She laid aside her still-open book. "His name?"

Simon tilted his head, but he couldn't see the book's open page from this angle. "Henry. At 207 Cross Road, London. What were you writing before?"

"I beg your pardon?" She didn't look up.

Irritating. "In your book. What were you writing?"

She hesitated, the pencil immobile on the letter, her head still bent downward.

Simon kept his expression light; though, he grew infinitely more interested.

There was a silence as she finished scratching out the letter; then she laid it aside and looked up at him. "I was sketching, actually." She reached for the open book and placed it on his lap.

Drawings or cartoons covered the left page, some big, some small. A little bent man carrying a basket. A leafless tree. A gate with one broken hinge. On the right was a single sketch of a man asleep. Him. And not looking his best, what with the bandage and all. It was an odd feeling, knowing she had watched him sleep.

"I hope you don't mind," she said.

"Not at all. Glad to be of some use." Simon turned back a page. Here, some of the drawings had been embellished by a watercolor overwash. "These are quite good."

"Thank you."

Simon felt his lips curve at her sure reply. Most ladies feigned modesty when complimented on an accomplishment. Miss Craddock-Hayes was certain of her talent. He turned another page.

"What's this?" The sketches on this page were of a tree changing with the seasons: winter, spring, summer, and fall.

The rose tinted her cheeks again. "They're practice sketches. For a small book of prayers I want to give Mrs. Hardy in the village. It's to be a present on her birthday."

"Do you do this often?" He turned another page, fascinated. These weren't the pallid drawings of a bored lady. Her sketches had a kind of robust life to them. "Ill.u.s.trate books, that is?" His mind was furiously working.

She shrugged. "No, not often. I only do it for friends and such."

"Then maybe I can commission a work." He looked up in time to see her open her mouth. He continued before she could point out that he didn't fall in the category of friends. "A book for my niece."

She closed her mouth and raised her eyebrows, waiting silently for him to continue.

"If you don't mind humoring a wounded man, of course." Shameless. For some reason it was important that he engage her.

"What kind of a book?"

"Oh, a fairy tale I think, don't you?"

She took back her book and settled it on her lap, slowly turning to a blank page. "Yes?"

Oh, Christ, now he was on the spot, but at the same time he felt like laughing aloud. He hadn't felt this lighthearted in ages. Simon glanced hurriedly around the little room and caught sight of a small, framed map on the opposite wall. Sea serpents frolicked around the print's edges. He smiled into her eyes. "The tale of The Serpent Prince."

She arched a brow. "I've never heard it."

"I'm surprised," he lied easily. "It was quite a favorite of my youth. Brings back fond memories of bouncing on my old nurse's knee by the fire while she thrilled us with the tale." In for a penny, in for a pound.

She gave him a patently skeptical look.

"Now let me see." Simon stifled a yawn. The pain in his shoulder had died to a dull throb, but his headache had increased as if to make up for it. "Once upon a time-that's the proscribed way to begin, isn't it?"

The lady didn't help. She merely sat back in her chair and waited for him to make a fool of himself.

"There lived a poor la.s.s who made a meager living tending the king's goats. She was orphaned and quite alone in the world, except, of course, for the goats, who were rather smelly."

"Goats?"

"Goats. The king was fond of goat's cheese. Now hush, child, if you want to hear this." Simon tilted his head back. It was aching terribly. "I believe her name was Angelica, if that's of any interest-the goat girl, that is."

She merely nodded this time. She'd picked up a pencil and begun sketching in her book, although he couldn't see the page, so he didn't know if she was ill.u.s.trating his story or not.

"Angelica toiled every day, from the first light of dawn until the sun had long set, and all she had for company were the goats. The king's castle was built on top of a cliff and the goat girl lived at the cliff's base in a little stick hut. If she looked far, far up, past the sheer rocks, past the shining, white stone of the castle walls, to the very turrets themselves, sometimes she could just catch a glimpse of the castle folk in their jewels and fine robes. And once in a very great while she would see the prince."

"The Serpent Prince?"

"No."

She c.o.c.ked her head, her eyes still on her drawing. "Then why is the fairy tale called 'The Serpent Prince' if he isn't the Serpent Prince?"

"He comes later. Are you always this impatient?" he asked sternly.

She glanced up at him then as her lips slowly curved into a smile. Simon was struck dumb, all thought having fled from his mind. Her fine, jeweled eyes crinkled at the corners and a single dimple appeared on the smooth surface of her left cheek. She positively glowed. Miss Craddock-Hayes really was an angel. Simon felt a strong, almost violent, urge to thumb away that dimple. To lift her face and taste her smile.

He closed his eyes. He didn't want this.

"I'm sorry," he heard her say. "I won't interrupt again."

"No, that's all right. I'm afraid my head hurts. No doubt from having it bashed in the other day." Simon stopped babbling as something occurred to him. "When, exactly, was I found?"

"Two days ago." She rose and gathered her book and pens. "I'll leave you to rest. I can address the letter to your valet in the meantime and post it. Unless you would like to read it first?"

"No, I'm sure you'll do fine." Simon sank into the pillows, his ringless hand lax on the coverlet. He kept his voice casual. "Where are my clothes?"

She paused halfway out of the room and shot him an enigmatic look over her shoulder. "You didn't have any when I found you." She closed the door quietly.

Simon blinked. Usually he didn't lose his clothes until at least the second meeting with a lady.

THE DISH.

Where authors give you the inside scoop!.

From the desk of Samantha Graves.

There are some characters who will haunt a writer until their story is told. Raven Callahan from SIGHT UNSEEN (on sale now) was one such character.

She was born from a One-Page Workshop exercise at my local writing chapter, where she fended off an attacker in an underwater cave. Call it intuition or inspiration, I decided that psychic touch was the edge Raven needed to be a world-cla.s.s art thief and give her a humanity she didn't always welcome. Fearless, capable, and fiercely independent, I knew I had a character I would never forget. But when the workshop was over, I filed her scene into the "Someday" folder on my desk as other obligations called.For three years, Raven waited impatiently for me to create a story worthy of her courage and skill, full of high-stakes adventure, danger, and a hero who would challenge her at every turn, yet accept her just the way she was-the one man she couldn't walk away from. Enter David Maddox, an ex-cop surviving on guilt and vengeance. With nothing left to lose, he needed redemption as much as Raven did, even if she would never admit it. They would learn the hard way that the only thing they could depend on was each other.

But I have to admit that half the fun of writing this book was the opportunity to research some remarkable locales I have always wanted to visit myself. From the excitement of Miami to the trop ical paradise of Key West to the sultry heat of Havana, I made their adventure mine.

So now their story is told in SIGHT UNSEEN, and although my "Someday" file doesn't look much smaller, Raven Callahan can finally rest.

Happy reading!.

www.samanthagraves.com.

From the desk of Sarah McKerrigan.

In KNIGHT'S PRIZE (on sale now), the final chapter in my Warrior Maids of Rivenloch trilogy, Rand la Nuit, infamous mercenary and expert swordsman, hunts the elusive outlaw known as The Shadow. But who is the mysterious, quick-as-lightning thief? And what is sweet Miriel of Rivenloch hiding from him? The quest draws Rand closer and closer to a shocking truth-that the seemingly innocent woman he's falling hopelessly in love with knows more than she's letting on about The Shadow.

Writing KNIGHT'S PRIZE presented a fascinating challenge for me-intertwining the cultures of East and West in a medieval setting. The Silk Road trade route was established at this time, so I imagined that some martial arts might have been imported along with the silk. Thus was born a very different type of damsel in shining armor-a medieval heroine who kicks b.u.t.t Chinese-style!Why martial arts? As a kid, I always thought Kato was way cooler than The Green Hornet. My guilty pleasure is Jackie Chan movies, which I watch with my teenage son. And I could watch that beautifully ch.o.r.eographed foyer fight scene from The Matrix Reloaded a hundred times.

The best thing about martial arts is that size doesn't matter. I learned that as a pint-sized girl, studying judo. It's all about momentum, strategy, grace, speed, agility, and surprise, using an attacker's own strength against him. And as you can imagine, martial arts are also the great equalizer of the s.e.xes!

As a reader, I love surprises, so I've packed plenty of them into KNIGHT'S PRIZE. No one is who they seem to be, twists and turns abound, and the story has an explosive ending! The romance and adventure should keep you up all night. Let me know if it did at www.sarahmckerrigan.com.

From the desk of Elizabeth Hoyt.

Gentle Reader, Whilst going through some old papers I found the pamphlet below. Although the author chose to remain anonymous, I have reason to believe that Lady Georgina Maitland, my heroine from THE LEOPARD PRINCE (on sale now), in fact wrote it.

Advice for the Landowning Lady of Means on the Hiring of Land Stewards.

by an Anonymous Lady Who Knows.

1. When hiring a steward the genteel lady should keep in mind that there are many Aesthetically Pleasing gentlemen who are just as much in need of work as those that are older, surlier, and not nearly as pleasant to look upon. It is your duty to hire them.

2. The Feminine Employer should remember that it is she who is in charge. Do not be afraid to issue orders to your Male Employee, although there are times when it may be to your advantage to permit your steward to issue orders to you.

3. Do not under any circ.u.mstances enter into an Intimate Relationship with your land steward.

4. However, should you succ.u.mb to broad shoulders, a dry tone, and a knowing gaze, do try to be discreet.

5. Whatever you do, do not let your brothers become aware of the liaison.

6. Or your sister.

7. Or your aunt, your family, your friends, your lady's maid, or indeed any of the other servants, pa.s.sing strangers, and the public in general. Discretion should be the watchword for the Genteel Lady desiring Further Acquaintance with her land steward.

8. It is This Author's opinion that it is of Paramount Importance that the land steward be skilled in kissing and other Intimate Arts. She cannot stress this particular point enough.

9. The Lady of Means should try to refrain from mooning about and thinking obsessively of her land steward. This behavior is apt to attract the notice of Other People (see points 5, 6, and 7 above).

10. Finally, the Genteel Lady Landowner must never, ever, fall in love with her land steward. That way lies disaster-or at least a very good book.

Yours Most Sincerely, www.elizabethhoyt.com.

*Coming soon.

OTHER t.i.tLES BY ELIZABETH HOYT.

The Raven Prince.

The Serpent Prince*.