Though he flirted with me as we walked, Stuart watched Bridget's back with an interest I hadn't notice him give her before. Despite the tensions between them, I had to admit his escort had a soothing effect on me, especially when we passed the dark hedges of the towering maze. My encounter with Jamie had scraped over my emotions, leaving them raw.

In the gardens, Bridget turned to Stuart. "No matter what trouble ya cause me, Stuart Frye, I'll not be letting ya take advantage of Cassie."

"Then we're on the same side. I plan to see that nothing happens to her either." He directed his gaze toward me. "You should go though. You should leave here and never come back."

I had the distinct feeling that he knew more about me than I wanted him to. "I can't do that."

"God help us all." He walked away then, leading the horse with softly spoken words of an unknown language. Bridget and I watched him go.

"Who is he?"

"The Earl of Dartraven's bastard son."

Though I'd suspected as much, I still found myself recoiling from the harshness of Bridget's tone.

"Is that why you don't like him? He had the misfortune to be born out of wedlock?"

"Ack no. A man's born where God wills, and there's naught he can do about it."

"Then why the animosity?"

She stiffened her spine. "No amimosness about it. Just keepin' 'is flirtin' ways clean. Thanks to the Killdaren, he's been educated and all. He's livin' here now, but he won't for long."

"What about Jamie? Is he the earl's son as well?"

"No. From what I 'eard, he's a Frye, the man the earl foisted Stuart's mum on when he found out she was pregnant with Stuart."

Chapter Six.

After assessing us with a suspicious eye that surely would have caught the least bit of dangling straw, Mrs. Frye gave us a lecture about tardiness and put us to work helping Mrs. Murphy in the steamy kitchens. My discomfort from the heat and no bath became an unbearable itch. I had to do something about my situation tonight or die.

Ever since I learned about Stuart, I found myself looking at Mrs. Frye with a different eye. I could see how at one time she might have been pretty enough to have attracted the earl's attention, but I still couldn't imagine her stern nature ever permitting herself to have an affair. Perhaps my growing itch kept me from empathizing with her. I almost couldn't sit still, and I greatly resented the fact that I couldn't go strip all my clothes off and ease myself into a soothing bath.

Around here, it would have been tantamount to treason and would have cost me my post. My growing sense of how unrelenting and unfair the rules that bound our society and those less fortunate burrowed deeper.

Soon the flavorful aroma of mutton stew, onions and baking bread teased my palate to a hunger as sharp as my itch and made it harder for me to concentrate on anything. My thoughts raced from Lady Helen's murder in the maze, to Mary's disappearance, to Jamie's volatile emotions, to my unforgettable encounter with Sean. After a week, my investigation had only garnered scattered pieces of information with no real connection other than their disturbing impact and the fact that everything revolved around those within the Killdaren household.

Suddenly piercing screams rent the air, making my slice into a meat pie go awry. Mrs. Murphy dropped the pan she held, and a tearful Bridget jumped up from her seat at the table where she chopped onions.

"It's the wee one again." Bridget raced to the door.

"Sounds even worse than before," Mrs. Murphy cried, wiping her hands on her apron as she hurried after Bridget. I followed. We all came to a skittering halt in the palatial center hall as a rotund woman with gray hair, fiery cheeks and a grim expression came barreling into the room.

"Where is the little termagant?" the woman muttered, looking about almost frantically as she gasped for air. "I left her at her nap for only a few minutes and she ups and disappears. The child is impossible to teach, even more so ever since that highfalutin teacher showed up, changed everything, then killed herself."

Grabbing the stair rail, I held on as I bit back a wrenching denial.

Oblivious to my shock, the woman carried on. "That child has most likely gotten herself lost again. Needs to have bread and water for a week to teach her to never wander about alone. She's nigh given me the vapors."

Cries kept punctuating the air, and I turned in a circle, trying to tell from which direction they came, but the rounded dome ceiling of the center hall echoed the sound as if from every direction. I didn't know which way to run.

"I'll check the library." Bridget ran in that direction.

"I feel faint," the nurse said.

"Here, here, Nurse Tolley." Mrs. Murphy grabbed the woman's arm. "Can't 'ave any of that now. You come sit over here while we look for the lass."

"I'll look this way," I called then scurried down the corridor I'd ventured to the night I'd met Sean. Though the child's cries suddenly ceased, I kept looking into every room down the corridor. The room where I'd overheard the earl and Sir Warwick turned out to be a gentleman's lounge that smelled heavily of tobacco. The game room across from there, where Sean had pulled me that night, was empty, too. It grabbed at my senses, making me remember his exotic scent and the heat of his body pressing against mine. My skin tingled anew with the remembrance of his leather-gloved hand touching me more intimately than any man ever had.

I slammed the door shut and hurried down the corridor. My head spun from the number of rooms I looked into, each of them appeared to have but a single purpose. One was clearly meant to showcase a strange assortment of antiquities from an Egyptian crypt, including a wall of tiny tiles scandalously depicting men and women in a Turkish bath. Together. I quickly averted my gaze from the scandalous scene, even though I dearly wished to join them. I was to the point that I'd give two fortunes for a tub of hot water.

Another room held statues, dozens of them, and all of them at first glance were as exquisite and as blatantly unclothed as Michelangelo's David. When I reached the end of the corridor, I came to a set of double doors and my hand tingled as I grabbed the large brass handle in the shape of a dragon. On the doors were two carved dragons. My pulse raced as fast as my thoughts scrambled. This was his lair.

Sean's private wing. And now that I'd thought about it, this was the direction the round room with the glass dome had to be as well.

"Cassie, don't!" Bridget's emphatic hiss came from behind me.

I could hear her frantic steps grow closer and I sucked in a disappointed breath. I'd hesitated too long and missed my chance to innocently explore beyond where the lower servants were permitted to go. Still, I couldn't seem to release my hold on the dragon handle.

Suddenly, the door jerked inward, pulling me forward, and burying my face into the naked chest of man-a hairy naked chest that tickled my nose.

"Well, if it isn't the rose on the prowl again." Sean caught my arm in his firm grip, keeping me from falling to my knees.

I was so off balance that I had to brace my hand against his chest to right myself. The heat of his bare skin sent such an acute flash of fire up my nerves that I flexed my fingers, pressing them into the supple muscle and brushing the silkiness of his dark hair. Before I could even stop and think, I drew an unseemly deep breath, taking in the full effect of his exotic scent.

"Find what you're looking for, lass?" he whispered. His hand slipped from my arm and brushed along the side of my breast before moving to my waist.

"My Lord!" I cried, rearing back, my heart thudding at the burning intimacy as everything feminine within me flared to life. He appeared as if he'd just rolled from bed. His broad naked chest tapered to slim hips that were hugged by scandalously half buttoned black pants. His dark hair was awry and his firm jaw was shadowed with stubble.

"Wrong man. That title belongs to my brother." The fire in his green eyes turned to ice. He directed his gaze over the top of my head.

"Forgive us, Mr. Killdaren," came Bridget's breathless, almost terrified whisper. "The child is-"

"Right here," Sean said. "Rebecca, come." He held out his hand and a young girl walked tentatively forward with her hand stretched searchingly before her. She clutched a worn rag doll in her other arm. Her raven hair, as black as Sean's, hung in wavy tresses all the way to her hips. Tears fell from emerald green eyes, streaking her face.

Kneeling down, I reached my arms out toward her. "Don't be frightened, poppet. It's all right. You've had a fright, but you're safe now."

Pulling her forward, Sean placed the child's hand in mine. When he did, his fingers lingered against mine, making me look up. His green gaze bored intently, as if trying to see through a heavy fog. Then he shook his head. "This is Cassie, Becca. She'll take you to your mother."

He then narrowed his gaze so sharply that I felt the lash of it deep inside of me and I stood to face him on a more equal level.

He spoke before I could. "Tell the nurse I found Rebecca lost on the bell tower stairs. If the child wanders again, the woman will be looking for a new post."

Frightened by his anger, Rebecca burrowed against my skirts and I tightened my hold on her hand.

Sean stepped back and snapped the door shut. I stood there blinking with the door just inches from my nose, wondering if I'd imagined everything that had happened. The child clinging to my skirts and Bridget grabbing my arm told me it had all been real.

Rebecca stared sightlessly, her hand clutching mine tightly. Only then did I remember that she was blind. She was also the spitting image of Sean, leaving me to wonder if he really was her father.

Bridget dug her fingers into my arm. "He knew who ya were," she whispered. "It's all true. He knows everything. He's a blimey vamp-oh!" She clamped her hand over her mouth.

"Shh, don't say such things," I nodded toward the child.

"Sorry. Never expected to see 'im much less speak to 'im. Blimey, though, I can't believe he knew ya."

I opened my mouth to set Bridget straight about how Sean knew who I was then I shut it. Mrs. Frye and Mrs. Murphy followed by an entourage of people bore down on us, and I really didn't want anyone to know about last week anyway.

Mrs. Murphy pulled the nurse along as the nurse repeatedly excused herself from blame to a dark-haired woman next to her. Extremely petite, the woman wore the most elaborate lace and satin day dress I'd ever seen. She didn't appear to be listening to the nurse's excuses; instead, the woman's eyes were anxiously searching over the child. The Earl of Dartraven, whose expression seemed to be one of worry and something akin to fear or pain, kept looking at the woman then at the child then back to the woman. From the droll look on Sir Warwick's face, I gathered he'd followed the group out of boredom rather than concern.

Mrs. Frye had fire and brimstone sparking in her eyes ready to condemn Bridget and me to an everlasting punishment for disturbing the Killdaren. I nipped any lectures in the bud and spoke before she could find her tongue. Quite a feat considering her sharp words were always on the tip of her tongue.

"Mr. Killdaren found Rebecca and brought her to us. He said she was on the stairs to the bell tower."

"Cassie, this is Miss Prudence, Rebecca's mother." Mrs. Frye's stern glare reminded me of my lowly position.

"My lady." I made a proper curtsy to Prudence.

"The tower! She was in the tower!" Smaller than I, and as pale and delicate looking as a lily, the woman was almost too beautiful to be real. Everything about her glowed, the pearl of her skin, the black silk of her hair, the ruby of her mouth, the gold of her eyes, to the tears on her cheeks. I had to blink to assure myself that I'd seen correctly. She knelt before Rebecca and pulled the child into her arms. "Oh, my little dear!"

"The stairs leading to the tower," I clarified. "Mr. Killdaren said to tell the nurse that if the child is left unsupervised again, she'll be relieved of her post."

"Well, I never!" gasped the nurse, her face growing impossibly redder.

The Earl of Dartraven cleared his throat. Glancing his way, I thought his blue eyes appeared more watery than before, but decided I was imagining things because when he spoke, his voice was cold. "At least the chit is unharmed."

Prudence gave the earl a sharp look. "Her name is Rebecca."

I wondered if the tension between them was because the earl had refused to accept Rebecca as being his granddaughter. I didn't even know what the etiquette in regards to illegitimate descendants was. But I was certain Prudence's presence in the Killdaren household was completely improper.

Prudence turned her back on the earl and spoke to Rebecca. "Darling, how did you ever wander so far from your room all by yourself? That's almost across the whole castle."

"D-d-didn't." The little girl said. "H-h-help." Rebecca didn't say anything more and Prudence bundled Rebecca into her embrace again.

A strange feeling swept over me, making me want to take hold of Rebecca's hand again. No one seemed to notice any oddity in the child's choice of words.

"Well, now that everything is settled, we can all get back to the day." The earl sounded deliberately loud and jovial as he planted his finger in Sir Warwick's chest. "You, sir, are getting slack in your old age. Our appointment for whist was set to begin thirty minutes ago. You're late."

"Au contraire." Sir Warwick looked as if he'd just come in from riding. "I'm a fashionable twenty minutes late and our appointment was for billiards." He nodded toward the billiard room. "Shall we? There's a hundred pounds at stake, I believe."

"Fifty, you reprobate." The earl and Sir Warwick walked away arguing.

I ignored the rest of their barbed banter to study Rebecca. She didn't seem to be screaming for help. Was I interpreting her words wrongly? I appeared to be the only one concerned. The crowd quickly dispersed, but my unease lingered.

A short while after Mrs. Murphy, Bridget and I returned to the kitchens, I went in search of Mrs. Frye, looking longingly as I passed a storage room where a discarded hip-bath sat. Mrs. Frye spent the late afternoons in the housekeeper's office just beyond the butler's pantry. The door to her room stood ajar, so I didn't have to knock. Inside I found Mrs. Frye with her nose barely an inch away from a ledger that she painstakingly wrote in. I quickly backed away from the door, knowing she'd not want me to know that she had difficulty seeing. I'd be scrubbing for a month of Sundays.

It would take her hours to log in the stack of bills sitting on her desk without spectacles. This time as I approached her door, I scraped my shoe against the floor. She looked up as I knocked.

"Mrs. Frye, I wondered if I might have a word with you."

"Don't ask me for any special favors, miss."

Heat flooded my face, though I had nothing to feel guilty for. Had I the notion to ask for use of the hip-bath, she'd answered my question.

"It's about the child, Rebecca. I have a concern. When her mother asked how she'd gotten to the tower stairs alone, the child said she didn't. I thought she also said help. Could someone have left her there?"

"Nonsense. You haven't been here long enough to know, so I'll inform you. Rebecca is a difficult child who never does as she's told. She wanders about, even at night, and has to be watched constantly. I wasn't surprised she wandered to the tower, though she never has before."

I still didn't feel comfortable with her answer, but was in no position to press my concerns, so I bit my tongue, and nodded at the ledger she wrote in. "I know you are very busy and I won't keep you, but should you ever need help with the ledgers, I am very familiar with keeping accounts."

She eyed me suspiciously. "I'll keep that in mind. We'll see how trustworthy you are with your work first."

"Yes, ma'am." I backed from her office. I had three things on my mind as I returned to the kitchens. A bath. Mary. And my unease about Rebecca.

Any intruding thoughts about him, his bare chest, his warm skin and his intoxicating scent I ignored, hoping desperately that if I didn't acknowledge them they'd go away.

Dinner that night proved to be a quiet affair, almost anti-climactic after the tensions that had brewed to the surface during the day. Jamie was present for the first time since he'd stormed out last week, but he didn't speak and he didn't look my way. Stuart Frye was more mischievous than ever. He'd reverted back to the role of outrageously flirtatious groomsman, leaving me to wonder if I'd imagined the cultured, gentlemanly demeanor earlier. Tonight, he flirted with everyone but Bridget and kept his gaze on the Oak sisters' bosoms. Bridget appeared as if she wanted to skewer him for it.

My thoughts of Sean had grown insufferably persistent, and it wasn't until I was pushing the vegetables around in my bowl that I honed in on what was bothering me. Was Prudence currently his mistress?

In my opinion, Sean had he made advances on me. His search of my person that first night had been personal as had his murmured notion to meet him in the library one evening. Today, he'd been even more familiar. So had I.

As soon as Bridget and I reached our room the question burst from me. "What is Lady Prudence's relationship to the Killdaren? Is he going to marry her?"

"What's that, you said? Lady Prudence? Ack, it's Miss Prudence. Though now educated, she's a cropper's daughter, and he's the legitimate albeit second son of the Earl of Dartraven. He could never marry her. Should anything happen to the viscount, then the Killdaren would be heir to the title. He'll have to marry well, most likely a daughter of an earl or a duke."

"Did he father the child? It's not right that he continues to besmirch her reputation by having her live here in his home." I paced across the room, fueled by the injustice.

Bridget looked puzzled a moment. "She don't want to be living where she grew up at, that's for sure. A bad place, I tell ya. Besides, Prudence has never said who the wee one's father is. Could be the viscount at that, but it was the Killdaren who sent Prudence off to be educated and lets her and the wee one live here. So I'm thinking she's his." She lowered her voice. "But I hear the viscount's not to be trusted with the ladies. Why, he's worse than Stuart Frye ever thought of bein'."

Every question surrounding the Killdarens only seemed to lead to more questions.

Bridget diligently worked at learning to read every night. She'd progressed to reading all simple words without assistance and insisted on reading the first page of the story over and over until she knew every word. Then we spent part of the evening working on her speech, remembering to pronounce h's and g's and correcting you and your for ya and yer. Once we finished, Bridget went right to sleep, leaving me alone with thoughts of him.

I turned to the vampire book again for help, thinking it was time for me to learn what happened to the woman who had wandered into the bowels of the church to meet a man she never should have gone to meet.

Instead of sinking his fangs into the woman's neck, the vampire brushed his lips over her throbbing pulse and lightly teased her skin with the tip of his fangs. "I can feel the heat of your blood, my lady. I can almost taste your richness. You make my blood surge for the pleasure of the hunt and the need for a mate," the vampire said, pulling her into his velvet bed until she knelt between his legs.

She could feel him too, the heat of him, the lure of his desire for her. She'd only known the scorn of her plainness, the brunt of rejection, and the cut of her loneliness. He looked at her as if she were Venus. His want was greater than anything she'd ever known and more frightening than anything she'd ever experienced.

She turned away, trying to fight his pull, knowing instinctively that her soul hung in the balance. But he wouldn't let her go.

"Look at me," he demanded.