your freedom more than anything. When we first arrived in London, you made it clear that you would do

what you wanted and expected no complaints from me."

Jack rammed his hands into his pockets to keep Fiona from seeing how upset he was. She was right; he had said that, as idiotic as it sounded now.

"Fiona, I just-"

"There is nothing more to discuss, Jack. You may do as you please, and I will never again complain."

That was good-wasn't it? She would allow him his freedom, his life; that was what he'd wanted all along. He frowned. "But what about you?"

"Naturally, I will go wherever I wish, too. I'm finding this idea of a modern marriage surprisingly appealing." She placed her hand on the door handle. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go, or I will be late."

For a long time after the door closed behind her, Jack stood where he was, conflicting emotions crowding his mind. Apparently, he'd just won an argument, yet he didn't feel as if he'd won.

He raked a hand through his hair and stared out the window with unseeing eyes. Fiona constantly confused and confounded him. Just when he thought he knew her, she surprised him. Like her battle with Lucinda-who was no meek miss. Underneath Lucinda's air of sophisticated helplessness, she was brittle and hard. At first, he'd found her callousness amusing, but that had paled.

Fiona had changed everything, no matter how much he'd tried to stop it. She'd given him his freedom, but he wasn't sure if he'd lost something in the exchange. All he knew was that once she began to expect more of him, he'd come to realize that maybe his perfect life wasn't so perfect after all. There were things he should have done, should be doing, that he'd not bothered with. In a lot of ways, before he'd married Fiona, he'd let life drift by. That was no longer enough.

"My lord?"

Jack turned to find Devonsgate standing in the doorway, a bottle of brandy in one hand. "I came to refill the brandy decanter. Will I disturb you?"

"No, no. Go ahead."

The butler bowed and moved to the small table by the window.

Jack watched as Devonsgate refilled the decanter, then carefully wiped off the gla.s.ses and tray.

"Devonsgate, do you think I'm a good master?" The butler's face was almost comical as his brows rose to echo the roundness of his head. "My lord?" "You heard me. Do you think I'm a good master? And do not mouth plat.i.tudes; I want the truth." Devonsgate opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then he went to the door and closed it firmly. "My lord, that is a difficult question. You are a good master...and you aren't." "What do you mean by that?" The butler eyed him cautiously. "Well, you are certainly generous with your wages. I've never heard you complain about paying someone more than they are worth."

That was because Jack had no idea how much his servants were paid.

"Furthermore," Devonsgate said, looking thoughtful, "you rarely interfere in the completion of household

tasks." The butler caught Jack's grim gaze and hurried to add, "I a.s.sure you that servants appreciate that

quality in a master." "I do not interfere with my staff because I do not notice what they do. That is hardly a good quality. Devonsgate, how many footmen do we have?"

"Twelve."

"That many?"

"Yes, my lord."

"I had no idea. They all wear livery and look so much alike that I-" He shook his head. "As for wages,

I don't complain because I have no idea what they are. Who takes care of that, anyway?" "Mr. Troutman used to, my lord." "My man of business? He used to be here twice a week, pestering me about this and that. I haven't seen him of late."

"That is because you banished him, my lord."

Jack frowned. "When did I do that?"

"Two months ago, my lord. You said you were tired of him always wanting you to sign things. You had one of the footmen throw the man out."

Jack raked a hand through his hair again. Fiona was right to let him go his own way; she would never stay with such an irresponsible man.

He crossed to the window and looked out, his mind whirling. He'd never had to worry about his fortune since the majority of it was tied up in investments; all he had to do was spend the profits. Until now, he'd been perfectly happy with his deliberate lack of knowledge. "Devonsgate, I am beginning to see myself in a new way, and it is not pretty."

"You are being far too harsh on yourself. Most household details would fall to the lady of the house. There hasn't been one until now."

Jack straightened thoughtfully. "That's true. I daresay I run my house in a manner quite acceptable for a bachelor."

Devonsgate did not respond.

Jack turned to look at him.

The butler offered an apologetic smile. "Ah, yes. Quite."

Jack's gaze narrowed. "You worked for the earl of Berkshire before he married. Did he know how many footmen were in his employ?"

Devonsgate hesitated.

Jack's heart sank a bit. "He did, didn't he?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And did Berkshire know how much they were paid?"

"Yes, my lord. He and his man of business kept a close eye on that."

"I never liked Berkshire. I daresay that b.a.s.t.a.r.d also knew the names of all of his servants."

"He kept an eye on the entire household. He was quite a generous man, giving gifts on various birthdays and such. He even arranged for the upstairs staff to have an extra day off at Christmas." "What a b.l.o.o.d.y paragon." Jack sighed. "Devonsgate, it is time I put my house in order. Please inform Mr. Troutman that I wish to see him tomorrow afternoon, and I promise not to have him tossed from the premises."

"Yes, my lord!" Devonsgate said, brightening.

"Good. When you've done that, bring me the household accounts and a list of every servant with a description of each." "A description?" "Yes. Height, hair color, eyes-that sort of thing. If I'm going to learn their blasted names, I will need all the help I can get." "Yes, my lord. I shall see to that myself." Devonsgate cleared his throat. "My lord, I cannot help but feel it is a good step. Her ladyship will be most pleased." Jack frowned. "I am not doing this for her." He was doing it because it needed to be done and for no other reason, d.a.m.n it. Devonsgate bowed. "Of course. I didn't mean to suggest-" "On your way out, please have Lady Kincaid's horse brought to the door." "She will be riding today?" "Yes, with her brothers. They will arrive shortly." "I will see to it at once." The butler turned toward the door, then halted. "Oh, yes. Cook asked if you and her ladyship would be having dinner here before you leave for the evening or if you will be dining elsewhere." Hmm. Fiona had given him his freedom on a platter. All he had to do was order the carriage, and off he' d go, out to any number of places where he would drink to excess, throw away his money, and flirt with women who had more hair than wit.

Yet his victory felt oddly hollow, almost anticlimactic. And after last night's contretemps with Lucinda, it might be a good idea to spend some time away from gossiping tongues. Staying home would also give him time to find a more compelling reason to discourage Fiona from gadding about in the evenings without him.

Jack nodded at his butler. "Tell Cook that Lady Kincaid and I will be dining here tonight."

"Yes, sir. Will there be anything else?"

"No. That should do it for now."

Maybe he should make the evening a bit more special. He could get some flowers from the garden, he

supposed. And perhaps a gift of some sort. Fiona might not be his wife of choice, but she was to be the

mother of his child. Surely that deserved some recognition. His gaze fell on the chair they'd just vacated, and he smiled. Perhaps he'd buy her a new chemise-one made of lawn so fine he would be able to see through it.

Of course, such a chemise would be delicate and might rip. The thought of ripping off Fiona's chemise and then burying himself in her made him shiver. Perhaps, if he played his cards well, he could persuade her to wear one of her new chemisesand a pair of boots.

Jack glanced at the clock. If he wanted to reach the shops and return before Fiona, he would have to leave right away.

Grinning, he reached for the bellpull. It would be a night to remember.

Chapter Fifteen.

Ah, la.s.sies, be sure ye make good decisions, firm and fast. Those who don't know what they want get what they deserve.

OLDWOMANNORA OFLOCHLOMOND.

TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT.

Fiona paused before the mirror in the foyer and set her tall-crowned riding hat at a jauntier angle over one eye. A large ostrich feather swirled over the brim.

The matching new green velvet riding habit fit like a glove; and the severity of the style suited her shorter form and rounder curves.

Gregor and Dougal would hate it, she was sure. Grinning, she pulled on her gloves, smiling at John the footman, who opened the door and bid her good day.

Gregor and Dougal stood at the end of the walkway, holding the reins of their horses. They were both dressed in the height of fashion, simple jewels resting in the folds of their cravats, their boots well polished. Their stay in London had been good for them in many ways, but even more amazing was how well London had taken to her handsome brothers. Especially Gregor.

Though Dougal was much admired, with his blond hair and dark eyes, it was Gregor who caused the most sighs with his dark angel looks and brooding gaze. She'd even heard one woman say that, if not for his scar, he would look just like the statue of Apollo in the British Museum, and far too good to be true.

Gregor was leaning against a tree, the reins to his mount draped over his arm. His hat was pulled low, the brim throwing a shadow over the scar that marred his face. Beside him stood Dougal, large and blond, a roguish twinkle lighting his eyes.

"It's about time," Gregor said, pushing away from the tree with a lithe move.

"I apologize for being so late. I was talking to Jack and lost track of the time." Fiona shaded her eyes to

see if the groom was bringing her mount.

Gregor quirked a brow. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she said, a mite too quickly.

Dougal frowned. "What's that scoundrel done now?"

He'd smiled and made her heart flutter, had made love to her until she could barely walk, and was the

stubbornest of all men. "He hasn't done a thing. Really." She pulled on her gloves. "However, I do need your advice."

"What sort of advice?" Gregor asked cautiously.

"About Jack." Dougal gestured to his brother. "You can handle this." "Me? What do I know about relationships? Mine never last more than three weeks." "That's because you lose interest the moment you tup them." Gregor glared at Dougal. "Our sister does not need to hear such language." Dougal flushed. "Sorry. I didn't think." Fiona broke in. "Gregor, you've had relationships before. You've been close with Venetia Oglivie for years and years."

Gregor sent her a disgusted look. "Venetia and I have known each other since we were five years of.a.ge. That's not the sort of relationship that would qualify me to give you advice on your marriage." Dougal scratched his chin. "I always thought you and Venetia would make a match of it." "She's not my type of woman," Gregor said, sending his brother a hostile glare. "I think she's charming," Fiona said. "She's intelligent and funny and cultured and-Oh, you're right.

She's not the woman for you." "Are you finished?" Gregor asked. "She's plump," Dougal said. "That's the real reason he doesn't l.u.s.t after her. Gregor has a fascination with breastless women." Dougal ducked as Gregor swung at him. "It's true! That Tratham chit is flat as a board."

"You certainly didn't think so when you were chasing after her." Dougal shrugged. "That's because I was dazzled by her face. After I tore my gaze from there, it didn'ttake much time to notice the rest. Or lack of it."

Gregor smirked. "You just haven't seen her naked. She has everything she needs to-" "Excuse me," Fiona said with some asperity. "We were talking aboutme ." Gregor chuckled. "Sorry, la.s.sie. Of course, we're willing to help you as much as we can." "Here's your horse," Dougal said as the groom walked up. "Let's walk the mounts to the end of the street and finish this conversation away from the servants." Fiona looked a little ruefully at her new riding boots. She supposed it wouldn't hurt to walk a bit. She allowed Dougal to take Ophelia's reins, and they walked out of earshot of the servants. Upper Grosvenor Street was a wide, shaded avenue lined with beautiful houses. Flowers abounded, and the recent rains had given the place a fresh, green look.