"Perhaps a bit," he reluctantly admitted.

Bart gave a loud snort. "Woman trouble, I make no doubt."

Cedric raised his brows at the unexpected accusation. "Why would you presume any such thing?"

"Only two things give a gentleman the blue devils. Losing a battle or tangling with a female. You haven't been in a battle, have you?"

"Only a mild skirmish with the vicar," Cedric admitted in dry tones.

"Then it is a female."

Cedric grimaced. "Miss Cresswell."

A glint of comprehension dawned in the older gentleman's eye. "Ah, the lovely companion."

"She is lovely," Cedric agreed. "And perverse and most certainly hiding some secret."

Bart abruptly straightened. "A spy?"

"No, nothing so dramatic."

Reassured he was not harboring a dastardly sneak, Bart shrugged.

"If she's not a spy, then her secrets be her own."

It was precisely what Cedric had told himself only moments before, but Cedric found it impossible to dismiss the maiden from his thoughts.

"They are too heavy a burden for such a young lady. She is so brittle from the strain, I fear she might shatter."

Bart leaned forward, as if able to read something within Cedric's expression. Then he gave a slow nod of his head.

"I begin to understand. A wounded sparrow."

"What?"

"As a lad, you were forever dragging home some poor creature that had been injured or was ill. Cassie was never certain what she might encounter when she entered your chambers."

A reluctant smile curved Cedric's lips as he recalled his small menagerie. Not a day passed without him caring for a half dozen different rodents, reptiles, and birds. It said something of Cassie's sweet temperament that she had not forbidden him to bring them into Mayford.

"Ah, yes, I recall her rather dramatic reaction to the frog that escaped to the drawing room."

"You believed you could save anything."

"It at least seemed my duty to make the attempt."

"Clearly you still feel it your duty," Bart said in pointed tones.

Cedric shrugged. It was a tidy explanation. Perhaps Emma did manage to stir his natural instinct to protect her from harm. But that certainly did not explain his fierce desire to pull her into his arms. Or the highly improper dreams that made him awaken with an aching sense of need.

"I doubt that Miss Cresswell would appreciate being likened to a stray animal."

Bart gave a knowing nod of his head. "Nor will she be so eager to be saved."

"So I have discovered."

With a sudden frown Bart reached out to place a hand on Cedric's shoulder.

"Be careful, lad."

"Of Miss Cresswell?" he demanded in surprise.

"No greater danger to a sensible gent than a damsel in distress," he explained.

"I merely dislike seeing her so troubled."

"Aye, that is how it always begins," Bart scoffed. "You do a kind deed and next you are popping around to see that she is well and next you are mooning about the color of her eyes or the manner she moves across the room. A wretched business."

Cedric ruefully acknowledged that there were worse things to moon over than eyes the color of emeralds and the graceful sway of slender hips.

"I would not think it all wretched," he confessed.

Bart's hand dropped as he gave a disgusted shake of his head. "Bah. You are as noddy as your uncle. He couldn't leap into the parson's mousetrap swiftly enough. I tried to tell him how it would be, but he claimed that he could not live without Cassie. Beef-witted, I say."

"Uncle Fredrick never appeared to rue his decision," Cedric could not resist pointing out.

Bart gave a disgusted shake of his head. "Like I said, beef-witted."

Cedric's lips twitched. "Perhaps."

His tone was offhand, but Bart's gaze slowly narrowed in an accusing manner.

"I recognize that expression."

"What expression?"

"You will walk the plank and be happy for it."

For no reason Cedric could imagine, he felt a rash of alarm tingle through his body.

"Do not toss me overboard too quickly, Bart," he warned.

"I fear you have tossed yourself over," the older man mourned. "There is nothing left but to wish you happy."

Cedric gave a click of his tongue. Only Bart could liken love to walking the plank, he told himself. Or to confuse the desire to help another as an unspoken declaration.

It was ridiculous.

"I must be off," Cedric muttered. "Good luck with your digging."

"Aye, and luck be with you, my poor boy."

Ten.

Slipping into the small copse of trees, Emma heaved a sigh of relief. She was certain that she had not been spotted when she had slipped quietly from the house. At least not by Lady Hartshore or the distinguished gentleman who had just arrived at Mayford.

She had spent the entire morning on edge, waiting for her father to make his appearance. It had been too much to hope that he would have sensed her open lack of welcome and simply returned to London.

Solomon Cresswell considered no one but himself, and if he decided he wished to speak with his daughter, then nothing would stop him. Least of all concern for Emma's desire in the matter.

Moving deeper into the trees, she kept securely out of sight of the main house. She would wait at least half an hour, she decided, before returning. Surely within that time even her father would have come to the conclusion she did not wish to speak with him.

She paced through the pathways, turning to retrace her steps, and then started over again. She tried not to think of her father seated with Lady Hartshore, no doubt charming her with his easy wit. Or the knowledge his experienced eye was no doubt assessing the priceless works of art that were openly displayed throughout the house.

The mere thought was enough to make her shudder in dread.

"Good morning, Emma."

Startled out of her dark thoughts, Emma whirled around to discover the Devilish Dandy regarding her with a faint smile.

As yesterday, he was once again attired in a severe black coat and breeches, with those absurd glasses perched upon his nose. A startling change from his usual preference for brilliant silks and lace. Only the lazy amusement in the green eyes was familiar.

"Father. What are you doing here?"

"I did warn you that I would be calling today." He cast a placid gaze at the trees. "Which is why I presume you are hiding."

The accusation of cowardice scraped at her pride, even if it was true.

"I am not hiding."

"No?"

"No. I merely do not believe we have anything to say to each other."

His smile never faltered. "Surely you wish to know why I have come to Kent?"

Emma lifted her hand to her emerald pendant. "I presume you are either fleeing from the authorities or are in need of money. Those are the only occasions you seem to recall you possess daughters."

"Egads." The Devilish Dandy gave a startled laugh. "I see that time has not dulled that brutal tongue, Emma."

She struggled to ignore her pang of guilt. Solomon Cresswell had never given her any reason to trust him.

"Why should I not speak the truth?"

"I assure you that on this occasion I did not see you out for protection or to plead for a bit of the ready," he assured her wryly. "Indeed, I have come with every intention of offering you my assistance."

Far from reassured, Emma regarded him warily. Her father helped no one unless there was some reward in it for himself.

"Then I fear you have made a wasted journey. I desire nothing from you."

"Will you not at least allow me to explain?"

"Why should I?"

Emma heard him heave a faint sigh. "You are right, of course. I have always been a selfish beast with little consideration beyond my own desires. It was not until I was lodged in Newgate, contemplating my imminent death, that I realized how my sins have harmed my daughters. Until that moment it had all been a game. Now I wish to make amends."

Emma shuddered as she recalled those horrible days when they awaited the Devilish Dandy to be carted to the noose. Regardless of what he had done, she could not bear the thought of him dying in such a ghastly fashion.

Still, she was no guidable fool. It would take more than a passing brush with death to alter her father's frivolous disregard for others.

"Very pretty, but somewhat late, would you not say?"

"I do hope not, Emma. I may not be the father you desire, but unfortunately I am the only one you possess."

"I have done quite well without a father," she informed him crisply. "I am very capable of taking care of myself."

He gave a slow nod of acknowledgment. "Yes, I have always admired that about you, my dear. Such fierce independence."

"I had little choice."

"No, you didn't. But matters have changed now."

Her wariness only deepened at his smooth words. "What do you mean?"

"As I said, my delightful stay within the walls of Newgate was an enlightening experience." His expression became uncommonly somber as he studied her pale features. "I came to realize that there was nothing more important in my life than my daughters. I made a promise to myself that if I got out of there alive, I would do everything in my power to ensure their happiness."

Unsettled by the seeming sincerity in his voice, Emma wrapped her arms around her waist. Her father was a master at making others believe what he wished them to believe.

"Really? And how do you propose to do that?"

He remained immune to her prickly disbelief. "I wish to give you what you have always desired."

"What?"

"True independence."

Emma flinched as if she had been slapped.

How dare he?

How dare he mock the simple dream that meant so much to her?

"That is not amusing," she gritted out.