Hannibal nodded in agreement and settled his large frame into a chair. "After we lost Rogers, it were tricky going fer a time. But Appleby's safe. That mutton-brained willy, Hurst, don't suspect him a bit."

"Not so mutton-brained he wasn't able to spot you and Rogers together in that pub," Rafe reminded him. "He may be a drunkard and a lout, but don't underestimate Hurst. He has the kind of cunning that keeps rats like him alive. He knows when to run and when to fight back, and he's fully capable of using whatever tactic does him the most good."

"Yer right, Dragon, we got sloppy. Won't happen again."

Rafe knew Hannibal well enough to be assured it would not.

"So what do you want us to do now?" Hannibal inquired.

Rafe leaned back in his chair. "Just keep an eye on them. I want to know if St. George or Hurst leaves Lancashire. If either of them decides to come back to the city."

He didn't think St. George would make any further attempts against Julianna's sister now that she was engaged to be married. But with St. George, you could never be too sure.

A surge of bittersweet longing swept through him at the thought of Julianna. Only this morning he'd congratulated himself on going an entire hour without having a single thought about her. Of course, once he'd reminded himself of the fact, he'd done nothing else but think of her, entirely undoing any progress he'd made.

Really, he didn't know what was wrong with him. By now he should have been able to put Julianna Hawthorne firmly in his past. Yet she haunted him-by day, and most especially by night. In the dark, quiet hours, he would often awaken from dreams of her, his body hard and aching, his need for her acute.

But more than that, he missed her. The melodic cadence of her voice, the effervescent sunshine of her smile, the graceful, animated way she moved and gestured. He missed their conversations and even their silences, the moments when the world slowed and it felt as if they were the only two people on the planet.

On impulse one afternoon, he'd bought a bouquet of roses from a passing flower girl. Lifting them to his nose, he'd found himself hoping to catch a hint of Julianna's scent. But sweet as the roses were, they were only flowers and smelled nothing like her at all. Disgusted with himself, he'd tossed the bouquet in the rubbish and walked on, calling himself ten times a fool.

Still, try as he might, he couldn't help but wonder about her.

How is she?

What is she doing?

And worst of all-who is she doing it with?

His fingers brushed across the silver letter opener on his desk, the coolness of the metal enough to snap him out of his musings. Glancing up, he discovered Hannibal watching him, a knowing expression in his black eyes.

Ignoring the look, Rafe continued their discussion. "What else did you find out?"

"Our man Appleby says that since Hurst's been gone, he's had more of a chance to poke around his townhouse. Says he found some journals he thinks you'll want to take a look at."

"Journals? I most definitely want to see them. You never know what delicious details Hurst might have decided to jot down."

"I'll get them from him next time we meet."

Rafe nodded.

Their conversation moved on to other matters for a few more minutes before Hannibal stood and walked from the room, his footsteps amazingly silent.

Rafe returned to his work, or at least made the attempt to do so. After five minutes, though, he gave up, reaching for his copy of the Morning Post in hopes the newspaper would take his mind off a certain distracting female.

Starting with word of the latest fighting on the Peninsula, he read an account of the British victory at Salamanca, which had occurred a couple of weeks ago, at the end of July. The battle had given Wellington and his forces a tremendous boost over the French, and yet success had come at a price, the lives of thousands of soldiers lost on both sides.

Next, he moved on to the financial pages, checking the latest prices for gold and silver currency before perusing a discussion of the British government's latest efforts to finance the war. Most of those mentioned, as he well knew, barely scraped the surface of England's real dealings. He was currently in negotiations to offer additional bonds to the government himself.

Flipping at random, he was about to set the paper aside when he caught sight of several familiar names in the Society column. Folding back the page, he scanned the article...

This Tuesday past, an elegant dinner party was held for the family and friends of the Earl and Countess of Grassingham and their son, retired Major William Waring, in honor of his engagement to Lady Maris Davies, sister of the Earl of Allerton and Julianna, Lady Hawthorne. The assembled company dined on roast squab and fillet of sole, finishing with chocolate pot de creme and coffee. At the conclusion of dinner, many of the guests moved into the ballroom, including the lovely bride-to-be- Rafe broke off and skimmed downward through the copy.

Lady H, stunning in a gown of ruby satin with an overskirt of Valencia lace, danced several times during the evening, including twice with the very eligible Lord S. Might there be more to his lordship's unusual decision to remain in Town well past the end of the Season than mere business? Perhaps Lady M won't be the only one who'll soon be sporting a ring!

Rafe's stomach lurched, his hand crushing the paper.

Summersfield. Who else could Lord S possibly be?

Is Julianna seeing Summersfield?

Certainly he knew Julianna and the earl received invitations to the same balls, so their dancing together might mean nothing. Then again...

Surely she wasn't actually considering marrying the man? He couldn't believe it, not so soon after their affair. And not when she'd sworn she had no interest in marriage, including to Summersfield.

Still, women were well known for changing their minds.

Has Julianna?

Rafe's gut burned, a vein throbbing in his temple. Smoothing out the paper, he read on.

Both families plan to leave shortly for the country. The wedding between Major Waring and Lady Maris is scheduled to take place in early September at Davies Manor in Kent. A honeymoon trip to Scotland is planned for the happy couple.

So Julianna would be leaving for the country soon, he thought. He'd known she would go eventually. Still, up to now he'd enjoyed an odd sense of comfort knowing she was still just across Town in Mayfair. With her departure, that would end.

Perhaps her leaving London was for the best, though. Maybe with her gone, he would at last be able to forget. Despite her tears that last day in Queens Square, maybe she had recovered and chased thoughts of him from her mind, bounced back so well she was even now considering marriage.

Ripping the page out of the paper, he squeezed the article into a ball.

And if she were planning to marry Summersfield, what was he going to do about it?

Nothing, he realized as he let the wadded paper roll onto his desk. Absolutely nothing at all.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Striving for quiet, Julianna blew her nose into her silk handkerchief, then blotted the tears from her eyes.

I never cry at weddings, she bemoaned, feeling ridiculous at having wept her way through all but the first two minutes of the ceremony. Another tear leaked out as Maris and Major Waring-William, she corrected herself, now that he was her brother-in-law-exchanged their first kiss as a married couple.

Julianna wiped fresh moisture from her face as congratulatory clapping erupted from the assembled guests-several of William's military cronies, highly visible in their scarlet dress uniforms, shouting out enthusiastic huzzahs.

Arm in arm, Maris and William started back down the aisle of the parish church, friends and family already assembling outside to wish them on their way. At the entrance, more of William's army friends had gathered, sabers drawn and raised into an arch of honor for the newlyweds to pass beneath.

Laughing, Maris and William ran under the swords and out to the waiting carriage, the vehicle decorated with streaming white ribbons, sprays of fresh yellow hollyhocks, and puffy white hydrangea blossoms. The couple would ride to Davies Manor, where the reception was to take place, everyone else left to follow.

Julianna blew her nose one more time as she exited the church, relieved to have finally stopped crying. She didn't know why but she'd been feeling rather emotional lately, and weary as well.

All the work, she supposed.

The past two months had been a constant whirlwind of activity, the wedding preparations taking up every spare minute of the day. And over the last three days there'd been a convergence of family and friends upon the estate as everyone arrived for the wedding. The manor's twenty-five bedrooms were all in use, a few guests-friends of the major-thankfully agreeing to lodge at an inn in the nearby village.

Smothering a yawn, she located Harry and made her way to their coach. Settling back against the seat, she fought off a wave of tiredness, wishing when they arrived home that she might sneak upstairs for a nap. But as a member of the wedding party, she was required to be in the receiving line. Once that duty was finished, though, she decided, she just might excuse herself for half an hour.

Surely I will not be missed for so short a time? she mused.

Lately she'd been doing that a lot. Stealing off in the middle of the day to rest, so exhausted sometimes she could barely keep her eyes open even though she'd gotten a full night's sleep the evening before.

Yesterday, in fact, she'd embarrassed herself by drifting off for a few minutes during tea while Maris and Maris's new mother-in-law discussed plans for redecorating the newlyweds' new house in Wiltshire. Cousin Henrietta had touched Julianna kindly on the shoulder, startling her awake before the rest of the assembled guests could take note of her lapse.

Once everyone left tomorrow, she knew the house would calm down, and she would be able to relax and start feeling like herself again. All I have to do, she assured herself, is get through the remainder of the day.

The receiving line went well. Then came the reception breakfast, where she picked at her food, slightly nauseated by the scents and sounds of too many people crowded together. Light perspiration dampened her skin, the late summer day far warmer than anyone had anticipated it would be. In response, she ordered the servants to open a few windows to let in a cooling breeze, but the additional air seemed to make little difference.

Flushed and overwarm, she fanned herself while a series of toasts were given. Maris and William laughed at the good-natured ribbing they received from friends and family, the newlyweds' faces both wreathed in smiles at the bounty of warm wishes they received for their future health and happiness together.

Then the time arrived to cut the cake and toss the bouquet.

Afterward, Maris excused herself to change into a traveling dress for her wedding trip. Julianna came into the room to share a few last words and a warm hug, overjoyed to see how profoundly happy her little sister was. She started crying again, then Maris followed suit, making both of them laugh.

Far too soon, Maris was ready to leave.

In that moment, Julianna felt like a mother bird sending her fledgling chick out into the world. She knew Maris would be fine. She knew she would fly. But she would miss her nonetheless.

Of course she never managed to slip away for the nap she'd promised herself. Bone weary, she made her way downstairs and outside to wave the happy couple off on their journey north. The landau pulled away, wheels crunching on the drive, horse harnesses jingling.

As soon as the coach moved out of sight, she swung around to return to the house. A buzzing hummed in her ears like a thousand bees, and suddenly the world began to whirl. Swaying on her feet, she reached out and tried to catch hold of Harry's coat sleeve, but he was too far away.

Then she was falling, crumpling toward the ground amid a flurry of exclamations from several guests.

Her mind went black.

A sharp, stinging whiff of ammonia brought her awake, the foul concoction making her cough and setting her eyes to water. Turning her head, she blinked against her distress, recognizing as she did the familiar flocked wallpaper of her bedroom.

As full awareness returned, she realized she was lying in her own bed with her gown loosened and her maid hovering anxiously. At the foot of the bed stood her brother, his brows drawn tight with concern.

"She's coming around now, my lord," Daisy murmured. "The doctor will be here soon."

"Doctor?" Julianna protested.

Everyone in the family knew how she despised doctors and had done since she'd been a child. She avoided them at all costs, even when she was ill.

"Yes, doctor," Harry said in a gruff tone. "And I will not have you refusing to see him."

"I am fine," she groaned. "Just tired."

"You fainted. You're more than just tried. Perhaps you're coming down with a relapse of the illness that kept you in bed a couple of months ago. Remember when you were sick in London?"

Of course she remembered; she wasn't likely to forget. Not a day went by that she didn't think of Rafe, didn't miss him with an empty, wrenching ache. But a broken heart had not made her faint.

Something had, though.

Too weak and miserable to argue further, she closed her eyes and waited for the dreaded physician to arrive.

Thankfully, Harry had the grace to depart soon after the doctor entered the room.

To her vast relief, she saw he was not the same old man who used to come to the house when she was a child. The grizzled quack who had drained half her mother's blood into a basin, then stood around shaking his head in hopelessness as she grew weaker and weaker. Julianna would never forget the horror and pain of that day, nor the grief she'd experienced as her mother, and the infant her mother had labored to bring into the world, died only hours apart.

The new man introduced himself as Dr. Coles, his pale blue eyes kind as he opened his bag and took out a few instruments.

She relaxed slightly when she saw none of the familiar tools used for bleeding or hot cupping. For a moment, a refusal hovered on her tongue as he moved near to begin, but she swallowed her protest as another wave of exhaustion swept through her.

He conducted his examination with gentle consideration, his hands as well as his words calm and friendly. Finishing a few minutes later, he began to repack his medical bag.

"Well, what do you think?" she inquired, sitting up against the pillows. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you," he replied with a smile. "At least nothing that is not fully to be expected in your condition."

"My condition? What do you mean?"

"I mean felicitations are in order, Lady Hawthorne. You are with child."

Chapter Seventeen.

JULIANNA STARED AT the doctor for a long moment, certain she must have misunderstood him.

"P-Pardon me, but did you say with child?"

"Yes. Around three months along, I'd estimate from what you told me concerning your last menses."

Breath rushed from her body, a twinge of her earlier dizziness returning, making her glad she was already lying down.

When he'd asked her about her menstrual cycles she'd never thought, never imagined, that anything other than stress and emotional fatigue could account for the ones she had missed. She'd hardly noticed when she'd skipped the first time. And as for the next, well, she'd been too busy, too exhausted, and too unhappy to worry over a little upset to her body's natural rhythms.

Blood rushed into her cheeks, then drained out again just as quickly. "But it's impossible!"

He raised a brow. "Not according to my examination. Have you and your husband been trying for a long time?"

She flushed again. Quite understandably, he assumed she was married. As a new member of the local community, he obviously didn't realize Lord Allerton's older sister was a widow.

Her heart gave an odd little squeeze. "I thought I was barren."