Miles pulled the door to behind him and lounged against the doorjamb. "How kind of you all to come and make sure that we are safe returned from our rustic romp," he said sardonically.

Euphemia marched forward. Brushing past him she burst into his room. The rest took heart and streamed after her.

Miss Sophie stopped beside Miles. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, tears trickling down her lined cheeks.

He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her, grinning. After that, Sir Barnabas was resigned to finding the rest of the family, candles held high, staring down in baffled spleen at the empty bed.

Sir Neville half-heartedly opened the clothes press and peered inside. Raymond Reece checked under the bed. Jane tried the connecting door, rattling the latch irritably.

"She escaped through this door! I know she came in here."

They all jumped as Miles remarked in a caustic voice, "I'm sure Mrs Chidwell will be happy to confirm that the key to that door is in Mr Harwood's safekeeping."

Looking anything but happy, Effie nodded. Disgruntled and sheepish, they filed out, eyes lowered to avoid the sight of Miles's derisive smile. Sir Barnabas followed the embarrassed retreat, more than happy to be invisible.

As they fled around the corner, he turned the other way. Nerissa's door was ajar, just a crack. No wonder neither he nor Jane had heard it close. She must have pushed it shut behind her, too sleepy to check that the latch caught. He slithered uncomfortably through the narrow gap. Her gown lay in a crumpled heap on the floor by the bed. Her nightgown was still spread across the foot of the bed, where her abigail had laid it out before leaving for the party. Nerissa had not bothered to change out of her chemise.

She lay lost in childlike slumber, a slight smile curving her lips.

Sir Barnabas felt a most peculiar tightness in his chest. Damn that rascally mountebank for running off with Anthea and robbing him of innocent grandchildren he might have loved!

But it was the mountebank's butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth daughter he was looking down upon. Born and bred to the dissolute world of the theatre, he reminded himself. Actress or wardrobe mistress, she played the role of virtuous maiden to admiration. Somehow he had to trip her up, make her bungle her lines and forget her part.

Thus far, for all Sir Barnabas's efforts, Miles had only held her in his arms once, and that at a moment when she was angry with him for laughing at her efforts to mount the mare. The way matters were between them now, if they found themselves embracing the job was as good as done.

Somehow he had to trip her-that was it! He had failed to trick her into Miles's arms, so now he'd try to trip her.

Though Nerissa's unfortunate weakness had prevented her taking her place upon the stage, her parents had raised her in the expectation that she would follow in their footsteps. She had never been more glad of their training.

The role of Miles's friend and little sister, natural before the Christmas assembly, now had to be acted with every ounce of skill she possessed. For another three months they must live in the same house. She could not embarrass him-and herself-by letting him learn, from a word or a glance, how much she loved him.

So she laughed and teased him, won giant rocs' eggs and lost palaces of onyx and jasper at cards, willed herself not to blush at the casual touch of his hand. It was all easier than she expected. Mama and Papa had taught her well.

After Twelfth Night, the January weather turned foul, throwing them together indoors even more than usual. Nerissa decided to give a dinner for the neighbours once the lanes were passable again. She had enjoyed organizing the Twelfth Night party, and the necessary consultations with Cook, Mrs Hibbert, Snodgrass, Miss Sophie, and even Aunt Jane took her out of Miles's way.

She had truly been too busy to spend much time with him. Nonetheless, one evening about the middle of the month he finished reading aloud to her his expurgated version of the Arabian Nights stories.

"What shall we read next?" he asked.

"I don't know. Would you mind if I invited Miss Sophie to join us?"

"For the next book? Not at all," he said, adding wickedly, "though we had best choose something a little more suitable for maiden ears."

Nerissa laughed, but she knew she failed to suppress a blush. Still, in the circumstances any young lady might be forgiven for pink cheeks, even if no truly proper young lady would have landed herself in a similar situation.

"Mr Harwood might like to read with us, too. Let us go and see what we can find," she proposed. "We can choose several and see which they prefer."

Miss Sophie and the lawyer had already retired to bed, as had Aunt Jane and Matilda, so she'd have to ask them on the morrow. Uncle Neville, Aubrey, Raymond, and Cousin Euphemia were absorbed in their cards and did not so much as glance up as Nerissa and Miles left the drawing room. They had all been oddly subdued recently.

In the library, Nerissa recollected a book on one of the upper shelves which she thought might be suitable. Miles moved the library steps into position for her and gave her his hand to mount them. At the top, some two feet and a half above the floor, she took hold of a shelf to steady herself, hoping he had not felt her hand tremble in his. A moment passed before she was able to focus on the titles before her nose.

Miles took a book from the shelf beside him. "Here, this might do." Turning towards her, he opened it at the title page and read, "Personal Travels and Vicissitudes of four years and a half in America, being the Struggles of a Man in pursuit of Independence and a Settlement. By John Davis, Esquire."

"Yes, that sounds interesting."

She had found the volume she was looking for, a Historical Survey of the Customs, Habits, and Present State of the Gipsies. As she started down the steps, Miles moved away, book in hand.

"I noticed the memoirs of Frederick the Great's sister the other day, somewhere along here," he said.

Nerissa's foot caught in her skirt. The book flew from her hand as she twisted and grabbed at the shelves, trying to save herself.

"Miles!" she cried, landing crookedly on one foot. An agonizing pain shot up her leg. She crumpled. Her head met something solid and merciful blackness descended.

"But Nerissa dear, Doctor Firston said you are on no account to put any weight on your ankle for at least a week," said Miss Sophie dubiously.

"I know, but I simply cannot bear to spend another day in bed, even with the novels Caroline and Mrs Firston so kindly brought me. Surely between them Miles and the footmen can carry me down to the morning room without any desperate affront to propriety."

"There is a sort of chair with poles your grandfather used when his gout was troublesome. It always seemed to me a shockingly precarious contrivance."

"If Grandfather entrusted himself to it, so shall I," Nerissa declared.

So an hour later she was ensconced on the sofa in the morning room. Clucking, Mrs Hibbert tucked third pillow behind her and despatched Maud after another shawl. Snodgrass directed the placement of a small table at her side, set a handbell and her book upon it, and even deigned to poke up the fire with his own august hand. Cook sent in enough hot plum turnovers to feed an army, to "keep up her strength." And Tredgarth, the gardener, had picked and brought up to the house enough yellow aconites and dainty snowdrops to fill half a dozen small vases.

"Pampered is the only word for it," Miles exclaimed, helping himself to a turnover as the last of the servants left the room.

"They are all very fond of Nerissa," said Miss Sophie, "and I am sure you deserve it, dear."

"I don't know what you deserve for being such a peagoose as not to fall ten seconds earlier, when I was close enough to catch you!" He shook his head, smiling. "You gave me the fright of my life."

"I assure you such was not my intention," Nerissa said indignantly. "The hem of my skirt just wrapped itself around my feet."

"Dangerous things, long skirts." Miles gave a reminiscent sigh. "I always did prefer the shorter hems of a few years ago. Ah well, I must be off. I told Bragg I'd meet him in the office at eleven. Shall we read this afternoon? Not the book that brought about your downfall-I have taken it in dislike."

Nerissa agreed and he went off whistling "My Heart was so Free" from the Beggars' Opera, slightly out of tune as usual. She was glad to see him cheerful. Miss Sophie had told her how devastated he had been when she fell. He had roused the entire household and sent a groom through darkness and sleet to fetch the doctor with orders to bring him back come hell or high water. Then, forbidden her chamber while she was confined to her bed, he had moped about the house, refusing to go out despite suddenly fine weather lest she should have a relapse during his absence.

"You are a little pale, dear," said Miss Sophie anxiously.

"I have the headache a little," Nerissa acknowledged.

"I knew I should not let you come down. I shall send for Dr Firston at once!"

"Pray do not, Cousin Sophie. He said I showed no signs of a concussion but the lump on my head is still tender and brushing my hair did not soothe it! I shall be better directly if I just sit quietly for a while."

"Then I shall leave you in peace. I believe I shall take a stroll in the shrubbery since the sun is shining. Here is the bell Snodgrass brought-so thoughtful. You must ring if you wish for company and send for me. I shall come at once."

"Bless you, Cousin Sophie. What should I do without you?" Nerissa closed suddenly tearful eyes. Dear as Miles was, she thought, without Miss Sophie's support she would have given up and run back to York long ago.

Her headache faded quickly, before the plum turnovers were quite cold. She ate one and was licking her fingers when the door opened. Hurriedly she reached for a napkin.

"Mr Digby, miss," Ben announced in a voice of deep disapproval. "He would see you, miss." His tone declared that he had tried in vain to stop the intruder.

Nerissa had no desire whatsoever to see Clive Digby. However, a rapid review of the rules brought to light no excuse to deny a visitor who was already half way across the room. "Thank you, Ben," she said, swallowing a sigh. "Good day, Mr Digby. How kind of you to call. Will you not sit down?"

Ignoring her invitation, he burst out, "I came yesterday, Miss Wingate, as soon as I heard of your accident, but I was not allowed to see you. So I spoke to your uncle instead." To her astonishment he dropped to his knees and seized her hand. "Miss Wingate-Nerissa, if I may be so bold-I have Sir Neville's permission to address you."

"To address me?" She tried without success to retrieve her hand.

"To beg you to be my wife. I opened my creel-budget to him and he obligingly agreed that..."

"Mr Digby, Sir Neville is my great-uncle, a distant relative and in no respect my guardian."

"He is not? Surely that fellow Courtenay..."

"Certainly not."

"Then who must I apply to?" he asked plaintively.

"That is scarcely relevant, sir." At last she wrenched her hand from his ardent clasp. "Since I fear I cannot accept your most flattering offer."

Her rejection rolled off his back like water from a fish's scales.

"Sir Neville said you would be happy to rise to my fly-I mean, to entertain my suit. At least let me cast my line-spout my speech, that is."

"It would be most improper in me to listen," she pointed out, half amused, half flustered by his persistence, "as you have not, in fact, applied to my ... guardian."

"Who is your guardian? I will travel to the farthest end of the country if you will only give me a hint that you regard my lure-er, my offer with favour."

"But I do not! Pray stand up, sir."

"Dearest Nerissa!" This time he possessed himself of both her hands, so that she was unable to reach for the bell. "I have taken you by surprise but I must assure you of my undying devotion. Without you I am a fish out of water. You have hooked my heart..."

"Sir, I beg of you..."

Abruptly he let go her hands and lunged at her like a pike at a minnow. Somehow she dodged his arms. His wet lips skimmed her forehead as she slithered past him and off the sofa. Inelegantly and all too slowly she hobbled towards the door, her ankle agony at every step.

And Miles was there.

She stumbled into his arms, gasping, "Miles, pray tell Mr Digby I am not going to marry him!"

A bewildering wave of relief and unreasoning fury deluged through him. How dare the cloddish oaf force his attentions upon her! How dare the brute drive her to escape on her sprained ankle! Miles wanted to take Clive Digby by the collar and the seat of his riding breeches, presently conveniently upraised, and hurl him head-first through the window.

But such vigorous action, while soothing his feelings, would only distress Nerissa.

Instead, he swept her off her feet and said in his driest tone, "Digby, Miss Wingate is not going to marry you. If you will kindly stop floundering upon the sofa, I shall return her to the place she ought never to have left. Perhaps you are unaware that she has an injured limb?"

When a crimson-faced Digby had departed and Nerissa's ankle was swathed in a hot poultice of bran and comfrey, Miles sat down beside her. She was still a trifle pale and shaken. He felt an overwhelming desire to take her in his arms and comfort her. Only the possibility that she might interpret such a move as something other than brotherly affection and protectiveness deterred him.

"Well?" he said with a quizzing smile. The only thing to do was to turn the whole affair into a joke. "A coarse fisherman indeed."

"Oh no, Miles, you have it the wrong way round. He said I had hooked his heart, and that without me he is a fish out of water!"

"A pity I hadn't a gaff handy."

Her giggle delighted him. "Thank heaven you came, with or without gaff."

"Ben was uneasy. He told Snodgrass, and Snodgrass came straight for me." Now he wanted to shake her and demand to be told what she meant by entertaining a gentleman alone. He refrained. She was still not altogether up to snuff. Doubtless she had not known how to deal with the situation. In fact, her best course of action would have been to leave the room, which she was unable to do. It was all Digby's fault. "What the deuce did the fellow think he was up to, intruding upon you without a chaperon?"

"That, at least, was not his fault. He said Uncle Neville gave him permission to pay his addresses, and I daresay gentlemen do not habitually propose marriage with a chaperon present?"

"I wouldn't know. I told you, I'm not the marrying sort. So Sir Neville allowed Digby to believe he is your guardian?"

"Yes, and suggested I would favour his suit!" Nerissa said tartly. "I don't understand why."

"He must have hoped that one way or another the situation would lead to your downfall. I fear they are beginning to grow desperate. We must beware!"

"Matters are desperate!" Euphemia announced. She dropped heavily onto the sofa beside her sister, making Sophie bounce.

Sir Barnabas silently agreed, glad Effie would never know of the infuriating fact that for once his views were in accord with hers.

His attempt to precipitate Nerissa into Miles's arms by entangling her feet in her hem had been a mortifying failure. He hadn't meant to hurt her. He was prepared to acknowledge that he regretted the pain he had caused. But he was also disgusted by the way his servants, disloyal to his memory, had rallied around her. And the stream of callers, from as far away as Porchester and even beyond, braving the wintry roads to come and express their sympathy!

That was not what he had intended. Worse, the unexpected result had made him chary of further efforts which might go equally astray. His mind was devoid of promising plans.

So he listened with interest to Euphemia.

"There are only two months left. We must do something."

"But last time we did something, it all turned out to be a mistake," Sophie timidly reminded her.

"Because Jane made a mull of it. She made a cake of herself and in the process succeeded in making us all look foolish. Even me! We cannot rely on the others. This time it will be just you and me. I suppose I can trust you, Sophronia?" She glared at Sophie, whose mouth opened to emit an inarticulate squeak.

"Good! Now this is what you are to do. Miles is working in the estate office. You must tell Nerissa he wants to see her. Then you follow her there and lock them in together. The only window is small and high. You will put a ladder against the wall outside and check on them now and then. No one will hear them away down at that end of the house and a few hours confined in that little room..."

"But, Effie, I have no key."

"Ninny! The office is kept locked when no one is there, and Miles always leaves his key in the outside of the door when he goes in. I checked."

"Oh. And what will you do, Effie?"

"I shall wait here for you to bring me the key," said Euphemia majestically, "and then to come and tell me when the naughty business begins."