The last thing Knight saw was Boy, clasping Monk under his arm, half dragging him away, cursing and wheezing with every step.

"Good God. You're hurt!"

Knight managed to cock his right eye open. Julien was bending over him. "I was stupid," he said. "That damnable Boy had a pistol, and like a bloody fool, I left mine in my coat pocket."

"I was coming, but they moved too quickly. Now, let's get you home. Your face is covered with blood."

When Julien St. Clair, the Earl of March, strode through the front door of Winthrop House carrying an unconscious, blood-covered Viscount Castlerosse over his shoulder, Duckett actually moaned.

"Oh, my God. Sir, he isn't-"

"No, he's not dead," Julien said quickly. "Have his physician fetched immediately, Duckett."

Duckett screeched for a footman and gave him disjointed instructions. God, all that blood. What if his lordship was fatally wounded-what if-oh, God, no. But he couldn't ignore his duty.

The Winthrop physician, Dr. Tuckman, as old and fragile as a venerable first edition, soon arrived.

Dr. Tuckman had seen everything in his nearly sixty years, but the young viscount, his face streaming with blood, was still an unwelcome surprise.

"Let's see what we have here," he said, moving Julien aside.

After Knight's face was bathed, Dr. Tuckman said in a voice of mild reproof, "Why, it's barely a scratch. Look here. The bullet grazed along just above his left temple. Messy, but not at all deep or dangerous."

"Then why is he unconscious?" Julien asked.

Stromsoe had kept his distance, much to Duckett's disgust, even though he knew the valet's distress at the sight of blood.

"Shock, most likely," Dr. Tuckman said. "He'll have a mite of a headache on the morrow, but nothing more serious than that. Footpads shot him?"

Julien decided on believable fiction. He nodded.

"Disgraceful, utterly disgraceful that such things still happen in a city as modern as London."

At that moment, Knight groaned.

"Thank the Lord," Julien said.

"Nothing divine about his recovery, nothing at all," Dr. Tuckman said in his sour old voice and began packing his black bag.

Duckett didn't know what to do now. He'd tried to do what was best, truly he had. He hoped Charlie had followed his instructions. Who was to guess or know that things would have turned out this way?

He heard horses come to a halt in front of the house and groaned again. Oh, dear, oh, dear.

The door flew open and Lily, her riding hat askew, her riding costume, once a rich deep blue, now bedraggled and dusty, came rushing toward Duckett.

"Is his lordship all right, Duckett? Please tell me he's not dead."

"Mrs. Winthrop," the butler said, then stopped to lick his very dry lips. "You are here very, er, speedily." He was starting to sweat; he could feel it on the top of his bald head. "You didn't take a carriage."

Lily waved away what she considered nonsense. "Of course not, we rode. His lordship, Duckett, how-"

"What the devil are you doing here?"

Lily spun about on her heel to see Knight standing at his ease in the doorway of the library, his arms crossed over his chest. There was a white bandage around his head, but he was fully dressed, his color healthy; all in all, quite the picture of blooming health.

She was flooded with relief. All her frantic prayers had been answered. "You're not dead," she yelled and ran full tilt toward him.

With all the presence of mind he could muster, Knight caught her hands, holding her away from him. "Lily, what are you doing here?"

Lily blinked, then moved back from him, aware suddenly of her precipitous and utterly unwelcome dash to him. He dropped her gloved hands. "Charlie came for me at Castle Rosse. He said you were shot and possibly gravely wounded. I came immediately, of course."

Knight looked over her head at Duckett, who was standing as straight as his five feet would allow, trying to look more self-righteous than a judge.

"You were covered with blood, my lord. Quite covered and horribly, well, dead-looking."

"That's the truth," Charlie said.

"Mrs. Allgood had two maids scrubbing the blood off the entrance hall this morning," Duckett said, deciding to go in the direction of gruesome detail.

"Quite a lot of blood," Charlie said.

"You weren't even here," Knight said in an acid voice. He was aware that he was starring at the moment in something of a spectacle. "Mrs. Winthrop, please come into the library. Duckett, send in some tea and refreshments."

The library door closed.

Lily stood, her back to the door, staring at Viscount Castlerosse. He was different. The look in his eyes when he looked at her was different. She didn't understand. "Who shot you?"

"Actually our two villains, Monk and Boy."

She gasped. "No! But-I knew it, I just knew it."

"I see you're quick to grasp the implications. Yes, Lily, I knew they would come for me with you gone. I'm not quite the fool you must believe me to be."

"I've never believed you a fool. You are far too noble, if you would know the truth."

"Noble? How nice of you to say so. I'm pleased, I assure you. I was hoping they would come to me. I gave them more than enough opportunity. They took their chance last night. My only claim to stupidity is that Boy had a pistol and shot me with it. I hadn't expected that, and my own pistol was in my coat. Knives in the dark seemed to me to be their style. On the other hand, I'm certain that Monk hadn't planned on having my sword slice into his shoulder. I would say that he is sorely wounded and on his back now and for the next week. Julien, of course, was part of my plan. He brought me back here. My head wound made me bleed like a stuck stoat, but it wasn't at all serious."

"I see," Lily said finally. She drew a deep breath. "I've been terrified for you."

"Thank you," he said, and she knew something was very wrong.

Duckett arrived with the tea tray and plates of scones, cakes, and biscuits.

Lily suddenly realized that she was starving. She seated herself, then said as she smoothed her riding skirts, "Oh, dear, I'm filthy-"

"Eat first; then you can go straighten yourself up."

"Thank you. I'm quite famished."

Knight watched her sink her teeth into a slice of Cuthbert's lemon cake. He waited until her mouth was full before he said, "I discovered what the fellows want. They want sparklers. Jewels, in other words."

She nearly choked. He quickly slapped her back, then handed her a cup of tea. "Oh, forgive me. Yes, I'm all right now. I know of no jewels. Goodness, why-"

"They were Tris's cohorts. They murdered him, unfortunately before they found out what he'd done with the jewels they'd stolen. He evidently double-crossed them, an act, I think, that wasn't very well thought out. Tris called the jewels Billy's Baubles, after a fellow named Billy who had them commissioned for his fiancee, Charlotte. Charlotte appears to have broken the engagement, and the jewels were on their way back home-wherever that is. Tris and his fellows stole them."

Lily could but stare at him. Slowly, very slowly, she said, "I don't believe that. Tris wasn't a criminal. He was a fine man, a wonderful father-"

"And an exceedingly loving husband as well?"

Lily couldn't bring the words out for several moments. She stuck her chin upward and said firmly, "Yes, of course he was. He wasn't a thief. He wouldn't have associated with the likes of those men."

"Lily, it's true. Stop railing against the facts. The only question I have-well-actually, there are two questions. First, where are the sparklers? Second, from whom were they stolen? Who is this Billy fellow?"

"I tell you there aren't any jewels. Don't you think I would have found them after Tris's death?"

"Monk and Boy firmly believe that you know. They also firmly believe that Tris hid them. It is up to us to find them and give them back to their rightful owner. It seems logical to me that Monk and Boy would then have no more reason to do away with us."

Lily drank down the remainder of the tea. It couldn't be possible, no-She squeezed her eyes closed, fighting the tears. Oh, Tris, no, no.

"You shouldn't have come here."

She heard his words, the flat tone of his voice. It took her a few more minutes to gain control. "I had to," she said, opening her eyes to see him regarding her with no expression whatsoever on his face.

"Why? You and I are no relation, Lily. None at all," he said, his voice deliberately cold.

He was different. Very different. He was acting as if he hated her.

He continued, not waiting for her to reply. "Perhaps-perhaps you are playing a very deep game. I am now the children's legal guardian. I am now responsible for them. And you, ma'am, well, you could now leave the children in my care and remove yourself to wherever you wished to go, a fortune of jewels with you."

"Wh-what did you say?"

"You heard me."

She jumped to her feet, nearly upsetting the tea tray. "Why are you acting so strangely? So cruelly?"

"Did you come back with Charlie to spend my last hours with me? Perhaps you thought I would be so grateful for your concern that I would marry you on my deathbed. I would make you a very wealthy woman, you know. Probably far more wealthy than the stolen jewels would."

She was pale now and very, very cold inside. But composed. Her chin went up. She was bedraggled, dirty, her hair a ratty nest, and she looked beautiful.

Knight held firm. He had to.

"Or, Mrs. Winthrop, you figured that even if I survived my bullet wound, your presence here in my home-without a chaperon-would do the deed for you. I would feel compelled to marry you. Certainly you know how much I want to bed you, I've been unfortunately very obvious about that. But marriage, ma'am? I am not that great a fool. You will leave Wintrhop House whenever it pleases you. I care not if your reputation is in shreds. I wouldn't marry you, won't ever marry you."

Lily said quietly, "The two men-they told you, didn't they? They told you I wasn't married to Tris?"

Knight laughed, a harsh, low, ugly sound. "If you mean they referred to you as Tris's fancy piece and Tris's whore, yes, they told me you weren't married to him."

Lily didn't make a sound. She just stood there, looking incredibly composed, incredibly-wounded.

He had to hold steady. He would no longer be taken in by her beauty, her remarkable acting ability. "You act the doting mother to perfection, ma'am. Everyone who's observed you must agree with me. Loving, kind, all the things one expects from a mother. So your father gave-rather, sold-you to Tris when you were all of fifteen years old? He recognized a harlot even if she was his own daughter. Or perhaps Laura Beth isn't even your child. Perhaps that is just another ploy to gain sympathy for the poor, grieving widow. Spare me the truth of that question. It doesn't matter. Not to me. Finish your tea, ma'am. Do eat more of the cakes. You are rather thin at the moment, and you need to gain flesh to assure that your next protector is a man of wealth and position."

She felt frozen, a wasteland of pain, more than she'd believed possible.

"What, no comment to that, Mrs. Winthrop? Well, no matter. I do recall how such a very short time ago you did escape on your own. What a pity that Ugly Arnold must needs ruin all your carefully laid plans. And I, of course, just like a fool of a St. George, came galloping to your assistance. You didn't even want my assistance, did you?"

She just stared at him, mute. Slowly, she nodded.

Knight didn't notice. He was pacing now, not looking at her, the words flowing from his mouth. "Very wise of you not to run from me after I'd dispatched Arnold and his miserable hireling. And then I had the utter misjudgment to attack you in the carriage. And you loved it, didn't you, Lily? You, my dear, have all the theoretical attributes of a very skilled whore. Unfortunately, you are honestly passionate, I think. Take my advice. A truly successful whore is as cold as a corpse."

Knight, finally exhausted of words, gave her a mocking salute, then turned on his heel and strode from the library. He didn't slam the door behind him but closed it very slowly and very quietly.

Lily eased down onto the settee. She stared straight ahead, seeing nothing, wishing, quite simply, that she were dead.

If she'd had the energy, she would have left at that moment. But she was simply too exhausted, both physically and mentally. She went upstairs to her bedchamber. Betty brought her bath. Mrs. Allgood brought her dinner on a tray.

"Is his lordship at dinner?" Lily asked.

"No, he's dining at his club this evening. Why, I don't know." Mrs. Allgood frowned. "I would have thought that since you came all the way from Castle Rosse-" She shrugged. "Well, it's none of my affair, is it? What do you think of Mrs. Crumpe?"

"She is very kind. To all of us."

"She should be. She's my cousin. Emily's her name. I wrote her, of course, that you and the children were coming and told her how nice all of you were. I'll bid you good night, Mrs. Winthrop."

A small world, Lily thought. She was asleep by eight o'clock, her dreams dark but undefined.

At one o'clock in the morning, Knight gently squeezed down on the handle. The door swung open without a sound. It was dark as pitch. He strained to see Lily but couldn't even make out her outline.

A candle, he thought. He wanted to see her, he had to see her. He stumbled over a chair leg and nearly cursed aloud. He got control of himself. He didn't believe he'd ever been so determined on a course in his adult life.

The candle lit, he walked slowly toward the bed.

Thirteen.

There was a slight chill in the room. Knight quickly built up the fire. He wanted the room warm because he intended to have her naked.

He didn't move until orange flames were leaping upward. He approved his handiwork and rose, dusting his hands on his dressing gown. The front of the dressing gown parted slightly, and he was disgusted to see that he wasn't as indifferent to her as he told himself he was. Damnation, he hurt and he hadn't even seen her yet, hadn't even touched her. He pulled the belt tighter at his waist, but it didn't really help.

He stood over her, making no noise, simply staring down at her. The room was growing warmer by the minute, and he could see the shadows of the leaping flames on the wall opposite her bed. One arm suddenly came out from under the covers, and she pushed at the blankets in her sleep. They bunched up at her waist. Still he held himself back.

He wanted to look at her, to once and for all get his fill of her. Her hair was free and smoothed out over the pillow. Incredible hair, so beautiful he swallowed, wanting desperately to run his fingers through it. Her lashes, darker than her hair, fanned against her cheeks. In her sleep she looked very young, and very innocent. Innocent be damned. He nearly snorted his derision and self-contempt aloud.

His look became more derisive as he regarded her nightgown. It was virginal white, high-necked with small buttons marching from near her waist to her throat. He tried to imagine how she'd look in a confection like the one he'd bought for Daniella some months earlier. It was a peach silk affair that shadowed and framed and hinted at and defined. But as much as he tried, somehow he couldn't pin down the image.