She said nothing, just watched his face as he cleared his throat.

He opened his mouth, but it was several seconds before he said, "Marina nearly drowned in that lake."

Eloise gasped, not realizing that her hand had flown up to cover her mouth until she felt her fingers on her lips.

"She wasn't a strong swimmer," he explained.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "Were youa"" How to ask it without appearing morbidly curious? There was no way to avoid it, and she couldn't help herself; she had to know. "Were you there?"

He nodded grimly. "I pulled her out."

"How lucky for her," Eloise murmured. "She must have been terrified."

Phillip said nothing. He didn't even nod.

She thought about her father, thought about how helpless she had felt when he'd collapsed to the ground in front of her. Even as a child, she'd been the sort who needed to do things. She'd never been one of life's observers; she'd always wanted to take action, to fix things, to fix people, even. And the one time it had all truly mattered, she'd been impotent.

"I'm glad you were able to save her," she murmured. "It would have been horrible for you if you hadn't."

He looked at her oddly, and she realized how strange her words had been, so she added, "It's... very difficult... when someone dies, and you can only watch, and you can't do anything to stop it." And then, because the moment seemed to call for it, and she felt oddly connected to this man standing so quiet and stiff in front of her, she said softly, and perhaps a bit mournfully as well, "I know."

He looked up at her, the question clearly in his eyes.

"My father," she said simply.

It wasn't something she shared with many people; in fact, her good friend Penelope was probably the only person outside her immediate family who knew that Eloise had been the sole witness to her father's strange and untimely death.

"I'm sorry." he murmured.

"Yes," she said wistfully. "So am I."

And then he said the oddest thing. "I didn't know my children could swim."

It was so unexpected, such a complete non sequitur, that it was all she could do to blink and say, "I beg your pardon?"

He held out his arm to lead her to the dining room. "I didn't know they could swim," he repeated, his voice bleak.

"I don't even know who taught them."

"Does it matter?" Eloise asked softly.

"It does," he said bitterly, "because I should have done so."

It was difficult to look at his face. She couldn't recall ever seeing a man so pained, and yet in an odd way it warmed her heart. Anyone who cared so much for his childrena"even if he didn't quite know how to act around thema"well, he had to be a good man. Eloise knew that she tended to see the world in blacks and whites, that she sometimes leapt to judgment because she didn't stop to analyze the gradations of gray, but of this she was certain.

Sir Phillip Crane was a good man. He might not be perfect, but he was good, and his heart was true.

"Well," she said briskly, since that was her manner, and she preferred to deal with problems by charging ahead and fixing them rather than stopping to lament, "there's nothing to be done about it now. They can't very well unlearn what they already know."

He stopped, looked at her. "You're right, of course." And then, more softly, "But no matter who did the teaching, I should have known they were able."

Eloise agreed with him, but he was so obviously distressed, a scolding seemed inappropriate, not to mention unfeeling.

"You still have time, you know," she said softly.

"What," he said, his mocking tone turned upon himself, "to teach them the backstroke so that they might expand their repertoire?"

"Well, yes," she said, her tone slightly sharp, since she'd never had much patience for self-pity, "but also to learn other things about them. They're charming children."

He looked at her dubiously.

She cleared her throat. "They do misbehave on occasiona""

One of his brows shot up.

"Very well, they misbehave quite often, but truly, all they want is a little attention from you."

"They told you this?"

"Of course not," she said, smiling at his naivete. "They're only eight. They're not going to say it in so many words. But it's quite clear to me."

They reached the dining room, so Eloise took the seat held out for her by a footman. Phillip sat across from her, put his hand on his wineglass, men drew it back. His lips moved, but very slightly, as if he had something to say but wasn't quite certain how to phrase it. Finally, after Eloise had taken a sip of her own wine, he asked, "Did they enjoy it? Swimming, I mean."

She smiled. "Very much. You should take them."

He closed his eyes and held them that way, not for very long, but still, more than a blink. "I don't think I'd be able," he said.

She nodded. She knew the power of memories. "Perhaps somewhere else," she suggested. "Surely there must be another lake nearby. Or even a mere pond."

He waited for her to pick up her spoon, then dipped his own in his soup. "That's a fine idea. I think ..." He stopped, cleared his throat. "I think I could do that. I shall ponder where we might go."

There was something so heartbreaking about his expressiona"the uncertainty, the vulnerability. The awareness that even though he wasn't sure he was doing the right thing, he was going to try to do it anyway. Eloise felt her heart lurch, skip a beat, even, and she wanted to reach across the table and touch his hand. But of course she couldn't. Even if the table weren't a foot longer than the length of her arm, she couldn't. So in the end, she just smiled and hoped that her manner was reassuring.

Phillip ate a bit of his soup, then dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and said, "I hope that you will join us."

"Of course," Eloise said, delighted. "I would be desolate if I weren't invited."

"I'm quite certain you overstate," he said with a wry twist to his lips, "but nonetheless, we would be honored, and to be quite honest, I would be relieved to have you there." At her curious expression, he added, "The outing is certain to be a successful one with your presence."

"I'm sure youa""

He stopped her midsentence. "We will all enjoy ourselves much better with your accompaniment," he said quite emphatically, and Eloise decided to stop arguing and graciously accept the compliment.

He was, in all likelihood, correct. He and his children were so unused to spending time together that they would probably benefit from having Eloise along to smooth the way.

Eloise found she didn't mind the idea one bit. "Perhaps tomorrow," she suggested, "if the fine weather holds out."

"I think it will," Phillip said conversationally. "The air didn't feel changeable."

Eloise glanced at him as she sipped her soup, a chicken broth with bits of vegetables that needed a touch more salt. "Do you predict the weather, then?" she asked, quite certain her skepticism showed on her face. She had a cousin who was convinced he could predict the weather, and every time she listened to him, she ended up soaked to the skin or freezing her toes off.

"Not at all," he replied, "but one cana"" He stopped, craned his neck a bit. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Eloise answered, but as the words left her lips, she heard what Phillip must have heard. Argumentative voices, growing louder by the second. Heavy footfall.

A forceful stream of invective was followed by a yelp of terror that could only have come from the butler...

And then Eloise knew.

"Oh, dear God," she said, her grip on her spoon growing slack until the soup dribbled off, splashing back into her bowl.

"What the devil?" Phillip asked, standing up, obviously preparing to defend his home against invasion.

Except that he had no idea what sort of invaders he was about to face. What sort of annoying, meddlesome, and diabolical invaders he was going to have to meet in, oh, approximately ten seconds.

But Eloise did. And she knew that annoying, meddlesome, and diabolical meant nothing compared to furious, unreasonable, and downright large when it came to Phillip's imminent safety.

"Eloise?" Phillip asked, his brows shooting up when they both heard someone bellow her name.

She felt the blood drain from her body. Positively felt it, knew it had happened, even though she couldn't see it pooling about her feet. There was no way she could survive a moment such as this, no way she could make it through without killing someone, preferably someone to whom she was quite closely related.

She stood, her fingers gripping the table. The footsteps (which, to be honest, sounded rather like a rabid horde) grew closer.

"Someone you know?" Phillip asked, quite mildly for someone who was about to face his demise.

She nodded, and somehow managed to eke out the words: "My brothers."

It occurred to Phillip (as he was pinned up against the wall with two sets of hands around his throat) that Eloise might have given him a bit more warning.

He didn't need days, although that would have been nice, if still insufficient against the collective strength of four very large, very angry, and, from the looks of them, rather closely related men.

Brothers. He should have considered that. It was probably best to avoid courting a woman with brothers.

Four of them, to be precise.

Four. It was a wonder he wasn't dead already.

"Anthony!" Eloise shrieked. "Stop!"

Anthony, or at least Phillip presumed he was Anthonya"they hadn't exactly bothered to go through the necessary introductionsa"tightened his grip on Phillip's neck.

"Benedict," Eloise pleaded, turning her attention to the largest of the lot. "Be reasonable."

The other onea"well, the other one squeezing his throat; there were two others, but they were just standing around gloweringa"loosened his grip slightly to turn around and look at Eloise.

Which was a huge mistake, since, in their haste to rip every limb from his body, none of them had yet looked at her long enough to see that she sported a nasty blackened eye.

Which of course they would think he was responsible for.

Benedict let out an unholy growl and jammed Phillip against the wall so tightly that his feet came off the ground.

Wonderful, Phillip thought. Now I really am going to die. The first squeeze was merely uncomfortable, but this...

"Stop!" Eloise yelled, hurling herself onto Benedict's back and yanking his hair. Benedict howled as his head jerked backward, but unfortunately Anthony's strangulatory grip held firm, even as Benedict was forced to let go to fight off Eloise.

Who was, Phillip noted as well as he could, given his lack of oxygen, fighting like a fury crossed with a banshee, crossed with Medusa herself. Her right hand was still pulling out Benedict's hair, even as her left arm wrapped around his throat, with her forearm lodged quite neatly up under his chin.

"Good Christ," Benedict cursed, whirling around as he tried to dislodge his sister. "Someone get her off of me!"

Not surprisingly, none of the other Bridgertons rushed to his aid. In fact, the one back against the wall looked rather amused by the whole thing.

Phillip's vision began to curl and turn black at the edges, but he couldn't help but admire Eloise's fortitude. It was a rare woman who knew how to fight to win.

Anthony's face suddenly appeared very close to his. "Did ... you ... hit her?" he growled.

As if he could speak, Phillip thought woozily.

"No!" Eloise cried out, momentarily taking her attention off tearing Benedict's hair out. "Of course he didn't hit me."

Anthony looked over at her with a sharp expression as she resumed pummeling Benedict. "There's no of course about it."

"It was an accident," she insisted. "He had nothing to do with it." And then, when none of her brothers made any indication that they believed her, she added, "Oh, for heaven's sake. Do you really think that I would defend someone who'd struck me?"

That seemed to do the trick, and Anthony abruptly let go of Phillip, who promptly sagged to the floor, gasping for breath.

Four of them. Had she told him she had four brothers? Surely not. He would never have considered marriage to a woman with four brothers. Only a fool would shackle himself to such a family.

"What did you do to him?" Eloise demanded, jumping off Benedict and hurrying to Phillip's side.

"What did he do to you?" one of the other brothers demanded. The one who, Phillip realized, had punched him in the chin right before the others had decided to strangle him instead.

She shot him a scathing look. "What are you doing here?"

"Protecting my sister's honor," he shot back.

"As if I need protection from you. You're not even twenty!"

Ah, thought Phillip, he must be the one whose name began with G. George? No, that wasn't right. Gavin? No...

"I'm twenty-three," the young one bit off, with all the irritability of a younger sibling.

"And I'm twenty-eight," she snapped. "I didn't need your help when you were in nappies, and I don't need it now."

Gregory. That's right. Gregory. She'd said as much in one of her letters. Ah, damn. If he knew that, then he must have known about the flock of brothers. He really had no one to blame but himself.

"He wanted to come along," said the one in the corner, the only one who hadn't yet tried to kill Phillip. Phillip decided he liked this one best, especially when he wrapped his hand around Gregory's forearm to prevent the younger man from launching himself at Eloise.