Turning, he pulled the door open, relief rushing through him briefly as he peered at the woman on the doorstep, until he realized that she was wearing a pastel gown. "Elizabeth?"

"Aye." Stepping quickly into the house when he moved aside, she took in the worried faces around her. "You have not found her yet, I take it?"

"Nay," Bessie answered, biting her lip unhappily.

"And you have no idea where she could have gone?" she asked, waiting as the people in the hall glanced at each other miserably. Sighing, Beth led the way into the salon. "Come. Let us sit down and try to reason this out. There must be some clue to tell us where she may have gone. Charlie does not run about willy-nilly. Something must have happened to make her leave. We simply have to look at this logically."

Charlie shoved at the window furiously. She had been trying to open it since Norwich had left to consider what he was to do next. She supposed that he was trying to determine a way to let her live and force her to marry him after Radcliffe had showed up and he had killed him. Charlie had not told him that Radcliffe was not likely to show up. She distinctly recalled throwing the message across the library in a crumpled ball. She had seen it roll under a chair in a corner as she had rushed out of the library. Radcliffe was not likely to find it.

Sighing, she gave up her frantic jerking of the window and examined it instead, cursing when she spied the nails that had been used to seal it shut. It seemed the proprietors were taking no chances after Bessie's escape. Moving to the next window, she checked to find that it too was nailed shut, then walked to the bed and sat on the edge of it. She had to think of a plan to get herself out of there. She had to warn Jeremy.

"So." Beth peered down at the list she had made. "Charlie spent most of the morning in here. Then Bessie arrived, directly after which a boy came to the door with a message for Radcliffe and you took it into the library?" She glanced at Stokes to see the man nod solemnly before she continued, "She chatted in here briefly with Bessie, then went in search of a book in the library and never returned. But,Stokes, you thought you heard the door close shortly afterward?"

"Aye," he admitted unhappily.

"And a search of the house revealed that she was nowhere to be found, but that several books were on the desk, the gown she had been wearing was in a heap on her dressing room floor, no other dresses seem to be missing to have replaced it, and that the message was gone?"

When Stokes, Mrs. Hartshair, and Bessie all nodded in agreement that this was the basic situation as they knew it, she sighed "And you do not know who this message was from?"

Stokes shook his head. "As I said, a boy brought it." He hesitated, then added miserably, "It did not have any writing on the outside, it was just rolled up and tied with a ribbon."

Beth and Bessie both stiffened at that. "A ribbon?" they echoed in unison.

"Aye."

"What color was this ribbon?" Bessie asked anxiously.

"Red. Deep red, almost the color of blood."

"Damn." Beth sank back in her seat.

"What is it?" Radcliffe asked.

'That is the way the blackmailer's messages came," she told him grimly, then glanced at Stokes to ask, "You are sure that the message is not still here?"

"Well it was not on the desk," he murmured uncertainly.

Standing, Beth hurried out into the hall and on into the library. A glance at the desk proved Stokes right. The message was not there. She was gazing blankly around the room when a sudden uproar in the hallway drew her attention.

Moving to the door, she opened it to see that the puppies were loose and Mrs.

Hartshair and her children were attempting to round them up while the pups, thinking it all a grand game of chase, did their best to avoid capture.

"I opened the kitchen door to go check on the children, just as they came in the back door with the pups," the cook explained as she chased a pup past Beth. She cornered the creature at the end of the hall, but when she swooped down to gather it up, it scampered past her, scurrying into the library right past Beth.

"Really," Radcliffe said, "this is hardly the time for such antics."

Turning, Elizabeth hurried after the animal with Mrs. Hartshair on her heels.

The puppy led them a merry chase, dashing under the desk, then across the room and under a chair. Each of them taking a side, they blocked the animal in, then Mrs. Hartshair bent to fetch the pup out.

"What have you got there?" the woman muttered, tugging a small ball of paper from his mouth. "Honestly, you little beasties are forever into one thing or another," she chastised mildly.

"Let me see that," Beth said.

Eyebrows rising, the cook handed the paper over and watched curiously as Beth uncrumpled it. "It is not"

"It is!" Beth cried jubilantly, quickly reading the message. "Radcliffe!"

He appeared in the door as she reached it and she cried, "Mrs. Hartshair found it. It is from the blackmailer. He wanted you to meet him at Aggie's."

"And Charlie went in my place," he guessed, taking the note to read it.

"Oh, surely not," Mrs. Hartshair argued. "A decent woman wouldn't be seen at that place. She would not even be allowed in."

"Nay, but Charles would," Beth murmured, thinking of the crumpled gown on the floor in her dressing room and the fact that no other dresses had been missing.

"Damn!" Radcliffe breathed, whirling to hurry toward the door.

"Wait!" Beth cried, chasing after him to grab his arm and keep him from leaving.

"You cannot just show up there. It may be a trap."

"But Charlie is there."

"That is even more reason to go about this cautiously. You may get her killed if you storm in without a plan."

"It is early afternoon, Beth. No matter how I approach it, I will draw attention. All who will be there right now are women."

Her eyebrows rose, an idea taking shape on her face. "Aye. You are right.

You would be recognized as a man."

The click of the key in the lock warned her moments before the door opened.

Standing abruptly, Charlie put on a brave face as the door swung open, only to sag in relief as Aggie entered. Garbed in a gown of flaming orange that was just as tight, loud, and ugly as the red dress she had been wearing when last they met, the woman eyed Charlie with fascination for a moment, then glanced over her shoulder and gestured to an older woman in the hallway. The servant rushed into the room carrying a tray of food, set it down on the end of the bed beside Charlie, and hurried out.

Aggie pushed the door closed, then turned to examine Charlie once more, her gaze sliding slowly over every inch of her in the male garb. Then she shook her head.

"I don't know how you had me fooled me into thinking you a lad."

"People see what they want to see," Charlie murmured with an indifferent shrug as she looked over the tray she had been brought with feigned interest, hoping the woman would just hurry up and leave.

"Are you not curious to know what is happening?"

Charlie was silent for a moment, but she finally raised one eyebrow in silent query.

"Himself is writing a letter," the old prostitute announced grandly as if throwing crumbs to the starving masses. "It is for your husband. Lord Radcliffe.

He is telling him that we have you and that if he wishes to see you again, he is to come here, alone, unarmed, at midnight."

"And then what happens?" Charlie asked with a feigned calm that made the old whore arch an eyebrow.

"Why, then himself kills him and heads to Gretna Green to marry you."

Charlie gave a bark of laughter, shaking her head with an amusement that was only half-feigned. "Oh, that will work. I am sure no one will comment on that.

Radcliffe dead and me on my way to be remarried within moments? No one would suspect that myself or Norwich or both of us had done it. Good Lord, he is insane. Especially if he thinks I would marry the man who killed my husband."

"Oh, you will," Aggie assured her smugly. "You will if you do not wish him to kill your sister as well." When Charlie blanched at the threat, Aggie grinned nastily. "Well, finally some reaction. Is that not interesting, though? The idea of Radcliffe's death leaves you stone-faced, while the thought of your sister's death worries you greatly. Does your husband realize that you care so little for him?" When Charlie did not respond, annoyance flickered over Aggie's face before she turned to the door. "Well, I must get back to work. I have a business to run, you know." Opening the door, she paused and glanced back to add, "You will enjoy marriage to Norwich. If Maisey is to be believed, he is an incredibly vigorous lover. A bit rough perhaps, but vigorous just the same."

Charlie watched the door close behind the woman, then gave the tray of food a shove that sent it crashing to the floor.

"Oh, my!"

Stokes bit his lip and turned away as Lady Elizabeth's eyes widened on her first sight of Lord Radcliffe. This was no time for levity, he lectured himself firmly. There was nothing the least bit amusing about the situation. Still, the sight of His Lordship bewigged and gowned in Mrs. Hartshair's frilly pink dress was really more than a good valet should have to see. Even helping him into the ridiculous outfit had been beyond the call of duty. Stokes had a new respect for the women employed as lady's maids. Truly, their chore in dressing their mistresses was atrocious. There were zonas and boned corsets with laces that Lady Elizabeth had assured him had to be drawn tight, tighter, and tighter still, despite the fact that His Lordship had been woozy from the constriction.

Petticoats and day sleeves, buffens and cuffs, stockings and gaiters. And that had just been the underthings. Then had come the outer; a stomacher, a bodice with its hook-and-eye fastenings, a waistcoat and skirt And with all of that.

His Lordship still looked like himself in a dress, the servant thought with disgust. It seemed that the dress did not make the woman.

"Umm." Lady Elizabeth managed a rather forced smile and backed toward the door.

"I shall return directly."

Radcliffe glanced toward Stokes with a scowl. "She did not look pleased."

"Oh, I am sure she is pleased, my lord," Stokes murmured quickly, afraid the man was simply looking for an excuse to get out of the dress. It had taken Lady Elizabeth a solid hour of talking to convince him that he would have a better chance of rescuing Lady Charlie as a woman than as himself. Then the problem of a dress came into play. Lady Elizabeth and Lady Charlie were shorter than His Lordship by a good ten inches, as was Lady Bessie. Mrs. Hartshair, on the other hand, was only an inch or two shorter than His Lordship. She was also full-figured and round, and while His Lordship was lean and well muscled, he was wide in the shoulders and had need of the extra space in the bodice of the gown.

"Here we are." Lady Elizabeth rushed back into the master bedroom, powder, rouge, kohl liner, and lip color in one hand and a mob cap, Bergere straw hat, and hooded mantle in the other. Dropping the clothing on the end of the bed, she urged Radcliffe to sit in a chair and close his eyes, then set to work.

"Do stop scowling, my lord, you are causing lines in your powder," she muttered several moments later.

"Surely you are done now," was Radcliffe's answer.

"Nearly," she murmured, adding more color to his cheeks, then stepped back and peered at him critically, tilting her head first one way then the other, then the first way again. Her shoulders fell slightly. He looked even worse now than he had before. He looked like Radcliffe in wig, face powder, and a chess.

"Perhaps the hat, my lady?" Stokes suggested encouragingly.

"Oh, aye." Relief obvious on her face, she whirled back to the bed to grab the rest of the gear she had brought in. Moving back, she set the mob cap over his wig, then added the straw hat, setting it at a jaunty angle, then changed her mind and tilted it forward so that it shadowed his face then further still.

Stepping back, she frowned over him, dissatisfied, until Stokes gave a cough, drawing her attention. When she glanced his way, he gestured toward his own chest behind Radcliffe's back. It took her a moment to read his signals, and then her eyes slid back to Radcliffe's flat chest. Of course, that was why he looked so odd! She glanced around the room, then spied the hose lying on the floor and scooped them up. "Here."

Moving to stand before Radcliffe, she began stuffing the hose down his top, arranging and pushing the material until she had to give it up as a lost cause.

She supposed there were quite a few women who had not been in line when God had handed out upper endowments. Tugging the material out, she tossed it aside and took the mantle Stokes now held out, arranging it around Radcliffe's shoulders, pulling it forward to hide his lackluster chest, then tugging the voluminous hood of the cape up to cover his head and hang over half of his face.

"Are you quite through?"

Beth sighed unhappily, but nodded and stepped back. Lord Radcliffe was off the chair at once and striding toward the door. Beth followed quickly, trailing him down the stairs and throwing the women warning looks over his head as Mrs.

Hartshair and Bessie turned to see them descending. Catching the warning, both women managed to contain their humor and merely watched wide-eyed as His Lordship stomped down the steps in the tight, frilly, too-short dress. He was at the door to the street when he paused and tugged his skirts up slightly to peer at his feet. Turning back to face them, he frowned. "Shoes."

Lady Elizabeth glanced down with distress at his strong masculine legs amongst so many pink frills and released a choked sound. Whirling away, she fled to the salon. Stokes hurried after her. He thought her distress was over the fact that there certainly would not be one pair of lady's slippers or even clogs in the house that would fit His Lordship, but when he entered the room, far from finding her crying as he had feared, he discovered her laughing into the back of the settee, her entire body shaking with the effort to do so silently.

" 'Tis all right," Radcliffe cried, hurrying into the salon after them. "I shall just wear my jackboots. No one will see them under my skirts."

When Lady Elizabeth's shoulders began to shake even more furiously at that.

Stokes promptly positioned his body to hide hers as he turned to face Radcliffe.

He barely managed to maintain his solemn demeanor as he nodded in what he hoped would be taken as agreement, then sagged with relief as the Earl of Radcliffe hurried out of the room in search of the boots. Turning back to his mistress's sister, he found her recovering from her lack of decorum and wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

"He will be noticed at once," she sighed, her humor gone as if it had never been.

"Aye. But mayhap not recognized." "We must hope not."

"He has a better chance dressed so than as himself," Stokes said solemnly.

"Mayhap we can just persuade him to try to keep his back to anyone he encounters and to slouch a little so that he does not appear so large."

"Aye," she sighed, getting to her feet.

"I am ready." Radcliffe stomped into the room then, his jackboots peeking out from under the pink skirts with every step. "Come, we have wasted enough time."

Skirts flying, he whirled to lead the way out of the room.

Chapter Twenty-one.

"That is the room they kept me in, if you will recall, my lord," Bessie murmured, pointing at a window on the second floor of the building as the driver directed the carriage down the alley beside Aggie's establishment. "They are probably keeping her in there. From what I heard while I was there, that room is kept for the express purpose of holding unwilling guests."

Radcliffe shook his head. "Nay, she cannot be there, Bessie, else she would have just crawled out the window as the two of you did that night."

"If she was able," Elizabeth murmured with a frown. When he blanched at her words, she quickly added, "They may have tied her up or something, my lord."

"Oh, aye." Relaxing the teensiest fraction, he suddenly yanked his skirt up to check to be sure that his pistol was still in the pocket sack that hung under the petticoats, then quickly tugged it back down with irritation when he saw the women blush and turn away. It was beyond him why women wore what they did. He was laced in so tightly that he could hardly breathe, and weighted down with so much material he could hardly move. Women were a lot stronger than men gave them credit for. Unfortunately, most of that strength appeared to be wasted on carting about their clothes.

"How are you going to get in?" Stokes asked anxiously.

"I shall try the windows first, I think," Radcliffe said with a frown as he straightened out his skirts. "I fear using the front door would be too much of a risk."

"Aye," Stokes said, then, "My lord, you er your purpose may be better served did you tiy to er keep your face turned away from anyone you encounter."