He suddenly smiled, but it was both amused and sad-it was resigned. "I doubt that," he said.

And he was striding toward the door.

"Simon! What are you going to do?" Amelia cried in fear.

But he did not answer her; he left.

SIMON PACED THE LOBBY of the prestigious and very exclusive St. James Club. Two doormen stood by the front entrance, ignoring him, and several gentlemen were seated about the s.p.a.cious wood-paneled lobby, awaiting their guests.

Edmund Duke entered the lobby, removing his sodden black cloak. Duke instantly saw Simon; their gazes locked.

Handing his clock to a servant by the coat closet, Duke said something, then started purposefully toward Simon, a benign smile on his face. Simon simply waited.

Duke paused before him. "Your note was a surprise. Good evening, my lord."

"Good evening, Mr. Duke," Simon said. And as he spoke, alarm filled Duke's eyes.

Simon knew he had realized his tone of voice was identical to Jourdan's. He was undoubtedly wondering if Jourdan and St. Just could be one and the same man.

Simon had probably met Duke three times in the past three years, when he had been invited to meetings at the War Office. He had never been formally introduced. Duke had ushered the War Secretary's guests in on two occasions before leaving; on the third, he had served drinks and had been present for some time before being dismissed from the room.

"I imagine that my invitation was a surprise. I do not believe we were ever properly introduced," Simon said. "However, my cousin has spoken a bit about you."

Duke's bland smile vanished. "I beg your pardon?"

"Jourdan has enjoyed meeting you, Mr. Duke. Or should I say, Monsieur Marcel?"

Duke paled. "What do you want?"

"Return Lucille. Go home, Marcel, and tell Lafleur you have been uncovered and you are being thoroughly played."

Duke's pale blue eyes flashed. Clearly, his mind was racing. "Jourdan could not have done this."

"I am not sure how you were uncovered-Warlock has known for some time. As do others. As do I." Somehow, Simon smiled. "Return my child-or live in constant fear of my reprisal." He turned to go; Duke seized his arm.

"Where is Jourdan?"

Simon did not hesitate. "Jourdan is dead."

Duke's eyes widened. Simon smiled and left.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

"MISS GREYSTONE! MISS Greystone! The baby is back!"

Amelia was with the boys in their bedroom, although neither John nor William showed any signs of sleep. Momma was also present, immersed in her embroidery. Overcome by fear for Lucille, and afraid of what Simon must do to gain her return, she had hoped to be distracted by the boys.

Amelia's heart seemed to vanish; somehow, she stood up. The young housemaid, Bess, stood in the doorway, her eyes wide, smiling.

Amelia was afraid to believe Bess. Simon had left the house only three hours ago, to do G.o.d only knew what. It was raining again, and he had yet to return.

"Where is she?" she cried in disbelief, praying that she was not in the midst of a dream.

"In the kitchens," Bess returned breathlessly.

Amelia gasped, hope surging. She turned incredulously to the boys, who were as wide-eyed as she was. "Come! Your sister is home. Oh, Momma. This is wonderful news! Hurry!" And the joy began.

In a group, they raced from the room and down the hall, John and William in the lead. "Is she all right? Have you seen her?" Amelia demanded, following both boys.

"She was fussing, but the moment Mrs. Murdock gave her a bottle, she was fine," Bess said, smiling. "Oh, Miss Greystone, we were all so worried about her!"

They continued in a mad rush down the stairs, Amelia stumbling in her haste. "Who returned her?"

"There was a knock on the kitchen door, Miss Greystone, and when Cook opened it, a big man with a hood pulled over his head simply shoved the babe at him. Then he turned and left, departing in a waiting carriage."

Simon had somehow attained Lucille's return. Her heart thundered. The boys raced ahead of them, through the entry hall and past the dining room. Amelia lifted her skirts, breaking into a run.

And the first thing she saw was that the entire staff had congregated in the kitchens, standing in a circle around the center table, where the baby must be. Her view was blocked, but then William and John rushed past two servants, shouting for their sister. And as the men stepped aside, Amelia saw Lucille.

She was in Mrs. Murdock's arms, nursing happily from a bottle, wrapped in a white blanket.

"Lucille, where have you been?" William scolded gently, pausing by Mrs. Murdock.

John stood on tiptoe and kissed her cheek and beamed.

Lucille paused from drinking greedily to smile at her brothers.

Amelia realized her vision was blurring. She had been so afraid for the baby! She hurried past Jane and Maggie, wanting nothing more than to hold her, and Mrs. Murdock met her gaze, her own eyes moist. "She seems fine, Miss Greystone, just fine."

Suddenly speechless, Amelia simply nodded. Mrs. Murdock gently handed the baby to her, without disturbing her. Amelia held her closely, overcome with relief. Momma clasped her shoulder comfortingly. "Thank the lord," she said.

Lucille was home. Briefly, Amelia could not speak.

"Will we ever know who took her-or why?" Mrs. Murdock asked softly. "Was there a ransom?"

Amelia started. The staff must be terribly curious. Obviously no one knew of Simon's wartime activities, so it would be natural to a.s.sume that Lucille had been taken for a ransom. "I do not know the details yet," Amelia said. She and Simon must discuss how to best manage the staff.

Her heart lurched with dismay. She had accused him of endangering Lucille, and she had even slapped him. But he had endangered Lucille-just as he had put the entire family in danger. "Is his lordship back?"

"He has not returned," Lloyd said gravely. "He left on horseback."

Amelia tensed. The rain was tapering off, and she hoped Simon had the common sense to get in from the inclement weather. How had he attained Lucille's release? She trembled. Did she really want to know?

"I am going to take Lucille upstairs. She seems dry, but I think I will change her anyway. William? John? It is past your bedtime." Amelia smiled.

A short time later, Lucille was soundly asleep in her crib, Momma had retired for the evening and the boys were settled in their beds. Amelia suddenly realized that she was so exhausted her knees were weak and she felt faint. It had been a trying day, and a trying night. As she shut the door, her smile vanished. She could hardly rest now, as one question was haunting her. Where was Simon?

Obviously she was not going to bed until she knew he had returned, safe and sound. An acute fear began. How had he obtained Lucille's release? Surely he was all right. But why wasn't he home?

She told herself not to think the worst. He would walk in the front door at any moment. Of course, she had a fence to mend. Had she really hurled all those accusations as she had? Just now, with Lucille safely in her crib, she was filled with regrets.

But she had only spoken the truth.

She leaned against the wall, brushing stray hair out of her eyes, knowing she must apologize when Simon returned. More fear stabbed through her. She wondered if she should send a note to Lucas, asking him if he had seen Simon since that afternoon or if he knew where he was.

And then she heard his footsteps. Amelia turned and saw him coming up the stairs at the opposite end of the hall.

His glance locked with hers but he did not falter. He went into his suite of rooms.

She sagged with relief. But he had not uttered a word of greeting, and he had seemed as exhausted as she was, in every possible way.

The war was coming between them, she thought in dismay. Amelia lifted her blue-silk skirts and hurried determinedly down the hall, but her heart pounded with dread. Now, she had nothing but regret for her earlier behavior. She paused to knock briskly on his door; he had left it slightly ajar.

A moment later he appeared there, opening it more widely. He had removed his dark jacket, but his shirt was damp, and his breeches were sodden, his boots muddy and damp. His hair was soaking wet. His regard was impa.s.sive, meeting hers.

"Thank G.o.d you are back. I have been worried," Amelia said.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, which was loose, and stepped aside. Amelia entered the sitting room. "Are you all right?" she asked cautiously.

"Are you?" he returned evenly.

She trembled. "Simon, I love you. I am sorry I accused you as I did-"

He cut her off. "You were right."

She inhaled. "I had no right to rail at you as I did, and I struck you! I am so sorry. Will you forgive me?"

"You had every right, both to rail and to strike me, so there is nothing to forgive." He suddenly closed the door and began removing his shirt. "I beg your pardon. I am very wet and it is unseasonably cool tonight."

He was being so formal. Amelia rushed forward, helping him out of his shirt. "You will catch a terrible ague like this."

He did not respond, walking past her. He poured two cognacs and handed her one.

Amelia set it down. She went into his bedroom, but did not have to go to the armoire-his valet had laid out a caftan for him. She took it back into the salon, where he stood shirtless, sipping his cognac and watching her over its rim. "Please put this on, before you become ill."

He set his drink down and shrugged on the navy jacquard robe. "How can you possibly care?"

"Didn't you hear me? I love you, Simon-"

He interrupted her again. "I should have never brought you here. I should have insisted you stay with the children in Cornwall, where, at least, there was some modic.u.m of distance between you and my enemies."

"Please don't blame yourself for what happened to Lucille. She is all right!" Amelia cried desperately.

"If I am not to blame, who is?" he asked sharply. "We both know I have put this entire household in jeopardy."

She walked over to him and took his hands in hers and held them to her chest. "No one has a crystal ball, Simon. When you first agreed to spy for your country, you could not antic.i.p.ate how dangerous your activities would become. You could not know that one day, you would have to spy for our enemies in order to survive. It is heroic and patriotic, to do what you have done." She tried to smile and failed.

"But?" he demanded harshly.

She knew what she wanted to say-what she must say-but she said instead, delaying, "You are a hero. You are a patriot, Simon."

"I am a coward. I am a traitor," he said harshly.

She gasped. "What did you just do?"

He pulled free of her. "Trust me, you do not want to know."

She was incapable of drawing a normal breath now, as he paced, drink in hand, sipping from it. What had he done? Were they still in danger? "Simon, these war games must end. Tell Warlock you are done. Tell him you must put your family first," she finally said, her heart racing with desperation. "We cannot go on this way."

"Warlock? He is not going to be very pleased with me. But it is not Warlock I am worried about," he said, his stare direct. "Warlock will not use my children against me-he actually has a conscience. But they have already done so once, and why wouldn't they do so again?"

He was referring to his French spymasters, she thought. "Are you saying that you will never be free of the French? That they will manipulate you through your children?"

"Didn't they just do precisely that?" He was mocking.

"Simon! There has to be a way out."

"If there is a way out, Amelia, I have yet to discover it," he said tiredly. "In fact, my value to Lafleur has undoubtedly just risen."

Amelia stared. He had been shouting the name Lafleur in his nightmares, and she recalled the fact vividly. Now, she knew the name of one of his French contacts. She shuddered. She truly didn't want to know about Lafleur, did she? And what had Simon just meant? What had he done to make the French value him even more than before, as one of their agents?

Simon had finished the brandy. He was staring unseeingly at the dark fireplace. His expression had never been as ravaged.

Tears arising, Amelia went to him and wrapped him in her arms. "If you cannot get out, then we will manage together, somehow."

He trembled. "I am so sorry, Amelia," he said.

"Shh," she returned. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Lucille is home, the children are safe. We will figure out how to end these affairs, Simon, although perhaps not tonight."

He made a mirthless sound, reversing their positions and wrapping his arms around her. "I do not believe I have ever told you how much I love you," he said softly.

She froze. He had never declared his love for her before.

Simon smiled lopsidedly and kissed her. "I would be a madman without you," he said. And he kissed her again.

SIMON SAT AT HIS DESK in the library, staring at the brief missive he had received at breakfast. Warlock was on his way to speak to him and the matter was urgent.

His tension was almost impossible to bear. Warlock knew what he had done yesterday, of course-nothing happened in London that affected the British war effort that the spymaster did not know about. Why else would Warlock be calling the very day after Lucille's abduction and return-the very day after he had compromised the British war effort?