"Mills, my lady," he said, "his lordship's valet. You're certain you've no need of the doctor?" His eyes lingered on her bloodstained gown.

"I... I'm certain," Sara replied. "The blood... isn't mine. It was Mr. Mallory... he... he..." She couldn't bring herself to say it.

"I know, my lady," said the valet. "Do you know where Mr. Mallory is now?"

"N-no," she sobbed. "Nero? Is he... dead? Mr. Mallory was in his altitudes. He was trying to kill Nero!"

"That deuced animal again!" the butler barked. "I might have guessed. All right, everyone back to your stations. Resume your duties. Her ladyship is unharmed."

A chorus of mumbles was the reply as the crowd thinned in obedience to Smythe's command and the servants went about their business-all but Nell, Mrs. Bromley, and Mills, who hung back.

"Where is his lordship?" Sara asked the valet.

"His lordship has been called away on urgent business, my lady," he replied. "That is why I have come... in his stead. Once Nell and Mrs. Bromley have put you to rights, I must insist that you lock your door and remain in your suite tonight. Mr. Mallory is still abroad in this house. Strong drink tends to make him ... unpredictable, and his lordship would never forgive me if you were to come to harm on my watch."

"But Nero!"

"Nero can take care of himself, my lady," said the valet.

"But Mr. Mallory shot him, Mills. In the shoulder, I think... or the leg. Oh, I'm not sure! It all happened so fast. He was bleeding so. We have to find him-care for him!"

"Do not distress yourself, my lady," the valet soothed. "I shall see to Nero. I shall attend to it at once." He turned to the housekeeper. "Perhaps a cordial, Mrs. Bromley," he said, "something from your herbal stores, to help my lady rest. Once you've done, make sure you see to that door."

"But what if Nero returns?" Sara cried. "If the door is locked, he won't be able to get in. He's injured, Mills."

"The animal will not be returning tonight, my lady," the valet said. "He will be found and cared for, but I shall see that Smythe posts a hall boy right outside your door... just in case, to ease your mind."

He shuffled off, and Nell and Mrs. Bromley took Sara in hand, closing the door behind him.

Nicholas lay swathed in a bloody sheet, bare to the waist on the lounge in his dressing room, while the doctor worked with quick, skilled hands to remove the bullet from his shoulder. His pain-crazed eyes were trained on the door, and when Mills hurried through, he gave a lurch that caused the doctor's hand to slip.

"Have a care, my lord!" Breeden cried. "You've lost too much blood as it is."

Nicholas paid him no mind. "Is she harmed, Mills?" he said through clenched teeth, as the doctor resumed his probing. "Tell me she wasn't harmed! Tell me Alex didn't..."

"You know she wasn't harmed, my lord," said Mills, out of breath. "Nero prevented him. Have you forgotten?"

"No, I haven't 'forgotten,'" Nicholas snapped. "How could I forget, Mills, considering? Where is the bounder now?"

"Mr. Mallory is still at large, my lord," Mills replied.

"He hasn't left the estate?"

"I would think not, my lord," said the valet. "He was drunk as a wheelbarrow, firing off pistols in the house, of all things." He hesitated. "I might point out that he was aiming at Nero, my lord... not at Baron Walraven."

"Well, Nero would have chomped off his cods if her ladyship hadn't begged for the man's life. Now the chore is left to me, isn't it, Mills? Alex is going to rue the hour-the very minute-he tossed back the spirits that foxed him tonight."

"It's no use if you don't lie still, my lord," the doctor complained, putting pressure on the bleeding wound with a folded linen towel. He glanced at the valet over his shoulder. "I don't suppose there's any chloroform about? I've laudanum for after, but it must be saved for that. Meanwhile, I have to put him under. The pistol ball is wedged against the bone, and I must pass close to the artery to remove it. If he should move again like he did just now..."

"We've no chloroform, Dr. Breeden, but Mrs. Bromley's herbal cures are legendary. The local surgeons hereabouts swear by them, and she's treated our ills with her ointments, cordials, and concoctions successfully for years. Why, just last month, a tea she brewed of dried passionflower blossoms put the head hall boy under so the groom could extract his abcessed tooth. We seldom need to summon a surgeon to Ravencliff."

"Fetch it then," said the doctor. "This is serious here."

"You cannot involve the servants!" Nicholas groaned. "No one must know-no one!"

"No one will, my lord," said Mills, halfway through the door. "I shall say the tincture is for Nero. It stands to reason that a dog would need to be dosed before it could be doctored-"

"Not a dog, Mills, a wolf masquerading as a dog." Nicholas flashed. "You know the dose for a dog would not nearly be potent enough to subdue Nero."

"Please leave it to me, my lord. Have I ever let you down?" the valet said. "You know not. Now, see if you can lie still and mind the doctor, while I attend to what needs must."

Nicholas relaxed as much as was possible under the doctor's probing knife, grinding his teeth closed against the pain. He dared not cry out; someone might hear. In these circumstances, he had no idea when the transformation might occur again, and no one had ever seen it but Mills. Such a situation as what was upon him now had never been put to the test. What if the change were to happen during the operation? He hadn't broached the subject with Dr. Breeden yet. How would the man react? What would he think? He dared not imagine it.

This was not how it was supposed to be. The plan had been to take the doctor out on the cliff, out of earshot of the curious, and consult him over the situation. That could not be now. There were too many dangers to do it in the house, too great a risk of being overheard. Hadn't Sara nearly knocked in the head two footmen listening at the door when she'd exited the dining hall yesterday?

No one, least of all Sara, was going to believe the explanation he and Mills had decided upon to excuse his absence from the house until he was recovered enough to be seen again. The staff knew he never left Ravencliff. Alexander Mallory knew he never left it, as well. That was the reason for the steward's employment. What possible emergency could it have been to drag the master away with a house-guest just come, when he couldn't even leave to wed his bride? It was a flimsy excuse at best, but what other choice was there? He couldn't risk being seen as he was.

What must this esteemed scholar-this renowned doctor-think, imposed upon in such a way on his first night in resi-dence? First Sara, and now this! He wouldn't blame the man for fleeing back to London on the first chaise leaving the coast.

"I know the pain is devastating, my lord," Dr. Breeden said, interrupting his thoughts. "It shan't be long now. Once we have the draught, I'll have the pistol ball out in a trice."

"Pain... is the least... of my worries," Nicholas panted, writhing under the pressure of the doctor's firm hand holding back the blood flow with fresh linen towels.

"Then you have no worries, my lord," said the doctor, his quicksilver eyes like drills. "Your secret is quite safe with me. It is, after all, the reason I am come, is it not?"

Nicholas nodded. "I... I cannot control it," he said. "If it should happen here now..."

"If it should, we will deal with it," said the doctor. "Look into my eyes, and listen to my voice. Listen to the meter. Concentrate upon the words as I speak them. Repeat them in your mind, like an echo. Think of nothing else, nothing but my voice. You need to calm yourself, my lord, as I am calm. You are losing too much blood. Take deep breaths if you can. That's it-deeper... good. Now look to the candle flame. Don't take your eyes from it. See how it dances in the drafts? Look into its very core. I must ask you before he returns, is Mills aware?"

"Yes," said Nicholas, "but no one else, and no one else must be. If you are going to render me unconscious, that must be understood. Mills has cared for me from the onset of this nightmare when I was but a child. If I am not able, you must trust his judgments in all things."

"I understand. Do you trust me, my lord?"

Nicholas ground out a laugh. "Have I a choice?"

"We all have choices, my lord."

"All but me in this," Nicholas responded.

"We shall see," said the doctor. "We shall see."

It seemed an eternity to Nicholas before Mills returned with the passionflower tea. It was strong, but not quite strong enough to put him under altogether, as he knew it would not. He wouldn't let it. Trust was a luxury he could ill afford. Instead, he lurked on the edge of pain, dulled somewhat, but not alleviated in total. He grimaced and groaned and gritted his teeth, while the doctor dug out the lead ball, but Nicholas made no outcry, and when the doctor cauterized the wound, he lapsed into unconsciousness.

The sun was streaming through the mullioned panes in his dressing room window, laying down blinding shafts of light where dust motes danced, when he groaned awake again. He narrowed his eyes against the glare, and Mills hurried to draw the draperies. Across the way the blurry image of Dr. Breeden asleep in the wing chair came into focus-had he spent the night in the backbreaking antique? He must have done.

Nicholas groaned again. His shoulder was bound and dressed with a linen bandage slathered with an ointment. Groundsel and chickweed, by the smell of it, one of Mrs. Bromley's favorite remedies to ward off infection. He knew it well. His arm was contained in a sling, and he groaned again, shifting position.

"It's done, my lord," said Mills, moistening his parched lips. "You shall be up and about in next to no time, so long as you mind the doctor."

"Did it... happen again?" Nicholas murmured.

"No, my lord," said Mills, misty-eyed. "Nothing... untoward occurred."

Nicholas breathed a ragged sigh of relief.

"As soon as the doctor permits, we must have you to your bed, my lord," Mills said. "You cannot stay here on this hard old lounge. You will never mend."

"I cannot speak with Dr. Breeden down on the strand now, Mills. It has to be done at once, and it has to be done here out of the range of hearing of the inmates in this asylum. There is less likelihood of being overheard way back in this dressing room, than in the master bedchamber."

"I shall keep watch if needs must, my lord/' said Mills. "You have got to let others do for you now. You must recover quickly. Duping the staff is one thing; my lady is quite another-she is already asking questions. Nero hasn't returned, and she is beside herself. How long do you think she will accept that you've gone traipsing off on business, with a guest in the house? And we can't keep her confined to her suite indefinitely. You know firsthand the folly of attempting that."

"Where is Alex?""No one has seen him since the... incident, my lord.""He has been bitten, Mills. Nero took a healthy chunk out of the bounder's arm. Do you know what that means?"

"No, my lord, I do not, and neither do you. That is why Dr. Breeden has come."

"That aside, Alex is in need of medical attention. There is no doubt of it."

"Mr. Mallory is an enterprising chap, my lord. Once he sobers up-"

"Once he sobers up and realizes what he's done, God only knows what he'll do. She's going to leave that

deuced door ajar in anticipation of a visit from Nero, and we'll have it all over again!"

"Whose fault is that, my lord?"

"Mine, I'll own, but admitting it by no means negates the danger. We've no time here now for fondling

regrets. I must get back on my feet."

"Then rest there, and mind," said the doctor, turning both their heads. He stretched, and got up stiffly, limping to the lounge. Laying his hand on Nicholas's brow, he frowned. "You've a fever. Bilberry or

black currant juice should do the trick. Could you consult your housekeeper, Mills? 'Tisn't serious-unless, of course, it goes untreated.""I shall go at once," said Mills."Bilberry or black currant juice for a dog?" Nicholas put in. "They will never credit that."The doctor nodded. "Why not?" he said. "Injured dogs suffer from fevers, too. And bring some clear broth, while you're at it, Mills. You shall have to pilfer what food you can scrounge from the kitchen once his lordship is recovered enough to take it, but for now the broth will do."

"Yes, Dr. Breeden."

"See if anyone has news of Alex," said Nicholas. "Check with Watts in the stables. See if he might have taken a coach, or one of the horses. I shan't rest until I know where the bastard is."

"Oh, you'll rest, my lord," said the doctor, offering a brimming spoon. "Open!"

"What is that?" Nicholas demanded.

"Laudanum," Breeden pronounced. "I cannot help a cadaver, and I'd hate to have come all this way for

naught. Open, and swallow."

Chapter Eleven.

"It first occurred when I was twelve," Nicholas said, giving account to Dr. Breeden. He was propped up with pillows in his bed, while the doctor sat in the Chippendale chair alongside, close enough so that they could converse low-voiced. Even though Mills kept watch outside the master bedchamber, they decided to guard their speech, and continue to endow the manifestation with the name of Nero, in case they were overheard. "I believe it was the emotional impact of Mother's death that set off the transformations. Before that, I hadn't a care in the world in my prepubescent bliss."

"You say your father was bitten by a wolf."

"In India, yes."

"Did he suffer from similar manifestations?"

"I don't know, Dr. Breeden. I was in my cradle when he passed. That's why I'm concerned about Mr. Mallory. I have no idea how that bite is going to affect him. Will he be as I am... or something worse, like the wolf that bit my father?"

"Has Nero ever bitten anyone before?"

"No, and that's another thing that worries me. Is the manifestation evolving into something... more?"

"It was my papers on lycanthropy that prompted your invitation, was it not?"

"Yes. I read them with much interest, just as I have devoured every bit of material ever penned on the subject."

"You are not a lycanthrope, my lord. That is not to say that the wolf that bit your father wasn't a werewolf, however. I wish we knew more about that."

"But... Nero attacked Alex. He meant to kill him, Dr. Breeden. Believe me, I know."

"Nero was protecting his mate, my lord. If lycanthropy were involved, he would have torn her throat out as well. There have been many documented accounts of werewolves worldwide. Some in which the victims only imagine themselves transformed-that is to say, the transformation only takes place in their mind-and others where an actual physical transformation occurs. There are more cases of the former, of course, but either way one common thread binds all cases ever recorded: rampant, indiscriminate violence and blood lust. Nero is not a killer. If he were, he would have turned on the baroness the minute your steward left and deprived him of his kill, not gone to her for stroking and reward. From all accounts, never once was she fearful of her life in Nero's presence. That, my lord, is not in any way characteristic of a lycanthrope."

Nicholas thought on it. "What is it then?"

"We will get to the bottom of this, my lord," said the doctor, "but first, I need to know what triggers these manifestations. Are they connected perchance to the phases of the moon?"

"No, they have occurred in moon dark as well as when the moon is full, and all the phases between- even in broad daylight. They come upon me when I am angry, emotional... and aroused. The hellish thing is that I cannot control them. They control me."

"Has the transformation ever occurred during sexual congress? Forgive me, but I do need to ask some rather personal questions, my lord."

"No, not thus far," said Nicholas, "but there has been precious little sexual congress of late-not since the incidents have become more frequent. I've lived a rather celibate life these past few years."