She was not fooled for a moment.

He obviously wanted something from her.

The question was . . . what?

At her side she felt Lord Hartshore shift in surprise. "You are acquainted?"

The Devilish Dandy smiled with elegant ease. "I have the pleasure of being an old acquaintance of Emma's father."

Emma thinned her lips in displeasure. How easily the lies tripped from his tongue. She firmly withdrew her hand from his grasp.

"What are you doing here?"

Undeterred by her pointed lack of warmth, Solomon stroked the smooth ebony cane.

"The bishop requested that I visit the neighborhood, and, as you know, I have always preferred being in the country," he promptly explained, blithely ignoring the fact that he had never encountered a bishop in his scandalous life and that he had always adamantly professed a rousing distaste for the country. "What a pleasant surprise to discover such an old friend already in residence."

"A surprise, indeed," Lord Hartshore abruptly intruded, clearly beginning to sense there was something odd in the tension between her and Mr. Winchell. "I believe that you have just come from London?"

Solomon allowed the faintest glint to enter his eye at the gentleman's sharp question.

"In a rather roundabout route. I have recently visited the estate of Lord Chance, not far from here. He is currently in residence with his mother and fiancee."

Emma caught her breath. When she had left London, Sarah had not mentioned she would be traveling to the countryseat of her soon-to-be-husband, Lord Chance. Somehow the thought that her sister was so close provided a measure of comfort.

"They are well?" she asked before she could halt the question.

Her father gave a teasing grimace. "Quite well and so disgustingly happy, they are unbearable to be around. Even Lady Chance appears to be delighted with the upcoming nuptials."

Emma could not have been more pleased. There had been no doubt that Lord Chance was completely besotted with Sarah. And who could possibly blame him? She was beautiful, kind, and utterly giving of herself. But Lady Chance had been far less keen to allow the daughter of the Devilish Dandy into her family.

Emma knew that Sarah must be deeply relieved to have her approval before the wedding.

"I am pleased to hear so," she murmured.

"As am I," Solomon agreed before turning toward the gentleman regarding him in a suspicious fashion. "My lord, although I have been here a brief time, I have heard a great deal of you. The tenants are very proud to speak of the kind and generous earl."

Lord Hartshore's expression did not soften despite the obvious attempt at flattery.

"I consider them more friend than tenant," he said in firm tones.

Solomon gave an admiring nod of his head. "A worthy sentiment."

The vicar pressed himself forward, determined to share his own views on the subject.

"Yes, indeed, although it would not do to encourage those of lesser birth to imagine themselves as equals with their betters," he declared in stern tones. "They can be so encroaching, do you not think, Mr. Winchell?"

A decided frost fell upon the Devilish Dandy's thin features as he turned to regard his current host.

"I think we are all God's creatures, Mr. Allensway," he said with a slow emphasis. "And I do not recall that when God requested that we love our neighbors, he specified only those of noble birth."

Although obtuse to the true spirit of charity, Mr. Allensway possessed enough self-preservation to realize he had not pleased the gentleman he believed to hold his future in his hands.

"No, of course not. I merely meant that I would not wish to see discontent among the lower classes."

The Devilish Dandy was not about to let him off so easily. "Discontent comes from empty bellies and lack of hope, not from the hand of kindness. I trust your charitable efforts have taught you as much?"

The vicar paled, no doubt realizing that kind and charitable were two words that would never be applied to him.

"Yes, of course."

An awkward silence fell before Lord Hartshore was smoothly stepping into the breach.

"Will you be staying long, Mr. Winchell?"

"That rather depends." Solomon returned his gaze to Emma's pale face. "I have a certain duty to perform before returning to London."

So, she was right, Emma seethed. He did want something from her. Although she could not imagine what it could be. She had no money and nothing of value beyond. . . of course! Her emerald pendant.

"You make it sound quite mysterious," Lord Hartshore was saying as Emma glared at her father.

Solomon shrugged. "More delicate than mysterious, my lord."

Lord Hartshore gave a grunt, clearly dissatisfied by the evasive response.

"And it is your first visit to Kent?"

"I was here some years ago. Indeed, I once stayed for several weeks not far from here."

"Then perhaps you will encounter more than one old acquaintance among the neighbors."

Solomon smiled, although his expression was one of disbelief.

"Perhaps."

Emma shuddered at the mere thought. Good heavens, she could not bear another round of finger-pointing and cold shoulders. Of seeing the horror in Lord Hartshore's golden eyes.

Pressing a hand to her erratic heart, Emma realized that she had to be alone. She had to think of what she was to do. More important, she had to regain her composure before she revealed just how distressed she was by the arrival of Mr. Winchell.

"I must see to Lady Hartshore," she muttered, beginning to back toward the door.

Predictably, her father was not about to allow her to escape so easily.

"Miss Cresswell, I hope you will consent to a brief visit tomorrow? We have much to discuss."

Emma's hand instinctively clasped the emerald pendant. She did not want to hear what it was her father wished to discuss. She just wanted him to disappear as swiftly as he had appeared.

"My duties keep me very occupied."

His smile never wavered. "I am certain that Lady Hartshore would not begrudge an old acquaintance a few moments."

Vividly aware of Lord Hartshore's probing gaze and the gathering frown upon the vicar's brow, Emma had little choice but to agree.

"Very well. Now you must excuse me."

Refusing to allow another opportunity to be halted, Emma whirled on her heel and fled the room.

Blast the Devilish Dandy.

Would she never be free of him?

Cedric watched Emma's abrupt departure with a growing sense of unease. Something was troubling her. Something connected with Mr. Winchell.

And he intended to discover precisely what it was.

"I will return in a moment," he promised with a hasty bow, uncaring that it was hardly polite to leave the guests on their own.

Swiftly following in her wake, Cedric caught sight of her as she disappeared into the library. Within moments he had joined her in the book-lined room and firmly shut the door behind her.

Hearing the click of the latch, Miss Cresswell abruptly turned to regard him with wide eyes. Within a heartbeat her expression was effectively guarded.

"My lord."

He moved to stand before her rigid form. "What is troubling you?"

"Nothing," she readily lied, her hands clenched at her sides.

"Mr. Winchell appeared to upset you."

"That is absurd."

Cedric drew in an annoyed breath. Why did she have to be so blasted independent? Could she not realize he simply wished to help?

"Miss Cresswell . . . Emma, I may not be a renowned scholar, but I am not precisely stupid," he said gently. "You nearly fainted when you caught sight of Mr. Winchell."

She abruptly turned from him, as if she feared what he might read in her eyes.

"I was merely surprised to discover him in Kent."

"But the vicar specifically told us that Mr. Winchell would be visiting."

"I ... did not recognize the name. It has been some time since we were acquainted."

Moving forward, he reached out a hand to stroke the line of her tense shoulder. He longed to pull her into his arms and hold her close, but he was wise enough to realize that he might only frighten her away.

"Emma, if you are in trouble or danger, you must know that you could tell me. I would do everything in my power to protect you."

He felt the fine tremor that shook her body. "There is nothing you can do."

His heart gave a painful jolt at the hint of despair in her voice. Damn Mr. Winchell. If he discovered the man was indeed the cause of Emma's distress, he would beat him with his own cane.

"You have not allowed me to try," he pointed out in firm tones.

"Please, I am fine, my lord. You must return to your guests."

"Emma . . ."

"Excuse me."

With a speed that he had not expected, she was moving across the carpet and through a side door that led into a rarely used corridor. Cedric knew that he would never catch her before she had raced up the stairs and locked herself in her chambers.

He heaved a rueful sigh.

The day had begun with such promise.

He had devoted a great deal of time and attention to his surprise picnic. So much attention that he occasionally paused to wonder at his preoccupation with the delectable Miss Cresswell. After all, it was one thing to enjoy stealing a kiss from a beautiful maiden or to even be curious about the mystery surrounding her presence in Kent. But to spend three days plotting the best means of bringing a smile to her lips . . . well, that rather smacked of a gentleman who desired more than a passing flirtation.

He had managed to dismiss his niggling concern with the rationalization that Miss Cresswell was in dire need of a bit of pleasure in her life. She had been so obviously delighted with the passing theater troupe and even the simple roses he bestowed upon her. Soon she would be leaving for her dreary life as a companion. Surely it was his duty to provide her with some amusement before she was gone forever?

Cedric glanced toward the door, knowing he should return to the guests. It was hardly done to simply abandon them in the parlor. But at the moment he was in no humor to play the entertaining host. In fact, he very much feared that if he returned to the parlor, he might attempt to force Mr. Winchell to confess the truth of his arrival in Kent. Even if he had to choke it out of him.

With a shake of his head, he quit the library and used the servants' staircase to take him into the garden. His groom would bring home his carriage. He felt in dire need of a bit of fresh air to clear his thoughts.

He gave a small shiver at the sharp breeze, but hunching his shoulders, he followed the paved path to the parkland. He had just angled toward the copse of trees, when a sudden call had him glancing up in surprise.

"Ho, Cedric."

His heart sank at the sight of Bart leaning upon his shovel. He knew he could not pass by without at least a brief visit.

"Good afternoon, Bart." Cedric moved to regard the fine hole that the gentleman had created. "I see you have been busy."

"Aye, I am getting close. I feel it in my bones."

Cedric's smile was decidedly wry. "Then you are fortunate."

Although eccentric, Bart could be surprisingly perceptive on occasion.

"What's this? A bit blue-deviled on this fine day?"

More than a bit, Cedric acknowledged to himself. And the worse part was that he didn't know why.

It was not his concern if Emma knew Mr. Winchell far more intimately than a distant acquaintance. Or if his arrival had only deepened the shadows that she kept shrouded around her.

Had she not made it clear that she did not desire his assistance? That she would, indeed, prefer him not to meddle in her affairs?

So why was his mood suddenly as dark as a brooding thundercloud?