She grabbed for his wrist and gripped it.

aThere is nothing to confide,a she said. aThere is no mystery.a aAnd yet,a he said, ayou preferred your life as it had become in London to the one you left behind? And your Daniel would not come after you to rescue you?a aHe did not know I was leaving,a she said, still gripping his wrist. aHe did not know where I went.a aIf I loved you, Fleur,a he said, aand knew that you loved me, I would turn heaven and earth upside down to find you if you disappeared.a Her eyes followed his scar up from his chin to his mouth, up his cheek to his eye. And she looked into his eyes.

aNo,a she said. aNo one loves that much. It is a myth. Love can be pleasant and gentle. It can be selfish and cruel. But it is not the all-consuming passion of poetry. Love cannot move mountains, nor would it wish to do so. I donat blame Daniel. Love is not like that.a aAnd yet,a he said, and his dark eyes burned into hers, aif I loved you, Fleur, I would move mountains with my bare hands if they kept me from you.a She laughed a little uncertainly. aIf,a she said. aMake-believe is a childrenas game. It is very easy to live with ifs. But real life is different.a She knew he was going to kiss her several moments before his lips touched hers. She supposed afterward that she could have avoided it. He did not imprison her with his arms or back her against a wall. But she did nothing to avoid it. She was rigid with shock, her hand gripping his wrist like a vise. And there was a certain fascination, too, in seeing that dark harsh face, not hovering above her as in her nightmares, but bending close to her own face until she was forced to close her eyes.

And his kiss was so startlingly different from either Matthewas or Mr. Chamberlainas that she did not for the moment think of springing away. There was none of the grinding of lips and teeth that there had been earlier up in the gallery, none of the firm pressure of the night before, but a light and gentle warmth, a living movement over her own lips. And a parting of the lips so that her own were enclosed in moist, brandy-flavored warmth.

He was only the third man ever to have kissed her. Strange, when he had done that other to her more than a month before. But there had been no kisses to accompany that.

And then she panicked and bent her head back away from him.

She caught sight of the expression on his face before one of his arms came about her and the other behind her head to press it to the folds of his neckcloth. He had looked lost, pained. And it was there in his voice when he spoke.

aDonat spurn me, Fleur,a he said. aPlease. Just for these few moments donat spurn me. Donat be frightened of me.a And yet every part of her body rested against him and remembereda"remembered the sight of him, male and powerful enough to crush the life out of her with his hands, the terrible purple scars of the wounds down his left side and leg. And remembered the feel of him, his hands, his thumbs, his knees holding her legs apart. And the feel of him plunging into her, tearing at her, and the repeated thrust and withdrawal until he was done and there had seemed to be nothing of herself left.

But there was the kindness of the inflated payment and this job, the concern for her well-being, the surprising warmth and gentleness of his kiss, the vulnerability on his face and in his voice. And her terrible loneliness.

And it was difficult to take that memory and this present reality and combine them in her mind. It was difficult to believe that he was the same man. It was difficult to feel with her body the revulsion that her mind instructed her to feel.

She made herself relax against him, feel his body against hers without shrinking. And it was not, after all, hard to do.

aJust for these moments only,a he murmured. He was rubbing his cheek lightly across the top of her head.

She did not consciously lift her head. But she must have done so because she was gazing into his eyes again and angling her head for his kiss. And his warm lips were gentle on hers again and moving over them, and the tip of his tongue was moving lightly over her lips until she parted them and opened her mouth, granting him what Matthew had demanded earlier and not been given.

His tongue moved against hers, circled it, explored the soft flesh inside her mouth, the sensitive flesh at the roof.

She heard herself whimper, and stilled both body and mind to the knowledge of what she was doing and with whom. She would not let her nightmares intrude into this waking moment. And it was but for a moment. Just for this moment only. His shoulders were broad and firm beneath her arms, his hair thick and silky between her fingers.

His mouth moved from hers at last to kiss her cheeks, her eyes, her temples. And he wrapped both arms about her, held her arched in to him, and set his cheek against the top of her head.

aGod!a he whispered. aOh, my God.a His arms tightened like iron bands about her. aMy good God.a She felt the breath shudder into him, and he released her.

They stood looking at each other.

aFleur,a he said. He lifted a hand, and she saw it and knew again to whom it belonged and what it had done to her. She trembled as he cupped one of her cheeks with it. aI wish I could say I am sorry. God, how I wish it. Tomorrow I will apologize to you. Tonight I canat feel sorry, God help me. Go to bed. Go. I cannot escort you tonight. I would not be able to stop at your door.a She went, hurrying to the door, fumbling with the knob, running along the hallway, pounding up the stairs, and racing along the corridor to her room as if she thought he was in pursuit of her after all.

But it was not from him she fled. The person from whom she ran was inside the room with her despite her speed and despite the fact that she had locked the door with hasty, trembling fingers.

What had she done? What had she allowed to happen? Her breasts were taut and tender. She was throbbing where he had given her such pain on a previous occasion. She could taste his brandy. Her body was in a turmoil of feeling. And her mind was telling her quite dispassionately who he was and exactly how he had made her into a whore and how much money he had put into her palm afterward. He was a man who paid women for sexual favors. He had paid her.

He had been unfaithful to his wife only once, he had told her at one time. She had been almost inclined to believe him. She was almost inclined now to believe that she really had seen that vulnerability in his face and heard it in his voice. She wanted to deceive herself. She did not want to see their encounter as the sordid thing that it had really been.

She had allowed a married man, her employer, to take incredible liberties with her person. And the encounter had not been all one-sided. She had wanted him too.

It was from herself she had fled. But she had brought herself right inside her room, behind its locked door.

THE DUKE OF RIDGEWAY HAD NO IDEA IF FLEUR had gone to the music room the next morning for her early practice. He was out for a long and reckless gallop on Hannibal.

He did seriously consider not returning to the house again. There were numerous things to be done on his own land that he had somewhat neglected for the sake of the entertainment of his guests. There were crops to check on and newborn livestock to be viewed. And of course there were always tenants and laborers to talk to, to convince that he was interested in their well-being and concerned about their complaints.

Or he could ride beyond his lands. He could spend the morning with Chamberlain. He had scarcely spoken with his friend since his return from London. Visiting guests had a tendency to cut one off from oneas neighbors and usual habits.

But he resisted both temptations. There were two matters of particular importance to be dealt with at homea"two equally unpleasant matters.

He came in limping and barking at his valet to get him some decent clothes so that he would not have to go to breakfast smelling like a horse.

aI just hope you didnat punish poor Hannibal as much as you have punished yourself,a Sidney said, aor you will have some unhappy grooms to glare at you next time you go to the stables. Iall help you out of the horsy clothes, sir, and give you a brisk rubbing before I worry about the other clothes. Lie down.a aKeep your infernal impudence to yourself,a his grace said. aI have no time for rubdowns.a aIf you walk around in that pain all day,a Sidney said, unperturbed, ayouall be barking at all the servants, not only at me, sir, and theyall all blame me for it, too, as they always do. Lie down.a aConfound it,a the duke said, aI always treat my servants with courtesy.a Sidney gave him a speaking glance and his grace lay down. He groaned as his man set firm hands against his aching side. And he rubbed at his left eye.

aThere,a Sidney said, so much as if he were talking to soothe a child that the duke smiled despite himself. aIt will feel better in a minute. Tight as a coiled spring you are, sir.a Fleur was not in the schoolroom. She was not in the nursery either, as the duke found when he went in there. But Pamela was up and brightened at the unexpected treat of having him with her as she ate her breakfast. She fed the crusts of her toast to the puppy, who sat on the floor beside her, panting and looking hopeful. The day before, the dog had been pronounced house-safe at last and allowed indoorsa"under certain strict conditions.

aI thought we agreed that Tiny was not to eat food from the table,a he said. aShe has her own special food, does she not?a aBut I donat give her any of my good food, Papa,a his daughter protested. She lowered her voice. aNanny was furious this morning. Tiny wet the bed.a The duke closed his eyes briefly. aI thought it was also agreed that Tiny not sleep on the bed, but beside it or under it,a he said.

aBut, Papa,a she said, ashe was crying and pulling at the blankets with her little teeth. It would have been cruel to make her stay down.a aOne word of complaint from Nanny to your mama,a he said, aand Tiny will be back in the stables. You realize that, donat you?a aNanny wonat complain,a she said. aI wiped the wet spot with my own handkerchief. And I admired Nannyas new cap.a The duke closed his eyes again. But Mrs. Clement was bustling over from the other side of the room.

aI wish to have a word with Miss Hamilton before morning classes begin, Nanny,a he said, getting to his feet. aYou will keep Pamela here until she is sent for?a aCertainly, your grace,a she said, curtsying. aWe had a little accident with the dog last night. Did Lady Pamela tell you?a aYes, she did,a he said. aAnd I believe we have decided that it will not happen again.a Fleur was still not in the schoolroom. He twirled the globe with agitated fingers and picked out a tune with one finger on the harpsichord. He looked at a painting of one of the follies that Pamela had made and one that Fleur herself must have painted. She was talented as a painter too, he thought, picking it up.

He set it down again when the door opened behind him, and wished that he had rehearsed some speech. He deliberately had not done so. He hated rehearsed speeches. They only tended to tongue-tie him completely. He turned to look at her.

Her lip still looked a little swollen. Shadows beneath her eyes suggested that she had not slept well. But she was prettily clothed in her green dress, and her hair was in its usual neat coil at her neck. She stood very straight, tall and slender, with pleasing feminine curves. She was easily the most beautiful woman he had ever known.

It was hard to remember the first impression he had had of hera"a thin whore with lusterless hair, pale skin, heavy shadows below her eyes, and dry, cracked lips. And that limp and crumpled blue silk dress. It was hard to realize that she was the same person.

aMiss Hamilton,a he said, aI owe you an apology.a aNo,a she said, staying where she was, just inside the door. aIt is unnecessary.a aWhy?a he asked.

aYou told me last night,a she said, athat you were not sorry. You told me that you would apologize to me today. They would be empty words, your grace.a He looked at her and knew that she was right. He was not sorry. At least, in one way he was not sorry. Those moments had given him another brief taste of happiness, like the minutes of their wild ride together. And he knew that, however wrong, he would live on the memory of that embrace for a long time.

aI am sorry,a he said, afor the disrespect I showed you, Miss Hamilton, and for the distress I must have caused you. And I am sorry for dishonoring my wife and my marriage. I beg that you will accept my apology.a Her chin was high, her face very calm. She looked as she had looked when he had sat down and ordered her to remove her clothes. And she had removed them with quiet dignity, folding them neatly and laying them beside her.

Fleur!

He closed his eyes briefly. aWill you?a She hesitated. aYes, your grace,a she said.

Adam, he wanted to tell her. My name is Adam. He wanted to hear her say it.

aI will not keep you, then,a he said, striding across the room toward her. aI will have Pamela sent to you.a She stood to one side, away from the door. aThank you, your grace,a she said.

Her eyes strayed downward. He was still limping, he realized. He closed the door of the schoolroom quietly behind him. That damned Sidney! Was he losing his touch? The pain in his side and leg was like a gnawing toothache. He made an effort to control his pain as he called at the nursery and bent to kiss his daughter, and as he went downstairs to keep another appointment.

Lord Thomas Kent was already in the library, sitting with a drink in his hand despite the early hour, one booted ankle crossed over the other knee.

aThat was another thing Papa used to do,a he said with a grin, holding up his glass in a salute as his brother entered the room. aDo you remember, Adam? He would have us summoned here and then keep us waiting for perhaps an hour. We dared not stand anywhere but directly in front of his desk, and we dared not move a muscle or speak to each other because we never knew the exact moment when the door would come crashing open. It was almost worse than the thrashing we knew very well would come at the end of it, wasnat it?a He laughed.

The duke went to sit behind the very desk before which he and Thomas had quailed as children.

aTell me,a Lord Thomas said, aare you going to bend me over the desk, Adam? And are you going to use a cane?a aShe is in love with you,a his grace said, looking at the desktop. aShe always has been. She bore your child, Thomas. And must you now come back to play games with her and with me?a aAh,a his brother said, raising his glass to his eye. aThis is not to be chastisement, is it, but a serious talking-to. How dreary. And do you still dote on her, Adam?a aI married her,a the duke said. aShe is my wife. I owe her my care and protection.a Lord Thomas laughed. aShe hates you,a he said. aYou know that, donat you?a aAre you sleeping with her?a his grace asked, looking very directly at his brother.

aWith my brotheras wife?a Lord Thomas raised his eyebrows. aYou surely cannot believe me capable of such perfidy and, ah, poor taste, can you, Adam?a aAre you?a His brother shrugged.

aAre you in love with her?a aA foolish question,a Lord Thomas said, getting to his feet and examining the mosaic above the mantel. aHow can I be in love with my brotheras wife?a aIf you are,a the duke said, aperhaps I can begin to forgive you. Perhaps you made as much of a mistake in fleeing more than five years ago as I made in not insisting that Sybil listen to the truth. We all act hastily at times and must live forever after with the consequences. But then, nothing is written in stone either.a His brother turned in surprise and grinned at him. aAre you offering to exchange bedchambers with me for the duration of my stay?a he said. aVery sporting of you, I must say, Adam.a aIf you truly love her as she loves you,a the duke said, ignoring his brotheras tone, athen something must be arranged.a aYou are considering a divorce?a Lord Thomas continued to grin. aImagine the scandal, Adam. Could you live with it?a aThere can be no question of divorce,a his grace said. aI would not do that to Sybil.a He paused and drew a deep breath. aThere may be the possibility of an annulment. I would have to make inquiries.a His brother came across the room to set both hands on the desk and lean across it. He looked closely at the duke. aAn annulment?a he said. aThere is only one really viable ground for an annulment, is there not?a aYes,a the duke said.

aAm I to understand a?a The grin was back on Lord Thomasa face. aAm I to understand that in more than five years you have never enjoyed Sybilas favors, Adam?a He laughed. aItas true, isnat it? Good Lord. Did you play the part of noble lover to the end as she pined for me? Or did she reject you? You werenat unwise enough to display your wounds to her, were you?a He laughed again.

aDo you love her?a the duke asked.

aI have always had a soft spot for Sybil,a Lord Thomas said. aShe is lovelier than almost any other woman I have clapped eyes on.a aThat is not what I asked,a his brother said. aWould you marry her if you had the chance to do so?a Lord Thomas stood up and looked down at his brother assessingly. aYou would do that for her sake?a he said. aOr would it be for your own?a aI would do it,a the duke said, aor at least inquire into the possibility of doing it, if I were convinced that Sybil would have the happiness that you and I between us have deprived her of.a aAnd Pamela?a Lord Thomas said. aIf there were an annulment, the world would know that Pamela is not your child.a His grace spread his hands palm-down on the desk and looked down at them. aYes,a he said. aCould I have your answer?a aThis is sudden.a Lord Thomas strolled back to the fireplace and resumed his examination of the mosaic lion. aI will need some time to consider.a aOf course,a his grace said. aTake it. But as long as you are in this house under present circumstances, Thomas, Sybil is my wife and I will punish any disrespect shown her.a aBent over the desk with the cane on the backside after all?a Lord Thomas said. aHave you perfected the art of swishing it in the air before bringing it down on target, Adam? That used to make me almost lose control of my bladder.a aI will expect your answer within the next week,a the duke said. aIf it is no, I will expect you to leave immediatelya"and forever.a aI take it I am dismissed,a Lord Thomas said, turning to look in some amusement at his brother again. aVery well, Adam, I will take myself from your presence. I believe I am being awaited for a fishing trip anyway.a The duke continued to stare at his hands after the door had closed behind his brother. And he was being seduced by his own bluff, he thought a few minutes later.

In his imagination he was living through the events that his words to his brother had seemed to make possiblea"a speedy annulment, Sybil gone, himself free. Free to explore his attraction to Fleur. He closed his eyes and clenched his hands on the desk.

It had been bluff, pure and simple. Never in a million years would Thomas agree to marry Sybil. Had he thought for one moment that Thomas would, his grace thought, then of course he would not even have made the mad suggestion that he had just made. For though such an arrangement would undoubtedly be as satisfactory to Sybil as it would be to himself, there was Pamela to consider. And Pamela must always come first, before her motheras happiness and before his own. She was an innocent and defenseless child.

No, he knew Thomas well enough. He had always liked him when they were boys, when his younger brotheras mischievous ways and cheerful lack of principle had brought consequences no more drastic than a thrashing or a serious talking-to. But Thomas had never grown up. He had never passed beyond the irresponsibility of youth. In his one year as supposed Duke of Ridgeway he had put severe strains on Willoughbyas considerable resources so that it might well be ruined by now had he continued to be its owner.

Thomas, he firmly believed, was incapable of deep feeling. Doubtless he would have married Sybil had he remained duke, and perhaps it would have been a reasonably successful marriage, but he would never have loved her as she loved him. Had he loved her, even to some small degree, he could not have abandoned her when he knew her to be with child.

The duke knew that Thomas would continue to harass him and amuse himself with Sybil for as long as it pleased him to do so. And that might be a very long time. The only way to frighten him off was by making it seem possible that he could be stuck with his toy for a lifetime.

Thomas would be gone by the time the week was out. The duke was quite sure of it. So sure that he had risked Pamelaas future on a bluff.

But, God, it was a sweet, seductive idea. He got to his feet and glanced toward the fireplace and the chair beside it where Fleur had sat the night before. It was just there they had stood.

She had stopped shaking at his bidding. And she had lifted her face for his kiss and opened her mouth to it. Her arms had come up about his neck and her fingers had played in his hair.

For a few minutes, at least, she had forgotten her fear of him. She had wanted him, as he had wanted her. As he wanted her.

Guilt gnawed at him. He had been outraged at the impropriety of the embrace Sybil and Thomas had been sharing in the long gallery. And yet he had engaged in his own not two hours later with the governess.

Fleur. She was coming to dominate his thoughts by day and haunt his dreams by night. He was coming to live for the moments when he could see her, listen to her music, listen to her voice, see her eyes on his. She was beginning to give light and meaning to his days.

In her he was beginning to glimpse the precious pearl that he had once expected of life.

It was a hard life he had dedicated himself toa"a life of celibacy for the past six years, with the single exception of that one brief, dispassionate encounter in London.

With Fleur. With a thin, pale whore who had turned out to be a virgin, who had quietly obeyed his every command and had suffered his penetration of her body with only that small guttural sound and the biting down on her lips. Even such a sordid scene she had played out with dignity. She had been a victim who had sunk to the depths but refused to allow her spirit to be broken.

And he must never hold her again. Never kiss her again. For last night had been a moment for one time only, something that he had not planned. Now that he knew it possible, he would have to guard against its ever happening again. For though his marriage was a heavy burden on him, it was nevertheless a contract he had entered into freely and one he would remain faithful to as far as human frailty would allow.

He might yet have to move Fleur to another post somewhere else, he thought. He was not sure that it would be possible to live in a house with the woman he desired almost more than anything else in life and with his wife, whom he had once loved and with whom he had never lain.

She had cringed from him on their wedding night, screamed at him to get out of her bedchamber. He had told her about his wounds, and of course the disfigurement of his face was there for all to see. He had left her and made no attempt to go to her again until after the birth of Pamela. He had tried to make a friend of her.

But of course, she had believed him the villain who had sent her lover away and then forced her into marriage with himself. What a foolish hope it had been that he could bring her to love him.

The same thing had happened when he went to her two months after Pamelaas birtha"the same hysteria and look of deep revulsion. He had talked to her about it the following day and she had told him in her usual breathless, sweet manner, tears swimming in her large blue eyes, that if he ever again tried to touch her she would return to her fatheras house.

It was probably at that moment that his love for her had begun to die a rapid death. He had seen finally, and had admitted the truth of what he had seen, the cold selfishness that was hidden only just behind the angelic exterior.

All that was left after his love had died was a deep pity for her. For clearly her love for Thomas had been a monumental passion that she could not kill, even if she had tried. And of course, she had not accepted the truth, and believed that only his own cruelty had separated her from the man who loved her as dearly as she loved him.

The duke sighed and turned to the door. At last, he thought, he could proceed with the day he had planned. At last he could put his own problems behind him for a short while and concentrate on listening to other peopleas.

It was only when he was striding toward the stables that he realized he had not eaten breakfast.

And it was only much later that he realized that calling on Duncan Chamberlain was not the thing to have done if he was seeking forgetfulness. For Duncan had asked him how he would feel about losing his governess if she could be persuaded to accept a marriage offer, and he had been forced to smile at his friend and shake his hand and assure him that the whole thing was entirely a matter between him and Miss Hamilton.

He wondered how Chamberlain would feel if he knew how perilously close he had been to having a fist planted right between his eyes.

PETER HOUGHTON ARRIVED BACK from his holiday three days later and regaled Mrs. Laycock, Jarvis, Fleur, and the other upper servants, as they sat at luncheon, with stories of the christening.

aA headful of curls at the age of two months?a Jarvis said, interrupting the speaker. aIs that not unusual, Mr. Houghton?a aYes, indeed,a Houghton said. aMy cousinas wife says that it runs in her family.a aTeeth?a Mrs. Laycock said with a frown a minute later. aAt the age of two months, Mr. Houghton?a aYes,a Houghton said. aUnusual, is it not, maaam?a aWhat was the christening robe like, Mr. Houghton?a Miss Armitage, the duchessas personal maid, asked.

The dukeas secretary decided that it would be advisable to cut short his luncheon despite the fact that his grace was from home. There must be a great amount of work piled up on his desk, he mumbled, regretting the lost dessert.

The duke had been from home most of the day. He had taken the gentlemen guests on a ride about some of his farms during the morning after giving his daughter another riding lesson, and he had taken her visiting to the rectory after an early luncheon.

It was late afternoon by the time they returned, and Pamela ran upstairs ahead of him, eager to tell Fleur about the rocking horse at the rectory, which had been broken during her last visit. It was interesting to note, the duke thought, removing his hat and his gloves in the hall and handing them to a footman, that it was her governess, not her nurse, who was to be the recipient of Pamelaas confidences.

aMr. Houghton has returned, your grace,a Jarvis informed him, bowing stiffly from the waist.

aGood,a his grace said briskly. aIs he in his office?a aI believe so, your grace.a The duke turned in that direction.

aWell,a he said, standing in the doorway, ayou took your time about returning.a aChristenings and babies and relatives all wanting to entertain me. You can imagine how it was, your grace,a Houghton said.

The duke stepped inside and closed the door. aIt is just you and I, Houghton,a he said. aAnd I have enough of charades during the evenings. Well?a aThe lady in question is Miss Isabella Fleur Bradshaw, your grace,a his secretary said, adaughter of a former Lord Brocklehurst, now deceased, along with his wife, Miss Bradshawas mother.a aHe was succeeded by the present Lord Brocklehurst?a his grace asked.

aBy his father, your grace. His lordship died five years ago, leaving a wife, a son, and a daughter to mourn him.a aAnd their relationship to Miss Ham a to Miss Bradshawas father?a aThe late baron was his first cousin, your grace,a Houghton said.

aThe late and the present Lords Brocklehurst were and are her guardians?a his grace asked with narrowed eyes. aWhat are the terms of guardianship? She must be past her twenty-first birthday.a aSuch information is not easy to come by when one is pretending to just idle curiosity, your grace,a his secretary said stiffly.

aBut I am quite sure you came by it anyway,a his grace said. aYes, I know it must have been difficult, Houghton. I fully appreciate your talents without your drawing my attention to them. Why do you think I employ you? Because I like your looks?a Peter Houghton coughed. aShe will come into her dowry and her motheras fortune when she is twenty-five, your grace,a he said, aor when she marries, provided her guardian approves her choice. If he does not, then she must wait until her thirtieth birthday before inheriting.a aAnd her present age?a the duke asked.

aTwenty-three, your grace.a The duke looked at his secretary consideringly. aAll right, Houghton,a he said, athose are the facts, and you must be commended for discovering them. Now tell me all the rest. All of it. I can tell from the look on your face that you are fair to bursting with it. Out with it, without waiting to be prompted.a aYou may not like it, your grace,a Houghton said.

aI will be the judge of that.a aAnd it may reflect on my judgment in hiring her,a Houghton said. aThough,a he added with a cough, awe are talking about Miss Bradshaw, are we not, your grace, and not about Miss Hamilton.a aHoughton.a His graceas eyes had narrowed dangerously. aIf you would prefer to tell your story with my hand at your windpipe, it is all the same to me. But you might be more comfortable as you are.a aYes, your grace,a Houghton said, coughing again. But hands at windpipes would be mild in comparison with what might happen after the duke had heard all about his ladybird, he reflected, beginning to speak.

There was only one particular thought in the dukeas mind. He was glad her name really was Fleur, he thought. It would be difficult to have to start thinking of her as Isabella. She did not look like an Isabella.

He stood at the window, his back to the room, listening. He did not interrupt often.

aDo you have a single source for all these details?a he asked at one point.

aA servant from Heron House, your grace,a Houghton said, aa gentleman who liked to frequent the taproom at the inn where I put up, and the curate and his sister. Particularly the sister. I gather she was a friend of Miss Bradshawas. The brother was more reticent.a aShe had a friend, then,a the duke said more to himself than to his secretary.

aThe gentlemanas name?a he asked later. aThe taproom gentleman, that is?a aMr. Tweedsmuir, your grace.a aFirst name?a aHorace, your grace.a aAh,a the duke said. aDid you encounter any gentleman whose first name was Daniel?a aYes, your grace.a aWell?a His grace turned impatiently to look at his secretary.

aThe curate, your grace,a Houghton said. aThe Reverend Daniel Booth.a aCurate,a the duke said. aHe is a young man, then?a aYes, your grace,a the secretary said. aAnd a younger son of Sir Richard Booth of Hampshire.a aThe detail of your research is admirable,a his grace said. aIs there anything you have missed?a aNo, your grace,a Houghton said after a reflective pause. aI believe I have recalled everything. Do you wish me to see to the dismissing of Miss Hamilton?a aMiss Hamilton?a The dukeas brows drew together. aWhat the devil does all this have to do with Miss Hamilton?a Peter Houghton shuffled through the papers on his desk with nervous hands. aNothing, your grace,a he said.

aThen your question was a strange non sequitur,a his grace said. aHave I left enough work on your desk to amuse you for the rest of the afternoon, Houghton?a aYes, indeed, your grace,a his secretary said. aIt will all be attended to before I leave here.a aI would not burn the midnight oil if I were you,a his grace said, opening the door into the hallway. aYou will doubtless wish for a free evening in which to entertain Mrs. Laycock and a select few others with an account of the christening at which you were recently godfather.a Peter Houghton watched him go. He was not going to dismiss his ladybird after all he had just heard? His grace must be badly smitten indeed.