"T he bloody zoo?" Ryan crushed the missive in his hand, and glared at the young man who was unfortunate enough to carry the second message to him about his daughter's current whereabouts.

"She will return from Epping day after tomorrow, sir."He'd arrived home yesterday to discover that Brianna had actually made a visit to this house and takenMary Elizabeth back with her to London. After tearing into his staff, Ryan had managed to calm down.What was he going to do? Ride the wind to Lord Ravenspur's residence and snatch his daughter from hisown sister?

Ryan instructed a servant to feed the unfortunate courier before the man trekked back to London.

Carrying a towel, he returned to his dressing room. He'd finished dressing and was pulling the suspenders over his shoulders when Boswell entered.

"Lady Gwyneth and Lord Devonshire will be here in half an hour, sir." He joined Ryan. "Dinner will be served at eight."

Ryan slipped his arms into the sleeves of a jacket and, looking in the glass, carefully readjusted his cravat.

"Contact Stewart in the morning at D&B. I want to know which site my brother went to in Scotland. I also have a stack of mail that needs to go out tomorrow. And I'm expecting Sir Boris in the afternoon."

His financial officer was in high dudgeon about Ryan's trip to Ireland and Johnny's inconvenient exodus on the eve of what would have been an announcement of a merger between Ore Industries and D&B.

"Anything else, sir?" Boswell inquired.

"Do you know anything about handfasting laws?" he asked arbitrarily, unaware of the direction of his thoughts.

Boswell's eyebrows rose considerably. "Are you planning an elopement, sir?"

"Nothing as romantic as that."

"Will this be a late night, sir?" Boswell asked after a moment.

"Just dinner."

"I imagine your new popularity will be the routine?"

Ryan's faintly bemused glance touched Boswell's in the glass. "That depends on whether I'm viewed as a social bounder or an accepted consequence of the spread of social democracy."

"Indeed, sir," his servant countered. "I believe that your sister's husband chairs that particular committee in Parliament."

Recognizing dissent when he heard it, Ryan kept his expression neutral. "Are you making a joke, Boswell?"

"I most certainly am not, sir." The older man cleared his throat. "I am merely making a facetious comment that there is no such thing as democracy, social or otherwise, sir."

Ryan walked out of the dressing room into his chambers.

"Permission to speak freely, sir." Boswell followed.

Ryan poured himself a snifter of brandy. "Obviously you've no aversion to speaking your mind," he said without looking up. "You've been doing it for years. Hell, you let my sister take my daughter to London. If I were going to rage at you, I would have already done so."

"As you know, Lord Ravenspur's house is not far from your London home," Boswell said, ignoring his tirade and getting back to the topic at hand.

"I know where my sister lives."

"I have visited her home on some occasions when you are in residence," Boswell said, reminding Ryan that Boswell and Brianna's elderly lady's maid were cousins. "I'd heard that just last month the Duchess of Bedford publicly cut Lady Ravenspur at the Green Lilly ball. If it weren't for the powerful committee Lord Ravenspur chairs in Parliament, she would have no friends among the ton."

"I've no doubt of that, Boswell. Brianna is a suffragist, author of scandalous books, and champion of education reform." Abductor of small children. His younger sister could alienate anyone with the bat of an eyelash, and proudly so. He knew that she had not had an easy time with her new life since marrying a duke. "She just doesn't have friends in Lady Bedford's circle. I doubt I will either."

"I was out of line, sir. You are free to make your own choices about your future."

Boswell's attempt at humbleness failed. "No doubt you knew that when you spoke."

Clearly miffed, Boswell turned away. "Ring if you need me, sir."

After Boswell left, Ryan poured another drink, mentally consigning his valet to the night, his mood precarious at best. He was not unaware of what Boswell had been trying to tell him.

Yet, even as a part of him recognized his own hypocrisy, Ryan had accepted the necessity of allying himself to the genteel powerful. He'd known from the moment he'd inked the contracts that his future engagement to Lord Devonshire's niece would be of import to both London's business sector, which had been worried about the rift in Ore Industries, and to an upper-class society that, with the exception of a few, shunned his entire family.

Only now, he realized he was in danger of losing everything.

Ryan wore formal black dinner attire, his jacket buttoned at his waist. Walking outside onto the terrace, he could have been a shadow but for the slip of white beneath his sleeve. The sunset had turned the sky a dark indigo. With the exception of his housekeeper and valet, Ryan rarely saw any of the fifty-two servants and thirty groundskeepers he employed. Yet everything was always in perfect order. He looked over the sloping yard toward the rolling river and the distant pagoda where he had lunched with Rachel weeks ago. Faraway lights cast a dull halo against the horizon, and he thought about her somewhere in London.

He had not known she would be on the ferry from Ireland.

He had not discovered her presence until they'd docked, and he'd seen Elsie standing at the window. It had taken him a little longer to find her buried in the hood of her cloak, hiding from him at the back table in the salon. Watching her, holding her profile with his gaze, he'd realized one vital element at that moment. She was aware of his presence as much as he was aware of hers. He'd felt her gaze when he'd hailed the cab to take him to the rail depot and felt her presence behind him at the telegraph office. He'd been aware of everything about her, which was why he sat two cars from her on the train, as if distance had the power to separate her from his thoughts. She'd been asleep when he'd made his rounds down the aisle after midnight and looked into her compartment. When, for just a moment, he'd considered setting his hands firmly on her stubborn shoulders and shaking her awake for the pure shock value of seeing those beautiful hazel eyes open on him.

Though Ryan needed more answers to understand what David may have done to his life, and how to extricate himself from a complicated position-for now the options were all his. He smiled to himself, for Rachel had no idea the power he held in his hands.

"Sir," Boswell interrupted his thoughts from the doorway, "your guests have arrived."

Lord Bathwick's home rested in central Mayfair the second-to-last house among a row of twenty. An elderly butler with bushy eyebrows showed Rachel into the drawing room. Feeling rudely dismissed by him, she ignored his departure as she turned her attention to the room. The place smelled of brandy, cigars, and fading roses, as forlorn as any room when a party is over, and the guests have all gone home. She walked to the window and looked out over a small enclosed yard.

Two days ago, she had gone to Mr. Williams's house. He had given her the list they had talked about weeks ago of major common stockholders in the company.

Viscount Bathwick held shares, she thought, remembering the man who had approached her at the Telford ball. Lord Bathwick owned 17 percent of the common stock in the company.

She couldn't believe it.

"The Devonshire family owns the foundry that supplies steel to many construction firms, including D&B," Mr. Williams had told her. "Unfortunately, he has proven himself an adversary. Eight months ago he spurred rumors about production delays at D&B, and the stock fell 12 percent, which was how he accumulated the shares in the company that he has."

Rachel considered the practice highly unethical even as Mr. Williams laughed and explained that Ryan had been guilty of using the procedure himself. "I'm sure Lord Bathwick considered it justice."

Turning over the calling card in her hand, Rachel thought about justice.

Lord Bathwick had given her this card the night of the Telford ball.

"Miss Bailey." Lord Bathwick's voice pulled her away from the window. "I apologize that I missed your call yesterday." He swept into the room and bent over her gloved hand. "Might I hope that your persistence is an omen fraught with good fortune and pleasure?"

Rachel resented the implication of that look. Dressed conservatively in bone taffeta, there was nothing about her that implied she was there for anything but a business dialogue. "This call is many things, my lord, but pleasurable isn't one."

"She has a sting to her tongue. And no sense of humor." He was amused. Dressed in a bright red waistcoat beneath a chocolate velvet jacket that accentuated his deep blue eyes, he looked very dapper as he stepped back. "Your maid is sitting in the foyer. Would you like to summon her? I wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong impression about your visit. Not that one lone lady's maid could hold back the tide of gossip. These are bachelor quarters, after all."

Coming directly to the point, Rachel lifted her chin. "I wish to buy your shares in D&B."

He laughed. "Even if you said please, you couldn't afford my price. Would you care for something to drink?" He strode to a cabinet and withdrew a crystal decanter. "You look as if you could use one more than I."

Seeing Lord Bathwick in the fading daylight of the drawing room, Rachel realized his fawn-colored hair and tanned complexion bespoke a man who spent a great deal of time out of doors. That surprised her, for his nonchalant splendor clearly created a contradiction of personalities. He wanted her to think him a popinjay, when the calluses on his palm implied something else entirely. What kind of aristocrat had calluses on his hands?

After sloshing liquid into two glasses, he capped the decanter and returned with her drink. "If one is going covertly to plot the downfall of Ryan Donally, one should be expediently drunk. Capital stuff this is, too."

His words alarmed her. "I'm not here to plot anyone's downfall." Rachel accepted the glass only because she didn't wish to waste time arguing over trivialities.

"But of course you are." He peered at her over his glass. "The only question I ask is why you have waited so long?"

"You knew that night at the Telford ball what Mr. Donally had planned for D&B."

"My father sits on the Ore Industries board." Bathwick studied the glass. "His dwindling empire and all that's left of my great-grandfather's legacy. A company Donally took from us because Father is a conceited fool."

"Because he underestimated Mr. Donally?"

"You don't know. Do you? The sordid family history, as it were."

"I don't know you at all, much less your history."

He contemplated her more thoroughly before finishing off his glass. "You're a contradiction, Miss Bailey. A very beautiful one at that, but a contradiction nonetheless." Bathwick set down the glass. "On the one hand, you want D&B. On the other, you want to do this as cleanly as possible. What are your motives for fighting this merger when selling could make you wealthy?"

Rachel decided that he deserved an honest answer. "I have an interest in the Irish division. Mr. Donally has forgotten the people who have worked for him and who have made this company what it is."

"Donally is a businessman. If he has forgotten anything, none of us have ever seen it."

Rachel realized his animosity stretched way past any rivalry he and Ryan might have in the corporate world. "Why do you hate Ryan so much?"

"Hate?" The question seemed to startle him. "My dear girl, you're asking me that question when I'm sober." Peering at her, he folded his arms and leaned against the back of the settee. "Do you think Ore Industries was just some company Donally decided to take over one day?" The jackanapes in him had disappeared behind a sober face.

"Honestly, I don't know why he does half what he does, my lord."

"As you probably know, Ore Industries has always been D&B's biggest supplier of supplies and steel. The two companies rather grew up together in the marketplace."

Rachel knew that they had.

"Then once upon a time, Donally met Gwyneth at Ore Industries, when he was leaving a meeting with my father. My father turned down his request to court her, which in itself would have been within his rights considering Donally's lack of pedigree. But then Father decided to take Donally to task. In the tradition of big British business interests, Father decided to raise prices charged on goods. Donally refused to pay the exorbitant prices and took his business elsewhere, severing the contracts. Then, adding insult to injury, Father used his political connections to ban Donally from Regents and Cassavas, and a half dozen other exclusive clubs. D&B lost a summer's worth of contracts and failed to meet their deadline on two major contracts because Ore Industries delayed delivery of materials. One doesn't insult a man like Donally and expect nothing to happen.

"When the ashes settled, only Donally was left standing. My father holds the position he does now because he offered up Gwyneth to avoid complete annihilation." Pausing, Bathwick regarded Rachel's frown. "So, if you must know where my real hatred lies, look no further than his esteemed lordship, the Earl of Devonshire."

Rachel dropped her gaze to the brandy in her hand. She had not known any of this.

"Donally's newest acquisition would have one day been mine. That night of the ball, I had come to you about the possibility of our own business arrangement. Naturally, we bluebloods don't worry ourselves over something as trifling as money, but neither do I like the possibility of finding myself an impoverished lord. There are principles to avenge."

She set the glass on the table beside her. "Because you lost Lady Gwyneth to him? Or the means to your wealth?"

"Donally doesn't love Gwyneth." He pushed away from the settee and strolled back to the brandy decanter. "He's paying my father more than most people see in twenty lifetimes for the privilege of marrying into this family. My motivations for taking D&B from Donally may not be as honorable as yours, but they still put us on the same side."

Rachel laid her hands atop the chair. Did they?

The cool brightness of the morning suddenly seemed too hot against her back. "If you want your Irish division back, then we go into this as partners, Miss Bailey." Bathwick smiled, but his eyes remained observant. "I want a position on the board. It's the only chance you'll have of changing company policy."

"What about your father?" she whispered.

"May he rot. Unless you want to put in a good word for him."

She shook her head. She was remembering his threat. Then she felt her courage return and a lot more.

"Even with your shares, I won't have enough to block the acquisition," she said, coming to a decision, for this fight was all that she had left.

That and her grandmother.

"But I have income sitting in the Bank of England to make up the difference."

"To a partnership then." He raised the glass. "If it happens."

"What do you mean?" She would have preferred his confidence.

"You have been in London over a week?" Bathwick asked. "Donally must know your intentions. So, why hasn't he already purchased the shares to stop you?"

Dropping the stack of folders on the desk, Rachel coughed at the explosion of dust. Mr. Williams stood in front of the window in her office. Behind her, Stewart helped carry in an armload of files.

"I'm a board member of this company." She dusted off her hands. "One would naturally think it should be a simple process to find out what this company is worth. Don't you agree?"

"I will be at my desk, mum," Stewart said, bowing out of the room and leaving Mr. Williams to her.

"Johnny could be in Scotland for a month." She removed her gloves and set them on her satchel. "D&B has a team of engineers who do nothing but inspect sites. No doubt he elected to head that team for the express purpose of fleeing London."

"I understand that Mr. Donally is none too content with his brother's absence either."