Marcus rubbed his chin. "He took nothing because he didn't find what he was looking for." He frowned. "Or...if he is convinced that I am the person who attacked him, and I have it on good authority that he may very well think that, then the whole object could have been simply to strike back at me."

"Garrett has talked to you, I take it?" At Marcus's curt nod, Jack went on, "He talked to me, too, relating his conversation with Whitley, so that possibility also occurred to me. Whitley strikes me as a t.i.t-for-tat sort of fellow," Jack admitted. "He might very well have broken in and left the rooms in a jumble simply for spite. There was an unnecessary degree of violence and destruction about the whole affair that arouses the suspicion that our housebreaker was venting his rage."

"It has to be that," Marcus said slowly. "Unless..." Unless, the unwelcome thought occurred to him, Whitley had been looking for the locket. What the devil, he wondered, was in the b.l.o.o.d.y thing?

"Unless?" Jack prompted.

Since it was not his secret to reveal, Marcus made a face and said, "Nothing, I am merely thinking aloud."

Jack looked at him closely. Marcus was not a very good liar, but he could hardly call him on it and he was willing to let the moment slide. "So what do you want to do?" Jack asked.

"For the moment my hands are tied. We don't know that it was Whitley who broke into the house and I can hardly walk smash up to the man and give him a leveler, now can I?"

"You could," Jack said with a grin.

Marcus grinned back. "And I may yet. I a.s.sume that you have taken steps to insure that if our housebreaker returns he will not find the house such an easy mark?"

"Yes, Thompson has ordered stout locks installed on the doors and for two of your strongest footmen to sleep on the ground floor of the house for the time being."

The two men discussed the situation, but when nothing new came to light, eventually Jack took his leave to return to Sherbrook Hall. Marcus was thoughtful after his cousin rode away, wondering about the break-in and the locket, but deciding not to waste time in useless speculation, he pushed the subject away...for the moment. Whitley was going to have to be dealt with sooner or later and a most un-Marcuslike look crossed his face and his hands curled into fists. Whitley was going to learn painfully that it was rude and impolite to break into another man's house....

The next twenty-four hours neither dragged nor sped by, but pa.s.sed at a steady pace. The baron appeared to improve by the minute and, by the next day no one, not even the dour Mr. Seward, considered him at death's door any longer. Tuesday morning Lord Manning had eyed the bowl of barley broth on his tray and insisted that if they didn't want him to die of starvation, someone dashed-well-better see to it that he was served some decent food and not this b.l.o.o.d.y tasteless pap. Edmund let out a whoop, Marcus and Isabel exchanged delighted looks, and Mrs. Appleton's plump little face was wreathed in smiles. Deering, grinning in a most unbutlerly way, was elated and returned shortly with a tray groaning with scrambled eggs, ham, rashers of bacon, spiced applesauce, and a plate piled high with toast. With Mrs. Appleton seldom far from his side, the baron continued to recover rapidly, and while there were still lingering effects from the stroke, notably a slight droop of his left eyelid and weakness on his left side, by Friday he was finally able to leave his bedroom.

The night Lord Manning joined the family for dinner in the dining room was a joyous one and the staff and family rose to the occasion. The crystal gleamed, the silverware glittered, and the linen tablecloth, tenderly washed and ironed by Mrs. Deering herself, was as white as new-fallen snow. Deering and the footmen moved effortlessly about the big room, seeing that nothing was lacking-and Cook? Well, Cook had outdone herself. Flemish soup; spring lamb, surrounded by early peas and tiny potatoes; fat, green asparagus; b.u.t.tered lobster; creamed cauliflower; a fine veal roast; and jellies and creams of infinite variety graced the table. Dressed as if for a London soiree-Isabel in a charming confection of rose crepe, Mrs. Appleton wearing a gown of green striped silk, and the gentlemen, including Edmund, in dark coats and pale knee breeches-were all gathered around the table ready to enjoy the leisurely meal. Mrs. Appleton's brother, Bishop Latimer; Garrett; Jack; and Marcus's mother had been hastily invited to celebrate the baron's return to health.

Several toasts were offered and, at the end of the meal, somewhat slowly, the baron rose to his feet and offered a toast. Smiling at Marcus and Isabel, he said, "To the newlyweds: Marcus and Isabel, may you have a long and happy marriage." The toast was duly drunk and then, a twinkle in his blue eyes, Lord Manning said, "I think it is past time for the pair of you to begin your life together. There is no longer any reason for you to be underfoot here at Manning Court. I think within the next day or so that the new Mr. and Mrs. Sherbrook should take up residence in Sherbrook Hall."

Isabel's heart stuttered in her breast. "Oh, but, milord, you still need-"

"Hush, my child," admonished the baron. "These past days you and Marcus have placed my needs above your own." He smiled tenderly at her. "While I am most grateful, it is time for your sacrifice, willing though it is, to cease. You have your own lives to live and you don't need to be wasting any more precious days on a doddering old man."

"But-" Isabel began helplessly. It was happening too soon, she thought frantically. She'd a.s.sumed she had weeks, perhaps months before she'd have to face the reality of being Marcus's wife, and yet, if the baron had his way, tomorrow night she'd be installed in Sherbrook Hall and there would be no escape. She glanced at Marcus, almost as if seeking his aid.

Their eyes met and, after a long moment, Marcus looked at Lord Manning and said lightly, "As you well know, milord, it is no sacrifice. We do this gladly, for as long as need be. Isabel and I are planning on being married a long time. Another week or two will cost us nothing." It wasn't what he wanted to say but he could not ignore the appeal in those big tawny eyes of hers. The days since their wedding had been h.e.l.l as far as he was concerned. Knowing his wife lay just down the hall from him had kept Marcus tossing and turning in his bed at Manning Court every b.l.o.o.d.y night for nearly a week. He didn't want to think of the evenings he had paced the dark halls of his lordship's house, aching and yearning to lie abed with his bride. That she felt entirely different had not escaped him and he wondered at her reluctance. Did she find him repulsive? Now that was a rather lowering thought.

His mother's words broke into his speculation. "I think it is an excellent idea!" Barbara Sherbrook said bracingly. "Now that the marriage has taken place and his lordship is returning to health, I have been thinking of going to Brighton. I don't wish to return to London and, besides, before long everyone will be coming to the seash.o.r.e, anyway." Smiling at her son, she added, "Jack and I have discussed it and he has some business in town and is willing to escort me to Brighton before leaving for London." She beamed at Isabel. "I think a new bride should have her home all to herself for a few months before she has to put up with a meddling mother-in-law."

"And I'm sure that you would be wishing me to the very devil," Jack chimed in. He glanced at Garrett. "As soon as your mother is settled in Brighton and I see to a few things in town, I shall return." He grinned at Marcus. "You needn't worry I'll be underfoot; Garrett has begged me, in view of your marriage, to keep him company at Holcombe."

Marcus looked from Jack's guileless face to Garrett's impa.s.sive one. Now what the devil were those two up to? And when had they become such fast friends? It was true he had been preoccupied of late, but what about the memorandum and Whitley's possible involvement in its theft? Had Jack decided Whitley was innocent? Had the memorandum been found and was no longer a concern? But wouldn't Jack have told him?

Garrett murmured, "Jack and I thought you might enjoy some privacy."

"Did you now?" Marcus commented. "How very kind of you." He cast a look around the table, before his gaze came to rest on Isabel's face. Smiling ruefully, he said, "Well, my dear, it would seem that everybody has been very busy on our behalf and that we would be churlish not to accept the plans they have made for us."

Isabel slapped on as happy a smile as she could and said, "It is very kind of everyone and we thank you." Something occurred to her and she glanced at Mrs. Appleton, sitting across the table from her. "Will you be returning home soon, too?"

Mrs. Appleton blushed like a green girl and the baron cleared his throat. When Isabel looked at him, he said, "And that brings me to the most important toast of the evening." His gaze on Mrs. Appleton, he said softly, "A toast to my future bride! Clara has done me the honor of accepting my proposal."

Several more toasts were drunk and there was an excited chatter around the table. When the first flush of conversation had begun to die down, Marcus asked, "When is the wedding? In the fall?"

Lord Manning shook his head. Grinning at Marcus he said, "Clara and I liked your wedding so much, we've decided to do the same. Her brother will provide the special license and he will marry us in the morning!"

Chapter 11.

From the expressions of those gathered around the table, it was apparent that Marcus and Isabel were the only ones who were taken by surprise by Lord Manning's announcement and the plans put forth by his mother. Even Jack and Garrett seemed to know what was afoot. Now that he considered it, Marcus realized that there had been an unusual amount of activity in and out of the house all day long, but he had thought nothing of it. Even his mother's early arrival, which had coincided with Bishop Latimer's arrival and their private visit with Lord Manning and Mrs. Appleton before dinner this evening, had not seemed out of the ordinary. It was obvious now that they had all put their heads together and plotted tonight's stunning announcement. But there was more to follow and, looking proud and thrilled at the same time, Edmund blurted out, "And I am to go with Mrs. Sherbrook to Brighton!" His face flushed with pleasure, he said, "She says that as my new grandmother, it is her duty to see that I gain some town bronze." Nearly vibrating with excitement, the brilliant blue eyes glittering, he added, "Oh, Mother! Is it not grand? Once Grandfather marries Mrs. Appleton, I shall have two grandmothers instead of none at all!"

The ground cut beneath her feet, Isabel could only smile and nod. While the other arrangements might fill her with trepidation, she could respond wholeheartedly to Edmund's open delight. "Wonderful, indeed!" she said, smiling warmly into her son's face. Only to herself would she admit that she was dreading the removal to Sherbrook Hall and what would come....

On a lovely morning near the end of the first week in May, Lord Manning took Clara Appleton to be his bride. The wedding party had grown slightly; the vicar and his wife, as well as Sir James and Lady Agatha, had been apprised of the impending nuptials and were in attendance. After a charming exchange of vows in the gardens abloom with roses, a wedding breakfast was served that put to shame anything the finest London chef could have prepared. By end of the meal, though there was a broad grin on his face, the baron was looking tired and there was a flurry of good-byes as the house quickly emptied.

The intervening twenty-four hours had flashed past Isabel in a blur. She had overseen the packing of Edmund's things that would go to Brighton with him and the packing of her own most necessary items for removal to Sherbrook Hall. While Deering and the staff had eagerly thrown themselves into the preparation for the wedding, there was still much that called for Isabel's attention, and she had spent hours consulting with Deering, Mrs. Deering, and Cook to ensure that all went without incident. She had tried to confer with Clara on some points, but Clara had merely patted her cheek and murmured, "My dear, I shall be quite happy to leave everything in your capable hands. Tomorrow will be soon enough for me to take up the position of lady of the house." Beaming at her, Clara had added, "There is no use confusing the staff with the pair of us giving them orders, and I know that you shall do a splendid job."

Freed from any restrictions that might have been imposed upon her by the bride, Isabel had set to work seeing that the baron's wedding was without incident. From the erection of the blue silk canopy under which the bride and groom would stand and the bouquets of lilies and baby's breath that adorned the corners, to the tiny puff pastries filled with shrimp served at the breakfast that followed, all had pa.s.sed by her for approval. She was glad of the distraction because it kept her from dwelling on what the night might hold for her.

Her trunks had been sent over to Sherbrook Hall hours ago; Lord Manning, his bride by his side, had retired upstairs; Jack, Mrs. Sherbrook, and Edmund had been the last to leave and after hugging Edmund she had waved them good-bye only a few moments ago. She had bid a tearful farewell to Deering and the other servants and now Marcus's carriage awaited her just outside the big doors of Manning Court. Standing alone in the entryway of the house that had been her home for a decade, she felt bereft and fearful of the future.

I should be happy, she told herself fiercely. My son has two doting grandmothers where before he had none. Lord Manning, whom I love dearly, is on his way to recovery and has one of the kindest women I have ever known as his bride. I am not leaving him alone. He and Clara will be happy here together. There is so much in my life, she thought wretchedly, that should make me happy. I have a handsome husband. A good man. A man, she admitted with a catch in her heart, I have loved nearly all my life. So why am I so miserable?

One of the doors opened and Marcus stood there, smiling at her. "Are you ready, my dear?" he asked quietly.

Suppressing all her fears and anxiety, her head came up, her spine stiffened, and, pulling on the lavender gloves that matched her muslin gown, she murmured, "Yes. I am." She glanced around the entry hall one more time. "It isn't," she said as much to rea.s.sure herself as anything, "as if I'm moving that far away."

Marcus had not been idle during the preceding twenty-four hours. With Isabel enmeshed in the plans for the wedding and the packing to remove to Sherbrook Hall, beyond giving Bickford his orders, there was little he could do at Manning Court. Deciding this would be an excellent time to talk to Jack before his cousin left to escort his mother and Edmund to Brighton, and from there to travel to London, he excused himself and rode home.

Looking slightly hara.s.sed, Thompson met him as he walked across the wide foyer. "Mr. Sherbrook! I didn't expect to see you until you brought home your bride. Is all well?"

"Yes. Everything is fine. I just wanted a word with Jack before he left for London."

"Oh. You'll find him and Mr. Garrett in your office." Thompson paused and, a frown creasing his forehead, he said, "I hesitate to bother with what may be nothing...." At Marcus's questioning look he said in a rush, "There has been some suspicious activity around the house at night ever since the break-in. As you know, since then, we've taken to locking the house after dark and have had two of the footmen, young Daniel and George, sleeping on the main floor of the house. Both of them have said that more than once they thought they heard someone attempting to find a way into the house, but when they've investigated, they've found nothing out of the ordinary. It happened again last night." His expression troubled he said, "I do not understand it. Daniel and George are convinced that someone is still trying to get into the house. The whole affair has been most unsettling."

Marcus kept his features bland, but his brain was working furiously. What the devil was Whitley up to? Or was he mistaken in believing that Whitley had been the culprit in the first place? It made no sense for the intruder to be anyone other than Whitley, but if so, then why was the man still skulking about the house? Deciding he'd have a conversation with the two footmen later in the day, Marcus sought to allay some of Thompson's concerns. "This past week," Marcus said mildly, "has been one of great ups and downs. All of us have had our normal routines turned topsy-turvy and the break-in certainly only added to the extraordinary events taking place. As for George and Daniel, I will speak with them later this afternoon." He smiled at Thompson. "Knowing those two rascals, I suppose they imagined a horde of bloodthirsty robbers hiding in the shrubbery. Things are returning to normal and I suspect that the situation will resolve itself harmlessly before much time elapses." Especially, he thought savagely, if I get my hands on Whitley.

Putting away Thompson's disturbing revelations for the time being, Marcus strode through the house in search of his cousin. As Thompson had said, he found Jack closeted with Garrett in his office. Both men looked comfortable as they sprawled in the chairs by the empty fireplace and Marcus sensed that he had interrupted a private meeting. He noted the friendly ease between the two men, but wasn't surprised. They were of the same age and background and the pair of them, though they would vigorously deny it, were adventure mad. Smiling, he continued on into the room and half sat on the arm of the sofa that faced the fireplace and the two men.

Talk was general for several moments, with the baron's impending nuptials taking up the lion's share of the conversation.

"So," Marcus said to Jack after a while, "how long do you think you will be in London?"

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. Garrett and I were discussing that very thing when you came in."

"That and a mutual acquaintance of ours," Garrett said with a wry grin. "Roxbury."

Marcus looked astounded. "Never tell me," he said as he looked from one face to the other, before his gaze settled on Jack, "that his grace has enlisted someone else in our little problem."

"Indeed he has," Jack admitted. "I would remind you that there is some urgency to the matter and Roxbury felt that you and I might have our hands full and that another pair might be useful."

Since there was no way to tiptoe around the subject, Marcus motioned to Garrett and said, "Am I to understand, then, that Garrett is fully in our confidence?"

Jack nodded. "I was bowled over when he gave me the note from Roxbury the day after you married Isabel."

A hint of embarra.s.sment on his face, Garrett said to Marcus, "I apologize for not telling you at once, but Roxbury was vague about who was involved. I was told that I should see Jack and give him the letter of introduction that Roxbury provided. Jack and I had only spoken briefly before I came to call at Manning Court and he hadn't mentioned, at that time, your involvement. When Jack and I met later, he told me all, but there was never a moment to bring you current."

"Actually," Jack said, "it has been a good thing. With you tied up at Manning Court, Garrett's help has been much appreciated. Between the pair of us we have been able to keep a close eye on Whitley."

"For all the good it has done us," Garrett said disgustedly. Glancing at Marcus, he added, "I have spent far too many nights drinking with the man. I am noted for being a good tankard man myself, but I am appalled at the amount of liquor he can consume-and still be coherent." Thoughtfully, he continued, "The liquor does loosen his tongue, but so far he has said nothing that would help us."

Thinking of Thompson's concerns, Marcus inquired, "Were you with him last night?"

Garrett nodded, curiosity evident in his eyes. "As I am most nights. Why?"

"Thompson informed me that someone has been trying to get into the house. There was, if my two footmen are to be believed, another attempt last night. Whitley seems the most likely candidate."

Garrett made a face. "Well, I don't crawl into bed with him, so I can tell you nothing of his activities once we part." He looked thoughtful. "Now that I think of it, there have been a few nights that Whitley has retired early, and by that, I mean around midnight. It's possible that he's been sneaking out later." Garrett frowned. "As I recall, he had an early night last night."

Jack was frowning, too. "I wonder why Thompson didn't mention any of this to me?"

Marcus grinned at him. "While you may have been running tame through my home with my blessing, my servants, thank G.o.d, still remember that I am master here. It probably never occurred to Thompson to say anything to you. He most likely didn't want to trouble a guest with a minor irritation. Remember, he doesn't know what is in the wind."

Jack nodded slowly. "You're right." He glanced at Marcus. "What do you make of it?"

Marcus shrugged. "At best, it is merely Whitley's way of further twisting my tail. At worst..." Marcus scowled. "At worst, he's up to something dangerous and means to attack me in some manner to pay me back for my supposed attack on him."

"Think that's it," Garrett chimed in. "He doesn't say a lot, but when he gets to drinking it's clear he holds a vicious grudge against you. He'd do you damage if he could."

Marcus shrugged again. "Let him try," he said with a note in his voice that made the other two men look at him sharply. He merely smiled and said to Jack, "It appears for all our efforts and suspicions, we have still not discovered any sign that Whitley has the memorandum."

"No, and that is one of the reasons why I am returning to London," Jack admitted. "I must speak with Roxbury and discover if anything else had turned up." Jack looked downcast. "I fear that we have been wasting our time and that the doc.u.ment must either have been taken by someone else, or it really is lost in the files at the Horse Guards." His expression bleak, Jack added, "That b.l.o.o.d.y memorandum is somewhere and, until it is found, whether in Whitley's possession or not, none of us can rest easy." He sighed. "If only we could eliminate Whitley...."

Marcus stared at the tip of his boot, wondering if another dip or two in the fishpond would loosen Whitley's tongue. He suspected not. Having possession of a locket and whatever secrets it held was not quite the same thing as having a doc.u.ment that could lead one to the gallows for treason.

"I've considered getting the man alone and beating the truth out of him," Jack said abruptly, echoing Marcus's thoughts. Wryly, Jack added, "Of course, he could be innocent."

"I know we haven't found any trace of the memorandum, but I don't think he's innocent. He's up to something," argued Garrett. "Don't forget Keating told me that he's seen Whitley being very cozy with Collard, and I know for a fact, when in his cups, Whitley alludes to Collard being in his confidence. Now, he could just be bragging to make himself seem more interesting by being acquainted with someone of Collard's stripe, but I think not. Our major holds himself in rather high esteem, and I can't imagine him rubbing shoulders with one of the local smugglers unless it benefited him in some way. And the only benefit I can see to that relationship is that Collard is a smuggler and has contacts with his French counterparts on the continent."

"But that brings up another question," Jack said. "If Whitley has the memorandum and has made contact with Collard, why the devil is he still here? Why hasn't he lit out for the Channel Islands or France and taken the b.l.o.o.d.y memorandum with him?"

"Because," Marcus said slowly, "he's waiting to hear from the French." At the skeptical looks of the other two men, he added impatiently, "He has something very valuable and he's not a stupid man. He might have previously met the person he's dealing with in France and trusts him. It's even possible that he has already made arrangements for the transference of the memorandum in exchange for gold, but I doubt it. If he stole the memorandum, it was probably a spur-of-the-moment act. From everything we know, his visit to the Horse Guards that day had nothing sinister about it; he was merely going to visit old acquaintances and listen to gossip. Spying the memorandum on Smithfield's desk and having the opportunity to whisk it out from under his very nose must have seemed like divine intervention." He smiled grimly at the other men. "But having the memorandum and making it profitable is another thing. I don't know about you but, if I were in his position, I wouldn't just hop on the first smuggler's ship to France and go traipsing into Paris waving the memorandum under the noses of Napoleon's generals. I'd want to make certain that, number one, I could get back to England with my head still attached to my neck and, number two, that I was well paid for the memorandum and not cheated."

"Of course!" Jack exclaimed, his deep blue eyes glittering with excitement. "He has no guarantee that whomever he meets to give the memorandum to won't just steal it from him and possibly kill him. They have nothing to lose."

"Don't forget: having gotten his price, and presumably in gold, he has to get it back to England," Marcus reminded him.

"So it's most likely that he's using Collard as a go-between to work out the exchange and to transport the money back to England," Garrett muttered. "Which, knowing Collard, would be d.a.m.n risky. I wouldn't put it past Collard to murder him and keep the gold." Glancing at Marcus, he asked, "I wonder if Collard knows what Whitley is up to?"

Marcus shrugged. "Who knows? But while Collard is a smuggler, known to be dangerous and ruthless, and though he might thumb his nose at our Revenuers and trade with the French, in his own fashion, I'd like to think that he's a loyal Englishman." Staring at Garrett, he asked, "How well do you know Collard?"

Garrett smiled ruefully. "Probably better than you. In my, ah, wilder moments, I've been known to consort with, uh, some characters that would never grace the drawing room of even the least member of the ton. I know him and his reputation and I'm aware of a cask or two of truly exceptional French brandy that has found its way to my cellars at Holcombe. And while I've shared more than the occasional tankard with him and others at Keating's inn, we are not bosom friends."

"Bosom friend or not," Marcus said, "I think he would trust you, or rather not mistrust you. You could join him in a drink at Keating's place and discreetly direct the conversation toward his recent activities without raising suspicion." When Garrett nodded, Marcus continued, "What we really need to know is if he has made the crossing to the Channel Islands or France recently. It isn't something he'd tell just anybody, but he might drop a hint-especially if you plied him with enough liquor. And if he dropped a name or two, so much the better."

"I might be able to get some information from Keating himself," Garrett said. He grinned. "Nothing happens in the area that the innkeeper at the Stag Horn doesn't know about. And if he doesn't know about it, his wife most certainly will!" Looking thoughtful, Garrett added, "Keating might also be a very good source to find out how Whitley spends his days." Ruefully, he said, "The various searches of Whitley's room have not gone unnoticed by the major. He's complained to Keating that the servants at the inn have been pilfering his belongings and, since most of the servants are related to Keating, the complaints did not sit well with our innkeeper. I think Keating would be quite happy to fill my ear with his own complaints about the major."

"Very well, then," Marcus said, rising to his feet. "You find out what you can from Keating and Collard, and you, Jack, will be off to London."

"What about you?" Jack asked. "Never say that you are bowing out?"

Marcus shook his head. "No. But there doesn't seem to be much that I can do at the moment that can't better be done by the pair of you." He smiled. "I am a newly married man and, for the next few days, at least, I would very much like to concentrate on my bride."

Returning later that afternoon with Isabel at his side, Marcus considered his next step in the wooing of his recalcitrant bride. Isabel continued to prove d.a.m.ned elusive, and there had been few moments for private conversation-or anything else-since their sudden marriage. Despite the demands Lord Manning's illness placed on her, he was well aware that she could have found more time for them to be together if she had wished and that she had used the baron's ill health as a barrier to keep them apart. Marcus didn't begrudge her the time she had spent with the old man; he'd spent many hours with him also, but that was now at an end. There would be, he thought with antic.i.p.ation as the curricle swung into the wide, circular driveway in front of Sherbrook Hall, no reason why tonight his bride would not sleep in his bed.

Pulling the horses to a gentle stop, he smiled down at Isabel, who sat beside him in the vehicle. "Your new home awaits you, madame."

She smiled shyly up at him. "It is not so very new, you know. Have you forgotten? I practically grew up in your house."

Her breath caught at the intent look in his eyes. "I've forgotten nothing," he murmured in a thickened tone. Then he grinned and said, "Including what a troublesome little hoyden you were."

Ignoring the stab of disappointment she felt, she forced a light note into her voice and challenged, "Aren't you afraid that I shall prove an equally troublesome wife?"

Throwing the reins to the waiting groom and alighting from the curricle, he walked around to the other side to help her down. His hands on her waist, he lifted her effortlessly from the vehicle. Holding her next to him for a moment longer than necessary, he bent his head and gently bit her ear. "I'm sure I shall think of enjoyable ways to deal with a vexing wife, ways that would have been totally reprehensible if used on my ward." Not, he admitted wryly, that from time to time, certain disgraceful thoughts hadn't crossed his mind-especially in those last few months before she had run away and married Hugh. As he slowly set her down, for a moment he wondered what would have happened if he had given into just one of those thoughts and taken her in his arms and kissed her....

The sensation of that soft bite and his warm breath against her ear sent a tremor through her body and Isabel was embarra.s.sed and astonished to feel her nipples harden beneath her lavender gown. Heat bloomed low in her belly and she stared mesmerized up into that darkly handsome face. The normally cool gray eyes were locked on her mouth and something in their expression both frightened and elated her.

A polite cough behind the couple ended the moment and Marcus turned casually and murmured, "Ah, Thompson, eager to meet your new mistress?"

Thompson bowed, his bald pate gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. "Indeed, I and the entire staff have been waiting eagerly for this moment." Straightening, he said simply, "It is my very great pleasure to welcome you to Sherbrook Hall, madame."

"Thank you," Isabel said, smiling at him. Even as a child she'd liked Thompson, learning that behind his austere features lay a soft heart.

Since her return from India a decade ago, she had stayed away from Sherbrook Hall as much as possible, but the friendship between the Sherbrook family and her father-in-law had made that impossible. To please Lord Manning and to keep her avoidance of Marcus from becoming too marked, she had attended a few dinners and the occasional soiree hosted by Marcus's mother, but had been an infrequent visitor. And yet, knowing that this would be her home, when she entered the s.p.a.cious vestibule with its gold-flecked marble floor and elegant crystal chandelier this time, she was aware of a powerful sense of homecoming. There had been changes over the years to the house, yet it all seemed dearly familiar and all the memories of those days when she had been Marcus's ward and had treated Sherbrook Hall much as she had her own home came flooding back.

Isabel had always loved Sherbrook Hall, with its ivy-and rose-covered gray stone walls and gleaming bay windows. It was a grand place, grander than Denham Manor, but Barbara Sherbrook had decorated Sherbrook Hall with soft, warm fabric and colors, imparting an elegant yet welcoming decor to even the most formal of rooms.

The staff was waiting to be introduced to the master's bride and, again, Isabel was struck by how familiar so many of them were. She remembered Cook well, recalling the numerous warm buns and biscuits she'd eaten as a grubby child at the scrubbed oak table in the large, airy kitchens at the rear of the house. The housekeeper, Mrs. Brown, was no stranger either, and Isabel recalled Mrs. Brown's kind touch as, more than once, scolding all the while, she had cleaned and doctored her numerous small sc.r.a.pes and cuts. There were new faces, of course, but many of the staff had known her as a child and for someone else what might have an unnerving introduction to a sea of strangers only increased Isabel's feeling, after a long, turbulent journey, of having finally reached home.

The crowd of servants dispersed to go about their duties and Isabel and Marcus were left standing alone in the vestibule. He grinned down at her and said, "A bit overwhelming, wasn't it?"

She smiled. "Not too bad. At least I knew half of them. And since I am familiar with the house," she said, her eyes not meeting his, "I think we can forgo the formal tour, don't you?"

"Good G.o.d, yes!" He studied her for a moment, noting the slight stiffness of her body and the wariness creeping into her expression. Did she think he was going to pounce on her the moment she stepped foot in the house? He sighed. The thought had crossed his mind, but he wasn't a rutting boar. He paused. At least he hoped he wasn't. Reluctantly pushing aside the idea of a lazy afternoon spent making love, he said, "Shall I leave you to settle in? Thompson can show you to your rooms." It wasn't what he wanted to say, but the look of relief that crossed her face told him it was exactly what Isabel needed to hear at the moment.