He didn't believe her, but he let it go. "And instead, you slept away the next few hours in the city jail."

"Yes."

She hadn't slept for long, and when she came to herself, she'd lain quietly in her cot, trying to come to grips with what had brought her to this awful state. The knife had turned once in her heart, but she wouldn't allow it to turn again.

So she'd lain there, thinking, thinking, thinking, gradually gathering her strength, subduing all her emotions. Her thoughts had drifted to Stoneleigh and what awaited her there. There was no turning back now. But first, she had to find a way to disarm Max Worthe.

She couldn't allow herself to think of him as "Max" anymore, the foppish Corinthian who had charmed his way through her defenses. He was the Courier's special correspondent, the man who had practically crucified her in his paper and vowed that the Courier would never give up the search to find William Neville's body.

With the wisdom of hindsight, she'd examined every encounter she'd ever had with Max, going back to the night he'd climbed through her window. He'd made her believe that he was a bored fop with time hanging on his hands. He'd wanted only one thing: to get close to her so that he could get a story for his paper. Such a man wouldn't give up easily.

But neither would she.

Her head was bent as she refilled her empty cup, and Max made a leisurely study of her profile. This was the face of the woman he'd seen at her trial, calm and unaffected. But she wasn't calm and unaffected. She'd retreated behind a wall of ice to protect herself. He didn't want to smash the ice. He wanted to melt it.

"Why did you come back, Sara?" he asked quietly.

"I had left everything here, my money, my clothes. I had to come back for them."

"I think not. You're a resourceful young woman. You could have found a way to return to Bath without coming back here. So why are we in this parlor? Why are you talking to me? I would have expected you to storm from the room when I entered and lock yourself in your own chamber."

No fool, Max Worthe, and that was something she'd better remember. "What good would that do? You've been hounding me for years. It's true that I'd like nothing better than to forget I ever met you. Yes, I'd like to go on with my life. But it's not going to be that simple, is it, Max? You want your story, and nothing is going to stand in your way."

She let out a long, sighing breath. "I've decided, on thinking it over, that the only way to get rid of you is to answer your questions. That will be something for the Courier, won't it, to be the only newspaper ever to publish an interview with Sara Carstairs? Just think about it, Max. You may triple the Courier's circulation. That's all you were ever interested in anyway, increasing the circulation of your paper."

During this long monologue, Max's feelings had progressed from guilt to irritation, then finally to full-blown annoyance. He knew he'd made mistakes with her, but he wasn't a cold-blooded villain.

"Now, just a minute, Sara-"

But Sara wasn't in the mood to be interrupted. "I want something in return. I want your promise that if I answer all your questions, you'll hold off publishing the story until I've left England."

"You're ... leaving England?"

"Just as soon as it can be arranged. It may take a little longer, now that you've chased Mr. Townsend away, but yes, that's what I intend to do. What I must do."

She was trying to slam the door again on anything that might be between them. And maybe he shouldn't blame her. Even a week ago, he hadn't been sure of where he stood. But now that he was sure, it was mortifying to see that she had a long way to go to catch up with him.

And she was still in trouble up to her pretty little ears.

He would play the game her way, but if she thought she could get rid of him that easily, she was way off the mark.

"Promise me," she said, "that you'll hold off publishing the interview until I've left England."

He nodded.

"I want to hear you say the words."

"I promise," he said harshly.

She took a long, leisurely swallow of tea and gazed at him over the rim of her cup. "So," she said, "what is it you wish to know?"

"You can begin by telling-" He stopped when she took another sip of tea. "b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!" He got up, went to the door and opened it. "George!" he roared.

George arrived so quickly that it was apparent he'd been hanging around in the corridor. "Don't worry, George," said Max laconically as the young clerk tried to get a peek at Sara over Max's broad shoulders, "I haven't eaten your pet lamb yet, but if you don't bring me a pot of fresh coffee and a plate of fresh sandwiches, on the double, mind, I'll start by sharpening my fangs on you. Do you take my meaning?"

George did. He threw Max a look of reproach, squared his shoulders, and stalked off.

"And," roared Max after him, "remember I'm a carnivore. So don't bring me any of that cheese and cuc.u.mber pap."

He shut the door with a snap and returned to his chair. He glared at Sara. "What are you laughing at?"

She didn't know. She didn't feel like laughing, but laughter swept through her anyway. "I don't know. You. George. I doubt if he knows what 'carnivore' means. I wonder what kind of sandwiches he will bring."

He smiled too. "I like it when you smile. Your eyes get lighter, clearer. I could drown in them."

Her smile instantly vanished. "That," she said, "is the kind of twaddle I'd expect to hear from an adolescent."

"I can do better."

"Don't bother. You wanted to ask me some questions."

"Ah, yes, the interview." He looked down at his clasped hands then looked up with a rueful grin. "There's something I'd like to get out of the way first. I want to apologize, Sara. When I caught up to you in Bath, I should have told you straight out about my connection to the Courier. As I said, I was afraid that you'd take off and I'd never see you again. And, I'll be honest, I wanted the story."

He paused, then went on, "And I'm sorry about Stoneleigh. I'm sorry that my newspaper made life miserable for you. I know it sounds inadequate, but I don't know what else to say."

Her brows rose slowly. "Does this approach usually work for you, Max?"

"I'm sincere," he protested.

"No, what you are is transparent. You want to win my trust so that I'll tell you everything you want to know." She gave him a bland smile. "I don't trust you, Max, but I've made a bargain with you, and I always keep my word."

"The trouble with you, Sara, is that you have a suspicious mind."

"Yes, I know. Now can we get on with it?"

There were times, thought Max, when Sara's cool stare made him want to shake her, as now. But she'd had enough shocks tonight, and she deserved to be treated with kid gloves.

The devil, she did! Not after what she'd put him through! "You can begin," he said, "by telling me what in h.e.l.l's name possessed you to place that stupid advertis.e.m.e.nt in the Chronicle. Where were your brains, woman?"

When her eyes flashed with sudden fire, Max sat back in his chair and enjoyed the spectacle. Her calm gray eyes had taken on the turbulence of a choppy sea.

"If you take that tone with me," she said, "I won't say another word."

"In that case," said Max pleasantly, "let me rephrase the question: Why was it necessary for you to marry Mr. Townsend?"

"It was the only way to break my father's trust fund. I want that money now, not in a year when I turn twenty-five. I want to protect my family, especially my sister. And that's the only way I know how to do it."

Max's brows were knit in a frown. "Protect them from what?"

"From William Neville," she said starkly.

"You think William is alive? Then he did send you notes?"

"Yes."

"They're not in your reticule."

"No. That was just an excuse to get away from you. I'm afraid I burned them, so I can't show them to you!"

"You told me in Reading that William was dead."

"I don't know what to believe. Sometimes I wish he was dead. He was a brute, an animal. I know it's wrong to feel this way, but I can't help it. William Neville has caused enough grief to my family. I won't let him hurt them again."

This was something he would return to later, thought Max, after he'd learned the more salient facts. "Tell me about the notes."

"They started arriving about six months ago." She paused as she cast her mind back. "No, less than six months."

"Were they hand delivered?"

She hesitated, then said, "No. They came from the post office in Winchester. It doesn't matter who wrote them. The point is, someone is stalking me. And if it's William ... " She shuddered. "If anything happens to me, Anne inherits practically everything. William is her husband. He'll finally get what he's always wanted-the Carstairs fortune."

Max said, "Why should William want the Carstairs fortune? He is ... was Sir Ivor's heir."

"William quarreled with his father long before he married Anne. All I know is that he was always short of money."

Sir Ivor had not mentioned a quarrel to Max. After a moment, he went on, "But you were in hiding. How could William or anyone else know where to find you?"

She shrugged. "I write to my family. They write to me. I suppose one of them became careless. I really don't how he found me."

Sara stood up, and Max saw that she was trembling. "I'm going to stop him. I'm not going to let him win this time." She looked at Max. "And the only way I can do that is to break my father's trust fund and distribute the moneys as he always intended me to, equally among all his children. As soon as that's done, I'll start a new life in America with Anne."

Max said slowly, "You were going to marry Townsend just to inherit your father's fortune, a fortune that would come to you in another year anyway? That sounds extreme."

She sat down as suddenly as she'd risen. "Didn't you hear what I said? He's stalking me. I was in hiding yet he found me. I can't shake him off. Sooner or later, he'll catch up to me. If he kills me, Anne will become his next victim. The only way to stop him is to break the trust fund now."

Max thought for a moment. "You said Anne inherits everything if anything happens to you?"

"Most of it. There would be a small legacy for Simon and Martin and Lucy."

"And you've never considered that your sister, Anne, may be behind the notes? It seems to me that William isn't the only one with a motive for doing away with you. Your brothers and sisters-"

"You're wrong!" she said fiercely. "My family is incapable of such a thing."

He could see that he'd hit a raw nerve. She'd thought about it, all right, but she just couldn't face it. But now he understood why she'd wanted to marry Townsend before she returned to Stoneleigh. With her father's fortune equally divided, no one would have a motive for killing her, not William or anyone else.

He said finally, "Then could it be someone else? Someone who bears a grudge against you? Who are your enemies, Sara?"

"William and his father. And his friends perhaps. And the only other I can think of is you, Max, or rather, the Courier!"

"The Courier does not hold grudges. We try to get to the truth."

"No matter who gets hurt in the process!"

His jaw clenched and he said abruptly, "Tell me about the notes. What did they say?"

"Very little. I remember one said, 'Time to pay the piper,' and another, 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder.' They were all in that vein. It doesn't seem so frightening now, talking to you, but when I received them, I was terrified."

"And you're sure they were in William's hand."

"I know William's writing. He wrote letters to me before."

"Of course. I was forgetting that you and he were lovers."

That careless remark catapulted their conversation onto a different plane entirely. She stiffened. He squared his jaw.

Sara said, "You're the last one to preach morality to me, Max."

"I didn't sleep with my brother's wife."

"You slept with Deirdre. She's someone's wife, or so you told me."

"That's different. She has an understanding with her husband."

She eyed him coolly. "Maybe I was doing Anne a favor. Maybe she and William had an understanding as well. Why are you so angry?"

"I'm not angry." He raked her with angry eyes. "What I am is amazed. You said yourself that William was an animal. How could you have given yourself to such a man?"

Her fingers curled into claws. "You don't care about William." Then, because she was torn between anger and hurt, she added for good measure, "Or the others. Is that what is making you angry, Max? You've heard about my legion of lovers and you're sorry now that you didn't take me when you had the chance? Well, what's stopping you? You must know that I'm not fussy."

With lightning swiftness, he reached across the table, and his long fingers bit into the soft flesh of her arms. "If I thought for a moment that you meant that-"

"What?" she taunted, angry past caring.

"Don't test me, Sara, or you may not like the result."

She stared at him, wide-eyed, her breathing labored and audible. Every harsh line on his face warned her that his control was ready to snap. She'd heedlessly provoked him, but she'd never imagined he would react with such violence.

Max let her go and abruptly stood up. He, too, was appalled at his reaction to her taunts. Never would he have believed that he was capable of threatening a woman in such a base manner. How could he, Max Worthe, who'd been raised to treat all women with courtesy if not chivalry, have threatened her? And what was it about this woman that could arouse him to such anger?

He took a long, calming breath. "It was an empty threat. I hope you will believe that."

She was silent.

He should say more, but he didn't know how to apologize for something he didn't understand himself. "All this," he said, "is a long way from an exclusive interview for the Courier. Shall we return to neutral ground?"

She spoke quietly and without hesitation. "Yes, I think that would be best."

He moved to the fireplace, preserving as much s.p.a.ce as possible between them in that small room. He didn't want to remind her of his superior strength.