But as that precise thought chased through her mind, her eyes inadvertently glanced at the badger bag hanging low beneath his waist.

Callum's dark brows lifted with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Would ye like to see what's inside, my lady? Then perhaps yer curiosity will be sufficiently sated."

Heat all but burned Jenny's cheeks, and her gaze quickly searched the Pump Room for Miss Meredith and the ladies. She spotted them on the far side of the room, watching her and Lord Argyll. Jenny turned a brilliant smile upon him. "I should much prefer a spin about the Pump Room, my lord. If you care to oblige me."

It pleased Jenny that without a smart retort or otherwise roguish gesture, he raised his arm and politely crooked his elbow for her.

As they strolled slowly through the high-ceilinged chamber, the sun breaking through the windowpanes to create a chessboard pattern on the floor, Jenny realized she felt perfectly at ease with the wicked viscount.

Odd though, wasn't it? The man goaded her more than any other she'd known. And even though she'd kissed more than a few valets and footmen in her time, only Callum's kiss seemed to have the power to rock her senses.

Bah, no more thinking about kissing and such, she chided herself. Wanton thoughts might tempt wanton actions and she did not want to risk duplicating her mother's plight-being left with child with no means of support.

But as Callum folded his left hand protectively over hers, and the side of her breast pressed firmly against his solid upper arm, all she could think about was peeling away his coat and shirt and seeing him naked but for his kilt-the way she'd seen him in her dreams of late.

Oh, she had too much of her mother's blood in her. The sort that made a girl desire things she should not. In fact, it would not surprise her in the least to learn that she was part gypsy, or maybe even half French. Now they were a pa.s.sionate lot, weren't they?

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Of course she was French. That would explain so much-her fascination with the latest gowns... her desire for men... or at least, one man.

The one walking beside her.

Tiny beads of sweat began to collect like seed pearls along her brow as she tried to think of something, anything, besides Callum... in his kilt. Blast him. He most likely knew what the sight of his muscular legs did to a woman, and being the rake he certainly was, knew too about the l.u.s.ty stirrings the vision caused beneath their shifts.

"Why are we pacin' the woman in red?" Callum asked beneath his breath.

"What?" Without realizing it, Jenny had aligned herself parallel with the little man's suspicious lady friend. "Oh, her. I fancied her frock and wanted a better look at it."

But the woman was all too aware of Jenny's scrutiny and now looked back, with a snarled look on her pinched face.

Was I that obvious? Jenny turned away from her. She smiled brightly at Callum, and tugged his arm, turning him to the right. "But now that I've seen it, I realize it doesn't suit me at all."

Callum lifted a dark brow and looked over his shoulder at the woman, who was not even pretending not to be ogling them.

Of all the raw nerve.

Then, suddenly, a shrill scream pierced the relative peace of the room.

Jenny swung her head around to see an elderly woman holding a long cord in her hand. "My reticule! Someone has taken my reticule!" she wailed, holding the frayed handle up for everyone to see. "You see, it's been cut!"

At once, Jenny looked for the woman in red. She was standing with one of the gentlemen she'd entered with, looking positively aghast.

Where was the other gentleman-the more effeminate one in foppish dandy's garb? Jenny's gaze sorted through the crowd, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Jenny dropped Callum's arm, hurried to one of the tall front windows, and peered outward.

There, directly on the other side, stood the little man. He lifted his hat and bowed to Jenny in a most mocking manner.

Jenny was sure he was involved. She had to tell someone. Whirling around, she nearly plowed into Meredith.

"Oh, thank goodness. Look, Meredith." Jenny poked her figure at the window. "I think he might have done it."

At her words, a purposeful expression pa.s.sed over Callum's face. As he dashed through the doorway in the direction of Bath Abbey, his muscular legs pumping, an excited thrill shot straight through Jenny's body.

How mortifying! All it took was a slight flick of his kilt and her heart went all to pitter-patters.

Meredith widened her eyes, and turned her head from left to right. "Who are you speaking of, Jenny? I don't see anyone."

"What do you mean? Him!" Jenny followed her own finger with her gaze, but there was nothing there but a smudged windowpane. "But he was just there! A tiny little man, barely taller than Lord Argyll's knee and he was wearing a huge top hat."

Meredith giggled. "Oh, Jenny. You are having me on. And to think I actually believed you for a moment." Then she leaned close to Jenny's ear. "Mustn't play games about this though. Everyone is quite shaken by the crime. We have a thief within our fold, you know."

"Of course, you're right." Jenny nodded her head. "Though the stir is rather exciting, isn't it?"

Meredith brought her fingers to her lips and giggled like a girl of six. "I must admit, it is!"

"Now, now, gels." Lady Let.i.tia clapped her gloved hands, making a sound like clopping draft horse hooves as she walked slowly toward them. "The excitement is over and I for one am thoroughly exhausted from it all. Best be off."

Lady Viola tapped her cane to the floor as she pivoted in a circle. "I daresay, Lord Argyll is missing. Where do you suppose he's gone off to?"

"I think he might have seen the thief, for he went dashing from the establishment with nary a backward glance," Jenny offered. "He might have been after the tiny little man. No bigger than a wee elf, he was."

Lady Let.i.tia looked at her then as if she were mad. "Well, if his quarry is so small he will have no difficulty catching him up. Still, I am not inclined to wait for him to produce... an elf." She winked at her sister, then with a whirl, she turned her ample form to the door. "Besides," she added as they walked, "the constables have no doubt been summoned, and I vow that all will be put to rights in no time at all. This is Bath after all and nothing, but nothing nefarious ever occurs here."

Jenny cast a wayward glance at Meredith. "She's right, nothing ever happens in Bath." Meredith grinned conspiratorially back at her.

As the Featherton ladies departed the Pump Room, and began to board their custom double-wide sedan chair, Jenny chanced a look over her shoulder hoping to catch a glimpse at the woman in red.

Heaven forbid. She could not believe it. The woman was watching her... still. Jenny's eyes widened in her head as the woman dropped her a sloppy curtsy and the gentleman she was with swirled his hand in the air before bowing.

"Who was that?" Meredith asked as she wrapped her arm around Jenny's and led her to the doorway.

"I'm sure I don't know," Jenny said, glancing back once more over her shoulder. She narrowed her gaze at them. "But before the week is through, I intend to find out."

Meaning to change out of her day gown, for she did not wish to soil it as she completed her house duties, Jenny made her way below stairs. Before she even reached the last tread, her mother was before her, arms folded crossly over her chest.

"Do you hear that, Jenny? Do you?"

"Do I hear what?" But before the words were even cleanly out of her mouth, she did hear something. Cackling laughter mingled with low male voices-coming from the kitchen.

"Get in there right now and take care of this. I promised Mr. Edgar it weren't going to happen again, and so it shan't. Do you understand me, gel?"

At first, Jenny hadn't a notion what her mother was prattling on about. Everything became clear, however, the moment she reached the kitchen.

Annie.

And at least a full baker's dozen of service staff from all over Bath.

The moment they saw her, the crowd rushed forward, pinning Jenny against the chopping block.

"Hang on now. Hang on!" she shouted. "Please, just give me a moment."

The gaggle of maids, footmen, and even a manservant from the Oliver residence backed away and their requests fell to a mere murmur.

"That's better," Jenny said quietly. "Can I take it you've all come for a pot of tingle cream-just nod if you have."

As she glanced at their faces, all but the manservant bobbed their heads.

"And you, sir. You haven't come for a pot?"

"No," he droned. "I've come for three pots." An amused giggle rose up from the throng.

"I've only got four-" Jenny had begun when the crowd rushed her again. Elbows toting baskets jabbed from side to side, and small pouches of coins were dangled before her face as the servants each vied for the four remaining pots.

Gads, her mother was right. This could not continue. But she was not willing to give up the money. She needed it too badly.

"Stop!" Jenny cried as a plan emerged in her mind. "I will fill all your orders soon enough, but you must be quiet. Please."

When every tongue went still, Jenny emptied the winter squash from a harvest basket and set it atop the chopping block. "I will set this basket outside the service door each night. If you wish to purchase a pot, place a stone inside. By morn, I will leave a pot for every stone. Take your pot and leave one guinea for each pot ordered. You are on the honor system. If I do not find one guinea per pot, I will cease filling orders. Do you understand?"

Annie settled her hands on her hips. "You heard her. No one comes inside or even raps on the door. You place your orders in the basket or not at all. Pa.s.s the word."

And so it was settled. It would be easier this way.

Or so Jenny thought, until late that eve when she found twenty-six stones in her basket outside the service door.

Chapter Six.

Muted gray light crept through the square stillroom window leaving the table where Jenny rested her head shrouded in shadow. She blinked her eyes open, only half aware of the great clock in the upper pa.s.sage proclaiming the sixth hour. "Oh," she groaned. Morning already.

Wearily, she raised her head. As she pushed up from the table, her hand brushed one of the thirty pots of peppermint cream she'd managed to complete during the night. Jenny stretched out the sore muscles in her arms and yawned.

Lud, she was exhausted. How long had she slept? Maybe an hour?

From the corner of her eye she glimpsed the lavender gown she needed to remake lying pitifully untouched atop her sewing basket. The gown was another castoff from Meredith, requiring quite a lot of work to become even marginally stylish, but Jenny desperately needed another gown if she wanted to preserve her lady's guise. She loosed a long sigh. There just weren't enough hours in the day to complete her lady's maid duties, pot the cream, and see to her own needs as Lady Genevieve.

Dutifully she wedged the thirty pots into the long, st.u.r.dy harvest basket and opened the door to set them outside.

Jenny lurched as a cold breeze rushed at her, along with five members of Bath's service staff who'd been patiently waiting on the stoop.

"Good morn, Jenny!" a parlor maid called out in a voice as bright as a golden guinea.

Heavens, I must look a fright, Jenny thought, and fretfully tucked the hair hanging in her face behind her ears.

"I've made four extra," she announced abruptly, "in case any of your needs exceed your orders."

"I'd hoped to coax another from you, Jen. I'll take a spare." Horace, the toothy footman, stepped forward and emptied his leather bag into Jenny's eager hand.

Two guineas. Two, and the day had barely begun. Jenny felt almost giddy. After no more than three minutes, she left the two unsold pots in the basket and went back inside with twenty-eighty guineas in her hands.

She was rich, rich!

Jenny pranced into the kitchen, her mood as light as a gossamer overdress.

Well, today she'd celebrate by engaging Mrs. Marshall to craft a French-inspired gown. She'd even pay the modiste to rush the order, since goodness knows she could well afford the extra fee now. She still had a week's worth of cream supplies after all, and could always pay down her shop debts later. What difference would a few days make anyway?

Besides, rushing the gown to completion was not just an indulgence. It was a bleedin' imperative-for who knew when the Featherton ladies would grow tired of their game and put an end to her forays into society?

Her eye touched upon the girlish lavender gown atop her sewing basket. She'd better get started on that frock right away. As she s.n.a.t.c.hed the pile up, Jenny was immediately reminded of her tiredness, for with each step forward the meager heft of the sewing basket sent painful spasms into her back.

Then an idea exploded in her mind. Of course! Now that she had a couple guineas, maybe she could steal a little time from the Widow McCarthy's sewing girl next door. Yes, she could pay her to repiece the gown, to her own specifications of course.

Opening the door to her small chamber, Jenny didn't dare look at her bed for fear it would woo her between its warm covers. Instead, she picked up her boar's bristle hairbrush and her small looking gla.s.s, intending to tidy up a bit. But when she smiled into the mirror, all lightness and cheer drained away at the glimpse of the dark circles ringing her eyes, and the sickly pale pallor to her skin.

Criminy, she looked positively ghastly. Why didn't she keep one of the pots of facial cream for herself? Surely, no one needed its rejuvenating effects more than she this morn.

Jenny raced from her chamber, through the kitchen, and flung open the service door. Her gaze dove into the basket.

Blast! The two spare pots were gone.

Instead, two homespun coin bags lay inside-along with nine stones. Gads, not more orders!

She moaned at the thought of another sleepless night.

Slipping her fingers around the basket handle, Jenny trudged through the kitchen, past the two nosy scullery maids, and back to her chamber.

She was never going to survive. Why, her eyelids seemed to be just waiting for her to blink, so they could close for a good four hours.

Who would have thought being a lady would be so terribly hard?

By the time the clock struck the tenth hour, Meredith was finally dressed and sitting at the dining table breaking her fast with the two Featherton ladies. Their voices were confined to mere whispers, but with just a little effort Jenny managed to hear enough to know that the matchmakers were busily hatching yet another way to lure Lord Argyll to their house.

By half past ten, Jenny's morning ironing was completed, or at least so it would appear if anyone were to check. In truth though, she'd only ironed three of Meredith's shifts and used them to cover the wrinkled clothing still in the basket.

Still, she'd not be needed again until just before tea, and so Jenny decided to make use of this rare gap in duties to take care of her own most pressing sartorial needs.

Her eyes flashing warily around her, Jenny stole her mother's woolen cape from the hook near the service door and laid it around her shoulders.

It itched against her arms and neck like a marching army of ants. But she had to borrow it, for the cape concealed the huge, puffy bundle of Meredith's hand-me-down lavender frock long enough for her to slip next door.

Lud, the cape was so hideous. Jenny could hardly bear to see herself clothed in it. And so, before leaving, she pulled from her wardrobe the satin hatbox from Matilda's and placed atop her head the most splendid velvet bonnet she owned. That way, she reasoned, if someone saw her, their gaze would be so riveted by her lovely bonnet that they'd never ever notice the horrid cape.