"In other words, you are concerned."

"If she were some nameless woman of low birth, I think I could get an acquittal because there is no hard evidence. However, your public affair makes it clear she yearned to be free, and that will affect matters. Unless something new develops, I will tell you that I am not optimistic."

Julian had entered this tavern with a weight lodged in his chest. He had hoped against all rational sense that Knightridge would display supreme confidence and put his own growing fears to rest. Instead, Knightridge had only confirmed them.

He imagined Pen sitting in Laclere's house. He saw her facing the questions and then being led away. He pictured her in prison.

He felt her fear as if they shared one soul.

"I am sorry, Hampton. I feel as though I should quote you some poetry to soothe your distress. The problem with poetry is that it doesn't solve real problems, does it?"

A sarcastic response formed in Julian's mind, but it died before it reached his lips. Another reaction obliterated it.

He sorted through an idea that had presented itself.

Actually, in this case, poetry might solve the problem completely.

Chapter Twenty-three.

Laclere entered Julian's study on Russell Square the next night. Without saying a word he poured himself some port. He positioned himself near Julian's chair by the fireplace while he sipped it.

He looked terrible. Drawn and tired. The creases between his eyebrows appeared permanently etched now.

"The police are asses," he muttered. "I question whether it was wise to form the institution when such stupid men are drawn to the duty. That Lovejoy is offensive. I think the earl's death means he is out some private employment, the way he impugns my sister."

"How is Pen faring?"

"She is very brave. Braver than I am, I will tell you that. I am sickened by the whole matter. I see a dreadful future unfolding for her, and I can do nothing to spare her."

Julian set aside the book he had been reading. "Actually, perhaps you can."

"Is that why you asked me to call? If there is a perhaps, explain it to me and I will make it for certain.''

"It will require that you do something somewhat dishonorable, and admit to it."

"To hell with honor. We are speaking of my sister's life. Be plain, Hampton. I am in no mood for subtlety."

"The surest way to spare Pen from arrest is to offer someone else to the police instead."

"Yes, but who? Even Knightridge has no theories on who really killed Glasbury."

"I did not go home that night after we parted outside the club, Vergil. I did not go to Penelope, either. I was not anywhere that anyone saw me. For two hours I was about in the city, alone. I later visited your sister, and the night footman can attest to when I entered your house."

Laclere's expression fell. He looked to the fire. "I cannot permit this. I will not have you sacrifice yourself."

"Are you positive that is what I am doing?"

Laclere's gaze snapped back to him.

Julian assumed his coolest reserve so that his friend's questioning eyes would find no answer. The air in the study got very thick.

"There are incriminating papers, written in my hand," Julian said. "They are in a drawer in that desk over there. If you had the slightest cause to suspect me, you might be excused for taking an opportunity to look through that desk to see if there was anything that might save your sister." He rose from his chair.

"Hell, you don't expect me to"

"I do expect it."

"It is"

"Dishonorable? To hell with honor, you just said."

"That is different. You are innocent, and you are a friend."

"You do not know I am innocent. As for our friendship, if that is what stops you, I will end it before I

leave this chamber."

They faced each other in silence.

Hearing no more protests, Julian strode to the door.

An hour later, Julian returned to the study.

Laclere sat at the desk reading a sheet of paper. Other papers were piled on the desktop. Several had

been set aside in their own special stack. He looked up when Julian entered. He dropped the paper, sank back in the chair, and gestured to the pile.

"Some of these are very old."

"Yes."

"I found the ones where you plot about killing Glasbury, of course." He glanced to the separate little group. "Duels and whatnot. Not really murder."

"They will be enough. I think that you should take them all, however. The history will establish my motive better. It will convince them I am not just trying to be chivalrous by substituting myself for her."

Laclere lifted the paper he had been reading. "You must have been, what, sixteen when you wrote this poem to her. And the lettersI had no idea, Julian."

"Didn't you?"

Laclere let the paper fall. "Perhaps, back then. Milton said something I assumed it passed, as youthful tendres do. I never suspected" he gestured to the stack again, with bewildered amazement.

"I thought it would pass, too. I counted on it. Waited for it. Made every attempt to encourage it. But it did not pass. Do you think I am a fool?"

"Hell, no. God, no. I am stunned, that is all. By your loyalty and your love. Actually, I am more than a little in awe."

"Tie them up and take them. It will be all they need those, and the reports of that argument in the club, and my hours alone that night. The police will be relieved to know it is me and not a countess. It will make things easier for them."

Laclere hesitated, then began stacking the papers neatly. "I did not realize you had such a talent with the pen, either. Your words are quite moving. The stories, the verseto think my sister spent all these years surrounding herself with writers, and unknown to her the finest one was standing in front of her, totally silent about his abilities. I should have guessed, I suppose, considering those little epics of yours that enthralled us when we were young."

"These were private, and never intended for the public eye."

"They will not be private soon. Can you bear that?"

"Yes." He could bear anything for her.

Laclere tied the papers into a bundle. He stared at them for a while, then rose. "I will sleep on this and decide what to do."

Julian knew Laclere would want to contemplate the choice, but they both knew what the decision had to be.

Laclere opened the door. With his hand on the latch, he turned back. "I know why you are doing this. I would do the same for Bianca. But there is no need for a lie between us. You can admit to me that you did not kill him."

Julian turned his back on Laclere. Moments later he heard the door close behind his friend.

Pen sat in the garden on a bench beneath a tree. The sun was shining. That raised her spirits a little. It did not completely dispel the clouds in her, however. Ominous dark ones hovered. They made her churn like the sea when a storm approaches.

She kept the panic contained, but it was always there, threatening to conquer her. Maintaining her composure was easier when she was alone. Seeing her brothers worry, watching the dullness that had claimed her friends' moods, only made it harder.

Waiting was the worst part. It reminded her of when she lived with the earl and she knew he would be coming to punish her. He was dead now, but here she was, living again with the sickening anticipation of pain and humiliation that she had experienced back then. The waiting was worse than the reality.

Soon the waiting would end.

Last night Laclere had been so quiet, so brooding, that her sense of danger had spiked. Then Dante had visited, and he and Vergil had disappeared into the study. When Dante emerged, he looked so dismayed that she had wanted to comfort him.

A funereal mood had claimed the house this morning. Everyone knew that the police were coming to speak with her today.

She would not be able to exonerate herself. They would put her in prison.

She might never sit in the sunshine amidst a garden again.

Her eyes misted. She held onto her sense by a thin thread. She groped her way back to some control.

The thud of the garden door made her jump. Steps sounded on the path. Her heart began beating so hard she felt the throbbing in her temples.

The police must be here. Laclere was coming to bring her to them.

She closed her eyes and gathered her dignity. She would not embarrass herself or her family. She would behave with the decorum appropriate to her station.

The steps stopped in front of her. Bracing herself, she opened her eyes.

"Julian!"

He smiled and sat down beside her. "The day is unseasonably fair."

She looked up the garden path. "No chaperones?"

His arm circled her and he drew her near. "No chaperones."

They had not been alone in over a week, since that dreadful day. He had not touched her since they made love in the library. "I have missed you terribly." "My love is always with you, even if I am not."

It was the first time he had used the word. It made her heart glow to hear it. She was glad that he also thought what they shared was love. He did not mean it the way she felt it, but just the word made it more special than friendship or passion or affection.

"I know that. But it is good to have you with me, too, now. Especially since" She bit back the words. She did not want to ruin the tiny oasis of peace that had just formed.

He caressed her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her hair. "I am sorry that you had to suffer such fear, darling. You no longer do. You will still be questioned, I expect, but not today. You are no longer suspected."

"I am not? What has happened?"

"They have turned their attention elsewhere."

Her heart skipped a beat, then broke in the best way. A glorious relief sparkled through her. She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a happy kiss.

They both smiled at the same time and their teeth knocked. She giggled and looked up at him. His mood matched her own. She could not remember seeing him so happy, so clearly light of heart. Almost boyish.

"I cannot believe it. Just last night my brothers appeared to be preparing for my wake. Even this morning"

"Knightridge just sent the word to Laclere and me. Believe it, Pen. You are safe now."

"As you promised I would be." She nuzzled the crook of his neck and inhaled deeply. She would not have to cling to memories of his scent and strength now. She would actually have him in her arms.

"Once this has passed, can we go back to the cottage, Julian? I would love that. Just you and me. I want to make love in that chamber of yours that overlooks the sea. You said that the sounds of the surf are so clear it is as if you are lying on the waves."

He tucked her closer and buried his face in her hair. He just held her like that for a precious, perfect minute.

"We will go there as soon as we can."

She could hardly contain how wonderful she felt. "I keep giggling like a fool, but it is as if I am really alive. The sun is warmer and the breeze fresher. Oh, Julian, this is the grandest day. To be truly free of fearto be out of all the shadows, old and newI hardly know what to do with myself."