Knight stood quietly on the lowest step until the carriage had disappeared into the fog. Back in the house, he made his way upstairs to his bedchamber. He paused for a moment in the corridor, hearing Stromsoe say in a pleased voice, "Ah, the quiet. Finally, quiet. A gentleman's house shouldn't be filled with children. Ah, finally."

Knight grinned. It was quiet.

Janine, an ingenue of sorts who played a milkmaid in a current production on Drury Lane, had a limpid sort of beauty, little conversation, and thick, very long blond hair. She was as skilled as Daniella, and Knight had sex with her three times before stumbling home at three o'clock in the morning.

At least he hadn't shouted out Lily's name when he'd come to his release with Janine.

The next morning, he lay in bed a while, looking up at the fancy molding on the ceiling. He grinned at himself, remembering his vagrant thoughts the previous afternoon at the prizefight in Becklesfield. He'd kept wondering what Theo and Sam would have had to say about the two fighters. He feared he hadn't been the most entertaining of companions to Julien. As it was, though, he'd won four hundred pounds in wagers on the champion.

"You going to buy a new hunter with your ill-gotten gains?" Lord Alvanley had asked.

Knight just shook his head. He thought he'd buy Sam and Laura Beth ponies and have them taken to Castle Rosse.

Sir Charles Ponsonby strolled over to Julien's phaeton. "Where are your children, Knight?" He made a big show of looking all about the phaeton.

"They're at Castle Rosse."

"And their glorious mother?" asked Sir August Krinke, a fellow with more money than good sense and a leering eye.

Knight paused, looked directly at Sir August, and said, "With her children, naturally."

Sir August took a step back at that look. Knight Winthrop was known as a very urbane gentleman, but the look in his eyes was enough to make a civilized man pause.

More acquaintances stopped by, and Knight, once into conversation, was pleased that Lily didn't cross his beleaguered mind more than three or four times during that hour. There was drinking at the Mordant Tooth Inn just outside Becklesfield, the six or so gentlemen in the party filled with high spirits and ribald comments, none of them, fortunately, directed at Lily or Knight's children.

Then he'd gone to Drury Lane and suffered through the awesomely bad comedy and taken Janine, the milkmaid, to bed.

At least now, he thought, he was well rested. He stretched as Stromsoe came into his bedchamber. "Ah, my lord, you're awake. I've brought your coffee."

And so the day begins, Knight thought, pulling himself up on two very fluffy pillows.

The day seemed empty and yet, at the same time, frenetically busy. Odd, but it was so.

The house was so bloody quiet.

Knight could even hear Duckett walk into a room now.

"May I inquire if you will be dining at home this evening?" the butler inquired.

Knight shook his head. "No, and I shan't be home until very late."

Duckett knew that "home very late" meant a female to ease his lordship. He withdrew as silently as he'd entered. Goodness, but the house was quiet.

CASTLE ROSSE.

DORSET, ENGLAND.

Lily was exhausted. Finally, alone in her own bed, without three pairs of hands demanding this and that and three mouths all speaking at the same time. She fancied John was just as relieved to find himself alone as was she.

The butler at Castle Rosse, Thrombin, had greeted them with pleasure-much to Lily's relief-as had the housekeeper, Mrs. Crumpe. The Runners were duly taken care of, assuring Lily before they left for their return to London that there hadn't been a sight or a sniff or a sound of the two men. No, ma'am, not a single thing to worry about now.

Lily had burrowed more deeply under the pile of wonderfully warm covers when she heard her bedchamber door open. She froze, jerking upright in her bed.

"Mama?"

Laura Beth. "Come here, lovey," she said, not fighting the inevitable.

Twenty minutes later, Lily, Laura Beth snuggled against her, fell into a deep sleep. Even with her small bed partner, Lily was well rested the next day. She met John downstairs in the morning parlor, eating breakfast with the boys. He was saying easily to a rapt Theo and a bored Sam, "Castle Rosse is a country seat of antiquity and history. It was built by Sir Peter Winthrop, then Baron Rosse, in 1568, during the reign of Elizabeth the First."

"That's why it's so drafty in our room," Sam said, not stopping in his chewing of bacon. "It's bloody ancient."

"It's historic," Theo said with a frown at his brother. "And mind your tongue, Sam. You know Mama doesn't like it."

John managed to keep a straight face. "It is something of a rabbit warren, but we will enjoy exploring, I doubt not. I was even told that there are priest holes. Perhaps we can find one."

Lily said a quiet good-morning and took her place, listening to John and the boys.

"-and in the early eighteenth century, it is said that the then Princess Anne stayed here a fortnight before she became queen."

"Mama showed us a picture," Theo said. "She was a very fat lady."

"I also pointed out, if I recall correctly, that she was ill and that was the cause of her being fat."

"Yes, well, then Castle Rosse was also a meeting place for some of the high-ranking ministers of George the Second."

Sam yawned over his toast and Lily shot him a look. He began, very quietly, to torment Laura Beth.

Lily realized after some minutes that she kept looking toward the door, waiting for Knight to enter. It was absurd. She found she had no more appetite.

Castle Rosse was a rabbit warren, but an immensely beautiful one, Lily discovered during the next several days in the company of Mrs. Crumpe. Floors dipped and rose, several feet at a time; stairs ended abruptly; small rooms of no use whatsoever gave onto smaller passages that led nowhere in particular. And it was cold, dreadfully so. The children's nursery was on the third floor in the West Wing, and it took a good ten minutes to reach it from the drawing room on the second floor in the North Wing, if one didn't lose one's way, that is.

"This is ridiculous," Lily said the second morning. "John, I'm going to have all of us moved together in the East Wing. There are so many vacant rooms, and many of them adjoin, two and three at a time." John heaved a sigh of relief. He was getting chilblains.

And so the Winthrop party occupied the second floor in the East Wing of Castle Rosse. The servants were appreciative of this collective grouping. "I vowed I would stop breathing," Mrs. Crumpe said, beaming at Lily. "It is very kind of you, ma'am, to stay all together like this."

The only bedchamber that wasn't taken over was the master suite, located at the very end of the corridor.

"I remember your husband, Mrs. Winthrop," Thrombin said unexpectedly one afternoon as he straightened the tea tray on the low marquetry table in the drawing room. "A very fine gentleman. I am sorry that he is gone."

"Thank you," Lily said. "We all miss him."

She looked up to see Sam standing in the doorway, unabashedly listening.

"Come in, Sam. Perhaps Mr. Thrombin will tell you about your father."

To her pleasure, Thrombin did. He hadn't seen Tris in over ten years, but he remembered the handsome, brash young gentleman and his impact on his cousin, Knight Winthrop. "A dasher, your father was, Master Sam, always ready for any trick, any dare. Your cousin Knight, our master, you know, well, he worshipped your papa. Followed him everywhere, and your papa, he was the real gentleman, he was, and nice as could be to his younger cousin."

But it was from Mrs. Crumpe, one day later, that Lily discovered Knight's precepts of life.

Twelve.

"His lordship was such a cute lad, and so very well behaved," Mrs. Crumpe said, a maternal light in her eyes. She paused, frowned a bit, then added, "Well, most of the time he was well behaved. Like all gentlemen, he was occasionally a wild young stallion. But not malicious, no, never petty or mean was our little lordship."

Lily smiled at that, just imagining the kinds of scrapes young Knight had got himself into. He most certainly had been more like Sam than like Theo. She and Mrs. Crumpe were touring the long, narrow portrait gallery in the West Wing. Lily couldn't take her eyes off the nearly life-size portrait before her. It showed a fifteen-year-old Knight standing beside a bay gelding. He was tall, straight, and there was humor in his eyes, mocking, fun humor. He was a winsome boy who gave promise of becoming a handsome man, which he had.

"His mama died when he was ten, you know. He'd never seen much of his father, as his lordship believed firmly that a child shouldn't be cursed with the faults of his sire but left to develop a set entirely his own."

That bit of information startled Lily into exclaiming, "What? That is absurd. You mean that the former Viscount Castlerosse simply ignored his own son?"

"Why, yes, but on purpose, you understand," Mrs. Crumpe said, now dusting the portrait. "He was an older gentleman when our lordship was born. He didn't wed until he was forty, and his viscountess was a girl not yet twenty. But he got her with child almost immediately and then took himself back to London and his life there."

Lily was appalled to the tips of her toes. Goodness, a little boy should have a father, she thought blankly. A mother should have a husband.

"I'm sure all this is nothing new to you, Mrs. Winthrop, knowing the viscount the way you must," Mrs. Crumpe continued in her comfortably certain voice. "He holds the very same philosophy as his father. He won't marry until he's forty. I will tell you, Mrs. Winthrop, Mr. Thrombin and I were surprised-yes, we'll admit it-that you and the children actually stayed with his lordship in his London house for such a long time. His lordship, like his sire, feels that children should be left strictly to their nannies and tutors." She marveled out loud again, shaking her head in wonder. "Almost two weeks. I fancy he was near insane with all the children's noise and shenanigans."

No, Lily thought, he'd been wonderful. Not to be married until he was forty? He was only twenty-seven.

Something deep inside her protested in a dull, thudding way.

"And this was his mother, Lady Elysse. Lovely, isn't she? His lordship has her eyes-fox's eyes, everyone called them. It's that gold mixed in with the brown, you see. Very unusual."

"Did the former viscount love his young wife?"

Mrs. Crumpe allowed a bit of reproof to show through. "Indeed not, Mrs. Winthrop. He thought such emotions pure sham and absurd. Love, he would say in that contemptuous way he had, was for weak heads and for those who hadn't the wit to see six inches in front of their faces. Love wasn't for a strong-headed gentleman like himself, oh, no, indeed. I fancy it's but another of the beliefs his lordship holds dear."

Lily trailed dutifully after Mrs. Crumpe, taking in everything she was saying. Somehow she couldn't seem to picture Knight as a mirror of his father's beliefs.

For some unexplained reason, the beautiful house and immaculate grounds, first beheld as a sanctuary and a home, now seemed a prison. There was no love here, she thought, no caring-no shouting, no arguments, no life.

NEAR WINTHROP HOUSE.

LONDON.

Knight was whistling. He felt marvelously drained, quite sated; all in all, very pleased with itself. Everything was set into motion now. It was just a matter of waiting. And keeping alert. Whistling always helped.

The only thing was, he thought, frowning as he recalled yet again his session with Janine, Lily's hair was a richer, more variegated blond than Janine's and it was softer. At least he thought so. He had touched Lily's hair the evening he'd saved her from Ugly Arnold, then attacked her in the carriage. Whistle louder, he told himself, and think about other things.

Mr. Wheat, one of the Runners who had escorted Lily and the children to Castle Rosse, had dutifully reported to him. No sign of the men. All was well. Monk and Boy were nowhere near Castle Rosse. They had to be here in London.

That was a relief. He wondered when Monk and Boy would make their next move. They perforce had to make one. It was just a matter of time and opportunity, and for the past two days and nights, Knight had been giving them more than ample opportunity. Now he was walking alone, a perfect target.

He grinned. It obviously hadn't occurred to Lily that he would have to be their target, since she'd left the scene. Otherwise he hadn't a single doubt that she would have insisted upon somehow protecting him.

He saw a cloaked man turn out of a side street, pause for a moment beneath a light on the eastern corner of Portland Square, then nod politely toward Knight and continue on his way. Knight wanted to laugh aloud. That certainly wasn't Monk or Boy. This gentleman was the epitome of civilization.

Knight began whistling again.

When the attack came, it was quick and quiet. Knight felt their presence rather than saw them, and was able to free his sword stick.

"Ah, 'tis the fancy governor, all right," Monk said with great relish. Knight finally made him out in the shadows, crouched over and feinting back and forth as he tossed the gleaming silver stiletto from his right hand to his left and back again. "Circle 'im, Boy, but stay out of the way of 'is sticker."

"Gentlemen," Knight said loudly, all amiability, "finally you show yourselves. Why don't you question me rather than try to cut out my innards?"

Knight saw Boy's figure from the corner of his eye. He wasn't a stealthful mover, thank the powers for small favors.

"Awright, ye fancy cove, ye tells us where the sparklers are and we'll let yer innards stay in yer gut."

"What sparklers are you referring to?"

"Tris's fancy piece knows, oh, ah, she does. Ye tells us or she does, and we'll find 'er, don't ye doubt that."

Tris's fancy piece? Knight shook his head. "I repeat," he continued, taking a quick step away from Boy's outstretched arm. "What sparklers?"

"Billy's Baubles, 'tis wot Tris called 'em," Monk said. "It was this cove named Billy who 'ad these sparklers made in Paris for 'is little lady friend, a female sort named Charlotte. Then this Charlotte breaks off their betrothal and Billy sends back the sparklers, only we get 'em and snab off afore anyone's the wiser."

"Tris 'id 'em, no doubt about that," Boy put in. "Then 'e shoots us the trove, 'as us snabbled and tossed on our ears in jail, 'e does, and takes the sparklers. Now, ye tells us and we'll let ye go. Surely Tris's little whore told ye. Ain't ye taking care of 'er now?"

Jewels, in other words, Knight thought as he mentally translated their cant. So Tris was a jewel thief, was he? And he double-crossed these two. Not a wise move. What the hell had happened to his devil-may-care cousin? A damned criminal?

"Sorry, fellows," Knight said as calm as could be, "but you've got the wrong cove. I don't know a thing about Billy's Baubles, not a damned thing."

This announcement didn't endear him to either Monk or Boy.

Knight carefully positioned himself. Monk and Boy weren't strategic fighters. They were dirty fighters, sewer rats, but Knight was dirty enough himself and he knew he could best them. "I regret to tell you, gentlemen, but I think my best course of action is to dispatch the both of you to hell. You do most certainly deserve it. I assume you murdered Tris?"

"'O, the proud cove's got quite a big dose of arrogance, eh, Boy? Old Tris turned traitor on us, I done told ye that, so there wasn't no choice, now, were there?"

Those were the last words Monk spoke. Knight lunged forward, his form perfect, his sword finely balanced and deadly. He caught Monk off guard and felt the tip of the sword sink into the man's shoulder, fluid and easy.

Monk yelled and dropped his stiletto, jerking back against the building wall as Knight pulled the sword out of his shoulder. "Damned bastid! Kill 'im, Boy, we don't need 'im! We'll go after Tris's little whore."

Knight whirled on the quickly advancing Boy. Damnation, the fellow had a pistol. His own pistol was tucked inside an inner pocket. No time to pull it out. He darted to the left as Boy fired. He felt the bullet graze the side of his head. He heard Monk yelling at Boy as he felt himself slowly, slowly, sink to his knees.

"Damn and blast, there's another cove coming. Let's get the blue blazes outa 'ere!"