediately perceive was that because he stepped away, people assumed Ned must be guilty.

By the next morning, news of this had spread throughout the countryside. Opinions were divided. The locals refused to believe that the young Edward Sherborne could have murdered his cousin. They were vocal and united in their opinion and ready to go to fisticuffs for Ned's good name.

However, his uncle, the squire, had allowed just enough of his friends to think that he did not support his nephew in this dreadful instance and that made those who had doubts wonder and whisper.

Mandy, on a visit to her brother, heard as she was crossing the avenue on foot, one of her uncle's friends telling another, "Blackguard is what he is. Bedded his cousin and though that made her a tart for I'm a notion she did not say him nay, but she didn't deserve murder. What would make him do such a thing?"

A local passing by stopped and wagged a finger, "Stubble it! Lord Sherborne is a fine young man. I'll not be believing sech things of him and you shouldn't either. What kind of cove are ye spreading such malicious rumors?"

Mandy smiled at the local, glared at her uncle's friend and then hurried the remaining distance across the dusty street, where an older darkly dressed woman, Mandy did not recognize called out, "You're the twin...walking about without even a maid in attendance. The two of you just running wild... _look what comes of it!"_

Mandy stopped and turned to her, "Fie, you don't know us. You don't know anything about us, but I know already a great deal about you. Pretending to be all righteous while you go around spreading filthy gossip. _Shame on you_!"

"Well!" gasped the older woman.

"Indeed, I quite agree. _Well_! Perhaps you may think twice about spreading ugly rumors. Remember, my brother is Lord Sherborne and when he is proven innocent, he and I will remember moments like these."

This made the woman's eyes shift warily but she turned and huffed off. Mandy stood a moment, still in fight mode before she turned and headed toward the courthouse. This was her uncle's evil doing...his and Alfred's.

Her meeting with her brother had left her sick with worry and when she returned to Chauncey who awaited her with the family carriage, she went directly into his big burly arms.

He had been their driver and head stableman a good part of their lives, but he was also a trusted and beloved friend. He had been with them throughout their childhood escapades and had seen them through their share of scrapes over the years. She sniffed and told him, "I fear the worst, Chauncey."

Chauncey set her apart and wagged an aged finger at her, "Lordy, Miss Mandy, jest look at ye carrying on like some wilted bloom. That ain't how I taught ye. Don't ye shame me now."

She laughed uneasily and leaned back against the carriage. "It doesn't auger well for Ned and he becomes more depressed each day he spends in that horrid place. Those that don't know Ned are inclined to think that if his uncle is against him, he must be guilty. And those that do know him, like Sir Owen, are inclined to look sour and keep their opinions to themselves for fear he might be guilty. _Horrid."_

"Never ye mind that now, missy. He'll come through this ken, right and tight, see if he don't." He sighed heavily, "What I been trying to do is put out feelers with m'people, hoping someone can give us a lead as to Elly Bonner's direction. She can't have just up and disappeared."

A livery boy came rushing at them at this juncture and it was obvious he was a friend of Chauncey's. He was out of breath as he said, "I heard tell Mrs. Brinley just come forward she did, Chauncey. Said it was her duty and went to Magistrate Connors direct, she did." He blushed as he saw Mandy's face, but Chauncey pushed him for more.

He eyed Mandy again for a moment, tipped his dark wool cap and said, "Sorry miss. I don't believe it for a minute. But, Mrs. Brinley told Magistrate Connors that Celia told her that Lord Sherborne didn't really love her, but that she had a way to force his hand."

"A whisker if ever I heard one," Chauncey declared but Mandy saw the concern in his eyes.

Mandy felt sick with dread. How could Agatha do such a thing? She had a mind to ask her to leave her home at once. _Traitorous woman!_

"This is bad, Chauncey...you see that, right?" Mandy said more than asked.

"Aye, it ain't good, but what ye need is to find that diary and Elly Bonner. Think about Miss Celia and all the little hidey holes she might have thought would serve."

"What I think, Chauncey, is that we need to proceed with our alternative plan, at once. We have no time to lose," Mandy said sure that she was indeed going to be sick. Ned was having innuendos piled on his head.

"Aye, I don't like it none, for I don't take to floutin' the law—but those twiddlepoops in Harrowgate wot thinks they be the law, leave us no choice in the matter."

"Indeed, we have no choice, but I do dislike putting you in such a way, for Chauncey it is breaking the law and we shall be in a bit of a tight spot for some days to come," Mandy said distressfully.

" _Coo_ , missy. As though sech as that would be more than a brace o'snaps!" returned Chauncey brightly.

Mandy knew he was making light of it to steady her, but this was serious...such awfully serious business!

* * *

Ned fidgeted in his dreary cell. It had been a long hard week. He had been allowed supervised exercise in the rear courtyard, but his meals had been bland and cold at best. He had spent his days reading the books that his sister had brought him and wondering how it was they could legally hold him like this without a hearing. He was not a commoner, but a titled aristocrat. This sort of treatment was unheard of, but with no one of consequence to take charge and make his uncle stand back, he was in an awful bind.

Mandy's visit in the morning had him fairly addled with worry. She was about to do something he was certain would land them in even more trouble. He had tried everything he knew to talk her out of the course of action she intended to take, however, now that the moment was nigh, he was excited and restless, anxious, and amazingly ready. Besides all of that was the fact that not five minutes before he had overheard his uncle in conversation with Magistrate Connors and he now believed his sister was in the right of it and they had no choice but to go ahead with their plan.

He moved to his window overlooking the rear courtyard of the courthouse. He could hear the clip-clop of horses on the cobblestone street and the laughter of farmers and cits as they made their way to a nearby tavern.

He was frustrated in the extreme. How could anyone think that he would harm Celia in any way, let alone, kill her? _Monstrous_! Yet, he stood accused not only of getting her, a young gently born girl with child, but then not only shirking a duty to her and the unborn child, but actually ruthlessly killing her. How could anyone think such a thing of him? He had to find a way to prove himself innocent. He simply had to. Even Skip, though he had visited often enough and assured him that they would find a way, did not seem overly hopeful in the last few days.

However, his sister would come through. All he had to do was wait.

* * *

Mandy knew how worried and unhappy her twin was about this undertaking. She also knew that they didn't have a choice. She had been preparing for it the moment they held him over that first night. She had been sickened to see Skippy with Ned's horse in tow that day and she knew that if her brother wasn't released within a few days, she would have to prepare for the worst.

The time had come. There could be no further delay.

Amanda Sherborne's pretty black and white muslin gown was hiked up to enable her to ride astride. Her golden locks were dressed provocatively upon her head, with a black chip bonnet slanted alluringly over her forehead. Through her golden curls a black silky ribbon had been laced, giving her an enticing, yet innocent appearance.

Chauncey sat his big bay thoroughbred with purpose and Ned's steed led by a long leather line, jogged amiably along behind him.

It was late and dark had descended hours ago. They made their way slowly over the road, allowing their horses to pick their way safely as they entered the village. Only the dim torch lights from the tavern illuminated some of their way as they went around to the rear of the courthouse.

They tethered their horses at the hitching post and went to the back door, as the front doors were always locked at night.

Chauncey opened a single wooden door and pushed it open for Mandy to enter where they knew the guard would be comfortably seated and blocking the aisle.

A dark heavyset yeoman in white shirtsleeves sat behind a desk that barred admittance to the rooms at his back. He had his feet on the desk and appeared to be falling asleep at his post.

Mandy cleared her throat prettily, bringing him to a sense of awareness.

"Eh...eh?" he muttered as he sat up with sudden force and narrowed his eyes. As the night guard, he had never met Mandy before and he demanded, "Who might ye be?"

"I am so very sorry," Mandy drawled, smiled and blinked her lashes. "I do so dislike having to wake you and then bother you as well."

"Bother?" he returned. "How could a pretty little thing like ye bother anyone?"

"I am so glad you feel that way, sir. I am Amanda Sherborne, and I should like to visit my brother, Lord Sherborne," she said making a point of noting Ned's status. "He is a guest here at present."

"That, my dear, is not possible," said the guard.

"But why?" innocent round eyes accompanied the question.

"Rules, ye know there are always rules," he said with a shake of his head.

"Who is to know?" she asked putting a coy finger to his stubbled chin.

"I can't break the rules, though I would like to _for you_ ..." he said grinning foolishly at Mandy.

"Rules are monstrously provoking and I want to see my brother for only a moment. You see, we are twins and are connected in so many ways. I had this awful dream that someone snuck in here and beat him... _beat him badly."_

"No, miss...no, that just hasn't happened," he tried to reassure her.

"If only I could see for myself and not have to think about it any longer," she asked with as pretty a pout as she could muster.

"Ah well, if ye promise not to stay above a minute?" he relented staring into her dark eyes.

"You sweet creature," she said to him breathlessly and turned to Chauncey, but the guard hurriedly put out a hand to halt Chauncey from advancing.

"Ye'll have to wait for yer mistress here," he told Chauncey.

The big man grunted, nodded and watched Amanda follow the yeoman down the long corridor to a small oak door.

As the guard worked the key and started to push open the door, he brought up his head and found a horse pistol pointed directly at him.

Mandy said, "Hush now, _no screaming_. Try and remember that I am a desperate woman and as such, there is no telling just what I might do. You see, I am the sister of an accused murderer, so you certainly must concern yourself about my state of mind, for who knows, maybe it runs in the family— _murder that is_." She smiled sweetly at him and added, "This might just go off because of my distress. _So not a sound_ , sir." She kicked open the door he had unlocked and told him, "Be so kind as to get inside. Such a nice young man...that's right... _inside."_

Ned approached her and took the gun from her hand, and excitedly told his sister, "Let's lock up, Mandy girl, and we'll be off."

They left the guard within the cell and hurriedly made short work as they put distance behind them and got to their horses

Mounted and walking the horses quietly, sedately out of town, Mandy felt the summer night's breeze on her cheeks and laughed.

Her brother grinned and picking up on her spirits, joined in and before long the three fugitives were rollicking with laughter from nerves and from the success of their night's works.

They veered off the road and took the fields crossing to where they knew no one ever traveled—the grounds of the Bolton Abbey Ruins!

There, they settled into one of the rooms underground, a room they had discovered as children. They had supplies enough for a few days, as Mandy and Chauncey between them had made several trips with the many items they would need for their stay.

They depended on the fears and superstitions of the village to continue to keep all travelers away from the abbey grounds. They were even prepared to maintain the legend of ghosts, demons and goblins should anyone stray near.

This would be their base, but Mandy knew, their only hope was to find Elly Bonner and the diary as quickly as they could. That was their only hope.
**Chapter Five**

THE DUKE'S THOUGHTS moved from shock into sudden clarity. He could not believe such nefarious activities had been perpetrated in the wilds of Yorkshire. That his young ward, a Lord of the Realm had been accused of a murder, the viscount assured him, the lad had been incapable of committing struck him as warranting secretive investigation. Just as he had made up his mind to use his position as Duke of Margate to get the boy out of his cell, the viscount further astounded him by telling him that his ward, aided by his sister had broken out of prison.

He was moved to ejaculate, "Bloody hell! Why the devil didn't you use your influence to get him home until his hearing?"

"I tried. Magistrate Connors was adamant that we appear above board before the judge arrived."

"Aboveboard? What absurdity is this? The evidence they have is all hearsay and conjecture. Aboveboard indeed," the duke snapped back at his friend.

"Look, I told Mandy you would come as soon as you got my letter. I tried to make her understand that if anyone could see us out of this mess, you could, but she wouldn't listen to me. I suppose she felt that nothing would move you to come since you had not all year. Then when Agatha stepped forward this morning and nailed poor Ned in his coffin. Well, I suppose she thought she had no choice," Skip explained shaking his head.

"Why did she not take you into her confidence? If I understand you correctly, she came to you first..."

"Indeed, she did. Then I let their uncle take Ned off, sure that as his uncle he would at the very least make certain Ned returned home to await a hearing." His shoulders slumped. "I don't think Mandy trusts my judgment any longer..." He sighed. "You have to understand, Ned is more than a brother to her. He is her twin and they have been close, so very close all their lives." He smiled suddenly and added, "Mandy is, well, indomitable and brave, steady and loyal, as is Ned. She will stand strong against any force out to hurt him." He eyed the duke. "Make no mistake; I believe the real killer has gone to some lengths to cast suspicion on Ned."

"Yes, I agree, but this last escapade of hers," the duke shook his head. "Indomitable and brave she might be, but also, foolhardy. Skip, don't you see—she has behaved worse than a hoyden. She has taken criminal action, will only serve to make him appear guiltier than ever. Why take this course of action, why not wait for me to arrive and help?"

"They had no confidence that you would arrive and I suppose they felt they needed the freedom to search for Elly Bonner and the diary. Mandy is not the sort to allow others to take control when she thinks they are not doing what they should. She was adamant that she could not leave Ned in that cell. I should have made more of a push to get him out." The viscount sighed heavily. "She told me she did not believe the hearing would go well and refused to accept that he might be held over for trial. Even so, I did not think she would break him out." on these last words Skip grinned.

The duke eyed him from a frown, "Why you should smile over the fact, is quite beyond my understanding." He bit and chewed at his bottom lip, "Damnation, we have a situation here."

"The thing is Brock, you have to understand it all to get to the bottom of it," Skip frowned at his friend. "They had no reason to believe that you would, indeed, come here and help them and I do believe whoever killed Celia, means for Ned to hang for this. I agree with Mandy and don't think they had a choice."

"Tell me one thing, Skip. Could Ned have been the father of this Celia's child? And if he was, is he the sort that is capable of killing her to avoid being shackled?" The duke watched Skip's face.

"Never, and when you meet him, you will see that in an instant," Skip returned in strong accents. "There isn't the slightest possibility he is the father of that child. For one thing, he had only been home less than a month. Even if Celia had seduced him in that time, though I doubt it as she had her sights elsewhere when Ned first got home, but even if she had, it wouldn't have been in the first week, so then...what, would she already know in two weeks that she was with child?" Skip shook his head, " _No_ , Ned is not the father. Besides, you had only to see his face when he declared he only kissed her, to know he was telling the truth."

"Do you know who might have been the father?" the duke asked quietly.

"Dash it to hell, I don't know. She had a string of admirers and she was well able to keep them dangling after her. How many had the poor woman bedded in the hopes of attaining a beneficial marriage?" Skip shrugged. "I don't know. I did think her last 'interest' was someone she cared for. She had the look of a young woman in love, but perhaps, I just imagined that. I can't be certain. I would wager a monkey's uncle that it is all in that diary that has gone missing."

"Ah yes, the missing diary."

"Aye, 'tis why Mandy and Ned need to stay hidden...wherever they are. Until we can locate the diary and Elly Bonner, Celia's maid, Ned's chances look dim."

"How are we looking into the matter of the missing maid?"

"I did put out some informal inquires, however, I was waiting to find out what you might suggest," Skip said pointedly.

The duke suddenly grinned, "Were you? Well, before I left London, I too called in some favors owed to me. I have some people looking for this maid of Celia's. We will get to the bottom of this." The duke stopped a moment and eyed his friend, "Another mystery I should like to clear up...why the deuce have you been here in the country so long? Six months without one visit to London. _Why?"_

"Did you miss me?" Skip grinned broadly.

"As a matter of fact, I did," chuckled the duke. "So then, you aren't going to answer me."

"Do you still feel up to going to Sherborne?" Skip asked ignoring his friend's remark.

The duke eyed him, but let the matter drop, "Aye, then the sooner I settle this thing, the sooner I leave Yorkshire...and perhaps take you back to London with me?"

Skip said nothing to this other than, "Your team is exhausted. I'll go have my man bring up my carriage and fresh horses. Shall I accompany you?"

"Not this time. I believe I may have more of an impact on the good Aunt Agatha if I arrive alone and lord it over her a bit. The way things stand, she hasn't been very helpful to her nephew and I should like to see if I can frazzle her a bit."

"I quite agree. Till now, the Speenhams and this aunt Agatha of theirs believed they had free rein to railroad Neddy, but now with you, a duke and your...shall we say, _hauteur,_ we may nab her in a lie and nip them back a bit."

Skip left the duke then to have the carriage brought round and His Grace looked after him curiously. Why was Skip being so secretive about his sojourn at his country home? In all the years he had known him, he had never found him so reticent about himself.

The duke sighed and brushed this aside _. One mystery at a time_.

* * *

Twenty-five minutes later, the duke stood with his hands clasped at the back of his dark blue superfine, his feet apart and his mind deep in thought as he gazed up at a recent portrait of the Sherborne twins.

It had been hung between two large bookcases in the Sherborne library. He could see that their coloring was much the same, but while the young man was strikingly good-looking, the girl beside him was absolutely stunning.

The artist had portrayed her with her golden hair glowing about her shoulders in long thick waves. Her full lips were curved in a smile that caught his interest and made him stare.

What sort of female was this that could look so femininely exquisite and yet charge about the countryside breaking her brother out of prison?

He looked further and found her dark eyes seemed to be laughing. It was as though the artist had captured her thoughts in her eyes and those eyes told him she found life full with amusement and absurdities.

He turned away. He was being fanciful. What was wrong with him?

He glanced back again at her portrait because he couldn't help himself and for a moment, in that moment thought she looked like an angel. This made a smirk curve his lips. No angel does what she had done. She was probably wild to a fault.

He was, however, intrigued by the sort of gently bred young woman, who would resort to such a thing, be a part of it, and then hide out lord only knew where to keep her brother safe.

Mrs. Agatha Brinley, a large, dark haired, overly Amazon sized, with little grace and a distasteful way of speaking began to gush in a rush of words as she entered the room, and made him wish she would be quiet.

He took her measure at once and meant to use it to his advantage when the opportunity arose.

Agatha Brinley was impressed and did not try and hide it as she spoke in a breathless manner, "Your Grace, how utterly delightful. If only you had sent word, I would have prepared a room to receive you. But no matter, one can be made ready in a trice. Our servants need do no more than place a hot brick in one of the guest rooms."

He raised an imperative hand. "Do not concern yourself, madam. I do not stay, for I am promised to the Viscount Skippendon." He made a sudden decision and dove right into the heart of the matter. "You must realize, of course, _why_ I am here?"

"Indeed. Such a dreadful business. My poor lovely Celia... seduced and murdered. I am quite heartsick over the wretched affair," Agatha Brinley said and put a plump hand to her heart.

The duke watched her carefully, looked into her light brown eyes and there he found _fear_. Odd that, he thought. Again, he plunged right in. "I understand that your stepdaughter was with child...at least two months the doctor informed us." He paused for affect, and then continued, "Young Sherborne was at Cambridge during and before that time."

"So he was, but he had been home for a fortnight before then...at Easter," she offered hesitantly.

"Indeed, but only for a few days and again, the timing would not be quite right," the duke returned. "I must wonder why you would insinuate that he could be the father, when it is obvious from these circumstances alone, that _he is not_."

"I...er...well... I did not really pay attention to the timing, only to what my stepdaughter had told me."

He eyed her with open disdain, and wondered what she had to gain by Ned's hanging for the murder of her stepdaughter. Without any other facts he instinctively sided with the Sherborne lad. He said with derision, "Then what you are saying is that your stepdaughter actually named her cousin, young Sherborne as the father? Is that what you are trying to tell me?"

She waved a frenzied hand, "Not in so many words. However, it was what she led me to believe. She said that she had a plan to make him marry her. What else could I think? I often saw that he followed her about...seemed quite taken with her."

"I see. I will tell you what I think her words to you meant. I believe the poor woman felt she needed to scheme to get a husband because the father of her child would not marry her," returned the duke. "Would you not say that makes more sense? My only question here is how could she induce Ned to believe he was the father, unless she meant to keep it a secret for a bit longer...until she could seduce him and then tell him she was with child."

"I...what...I...well, I know nothing of such a plan," Agatha Brinley said in a voice that told the duke, that while she may not have been told this precisely she had surmised as much.

He became infuriated and his voice was low and hard, "Mrs. Brinley, may I know if a proper search has been instituted for your stepdaughter's diary?"

"Of course, but it has not been found," she answered but did not meet his gaze.

"Odd, that a page should be torn out and left to be easily discovered. Who could have done such a thing?"

"Yes...no...I don't know. My maid found the torn page," she answered much flustered.

"Kindly call your maid to us," the duke said quietly.

"Why?"

"I would like to speak with her," the duke returned dryly. "Do you _object_?" His brow was up, his eyes coldly surveyed her.

She went to the bellrope and asked the butler to fetch her maid. She returned to the room and although the duke remained standing, she sat and her face was chalk white.

A frightened young and terribly thin young woman in a dark uniform and a white full apron arrived to bob a curtsey. He smiled kindly at her and said, "What is your name, child?"

"Sophy, Yer Grace," she said scarcely able to meet his eyes.

"Sophy, I have a few questions. Please don't be afraid, and do your best to answer them as truthfully as you may. I shall make certain you do not suffer in any way by speaking with me honestly. Are we clear?"

"Aye, Yer Grace," she bobbed another curtsey.

"How did you happen upon the page torn out of Miss Celia's diary?"

"I didn't happen on it exactly," said the maid. "Always thought it was an odd thing ye see..."

"Explain, Sophy."

"Found it in m'room I did...on m'bed, all crumpled up."

"Before or after Miss Celia's untimely demise," the duke asked gravely, thinking this already a different story than what Agatha Brinley had given him.

Her dark eyes snapped to his face and then to the floor before she said quietly, " _Before,_ yer Grace. I went to find her, I did, so I could give it to her...not knowing how it got to m'room and all, but she wasn't in the house and cook said she saw her go out about six o'clock."

"Elly Bonner was her maid, did you know her well?"

"Jest to pass the time of day, sir. 'Twas me that brought her to Miss Celia's notice when Miss Celia said it wasn't convenient to be sharing a maid with her stepmother. So, aye, I helped Elly get the job...but we weren't confiding close, if ye know what I mean."

"Do you know of any family she might have gone to and if so, where they might be?"

"Once she said she had a beau and how they were planning to marry and live like quality...seeing as he was soon coming into money."

"Did she mention where this suitor of hers resided? Or how he meant to come into money?"

"No, Yer Grace. But I've always had a notion it wasn't pound dealing that was his ken, not from what little I gleaned from her."

"Did you ever see him with her...perhaps waiting for her outside the kitchen or near the grounds of Sherborne Halls?"

"Bless me, no!" She shook her head, "Always thought it was strange the way she would take off in the middle of the night. She did you know, though Miss Celia never suspicioned it. And once when I went into the village, she asked if she could come with me, she did, and then no sooner did we get there, but off she went without so much as a by your leave. I was jest about ready to leave town without her when she shows up, she does. Don't take to driving the cart when the sun be ready to set, so I told her." Sophy tilted her head a bit and suggested, "Thought she ran in to meet him, and must have been planned from their last meeting as never heard tell of no one bringing her any messages and such."

"Thank you, Sophy, you have been most helpful."

She started to leave, cast a hasty glance at her employer, Mrs. Brinley and said on a hushed note, "I feel it m'duty to tell ye, Yer Grace that I don't think Lord Sherborne had anything to do with this. No I don't. It wasn't like that between him and Miss Celia. He liked her all right and made puppy eyes at her, but she never even glanced at him till just recently." She shrugged. "But there ye be, no one listens to someone like me."

" _I do,_ Sophy. I listen to you and take great stock in everything you have told me," the duke assured her and turned hard eyes on Agatha Brinley. He had noticed her expression while her maid had answered his questions and he had taken care to stand between her and the maid so that Sophy would not be intimidated by the woman. Again he wondered once more what the dour Agatha Brinley stood to gain if Ned was convicted of such a heinous crime.

* * *

"Hang me, Mandy. I'm stalled and near to going mad!" Ned stomped as he testily spoke. He dropped down onto his linen covered straw bed and released a long heavy sigh. "We've been here longer than I want to think about, and no closer to finding Elly Bonner than we were when I was being held in the courthouse cell and damn these tallow candles give off a fiendish odor in these closed quarters."

"Confound it, Ned, it isn't as though we have the favor of free movement to aid us," snapped his sister. "Look, we can't go at one another. We are both despondent and irritable, and lud, but these candles do have a vile scent. I never noticed before."

"That is because we had the luxury of wax candles at home," he said with a grimace. "Why did you get tallow...? 'Tis made from animal fat, you know."

"I grabbed whatever I could find without anyone knowing... _that's why_ , you heathen ungrateful brat."

He laughed, "I'll give you ungrateful. Aye, must sound that way, but heathen?" He eyed her archly and sighed sadly, "I don't mean to croak at you, sis...but we are in a tangle and I don't see a way out."

Chauncey lowered his head and entered the arched doorway to their dimly lit underground chamber. He broke into a smile and held out one hand showing two ripe peaches, to the twins—the third he put to his mouth and took a large bite out of.

Ned and Mandy lost no time falling on this treat with relish. When they were nearly done with the fruit Mandy asked, "Chauncey, you astound me all the time. How did you get these?"

"Yer aunt ogles the kitchen, she does, but cook knows just how to manage and put aside a few things for us. Henry keeps it in the stables till I can make my way there. He says to tell ye not to worry about your brood mare, she is doing fine." Chauncey swung the basket he had been holding at his side and laid it down as he sank onto a nearby chair.

The twins fell on the basket.

With excited sounds of glee they discovered bread, cheese, dried meats, and hard boiled eggs.

Mandy turned and eyed Chauncey adoringly. They had run very low on food and had gone hungry for a couple of days. This was a feast and Mandy got up from it, and flung her arms around him. "Dear Chauncey! What would we do without you? But why does aunt ogle the kitchen?"

"She knows the servants are with ye and his young lordship." He shrugged, "No doubt she suspicions they might be aiding ye to stay hidden." He sighed heavily, "Never mind her now. Got a piece of news, don't know what it means, but I hear tell, there is a tallow faced stranger staying at the Cock Pit in the village."

Ned obviously did not feel this was of sufficient import to raise his head from the food he was consuming, but Mandy eyed Chauncey who had taken a seat on one of the bales of hay and proceed to eat his bread and cheese.

"Tallow faced stranger?" she asked and then stuffed part of the hard boiled egg into her mouth. She chewed swallowed, groaned with pleasure and asked, "And why does this matter to us?"

"Cat sticks, for legs, they say this stranger has, but a wisty cove all the same," Chauncey answered. "The fellow claims to be on holiday, but the owner, Bradley of the Cock Pit," he paused and pointed his large square chin at Ned, "You know him, my lord..."

"Aye," answered Ned with a full mouth, "Capital fellow."

"Right, and they say Old Branson down Southgate way has a grey sure to beat Tetley's red."

"Chauncey, this is no time to be discussing cock fights. What about this prune faced man," Mandy urged.

"Right, well Bradley he thinks this Mr. Fowler, that's his name, ye know," he stopped, eyed the bread and took a large bite, chewed, swallowed and proceeded, all the while, Mandy tapped her foot.

He nearly choked as he tried to get enough down and Ned laughed while Mandy glared at both of them before he continued.

"Bradley is convinced Fowler is a Bow Street Runner!"

Mandy jumped to her feet, "Oh no!" she turned to Ned. "It can't be! They have called for the runners to find us!"

Ned and Chauncey exchanged glances and Ned told his sister, "Take a damper. Sit, eat, because no out of town runner is going to find us here."

"Yes, but this is awful, simply awful," Mandy murmured but did in fact take a bite of bread. It was a day old but still delicious. Her stomach growled loudly for more.

"Coo, listen to you, Missy. You who planned this all, pluck to the backbone, talking like a suckling? Tsk tsk," Chauncey got to his feet, "Up now wit both of ye," he said portentously.

"Why, what's afoot?" Ned asked as he shook off the dust, stood and stretched.

"Noted the viscount's coach parked at Sherborne," Chauncey announced. "By now, he must have had enough of yer Aunt Agatha and be on his way back. Thought ye might like to have a word with him..."

"Really?" Ned returned. "Why would he go visit our aunt? And what about his driver—can't have him see us meet with Skip."

"Brooks is a friend of mine. He'll keep mum, he will and happy to do so," Chauncey said firmly. "Now...hurry. It might do some good to find out a bit more from yer viscount about this runner."

"Indeed, but why would Skip be up at the Halls?" Mandy frowned as she started out, bent and picked up her hat and a scarf for her face.

"It queers me to know or answer ye. Thought ye could ask him yerselves." He started off and didn't bother to look back as he heard them scramble about collecting their hooded riding cloaks.

They made their way down the torch lit tunnel under the abbey ruins and there opened the trap door that led them outdoors. Chauncey and Ned hurriedly hid all signs of the trap door with rocks and weeds, before the three made their way to where their horses were hidden in a makeshift stable of sorts. The horses were happily munching on fresh hay and looked up at their approach.

Chauncey helped the twins get saddled and tightened the girth on his own animal as he led them away and then mounted to turn his horse in the opposite direction.

"Don't you come with us?" Mandy called after him.

"No missy. I have a meeting with a friend who has been m'eyes and ears while I'm in hiding wit ye. He has been searching out word about this Bonner woman."

Within a few moments after they parted from Chauncey, the twins were tooling their horses carefully along the edge of the woods to the open road.

Mounted on her gelding with her blonde hair wrapped in a black bandana and a billycock hat angled low over her forehead, she smiled at her brother. She wore his shirt and a hooded cloak, over a pair of breeches (also his from his youth) and riding boots. She was thrilled to be out in the fresh air and on horseback, even if it was in broad daylight. No one would get close enough to discern that she wasn't a lad.

"It is so good to be outdoors, isn't it Neddy?"

"Aye, I'm prime for a bit of sport," he said and chuckled.

"Ned, let's have a bit of fun with Skip," Mandy suggested.

"How?"

"I'd say we look every bit the high toby, don't you think?"

He laughed, "You could say that I do, but you? Naught but a slip of a girl, no size to you." He shrugged. "Besides, what toby worth his salt robs a coach in broad daylight?"

She took out her horse pistol and waved it with a laugh, "A daring one! And I can talk cant with the best of 'em. Now, _stubble it covey_. What I lack in size...I make up with this." She lifted the pistol.

"Game you are. Right then, let's give him a fright."

They passed through the glen to onto Abbey Road and took up strategic positions. They hadn't long to wait as the carriage could be heard lumbering toward them. They pulled up their scarves to their eyes and their hoods over their heads and Mandy was struck by how warm it was even with the sun on its way down.

"He is coming—there just around the bend," Mandy said excitedly.

As the viscount's coach slowly managed the curve in the road and approached the clump of woods that would border it on either side, Mandy could hear the viscount's driver whistling. She turned and motioned to her brother as she urged her horse forward, gun lazy in her hand.

They rode onto the road, blocking it.

The carriage slowed to a complete stop at her brother's command, and Mandy marveled at his deep disguised voice. It nearly made her lose control and laugh, but she managed to restrain herself.

However, suddenly Ned cursed beneath his breath as he saw the driver reach for something. "Our little hoax is getting dangerous," he whispered to his sister before he pointed his empty gun and demanded, "Put your fambles to the sky, m'buck...that's right, that's the way of it." Ned rode up and stood in his stirrups to reach for the gun on the driver's seat. "Aye, I'll just hold this barking iron of yers so no one gets hurt."

Mandy was grinning beneath the scarf and wanted to clap. She looked toward the open window of the coach and thought how odd that the viscount had his hat pulled low over his eyes, and she leaned toward that window and said, "Well now, m'fine covey. Out with ye!"

When no one responded and the door remained closed, she wondered if she had used a deep enough voice and lowered her voice to repeat, _"Out now covey_. Whot? Be ye asleep?" She clucked her tongue and added, "Come then before I must let some of that fine gentry blood of yers."

Ned sat his saddle and grinned to whisper that she did indeed have an excellent command of thieves cant, when something suddenly caught his attention and Mandy saw his fine brows rise up with surprise.

Her own attention went to the carriage door which had finally swung open.

A male descended from its confines and he most certainly _was not_ their friend, the viscount. Who was this? Where was Skip? And oh no, they were in for it now.

What should they do? She glanced hurriedly toward Ned who appeared dumbfounded. No help there. Should they just turn and ride off as fast as they could.

Who was this man in Skips' coach? It didn't make sense. She thought she might get to the bottom of it and in the lowest hardest voice she could muster, she said, "Hold up there, gent... _time to stand and deliver."_

He brought up his face to hers and for a moment, his blue eyes turned her into a mindless container of mush.

He stood less than a couple of feet away and she knew this was the time to flee, but all she could do was stare into those glittering blue eyes of his and lick her lips beneath the dark wool scarf covering them.

He didn't say a word and she gulped because she _couldn't_ say a word.

In addition to his bright eyes was the fact that he was the best looking man she had ever seen in her entire life and something inside of her tingled.

The gentleman in question decided to speak and he told them as his glare encompassed them both, "The last time I leveled the gun I now have under my cloak, the hightoby did not survive the encounter." His voice was low, hard and Mandy had not doubt that what he had just told them was the truth.

He frowned as his gaze met hers and added, "I am loathe to destroy my very fine cloak and you two do not look old enough for the trade you seem engaged in, so then, what to do?"

One of his brows arched upward and as Mandy cleared her throat in an effort to say something, her brother interjected, "Ye be in the right of it. We know better than to have a go at ye, so we'll jest be on our way then."

"Will you?" said the stranger surveying them both, his expression thoughtful. "I don't think so." He centered his attention and the pistol he brought forward on Mandy and she bit her lip as he motioned and said, " _You,_ down and it is not a suggestion."

Ned held his empty gun in a show of force as he pointed it at the gentleman's head, "There be two of us...only one of ye."

" _Yet, I_ still may kill one," said the duke unrelenting. "And I think it will be your young... _brother_ is it? Yes, I definitely will kill him before you get a shot off."

Suddenly the stranger had Mandy's arm. He yanked and ripped the gun right out of her hands, stashed it behind him in the carriage as in one fluid movement he had her off the horse and held her tight against his body.

She gulped again for one arm crossed her shoulders as he had her backed against his chest. His arm slipped as she struggled and landed across her breasts and she bit her bottom lip.

She tried scrambling away from him but it only served to detach the scarf from the lower part of her face.

He had her in tow once more and this time, held her fast around her middle as he pointed a gun at her head.

"Rather lean in years to be riding the road, my cull," the duke remarked lightly as he inspected the toby's face and frowned. His hand moved up her front and found her breasts and she felt him go very still as he dropped his hand and said, " _What the devil?"?_

"Who, who are you?" Mandy breathed losing the toby cant as she managed to move out of his hold.

"By Jupiter, you are a cool one," said the duke, surprised. "Do you always insist on an introduction before you try and relieve your victims of their blunt?" He waved his gun then at Ned, "And you, taking a woman with you on the high road? What sort of highwaymen are you?"

"Stubble it, gent!" Mandy remembered the part she was playing. She turned to her brother as she caught up the reins of her horse. "We do what we must."

Ned called out, "Here..." he threw the driver's gun into the bushes. "Retrieve your barking iron when ye have a mind. We no longer have a fancy to prig ye and will be on our way."

The duke's brows were up and he studied these two intently. He reached out and caught Mandy's wrist as she tried to escape his hold. "Not so fast pretty little toby. I have a few questions."

The sun's rays glinted off the gun and Mandy eyed it and then him. "Would ye hold a gun to a woman then? Is that the sort of gentry ye be?"

"When that woman is a thief, I would," he answered easily.

Trouble, thought Mandy, why did it follow them endlessly? Perhaps it was them, still playing at pranks, forever encouraging trouble to land in their laps?

"If ye have a mind to tap m'claret, then do it and be done, or let us go. We mean ye no harm..." Mandy tried softly.

Suddenly, his viselike grip held her tightly to his hard rock body and she thought he might just break her bones, when just as suddenly he eased his hold.

She kicked backward and hit his shins dead on. However, she discovered the man was made of iron. He didn't budge and he didn't release her.

She struggled, wriggled, flung abuse at her subjugator's head, but it became stunningly apparent to Mandy that she was trapped.

All at once, he spun her around and peered into her eyes and exclaimed, "Fiend seize it!" He tried to still her and yelled, "Stand a moment, you undersized fury."

By this time, Ned was no longer holding his empty gun at the guard, but had jumped off his horse and was charging the stranger.

Ned grabbed one of the stranger's arms and declared, _"Blackguard_. If you have a mind to fight, then meet me, swine, for I am more your size."

For his effort, Ned was powerfully flung off to one side, tripped backward over something at the edge of the road and landed on his rump.

The stranger eased off Mandy and he did it with a cool, slow deliberateness that sent a shiver rushing through her body. Everything about his mien was that of control, and beneath that control was a predator, unwilling to be beaten.

She saw Ned get to his feet and rushed the stranger once more only to get a fist in his face.

Ned had been landed a settler that sent him sprawling backward once more and once more he landed soundly on his rump, but this time, he would have an ugly bruise to show for his efforts.

Mandy shrieked out his name, "Ned!" And then realized what she had done and bit her lip.

The stranger stood open-mouthed for a moment before he grabbed hold of her shoulders and spun her to face him.

She heard his intake of breath and knew all at once that he had surmised who they were. He was a stranger to them, but they were no longer strangers to him.

Ned rubbed his chin and said ruefully, "Don't worry, caught me in the bone-box, but nothing broken. I'm hipped but quite all right."

She glared at the tall muscular stranger and kicked him in the shins once more. He grunted and frowned at her, saying under his breath, "Do that once more and you will, I do promise you, regret it."

He then held her tightly in his grip and turned to tell his driver, "I've got these two devils in hand. You may return to the Manor and advise the viscount that I shall come along much later. Nothing to worry about."

"But...Yer Grace, ye 'aven't a horse..." the driver began to object.

Mandy turned and eyed her brother silently. _Yer Grace?_

"Oh, but I have two to choose from. Now go along. This is not an open discussion," the duke returned.

"Aye then, Yer Grace, as ye wish," said the driver but then added, "M'gun, Yer Grace?"

"I'll see to it later. Off with you now."

The coach rumbled forward although the driver looked disturbed about doing so without his passenger, but his passenger seemed to have a mind of his own.

The duke rounded on the young woman he held captive and glared at the young man rubbing his chin, for a moment as he collected his thoughts.

Mandy shook free of his hold and ran to Ned to touch him and inquire if he was all right and without waiting for an answer turned around and admonished, "You are a wretched, odious brute. We didn't take anything from you and wanted no more than to proceed on our way. We obviously thought you were someone else..."

"Obviously? Not to me, my dear. Now tell me, and you may drop the thieves' cant and speak in the Queen's English, please, why I should allow either of you to proceed on your way?" He gave her a bit of a sneer and shook his head, "No, what you two need is less freedom, not more."

"Why you...you..." Mandy made an attempt to gather all the insults she could and fling them at his head.

'Tch tch, ill mannered creature," the duke stuck in softly. "It would appear that my previous laxness with regards to your supervision has borne very unfortunate fruit."

"I have no notion what the deuce you are talking about," said Mandy but saw that her brother was frowning as he stared at the stranger.

Ned said, "Look here, you have no right to keep us. We haven't taken anything from you. We were just on a lark."

"You took _time_ from me," answered the duke. "You accosted my driver on a public road and aimed a gun at his head, not to mention mine."

"It wasn't loaded," Mandy snapped. Who was this arrogant duke? He _was_ a duke. That much she had concluded when the driver had called him _Yer Grace._

"Ah, but the poor fellow didn't know that, did he? Reckless and thoughtless, and for what? A lark you say?" snapped the duke in a scathing voice.

Mandy bit her lip. He was absolutely right. "You play an odd game, sir. But we are not mice and I assure you, will not scurry about waiting on your intentions," Mandy blustered even though her brother shot her a warning glance.

"What I should like to know is who the devil are you?" Ned asked worriedly.

The duke grinned. "That particular question plagues you, I see. Who were you expecting?"

"Confound it!" Mandy's hands unconsciously went to her hips. "Who else, but the owner of the conveyance you were using—the Viscount Skippendon. And you must realize that. Just a bit of sport between friends. We had no way of knowing you were in Skip's coach." Mandy wagged a finger, "And he, I assure you, would not have minded in the least. Now, if you will stand out of our way, we shall not trouble you further."

He barred her path and their eyes met in battle. Mandy felt a flush of heat skittle through her body. Even in the dim light, something in his eyes made her tremble and the trembling she experienced she knew was not born of fear.

He chuckled and said softly, looking at her as though no one else existed but the two of them and his blue eyes held hers, "You may have noticed, Miss Sherborne, that I dismissed my conveyance."

Mandy frowned and managed to look away from him to her brother. He gave her a rueful glance and shrugged his shoulders. She looked back at the controlling mountain of a man before her and waited.

"You may—both of you relax." He said looking toward her brother. "I am not going to do either of you harm. Indeed, I came to your heathenish dales for the express purpose of extricating you from the difficulties you have managed to plunge yourselves into."

" _Who_ ...who are you?" Mandy gasped and clasped her hands, for in spite of his assurances she was worried.

He inclined his head slightly, "Have you not guessed? I would have credited you with more intelligence." He bowed gracefully. "You have the pleasure of making the acquaintance of your guardian, Brock Haydon, Duke of Margate."

"You lie," Mandy hissed. "Our guardian is a gouty old man."

The duke's brows went up with his surprise at this remark. "I have no idea where you received such an account of me. But I do assure you that I have never suffered from the gout, nor have I been thought old—though I certainly have some six or so years on both of you."

"Hold on a minute," Ned stuck in. "My sister is right on the mark. The duke was a friend of our grandfather's. You aren't old enough to have been one of his intimates!"

"No, I had not that honor, though my father did," replied the duke. "You are speaking of my father, though he certainly was not gouty. He had every intention of coming up here to make your acquaintance. His illness prevented him from doing so, and I lost him last year, not long after you lost your grandfather. He passed your care onto me, and I am afraid I have been neglectful of my duty."

The twins exchanged glances over this and Mandy shrugged, "So you know what has happened—you got Skip's letter?"

He sighed and said, "I did and I am aware that I have done a poor job of looking after your interests. However, I intend to settle this affair as quickly as possible."

Mandy stared at him and said, "We are not children and very capable of..."

He cut her off, first with a rueful laugh and then with a hand in the air, " _My_ first mistake was thinking that. You have proven me wrong. This latest escapade of yours—breaking your brother out of prison, when in fact, you knew Skip had written to me, and that I would come and make things right, shows a lack of maturity beyond what I imagined."

Mandy gasped, "I had no way of knowing you would come. Yes, I knew Skip wrote to you, but the preceding year gave me no hope of your attending to his request for help."

"Again, it displays the fact that you did not think things out. While scandal is not something I enjoy it is more than avoiding that which brings me. Skip tells me young Sherborne is innocent, and as I trust my friend's judgment, I must make a push to do what a guardian must do, and extricate you from this situation."

"Well, you needn't worry on our account, we are managing very well," Mandy returned, her chin well up.

"Again, perhaps I have not made myself clear. I mean to extricate you from a situation of your own making. Had you not broken your brother out of prison, we might have been able to put this behind us quite easily."

"Oh, you are more odious than I at first imagined," Mandy declared in outraged accents. "They had all made up their minds to it that he was guilty. We didn't have a choice."

"No? Very well, let us leave that for now. The point is that I mean to exert myself on your account," he returned blandly. "I have many reasons for doing so. One and very importantly, above all other considerations, I owe it to my father. He would have wanted me to help you out of your mess. Thus, I shall see to it for his sake and for the sake of your grandfather's memory that you are cleared. It is my duty to see to it that this ugly business is dispensed with immediately, and that is what I shall do."

"You owe? Your duty? No doubt, you are only afraid the scandal will come back at you!" Mandy seethed.

"Indeed, I would not like that at all," he said watching her stomp about.

"You are a perfectly selfish and horrid man," Mandy told him with a wag of her finger. "You did not bother with us, or how we went on, regardless of what you owed your father. Now, when it might come back to haunt you, when a scandal might interfere with your standing with the _haute ton,_ you appear and think yourself a wonderful thing!"

The duke eyed her and looked as though he was about to deliver a set down when Ned interrupted them to say, "Look now, Your Grace, Mandy...let us move off the open road."

"My intentions, exactly," said the duke. "Pick up your pistol and my driver's and mount up. Your sister and I shall follow on her horse."

"I shall not ride with you," protested Mandy. "I will ride with my brother."

"No, Miss Sherborne. I have no faith in the pair of you and suspect at the first chance you would ride off without me. I don't intend to allow that to happen, as that would put me to the trouble of searching every inch of land until I found you and let me assure you, I can be tenacious." He eyed her deliberately, "Now unless you intend on walking...?" He was already in the saddle and reaching a hand down to her. "Come, 'tis time you two show me where you have been hiding yourselves."

Ned hoisted himself into his saddle and watched as his sister allowed the duke who had her hand, to use the stirrup and hoist herself up. He situated her in front of him on the saddle which she found extremely uncomfortable. She tried to hitch herself up and straddling finally found a spot that didn't quite hurt.

He had the reins in one hand, and his left arm around her waist.

"You needn't hold me. I know how to sit a horse."

"So you do," he said not easing up on his hold.

"This is not comfortable, you are holding me too tightly," she announced as she tried to find a fit.

"Is it not? I have no complaint," he murmured, not giving her an inch.

"Well, that is because you have the entire saddle under you, and I seem to be straddling poor Chester's neck.

"I imagine we don't have far to go...so buck up, you'll do," he answered.

She grimaced and said nothing.

A few moments later, they approached the abbey ruins and she did a quick scan before they rode toward the makeshift barn.

Dismounting, they hurriedly put the horses away, where Mandy made certain there was water in the trough while Ned and the duke undid the tack and put it away.

The duke said nothing as he followed the twins and Mandy noted to herself that he was taking it all in. They removed the rocks and straw covering the trap door, and descended the wooden steps to a long narrow corridor of stone and earth to the dimly torch lit and vaulted chamber they had been using at the far end of the tunnel.

As they entered, Chauncey awoke with a snort and knuckled his eyes. He stared at the duke and remarked, _"Coo_ ...lud bless ye, loveys. What 'ave ye brought me?"

**Chapter Six**

VISCOUNT SKIPPENDON'S DARK coach rolled easily over the surprisingly smooth main pike. It was a bright summer day and the sun gave its rays lovingly, as it spread its light over the harebells in the adjoining fields.

The purple tints of heather brushed the breeze with a gentle scent as the black carriage passed and invited all passerbys to enjoy the intoxicating fruits of the season. However, the duke was lost in thought.

Refreshed by a night's rest, the viscount's driver seemed to have forgotten the event of the previous day. He made no mention of it to the duke when he opened the door for the duke to climb inside earlier.

Unlike Skip's driver, the duke had not passed a restful evening and did not notice the beauty of the passing landscape. He cared naught for the poetic sweetness of a pleasant summer's day, and in fact, he was in a black mood.

He sat back in Skip's coach, his hat on the seat beside him and made a mess of his hair as his hands could not be stilled. His eyes were shaded by his thick lashes as flitting thoughts hurried about in his head.

His meeting with Chauncey the previous afternoon had gone from close-mouthed suspicion on the groom's part to sudden undisguised and open frankness. He had flung one question after another at the older man and then at Ned. Mandy kept to one side as he threw questions at her brother and groom, and for the most part, this served his purpose. He could see she wasn't ready to confide, trust or speak openly with him.

He now felt he was in possession of all the pertinent details of the Sherborne dilemma. He had then drawn three conclusions. One: he found he liked young Lord Sherborne. Two: he had decided the lad was an innocent, completely innocent of the crime of which he had been accused. Three: the lad's prospects looked grim indeed.

The duke had risen from the hour long session in the damp underground chamber the twins had fashioned for themselves deeply troubled. He saw at once that Chauncey would give his life for the twins, had in fact, done just that, in a manner of speaking. He saw that Mandy's determination to keep her brother safe would always outweigh her good sense, and that he had better take charge of all facets immediately.

He made up his mind to visit their 'so called uncle', the Squire Bevis and his son Alfred. He needed to see for himself just what these two men were at bottom. Skip had already given him enough information to draw a conclusion, but as always, he wanted to question them and see whether or not they actually believed Ned guilty of murdering the Brinley girl.

The duke observed at once that the squire's home was excellently maintained but of modest proportions. Its Tudor walls were acceptably mellowed and displayed an array of trimmed ivy.

His driver reined the big matched bays alongside the front courtyard steps and the duke didn't bother waiting for the driver as he opened the door and jumped nimbly out of the coach.

Smiling to himself, he perched his top hat rakishly on his head of black hair, adjusted his vest and took the steps to the front door which was immediately opened by an elderly retainer.

The duke walked inside a small central hall, handed the weathered fellow his card and said pleasantly, "You may advise the squire that I am here on a matter of utmost urgency and hope he will forgive the suddenness of my visit."

The butler looked stricken and said, "I regret, Your Grace—most assuredly I do—that the squire is away from home."

"And Mr. Speenham...is he also away from home?"

The butler's expression immediately relaxed, obviously pleased to answer in the positive and said, "Mr. Speenham is in the morning room taking breakfast."

"Then if you will be so kind as to take him my card, I shall be pleased to wait here," the duke said, dropping his gloves and top hat on the wall table beside him.

The elderly retainer made a slight bow and hurried off. When he returned, it was with a bow of his head, as he said Mr. Speenham would be pleased to have you join him at the table for breakfast.

The duke was led down a dark corridor to a surprisingly small but bright room and raised a brow to find a young portly man in a gold dressing gown, cutting his ham and stuffing his face.

Alfred Speenham put down his fork, got to his feet and extended a hand, "Your Grace, how can I express my infinite pleasure to have you visit me in my home. It's such an honor." He waved the hand the duke had immediately released toward the table, "Do please, sit and join me. 'Tis a simple fare as I detest the sight of red meat in the morning, but I can have some brought up for you if you like."

"Unnecessary, sir, I have already breakfasted," said the duke determined to be friendly although he had already formed an aversion for the man. He knew it wasn't fair, but it was what it was. He seemed to have a knack of knowing who he would like and who he would not, based solely on one's initial comportment.

The duke took a chair and sat facing his host, while the butler poured him coffee. He thanked the elderly retainer and waited only for the man to leave and close the door behind him before saying, "No doubt, Mr. Speenham, you may have guessed why I am here."

Alfred managed a grave expression. "Ah yes, these weeks have been simply dreadful, both for my father and me. You can have no notion what it is like to have one's name connected with a suspected murderer's. Why, I have been avoiding all activity outside our grounds, in hopes that the talk will subside."

"I sympathize with you," the duke said softly taking the young man's measure. A sudden urge to give Speenham a stiff set down had to be ignored. He was here for information.

"Indeed, today my father is off to Walboro for he received word from a friend that my cousin, Edward was seen in that vicinity," Alfred said on a hushed tone.

"Allow me to ask if your and your father believe Lord Sherborne guilty of the crime of which he has been accused?" the duke asked quietly as he studied Alfred for a reaction.

Alfred's eyes narrowed and the duke realized the young man was not as much a fool as he presented to the world. Speenham was in fact, actually studying him. Well, well, thought the duke, this would prove interesting.

Alfred seemed to choose his words carefully, "Ah, do we, his family, think him guilty? It has been difficult not to. He was seeing Celia clandestinely and then the page from her diary, with Aunt Agatha swearing that Celia meant to force his hand to marry her. Perhaps in a desperate moment...who knows?"

"And what of his sister?" the duke pursued.

"Amanda, poor lovely, my darling Amanda. Why she had nothing to do with it. No, no. However, she is his loyal twin and also inclined to impulsiveness. One must not blame her for helping him to escape...in her mind, I am certain she was rescuing him from a false accusation." He shook his head, "My father put it well, only this morning before he left for Walboro. He said, _mark me Alfred, Amanda is a spirited female, but we'll not allow her to be ruined by these actions."_

"Am I to understand that your father intends to locate his nephew and bring him to stand trial?" at this point the duke found it impossible to disguise his displeasure.

"Indeed, what else can he do, but you needn't worry about Amanda. If she is to be my wife one day, we will not allow this terrible crime to implicate her in any way."

The duke nearly choked. The thought of the spirited Mandy as wife to the pompous ass before him galled. "Your wife?" the duke raised a brow and had a strong urge to land him a settler. "Impossible. I had no word from you asking for her hand, and she _is_ my ward."

"Well, as to that, I haven't yet started to court her, but it is my intention. When we put this matter behind us, if she is still under your guardianship, I will of course, apply to you for her hand," Alfred said without heat. He frowned and continued, "And I never discussed it with Amanda as of course..."

"Never mind," the duke waved it all off. "Back to the meat of the matter. We must remember that there is bound to be mud slung about and as you and your father are related to the Sherborne twins and I am connected as their guardian, diffusing the situation is urgent."

"Precisely, but there seems to be nothing for it," Alfred sighed obviously unconcerned.

The duke tried another approach, "Were you well acquainted with poor Miss Celia?"

"She was exquisite and sophisticated in a most alluring fashion, unlike Amanda who is while stunning, quite a hoyden," Alfred said and sighed.

Again, the duke had the strongest urge to plant a fist in the man's face. He managed to control himself and said only, "Odd."

"What is?"

"That Miss Celia should have set her cap for Lord Sherborne when she had you in the vicinity obviously taken with her," the duke stared hard into Alfred's eyes.

Alfred's vanity appeared fluffed by this and he rose to the occasion, but the duke rather thought he was putting on a show. "Exactly so. However, she was aware that my father would not allow the match. He did not care for Celia or the fact that she was as poor as a church mouse." He shook his head, "He thought her beneath our name, said he would cut me out of his will if I chose any woman he did not approve of." Alfred's shoulders sagged and reached for his cup of coffee.

"And she knew this?"

Alfred nodded, "Aye, she knew."

"I see," the duke said slowly.

"That is why I believe she settled down and decided to have my cousin, Edward. She knew that was her only chance at this point..."

"Really? Tell me, was there any other who had a tendre for Miss Celia?" the duke asked gently, conspiratorially.

Alfred took the bait, "I had heard rumors about the Viscount Skippendon...said he had remained in the country for so long because he had an eye in her direction."

This stunned his lordship as nothing up until that moment had. "Are you certain?" he asked.

Alfred shrugged his shoulders, "I can't be certain, I never saw them together. Could be all a hum."

"I see," said the duke more rattled than he thought this meeting would have left him.

* * *

Mandy awoke with a start and gazed about her dark surroundings. She propped herself up on the straw bed and peered through the bleakness of her chamber and sensed rather than saw that she was alone.

She lit the awful smelling tallow candle in the pewter holder sitting on the cold stone floor and spotted a scribbled note.

She grabbed it up and read,

Mandy,

Don't fret. Went off on a little errand with Chauncey. The duke hasn't brought back your horse yet, so we decided not to wake you. I'll explain everything later.

Don't walk about today...just don't. Chauncey said you are to just stay put.

Ned

Mandy as she often reminded her twin, had entered the world a good four minutes before him. She was his elder, his confidante, his faithful friend. And this was how he had treated her? Odious boy, she was going to box his ears when he got back.

She poured cold water into her basin and shivered as she washed up and got dressed in the shirt and breeches she had been wearing while they were in hiding. She took a few extra moments to brush her long blonde hair and then braided it, and made her way outdoors.

It was a beautiful summer day and she breathed the sweet scents of the heather in deeply and thought of the duke.

He was the most annoying, controlling, arrogant man she had ever known, and yet, the image of him in her mind set her heart to fluttering absurdly.

His presence and he had such presence, sent sparks of excitement rushing through her body. She couldn't look into his blue glittering eyes without suddenly falling apart. Where was the independent young woman when he was near? Gone, that's where. He turned her into a ball of emotions that wrapped her mind with confusion. Just what was wrong with her?

Yes, she was a green girl, she knew this and he was an experienced rogue. What did she know about love-making?

She hadn't had more than a few outrageous kisses in the last few years, but she knew and understood a great deal.

She and her friends had often giggled about the handsome blacksmith in town and her dearest friend Lucy had told her that she had allowed him to take her in the alley behind his shop and kiss and touch her till she swooned. Lucy said she meant to go back in the evening to do more of the same.

Mandy had warned her, pointing out that in the new novel, _Pride and Prejudice_ by Jane Austin, which they had been reading over and over again, since its release in January that a properly raised young woman would never engage in such outrageous behavior.

Lucy had wagged a finger and laughed saying that Lydia, Elizabeth's young sister, in the novel, had run off with Wickham, without the benefit of marriage and while she didn't intend to do that, she did intend to have a little fun, after all. Why not, she had asked Mandy, men do the very same thing without the benefit of marriage—so why should they be deprived the same thrills?

Mandy thought about this and sighed.

Indeed, she had been kissed, in fact, recently by Sir Owen and it had been a pleasant, although not an earth shattering experience like the one Lucy had described the kisses with the blacksmith had been.

She sighed and pushed these meanderings aside. What had that to do with anything?

At the moment, her brother and Chauncey had literally left her in the dark, treating her as though...as though she didn't signify. It was vexing in the extreme.

Well, it wasn't all their fault, because the truth of the matter was that she was without a horse because of the odious duke!

She made her way outside, where she hurried to the woods and took a deer path toward the rivulet.

Life at the moment was a bit trying. Perhaps she had not thought things through when she broke her brother out of prison?

She was hungry, she was blue-deviled and wasn't sure what the future would hold. She found the berry bush she had been seeking and stood eating berries for a time.

From the position of the sun, it was getting close to noon. Would they be back yet? A pleasant breeze swept over her and she opened her leather waistcoat as she climbed over the rocks and took a shortcut to the abbey ruins.

Finally, she found a shady spot, well hidden from immediate view, dropped down and leaned back against the weathered limestone of the ruins.

She must have dosed for a sudden sound made her jump forward as her eyes snapped open.

He stood there blotting out the sun.

As before, she thought of a mountain when she looked up at him. He was so broad in the buckskin riding jacket he wore. His breeches hugged his lower body and his thighs were muscular and for a moment she allowed her eyes to travel down and then back up. She swallowed as her gaze went back to his face. His hair was uncovered and black, so black as it blew around his well shaped head.

She sucked in air because she was sure if she didn't, she wouldn't be able to breathe for there was nothing left in her lungs.

She had to sit up, she had to speak. She had to pull herself together.

Didn't she?

He stepped toward her and she noticed he held the reins of two horses, one of them her own. She immediately jumped to her feet and squeaked out, _"Oh_ ...we can put them in the barn." Why did he have such an affect on her? Last night, he made her want to pull out her hair with frustration. He was arrogant and dominant and didn't let on what he was thinking and...

"Good morning...or rather, afternoon to you _as well,_ Miss Sherborne," he said with an inclination of his head.

"Yes, yes...I am sorry, I don't know where my manners have fled. I suppose living in the wild and all," she managed to give him a fleeting smile as she took her horse from him and led him forward without looking back to see if the duke followed.

They spanned the short distance to the dilapidated stone building where they had been housing their horses. The duke looked inside and asked, "Where are Ned and Chauncey?"

"Not sure, they were gone when I woke up. They left me sleeping...as..." she glared at him. "I didn't have a horse."

He grinned and then sighed, "How long did you think you could remain in hiding here?"

"Long enough," she said not meeting his eyes. She had, in fact, believed they would find the diary and Elly Bonner in a short span of time and the nightmare would be over. Evidently, this thought—erroneous.

The duke gave her speculative look, and loosened his horse's girth while she undid her horse's bridle and removed it to hang it on a nail in the wall before undoing the girth of her saddle.

All the while, she found it difficult to think. He walked around as though he had the answers to everything and that no one knew anything save himself. _He was insufferable_.

He turned just as she began lifting her saddle off her horse and hurried to take it from her. She resisted, telling him, "Oh, I am quite used to doing this for myself."

"I am sure and yet, _not_ when _I_ am here to do it for you," he answered firmly.

She maintained her hold on the saddle. A streak of stubbornness suddenly took control of her senses and she answered coldly, "And still _, I can do it_ , thank you."

"And as a gentleman, I am afraid, that even though you are dressed like a lad and have probably forgotten that you are a lady, _still I am a gentleman_." So saying, he pulled on her saddle.

Incensed with him and what he had said to her, she pulled back hard, tripped over the uneven flooring behind her and with a short cry flung her hands up as she fell backward and landed on her rump.

What was worse than the embarrassment and pain to her backside was the fact that he looked as though he was about to burst out laughing. There was, in fact, a chuckle to the sound of his next words. "Miss Sherborne...are you all right?"

Feeling as though someone had lit a flame to her cheeks, she started to scramble to her feet and found his arm around her waist steadying and helping her to stand.

She pushed at him and said pugnaciously, "I am fine." Was she fine? He was so close, his lips so close. Would he kiss her?

"Are you?"

Oh, but she could see the laughter in his eyes and wanted to slap him. She did raise her finger and tell him, "I will tell you this, Your Grace, _yours_ are the manners that are lacking, not mine. Yes, I am dressed like a boy to avoid detection. Yes, my toiletries here are meager, but it is because we had no choice but to flee. We had no help at the time and no one to turn to. You come here all curt and majestic and above us all, thinking yours is the only way, but where were you this past year? My brother and Chauncey may be convinced that you will see us through this ugly business, _but I,_ Your Grace, am not convinced."

"Are you not? No, you are impulsive, childish, and foolish beyond imagination. However, I will allow that you are distressed because of your present circumstances and forgive your rudeness."

She stomped her foot at him, "Rudeness? Ooooh."

"We seem to have gotten off to a rough beginning. Know this my dear, I mean to help Ned and none of the rest matters as long as I do _just that."_

She eyed him for a long moment and relented, "Well, I...I...I suppose I must forgive you the rest then, if you mean to help Ned."

" _Forgive me_ , Miss Sherborne? Forgive...?" he seemed momentarily speechless.

She cut him off, _"_ I shall allow you to call me Mandy. As you are my guardian, it is only fitting you should call me by my name." She was all too conscious of the way she must look in her brother's clothing and was suddenly flustered by it. Why she should care, she couldn't tell, but suddenly she did.

"But my dear, your name is Amanda and it is a lovely name. Shall I not call you Amanda?" He had stepped closer to her.

What was he doing? Why was he coming so close? Why was she shaking? Perhaps, not quite shaking, but she felt her body tremble as shivers darted through her body. His eyes, _faith, but his eyes were so blue._ And all at once, she knew—she wanted him to kiss her, hoped absurdly that he would kiss her. _Was she mad_? He was annoying and arrogant and all she wanted was for him to take her into his arms and kiss her.

He evidently did not have any intention of doing so and she stood breathless as he continued to talk in the low husky seductive voice of his. "Shall I call you Amanda, then?" he asked again.

"No, I prefer Mandy," she managed to say and then waved her hand as she continued to explain, hoping to banish her wayward thoughts. "You see, Amanda was what my father called me when he was angry and he was angry with me a great deal of the time. My mother always called me Mandy, as did my grandpapa, and of course, Mandy is what Ned calls me..." she chuckled and added, "Among other things, but you see, Mandy is who I am."

He eyed her and a brief smile lit up his face. It occurred to her that a woman could get lost in his smile— _she could get lost in his smile_.

He spoke softly when he finally said, "Mandy it is, then."

She needed to say something, anything for suddenly she couldn't think. Was that her feet that took her closer to him? That couldn't be her, moving toward him, could it? She felt a fool because she couldn't stop herself as she looked up at his face.

Her hand fluttered as his bright blues stared down at her and she saw something there, something that made her sure he was going to kiss her.

She had to say something. She simply couldn't just stand there like an idiot. Her mind was frazzled with flitting thoughts as she said, "I...I interrupted you earlier. You were saying, something..."

"Was I?" he waved it off as his gaze drifted over her mouth, down her neck, back to her mouth and then met her eyes intently. "I only want you to know, that I will see you and your brother though this tangle—I am determined."

His lingering survey of her features had left her with her toes literally curling in her boots. How she wished her hair was brushed long around her shoulders, and that instead of the boy's clothing covering her, she had something fashionable, feminine and alluring covering her body. She turned partially away from him, unable to meet his penetrating eyes and said, "Matters do look grave, Your Grace."

"Even so, we shall get out of this." He sighed heavily and then said encouragingly, "As I have already told you, I believe your twin innocent of the charges. What I think is that I have a great deal to do, if I am to prove it so. He was not the father of Miss Celia's unborn child, of that I am certain. He never meant her any harm, and could never have injured her let alone murdered her in cold blood. That could only have been done by someone with little heart and no conscience, and your brother has both." He sighed and pulled a face before he continued, "However, I visited with your deplorable cousin Alfred earlier this morning and it appears as though he and his father mean to run you to ground if only to show themselves as above board in this matter. And if you are thinking of marrying that oaf _, I, as your guardian_ , strongly advise against it."

"Marry Alfred?" Mandy suddenly was side-tracked from all else. "Such a nightmare never occurred to me."

He was now so near, she could feel his breath as he towered over her, bent his head a bit and touched her cheek. "Tell me lovely Mandy, how is it no one has applied to me for your hand in this past year?"

His nearness was almost overwhelming. This is what it meant when Lucy had told her that her blacksmith left her unable to breathe. This is what 'desire' felt like. Lucy had tried to describe it, but nothing came close to what she was experiencing.

She felt the heat swim through her blood and burn her cheeks. She felt the steam cloud the vision before her eyes, "Well as to that, other than a few school girl crushes I had while growing up, and I have never felt a decided partiality for anyone." She frowned and because she was incurably open, added, "Although more recently Sir Owen well, then this happened and..."

"I see. Sir Owen, you say?" returned the duke zeroing in on one thing. "Are you saying the rogue has been courting you?"

"I wouldn't call it courting...as he has made no declaration to my brother even, but he has shown...an interest." Her eyes opened wide. "Do you know him?"

"I know of him, and have seen him in passing often in London," he answered abruptly and then remarked, "You have never had a London season? How is that?"

"Well, when I came of age...grandpapa fell ill and I couldn't leave him—wouldn't ever think of doing so. Then the following year, we lost him and I was in mourning and then, well time simply slipped away."

"I should have seen to it," he said frowning. "It seems I have been thoughtless."

She was startled to hear such a declaration from him. She hadn't thought that he was capable of such sensibility. By this time, he was so very close to her that she could swear his hard rock self was an inch away.

Step away, she told her traitorous body, but she didn't want to. Her heart had taken over and she could hear it arguing with her mind. It was time she was kissed by someone who knew what he was doing. It was time she wanted to be kissed by someone she found this attractive, it was time, it was time, _it was time._

She was all too aware of her heart beating faster than she had ever thought possible. Could he hear her heart pounding as blood rushed to her brain? Could he hear it? She fancied that she could hear it. It was as though her heart had two large fists and was slamming them against the inside of her chest, telling her what it needed. _Faith_ , she had never felt this way before and this was trouble, so much trouble.

He had the look of a rogue, a rogue who had a bevy of women. No doubt he did not find her desirable. She was, in fact, quite a mess with her hair in disarray and running about like nothing more than a dirty urchin.

She was suddenly ashamed and even so, she was unable to turn away from him.

She stared into those deep blue eyes of his and found herself getting onto her tippy toes. What was she doing? What? But she knew, he was going to kiss her, and she...she moved toward that kiss.

* * *

He had seen her lying back against the mossy boulders, her eyes closed, her dark knit cap cast aside near her slender hip. Her blonde hair with its wispy curls around her forehead and dainty ears was fetching and... _egad!_ She was stunning.

Her leather waistcoat was wide open and her full breasts pressed against a shirt that was obviously her brothers. Her nipples poked at the thin material as though begging for attention—so very pert and inviting. He felt his shaft get uncomfortably large and hard and reminded himself that he was her guardian.

He cleared his throat and the sound got her attention.

She opened those big brown eyes and looked up at him and suddenly he was bereft of speech. When had that ever happened to him? Speechless? _Never._

Last night, so much had happened, so much had been thrown at him. He had never had to deal with such a muddle and this wasn't going to be easy. Explanations had been thrown at him, but none of them had served to help.

She scrambled to her feet and there in the sunlight, her lively eyes bright with concern and her body in boys clothing so much more alluring than he had ever thought possible, this imp of a woman stood grabbing all his attention to the exclusion of all else.

He felt the frown bend his brows as he looked her over. Even in dirty breeches, even with dusty boots and a smudge across her cheek, the Sherborne creature was utterly devastatingly beautiful.

The duke was a man who adored women, their foibles, their mysterious ways, and their many faces. He loved the way they laughed and giggled. He loved their softness, their hearts, and their ability to deal with a world that set them as the 'lesser gender' when he had always known otherwise. Indeed, though he knew it was the male's job, his duty, his pleasure to protect a woman from harm; in no way were they the lesser gender. His mother had taught him that because he had adored and observed her and his feelings for her had left him with a deep affection for womankind.

Thus, the duke became a man with a fondness for all women, all sizes, and all ages. They were an intriguing lot, full of charms and had a way of seeing the world that opened that same world for a man.

He had always thought perhaps that he loved women too much and that was why he had never wanted to get attached to just one. There were so many choices.

This woman standing before him had been loyal to her brother to the point of absurdity and he admired that in her. However, she had to be taught that this could not continue, if only to keep her safe.

He found himself fighting a mental war. He wanted in all sincerity, to protect her, even from herself and yet...he could not stop the sure desire rushing through his blood when he looked at her. What the bloody hell was that? He never bothered with innocent maids. His flirtations were always with women married for convenience and looking for diversion and the occasional widow.

His mind was lost in cogitation as they saw to their horses, but in spite of his mental resolve to keep her at arm's length, he found himself breathing in the fresh soapy scent of her. She must have washed with freezing cold water, poor girl, he thought.

He stepped closer without knowing that he did so. She went very still, but she resisted when he tried to take the saddle and the end result sent her flying backward.

He hurried and with great concern, reached for and found her waist as he helped her up and she put out a hand to his chest.

It was with every ounce of strength that he set her aside and did not kiss her, for at that moment, it was the only thing he wanted to do, but he wouldn't. How could he take advantage of her like that? He couldn't...could he?

* * *

She moved toward him, and didn't have far to go with only an inch between them. She put her hand to his chest and while on her toes, she closed her eyes.

She knew, absolutely knew he was going to kiss her.

His voice was near her ear as he said, "Is there something I can do for you, Mandy? Something no one else can do?"

She heard the tease in his voice and realized what she was doing and feeling like a foolish child, she landed back on her heels, as her eyes snapped open. What must he think? How could she have been so wrong?

"No," she answered, turning away from him. "Why would you think so?"

"Why? You looked as though you were in need of er...attention," he said softly. "Indeed, you seemed to be reaching for it."

She felt the vibes in the air. It was as though something inside of him broke free as he spoke.

She turned back to him. She should run. Instead, she found herself in his arms, his touch impassioned, his head bent to hers as his mouth devoured hers and his tongue searched hers for a response.

She gave herself to that kiss. Her body melted into his, her tongue moved hesitantly at first and then as he took over, she instinctively gave herself to his lead and the moment of erotic and primal sensation swept through her.

He was a rogue and a libertine and would forget her as soon as he walked away, but she didn't care. She wanted his kisses. She wanted this feeling. She wanted the hunger he aroused in her. _She wanted._

Why him? He was dominant and controlling and she was an independent young woman who liked to make her own way. She didn't want or need a man forever taking control, yet she wanted _this man_ and she wanted him to be the one to make love to her.

She would be one and twenty soon and had never been in love to the point of wanting a man to bed her, but she wanted this one to do just that. What was wrong with her? But it wasn't wrong. It couldn't be, because it felt right—so right.

Rules—men's rules, never made sense to her. She had always felt men made rules to benefit men. Why shouldn't she enjoy passion with a man?

She was entitled to this.

So many of her friends were already married and most of them had done a great deal more than kissing before they entered the blissful state of matrimony. It was time she lived a bit, wasn't it? There was no saying that she would ever marry—not with the course she had taken. Her reputation now would be ruined because she broke her brother out of prison. No one would want her as a wife.

And then all these cogitations were for naught as once again, he set her aside and said, "I am a cad to take advantage of your unstable emotions."

Her lashes fluttered before she repeated the words in her mind and finally said, "My unstable emotions?"

"Yes...here...lonely, worried...upset...I..."

"And what of your emotions? Are you lonely, worried or upset? Is that why you kissed me, for I tell you frankly, those emotions are not what prompted me to kiss you."

He eyed her strangely for a moment and asked, "No? What then did?"

She was flushed and embarrassed, so instead of answering him, she wagged a finger at him and said, " _Right,_ as though I am stable enough to know?"

Suddenly he was reaching for her, and he murmured, "May I rot in hell for this."

Once again she was in his arms, but this time, it was a crushing embrace. It was as though he had been at war with himself and lost.

He lifted her off the ground as his mouth devoured hers and then as he set her feet back down, his hand traveled to cup her breast over her shirt.

He nibbled at her ear and then did the same down the length of her neck and she heard him whisper hoarsely and as though he said it against his will, "Delicious woman, I am lost in you."

He was a duke. He was a London rogue who had been with countless women, she was sure and he thought her delicious? She was spelled by his touch, by his voice, by his words and she bent to his love-making, matching his desire with her own.

In his arms, she felt as though she was floating into a world of sensation. She wanted this to go on. She liked the feel of his body against hers, felt his manhood through his breeches as it pressed against his clothing and hers and knew a sure excitement, curiosity and a need for more.

And then all at once as though he could wait no longer, his mouth went once again to hers and parted her lips with his own.

Sir Owen's kisses were nothing like these.

She felt the heat from her toes shoot straight to her brain and fry all logic with one fell swoop.

His tongue gently danced with hers, teased her response and seemed to move with intensity as though emboldened by her return of his passion.

She was hungry for more of this, more of him. _More._

She thought of her friend Lucy telling her, that she would know when she was really kissed. Lucy had been right.

He tasted so good and her entire body was on fire. She knew that this was probably what it meant to be a wanton woman and did not care. His kiss was the kind that dreams were made of.

Everything all around them vanished.

All she knew was that they were alone, in each other's arms. It was as though they were wrapped in a velvet sky and shooting stars exploded all around. Even with her eyes closed, she could see it all. There was only the two of them.

Her blood was bubbling in a way that made her want more kissing, more, more, more.

Then all at once, as though she had done something wrong, he set her away again and stepped back as though she were a red hot poker.

He stared at her as though she was something dangerous, something that had ensnared him, something he had to escape and he nearly stumbled as he stepped backward and hit the wall.

He put out a hand as though to ward her off and said, " _Bloody hell_ , I don't know what just happened, but I do beg your forgiveness. I have most certainly overstepped and...I apologize."

She was unable to respond. She was embarrassed and hurt at his rejection. She turned away from him and said quietly, "Indeed, I would appreciate it, if you would just forget that this ever happened. I _know I_ shall."

His voice when it came sounded dry, stilted, "I have matters in town that require my attention." He moved to his horse and set about tightening the girth.

She didn't want him to go and felt a fool as she asked, "Oh, but don't you want to wait for Ned and Chauncey?"

"I came only to bring you your horse," he said and inclined his head as he led his outside and kept his eyes averted.

She stood at the makeshift barn door and sighed sadly as she watched him mount, and shift in his saddle.

"When will I... _we_ see you again?" she asked trying to sound idle about it.

"Soon little one, soon," he said and moved off a few paces. He didn't look back as he suddenly rode off, and he rode off like the devil was after him.

She clasped her hands and told herself out loud, "You are a fool, Amanda Sherborne. _A fool_! He is sophisticated, he is experienced and has probably had the most beautiful women in all of London...and look at _you_. Just look at you, all dirty with hair and clothes a complete mess. Why would he ever want _you_? Kissing you must have been just awful for him to jump away like he did!" She gazed down at her brother's clothes covering her body and wanted to cry.
**Chapter Seven**

MANDY COULD NOT sit still after her encounter with the duke.

She picked herself up, went to her abbey chamber and collected a linen cloth, a bar of soap, a change of clothing, her hair brush and headed outdoors. The stream was sure to be cold, but she needed a bath and she needed to wash her hair. At least the sun was warm.

She headed for the woods, basking in the warmth of the day and followed the stream to a spot she and her brother had used when they were children.

A moment later saw her naked and plunging into the deepest part. She soaped down her hair and body and hurried out of the water to wrap the linen around herself and brush out the tangles in her hair.

She sighed and was pleased to feel clean and refreshed as she pulled on her undergarments. She gazed at her brother's clothes and wished she had instead one of her pretty gowns.

A moment later, dressed, her boots pulled back on, and feeling clean, she headed down the trail when a sound of her name made her come to a complete stop.

She closed her eyes, for she knew the voice well and he repeated, "Amanda!"

There was nothing for it. She knew this day would come. She turned to meet her fate head on. She might have been able to outrun him, but that would only lead him to their hiding place. She had no choice but to stand her ground.

She put on a smile she did not at all feel and said as nonchalantly as she could muster and as though she were meeting him in a drawing room, "Sir Owen, _how nice."_

He stood only twenty feet away from her, a fishing rod in his hand, his rugged face enigmatic. She noted that he looked thinner than usual, but perhaps it was because he wore only his shirtsleeves and buckskin waistcoat. His top-boots were muddied and his hair windblown. He strode hard, putting the distance between them away and set down the basket containing the fish he'd caught with some force, his expression one of astonishment.

"How am I? My God!" he answered as he reached and tried to embrace her.

She stood apart from him and he dropped his hands to his sides, but made a show of looking her from the top of her head to her boots and exclaimed in shocked terms, "Devil a bit! What are you wearing? Ned's clothes?"

"I am in disguise," she said and put a hand to his chest to separate herself from him as he had taken another step closer. She eyed him calculatingly. Would he turn her in? She didn't think so and she said carefully, "Sir Owen, I must go. You know that, don't you? Or is it your intention to betray our friendship and turn me over to the authorities, as you did my brother, not so long ago."

He took hold of her arm then and his hold was a tight grip as he regarded her grimly. She had a moment's fear of him.

His voice when he spoke was laced with disbelief. "Is that what you think? Amanda, how did you get such a notion? It wasn't what I told your uncle that sent him hotfoot after your brother. _Dash it_ girl! How would that serve my purpose? I tell you frankly, it would not. I have been trying to win favor in your eyes...you must know that. Would handing your brother in so callously achieve my goal?"

Mandy frowned as she puzzled over this, "Yes, but you did go with Alfred to my uncle...and then my uncle decided to hand Ned over to the magistrate."

"I accompanied Alfred only to make certain he did not embellish the facts, which he did try to do. Amanda, my only love, don't you know, haven't you guessed that all I want is to make you my bride? How would sullying your brother's reputation...or getting him charged with murder serve my goals? At the risk of sounding selfish, I must point out to you that it would not."

Mandy frowned at him, "No, it would not. Yet, I have learned that not all things are perfectly discernible at first." She shrugged, "And telling me now that you mean to make me your bride sounds absurd to me. You made no such push before this trouble..."

"Did I not? You are perhaps too young to have realized, that everything I did, every move I made, was only to win your favor and your hand." His fingers slid down her arm and took her own, "Amanda, promise me, that you will not scurry off and I will release my hold on you."

"I do not scurry!" she snapped.

"Promise me, none the less," he reiterated.

"No, I cannot promise you. I don't trust you," she answered, her chin up.

"Amanda, listen to me. I have been searching for this Elly Bonner, this maid of Celia's. I believe she holds the diary we are looking for. I am certain it will clear your brother."

Suddenly excited, Mandy clutched at his sleeve, "Oh, Sir Owen, have you been doing that? If only you _could_ find it," Mandy cried hopefully. "We haven't had any luck at all."

"If I could free Ned, would you accept to be my wife?" Sir Owen said on a low note.

"I...but, I don't love you," she answered stepping away once more.

"That doesn't matter. You would in time. I would see to it. Answer me, Mandy, is that your price?"

"My price?" She was shocked. "Of course, I want my brother cleared, but no, I don't have a price and you shouldn't want a woman with one."

Sir Owen's hazel eyes narrowed and she was taken aback by the glint in their depths. He said, "Is it Skippendon? I know you trust him. I know it was he you went running to for help, but Amanda, you shouldn't trust him. Not at all."

"Do not be absurd. We have known Skip nearly all our lives..."

"Sit beside me and when you have heard me out...I will let you go and I won't try and follow. How is that?"

As an answer, she sat on a large fallen log and indicated with a slight movement of her hand for him to be seated, before saying, "Very well then, Sir Owen, I am sitting."

He chuckled, "You are a handful and I can see you will not be a biddable wife. I wonder if I know what I am getting myself into?"

This made her laugh, "Excellent, I may yet pound some sense into you. Now, what is it you must tell me about Skippy?"

"As I said, it is my belief that the viscount is not to be trusted," he said gravely.

"Don't be absurd. Indeed, you must be jesting. Why would you say such a thing?"

"Unfortunately, I am not jesting. My valet has a friendship of sorts with the viscount's man and although I ordinarily discourage gossip, this instance was different. You see, I have every reason to believe that the viscount was in an intimate relationship with Miss Celia and one that he terminated because he had picked up with yet another woman."

Mandy found she could not speak. Her mouth opened wide and she gulped a breath of air before she managed to gasp out, "I don't believe it. Not...Skip and Celia?" She then burst out with a harsh laugh and shook her head, "Upon my word, my cousin did make the rounds, did she not? Almost anyone could have killed her..." She eyed Sir Owen and said softly, "Even you, sir."

* * *

The duke rode back to his friend's manor home with a troubled mind. He couldn't get the gamine Mandy out of his head. Her kiss had sent a collection of slamming shockwaves through his body. No woman had ever tasted so good. No woman had ever felt so right.

She was his ward. She was an innocent and he never, absolutely never, seduced an innocent and yet when he thought about her, it was all he wanted to do.

He wanted to lay her down and make never-ending wild love to her. He wanted to explore her body. He wanted to feel her hands on his. He wanted to...

_Blister it_! He was a cad and he was lusting over a young and innocent woman he had no right even thinking about in such a manner.

Besides that, he had to set his mind to other matters. For one, Skippy and his involvement in all of this was nagging at him.

It took him no time at all to send his horse off to the stables and stride purposely into the house. It took less time to discover that once again, Skip was no where on the premises. This was troubling. Where did he go off to all the time?

He inquired but the butler having no notion, suggested that perhaps the viscount had gone fishing at his favorite spot and described just where that was, as on occasion, he had gone with the viscount to set up a picnic there.

It wasn't far. Better than waiting about for him all day, when he wanted to speak with him at once.

The duke sighed and made the short trip to the stables, saddled one of the viscount's steeds while his was being watered and rested in the back paddock and once again, rode the pike road to the dirt turn off the butler had described to him.

He had just come upon the rivulet he was seeking, turned down the dirt path, the butler had described and immediately stopped short.

What met his gaze confounded him, for there sat Mandy sitting on a log with Sir Owen, whom he recognized at once. Sir Owen, a rake, a libertine, and inveterate gambler, near enough to touch his Mandy, for he had already begun to think of her as his...with those lips he had just kissed.

Damn the blackguard's soul, what was he doing here with her?

Had Mandy not returned...hell, encouraged his kisses only a short time ago? Why then was she sitting in close quarters with Owen when no one was supposed to know where she was hiding?

Shock rushed through his mind as he led his horse to a nearby tree, tethered him and crept closer as quietly as he could. What was she doing? How could she be meeting this rogue clandestinely? Wasn't she afraid she would give away her location...put her brother in danger?

He arrived within listening distance just in time to hear Sir Owen expostulate, saying something about something being preposterous and then all at once the villain pulled Mandy into his arms.

He stepped forward, all his anger ready to burst out of him as his hands fisted. He was going to plant the fellow in the ground. However, he managed to find some control and stopped himself. Was showing himself the right move?

Clearly a decision must now be made. Should he go forward and confront them?

She pulled out of Sir Owen's arms...but she remained seated with him. Damn it all to hell! He turned on his heel and returned to his horse.

A few moments later, he had worked his way down the wooded deer-path that would lead back to the abbey. He settled in and awaited Mandy's return.

* * *

Mandy shoved Sir Owen away as soon as his lips touched hers. The thought of him kissing her after she had just kissed the duke, actually repulsed her.

He didn't fight to hold on to her, but immediately dropped his hands. He sighed and shook his head, before saying "I assure you, Amanda, Celia and I...were no more than friends at best. No one has held my heart since I first met you, _but you."_

"I didn't say she held your heart and I am not such a green girl as to think a man can be involved with a woman while his heart stays detached from her. You mistake, if you think I was not aware of your interest in Celia. I may be inexperienced sir, but not blind." She got to her feet, "Now, if you will excuse me?" She hadn't known for sure that he was involved with Celia until just then. His entire reaction to the suggestion had given him away.

"Did you walk here..." he frowned.

She supposed he was now trying to change the subject and discover how far she had to go. She was not a simpleton, but managed not to appear suspicious as she led him astray and said, "I did. My horse is with my friends. I came for a walk, while they attended to matters they did not wish to expose me to. But I must get back to our meeting spot as we have a long ride back." There, that should throw him off nicely. He would think that friends of theirs were hiding them, safe and sound.

He called out to her as she hurriedly gave him her back and started off in the opposite direction of the abbey, "Amanda, please remember that I will do whatever you need to help your brother. Trust me because you can."

"Trust you? I shall when I have reason," she said over her shoulder. "You can move about more freely than we, so if you want my trust, help us find Elly Bonner."

She hurried into the woods, found a tree she could climb and immediately did so. There she remained until she caught sight of Sir Owen heading in another direction. She smiled to herself, clamored down and headed toward the abbey.

Breathless, her shirt askew, her curls tumbling about her face, her braid undone down her back and in wild disarray, Mandy rushed to the forest's edge.

She stopped to lean against the large trunk of an evergreen to catch her breath and just as she caught it, she lost it again.

Only a short distance away and how had she not seen him sooner, stood the duke. His blue eyes ablaze with an unreadable expression, and his lips, those sensuous lips were curled with disapproval as he regarded her.

"Well, well, my rough and tumble ward, where have you been?" he said slowly.

"'Tis not for _you_ to question my activities," she returned not knowing why she sounded so curt.

"Oh but you mistake. As your guardian, I have every right to question your activities," he returned his voice edged with anger.

"Really, do you think so? I do not. After all, you haven't cared what we did, or where we went, for almost a year, why should you now?" returned the lady with her chin well up.

"Indeed?" he said casting a superior glance over her. "You are much mistaken. You and your twins' activities _are now_ very much my affair," he replied sardonically.

"As to that, we did not ask you to come here and we don't need you, Your Grace," she snapped. "Or should I address you as Uncle Brock? Really, how does one address a guardian, especially a guardian _one has kissed?"_ Had she actually said that? She heard the words reverberate in her head. She said that. How did she say that?

Apparently the notion of his being addressed as 'Uncle Brock' by a woman he had kissed, left him momentarily non-pulsed, but he eyed her, his temper now in full bloom, as he made a recovery and drew himself up to his six foot something. His voice when it came was a shout, "Certainly not! Uncle Brock? I have the good fortune _not_ to claim blood ties between us. However, I am most certainly your legal guardian, my dear, and have every right to know where you have been and what you have been doing, unless of course what you have just done shames you?"

"I...I went for a walk," she answered not looking into his eyes. It was what she did. No lie there.

"Were you not afraid you might be seen?" he asked quietly.

"I was careful," she answered feeling like a devil.

"Were you?"

"No one followed me here," she answered.

"You mean to play semantics with me, child. Tell me, what of the friendly fellow in the woods, whom I recognized as Sir Owen. What of him?"

_Faith_ , she thought desperately. He had seen her with Sir Owen. What would he think? What did she care what he thought? How dare he spy on her or think she was carrying on with Sir Owen, for it was what he thought—she could see it on his face.

"The manner in which I spend my time is my own affair," she said staring directly into his eyes, her hands now on her hips.

"Do you think so?" he glared back at her. "Do you think so, indeed? May I remind you that you will not leave the circumference of my protection, and therefore, my family name for at least another month? Therefore, you will conduct yourself in a manner _I deem_ fit for your station in life."

Mandy's mouth opened and stayed that way while she tried to find the words with which to slap him. "And what of _your_ conduct, Your Grace? Or does kissing your ward, no matter how unsatisfactory you may have found it, not count in your book of ethics?"

He frowned as though puzzled by something she had just said and his reply was tempered, "I do apologize. That unfortunate incident will not be repeated."

She seethed from his words. Unfortunate incident? Unfortunate? She wanted to haul off and hit him, but instead she stood as regally as she knew how and said, "Really? I am so glad to hear it." She then snapped her fingers in the air and told him, "In the meantime, you may go to the devil." With that, she turned sharply and started to walk off, when she found his grip on her forearm and she turned to stare at his hand and then at his face, one brow going up.

He released her immediately and she could see he was spitting fire as he said, "Take heed, m'girl. You are not speaking to your groom, or your brother. Apparently your grandfather doted on you and spoiled you to the point where you lack all good manners. Your rudeness needs curbing miss, and it may yet not be too late. I am most willing to administer the spanking you so richly have been begging to receive." His eyes were made of blue glitter.

"You wouldn't dare!" she hissed.

When he finally answered this challenge his voice was low, hoarse, and controlled as he said, "You think not?"

She hauled off and tried to smack him across his cheek. He had her hand and held it, keeping her from her purpose.

She yanked her hand out of his hold, "Is _that_ who you are? Do you manhandle females when they displease you? I have heard of such men _. Despicable_!"

He groaned with pure frustration and ran a hand through his uncovered black hair, "If you think that of me, I wonder that you would drive me to it."

The sound of horses made them both stiffen and look away from each other. He said on a low note, "Hurry... _into the stable."_

It was the closest building out of view, so she complied without demur, as he followed with his horse. A few moments later they were both relieved to hear her brother's voice, which brought them outdoors once more.

"Ned!" Mandy said flinging herself at him. She felt like a sailor sighting land in a storm. " _Oh Ned."_

He grinned, "Missed me, eh?"

"No, you are a horrid boy, going off without me."

Chauncey took Ned's reins, patted Mandy on the shoulder and reminded her, "Now there, Missy. Ye didn't have a horse, did ye?"

"Hullo, duke," Ned said turning to put out a hand to the duke.

"Where did you go off to?" the duke asked.

"Went to Teeside," he announced happily.

"Yes, but why?" Mandy asked peevishly.

"That I suppose, was my fault," answered the duke pulling a face and sighing heavily.

"Your fault? How?" she rounded on the duke and was stunned that although she had been furious with him, she could so soon be taken by his handsome face, his bright blue eyes, his every movement. Ah, but she was a stoopid girl.

"It seemed to me, someone like Elly Bonner might have friends or family in such a village, as one of the viscount's servants mentioned that she rather thought Elly Bonner came from Teeside."

"So you sent them into danger, where they might be recognized?" Mandy accused, still unable to let go her irritation with him.

"Take a damper, Mandy girl," her brother shot at her and pulled a face. "Whatever is wrong with you? Must find her, you know that."

"Yes, but if someone saw you..."

"Look at him, Miss Sherborne," the duke stuck in. "Was anyone likely to recognize him with a mustache and his hair blackened with soot?"

Mandy heard the formal use of her name with a sinking heart. He appeared to be just as angry with her as she was with him. But why?

She glanced at her brother and suddenly realized he was in disguise and all the tension was released as she burst out laughing and then reached for the mustache on his face and pulled.

He yelped, "Are you daft, girl... _that hurt_!" he returned but he was as usual grinning.

"Oh...oh, my Ned...you looked so funny. Don't ever grow one of those, and it is a dark mustache...it doesn't match your blond hair!" This made her peel off laughing once more.

"Are ye two finished with yer prattle and giggles?" Chauncey asked on a long and weary sigh. "Because if ye are, mayhap we can tell the duke what Ned and I have discovered."

All eyes turned to Chauncey while Ned rubbed the red raw spot the mustache pulling had left over his upper lip.

"As it happens, we owe the duke a measure of gratitude, we do, coz if we hadn't piked over to Teeside, we wouldn't a learnt about Hawkins!"

Mandy and the duke said as one voice, "Hawkins?" And Mandy added, "Who the deuce is Hawkins?"

"If you would but be quiet missy, I will tell ye," Chauncey said eyeing her dampeningly.

Mandy sat on a large flat rock and folded her arms across her middle. She was surrounded by men who were as far as she was concerned, lording it over her. Her question was reasonable. What was wrong with her question?

"As you were saying," encouraged the duke. "You discovered something about Hawkins?"

"Aye, and a thousand pities we couldn't a stayed a mite longer and prigged this 'ere Hawkins' direction, Yer Grace. But had this need to shake our shambles out of the Red Hart Inn...real sudden-like."

"Something in the Red Hart make you fidgety?" the duke encouraged, one brow arched.

Ned laughed out loud and slapped Chauncey on the back. "Lord, no, duke, don't let Chauncey bamboozle you. He enjoyed every minute of it _. Certes..."_ he turned to his sister, "Mandy, wait till you hear."

"Oh, am I allowed in all this male togetherness, then?" she asked still miffed with them.

He ignored her and said, "We hobnobbed with a redbreast," Ned declared, grinning broadly. _"A Bow Street Runner_ ...from London...a runner, Mandy!"

Mandy was not amused. She shrieked, "What?"

"Famous good sport," added her brother, lest she think he had not enjoyed the encounter.

"Oh no, Neddy, no, but how? Why?" Mandy asked her face and tone full with dismay.

"Indeed, I should like to know that as well," stuck in the duke solemnly. "But first, shall we return to the beginning. You were about to inform us, who Hawkins may be and what he has to do with Elly Bonner."

" _But a runner?_ Your Grace...they were stopped by a runner!" Mandy stuck in much disturbed by this.

"No, if you had but listened more closely, you would have heard that they had a conversation with the illustrious fellow. I am quite certain we shall hear all about it in good time, but for now, we shall forego this particular treat and return to the issue at hand _—Hawkins_ if you please." He eyed both Chauncey and Ned alike.

"Right then, Hawkins," Ned grinned unabashedly. "As to that, I'm not sure why Chauncey is so dashed pleased about..."

Chauncey gave Ned a scathing look and was about to follow this up with (no one doubted) a scathing remark, but the duke hastily stuck in, "Nevertheless, young man, you will do me the honor of imparting your information to me and then I'll be the judge as to its value."

Mandy couldn't help but smile to see her brother blush, but as she turned she found herself locked in a gaze with the duke.

Once again, she was struck by the depth of expression and intelligence in his deep blues. She couldn't look away as she tried to fathom his thoughts and couldn't.

"Yes, gamine?" he said softly. "Is there something you needed to ask me?"

" _Me_? Ask? No...not at all," she returned feeling as hot as Ned had looked a moment ago.

"Right, so off we went to find this friend of Chauncey's at the Red Hart. Turns out that although he doesn't know Elly, he knows this Hawkins fellow, but he doesn't know where Hawkins is precisely," Ned said on a heavy sigh.

Impatiently, the duke dismissed Ned and turned to Chauncey, "Perhaps my man, you may be able to tell me _who the devil Hawkins is!"_

"Aye, that I can and be glad to do it," returned Chauncey gruffly. He brushed his hands free of the crumbs of bread left from the last piece he had just devoured and said, "He be Elly Bonner's man!"

Mandy's hand went to her mouth. A sudden sure hope filled her. This was more than they had hitherto been able to find out. A sure dawning lit in her brain. This was due to the fact that it was the duke who had helped them by sending them off to Teeside. This was such wondrous news that she clapped her hands together and said, "This is such brilliant good news."

The duke eyed her quietly for a moment and feeling his gaze resting on her she looked at him inquiringly. "Isn't it good news?"

Ned stuck in sourly at that moment, "Don't see that. What is good about it? Useless if you ask me. Now there are two of them missing that we can't find."

The duke held up his hand at that, and said, "Perhaps not as useless as you think, Ned. What we need now is a description of this Hawkins fellow and his habits, his haunts. He may be keeping Elly Bonner hidden, but I'll wager he is walking about freely, thinking no one is looking for him."

"Have it he is a big covey," stuck in Chauncey. "A sight larger than me, square-set, thick-jawed and mean. A vulgar make bait by all accounts and wot's more, 'tis said he don't pound deal."

Mandy leaned in toward her brother and whispered, "Pound-deal?"

"Honest work, sis," her brother supplied with a grin, evidently pleased to have one up on her.

"Thought so, just wanted to be sure," she said and returned her attention to the duke's face. He looked so very serious.

"Also," put in Chauncey pulling at his lower lip, "I wasn't outright told, but had the notion that this Hawkins covey rides the high toby a bit."

"And does he frequent the Red Hart?" the duke asked.

"Aye, but he hasn't been seen there in a few weeks."

"And what about Elly?" Mandy stuck in. "Were you able to learn anything about her whereabouts?"

"More's the pity, missy. Not a word on the chit," Chauncey replied sighing sadly. "M'friend says he always thought her a prime mort, not up to the bobbery of 'er covey, this Hawkins bloke. But there, no telling wot fetch a mort will take in her noddle when her heart be in it," Chauncey pronounced.

"And what about this Bow Street Runner?" Mandy asked casting an accusing eye at the duke. She wasn't being fair, she knew, but she couldn't seem to control her wild and fluctuating emotions where he was concerned, and it was his fault, putting on such a superior air as though he were the only one who knew anything about everything.

"Yes," the duke said softly, a smile curving his lips as she scowled at him. "I too would like to hear about your encounter with the runner."

"By Jove, yes!" Ned said cheering up. "We noted this stranger had arrived at the inn, and he had a look about him. Well, can't say, I noticed, but Chauncey here is a right 'un, up to snuff on everything. Said the cove didn't look like a cit, farmer or a gentleman. Said it was time we loped off. We were doing just that, when the fellow up and raises his bumper of ale at us, and calls on the weather for conversation." Ned made a quirky face, "Right, so we told him it was well enough and what must he do but call on us to join him in a drink." Ned shook his head and looked at Chauncey. "We nearly died on the spot because by then, we had a notion what he was, you see. Well, we tried to cry off, but he would hear nothing of it." He gave his sister's shoulder a shove, "Mandy, he tipped his hat and told us his name. _Fowler_ , he said _, my name is Fowler and I am looking to lease some summer lodging."_

"Oh Ned! I don't like that, not one bit. Why you? Why of all the people at the tavern did he single you two out?"

"Aye, we didn't like it very much either," Ned answered. "By that time, Chauncey had managed to tell me the cove was a runner and that we had to make our way out and fast."

"How did you know he was a runner?" Mandy asked of Chauncey.

"He gave me pricklies down me spine, he did. Suspicioned he was a redbreast the moment I clapped eyes on him—prune-faced, he is and with cat-sticks for legs. That laid all doubt to rest and then his name...could only be a runner."

"Oh Faith! He is the one that is staying in Harrowgate. He must have known who you were...he must have."

"Now missy, don't take on so. As it happens I don't think he was really interested in us. No, seemed to be more interested in the lay of the land."

"Well, that is interesting," the duke put in quietly.

"Is it?" Mandy said thoughtfully, "Ah, yes he would want to know where he might find Ned in hiding...perhaps investigate by getting a feeling for the surrounding landscape."

"Did he inquire after the abbey Ruins?" the duke asked Chauncey as he chose to ignore Mandy.

"No. He wanted to know about the York Road. Wanted to know if there were any hidden caves of limestone...any old quarries in that vicinity, like the one up at the Peak. Said he was interested in such things," Chauncey answered.

"Aye, and then Chauncey told him we weren't familiar with the area," Ned stuck in.

"That's right. Told him we were strangers ourselves. Then this noddle here," he said indicating Ned with a wave of his hand, "Had a mind to be helpful and started to describe a track of the canyon off the Wharfe River and would have gone on and on if I hadn't thought to spill his ale."

Ned pulled a face and folded his arms across his chest.

Chauncey poked a finger in the air at Ned. "Told ye he was a runner. Ye don't talk to a runner any more than ye have to." Having said this, he produced a length of dried beef from his inner pocket and tore a piece off and began to chew.

"Not to my particular taste, but hungry...hand a piece over, Chauncey," Ned said putting out his hand.

Chauncey cast the duke a look and with a twinkling eye gave Ned a length of the dried beef and sat back to enjoy his.

Mandy gaped at them and remembered that she was starving. As she watched her brother eat, she collected a diatribe of abuse to ring down on his head for not sharing, when a loaf of bread was dropped into her hands. She looked up and saw the duke's blues glittering with laughter. Reluctantly she thanked him and sat with her bread and imagined her favorite hot meal. While she ate her bread, she saw Chauncey hand the duke a bottle of wine and noticed that his smile could be quite boyish and so very charming at times.

Chauncey got up and went to his saddlebags and returned with additional and far more delectable selection of food. She found the fresh drumsticks, and day old tarts delicious as she fell on these with great enthusiasm and grinning looked up to find the duke's eyes on her. Oddly, he looked troubled and his voice seemed tinged with concern as he said, "You can't be allowed to suffer here in the wild much longer. It is unthinkable."

"When we get Elly and the diary, we'll be free again, and all will be well," she answered on a heavy sigh. "Though I am desperately worried about this runner."

"I wouldn't be. I don't think he is here for Ned," the duke answered thoughtfully.

"Don't you? Why not?"

"Appearances are often deceiving, Mandy. We must try and take a good look at the big picture, because jumping to the wrong conclusions could entrap us."

She eyed him thoughtfully. He seemed to care. Well, of course, he cared, she told herself. Why wouldn't he? His name was attached to theirs! Heaven forbid he might be encased in such a scandal. She was sure that was his only reason for caring.

"I haven't jumped to conclusions. There is a runner in town. It would be foolhardy not to be wary. It is just too much of a coincidence that a runner is here and Ned and I are in hiding...for..." she let her voice trail off as she couldn't bring herself to say 'murder'.

"We both wish I was not in the unfortunate position of being your guardian, but as I am, I shall look out not only for Ned and you, but for Chauncey as well, so you needn't worry yourself to death over everything," he said quietly.

"Well, guardian you may be, but I don't see us any closer to solving this puzzle," Mandy said and sounded even to her own ears shrewish. Whatever was wrong with her? She felt her moods swing high and low and all because of something the duke would say or wouldn't say. It was most uncomfortable.

"You will remember that had you not made your brother and your groom fugitives, I would have arrived and been in a much better position of clearing Ned's name. Even so, I _am here now_ and I do not intend to allow anyone to harm any of you."
**Chapter Eight**

THE DAY WAS slowly dimming into dusk as the sun settled in the west and cast shadows over the viscount's beautifully manicured estate, but the duke was scarcely aware of the time or the loveliness of the long summer's day. Instead, his mind raced with the questions he needed immediate answers for and he marched into the viscount's well-ordered home, ready to demand those answers. It was apparent to all he encountered that he was in a blistering mood.

Sticwell, the viscount's butler did his best to dispel some of His Grace's black humor, by inquiring after his needs and although the duke offered him a half smile and a coin for his trouble, his thoughts continued to swirl darkly in his head. Things did not quite meet the eye and he had the distinct notion that his friend was keeping something from him. What it was, he could not fathom, but he was determined to get to the bottom of the coil and unwind it. "Where is the viscount, my man?"

"Housed with his man of business in the study, Your Grace."

"Would you have him join me in the library as soon as he has finished," the duke returned and started off.

He had two needs: The first, a drink and with that end in mind, he made his way to the library, picked up the decanter of the viscount's very fine brandy and poured a hefty snifter. This he put to his lips and savored for a few moments before contemplating what lay before him.

The second of his needs he meant to achieve as soon as the viscount appeared and that was to get answers to the very pointed questions he meant to ask. Those questions were bound to give his friend a start and there was the very good chance that Skip would take umbrage, however, the questions needed to be asked. There just was no help for it, because the matter at hand had dropped from serious to dire.

The duke continued to sip at his libation while one hand troubled his hair. He stared at the red roses just outside the panoramic window and dash it, all he could see was _her_ face.

Everything about her haunted his thoughts. _Damn,_ but the chit was the most infuriating female of his acquaintance...as well as the most desirable.

She was in his blood, keeping his shaft hard and in need. He was damned uncomfortable and he knew he had no business thinking of her the way he did. She was his responsibility and she was he was certain, an innocent who should not be dallied with by such as he. Yet, he didn't seem to have any control when she was near. It was as though everything about her wrapped itself around him and pulled. He was drawn against his will— _deuce take it all!_

Fiend seize this muddle he was trapped within.

He had set out to save his reputation by saving the twins from the scandal they had been plunged into. He now found that he didn't give a rap for how this affected his standing in the _haute ton_. All he seemed to care about was clearing these two and returning them to their home.

The twins though scamps, though infuriating, though more trouble than he had ever encountered in his hedonistic life, were _both_ worth their weight in gold. They were honest and dear hearted. They were like bright shiny stars gleaming through a cloudy sky. Singular beings. No one with an ounce of sense should believe Sherborne capable of murdering anyone, let alone a helpless woman. Damnation, but he could not allow the young lord to be accused of such a crime. It was monstrous. The boy was as pure-hearted a young gentleman as ever he had encountered and he had no doubt that he would have helped Celia had he known the trouble she was in, perhaps even married her to save her name that was the sort of man Ned Sherborne was.

Blister it!

He downed the glass of brandy and poured another, strode over to the yellow brocade sofa and sank down within its cushioned depths. The situation confronting him was a good deal murkier than he had anticipated.

He wanted an immediate solution to the problem of getting his wards safely installed in their homes again. Mandy sleeping on straw, eating stale bread and dried beef for so long was unthinkable. She hadn't even a season yet. She should have been enjoying routs and balls. She should have been in London taking the _ton_ by storm...not sleeping outdoors in the dank underground of an abbey ruins.

_Egad_ , what was wrong with him? Why was he so affected by all this? He was far too emotional and he didn't get emotional. He should approach the problem logically, emotion be damned.

Even as he told himself these things, Mandy's piquant face, her laughing dark eyes, and her spirit—her indomitable spirit teased him so that he was licking his lips with the thought of kissing her.

Sometimes he damn well wanted to take her over his knee...

But oh her pluck, her faith, her determination, made him want to shift her onto that same knee and press it between her thighs...

The door opened again to display Sticwell instead of the Viscount and the duke's brows rose. When Sticwell announced, Sir Owen, the duke was actually astonished. _Well,_ _well, what was this?_

Sir Owen entered the library, his hand extended, "Your Grace, Sticwell tells me the viscount is momentarily occupied, so I hope I don't intrude on you by waiting here for him?"

This was an opportunity to investigate the man and see what his intentions toward Mandy actually were, though he had already decided that with his pockets to let, Owen was probably only after Mandy for her inheritance. After all, the man was an inveterate gambler and a notorious petticoat man. It was certainly possible that he had been charmed by Mandy and therefore, perhaps his heart might be in it. Even so, Sir Owen was not the sort of man he would choose for her—not the sort at all!

He looked Sir Owen over as he waved him to be seated. The man was casually dressed in buckskins and an open neck white shirt beneath. His riding boots had been polished and he wore his auburn hair carefully parted and combed.

"Not at all, pour yourself a drink and be comfortable, Sir Owen." As he watched the man stride over to the wall table he remarked, "I have not seen you about London in a very long time."

"No, the sorry truth of it is I am on a repairing lease. Recouping my finances while I see to the upkeep of my lands at Turndale Grange...not far from here, about few miles south actually." He carried his drink and tipped it before taking a sip and sitting on the leather bound chair opposite the duke. He eyed the duke curiously and asked, "What brings _you_ all the way from London?"

"The Sherborne twins. I am their legal guardian and Skip made me aware that more than their finances were in need of attention."

"Indeed," Sir Owen said slightly surprised.

"An understatement, I suppose, considering the seriousness of the situation at hand," stuck in the duke watching for a reaction. "Tell me, what is your interest in the business, for I must surmise that is why you are here?" the duke inquired, his one dark brow up, his tone while not quite threatening, certainly cool.

"Friendship," Sir Owen said quietly.

The duke was struck by Sir Owen's reticence. Why was he being so cautious? He felt himself bristle. He was already irritated by the fact that he had witnessed the man take Mandy into his arms. How had he known she would be there? He was however, interested in keeping Sir Owen talking, so he did nothing to give his agitation away. He wanted to get a true measure of the man for himself.

Ignoring Sir Owen's clipped response to his question, he shifted in his seat and changed the subject for the moment, asking, "Have you found your repairing lease an answer to your troubles?"

"Indeed," Sir Owen shrugged, "I have managed to settle most of my debts with the sale of many valuables I had sitting about in my home. However, returning to London just now is not feasible. I have a great deal more to attend to." He frowned thoughtfully and added, "It is my hope that the future will hold better times..."

The duke wanted to land him a facer and tell him just what his future would hold if he accosted Mandy in the woods ever again. However, as he contained himself, he was saved by the sound of the door opening once more, and this time he saw the viscount standing at its threshold, looking from Sir Owen to him with one arched brow.

The viscount strode into the library, exchanged a quick glance with the duke and said as he turned to his new guest, "Sir Owen. This is unexpected." Again, he gave the duke a heartfelt glance, and sighed to hurriedly add, "Brock, forgive me for keeping you waiting. My dratted man wouldn't let me go. But I see you two have been amusing yourselves in my absence."

Skip strode to the sideboard table, also apparently, in need of a drink. He poured himself a snifter, put it to his lips and sipped before he pulled up a chair, sat and looked at Sir Owen to ask, "Right then, I have a notion, _you_ have a specific reason for coming to see me, so then Owen, what is it?"

"It is a delicate matter..." Sir Owen said glancing at the duke.

The duke got to his feet, "Of course, I'll..."

"Sit, sit," the viscount waved Brock back into his seat. "Delicate meaning something to do with the twins, I'll wager and if so, you may speak freely. As you must know, the duke is their guardian."

"Yes, his Grace just mentioned it, though I can't imagine how that came about," Sir Owen said curiously.

"Nor I," the duke almost snorted, shook his head and said, "Alas, as it is the sorry truth, if you have anything that concerns them, it does also concern me."

"Very well then gentlemen, I shall get to the point. Today, and quite by accident, I ran into Aman...er, Miss Sherborne near the stream that runs through Abbey Forest."

"Good God!" ejaculated the viscount, his eyes opening wide. "Why would she be running about in the open? _Madcap_." The viscount shook his head but his eyes spoke of the great affection he had for her as he said warmly and with a touch of admiration, "She has always had a mind of her own." However, a frown descended over his pleasant features as he added, "Indeed, but this is _not_ good. Bound to land herself in the basket if she runs about in the open."

"Exactly so," agreed Sir Owen. "There is no telling who she could run into if she goes about so freely while she is still with her brother in hiding and I must assume that there is where she intends to stay until she can prove him innocent." He shook his head and clucked his tongue before adding, "I tried to talk some sense...well, she has her own mind, as you said and hence I fear she won't take my advice seriously.

"Aye, she won't leave him in this mess. Loyal to a fault. I can't think of another woman who would put herself in such harm's way..." remarked the viscount and this time there was no hiding the approval he felt for Mandy's behavior. "Did she tell you where they are hiding?"

"No, of course not. I fear she does not trust me...at all," Sir Owen said grimly. "I had hoped otherwise, but she seems to think I believe her brother guilty. She actually thinks that I have laid such beliefs against him to the authorities, which is of course, ridiculous." He threw down the remaining contents of his glass and heaved a long sigh before saying, "I thought, perhaps, you may be able to get word to them to be more careful."

"I have no way of doing that, as they did not confide their destination to me," Skip said.

"That is odd," Sir Owen remarked. "You are their closest friend, are you not?"

"Indeed, but knowing Mandy, she would not wish to cause me trouble and put me in a situation that could take me there."

"Then I am disheartened," Sir Owen returned with a shake of his head. "It is time to take action."

"Action? What action?" the viscount expostulated worriedly.

The duke had quietly been listening and watching this exchange but was moved to ask dryly, "Indeed, I am curious, what action do you have in mind?"

"As the charges against Ned are absurd, we should be working to get them dismissed," Sir Owen said sharply. "We need to take action to do that."

"Just so, how do you propose we go about accomplishing that?" the viscount returned impatiently.

"What have you been doing to find the maid, Elly Bonner?" Sir Owen asked.

The duke's brows rose. Was Sir Owen fishing for information? Was he worried that they were getting close to finding her? Was that because Chauncey and Ned had found the woman's beau? Did Sir Owen already know that?

"I have set about inquiries, of course. To date, those inquiries have turned up absolutely nothing. The girl and the diary have vanished," the viscount answered on a heavy sigh. "My fear is that the diary has already been thrown into the fire."

"Oh, I doubt that," said the duke. "This maid took it for a reason. I believe, when we find her, we find the diary and that both will reveal the name of the father of Celia's unborn child."

Sir Owen looked more worried than he should have at this conclusion, "Just so," he said quietly. "As it happens, I have found some information about the maid. Apparently, Elly Bonner was spotted in York three nights ago."

Both the duke and the viscount were on their feet. The viscount made a blustering sound of excitement, but the duke asked grimly, "Why wait until just now to tell us this? Was she alone at the time?"

"I...I was leading up to it. She isn't there any longer, but she was seen with someone. A brute of a man."

"How do you come by this information?" the duke asked watching Owen's face.

"From one of my servants," he smiled ruefully. "'Tis the only way to get any information. They have quite a grapevine." He shrugged, "At any rate, I immediately sent my man to York to see if he could find any more information about her whereabouts, but although he confirmed that she had been there, she had already left."

Was Owen trying to send them off in another direction? What was his game, the duke wondered. He was surprised when the viscount interjected at this point, "'Tis all a hum. The poor girl is probably dead...by the same hand that killed Celia."

"Upon my soul!" Sir Owen frowned as he rounded on the viscount. "What makes you think so?"

"Stands to reason, don't it? Look here; this was carefully put in place, step by step to make Ned look guilty. First Ned is delayed from meeting Celia because Elly took him a note which he no longer has...but was no doubt was written by the real murderer. Then, a page of the diary is found. Then Elly and the diary go missing." The viscount shook his head impatiently, "Dash it to hell! Planned, the entire thing, planned to an inch," the viscount said with some disgust. "The real murderer saw she was his weak link, this Elly Bonner and must have immediately set out to kill her."

"Agreed that he wanted her dead, but I believe she realized this and took off. I don't think he had an opportunity and you are quite correct, Skip, she is his weak link. No doubt he is looking for her as well. She is running for her life which will make it very difficult to find her," said the duke quietly.

"I believe you are right," Sir Owen said and turned to the viscount, "One more thing, Skip..." he paused.

"One more thing?" the viscount encouraged him archly.

"Indeed, it has come to my attention...well, how do I put this? No way but openly, I suppose," he said answering himself and hurriedly saying, "It has come to my attention that you and Celia were intimately acquainted for some months."

"Good Lord! Is that all? As a matter of fact and though 'tis none of your business, yes, we were close for a time during the winter. It was over long before spring set in. I don't mean to be glib about it, but there it is in a nutshell," the viscount said sitting back in his chair.

"You have not disclosed it all, have you?" Sir Owen put up a chin. "As it happens, you are now courting a young woman and I believe you would be loathe for her to know about your...situation with Miss Celia, as she might not be so very understanding of it."

"Dash it man, do you think I would murder the poor girl, rather than allow my affair with her be known? You are a fool to suggest such a thing."

"An affair is not what would make a bachelor so very concerned...but a child of his as a result of an affair..."

"Damn your eyes!" the viscount jumped to his feet. "You dare to suggest I would kill a young woman and one that was carrying _my child_? Get out of my home with your filthy accusations. Celia and I were over long before she was with child."

"So you say," Sir Owen pursued.

"Devil seize your heart and then feed it to the lions," the viscount shouted. "Get out of my home."

Sir Owen was up already and started for the door, "As a true friend of the Sherborne's, I have to explore every possibility."

"As do I," the viscount shouted after him. "We all know that you and Celia were as you called it 'intimately involved' and that you were seeing her clandestinely up until nearly the moment she died, even when you were attempting to court Mandy. I think you have a sight more to answer for than I, my man!"

"Indeed," put in the duke. "I think your involvement with Miss Celia trumps that of the viscount's with regard to timing. After all, you must marry well in order to fully come about, must you not? Would the fair Miss Sherborne understand how you could so quickly drop her cousin and profess your love of her?"

"How dare you," snapped Sir Owen. "I think you owe me an apology, if you are man enough..." Sir Owen snapped towards the viscount as he glared at the duke.

"Apology? You come into _my house_ and insult me and turn around looking for an apology. You have a loose screw, my man, a loose screw," Skip retorted.

"Good day, gentlemen," Sir Owen said and slammed out of the library.

The duke turned to the viscount and said, "Well, this puts things in a new light. _Sit,_ my friend... _let's talk."_
**Chapter Nine**

MANDY SAT UP and pushed the thin blanket away from her body. The darkness of her self-imposed cell was all encompassing, yet she strained through the blackness in an attempt to see her brother lying some few feet away.

Although she could hear his breathing, she could not make out his form. She tried calling to see if he was awake, "Ned...Neddy, are you sleeping?"

She received a caustic response, heard some grumbling and then his deep breathing again. She grimaced to herself and sighed wearily and loudly. No response. She tried again—still no response. The sound of his heavy breathing continued.

It was musky and uncomfortable and her straw bed was certainly not what she was used to—nor did time seem to be an aid to adjustment. Her small bones ached. She was dismal and restless, and her thoughts for no reason at all were always about the duke. What was he doing and with whom was he doing it with? Where was he and did he think her desirable? Could he think her desirable and, would he if she put some effort into it?

She lay back down and her mind focused on the blue forever in her thoughts—the color of his eyes. Such deep sky blue and forever twinkling; at least when he wasn't glaring at her. He seemed to wear an expression that said he found the world at large absurd, which is how she often felt. They were alike in many ways—rule breakers, independent, and wildly passionate about life. A heavy sigh escaped her as she thought about her life and what a mess she was in.

She thought about what her life had been like for the last almost two years and crinkled her nose. _Life_? She hadn't had much of a life. Even this cold discomfort at least made her feel alive, as for months and months everything she had been doing had left her listless and hungry for something else, something more _. There had to be more._

She no longer had a place, what with her friends all attached romantically. All of them, every single last one of them had whispered rapturously about the kisses they had enjoyed with a variety of fellows and then how much more they had enjoyed with their husbands.

Life for them had moved on and now here she was a fugitive. Kisses? Ah, but none of the few stolen kisses she had experienced had prepared her for the duke's kisses. He had taken her out of her world and made her body and mind explode with sensation.

Sir Owen's kiss had been the only kiss that had come from an experienced man. She had thought it very nice, but it was nothing, absolutely nothing when compared to the duke's. When Sir Owen kissed her, she had thought it very exciting, but now she knew what it was to 'feel' really feel desire when a man took her into his arms, and she knew and admitted to herself that she desired the duke.

She had always been honest with herself. She might end an old maid, as her reputation was now ruined. Hiding out like a common criminal, would soil her for any guest list. So there would be no invitations to balls or routs in her future.

She sighed over this, for even if they saw themselves extricated safely out of this situation, she was ruined.

Her part in her brother's escape would never be forgotten. No one, but a fortune seeker would want her. It was a very lowering thought.

And the problem here was, the man, the one man she seemed to think about above all others, was her guardian.

Even if he was attracted to her and the more she thought about it, the more she believed that because he was a duke, he would never soil his family's name by aligning himself with a common criminal and that was what she had become.

Why had fate done this to her? Why was it that the man, whose kiss had driven her to distraction, was her guardian?

Why had fate turned her needs inside out and spelled his name as the director of those needs? Why?

And she knew she needed him—wanted his kisses to continue, wanted to learn everything his touch could teach her. She wanted him— _only him._

Life at the moment had given her a kick in the stomach.

He was not only a duke but a _rakehell_. She was sure he had had many women. What would he want with her?

She knew this without anyone having to tell her it was so and still she wanted him, if only to experience lovemaking at his hands. She was outrageous. However, she had been good and sweet and decent and look where it gotten her! With nothing and no one.

Well, if she was going to die a spinster, she was at least going to experience the joys of passion while she was still young. She wanted to experience those joys with the duke, because she dashed well did not want anyone else.

And there was the rub.

Would the duke kiss her again? Did he want to? He had pulled away, because her kiss had been inadequate.

It was a demeaning and lowering thought.

When would she see him again? Did she want to? Oh yes, annoying and domineering he might be, but she wanted to be with him again. She rolled over and closed her eyes.

Quietly, and with a presence that sent heat rushing through her blood and coursed anticipation in her wildly pumping heart, he appeared and stood before her. His shirt was open displaying his broad muscular chest and his eyes spoke volumes.

The world around them did not exist. They were alone...

He reached for her and took her ardently into his embrace. He touched her lips with his own, parting them so that his tongue could enter and literally make her toes curl.

She held on to him and felt a wave of intense need shoot through her body. Her tongue melded with his and sparks of desire burned through her blood. She had been waiting for this.

His hand moved to her breast, sliding in beneath her shirt as his fingers found her hard nipples and...

She awoke with a start. _Faith_! She had been dreaming. Only dreaming.

It was over too soon.

Why did she have to wake up?

And what was wrong with her? She was supposed to be a 'good' girl and wait for marriage, but what if she never got married? This returning question seemed to stand out and haunt her. Why should she wait? A man wasn't expected to wait...why should a woman?

She wasn't alone in asking this question. Closeted with her friends, it was all they had talked about in school days past, after reading articles by the Godwin women about women's rights.

She was being absurd. As though the duke would ever even notice her again. And if he didn't, what then?

She simply had to stop thinking about him. And still she heard his voice whisper in her ear...

* * *

Just as Mandy lay awake determined not to think about the duke, he was sitting up in his room, going over the strange tense conversation he had experienced with Skip during dinner and trying to force her image out of his mind.

Skippy was never given to moods and bleak utterances and yet, the evening had showed him a side of his friend he had never witnessed ever before.

Skip always had something to say and jest about in his habitual urbane manner, but the viscount clearly was reticent during their evening together, almost to the point of rudeness.

They had been too close, too long for the duke not to wonder about this and say, "Skip, I have no wish to intrude on your privacy, but perhaps I may be able to help with whatever is troubling you?"

" _Help_? Who said anything about needing help?" retorted the viscount shocked out of his meandering.

The duke had been sure that his friend was blushing. "You didn't have to say anything about it. 'Tis obvious to me," retorted the duke surprised even further by his friend's attitude.

"Well, nothing is troubling me. What's more, going to bed," the viscount said suddenly getting up and putting down his unfinished glass of port.

"No, really old boy. Doing it too brown ain't you?" the duke was actually stunned by this. "Going to bed at eight? What sort of gudgeon do you take me for?"

The viscount leveled a look at his friend and said, "Devil is in it that...never mind...got this headache, Brock. Don't feel quite the thing. Rest...that's the ticket, ole boy. Sorry to be such a poor host...but can't be helped."

"Right, well then, off with you," the duke returned. "I'll see you in the morning." He had not believed a word Skip had uttered, but there didn't seem to be anything he could do about it at that moment.

Thus, he had gone up to his own room earlier than he was wont to do in London and wondered how the devil he was going to get any sleep. What sort of hell had he plunged himself into in Yorkshire? Every sense, every nerve knew something was toward with the viscount, but if Skip wouldn't speak of it, there was nothing he could do.

On top of that, was the problem of clearing Ned's name and getting it done as quickly as he was able. Matters were getting murky and although he was certain he knew Skip too well to be brought to believe that he had anything to do with Celia's death, he was concerned about getting to the entire truth of the matter. Why hadn't Skip mentioned his connection to her earlier? Was that what was pecking at the viscount?

He moved to the balcony, throwing off his buckskin waistcoat and stood just outside the balcony door to breathe in the sultry night air, when something caught his attention and he went perfectly still.

A dark clad figure moved stealthy across the lawns.

He recognized the shape and style of movement and knew immediately who the darkly clad figure was. What in thunder was going on?

"Devil a bit!" he mumbled. _Skip!_ So that was it—the viscount had turned in early because he wanted to sneak off. _Why?_

Just what the deuce was going on here? He had almost confided in the viscount that he had met the twins and knew where they were hiding. Now, he was glad he had held his tongue. It appeared the viscount had a secret or two of his own.

Sleep had not come easy after that. He was sick at heart because Skip was such a dear friend and this was disconcerting. He just didn't know what to make of it, as no explanation that made any sense sat well with him.

He left his bed early in the morning as the sun streamed through the window whose drapes he had not closed. His heart and head both felt heavy.

Conjectures pounded in his brain as he washed and shaved. He donned buckskin riding clothes and his shining hessians, but he was torn about what he was going to do with regard to the viscount.

He found upon entering the breakfast room that he wouldn't have to deal with it, as the viscount had already gone off, which did nothing to relieve his concerns.

_By damn,_ he told himself, _he was going to get to the bottom of this._

* * *

Mandy's sleep had been fitful. She had risen, washed her face and hands with cold water and thrown on one of her brother's fresh shirts. It hung to her knees and she grimaced over the way she looked. At first, this had all been a grand adventure. Even dressing in boy's clothing had been so very exciting. Now, with no end in sight, she was beginning to feel 'blue deviled'.

She went looking for him and found him sitting outside in the shade of the overhang of the abbey's Chapel. "'Tis so hot, isn't it Neddy?" she said as she dropped beside him and nudged his arm with her shoulder.

"Aye," he agreed but gave her a grin. "More than usual, I suppose."

"And that dried beef was an awful breakfast. I was giving some thought to going into Manchester where no one knows us and have a decent meal at an Inn. Could we, Ned?"

"Coo," stuck in Chauncey coming around the corner at that moment. "Of all the addle-brained notions, missy. Some picture the three of us would set and with the likes of Fowler nosing about, it just won't serve."

"But Chauncey, Mandy has a point," Ned stuck in. "Manchester is big enough and too full of odd sorts for us to be noticed. And I'm hungry for a decent meal too."

"Lord love ye, children and children is whot ye be, _not_ thinking it out." He sighed heavily and offered, "I'll see what I can do. Have a fancy for pigeon pie meself." He stretched his husky limbs and announced, "Think I'll pay a visit to m'darlin' Bess. 'Tis time I gave her a song."

"At Sherborne?" Mandy objected fearfully. "Oh Chauncey...no, not now...anyone could see you."

"Ain't a fool, missy and ye would do best to remember that. I'll just catch one of the boys in the field and send him to fetch Bess to me with what we need. There isn't a Sherborne servant not wishing to help ye and Ned. So don't be worrying yerself. I won't be long." He eyed Ned. "Ye can come along for the ride, but keep yer cap hat tucked in low over yer face."

"Well then, why can't I come with you?"

"I need Ned to help me carry the supplies, but it would be best if we didn't stir up any dust for anyone to follow. Ye stay here. If we get nabbed I don't want ye caught up in it."

Mandy sighed for she knew that Chauncey would hog-tie her to a post if he had to just to keep her from following.

She watched them go and sat back against the limestone wall. At least it was cool against the stone in the shade. Bored silly, she closed her eyes, but when something, she wasn't sure what, startled her and she opened them, it was to find a pair of deep and twinkling blue eyes regarding her.

Her heart began thumping hard within her chest. She jumped to her feet, but her knees threatened to cave and she held her palm against the stone wall as she tried to sound casual. Instead of light and unconcerned her voice came out of her throat with a squeak, before she was able to clear it and coherently say, "Oh—but you did give me a start." Hearing the words stagger out of her mouth made her cheeks get hot while her mind got fuzzy. She felt a fool which did nothing to help her compose herself.

"Did I?" he said as he somehow moved in and towered over her. "I had no intention of doing so, but perhaps it may serve as a warning in the future, after all, it could have been anyone."

He was infuriating. Here she was flustered by his big handsome self and all he could do was find fault with her. She put her hand on her hip and moved away from him saying over her shoulder, "I should have known you would start the day out with some odious remark. I suppose 'tis in your nature."

He managed to get in front of her and block her path, ignoring her words to ask, "Where are Ned and Chauncey? Why are you here alone?"

"If you must know, they went off to get some food...as our breakfast of dried beef was sorely lacking," she answered on a sigh.

He frowned and repeated "Bloody dried beef, damn but I hadn't realized that was all you had left."

She saw it wasn't a question as she watched his expressions flit over his face. He sounded annoyed which made her realize he cared to some extent, but she still could not get the snippiness out of her voice as she replied, "Indeed, dried beef and not enough of it at that." She realized she sounded caustic and shifted her tone, giving him a fleeting smile as she added, "Chauncey got it into his head that he had to have pigeon pie and so they went off in search of it." she chuckled.

"Of course, pigeon pie," the duke said with a boyish grin. "And they left you behind and you are feeling a bit out of sorts."

"They did and I am," she agreed pleased to find he understood.

"Come Mandy, do walk with me. I should like to discuss something with you." He offered his arm.

Mandy eyed his bent elbow. She took her knit cap up from the ground, slapped it off her thigh to shake loose any dirt and tucked her thick long hair up and under it.

She stared again at his arm, so large, so muscular and although she hesitated she did place her fingers on his forearm. He took those fingers and pulled them through the crook of his arm and patted them.

His touch felt so protective and so very right. She felt that no harm could ever come to her when she was in his company. What was wrong with her? Why did she feel that way?

She peeped up at him and then down at herself and she giggled. It suddenly dawned on her that the picture they presented was absurd and she began to bend over with uncontrolled mirth.

"Whatever are you laughing at?" he asked, grinning broadly.

"If anyone were to see us...me dressed with my hair tucked under my cap and looking like a schoolboy and you...the big protective buck, oh..." she giggled and got the words out piece meal. "They..." giggle "would...think...we...present a very odd picture, indeed."

He looked at her and said, his voice low and laced with a tone that made her shiver, "If you wish to look like a schoolboy..." he touched first the long strands of golden hair that had escaped her cap and then moved his finger gently down her neckline to where the swells of her breast were enticingly displayed because she had undid a few buttons just before he had arrived because of the heat. His eyes traveled back to her lips and then met her gaze, as he said, on a hoarse note, "you must don something a bit less revealing, for my pretty gamine, your exquisite proportions most certainly give you away."

She felt the fire in her cheeks. She felt her body tremble with an excitement she told herself she must not feel, and then he took her hand from his arm and held it within his own and for the first time in her life, Mandy thought she might swoon.

She was wildly, insanely overcome. She was a shaking body of need. She wanted him to take her into his arms. She wanted him to want her, to kiss her, to touch her and make her a woman. Her mind, her body, her emotions were a ball of bursting need and that need was centered on him.

She lowered her eyes to the ground as he pulled her along and heard his sensuous voice as he told her, "Come, let us walk in the woods where we can not be easily discovered."

"I...I suppose," she faltered, bucked herself up and said, "No impropriety can be attached to my walking alone with my guardian in the woods?" If her words were meant to put him in his place, they fell short.

He snorted derisively, and then stopped to hold her shoulders. His face was drawn in a frown as he said, "No more than your meeting with Sir Owen yesterday."

She gasped, "That was not intended."

"I wonder," he answered on a frown. "However, it might interest you to know that Sir Owen paid us a visit yesterday, at Wharfdale Manor...a most unusual visit."

"What? Why?"

"Apparently Sir Owen feels that Skip is concealing something regarding his connection with Celia," the duke offered thoughtfully.

She sighed, "He told me the same thing."

"Do you think it possible?" he asked and she felt his penetrating gaze.

"All I know is that Celia was desperate...she was five and twenty and thought her chances to marry well were over. She was casting her lures so yes, it is possible that Skip was taken in for a time..."

"Indeed, he has admitted to having had a slight intrigue with the poor woman."

Mandy went quiet. She may be still a maid without experiences, but she wasn't a fool. She had seen certain glances pass between Skip and her cousin Celia when he came to visit. She sighed, "It doesn't matter. Skip and Celia could only have been a passing fancy, nothing more."

He frowned. "You are very loyal to him. How did he earn your high regard?"

She looked up at him and answered with a question, "He is a friend, are you not loyal to him? I thought the two of you were more than close."

He waved it all away and said, "You are quite right. I don't think Skip's interest was anything but fleeting and does not have anything to do with the fix we find ourselves in."

"Then why mention it?" she asked eyeing him curiously. He seemed out of sorts.

"Because your suitor, Sir Owens, seems to think it does. Owen thinks that Skip is cloaking his past and present activities in such a way as to hinder Ned's chances of clearing himself."

"First, Sir Owen is not my suitor! He is mistaken in his belief about Skippy—as I am certain you know." Mandy's hands were on her hips as she glared at him. It was so important that he understand she was not interested in Sir Owen. Why? Why should she care?

"Not your suitor? That didn't seem to be the case when he had you in his arms..." the duke snapped.

"Had me...in his arms?" she was livid.

"Like this," said the duke who then took her forcefully into his embrace.

Mandy made no push to resist. She didn't want to. She knew she was behaving like a tart, but she wanted this and had hoped for this moment with him with all her heart. Why now would she resist?

The look he gave her was full with hunger. His blue eyes seemed to devour her just before he brushed her lips with his own, gently kissing her, before that kiss became more insistent and she parted her lips to receive more.

His touch exploded a river of fire in her veins. She burned for him. His touch aroused her in a way she had never thought possible. It was as though she had been waiting for him all her adult life. There was no one like to him.

There was no feeling like the one he drew from her. He broke from the kiss but not to stop. He was gently touching his lips to her ears, to her neck, nibbling as she arched to his ministrations. What was happening to her? This was something she might regret in the morning? No...no regrets. She might forever yearn for him when he no longer wanted her, but for now...now he did want her and she wanted him.

"Why did you sit alone with him?" he asked hoarsely.

"I...he saw me...I had to make certain he wouldn't give me away..."

"So you kissed him to make him keep your secret?" he demanded as he looked into her eyes.

"No, he tried to kiss me...I stopped him," she answered roughly and put a hand to push at his chest.

"Don't push me away, Mandy...don't..." he said and his lips were on hers again, melting away all her anger.

When he came up from that kiss and nibbled at her bottom lip, he whispered, "You have bewitched me," he groaned and then whispered her name again as his fingers undid the remaining buttons of her shirt. His hand slid inside and cupped her breast and fingered her nipple as his mouth closed on hers. She was lost to that kiss. It was all consuming. When he broke from it to lower his head and lick her nipple with his tongue she gasped with the sensation he had aroused in her.

She felt a tightness in her stomach and clenched her thighs, but his hand had moved to her rump and pulled her into him.

She felt the hardness of his manhood against her body and arched instinctively. She felt a ravenous hunger, a hunger for everything he was.

Everything about this felt right, felt meant. His body against hers was glorious wonder. Primal hunger rushed through her as her hands roamed his arms, bare now for somehow his shirt and waistcoat were gone. She stood back to look at him, but he was already taking her back into his arms, covering her lips with his own.

Her brother's shirt lay on the ground with his, and he was bending his head to her bare breasts again, cupping them in his hands as his tongue licked at her nipples making them taut, making her yearn for something she couldn't name. And then he was suckling there and she felt something building up between her thighs. Never before had she felt this way. She didn't know a man could make a woman feel so good.

He had off her boots and breeches.

She stood naked before him and the look on his face banished all shyness and replaced it with pride. He made her proud to be a woman for his expression told her she was the most exquisite woman alive.

And then he whispered, "Ravishing, my love...I am your servant."

He lowered her to the ground and was on his knees bending over her as he rained kisses down her neck, to her breasts, lower still to her belly, where he nibbled.

His hand cupped the cleft between her thighs and exerted pressure as he shook that area with deft movements and told her she was perfection.

His boots were gone, as were his breeches and she stared at the largeness of his shaft and the way it danced in anticipation above her.

He saw her looking at him and took her hand to softly say, "Touch this, touch me, precious beauty..."

And she did. She ran her hand up and down its length and then looked at his face with wonder as she whispered his name, "Brock...I am not sure what I am doing."

"And yet, you thrill me more than any other woman ever has, my sweet, my little gamine," he answered groaning as he took his hard throbbing shaft from her and set himself between her thighs.

She stared into his deep blue eyes. Everything about him pulsated with masculinity, feral and erotic. She wanted him. It was all that she knew. She might regret this later, but she didn't think so. Would he regret it?

Her friends had told her that men liked to hear naughty talk in the bedroom and that it was fun. Would he like to hear it? She said softly, "I know something about what you want me to do with your... _cock_."

She felt his excitement rise as he said, "Do you, my beauty? What do I want to you to do with my cock?"

"You want me to..." she found she couldn't say it as she reached for his shaft again, and went toward it, to lick its length and kiss its taut throbbing head.

He groaned and set her once again on her back. He nibbled at her lips as his hand went back to the opening between her legs and his finger slipped inside.

"That is what I want to do with my cock. I want to put myself inside of you and pleasure you till you scream out my name...."

His voice was lined with hard raw passion and it excited her. "Then do so, Your Grace."

He grinned and said, "But first I want to taste you."

He moved away from her mouth and spread her thighs apart to allow him to bend his head between her thighs which he raised by holding up her bottom. His tongue only lapped at her pink wetness at first and then he gently nibbled before he began a sucking and lapping motion.

She arched with her pleasure and all at once, as she climaxed in a way she had never thought possible, leaving her shuddering with aftershocks, she did indeed call out his name.

"Aye then, beauty," he said with great pleasure and then suckled at her nipples again, while his hands continued to explore her curves.

"Brock—oh Brock."

His voice was a husky whisper, "I love hearing my name on your lips, Mandy mine."

_Mandy mine?_ Did he feel that way? Oh please, _faith_ let him feel that way about me, she thought as she reacted to the finger that once again slipped inside of her.

Suddenly he worked her in a way that made her whimper with pleasure and unashamedly give herself to his hand, to the quick specific movements of his fingers, now two, inside of her.

His voice when it came was a low growl and she felt him get into position just as she went into a convulsion of pleasure. All she knew was that she never wanted this to stop.

He positioned his shaft at her opening then and as he bent to take her mouth with his, he shoved hard inside of her.

There was a quick moment of pain as he entered and it was done and she began instinctively reacting to his dance, moving with him, harder, faster and harder still.

When his moment came, he called out her name. "Mandy love!" And she was thrilled beyond understanding.

He pulled her into his chest, in a spoon position and murmured, "I hope it didn't hurt too much...I felt you break, love..."

She shook her head and said, "No...it was over so fast and then you felt so good." He held her tightly. He kissed her ear, the back of her neck, and then turned her to kiss her mouth, whispering her name, saying he wanted her near, couldn't bear leaving her at the abbey, and then shocked her by saying, "I must, however, get you dressed and safely returned. Mandy...although all I want to do is stay here with you and make love to you all day, I can't risk anyone coming across us like this. I won't have your name bandied about."

She couldn't speak. She wasn't sure what she should say. She started pulling her clothes on and the entire time he never turned away from her. Instead, he helped her get dressed, tenderly touching her, sweetly kissing her all the while, telling her she was his sweetheart, his beauty and then he turned her and said once again, "Mine own innocent gamine."

There was that word— _mine,_ but no real word of love. She knew that she loved him beyond measure. She knew she would die for him, so strong was her love, but, he was kind and tender and sweet, but he had not mentioned 'love' _._

So she couldn't stop herself from saying, " _Mine_? What do you mean by that? I am not property to be labeled thusly," she said not looking at him.

"No, not property, and yet mine all the same," he said not at all put off or apparently about to relinquish his claim.

No more could be said as they heard her brother call out, "Yer Grace? Mandy?"

"They are back," said the duke. "Come..."
**Chapter Ten**

"MY DEAR MRS. Brinley, what can I say? There are no words with which to console you," offered Mr. Rawlings sympathetically. He came up from his low bow over Agatha Brinley's hand and straightened to his stout height with a heavy sigh.

Agatha dabbed at her eyes with her Barcelona handkerchief before swishing the air impressively with its soft black silk.

"You have no idea, no idea at all, Mr. Rawlings. Such an ordeal. To lose my precious stepdaughter, my only child, for you must know I have no others. And...my word, in such a horrific manner. And then both my dear brother's children—oh 'tis more than I can bear."

She then allowed him to see that she just might succumb to a fit of the vapors, which enlisted his immediate attention. He hastily took her arm and led her to the sofa with a great show of concern. "This is all so dreadful...simply dreadful." He shook his bald oddly shaped head in accord with his statement. He hesitated and said, "The matter which brings me to Sherborne is...under these circumstances...a delicate one and very difficult to broach."

"But," said Agatha. "We must not dwell on my tragedy." She cast a languid glance his way, indicating that he should draw up a chair beside her. As he complied, she said, "You came here I believe, to discuss a business matter."

Gratefully he acknowledged this with a series of unfinished sentences as he reached for his briefcase within arms' length. He set this on his knees and brought forth a package of ivory-colored papers, speaking quickly and obviously hoping to get this settled before she changed her mind.

"Dear Mrs. Brinley, so good, so understanding. If you will but put your signature here..." he indicated with his quill, "and here...I shall not need to trouble you further."

"Indeed? But what am I signing?" the lady asked sharply, her grief set aside.

Mr. Rawlings lowered his voice, "As you know, my dear lady, your account with Barings was somewhat overdrawn and although you sold out your funds, they were not quite enough to cover your overdraft." He shook his head, "Oh my, this is difficult indeed and especially considering how much I hold you in esteem." He sighed again, "But, if you will but sign these, it will enable us to transfer your deceased stepdaughter's account into your own. Your solicitor assured us that you were fully aware..."

"Oh, of course I am," Agatha snapped impatiently, glaring at the young serving girl who had entered the room to set down a tray laden with refreshments. She had stood beside the sideboard, waiting to serve and Agatha had not at first noticed her and worried about how much she had heard. "Go on, you silly child, I can pour the tea...go on."

"Yes, mum," the maid said nervously, dropped a curtsy and hurried out of the room.

Mrs. Brinley turned a fluttery smile upon Mr. Rawlings. "Of course, dear sir. Where did you say I should sign?"

* * *

Mandy felt wicked.

She had agreed to meet Sir Owen at this prescribed time and place before she left him the other day, but nothing about it felt right.

The duke had already taken his leave of them and she hadn't a chance to tell him of the proposed meeting. He would not have liked it. She was already beginning to know just how he would react in any given situation. The notion made her smile.

She should have at least mentioned it to Chauncey and Ned. Again, she didn't because they would not have liked it either.

She didn't really have a choice. There was a chance, a good chance that Sir Owen might be able to help them find Elly Bonner.

Yet, now as she hurried toward their prearranged meeting spot, it felt wrong. In fact, she felt oddly sick inside about it. She should have confided in Brock...she should have...because her meeting with Sir Owen could be misconstrued.

She must confess to them as soon as she returned.

She reached the meeting spot against the double boulder near the rivulet and found Sir Owen had not yet arrived. She began to pace. He was late and if he didn't arrive shortly, she would just leave. That was what she would do.

Waiting increased her chances of being caught or seen. Every nerve ending of her being told her she should not have come. She was just about to stomp off as fast as she could when the crackle of branches underfoot made her spin around and say with relief, "Sir Owen, thank goodness."

He smiled in response and reached to take both her hands in a warm clasp before putting them to his lips for a very pronounced and ardent kiss.

Her brows rose and she snatched her hands away, as she shot him a look of total disapproval.

He laughed and said, "Such a little prude, Amanda my dear, but that is just as it should be. I want a wife who is..."

Cutting him off, she reprimanded, "You are talking nonsense—and it is not that which we should be discussing."

"No, of course, you are quite right. There will be time enough for that once I have cleared Ned."

"Have you learned something?" she asked ignoring this.

"No, but I have reason to believe she may be situated near York. I mean to travel there tomorrow and discover what I can."

"Tomorrow? Why not today? We do not have any time to waste," Mandy said agitatedly.

"I have reason to believe that she has been frequenting a certain shop in York and is expected to be there tomorrow to refurbish her supplies."

"How did you come by such information, when no one else has been able to?"

"Amanda, I am not without means, but tell me," he frowned at her. "When you refer to 'no one else' do you mean—your groom, or Ned?"

Mandy didn't like the odd look that flitted across his face and answered vaguely, "Well, for one, I rather thought Skippy might have come up with some information by now." She didn't want to mention the duke. The less information she gave the better.

"What of your guardian?" He raised a brow at her and she felt his penetrating gaze studying her. "I met him yesterday at the viscount's where he is a guest."

He was baiting her. She could feel it. Why? Did he want to know if the duke knew her whereabouts?

"I see," was all she gave him, and saw irritation flicker in his eyes.

He shook his head and said, "Ah, you still don't trust me. Very well, but why you should think the viscount would be extending himself in this matter, is beyond me. I have already told you that he may have reasons of his own for wanting Elly Bonner to stay missing."

She turned away from him while she got her natural hot retort under control. He took her chin and turned her face him. She didn't want to make an enemy so she restrained herself from slapping his hand away.

He, however, raised a brow, as though he felt her tension and released her chin. His hand dropped to his side. "Did you know the duke had come?"

"We do hear things...even closeted with friends as we are," she answered. Instinct had made her suddenly suspicious of Sir Owen. "Do you think the duke is capable of helping?"

"I am sure he will try as he has his own name to think about," Sir Owen returned on a frown. "He might succeed where others have failed, simply because of his station in life. There are those who may take a step back with their innuendos with regard to your brother." He waved this off, "But never mind him. I want you to keep in mind that there are reasons why you should not trust your long time friend, Skippendon."

"At this point, Sir Owen, I don't trust anyone," she said simply.

"Trust me Amanda, you can you know," he said as he moved closer.

"No, not even you," she answered at once. "And even if I did, I wouldn't want you put in a position where you might have to lie to the authorities."

He laughed; pleased enough with this answer and his eyes flirted with her as he ran a hand down her arm whose shirtsleeves had been rolled up against the summer warmth. "A kiss to spur me home then, Amanda sweet?"

"Don't be absurd," she answered but gave him a soft smile. No sense annoying him completely.

He sighed but asked, "When will you meet me again?"

"I don't know. But if you have a message for me, write it down and place it here," she said moving to a hollow in a nearby maple tree, "and I will answer it."

"So I shall, my love. One day we will look back on these days as our fine adventure together, but I am not willing to wait till one day, for that kiss..."he said suddenly grabbing hold of her in a crushing embrace.

Her hand flew up in retaliation but, before she could bring it to his cheek, he caught it, laughed rakishly and murmured, "Now, that is no way to serve me for my help."

"Take your help and go to the devil," answered the lady.

"I can't and won't do that," he returned, but he also released her then and stepped away, backed up a few feet and turned to vanish in the woods.

She ran after him and watched as he mounted his horse tethered not so far away from where they had met. She stood and waited while he weaved the animal toward the road and then a few more moments before she turned away. However, even as she turned something caught her eye and stalled her progress.

A young serving woman was walking toward the village and there was something familiar about her wide ambling gait.

* * *

Mandy had been looking for ways to stop thinking about what she had done with the duke. It had been the most beautiful experience of her life, but...what did it mean? She knew beyond any doubt that she was in love with him, but what did he feel? Was she just a passing fancy? If so, in the end, he would leave and she would be broken hearted.

She couldn't think about that.

Well, now she had something else to think about.

She could scarcely contain herself as she rushed back toward the abbey.

Chauncey and Ned's arrival at the old ruins had preceded hers by only a few moments and he was in the midst of distributing food when she exploded upon them.

Ned was eagerly gathering a variety of delectables onto the large tray he used as a plate and Mandy stopped a moment, eyes opened wide and she squealed with delight because she was starving and that trumped all else.

Chauncey grinned at her as she bit into a small mincemeat pie and groaned with pleasure. While she was still chewing, she took up a berry tart and bit into that and Chauncey laughed. "Easy now, Missy or ye'll be choking, ye will."

With her mouth full, she managed to say, "Met...young...Sarah...from the house. Oh, _this is so good_."

"What? Where?" Ned stuck in as he swallowed and continued to bite on a chicken leg.

"On the road...she was on...her way to market..." Mandy said, reaching for one of the drumsticks.

"On the road!" Ned stopped eating and stared at his sister. "What made you go to the road? What a perfectly gooseish thing to do."

"Here is the thing," Mandy started, "I was in the woods not far from the road, but out of sight and I saw her." She clucked her tongue at her brother, who had made a face. "You know we can trust her and I wanted to speak to her about everything going on up at the house." She forestalled her brother's reply with a wave of her hand, "Don't scold Ned, because, as it happens I learned something."

"You learned something? Now what is that supposed to signify?" inquired her brother, as he reached for a piece of cake.

"'Tis about Aunt Agatha," Mandy returned one brow arched as she waited for her brother and Chauncey to give her their full attention.

"Aunt Agatha?" Ned groaned. "Dash it, Mandy 'ole girl, not while I am eating."

She glared at him, "Ned, don't be so provoking. I tell you I have learned something important. Don't you wish to know what that is?"

"I for one do..." said a strong male voice at her back. Her heart went into a series of flutters as she jerked around and her hand went to her chest. It was as though her world had suddenly thrown off the covers and light was everywhere with him at its center. He aroused her to feel so much and she felt a blush steal into her cheeks.

"Your Grace," she murmured on a low note and did not meet his eyes. "I thought you would not be back again today..."

"Do I disappoint you then?" his voice teased, his blue eyes caressed and all the world for Mandy stopped.

Ned grinned and said, "What have you in that basket?"

The duke smiled ruefully and said, "Naught apparently to what you have before you. Egad, what a wondrous feast!" He turned to Chauncey, "How do you manage it?"

Ned had already taken the basket and exclaimed jovially, "Wine! Cheese..." he took a long whiff. "Fresh baked bread."

The duke laughed, "I told the viscount's cook that I was taking a very lovely woman on a picnic. There is a chicken pot pie there as well..."

Ned and Chauncey fell upon these and Mandy smiled up at the duke. He said softly, "Go ahead gamine...eat, you need to keep up your strength."

She dropped down on the blanket Chauncey had produced and the duke took his place beside her. His nearness made her shudder and she chided herself for she felt as shy as a schoolgirl.

His eyes seemed to cherish her, as he took a chunk of cheese and fed her. She took a bite but it was so hard to swallow and he laughed and took up the glass of wine Ned handed to him, "Here love, we'll share this."

She took the sip he offered and quietly said, "Thank you," as she watched him take a long sip, hand her the glass and take another chunk of cheese.

"Now, what about your Aunt Agatha?" the duke prompted.

"She had a visitor this morning," Mandy said portentously. "Rawlings of Barings Bank in York." She waited while Ned finished snorting and making remarks.

"And what is so unusual about that?" Ned shook his head, "Ain't the first time the fellow has called on her. After all, he handles her account, such as it is."

"I will tell you what is so unusual," Mandy said and then grimaced as she tweaked her twin's nose.

"Ouch," he yelped and brushed his nose, "I don't see that was called for."

"Don't you? Too bad, for then it means it might happen again," his sister answered.

The duke watching the two barked a laugh. "Get back to your story, gamine."

"Aunt Agatha has inherited Celia's funds... _all of them_. Apparently from what Sarah overheard, they are while _not_ sizeable, quite enough to cover Aunt Agatha's debts and then some." She glanced around and found that the duke was the only one who seemed to appreciate the significance of this.

Ned shrugged and asked, "What's that got to do with anything? 'Tis only natural that she would inherit as I'm not supposing poor Celia even had a will. No doubt it was that trust fund she had inherited from her father. Stands to reason his wife would inherit it."

"Precisely. Ned, don't you see? Aunt Agatha must have known that." She made an impatient sound and added, "Aunt Agatha was in dire straits. Sarah told me Rawlings had said that she _needed_ Celia's money."

"Gadzooks, sis," Ned said as dawning lit on his face. "But, you aren't suggesting she was wicked enough and strong enough to strangle Celia... are you?"

"Yes I am," Mandy said. "Aunt is a large woman. Uncle used to call her 'his Amazon' and I believe she is most capable of doing the awful deed. She despised Celia, you know and perhaps she was just desperate enough." She frowned and wagged a finger in the air at no one in particular, "I suggest to you, that it is as likely she killed her as you did."

"Well, it certainly gives her motive," the duke said quietly. "Even though, if she was hoping to get the entire Sherborne estate if Ned were incarcerated, she would not. It is entailed and would go to you Mandy, though the title would go to the closest living Sherborne."

"Yes, but I am out of the way, am I not, as Ned is, we are fugitives and once your guardianship is over, she would take the running and handling of our accounts, wouldn't she?"

The duke's brows went up, "I suppose she might try, though I should not allow that to occur and would tie it up in the courts, so you have no fear on that side."

"That is not my point. My point is that Aunt Agatha had motive for killing Celia." Mandy returned.

No one spoke for a moment and then the duke said, "Indeed, it is worth thinking about, but my instincts tells me that while it was I believe in your Aunt's eyes, a lucky convenience for Celia to die at this time; I don't believe she was the murderer."

"Aye," said Ned. "I'm with the duke on that score. Don't like our aunt, but don't think she murdered Celia." He turned to Chauncey, "What do you think 'ole boy?"

"'Ole boy, is it? I'll pull yer whiskers, I will young'un," Chauncey said with a grin and then rolled his lips upwards to add, "No, never cared much for your aunt, but I'm with the duke on this as well. Don't think she was the murderer." He got to his feet and announced, "Going down to the river. Do a little fishing."

Ned scrambled up, took a couple of tarts and wrapped them in his plaid napkin and said, "Capital idea!" He turned to the duke. "Do you join us?"

"Not now lads, but enjoy and stay out of sight," the duke warned.

Mandy watched them leave and suddenly found herself wrapped in the duke's arms. He snuggled her ear and whispered, "I can't get you out of my mind. _Kiss me woman_ ," and without waiting for her to comply, he bent his head and lightly brushed her lips with his own.

Magic, bright and shiny magic.

That was what he was, like a star she had somehow found, reached for and actually touched. She closed her eyes as she kissed him back and softly told him, "I had not expected you back today."

"I was worried when I left. I wasn't sure Chauncey would come back with anything substantial for you to eat, and my gamine, you seem to be getting thinner each day. I wanted to bring you some food and make certain you ate," he answered on a frown. His hand flicked her nose as he released her. He didn't wait for a reply but sighed and commented thoughtfully, "There is, however, something about the Barings in York that nips at my memory."

"What do you mean?"

"I am not certain, but it will come to me." He stared down into her eyes and she felt her breathing quicken. "When this is all behind us, I mean to give you a London Season and see you established as you should be."

Her jaw dropped with her heart into the pit of her stomach. She couldn't speak. What was he saying? He wanted to marry her off to another? Was he already thinking of how he would be rid of her?

"I see," she said quietly.

"Now, I must go, but don't leave the Abbey while your brother is gone, if not for me, for him."

"I would never do anything to hurt my brother, so please don't feel it necessary to point out what I should or shouldn't do. I don't like it," she answered curtly.

He eyed her oddly, "No, I don't suppose you do." He bent to brush her lips with his own but she took a step back from him and he stopped and frowned down at her before saying, "Till later, love."

She watched as he strode to the barn and then watched as he mounted his horse and started off. He looked back at her and his blue eyes twinkled even as his lips curved into a warm smile.

Against her will, her hand moved to wave. What was wrong with her? She stood like a love-struck simpleton, _waving_ at a man who would forget her the moment she was out of sight.

She rebuked herself as soon as she could no longer see him in the distance. She had wanted to experience what it would be like to have the woman in her aroused by such a man. _Right_. She had and it had been all consuming and now?

_Now she had gone and done it. In love, desperately in love, but happy? Oh, no. She was in love with a man who wanted to give her a season and be rid of her._

Fine. Just fine.
**Chapter Eleven**

ALFRED SPEENHAM GLANCED down his narrow nose and found that his pewter of ale was nearly empty. He brought his languid gaze up and surveyed the tavern galley of the Cock Pit with a show of ennui.

There was no one worth conversing with and no sport to be had, except the wench washing down the oak tables. He'd had her many times and she certainly was a lively one in bed. He smiled as he called out to her.

"Come here, sweetheart," he invited and patted his thigh. "Can't you see I'm fair stalled? Come sit on my knee and sing me a song."

"Go on wit ye, darlin' man. He'll have m'head, he will. We are short a gal tonight and I have got to do double m'work." She gave him a saucy smile and added, "But there is no telling what will happen later when no one is lookin'."

The tavern-keeper stepped out and pointed at her, "Here now, Dee...cook needs ye." He glanced between her and Alfred but said nothing more as he turned away.

Speenham called Bailey, the innkeeper back, "Eh, my man. I hear tell there is a runner putting up here."

Bailey eyed Speenham speculatively for a moment before he answered, "Do they say so? Don't know of any runner. Have but the one guest this week, a Mr. Fowler and he don't call 'imself a runner."

Alfred shrugged. He knew the tavern-keeper liked Ned and didn't like him. He had always known that. Fact was that most of the locals had always liked the Sherborne twins. There was no understanding that, but he pursued. "So then, you don't think this Fowler person has come to Harrowgate to search out my cousins?"

"I don't know naught about it. 'Ceptin the young lord did no more kill that poor girl than he would his own sister!" snapped the tavern-keeper.

"There are those who think he did," returned Alfred carefully, playing with his fork and not meeting the tavern-keeper's eyes.

"And there's more that know otherwise," retorted the man sharply.

This conversation was doomed to failure. It was at that moment interrupted as a shadow filled the tavern entrance and Speenham looked up to find an imposing figure standing in its large opening.

* * *

"Your Grace," Alfred hailed with a welcoming smile and an overdone flourish, as though pleased to exhibit a friendship with such an imposing figure.

"Ah," returned the duke, going toward him leisurely, "Mr. Speenham."

"May I invite you to join me in a bumper of ale?" Speenham asked.

The duke didn't hesitate, but nodded and took up a chair. Speenham put up two fingers and motioned to the waitress.

"May I ask what news you have regarding my cousins?" Speenham inquired lightly, before taking a long pull on his tankard.

"I am afraid I have nothing to report. They have hidden themselves well. In fact, I have reason to believe they are being put up by some loyal friends of young Sherborne's, some distance from Harrowgate."

"I would have thought the viscount would have housed them...as he has been their friend a lifetime," Speenham remarked. "But you are staying with Skippendon yourself, are you not?"

"They are too smart to stay where they might be found. The viscount's residence would have been too obvious," answered the duke. "Servants... _talk_." The duke said this last with meaning and was gratified to find Speenham regard him curiously. However, at that moment, a newcomer entered the galley and the duke's gaze shifted to him.

The duke noted that the man was short and wearing a low-crowned felt hat, an old-fashioned coat buttoned across the breast, and open over a large belly. He was hailed by the tavern-keeper as Mr. Fowler, but the duke felt that he would have recognized him anyway.

"Excuse me a moment," the duke said, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet.

"What the deuce are you doing?" Speenham asked.

"Why, I am going to have a word with Mr. Fowler. I understand he is new to Yorkshire and is looking to buy property," said the duke, raising his brow as though challenging any interference.

"But, Your Grace," murmured Speenham, "I...I think the fellow is a runner..."

"Indeed? I, on the other hand, am quite certain of it," the duke smiled and gave Alfred his back as he strode across the main galley and approached the man with cat-sticks for legs.

"Mr. Fowler," the duke said with an utterly charming smile. "Won't you join Mr. Speenham and me at our table?"

"Eh? How did ye know m'calling, and who might ye be?" asked Mr. Fowler. He eyed them with open suspicion.

The duke inclined his head. "I am Brock Haydon, Duke of Margate. I have heard that you are looking for land in the vicinity. As it happens, a friend of mine has a parcel that he is thinking of putting up for sale."

"Is that so? Well, Yer Grace..."

"Come, do sit with us so that we may be private," the duke interrupted him in his most gracious manner.

"Thankee, think I will," replied the runner taking up a chair and sinking heavily upon its stiff wood seat.

The duke procured a tankard of ale for the man and took up a chair beside him, noting that Speenham looked uncomfortable. He had to wonder at it.

Mr. Fowler took a long pull of his ale before setting his pewter mug down. "There now, you say this friend of yers has some land?"

"Indeed yes, he is looking to sell off a sizeable plot," the duke answered auspiciously.

"May I know his name then?" Fowler asked looking at the duke with his narrowed gaze, reminding the duke of a wary cat.

"Of course, though I must caution you that this is most confidential."

Mr. Fowler acknowledged this by nodding. Alfred Speenham continued to watch in silence.

"It is," the duke lowered his voice, "the Viscount Skippendon's land. Though I am not familiar with the terms, I do believe the price may be most attractive," suggested the duke blandly.

"Is that so? Well, I am most particular about what I want. Looking for something near water, ye see."

"Just so. This parcel borders the Wharfdale River, you know," the duke offered enthusiastically.

"Well, well, does it now?" Fowler gave nothing away from his stolid expression. "When I'm ready, I shall be happy to approach him then, I will, but for now I think I'll jest keep m'eyes out for I'm looking for something in particular."

"In particular?" Speenham finally spoke.

"Aye, most particular I am," Fowler said and leveled a curious look at Speenham.

The duke could not help but note that Speenham squirmed in his chair and was surprised by it. Well, well, now what was Speenham hiding? Hiding something he most definitely was.

The duke felt someone approach and looked up to find an elderly and bald man, portly of body and holding a beaver top hat in his hand. He came to take a stand near Fowler's elbow and cleared his throat. The duke noted that he was clothed in what the he thought of as a cit's attire, like a man of business and his brow went up to hear Fowler say, "Ah, Mr. Rawlings."

Well, well, thought the duke, so this was by appointment then—and must be the Rawlings that Mandy had spoken of. What was Agatha Brinley's banker doing meeting with Fowler?

Fowler got to his feet, drained his tankard and said, "Gentlemen, do please excuse me, as I have an appointment."

Without another word, Fowler took up Rawlings elbow and led him away. Now this was damned interesting. What the devil did the runner want with Aunt Agatha's banker? And what was it he had read about this bank in the Chronicle? Why wouldn't it come to him? Something about the Barings Bank of York...?

"Why on earth did you invite him over here?" Speenham almost spluttered as the words hissed out of his mouth.

"Why? I thought it clear. He is looking for land—I offered him some," the duke answered glibly.

"Indeed, I know nothing about any land that Skippendon has for sale," Speenham returned indignantly.

"You wouldn't would you...after all, you and Skip are scarcely friends," the duke returned as he found he could not keep his lip from curling derisively.

Speenham ignored this and continued, "And he is a runner...after my cousins. You know that and still invited him over."

"Yes, you are quite right. He is a runner. Why Alfred, are you so suddenly concerned?"

"After all, one doesn't want one's own cousins captured by a London runner!" Speenham snapped.

"Indeed—when it was your own father who turned Ned over to the authorities for questioning even before he had instituted an investigation of his own?"

"That was quite different," Speenham spat back at the duke sullenly.

"Was it indeed? I fail to see the difference." The duke rose and pushed away from his chair. He had all that he needed for the moment. "Good evening, sir." He found he could not stomach Alfred Speenham. When he had his Mandy safely out of this situation, this was one connection he would see to it was totally cut out of her world.

His Mandy? How easily he had begun to think proprietarily about her. How did that happen? When had that happened? He knew the answer. _From the moment you_ _kissed her_! His mind shouted. He shook this off. He couldn't think of that now. Now, all he wanted to do was clear her brother and end his guardianship.

As he mounted his gelding, a familiar figure on horseback approached him, the light from the courtyard torches casting an eerie shadow over the man's face. Here was another man he wanted out of Mandy's life.

"Margate!" Sir Owen called.

He eyed Sir Owen unsmilingly and nodded, "Good evening, Owen."

"Are you returning to Wharfdale Manor?"

The duke gave him an inclination of his head and waited as he gazed at him coldly. He didn't trust the man and he didn't like him.

"I am myself returning home and as our paths are for a time the same, I thought we might talk along the way."

"Not, sir, if your conversation carries some of yesterday's strain," the duke returned curtly.

Pleasant apparently when it suited him, the duke's brow went up as Sir Owen chuckled and curious, he waited.

"Come now, you can't think me such a rum-touch. What I had to say, I said to Skippendon's face—not behind his back. Now admit it, Margate, you can have no quarrel with me on that score. There is something I should like to discuss with you."

"Indeed? Do tell?" the duke returned dryly.

"I should like to discuss...well this is about Amanda Sherborne," Sir Owen blurted out.

The duke felt his entire body stiffen. "What about Miss Sherborne?"

"She is your ward and therefore I thought it not expedient, but polite to inform you that I intend to marry her," Owen returned.

"Because you stand in need of her fortune," the duke stated, not asked.

"I admit I am in such straits that I must marry well, but that is not totally why I want to marry her. I am enchanted with her."

"Do you seek my approval? If so, you are out, Owen. Mark me, I will stand in your way," the duke answered on a hard note.

"I don't need your approval, Margate. If the lady will have me—and I rather think she will, I will take her and keep her and try and make her happy. I am quite fond of her...indeed, how could any man with eyes in his head, not be?"

The duke wanted to knock the man off his horse and then blacken his eye and break his nose. However, he asked, "And the lady in question—why do you think she may marry you?"

"How could she not? Stuck here in the wilds...now a fugitive, what choices does she have?" Owen shrugged, "And I am running out of time. She comes of age in a month or so and my creditors won't be held back much longer than that. I have a horse running soon and chances are he might bring me in enough to cover me in the meantime..."

"Scoundrel! You shan't have her, so look elsewhere for your fortune," the duke could hardly contain himself. He damn well was going to beat the man to a pulp if he stayed in his company much longer. He stalled these feelings by asking himself what all the heat was about. "Besides," he stuck in, "She wouldn't have you if you were the last man on earth. _You_ don't know her."

"You are out there. Mandy welcomes my suit." Sir Owen's eyes narrowed. "You speak as though you know her."

"Do I? Perhaps because I have learned so much about her from Skip," the duke circumvented his slip. Owen was asking to die and he would be very happy to accommodate him, but he maintained his composure and asked, "What makes you think she would welcome your suit—and how could you court the lady whilst she is in hiding?"

"Only this morning, I discussed our future with her, as we have met by plan," Owen returned unaware that his life was presently on the line.

The man used half-truths to his advantage, the duke thought. He needed to know more. "Are you saying you met with Miss Sherborne by design and that you know where she is?"

"Well, not exactly..." Owen hemmed. "But yes, I met with her. She knows I am trying to help her find Elly Bonner...did she not tell you?"

The duke was wildly furious on two counts. One, that Mandy had not, in fact, told him that she met with Owen again, and two, that she looked to Owen for help. He answered as calmly as he could, "How could she tell me, when she is in hiding with her brother?" He saw at once that Owen had been fishing.

"So then, they have not managed to get word to you or the viscount about their whereabouts?"

"Foolish to think so!" the duke could not help but snap. "Why would they?"

"I thought they might have heard you were nearby and looking to help them," answered Sir Owen quietly.

"Apparently, Sir Owen, your line of thinking is in disarray," the duke said on a threatening note.

They had reached a narrow turn-off in the road and he smiled to say, "This is where I leave you, Margate."

The duke nodded a dismissal and made plans for the future. The man needed planting in the ground and as soon as he was free to do so, that was what he intended to do. But, the question remained, why hadn't Mandy told him that she had met with Owen again?

What was her true relationship with Sir Owen?

Instead of turning off for Wharfdale Manor, he continued down the road toward the shortcut to Abbey Ruins. He was going to find out for himself, just what the bloody hell was going on!

* * *

Mandy was restless.

Both Ned and Chauncey had dozed after consuming what she had thought to be an inordinate amount of wine.

The summer night was too lovely to ignore and she made her way outdoors and stood staring up at the full moon and the dark velvet sky alight with stars. Sighing and thinking of the duke, she strode a few yards away from the Abbey and sank down onto the dry weeds and stared through the dim light. It couldn't be...how could it be? Was that him...was that the duke?

He sat his horse for a moment and looked like an ancient warrior, with purpose and determination and her heartbeat increased rapidly.

She had no way of knowing that he was in a temper, until she saw the way he jumped off his horse, locked his reins into his stirrups, and strode toward her.

She could almost feel his fury as he stomped hard and fast and then he was pulling her off the ground and into his arms. He crushed her in his embrace and his kiss started out wild and relentless as it took and gave and she responded willingly.

Suddenly he shoved her away though he retained a hold of her shoulders as he glared at her, "Do you _kiss him_ like that?" he growled.

"What? Who? What are you talking about?"

"What have you done? Trusting someone like that with your whereabouts!"

She could see he was enraged, but how dare he? Her own temper came forward and she snapped, "Have you lost your mind? How dare you speak to me in such a fashion!"

"How dare I? That is rich," he ran his hands through his hair as his hat had fallen to the ground unheeded. "You behave with thoughtless recklessness and ask how dare I?"

"Thoughtless recklessness?" she returned with a puzzled frown. "Do you mean because I am walking about here in the dark? I don't understand? 'Tis but a small amount of freedom...am I not allowed some?"

"It would appear that you take it whether it is permitted or not. And walking so far away from the abbey, at night...when you don't know who might be snooping about is the outside of foolishness."

She could not think what had come over him. Plain speaking was needed and so she demanded, "It appears we are at odds here. What is wrong? Why are you in a rage? Surely not because I am out here alone at night?"

"That, my wide-eyed gamine is nothing when compared to your duplicity," he sneered at her. "But come, since you give it away so freely...let's have another kiss, shall we?"

Kissing him, being in his arms had been all she had been dreaming about after they had been together. This, however, was not how she wanted to be kissed. Not in anger. She punched his chest and cried out, "Oh! You blackguard. How dare you speak to me like that!"

"And how dare you meet with Sir Owen!" he retorted and then suddenly with an oath and a movement born of fury, he turned on his heel, strode back to his horse, took up the reins, jumped nimbly back into his saddle and rode off.

Mandy was momentarily stunned.

What the deuce was all that about?

And then sudden dawning—her duke had been jealous and this as nothing else, made her smile from the heart. He cared, oh, but he cared.

His behavior had been both awful and wonderful all at once. He was jealous and quite insanely jealous at that.

Following on this thought however, was the realization that he had thought the worst of her. That, she could not allow. It wasn't fair. So little seemed fair these days.

She would have to put him in the right of it, when next they met. Oh, indeed, she would do so and teach him a lesson or two about trust.
**Chapter Twelve**

FOR A FEW moments His Grace of Margate rode blindly, allowing his horse to pick his way home. He had suddenly lost the ability to draw on his usual calm and logical self.

"Hell and damnation," he cursed out loud. "This is not like me."

Mandy had him fairly winded. There was nothing for it but to admit to himself that he was completely and totally and forever in love with the sprite of a woman. She was wild to a fault. She was impulsive and heady. She was her own woman and proud of it. No missy airs for his gamine, oh no. He could see her leading a charge, taking on the established rules and identifying their faults. That was his Mandy and by God, he loved her.

He had been in a fury of jealousy and he knew it. He had wanted to shake her, kiss her, and shake her again for what Sir Owen had implied, because of the picture Owen had left in his mind.

He now saw as he brought his temper in that he had behaved like a cad. He had been doing nothing but behaving like a cad.

He had broken his rule and made love to an innocent, something he had sworn never to do. Intolerable because he was also her guardian.

But, this was different—different because when his guardianship was done, he was going to marry Mandy of Sherborne and give her the world. She loved him—she had to love him because if she didn't, he believed he would be shattered. Look at him, at the mercy of a babe in arms. The notion made him grin.

He could taste her honeyed lips still. He could feel the darts of lightning anger that lit up her dark eyes when he had raged at her, and now riding alone, thinking about her, all he could do was grin like an idiot.

She was full of spit and fire, heart and generosity, loyalty and devotion and she had stolen his heart with a blink. She had usurped his soul and by all that was, he meant to keep her safe and make her his. But how, if she was forever gadding about and meeting scoundrels like Sir Owen?

He wasn't a fool and believed that Sir Owen had forced her to meet with him on the promise that he would help her brother. And still, the first time, when he had seen them together, when Owen himself had said they met quite by accident, he had seen the man take her into his arms.

He hadn't stayed long enough to see if she resisted. "Bah!" he uttered disgusted with the memory. He had left her when he should have demanded Mandy tell him the whole. Instead, he had turned sharply, much like a schoolboy and hurried away.

It didn't take him long to get to Wharfdale Manor, hand his horse off and make his way to the library where he found Skip standing by the fireplace. Skip turned and their gazes met. The duke had the odd feeling again, that something was off with his friend. Just what was wrong with him?

"Well, Brock," Skip said as he gave him a rueful smile. "Back are you? Where the deuce have you been?"

"Where have _I_ been?" the duke returned, one brow arched. "You are a wonder, 'ole man. You have contrived to be gone from your house more hours than you have spent in it and you want to know where I have been. Damnation man, but that is doing it too brown."

As an answer to this, the viscount grinned boyishly and then sighed to say, "I've been with m'solicitors today. Had a bit...well, never mind that. Tell me what's toward. When you first walked in here, I thought you had the devil in your eye. I'd swear to it, so no use trying to bamboozle me."

"Ha! It would serve you if I gave what I've been getting, but no, I'm a better friend than that!" the duke said eyeing his friend pointedly. He dropped down on the sofa and sighed before continuing, "You know that you deserve to be kept in the dark; however, I shall tell you that I have met both my wards almost immediately after I arrived here."

"What?" the viscount almost jumped as he went toward the duke. "Where? How?"

"I was, in fact, held up by them on the main pike and nearly blew a hole through Mandy's exquisite head."

The viscount sat heavily, his mouth agape as he breathed out and said, "Upon my soul."

"I could have shot the little gamine," the duke repeated with a frown as the thought struck and terrified him as nothing else ever had in his life. "They thought of course that I _was you_. They were totally confounded when I stepped out of your carriage. Mandy was clothed as a lad and if I hadn't thought him—her, too ageless a youth to die...well, it doesn't bear thinking upon." Again, a hand gripped his heart and thanked the heavens he had not hurt her.

"But...but..." the viscount tried to put it into words and then exclaimed, "but...how...I mean...how could you...anyone mistake her for a lad?"

"She was dressed like one, scarf up over her face, body hidden by clothing and one usually sees what one expects. I saw a youth...never expecting a female. I did not find out that she was a woman until a few moments after we struggled together," the duke returned with a shake of his head.

"Shocking...I mean...shocking," the viscount was at a loss as he obviously tried to wrap his mind around the information.

"Precisely what I was brought home to realize. This past year—Mandy left here in the wilds of Yorkshire when any fool could see she is a beauty that would have taken the haute ton by storm. Why did you not write me and tell me Mandy needed a season...a life...? She has been left to her own devices too long. She is loyal to a fault...and has sacrificed herself for her twin and her twin is as innocent of this crime as I am. I must set things to right at once. There is no time to be wasted, but we have a mess on our hands."

"I did write you, but you chose to ignore the situation." Skip waved this off, "But, how have you allowed this to go forward for so long without even a word to me?" the viscount demanded.

"You my friend have been quite absent," the duke returned bluntly.

"Yes, but there were reasons...never mind that now, finish the tale, you dog!"

"You have the gist of it. What more do you want?"

"You can't leave it at that? You call her Mandy...you speak as though you know them well...how...where are they?"

"I call her Mandy at her request and I do know them well. We have been in each other's pockets so to speak from the moment I was accosted by them on the road. Strip the trappings of society away from people and you discover who they are and these two and their Chauncey are worth all the _haute ton_ put together!"

The viscount eyed his friend and said, "You are taken with them...or is it Mandy you are taken with?"

The duke's lips curved, "Inquisitive, aren't you? And yet, private suddenly about your own doings?" He frowned and asked, "Tell me, Skip, does Mandy have a _tendre_ for Sir Owen?"

Skip snorted, "Mandy ain't a fool for all her hoyden ways. Sir Owen may be casting out lures, but I'd as leaf think she would drown before reaching out for one of 'em."

"Do you think that because you don't like the fellow or because you have reason to think that?" the duke pursued.

"Has nothing to do with me. Told you Brock, she is no fool. Green, yes, how could she be otherwise stuck up here in the wilds, dreaming about a knight in shining armor riding in on a white horse to scoop her up and take her away," the viscount shook his head. "Aye, an innocent, not quite up to snuff, but her head is squarely upon her shoulders, and she sees Owen for what he is. Lord, she knows the difference between an engaging rascal like yourself, I'd wager and a park-sauntering gamester which is what he is."

"And how would Mandy define _you?_ " the duke asked pointedly.

"A right'un," the viscount said with a wide grin. "And well you know it!"

"Right, so now that we have that out of the way, what is toward, Skip, and don't pitch any gammon at me about headaches and business," the duke said on a quietly grave note.

The viscount's smile vanished. "You don't want a round tale, so then, don't be asking me any questions. Brock, you are my closest and my most valued friend..." he sighed heavily as the duke inclined his head but smirked and he snapped, " _Well, you are._ But, what you can do for me this time...well...you can't...and it ain't something I can tell you. Leave it at that, Brock."

It was obvious to the duke that his friend was in earnest. He was dissatisfied but willing to accommodate him for a bit longer, so he allowed the matter to drop. "Very well, Skip. Oh, by the way, there is a runner in town. Calls himself Fowler. I offered to sell him some of your land—the section bordering part of the Wharfe River."

"You what?" the viscount jumped to his feet.

The duke laughed and bade him be seated, "Don't worry; he isn't interested in your land. Seems to be looking for something else."

"He didn't want it?" the viscount sounded insulted.

The duke was grinning wide, "Yes, lucky for me for that might have given my purpose away."

"What the devil are you at this time? Why would you bandy about with a runner? What the bloody hell is going on?"

The duke laughed and slapped the viscount's bent knee, "Trying to find the true nature of this runner's game and I'd swear it has naught to do with the Sherbornes."

"Ah, nosing him out. Well if he isn't here for Ned...what then?"

"There is the crook of it." The duke shook his head. "A man from Barings came in and interrupted us..." he stopped suddenly. _"Hell and Fire_! I know what it is that has been nagging at me. Of course!" he got to his feet and started across the room.

"Devil a bit! Where do you think you are going?"

"To bed, m'man. Have a big day ahead and a few things that need doing."

Skip stood up as well, "Well, I will tell you that this is all too smoky by half. Bow Street Runner wanting to buy my land? Well, won't sell it. Crazy fellow, Brock, you would do well to remember not to get involved with a Bow Street Runner...no good can come of it."

* * *

The entire day had dragged on without a word from the duke. She had gone off with Ned and Chauncey to meet their stable-boy who had met them at a designated spot. There they took a wagon load of grain and hay for their horses from him, promising to return the wagon in the evening.

Mandy helped them unload the horse supplies which served to occupy both her time and her mind for a spell.

In the evening they allowed her to ride with them, their horses in tow when they returned the wagon.

Thank goodness the Sherborne staff was loyal.

Evening darkness arrived and Mandy gave up hope. He wasn't coming.

She had so much to say to him, so of course, he had stayed away.

He had left her in such a flurry of emotions the night before, and she wanted, needed to see him.

She and Chauncey had set a table up for dinner and she found herself blurting out, "I have to tell you both something right now."

"Aye then, go ahead," Ned encouraged as he swallowed his food.

"I met with Sir Owen the other day."

He turned on her, his expression one of total shock, "What? Good Lord, Mandy girl, are you daft? However came that about?"

"If you are going to take on so..."Mandy took affront as her nerves were on edge. "I won't tell you what Sir Owen was decent enough to tell me." She gave him a challenging look and waited.

Chauncey put up a hand to stall an argument between the twins and said somberly, "Listen here. I ain't about to bicker with ye, missy," he picked his teeth with a thin splint of wood and then gave her a broad smile. "I can see something is fretting ye and ye be looking for a fight. _Don't._ We got enough on our plates."

"I shall gladly tell _you_ everything," she said to Chauncey and had to stop herself from sticking her tongue out at her brother. Old habits had a way of creeping in when she was upset. She returned her attention to Chauncey and said, "Perhaps he should leave the room."

"What the deuce? Why? What _did I_ do?" Ned exclaimed.

"Very well," she said, "You may stay if you don't nip at me." She gave him a hard look and satisfied that he only frowned but offered no retort, she proceeded. "Sir Owen was kind enough to offer his help...when I met him by accident a few days ago. I accepted. I took precautions, climbed a tree in fact, until I was certain he had not followed me and returned here. I met him again in the hopes that he might have more information for us. That is the long and the short of it." She turned a smug look at her brother, "You should be grateful."

"Mandy, I am grateful, grateful that you are my sister, but in this matter—just think that the duke is right about you gallivanting about, you shouldn't. Never know who you might run into. The duke is a knowing sort of fellow and we don't need Sir Owen sticking his nose into _our_ business. The duke will handle it all right and tight," Ned said unwisely and watched as his sister seemed to turn into a fury of movement.

She stomped her foot and paced in a circle. Hands went to her hips. "Will he? Will he indeed? And yet, where is he?"

"Probably chasing down a lead, I'd say," put in Chauncey frowning thoughtfully as he looked at her. "Chaffed are ye that he isn't here?" Chauncey and Mandy's gaze met and she felt a blush heat up her cheeks. A knowing smile lifted his lips and he said, "Aye, so that is the way of it, is it? I wondered."

"I am speaking of Sir Owen. Do you want to know what he had to tell me or not?" she returned.

"We do," said Chauncey lifting his hand to stop her brother from speaking.

"He told me that he had received information that Elly Bonner had been seen in York, and that she is expected to return there."

"York? Return? Why?" asked her brother.

"I'm not clear on that...wondered about it myself," Mandy sighed. "But Sir Owen seemed to think that she would be returning for supplies."

Ned jumped to his feet. "Come on Chauncey, if we head out now, we can reach York, put up somewhere where we wouldn't be noticed and have a search ourselves first thing in the morning. Didn't that friend of yours say something about Hawkins frequenting the Black Bull Tavern in York?"

Chauncey flicked his nose as he gave this some thought. He got to his feet and turned to Mandy, "His young lordship is right. If we head out now and put up at an inn, we'll have the whole day to search tomorrow, unless ye be worried about being alone here at night?"

"No, no...go. I only wish I could go with you," Mandy sighed.

"Aye, but no one would take ye for a boy by daylight, missy, ye must see that?" Chauncey said in way of apology.

She followed them outside and Chauncey cast his eyes upward. A bright full moon was glowing in the night sky and he grunted with approval. "MacFarlane's Lantern," he said, "It bodes well."

"Eh?" Ned turned a puzzled look at him, "Whose lantern?"

"Macfarlane's. Haven't I never told ye about it?"

Both Ned and Mandy shook their heads and waited as Chauncey grinned wide and with his hands moving across the night air, lowered his voice, "'T'was the Clan MacFarlane that rode the Highlands. Aye, but 'twas glorious. When the moon be so lit, 'tis said they would ride on their excursions and at no other time...well after they were dead."

Ned whistled low, Mandy chuckled, "Of course they did."

"Aye, but then if the clan is with us, we are bound to succeed," Ned said jovially. "Let's ride."

"Right, but ye know, yer thieves cant leaves much to be desired. When it comes to talking to these coveys tonight, leave that to me."

"What shall I do?" Ned objected.

"Look dumb, make no moves, say nothing," Chauncey answered on a bark of a laugh.

Ned's jaw dropped but he put up his chin and grumbled something incoherent as he bid his sister get back inside and be safe.

She watched them mount and ride off with a heavy sigh. She didn't feel very much like sitting alone in her chamber. The night was not so very advanced. There could be no harm in a short walk near the abbey?

After thirty minutes of this and another thirty minutes of sitting by herself, full with her restlessness, she got up and strode toward the barn. To her way of thinking, her brother and Chauncey may have been correct that she couldn't be seen in public with them, but she felt abandoned, alone and annoyed at being left out of everything all the time.

This way of thinking stirred up her cauldron of impetuosity and got the better of her. It didn't take long before she had her horse saddled and rode him slowly across the glen.

Truth was, sleeping alone at the abbey, would have been impossible. She had never been alone all night there before. York wasn't so very far away and by now there was no doubt in her mind that the two were having a rollicking good time at the tavern, while she twiddled her thumbs alone. It was most annoying.

A light mist had seeped into the atmosphere and hung low across the tall dry pasture. However, Mandy had not lived on the moors all her life without coming across this eerie scene before. The vision before her was one where an active imagination might begin to see all sorts of creatures crawling through the low hanging mist, but Mandy was made of sterner stuff.

She attached no unearthly significance to the light gray tentacles at her horse's hocks. She continued to make her way across Bolton Glen to the main pike, taking this eastward for a short stretch before crossing it and turning onto a path that etched its way through the viscount's property.

It was a trail that was rarely used.

The fact that the branches of the trees hung over the path making grotesque shadows did not deter her. She knew the woods well and thought nothing of guiding her horse through its dark, winding overgrowths. Perhaps a long ride was what she needed so that she could sleep when she returned to the abbey?

She saw the light of the moon up and ahead in the clearing and smiled because it was not an easy thing to pick her way through the deer path in the dim light of the woods. A breeze brought the scent of heather and it filled her nostrils and she sighed, pleased that she was out and about instead of stuck in a dank room all by herself.

She had never been over the stretch of land ahead at night. It was known as Witch's Elbow and was avoided even during the day because of the tales told concerning this parcel of glen.

She drew in breath. She did not believe in such things, and yet...one could never be too careful, especially when one was alone in the dark of night.

Gently, she urged her horse onto its treacherous ground when she heard it, stopped all movement, and listened and heard it again.

Sobbing!

A woman sobbing...indeed, a woman...and she was sobbing, yet...was it a woman, or was it something unearthly?

Uncertain...but, there was no denying the strength of the tone. The sobbing seemed to echo, but how was that possible? She shuddered and remembered how Chauncey had warned them to stay away from Witch's Elbow when they were young.

He had told them roundly, "Tis the spirits of evil caught beneath the ground—make no mistake. They cry for release they do, especially when the moon is full."

Well, here was the truth to his words.

She and Ned were only eleven or twelve when he warned them away from this place and told them about Old Saltergash who had an inn nearby. The witches played their tricks on all his patrons who dared to travel their land. They would use their magic to lure them into the bog.

Precaution put a stop to her plans. Perhaps she had ridden long enough. She had still the ride back to the ruins.

Best to turn about and get back to the safety of the abbey.

"Yes, but I don't believe in witches," she said out loud. _However, I do believe in_ _bogs and there could be any number of them along that stretch!_

Rationalization came to her rescue and she turned her horse around. She made for Wharfdale Manor road which bordered Skippendon's preserve. She could take this route quite directly and safely toward the Abbey trail.

Quite suddenly the breeze picked up again. It brought the scent of the damp woods and the sound of human conversation. It was low, hurried and very near. She could hear someone speaking.

She pulled her horse to a stop and tried not to make a sound as she listened, worried about being seen. She slipped quietly off her horse and went to his nose, holding the reins and leading him quietly out of sight and into the shadows.

The voices seemed to get louder and sounded strangely familiar. Curiously, she wondered who it was on Skippy's preserve. _Poachers?_ No—too odd an hour for poachers.

She picked through the evergreen bush and peered through the hidden light of the moon. She could not see anyone, but she heard most clearly.

"My dearest, this cannot continue. I won't have you riding out in the midst of the night, alone just for a few stolen moments..." It was a desperate male voice, and it was well known to Mandy, for it belonged to the Viscount Skippendon.

A soft, sweet-sounding female voice answered in a loving tone and Mandy heard an accent there—Irish?

"But they are precious moments, m'darling'. Don't take on so...'tis only a wee bit more we shall have to deal with. Soon we will be able to..."

Skip then annoyed Mandy because he cut her off and did not allow Mandy to learn what they soon would be able to do.

"No. My only love, it must stop, now. That is, unless you feel we can..." he said and Mandy thought he sounded miserable.

"M'own sweet John. Darlin' ye will not deny me our time together. 'Tis yer right to claim so much more, but I canna give it yet...though 'tis m'wish to do so."

"But why? This is torture, Kathleen..."

Now she cut him off, "But ye know why, have always known, though ye never really understood. I know that. Whist there, darlin', never mind."

As silence ensued, Mandy imagined that they were no doubt locked in an embrace. What was she doing spying on Skip?

All she wanted then was to hurry off. As quietly as she could, she picked her way out of the brush and took her horse in hand as she mounted and hurriedly urged him away from the scene.

Why was Skippy meeting this woman clandestinely? What the deuce was going on here? The woman was unknown to her, but she was sure she was gentry. Right, so why would she be sneaking off to meet the viscount? He was a nobleman, he was rich, and he was a gentleman in every imaginable way...so this did not make sense.

Sir Owen had said that Skip was seeing someone and had not wanted her to know about his relationship with Celia. So here it was the truth of the matter...?

Sir Owen had said Skip could be the father of Celia's unborn child. No...that wasn't like Skip at all. She refused to think this.

What to do? What to do?

With her jumbled thoughts scurrying about in her head, she scarcely looked where she was going. She neither saw nor heard the figure on horseback coming directly at her.
**Chapter Thirteen**

THE DUKE'S HORSE had not looked particularly pleased to see him, as he had been comfortably munching on his hay. The duke laughed and said, "No 'ole boy, I shan't bother you again. He'd had a busy day and there was one thing left for him to do. He told his tired steed, "I'll take Skip's horse now, how is that?"

A few moments later and without disturbing the groom who was in his quarters settled in with dinner, he tacked Skips' favorite gelding, mounted and made his way down the drive to the main pike.

Ten minutes took him to the edge of the village and another five saw him handing over his steed to the livery boy of the Cock Pit.

The tavern was now inundated with gentlemen bent on having an exceptional time, and he strode through the hearty bunch, doffed his hat to a buxom wench who gave him a wink and asked her, "Can you direct me to Fowler's room?"

"Aye, that I can, sir—unless you have a change of 'eart and want to join me in m'own back room?"

He grinned boyishly and said lightly, "Perhaps another time, pretty lady, but for now, Fowler if you please."

She sighed, "Aye, first room at the top of the stairs."

He took hold of the wooden railing and managed the steps two at a time, until he reached the landing and Mr. Fowler's door, where he knocked.

"'Tis open. Come in if ye have a mind," said the voice on the other side.

The duke opened the door wide and inclined his uncovered head for his hat was dangling from his fingers. "Mr. Fowler, I wonder if I might intrude on you."

"Aye, Yer Grace. Back are ye? Well, come in and be seated and tell me what it is ye have on yer mind, for I'd wager it isn't selling yer friend's land," said Fowler knowingly.

The duke took up a wooden chair and sat. "Right then, I believe in playing with a full deck, sir, so I shall come right to the point. You are not on holiday and you are not looking to buy some land," the duke said, one brow arched.

"No? Then what am I doing?" Mr. Fowler asked cautiously.

"Ah, Mr. Fowler, I am not a green lad, now am I? You are a Bow Street Runner," the duke picked up a small black book labeled 'occurrence ledger' and looked at it pointedly, before dropping it back down on the table that reposed between himself and the runner. "You are in Yorkshire looking for the fifty thousand pounds in gold that was stolen six weeks ago!"

Joe Fowler heaved a long sigh and scanned the duke's uncompromising face. "Well now, ain't ye a knowing one. Aye, not green at all, are ye?" He snorted, rubbed his chin and sighed again before saying, "It's a queer fetch—no denying that, but what a flash covey sech as yerself wants in it is more than I can prig."

"I have my reasons for wanting to lend you my assistance," the duke replied quietly.

"Aye, I daresay ye do, seeing as ye be guardian to that Sherborne lad."

The duke was surprised by this but gave the runner a rueful smile, "So, you know about his lordship's trouble?"

"I ain't here on that particular setout. Lor' bless ye." He shook his head. "Don't mean to tangle wit more than I can handle and the way I hear tell, yer locals won't believe he had anything to do with that poor girl's murder."

"Now tell me, what ever came of the guards and the drivers?"

"I can tell ye that we know that one of them guards had to be in on it. He spoke peculie-like to his misses before he left that night, and I take it as a sure sign he was part of it. Never found coach, nor guards and I'm guessing even the insider guard be good and dead by now."

"Did it ever occur to you that the two incidents, Celia Brinley's murder and the theft of this gold could be related?" the duke asked even as he studied the runner for a reaction.

Fowler frowned, "Ye have a reason for thinking so, I suppose?"

"I do, but it is more gut, than fact. I am still looking for the facts," the duke replied.

"Rawlings—you know, it was his bank that was twigged."

"I know, what about him?"

"Well, he says that there was some exchange of paper currency for the newly minted gold."

"Ah, and before it could be delivered to the Manchester Branch, they were waylaid," the duke said as much to himself as to the runner. "Yes, I read as much."

"Aye, queer how coach, drivers, guards...all poof...vanished," said the runner. "With no one about the wiser, that is." He shook his head, "Then I got up here and got m'mind wrapped up about the lay of the land, and the river. Heard tell how there might be limestone canyons hidden from sight in these parts. Could be the coach was sunk in the deepest part of the river afterward...could be those poor coveys were buried with the coach." He shrugged and then added thoughtfully, "Here is the thing, Yer Grace. It ain't nothing I can sink m'teeth into, yet I gleamed something this afternoon."

"Did you?" the duke encouraged him to share.

"Well, ye be a duke n'all, but I don't have leave to be telling ye sech things," Fowler answered.

"Your instincts, Fowler, trust your instincts. Together we may piece the puzzle. There isn't a soul in the area that doesn't know you are runner. They all know. You'll never learn anything from the locals about his robbery, but I just might."

Fowler eyed him measuringly, "Aye, I don't doubt that. Well then, well mayhap the two of us can come up with something that makes sense and also clears your lad."

"Good man. Now what do you know?"

"This afternoon, I met with Rawlings again and this time he let it slip that he told Mrs. Brinley about the shipment—sparing no details when they had lunch some weeks ago. He only meant to entertain her, as he seems to have a...well, he seems to like the woman. He was afraid to mention this before, afraid to lose his position at the bank and he didn't think it made a difference. But I'm thinking it does. There is no telling who she might have told...is there?"

"Right then, Joe Fowler, right then. It all fits. They are connected, don't you see? Let's just find out who Agatha Brinley repeated this choice piece of gossip too."

"Eh?"

"Now," said the duke, not bothering to explain right then. "Now, just exactly what was the route, the time of day, the names involved that were taking this shipment?"

* * *

Suddenly, Mandy saw a dark shape coming toward her and knew she had been spotted.

A darkly clad large figure of a man rode his horse directly toward her. Everything about him seemed intent on reaching her.

Who could it be? What should she do?

In the moonlight, she could make out the breath of his shoulders, and the excellence of his seat, and suddenly she knew who he was. She knew.

This was dreadful.

He would think her an idiot, roaming about at night like this. Anyone could have come across her—anyone did. _My,_ she thought ruefully, _the night and woods were busy_!

She felt ashamed and defiant all in one as she gathered up her defense. She wanted to race off so that he could not be certain it was she. But, she stopped her horse and waited for the abuse he was bound to ring over her stupid, stupid head.

"Damnation, girl! What the devil are you doing out here alone at night? And where the deuce have you been, coming from that direction?"

She was near enough now to see his face. He looked furious, concerned, and yet, something about him, made her want to just dive into his arms. If they were not on horseback, she believed that was what she would have done. She lifted her eyes to his, in no mood for a fight, sick of being forever on her own, without the comforts of her home, and forever worried about Ned.

Suddenly misery trumped shame, as she felt tears collect in her eyes and flood over onto her cheeks. She couldn't stop them, hard as she tried and a sob she caught in her throat nearly choked her.

He was off his horse and lifting her off hers. He had her tightly in his arms and she felt him throw off her hat as he kissed the top of her head and say incomprehensibly soothing words. His voice was gentle as he assuaged her with nonsense saying only, "Oh my dear, my poor little beauty, my own gamine, we shall do, we shall, I promise you that."

"Oh...Brock...oh..." was all she managed to say between sniffs as she attempted to collect herself. " 'Tis Skip...Skip...I can't bear to think on it...and I feel as though I...am breaking into pieces..."

"No, my love, you are as strong a woman as I have ever known. You won't break, and if ever you managed to put a little crack in that wondrous heart of yours, I would seal it right up and make it well. No, Mandy. You will do. But tell me...what about Skip?" He took her hand, caught up the reins of both horses, with her hand still in his, bent to retrieve her hat, and led her to the edge of the woods only a few feet off the road. There he bade her sit on a fallen log.

This done, he put his arm around her and held her and Mandy felt safe and cared for and sighed away the last of her tears. He had produced a handkerchief and she dabbed at her face, blew her nose and handed it back to him.

She laughed to see him pinch the handkerchief gingerly as he stuffed it into a pocket and he grinned as he touched her chin, "Now, that's more like it."

She giggled nervously and he said, "Now, my gamine, perhaps you have sufficiently recovered to put me in the way of understanding what it is about our amiable Skip to set you to tears?"

She nodded and saw that his eyes twinkled and all at once she threw both arms around his middle and hugged him fiercely, before dropping them and sitting in the crook of his hold to tell him what she had just overheard between Skip and the strange woman, and what Sir Owen had tried to get her to believe about her friend.

"There," she said when she was done with her tale. "What do you think it all means?"

"It means that you certainly should not be out and about all by yourself." He tweaked her nose. "Just look at the problem you have caused yourself with your snooping."

She sat up straight and hands went to her hips, "Snooping? I wasn't. I...came upon them quite by accident and left as soon as I realized what was toward. _Snooping,_ indeed." Then she saw that he had been teasing and she gave his knee a rap. "Horrid duke, now tell me, what do you think it really means?"

"There is an explanation, you know. We might not readily have it at hand, but there is one. Come, let me see you the rest of the way back to the abbey."

She acquiesced without demur, all the while feeling that although Ned had told her there were no such things as knights in shining armor, the Duke of Margate, was most certainly just that. Oh, yes, every bit a knight in shining armor.
**Chapter Fourteen**

MANDY ARRANGED THE straw in her living quarters, as the duke had taken both their horses to the abbey barn.

She looked up as he entered the chamber they had been using as their dining area and bedroom alike and stood a moment as they looked into one another's eyes. Was it possible to feel this much without exploding, she wondered.

She knew what he was thinking, because she was thinking it as well. She could see that he wanted to embrace her wildly, hold her forever. She saw this on his face and then all at once he strode over to her and took her into his arms and kissed her.

A commotion coming down the hall made them jump guiltily away and just in time as Ned ducked his head and entered the chamber to tell them, "By Jove, we've had a rare kick-up!"

Apparently, Mandy thought ruefully, they had decided not to stay overnight in York.

Ned threw his hat across the room where it landed on the pile of straw and blankets he had been using as his bed. " _Hallo,_ duke...saw your horse in the barn. What has happened to bring you out this late?"

"First, my young man, what sort of rare kick-up?" countered the duke.

"You sound as though you have just been having fun, when you were supposed to be out finding information about Elly Bonner and Hawkins!" his sister accused as she glared him down.

"Oh, well, as to Elly...think it was all a hum. No one we spoke to knew anything about her, but sis, wait till you hear what a capital time we've had."

"Capital time?" Mandy seethed. "Here I am forever stuck in the wilds, while you go about gallivanting and having a capital time?" She stamped her foot at him. "Off I went to Witch's Elbow...all alone, while you..."

"Witch's Elbow?" her brother interjected with horror. "Blister it, sis, why would you do that?"

"I needed to get out, you horrid boy!" she snapped.

"Indeed, Mandy," the duke interrupted, "It seems both Ned and Chauncey have something to say. Shall we allow them a word?"

Mandy directed what she hoped was her worst evil eye at both her brother and Chauncey, "Go ahead then."

Ned beamed like a young boy and announced, "Won a bundle tonight."

"Won a bundle? _Gambling._ You were gambling?" Mandy was beyond enraged as she found her brother's hat and began to beat him with it.

The duke put out a hand and caught Mandy's arm, firmly but gently steering her away and calling an end to her savagery. "Heigh-ho, gamine. Let the lad explain."

"He has been gambling— _gambling,_ Brock, and you want him to explain?" Mandy returned in outraged accents.

The duke chuckled and said, "I rather think he should—don't you?"

Ned agreed with this logic and eyed his sister warily as he took a step out of her range. Chauncey grinned and waited.

"Right then, explain," Mandy demanded.

"Would have if I had but been given a chance," Ned grumbled. However, he recalled the fat wad of ready in his pocket and immediately grinned like an idiot and offered "Mandy, Lordy, never saw one before, you know. Heard of 'em, but not been to any of 'em. Grandpapa always insisted that they were for cits and laborers though I half suspect he attended a few in his day." He shook his head with a great show of pleasure and continued, "At any rate, it was famous good sport, and so I would have told Grandpapa if he were here..." his voice trailed off for a moment and he added, "Miss him."

Mandy softened at once and went and put a hand to his arm and rubbed, "Yes, as do I."

"Right, it was called The Rat Pit. Course you wouldn't know about it, being a female and all and don't think you would have liked it either—not that I'm saying that you are missish, for you are not, anyone could see that, but still...you wouldn't have liked it. I daresay you would have felt sorry for the horrid little beasts. Didn't think I'd like it either, but, there you are."

"Rat Pit?" Mandy repeated this in astounded accents.

"Your brother is referring to a rather questionable sport, wherein they set a dog loose in a pit some six feet in diameter with an assortment of rats. He is expected to kill any number of these within a given space of time. It is on this particular point that bets are placed and money exchanged," the duke explained helpfully.

Mandy's jaw dropped and once again with the hat she still held, she went after him. However, this time Ned ducked and dodged until the duke again took hold of her. She looked up at the duke and said, "How could he? 'Tis awful."

"He is cutting his eye teeth," the duke said softly.

"Yes, but he enjoyed it!"

"I think he enjoyed winning and the excitement of it all. No need to worry..."

"No, Mandy, don't mean to attend that sort of thing again. It was bang up good fun, but truth be told, don't like dogs being used quite like that..."

"And the poor rats," Mandy said.

"Poor rats? Well, that is doing it a bit strong," returned her brother with a snort.

The men exchanged glances before they burst out laughing and she cast them all a challenging look and brought them back to the subject of hand. "Well, this has been entertaining for you, but brings us no closer to Elly Bonner or Hawkins, does it?"

* * *

Elly Bonner was a tall thin girl, with a neat figure. Her light brown curls were pulled back into a bun. Her face was bright, with a well-scrubbed look.

The man sitting across the small table from her was a huge creature, well above the average height and stocky. His brown hair curled around his heavy face. His eyes were dark and hard with the experiences of his life. He wore a peasant's shirt and loose trousers.

As he stared at the woman he had taken to his heart and considered his attachment, he sighed and reached for her hand. "It won't always be like this darlin'." She was a good woman, was his Elly. Lord knew he didn't deserve her, but he had every intention of keeping her, no matter what the guv' said. He would have a job of it though, and they'd have to move on soon.

At first, he had tried to get the diary from her, but lately, he had thought better of it. Mayhap, it was the only thing keeping the guv' from killing them both. He hadn't allowed the guard he had paid to live. Said the man would be found and questioned. Well, well, best to keep something the covey was afraid of. He sighed as he looked at Elly. She was a good woman, and he was lucky to have her.

She hadn't answered him, instead, she looked away and said, "Jack...this can't go on. An innocent man is being accused. We both know who killed Miss Celia and we need to put him away."

"Lookee 'ere, lovey—jest forget that. We'll make certain the young lord gets the diary before we disappear. How is that? We'll leave with m'share and go anywhere ye want, and we'll have a clear conscience."

"I won't leave till I know Lord Sherborne has the diary in his hands. I just can't. Before we leave, I must do this."

"But Elly, we must give it to him without no one the wiser. We'll pick our time, we will."

"He killed Miss Celia. He must be brought to justice. If I hand in the diary...and we set sail for America like I have always wanted...there won't be time for him to find and hurt us. He'll be busy answering for his crimes."

Jack Hawkins drew a long breath of air. Was she in the right of it? Could they do the decent thing and escape? "Right then, I'll do whatever ye want."

She jumped up and went to him, flung her arms around him and sobbed, "Oh Jack, ye won't regret it. I know ye don't hold with what that awful man has done. I know ye have killed a man in yer time, but never an honest one, and never have ye hurt a woman."

"I have fought m'way through this life, I have...but ye be in the right of it again, I don't hold with what this cull has done. But he paid me to get the diary, ye know. He'll want his ounce of blood."

"We'll do, I know we will," she said staunchly.

He hugged her tightly and took her into his lap. "Hush now. Ye'll be blasting me with tears in a moment and I won't 'ave it. Don't want m'Elly crying. We'll have to leave soon, we will."

"Yes, we'll make a fresh start in the New World. 'Tis a grand land—there where people like us can start a new life fresh and clean. We could leave for Bristol in the morning. We have enough of the ready. We don't need more..."

"Not yet, I needs m'fair share...if we be sailing for a new land, well then, I need the blunt to do it right."

"Jack, ye have to stop thinking like a thief...give it up."

"Lordy, Elly, I been trying...for ye...I been trying, I swear I have. But you can't make a silk purse from a sow's lug—ye jest can't."

She sighed and touched his grizzly bearded chin. "I love ye, Jack."
**Chapter Fifteen**

MANDY WAS AWAKENED the next morning by her brother who shook her roughly and shouted loudly, "Mandy, Mandy...dash it girl, _wake up_!"

"What?" she tried to focus on his face.

Ned was frantic. "We are done up I tell you and out of time. Come on we have to get out of here. Chauncey is saddling our horses right this very minute."

Mandy rubbed her eyes. She had a fitful sleep during the night and as a net result had overslept. "What?" she repeated as she got to her feet and stretched.

"Don't you understand, sis? We have to leave," her brother told her as he threw her buckskin riding vest into her arms.

She was already wearing his shirt, and breeches. Feeling grimy, she pulled on her riding vest and reached for her hair brush.

He pulled the brush from her hands and flung it. "No time...come on."

"What has happened?" she asked now thoroughly concerned as she piled up her hair and fitted the cap over its thick masses.

He had already started off and she hurried to catch up with him, "Neddy...what is going on?"

"Chaunce and I went to the stream to get some fish for breakfast and on the way back we saw Cook. We were at that peak of the glen, you know it...well never mind. She was coming down the road on our old cob. Chaunce hailed her and we made our way to her hoping to wheedle one of the loaves of bread she was taking to her sister's, and of all the bad luck—we look up and find Uncle Bevis with what looked like a search party, at his back. They came at us like wild brutes, but we managed to give them the slip, but not for long before they have it all figured out."

"Good gracious no!"

"Just so, Mandy. He was heading right for us...he was on horseback...we, on foot and we lost him by diving into the woods, but he'll figure it out he will and come to the Abbey."

They had reached the barn, where Chauncey already had their horses in tow. Ned and Mandy took up their reins and started to mount.

"Nothing for it but to move," Chauncey declared hurriedly. "Now, no more talk, up and out..."

They didn't speak for the next few minutes as Chauncey led the way, until Ned looked around and asked, "Chauncey...where are we headed?"

"For now, we need to just ride off and out of sight, head for the Old Track...I am guessing would be our best bet."

"I can hear them coming...oh Chauncey they are right at our backs!" Mandy declared distressfully.

"Nothing for it, missy...time to spring 'em," Chauncey returned.

Mandy galloped along with her brother as they followed Chauncey's heady pace. They came across a fallen tree blocking the old bridle path. Its branches reached high and prevented them from jumping it so they came to a slamming halt.

Chauncey announced they would have to pick through the trees.

However, it was already too late. They turned even as the group of armed riders, three with their uncle, began to circle them.

Mandy saw her uncle in the middle of all, sitting on his horse and looking as smug as she had ever seen him.

"Don't make any sudden moves, missy...they are armed," Chaunce said as he saw that Mandy was ready to bolt and ride for it.

"We can outride them...we can..." Mandy said hopefully.

"I can't have either you or the young lord winged, now can I?" Chauncey answered.

Ned sighed but held his head high. "He is quite right, Mandy. I can't allow m'sister to be put in such danger. We shall stand buff."

"No!" Mandy screeched. "We must charge right through them, please Neddy...you can't be taken."

"Sis, I am a Sherborne. I shall not try and outrun these scoundrels and have m'sister shot."

She had no patience with doing the honorable. She wanted him to survive. She wanted him free. A gentleman's code only worked for gentlemen and she did not consider her uncle one. He was a blackguard.

Squire Speenham, his breath coming in short spurts and making Mandy wish he would keel over and die. It was a horrid wish, but at that moment she wasn't up to feeling anything but justified.

However, he did not fall over, but walked his horse forward. His hat was askew over his bald head and had she not been so angry she might have laughed at the vision he presented.

She looked around and saw that two of the three men had their guns leveled at Ned and Chauncey. The third man showed no signs of having a gun, but sat his horse quietly, studying them.

She tried reason, "Uncle Bevis—tell these men to put down their arms at once!"

"How dare you address me as Uncle, young lady! Dressed as you are...in the company of outlaws, for that is exactly what young Sherborne has become."

"Oh, for the love of..." Ned began to declare exasperatedly, "Stop your prattling, and do whatever it is you have to do."

"And so I shall," the squire returned sharply. "It does however, grieve me deeply, much as you suspect otherwise. My name is forever besmirched by your actions." He turned to the yeoman without a gun and said, "Take these gentlemen into Harrowgate with as little commotion as you can. See to it that their cell is well guarded, and they are to have no visitors." He turned to Mandy who was trying to think of a way out of this. "You young woman, shall come with me."

"No, I won't. I prefer the same fate as my brother," Mandy returned defiantly.

"It perhaps will not surprise you to learn that I believe you may well deserve it. However, you are a gently bred female whose reputation I mean to save, by arranging for you to marry my son."

"Never. I will never marry your son," she was seething with fury.

"Nevertheless, you will return with me to my home and remain under constant supervision until your brother is brought to trial. Now come along."

Ned reached out to comfort his sister and the younger yeoman, apparently nervous from the sudden importance of his job, became over-zealous. He brought down the gun hard on Ned's forearm, nearly dislocating him from his saddle.

Ned cried out as much from surprise as pain and turned a wrathful glance upon the yeoman.

Mandy screeched, "You awful person! What have you done? I'll have your neck for that!"

"You'll not have anyone's neck. What sort of speech is that for a woman? It is not a moment too soon that I am taking you under hand," the squire said with an impatient gesture. He turned to the yeoman and said warningly, "Lord Sherborne is a peer of the Realm. He will be treated with respect. He must stand trial for the crime he has been accused of, but he has not yet been found guilty and you will keep that in mind."

"Afraid of what people might say?" Mandy sneered at her uncle. "Afraid they might think you are too anxious to bring Ned in—that maybe you have an ulterior motive? It is what people are already saying... _is it not_?" As she spoke she watched as the armed men took the reins of both Chauncey and Ned and a heavy depression settled in over her. She needed the duke. _Faith, oh faith, Brock...I need you—right now!_

She said nothing to her uncle on the ride to his Tudor home. Once inside the house, he bade her sharply to go upstairs and ready herself in the guestroom, as he would have a hot bath drawn for her while her clothes were fetched from Sherborne.

She put up her chin and marched upstairs, where she finally found the room she believed he was speaking of, and plumped down on a large upholstered winged chair and burst into tears.

* * *

At just about the moment the squire and Mandy arrived at his home, Chauncey and Ned had reached a long stretch of woods on either side of the road and Chauncey managed to cast Ned a 'get ready' wink without being seen by the yeoman.

He coughed, choked, coughed again and as he raised a hand to his heart, groaned, "Aye then, young lord...but all the excitement...I'm not feeling quite the...thing..."

"Whot's this?" said the youngest and the only one of the men that was unarmed. "No need to fraiche yerself Chauncey. The court will be lenient on ye. After all, ye were only taking orders from his lordship...just stay calm now."

"Och...och..." replied Chauncey.

"I don't like this," said the other man waving his gun about. "Don't ye be trying to bamboozle us. We ain't green now, are we?"

"Och...m'heart... 'tis m'ole heart going at last..." Chauncey cried with a loud moan.

"Eh Jed, maybe we should stop and let the old man rest a bit..." said the youngest yeoman, looking concerned.

"There lads, just look at me. Too old for all of this. I need some rest..." Chauncey encouraged them hopefully.

The yeoman slowed their gait and just in time, for at that moment, it appeared as though old Chauncey's poor heart, did in fact, give out.

With his hand to his chest, he let out a startling wail and fell off his horse, face down onto the dusty road.

"Oh! Bless the saints!" cried one man as he jumped out of his saddle, nearly fell in his hurry to get to the older groom. He righted himself, as his two comrades raced past him to Chauncey's side.

One cried out, "We're in for it now we are. Chauncey is well known, well liked and we'll be blamed for misusing the old codger...aye...that we will."

Ned slipped off his horse and came up behind the youngest and unarmed man. They had taken Ned's gun, but neglected to search him for anything else, and he pulled out the long knife from his tall boot and grinned as he took the man in his hold. "There now lads, drop your weapons. I don't want to hurt him...or any of you, but I am not only an innocent man, but a desperate one."

Chauncey made a speedy recovery and jumped one of the yeomen that had been startled into turning to Ned and his hostage.

He had both the man's gun and a grip around his neck from behind as he said, "Ye lads be working the wrong side. Can't ye see that? Lord Sherborne is innocent and ye would do well to remember that."

"Chauncey...all their weapons..." Ned said.

"Aye," Chauncey answered on a grin, as he shoved his man away, held his gun on him and took up the gun he had ordered the other yeoman to drop.

"Go on...take a rest by that nice oak. When you are feeling up to it, you can look for your horses. We'll let them go once we have gotten far enough away."

"If ye be innocent, why are ye running?" asked the youngest of the three men.

"Because I've been being framed by the real killer and I need to find out just who that is. No one else is interested in looking past me."

A moment later, both Ned and Chauncey were riding their horses with the three other horses in tow. They had gone a good mile before they set the horses free and turned in the opposite direction.

Ned set up high spirited howls and Chauncey laughed before shaking his head, "Well now lad, we'll make for the river. We're bound to find a niche that will have to do. Won't be as cozy as we have been, but never mind that, missy ain't with us, so it don't much matter what kind of a hidey hole we make for ourselves."

Ned frowned over this. "What of Mandy? What will Uncle do to her, Chaunce?"

"Lord love ye. Nuthin a-tall. Don't ye know? Haven't ye seen? Yer uncle wants to marry her to his son. Needs to clear her name and keep her out of this business. No doubt he will say he has had her safe at Speenham all along."

Ned snorted, "More fool he if he thinks she'll even look at Alfred! Marry him, indeed."

"Aye, I think she will try and escape as I don't see her putting up with much..." Chauncey agreed with a sigh.

"At any rate, the duke will settle this right and tight, won't he?"

"Bless ye, lad, I think he will."

"That's right," Ned declared brightening once more. "We have the duke!"

* * *

Time, a hot bath and serious thinking had done wonders for Mandy's spirits. She brushed her long blonde hair with determination, and worked out some of her angst. The results of her efforts had made the gold of its color glitter back at her in the mirror.

Dark eyes stared back at her and she saw her brother's face and said softly, "It's not over Ned. We still have the duke...and I know he shall see us out of this."

She had donned a pretty day gown of pale blue muslin. It was a simply designed gown that showed off her lines to advantage and she was pleased with the results when she stared at herself in the mirror. She had a plan and it would start with her lulling everyone into believing she had accepted her fate. _Ha!_

A knock sounded at her door and she called out sardonically, "As the key is on the hall side of the door, you are free to enter as you wish, are you not?"

A maid of middle age and sour disposition put in her face and grimaced at her, "Sorry, miss. But Mr. Speenham wants ye in the parlor for tea."

"Does he?" Mandy said sweetly, though anyone who knew her would have heard the defiance edging each word. "Tell Mr. Speenham that I have no wish for tea...or his company."

The maid cast her a shocked expression. "He said ye might take his invitation out of temper, but told me I was not to return downstairs without ye. I do so dislike having to disoblige...but Mr. Speenham will be that angry with me, he will...if ye don't come down."

Mandy sighed resigned to her fate. She couldn't allow the maid to suffer Alfred's annoyance because of her. "Very well," Mandy said, walking through the open door and heading for the stairs. _Calm yourself_ , her mind ordered. _You must take a fine line with the Speenhams. They must think you are pleased to have some comforts once again...how else will they loosen their hold?_

She entered the parlor, where Alfred already on his feet, went forward, "Mandy! You are looking prodigiously well after your...escapade," Alfred said warmly, evidently determined to start things off amiably.

"Thank you," Mandy managed to return with a half-smile.

He frowned at her, "You are worried about Ned, I know, but my dear. He must face the courts if he is to clear his name."

She looked into his cold hard hazel eyes and saw without any doubt that this man was wicked. It pulsated off his body in waves that slapped her. She said, making her voice sound hopeful, conspiratorial, "Alfred, he cannot prove his innocence from a jail. It makes him look guilty. We were looking for Elly Bonner...don't you want that too? Don't you want to prove your cousin innocent of this awful crime?"

"I am shocked. Don't you know that is precisely what I have been doing? How could you not know that?" He brushed a speck from his dark brown cutaway and regarded her with a look of hurt. "How could you think I would do otherwise?"

She tried to put some sweetness into her smile, "Alfred...I don't believe you have my brother's best interests at heart. How could I? In fact, I believe just the opposite of you and your father."

His brows drew together and he said sharply, "You are not in a position to criticize, are you?"

Suddenly he surprised her by taking a hurried step to her and grabbing her shoulders with both his hands. "You need a beating, you brazen little bitch. I swear, one day you will live to rue your behavior toward me!" He shook her and then bent to kiss her while she struggled to be free of him.

All at once a storm blew in.

Alfred was blasted with a force that managed to lift him bodily and fling him across the room. He landed against a Queen Anne chair, fell off balance, and dropped with a resounding thud to the Oriental carpet.

Mandy felt a warm glow of enormous proportions slip around her, through her, as a pair of glorious blue eyes looked into hers and an authoritative, caressing voice— _his voice_ asked, "Are you quite all right, my love?"

She nodded, unable to trust herself to speak, and he touched her cheek. She took his hand and had to restrain herself from kissing his fingers as she hurriedly told him, "Ned and Chauncey...they took..."

He cut her off, "No, our resourceful lads have not been taken in. 'Tis all over Harrowgate. I was in the town...met your uncle there and hurried to get to you here. I saw the guards along the way." He grinned at this juncture. "Apparently, Ned and Chauncey managed to escape them."

At that moment the Speenham butler arrived and if he found the fact that his employer's son, was picking himself off the floor, odd, he gave no sign, but announced, "Sir Owen Turndale."

Mandy was protectively ensconced within the duke's strong arm. She made no effort to move and the duke seemed content with matters as they stood.

Sir Owen stopped short and frowned at the scene that met his eyes, but he shook his head and said, "Well, it is amazing to me just how much can happen in a short space of time in the country!"

"Sir Owen...have you word?" Mandy asked going forward and allowing him to take her hand and bend perfunctorily over it.

"No, I am afraid not. However, I discovered that someone close to Elly Bonner, a Hawkins fellow...well, it is nothing, just an odd thing."

The duke went forward, his blue eyes intent, "What is this odd thing?"

"A slip of the tongue...nothing really. However, the Hawkins fellow did come into York for a few things..."

Speenham seemed keenly interested, "Hawkins? Who is this Hawkins and what has he to do with anything?"

"We believe he may lead us to Elly Bonner," Sir Owen answered him, and turned to Mandy. "What of Ned? Did your uncle actually manage to take him in?"

"Indeed, he tried, but they have escaped, as I shall, for I won't stay in this house with..." she looked at Alfred, "...him."

"Indeed, gamine, your uncle is not your legal guardian. _I am,_ " stuck in the duke.

"Now, hold on here," Alfred blustered.

"Hold on? For what?" the duke eyed him threateningly.

"You just can't walk out of here with my cousin. My father...well, he is a magistrate as well as her uncle and although he has chosen to overlook her crime...her part in Ned's initial escape...there is no saying that he will continue to do so if..."

The duke was already taking Alfred by the collar and seething with the fury of his words, "Speak like that and I will take great pleasure in knocking out each and every tooth you possess in that sordid button mouth of yours!" the duke warned. "You will remember as I have already informed you, that Miss Sherborne is my ward and as such, under my protection. If he chooses, though I highly recommend he does not, to bring charges against her, he will live to regret it, as I will make certain both his and your future will be fraught with pain and discomfort."

Sir Owen, his hands folded in his arms stood slightly back, leaning against a near-by bookcase and watched with keen interest.

Alfred spluttered, mumbled and moved toward the side table where he poured himself a stiff drink.

The duke bent his arm toward his ward and said, "Let's get you home, gamine, for I do not approve of these relations of yours. From here on out, I think you should not have anything to do with them."

"Thank you...yes, I should like above all things to leave here," Mandy said feeling very much like skipping along with him. She was going to be one and twenty and at that moment felt like a young girl at his side, happy to allow him to look after her. Life, she thought, was full of unexpected surprises.

He had her horse brought with his from the Speenham stable and saw her skirts spread around her as she sat her horse astride and she told him, "Brock, you are my hero, and Ned would say—a great gun. I do most humbly thank you."

He laughed. "It is absurd, but to hear you compliment me instead of insult me is more than I can bear. Do stop."

She giggled and then remembered her brother was now out of reach. "They are safe...yes?"

He regaled her with the tale the guards had recounted to him and they both laughed before he said, "I am pleased to tell you that your resourceful twin and your man Chauncey are free and I am certain, quite able to find a place to stowaway while we find Elly...and we shall. I can feel we are getting close."

He mounted his horse and they started off together as he said, "I don't mean to take you directly to Sherborne...is that acceptable?"

"Oh yes," Mandy thought, knowing she would go to hell and back and then make the trip again for this man.

"I am loathe to have you in the same house with Agatha Brinley. For all we know, she may have killed her stepdaughter and I am not about to allow her to harm a hair on your exquisite head."

"Then...where...?"

"To Skip's manor."

"No, that is...well, it is a bachelor's residence. People may forgive me for helping my brother escape and hiding out with him, but they would never forgive me if I flout convention and move in with two bachelors."

"I mean to have your nanny brought to Wharfdale Manor by the end of the day. I know you have her pensioned nearby, as I manage your finances. It will serve," he said softly and reached for her ungloved hand. "I will always look out for your interests, love."

She blushed as the heat rushed through her body. _He cared_. Did that mean he loved her? Could this big wondrous man actually love her? She was naught but a country miss...a hoyden without London polish—and yet the way he looked at her was more than the lust they had shared. Could he love her? _Could he?_

**Chapter Sixteen**

ELLY BONNER SAT rigid with fright as she stared at the boxes her Jack was piling upon their cavern table. She knew now where he had been and what he had been doing. He had gone shopping in York!

Half of her wanted to scold and half of her longed to go through the treasures he had set before her.

"Bless ye, Jack, what's this ye be bringing down around m'poor head?"

"Jest wait, Elly!" He grinned like a boy. " 'tis fit fer the queen ye be."

"Oh Jack, so many things...how? We done spent the last of our ready more than a week ago." She knew, but she hoped otherwise.

"Aw now, Elly love. Don't take on like a shrew. 'Tis fer ye, all of it, fer ye. Ready-made they be, but I swear, one day ye'll be wearing those that ain't."

"Oh Jack..." she exclaimed. He was like a big child pleased with himself, wanting her to get excited and enjoy the presents he had brought her, but how could she when she knew how they had been come by?

"Aw now Elly, don't be pushing a basket full of questions at me. Jest hold em up and look at 'em..." He pulled out a pretty green muslin and added, "This one I chose to go with yer pretty eyes."

"Jack, oh Jack, 'tis grand. Oh, that grand...but..."

He pulled yet another gown, "And this, Elly...with this pretty straw bonnet..." he scrambled to show her more. "And these boots...and these slippers...and look at the grand trunk we'll be using when we sail. 'Tis the two of us from here on out and never mind how, we'll make it all right in the end."

She knew what Jack had suffered growing up. She knew his own father was the one that had left the scar across his neck, put there with a knife and how he had finally lost all control and had turned on his father and beat him to death. She knew all that he was, and she loved him, for he was none of those things with her.

He was full of excitement and told her, "Tomorrow, I'll be bringing the cob and wagon and we'll head for Bristol and get on a ship headed for that new land ye love so much."

"But Jack...how?"

"Aw Elly, ye don't need to know."

"But I do."

"I only took a quarter of m'share...jest enough to see us through this. Jest enough to get us established..."

She gasped, "Oh no, Jack darlin' ye used the gold?"

"Lordy girl, they didn't give me these things coz of m'fine face." He shrugged. "I know someone. He gave me a fair exchange for the gold...so that I could get what we needed."

"If they catch this person, he will lead them to you," she said her hand at his cheek.

"No, they won't because we'll be gone and that will be that."

"What if that awful man finds out...?"

"He won't. I made the chest look untouched, I did. I ain't so dimwitted as some might think."

"Of course, you are not," she reassured him.

"He doesn't know where we are hiding. And we'll be gone before he realizes it. Soon, all we'll have to do is get the wagon close, load up what we need and off we will go. What more we need, we'll buy in the new land..." he reached for her hand. "Now come, Elly girl, come see what else I got 'ere. There is even a new set of clothes for me, so ye can walk beside me proud."

She consented because she loved him, felt for him--wanted him to have what he needed. Besides that, the boxes set before her, for a young woman who had never had much more than uniforms and rags were too great a temptation to ignore.

It wasn't long before the two were dancing about their wares like children at a festival.

* * *

The duke saw Mandy settled in the library of the viscount's manor house with a tray of refreshments. She then watched as a set of servants lined up to his command and were sent off on various errands.

One to fetch her dear nanny, for which she was tremendously grateful. Her nanny had retired the year before and lived in a cottage that she and her brother had bestowed upon her. She hadn't visited with her since Ned's trouble began and she dearly wanted to dive into her arms.

Another servant, this time a housemaid, was told to fetch a wagon and visit Sherborne with instructions to pack a few pelisses with Miss Sherborne's clothing, slippers, boots, whatever young women wear and return with them as soon as she could.

She smiled to herself. He was a hero in so many ways. He knew just what to do and how to get it done.

Yet another maid was sent scurrying up the stairs to ready one of the guest rooms for Miss Sherborne and after he watched her rush off, he turned to Mandy, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction and his handsome face was alight with pleasure.

"Now, my gamine, off to your room," he said jovially.

"What? What do you mean, off to my room?" her hands went to her hips. She reminded herself that he was her hero and tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"It is reasonable, is it not, that you might be fatigued after your experiences today...I thought you might like to rest for a time," he said.

He had said this casually, far too casually for her liking. Something was toward!

"You are trying to get rid of me. _Why?"_

He came close and took her shoulders, "Believe me when I say, I never want to be rid of you, _never,"_ he fingered her lips and his lashes shaded his eyes a moment. "Especially now, when your nearness is driving me mad...I want you here, beside me." He sighed and dropped his hold on her, "However, I must speak with Skip. He needs to be told what you saw. I don't like that we know of his assignation with a woman in the middle of the night and are keeping it from him."

"Then I should be here as well when you tell him. After all...I am the one who came across him."

"No, I don't think he will be comfortable with that. You are a female...after all."

"That is most odious of you to say like that," she snapped.

"Ah, how much better I feel now," he bantered. "We are back to our former standards of communication."

She pouted and turned in a huff, but his voice brought her head around, "Mandy," he said softly, so softly that she felt caressed.

"Yes, Your Grace," she returned formally, her eyes alight with mischief.

He only smiled at her as though he couldn't speak, as though the words had caught in his throat and it sent a wondrous sensation through her, because the look in his blue eyes was full with emotion.

Finally, he said, "Rest well."

She gave him a flick of her shoulder as she turned back to leave and smiled to herself as she scurried up the horseshoe shaped staircase and found the maid waiting to show her to her room.
**Chapter Seventeen**

HAVING MANDY NEAR, underfoot, so to speak had filled the duke with a sense of accomplishment. She would no longer sleep on straw. She would no longer go for long times without food. She would be catered to and taken care of safely within his protection.

Damn, but she was exquisite in her gown with her golden hair brushed all around her shoulders and cascading down her back.

His mind was filled with her as he poured himself a brandy. She was unlike anyone he had every known and he only knew he had to keep her safe...more; he wanted to make her happy.

No time was afforded to him to think this through as the doors opened wide and Skip came through, spreading his arms wide in a greeting and said, "Brock, thank God, you've come to interrupt me from another moment with that dratted dolt of mine. I've been near to pulling m'hair out. Lord, he is damn good agent, but the devil of a proser." He spied the brandy in his friend's hand and at his elbow and said, "Pour me one while you are at it."

The duke grinned and handed him a glass and as he raised it he said, "You are going to need this, when I tell you everything that has occurred..."

"Eh? What are you talking about?"

"For starters, 'ole boy, the twins have had quite a morning." He put up his hand to stall his friend's questions and gave him a quick summary of everything he knew up to that moment, including the fact that he had brought Mandy to stay in his home for the time being.

"Good God! Upon my soul! Never say that devil Bevis Speenham allowed his kin to have arms leveled at him?"

"Aye, he did, but Ned being the good lad he is, would not run with his sister exposed thusly." He eyed his friend. "At any rate, that is all said and done and I do believe we shall have it finished within the next few days...but there is something else..."

"Wait," stuck in the viscount his eyes suddenly going wide. "You say Mandy is abovestairs... staying... with us... two bachelors?"

"Not to worry. Her nanny will be here shortly. Look Skip, it appears that the twins are not the only ones having an adventure." His brow went up archly. "I happen to know that you are having one of your own."

"What are you driving at?"

"I am certainly not interested in names, so I'll not ask for them, but Mandy was out and about...last evening. Traveled to a place called Witches' Elbow and took a shortcut through your land on her way back...about midnight it was," the duke leveled a look at his friend.

"Dash it! Never say so," exclaimed the viscount running a hand through his silken locks.

"I am afraid I just did and what is more, what she saw, gave credence to Sir Owen's claim that you wanted Celia out of the way as your interest was elsewhere."

"Demme, but I am in a tangle, Brock." He eyed his friend for a long silent moment and released a long heavy breath of air. "Right, I know I can trust you, so I shall. It goes no further, agreed?"

The duke nodded and the viscount threw down the remainder of his glass and sat heavily on a nearby upholstered winged chair. "It was just after I had discovered Celia was, shall we say, not the sort of woman I wanted for a wife, that I met Kathleen. We were at an assembly in Harrowgate. She is Irish and she and her father were on holiday at his sister's when her father had some sort of attack and fell very ill. The doctor said he should not sustain any shocks of any sort. He can't be moved, because he is dying."

He stared at the duke, "I love her...she loves me...but you must know that if Mandy saw us together. Her father forbade the match. She is Catholic, you see and he wouldn't hear of her taking an English Protestant husband. We continued to meet in secret and as soon as she became of age, last month...I obtained a special license and we were married in secret."

"Devil you say!" the duke remarked with some surprise.

"We can not announce our union for fear it would send her father off...and she couldn't bear to have that on her conscience. Her aunt knows and approves of our marriage and has helped us to keep it from him. The doctor says he doesn't have long...so we have decided to wait."

"Good Lord, Skip, I suppose I should felicitate you!"

"You should, for she is the world to me," said the viscount simply.

"Very well, then my man, I do. And I suppose this explains all your strange behavior," rallied the duke with a shake of his head.

"Yes, but it does rather give me motive..." Skip offered.

"And an alibi as well, as no doubt, you were with your wife when Celia was murdered."

The viscount brightened incongruously, "Yes, yes I was."

"However, Sir Owen means to point a finger in your direction," the duke said pulling at his lip. "And Skip, this secret must be exposed to Mandy, since she was the one who actually saw you with your wife."

"By Jove, you are right there..." the viscount put back his head. "This is all beginning to unravel."

"Never mind that. There is something else," said the duke. "I met with Fowler last evening and we discussed some very interesting possibilities. By the way, runner he may be, but not here because of Ned."

"What? Well, how you always happen to be in the know of everything is beyond me. Why is he here, then?"

"Gold, m'bucko, gold. Three chests of the new sovereigns," the duke replied portentously.

"Where...how...?"

"A shipment of the new coins was scheduled to leave for Barings of York to replace paper currency. A leak that we believe came from Agatha Brinley..." he put up his hand, "Don't ask...at any rate, through her to someone she obviously meant to impress and the coach holding the gold, its guards and drivers all vanished."

"Poor fellows—killed do you think?"

"Undoubtedly, Skip. What else. Someone smart enough to arrange this would not leave behind any witnesses. And as their families have not heard a word from them and continue to live in poverty, one must suppose they are dead."

"Who...?" Skip played with his lower lip and then looked sharply at the duke. "You know, don't you?"

"I suspect. At the moment, there are but two possible suspects, both in desperate need of cash."

"By Jove...but 'tis beyond thinking..."

"Precisely so."
**Chapter Eighteen**

THE GUV' AS Jack Hawkins had learned to refer to the mastermind of the gold theft, was at that particular moment engaged in a grim conversation with someone in York.

There were debts, gaming debts he had accumulated and they were hanging over his head. A gentleman of honor discharged these debts before all others for the code had always been _play and pay_ and he had always counted himself a gentleman when it came to gaming.

Marriage to Amanda Sherborne was a need born of desperation. He wanted to continue to enjoy the lifestyle he cherished. His debts had accumulated to the point where he had gone to a moneylender and now, the interest was suffocating him.

He needed a month before he could put the gold into circulation and restore his credit. It was what he was trying to explain to the small bearded man with the ledger and no heart.

He put down his diamond stick pin and sneered, "There that should keep you for awhile." He gritted his teeth as he turned and slammed the door as he left.

Crossing the cobbled street, he thought about the stick pin. It had been a gift from his mother, a family heirloom, but it was only an object...he would soon have many more.

As he entered the stables and looked for a livery boy to fetch his horse, he heard the raised voices of two men and curiously stood still to listen.

"Bless me, Mr. Fowler, it weren't my fault. Didn't know there was anything wrong with the coin...after all, it was gold...I run a livery here...not a bank."

"Right, so ye haven't heard that a coach carrying the new gold coins had been robbed?" Fowler demanded.

"No, there hasn't been any talk at all," returned the man in shocked accents.

The guv' as he was known to Hawkins purposely made a sound and called out, "Hallo...I need my horse, please."

A livery lad came shuffling from in from the courtyard and grinned, "I'll fetch him, sir..."

He nodded to the boy and flipped him a coin, his mind reeling with Hawkins' stupidity. He had taken some of the gold coins and had spent them...right here in Harrowgate! The bloody fool.

He had put up with Jack because he thought he might still need him, and he hoped Jack would lead him to Elly Bonner, but this, this was unforgivable. The man had proved himself a liability and he would deal with him at once!

* * *

Jack had waited for the sun to start its journey into night before he left the quarry cave he and his Elly had been calling home. She hadn't wanted him to go, but he had told her, he needed to make one last trip.

He had with him two burlap bags and a horsehair blanket. He cut through the Old Track and, heedless of Witch's Elbow and its demons, though it was still not quite more than dusk, he made his way through the moors and headed for a portion of Wharfe River he knew well.

Some minutes later and on foot, he led his mount through the tangle of trees and brush, along the river bank, up a steep incline until a waterfall some ten feet in width and a hundred feet in height came into sight. The rushing water made enough noise to cover any other sound. Its foaming cascade fell into the semi-enclosed pool at its base before the river current met and swept away what it had to offer.

Here Jack tethered his horse behind some evergreens and climbed down over the boulders to a niche beside the falls. An observer would have been astounded, for at that moment he seemed to vanish. Actually, he had slipped behind the waterfall to a limestone crevice which extended back some fifty yards under the river and behind the falls. It narrowed to a point where only the very thinnest of men could slide through. He saw the three wooden trunks trimmed with metal and bearing some kind of official seals, housed there, untouched by any save himself and the guv'.

Hawkins made his way to one of these and flung open the lid, licking his lips as the coins glittered at him.

He had watched his employer make the blokes guarding this treasure and the drivers carry the trunks here and it had been no easy job. It had taken the coach horses to drag it along the trail, where they had placed each trunk on a length of burlap and dragged it into the waterfall cave.

He had turned and told those men to take some gold and keep mum, but his employer had other notions.

It happened so quickly that all he had done was stand by in shock, as the guv' had shot them, quickly, one by one. "Are ye that greedy, man? Why...why did ye do that?" He had screamed.

The guv' had laughed and said it wasn't greed, but self preservation. In the end, he had helped dump the bodies and the river and set the coach on fire in the woods.

They had taken the horses and set them free far away...

He sighed over it all now.

Killing a man like that didn't sit well with him, but he hadn't known, hadn't expected it. He reached for the gold with a shrug, for he had told Elly the truth when he had told her he had exchanged it with a man willing to hold onto it for a time, but it wouldn't hurt to have a few on hand as well. After all, in America, they would know nothing about it being new or old... would they?

"Well, well Jack!" said a voice at his back.

Jack straightened and immediately went for the gun tucked into his belt, but a shot rang out at his boots and that voice in the dim light clucked his tongue and said, "Drop it and kick it to me, for I have both my guns out and one of them now pointed at your heart."

Jack knew better than to try and get off a shot. He was a simple man, he had often swung a pistol when he rode the highway, but he wasn't skilled. He had seen the guv' in action and knew that the damned bloke was quite able to shoot him in the heart. He took out his horse pistol dropped and kicked it away, just as he was told.

"There, good man, although...not really. You have been quite boldly spending money you pledged not to touch for a six months, have you not?"

"We couldn't wait no more...want to leave...sail off and so we will and ye'll not be bothered with us. I've hardly touched it...not m'one third as ye promised, so ye have no cause to be angry..."

"On your knees, Jack...now!"

"But...but...guv'...ye have no cause to..."

"Shut up. There is only one thing that will save your life at this moment. Take me to Elly Bonner and I will spare you."

"Go to the devil!" Jack said and closed his eyes as he made peace with his maker. Elly was the only thing he had gotten right in his life.

"Just tell me where the diary is and I swear I'll let the two of you sail off like you wish if...if she gives me the diary."

"Elly will never give ye the diary and I ain't letting ye put a hole in her head the way you did those poor coveys...no, I ain't."

"There is no need to hurt your woman providing she gives me what I want."

"Ye see...I don't believe ye. I see death in yer eyes...and I won't let it near m'woman."

"Then you are right Jack, you see death, because that is what you are, _a dead man_ ," his employer told him grimly.

"Kill me, guv', and she'll be after yer hide, she will..." Jack tried one last time. He had wanted the new life with his Elly so badly...so badly.

"Precisely so," said the man he called guv'. He fired one deadly shot, putting an end to the big man's dreams. "Precisely so, Jack. She will come in search of you, and then I shall have her...and the diary."

He left Jack lying there, bleeding out and went to Jack's horse, took off the tack and threw them into the river. He didn't wait to watch them sink, as he returned to the horse and slapped its flanks. He watched the horse trot away and then mounted his own, for he was late for his dinner.

* * *

At the viscount's establishment dinner went quite well, with Mandy constantly proposing different ideas for finding her brother and Chauncey, or finding a way to clear his name.

She slipped a forkful of chocolate cake into her mouth and closed her eyes before saying, "Poor Neddy...I wish he were here enjoying this."

She looked up and found the duke's blue eyes and they seemed to caress her face. He said, "Ned will be eating with us soon enough, gamine, don't fret."

Mandy smiled sweetly at him and turned to find the viscount staring at them both, his mouth open and a startled expression on his face. She smiled and said, "What, Skip? Why do you look like that?"

He cleared his throat, "Like what? I don't know what you mean." So saying, he burst into laughter.

Both Mandy and the duke eyed him, and the duke said, "What is the joke?"

"Ah, but you know already, don't you, Brock?" With which he went off onto another peal of laughter.

"Skip, what is so funny? Do let us in on it," Mandy declared.

"'Tis nothing suitable for a female," Skip said. "Just something that occurred to me." His face was bright with his amusement.

"Well, that is horrid! You should know that I am up to snuff. My brother is forever telling me things, that I am quite certain you would think not fit for a lady's ears, but that is all stuff and nonsense."

The duke cast her an affectionate glance, "No doubt, gamine, but there are things you should not be told."

"Such as?" She challenged.

The duke and the viscount exchanged glances and Skip waved a superior hand to say, "Never mind."

"Well, then, it is customary to leave the gentlemen to linger over their port, but don't linger too long and leave me all alone." she said getting up and smiling as they rose up as well.

They stood and watched as Mandy glided out of the room and Skip only waited a moment after she was gone before he turned and put a finger in the duke's chest and said, "You dog!"

"What? What the devil do you mean?" the duke returned his brows up with surprise.

"Egad, man! You are done up...demme, Brock, there is no denying it, you have been drinking deep and any fool can see you are in love with her."

"What are you talking about? She is my ward," the duke looked away from his friend.

Skip snorted, "What has that to say to anything? It is all over your face. You can't hide it. Lord, I don't think you are even trying to hide it. _You are in love with her!"_

The duke sighed and put a hand on his friend's shoulder, "Aye then, deeply, madly, wildly...and I don't know how it happened."

Skip burst out laughing once more.

* * *

At that moment, some ten miles northwest of the viscount's residence, in the heart of the Dales lay a tavern well hidden from the road and not frequented by those high in the instep.

Its location was such that travelers never came its way, or when they did, one glance at the shabbiness of the establishment quickly set them back on the road again.

It happened that Chauncey remembered a friend who enjoyed the privacy this particular inn afforded, and it was there Chauncey led young Sherborne.

The tavern's large public galley was low ceilinged, its oak rafters and wall beams lined dirty, yellow-painted walls, covered with nondescript paintings, many of them tilted one way or another. Its oak floors sloped with age and its tables and chairs were crude with wear. However, the inhabitants didn't seem to mind any of these failings.

They swayed, boomed, and made merry with raucous good mirth and in spite of the tavern's seclusion, its rooms were full. The reason for this was the fact that many of these individuals, whose occupations put them outside the law, enjoyed a retreat where they felt secure and paid well for their lodgings.

One room in particular, which was called the "Boiler" was connected to a legend. Chauncey murmured into Ned's ears as they approached the tavern, "The innkeeper's wife would put up lonely travelers in the room ye see. The bed had a trick spring and when pulled a trap door opened and it would lower its occupant into a cast iron container filled with boiling water. Murder and theft. Went on for many a year until a vigilant woman in search of her husband, discovered it all. The innkeeper's wife escaped, but her mate was hung for his crimes he was and the room sealed."

As they entered the lively inn, Ned said, "I don't know if sleeping here will be much more comfortable than sleeping by the river, Chaunce. We'll have to sleep with an eye open."

Chauncey laughed, "Aye, that be certain." He turned then and purposely regaled any who would listen with a tale of their harrowing escape that day. This immediately won them their place within the inn, and two tavern wenches winked at them slyly as they brought them some food and ale.

At the very moment, Mandy felt a twinge of guilt eating her brother's favorite cake. Ned was swinging one of the barmaids onto his knee and waving his free hand with his tankard to the beat of the song.

Chauncey did the same, but kept an ear out for anything that might help them find Elly Bonner or more likely, Jack Hawkins.

* * *

Elly Bonner had no such solace in the damp chamber of their quarry cave. She stared at the walls of the chamber and wrung her hands fretfully. She paced the room as though she were some caged animal looking for a way out. Never before had Jack left her alone all night. He wouldn't.

She began worrying about all sorts of things. Had he found another woman? No...Jack would not, he was not that sort and he would never leave her alone like this.

Morning progressed and when he still had not returned, she thought her heart would break. Something had happened to him. She knew it. She simply knew it. She could no longer feel him, because he was gone.

No. He couldn't be. Not Jack. He was so big and full of life and plans. He couldn't be gone, but he could be hurt? She sprang into action. He had told her he was going to stop at the waterfall at Pitman Pool. He said he wouldn't lie to her and that he needed just a bit more of the gold...just a bit, he had told her.

Perhaps he was hurt?

She washed quickly with the tub of fresh water from the river Jack always kept full for her and fixed a mopcap on her hair. Taking up a dark wool shawl she draped it around herself and began the four mile walk to Pitman Pool. It would take her a little bit over an hour if she kept up a pace and Elly was used to walking.

She took the diary out of its hidey hole, dropped it into a satchel, slung it over herself diagonally and stuffed some of the cash she still had into her dab grey gown's pocket, and began her hike.

As she crossed the pike on her way to a shortcut Jack had told her about, a farmer stopped and offered her a ride. She accepted this and it saved her two miles. She jumped down and within a short span of time, found the deer path that would take her to the river's edge and allow her to go unseen toward the waterfall.

She sighed with relief as she heard the rumbling splashing of the falls and hurried, just as Jack had the day before, scrambling over the boulders and rocks, as she climbed. She tore her gown in her haste and found the opening, just as Jack had described. No one knew of this place he had told her. He had come across it as a young boy when he ran away from one of his father's beatings.

What appeared to be solid rock under the avalanche of white foam was an opening that led to a cave. She slipped inside and stood. Something was wrong—terribly wrong. She felt it.

Elly saw the three chests of gold lined up against the wall and then, almost immediately, she saw Jack's slumped body.

And she knew.

Even though she called out his name and ran to him, she knew—Jack was gone. Her Jack was dead.

She didn't know how long she sobbed over his lifeless form, but when she stopped, she knew what she was going to do. She put the diary under his body, and said, "Keep this for me, m'darlin. I'm going to get justice for ye, I am."

She stood, her sorrow, her own.

She would grieve for him and the plans they had made all her life. She put her hand to her eyes, but her determination kept her strong. It was all she had left.

She would need help, but she didn't know where the Sherborne twins were hiding, and as she only knew of one man, one man that could help her get the justice for both her Jack and Lord Sherborne, it was to him, she decided to go.
**Chapter Nineteen**

MANDY WAS IN the morning room with her legs tucked under her pretty green muslin gown. She had taken extra care with her gold ringlets, hoping to enchant the duke into allowing her to ride out and look for Ned.

Enchanted he said he was as he had bent over her hand, but apparently not enough to allow her to ride out for any reason at all.

She nibbled at shortcake biscuits and drank her tea and was as bored as ever she had been when alone at the Abbey.

Mr. Fowler had arrived at the Manor and had taken both the viscount and the duke off with him only moments ago. She had no idea when they would be back or where they were going and it was infuriating in the extreme. She had a mind to don her riding clothes and go off for a jaunt. Why not?

The sound of a heavy thudding at the front door down the hall brought her head out of her meanderings and she stood up curiously to listen. She waited and her ears pricked up like a kitten's.

Sticwell's tone, though not precisely his words, could be heard, and it seemed as though he was dismissing someone? She stepped into the hall to see who it was he was sending away and saw him wave his white gloved hand dismissively as he said, "Look here, young woman, the viscount is not in and even if he were, you don't really think I would admit you...looking like that..." his hand indicated her dirty and torn gown, "into his presence?"

"Please," Elly begged. "It is of vital importance, it is. If ye don't allow me in, I will sit on yer steps and wait I will, but I won't leave...please, I have walked miles to get here."

"My God!" Mandy thundered as she went forward, arms outstretched, excited disbelief covering her face. "Stand aside, Sticwell." She took Elly into an embrace, and then held her away to say, "Elly...you poor girl." Mandy turned to the butler and said, "Please have a tray of refreshments brought into the parlor for Miss Bonner."

"Very good, miss," Sticwell returned stiffly.

Without another word, Mandy led the poor woman to the parlor where she saw her seated. She went to the decanter and poured a glass of sherry into a glass and handed it to her, "Drink this, do, you'll be the better for it."

Elly did in fact, drink it down and then burst into tears.

Mandy was beside her on the sofa and hugging her, patting her back, saying, "There there...what has happened Elly?"

"He killed m'man. He killed Jack," Elly wailed.

"Oh, Elly, I am so sorry...who did this?"

"The same man who killed Miss Celia," Elly sniffed. "Oh...but I would have come forward sooner if we weren't so afraid...now, if I had...he would be put away and Jack would still be alive."

"Elly, perhaps you should start at the beginning. We know that Jack Hawkins was somehow involved in a robbery of gold...and that you two...well...that you and he..."

"Yes, miss, we were going to leave for America...start over, do it right and have a family. I was going to get the diary to ye before we set sail...so that he couldn't hurt us, ye see."

"I see, and I understand," Mandy said softly. "Go on."

"We were hiding from him in an old cave in the quarry..."

Sticwell arrived with the tray and they went silent as he placed it on the table before them and withdrew. As Mandy poured the woman a cup and handed it to her, she said, "Here Elly...you have had a terrible shock and will need all your wits and health to get through it."

"Don't want to get through it. Wish I was dead with m'Jack." She began sobbing and Mandy allowed her to grieve as she thought how she would feel if the man she loved had been killed. Her heart ached for Elly.

At length Elly sniffed and tried to regain her composure as she said, "Jack said we didn't get our fair share...and that was fine, but he thought we should have few more coins...so he went back to the waterfall..."

"The waterfall?"

"Aye at Pitman Pool," Elly explained. "He went to get more and the blackguard must have found him there and shot him." Her eyes narrowed. "But I'll see him hanged now, I will. I hid the diary there with Jack...under his body. Came to fetch the viscount and tell him..."

"Does the diary name Celia's...the father of...?" Mandy asked gently.

"Aye, and more. It says that he threatened her. It says he told her to trick Lord Sherborne into bed with her and then say the baby was his, but she couldn't get his lordship into bed, so she hatched up a plan to seduce him by the pond and invited the squire to meet her there so he could witness it. She didn't care that eventually Lord Sherborne would know it wasn't his baby. She needed to trick him into marriage before she was any further foregone." She sighed sadly. "She wrote it all in the diary."

"Can you show me where this waterfall is? We'll go on horseback...you won't have to walk."

"Aye, that I can and I would walk to the ends of the earth to see Jack's killer hung," Elly said staunchly.

Mandy bade Elly eat, insisted on it and ran upstairs to change into her riding clothes. A few moments later, they both rode astride as Elly led them through the woods to Pitman Pool and the waterfall cave.

* * *

The duke rose from the table at the Cock Pit decisively, and said, "Well then, Mr. Fowler, you have now in your possession enough facts to go and question the scoundrel."

"Aye and make it soon, while you know he is out of sorts because Hawkins spent some of the gold..." the viscount added also getting to his feet.

Fowler pushed his tankard aside and considered them, "Aye, but it do be touchy. After all, what we have is conjecture, not facts and he isn't the one that spent the gold, is he?"

"No, but I gave you the testimony of a respectable shopkeeper who says he saw them together a month ago...what would a man like that have to do with a man of Hawkins's cut?" the duke said quietly. One of the viscount's servants had come forward to give Skip this piece of gossip and the duke had looked into it the day before, even as Ned and Chauncey had escaped his uncle's yeoman.

"Still, it don't prove nothing, do it?" Fowler sighed heavily.

The duke and the viscount left Fowler at their backs as they proceeded outdoors and Skip waited only until they were well away to say, "Egad, Brock...you were in a fidget to get out of there? Why?"

"I don't know Skip, but I got this uncomfortable sensation that something ain't what it should be. Besides, leave Mandy to her own devices for too long is asking for trouble."

A few moments later saw them mounted and riding at a heady pace. They arrived at Wharfdale Manor in good time, but even as they entered and were met by Sticwell, the duke knew. He saw it on the old retainer's face and immediately asked, "What is it, man, what has overset you?"

"Well, I...I am not...certain...it is my place..."

The viscount glanced sharply at him and said sharply, "Demme, Sticwell, if you've got something stuck in your track go and drop some firewater in it. Don't stand about giving us rubbish."

"'Tis Miss Sherborne," Sticwell managed to croak out. "She has gone out with a very questionable young woman."

"What?" the duke tensed.

"A Miss Elly Bonner..." the butler added and found himself clasped by the duke's strong hands and bodily shaken.

"Devil you say! Where have they gone?"

"Miss Bonner arrived on foot, but they went to the stables to get a pair of horses. Miss Sherborne said something about the Abbey as she left...but she didn't say it to me, she said it to the young lady."

"The Abbey? Why?" the viscount repeated with a shake of his head.

"I really couldn't say," Sticwell looked as though he wanted to be anywhere but under the scrutiny of the duke.

"Did she not leave a message?" the duke demanded.

"Yes, she said to tell you that they were going to get the diary right and tight."

"Did she, by God!" the duke said in a thunderous voice.

It was at that moment that the front door at their back which was still opened slightly opened further and all heads turned.

A tall and lovely woman in an exquisitely designed white Spencer over a white muslin gown stepped inside. Her dark ringlets framed her pretty face under a straw bonnet embellished with a white ribbon and she held her hands out and in a tearful voice cried, "John."

The viscount went forward and unceremoniously took her into his arms and held her tightly, whispering, "Oh my dear Kathy, what has happened to overset you?"

The duke watched this scene unfold, torn between impatience and amusement. He could do nothing but await its outcome.

The viscount, with his arm around the woman, turned towards the duke and met his gaze to say, "Brock, I have the honor, to present my wife, Kathleen, to you." He turned to the woman, "This is the Duke of Margate, Brock Haydon, my dearest friend."

The duke found her poised in her reply and in that moment knew she was perfect for the viscount. He was well pleased. She gave the duke a fleeting smile, as he bent over her hand and she softly said to him, "Ah, yes, John has often said your name and with great affection. Do please excuse my strange intrusion. I have received...something of a shock and am not myself."

"A shock?" Skip held her tightly, "Oh, my dear...what is it?"

She cast a doubtful glance at the duke and he begged to be excused, but she stayed him, "Oh no, Your Grace, you needn't leave. It is just that, you see, my father...has died."

She fell then into her husband's arms, obviously overcome with the sound of the words on her lips.

The duke offered his condolences and quietly left her to the viscount as he withdrew. He stood outside, having closed the front door at his back, and tried to decide what he should do. Well damn it, ride! Yes—ride, but to where? The diary wasn't at the Abbey. Did she mean for him to meet her there? Was that it?

* * *

It was at just about that moment the two women in question arrived at the waterfall cave. Mandy took a moment to marvel both at its beauty and the fact that she and Ned had never found this spot. She then remembered Elly's grief and clamped her mouth shut as she told herself she was a stupid girl.

She watched as Elly walked straight to Jack and she winced to see Elly bend over the slumped body and speak quietly to the man as though he were still alive. How awful. How terribly sad to have one's dreams ripped out from under one in the blink of an eye, Mandy thought and then Elly held the diary up for her inspection.

"You see, miss, m'Jack was mixed up in this..." she went to one of the chests and threw it open. "And it got him killed."

Mandy gasped to see all that gold. "Oh my goodness."

Elly suddenly went very rigid and put her fingers to her lips. Elly swung around with the diary and dived to Jack's body once again, slipping the book under him.

Mandy watched opened-mouthed for a moment before it dawned on her, that they were not alone. A man in a black cape with its hood pulled low over his head stepped forward and as he slipped the hood off and sneered, Mandy gasped again. She never once suspected, really suspected when she listed the possibilities. Here stood her cousin, Alfred Speenham.

"So then, here we are," Alfred said quietly.

"Indeed, but Alfred, we will soon be joined by the duke and Skip. I left a message where I was going, so do not think you will get away with this," Mandy bluffed.

His glance was filled with hate, "Nonsense. You left no message, how could you? What? Tell the butler you were going to a waterfall cave?" He shrugged, "And even if you did. They won't find this easily, will they? I would have enjoyed killing you slowly, Amanda, but we'll have to do it more quickly now and leave your bodies for them to find away from this cave. I need time to move the gold you see. Can't take any chances of it being found now, when I am so close to removing all my problems."

"Beast," Mandy hissed.

"My father wanted me to marry you, but I shall be rich for all time and no longer need your inheritance."

"You and Celia?" Mandy decided to stall for time. She needed to find a way out of this. Never, not once, did she imagine that Celia had in any possible way was actually in love with Alfred. Celia had been in love—but Alfred? What had she seen in him? "Alfred, you were the father of Celia's child?" Mandy could not believe this and it showed.

"And why not?" he took umbrage. "She adored me, and for a time, I did think I could love her, but she made the mistake of threatening me. I couldn't have that, could I?"

"But...to kill her...your child?"

"She found out about the gold shipment from Aunt Agatha and told me about it. When the gold went missing, she put it together and thought to threaten me into marriage. When I refused, she backed down and asked only for money with which to vanish." He shrugged. "She knew too much. I couldn't have that, now could I?"

"But why? You are well off. You have no need to steal?"

"Ah, you are quite wrong. Father is not a wealthy man. He is comfortable, but not wealthy and I have been spending more than I should...gambling and wenching and gambling some more. Debts piled up and debtor's prison was waiting for me. I had to do something and since you were not interested in my suit...well, this was an answer," he said waving at the gold. "Now, hand over the diary."

"It isn't here," Elly said. "Why would it be here? I came here looking for Jack...and found him...like this. We hid it."

"Where the devil is it?" he snapped sharply.

"At the Abbey ruins, in a special place you will never find," Mandy stuck in quickly. "We hid it before we came here."

He leveled the gun at Elly and said, "You will take me there, but she has been a great deal of trouble and I think I will end that trouble now."

"Pull that trigger and I swear, I will let you kill me before ever I show you the diary," Mandy threatened. "But my brother will find it, because I left Skip a note telling him where it is in case anything happened to Elly and me."

Alfred walked over to a hook in the wall and produced a length of rope and threw it at Mandy. It fell to the floor and he sneered as he told her, "Pick it up and tie her wrists behind her back. And her ankles...tie them as well."

A few moments later he shoved Mandy with the pistol in her back and said, "Come on then, _walk_ ...we are going to get that diary."

He kept the reins of her horse tightly in his grip and she was forced to hold her horse's mane for balance as they made their way to Abbey Road.

It didn't take them long to get to the abbey and once there, she jumped off her horse and watched as he tethered his nearby, noting that he didn't bother to tether hers. No doubt, he meant to kill her as soon as he had the diary. She had to think fast.

And she did. She looked at him and said, "We have to take the stairs down under the trap door, do you wish to go first, or shall I?"

"You...first and I would be careful if I were you, as I have this pointed at your back and will be close, very close."

She took the stairs but as she got to the bottom step, she stumbled and went down, flinging her arms wide.

"Get up, you clumsy bitch!" he shouted at her.

She did as he asked, but this time, she was no longer empty-handed.

Some time back, she had planted a gun, for just such an occasion at the bottom of the stairs. She hid it in the folds of her gown now as she proceeded to lead him down the long dark corridor. She had to bide her time, wait for the right moment.

Only one torch had remained lit in their absence and Alfred didn't seem to want to waste time getting the others lighted, so they had to slowly make their way through the semi-darkness.

Suddenly Mandy stopped, turned and faced her cousin, "Alfred...the diary isn't here. I lied."

He gritted his teeth, reached out and slapped her hard across her cheek. She put a hand to it, shocked at the force he had used. "Damn you for a cockatrice!" he snapped. "Get the damned diary now."

"I am telling you, this was a ruse to get you away from the gold and Elly. It isn't here."

He hauled off and hit her again and this time she reeled sideways and went down. _Now_ , she told herself, _shoot the blackguard now._

No, she couldn't just yet. The duke would come. He would question Sticwell and know that she would take Elly and the diary to the abbey. She had been afraid that Celia's killer might come back to the waterfall and had meant to get out of there with Elly as fast as they could, however, they had been a few moments too late.

"Get the diary," he said on a low hard note. "I know that you are stalling...but it is useless. No one knows about the waterfall cave. No one knows you are here. Now get the diary!"

"It isn't here...it is really in the barn," she said.

His hand went up to slap her again, but she stepped out of his range and he sneered, "Go on then...out we go."

She led him back down the corridor and up the stairs, outside and toward the building they had used as a barn. She was stalling for time, but she was nearly out of it. She was going to have to shoot this beast of a man.

Outside he took a step toward her, "No more tricks."

"Of course not," she said on a grim note.

He laughed, "You know, I have always wondered what it would be like to bed you, and I think before I put a bullet in your head, that is just what I will do...now, the diary."

A hard authoritative voice at Alfred's back said, "You don't think I will allow you to have either, do you?" He had already put the nozzle of his gun against Alfred's neck, as he reached and grabbed the gun from the man's hand.

However, Alfred now desperate whirled and tried to retrieve his weapon. He fought with the duke and they struggled.

Mandy's held up her gun and had it ready, but they were tightly bound to one another and she couldn't get a clear shot.

Suddenly, she heard a shot go off, and cried out, "Brock!"

And even as her heart leaped into her throat, she saw that her duke was safely standing as her cousin slumped to the earth.

She ran into the duke's arms, her own pistol against his chest and he looked at it and then her and shook his head. "I suppose I had nothing to worry about...you would have shot him dead, yourself if you had to."

She burst into tears as she wailed, "Brock...oh Brock."
**Chapter Twenty**

MANDY STOOD RIGIDLY before her Uncle Bevis. Her eyes scanned his face, but she was filled with sympathy for him. Alfred had been his only son.

A part of her would never forgive him for his actions against her brother, but even so she felt for him in this instance.

It had been a week since Alfred's death.

The gold had been recovered and Ned had been totally cleared of all charges. The gossipmongers were in their glory for this was the biggest piece of meat they had had to chew in some years.

Her uncle had decided to take an extended tour of the Highlands in Scotland, but had stopped by Sherborne Halls to make his peace with his niece and nephew.

"I...I can only say, I did what I thought was right," He spoke sadly and Mandy thought he looked older suddenly and certainly broken.

"I know," Mandy replied gently. If she had wanted to point out his wrongs, she had gotten over it, for he had already lost so much. She turned to her twin and said, "Come Neddy, wish Uncle Bevis a safe journey."

Ned glanced sharply at her, for he had told her that this was one relation he wanted to exclude from his memory. He was, however, a kind soul and said good-bye, then Uncle, safe journey."

Elly came into the parlor at that moment to place a tray of tea and sweet-cakes on the table. Mandy smiled warmly at her. She had been allowed to keep some of the money Jack had changed into currency as a reward, but her plans to leave for America had been put off. Instead, she remained at Sherborne where she was held in great affection.

Their uncle left and Ned drank down his tea and swallowed another small cake before he said, "Damn pleased not to have Aunt Agatha here anymore. That duke, smart as a whip. Knew just how to get rid of her, didn't he?"

"Hmmm," Mandy said dreamily.

"He has a surprise for you," Ned said on a grin.

She perked up, "Does he? What? Tell me at once, you odious boy."

The duke said on a low note as he came through the door and stood near Mandy, "The odious boy will go meet Chauncey outside for I need them to get a few things done before we leave in the morning."

Ned grinned, got to his feet, plopped another small cake into his mouth, rubbed his hands, winked at his sister and left her to the duke.

Brock and Mandy smiled at this performance and then he took her into his arms, "You know, my love, _I am a cad."_

"Yes, of course you are, but why do you say so?"

He chuckled, "Because you are still my ward and shall be for another few weeks."

"Ah, yes indeed, I agree, quite a cad."

"So, we leave for London, where you and Ned will be installed in m'godmother's house. She means to present you to the _haute ton_ , you see."

Her face dropped ludicrously; "Oh..." she took a step away from him.

"What? What have I said? Don't you wish a London Season?" he looked at her with great concern.

"Why, yes...but..."

"Mandy, my dear, my only love, you do see that I can not beg you to marry me, until you have had your choice of London beaus and when I am no longer your guardian... _you do see that_?"

She brightened, "Will you be jealous, if I take London by storm and men flirt with me?"

"I shall, I think have to dispose of them if they get in my way," he answered as he scooped her into his arms. "But, tell me love, does my plan not suit you?"

"Well, I am not sure. Are you saying that you plan to ask me to marry you?"

"Damnation woman," he suddenly got down on one knee. "Will you, Mandy, will you marry me?"

"We shall see," Mandy said and her musical laugh filled the room.
**Epilogue**

MANDY'S SEASON TURNED out to be epic. She did, in fact, take London by storm, but after a month's time, disappointed any number of suitors when she and the duke announced their engagement.

Ned found London suited him immensely and told his sister that although he was installed and committed to the smooth running of their estates at Sherborne, he would be visiting with her and the duke as often as he could.

He and Chauncey's bond was tighter than ever, and as a net result, they were destined for more adventures.

There was still the matter of Sir Owen.

He too returned to London, and fortunately discovered a fair widow of some means. Within a short span of time, they married and he was once again enjoying the lifestyle that suited him best.

Skippendon and his bride announced their marriage, and although they decided to remain quietly for a time at Wharfdale Manor, he had every intention of bringing her to London for the latter part of the season.

Elly would hurt for a long time, but Mandy had taken her on as her ladies' maid and was determined to throw as many eligible fellows her way as she could, which kept the duke watchful and quite amused.

He held his bride to be in his arms and kissed her mouth. "I can't wait my love, to get you into my bed... _again."_

"But I was just there this morning..." she teased for she had broken all his rules and was forever creeping into his bedroom.

He laughed, "You are everything I could ever want or need."

"Oh, did you want to go there now...to your bedroom, I mean?" she continued to tease.

He laughed and pinched her chin, "You beauty you, you outrageous beauty. Wild to a fault, headstrong and stubborn, glorious and kind, you hold my heart, gamine, you hold my heart."

"Hmmm, I should like to hold a bit more of you, Your Grace," the naughty lady said.

* * * * *

Witches and warlocks, immortals and sensual love...and excerpt:

Meet Riley and Finn as their lives forever change in

### JOURNEY

Do not go where the path may lead; go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.

\- Ralph Waldo Emerson

~ One ~

HOW DID IT get to be so late? The morning was nearly gone, and I wasn't halfway through all the chores I had set for myself. I am a work-alcoholic, or so I have been told, and I suppose it is the truth _. I have no life_. I am twenty-four years old and own an upscale store we—we being my partner Betty and I—started four years ago while I was still in my last year at Columbia University.

A groan made its way out of my mouth as I stared at the boxes of perfect knit infant-wear to be uniquely displayed in our substantial window overlooking New York City's famous Fifth Avenue. How we had managed to get this location at the price we did, I still don't know. That was all Betty!

Betty laughed at me and shook her head. "Why don't you let Joe do that when he gets here? I mean, Riley, that's what he does—windows. You can't do it all, hon—you just can't."

Betty is not only my partner, but over the last four years she has become my best friend. I sighed and was about to cave and agree with her when I heard the bell that rings whenever the shop door opens. I stepped back from the display window and glanced absently over to the newcomer.

Damn, hot damn, but that absent glance turned into a stare as I nearly knocked over an entire shelf of infant sweaters. _What have we here?_

I am never bowled over by a good-looking man. I have always needed more, but one look at this hottie, and my eyebrows went up and my heart started thumping. I know, _crazy_. What happened next was not really something I was immediately able to control. Hormones are like that, you know. I felt them start marching to a fervent beat, and my throat went dry.

Everything about him was 'money and power,' which wasn't unusual, as we run a very high-end children's clothing store that features handmade items and custom-made clothing. Our customers are wealthy, and we even get our fair share of celebrities—again, due to Betty's contacts. Even so, I discovered my usual calm completely blown apart.

He wore a smile that was more a cool smirk, and it boldly shouted, _I've got it all, and I don't care._ I am rarely intimidated by this sort, and yet, there I was, right from my head to my toes, ready to hide and watch him from a hidden corner. _Absolutely ridiculous_.

I tried to turn away, but not before I took another survey and put him down to memory. I liked the way his thick, blue-black hair was styled in layers of shiny waves, some of which fell across his forehead and over his ears. I swallowed as my appraisal then determined that not only was he very tall—well over six feet—but he also had strong, football-man shoulders. All at once, I was oddly reminded of Wolverine, predatory and more than capable.

He was dressed in an expensive black sports jacket over what looked like a gray silk T-shirt. His black pants were also silky and hung over his hips in masculine lines. His green eyes opened wide and held a glint of something undefined as he looked me over, and I felt my cheeks suddenly burn. Did I say undefined? That's not right. Those green eyes said, _Bed ... going to take you to bed_.

My tongue slicked over my bottom lip, and I hurriedly decided I needed to study an article of clothing hanging on a nearby rack.

Even as I managed to look away and mentally slap myself, I couldn't help glancing back over my shoulder at him. _What is wrong with me? I don't behave like this._ I don't, and there I was, not able to stop looking at him again.

I know better than to allow myself to be attracted to the kind of man _I was sure he was_ , and yet, I couldn't keep my eyes off him.

Then I noticed myself in the mirrored wall to my left and nearly rolled my eyes. I was a mess. Both my top and my skirt had hiked up when I'd bent over the display case, and not in that cute, 'have a peek at my midriff', way. No, I was a rumpled mess, with a little extra thigh thrown in as a bonus. And my hair? Don't ask.

As it happens, I have an option most women don't possess. I could right myself with a blink of an eye, but _magic_ is a thing I don't play with unless I absolutely have to do so. Magic is a natural option for me. I don't need potions or chants or even my Rowan Wand, though I prefer to hold onto it when I actually perform magic. I can blink, think, point my finger and ... _magic._

He walked past me without a word and smiled at Betty as I pulled my blue cotton knit top back into place, smoothed out the wrinkles from my cream-colored pencil skirt, and undid the tie holding only some of my black hair up. I was still raking my fingers through the thick strands of my hair when he turned, swept his gaze over me, and smirked.

Everything about him had me off balance. He said something to Betty, but I couldn't hear what it was, unusual as I have exceptional hearing—very exceptional hearing.

"Riley?" Betty called me over with a wave of her hand. "This gentleman would like a word with you."

I turned around and slid a hand over my clothes again, frowning slightly. I mean, what could he want with me?

_Holy shit_! The way he appraised me made my knees wobble, and I almost tripped over myself. Almost. I managed to stay upright, although I couldn't think straight.

If that wasn't bad enough, I then made the mistake of meeting his eyes as I approached. He had a killer smile. At that moment that dangerous smile was all for me. I found myself changed from the capable business woman I had become into a pile of Jell-O. No mind, no bones, just Jell-O. In this state, staring at him, you see, full on, he had taken my breath away. He had reduced me to a thoughtless blob of gelatin.

As I said, I know better than to be affected by a good-looking guy. Been there, done that, got burned. Here is the thing: I was not looking for hot, or so I had convinced myself. I was a mature young woman and smarter than I used to be. What I wanted was sure and steady. So, the question was, what the hell?

I looked into those sultry green eyes of his and decided that I had to get control and keep this man and his hotness at arm's length. He was everything I had made up my mind to stay away from.

I put on my business smile and the business exterior I had developed over the last four years and went forward, my hand extended and a professional welcome plastered on my face.

He took my fingers, and I felt a super-charged laser beam of sensation singe my veins. The sensation shot through my arm and up to my head. It was like a blast of electricity, unexpected but not painful—rather, it was oddly titillating and pleasurable, more pleasurable than anything I had ever experienced before. His touch created an eruption of hot blood—or was it lava?—in my veins. It swept through me, turned me into an idiot that couldn't speak at all.

_Speak_? I couldn't form a clear thought. His touch had burned my brain into a pile of ash.

The sound of his voice was like a balm, dreamy and soft, and it held that Irish accent I love so well. "I thought I recognized ye from yer pictures, Miss Doogan. Maddy had them all over the house." He inclined his head. "I am so very sorry for yer loss."

"You ... you know—knew my grandmother?" Who was this guy? I had lost my granny three months earlier, and I was still reeling from that loss. I couldn't seem to stop thinking she would call ... even now when the phone rings (which isn't often these days unless it is business) I think for a second it is my grandmother, and I then remember she is gone.

"Aye, we really became quite close this past year after I moved back to Dunraven. I'm Finn, Finn Dunraven."

I had a really difficult time processing anything beyond my reaction to him at that moment and the information that he and my grandmother had become, as he said, close.

Okay, bad enough that I was tongue-tied, absolutely intimidated by his hotness, his coolness, his overwhelming sexual vibe, but this was the Finn Dunraven my grandmother had spoken so often about! Everything she had gone on and on about in regards to him all came back to me in a wave of sudden clarity.

The Dunraven estate, this man's estate, had always been in our town of Sutterville, Maine. The estate had been there for centuries, but no one had ever been in residence there while I was growing up. Now, out of the blue, here he was.

I was overwhelmed by his presence. There is no other way to describe how I felt. I wanted to say something intelligent, but all I could do was nod at him as I tried to regain my composure and hoped he wasn't actually aware of my complete engine failure.

Finally I managed a quiet, "Thank you." _Breathe_ , I told myself. _Breathe._ I should tell him that my grandmother spoke of him. I should say, yes, I had heard he was installed back at Dunraven this past year. What did I do? I went into business mode and asked, "What can I do for you, Mr. Dunraven?"

"Ah, right to the point, eh, lass?" He grinned, and I felt like a complete ass. Where were my manners?

He licked his bottom lip as he considered me, and I fixated on his tongue. Insane. I had suddenly fallen into the land of the lost.

He said, "I have a business proposition for ye, Miss Doogan. Could ye, do ye think, spare me a half hour?"

A proposition? What was he saying? Business? What kind of business? I couldn't understand what he could possibly want to propose to me. I must have had a question on my face, because he chuckled, and his twinkling green eyes drew a smile from me. _Oh_ , I told myself immediately, _he is dangerous_. His charm was the kind that seeped in and took over when you weren't ready and didn't realize.

_Okay, brain, get it together_ , I told myself. He was a man, _just a man_.

_But_ , those nasty hormones of mine whispered, _ah, but listen to his voice, that seductive Irish lilt, and his eyes, oh my gosh, his eyes!_

STOP.

I really had to pull myself together.

I looked at Betty, who is often much wiser than I about a variety of subjects. She has ten years on me, a husband, and a newborn. She is stable, and I have gotten into the habit of leaning on her when life gets too hard. Life gets hard unexpectedly and often more so since I lost Granny.

Betty and I make a good team and have a thriving, growing business. So, of course, I looked at her for help, hoping she would get me out of this. I didn't trust myself to go anywhere with this man.

_Help_ _?_ HA! She wasn't giving the kind I sought. Just the opposite. She said, "Go on, Riley—you need a cup of coffee, and it wouldn't hurt you to eat something too. When was the last time you ate?" The mother in her always fussed over me.

I grinned stupidly, and when I looked back up at Dunraven, I knew I was in trouble. I was so very dazzled by him. I brilliantly offered, "I ... I ... um."

He smirked. "An easy thing to decide, lass ... and may I presume to say that yer grandmother told me she wanted you and I to meet. Now is a good time."

I was on an edge. I knew if I took one step, just one step, I would fall. I am a sure and steady person. I don't walk near the edge.

I decided this was definitely not a good time, and I would just tell him that.

"Sure, but only for a short time ... I have so much work to do today and don't want to fall behind." Obviously, the part of the brain controlling my mouth had other ideas.

Betty grimaced at me, waved me off, and said even more forcefully this time, " _Go...go on_ , you need a break, Riley. Take as long as you like. Mornings have been slow ... now off with you."

Betty had tried everything she knew to get me to agree to take a vacation. She cajoled and begged and commanded and even did the 'mother' thing, but working was a balm for my troubles, and losing my grandmother was—still is—a really difficult thing.

I didn't want time to think about it, and work ate up my time. I knew she felt guilty because she took all of July off after the birth of her baby girl. I had promised her I would take August, and I'd even fooled myself for a while into thinking that I would, but ... _I didn't_. I should have. I needed to get up to Granny's—now my—home and sort out the paperwork and everything. The thought of my grandmother no longer waiting there for me, though, still sends shooting pains through my heart.

I'd lost her to a stroke when she was only seventy, a young seventy, and I'd thought she would live forever. She had been my all from the moment I lost both my parents in a car accident that left me alive. I was twelve at the time.

Well, here it was, four days into August, super slow at work, and I was still in NYC, humming away my summer in denial.

I couldn't say no to Dunraven (I don't imagine too many say no to a man like him), but I knew he was right, that my grandmother would want me to be polite and give him some attention. That was a biggy for me.

He stood patiently while I worked things out in my head. Betty kept up a steady stream of conversation with him as I excused myself and hurried to the back to wash up and put a brush to my long hair. I stared into the mirror above the sink. Violet eyes stared back at me. True violet, like the flower.

_Right, okay, go on_ , I urged myself, but my feet seemed firmly planted on the bathroom floor. I finally sucked in a huge gulp of air, let it out, and made my way back to Betty and Dunraven.

He held the door open for me, and as I stepped through he said on a low, very low note, "Ye smell of vanilla and heather."

I don't wear perfume because it is true. My grandmother began remarking upon it when I turned eighteen. She said my natural scent was strong and exotic and I shouldn't hide it with perfume.

I changed the subject and asked, as I stepped out into the morning's bright sun, "Well, now, what is the business you wish to speak to me about?"

His voice was low and underlined with something that made me fidget inwardly. "Right then, lass, I see a nice coffee shop across the avenue. We'll talk there, shall we?"

My curiosity defeated but warning myself to treat him with extreme caution, I said as warily as I felt, "Sure."

As he led me outside and to the curbing, his strong hand touched my elbow and drove me wild. It was as though something massaged one end of my network of nerves, deep inside my body, and that caused the whole damn intricate system to light up. Alarms were going off. My nerve endings were all tingling with pleasure and anticipation. They wanted more. This was crazy.

My first instinct was to do what I do so well. I am more than I seem to humans, more than I ever wanted to be, and as I said, I don't play with magic unless it's absolutely necessary. When it came to men, though, I tended to use my special skill. It was a handy tool, and if more women had it, sadly, they might not be with the man they chose.

_I could scan him_. Should I scan him?

Now and then when a guy comes at me with all he has, I do what _I call_ a mental scan. Granny used to call it a _reading_. She always said my ability to 'read' people was stronger than any other witch she had ever known. Oh, yes, witch here, born and bred. At any rate, Granny used to say that my ability came from my father, but I always mentally questioned that because, as far back as I can remember, I never heard Dad mention anything about 'reading' people. I was twelve, as I said, when I lost my parents, so I just figured I was too young to really remember ... or that I hadn't paid attention because I'd never wanted to be a witch. All I'd ever wanted was to fit in at school with everyone else, and I worked real hard at it.

At any rate, whether I wanted this skill or not, it had kept me safe over the years. Lonely, sexually inactive, but my heart was intact. Life with regards to men—nonexistent.

However, I'd been beginning to think maybe that wasn't a good thing. I'd come to believe that if we don't take chances, we miss out on more than we should. Well, the question here was, should I scan him—read him? It wasn't as though I would intrude into his mind. I can't really do that per say, but I can get actual 'intentions' and a sense of who they are and what they want from me.

Was it time to do a 'reading' see if Finn Dunraven was 'friend or foe'? I thought so.

I started with only a gentle probe, which meant I went in with a soft touch, like invisible fingers reaching, and feathered his mind with my touch.

Immediately I was jolted back and slammed into a wall. Not physically, though that was what it felt like _. My probe was sent packing_.

It was as though my entire body was hurtled out and backwards. I felt the rejection like a slap, and it was as though I were, like a boxer, down for the count. I felt almost winded by the contact and stumbled on my feet from the encounter.

He reached out and held me steady by my elbow, and I managed to give him an apologetic smile and hurriedly came up with a cover-up. "My ankle must have turned."

What was that in those dark green eyes of his? Amusement? It was as though he knew what I had just attempted. That wasn't possible. A human would never have known.

_Just what was that look, then_? Did he know? How could he know? I wasn't getting a magic vibe off him. Was he magical? Was he a warlock? Noo ... Granny would have said. She never told me he was a warlock, though I did remember her saying once that he was very unique. I wasn't getting a sense of anything magical, and if he was, I would ... at least, I thought I would. I was especially sensitive when meeting other witches. Why hadn't I been able to read him? What had shut me out, wait, not only shut me out but shoved me off?

Now, here was Finn Dunraven bringing her back to life, and the notion made me smile. I felt his scrutiny and told myself, _Okay, just keep walking, kiddo_.

All I could do right then was get this over with. _Just go in_ , I told myself, _have your coffee, and listen to what he has to say._ _Try not to look into his eyes._

At that precise moment, he actually took my hand and pulled me close as we reached the other side of the avenue and climbed up a high curb. Surprised by the hand clasping, I looked up, and _bam_ , those bright green eyes twinkled right into mine.

Softly and unexpectedly he said, as though we were the only two people standing on the sidewalk, as though busy shoppers weren't trying to get by us, "I have never seen such eyes, lass _._ _Violet,_ true violet like a splash of color on canvas, deep and rich. Ye could slay a man with just yer eyes alone, and I have no doubt ye have."

I laughed. What else could I do? What do you say to something like that? People have always remarked about the color of my eyes, so I am used to it. I said ruefully, "It is just a color. No one else in my family ever had violet eyes, so I don't know where they came from, but still ... just a color."

He frowned "I have seen such a color only once before." A thoughtful expression passed over his handsome features, and then he stepped forward, my hand still in his.

Not much I could say to that, so I just let it drop there and smiled. As I couldn't pull my hand out of his without appearing rude, I allowed it to stay tucked into his. Admittedly, it felt great, my hand in his. I excused myself and thought, _Sure, it feels great. His hold is warm and comforting, but I am not that woman_. I don't ordinarily allow a man—especially someone I just met—to hold my hand. I have lots of reasons I could list for resisting relationships, and hand-holding _is to me_ a personal and intimate thing.

What was worse for me at that moment, besides the fact that I allowed him to take my hand, allowed him to lead me along, was the question, the pulsating question of what the frigging heck was happening to me?

Sensations shivered through his palm into mine and scooted through my entire body! I liked those sensations. My lashes fluttered as my breath hitched. What was he doing to me? This was crazy. Someone like him—well, he must have had models falling all over him.

He gently led me to the front door of the café and managed to open the door wide without releasing my hand. Awareness scurried through me. I was all too aware of him, of his masculinity, of an undercurrent of sensual promise.

From the moment I met Finn Dunraven, I had been stuck in a world where I'd been transformed into a foolish, mindless twit. Over and over again I told myself, _Breathe, just breathe_ , because I was out of breath if for no other reason than I had forgotten how this necessary body function worked.

I was stuck somewhere in my head looking for my grandmother's advice. Everything felt off, but she was gone. I had so many regrets ... so much left undone, unsaid.

I had never allowed her to make me a part of her coven. I regret that now. It could have been something we would have shared and enjoyed together. I could have learned more about the 'witching process'. I always thought I had time.

I apparently wasn't mature enough to accept what I was, what I could be. I have come to realize that you should embrace who you are, be who you are, and be the best at what you are. I wish I had told her that ... but I hadn't and will never be able to.

I tried. When they'd called me to tell me she was in the hospital, I spent a fortune to charter a flight, and thank goodness I had arrived in time. We only had a few moments together, we only had a few words before I lost her, and she spent those last moments comforting me.

She told me that the love we shared would always be with me and keep her close in my heart, but you know, when you lose someone you love, those are just words.

Three months later, however, I'd found that, in a way, she was with me. It was something, but it wasn't enough. Memories even now just aren't enough.

Finn had brought her back into my busy head. I could see her brightly laughing over some nonsense. She wasn't quite with me, but she wasn't totally absent either. Work had helped me resolve the issue.

I put these thoughts aside because I had to concentrate as I walked, which seemed to be an art form I had failed to master as he led me up to the hostess merrily coming forward to greet us.

She was bright and chipper and, I noted, out of breath herself as she stared, and I do mean stared, at Dunraven. I couldn't blame her; he was something to look at.

She directed us to a booth and said in a husky voice meant only for him, "Enjoy your breakfast, and if there is anything else I can do for you ..." She allowed her words to trail off.

_Oh, puh-lease_ , I thought.

As I scooted into the booth and he took his place opposite me, I found myself looking into those eyes of his. I was struck by something ... something 'old world' in the recesses of his expression.

Again, I wondered why I had not been able to scan him.

I folded my hands into each other as I placed them on the table and purposely gave him a look I have perfected in the last four years. My cool, 'I know what I am doing' business look.

I wanted him to know that was why I was having coffee with him. No other reason. The hand-holding was an anomaly. Before, however, I could follow through and articulate the questions in my head, for I had many and wanted to put at least one to him, he leaned away from me, sat straight up against the low-backed booth, and laughed. I was startled and waited.

His voice was rich with amusement when he followed this up and said, "Ye look like ye are about to pray. Am I that frightening, lass?"

That made me narrow my eyes as I regarded him, and I gave him a half smile. "Not _frightened,_ " I answered, and I know he heard the snap in my voice. "Only praying you will tell me, quickly, what this is all about so I can get back to work."

"Is that all ye do, lass? _Work?_ "

"Pretty much." That 'scanning' I relied on, well, to use an old cliché, turned out to be 'a blessing and a curse'. It kept me from ever being able to give myself to anyone, because every single time I wanted to do just that, I found that he had ulterior motives, that he was a compulsive cheater, or something else that put me off him. Besides that _, I am a witch_. I believe in honesty in a relationship, so what was I supposed to do, say, 'Hi, _witch here_ '? That would take a whole lot of trust, and so far I hadn't found a man I could trust with that—rather depressing, considering that it meant I'd reached the age of twenty-four and had never really had any relationships whatsoever. None—nada.

I squared off, ignored my wayward thoughts, and said, "So tell me, what is it you need to discuss with me?"

A waitress of uncertain years appeared, and he ordered two coffees. I was surprised he didn't ask me if that was what I wanted. I did, but still. Then he turned to me and said, "I believe in breaking bread when I find someone I mean to have in m'life." He grinned boyishly, "Besides that, _I'm starving_. How about some eggs, Miss Doogan?"

I shook my head. "No, no, but go ahead. I'll just have the coffee."

"Please, humor my whim, Miss Doogan. Join me, do. I hate to eat alone, and it seems lately that is all I do."

I glanced at the elderly waitress, who was impatiently fiddling with her pen. I could see she wanted to get our order and move on. I hadn't eaten a thing since yesterday afternoon, and in fact the aroma in the coffee shop of bacon and onions had me suddenly famished. I caved and said, as I gave him a warmer smile than I had meant to, "Okay, thanks yes, I'll have scrambled eggs and one piece of whole-wheat toast."

He grinned and ordered the works for himself—bacon, eggs, and potatoes—and then turned back to regard me thoughtfully. His voice was soft when he said, "Ye know, lass, ye could do with a pound or two. I'm thinking ye were thin enough before ye lost yer grandmother and are way too thin now."

My eyes snapped open. "You must have looked pretty closely at my photos?"

Was this stalking? Was he a stalker? Was this stalking going on?

"Well, in truth, Maddy took every opportunity to show me yer latest pictures. She adored ye, but ye know that, don't ye?"

I sighed, and got wistful. "Yes, we were close."

"Aye, ye would send her pictures on yer computer, and she would print them up and frame 'em."

I laughed. "She was so funny about the computer. Never wanted to learn, and then one day, there it was in her kitchen." I shook my head over the memory and all the laughs I had enjoyed at poor Granny's expense while she mastered the use of a mouse.

"Did you know her well?" I asked, suddenly hungry to talk about her.

"Aye, I came to know her very well," he said gently. "Hers was a great loss to our community in Sutterville, but especially to me as I often found myself stopping by for a cup of tea and a bit of her wisdom."

"Yes, she mentioned you to me quite a bit." I chewed my bottom lip and frowned. "I am afraid I didn't pay much attention. I thought she was playing at match-making." _Oh no, did I just say that?_ Why _did I say that?_

"And ye don't wish to be matched with anyone?" he quizzed, his green eyes alive with twinkling gold lights.

Wasn't answering that. "Why did you come all this way, Mr. Dunraven?" I needed to get to the point and off this subject.

"Call me Finn, eh?" he said.

What did he want? What? For expediency I smiled and said hopefully, "Sure, Finn ...?"

"Tenacious, are we?" He inclined his head. "Right then, to the point. Ye want to know what I want."

My breath hitched. There was something in the way he said that—something ambiguous that made me want to run. Everything about him seemed ... _intense._

"That's right. Just what do you want?" I managed to squeak.

He laughed, and his sultry eyes took on a warm, suggestive glint. "A dangerous question, lass, to be asking of me. Well, then, just what do I want? I don't think ye are ready for that, Riley, not sure ye ever will be."

He said my name with that lilt of his, and it sounded like a song. _Stop, stop_ , I told myself. Okay, I'd walked into that one, but I was so not going there. Wasn't flirting with him like that. Oh no. Not.

I gave him a rueful smile and said, "I came here to find out what business you wanted to discuss." I put up my hand, took on what I call my 'teacher tone', and added, "If you mean to take this where I don't wish to go, I am so out of here. Got it, Mr. Dunraven?"

"Touché!" he said with a wide grin. "Are we back to Miss Doogan and Mr. Dunraven then? Have I slipped that far back?"

"You weren't that far forward, so not that far back," I said breathlessly. _Okay, getting back in form._

He chuckled and said, "Right then, lass. Since I don't want ye to get into the habit of saying no to me right from the start, I'll get to the point. As I mentioned, I returned to Dunraven about a year ago, though I have still had to do quite a bit of traveling as I consolidate some of m'holdings. It came to my notice that there is a stretch of land between _yer estate_ and mine that I could use beneficially for both of us. I made an offer to Maddy ... yer grandmother, and she said she would talk to ye and get back to me. Unfortunately I was away when we lost her." He shook his head. "I'm sorry for it."

He seemed sincere. He liked my grandmother, and that gave him some points. I tried to imagine the piece of land that bordered Dunraven and allowed him a warm smile. "I would hardly call our land an estate when compared to yours."

"No? Yer land encompasses over three hundred acres. I call that an estate. However, there is a narrow stretch of rowan oaks—about twenty acres of the lovely trees. I wish to buy that narrow stretch from ye."

I had to wonder at this. After all these years, what could anyone want with this acreage? I eyed him and came right to the point. "Why?" I shook my head. "Dunraven is over seven hundred acres strong. Why would you want a measly twenty acres?"

" _Ah_ , I have a personal reason for that, but allow me, lass, to say this, those twenty acres ye have more rowan oak trees than I have on all my seven hundred acres." He shook his head, and then he looked away from me before he brought his gaze back to my face. "Ye grandmother said that she was more than happy to sell this piece to me but meant first to discuss it with ye. I was hoping she did that ... before we lost her."

I frowned and remembered my last conversation with my grandmother before her stroke. She had said, "Riley, come home for a few days. I want to show you a piece of land I'm thinking of selling to Dunraven. You can use the money to open that new store you have been talking about. Maybe you could open it here ... in Sutterville, near me?"

I had been surprised and reminded her, "But, Granny ... you told me that the white and rowan oaks were planted on our land during the Salem witch trials. You said they gave us power and were a place of sanctuary. You said they were sacred."

She had answered that Dunraven was a friend and could I not please come up so she would explain the whole of it.

I had forgotten that until now, and then I remembered one more thing. Just before my grandmother died, she and her coven had held a "witches' ball" at Dunraven. I never went to coven events. It was a social thing, yes, but the witches always performed magic at the witches ball. He must have known. He must have.

_He must realize that, like my grandmother, I am a witch, from a long line of witches, as are the members of her coven_ , I thought _._

So the question that I put to myself again was, what was he? We witches can recognize one another, almost instantly. We give off a magical vibe that identifies us to each other. I did not get any such vibe off him.

Busy in my mind, I nearly jumped when he touched my folded hands on the table and brought me back to earth. He asked, "Did Maddy not mention any of this to ye? I was sure she would."

Chewing my bottom lip, I looked up and saw his gaze settle on my lips. Self-conscious about this nervous habit, I stopped immediately and answered him. "Yes, I do remember her telling me she wanted me to come up and have a look at a piece of land she was thinking of selling. I didn't think there was any rush ... you see, Betty and I have been talking about expanding the business, and I thought she was trying to help ..." He smiled and I pictured my grandmother. "She was like that." I shook my head and realized I hadn't visited my granny enough before I lost her. What had been wrong with me? I should have made more time for her. She sure had given me all her time after my parents' deaths. I felt something in my throat catch, and I had a difficult time swallowing as the words slipped out. "I should have ..." I couldn't finish, and guilt swept through me.

He reached out and held my hand. "Now, now, lass, don't be going there. Ye know yer grandmother was proud of yer success, and ye had no way of knowing time was against ye."

I looked at him sharply. Something in his tone made me feel like he knew more than he was saying. I took a long pull of air and said, "Thank you. I know she was considering selling that piece, and it surprised me at the time, as she had never agreed to sell any land before. Makes sense, because she talked about you like you were a legend amongst men."

"Did she now?" he said with that dreamy lilt.

_Coffee._ I had it to my lips as soon as the waitress set it down, and, oh, it was a great diversion and also quite good. I waited for him to sip his and said, "Well, I suppose you need an answer." I shrugged and wondered what I should do, what my grandmother would want me to do.

"Far sooner than I thought I would," he said in a voice that had suddenly dropped low and husky. His eyes flirted, his body language flirted, and he had to know the effect he had on women and undoubtedly used it to his advantage. Was he doing that now? Was he flirting with me to get his way about the land?

I wasn't going to have my head turned by his extraordinary style, by his tone of voice, by his hotness, oh, no, _not I_. My brow arched quizzically as I sat back. In control, I questioned myself. _This is not about him, his flirting, his needs. This is about my granny. What would she want? Would she want me to sell him this piece of land?_ I knew what she'd want. I knew it in my heart. She would want me to come home. She would want me to go through her things, her journal. She had always told me that if anything happened to her, I would need to read her journal. She had been adamant about that. She would want me to look out for her coven ... until they were able to reorganize. I needed to attend to my grandmother's wishes _._

What was he doing? He diverted my attention to his hand ... large, strong, yet groomed hands he had. He had reached for something in the inner pocket of his sports jacket and laid it out flat on the table. Ah, it was a survey.

I frowned but did not touch it as I studied it for a long moment. He pointed to the stretch of land between our properties, and I tried to picture it in my mind.

I had lived most of my youth in New York with my parents. When they died, Granny came and scooped me up, and off we went to her home in Maine. There I flourished until I went to college at Columbia.

I knew the three hundred acres well. I had walked over most of its beautiful terrain, but I'd done most of that walking when I was a teenager, and then off I went to college. I had never given much thought to the rowan and white oak trees at the far end. I couldn't quite picture this particular twenty acres.

I would never sell Granny's home. In addition to the trust fund my parents had set up for me, Granny had managed her money very well, and the interest from both funds were more than enough to handle the costs of keeping the family home in Sutterville.

I knew she'd wanted me to come back and settle in Sutterville, but how could I live there when my life was so centered in NYC?

Did any of those questions have anything to do with this piece of property? No, so why was I stuck in that never-never land?

Oh, damn, I just didn't know what to do.

I'd adored Granny. She had always seemed larger than life, her smile warm enough to blot out the sun. Her wisdom came from the ages and was unbreakable and untarnished. She got me through the loss of my parents and the grief that had wanted to tear me apart then.

Her death was a double-whammy, as she was my last living relative. She left me everything that she had, but after her death all I'd wanted to do was curl up into a ball. The business and the people who depended on us in that business—all the ladies that made a living at creating the beautiful hand-knit baby clothes—well, that had made me pick myself up and get back to work.

"I don't know," I said and sighed, and I heard the heaviness in my sigh. I looked at him as straightforwardly as I could and sighed again before saying, "Here is the thing. I can't answer you now. I think I have to go home first. I haven't even gone through my grandmother's things. I need to get a feel for what she would want me to do."

"I understand that, lass," he said gently.

"Yes, but you need an answer, and you deserve it. Granny would want me to give you an answer, so I guess it's time for me to pick my butt up and take it home. This puts it squarely on my shoulders. I can't put it off any longer. I see that it is something I have to do immediately," I said with the resignation I felt. "I have been planning a trip home. I left things ... unfinished. I have to go through my grandmother's documents and set everything in order at the house just the way I know she would want me to. I need to look through her things and see if she left any instructions for me. She might have made a decision and wrote what it was in her journal."

"Ay then, she had a journal?" he said curiously.

Why did I get the feeling this worried him? I smiled and said, "Yes, she kept a journal, though I doubt anyone other than I would be able to read it. We had a language of our own."

He grinned. "Did ye, lass? How curious. Why is that?"

I shrugged. "I'm not sure, but Granny thought it would be fun ... right after I came to live with her. It was hard for me without my parents, and I think she set me to learn this special language as a distraction." I closed my eyes for a moment, fought back tears, and finally said, "She always knew how to help me."

He squeezed my hand, and I gave him a polite smile, but the truth was, I felt anything but polite. His touch, his sincere show of sympathy, everything about him, did things to my central nervous system—things that made me think of what it might be like to be in his arms. _What the hell?_ Where did that come from?

The waitress brought our plates of food, and he said before he dug right in, "Ay then, if ye have a mind to come up to yer home, I can save ye the drive. Ye can fly back with me tomorrow."

I arched a brow at him and shook my head, "Uh, no thanks. That is very kind, but I would like to have my own wheels when I get up there, and I honestly don't mind the drive. It will let me unwind."

He frowned and looked like he was going to object but thought better of it. He bit into a slice of toast instead.

Okay. So just like that, I made up my mind. I would take the rest of August off and head on up to Maine.

* * *

Imagine you were about to attain your majority as a white witch, but your father wants you to marry a dark wizard—someone you dislike. Your mother wants to send you into the past to save you.

LADY X

**~ Prelude ~**

" _There is darkness in light, there is pain in joy, and there are thorns on the rose."_

by Cate Tiernan

EXERILLA RADLEY SHIVERED from her dip in the ocean as she stood in the wet sand. She took a few steps further up the deep white sandy slope to where she had dropped her colorful beach towel. She snapped it in the wind and began drying herself off.

She squeezed water out of her long black hair and tossed it around herself as she looked up at the only home she had ever known.

Spanish red tiles made up its many tiered roof. A soft peach pastel colored the stucco exterior walls. Lush landscaping that incorporated palms and other tropical plants, made her home look as though it belonged in the tropics instead of Wrightsville Beach, NC.

Everything about the house was invitingly warm and Exerilla smiled. She loved her home and was glad that it stood magnificent and strong against all storms. _And it did._

Nothing could touch it. Her mother was a powerful white witch and had enacted a protection spell right into its frame when it was being built.

Her life was taking a turn and it should feel exciting, but something was missing. She knew it, but wasn't sure just what that 'something' was.

Her days at UNC at Wilmington were over. She wondered how it passed so quickly. Summer days were ahead. She sighed with a mixture of excited anticipation for the future and melancholy as she let go of the past.

_Yup_ , X told herself--too soon she would leave everything familiar and safe and head for New York to do her graduate work at Columbia. That in itself was a major deal. She had always been a homebody. Now here she was, going off to of all places, New York City.

As she picked up her clogs and headed up the sandy slope for the long wide private boardwalk that led to the upper deck of her home, she suddenly stopped and listened. She listened carefully but could not quite hear the words, though she heard the tone.

Something was wrong.

She could feel a power sweeping into the house. It was like a dark wave; threatening and determined.

Something dangerous had invaded.

She closed her eyes— _it was her father_ and he wasn't alone.

Galen Debbin was with him.

X's hands went to her head as her mother's voice boomed with distress, _Don't come in_ _here, Exerilla_.

No other person would hear her mother, not even her father; for their link was that of mother and daughter. No one could tap into their private link with any kind of magic—not even hard dark magic.

Exerilla didn't listen and her mother sensed it at once as her steps brought her closer. Once again, her mom shouted in her head, Don't come here. Get in your car and just go! This time, her mom sounded desperate.

Exerilla sighed heavily. She wasn't afraid of her father. He would _never_ hurt her. Why her mother had fixated on the belief that he would, was beyond her understanding. Even though her parents were separated, she knew that they still loved each other. The only thing standing between her parents was the dark magic he had surrounded himself with these last few years.

She ignored her mother's command and skipped up the double set of plank stairs to their large deck. She slid the glass doors open and stepped inside.

"Mom?" she said out loud. She could see from her mother's stance and the scowl covering her lovely face that she was extremely annoyed.

Galen with that ever present and arrogant smirk on his too pretty face, stood next to her father, who had taken a step toward her with a warm and encompassing smile.

She tried to lighten the mood with a bright tone, "Hi Dad, what's up?" However, she saw what humans couldn't see; the black aura surrounding Galen Debbin. Her father was also engulfed with the dark aura of tainted magic. She frowned. A hint of darkness had always edged the bright mystique that had been his in his early days, but she knew this meant he was giving in to his dark side.

He had been immersing himself in black magic for years. Although she didn't want to admit it, she could see that her mother was correct in saying that very little white light still glittered in his aura—scarcely a spark.

When it came to her father, Exerilla was conflicted. She knew that he was a Dark Warlock. She knew the rumors surrounding her father's coven would forever keep her parents apart. It would now come between them as well.

His ethics were not her own, yet she loved him and trusted him. He had always been interested in her and what she did, yet he had never before interfered with her life.

He stepped forward, his white blond hair inconsistent with the fact that he was deeply tanned. His sweet smile never spoke of the Dark Warlock he was becoming. His face was youthful because he was an immortal like her mother. His eyes however, had lost their sparkle. They were dark gray and cool though they seemed to soften when he looked at her. She felt something about him had drastically changed since she had seen him a month ago. He spoke to her softly, "X, my dear," as he moved toward her and took her in his arms for a hug. She didn't object, but she looked past him at her mother who stood nervously biting her bottom lip.

"Papa," she said. She didn't want her mother subjected to any trouble so she politely looked toward her father's companion. "Hello Galen. What brings you two here today?"

Her father moved toward her mother and X watched warily as he took her mother's hand and kissed it. She marveled at the viable emotion she sensed as she watched her father gaze into her mother's deep sea green eyes; so much like her own. She thought it was sad that they should be apart.

Without taking his eyes away from her mother's he answered, _"You_ daughter, _you."_

"Why?" she asked as her tongue moved to her inner cheek.? She had a bad feeling about this.

Suddenly he snapped himself to attention and turned to gently indicate with a slight wave of his hand, "Shall I get to the point? Yes, I think so. Galen, as you know, is interested in courting you. I wish this to go forward as quickly as possible. I have, in fact, wished for it for quite some time." He inclined his head, "Galen told me of his great affection for you a year ago, but I knew you weren't ready. I gave you the respect of waiting until you finished your education. You had your bit of fun, _but that time is over_." He opened his arms wide as though bestowing an enormous gift on her. She felt a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach.

"My interest in this daughter, is simple. I wish for the Debbin House to be joined with the Radley House. It will not only increase our powers as a coven, but as a family unit. It will combine all of our abilities in a way never imagined by any warlock or witch ever before. The two houses joined in this manner will make us virtually invincible." He clapped his hands together. His smile was enormous as he added, "The children from such a match will have formidable magic—my grandchildren. Nothing could please me more."

Galen stepped toward her and unconsciously, she stepped backward. What the hell was this? Had she somehow fallen through a hole to another century? She was not going to take part in this marriage of convenience. She had known Galen a good part of her adult life and he had always displayed a partiality for her. She didn't like him and she knew she couldn't love him. Some women might find him irresistible, with his dark auburn hair and the peak it formed in the middle of his forehead along with his charming smile, but these masked his dark cold eyes. This is exactly what her mother had been warning her about, _this day._ She had laughed it off. She couldn't believe her father could be so archaic.

She could never consider Galen Debbin as a husband and her father couldn't force her into such a match. She folded her arms across her middle and started to speak, but her mom interrupted her with a wave of her hand and said, "We are honored Harlan, my love, however, I don't think _our_ daughter was thinking of courtship or marriage at this stage of her life. You know that she has plans to go to New York in the fall and start working toward her Masters degree."

"I will never allow anything to prevent her plans for continuing her education," her father said softly. "I see no reason why marriage should interfere with that."

"I am not interested in marriage," X stuck in, thinking this entire conversation bordered on the insane. She had to do something quick.

Her father looked serious as he raised an eyebrow. "No? Perhaps I speak of it too soon. There is no reason why you cannot go on a date or two and get to know one another." He turned back to his wife. "You know Rachel, in the end she doesn't have a choice. This is _my_ will. _They will marry_. I also believe that their union was predestined to be the most spectacular union of our kind. Because of my great affection for our daughter, I do not mind if she needs a bit of courting to feel more comfortable about it."

Her mother shot her daughter a meaningful look and said with the link that was theirs alone, _don't speak_.

"Of course," her mother responded. "What happens if our daughter refuses to be married?"

"For now, I only ask that she allow Galen to court her," her father said sounding reasonable. Exerilla had heard him very clearly say that she actually had no choice. He was willing to bide his time, but only for a short while. She loved her father; though he had changed. He was no longer putting her needs first. She knew he was allowing her to think that he was reasonable by condoning a brief courtship. He wanted her eased into the situation, but in the end she could see that he meant this to go forward at all costs.

"Of course, but today Exerilla and I have plans," her mother said with a tentative smile. "Galen is welcome to come for cocktails with you tomorrow evening. Perhaps he can take X to dinner sometime after that." She eyed her husband flirtatiously and Exerilla wondered what her mother was doing.

Two things were off here.

Her mother despised Galen Debbin. She would never let her go anywhere alone with him. He was not only a Dark Warlock, but ugly rumors abounded around him. Rumors called him a vicious murderer, who killed for the thrill of it.

She wondered why her mother was so ready to accept the union.

The second thing was the sorrow she saw in her mother's eyes when she looked at her father. Her feelings toward him might have changed.

Exerilla felt a wave of loss because she saw a dark force ever hovering about him. His stance was more aloof, even when he looked at her. His love for her and her mother was unshakeable. It was a viable separate entity and yet, she knew in that moment beyond a shadow of a doubt, that her father would not allow his affection to deter his purpose.

This time, her mother meant to take her father on.

Obviously, her mother was stalling for time. For what possible reason, she hadn't a clue. She looked from mother to father and kept quiet. She would keep still now because there was no way in hell she was going to go to dinner or anything else with Galen Debbin, let alone marry him.

"That is more than fair. I had expected our little X to put up a fight. She never liked being dictated to." He smiled and Exerilla saw pride light up his handsome face. He had always called her X, just like her friends. He would tease her and tell her that she would always be his X-factor. She had never really known just what he meant by that, but she was now beginning to see. She was an answer to his need for power. That sudden realization hurt.

She shrugged but gave him a half smile. _"Yup,_ you're so right; I don't like being dictated to. I have known Galen a very long time, and I won't insult him by refusing to have a few dinner engagements with him to see how we feel about each other," she said, hoping her father would not see through her lie.

Her father was all too pleased with the outcome of this initial meeting. He merely bowed in his old world style. He murmured that he adored her. With a sudden flick of his wrist, the dark cloud that delivered them into Exerilla's home enveloped the two warlocks and took them away.

Her mother grabbed Exerilla's shoulders and said in a desperate tone, "Hurry, there is no time to waste!"

All at once she realized what her mother was talking about. She had heard all about this earlier that week and had laughed it off. Now it was looking as though it might turn into a reality, but she wasn't ready to accept it.

She knew that her mother was only trying to protect her, but she just couldn't comply with her wishes.

She had her summer planned. She had a summer job lined up, and then Columbia in the fall. This wasn't fair. There had to be another way.

What her mother was asking seemed extremely drastic. It wasn't as though she wanted her to go off on some summer vacation. She wanted to send her two hundred years into the past.

She couldn't give up all her future plans. She didn't believe that her father would force her to marry Galen. She was sure she could get through to him. He loved her, she told herself. She would find the right moment to talk to him.

"Yes, but..." she started to object.

"Exerilla, listen to me. I prepared everything for you last year when I first discovered what your father was planning. It will only be a few months..."

"No, I can't. I won't!" Exerilla frowned. "You are asking too much, Mom. I don't think papa can force me to marry against my will. I am twenty-one and have reached my majority. I too have a few tricks up my sleeve."

"You _have not_ reached your majority. Not until Samhain. It is then that you will reach your witch's majority. Until then, your father can compel you to do whatever he wants you to do."

She couldn't believe her father would use a compulsion spell to make her marry _El Creepo._

She couldn't believe he would force her to do anything. He had never done so before.

She had made up her mind that she would not go to England and she would definitely not be sent into the past.

"No, Mom. I'm not going. I'm not doing this. I will handle papa," she answered. None of this made sense to her.

Her mother frowned, and suddenly surprised her as she 'poofed' off in a cloud of white mist.

Have you tried one of Claudy Conn's sensual regency romances?

A blurb from Disorderly Lady!

She tried to best him at his own game!

Arabella Cullingham's latest flirtation leaves her blue-deviled when the handsome colonel leaves without saying good-bye.

Her brother determines that a London Season is what his pretty sister needs to mend her broken heart.

Enter the dashing Earl of Magdalen, a confirmed bachelor whose female acquaintances run to women of dubious reputation.

They meet quite by accident and circumstances allow him to deduce she is a light-skirt!

Bella, for her own reasons, decides to play along, never thinking that the game might cost her the man she truly loves!

**A word about Claudy Conn...**

Writing for me is like breathing fresh air. I can't seem to put my "pen" down. Over the years I have written over forty mass market (Regency and historical) best-sellers; however, the lure of paranormal romance has certainly taken over my brain and pitched me into a wonderful world of adventure.

When I'm not writing and researching and reading, I'm out in the garden, or fixing fences with my husband. Our horse, Southern Pride, and our two huge wolf dogs, Cherokee, and her son, Rocky the Man, like to tag along. We also take care of (with his permission) Mr. H, the box turtle.

My husband and I are outdoorsy and are always hiking, swimming, and playing with the animal crew.

http://www.claudyconn.com

