"Ask Duckett."

"Yes, my lord."

"Hurry, Stromsoe."

Stromsoe raised a brow at that tone but quickly nodded and took his leave. When he returned to his master's bedchamber not five minutes later, two footmen on his heels with the tub of hot water, he felt like the famed Greek messenger who'd delivered the bad news. That fellow had met a bad end, a very dead end.

"Well?"

"The hot water is right here, my lord, and very hot."

"Don't be such a damned nitwit, Stromsoe."

"She's gone-left an hour ago."

Knight knew he paled. He shouldn't have, for it wasn't a surprise, not really. What had he expected? To see her smiling at him across the breakfast table and saying, Why, good morning, Knight. I trust you slept well on the corridor floor after I smashed my fist into your jaw. Oh, yes, the pleasure you gave me, it was quite adequate, and yes, I've decided to become your mistress, but you must be careful, for I'm just liable to kill you because you're such a bastard.

He laughed and his valet stared at him. Knight waved a distracted hand. "Don't mind me. Ah, there is steam rising off the water. Excellent. Get out now, Stromsoe. I want a little peace for my aching parts."

"Yes, my lord," Stromsoe said, heading for the door as fast as he could manage it.

"Send me Duckett."

"Yes, my lord."

He was naked and stepping into the tub of steaming hot water when Duckett slipped into his bedchamber not more than fifteen seconds later.

"My lord, you wished to speak to me?"

"You're slowing down in your old age. Close the damned door. It's bloody freezing and I'm bareassed, as you can well see."

Duckett, made from a different bolt of cloth than Stromsoe, merely turned, no aplomb lost, and closed the door. Then he just stood there, his arms crossed, and waited. He knew what his lordship wanted, but he wasn't about to volunteer anything, not in his lordship's present mood. He wondered what had happened the previous evening. The servants were buzzing with the tidbit of the viscount's doubtless drunken carousing. Why else would he be lying on the floor? Why else indeed? Duckett thought. He himself didn't know the answer to that, but he did know that the viscount hadn't been drunk. He knew the viscount drank only in moderation and never was out of control.

Knight sank into the hot water and heaved a deep sigh of pleasure. "This is better than a harp. Do you think they give out hot baths in heaven, Duckett?" He cupped a hand of water and poured it over his head, winced as it hit the open cut, then sighed again with pleasure.

"That is a theological question, my lord, fit doubtless for the archbishop."

"All that, huh? No, don't answer that. Now, Duckett, what time is it?"

"Nearly eight o'clock in the morning."

"Ah. When did Mrs. Winthrop leave?"

"At seven o'clock in the morning."

"How?"

"She was quite insistent upon riding back, my lord." Duckett saw the viscount jerk up, his face paling, and added in his most laconic voice, "I, of course, insisted that Charlie ride back to Castle Rosse with her."

At least she was returning to Castle Rosse. But for how long? He wasn't worried about their two jewel thieves. Monk would be laid up for a while longer yet, and Knight doubted that Boy would ever leave his side.

"I should have been quite against her leaving had it not been for the weather, my lord. It is unusual to be so warm this time of year."

"Why didn't a servant awaken me before Stromsoe? What did they do, crawl over me?"

"No servant noticed you, my lord. Only Stromsoe goes to your bedchamber in the mornings."

Knight muttered something rather graphic and obscene, but Duckett, not at all moved, said nothing.

"When will you be traveling to Castle Rosse?" Duckett asked finally, seeing the viscount begin to carefully wash his hair. Boy had shot him over the temple. Could he possibly have yet another wound?

"Go to Castle Rosse? Why should I?"

This was all very interesting. Duckett didn't flick an eyelid. "I really haven't the foggiest notion, my lord. Ah, here's Stromsoe. Will there be anything else, my lord?"

Knight opened his eyes and promptly got soap in them. "Go away. Keep Stromsoe away as well."

"Yes, my lord."

Two days later, Lily was alone, staring up at the near life-size painting of the fifteen-year-old Knight. She spoke to it quite seriously. "What you did to me was not a nice thing. That is, it was nice, more than nice, actually, but you didn't touch me because you wanted me or cared for me. No, Knight, you wanted to punish me and humiliate me and you did it quite well." She paused for a moment, realizing full well that it could be considered strange of her to be caught speaking to a portrait. However, she was alone, and it did allow her to vent her anger at him, and her embarrassment at her own unrestrained passion.

"You didn't win, my lord. I might not have forced you to my will, but I did give you a great headache-at least I hope I did. I also hope you felt some humiliation at being found on the floor of the corridor by your servants. I wonder if you will count us even." She shook her head. "No, you won't. I'm a fool to think for an instant that you will.

"If I remain, will you simply send me a message telling me to leave? No, that wouldn't be your style, would it? It would give you immense pleasure to come yourself and tell me to get out. Yes, you would enjoy that. You would do it with great panache and sarcasm in that cold voice of yours."

A cough came from behind her and Lily whirled about. "Oh, Mrs. Crumpe."

"Mrs. Winthrop, I am sorry to bother you-and I myself occasionally speak to the portraits, they look so very lifelike, you know-in any case, Laura Beth has cut her finger and is carrying on as if she's dying at this very moment."

"I'll come now," Lily said.

Laura Beth was in the kitchen, sitting up on the stone-topped table, surrounded by Mimms, the cook; a scullery maid; Thrombin, the butler; and another servant Lily had never seen before. She was sobbing quite theatrically for her worried and quite adoring audience, and Lily was tempted to laugh.

"You naughty girl," she said, coming through the audience, which parted its ranks for her. "How did you cut yourself? Hush with the crying, Laura Beth. I know it's a sham. Look, it's just a tiny little cut. You're acting like a baby."

The sobs increased in volume.

"I suppose I will have to tell Sam. I can just hear him sneer about silly little girls."

The sobs died an instant death. "Mama? Oh, Mama, I cut myself, I did, and it's bad and it hurts dreadful."

"Yes, I see that you did, snippet-"

"That's what Knight calls me."

"Yes, I know."

Mimms, the cook, broke into speech. "She didn't mean to, Mrs. Winthrop, poor innocent little girl. It is all the fault of this stupid girl-" A powerful finger pointed at the hapless scullery maid. "Agnes left the knife lying on the table where anyone could pick it up and kill oneself with it."

Lily looked over at the pinch-faced Agnes and smiled. "No harm done. I will see to it that four-year-old little girls don't come wandering into the kitchen and disrupt everyone's peace."

This announcement brought a spate of disclaimers, but Lily only shook her head, her smile never faltering. She thanked everyone again, apologized again, lifted Laura Beth into her arms, and bore her off.

"It hurts, Mama."

"It probably stings, but just a little bit. I begin to think you're becoming dreadfully spoiled, Laura Beth."

"Kiss it, Mama."

"Oh, very well." Lily dutifully kissed the finger, then hugged Laura Beth close. What was going to happen? Would Knight force her to leave? Leave the children? If she did, would Laura Beth become a spoiled, demanding little twit? What would become of Theo, her so serious Theo? Would he become a recluse, a hermit surrounded by books on steam engines? And Sam, would he be shot stealing apples from a neighbor's orchard?

She was shaking her head even as the silent questions drifted through her brain. And always, ever since that night, thoughts of those intense, nearly painful feelings he'd made her experience flooded through her, leaving her once again excited, ashamed, and furious, both with him and with herself.

"What's the matter, Mama?"

"Nothing, my little sweetheart. Nothing." It was remarkable, she thought, how well and how quickly one could lie to a child. She trusted the child in question was more interested at the moment in her cut finger than in any hidden motives from her mother. A mother who wasn't really a mother, and a mother who for the first time in her life had felt a woman's pleasure.

She bandaged Laura Beth's finger, then patted her bottom. "I want you to play now with-" She broke off, staring fixedly at Czarina Catherine. She cleared her throat. "Laura Beth, I want you to find Theo and ask him to come and see me. All right? You can show him your bandage. It's rather grand, and Theo will be quite impressed."

That made the child leave her with more enthusiasm than otherwise.

Lily grabbed the doll and ran her fingers over the arms, chest, and legs. She could feel nothing. She hesitated to destroy Czarina Catherine, but the jewels-Billy's Baubles-had to be hidden in the doll. Tris had known that Laura Beth never let Czarina Catherine out of her sight. Never. The jewels had to be here. Very carefully, Lily pried loose the head from the body. The doll's huge painted eyes stared at her. "I'm not murdering you, for heaven's sake." The head came off at last. It rolled off her hand and landed on the bed, hollow neck up. The head was empty. Not a sight or a scent of any jewels. Lily carefully stuck her hand into the body stuffing. Nothing but horsehair and buckram wadding.

Lily felt a wave of hopelessness wash over her. The two villains were wrong. There weren't any jewels. No Billy's Baubles. If Tris had stolen them, if Tris had indeed hidden them, they were still in Brussels. Quickly she fitted Czarina Catherine's head back onto her body. It was loose, dammit.

She was plying her needle to the doll's neck when Laura Beth, followed by Theo, returned to the bedchamber.

"What is it, Mama?" Theo asked. "John and I are working on his lordship's library."

Lily had forgotten to make up a lie, and lying to Theo was much more difficult than lying to Laura Beth. She looked him straight in the eye. "I forgot. Go back to John. If I remember I'll tell you at dinner. Oh, Theo, I'm sorry."

Theo cocked his head to one side, one of Tris's gestures, but at her continued silence, he took himself off.

Thankfully, Laura Beth noticed nothing amiss with Czarina Catherine. More than thankfully, she was ready for a nap, her dramatic performance for the kitchen staff having tired her out. Lily was at last free to be by herself for a while. Even Sam was occupied, helping Alfred, the head stable lad, with the horses.

Lily considered going riding, then felt pity for poor Violet. She'd ridden her hard from London two days before. Let her rest another day. No, a walk was what she needed.

To think and to walk.

The jewels had to be somewhere, they simply had to be. Without them, she was trapped. Knight would come, she knew it. She had to find those jewels, sell them, and escape with the children, leave England. She thought suddenly of Theo's books. He'd brought seven or eight of his favorites. Perhaps the jewels were sewn somehow into the binding. She couldn't imagine how that would work, but she would shake and bend and feel every one of them very carefully.

Where else?

Lily sighed and walked toward the ornamental lake that was at the edge of the sloping east lawn. Huge, sprawling oak and willow trees skirted the perimeter of the lake. Now naked-branched, the trees looked as miserable and dull and empty as she felt. The water was a flat gray, the few ducks that lived there evidently bored with their surroundings, for they were nowhere to be seen. Lily walked, thinking, discarding ideas as fast as she came up with them. While she walked, she pulled the pins out of her hair, tossing them to the ground, throwing them at trees, all in all paying no attention whatsoever to anything outside herself and those bloody jewels.

Billy's Baubles. She shuddered, thinking of those two wretched characters, Monk and Boy. Even if she found the jewels, even if she managed to sell them and escape England with the children, they wouldn't give up. They would keep looking until they found her.

Lily slumped against an oak tree, defeat washing over her.

That was how Knight first saw her. She looked beaten, her shoulders slumped forward, her glorious hair loose down her back and over her shoulders. Her gown was old, a muddy brown wool, and her heavy shawl looked fit for the trash. He felt something stir deep inside him.

It was contempt.

He felt it for himself until he drew a deep breath, took another look-realistic this time-and saw a young woman deep in thought, very probably trying to figure out how to best him.

The jade.

Lily was thinking about him. Again. She didn't want to; she wanted him to disappear, to fall into some faraway oblivion. But he wouldn't. She could still feel the touch of his mouth, his hands.

"Lily."

She groaned; now she was hearing his voice. It was too much. She straightened her shoulders and walked away.

Knight, nonplussed, shouted, "Lily! Wait."

Oh, no, it couldn't be. Lily looked over her shoulder, saw him striding toward her, and broke into the fastest run she could manage.

"Stop, dammit." It didn't take Knight long to bring her down. His legs were longer, stronger, and he wasn't hampered by silly petticoats and skirts.

He grabbed her arm and spun her around.

Lily swung her free arm at him, but this time he caught her wrist in the air, three inches from his jaw.

She made no sound, said nothing, merely stared up at him, eyes narrowed, her breath coming heavy and fast.

"You won't strike me again, Lily. I won't allow it."

He didn't release her wrist. And now he grabbed the other one, holding her hands together in front of her with one of his. She was breathing hard, and it was difficult for Knight to keep his eyes off her breasts.

"Why did you run from me?"

Stupid question. Damn him for a fool, a thousand times a bloody fool. He couldn't, wouldn't, let her see any weakness in him. She'd take advantage of it in a flash. He wouldn't let a woman like her bring him low.

She stared at him straightly, showing no emotion, no expression, and said calmly, "You humiliated me. I dislike you. I don't want to see you. I certainly don't want you to touch me."

"Well, that's a pity," he said and held her wrists more firmly. "I'm here and you're looking at me, and I am touching you, Lily, not where I would like-indeed not where you would like-but I am touching you."

She sucked in her breath and tugged, but it didn't do any good. Then she stood very still, simply waiting, staring down at her hands, and his holding them.

"Of course you knew I would come. This is my home." He paused for a moment, looking out over the ornamental lake. "Dervin Winthrop widened this from a stinking little pond into a lake some eighty years ago. It really is quite impressive, don't you agree? Saying nothing, then? Well, it is impressive and very beautiful in the spring and summer." He waited for her to respond-to say anything-but she didn't. "I wondered, actually, if you would still be here. I expected you to find the jewels and be gone by the time I arrived."

"I haven't found them."

"Where have you looked?"

"In Czarina Catherine."

"An excellent hiding place. Laura Beth doesn't let the doll out of her sight. No luck, then?"