My dear Clarissa, Please read this letter to the end. I understand how you must feel, but you will not, I believe, find anything maudlin or embarrassing here.

I wish to outline first what I have proposed to deal with our situation. Please believe that I sincerely wish only the best for you, but that I also have others to consider. You said that you had fallen in love with Hawk in the Vale, and I hope therefore that you will not mind providing money to dispose of the odious Slade.

In addition, there will be a small sum to begin the restoration of the Deveril estate, which has suffered greatly, through no fault of the people there.

The rest is yours. At your majority, you will be able to dispose of it as you will, but I hope you will feel able to enjoy it.

As for our personal affairs, I cannot apologize for everything, since I was striving to protect the innocents who would be harmed by Slade, but I do truly regret ever thinking less than the best of you. I should have known, as soon as I knew you, that you were always beyond reproach.

He paused, knowing he should sign it there, but unable to forgo a little gesture toward hope. And also, maybe to salve her hurts. He knew, like a deep wound, that he fragile confidence would be cracked. Pray God, no shattered.

Perhaps I will sound maudlin here, so by all means cease to read if you wish. The necessary part is over. I give you my word, my dear Falcon, that as I once promised, I have never flattered you. My delight in youa"

Hawk halted to contemplate a tense. Whoever would have thought that tenses could be so crucial?

My delight in you has been real, my admiration of you deep and true. I am, alas, cursed with a future as Lord Deveril, but perhaps that fate will not arrive for many years, and perhaps it will seem less appalling by that time. Perhaps, too, you will one day be able to forgive my many deceptions and trust me enough to venture into the wilderness again with me.

He paused again, wanting to write aI will wait,a but he knew that might place a burden on her, and above all, he wanted to preserve her precious, hard-won freedom. And so, in the end, he merely signed it, aHawk.a He resisted the urge to reread it, which would lead him to want to rewrite it, he was sure. He folded it with his usual precise edges, then realized he had no means to seal it. It didnat matter. Con wouldnat read ita"and what matter if he did?

He looked once at the room, at the disordered bed with the slight, telltale splash of blood, and a lifetimeas worth of memories. Constantly, constantly, like a manic millstone, his mind ground round and round, seeking things he could have changed, paths he could have logically taken.

He shrugged and went back downstairs to where his friend patiently waited.

Perhaps still his friend, though he wasnat sure he deserved it.

aYou always were the steadiest of us,a he said as he passed over the letter.

aSomeone had to try to steer us away from disaster. But Iam not doing very well by my friends, am I? Dare, Van, youa"a aDare was not your fault. War is a temperamental bitch who gives no care to good or bad, justice or injustice. Look at De Lancey, killed by a ricocheting cannonball by my side, almost at the end of the battle. There was no point to it. And it could have hit me, or even Wellington, as easily.a aI know. But Iave been too wrapped up in myself.a Hawk gripped his arm. aPerhaps none of us came out of Waterloo with anything in reserve for the other. We just chose different ways of hiding it.a Conas gray eyes searched him. aWill you be all right?a aOf course. I certainly have plenty of work to do.a aIncluding saving Clarissaas reputation. You were seen racing out of the village.a Hawk grimaced. aDamn. Iall come up with something.a After a moment, Con clasped hands. aIall take care of Clarissa for you. I have a horse in the stables here. Take it. Iall see you in Hawk in the Vale.a Con left, and Hawk took a moment to steady himself. The mill was still grinding, and probably would do so for the rest of his life, but even if it came up with the most brilliant solution, it was too damn late.

Chapter Twenty-five.

Lord Arden had apparently ridden to the villagea" simply to accept the congratulations of the people gathered at the inn. To return, he commandeered Hawk and Clarissaas gig. She was slightly amused by seeing his lordly magnificence in such a lowly vehicle pulled by the placid cob. Only slightly, however, for she did not have the heart for humor of any kind.

She was trying very hard not to think about all that had happened, all she had learned, but it surrounded her like a chill wind, or an overcast day.

Hartwell. Thank God there was somewhere to go now, some haven. It had been a haven before. Beth had taken her there a few days after Deverilas death, and it was there she had made decisions about the future. If they could be called decisions. All she had wanted then was a place to hide.

She did not let the bitter laugh escape. Shead thought that shead grown so strong, so brave, so able to deal with life, but here she was, rushing back to a safe place, and she could no more stay here this time than last.

Last year Beth had invited her to live with her, at Hartwell and elsewhere. Clarissa would have been safe inside the de Vaux family, but she had not wanted to be anywhere near the marquess, who had blacked Bethas eye.

As they rolled along the country lane, she glanced at him, realizing that she felt differently now. Though shead been stupid, gullible, and weak about Hawk, she had changed over the past year. She understood more about emotions, about control, and about how easily strong emotions could explode control.

She had hit Arden. A feeble hit, but only because she was feeble. If shead been able she might have knocked him to the ground.

In an uncontrolled moment Hawk had shattered a gate, and he had not believed that his beloved had been with another man.

aIam sorry for what I said back there, Lord Arden. As you guessed, I was deflecting the conversation.a aNext time choose another weapon.a She pulled a face. They had never been on good terms. She had indirectly caused his violent moment, and guilty people blame others if they can. Even so, head worked hard and taken risks for her, and she knew he would continue to do so. It was nothing to do with her, but all to do with Beth, whom he loved.

That was the point.

She understood now what Beth had been trying to tell her last year, that the love was true and deep, and that therefore he would make sure that such lack of control never, ever happened again.

aBeth wonat be happy if weare at odds, my lord,a she said. aAnd even if sheas weller than she should be, Iam sure tranquility is good for a new mother.a He did glance at her then. aHer tranquility would be undisturbed if youad behaved properly.a She swallowed an instinctive retort. aYes, youare right. I was foolish. Buta I didnat want to lose heaven, you see.a She bit her lip, determined not to cry. Now she certainly had lost heaven in all its aspectsa"both Hawk and Hawkinville. It had probably all been an imaginary heaven, anyway, but for a little while it had felt astonishingly real, as if it could, truly, be for her.

Lord Arden reached over and gently squeezed her hand. He was gloved, but still it was the most human contact she remembered with him. aMy instinct is to tear Hawkinville limb from limb, but itas not so long since I did questionable things. I have some sympathy for him, pressured by the needs of his family and his land.a aSo do I.a He glanced at her again, clearly expecting more, but she couldnat speak it. Deep inside she felt raw, where trust had been uprooted from her. Did Hawk want her now that he could have the money regardless? Last night she would have laughed at doubt, but now, swirling in the awareness of deception, it ate at her.

If he protested on his knees that he loved her, would it be pity, or obligation?

And then there was the problem of Lord Deveril. It should be a little thing, but it simply wasnat.

Deveril!

It was as if a ghoul had risen from the grave to drool all over her.

Lord Arden turned the gig between open gates and into the short drive through lovely gardens to the house. Hartwell was what people called a cottage ornee. It looked like a thatched village cottage, only grown to three times the size. Clarissa couldnat help comparing its pretty perfection unfavorably with Hawkinville Manor, which was real even to its warped beams and uneven floors.

Beth had joked that Hartwell was a bucolic toy for the wealthy aristrocracy rather like Queen Marie Antoinetteas afarma at Le Petit Triannon, but Clarissa knew Beth loved it, probably because it was home to her and the man she loved.

Shead told Hawk that she would live with him in love anywhere. And it had been true.

As Lord Arden turned the gig down a side drive toward the stables at the side, she swallowed tears. She was not going to turn into a wailing fool over this. Shead lost her virtue, her beloved, her heavenly home, and her fortune all in one day, but crying wouldnat bring any of it back.

She went into the house with the marquess somewhat nervously, however. She was not so strong as to ignore what Beth would think of her adventures. They were still more teacher and student, and she had always been awed by Bethas intelligence and strong will.

When they found that Beth was asleep, she was as relieved as the marquess.

aAnd thank heavens for that,a Lord Arden muttered. He looked at Clarissa, and she saw that he hadnat a notion what to do with her. Beneath the gloss and the highly trained ability to be the Heir to the Dukedom under the most trying circumstances, he was, quite simply, exhausted.

She was astonished to feel a need to pat him on the shoulder and tell him to go and have a nice rest. She settled for saying, aI know the house, my lord, so you may feel easy leaving me to my own devices for a while.a His look was, if anything, kind. aIam sorry, Clarissa. I can say heas not worth it, but at this moment you wonat believe that.a aThis certainly isnat how I want things to be.a But she looked him in the eye. aI wouldnat give up the past few weeks, Lord Arden, even had I known it would bring me here.a He reached out and touched her cheek. aI know that feeling. You have friends, Clarissa. You will be happy again soon.a aIam ruined, you know,a she said, wondering if he didnat quite understand.

aNo, youare not,a he said with a smile. aJust a little more experienced. You know Beth wouldnat disapprove of experience. Ask the servants for anything you need. Amleigh will be here soon, I have no doubt.a Head made her laugh, and she watched him go upstairs, astonished by a touch of affection. Truly her experience seemed to have stretched her mind in some way, giving her glimpses of subtleties and, more important, understanding.

What to do?

She should be hungry, but she was sure food would choke her. She probably should ask to borrow a dress of Bethas. They were, or had been, much of a size.

Perhaps she should write to Miss Hurstman, or even to the duke. Would the duke have to know about this?

In the end, aimlessly, she drifted out into the garden, wandering down to the river, where ducks busily paddled and dipped under the surface for food.

In her mind she was immediately back at another house on another river.

With Hawk in Hawkinville.

She sat down on the grass to think, to try to see what had really happened.

Hawk had gone to Cheltenham to find a criminal. She thought back over that day, tried to see it through his eyes. He must have been telling the truth when he said he changed his mind then. Shead been the most unlikely villain.

Head drawn her to Brighton so he could dig for more evidence. She remembered wryly the number of times their talk had turned to London and Deveril, and the things shead let slip.

The knife in the tent.

He was good. Very good.

But had the connection, the friendship, the passion, all been artifice?

What about the wilderness? That she would swear was real.

Ah. She remembered the splintered gate, and was suddenly sure that yes, it had all been real. Hawk would not lose control like that as a stratagem.

And last night. Surely there had been nothing false about last night.

But what did she really know about these things? Head planned to marry her for her money and so he would have wanted her bound by passion.

And love.

And trust.

She grimaced at the way shead babbled about perfection and honesty and trust. And told him everything.

She could only pray that head told the truth, that he had what he wanted. That Blanche would be safe.

She watched the river, thinking stupidly that it must be much easier to be a duck.

She heard footsteps and turned, thinking it would be the marquess, hoping against hope that it would be Hawk.

It was Lord Amleigh.

aThere are suddenly a lot of titled gentlemen in my life,a she said, and it was silly.

He smiled and dropped to the grass by her side, dark-haired, square-chinned, and steady-eyed. aJust me and Arden, isnat it?a aAnd Lord Vandeimen.a aAnd, indirectly, Lord Deveril.a He was still smiling, but there was something in his eyes that made demands of her. aPerhaps if you called me Con it would simplify your life.a aYouare his friend. Have you come to ask me to forget it all?a aIam a Rogue, too, remember, and you are the one person who least deserves to suffer. Everything will be exactly as you wish.a She laughed, hiding her face against her skirt, into the deceptively simple cream muslin gown that she had chosen yesterday morning with such hopes and dreams, and that now held only stains, and memories.

aThat does assume that I know my own wishes.a aYou will, but perhaps not now. I know that at the moment it probably seems urgent, but it will all wait.a She turned her head sideways to look at him, this virtual stranger who was so intimately linked with her affairs. aBut will the world waita"before condemning me?a aThe world wonat know. Whoas to tell them?a Strange to think about that. Not the Rogues. Not Hawk, or Lord Vandeimen or Lord Amleigh. Althea? Hardly. Lord Trevor? Miss Hurstman would cut his nose off.

aThe village of Hawk in the Vale?a she asked.

aHawk will deal with them. Heas gone back there.a She studied him. aYou trust him.a aWith my life and all I hold dear.a After a moment he added, aThat doesnat mean heas without faults.a She looked forward at the river. aSo I can return to Brighton, and assemblies, and parties. It seems completely impossible, you know.a aI know. But life goes on. He sent a letter and asked that you read it.a She sat up and took the folded paper, but she wasnat sure she wanted to read it.

aIt doesnat have to be now, if you donat want. But I think you should, when youare ready to.a Clarissa looked at the folded sheet. There was nothing on the outside, not even her name. Theread been no need of name or direction, of course, but it struck her as very Hawkish to be so precise about the necessities.

It was also, she realized, folded in half and then in three with impressive precision. Every angle was exact, every edge in line. How distressing it must be to a man of such discipline and order to be thrown into such discord.

She looked at his friend. aIs he all right?a aNo more than you.a aIam in love with him, so even more than I want him, I want to make everything perfect for him. But Iam not sure what that perfect would be, and I am sure that I mustnata melt myself into him for his comfort and pleasure.a aAn extraordinary way of putting it, but I know what you mean. I donat have any wisdom to offer.a After a moment he said, aIam not even sure there is any wisdom when it comes to the heart, except the old nostrum that time heals. It heals, but healing is not always without scars, or even deformities.a She stared at him. aIam certainly not being treated as a silly child, am I?a aDo you wish to be?a aDoesnat everyone wish to be, sometimes?a aThere you have an excellent point.a He opened his arms, and she went into them. It was fatherly, or perhaps brotherly. She, who had never had father or brother interested in holding her.

She remembered that after Deverilas death, Nicholas Delaney had held her in the same way. But none of these men, even if full to brimming with goodwill, could solve her dilemmas for her.

aI suppose I have to return,a she said. aTo Brighton.a aCertainly Miss Hurstman will want to see you safe.a aMiss Hurstman is a Rogue.a She said it firmly but without resentment.

aNo, sheas not. Sheas a Rogueas aunt. Lord Middlethorpeas aunt, to be precise. If you think sheas on our side against you, you donat know her very well. Sheas a fierce defender of women in any practical way. Thereall be skin lost over our mismanagement of this.a She pulled free of his arms to look at him. aShe didnat know any of this?a aNot unless sheas a fortune-teller. Nicholas asked her to take you on because he thought you needed special help to win your place in society. Thatas all.a aBut she wrote to him. Reporting, I assume.a aAh, that. She wrote demanding his presence. She has an encyclopedic knowledge of society that exceeds Hawkas. As soon as he appeared she remembered that his father had been born a Gaspard, and that Gaspard was the Deveril family name. It rang enough of an alarm bell for her to send for him, but not enough of one to take any action. She had no ideaa"probably still doesnata"that Hawkas father has the title now.a aThen Iad like to go back there.a She stood up and brushed off her hopeless skirt. aLife goes on, but it hardly seems possible.a Like a claw scratching at the back of her mind, she wondered what she would do if she was with child. All very well for Lord Arden to brush off her ruin, but a swelling belly would be a very obvious sign of experience.

Would that mean that shead have to marry Hawk?

Head argued with her about just this. About her changing her mind, being with child.

Had he really tried to resist? Or had that simply been more cunning on his part?

She wanted him too much to make sense. Wanting was not the guide.

A child can want to grasp the fire, an adult want to throw away a fortune on cards.

Something popped up from the jumble of her mind. aYou mentioned fortune-tellinga Itas tugging at somethinga oh, Mrs. Rowland!a He frowned slightly. aThe woman in the village with the invalid husband?a aYes, I felt as if I knew her, but now I see she reminds me of that fortune-teller in Brighton. Madame Mystique.a Who had talked about the money not really being hers, and death if she did not tell the truth. Shead told the truth, but she still felt half dead.

aWhat is it? Are you faint?a aNo.a She couldnat deal with another stir of the pot. aI think I need to eat something. And probably borrow a clean gown. Con,a she added as a mark of appreciation for his kindness.

He smiled. aCome along, then.a They began to walk back to the peaceful house.

Most people would prefer Hartwell, with its picturesque charms around a thoroughly modern and convenient interior.

But Clarissa knew that Hawkinville still held her heart.

Chapter Twenty-six.

Hawk rode south almost by compass, driven by duty alone. It might be pleasant, in fact, to become lost. Head looked into some cases of people who simply disappeared. Perhaps they too found themselves in a dead spot of life and went away. Went anywhere so long as it was not here.

He might collide with Van by pure accident on this journey, but that encounter could not be avoided. It really didnat matter when. It mattered whether Van, like Con, could hold on to old bonds in spite of present insanity, but he couldnat affect that.

He could affect Clarissaas reputation, and he put his mind to that.

He made Hawk in the Vale without incident, and saw everyone in the village turn to stare.

The Misses Weatherby popped out of their house, agape. Good.

Grimly amused, Hawk touched his hat. aGood evening, ladies.a They gaped even more, and he waited for them to frame a question.

But Slade marched out between his ridiculous pillars right up to his saddle. aWhereas your impetuous bride, Major? Fled to warmer arms?a Rage surged. Barely resisting the urge to kick the manas teeth in, Hawk put his crop beneath Sladeas wattly chin and raised it. aOne more word, and I will thrash you. My fatheras folly is to blame more than your greed, but you are very unwelcome here, sir. And your comments about a lady can only be attributed to a vulgar mind.a As if breaking a spell, Slade dashed away the crop and stepped back, puce with choler. aLady?a he spat, then stopped. aMay we know where the charming Miss Greystone is, Major?a Very well. Slade would do, and the Weatherbys were all ears.