For some reason, seeing her flare at Ravenscroft went some way toward soothing Gregor's temper. She was magnificent! Grinning to himself, Gregor leaned back and waited.

Ravenscroft, ever eager to think things were in his favor, was nodding. He took Venetia's hands in his. "I am not the sort of man to rush into things without thinking them through. Of course I have a plan, one that has taken into account every exigency."

Venetia's gaze flickered from Ravenscroft to the window, where snow swirled outside. "Really?"

Gregor bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Ravenscroft clasped her hands more tightly. "Indeed, my dear! After marrying, we were to go to Italy via France."

"How? That would cost a bit."

"No need to worry your pretty head over that. I have quite a sum put away to pay for the trip."

"We were to travel in the best of style, I presume?"

He looked a little uneasy, but his smile remained in place. "Not the best, of course. But well enough." Gregor cleared his throat. Both Ravenscroft and Venetia turned toward him. "I know something of crossing to France. How much money did you bring?"

Ravenscroft colored. "Enough."

"More than twenty pounds?" Gregor asked gently.

There was a frozen moment, and then Ravenscroft nodded. "Of course."

The whelp didn't have ten, if he had a pence, Gregor decided. Still, he would show the lad some mercy. "Providing you have twenty, you will find crossing the Channel quite comfortable. You can have a private cabin and meals, with your luggage, horses, and carriage loaded and unloaded."

There was a moment's pregnant pause, then Ravenscroft said, "And if I have less?"

"If you have ten, you might get a private cabin but will have to provide your own meals and load your own belongings. Of course, since you did not inform Miss Oglivie of your flight, I daresay she has very little luggage, anyway."

"Very little," she said in a resentful tone. "Ravenscroft, I can see from your expression that crossing is much higher than you thought. Did you make any inquiries at all before you began this mad bolt to Italy?"

Ravenscroft glared. "Yes! I made all sorts! People say it is remarkably inexpensive to live over there-"

"It had better be, since you don't even have enough for pa.s.sage over. How were we going to live once we arrived? If you were planning on my parents a.s.sisting us, you do not know their circ.u.mstances, for they are forever living at the edge of their means."

"No, no! I would never ask such a thing! I thought, once we arrived, we would find a pretty little cottage in a vineyard. And once there-" Ravenscroft straightened, his expression beaming. "Once there, I am going to write a book!"

The clock on the mantel ticked loudly. The snow outside silently swirled, the only movement to be seen.

Gregor had his fingers buried in the palms of his hands, struggling mightily not to laugh.

Venetia sent him a fulminating glare, letting him know he was fooling no one, then turned back to Ravenscroft. "I have to ask you one thing."

He leaned forward eagerly. "Anything!"

"What was I supposed to be doing while you were working on this...this roman a clef?"

"Doing? I suppose I thought you would be keeping the cottage nice and clean, perhaps washing our clothes in a pail and hanging them on a line in the sun." He smiled a dreamy smile. "Your hair has the faintest hint of red. It shows every time you are in the sunlight."

Gregor almost choked. Red? Where had Ravenscroft gotten that from? Although...the light from the fire did indeed cast some reddish glints in Venetia's brown hair. Odd, he'd never noticed that before.

Venetia leaned forward, her face level with Ravenscroft's. "You thought I would enjoy washing my clothes by hand, hanging them on a clothesline?"

His smile slid a bit. "I thought you would not mind helping while I wrote my book."

"By hanging up your laundry?"

"And yours. And our children's."

She closed her eyes.

"I know just how you feel!" he said eagerly. "You are overwhelmed. I was the same way myself when it dawned on me what we were to do. We'll go to Italy, leave civilization behind, and live a simpler life. A more pure one. And perhaps," he added naively, "when you've time, you could take in a few local children as students and teach music and English and such."

"Students?" Venetia repeated blankly. "You thought I would do all of that and become a governess?"

"Just a few students," he said hurriedly, his expression uncertain. "I wouldn't wish you to be overworked."

Gregor almost felt sorry for the man. "Venetia, you always said you enjoyed helping your fellow- "

"MacLean, do not say another word." She did not look at him, but her frigid voice said it all.

Gregor settled deeper into his chair, placing his hands behind his head and leaning back. "Ravenscroft, I can see that I underestimated you. I am surprised at the amount of thought you put into this concept, and I apologize for a.s.suming you were impetuously running into things."

The younger man brightened. "I'm certain it sounded like a harebrained idea to begin with. It did to me! But after a short reflection-"

"No doubt, over a few gla.s.ses of port," Gregor guessed.

"Why, yes! Four, to be exact-"

Venetia pressed her fingers to her forehead.

"-I realized that Italy was the place for us. Once there, I know the muse will visit me, and my idea for a novel will come to fruition."

"Do you have any of this novel written?" Gregor asked, curiosity strong in his tone.

Venetia yearned to hurl one of her boots at Gregor. The a.s.s was begging for a setdown, and poor Ravenscroft was too dim-witted to do more than cheerfully answer.

"No, I haven't written any of it yet," he said now. "But I have some notes." Ravenscroft reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He smoothed it out and said, "I've named two of my characters and have decided to use my travels in Italy as the basis."

"An educational book, then. One about the history of the state. Very good."

"What? Oh, no! It's to be a mystery. A murder of some sort has occurred-I haven't decided who or how-and a young man is accused of the crime. Of course, he is innocent, but he must prove it, or else he will end up in jail for all time."

Gregor quirked a brow. "Let me guess...this young man, he is your age?"

"Why, yes."

"And about your height? And hair color?"

"Yes! How did you know?"

"A fortunate guess," Gregor said, smiling broadly.

"Indeed! I've been thinking of writing this novel for three years now. I am certain I could do it, if I but had the time."

"Which the lovely Miss Venetia will give you, once she begins her life as a cleaning maid."

Ravenscroft looked horrified. "I would never think of Venetia as a cleaning maid!"

"I am glad to hear it," Venetia said dryly. "I and my dishpan hands will thank you."

Ravenscroft captured one of those hands now. He lifted it to his cheek, his gaze fixed on Venetia's face. "Venetia, you are the most beautiful woman in the world, inside and out. I hope you know I would never do anything to disrespect you."

Until now, Gregor had been enjoying every utterance that slipped from the pup's lips. But the unconcealed admiration that shone in Ravenscroft's eyes as he held Venetia's hand to his cheek sent an unfamiliar-and devilishly sharp-pang through Gregor.

It was the oddest feeling, and it wiped away his amus.e.m.e.nt in a flash. Venetia should have been offended by such familiarity. She should have been outraged by the suggestions this fool had made.

Instead, she sighed, her lips curling into a reluctant smile as she turned her hand and patted the insolent pup's cheek. "Oh, Ravenscroft, you are so young. I keep forgetting that, don't I?"

It was hardly a compliment, but it only encouraged the fool. Ravenscroft had the temerity-the audacity, by G.o.d-to cup her fingers to his lips and press a kiss to her bare palm.

Something inside Gregor snapped. "Venetia."

Venetia blinked at Gregor's black expression. Dark as a thundercloud, he now stared down at her, his gaze flickering between her and her hand.

She followed his gaze to her hand, where Ravenscroft clasped it almost reverently. It was improper, although there was so much about this entire situation that was improper that holding hands with Ravenscroft seemed a minor infraction indeed.

Ravenscroft smiled up at Gregor, unaware of the danger he was in. "Isn't she an angel?"

Venetia's cheeks heated, and she freed her hand from Ravenscroft's rather tight grasp. "Yes, well, now that everything has been said that needs to be said, we must find a way out of this mess."

"At least," Gregor said in a sharp tone, "you finally admit this is a mess."

She cut him a sharp glance. "I admit nothing except that circ.u.mstances are not as I'd wish them to be."

"I will marry you," Ravenscroft said simply. "That will solve one issue, at least."

"No," she said firmly. "That is not an option."

"But, Miss Oglivie, I love you. With all my heart!"

"Ravenscroft." Gregor's voice chilled the air.

The young lord sent a harried glance at Gregor.

What happened next, Venetia would never be able to explain. One moment, Ravenscroft was standing there, imploring and earnest. The next, he was backing up toward the door, stumbling a bit in his haste.

"I-I-I just remembered-important meeting!" He tugged on his neckcloth.

"Here? At this inn?" Venetia didn't know when she'd heard a more ridiculous a.s.sertion. Well, other than the thought that she might support the poor youth in his quest for fame as a novelist. "How on earth could you possibly have a meeting here?"

But she spoke to empty air. She heard the thuds of Ravenscroft's well-shod feet as he hurried out the front door, closing it behind him. Seconds later, he could be seen through the window, b.u.t.toning his coat as he made his way through the wind to the stables.

Venetia watched him. "That is most odd!"

Gregor shrugged, coming to stand beside her. "He is a fool."

Venetia glanced up at Gregor. "What did you do?"

"He was getting out of hand. I merely stopped it."

She frowned at him, suspicion clear in her gaze.

The light from the snow softened the line of her brow and cheek. He regarded her critically, trying to see her as Ravenscroft evidently did. Venetia was not an ordinarily beautiful woman. Her figure was rounded and pleasing and a bit heavier than was fashionable.

Her arms were lovely and round, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s full and lush, as were her hips. She was not a small woman, which was a good thing. A frailer body could not have contained such a pa.s.sionate soul. Gregor had to admit, there was something taking about her. Her face held an amazing mixture of intelligence, humor, and liveliness.

"What's wrong?" she asked now, her brows lowering. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I am just wondering what Ravenscroft is so enamored of."

Her cheeks heated. "Don't strain your eyes."

"Oh, stop being missish. I see plenty to admire."

She regarded him suspiciously, and he laughed. Her eyes were by far her best feature, a light, silvery gray framed by thick black lashes. Her skin was fresh and smooth, though not particularly fair. She tanned easily, and even now he could detect the hint of a few freckles on her rather ordinary nose. Her lips were plump and remarkably pert, her teeth white and even. Her dark brown hair was unremarkable except for its tendency to wave and curl at the faintest hint of moisture.

He smiled a bit, remembering how many times he'd heard her complain about that trait, one he found rather attractive, truth be told. Now that he thought about it, Venetia actually was an attractive female. He supposed his prolonged acquaintance with her had inured him to that fact, which was probably a good thing for them both. He treasured their friendship and had no wish to give it up, especially for a fleeting attraction, as all such affairs were. Still, there was something d.a.m.nably taking about her in this light, something that drew him to her. To her plump lips. Her soft shoulders. Her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Heat flooded him, and he found himself walking toward her.

Venetia's eyes widened, her skin flushed a rich pink. "Gregor, what-"

What indeed? Gregor stopped, amazed at himself. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, what am I doing? First he came charging to the rescue, which he rarely did, and now he was looking l.u.s.tfully at the one woman he knew not to touch.

Gregor turned on his heel and gathered his coat. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking about this situation." He pulled on his multicaped coat, careful not to meet Venetia's gaze. "I'll join Ravenscroft in the barn and see how the horses are faring."

She nodded, hesitation in her eyes. His gaze lingered on her face, on her darkened eyes and her flushed skin, on the way her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed against the thin material of her gown, and- "I'll return shortly," he snapped, angry for some reason as much with her as with himself for the odd direction of his thoughts. "Request dinner. Ravenscroft and I will be starving by the time it is served."

He left, stepping into the frigid air with a sense of profound relief.

Chapter 4.

They say the MacLeans once't tried to use their curse fer good, bringin' rain t' the lowlands durin' a horrible drought. But it rained fer twenty-nine days and washed away ever'thin' the drought hadn't yet stolen. Such is the nature of a curse: it ne'er gives but that it also takes away.