"Milord," he said, after a moment's reflection, "we do not know positively that it was the gypsies that started the fire or that they are responsible for the petty thievery that has been going on. Perhaps I could ride out and interview them first? I do not want to cause them any trouble if it can be avoided."

Beckworth nodded. "I appreciate that, my lord. I don't hold with liars and thieves, but I can't blame the wretched devils for trying to feed their families. As I said earlier, this particular tribe has camped here for a couple years now and except for some minor pilfering, have been a good lot." He cleared his throat. "I've grown to like the leader, Cesar, and occasionally I've hired him and some of his fellows to do some work for me. They've always done a good job for me, and I've yet to find anyone that has as good a hand with horses as Cesar."

Julian was surprised. Most landlords, at the first sight of the gaily colored gypsy wagons, didn't hesitate to run them off. That Beckworth had allowed them not once but several times to camp on his lands, and had a good word to say about them, made him an unusual man.

When Beckworth offered to show him where the gypsies were camped, Julian gladly accepted.

It was a lovely spot where the gypsies made their summer home: a big, grassy meadow ringed by the remnants of an old orchard with a burbling stream running along the edge of it. There were a half dozen or so brightly painted-green and yellow, scarlet and gold-gypsy wagons parked in an irregular circle near one side of the meadow; several stout, flashy piebald horses were staked out here and there with a couple of scrawny milk cows and some goats mingled amongst them. A dozen chickens and a pair of geese scratched for food around the wagons; six or seven men, some with scarlet and blue handkerchiefs wrapped around their heads and gold earrings dangling from their ears, lounged near an open fire that burned in the middle of the camp. Three women were busy washing clothes in the creek and several children ran yelling and laughing throughout the camp followed by a pack of skinny mongrels.

The dogs got wind of the newcomers and gave tongue. Instantly, the women stopped their tasks and grabbed the nearest child and hurried to the wagons. The men leaped to their feet and watched with wary, suspicious eyes as Julian and Beckworth rode toward them.

They were, Julian thought, a defiant, ragged little group, and pity stirred in his breast. Their lot was not a happy one, and while they brought most of their misery on themselves, he wondered what it would be like to be shunned and viewed with contempt and mistrust everywhere one went. Most of his concern was for the children, though, the expression in their big dark eyes making him uncomfortable.

The leader, a tall, strikingly handsome man, with wings of silver at his temples and hoops of gold at his ears, stepped forward. "Milords. How may I serve you?"

Julian studied the green-eyed, swarthy-faced man standing before him and recognizing those familiar features, his heart sank. Damn his grandfather! When the offspring of his grandfather's dalliances were of honest folk, it was difficult enough to know how to deal with them, but now it appeared that the Old Earl had at some point, lusted after a gypsy maiden. How, he wondered, was he going to break the news to Charles and Marcus that they now had a gypsy uncle?

Staring at the other man, he sighed. Oh, bloody hell. What did he do now? It went against the grain to turf out a relative-even one on the wrong side of the blanket. Particularly, he thought wearily, one on the wrong side of the blanket.

It was apparent from the narrowing of the other man's green eyes that he, too, saw the similarity in their features and recognized their significance. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his shapely mouth. "I am called Cesar and you can be none other than the Earl of Wyndham, yes?" His tongue in cheek, he added, "I believe that my mother was perhaps acquainted with your father?"

"Grandfather," Julian said in clipped tones, then cursed himself for even acknowledging the other man's impertinence. What the devil did he say now? Pleased to meet you...Uncle?

Beckworth, noticing for the first the time the undeniable resemblance between the two men, was nonplused. Deciding hastily that only a fool would step into that situation, he harrumphed loudly and cleared his throat. "Yesterday some property of the earl's caught fire," he said. "Do you know anything about it?"

Cesar appeared genuinely taken aback. "No, milord. We were at a peddlers' fair near the village of Lympstone. We were gone all day-left before first light and returned at dark." He smiled again and waved toward the men near the fire. "Hence you find us resting and taking our leisure."

Gypsies were known to learn to lie at their mother's breast, but something in the way Cesar's eyes met his made Julian think that he was telling the truth. "It's been discovered that several items are missing from my estate," Julian said carefully, "including some bolts of expensive material...Would you or your fellows know anything about that?"

Something flickered in Cesar's eyes, but then he shrugged. "How could we, milord?" he asked, his face the picture of innocence. "We are but poor gypsies. We know nothing of a grand lord's estate-you may search our wretched belongings if you wish." Amusement glittered in the depths of those green eyes. "I can assure you that you will find nothing of yours amongst them."

Looking down into that guileless face, Julian fought back a laugh. Whatever they might have stolen from him, they had, no doubt, sold at the peddlers' fair yesterday. Cesar was an impudent cur and brazen in the bargain but much against his will, he could not help liking him.

"Then I won't waste my time," Julian said. "I came to Lord Beckworth's with the intention of having you driven from his lands..." Julian paused, and his gaze hard and direct, locked with Cesar's. "However, if I can be assured that there will be no more, er, missing items from my estate, I will intercede for you."

Cesar studied Julian for a long minute, then nodded. "You have nothing to fear from my tribe-this I promise you."

They regarded each other for another moment, each man taking the other's measure before Julian turned his horse away. To Beckworth, he said, "Shall we leave, my lord? I believe the matter is settled-unless you disagree."

"No, no, fine with me." Beckworth bent a stern eye on Cesar. "I trust there'll be no more complaints from any of my neighbors."

A shameless smile curved Cesar's mouth. "I assure you, my lord, that no one of great esteem will come calling with complaints."

Beckworth gave a bark of laugher. "Watch your step, you brazen dog-I may have to throw you off my lands yet."

Cesar bowed. "I shall do my best to see that does not happen, my lord."

Leaving the gypsies behind, Julian and Beckworth rode toward Beckworth's home. They rode in silence for a moment, then Beckworth said, "Don't mean to intrude, my lord, but did you, uh, know about Cesar?"

Julian sighed. There was no use pretending that he didn't know what Beckworth was referring to-nor in being offended by it-the Old Earl's proclivities were well known. "No. I'm afraid that my grandfather did not leave a list of all the ladies who caught his, er, attention."

"Devilish situation," Beckworth said with sympathy.

"You don't know the half of it, my lord," Julian muttered.

Returning home that afternoon and finding that Lady Diana and Elizabeth were still in their rooms, he quickly arranged a meeting with Marcus and Nell. Briefly he related what he had learned, including the fact that he and Marcus had a new relative.

"A damn gypsy!" Marcus exclaimed. "My God, was there nothing in skirts that our grandfather ignored?"

"I do not believe...as yet," Julian said mildly, "that we have discovered an aunt or uncle birthed by a nun."

"Well, thank the good Lord for that!"

Nell looked at Marcus curiously. "Does it bother you to have a gypsy uncle? I would find it exciting. They are the most romantic of creatures."

"Romantic! You wouldn't think so if it were your relative." Looking austere and shaking a finger at her, he said, "Just you wait until Julian has to intercede to keep this curst new uncle of ours from swinging on the gallows-then we'll see how exciting you find it." His expression changed in a twinkling and grinning, he admitted, "Devilish situation, can't deny it. But it's not the gypsy blood that I object to so much as I fear the day that Julian finds them camped on his front steps and he's saddled with the care and feeding of the whole lot of them."

"You don't think that they shall search you out and batten down on you?" Julian asked, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

Marcus looked innocent. "Me? Oh, no, they won't bother me-you're the one with the title and the soft-hearted one in the family." He grinned. "And the richest."

"Perhaps all that is true, but I believe I have Cesar's measure and I doubt that he will come to call with his hand out." Julian smiled and added, "Now, pilfering a chicken or two and snagging some eggs, that I am more than certain he would do-with impunity."

The weather turned ugly again the next day and February faded into March with little change in the gray, wet skies. Work continued on the Dower House, but nothing could be done about rebuilding the ruined kitchen wing until the weather broke. The weather also kept Julian and Marcus from continuing their search for the dungeon site of Nell's nightmares, although they had, taking advantage of one clear day, eliminated the ancient Norman keep as a possibility. If there had been a dungeon on the site, the stone walls of the keep had fallen in on themselves and obliterated any signs of it.

Staring out the window at the drizzling rain one morning near the middle of March, Nell sighed. The rain had not been the steady onslaught that it had been in February, but there was never more than a day of dry weather-and very little sun-before rain returned. It wasn't even, she thought wryly, as if it was actually storming all the time, although there'd been a few of them, but if they weren't in the midst of a storm, they were treated, as they were today, to persistent drizzle that made outside activities unappealing and unpleasant.

Turning away from the window, she considered the plans for the day. Lady Diana and Elizabeth would be full of chatter about the Dower House; Julian and Marcus would, no doubt, since hunting or any outside activity was precluded, lock themselves away in the library or the billiard room, and that left her as odd man out. She glanced down at her nicely swelling abdomen and smiled. She might have time on her hands right now, but once the baby arrived, there'd be few free moments-she could hardly wait. Caressing the little lump, she murmured, "So what shall we do today? Join the other ladies? Inventory the linen closets? Mend? Count the silver with Dibble? Read? Harass the servants?"

Not receiving an answer she glanced outside again. Oh, but how she would love to go riding or for a long walk. Yes, even on a day like today. She was so tired of winter.

But if she was bored and tired of being locked inside, she took comfort from the fact that there had been no new nightmares. Ann Barnes had been buried and her family left to grieve. The locals had accepted the story of a fall from the cliffs and beyond bemoaning such a sad and needless fate there was no further talk.

The arrival of the mail that afternoon further damped her spirits. Her father wrote that his visit to her would be delayed-he'd fallen from a horse and, dashed if he hadn't broken his leg. It would be summer before he could come to Wyndham Manor. Nell tried not to be disappointed, but she was. Terribly.

She missed her family. She was very fond of Lady Diana and Elizabeth and Marcus...She smiled. Marcus was a great friend and a good companion. As for Julian-her pulse leaped-she loved him more than life itself, and if it was not for Catherine's presence in his heart, she'd be almost content. Her lips drooped. What a hen-hearted creature she was! Rebuffed every time she dared to mention Catherine's name to him, she'd given up trying to get Julian to talk about his dead wife and beaten a craven retreat. She had, she admitted dully, even reached the point where it didn't matter, at least not too much, that Julian did not love her, she just wanted him to stop loving Catherine!

As often whenever her thoughts turned to Catherine, she walked out of her rooms and made her way to the gallery. She stared glumly at the latest bouquet of fragrant scarlet rosebuds, unable even to rouse the rage that had shaken her a few weeks ago. She glanced again at the lovely face in the portrait and then, sighing, drifted away.

Since the day of the shattered vase, Marcus had made it a point to determine if Nell's visit to Catherine's portrait had been an aberration or something she did frequently. Spying discreetly on Nell, he discovered that it was indeed a habit, one he thought was decidedly unhealthy. His first instinct was to tell Julian of his wife's odd obsession with Catherine's portrait, but he hesitated to run to Julian bearing tales. Tattling or interfering between a man and his wife was not something any man with any sense considered with pleasure, and at a loss to understand Nell's fascination with Julian's first wife, Marcus watched and waited, hoping inspiration would strike. It did not.

Yet watching Nell's slender figure disappear into the gray gloom of the hallway, he decided grimly that he could wait no longer. Something must be done. There was an unwholesome air about this entire situation and he wondered that Julian had not put a stop to it. He started as it occurred to him that Julian might not even know of Nell's fascination with his first wife. His gaze fell upon the fresh arrangement of rosebuds and another thought struck him: what the devil did Julian mean by sending flowers to a woman dead and buried? Particularly, a woman who had made his life a living hell?

That night after the ladies had retired from the dining room, leaving Julian and Marcus to their port, Marcus could keep a still tongue no longer. He and Julian were lounging near the table, glasses of port at their elbows, when he took the plunge.

Having decided that there was no easy way about this, Marcus asked bluntly, "I do not mean to pry, but will you tell me why you have a monstrous bouquet of newly plucked flowers placed before Catherine's portrait every day?"

Julian jerked as if he had been stabbed. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

Marcus cocked a brow. "You didn't order the flowers?"

"This is the first I've heard of them," Julian snapped, scowling. "Good God! She's been dead for years-why would I still be doing such a damn silly thing?"

"Guilt, perhaps? Or because you still care about her? Honoring her memory?"

Marcus had never feared Julian before, but he found himself actually bracing himself in his chair at the expression on his cousin's face as Julian leaped to his feet and loomed in front of him.

Through clenched teeth, Julian said, "By the time she died, as you damn well know, there was nothing between Catherine and me to honor."

Leaving Marcus to stare after him, Julian stormed out of the room. Marcus followed on his heels as Julian took the stairs two at time, heading for the gallery.

The gallery was in darkness, but Julian lit a candelabrum and strode over to where Catherine's portrait hung. In disbelief he stared at the roses, the buds just opening and perfuming the air.

Biting back a curse, Julian found the black bell rope and yanked so hard that Marcus feared he would tear it from the wall. Throwing Marcus a violent look, Julian said, "I never ordered these curst flowers, but I certainly intend to find out who did!"

Dibble appeared a few minutes later, an expression of concern on his face. The clatter of the bell summoning him had been quite dramatic. "Milord, is something amiss?"

Julian pointed to the bouquet. "Would you please explain those?"

Dibble looked at the bouquet, then back at Julian's taut features. "Uh, it's a bouquet of roses beneath Lady Catherine's portrait."

"I see that," Julian snapped, "but upon whose orders are they placed here?"

"Why yours, my lord," Dibble answered, looking mystified. "I assure you that I have always had a new bouquet sent up from the greenhouse every day."

"Odd, but I do not remember ever asking for flowers to be placed here."

Dibble looked even more mystified, then his brow cleared. "I beg pardon, my lord, it was your father who originally asked for the bouquets." He smiled fondly. "He came to me the day after Lady Catherine was buried and said that you would like it if she had fresh flowers every day." When Julian just stared at him, his smile faded. "Have I done wrong, my lord? Perhaps after your father died I should have consulted with you, but I assumed..." He cleared his throat, clearly distressed. "I just assumed that if you had wanted me to stop preparing a fresh arrangement every day, you would have said so. Have I erred in some way?"

Aware that it was not his butler's fault, Julian's fury ebbed. "No, you have not-the mistake was mine," Julian said with an effort. "I should have cancelled those orders long ago-it never occurred to me that you were still carrying them out."

"You wish me to stop bringing the flowers, my lord?"

Julian nodded. "Yes. No more flowers for Lady Catherine. Take that bouquet with you now and dispose of it."

Dibble lifted the huge bouquet and quietly departed, leaving the two men alone.

"Did you know that your father had made the request for the flowers?" Marcus asked.

"What do you think?" Julian demanded. "Of course, I didn't-if I had I would have countermanded the order immediately." Julian shook his head. "My father never saw any of her faults and he turned a blind eye to the problems in the marriage. He wanted me to be happy and simply ignored anything that ran contrary to that belief." He made a face. "I certainly never disillusioned him-I let him think that I adored her and that she adored me. I'm sure he went to the grave believing that a part of me died with Catherine."

Marcus stared at him, comprehension dawning. "Er, you don't think that he might have said something to that effect to Lady Diana, do you?"

"Probably," Julian replied carelessly. "I'm sure he spun her a tale of my undying love for Catherine. Why?"

"Because I believe your lady thinks just that," Marcus said slowly.

Julian's brows snapped together. "Don't talk fustian! I doubt that beyond a brief tour that my wife has been to the gallery or even knows where Catherine's portrait hangs. And as for the other-don't be ridiculous!"

"Oh, you're wrong there," Marcus said. "Your wife knows exactly where this portrait hangs. I've seen her studying it, more than once."

"Why the devil would she do that?"

"Oh, I could imagine that Lady Diana and Elizabeth probably showed her the gallery one day...and that they stopped to admire the portrait and lamented Lady Catherine's tragic death..."

Julian paled. In hollow accents, he said slowly, "And Lady Diana, no doubt, repeated the fairy tale that my father had told her..." He swallowed convulsively and his fist clenched. "The flowers, the bloody flowers would give the story credence."

"Come along," Marcus ordered gently. "Let us return to the library and I shall tell you what I have observed. You may make of it what you will."

Nell was lying in bed looking at some new fashion plates that had arrived from her modiste in London when the door to her room was flung open so violently that it banged like a thunderclap against the wall. She sat upright as Julian, pale and shaken, charged into the room. Striding across the room, he grabbed both her arms and jerked her against him.

"You silly little fool," he muttered, "you cannot believe that I am still in love with Catherine-not when just the sound of your voice leaves me breathless with delight!" He shook her. "Don't you understand? Until you came into my world, I thought that my life was complete, that I was content, but oh, God, I was wrong, so very wrong." His lips brushed her brow. "Nell, darling, I love you. You are everything to me!"

Nell stared stunned up into his dark, beloved face. "You don't love Catherine?" she asked urgently, her fingers tightening on the lapels of his mulberry jacket. "Everyone says so."

He smiled tenderly at her. "I don't know who everyone is, but believe me, my darling, everyone is wrong. I do not love Catherine. I never loved Catherine."

"But the flowers-a fresh, beautiful bouquet every day!"

"A miscommunication. There will never be another vase of flowers delivered to the gallery again."

Nell couldn't quite take it all in, but stars began to peep into her lovely eyes. "You love me?"

"I adore you! I do not remember the exact moment I fell in love with you, but you have been in my heart almost from the moment I laid eyes on you." He shook her again, not gently. "How could you possibly think that I still loved Catherine? Didn't my lovemaking, my pleasure in your company tell you anything?"

She rested her forehead against his chest. "I thought that you were merely making the best of our marriage and that you were only being kind..."

Sinking down onto the bed beside her, Julian pulled her close. "Making the best of-! What a little goose you have been! You are the best thing, the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me and when I am with you kindness is the last thought on my mind."

"But that could just be lust," she argued, a little smile curving her mouth, dizzy joy spiraling through her as belief in his words took root. He loved her! And not, she thought happily, Catherine!

"I do have lust aplenty for you, Madame wife, oh, but Nell, I do adore you!" He pulled her to his chest and cupping the back of her head, brought their mouths together. He kissed her, holding nothing back, hiding nothing, letting his kiss reveal the depth of his emotions.

When he released her, Nell was thoroughly dazzled. His gaze traveled over her features and a teasing gleam entered his eyes. "And have you nothing to say to me? I have just lain my heart at your feet-I hope you do not intend to trample it."

Nell gave an enchanting gurgle of laughter and, raining soft kisses over his face, she said, "I love you! I love you! I love you! I have been sick with love for you for months."

What could he do after that but kiss her again?

For a long time they lay together cocooned from the world, speaking of those things that only lovers know. It was magical, in between sweet kisses, all the anxieties, the doubts, the fears and the uncertainties that had plagued them explained and swept aside.

What seemed like hours later, Julian said, "I still find it astonishing that you believed that I was still in love with Catherine."

"What else could I think?" Nell argued. "Every time I mentioned her name, you became cold and refused to talk about her. And Lady Diana told me how much you loved her and how your heart was buried in Catherine's grave."

Julian snorted, making it clear what he thought of Lady Diana's opinion. Nell pinched him. "And what about the flowers? Seeing that new bouquet every day-anyone would have thought so!"

He turned his head and smiled lazily at her. "Only a little goose like you-anyone with any sense would have known that I was mad about you."