She allowed him to make of it what he would and gave his hand a squeeze, letting him know she would say no more on the subject. "Now, will you tell all, or must I apply thumbscrews? Where were you before you came here?"

The abrupt shift in the conversation made West blink, but he answered truthfully because he knew there was no help for it. "Not far away at all. I was near Ambermede. There is a cottage at the edge of the estate that the duke deeded to my mother years ago. You might know the one I mean. It has been mine since her death. That's where I was last night-visiting my home."

Though it answered her question, it barely qualified as an explanation. "You will have to say considerably more than that."

West didn't doubt it. Surrendering to the inevitable, he made room beside him on the bed. When she was settled there, he began with how he had found the paintings in Beckwith's study, the reason he had removed them, and finally the purpose of taking them to London. His relationship to the colonel required a bit of roundaboutation, but it was no more than he was used to doing when someone showed too much interest. If Ria no longer believed he was a clerk in the foreign office, she did not say so.

She proved to be a very good listener, asking questions infrequently and only for clarification. He could see there were things she wanted to know that he had not fully explained, but she let him proceed with the story in his own way. He kept his discourse to the paintings, not mentioning his visit to Lord Herndon or Lady Northam's own findings from the dressmakers on Firth Street.

"Miss Parr joined us shortly after I finished showing South the paintings," West said. "I think she might have been listening above stairs. She was very composed when she came to stand with us. It pains me to admit I did not give a lot of thought to how difficult it would be for her to look at them, or how hard it would be to watch her do the same, but I can tell you it is not an experience I will soon forget.

Southerton, either. It was doubly painful for him, I am certain. Miss Parr admitted she knew the paintings existed. There are apparently more than forty of them, all with similar themes."

Ria shivered. "They are about her degradation." "That is what I thought also," West said. "Miss Parr says the artist's intent is not so easily explained in that light. The paintings are meant to show that she is deserving of worship."

"And of sacrifice," Ria said softly. "She must know that the paintings show her as a sacrifice."

West was taken aback by how clearly Ria saw it. He and South had not had that same perspective until India explained it to them. "It may be that it is already begun," he said quietly, resting his head back. "She asked me to make her a gift of the paintings. She wanted to destroy them herself, to make certain they could not be made public. I couldn't allow it, and South knew I couldn't. I don't think you can imagine how difficult it was to say no to her. I thought-"

"I can imagine," Ria said. She rested her hand on his forearm and stroked it lightly. "You are decent.

And good. A gentle... man." She smiled a trifle crookedly. "No, I have not forgotten our meeting in the alley outside your club, nor that you still carry a blade in your boot, but neither of those things negates the others. They do not change the fact that you can feel despair at having to refuse her request. I know you mean to return the paintings to Mr. Beckwith-you really have no choice."

West's shoulders rose and fell in tandem with his inaudible sigh. "I explained to Miss Parr that there were no other paintings concerning her in the collection I found, but she was clearly discomposed that any at all had left the hands of the artist. I had already learned from South that the paintings were not done with her permission, that she was, in fact, drugged. She was never posed with anyone in the room save the artist himself. Everything else he painted was born of his imagination."

"Except those rooms," Ria said. "The rooms are real enough, I think."

West had never doubted the sharpness of her wits, and here was further proof. "You recognized them. I wondered if you would. I was rather slow coming to it myself."

"I have passed those portraits in the corridor almost every day for six years. You cannot have seen them more than twice."

"Three times, actually. I took a moment to study them before I came in here this morning. The identical Ionic marble columns are in several of the portraits of the school's founders. The capital on each is the same as the pair in Miss Parr's painting. So is the fluting on the shaft. It is the frieze, though, that makes them truly identifiable. It is on the marble altar as well. Have you ever looked closely at it?"

"I have not made a study, no, but I remember thinking it was suited to the school. Young Greek maidens studying their scrolls. Horses, I think, grazing nearby."

"Nymphs and satyrs." He turned sideways to gauge her reaction. Ria was staring at him, openmouthed.

He reached over and placed a finger under her chin, gently closing it. "At least you did not tell me I cannot be right. That is an improvement."

She removed his finger. "It is only because you closed my mouth. Are you quite certain? Is there no room to suppose you might be mistaken?"

"The frieze is very cleverly done, and I understand why you didn't give it more than cursory attention. It is not, after all, the focal point of any of the portraits, merely a background. This morning I studied each of the friezes to compare them with the one in Miss Parr's painting. I do not have any doubts about them now, but you are free to decide differently." Ria fought the urge to quit her rooms and go to the entrance hall immediately. It was not that she did not believe him; it was only that it was something she needed to see for herself. "You did the same for the other painting?"

"The couch and draperies are not as distinctly unique as the other, yet you had no difficulty recognizing them. There is only one portrait that features those things in the background-a relatively recent one, I think. The colors of the fabrics are still the same, though not as vibrantly realized as they are in the painting of Miss Parr. It struck me that he thought the sapphire chaise longue was a good complement for his eyes."

"You are speaking of Sir Alex Cotton. He is the one sitting on the chaise with the open book at his side, and he does have rather piercing blue eyes." Ria plumped the pillow at the small of her back. "He is also the last person to join the board of governors."

"How long ago?"

"Since I've been here. It was February, I think. Two years ago."

"Miss Parr said that painting was done three years past."

"She was in that room?"

"No. Nor the other. She has only seen them as part of the paintings."

"But they must exist," Ria said. "The portraits of the founders and governors were not done by the same artists-at least one of them with the Ionic columns is nearly one hundred years old-and none of them were done by the artist who painted India Parr."

"I agree. The rooms exist."

Ria realized there was nothing he could say beyond that. He did not know any more. Whatever else had happened at the cottage, it was not connected to those rooms or Miss Weaver's Academy. "You have not accounted for the fire," she said.

"It happened as I was explaining the impossibility of leaving the paintings. Miss Parr smelled the smoke first. South sent her out of the cottage to safety and he and I went upstairs to find the source of it. We used what we had at the ready at first. Blankets. My jacket. I thought we would be defeated by it.

Flames crawled up the ceiling and across the mantelpiece. The window to that room was open, and gusts of wind fanned the flames across the floor. We retreated once because of the smoke. I hauled buckets of snow from outside, running them up the stairs, taking the steps two and three at time. South threw them at the fire, and then I would run out again."

West sat tailor-fashion and rested his elbows on his knees. He steepled his ringers, and as was his habit, he tapped the pads of his thumbs together. His head bent, and he felt Ria's soft touch at his nape. She stroked the back of his neck, laying down the stubborn curls with the lightest touch of her fingertips. It was almost as if she knew what he had to tell her and how bloody hard it was to do so.

"We put out the fire that round," West said, "but by then we'd lost what was important. Too late, South realized the fire was a diversion. I should have known myself. All those mad trips outside to get more snow... you would think I'd have seen that Miss Parr was gone. We searched for her as best we could, on foot for the first hour because our horses had been sent off. Even the pair of grays that South used forhis carriage were missing."

Ria's fingers stilled in West's hair. She hesitated, then finally broached her question. "I'm not sure I understand. Did Miss Parr set the fire to get away from your friend? Was she with him against her will?"

"No." He stopped tapping his thumbs a moment. "Most definitely no to your first question. The answer to your second is more complicated, I think, and not mine to share. Can you be satisfied with that?"

"Your discretion makes you an honorable man. I can be satisfied with that." She ruffled the hair at the back of his head again. "You did not find her?"

"No. The horses found us eventually, but by then the trail was colder than the day. Southerton returned to London. I offered help, but he would not accept it. He knew I had somewhere else to go, though I do not think it was only that."

"This is what you meant about Miss Parr being sacrificed, is it not? She is in grave danger, then."

West nodded. "South believes he knows where she can be found. He was meant to die in that fire.

Perhaps he would have if I hadn't been there, but I cannot shake the feeling that I led Miss Parr's abductor to the cottage myself. South says I did not, but then he is the kind of man who takes everything upon his own shoulders."

"Unlike Your Grace," Ria said in unmistakably wry accents, "who is so eager to share responsibility and deals blame as blithely as he deals cards. No, you have nothing in common with your friend."

West gave her his most chagrined smile. "If your point were any sharper, it would draw blood."

Ria's eyes fell to the deep dimple carved at the side of West's mouth. Impulsively, she kissed him.

"What was that in aid of?"

She shrugged. "You will not want to know."

"I asked."

Ria shook her head. She could be discreet also, especially about the secrets that resided in her own heart. "Will you eat now?" she asked.

He realized his appetite had returned and was about to say as much when Ria's stomach rumbled indelicately. Chuckling, he nodded. "I think it would be best if you joined me."

They sat at the drop-leaf table that Ria opened in her sitting room and ate the same fare the students had had for their dinner. The roast beef was thinly sliced, pink in the center, and served in its own juice. The small potatoes and turnip medallions were boiled and glazed with lightly salted butter. There were fresh hot rolls, honey to spread on them, and finally, Mrs. Jellicoe's steaming plum pudding for the sweet.

West did not need to be encouraged to eat his fill. By the time he dressed and the meal was served, Ria's rumbling stomach was no match for his own. Afterward he sat back in his chair and regarded Ria over the rim of his wineglass. "How was it you were able to stay with me today?"

"I did not spend the entire day watching you sleep," she said. "That would have been very dull indeed. Itaught my classes and came in as my time allowed. You never stirred." She took a sip of her wine. "The staff and students are curious, but no one has reason to doubt my word regarding your arrival here and even less reason to suspect me of untoward behavior."

West might have choked if he'd been drinking. "Just so," he said mildly.

"I cannot say what they might suspect you are capable of."

"Very amusing."

Ria merely raised one eyebrow and smiled.

West wondered if he dared take her back to bed. She looked as if she would go willingly, perhaps even eagerly. He quelled the temptation by reminding himself of the reason he had come here.

"Do you know," Ria said, "that if Adam had had but a thimbleful of your resolve, we would still be living in Eden?" She frowned, then, as a thought occurred to her. "Perhaps it is that I am no Eve."

She looked so perfectly discomforted by the idea that this could be true that West was moved to leave his chair and place a very thorough kiss upon her mouth. "There is nothing lacking in you or your apple."

Ria set her glass down and pressed two fingers to her slightly swollen lips. His kiss had tasted of red wine and currants. It required a certain amount of determination on her part not to follow him back to his chair. "Oh my," she said softly.

West stretched his legs, crossing them at the ankles. He folded his arms casually against his chest. His easy posture belied the grave set of his features. "We have said nothing about Miss Petty."

"I know." It was something of a relief-albeit a small one-to know this is what he meant to discuss.

When he turned such a sober expression in her direction, she thought he meant to tell her he was leaving straightaway. It did not bear refining on how far her spirits had plummeted. "But that is because I have had good news-of a sort."

"Oh?" West did not indicate by so much as a flicker of an eyelash that he was in receipt of the same information.

"Mr. Lytton has written to me that he queried every dressmaker on Firth Street, and there were some positive responses. Jane was remembered by several of the dressmakers as being in the company of a young gentleman. It seems he was purchasing her a new wardrobe, just as Jane told Amy he meant to.

Mr. Lytton lists the items, if you would like to see his letter. He was very thorough with the details."

"I should like to see it, yes."

Ria went immediately to the adjoining room and took the letter from her desk. She gave it to West. Her discomfiture was evident in that she would have remained standing at his side while he read it if he had not directed her back to her chair. "He writes that Jane was reported to have been in fine humor. Do you see that? And the gentleman was ardently desirous of pleasing her."

West lifted a brow and gave Ria a significant look. "He also writes that the gentleman introduced himself as Jane's brother and guardian. What do you make of that?" "I imagined it was because he is young himself and did not mean for anyone to know he was setting up a mistress." She regarded West frankly. "You did not think I supposed that he meant to marry her. Jane may have still been thinking that was to be the outcome, but I assure you, I did not."

"Mr. Lytton does not identify the man. Did you not wonder about that?"

Ria thought West had come very quickly to the matter that troubled her most. "Of course I did. I have already penned my reply and asked for precisely that information. I realize there is little I can do about Jane's situation, even though I wish it were otherwise, but I can write to her and let her know she is missed and may apply to me for what help she needs at any time. Jane was naive to place so much trust in this man, but she is not unintelligent. She must realize by now that he has deceived her and means only to be her protector, not her husband. If she does not wish to continue that arrangement, then I want her to know she can still seek me out. It seems-"

"Ria," West said gently. "Stop." He could not allow her to go on. She was trying very hard to make it right in her own mind. The things she said were in aid of convincing herself-not him-that Jane had come to no harm. "There is not much more than a grain of truth in Mr. Lytton's letter."

Ria's hands fell to her sides. Her slender fingers curled around the seat of her chair, gripping it hard enough to make her knuckles white.

"I wanted to arrive before you received his report but knew there was little chance of it. What I have to tell you will not be easy to hear. I wish I could have spared you the false hope Mr. Lytton has given, though after listening to you, I think you are more desirous of wanting to believe, than of truly believing."

She nodded slowly, reluctant even now to admit the truth of it.

West went on, telling her about his meeting with Lord Herndon and his invitation to join the board of governors. He explained how he came to know she would be receiving Mr. Lytton's letter as well as what particulars it would contain.

"I would have been suspicious of the report regardless of any information I had to the contrary," he said.

"Lord Herndon wanted me to know this business with Miss Petty had been concluded satisfactorily, yet he told me after he had offered me a seat on the board. I think his purpose was to disarm me, to lull me into thinking the invitation to join them was genuinely meant, not offered in the hope of preventing me from asking more questions about Jane."

"They are afraid of you," Ria said.

"I doubt that. They are not so easily frightened, nor do I think they are given to acting precipitously.

There has been time enough since I spoke to Beckwith for them to discuss what they wanted to do. I believe they are more curious about me than concerned."

Ria picked up her wineglass and brought it to her lips, surprised when it did not tremble in her hand. She was made of sterner stuff than even she realized. Still, she drained her glass. "The things you are saying about Lord Herndon, Mr. Beckwith... indeed, all of the governors... it is still difficult to credit."

"For you," West said. "It is difficult for you to credit."

"Perhaps you are giving credence only to that information which supports your view of them." "It is always a possibility."

Ria set her empty glass down. She absently ran her fingers along the edge of the table. "But you don't think that is the case here."

"No," he said. "I don't. Do you want to hear what my informant told me about her visit to the dressmakers?"

"Yes. Yes, of course I want to hear."

"Miss Petty was indeed remembered by two of the dressmakers on the street, but only two. She was quiet, they said, willing to allow the gentleman to make all the decisions regarding the purchases. She did not offer a single word to gainsay him, even though she seemed uncomfortable with his choices. It was clear to them, at least, that it was no trousseau he was preparing. Only one of the dressmakers supposed the girl was already aware of that. The other was not so certain of it. The articles of clothing that were arranged to be made for her were all fine silk or the sheerest batiste. There were corselets and stockings and silk garters; slippers with ribbons long enough to lace them to the knee. The items included not a single piece of outerwear. No cloaks. No walking gowns. Nothing for the theater, the races, or for carriage rides in the park. There were no bonnets or shawls. No boots. No scarves. No gloves."

West could see the effect his words were having on Ria. What color washed her complexion was compliments of the candlelight, not the warm infusion of her own blood. He pressed on, giving her exactly what Elizabeth had reported to him. "I will allow that not all of those articles would have been purchased at a dressmaker's, but they all could have been purchased on Firth Street. One would think he would have done the whole of it then and there."

"Perhaps he began to find the fittings tiresome. Men do, you know. Or mayhap Jane found it so and pressed him to leave." Ria had only to hear herself say these excuses aloud to know she believed neither of them. She pressed two fingers to her temple and massaged lightly, closing her eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry. I promised myself I would not do this."

"Is there something I can get you?" he asked. "A headache powder? Another glass of wine?"

Ria declined both offers. "You can finish it," she said. "Just finish it."

He hesitated only a moment. "Very well. There appear to be no more purchases made for Jane in any of the other shops. My informant tells me that by way of some rather ribald humor, one of the dressmakers remarked that it seemed the gent was not going to let his young ladybird out of the cage once he taught her how to sing."

Shoulders sagging, Ria bent her head and stared at her hands. They were shaking now, though she felt so numb that the reason for it eluded her. "She is but fifteen," she whispered. "I know you think she is not yet a child, but she is, and she has lived a mostly protected life here."

It was Lady Northam's opinion also, West could have told her. Elizabeth had been thoroughly disheartened to learn Miss Petty was so young and that she knew so little of the world. Now he had two women urging him to make a certain whoreson account for his transgressions. "I understand," he said.

"She has already been ill-used, whether or not he has yet put her in a cage." The shiver that went through Ria cut him. He reached for the teapot and poured her a cup. It was still hot enough to chase the worst part of her chill. "Drink this." Ria accepted the offering but did not raise it to her lips. She held the china cup in her palms and allowed the curling ribbons of heat to bathe her face. "There is a name?" she asked. "Was your informant able to discover a name?"

"Mr. Swinbourne. Mr. Wallace Swinbourne. It is the name both dressmakers used to credit the purchases."

Ria's short laugh held no humor. "I am surprised that he gave it. That he could be so coldly confident that his behavior is above reproach is truly proof that he is as loathsome as-" She stopped suddenly.