Besides, whatever Cedric's words to the contrary, she was well aware Lady Hartshore would be expecting her to be at her side.

Moving back toward the terrace, she caught the faint whiff of a cheroot, then, as she neared the steps, she realized that two gentlemen were leaning against the stone railing.

She paused, debating whether to slip to a side door or risk the suspicion of arriving unescorted from the garden, when the sound of their voices floated downward.

"Are you certain?" a flamboyantly attired Casanova demanded.

"Of course I am certain," a heavyset Caesar retorted. "I heard it from the magistrate only a few moments ago."

"Well, if he believes the man to be the Devilish Dandy, then why the deuce does he not simply capture him?"

Emma clamped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from crying out in dismay. Dear heavens, it was what she had feared above all else. Somehow her father had been recognized.

"Because he cannot be certain," Caesar was continuing, thankfully unaware of the slender woman shivering in the shadows. "He has only the word of Lady Mosley, who swears he is the same gentleman who visited twenty years ago and made off with her rubies."

"That old tabbie?" Casanova gave a loud snort. "Fah, she would claim that her chef was Napoleon if she thought it would gain her a bit of notoriety."

"True enough, which is why Malton has sent to London for a Runner who has actually seen the Dandy. If it is a bust, then no harm done and the poor sod will never know he was fingered as a thief. If it is him, then he shall soon be receiving his just rewards."

Emma's thoughts were racing as she wrapped her arms around her frozen form.

They were not yet certain, she acknowledged numbly. They had only the vague memories of a woman prone to exaggerate the most trifling incident. Which meant that her father had until the Runner arrived to disappear from Kent.

"I'll wager it's a bust," Casanova scoffed. "What would a gent like the Devilish Dandy be doing in Kent?"

"Lady Hartshore possesses some fine jewels, and you won't find a better collection of art than at Hartshore Park."

"Mayhap, but hardly to the taste of the Devilish Dandy. It was said he returned a diamond tiara he had stolen from Lady Dunwell with a note that claimed the stones were of such an inferior quality that he feared Lord Dunwell must be a wretched skinflint and he could not possibly in good conscience steal her paltry baubles. She was so humiliated, she fled to the country until Lord Dunwell agreed to provide her with a decent set of jewels."

"Still, it would make a rousing good story if it were him," Caesar mused, clearly hoping the famous thief was lurking among them. "Just think of strolling into White's with the information we brushed elbows with the Devilish Dandy."

Emma felt a sick distaste roll through her stomach at the man's vain desire to see a man hang so he could impress the members of his club.

Casanova, however, was clearly struck by the notion of creating such a dash among his peers.

"That would make them blighters sit up and take notice. Can't abide their manner of staring down their London noses as if we smell of the country."

"Remember Wilford? He was practically mobbed when it was learned he had been standing next to the Dandy when he was arrested."

Emma had endured enough of their preening delight in the thought of using her father's capture to better their standing among the London snobs. Besides, she had no notion when the magistrate had sent for the Runner. For all she knew, he might even now be racing his way to Kent. She had to act swiftly if she were to save her father from certain death.

Moving as silently as her stiff limbs would allow, she backed away from the terrace, then skirting the house, she hurried to a side door that would allow her to enter unnoted.

She had not seen her father arrive at the ball, but she knew beyond a doubt that the ambitious vicar would never miss the social event of the year. He would also insist Mr. Winchell be close at hand to view his privileged status among the fashionable families.

Entering the house, she took a moment to allow the welcome warmth to unthaw her trembling body before hurrying down the long corridor toward the ballroom.

The sound of music and laughter echoed through the air long before she reached the doors of the ballroom. But even as her steps picked up speed, a large, decidedly male form abruptly detached itself from the shadows along the wall.

Unprepared for the sudden obstruction in her path, Emma was unable to halt in time to avoid crashing into the solid body.

She reeled backward, but before she could fall, a pair of strong arms encircled her waist and pulled her upright.

"Emma," a familiar male voice muttered in exasperation.

Glancing into Cedric's dark features, Emma forgot she was deeply dreading encountering this gentleman after their earlier argument. For the moment she could think of nothing beyond the danger to her father.

"Cedric, have you seen Mr. Winchell?"

His brows lowered at her odd question, clearly sensing the tremors that still raced through her form.

"Not to my knowledge, but this is a masquerade. He could be one of any number of Romeos and Samsons around."

"I must find him," she breathed, too upset to hide the fear that raced through her blood.

The golden eyes narrowed at the hectic flush that stained her countenance.

"Why?"

"I cannot explain now."

At her hurried words, the male features hardened in exasperation.

"Enough of this," he growled, abruptly hauling her off her feet and marching into a nearby room that had been set aside to house the cloaks and hats of the guests. Slamming shut the door, he set her down on her feet and glared into her desperate countenance.

"No, Cedric. I must find my ... Mr. Winchell."

She attempted to step past his looming form, but his hands reached out to grasp her shoulders.

"You are going nowhere until you tell me precisely what is going on."

"I do not have time-"

"On the contrary," he sharply cut into her words, his expression warning her that he was in no humor to be ignored. "You have all the time in the world. We are not leaving this room until you have told me precisely what has occurred."

Fourteen.

Cedric realized he was handling the situation badly.

He had no right to hold this woman hostage and force her to confess secrets she preferred to keep hidden.

But the sight of her stricken expression and the unmistakable trembling of her slender body had snapped the thin thread of his patience.

Blast it all, something terrible had clearly occurred to upset her, and he could not meekly stand aside and allow her to face it alone.

Even if it meant using his superior strength to induce her to confide the truth.

Glaring at him in exasperation, she gave a shake of her head.

"You do not understand."

"That much I readily agree with," he retorted, his voice as harsh as his expression. "Explain."

Even in the dim candlelight he could make out the play of emotions that crossed her countenance. Anger, impatience, and, at last, resignation at the knowledge he was fully determined to keep her trapped in the room until she confessed.

"Mr. Winchell is in danger," she finally admitted in tight tones.

"Danger?" His brows snapped together in surprise. This was not at all what he had expected. "From what?"

She drew in a shaky breath. "I overheard two of the guests speaking in the garden. The magistrate has sent for a Runner to capture him."

Familiar with the plodding but thorough magistrate, Cedric was certain he would never have contacted London for a Runner without good cause.

"Why the devil would the magistrate be interested in Mr. Winchell?"

"Because he is not Mr. Winchell. He is the Devilish Dandy."

Cedric's hands unconsciously tightened as his eyes widened in shock. Despite the fact he spent the majority of his life in the wilds of Kent, even he had heard of the Devilish Dandy. Gads, who had not been entertained by tales of his daring capers and dashing style?

"The jewel thief," he muttered, unable to reconcile the somber Mr. Winchell with the rumors of the satin-attired, sharp-witted fop.

"Yes."

"Good Lord." A sudden, wholly unwelcome realization struck him. "You knew who he was."

She gave a slow, reluctant nod of her head. "Yes."

"How?"

She was silent for so long, Cedric feared she might refuse to answer him. Then, tugging out of his grasp, she turned to hide her troubled expression.

"He is my father."

At first he thought he must have misunderstood her whispered words.

She was the daughter of the Devilish Dandy?

Nonsense.

Surely any such daughter would be a hardened criminal just like her father? Or at least a forward hussy who was willing to use any trick or wile to seduce the unwary?

Not this cool, controlled lady who cherished propriety above all things.

Then the truth hit him like a kick in the head.

Of course.

It all made sense.

The priceless emerald around her neck. Her determined flight to Kent. Her unreasonable fear of any hint of scandal. Her refusal to allow anyone close to her. And, of course, her reaction to the arrival of Mr. Winchell.

She might be the daughter of the Devilish Dandy, but she was desperate to rid herself of his legacy. Even if it meant a lifetime of loneliness.

"What is he doing here?" he asked softly.

A shudder raced through her body. "He came to offer me an allowance so that I would no longer be forced to earn my living."

Whatever his distaste for a gentleman who would steal from others, he had to approve of his desire to help his daughter. Even if his offer was clearly luring Emma away from Kent.

"So that is why you are leaving."

"No." She jerkily spun to face him, her eyes glittering in the candlelight. "I want nothing from him. Not ever."

She could not disguise the raw edge in her voice, and Cedric stepped toward her.

"He has hurt you."

She gave a sharp, humorless laugh. "I assure you that there is nothing pleasant about being the daughter of the Devilish Dandy."

Cedric could readily imagine. Although the speculation and twitters that were directed toward his aunt were slight indeed when compared to those aimed at the Devilish Dandy, he knew how unpleasant such rumors could be.

"He is the reason you came to Kent."

She wrapped her arms around her waist in an unconsciously defensive motion.

"I could bear the scandal no longer."

"And then you arrived at Mayford." His lips twisted in rueful amusement. "No wonder you were so horrified."

"I wanted only to find a place where I could fade into obscurity."

Cedric's heart rebelled at the mere notion. This lovely, kind, courageous woman fade into obscurity? No. It would be a sin against nature.

She was meant to love and laugh and enjoy the sheer wonder of life.

She was meant to be at his side, in his bed, and holding their children in her arms.

And that was precisely what he intended to see happen.

"You were trying to hide," he said softly.

"Perhaps."