"Shall we walk in the garden?" he asked.

"I'd like to very much."

She took his arm, and he led her down the stairs. They meandered through the groomed pathways, listening to the quiet of the country at dusk.

f.a.n.n.y had been dying to know about his liaison with her mother, and it was the perfect opportunity to inquire, but if she did and he told her that he didn't remember her mother, that there'd been too many ruined girls, it would be too depressing.

"I'm glad you came for the christening," she said instead, deeming it safer territory.

"So am I, although I have to admit that it's shocking to hear myself referred to as a grandfather. I'm such a young man. It's not fair to have all of you making me feel so old."

f.a.n.n.y laughed. "How long will you stay with us?"

"Just another day."

She was dismayed to learn that he would leave so soon, and it was bizarre that she could yearn so desperately to have him nearby. She hardly knew him, but apparently, their blood bond was very strong.

"Then where will you go?"

"Probably London. Or perhaps Paris again."

"You like it there, don't you?"

"Very much. At times, it seems more like home than England." He glanced up at the darkening sky and started them back toward the house. "And how about you? How will you keep yourself busy?"

"I have Elizabeth, Thomas, and Michael to care for, and I'm a.s.sisting Phillip in our search for Helen and Harriet Stewart."

"I sire so many girls, don't I?" he mused more to himself than to her.

She had gotten used to Charles's blunt mention of his philandering ways, so she no longer blushed and stammered as she had when she'd first met him. But she wasn't quite certain how to respond either.

How was she to discuss fornication and immorality with her father? She hadn't a clue.

"They've disappeared," she apprised him.

"Yes, Phillip told me."

"If we needed you to help us find them, would you?" she dared to ask.

He didn't reply, but stared off at the woods, and she couldn't imagine what he was thinking. Phillip always claimed that Charles was more concerned about his children than he let on, but f.a.n.n.y had no idea if it was true.

When he remained silent, she pressed, "What if it was me? What if I was lost?"

"Cherie," he teased, "you don't play fair. You're so adept at persuading me. Yes, I will help you in your search for the twins. Let me know what you require, and I will supply whatever is within my power to bestow."

Up on the verandah, Michael exited the mansion, obviously looking for her. He waved, and she waved back.

"I'd best get up to the nursery," she said. "Elizabeth must be snuggled in her cradle. I should tell her goodnight."

He had stopped on the path, and he studied the house, many of the windows glowing with candlelight. It was a bucolic sight, like a scene in a painting, and f.a.n.n.y experienced a rush of pride that she'd been able to make it her own.

"Before you go in," he surprised her by saying, "I have something for you."

"You have something for...me?"

"Yes. I hope you don't mind."

"No, no. How could I mind?"

Silly as it sounded, her heart raced. Her first gift from her father! The gesture thrilled her.

He reached into his coat and extracted a gold locket on a chain. The locket was encrusted with diamonds, shaped like a figure-eight, as was the mark on her wrist that had identified her as his daughter. The significance of the gift rattled and charmed her.

She felt as if she was being publicly acknowledged as his child.

He took her hand and laid it in her palm, and she held it as though it was the finest, rarest object in the world. She tried to picture him in the jeweler's shop, picking it out just for her.

"It's lovely," she murmured. "I'll always treasure it."

"It's merely a...trifle," he contended, as if embarra.s.sed. "I saw it, and I thought of you. May I?"

He motioned to her person, indicating that he would like to hook it around her neck.

"Of course."

She spun and lifted her hair so he could affix the clasp. The locket dropped onto her chest, the gold cool and smooth against her skin.

She linked their fingers, and she rose on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.

"Thank you, Charles."

"You're welcome, f.a.n.n.y."

He smiled at her, his striking eyes glittering, and she yearned to say something else, something more, but emotion had rendered her mute.

Without another word, he guided her up the steps, delivering her to Michael, then he went inside.

f.a.n.n.y stood, her husband's arm draped across her shoulders, watching him go.

He was a peculiar man, a charismatic, fascinating, and enigmatic man. He was her father; he was a stranger. For some reason, she was very sad.

"Thank you for seeing me."

Nigel feigned courtesy as he glared at Bentley Struthers. Struthers didn't speak but simply raised a questioning brow, and Nigel struggled to tamp down his disgust.

Struthers was many years older than Nigel, and they were as different as night from day.

The man was very obese, and he took no special care with his personal hygiene. He was lounged in a large chair that had probably been specifically constructed to hold his huge frame, and from the instant Nigel had entered the fussy parlor, Struthers had been nibbling on candies.

Another man, who had been introduced as Mr. Radley, stood next to Struthers, and he was a rough fellow who was either a petty criminal or a pugilist.

"What is it you want to say, Stewart?" Radley asked. "Mr. Struthers is busy. Get on with it."

"I saw your handbill about Harriet Stewart."

"Really?" Radley mused. "What about her?"

"I know her. I'm related to her."

"So?"

"She's my cousin."

"I say it again: So?"

"I've come about the reward."

"Half of London has been here before you. All of a sudden, everyone seems to be her kin."

"But I'm telling the truth."

"Isn't everybody?"

Nigel had had enough of Radley's rude manners, and he'd just decided to stomp out, when Struthers glanced at Radley and gestured toward the hall, indicating that Radley should leave them alone.

Radley shrugged and left.

As the door closed behind him, Struthers said, "Sit."

Nigel seated himself in the chair opposite.

"What do you know about Harriet Stewart?"

"She grew up on my family's estate. It's south of London, a fine property called Brookhaven."

"She's your cousin?"

"Yes. She ran off four years ago. There was a bit of a situation..."

"What sort of situation?"

"I'd rather not discuss it, but my father ordered her not to return. I shouldn't have to explain to you that she's a troublemaker."

"No, you don't." Struthers's beady eyes were calculating. "So where is she?"

Nigel grinned, happy to see that his ploy would pay off. "At the moment, I'm not sure, but I'll be in contact with her very soon."

"Will you?" Struthers scoffed. "Get the h.e.l.l out of my parlor, and don't bother me again."

"I'm not trying to deceive you."

"Oh, of course not. Can you actually a.s.sume you're the only fool who's come slinking in, claiming to know where she is? Are you such an idiot that you believe you can swindle me?"

Nigel flushed with rage. How dare Struthers impugn his motives!

"Harriet is twenty," Nigel said, "and she has a twin named Helen. They look exactly alike. Helen is the sensible sister, and Harriet is the reckless one. They attended Miss Peabody's School for Girls until they were sixteen, then they-"

"All right, all right," Struthers grumbled. "She's your cousin. Now what is it you want from me?"

"Money-what would you suppose?"

"Why am I convinced that you're about to request a tad more than the reward I've offered?"

"Because I am. I have some of my own people searching for her, and it's more expensive than I imagined."

"Is it?"

"Once I find her, I'll gladly turn her over to you, but I'll need an advance-to fully cover my costs."

"Why would you be able to locate her when Radley's men have had no luck?"

"I know where her twin sister is, and you don't. Helen is the key; Helen is Harriet's only friend. Helen is the one Harriet will run to when she's out of options."

"I see..." Struthers fumed, then queried, "How much?"

"Ten times what you stated on the handbill."

"A thousand pounds? That's highway robbery!"

"How badly do you want her? You insist that you'll do anything to bring about her capture, but will you?"

They engaged in a staring match, and when it seemed as if Struthers wouldn't budge, Nigel stood.

"I'll just be going. Thank you for meeting with me."

He'd made it to the door, when Struthers called, "Not so fast, Mr. Stewart. Not so fast."

"What are you saying?"

"I most humbly beg your pardon, Westwood, but your brother is missing and presumed to be deceased."

James frowned.

Aiden Bramwell, the blunt sea captain who'd delivered the devastating news, kept repeating the same sentence over and over, but James felt as if the man was speaking in tongues.

Tristan missing? Presumed dead?

It couldn't be true. It just couldn't be!