"I suppose he is. I have not heard otherwise."

"So he is not as controlling as you feared."

Ria answered carefully, "I think he is biding his time."

"You do not trust him?"

"On the contrary. He is an honorable man. I would trust him with my life." "But not your future, is that it?"

Ria was saved the necessity of making a reply by the arrival of their luncheon. She helped arrange the drop-leaf table with two place settings and uncovered the platters. Mr. Beckwith waited for her to be seated before he took his chair. She was reluctant to dismiss the maid, but the choice was removed from her. Her guest assumed the right to send Sarah away.

Beckwith filled his plate and did not hesitate to tuck into his meal. Around a mouthful of food, he said, "What news have you had from London?"

Ria assumed that Beckwith meant this in the most general sense. "Precious little. We have heard there will be a British settlement in Singapore very soon. A coup for the Prince Regent, I think. He has been in support of such a measure for some time. Oh, and of course, that the Gentleman Thief was apprehended, but that is weeks old now."

"Then you have not heard that Miss India Parr is returned to the Drury Lane Theatre."

Knowing that she was being watched very closely, Ria was careful to keep her features schooled. "Had she been away? I'm afraid I don't know much about it. We have a great deal to occupy us here. Drury Lane receives very little of our attention except when the girls are choosing a play to perform. They are likely to know more about Miss Parr than I do."

Beckwith considered this as he buttered his bread. "I thought that Westphal might have written of it to you."

"I can't imagine why he would." Had Beckwith missed his paintings? she wondered. She knew that West intended to return them, but perhaps it had not been possible before Beckwith realized they were gone.

What other reason could he have for mentioning India Parr? Sharing the latest on dit from London was nothing Ria had ever done with any of the governors. It seemed wholly inappropriate now. "I had not realized the absence of a single actress from the stage would cause a stir. It must have, if you remark on it. Have you seen her perform?"

"Several times. She is a favorite."

Knowing she would blanch, Ria tried not to think of the paintings. She could not even show her relief that Miss Parr was safe without giving too much away. "Then you must be pleased that she will be trodding the boards again. I wonder if some of the older girls would like to attend a London play, or do you think the trade at the Drury Lane is unsuitable?"

"It is not as rough as it used to be. I think something of that nature might be arranged."

Not anytime soon, Ria hoped. She regretted putting forth the idea.

"Westphal does not have a box, but his friend the Marquess of Eastlyn does. You might apply to your guardian for consideration."

"I would not presume upon him."

"As you did when you went to him with your concerns for Miss Petty." Ria flushed. She had stepped into that and had only herself to blame. There was nothing she could do but acknowledge his point. "You are right, of course. I should have said I do not want to take advantage again."

Beckwith shrugged. "If the gossips can be believed, Miss Parr's name has been linked to Viscount Southerton. I believe he is also one of Westphal's closest friends."

"I don't know," Ria said with considerably more calm than she actually felt. "His Grace and I are only recently acquainted. You will understand that he does not apprise me of his society. You are infinitely more familiar than I am."

She was relieved when Beckwith accepted this and asked her instead about the school. Ria reported on the most recent accomplishments of the students and the need for something more to be done to the roof than simply patching it. She invited him to tour the school before he left, but he proclaimed himself satisfied with her report and refused the offer.

Ria thought the interview was ended when Mr. Beckwith pushed his chair away from the table. Only later did she realize how she had been lulled into thinking he'd already made his most important revelations.

"The governors will meet in March," he told her, "In London. In light of some changes we are considering, it will be necessary for you to be there."

Ria was a moment catching her breath. "What sort of changes?"

"A second school, perhaps. One closer to London. Westphal has the sort of friends who might be prevailed upon to support such an endeavor."

The same could have been said for West's father, yet Mr. Beckwith and the rest of the board had refused to allow him to join. Ria did not comment on this fact, preferring that Beckwith believe she found nothing odd about it. "This is the first I've heard of a second school. It's an exciting and ambitious proposal."

"As you have often pointed out, there are more deserving young ladies than we have room for. It is an idea whose time has come." He raised an eyebrow in question. "You have some objection?"

"No," she said quickly. "None at all. There are things to attend to here, of course. I would not want to see Miss Weaver's suffer because funds are diverted to a new school."

"I understand. That is precisely why you must meet with us." He named a date, time, and place. "Does it present a problem?"

Ria shook her head. "I will be happy to be there."

"Good. You see, you do have more voice with the board than you thought." He tossed his napkin onto the table and came to his feet. "As always, Miss Ashby, it is a pleasure. I will meet with some of the girls and teachers on my next visit, when I am not so anxious to arrive at the inn at Weybourne before nightfall."

"Then you are going straightaway to London?" "Yes."

Ria stood as well and offered what she hoped was a genial, gracious smile. "The Drury Lane Theatre, perhaps?"

"They are performing Morton's Speed the Plough. It will mark Miss Parr's return to the stage."

"Then I wish you every enjoyment of it." She vowed she would write West immediately. India had a right to know that Beckwith would be in the audience at the Drury Lane. If the actress still wanted to perform, then she should do it with the full knowledge that this man would be there, fixing her with a stare that was as dark as his intentions.

Ria escorted Mr. Beckwith directly to his carriage, stayed in the drive until it was under way, then returned to her apartments where she hovered over the washbasin until she was rid of the contents of her stomach.

West lay in bed on his back, his head cradled in his hands. He stared at the ceiling, but his attention was focused on something he couldn't see. The creaking that had wakened him came again; this time, the noise was sustained. A door opening? A window? He couldn't be certain from so great a distance.

He rose from the bed, then quickly removed his knife from the sheath in his boot. He crossed the room, his tread much lighter than that of the intruder below stairs. His door swung soundlessly, and he knew where to step to avoid the bowed floorboard. At the top of the stairs, he paused. It was silent again below, but he waited patiently, certain that what he'd heard hadn't been caused by any natural phenomenon.

His patience was rewarded when he heard the pad of footsteps in the hallway, lighter than before. He hunkered down, perched on the lip of the landing like a great bird of prey, and waited for his quarry to turn the corner at the newel post before he swooped.

The lamp on the table in the foyer did not provide West with enough light to make out the cloaked figure clearly, but it was sufficient for him to take full measure of the size and stealth of his opponent. In this case, size and stealth were not going to present a problem.

"You have a great deal to learn about-"

Ria gave a sharp cry and clutched the newel post with one hand for support.

Unperturbed, West continued. "About entering a domicile undetected." He stood slowly. "Do you have your feet under you?"

Since her heart was in her throat, Ria merely nodded.

"Good. Then come up here." When she pushed back her hood to get a better look at him, then appeared to hesitate, he could not fault her for finally showing some good sense. "Do I look as if I mean to turn you over my knee? I assure you, it is what I'm thinking."

Placing the matter so boldly before her seemed to give Ria courage. West saw her figure stiffen as she braced herself, then begin the climb. When she reached the step two below his, he held out his hand and waited for her to take it. It appeared that she was not eager to do so, but he would not be moved aside.Once he had her in hand, he stepped aside so she could join him on the landing.

"I wonder if you can fully comprehend the risk you took by coming here in just this manner?"

"Obviously not," she said tartly. "Else I would have knocked harder."

"Why didn't-" He stopped, frowning. "Harder? You mean you did knock?"

"Is there some other way I should have said so? Yes, I knocked. Several times, in fact. When no one stirred, I decided on this other course. I cannot help but wonder if your colonel knows how deeply you sleep. I should have thought a spy would-"

Kissing Ria was more expedient-and more effective in quieting her-than putting her over his knee. He backed her up against the wall and placed his mouth within a hairs-breadth of hers. "I am not a spy." He did not give her an opportunity to challenge this statement, but touched her lips with just enough pressure to ease them apart.

West did not mean for the kiss to linger, but once begun, it was not so easily ended. She would probably find it amusing that he had not been sleeping at all when, as she claimed, she'd knocked, but sitting up in bed, reading. If he had not closed the book and stretched out, he might not have heard her entry through the window.

The taste of her mouth was something he had missed, but the feel of her tucked against his body was something he had craved. He held her so tightly that he doubted she could breathe properly, yet rather than protesting, she seemed to want to insinuate herself under his skin.

He broke the kiss reluctantly and laid his forehead against hers, collecting himself. "Bloody hell, Miss Ashby," he whispered. "What are you doing here?"

Even as deliciously off balance as she was, the absurdity of West addressing her so formally was not lost on Ria. "I am kissing Your Grace." She angled her head back the few degrees necessary to make that statement a fact. Cupping his face in her gloved hands, she began precisely where he had ended.

West caught Ria's wrists and drew her hands gently away from his face; then he lifted his head, breaking the kiss. He shook his head slightly when she would have raised herself on tiptoe.

It was too dark in the hallway to make out his features clearly, but Ria heard the uneven cadence of his breathing and understood that he was in want of self-possession, not reckless passion. She withdrew a little into herself then, embarrassed by her impulsive desire to continue kissing him when he was clearly not of the same mind. Easing her wrists free of his light grip, she apologized in carefully neutral tones that conveyed neither her hurt, nor her impatience with herself.

"Ria?"

Too late, she realized it was the rigidity of her posture that gave her away. "May I speak to you?"

"Ria." This time he said her name as one cajoling a recalcitrant child. It was the wrong tack to take with a woman so fiercely independent-minded, and West actually took a step back when she upbraided him for being patronizing. He threw up his hands in surrender. "The library," he said. "There will still be a fire there. I will not be long joining you." Without waiting to see if she would go, West turned and headed back to his room. Finch arrived minutes later, bleary-eyed and confused that West was dressing. "I heard voices," he said.

"Is there something I might do for you?" He had already picked up West's discarded nightshirt and was hanging it up.

West gave Finch his neckcloth. "A simple fold, if you will." Then he stood with ill-disguised impatience as the valet tied it for him.

"Someone is here?" asked Finch, smoothing the cloth before pronouncing it satisfactory.

"Yes, just arrived."

"Shall I summon Mr. Blaine? Mrs. Corbell? I do not think they know you have a guest."

"Do not trouble them. I am uncertain if she will be staying."

"She?" Finch shook his head, his expression vaguely disapproving. "It is not my place, but-"

"You are exactly right, Finch. It is not your place."

The sharpness of West's tone gave the valet pause. He was accustomed to being permitted certain liberties, chief among them being able to speak his mind whether it was his place or not. He clamped his jaw, then decided against such caution. "I had hopes for Miss Ashby," he said quickly. "It would be a terrible shame if you permitted a lightskirt to come between you and-"

"Damnation, Finch, who do you think is waiting for me below stairs?"

Finch's eyes actually protruded from their sockets as he gaped at his employer.

"Exactly my thoughts," West said. "Now, close your mouth, Finch, before I put a hook in it."

Finch's jaw slammed shut again. He held out West's frock coat and brushed it off once he approved of its fit.

West turned around and fastened the coat's three buttons. "Do not stray far. I may have need of you.

Better yet, sleep with one eye open."

"As you wish."

"That does not give you license to listen at the door." West was not fooled by his valet's affronted expression. "If Northam offered you enough coin, you would do it."

"You insult me."

West paused, considering the gravity of Finch's tone. "The countess, then," he said, suddenly suspicious.

"You would do it for Lady Northam."

"Well, there you have me."

Ria was sitting on the upholstered bench, staring at the fire, when West strode into the room. The glassof sherry in her hands bobbled a bit as she was brought abruptly back to the present. She had removed her cloak and gloves, and although she was not as bedraggled as she was the first time she had visited his home, the wearing nature of her journey was evident in the creases pressed into her muslin gown and the way the collar lay limply against her throat. There was also a slight downward turn in the line of her mouth that matched the slope of her shoulders, and her eyelids were heavy, the lashes fluttering occasionally to a half-mast position and remaining there for what seemed an inordinately long time.

In the hallway, a clock chimed the two o'clock hour. One of West's brows raised pointedly at this reminder of the lateness of the evening. His significant look did not go unnoticed. Ria's flush climbed from beneath her drooping collar until it washed her face in pink color.

"I am aware that you are out of sorts with me," she said with quiet dignity. "There is no need to underscore your feelings with irony."

"I disagree." He crossed the room to the drinks cabinet and splashed a crystal tumbler with whiskey. "

Out of sorts hardly describes it. Could you not have written that you intended to come here?" He glanced out the window toward the street and saw no carriage or driver. "Did you take the public coach again?"

"Yes, of course. The school cannot spare a carriage for me to journey to London, and Mr. Dobson has more responsibilities than serving as my driver." Her chin came up. "And I did write. I sent word better than a fortnight ago."

"Just as you knocked."

"You do not believe me?" Ria's hand trembled with the strength of her disappointment. "I did both, but I will not insist that you accept my word. I have lied to you so often, it is a wonder you allow me to make any explanation at all."

West saluted her by raising his glass. She had neatly given back as good as she got, underscoring her feelings with heavy ironic inflection. "I received no correspondence from you," he said. "Not in the last fortnight. Not any since you sent Miss Taylor's drawing of Sir Alex."

Ria frowned. "But that was more than a month ago. I have written at least once each week since then."

That gave West pause. His brow creased as he considered the implication of what Ria was telling him.

"Didn't you find it odd that I repeatedly asked the same question in all of my letters? That is a good indication I was not receiving a reply from you."

"Your letters? I received none."

"None?"

She shook her head, her expression deeply puzzled. Her eyes followed him as he crossed the room and sat, hitching his hip on the upholstered arm of a chair rather than using the cushion. He stretched one arm across the back and one leg out to the side for balance. He looked supremely at his ease-and in every way vigilantly attentive.

"Since you left Gillhollow, I have had correspondence from the board of governors," Ria told him. "Also letters from Margaret and the children. My great-grandfather, who resides in Greenwich, wrote to me as well. I suppose we can conclude that there is nothing wrong with the post. It is peculiar I would havenone of your letters."

"My thoughts are the same." He sipped his drink. The matter of Ria's ill-conceived journey to London could wait, he decided, until this bit of business was sorted out. "How is the post collected at the school for sending?"