Their gazes tangled, and just for a moment both forgot the young lad watching them with shrewd comprehension. Then Lucky gave a sudden laugh. "Cor, I thought she would plant you a facer for sure, guv. Not many stands up to the Miss."

Wholly unrepentant, Lord Chance slowly smiled. "Perhaps it is time that someone did."

"You, sir?" Lucky slyly demanded.

"We shall see," he murmured. Then, as the carriage rumbled to a halt, he abruptly turned to glance out the window. "Here we are. I shall call again tomorrow."

Saucy.

He had possessed the audacity to label her as saucy.

Entering her tiny home, Sarah resisted the urge to glance back at the glossy carriage and stick out her tongue.

Really, the gentleman was . . . Sarah was at a loss to properly describe the aggravating Lord Chance.

It was not as if she couldn't take a bit of jesting, she assured herself.

With her distinctly odd upbringing, she had long ago discovered if she did not laugh at the absurdities in life she would grow to be a bitter woman indeed, something she was determined to avoid at all cost.

But Lord Chance seemed to possess an uncanny ability to prick through her hard-earned composure to the more vulnerable woman beneath. That fact disturbed her more than she cared to acknowledge.

Decidedly ruffled, Sarah marched up the stairs, anxious to remove the uniform, which had begun to itch. She had just reached the first landing when a faint noise drew her into the front salon. A sudden frown marred her features at the sight of two young maidens seated upon the sofa.

Drat, she silently seethed.

Her busy morning had effectively dismissed the memory that she had sent a message to both of her sisters to ask them to join her this afternoon. Now they had arrived, and she did not feel at all prepared to face them.

For a moment, Sarah silently studied her younger sisters. As always, Emma was sensibly attired in a gray gown, her honey-colored curls scraped into a bun at the nape of her neck, her pure green eyes dark with concern. Only the emerald pendant about her neck gave a hint of color.

Poor Emma had perhaps suffered the greatest beneath the taint attached to the Cresswell name, Sarah acknowledged. Her brief attempt at a Season had ended in shame when Solomon had been publicly arrested as the Devilish Dandy. Of course, even before then Emma had always felt a measure of shame for being related to the less than honorable family. Sarah had tried her best to ease the young girl's troubled guilt, but she always feared she had failed the most sensitive child.

Rachel, in contrast, was every inch the daughter of the Devilish Dandy. A tiny beauty with golden curls and mischievous hazel eyes, she boldly faced Society with enough wit and charm that only the highest sticklers turned her aside. She had also, unfortunately, inherited her father's lust for adventure and kept Sarah in constant dread that one of her madcap dares would land her in scandal that not even her charm could save her from.

At last sensing her presence, both maidens turned to regard Sarah. Not surprisingly, Rachel laughed at her odd attire, while Emma widened her eyes in shock.

"Sarah . . . good heavens," Emma murmured. "Why ever are you dressed as a servant?"

Not prepared to discuss her search for the Chance diamonds and certainly not her current connection to Lord Chance, Sarah merely shrugged. "Please do not ask."

Rachel tilted her head to one side, her eyes dancing with amusement. "I think it quite becomes you. If you were not my sister, I should set my cap for you."

The jest was too vivid a reminder of Lord Chance's teasing for Sarah to readily join in her sister's amusement. "As witty as ever, Rachel," she said dryly, her gaze taking in the poppy-coloured Indian muslin gown with a neckline that revealed a great deal too much ivory skin as well as a perfect ruby pendant. "And as scandalously clad."

Impervious to her sister's chiding, Rachel tossed her golden curls. "At least I am not clad as a groom."

Clicking her tongue impatiently, Emma leaned forward. "Why did you ask us to come here, Sarah?"

Why, indeed. Sarah drew in a deep breath. Her announcement was bound to create a furor. Hardly surprising. Everything that had to do with the Devilish Dandy created a furor. "I thought you should know Father has returned to London."

A shocked, brittle silence descended before Emma surged to her feet.

"Returned?" she uttered in dismay. "He is here?"

Rachel also rose to her feet, but rather than dismay, her lovely face was illuminated by a brilliant smile. "I knew he would not go to that horrid India," she exclaimed. "Where is he? Can I see him?"

That was a question Sarah preferred not to ponder. "I have not seen him since breakfast."

Emma unconsciously twisted her hands together. "What is he doing here?"

"Currently he is pretending to be Uncle Pierre from Paris," Sarah said, her smile wry.

"This is horrid."

"Horrid?" Rachel favored her sister with a dark glance. "What a milksop you are, Emma. I think it is perfectly marvelous to have Father home again."

Emma stiffened in resentment. "Oh yes, there is nothing more enjoyable than being the source of ridicule and gossip throughout London."

"Fiddlesticks."

Anxious to ward off a sisterly squabble, Sarah lifted a slender hand. "Please, let us not argue. I simply wished you both to be aware of Father's return to London."

"I thank you, Sarah," Emma said in low tones, drawing on her gloves with less than steady hands. "Now I must take my leave. I have no desire to encounter Father."

She moved toward the door, but as she passed, Sarah reached out to lay a detaining hand on her arm. "Emma . . . you must try not to be so unforgiving. He is your father," Sarah said softly.

Emma's green eyes abruptly blazed with a pain that time had not yet healed. "It is not so simple."

"No," Sarah agreed softly.

"I must go."

"A moment." Sarah did not wish to take leave of her sister on such a note. "How are the Farwells?"

Her mention of the family where Emma was currently employed as a governess was clearly a poor choice. A telling shudder wracked Emma's slender form. "Unspeakable."

Sarah's hand tightened on Emma's arm in sympathy. "You will always have a home here."

Emma smiled, but gave a faint shake of her head. She had been implacable in her determination to support herself. "I believe I shall seek a post outside London. There is a Lady Hartshore in Kent who is seeking a companion."

Sarah's heart twisted. Emma would have to face her demons in her own manner. "Do not forget to seek out a bit of happiness," she urged. "It is not such a terrible thing."

Emma's pale features abruptly softened, bringing to life her delicate beauty. "I will always have happiness as long as I have you, Sarah." Placing a kiss upon Sarah's cheek, Emma gently pulled free and moved through the door.

With a loving smile, Sarah watched her leave, only turning about as her youngest sister gave a loud snort.

"What a dreary goose she is," Rachel complained.

Sarah's smile was replaced with a stern frown at the flippant accusation. "Emma is very sensitive to our less than respectable circumstances."

"Pooh. She has always been the greatest bore."

"Emma is to be admired for her determination to make her own way in the world," Sarah retorted, her gaze narrowing. "Speaking of which, I have several bills here I wish to discuss with you."

Rachel gave an airy wave of her hand. In true Cresswell fashion, the minx believed she was above such mundane manners as money. It would never occur to her that Sarah and Emma must sacrifice to allow her to live in grand style.

Just for a moment Sarah felt in complete sympathy with Lord Chance. Neither of them had desired to fill the role of a stern taskmaster, and yet both had been thrust into the position by fate. It was not an easy situation.

"Oh, not now, Sarah," Rachel complained. "I have an invitation to dine with the Montfords."

"You always appear to have an invitation when I wish to speak with you."

Rachel smiled with satisfaction. "I am very much in demand."

"Yes." Sarah paused, choosing her words with great care. Although the rumors that had come to her attention deeply alarmed her, she was too wise to goad the impetuous child into even more daring behavior. "Rachel, I hope you will take care."

"Whatever do you mean?"

Sarah's expression was somber. For all the aggravation she endured, she truly was fond of her sister, and she knew that deep down Rachel possessed a kind heart and generous spirit. Only her need for gaiety and adventure led her astray.

"I have no desire for you to do something foolish."

Rachel's tiny chin jutted outward in a familiar motion. "I only intend to enjoy myself. Why should I not?"

"You possess a habit of rushing into situations with little thought of the consequences," Sarah pointed out gently.

"No doubt you wish me to be as dull and stuffy as Emma."

Sarah gave a slow shake of her head. Could three sisters possibly be more different?

"I wish you to have no regrets."

Rachel's hazel eyes flashed with the same smoldering fire that could be found in the Devilish Dandy. "I have never regretted anything, nor do I intend to begin now." Moving forward, Rachel lightly kissed Sarah's cheek. "Forgive me, I really must run. Tell Father I shall call on him later in the week. Oh ... do you have a few pounds I could borrow? I saw the most darling muff that I simply must have."

"No," Sarah promptly denied.

Rachel gave a charming laugh. "Very well. Good-bye, dearest, and try not to look so grim. You are so very handsome when you smile."

In a cloud of rose perfume, Rachel swept from the room.

Left on her own, Sarah heaved a sigh. If only her mother had lived beyond Rachel's infancy. Perhaps she would have possessed the knowledge to soothe Emma's troubles and tame Rachel's wild spirits. At least she might have provided a sense of security as their father had dragged them throughout Europe and at last England.

Sarah had done the best she could, aided by Lord Scott, who had been the only person she could depend upon when her father was arrested. But she very much feared it was not enough.

"Excuse me, Miss Cresswell."

Chiding herself for wasting her time on foolish regrets, Sarah turned to view Watts standing in the doorway. "Yes?"

"I thought you would like to know I visited those jewelers you requested."

"Any luck?"

Watts gave a firm shake of his head. "No, and seeing as they know I work for the Devilish Dandy, they wouldn't feel the need to lie. Lud, most would love to crow that someone bested the master."

Sarah could not prevent a small smile. Watts's battered nose was clearly out of joint at the thought of her father losing his claim to being the best thief in London.

"Thank you, Watts."

"There are a few more discreet collectors that your father preferred. I shall seek them out tomorrow."

"What should I do without you?" she asked softly. Then, as the servant blushed in embarrassment, she readily eased his discomfort. "Have you seen Father?"

"Not since breakfast, miss."

Sarah heaved yet another sigh. "I suppose it is too much to hope he is not busily embroiling himself in trouble."

A faintly sympathetic smile touched the brutish features. "As to that, I cannot say."

"You realize, Watts, that I never should have gotten out of my bed yesterday."

"Yes, miss. A most unfortunate occurrence."

Five.

Few glancing out their window that November morning would have taken much note of the glossy black carriage that briefly slowed beside a hedge before continuing down the elegant street. Certainly no one could have detected the slender lad swiftly darting through the late morning shadows.

Alone with Miss Cresswell in the carriage, Chance allowed himself to study the slender maiden seated across from him. This morning she had chosen a lovely walking dress and pelisse in dove gray with a band of ermine at the hem and cuffs. Upon her chestnut curls, she had perched a bonnet crowned with pink roses that framed her handsome countenance to advantage.

She might have been just another of the pretty maidens who currently filled the London drawing rooms, but Chance was swiftly realizing Miss Cresswell was far from being just another maiden.

Who else of his acquaintance would have proven to possess such skill or courage? Certainly none would have exhibited the audacity to help him recover the Chance diamonds.

She had proven herself a decided puzzle. And for a gentleman who prided himself on being a shrewd judge of his fellow man, such a puzzle was bound to capture his interest.

That was, of course, why she had been so frequently upon his thoughts, he assured himself, and why he had awakened this morning with a distinct sense of anticipation.

When he was in Miss Cresswell's company, he never knew what might occur next. It was an oddly exhilarating feeling.

As he allowed his gaze to rise to her pale countenance, a small smile curved his lips. Yes, a puzzle indeed.

The carriage slowed to a halt, and Chance watched as Miss Cresswell abruptly leaned to glance out the window at his mother's home. "Oh ... it is very grand," she breathed.