"Oh, come now. Don't be so shy about your talents."

All eyes turned toward Caitlyn. She flicked him a cold glance before offering a breathless laugh. "While I can ride, I don't know the horses in her grace's stables and-"

Alexander drawled, "You are worried they wouldn't be up to your standards, of course. Having seen you ride, I can certainly understand your concern."

Dervishton raised his brows. "You have ridden together before?"

"I had the privilege of teaching Miss Hurst when she was in London last season."

There was a distinct pause in the conversation.

Caitlyn's cheeks couldn't be brighter. "Fortunately, I've had more instruction since."

Alexander's humor disappeared. What in the h.e.l.l did she mean by that? Was she talking about riding, or kissing? Dammit, she'd been ensconced in the countryside for the last three months! Had some country b.u.mpkin dared touch her?

Alexander's blood boiled at the thought of Caitlyn's pink and white perfection in the hands of a rough farmer.

Georgiana said, "Miss Hurst, I'm sure we'll find a mount that will match your ability."

"Thank you, your grace," Caitlyn purred, smiling as if she knew the irritation she'd managed to cause him.

"Your grace," Miss Ogilvie interjected, "I'm afraid my riding skills are quite negligible. I will need a gentle mount."

Georgiana seemed amused by this artless confession. "Don't worry, Miss Ogilvie. I have quite a number of smaller, gentler mounts in the stables for just such a reason."

Miss Ogilvie sighed in relief. "Thank you, your grace!"

"Of course." Georgiana sent a look at Alexander from under her lashes and said in a lazy voice, "While most of you are enjoying a ride, I will stay here and attend to some correspondence. That should be a lovely way to spend the afternoon."

Alexander wished she'd try for a little subtlety, but he supposed it was beyond her. To show his disinterest, he turned back to his plate to enjoy his pear. But as he raised his fork, he realized it was gone.

Across from him, Caitlyn lifted the last piece of pear with her fork. She'd stolen his pear from his plate, the wench!

She smiled at him as she slid the pear between her lips and chewed it with obvious relish. Her eyes twinkled mischievously and an answering spark of amus.e.m.e.nt lifted one corner of his mouth, but he staunched it immediately.

For a dangerous moment, he'd almost forgotten why she was here. Dammit, he had to be on guard that she didn't beguile him the way she'd already enslaved the majority of men here. He had a plan for the delectable Miss Caitlyn Hurst that had nothing to do with stolen cinnamon pears or genteel rides through the picturesque countryside. His plan was for revenge, cold and sweet. He owed her a humiliation or two, and before this house party was over, he'd see to it that she got what she so richly deserved-and more.

FROM One Night in Scotland Mary Hurst glanced at the clock. If she were a wagering sort, she'd say the earl would burst into their room in approximately five more minutes.

She tilted the chair higher the next time, then slammed it down with all of her might. Yes, that's quite a bit more- The door slammed open, causing Abigail to drop her chair and squeak while Mary froze in place.

The earl was framed by the doorway, his broad shoulders almost filling the s.p.a.ce, his head barely clearing the door frame. His dark hair was mussed about his stern visage, his lips pressed in fury, a neck cloth knotted about his throat.

He stalked into the room, a man the size of a great black bear, yet with a firm jaw and flashing pale green eyes.

A delicious shiver ran down Mary's spine. He arrives like the hero in a play, ready to fight a villain.

Only, he was the villain. Still, she had to admit that the man possessed an unconscious theatrical flair. No one could be immune to the way he moved, all athletic grace and restrained power; the second he walked into a room, he dominated the s.p.a.ce and the people without even trying. Added to that was his penchant to dress all in black, and the scarf that covered his jaw and hid a rumored scar ... Who could blame her for shivering whenever he was near?

His icy gaze locked on her now.

She dipped a quick curtsy. "My lord, how kind of you to join us."

"I will not have this racket in my house."

"And I will not be locked in a room like a mad dog."

His mouth thinned, his hands fisted at his side. The tension in the room grew so thick that Mary thought that she could walk upon it. She stood behind her chair, ready to resume her noise warfare at a second's notice.

But Abigail was not so sternly made. She swallowed noisily, looking from her mistress to the earl and back, her eyes wide, her breath swift.

Erroll turned suddenly, his gaze now locked upon the maid. "You."

Abigail let the chair she was holding drop back and dipped a jerky curtsy, her face pale. "Y-y-yes, m-m-me lord?"

"Out." The earl didn't even glance at Abigail's heaving chest before turning back to Mary.

He wasn't an easily distracted man, she'd give him that, for the maid was difficult to ignore.

"Aye, m-m-my lord, but I-I-" Abigail gulped and shot an uncertain glance at Mary.

"It's quite all right," Mary said despite her own racing heart. "I wish to have a word with his lordship and this will be the perfect opportunity."

Abigail needed no more encouragement and she scuttled toward the door.

"Close it," the earl ordered, his gaze locked on Mary.

With a final, worried backward glance at Mary, Abigail closed the door behind her.

The earl crossed his arms over his broad chest and scowled. "I don't appreciate being awakened in such a fashion."

Mary realized that the earl must have dressed in extreme haste, for his waistcoat was hanging open and his shirt was half tucked. His coat, too, was slightly askew, as if he'd pulled it on while walking.

That was odd. One of the servants must have rushed to his apartments and awoken him with a complaint about the noise, which had obviously made him furiously toss on his clothes and race here. But how had he gotten here so fast? His bedchamber was in the opposite wing; Muir had let that fact slip as he escorted her here last night.

Well, however it happened, her ploy had worked, for here he was.

She folded her hands primly before her and smiled. "I can see that we awakened you and it's put you in an ill mood. I'm not being unreasonable, for I did ask to be allowed out, but we were refused."

"On my orders."

"Exactly. Therefore, I was forced to more extreme measures. If you'll unlock the door and leave it unlocked, I promise the noise won't happen again."

"No."

Her calm smile slipped. No explanation, no appreciation of her logic, just "no" in a deadly cold voice. She lifted her chin. "Fine. Then I'll continue with my concert." She grasped the chair, rocked it forward on its front legs, then slammed it down onto the floor.

"Stop that."

"Not until you release me from this room."

A low rumble remarkably like a growl emanated from the earl. "Do not push me in this manner. You will regret it."

"Do not push me, my lord. I won't accept such rude treatment."

His lips were almost white as he attempted to hold back G.o.d only knew what sort of improper retort.

Mary's heart thudded rapidly and she had to quell a childish desire to hike her skirts and run. She'd wanted to ignite him to action, and she had his attention now. Don't get rattled. Face your enemy and do not flinch.

She cleared her throat. "This is an intolerable situation. I'm not happy being locked away."

"I'm not happy that you're making so much noise that I cannot even think in peace."

"Then allow me out. I promise to behave myself. I shall be a perfect guest while we wait to hear from Mr. Young."

"No. I won't have you traipsing around, looking for that d.a.m.ned artifact every time my back is turned."

She frowned, tapping one foot in impatience.

He lifted a brow. "I don't hear you offering to refrain from such a search."

"I suppose I could, but it wouldn't be honest," she replied regretfully. "However much I wish for my freedom, it would be useless to pretend I'm not desperate to place my hands on that artifact."

"You are doing your purpose a grave disservice with that announcement."

"It's the truth." She gripped the back of the chair tighter and leaned forward. "Erroll, my brother's life hangs in the balance. I must have that artifact."

His gaze narrowed. "You are almost convincing...."

She closed her eyes and counted to ten. "You will see how mistaken you are when Mr. Young confirms my ident.i.ty."

"If that happens, then the artifact is yours. But until then, you will remain in this room and cease this noise."

"Erroll, I cannot-"

"No. That's my final word. There is no more to be said." He turned and strode back toward the door.

"No."

He paused, one hand on the k.n.o.b before he shot her a dark look over his shoulder. "What?"

"I said no. It's not in my nature to sit tamely by and acquiesce to such barbaric behavior."

His green gaze flickered over her. "You will do as you are told and that's that." He reached for the k.n.o.b and turned it.

Meanwhile, she gripped the chair again, lifted it, and dropped it to the ground. THUNK!

She did it again. And again. And- The earl spun on his heel, curses snapping from his lips as he strode across the room toward her, his green gaze furious.

Mary instinctively stepped away, which was fortuitous, as the earl s.n.a.t.c.hed up her chair and strode to the window. To Mary's shock, he threw open the window, glanced down to the courtyard, and then tossed the chair over the ledge.

With a splintering crash, the chair smashed on the cobblestones below.

Mary blinked.

Erroll turned away from the window, a faint smile touching his mouth. "There."

"That was-" She couldn't find the words, couldn't believe he'd done such a thing.

"Now, you will behave yourself and remain quietly in your room as you've been told. I shall see to it that some books are brought for your amus.e.m.e.nt. Hopefully we'll hear from Mr. Young in a week or so-"

"A week?"

The earl frowned. "I asked Mr. Young to return here and identify you in person, just so there can be no misunderstanding. So it will be a week, at least."

A week? A whole week?

Mary clenched her fists at her sides. She was so angry she could have stomped her foot, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. "My lord, I don't think you understand. I must deliver that artifact to my-"

"To your brother William. You informed me of that fact last night. As far as I'm concerned, your brother can wait; I will not release the artifact until I am completely certain you are who you say you are. I owe Michael Hurst my caution, if nothing else."

She lifted her chin. "He doesn't need your caution; he needs your help, which you could grant if you'd just give me that artifact and release me so that I can deliver it!"

He scowled, his hands opening and closing at his sides. "You will not be reasonable."

"If you mean will I accept your bullying, then the answer is no."

"Fine." He crossed to another chair, swooped it up, and tossed it out the window as well. He did it again, and yet again. The cool outside air began to wash over the room as it emptied, stirring the curtains and making Mary shiver as wood splintered upon the courtyard below.

As Erroll reached for the final chair, this one a lovely cushioned one covered with embroidered tapestry, she could bear no more. "Oh, stop! It's a horrid waste. Those are beautiful chairs."

He shrugged. "If I wish to replace them, I'll order more." And with that, that last chair joined its fellows on the cobblestones below.

Mary rubbed her forehead. When she was growing up in the vicarage, a chair-especially one as finely made as these-was a treasure to be enjoyed and savored, not something to be tossed away like a broken dish. The wastefulness banished her fear as nothing else could have.

Had Erroll been one of her brothers, she'd have set him to rights with a few well-chosen words. But he was her enemy sworn, so she held her anger like a shield, using her scorn as her bolster in the coming confrontation.

Mary didn't know what Michael would do in this situation, and suddenly she didn't care. She'd handle this her own way. If the furnishings mean so little to him, then let him toss all of them.

She eyed the remaining furniture, then pointed to a small stool. "I could make noise with that."

His brows snapped down. "You challenge me, woman."

"Someone needs to."

Scowling as blackly as a pirate, he strode to the stool, s.n.a.t.c.hed it up, and tossed it out the window.

She waited until she heard the crash from the courtyard before she pointed to the tapestry-covered seat to the dressing table. "And that."