"Brice Rawlins, Varny's youngest son, and a lazier, stupider name never walked the earth," Colin answered. "You can tell him exactly what I said. And, if he ever attempts to smear my name again, he'l meet my steel."

Mr. Shellsworth backed out the door. His gaze darted to Colin's side as if looking to see if he was armed. Out on the step, he turned and walked toward his horse. Waiting until he was safely in the saddle, he addressed Colin, his face contorted in disgust. "You'll not win," he vowed. "Loftus has more sense than to choose you."

He slapped the animal, urging it to go as quickly as he'd arrived.

Rosalyn stepped out on the step by Colin's side. She was deeply disturbed by the venom in the man's nature.

"Don't worry, he's gone," Colin said, putting his arm around her waist.

However, a quarter of the way down the drive, Mr. Shellsworth jerked his horse to a stop. He looked over at the woods bordering the drive. Rosalyn followed the direction of his gaze and saw the fox, watching.

Colin saw the animal, too.

However, neither of them anticipated Mr. Shellsworth's next action. He reached inside his coat and then straightened his arm in the direction of the fox. Too late she realized he held a gun in his hand. A shot rang out.

Mr. Shellsworth swung his horse around to face them, the triumph in his eyes frightening. He put heels to horse and rode off.

Colin was already running to where the fox had been. Rosalyn picked up her skirts and went after him. John followed. Of course, Colin reached the animal first. The fox was not where they thought he would be.

Rosalyn dared to hope he had escaped unharmed, until she saw the blood on the ground.

Her husband went down on one knee and climbed into the underbrush. Rosalyn caught sight of the animal. The fox watched him with wary eyes, and there was no mistaking the blood staining his red coat.

"Easy," Colin whispered.

The fox seemed to understand. He laid his head down on the damp ground and let Colin gently probe the wound. "I don't think he is badly hurt," he said. "That pistol of Shellsworth's is more a toy than a gun."

Rosalyn knelt beside him. "What are we going to do with him, though? Look at the way it bleeds."

Colin removed his jacket. "We'll take him in the house and put him by Cook's hearth in the kitchen. He'l get better."

"You'll take him into the house?" repeated John, who had come up behind them. "A wild creature like a fox?"

"Yes," Colin answered decisively. "We'll take him in and nurse him to health." He gathered the fox in his arms and stood. To his credit, the animal understood Colin meant no harm. He trusted Colin enough to let himself be carried.

Cook was not overly pleased about having a fox in her kitchen. To her way of thinking, foxes were little better than vermin, but she was not about to gainsay Colin.

Rosalyn found a basket and put some rags in it for a bed. John brought to the kitchen a salve he used on the cart horse's cuts. Together, they made the fox feel welcome.

"Mr. Shellsworth had no business firing a gun this close to the house," Cook said. She looked right in Colin's eyes and added, "I hope you talk the breeches off the man tomorrow. We'll all be there to cheer you on."

"Thank you, Cook," Colin answered. "I plan on destroying him."

He turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen, leaving a fearful Rosalyn behind. She was afraid of what might happen on the morrow... and knew whatever it was would be all her fault.

Chapter Seventeen.

Colin had seen destruction in his life. He'd witnessed whole villages being razed in India, watched men beside him blown to pieces in Portugal, seen the senselessness of war. But nothing had ever made him as angry as Shellsworth shooting the fox.

And he didn't know why, except, perhaps, coming on the heels of his brother's words, it crystallized just

how insane his world had become. Nothing was as it should have been.

It never would be. He seemed destined to never amount to anything, but he was too ambitious to give up.

And he didn't want to be bested by a bastard like Shellsworth.

Colin looked down at the blank paper on the desk in front of him. Mart's charges against him echoed in

his ears, except he had his own questions.Was it senseless ambition to know he was a better man and wanted his due? Why must he accept hisclass status? Matt had, whether he realized it or not. He'd turned his back on ambition and felt Colinshould too, and every fiber in Colin's being rebelled at the idea.

He'd beat Shellsworth at his own game. He knew what Loftus wanted to hear, and he'd give it to him.

Colin picked up the pen and started writing. He was so involved that Rosalyn must have been standing atthe door for some time before he registered her presence."Yes?" he asked.She didn't step in the room but lingered in the hall. "The fox is going to be all right.""Good." He frowned at the phrase he had just written and crossed it out."Colin, I'm sorry."He was impatient with the interruption, but he took a moment to focus his attention on her. That's when he noticed how pale she was. "Sorry? Rosalyn, this isn't your fault.""I'm the one who talked Lord Loftus into the oratory contest."Colin shook his head. "No, you gave me another opportunity to do Shellsworth in, and I shall.""I thought you were angry with me earlier."

He set aside his pen and spoke the truth. "Rosalyn, I don't know what I am anymore, but I'm not angry with you."

She nodded absently.

"Why did he shoot a defenseless creature?"

"Because he couldn't shoot us. Frightening, isn't it? It tells you how far some men will go unless someone stops them."

"Colin, I'm afraid. What if you win the contest? Then what will he do?"

"Are you asking if he has the nerve to challenge me?" Colin laughed. "Did you see how fast he galloped

away after he shot the fox? He was afraid I would challenge him. No, I'll publicly beat him on themorrow, and it will be shame enough.""Are you going to talk about the ideas you shared with me last night? The ones about all men having the right to a vote?"

So. That was it. She feared he would speak his mind.

All his past failures rolled back to him.

Colin pushed back from the desk, uncertain. Of course, he shouldn't have spoken his mind to Rosalyn

last night. He thought of Belinda Lovejoyce, whom he had loved so much and who had betrayed his love.

But Rosalyn had gone to Loftus for him. Rosalyn had wanted him to have another chance, even after she knew his deepest thoughts.

The two of them watched each other, and he knew she was as wary as he.

"What if I do discuss my deepest convictions?" he asked.

Rosalyn's gray-green gaze focused on the floor. "I don't know much about politics, Colin. I just want to

make everything right."

He stood and crossed over to her. "Rosalyn, would you leave with me right now? Would you walk out the door with me and leave Clitheroe, the Valley, everyone?"

"Even Covey?"

This was a hard test. "Yes."

She leaned back. "You are angry."

"No, I'm not, I'm just-" He stopped. He'd been about to say he wasn't sure of her love. But to do that

would be to confess his own.

For a moment, Colin struggled with himself.

His brother was right. He was a coward. He wasn't about to expose his heart again. It had taken too

long to heal from that last time.

"I think," she said slowly, "it would be easier if you had challenged Mr. Shells worth to a duel."

Her observation surprised a laugh out of him. "You're right." The tension between them eased.

"You will come to bed?" she asked."As soon as I'm done."Rosalyn took a step back, and he found himself thinking of how beautiful she had become. "I'll be waiting," she whispered.

He nodded, words unnecessary. She turned, lifted her hem, and climbed the stairs, but then she stopped.

"Colin, it may be best if you keep your more radical ideas a secret."

There, she'd finally said it.

"You believe it unwise to speak out?"

The lines of her mouth flattened, and there was that delightful dimple that intrigued him so much. He liked

seeing it better when she was smiling. "I think you must be careful if you want the Commons seat," she replied. She released her breath, as if she feared she'd already said too much. "Good night." She hurried to their room.

Colin watched her and then returned to his work. Suddenly the rights of men paled in the face of caring for this young woman. He looked down at what he'd written, a hodgepodge of what he thought Loftus wanted to hear, married to some of his own beliefs.

If he won the seat, Loftus would expect him to represent his interests. Colin would not receive it any other way. If he really spoke his mind, he could be ostracized by the gentry.

And that might cost him this new and very fragile love.

He sat at the desk and looked out the window into the night, caught in the devil's own dilemma.

Rosalyn wished she was more experienced in life. Then perhaps she would know how best to counsel him. The moment her warning had left her lips, she had felt guilty.

She undressed, putting on a thin cotton night rail. Sleep didn't come quickly, nor did she search for it. Colin's distance bothered her more than his earlier anger.

The candle had burned itself out before she heard him come to bed. She lay there, listening to him remove his boots, unbutton his breeches, pull his shirt over his head. The mattress gave as he climbed in beside her... and she realized that if he had wanted distance between them, he could have had a separate bedroom. That was the way her parents had been, the way her aunts and uncles had lived.

But Colin had not once suggested such a thing.

The insight gave her courage. She turned to him. He was naked, and she smiled. This was the way she liked him.

Without words, she began kissing him-his shoulder, his neck, working her way to his lips.

Colin was hard and ready for her. Soundlessly, they made love. Words would have been superfluous. They laced their fingers together as he pulled her beneath him. When he entered her, she knew she would follow him anywhere.

For him, she would give up her home, her friends, her very identity.