Elizabeth Chater The Earl And The Emigree

The Earl

and the

Émigrée

The Earl

and the

Émigrée

Elizabeth Chater

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form

or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopy,

recording, scanning or any information storage retrieval system, without

explicit permission in writing from the Author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

resemblance to actual events or locals or persons, living or dead, is

entirely coincidental.

First e-reads publication 1999

www.e-reads.com

ISBN 0-7592-2245-2

Other works by Elizabeth Chater

also available in e-reads editions

The Marriage Mart

The Gamester

Milord's Liegewoman

Angela

The King's Doll

The Runaway Debutante

Milady Hot-at-hand

Lady Dearborn's Debut

A Place For Alfreda

The Duke's Dilemma

A Time To Love

A Delicate Situation

The Earl

and the

Émigrée

ibble, butler to the Right Honorable Earl of Stone and Hamer,
strode impatiently toward the massive front doors of Milord’s great
London townhouse. He was more than a little annoyed as he
swung back one panel of the door in response to the peremptory

battering of the knocker. At this hour—dusk of a cold, rainy afternoon in
March—the third footman, a gauche but earnest youth, should properly have
been in attendance in Milord’s great hallway, ready to receive or discourage
any visitor ill-advised enough to brave the wretched weather at such an
unfashionable hour. But the third footman, Batty by name, had reported to his
superior with an inflammation of the nose and throat so obviously putrid that
Dibble waved him away to the servants’ quarters before he infected his elders
and betters.

Dibble had, perforce, to man the door himself until Batty could send down

the second or even the fourth footman, both of whom were enjoying their
regular four-hour respite. The Earl, Dibble decided grimly, was far too lenient
with his staff. Four hours free per diem, for every member of the staff of the
townhouse! Unheard of! And all to be arranged, of course, by Dibble! The
timekeeping alone imposed another burden upon an already heavily laden

Elizabeth Chater—The Earl and the Émigrée

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Majordomo, Dibble grumbled, and resolved to give the importunate upstart
who was belaboring the door knocker what for, and send him off with a flea in
his ear!

But when he swung the huge portal open, his mouth followed suit. The

disturber of the peace of the Earl of Stone and Hamer was a slight, unimpres-
sive figure just over five feet tall, draped theatrically in a black, hooded cloak
far too long for it. Dibble eyed the mud-splattered garment with extreme
repugnance. He was struck in the face by a gust of icy-cold rain, and his exac-
erbated temper flared.

“Wot d’ye think yer playin’ at?” he growled in plebeian accents his master had

never heard from his pursed lips. “Get t’ell ahta ‘ere before I shifts yer ballast!”

As he began to shut the door, the bedraggled creature dared to address

him. In a voice whose odd yet cultured accent startled him, the creature
announced, “I am the émigrée whom Milord is expecting. You may lead me to
him, if you please!”

The name, which sounded like Amy Gray, gave Dibble pause, but only

momentarily. It was quite unthinkable that His Lordship should have sched-
uled an appointment with any person so obviously not of the ton. Dibble
peered over the intruder’s shoulder—not a difficult feat—to check that no
great carriage waited for the visitor. The street was empty, soaking wet, and
miserably cold. With a feeling that banishment to such an icy hell was no
more than the intruder’s due, Dibble prepared to shut the door. To his sur-
prise, the creature thrust its way past him in one decisive, writhing movement,
and turned to face him in the huge, warm, well-lighted hallway. Placing a
small basket upon the white-and-black marble tiled floor, the bedraggled lit-
tle figure thrust back the shrouding hood, revealing a dirty, female face with
masses of matted hair and a pair of huge amber eyes that blazed at the butler
like molten gold.

“You would deny me entrance?” snapped the intruder, with impeccable

English faintly accented, and very evident anger. “You will take me at once to
your master, sirrah! I have not come this far to be put off by the impertinence
of a servant!”

“Indeed?” A cold voice sounded from somewhere above the heads of the

antagonists. “Perhaps you will deign to tell me what it is you have come to do?”

Down the massive carpeted stairway advanced the imposing figure of Lord

Alexander Christopher Deeth Stone, twelfth Earl of Stone and Hamer. In the
light of the thousand candles he was an impressive figure indeed, and the pre-
sumptuous intruder drew a breath and stared at his magnificence for a
moment without answering his question. He was a big man, well over six feet
and broad in proportion. Light gleamed from the pristine white of his freshly
powdered wig, and glinted from the cold silver of his remarkable eyes, fringed

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round with black lashes and accented by heavy black eyebrows. His costume
was a quelling black brocade, cut formally, and relieved only by a white silk
waistcoat and knee breeches above silk stockings and black, silver-buckled
shoes. A single fob hung from his waist, and a heavy crested ring was the only
adornment upon the white hands. As he waited for a reply, one black eyebrow
arrogantly raised, the Earl took out a white handkerchief and touched it to his
lips. A pleasant scent of spice wafted to the nostrils of the two standing in the
hall below him.

At this moment, the butler’s nose wrinkled. In the warm air of the great

hallway there was beginning to be apparent a most unexpected odor. The bas-
ket that the cloaked female figure had placed upon the floor had a divided lid,
the two flaps of which began to move disconcertingly. It was from this basket
that the unpleasant odor seemed to be emanating.

“Milord, there is something alive within the basket,” began the butler,

moving toward it and stretching out a hand.

“You will open that basket at your own risk,” advised the female in a tone

of considerable anticipation. “I have a ferret in it. Jille is not happy with her
present situation!” She then had the effrontery to laugh. Dibble stared at the
ragamuffin with acute distaste. Then he turned to his master. “Milord, shall I
call a footman to evict this creature?” he asked humbly.

“I am surprised that you permitted it to enter the house,” said the Earl

repressively.

At once the golden eyes were ablaze. “I have done you and your house a

signal service, at great hazard to my own life and purpose,” came the cultured
and charming voice in purest Parisian French. “I had considered your dignity,
sir”—the lack of title emphasized her scorn as she continued in impeccable
English. “However, since you refuse to permit me the courtesy of a private
hearing, I shall tell you, in front of your servant, that I am returning two things
which belonged to Your Lordship’s brother!”

At this remark, a sudden glacial chill seemed to strike the men. Dibble’s

ample form froze in an attitude of acute embarrassment; only his eyes moved,
under lowered brows, to see how his master was taking this home thrust. The
Earl’s large figure merely stiffened slightly, and his black lashes concealed for a
moment those silver-cold eyes.

After a minute he said softly, “Perhaps we should adjourn to the library,

Mademoiselle. Dibble, see that I am not disturbed.”

The butler bowed, happy to have escaped a severe reprimand for permit-

ting the little French troublemaker to enter the hallowed precincts of Stone
House. The other two went down the huge hallway, past several inset doors
under heavily carved lintels. The girl, following the Earl, paused to regard
these appreciatively.

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“Rather fine,” she conceded.
Milord, glancing back over his shoulder, raised his eyebrows.
When they were both inside the well-lighted library, the Earl strode over

to stand in front of a glowing fire. As he faced his uninvited guest, he said, in
a voice from which all warmth had departed, “What is this you bring me?”

The girl placed her malodorous basket on a small side table, and cooed, in

a tone so seductively sweet as to raise Milord’s eyebrows a second time,
“Come, ma petite Jille, good little mother, let Cozette take from under you that
uncomfortable object which has so disturbed your rest!” Fishing in some hid-
den pocket, she brought out a scrap of meat and, opening one half of the
divided lid, offered the tidbit to the long narrow head that was tentatively
poking, snakelike, from the depths of the basket. While her pet consumed her
treat, Cozette put her hand into the dark interior, lifted up a piece of worn,
tatty fur, and drew out a rag bundle from the bottom of the basket. This she
tendered rather haughtily to Milord.

That nobleman found a quizzing glass in one coat pocket, and raised it to

inspect the dubious bundle coolly.

“Take it!” snapped the disrespectful child.
Milord did so and, laying it upon the top of a leather-covered desk, prod-

ded it open gingerly with a pen and the shaft of the quizzing glass. And then
suddenly there was a glorious shimmer of light, and from the dirty rag Milord
drew forth a diamond necklace of such purity and magnificence that even
Cozette’s eyes widened, and she forgot to give the ferret its next bit of meat.

Milord bent over the necklace with the first trace of interest Cozette had

observed on his countenance. “My mother’s necklace,” he breathed. Then,
looking sternly into her face, he said, “Where did you get it?”

Cozette started, not because of his tone, but because Jille, impatient for

her supper, had gently nipped her finger. Hastily passing out the next small
bit of meat, Cozette explained, “Your brother took it when he ran away with
the daughter of the French ambassador.” She frowned. “I had thought you
knew of this?”

The Earl said noncommittally, “We missed it after he had gone, but we

hesitated to connect him to . . . the theft.”

Cozette frowned at the pale, arrogant face. Then, shrugging, she contin-

ued, “Did you know that Charmaine’s Papa forbade her to marry your brother,
and, in fact, disowned her? They were much in love, however, and set up
housekeeping in a cozy attic in Paris. Your brother worked as a translator, and
taught English to anyone who could pay his fees.”

The Earl cocked his head arrogantly. “So Neville had something worth

selling,” he commented. “My father and I wondered how he would manage to
provide for himself. To say nothing of the little French baggage—”

Elizabeth Chater—The Earl and the Émigrée

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“I think that is not very convenable of you, to speak so of any lady, but espe-

cially of your brother’s wife,” said Cozette severely.

“Wife?” The Earl’s black eyebrows rose in sardonic disbelief.
“Oh, yes, they married. Some poor priest evidently thought it better that

they marry than burn—as Saint Paul told the Corinthians.”

A glint of what might have been laughter flashed for a moment in the cold

gray eyes. “So they married? And now they are sending back the necklace?
Well, what do they want to buy with it?”

Cozette’s expression became closed and guarded. “They are not offering

to bargain,” she said tersely. “They are dead, both of them. They were
caught up in the street into a mob fleeing from the King’s soldiers. Both
were killed under the mistaken impression that they were part of the mob of
revolutionaries.” She eyed him somberly. “Fortunately, their son was not
with them that day.”

“Their son?” snapped the Earl. “Are you trying to foist some gutter-bred brat

off on me as my brother’s son?”

“I am not going to foist anyone or anything on you,” Cozette snapped

back. “I notice, however, that you displayed little of this reluctance in
acknowledging the ownership of the diamond necklace, accepting it as your
own.” She patted the ferret’s head, put it gently back into the basket, and
turned to leave the library.

“Wait!” said the Earl coldly. “I have not given you permission to go.”
The small dirty face tilted up to his with as much arrogance as his own. “I

am not, thank le bon Dieu, under any compulsion to obey you,” she said haugh-
tily. “You are a monster, cold and unbending, and insensitive as all the English!
I would not permit le pauvre petit Alexandre to come to you now if you begged
me! You would freeze le bébé with your hauteur du diable!”

“Did Neville name the boy after me?” said the Earl, his icy demeanor

momentarily dissolving into interest and something more.

“How should I know whether they named the poor child after so bitter

and unloving an uncle?” sniffed the small, grimy female. “In any case, I do not
think I shall give him to you and your pompous Dribble.”

“Dibble,” corrected the Earl absently. He was evidently uncertain of the

good faith of this very articulate urchin. The girl shrugged and turned again
to the door. A hand on her shoulder swung her around abruptly. The Earl,
with more animation than she had yet seen on his face, was glaring down at
her from his superior height.

“Where is my nephew?” he demanded. When she did not answer at once,

he shook her roughly. “I intend to have him in this house tonight if he is hid-
den anywhere in London,” he warned the girl. “You will harm only yourself by
defying me! Unless—Is it money you want for bringing him to me?”

Elizabeth Chater—The Earl and the Émigrée

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Cozette shook his hand from her shoulder. Her small face was aflame with

rage. “Money? You would ask such an insulting question of me? I have brought
that poor child out of a France gone mad, disrupted by civil war! We have
hidden, and slept in barns, and once even a pig sty! We have never had food
enough to satisfy hunger! Had it not been for Jille, that well-trained and lov-
ing friend, we should surely have starved! She caught the rabbits and—and
other small game that kept body and soul together during those terrible weeks
when I struggled to bring your nephew to the safety and comfort—as I
thought!—of his father’s home! And your wretched baubles! Poor Jille had to
rest upon them in the bottom of her bed, lest some sans culotte should find
them and take them from me! And now you have the . . . effrontery to suggest
that I did this for money!”

The Earl took her arm, this time less roughly. “I beg your pardon,

Mademoiselle,” he said. The girl could not read any real warmth or, indeed,
regret at his callous behavior, into that apology. “You must admit that you
have given me surprising news—shocking information! I will ask you now
where my nephew is. When we have him safe in his father’s home, there will
be time for discussion and . . . appreciation.”

Narrow-eyed, the girl glared at the imposing figure so close to her. “I do

not trust you, Milor’, and I only hope that poor infant will be treated tenderly
in this cold, dark mansion! From what I have seen of you and other of the
English, you are a race of heartless monsters.”

“At least we have not threatened to kill our King,” said the Earl sternly.
But the chit had an answer. “Not this one, at least!” she riposted. “I believe

that your Charles the First was beheaded, was he not?”

The Earl glared his dislike at this presumptuous little ragamuffin. Very few

of his male acquaintances and none of his female friends would have cared to
tempt his disapproval by correcting him so summarily. He set his teeth and
gritted out, “Where is the child—if you please?”

Sniffing her disdain, the girl led the way out into the hall. “He is outside,

hiding in your shrubbery. I dared not bring him in until I was sure your
household was suitable to receive him. And I am not yet convinced of it,” she
added darkly.

“This house will be suitable,” snarled the Earl. “At least we shall not have

to depend upon a ferret to feed him.”

“It is obvious,” said the maddening little female, “that you have never had

to escape from a country torn by civil dissent!”

Setting his jaw against reprisals, the Earl followed the girl outside his

imposing front doors, attended at a safe distance by Dibble and the two foot-
men he had summoned. The girl went at once to a rather handsome clump of
shrubbery that served to mask the front windows from the gaze of the com-

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mon folk who might have business upon the street. There, with a coaxing,
gentle tone the Earl remembered from her conversation with the ferret,
Cozette wheedled forth a very small, weary, and exceedingly dirty little boy.
When he would have staggered getting out of the bushes, the Earl was beside
him instantly, and caught him up into his arms. The boy did not cry out, only
stared hard up into the face looming above him in the dusk.

“He is made of good stuff,” exulted the Earl, who would not have been sur-

prised to have a screaming, writhing child in his arms. Quickly, he took the
boy inside.

The girl followed, and when Dibble would have shut the door in her face,

she sailed through it with all the airs and grace of a duchess. In fact, she
caught up with the Earl as he was about to take the boy into the library.

“He needs food first, then a bath and a clean bed,” she said firmly. “This is

neither the time nor the place for questions and . . . intimidation.”

The Earl found himself, for the first time in his adult life, glaring at

another human being. “I did not intend to intimidate the boy,” he said, between
his teeth.

“Perhaps,” the infuriating female said patronizingly, “you are not aware

of how—formidable,” lapsing into French, “your manner is?” She shuddered
too elaborately.

Risking a glance down at the small boy he held in his arms, the Earl was

first surprised and then delighted to catch a knowing little twinkle of laughter
in those wide blue eyes so much like Neville’s. His breath caught in his throat.
Nev had always been a merry little fellow, amused by the weight of their fam-
ily’s consequence rather than impressed by it. It had been, in their father’s
stern opinion, a fault in him that must be rigorously rooted out. Perhaps,
thought the Earl in a rare flash of insight, it had been that constant harrying
that had finally driven the gentle, laughing boy to run off with the charming
little Frenchwoman. So this was Nev’s son!

“Parles-toi l’anglais?” he murmured.
The child’s smile flashed—Neville’s smile! “Coco has made very sure I

speak Papa’s language with an accent of high tone,” he said in impeccable
English.

“And who might Coco be?” murmured the Earl.
Alexandre’s glance sought out the girl’s rumpled, dirty figure. He pointed,

his own small finger grubby. “Cozette de Nullepart,” he explained with his
endearing grin. “It means Cozette of Nowhere.”

The Earl’s elevated eyebrows emphasized his opinion of that designation.

Huge amber eyes challenged his judgment.

“It was better to teach him to say that, when we were stopped and ques-

tioned,” she explained quietly.

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The Earl felt a frisson over his skin, the merest touch of emotion, as he

considered the plight of a small girl and child being stopped by soldiers or
ruthless members of the mob or even wandering rogues preying on the devas-
tated countryside. She seemed to catch his feeling of unease.

“When they became too brutal, I escaped or diverted their attention by

appearing to hear other members of my nonexistent group approaching.”

She was smiling slightly, but the Earl could see the bleak memory of fear

in those amazing eyes. “Eh bien! Let us get young Lex some food, Milord!”
she suggested.

Wordlessly, the Earl moved out into the hall.
“Where do you take us?” questioned Cozette.
“To the dining room, of course,” the Earl answered over his shoulder

impatiently.

“But no! This is absurd!” As the girl uttered the unseemly contradiction of

His Lordship’s statement, Dibble was heard to utter an obvious gasp. No one in
the household ever contradicted the Earl. It was unthinkable! Yet this grubby
little female with her ridiculously top-lofty ways had just done so. Even worse,
she had turned and handed the foul-smelling basket to Dibble, and was taking
the child from Milord’s arms in a most peremptory fashion.

“We had much better eat in your kitchen,” she said firmly. “We are both

too dirty to eat in a civilized dining room.”

Dibble, horrified at the burden he had been forced into accepting, stared

at his master in agonized indecision. The Earl was looking at the determined
female with a quizzical glance Dibble had never seen upon that hard, hand-
some countenance.

“Dibble, you may lead us to the kitchen,” he said. “And then get rid of that

malodorous basket before Chef Pierre leaves us in a Gallic huff.” And he
grinned at the girl.

“Jille will be fairly comfortable in your stables if we feed her very well.

Then tomorrow I shall see about a room somewhere for myself, with a land-
lord who will not mind a ferret in residence.”

Even Dibble was forced to grin at this naiveté. Neither of the men made a

reply, however, leaving the chit in blissful ignorance of the absurdity of her
expectations. The small procession moved to the kitchen, whence, thanks be,
Pierre had already departed to his own rooms, and the kitchen maids and
boys were busily cleaning up. To say that they were surprised at the sudden
appearance of their master and his unusual guests is an understatement. In
fact, one boy had to be sharply nudged by the senior maid before he would
close his gaping mouth.

Cozette took charge with a calm air of authority that had the Earl’s brows

elevating over sharp silver eyes.

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“Some warm food for the little one, if you please,” she asked pleasantly.

“That soup which is simmering on the back of the stove, perhaps, and a piece
of bread, buttered? I shall have the same. And you, my friend,” she addressed
the gaping boy, “will you get me some meat for Jille? She is a very useful ferret
who has kept us alive during our flight from France.”

Neatly done, thought the Earl. She’s told them enough to satisfy their

most urgent curiosity, and possibly win their sympathy. Although none of
them had ever taken orders from such a ramshackle miss, they did her bidding
with a willingness that surprised His Lordship and quite obviously amazed the
butler. He had lost no time in surrendering the basket to the kitchen boy, and
was now glaring as the latter cut up a nice piece of raw beef into small bits and
offered them to the bright-eyed, alert, but friendly animal.

The soup was presented in two bowls, and a platter heaped with crusty

bread lavishly buttered joined it on the servants’ table. It looked and smelled
so delicious that the Earl asked the senior kitchen maid for another bowl for
himself, and sat down beside his guests, to the affronted disapproval of
Dibble. The girl, who had used the time of serving up the meal to wash her
own hands and face and the child’s, shot a glinting look at Milord, inviting
him to share her amusement at the pompous servant. The Earl did not smile—
she wondered briefly what a smile would do to that cold, handsome counte-
nance—but at least his face lost the stern chill that had seemed habitual to it.

The soup was filling and tasty, and all three diners enjoyed a second bowl-

ful. The bread, too, seemed to disappear like magic. Toward the end of the
informal meal, young Lex’s head began to droop and his eyelids to flutter. The
girl observed these signs with satisfaction.

“He will be asleep before I finish bathing him,” she said quietly. “Will you

have someone show us to a room, Milord?”

“I shall myself conduct you and my nephew upstairs,” said the Earl.

“Dibble, have someone prepare my brother’s old room for his son.” He
glanced around the ring of staring, wondering faces. “This lady has brought
Mr. Neville’s son from France at great danger and pains to herself,” he said in a
low voice. “The child’s parents were victims of a mob. He will be staying with
me now.” He turned and led the way out of the kitchen and toward the front
of the house. Cozette came after him, carrying the drowsy child.

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ozette surveyed the spacious, handsomely decorated room with
approval. A maid was kneeling in front of the grate, fanning a good
fire into warmth and light. Another maid was going from one mas-
sive candelabrum to another, touching them alight with a taper.

Two more maids were just entering the chamber with brass hot water cans,
while Dibble himself was pulling a bathing tub in front of the fire.

“This is well done, Milord,” she commented to her involuntary host. “Your

servants are well trained and willing.”

The Earl’s hard lips twisted. “A good deal of the willingness may be simple

curiosity,” he murmured. “The arrival at Stone House of an unknown nephew
is an earthshaking event.”

Cozette was stripping the filthy rags off the child. “Some cold water,

please,” she requested of Dibble. “I would not wish the boy to be scalded like
a lobster!” Her bright smile held such sweetness that the butler obeyed her
without reluctance.

The Earl, watching this exchange with a sardonic eye, made a mental res-

olution that this grimy little witch should not work her wiles upon him. There
would be a reckoning, and very soon, but at least he would permit her to

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clean the boy and make him comfortable first. A suitable governess would be
found in the morning, and this female paid off and sent about her own busi-
ness—accompanied by her familiar, the ferret Jille. This categorization of the
girl as a witch so amused His Lordship that a small smile tugged at his lips.
Dibble, straightening up from dumping a large pitcher of cold water into the
tub, caught sight of the abortive smile and wondered whatever had come over
His Lordship. Levity in such a situation, he would have thought, was the last
thing the Earl would be displaying! Dibble could not recall having seen his
master smile once in all the years he had worked for the family. The butler
shook his head. The sooner this odd little madam could be removed from
Stone House, the better it would be for all concerned.

At this moment, Cozette took off her long, concealing cloak in order to

kneel by the tub and wash the sleepy child. Dibble’s gasp was echoed by
nearly every person in the room. Under the filthy garment was a dress of
pale gold silk, also stained and dusty, and hacked off well above the ankles
to show a number of full petticoats, also cut short. It revealed a figure that
had the Earl narrowing his cold gray eyes. He stared more closely at the
face half hidden by the dirty masses of hair. Then he strode over to the
kneeling girl.

“You have disguised yourself to make your escape easier, have you not?” he

demanded. “I shall have your real name, Mademoiselle, not the nonsense you
have taught my nephew to call you!”

“Cozette is only a—how do you say?—love name my father used for me.”

She turned a weary, smiling countenance up to his. “I am Ma’am’selle Michelle
deLorme, daughter of Professor Henri deLorme, tutor to the children of noble
houses. Your brother’s wife, Charmaine, had been a pupil of my Papa’s, and
brought your brother to us to discover if we might find work for him. Papa
was delighted to help so charming and courteous an Englishman.” This last
phrase was accompanied by a minatory look that made evident Cozette’s
opinion of Neville’s brother. “Papa was able to find him work teaching English
to the sons of minor nobility who were hoping to travel to England or Canada
for refuge.” She sighed and leaned wearily against the high tub. Then, pulling
the sleepy Lex to his feet in the tub, she endeavored to drape one of the large
towels about him.

With an exclamation of mingled disgust and alarm, the Earl stepped for-

ward and took the boy, towel and all, into his own strong grasp. He carried
the boy over to the bed and placed him on it. “Tuck him in,” he commanded,
and gestured the servants out of the room.

Silently, Cozette dried the child and pulled the clean, lavender-scented

covers over him. As she straightened up from the task, she staggered slightly.
Before she could recover herself, two strong arms were about her own person,

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and she was clasped close to a massive body. Too tired to struggle, she merely
turned her head and stared warily up into Milord’s face.

“Shall I take care of you, now, as you did of my nephew?” the Earl mur-

mured, his eyes on the white breasts that threatened to swell out of the once-
fashionable garment. He carried her over to the tub and set her on her feet
beside it. With her last bit of strength, Cozette pushed him away.

“Milord!” she said. “I had not expected to find such treatment in an English

nobleman’s home!”

“But we are all heartless monsters; cold, unbending, and insensitive, I

believe you named us,” taunted His Lordship. “Surely you do not expect gentle
treatment from me? I think I should enjoy bathing that grimy little body—”

From somewhere within her weary body the girl drew enough strength to

stand erect and face him with defiance. And then she smiled with such sweet-
ness that the Earl felt his heart beat painfully in his chest.

“You make the joke with me! Just like your brother Neville—always il fait le

farceur! Eh bien! Where would you have me rest tonight, Monsieur le Comte?
Might it not be well for me to remain here near the little one, lest he wake in
the night and be afraid?”

The Earl regarded her with respect. Knowingly or not, she had success-

fully put an end to his lecherous intentions, reminding him clearly of the debt
he owed her for her care of his nephew and his family jewels. He stood back
with a slight bow.

“Bien entendu, Ma’am’selle deLorme! You have won this round with the insen-

sitive Englishman. Sleep well, for tomorrow we shall have a reckoning! To
determine your reward for your services to my House,” he explained, at her
puzzled, apprehensive look.

“To see le bébé resting so sweetly is reward enough, Milord,” the girl said softly.
The Earl bowed again and left the bedroom.
Cozette frowned, sighed, and then began to divest herself of her stained

garments, her eyes on the water in the tub, and especially on a cake of laven-
der soap that rested in a dish beside it. In a minute she had slipped her
exhausted body into the still-warm comfort of the bath, and was scrubbing
away blissfully. She noted that there was another brass pot of warm water at
hand, which would do nicely to wash the sticky dirt from her hair. It had been
a wise plan to make herself look dirty and unattractive, but for some reason
she did not wish to consider too deeply, it now seemed equally important that
she present the best appearance of which she was capable when she met the
Earl in the morning.

She got out of the tub and began to dry herself with the big towels warm-

ing before the fire. Her glance fell upon the heap of dirty clothing she had so
thankfully discarded. With a sharp thurst of panic she ran over and delved

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among the grimy petticoats for the two small, flat packages she had worn next
to her skin since the night she had left her father’s house. With relief, she
found them. One of the packets contained the record of a marriage between
Neville Stone and Charmaine de la Valeur, while a second document testified
to the birth of a son, Alexandre Julien Stone, a year later. These official docu-
ments were necessary, Papa had said, to prove little Lex’s birthright. Papa had
warned her to keep them safe until she could deliver them, with the boy, to
his father’s people.

Cozette placed that package, unopened, on the table by the bed. She

would sleep here with the child tonight, so it would be safe to leave the
documents there beside her. The experiences of the last few weeks had been
so terrifying that she had trained herself to stay alert and waken at the
slightest sound.

The other packet was of quite a different nature. The girl stood with it

clutched in both hands, her eyes searching the room for a hiding place. She
dared not lock the door. Such an act would draw unwelcome attention, even
arouse curiosity. She had no nightrobe under which to hide the letter, and she
could not bear to put on her clean body the filthy garments she had worn for
weeks. Yet she dared not leave the second package on the table. It was too
important, too dangerous to be exposed to the risk of idle or hostile scrutiny.

Under the pillow? No, for Lex might waken early, discover it, and open it

in childish curiosity. Reluctantly, at length she took up the clothing she had
discarded so eagerly, and flicked through it until she found the strip of mater-
ial that had served as a pouch to bind the packets to her body. She put it on
again and secured the second packet. Then she donned the cleanest of the
petticoats and climbed wearily into bed beside the sleeping child.

Cozette’s awakening was sheer delight. The bed had been comfort itself:

goose-down mattress, lavender-scented sheets, a soft woolen comforter—and
all so clean! After her nights in haymows, barns, and even in rough brush
under the stars, such soft, clean comfort was a matter for rejoicing. And then
to waken to see Lex’s dear little face smiling down into hers, and feel his hands
patting her gently to rouse her from slumber! She did not think to scan the
room, so lulled was she in the drowsy security of the bedroom.

She gurgled a laugh as she caught the little child close to her breast—

remembering too late that she had slipped into bed almost naked, with just
one petticoat to conceal the packet. Her involuntary gesture of rejection had
brought a puzzled look into Lex’s face. The girl hastened to reassure him.

“Coco puts you away, mon brave, because she has no clothes to wear.”
“You are cold?” asked the child. “See, someone has given me a robe!

Perhaps mon oncle? I like it very much.” He displayed a dressing gown of bright
wool, belted around his small figure. “Shall I look to see if mon oncle has given

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you a robe also?” His sparkling blue eyes went beyond Cozette’s bare, gleam-
ing shoulder.

“I have it here,” a deep voice sounded from the other side of the room.

The Earl advanced toward the bed, carrying a négligée of amber velvet and
lace. The girl gave an involuntary cry of pleasure, and then withdrew hastily
under the covers.

“A thousand thanks, Monseigneur!” she stammered. “If you will go away

until I have donned it . . .?”

“Now why,” asked the Earl, “should I do anything as foolish as that?” He

favored her with a wide and wolfish smile, a predatory smile that had nothing
of humor in it.

For this effrontery he was treated to a flash of golden fire from Cozette’s

fine eyes. He regarded her with an insolent gaze.

“One hears,” he drawled meditatively, “of the, ah, flexibility of behavior

among the beautiful habituées of King Louis’s court. Can it be that rumor lies?
One would think not.”

“I do not care what you or rumor—an unreliable intelligencer!—says about

the habituées of the Court! For my part, I never was such an one. The daughters
of tutors, however gently born, are not usually invited into the Royal Circle!
In any case, my behavior is not, and never has been, what you are pleased,
with that hateful arrogance, to call flexible! Now will you please go away and let me
get some clothes on?” the girl ended, with a cry that was almost a wail.

For the first time, Cozette heard the Earl laugh. He threw back his head

and gave a shout of mirth that softened his austere and forbidding counte-
nance into attractive warmth. She caught her breath at the powerful attraction
that radiated from the big man. He was dressed for riding, and the hard, virile
appeal of him was very evident. He regarded her closely, eyes glinting with
mischief, then gave a pseudo-disappointed sigh.

“If I must, I must! One would not wish to alarm little Lex!” The two males

shared a grin as the Earl swept a mocking bow. “Cover yourself with the nég-
ligée, Ma’am’selle! Your breakfast will be brought to you shortly. You may eat it
in this room. Later this morning, we will have our conference.” This last was
said in a colder tone from which all trace of amusement had gone.

Cozette shivered involuntarily. “Monseigneur! Am I to go to this confer-

ence dressed en négligée?”

“You would prefer a less formal costume?” His wicked glance probed sug-

gestively at her body.

“Mon Dieu!” breathed Cozette. “Are all Englishmen sex-mad? The half was

not told me!”

Again, involuntarily, the Earl laughed. “I have ordered a dressmaker to

attend you here in one hour. She will bring costumes from which you may

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make a choice. I cannot have you running tame in my house in your present
get-up,” he taunted. “I have had your, ah, traveling costume burned,” he
added casually.

While agreeing heartily with this decision, Cozette was reminded of the

packet she had formerly worn under that grimy costume, and glanced hur-
riedly at the bedside table where she had left it. The documents were gone!
How could she prove Alexandre’s identity now? Her glance flew to the Earl. He was
dangling the packet from his fingertips.

“I saw these when I entered the room,” he offered with unforgivable

complacence.

Cozette shrugged. They were, after all, his nephew’s documents. She

would have given them to him this morning in any case. “They are for you,”
she said agreeably, and ventured a smile.

For some reason, this easy acquiescence put him in a better humor. With a

final lazy glance over as much of the girl as could be discerned under the covers,
he extended his free hand to the boy. “Come, Lex, we must permit our Coco to
dress herself. Are you hungry, mon vieux? I waited to have breakfast with you.”

Lex took the proffered hand eagerly and walked out of the room chatting

happily to his new-found uncle. Cozette realized with a twinge of sadness
that he had missed a man’s presence in his small world; no matter how dearly
he had come to regard her, she was no true relative, and would soon be
replaced in his affections by some woman of the Earl’s choosing. Better so,
perhaps. The sooner the boy could forget those frantic, desperate weeks of
running and hiding, the better for him. She must always be associated in his
mind with those dreadful days. Here in this England he would have a life
more secure, both as to safety and wealth, than his young parents had ever
been able to provide. And she would be free very soon to carry out the dan-
gerous and difficult part of her mission.

The girl drew a deep breath as she rose and slipped into the lovely gar-

ment the Earl had provided. Had it been worn by some woman of his house?
It seemed new. Had he sent out to get it very early this morning? He puzzled
her, this arrogant, beautiful nobleman in his somber black elegance and frigid
attitude. So coldly critical, yet he had shouted with laughter twice, like a boy.
So rigidly correct in form, yet he had behaved and spoken with shocking sen-
suality upon occasion. A riddle! She had better depart quickly, Cozette
warned herself, lest she become too attracted to the virile intimidating master
of this mansion.

She could leave very soon, she realized, and complete her other mission in

this country. Lex was safe. He would soon be willing to do without her. The
thought pained her warm heart. Still, it would be much better to go. She
feared the Earl, and what he might discover. She had no way of knowing

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where his sympathies might lie. True, she had made him laugh twice, she
reminded herself. And that laughter had changed and softened his harsh
beauty remarkably. Perhaps he needed someone to challenge his authority, to
infuriate and amuse him? Cozette sighed. Do not spin impossible dreams, she
advised herself practically. You have your urgent task, and after that is completed, your
own way to make. The sooner you can get the packet delivered and find work, the better for
you, my girl! A lavish breakfast gave support to this mood.

When she was dressed, she found a pair of bedroom slippers that were a

shade too large, but comfortable and warm. Then she explored the rather
masculine-looking dressing table in the adjoining room, where a cot had
already been set up for her use. She found also, brushes, combs, and even a
small flacon of perfume waiting for her! What a joy to touch delicate scent to
her wrists and throat, to run the comb gently through hair deliberately mat-
ted and unkempt to aid her disguise! She was brushing the heavy silken length
of it in a sort of lazy euphoria when she heard a knock on the bedroom door.
Going through quickly, she called out, “Entrez!”

The door swung open, and a modishly dressed older woman, accompanied

by two younger women bearing boxes and large bags, came into the room.
The older woman’s eyes lit up as they beheld the slender, golden-haired girl in
the luxurious négligée. Not a great beauty, perhaps, but charming and even
lovely—given the proper clothing, which she was eager to supply! She burst
into staccato speech.

“Ah, Mademoiselle! Are you the young woman I am to have the pleasure

of dressing? Thank God you have a figure, and the looks to do me credit!
Now let me see your coloring, if you please! Will you step over to the win-
dow, Mademoiselle?”

Before the willing but slightly bewildered Cozette could catch her breath,

she found herself being robed in one attractive garment after another to the
accompaniment of a constant stream of advice, instruction, questions to
which the modiste did not wait for answers, and gossip about the great ladies
of London’s Beau Monde, which was so much Greek to Cozette, since she had
never heard of any of the ladies mentioned.

After half an hour of this, the girl called a halt. “Madame,” she said

firmly, “enough!” She softened that with a smile. “I do not know what you
have been told—”

“His Lordship has told me that you escaped the Terror with his beloved

nephew, and brought him safe through horrible dangers to London! For this
he wishes to express his thanks with a few garments, since you left everything
behind you when you fled the Revolution!” The modiste shivered with fright,
and her two girls echoed the gesture. But Cozette was not to be diverted from
her protest.

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“You have displayed gowns which would grace a duchess, Madame, but I

shall be fortunate indeed to obtain a post as a governess in this London, and I
must have gowns which will be suitable for that position. Oh,” she noticed
the shock upon three faces, “of course I must accept one or two dresses today,
since the clothing in which I made my escape is beyond use. Now I have
noticed two costumes which I think exceptionally pretty and quite suitable.”
Three faces brightened. “This seal-brown walking dress will resist staining and
be warm enough for your rather cool climate.” Three heads nodded agree-
ment. “Then there is this amber silk afternoon dress—ah, élégante! What
woman could resist it?”

Three wide smiles greeted that judgment. “And that brown cloak you have not

shown me yet,” Cozette pointed to a soft woolen cape one of the girls had placed
over a chair. “That should keep me warm while I look for work, n’est-ce pas?”

The modiste gave a sudden cackle of mirth, and said, in the strong accent

of her native Provence, “It will keep you warm, petite, no doubt about that! But
it may lose you the job, if the mistress of the house sees it!” She lifted the
cloak and flung it about Cozette’s shoulders with a fine flourish. It was lined
with sable. For just a moment Cozette cuddled the exquisitely soft fur around
her, then took it off with a sigh.

“Beautiful, but quite impractical,” she decided.
“On the contrary,” said the Earl, coming in through the open doorway, “it

is completely practical in this climate. We will have it, Madame, and any
other garments you deem suitable for a gently bred woman who is my
nephew’s companion and a member of my household.”

Now it was four female faces that were momentarily awe-stricken by the

virile force of the big man who confronted them. Then the modiste broke
into her normal stream of half-commanding, half-wheedling conversation, as
she began to display the various costumes she thought suitable. The Earl held
up one white hand.

“Thank you. Please leave whatever dresses Mademoiselle deLorme liked,

and send the account to my agent. Good day.” It was a firm though quiet dis-
missal, and the modiste knew it. Very quickly she gathered up those costumes
that had not suited Ma’am’selle for one reason or another, and, leaving behind
the boxes of delicate silk underwear and the smaller boxes of shoes, whisked
her assistants away with her.

Cozette stared with dismay at the heaps of clothing she had left. “I cannot

possibly pay for this upon the salary of a governess!” she protested.

“Then you will have to stay with me until you have worked it off, will you

not?” asked the Earl, coolly mocking.

Cozette glanced quickly at that saturnine face. For a moment she was sure

the Earl himself was surprised at what he had just said, but the fleeting expres-

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sion faded almost at once into his usual arrogant calm. Observing this, the girl
said slowly, “It is a point of pride with the English to keep the face stiff, is it
not? Why should this be? Is it degrading to show emotion, Milord?”

The Earl stared at her uncomfortably. What was she at now, prying into a

man’s behavior? One kept one’s own counsel, to be sure! So his own father had
always instructed, and acted. It betrayed weakness to allow anyone to know
what emotions might be seething under a calm facade. To have such intimate
knowledge could give other men power over oneself. He looked at her coldly.

“If you are to remain here as Alexander’s governess, Miss deLorme”—no

more fancy French Ma’am’selles! Begin as you mean to go on—”you must learn
to control your own emotions, and your speech as well. Your unruly tongue
will bring you nothing but difficulty in England. And Alexander must be
trained to be less open, as well.”

The wide amber eyes fixed on his face so intently slowly darkened. “You

would make le petit Alexandre such a one as yourself? Cold and rigid and closed? I
cannot permit it!” she cried with a soft intensity.

“You cannot—? You have nothing to say about the way my nephew will be

trained. The sooner you realize that fact, Miss deLorme, the sooner you will
settle into your rôle in this household.” Then, seeing the stricken expression
on the small, delicately pretty face, the Earl relented enough to say, in a less
threatening tone, “I accept the fact that I owe you much for your rescue of the
child. For this reason alone, I am willing to permit you to remain here until
the boy is old enough to be sent to boarding school. Four years, possibly five.
By that time, if you are as frugal as the French female is reputed to be,” he
added with a note of mockery, “you should have been able to save enough
from your salary to keep you until another post can be found for you. You
seem well educated, for a female. The position of governess provides security
and protection from the harsher realities of life.”

Cozette found his patronizing attitude enraging. “I would venture to guess,

Milord, that I am better educated than you are! I have heard my father say
that young males in English public schools learn ‘small Latin and less Greek,’
as Jonson said of your great poet Shakespeare. All Englishmen, alas, do not
have Shakespeare’s genius to offset their lack!”

“Your father had made a deep study of English public schools?” sneered

the Earl. Really, this wasp of a girl had a diabolical skill for getting under
one’s skin! It could be quite dangerous to the smooth running of his house-
hold to hire her. Yet he did owe her a tremendous debt for bringing the boy
safe to England. He glared at the small, defiant figure in the pretty dark-
brown walking dress. A momentary memory of soft white shoulders and a
swelling breast under tattered silk invaded his mind, but he put it firmly from
him. The girl was a danger and he knew it. How to get rid of her without dis-

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honoring his obligation to her? He said coldly, “If you find the English and
their ways so distasteful, permit me to discharge my great debt to you by
providing enough money for you to return to France, where things are done
so much better!”

It was a low blow, and he realized it as soon as the words had left his lips.

A wave of pallor blanched all color from her face, and the amber eyes dark-
ened with pain. After a moment she said, in a small, controlled voice that had
the effect of daunting the Earl, “I am afraid I cannot return to France, Milord.
My father was betrayed to the Tribunal, arrested for summary trial, and may
already have gone to the guillotine for aiding les aristos. His crime: He tried to
hide two noble children whom he was tutoring. I have nothing of which to be
ashamed, but there is no one left of my family to whom I could return in Paris.
I must accept your . . . generous hospitality for a time, until Lex is old enough
to go to school—or you decide to dismiss me.”

The Earl’s gaze dropped under that unhappy glance. He tried to shrug as

he turned slightly away. Well, he had got his wish; the girl was humbled and
submissive. “When you have eaten breakfast, will you be kind enough to
attend me in the library? There are certain matters which must be discussed in
a more formal atmosphere.” His gaze went around the bedroom, taking in the
bed disheveled by the boy and his companion. “You will be given the room
next to this—”

“A cot in the dressing room will be best,” Cozette corrected steadily.

“Then I can hear him if he calls out at night. His wardrobe should not be so
extensive just yet as to require the whole space in that room.”

“Do you have to challenge everything I say?” Milord found himself

snarling at the irresponsible little female. Humble? Submissive? That would be
the day! He glared at her defiant little face. “A good servant would know bet-
ter than to continue provoking her master!”

“I am not a servant, sir!” flared the girl.
“You have ample funds to support you in London without working?

Forgive me if I remind you, but you have just given me a pitiful little story
about your destitute and friendless conditions!”

His challenge forced her to lower her eyelids and retract her defiance.

“You are correct, of course,” she said after a moment. “I—I pray you will for-
give my—intransigence. I shall strive to—to control my emotions, to become
less . . . provoking.”

The Earl, although for the moment victorious, found himself strangely

anxious to get away from the face that seemed to reproach him. He wanted to
escape the awkward situation quickly, so he nodded and left the bedroom. It
is as though I were the one routed, he mused. What is it about this little
French waif which so unmans me? My father could have—And then he rallied

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himself with a grimace of wry humor. I’ll wager the little tigress would have
proved a match even for him!

Cozette stood very still in the center of the room after he had left. Her

eyes were blind with sorrow at the reminder of her loss. It was something to
have been robbed of one’s father and one’s country in one disastrous blow.
What was left? The love of the boy, for whom she had both deep affection
and pity. Her other task, every hour becoming more urgent. And life itself, a
gift denied to so many of her countrymen. “I shall contrive, Father,” she whis-
pered. “If the sansculottes and the roving bands of soldiers and the rogues on the
roads could not destroy me, can I permit one cold and uncaring Englishman
to do so?” An involuntary shudder wracked her thin body. He was a formida-
ble antagonist, that Comte Anglais! She shrugged to rid herself of such sickly
fears. Where there is life, there is hope, she told herself sternly. I have le bébé
safe with his family, and myself secure for the moment in this great house-
hold. Perhaps it is not so bad! From such a haven I may quickly and unobtru-
sively accomplish my other mission. Meanwhile, Lex needs me in this
mausoleum. Á bas the arrogant Earl! She checked her appearance and went
down to the kitchen to ask for luncheon.

Chef Pierre decided, after one look at her, to accept this quietly élégante

countrywoman with the Parisian accent as a valuable addition to the staff.
Gouvernante to the newly discovered heir, she merited better service than a
plate at the servants’ table. So he had her placed in a small, unexpectedly
bright morning room, and prepared for her one of his finest omelettes aux fines
herbes, and the croissants he was saving for himself. Much flattered by her
knowledgeable appreciation of the feast, he himself presented wine and cof-
fee, and spent a few minutes deploring the anarchy that had overtaken their
beloved country.

It was Dibble, looking into the room in a search for the French girl, who

interrupted the chef’s discourse. Cozette rose, thanking him again for the
superb luncheon, then followed Dibble to Milord’s library.

That nobleman was waiting for her, the only visible signs of his impatience

being a fine white line outlining the haughty curve of each nostril. “I trust you
had a satisfactory luncheon?” he asked.

“Your chef is a master,” the girl acknowledged.
“Perhaps, then, you are ready to discuss the details of your position in my

household?” Without waiting for her reply, the Earl continued, “Normally,
my Comptroller, Ian Ross, would have dealt with the matter, but since it so
closely concerns family business—my heir—I shall handle it personally. I
have decided to keep you both here for a few weeks until I have learned to
know the boy, especially his habits and capacity of intelligence. I shall
instruct you as to what course of training I deem suitable for his further

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development. Including, as you must be aware, the need for more restraint in
his behavior.”

“He is four years old,” said Cozette between her teeth.
“I am well aware of that,” replied His Lordship, moving aside to reveal a

small Persian rug dreadfully spattered with ink. “When I brought him in here
this morning, he seized my inkwell, as you see, a lion made of gold and cop-
per, and thinking it a toy, he tipped it over the rug before I could prevent him.
It was a very valuable rug.”

Cozette stared at the mess with horror. “If I had been here with him as I

should have been—!” she began.

The Earl held up his hand. “I had taken him from your care, to permit you

to eat your breakfast and to be fitted with needed clothing.”

“It will not happen again,” she promised, eyes steady on his. “As long as I

am here.”

“We shall see.” He shrugged.
“Where is Lex now?”
“I had Dibble give him into the care of one of the younger maids, who is

taking him for a walk in the garden at the center of the square,” the Earl
advised her. “When they return, Alexander is to be given his lunch in the
nursery and put down for a nap. The girl will stay with him until you return to
take charge. Now,” he said firmly, “I have written out a program and schedule
I wish you to follow. You are to have one hour a day free for your own com-
fort, as well as one whole day a month. Your salary will be as specified.” He
handed her two sheets of paper covered closely with firm writing, and a slip
with a figure. The sum of money astonished her, and she raised wide golden
eyes in inquiry.

“So much? To care for a little boy? I should prefer to do it for nothing.”
“But I prefer you to receive the money, and I am the master here,” said the

Earl with chilling hauteur.

Cozette glared at him. Why did he have to make even his great generos-

ity feel like an insult? The master, indeed! “You are more haughty than the
greatest aristocrat in France!” she heard herself saying.

“My lineage is equally distinguished, I am sure,” said the twelfth Earl of

Stone and Hamer coldly. His glance rested upon a carved escutcheon over the
massive fireplace. The girl’s gaze followed his. Carved deep into the wood was
a great hammer which seemed about to crash down upon a massive stone.
Beneath it was the legend, Beware the Might of Stone and Hamer.

It could have been an omen. Cozette shivered. The nobleman regarded

her thoughtfully.

“I think you will be very careful of the boy until he is feeling secure in his

new life. Has he spoken of his parents?”

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“Once or twice,” replied Cozette. “I have told him they have gone to

Heaven, where he will one day join them. He asked, le pauvre petit, when we
landed in England off the fishing boat, if this was Heaven.”

“I imagine you told him it was not,” said the Earl caustically.
The girl nodded. “I have tried to comfort and entertain him. He is a

brave, cheerful little child. I believe you will grow to love him and take pride
in his manliness.”

“Then let us both make sure you do not undermine his manliness with too

much cossetting,” advised her employer.

Cozette should have let it go at that, but her evil genius prompted her to say,

rather pertly, “You wish all that joie de vivre to turn into cold, rigid insensitivity?”

In a single swift stride he was beside her, towering over her with a con-

trolled rage that suddenly terrified her. He took her arm in a grasp that made
her flinch. “First,” he said in a voice so low she had to strain to hear it, “you
will never again use that tone of voice when speaking to me. I am master here.
Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” the girl whispered, appalled at the fury she had unleashed.
“Second, you will follow my instructions as to the child’s schedule and train-

ing exactly. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” Cozette felt her composure returning slowly, but she was shocked at

the ease with which he had dominated and frightened her.

“Third, you will adopt an attitude toward the child which is compatible

with my wish to see him become an English gentleman, not some foreign fop,
mawkish and theatrical. Do I make myself plain?”

Cozette’s chin lifted. The taunt that foreigners were too emotional had

gone home. Her amber eyes blazed gold defiance. “Yes, Milord, I under-
stand your wishes. And the child is, after all, of your blood, and must live in
your world.” Heaven defend him, her eyes seemed to add. “But I am not one
who can thrust all human feeling into a deep well, or under a heavy rock. I
can only love the child, and care for him in ways that le bon Dieu has given
me. You may dismiss me from your service if you become dissatisfied with
my—my attitude!”

“Be very sure I will,” snapped the Earl.
Still he did not release his crushing grip upon her arm, and his ice-gray

eyes seemed to bore into her very brain. After an uncomfortable pause,
Cozette tried to draw her arm away. Subtly, the Earl’s manner changed. His
grip softened but remained firmly on her. The ice-cold eyes warmed with lit-
tle glints, and he scrutinized her face and then her body in a leisurely manner
that was like an insult.

Cozette’s quick anger flashed. “Let me go at once, sir! I am not accustomed

to such—”

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“Such what?” inquired the Earl, lazily insolent. Very obviously he allowed

his gaze to rest upon her breast, now moving quickly with the force of her
anger. “Perhaps I should take advantage of that hot Gallic emotion that comes
to you so easily?” he speculated, his manner a subtle affront. “The idea inter-
ests me, but there are always problems. Are you by any chance untouched?
How old are you?”

Cozette jerked her arm away from his grip. “I am twenty,” she said in a

voice whose coldness rivaled his most chilling speech. “I am the spinster
daughter of an intellectual, carefully reared within a safe and loving home. I
am not a woman of the streets, nor do I intend to be treated as such! Is that
clear to you, Lord Stone?”

Before he could answer her, she had turned away to leave his infuriating

presence. The sound of his voice stopped her. “You will remain here until I
dismiss you. How many times must I remind you that I am the master in
this house?”

Ignoring her outraged glare, he produced a small, grimy packet from a

drawer in his desk. “You will tell me how you got these.”

“Your brother brought them to my father for safekeeping the day he . . .

died,” said Cozette gently. “He and his wife were worried about the unrest in
Paris, the violence, the suspicion of foreigners. My father advised them to
make ready to return to England at once. Your brother’s wife was reluctant to
leave her beloved Paris, but had finally agreed to do so. There were papers and
official permissions to get, passage on the stage to be arranged for . . . It was all
in train on that fateful day.” She twisted her hands in anguish. “Oh, if only they
had heeded the warnings a little sooner! They were so young—so happy!”

The Earl’s face was set in hard lines, his eyes hooded by the heavy lids.

After a moment, he said, “And now you will tell me why you were so nervous
when you noticed that I had taken the papers.”

Did the man miss nothing? Cozette’s heart sank. Did she dare to lie to

him? She must! The second packet was of so vital, so demanding an impor-
tance that she dreaded to think what her few days of hesitation, of postpone-
ment of that imperative duty, might result in.

The Earl’s hard gaze had never left her face. “Tell me what is wrong,” he

said harshly. “Is there another packet? Did you think I had found the wrong
one? Is that why you were terrified when you saw this one in my hands?”
When Cozette shook her head blindly, refusing to answer, he went on inex-
orably, “What other important papers might a little Frenchwoman have
brought to England? Was your ‘rescue’ of my nephew merely a blind for some
other, less humanitarian scheme?”

“Your nephew’s safety has been my first objective,” said Cozette stolidly.
“But not your only object?” demanded the man. “If I am to trust you—”

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“If you do not trust me,” interrupted the girl, “I shall leave at once.”
But this easy solution was not acceptable to His Lordship, it seemed.

“Since I have admitted you into my household, and am, in some sense,
responsible for your actions, I must know what sort of—person I have spon-
sored. Are you, Ma’am’selle deLorme, under your rather charming affectation
of romantic innocence, a calculating little spy?” He snapped the last word out
at her so sharply that it shook her composure exactly as he had intended.

Cozette stared at him, a bird hypnotized by a snake, fascinated by his

piercing stare. “It is a private matter between my father and—and an old
friend of his.”

“And would this ‘old friend’ be an informer or agent for the French gov-

ernment?” challenged the Earl.

The girl, white-faced, met his probing stare openly. “I can tell you only

this: The person to whom I am to deliver my message is a member of the
British government.”

The Earl was smiling unpleasantly. In the light, which seemed to Cozette

to be dazzlingly bright, his handsome face bore a look of hard arrogance that
daunted her. She forced herself to look straight into those intimidating silver
eyes. She must keep her wits about her! The secret was not hers to tell! What
was he saying?

“Are you so naive that you do not know there are many political factions

in my country, and that some of them might not be blindly devoted to the
party in power? Some in fact are subversive, and would like nothing better
than to do our country harm!” He stepped to her side and shook her fiercely.
“Are you a spy? I demand to know!”

“I am not a spy,” said Cozette. Her mind was racing. No simple excuses

would convince this astute antagonist. What was a likely story? He obviously
believed that she—and all women—were romantic idiots. She took a deep
breath and plunged into speech.

“My father met a certain Englishwoman when both were younger—before

he met my mother, that is. Papa knew that his chance of surviving the Terror
was slight, and wished to bid farewell to a lady for whom he had always felt
the deepest affection and admiration.” She sighed soulfully. It could have been
true—and if so, how romantic!

“Very pretty! Quite an histoire, in fact! Very likely a lie. But if your mission

is one of pure sentiment, then you will have no reason to refuse when I ask to
behold this so harmless letter.”

Caught up in the emotions appropriate to her story, Cozette glared at him.

“Have you no delicacy of feeling? No sense of propriety? How can you
demand to read a private communication? Another man’s love letter?” She was
halfway to believing her own invention.

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The Earl glared at her in exasperation. Then heavy lids drooped over the

piercing silver eyes, and he said, “Your father’s position was—is,” he corrected
himself, “a precarious one. He must have felt an overwhelming need to have
that letter delivered, if he was willing to send his only daughter.”

“He also had an overwhelming need to send Lex to the safety of his own

family,” the girl reminded him. “I believe he was trying to protect me from
the—savage, senseless cruelty of the Revolutionary Tribunal.”

The Earl was silenced by the controlled anguish in Cozette’s voice and

expression. After a moment he said quietly, “Do not despair, my child. A man
of your father’s spirit will survive, depend upon it! He has done nothing for
which he might . . . receive a heavy penalty.”

Cozette, aware as he never could be of the hazards and the injustices of

the revolution, made no reply. He had only, in fact, expressed her own deep-
est hopes for her beloved parent.

After a moment, the Earl said, more kindly than he had ever spoken to her.

“Your father entrusted you with heavy responsibilities, Ma’am’selle.” Then, as
if compelled, he added, “He seems to have judged you correctly.”

Cozette felt a remarkable pleasure in this half-apology. That this cold man

should speak well of her inexplicably pleased her. Now he was going on, “You
may give your Papa’s letter to one of my grooms. It will be delivered today.”

Alarm! Had the creature been lulling her into a false sense of security, only

to pounce? Think quickly, Cozette!

“I could not treat so delicate a matter so casually,” she objected. “A groom to

present such an intimate message? No, no, Milord, I must deliver it in person!”
And she smiled sweetly. Checkmate!

Not so!
“Then you must use one of my carriages,” instructed her antagonist blandly. “I

shall tell Dibble to have one waiting for you. You will not wish to lose any time.”

And of course the coachman would report the address without loss of time

to his master! It was clear to Cozette that the Earl was still suspicious. This
was no time to provoke him further. She said gently, “I shall be happy to
accept your most generous offer—when I can find time. At the moment I
must go to Lex. Thank you, Milord!”

“You are welcome.” The odious creature was deliberately taunting, as

though he knew she had lied to him; as though he had discovered and opened
the packet. Could she bring herself to share the dangerous secret with him?
She bit at her full lower lip, considering the risks.

“But now you must go off to find Lex,” the Earl reminded her mockingly.
Seething, the girl dropped him her most formal curtsy and walked from

the library as haughtily as she could.

The Earl laughed!

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eated alone beside the sleeping child later in the afternoon, Cozette
tried to decide upon a course of action. She had, as she had promised
Papa before they came for him, delivered the small boy to his father’s
people. In theory, then, that part of her task was completed. Yet there

was an atmosphere in this great mansion, a formality, a chill, that might
destroy the spontaneous charm and joy of the small child so peacefully rest-
ing near her. He had had enough to bear in his short life! And so, if it came
to that, had she!

Cozette recalled that hasty, furtive departure . . . the house in darkness,

the servants vanished, her father carrying small Alexandre in his arms through
the passage to the deserted kitchen; Papa’s steady eyes and his final quiet-
voiced instructions to her before he gave the child into her arms and silently
opened the back door into the reeking alley. And then the thunderous,
dreaded, yet expected knocking at the front door, and her father closing and
locking the kitchen door behind her without even time for a farewell kiss or a
father’s blessing! Biting her trembling lips, Cozette had made her stealthy
flight over the slimy cobblestones, not daring to weaken her self-control by
thoughts of the beloved parent even now facing the dread interrogation; only

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wondering if he had been deceived, or if there would in fact be the promised
covered dung cart behind whose noisome vats she could crouch with the
small drugged boy, her dark cloak spread over them both.

It had been her father’s idea that even rabid revolutionaries would not wish

to examine so malodorous a vehicle too closely. So it had proven. Her taci-
turn driver had not been stopped until they reached the gates of Paris. There,
he had been waved on with crude shouts. When finally he drew up in a farm
barnyard at dawn, he did not reply as Cozette thanked him for their safe
deliverance out of the city. Stiff from the long confinement, the girl staggered
down from the cart and pulled the boy gently out after her. The driver merely
stared at her out of dark, hooded eyes in a seamed gray countenance, then
turned away and drove the cart behind the barn.

“Are we there, Cozette?” The child’s voice had recalled her to her respon-

sibility. Alexandre’s eyes were heavy and dazed, but utterly trusting as he
stared up at her.

“Not yet, mon brave,” she replied with a warm, reassuring smile. “First we

must eat, and then find a less smelly way to continue our journey, no?”

The boy smiled at her, wrinkling his little nose. A wave of tenderness for

the small figure had swept over the girl. She resolved grimly to get young
Alexandre to safety with his father’s people no matter what it cost her.

And she had done so, she reminded herself, staring down at the boy’s

relaxed body. The Earl had accepted his nephew’s arrival with a coldness she
supposed might be natural to the very restrained English. Accepted; not wel-
comed. Therein lay her problem. Could she abandon the child to the frigid-
ity of this English household? Would he be unhappy, lonely, frightened? Of
course he would! His parents had been loving, if casual, in their attitude
toward him. The concierge’s wife had acted as a surrogate grandmother to the
child, and Cozette had found herself cast in the role of sister, friend, and
occasional governess. Now Neville and his Charmaine were dead; the
concierge’s wife had begged her to remove the boy because she was afraid for
her own family; and Cozette’s father, who had taken the child under his quiet
protection, was . . .

He had warned her it was unlikely he would survive the interrogation,

known adherent to the King’s cause as he was. Yet there had been only
warmth and the serenity of quiet dedication in his countenance as he left her
that night.

The girl rose and walked quickly to the window to drive away such

anguished recollections. She must control her turbulent emotions, become as
calm and self-controlled as her host. Learn, in fact, to keep the stiff upper lip!

She picked up the schedule the Earl had handed to her and began to read

it carefully. She was relieved to discover that the subjects he had noted for his

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nephew’s program of study were well within her scope—although she
doubted the wisdom of instructing a four-year-old boy in even simple mathe-
matics or history. Still, perhaps she could make games out of numbers, games
that might interest a small boy. And the history could be told as exciting sto-
ries of valorous knights and deeds of great bravery; surely such tales would
enthrall a child as bright as Lex.

Nodding with satisfaction at her plan for interesting studies, Cozette

scanned the schedule further. Walks in the park, visits to certain suitable
museums—yes, that was good. Then her eyes widened. Equitation! Was she
supposed to teach the child to ride? She had never been on a horse in her life!
Before she could panic, she reminded herself that this was a noble household;
there would be stables somewhere, and grooms capable of teaching a child to
ride. She was not sure how eagerly Lex would approach the idea of mounting
some enormous animal, for surely there would not be any ponies in Milord’s
stables? In order to accustom the boy to the idea before his uncle frightened
him by forcing it upon him, Cozette aroused her charge gently, saying with a
smile, “En avant, mon brave! We must go to the stables of your uncle and pay a
visit to an old friend!”

The dear small face smiled trustingly up into hers, and Cozette silently

vowed, with a rush of warm love, that she would stay near this darling child
as long as the Earl permitted. He was quickly awake, and smiling over her
little puzzle.

“Our old friend—in the stables of mon oncle? Now who—?” Then with a

gurgle of joy, he exclaimed “Jille! Yes, let us go to her at once!”

“But first we must tidy yourself, my little cabbage! Do not forget you are

the nephew of the Earl.”

With much laughter they got Lex’s face and hands washed, and his person

suitably attired for an important visit to the stables. Cozette did not make
changes in her own attire, partly because she had so few garments to choose
from, mostly because she did not feel there would be important visitors to
impress in that place.

Of course, Jille was excited to welcome them, although the grinning sta-

bleboys, who seemed to have accepted her as a pet, were quick to inform
Cozette that the ferret had eaten until she could not swallow another mouth-
ful, and was apparently pleased with her new quarters. These were a roomy,
clean box, well padded with old pieces of carpet over clean straw. A bowlful
of fresh water and a well-licked food dish attested to Jille’s comfortable estate.
One of the boys told them that Jilly, as he called her, had already proven her
worth by bringing in a number of rats.

After his happy play with the eager ferret, it was not hard to interest Lex

in the horses. Here Cozette had the willing help of the grooms, all of whom

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had heard of the new heir and gave him a warm, respectful welcome, enjoy-
ing his open, friendly, and fearless acceptance of them and their huge charges.
Lex made no protest when the head groom, a lean, whipcord-tough elderly
man, picked him up and placed him on the back of a steady little mare.

“I’m Hardy, Miss.” He regarded her out of keen old eyes. “I threw Master

Neville up on his first pony. It’s good to do the same for his son.”

Cozette’s last fears evaporated under the cheerful acceptance of herself

and her charge. She watched closely, but Lex was obviously enjoying every
minute of his first riding lesson. She accompanied them out into the spacious
stable yard, as did all the other grooms and boys, and was proud of her little
pupil as he earnestly attended to all Hardy’s instructions. The atmosphere of
trust and friendship was so universal that the visit was prolonged. Suddenly
realizing that over an hour had elapsed, Cozette promised to bring Lex out
again tomorrow for his second lesson, thanked Hardy, observed Lex extend-
ing a small, by now distinctly grubby hand to his teacher, and was gratified at
the serious way in which the head groom accepted the proffered thanks. Then
she whisked the exuberant child away from the many delights of his new
playground and smuggled him into the mansion by a side door. She was try-
ing to calm his elated discussion of his new experience by promises of hot
scones and strawberry jam, cautioning him to be very quiet on the way up to
their rooms, “especially in the great hall.”

And of course the first person they met, in the enormous somber hall, was

the Earl. Black brows drew down with disapproval over his piercing gray
eyes. The two culprits, caught in all their disorder, could only stare back
wordlessly into that steel-cold glance. Cozette became conscious of her
crumpled gown, decorated with wisps of straw and dust at the knees where
she had knelt to pet Jille. Around both delinquents clung the unmistakable
redolence of the stables.

“Alexander, who are these urchins? And what are they doing in your

house?” demanded a woman from the shadows behind the Earl.

Although his voice was well controlled, and his manner calm, Cozette

could tell how angry the Earl was. “Ah, there you are! I had sent Dibble up to
your rooms to summon you to present yourselves, so that Lady Clarissa could
meet Neville’s son.”

There was an exaggerated gasp from the lady. “You are telling me me that

this is Neville’s son?” The modishly dressed figure moved into the light and
subjected both Lex and Cozette to a very daunting examination. The little
boy clasped Cozette’s hand hard, but faced Lady Clarissa bravely.

“I am Alexandre Julien Stone,” he said clearly in his small boy’s voice.

“Named after mon oncle and the father of my Mama, as is comme il faut.” He
smiled tentatively at the frowning Lady Clarissa.

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“What nonsense is this child babbling?” she inquired sharply. “Is he unable

to speak his own language?” She missed the quick frown that darkened the
Earl’s face as she turned to scrutinize Lex’s equally grubby partner. “Who is
this—person?” she demanded scathingly.

“This young lady brought Neville’s son out of France through incredible

hardships, and delivered him safely to me,” began the Earl quietly.

Lady Clarissa sniffed rudely. “She reeks of the stables! Surely you did not

accept the word of such a creature in the matter of your heir?”

“Miss deLorme brought me documents which proved his birthright.”
The Earl was so quiet that Cozette felt nervous for the other woman, who,

however, rushed blindly on.

“He hasn’t the look of Neville!” she objected. “All that fair hair!” She

glanced scornfully at Cozette’s golden head. “Documents can be forged, my
dear Alexander.”

“He has Nev’s eyes and Nev’s smile.” The Earl grinned widely at the

solemn-faced child, and got a quick, sweet smile in return.

Lady Clarissa caught her breath at the charm of the small, laughing face.
“I thought you might recognize it,” the man said silkily.
Cozette was pleased to hear, in his tone toward the modishly dressed

woman, the same icy contempt she herself had had to endure upon occasion.
She resolved to find out as soon as possible what the connection had been
between Neville and this thoroughly unpleasant female. Was she a relative?
Former sweetheart? That might account for the venom in her voice and
glance. It was to be hoped that she would not have any control over poor Lex!

The Earl was performing a formal introduction. “Lady Clarissa, may I pre-

sent a veritable heroine, Mademoiselle Michelle deLorme of Paris?
Ma’am’selle, this is the Lady Clarissa Montague.”

Lady Clarissa did not bother to acknowledge the introduction. Instead she

turned a rancorous glance upon the Earl. “But who is she? Was she Neville’s ser-
vant? Surely Neville would never choose such a jade to be governess to his son?’

Cozette had taken enough from this offensive woman. Jade, was it? In her

flawless Parisian French she began, smiling coolly, “Je suis Mademoiselle deLorme—
” and then broke off with a patronizing laugh to say in English equally impec-
cable, “—but of course this young woman does not speak my language, so I
must use hers, must I not?”

Lady Clarissa, glaring at the affront, began incautiously in her nursery

French, “Je suis—uh—la Madame—” but broke off as Cozette elevated her eye-
brows and chuckled maliciously.

“As I said, Lady Clarissa doesn’t speak French. Pray let us continue in

English—or German, or Italian, if you prefer it, Lady Clarissa.” And that will
teach you to call me a jade!

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She cast a glance beneath her lashes at the Earl. He was staring at her, but

it was impossible to read his thoughts from the mask that was his face. He
moved forward now and gave his arm to the Lady Clarissa.

“Shall we go into the drawing room?” he suggested smoothly “Miss

deLorme will bring Alexander to me there, as soon as she has seen him tidied
up.” This last was accompanied by such a look at Cozette as caused her to
revise her opinion about his response to her insolence in ridiculing his guest.

Thankfully she made her escape up the stairs to the nursery suite, haven

for Lex and herself. She washed the little boy so thoroughly that he moved to
protest, but she resolved that neither dust nor taint of the stables could be
discerned upon his person when she took him down to the drawing room.
Some handsome little suits had appeared in his wardrobe; she dressed him in
the neatest of them, brusing his soft hair into a fashionable wave and inspect-
ing his fingernails fiercely.

“Aren’t you going to tidy up, too?” Lex asked plaintively.
It was clear that he dreaded the coming interview in the drawing room.

Cozette hesitated. Was she supposed to bring the boy down and then disap-
pear until summoned to remove him? Or was it expected, perhaps, that she
would stay, seated unobtrusively in the background, of course, but available if
the child should misbehave or do anything awkward? After all, he was just
four years of age, newly orphaned, and in a strange country and house. Rather
reluctantly, Cozette realized that she must accompany him and remain with
him, whether invited or not.

She made a careful but hasty toilette, being forced to discard the stained

brown walking dress in favor of the amber silk afternoon dress. When she had
this on, and had brushed her hair to a soft shine, Cozette felt much better
about the visit to the drawing room. Lex took her hand with touching affec-
tion, and said with a small boy’s grin, “Now we both look fine as fivepence!”

Since this had been one of Neville’s frequent comments, the girl had to

master her pity and favor the little fellow with a heartening grin. “Or even five
francs!” she replied, to his amusement.

It was fortunate that they had bolstered up their courage before entering

the room where Lady Clarissa was seated, pouring tea, for her scrutiny was
searching and critical, and she never once addressed a single remark to
Cozette, nor answered the two tentative remarks Cozette offered. Her
Ladyship did, however, condescend to ask Lex about his parents, returning so
persistently to the subject that she had reduced the child first to stubborn
silence, and then to tears.

When Cozette observed the darkening frown on Milord’s face, her temper

could no longer be restrained. She rose, came forward to where the child sat
sobbing quietly, and took his hand.

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“You shall come with me to the kitchen, mon brave, where Chef Pierre has a

special little gateau just for you,” she said in bracing tones. Lex lifted a tearful
face to meet hers, tried for a smile, and stood up to take her hand. Cozette
placed her other hand warmly on his small shoulder, and turned him to face
the two adults. “Say good-bye to your uncle and his guest, my dear,” she
urged gently.

“I have not said Alexandre may leave,” began the Earl coldly.
“When a child is robbed of his hard-won courage by the insensitivity or

deliberate cruelty of an adult, it is time for those who truly care for him to
remove him from persecution,” snapped Cozette. “Perhaps Lady Clarissa does
not understand that the child’s parents were taken from him a very short time
ago, and that he is but four years old. You may deal with me as you choose
later, but I shall take Alexandre away now.” Without acknowledging the gasp
of outrage from the noblewoman, or the suddenly arrested movement of the
Earl, she led Lex out into the hall and down to the kitchen.

There the chef and his assistants made much of the little boy, sensing from

Cozette’s forced cheerfulness that there had been an incident in the drawing
room. When Lex had stuffed himself on the goodies so lavishly brought out
to tempt his palate, Cozette led him up to his room by way of the rear, ser-
vants’ stairway. She had regained her poise, but she knew there would be a
heavy price to pay for her defiance of Milord as well as her slighting remarks
about his insensitive friend.

As she set out one of Lex’s favorite games upon his small table, and chose a

book to read to him when she should eventually put him to bed, her mind was
working hard at her own problems. Her first and most rebellious thought was
to pack up her own things and the child’s and slip away from this dreadful
house before the Earl could impose punishment upon them. How could the
child endure years of such cold, unloving behavior? Would he run away as his
father had done, or would he wither and become cold and unloving himself?
Would all the childish warmth and fun and sweetness freeze into the rigid
correctness of the Earl’s behavior?

Cozette frowned. Had she the right to remove the boy from his natural

protectors, unsuitable though she believed them to be? Legally she had no
rights; she knew that. But morally? Then there was the matter of the child’s
welfare. Could she obtain work in this foreign country, earn a salary sufficient
to support the boy and herself in some comfort? When she delivered the sec-
ond packet to the person for whom it was intended, could she request that he
recommend her for a job as a translator? Would he do so? She had skills that
surely were useful!

When she had come to this conclusion, she suggested to the now drowsy

Alexandre that he prepare for bed, and named the story she would read to

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him when he was cozily tucked in. This plan suited him very well. While she
undressed him and got him into a tub of warm water, Lex talked about the
mare he had ridden, and Hardy, his new friend, and the admiration the sta-
bleboys had for Jille. The girl was happy to see that he had forgotten his dis-
tress in the drawing room. She entered into all his enthusiasms heartily.

It was upon this rather noisy scene that the Earl entered. A cool draft from

behind her was the first hint she had of the arrival of retribution. The next
was a delighted crow of pleasure from Lex, who had apparently not blamed
the Earl for his unhappiness.

“It is mon oncle!” he cried, beaming up at the man over a beard made of soap

suds. “You see, I am Father Christmas!” he chuckled, pointing to the dripping
mess on his little face.

Cozette, turning awkwardly from her kneeling position by the tub, was

startled to observe a grin on the Earl’s face. He strolled over to the bath and
stood smiling down at his nephew.

“I’ll wager your Papa taught you that trick,” he said softly.
“Yes, he did!” crowed the child. “How did you know?”
“Because I taught it to him when he was about your age,” replied the Earl.
Cozette’s eyes widened. Could this kindly, smiling man be the cruel,

insensitive creature who had threatened her in the drawing room? Was the
Earl two men, or twenty? Every time she encountered him he seemed to
present a different facade! Drawing a deep breath, she ventured to hope that
this smiling fellow would remain in control at least until she had the child
safely asleep!

Gently she rinsed the suds from the small, rosy face, then lifted Lex out

onto the towel she had spread, and began to dry him with another. Still there
was no acknowledgment of her presence from her employer, only a mild
stream of small talk between uncle and nephew, mostly concerning his
exploits in the stable yard that afternoon. Lex was at his childish best describ-
ing his lesson in equitation. His rosy face was sparkling with laughter and his
blue eyes met his uncle’s without reserve or fear. Cozette’s heart swelled with
pride. If only the child could have performed so charmingly in the drawing
room! But how could he, faced with that cruelly thoughtless barrage of ques-
tions about his recently dead parents?

She glanced shyly at the Earl. He was attending to the boy’s story with

every sign of interest. But the day had been a strenuous one, and little Lex was
beginning to droop. Gently, Cozette tucked him under the covers and stroked
the soft blond hair.

“Time to sleep now, little cabbage,” she whispered. “Rest well, my dear.”
Lex smiled drowsily, sighed, and closed his eyes.
Cozette turned and faced the Earl, straightening her shoulders defensively.

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The man was watching her, and she saw that the warmth and laughter were

gone from his expression. He continued to stare at her for a very long moment.
Then, without words, he motioned to her to follow him from the bedroom.
Cozette did so, closing the door quietly after her. She lifted her chin, looking
up at the big man as bravely as she could. The worst he can do, she told herself, is
to cast me from his door into the streets tonight. Well, in such case she was no worse off
than she had been before she entered this house. Better, in fact; for he had fed
and clothed her and given her a clean and beautiful room to rest in. She even
had a few francs left of the money her father had put in Jille’s basket the night
she left Paris. So with renewed confidence, the girl faced her judge.

“We will talk in the library,” decided the Earl, turning to lead the way

downstairs. Cozette followed, thankful that his voice had remained cool and
controlled. She was planning how best to ask him if he doubted the boy’s
parentage, when he led her into the library and closed the door decisively
behind her. At once, although the room was well lighted and a good fire
burned upon the great hearth, Cozette felt a sudden chill. She raised her eyes
to his and discovered the reason for her unease. The man’s face was hard with
anger, and his narrowed gray eyes thrust at her like two knives.

Cozette gasped and stepped back a pace.
“You do well to be afraid, Ma’am’selle,” said the Earl coldly. “However, I am

prepared to listen to your explanation for your disheveled appearance, and your
apology for your impertinence to my guest.”

This was too much! “Impertinence!” Cozette raged. “Do you permit your

guests to belittle and insult your servants at will? It is not so in the homes de
bon ton in Paris!”

His Lordship was guilty of a sneer. “Insult you? What did she say?”
“She called me a jade!” stormed the girl. “I would not accept such a term

from King Louis himself.” Her voice had risen in her anger.

“Perhaps,” hissed His normally imperturbable Lordship through set teeth,

“you would prefer the term fishwife, since you are acting like one!”

Cozette glared at him from huge, amber eyes. “Fish wife? What is this fish

wife? You are saying I am a mermaid? That is une idée ridicule!” She appeared to
the man very much like an enraged small kitten with her enormous glowing
eyes of molten gold.

An irrepressible grin tugged at his lips, and he replied in a much less con-

temptuous tone, “No, you little idiot, I don’t mean you’re a mermaid. I mean
that your behavior, your unbridled fury, just now, lacked self-control, restraint.”

Cozette frowned. “You tell me that mermaids lack self-control? How has

this been determined? I had understood them to be mythical beings.”

The Earl gave a shout of laughter. Really, talking to this little Frenchy was

a piquant challenge. One never knew what odd remark she would make! “A

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fishwife,” he explained solemnly, “is a woman who sells fish in a stall in a mar-
ket. Such persons are not noted for elegance of style or address. Thus, fish-
wife: any loud and abusive woman.” He kept his eyes intently on her small,
flushed face.

At first Cozette nodded understandingly. “In Paris there are many women

selling things from wooden stalls. Perhaps their loud voices are the result of
trying to be heard above the rumble of coaches upon the cobblestones and
the competing cries of other vendors. Fishwife.” Then understanding of his
implications burst through her scholarly interest in a new word. “You would
say I am such a loud and abusive female?” She regarded his impassive counte-
nance broodingly. After a moment, her expression softened. “You may have
reason, Monseigneur. I apologize for my lack of self-control, but it hurt me to
hear you speak so scathingly of my behavior when your guest had been the
one to provoke me. More reprehensible, however, was her persistence in
quizzing le pauvre enfant about his dead parents! Such—such—”

“Insensitivity?” suggested the Earl dryly. “I must admit that Clarissa was not

very tactful.”

Cozette was guilty of a sniff of disdain for that understatement. “As to our

bedraggled appearance,” she went on to explain kindly, as to one lacking in
normal perceptivity, “one does not spend an hour in the stables with horses
and a ferret and emerge—”

“Smelling like a rose,” suggested the Earl with a grin.
“Emerge en grand tenue and point-device—that is, as fine as fivepence!”

retorted Cozette, and was rewarded by another chuckle from the arrogant
Earl. It had become a matter of some moment to the girl to provoke laughter
or even a smile from her host. Observing how amusement brought life and
charm to the coldly beautiful countenance, she had a sudden desire to bring
about such a softening warmth more often.

Too soon, alas! the customary mask of cool arrogance was back in place.

“We have a saying in English you will do well to heed, Miss deLorme,” he
advised rather curtly. “It is: Do not press your luck. I shall say no more con-
cerning your impudence to Lady Clarissa, but you may consider yourself
fortunate that I do not dismiss you from my service. I do not do so,” his
voice hardened as he met her resentful gaze, “because of your loyalty to my
nephew, and the affection which you evidently have for him. Now let us
proceed at once to a discussion of the schedule I gave you. Can you carry it
out effectively?”

“I can,” said Cozette, the more firmly because she was annoyed at his rep-

rehensible tendency to make an outrageous statement and then cut off the
dialogue by rushing into a new subject.

“You can manage all of my requirements?” persisted the Earl.

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“With the exception of equitation, which is already assigned to Hardy, I

am quite capable of teaching the subjects you specify at the level of a four-
year-old’s understanding,” the girl retorted crisply. And then added, sotto voce,
“However ill-advised I consider it to be.”

It appeared that her voice was not quite soft enough to escape Milord’s

keen hearing. He frowned sharply. “You disapprove of my schedule? In
what respects?”

Cozette answered with a little tilt of her chin, “Mathematics can be made

into games a small boy can enjoy, as can reading and spelling. Your nephew’s
mind is a good one, capable and alert, Monseigneur. But his body is that of a
child, and the long, rigorous hours that would be necessary to implement the
program you have outlined might be harmful to his full physical development.
You would not wish your heir to be a stoop-shouldered, near-sighted—”

The Earl’s uplifted hand commanded silence. “You must have noted, in your

careful analysis of my program, that I specified adequate exercise and rest?”

“You specified no time for recreation and play,” said the girl stubbornly.
“Exercise is play,” explained the Earl, odiously condescending in his turn.

“Perhaps the Gallic mind cannot—”

“Bah to that!” snapped Cozette unforgivably. “I am talking of the play

which stretches the imagination and brings spontaneous laughter, not a grim
three circuits of the park, at a pace that precludes civilized conversation or
scientific observation.”

“Perhaps I had better engage a male tutor, one who would be capable of

providing healthy sports and who would be aware of their importance in the
upbringing of an English gentleman.”

At this threat, Cozette recollected not only her own position but her

affection for little Lex. Better she should remain with the child as long as
possible, to ensure a measure of love and gentleness in his small life.
Reluctantly, she forced an acquiescent expression upon her mutinous fea-
tures. “I believe I can conduct Alexandre’s program as you have outlined it,
sir,” she said.

But the Earl was after his pound of flesh. No other employee had ever

dared to defy him as did this little wasp of a French female. “You ‘believe’?” he
challenged silkily.

“I am sure,” capitulated the girl. “I love him, you see.”
This mawkish declaration had a strange effect upon the Earl. “You will not

cosset or indulge the boy,” he rapped out. “I want a man, not a fop!”

Cozette, defeated, bowed her head without comment. Her employer glared

at her display of meekness with a fulminating expression, but her complete sur-
render had left him with nothing to carp at. He did not pause to wonder why it
was so important that the little witch accept his authority completely.

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“From now on, you are to pronounce my nephew’s name as Alexander, or

Lex, if you can get your Gallic tongue around the English pronunciation,”
he commanded.

The girl’s head was flung up, and the amber eyes flashed defiance. “My

Gallic tongue can function with correct pronunciation in five languages, sir!
Which I imagine is four more than—” she stopped herself abruptly, rosy color
flooding her face. She faced his arctic gaze courageously. “I do not know how
it is, Monseigneur,” she said softly, true regret in every syllable, “but when you
speak to me so slightingly, my . . . my regrettable temper rises.”

Milord grinned. To the girl’s amazement, he addressed her without a trace

of hauteur or condemnation in his voice. “In the interest of establishing his
superiority,” he said, wry amusement making his eyes gleam, “the Englishman
provokes his opponent into a temper, thus rendering him less clearheaded,
less able to command himself or win the argument. It is a way of determining
strengths—and weaknesses.”

Before the girl could recover her aplomb sufficiently to make a cutting

retort, the maddening male was continuing. “Now we shall discuss this impor-
tant letter you wish to deliver. I have decided to accompany you.” He
watched the ludicrous dismay on her countenance with satisfaction. “Surely
you did not believe I would accept your mawkish little romance so com-
plaisantly?” When she did not answer, his expression hardened. “You will give
me the documents at once, Miss deLorme.”

Her hand went involuntarily to her waist, pressing the concealed letter to

her protectively.

His sharp eyes did not miss the gesture. “You keep it upon your person at

all times? A precious missive indeed! Will you give it to me now?”

“How can I?” snapped Cozette. “It is pinned to my—undergarments!”
The wretched creature had the impudence to grin at her. “You would like

me to take it from you by force?” he demanded, moving toward her with
disturbing alacrity.

“No!” It was a small cry, but it halted the man, who stood staring enigmati-

cally at the girl’s anxious face.

“I must see the document,” he pronounced coldly.
“If you will let me go to my room—?” Cozette asked, unable to meet his eyes.
“I am not a fool,” was the harsh reply. “You do not leave this room until I

have seen those papers.”

“Then you must leave!” The girl’s courage had returned, fueled by

anger, and she faced his probing glance defiantly. “I shall not disrobe in
your presence!”

“Shall not? Do you offer me a challenge, Ma’am’selle?” The man grinned

insolently.

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“You are like those men upon the streets of Paris,” the girl breathed, her

eyes widening. “And the others, prowling the roads, robbing, ravaging.”

The Earl frowned, then, at the small pale face and the huge innocent eyes.

Surely no hardened criminal, no spy, could have so unguarded, so artless a
countenance? Under his intent scrutiny, a rosy flush was suffusing her pale
cheeks. The Earl decided that no worldly female could blush so appealingly.
In fact, he thought, the little woman desperately needed the guidance of a
man who could get her out of whatever absurd imbroglio she had landed her-
self in. His glance ranged the library and rested on a high-backed wing chair
beside the fireplace.

“There is room behind that chair for you to, ah, retrieve the packet while

retaining your modesty,” he suggested. When she did not move to comply,
but merely stared at him, he snapped, “At once!”

Shaking with outraged modesty, the girl went to stand behind the big

chair. True, it hid her body well enough, but it was a precarious shelter at best.
Anyone moving to either side of the massive wings could see her clearly. She
peered around one wing.

“This is insulting and—and ridiculous!” she flung at her tormentor.
Seeing that small angry face peering around the chair, the Earl was

betrayed into a wide grin. She looked like a small angry kitten with her
golden curls ruffled and her huge tawny eyes gleaming in the little heart-
shaped face.

The sight of his open amusement further enraged her. “Lock the door!”

she commanded. “I do not wish your servants to blunder in upon this
degrading farce!”

The Earl’s crow of laughter advised her just how lightly he regarded her

maidenly distress. He did stroll over to the door, however, tossing over his
shoulder an amused, “My servants make no such blunders, Ma’am’selle! If any
did, he would no longer remain in my employment.”

“Is that supposed to reassure me?” muttered the girl, frantically working to

undo the packet tied around her waist and frustrated by the multiplicity of
petticoats. Emerging finally from the mass of clinging garments, and straight-
ening up, she peeped once more around the edge of the sheltering wing, to
note thankfully that the Earl had his back to her and appeared to be studying
the set of his modish coat in a large mirror. Hesitantly she stepped out from
behind the chair and walked toward him, holding out the packet.

The Earl came to meet her. He took the small flat package, still warm from

her body, and strode over to the desk to open it. It was sewed into a piece of
cloth. This was a careful, professional job.

“For whom was it intended?” he demanded.
The answer shocked him.

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“Your King George the Third,” said Cozette grimly. “Or his Prime Minister.”
The Earl mastered his surprise enough to comment coolly, “You aim high,

Ma’am’selle deLorme.” He proceeded to cut open the cloth cover.

Cozette caught her breath audibly. “You would dare to examine private

papers intended for your monarch?”

“Yes,” was the succinct reply. “I do not intend presenting myself before

either the King or the Prime Minister with some piece of childish absurdity
that could embarrass us both. It is necessary to be sure that what you have
here is indeed an important message and worth such exalted attention.” He
met her angry gaze with equanimity.

“And, in your judgment, is it so?” demanded the girl with heavy sarcasm.
The Earl stripped off the cover and scanned the single document intently.

The message was scrawled on a single sheet, obviously written under the
influence of strong emotion. After a long, silent appraisal, the Earl refolded
the heavy vellum carefully.

“Well?” challenged the girl. “Is it important?”
“It would certainly seem so,” the Earl admitted. “Of course, I have not the

benefit of speaking five languages, but my French is adequate to decipher
Louis’s rather wretched scrawl.”

“You are insufferable!” breathed the girl.
“No,” he said soberly. “I am only afraid that my own King, who is, at the

moment, suffering one of the unfortunate attacks of nervous disorder that now
so frequently harass him, might not be sufficiently clearheaded to deal with a
request for aid from a brother monarch. What is the ‘slight favor’ your King
Louis requests? To be whisked out of the Tuileries with all his family, and car-
ried off to safe asylum in England!” He made a casual gesture to demonstrate
the insouciance with which King Louis ignored all the dreadful dangers and
difficulties of the proposed escape. “Did your father have this direct from
King Louis’s hand?”

“No. Papa was given the note when he called at the Town House of the

Duc d—that is,” she amended hastily, “at the home of two of his pupils. He
was arranging, at their father’s request, that the boys and their aunt be sent
secretly to Canada. Their Mama chose to remain beside her husband,” she
concluded proudly. “As I would have preferred to remain with my father, had
not an escort been required for little Alexandre, and a courier for this mes-
sage.” She watched him as he tapped the note lightly against his open palm.
“Is the message important enough to be delivered?” she asked scathingly.

“Yes, it must be done,” agreed the Earl somberly. “I shall arrange a private

meeting with Mr. Pitt tomorrow. Do not expect to be treated with any
uncommon civility,” he advised her, making an obvious effort to restore light-
ness of tone to the discussion. “Our Prime Minister, who, by the way, does not

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wish to be addressed by that title but by his name, is not very comfortable
with females. I should advise you to present the letter, explain—briefly—how
you came to be in possession of it, and then prepare to be dismissed.
Comprenez-vous?” His tone mocked her.

“I understand,” said Cozette coldly, but she was frowning. “Tomorrow? In

daylight?” she repeated dubiously. “Surely it would be wiser to conduct such
secret business after dark? You yourself have told me of the dissension that
exists within your own government.”

His blandly superior glance infuriated the girl. As did his words. “My dear

child, you have been reading too many romantic novels! Clandestine meet-
ings after dark! Poor Mr. Pitt would fear to compromise his reputation, if such
an one as you were seen entering his chaste domicile at night!”

“You mean,” asked the girl, ignoring his attempt at humor, “that a noted

peer is to present himself before your highest official in the company of an
unknown woman, without attracting attention?”

“Be grateful. You’d never get in without me,” replied the Earl.
Cozette shrugged. “I cannot expect you to have any loyalty to my King,

Monseigneur. I had only hoped that you would not create problems for your
own Prime Minister. I am sure there are spies within his organization, or close
to him. But, as you remind me, I cannot even enter the premises without your
sponsorship,” she concluded quietly.

The Earl waited a moment, to see if she had more to say, then accepted

her submission to his instructions. “I see you are learning self-control,” he said
complacently. “Perhaps your visit to England will be of some benefit to you
after all.”

Cozette did not dignify this barb with a reply. She was deeply apprehensive

as to the wisdom of Milord’s plan, but powerless to change it. She rose from the
chair in which the Earl had seated her. “If that is all, then, Monseigneur?”

“You may return to Lex,” agreed the Earl. “You will meet me in the main

hall at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. Considering the source of this mis-
sive, I shall have no difficulty in arranging an appointment to meet with Mr.
Pitt at eleven-thirty. Dress modestly.” He grinned, knowing as well as Cozette
the state of her wardrobe.

The girl scrutinized his face under its white formal wig. His strong features

seemed a little more relaxed today, the heavy black brows less menacing. Her
gaze lingered on the disciplined mouth with its full lower lip. Then, without
further comment, she nodded and left the library.

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or want of anything more suitable, Cozette donned the dark brown
walking dress (already neatly brushed and cleaned by the Earl’s excel-
lent servants) and the modish, fur-lined cape. Its hood would serve well
to conceal her too-bright hair, which she had neither the wish nor the

means to powder fashionably. She had bathed herself and combed that too-
noticeable hair into a very sedate style. To her critical gaze, she presented a
modest and unremarkable appearance.

What the Earl thought, as he watched her descent of the staircase at pre-

cisely eleven o’clock the following morning, she was quite unable to read from
his stern, closed countenance. She sighed unconsciously. He was dressed in
black again, very restrained yet somehow élégant, she decided. And wondered
what he would look like in younger, brighter colors, and with a carefree smile
on that handsome face.

The servants stared straight ahead, with the detachment expected of well-

trained members of a nobleman’s staff. On the road before the mansion stood
a light covered vehicle of extreme smartness drawn by two superb horses. The
Earl’s footman boosted the girl into the curricle while his groom stood hold-

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ing the reins for his master. When the Earl had mounted and accepted the
reins, he glanced at Cozette.

“Are your maidenly fears allayed? A common closed curricle; no footmen

or outriders attendant.”

Cozette threw him a glance of dislike. “A matched team, a smart vehicle,

yourself at the reins, Milord? All it lacks is a military band to proclaim your
consequence to every loiterer in London,” she said bitterly. “I am sure every
other person who sees us will wonder why the Earl of Hamer and Stone is tak-
ing an unknown Frenchwoman to see the Prime Minister!”

The Earl permitted himself to grin. She rose to it so predictably every time,

and yet with some little quirk of wit or waspishness that tickled his risibilities!

After such a preface, the visit itself was disappointing. They were led

through a private corridor to a room where a very tall, very thin gentleman in
somber black—did the noble English never wear bright colors?—greeted them
with restraint, scrutinized the girl with exceptionally keen bright eyes set on
either side of a prominent nose, nodded acknowledgment of the Earl’s introduc-
tion, and received the packet from Cozette’s hands. He listened without com-
ment to Cozette’s carefully brief account, which she made while conscious of
the Earl’s presence at her shoulder. When she finished her story of the circum-
stances in which she had received the packet, Mr. Pitt opened it and examined
the contents. Then he raised his eyes to her face, said a few words commending
her courage and dedication to King Louis’s cause, and addressed the Earl.

“Thank you. Thank you both. I shall have my secretary make a careful

translation, and shall see that this matter is considered in the proper quarters.”
A brief handshake with the Earl and a nod to Cozette indicated that the inter-
view was over. Silently the visitors left the room, the corridor, and the build-
ing, and remounted their closed carriage. As they were driving away, an open
vehicle carrying two modishly dressed ladies swept past them.

“Damn!” said the Earl.
Cozette glanced at him quickly. She herself had had strong feelings that

this open presentation was ill-judged. “What is wrong?”

“We have just passed, and been recognized by, the worst gossip in London

society,” growled Lord Stone. “What unbelievably bad luck!”

“She will probably tell everyone she observed the elusive Earl with some

sort of foreign . . . jade!” Cozette snapped.

“Let us hope that’s exactly what she thought, and says,” the Earl surprised

her by retorting. “If she’s spreading that sort of nonsense, she won’t be won-
dering what you and I were doing coming away from that special building.”

The girl fell silent, worrying about the new threat.
When they were nearly home, the Earl broke his silence with a rather

mocking, “Satisfied?”

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“Disappointed,” admitted Cozette, too concerned not to speak truly.
“I told you he would not be entrapped by that delicious air of femininity

which you Parisiennes project so easily,” he taunted.

Surprising even herself, the girl laughed. “That is not what disappointed

me, nor, indeed, is it the tune you have been singing, Milord! ‘Grimy little
body’ was the phrase you used when you suggested bathing me that first
night. To say nothing of the volumes of contempt one reads daily in your
eyes! Délicieux, ma foi!” And she chuckled at the dark red rising in his cheeks.

No one, male or female, in the Earl’s lifetime had ever spoken to him with

just that gentle raillery. He found to his surprise that he did not resent it.
Rather enjoyed it, in fact. Still, it must not be permitted to continue, of
course. Quite unsuitable for a servant of the house to be upon familiar terms
with its master!

“I think I shall get you and Lex down to Stone Castle as quickly as possi-

ble,” he announced. “That is my estate near the coast in East Sussex. It’s a fine
old castle rather badly gone to ruin, but it’ll be a place no one would ever
think to search for you, if you’re worried.” Privately he thought the child was
overdramatizing, with her fears of spies and reprisals.

“Thank you,” said Cozette with an elaborate display of gratitude. “I’m sure

a ruined castle is just what Lex and I wish for! I’ll need to take Jille to find us
food, I suppose?”

The Earl chuckled. “Oh, there’s food stored, and a couple of servants to

cook it for you. I cannot permit my nephew to get back into the half-starved
state in which I first met him!”

A quick glance assured Cozette that her employer was trying for a joke,

and making heavy weather of it. Still, everyone has to learn, she reminded
herself. Perhaps in fifty years he will be as witty as his brother was!

“Since the boy gets along well with Hardy,” the Earl was continuing, “he

shall accompany you to continue the riding lessons.”

Cozette, unaccountably depressed at the idea of banishment from the

Earl’s presence, supposed that she should be grateful for the kindly thought
that included his head groom in his nephew’s entourage. “Do you wish us to
leave tomorrow?” she asked.

Milord frowned. “No. I am not quite ready to part from the boy. I shall

inform you when I wish you to go.”

There was no further discussion before they reached Stone House.

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he Earl did not anticipate any very startling developments from the
visit to the Prime Minister. He was surprised, therefore, to receive
an urgent visit upon the very next afternoon from the Lady Clarissa
Montague, who had at one time been considered by both families to

be a suitable match for Neville. His unforgivable conduct in eloping with the
daughter of the French Ambassador had created an unpleasant situation
between the two families. It was felt by the Montagues that, in all decency,
Neville’s brother should offer to fill the delinquent’s obligation, while the then
Earl of Stone, Alexander’s father, had much higher ambitions for his elder son
and heir. In point of fact, neither of these ambitions was fulfilled, for the death
of his father made Neville’s brother too important a figure to be used to salve
a girl’s hurt feelings, while Alexander himself refused to rush into matrimony.

With a persistence that was hard to counter, however, Lady Clarissa con-

tinued to make herself a part of Lord Alexander Stone’s life, and her rather
shrewish demands upon him were beginning to irk him beyond bearing.
There was the embarrassment of the broken engagement to compensate for,
that was true, but the Earl was beginning to think that he must get rid of what
was more than a nuisance. In spite of his father’s wishes, Alexander had no

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desire to enter the state of matrimony with any of the current crop of débu-
tantes. He was quite able to establish a mistress from among the many
Diamonds of the demimonde: elegant courtesans whose skills, beauty, and
compliance could satisfy a man’s normal desires. His experience with his own
mother, a demanding, cold, and querulous woman, and later with Lady
Clarissa, had given him a hard distaste for tying himself up in the matrimonial
trap. And now that this little Frenchwoman had brought him so healthy and
acceptable an heir, he was free at last of the compulsive need to secure the
family line.

In fact, Milord was in very good frame, in such good spirits that the ser-

vants commented upon it and wondered if it was the presence of his heir that
had mellowed their master’s forbidding arrogance. Only Chef Pierre, with a
naughty twinkle, suggested that it might rather be the presence of the charm-
ing Cozette that had sweetened Milord’s temper. For whatever reason, the
Earl was in a benevolent mood when apprised of the arrival of Lady Clarissa.
He gave benign permission for her to be ushered into the library, and while
he waited for her, he toyed with the notion of accompanying his nephew and
the French girl to Stone Castle.

Within a very few minutes he was in a different mood. A towering fury, to

be exact. Clarissa had had the unmitigated gall to charge him with a liaison
with his nephew’s governess.

“I shall try to forget that you said that, Clarissa,” he intoned awfully.
“Don’t try your rigs on me, Alexander. Everyone in the ton knows what a

womanizer you are, under that icy manner! But to favor some little French tart
who is living in your own house—! I can’t and I won’t allow it!”

The Earl’s eyes narrowed. “You won’t allow it? What have you to say to any-

thing I may care to do?”

Clarissa gasped and went an unbecoming red with anger. “As your future

wife—” she began unwisely.

“But it was Neville whose wife you were to become, was it not? I cannot

recall ever asking you to marry me. Nor shall I.”

It was the scorn on his face as much as the final denial of all her hopes that

drove the Lady Clarissa beyond caution. She ran at the Earl and slapped his
face. Then she gasped, took one appalled look at his slit-eyed fury, and began
to cry.

The Earl rang the bell beside the fireplace. Then he stood rigid, silent,

ignoring the weeping female until Dibble presented himself.

“You will see that Lady Clarissa is assisted out to her carriage, if you

please,” said the icy voice. Then, as Dibble came forward to offer his arm, the
Earl continued, “I shall not be at home should this lady chance to call again at
Stone House.”

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Dibble’s eyes widened. What had the woman been at, to send His Nibs up

into the boughs like this? Deny her the house, must he? He gave the sobbing
woman a nervous glance. Rode roughshod over the servants, did Lady
Clarissa. He’d maybe have trouble getting her into her carriage.

Instead, he was not called upon to assist. Suddenly abandoning the the-

atrical sobs, Clarissa flung a furious glance and a very rude phrase at the Earl,
and flounced out of the room. Within a minute, they heard the closing of a
carriage door and the rattle of wheels upon the cobbles. Both men relaxed.

“I mean it, Dibble,” cautioned His Lordship. “If you let that harpy in my

house again, I’ll dismiss you from my service!”

“I would wager we’ve seen the last of her, sir,” Dibble assured him, and the

Earl nodded grimly, but with a certain satisfaction.

They were both wrong.

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[ e - r e a d s ]

uring the next two weeks, the lives of Lex and his governess fell
into the careful routine the Earl had demanded. Although loath to
admit it, Cozette discovered that such a quiet, well-organized pro-
gram was beneficial to her charge, after the alarms and hazards of

their recent experiences. Lex was sleeping more soundly, putting on healthy
flesh and muscle from the regular, strenuous exercise, eating well of nutritious
foods—in short, proving in an exasperating manner that Milord had known
what he was talking about!

Expecting to be bored, Cozette instead found a remarkable satisfaction

in her ordered routine, and noted improvements in her own person and
temperament that equaled Lex’s. Milord did not descend to anything as
crude as “I told you so,” but, on one of his frequent meetings with his
nephew and Cozette, allowed the girl to read the message in his insolently
complacent expression.

It seemed odd to the girl that a gentleman so much in demand socially as

the Earl of Stone and Hamer should find time to accompany his heir and the
governess on their daily walks around the little park in the center of the
square, or to offer them so many little trips to Astley’s Amphitheater to see

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the horses perform, or to Green Park to watch a balloon ascent. Her feelings
warmed toward this busy nobleman who so obviously cared about his little
orphaned nephew.

Her feelings about Milord became so particular, so disturbing, in fact, that

she decided to send her charge out to the park for the next few days in the
care of Martha, a most trustworthy young maidservant whom Lex admired for
her skill in throwing a ball.

“I’d three older brothers, Miss,” Martha explained, rosy with pleasure at

being trusted with the Heir for half an hour.

Lex received the news of the change in routine with some reluctance.

“Why can’t we all go, Cozette? You and mon oncle and Marfa and me? Marfa
could help you, you see, against me and Uncle Alex.”

“I see what you are doing, you schemer!” teased the girl. “You are trying to

recruit the stronger team!”

The little boy chuckled wickedly, and assured her that he had only her

own good at heart. This phrase, copied from an overheard remark, set them
both to giggling. It was thus the Earl found them. Cozette was a little afraid
he might reprimand her for her conduct with his nephew, but he gave them
both a tolerant, if quizzical glance.

“May I be told the occasion for this mirth?” he asked.
Cozette told him.
It seemed to her that his reaction to her quite practical plan was an

extreme one. “You wish to add a servant to our little party?”

“I am a servant,” she was forced to remind him.
A little of the stiffness went out of Milord’s attitude. He seemed a little dis-

concerted. “But you are Lex’s governess—and playmate.”

“You are still my employer.”
“Perhaps you feel I am in the way?” he challenged.
Her eyes flew to his face. Surely there was color there, and the emotion

she had longed to see upon that normally impassive countenance. She opened
her lips to urge him to go with them, but he was already turning away.

During the next few days, while the riding lessons and visits to Jille

continued to please and interest the child, the nursery party contained only
three persons when it ventured into the park. It appeared that the Earl had
tired of such unsophisticated company as his nephew and the governess.
Sore at heart that her careless speech had robbed the little boy of his
uncle’s presence, Cozette included Martha in their daily jaunts. Still, Lex
was quieter, less open. A slow resentment against the arrogant lord began
to burn in Cozette’s breast. He had not needed to take her casual sugges-
tion quite so literally, she fumed. How dare he win the boy’s affection and
trust, and then drop him so abruptly? When by chance she encountered

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the Earl during those days, she bobbed him a formal curtsy and refused to
meet his eyes.

This coolness, which the Earl told himself was exactly what he wanted,

was curiously unsatisfactory to him. He had earlier decided to cure himself of
what he regarded as a dangerous attraction to the little Frenchwoman, an
unnatural interest, surely, considering their disparate positions? What had the
Earl of Stone and Hamer to do with his heir’s governess? She herself had been
quick to point out that he was her employer! Still, he found himself looking
for her in the great hall, and picturing how her bright golden head would
shine against the dark velvet of the chair-back across from him at his dining
table. He even caught himself brooding over her in his empty library on those
nights, increasing in number, when he had decided not to attend a social
gathering to which he had been invited.

With a smothered curse, the Earl rose to his feet and summoned Dibble.

“Order my carriage. I am going out.”

The butler’s startled glance went past his master’s shoulder to the clock on

the mantelpiece.

“Now, Milord?”
The Earl frowned and followed Dibble’s gaze. It was midnight. Meeting

the old man’s eyes, he forced a light smile. “Not too late to visit a lady.”

Dibble was shocked. Not at the fact that his noble master intended to visit

one of his “Peculiars” at this hour; oh, no! Dibble was more than seven, and
knew the ways of the world. He was surprised at himself for daring to ask the
question, and disapproving that the normally imperturbable nobleman would
mention his destination. As he dispatched a footman to the stables to summon
Tom Coachman—and how pleased he’ll be to be routed out at this hour, I don’t
think!—Dibble watched the Earl go quickly up the stairs. Acting very odd
lately, was the master. Perhaps he should marry and settle down. Get a few
children of his own; that’d give him an interest!

The Earl’s thoughts as he allowed his surprised valet, Allen, to change

his coat and select a cape and chapeau, would have startled both that skill-
ful cynic and Dibble. For the Earl, too, was thinking it was time he got
himself a wife and dispensed with the absurdity of visiting a mistress at
such an awkward hour. A reluctant grin pulled at his lips. Midnight was
not a late hour in fashionable London. Perdita wouldn’t have gone to bed
yet. A harsh bark of laughter startled Allen, as the Earl considered the all-
too-likely possibility that Perdita might indeed be in bed when he reached
the house he had given her . . . in bed with someone else. He had
neglected her of late. The last time he visited her, there had been some-
thing in her manner—and had there been a faint tang of a masculine scent
in her boudoir?

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Accepting his cape from Allen, Milord strolled down the stairway and out

to his waiting carriage. When he gave his orders to the footman who assisted
him in, that worthy’s eyes widened. “Wants ye to drive ‘im out to Windsor an’
back,” the footman reported as he scrambled up on the box.

“At this hour?” snarled the coachman, who had not relished being hauled

out of a warm bed.

Inside the coach, the Earl was echoing both the words and the incredulity.

What in the fiend’s name was he up to? But he knew that, for some reason he did-
n’t care to explore, he did not wish to visit Perdita or any of her ilk this night.

The following morning the Earl entered his library and instructed Dibble

not to disturb him unless the house was on fire, and then only if the servants
could not cope with it. He had ridden his horse unfashionably early in Hyde
Park, and eaten so little breakfast that Chef Pierre was concerned for his
health. And now he was grimly determined to settle the problem that had dis-
turbed the ordered calm of his days.

The disturbing element was, of course, Cozette. Mademoiselle deLorme,

that obstinate, impertinent, prickly, beautiful little French chit who troubled
not only his waking hours but now his sleep as well. For last night, after his
late return from that absurd carriage ride, he had dreamed of the little crea-
ture, such a startling and erotic dream that he had wakened, laughing and
roused, and turned in his bed to take her into his arms.

A dull red burned in his cheeks as he recalled vividly the sharp pang of dis-

appointment that had pierced him as he realized that he was alone. He must
get the girl out of his life—or out from under his skin! The easiest way to deal
with an attractive female, in Milord’s experience, was to have an affair with
her. One soon had one’s fill of any woman’s affections, lures, and tricks.

But a man could not—at least, the Earl of Stone could not—embark upon

a liaison with his nephew’s governess. To carry on an illicit relationship with a
servant in his own house would be most offensive to Milord’s dignity.
Therefore, he must dismiss her from his service, and establish her in some
charming bijou residence where he could visit her at will.

Milord frowned. How could he remove young Lex’s staunch friend and

guardian? The boy would be hurt by her defection so soon after the tragic loss
of his parents! So much for the bijou residence, then! The Earl was surprised at
his own reluctance to dismiss that possibility. What did she offer, that little
French spinster, that he could not find in greater measure in any one of his
flirts or mistresses? She was not as beautiful as Perdita, or any one of the daz-
zling Diamonds he had had in keeping, was she?

The Earl set his jaw. Annoying, recalcitrant, critical little wretch that she

was, the image of her little heart-shaped face, with its golden cat’s eyes, came

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between him and every other female face he looked at. And his flesh still tin-
gled at the way she had felt in his arms, in his dream! So, if he could not get
rid of her attraction for him without making her his mistress, and could not
rob Lex of her company, then he must remove the chit to some place where
her presence would not tempt him. And send Lex with her.

The Earl sat back in his chair and waited for the sense of relief he should

feel at having solved the problem. It did not come. What did arise was a host
of objections: He needed more time to get to know his nephew. Another
change of residence so soon might upset the child. The Castle might be too
cold and austere for such a small boy. There were many objections, the Earl
was forced to admit, which would work against the quick despatch of Lex to
Stone Castle.

His expression grim, the Earl admitted the unpalatable fact that he would

have to remove himself from temptation, accept more invitations, pay court
to acknowledged beauties and débutantes in the Beau Monde, in short, enter
more enthusiastically into a social activity in which he was one of the
acknowledged prizes. His secretary, a young man just down from Oxford, was
forever trying to interest him in the piles of invitations that arrived daily at his
door. Well, young Heathcot could have his way! The Earl would accept
enough of the invitations to drive one small female face out of his mind! And
keep her out!

After masterful solution of the problem had been achieved, Milord

brooded over the irksome little woman until luncheon was announced, rather
tentatively, by Dibble, who had his head snapped off as a reward.

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he whole of Milord’s staff was fully aware of the tensions under
which His Lordship was suffering. These were fully discussed in the
servants’ hall. Although Hardy did not carry tales from the dinner
table, still the grooms and stableboys, seated around their own table

in a large room off the scullery, were equally conversant with the fact that
Milord, who had been much admired for the icy arrogance that was deemed
highly fitting for one of his noble lineage, was now behaving very much like
any other man who was being thwarted in love.

“Only other time I’ve seen one o’ the Nobs this tetchy is when I worked

for ole Lord Whitman,” vouchsafed one of the footmen. “Fair mad ‘e was wi’
the gout. Useta keep a pile o’ shoes by his chair, and fling ‘em at any servant
what came near ‘im.” He rubbed his head reminiscently. “Sharp eye with a
ridin’ boot, had ole Whitman.”

“What has that to say to anything?” the housekeeper reproved him. “His

Lordship does not have the gout.”

The footman, who had not claimed Milord had, was shrewd enough to

hold his tongue.

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The housekeeper was continuing, in a more mild tone, “It is my belief that

His Lordship has been given the ‘Go-by’!”

The maids, upstairs, downstairs, and kitchen, were delighted at the very

idea that that unassailable fortress of masculine arrogance had been breached,
if not conquered. The footmen were vocal in their commiseration for Milord
in his hour of rejection. One of them testified that he had it from one of the
grooms that Milord hadn’t been next or nigh the Diamond in a week. All eyes
focused upon Milord’s valet, who said nothing.

At this point, Dibble delivered a thundering setdown to all gabblemongers

whose tongues were hung in the middle and wagged at both ends. It was left
to Pierre to ask the crucial question.

“But who is this seductive creature who has reduced our imperturbable

master to such remarkable bad temper? Who has caused our arrogant Earl to
behave like any common man frustrated in love?”

“Lady Clarissa?” ventured one of the upstairs maids, who had not actually

observed Her Ladyship at close quarters.

The housekeeper smiled pityingly. “Not likely.”
Dibble permitted himself a grin. “‘E’s forbidden ‘er the ‘ouse,” he informed

the company around the dinner table.

One of the footmen, who had suffered the lash of Lady Clarissa’s bad tem-

per upon occasion, raised his mug of ale. “I’ll drink t’that!”

The toast was honored.
But Chef Pierre’s quick and rather reprehensible Gallic mind was not satis-

fied. “Not his current mistress, nor a new one? And not, I think, a débutante,
for all he’s out every evening at some soirée or grand bal.”

“Why not a débutante?” argued a romantic kitchen maid.
“Because if Milord showed an interest in any o’ them,” explained the butler,

“the parents as well as the girl herself would serve her up to the Earl on a sil-
ver platter.”

“Wiv an apple in ‘er mouf,” chuckled one of the kitchen boys from the foot

of the table.

This picture delighted the servants, but Pierre was still not satisfied.
“Not, I tell myself, one of the season’s fledglings. You have reason when

you state there would be no opposition, no frustration for Milord if that were
his object. Nor, I think, a married lady.”

The housekeeper and the older maids primmed up at this Gallic plain-

speaking, but Allen, speaking unexpectedly, gave agreement. “The Earl is not
in the habit of dallying with other men’s wives,” he said repressively.

“Too dangerous?” suggested the newest footman.
“Beneath his dignity,” corrected the valet.

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“Cherchez la femme,” Pierre insisted. “There is a woman in it somewhere. I’ve

never known His Lordship to be so—so—”

“Resty is the English term,” supplied Dibble patronizingly. “I can only

hope, Pierre, if you are correct, that she says yes to him soon. He is not at all
himself,” the butler added censoriously. In his opinion, formed during his long
service to the present Earl’s father, a nobleman should never reveal emotion.
The old lord never had. Dibble sighed for the good old days.

Cozette, who had made up her mind to see less of her disturbing mas-

ter, was not at all pleased to discover that he had apparently had the same
idea concerning her. Her feelings confused her. She found herself disap-
pointed, resentful, and, at last, desolate. She realized that she missed his
arrogant presence very much. Even his mocking insolence was stimulating,
made her feel alive with anger and a kind of excitement that wasn’t anger at
all—rather the reverse! For several days she wondered if the Earl had
become interested in a new mistress. Cozette did not eat in the servants’
hall. As the Heir’s governess, she was served in her room or in the morning
room, a bright little Ladies’ Parlor that had not been used since the
Dowager Countess died. So she had not been present during any of the
numerous discussions of Milord’s newly exacerbated temper, and was there-
fore not aware that it was generally accepted that the Earl’s love-life had
suffered a setback.

It startled the girl, then, as much as it did His Lordship, when she literally

ran into him one morning outside the Ladies’ Parlor. Before she could frame
either a greeting or an apology, the Earl put one hard arm around her shoul-
ders and whipped her back inside the room she had just quitted. Then he
closed the door and leaned against it, saying in a curiously husky voice:

“I have not seen very much of you this last while, Miss deLorme. Have you

been ill?”

Cozette heard her own voice trembling and unaccountably breathless.

“Oh, no, sir, I have been quite well, I thank you!”

The big man stared down at her so grimly that her heart beat even faster.

Yet when he spoke, it was only to say, “And Lex? How is the boy?”

This was easier to answer. Already the impact of his virile masculinity

was softening her fear of him, coaxing her into familiar, slavish admiration
of his hypnotic silver gaze and his seductive mouth. Cozette launched into
a story of Lex’s latest clever remark. Her eyes sparkled; soft rose color
flushed her cheeks.

“He is such a bright, high-spirited little fellow, Milord! He seems to fear

nothing. And his comments have a certain wisdom in addition to an infectious
good humor. You would be proud of him if you heard him talk!”

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Milord felt a quick irrational surge of jealousy of the small boy who could

command this eager admiration. “You would imply that I neglect the boy?” he
heard himself snap at the startled girl.

“No, Milord, I—” she began in hasty apology. And then she caught her-

self, and her splendid eyes began to gleam with anger. “Although, since you
ask me, Milord, I must admit that you have quite definitely neglected your
heir of late. The poor child asked me only yesterday if he had done some-
thing to offend you.”

And how do you like that plain-speaking, Milord Arrogance? her expression seemed

to ask. Defiance of this overpowering, magnificent male was like a shield
against the slavish admiration she was beginning to feel for him. Hopeless to
adore one so far above her in position, lineage, everything! She made her
smile consciously pert, knowing how that enraged him.

She had the doubtful satisfaction of seeing his handsome countenance

darken. And then his expression changed, became speculative.

“Now I wonder why you are trying so hard to provoke me, little one?” he

drawled, in that odiously soft voice that did alarming things to her poise.
“Trying to attract my attention? Shall I try to discover your . . . intention?”

His gaze moved over her, from her flushed face with its wide gold eyes to

the sweetly rounded breasts that rose and fell with her agitated breathing.
The girl’s hands clasped hard as though to conceal that betraying nervousness.
“Oh!” she said, half protest, half entreaty.

Milord smiled, a wide white smile of triumph. “So there is a method in

your pertness! I thought as much! Well then, let us see if we can discover the
motive behind your provocative behavior.” Before she could believe what she
was reading in his expression, Milord had her in his arms, pressing her close
to his body. “Is this what you want, little temptress?” he murmured against her
lips, open to protest his invasion.

Cozette was shocked by the force of her own response to the Earl’s assault.

Her eyes opened wider, trying, yet unable, to focus upon that searching,
demanding gaze so close to her face. Then, like a bolt of lightning, the shocking
truth hit her and her heart raced and pounded so frantically it shook her body.

She wanted to be held in this man’s arms, close to his warmth! The rigid bands of his

arms, the disturbing movement of his hands, the seductive pressure of his
mouth upon hers—all these were welcome to her, were exciting, satisfying
needs she had not conceived of!

The stunning force of this realization shook her whole body so powerfully

that the Earl, engrossed in an exercise that he, too, found exciting and satisfy-
ing, became aware of her trembling against his body. He held her a little away
from him, in order to get a clearer sight of her face. What he saw there
pleased him.

Elizabeth Chater—The Earl and the Émigrée

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“So, I was right!” he breathed, surveying her delicious little person with

proprietary pleasure. “You do want me. Well, I shall have to see what can be
done about it, shall I not? For both our sakes,” he added silkily, holding her
closer as she would have drawn away from him in shame for her behavior. He
bestowed what Cozette was compelled to recognize as a patronizing kiss
upon her mouth, then set her firmly aside.

“Until I have, ah, made new arrangements, you will continue your good

work with my nephew.” He walked over to the door and opened it. “Off to
your charge, Mademoiselle deLorme,” he said with hateful complacence. “I
shall be in touch with you shortly, my dear.” Grinning wickedly at his double
entendre, the Earl closed the door softly behind his tall figure.

Cozette, hands to burning cheeks, stared at the blank panel.
What had she done? There could be no doubt that the whole situation

between them had changed for the worse. She did not want some clandestine
little affair, no matter how elegantly mounted! No matter that Milord’s power-
ful body drew her, attracted her own body with irresistible seduction. No
matter that, even when he was being his most annoying, there was something
about the line of his hard jaw and the flare of his arrogant nostrils that quite
melted her sternest resolve! There could be no convenable outcome to such an
improper coupling. The Earl and his nephew’s governess! How the clubs
would buzz to that! And the highborn ladies! Cozette could imagine the Lady
Clarissa’s comments. Such a mésalliance would be a blot upon even so invulner-
able a reputation as His Lordship’s. If she had the slightest concern for the
Earl’s good name, she must make sure that this—this consummation so desir-
able, so longed for by her lonely heart, should never be allowed to occur.

Straightening her shoulders proudly, the girl slipped from the Ladies’

Parlor and went to find Lex.

While she and the boy were enjoying their usual riding lesson under

Hardy’s strict tutelage, Cozette found time to make her plans. She must return
to France. She had always known it. It was not enough to tell herself that her
father had escaped the Terror; she must personally confirm it. And if he is, indeed,
dead? came the agonizing thought. Then I must know that, she told herself.
How she was to find out she did not at the moment consider.

But what of little Lex, whose life was given into your care by Papa? That one was eas-

ier to deal with. However stern the Earl’s regimen, however strict his stan-
dards, he loved the child, and would do everything possible to give him a
good life. With this she must be content. She must accept that her work for
the boy was done. Already he was accepting the friendly services of Martha
and Hardy as part of a reliable, supportive background. And his delight in his
uncle’s attention and comradeship was evident. Oh, little Lex was home at

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last, safe and contented. He no longer needed the inadequate protection and
succor one French spinster could offer!

Enfin, what had she still to do before slipping away from the Earl’s home?

A problem that had nagged at her for days now came to the surface of her
mind. She had heard nothing from anyone as to the results of the message she
had brought from King Louis. Had it ever reached the English monarch’s
notice? Was the Prime Minister doing anything to assist the French King,
beleaguered as he was in the Tuileries Palace? It suddenly seemed important to
Cozette, if she were to be blessed with a reunion with her father, that she be
able to tell him she had done all possible to carry out that task he had given
her. So, tonight at dusk, she would return to that secret house where the
Prime Minister had granted her audience and accepted the royal message.

With this plan decided upon, Cozette turned herself to preparation for her

coming departure. It would, alas, be necessary that she take with her, on her
person and in a small satchel, the clothing Milord had provided for her. He
had burned her wretched rags, of course, but she knew now that he need not
have given her clothing of such quality. To balance that, however, she decided
with shrewd Gallic good sense, he had not yet instructed his bailiff to pay her
any salary, although several weeks had passed since she first entered his
household. So that might compensate in part for the garments she must take
with her, for decency’s sake if nothing else. Had she francs enough to leave a
small sum for Martha? Or would the giving of a gratuity be considered pre-
tentious in one of Cozette’s circumstances? There was one very pretty and
impractical chemise the modiste had left, which Martha had lingered over as
she tucked it away in the lowboy. She would leave that! Cozette nodded her
head with satisfaction. The francs would most likely prove essential in making
her way back to Paris. She washed her face to remove all traces of fear and
excitement by means of the cold water, and then went to get Lex from the
stables where he had lingered to play with Jille.

Jille! The small ferret would have to come with Cozette to France. She

might need its special talents yet again. It struck the girl, who was no dull-wit,
that in thrusting herself back into the chaotic inferno that was revolutionary
France she was risking death. And a loss equally great: the chance of knowing
Milord’s love. Still, it had to be done.

Cozette sobbed once, a raw little sound, then set her jaw firmly. She

would have to leave, of course, but before she did . . . just a few more days to
show the child she loved him; to add a few happy memories of his innocent
charm to comfort her in the grim days ahead. And, insisted her aching heart, a
few precious souvenirs of a big man with fascinating silver eyes! Already she
could foresee the lonely nights filled with regret and painful memories, bitter-
sweet, of her encounters with the enigmatic Earl.

Elizabeth Chater—The Earl and the Émigrée

[ e - r e a d s ]

For the next few days, Cozette followed her plan. She spent every possi-

ble minute with Lex, assuring him over and over how much she loved him,
and what a fine man he would someday become. The child accepted her
assurances with an open sweetness that tore at her heart.

“You will be proud of me when I am grown,” he promised her.
“Even if I must return to be with my Papa,” she told him, “I shall always

think of you.”

The small brow clouded. “You are going away?”
Cozette put on a confident smile. “Everyone must go away, my friend! You

to school with many other friends to share your play and study. Your uncle to
his estates, to make sure all is in good heart. But he will take you with him, I
am sure of that!” she ended on an optimistic note. “What fun you both will
have, riding around those smiling fields and woods!”

This prospect seemed to reconcile the boy to at least a temporary parting

from his beloved Coco. “Riding, eh? I hope I am good enough to keep up with
him! Did you see the new boots mon oncle has had made for me?” He put out a
small, well-shod foot. “And my new coat? Hardy says it is fine enough to ride
out in the park with the swells!”

Hesitating to chide him for so harmless a bit of cant, Cozette giggled.

“You are fine as fivepence, little cabbage,” she smiled. “I would I could come
with you!”

“But you can!” the child’s face sparkled with glee. “Hardy asked Marfa if

there were no riding costumes about the place which you might wear! And
Marfa said, ‘Them attics is full of old clothes. There must be something!’ I
heard her! She’s up there now, looking for something for you!”

While deploring the conspiracy, Cozette admitted she would like noth-

ing better than to accompany Lex and Hardy on a brisk canter through one
of the elegant parks in which leisured Londoners daily disported themselves.
So it was with guilty delight that she urged Martha to enter the room some
minutes later.

Martha had a heap of garments over one arm, and her eyes were big with

laughter over the intrigue. “Found you something, ma’am!” she whispered, and
displayed a trim riding coat and breeches—for a young male! “These was
Master Neville’s, I think. Leastways, I found ‘em in one of the trunks full of his
things he had when a boy. I got an idea you’d fit into ‘em very neatly, Miss
Cozette. Do try!”

Almost against her will, Cozette sent Lex off with the servant while she

herself slipped out of her clothing and into the riding habit of the young
Neville. It was tight in some places, loose in others, but on the whole, a toler-
able fit. Martha had even brought riding boots, which were definitely too
large, but could be padded with some hand-knit woolen socks. Within a few

Elizabeth Chater—The Earl and the Émigrée

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minutes, Cozette presented a casual observer a very neat and smart image of a
young equestrian. She stared at herself in the mirror, pink-faced, smiling, and
knew she was going to have to risk it. When Martha brought Lex back into
the bedroom, she beheld a modish youth, perhaps rather too pretty, who was
cramming a great deal of hair into an old-fashioned riding hat.

“O-o-oh, Miss Cozette, ma’am! You do look smart as a new-scraped carrot!”
Lex added his little voice to the chorus of praise, and Cozette was lost to

prudence, to decorum. The prospect of trying out her new skills somewhere
else than the stable yard and mews was too tempting. She took Lex’s little
hand, accepted an ancient riding crop from the competent Martha, and
accompanied her charge quietly down the back stairs to the stables.

Hardy gave her a pretty sharp look, and swore the grooms and stableboys

to silence by dire threats. He put her up on her docile and sweet-mannered
little mare, and, leading his charges discreetly out of the mews, headed them
toward the park.

It was everything she had hoped it might be. The day was unusually fine,

yet at this unfashionably early hour in the afternoon, few “Sparks” or “Blades
of the Ton” were flaunting their modish costumes or their “Bits o’ Blood”—
prime horseflesh, Hardy explained. The horses seemed as pleased as their rid-
ers to stretch their limbs. Little Lex was beaming with delight, and Cozette
surrendered herself to mindless pleasure.

Cozette and Lex had almost reached the haven of their rooms when a

deep, cool voice requested them to halt. Turning guiltily, Cozette beheld her
employer advancing down the wide, carpeted hallway toward her. Lex was
quiet, understanding that he and Coco had done something his uncle might
not quite like, although the boy did not know why.

A slight nod in Lex’s direction advised Cozette she should get him out of

the way of the threatened reckoning. Thankfully, she pointed him toward his
room, and told him to get Martha to change and wash him.

As the boy moved reluctantly off, the Earl allowed his gaze to roam inso-

lently over Cozette’s boots, breeches, and riding coat, finally rising to her
flushed face.

“Your hair is escaping from Neville’s hat,” he said mildly.
The calm before the storm? Or acceptance of her daring prank? Cozette

did not have to wonder long. A hand like iron came out and caught her wrist.
Wordlessly, the Earl pulled her along to another door farther down the hall.
Pulling this open, he thrust the girl inside and closed the door.

“And now, Miss deLorme, suppose you explain this masquerade?” he com-

manded icily.

“I was so anxious to ride in the park,” explained the girl. “To share the fun

Lex so enjoys. I asked someone to get me a riding habit.”

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“Martha,” said the Earl. His voice seemed a little warmer when he spoke

the maid’s name, so Cozette ventured greatly.

“You must not be angry with Martha! She did only as I instructed.”
“I am not angry at Martha,” the Earl said equably. “Like the rest of my

servants, she has developed a remarkable liking and respect for you, and
would find it unthinkable to refuse anything you asked. But you, Miss
deLorme, should surely know better than to make such a show of your-
self”—his glance dwelt scathingly on the boy’s riding habit—”in view of half
of London!”

“We stopped nowhere, talked to no one,” said the girl fiercely. “No one

noticed us! No one would connect us with the arrogant Earl of Hamer and Stone!”

“Luckily for you,” her employer told her in an ominous tone. “I had

thought to keep you and the boy in town until I had formed a solid relation-
ship with him, but if you are to be getting up to such hoydenish ploys as this,
I shall send you both down to the Castle tomorrow!”

“And if I do not choose to go?” Cozette defied him.
He considered the small, furious figure, unexpectedly provocative in the

breeches and fitted coat. His grin became predatory. “Are you challenging
me, my dear?” he asked softly. “Do you wish to put our association onto a dif-
ferent level?” He moved closer, the whole stance of his body telling her
exactly what he meant.

Cozette was not prepared for that sort of confrontation. She drew back

slightly, and hated his knowing grin. “I intended only to remind you that my
duty to Alexandre is done, and I must be seeking different employment.” She
faltered under the contemptuous look in his fine eyes.

“You forget very quickly the agreement we made, that you should remain as

his governess until he is ready to go to school. Perhaps I should have made you
sign a contract.” He was conveniently ignoring his other plan for Cozette’s
immediate future. Until he had Lex safely settled with a new governess, and until
Ian Ross had located exactly the proper bijou residence for Cozette, the Earl had
no intention of informing her of the details of her new role. Meanwhile, let the
chit’s conscience bother her! It might make her more malleable!

The Earl regarded her with dissatisfaction. He would have preferred a

defiance he could have quelled with physical force. At length, still watching
her averted, rosy face sternly, he motioned toward the door. “Get out of those
breeches,” he said.

Cozette escaped thankfully. The scene with the Earl had brought home to

her, as nothing else could have done, the most pressing danger of her situa-
tion: that she might find herself a willing victim of his virile attraction. The
sooner she removed herself from his seductive masculinity, the better!

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First, then, to see Mr. Pitt, and ask what King George was going to do to

aid King Louis to escape from the Tuileries Palace. Dared she suggest that
inquiries be made for Professor deLorme? She sighed regretfully. The reserved
Mr. Pitt would have no time to aid one elderly scholar!

And after she had talked to Mr. Pitt?
Back to Paris to search for Papa.

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n pursuance of this decision, Cozette left Lex with Martha after his early sup-
per. The rosy little face was nodding over the bowl of pudding; he was more
than ready for his bed, and Martha was pleased to take charge of him. She was
a little curious as to what business should take Alexandre’s governess abroad

alone at this hour of the evening. Cozette dared not confide in Martha lest the
girl be punished if difficulties arose. Smiling, she assured the worried maid that
she had an appointment with an old colleague of her father’s, and would take a
hackney coach both ways, and be home within the shortest possible time.

She rather spoiled the effect of all this by her final, too breezy remark: “If

anyone should ask for me, pray tell them I am out for a walk.”

Martha gazed after the softly closing door with dismay. Out for a walk?

With dusk coming on? In the darkness, even the familiar square with its pretty
paths and trees and shrubs became a place of fear for Martha.

Cozette faced her own very different fears on the way to that unremark-

able house where Mr. Pitt carried on certain of his less public duties. She had
no guarantee that he would still be there, but at least she might be able to
arrange for a later meeting if he had already gone. The cabby took her brief
directions silently, and moved his horse along at a fairly good pace.

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When they reached their destination, there were still lights visible from a

number of windows in the building. Instructing the driver to wait, Cozette
hopped nimbly down and ran up to the front door. After a long wait, the girl
was relieved to see the door swing open and a young man in sober black ask
her rather shortly what she wanted.

“I must see Mr. Pitt,” Cozette said firmly. “It is about a message I brought

him several days ago, from France. My name is deLorme.”

The sober young man regarded her dubiously. It was plain that he was not

accustomed to ushering strange young females into his master’s private offices
at such an hour.

“You have an appointment?” he began cautiously.
“No, I have not,” Cozette felt anger rising at this further exercise of mas-

culine obduracy. “How can I have an appointment when I did not know
whether I could manage to get here? Please do not keep me waiting longer! I
have a carriage waiting!”

Although what that has to say to anything, I am not sure, the girl thought

as she followed the reluctant guardian back into the long dark corridor she
remembered from her earlier visit.

Mr. Pitt was clearly unhappy to see her again. He listened silently as she

phrased her question, thought about it, and then said, “I am afraid I am not at
liberty to tell you anything at all, Miss—uh. His Majesty’s government is grate-
ful for your efforts in bringing the message safely to London, but you must of
course see that there can be no further communication between you and . . .
anyone who is dealing with this matter. Thank you for coming. Good night.”

The young man led her back to the front door, his silence making very

clear to her that he resented her forcing him to act as her guide. In fact, his
relief at seeing the last of her was so heartfelt that even in her disappoint-
ment, Cozette had a flicker of amusement. He saw her up into the hackney
with meticulous care, but made no response to her quiet, “Thank you, and
good night.”

When she returned to Stone House, the entrance and great hall were

ablaze with light. Standing like an avenging deity surrounded by his appre-
hensive votaries, the Earl awaited her. He had evidently been conferring
with Dibble, for that individual thankfully stepped back a pace as the girl
came forward.

Milord spoke not a word, yet Cozette’s heartbeat faltered and then

pounded at the very sight of his fury as she followed the tall imposing figure
silently into the library. The attack began without preliminaries.

“You did not feel it necessary to get my permission to go out at this

hour, leaving Alexander with a servant?” His cold, set expression, his arro-

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gant tone told the girl too clearly that she had better have a valid reason
for her defection.

In that moment Cozette realized that she loved this hard, bad-tempered,

beautiful male who was glaring at her like an affronted lion. Instead of anger,
she felt a tiny thrill of hope that his anger might indicate concern for her
safety, and with that came such a warm surge of love that the girl lowered her eye-
lids lest he should guess her emotion. Swallowing and trying to pull her wits
together, Cozette recalled his words.

“But I am a servant, Milord. What does it matter, one of us or another?”
The Earl ignored this quite logical answer. “Where were you?” he

demanded. “Martha told me—under considerable pressure, I may say!—that
you had gone out to meet a friend. I had not realized you might have made a
connection so quickly!”

Then, as she hesitated, startled and a little confused at the force of his

attack, the Earl demanded, “Who is he, your gallant who appoints clandestine
meetings? Someone you met during one of your jaunts in the park?”

Cozette’s humility dissolved under the injustice of this charge. “I was try-

ing to get an audience with your Prime Minister, but he is shy of females, as
you warned me! He refused to discuss it with me! Perhaps he feels guilt that
he has not done anything about King Louis’s appeal!”

The Earl’s frown faded. “Did you really expect to get an interview with

Pitt? I thought I had told you it was useless.”

“My father risked his life, and mine, to get that note to your monarch! It

is my duty to be sure King George has been allowed to receive King Louis’s
message!” She gave him a smoldering glance. “I begin to believe there is
more intrigue and double-dealing in London than ever there was in Paris!
Or perhaps it is merely indifference? King George may never have received
Louis’s missive!”

“Probably not,” agreed the Earl maddeningly. “But not because Pitt is indif-

ferent or careless. Our King is most unwell. He has a nervous disorder that
has his physicians baffled.”

“But your government cannot ignore King Louis’s appeal for help! He is a

virtual prisoner in the Tuileries, with all his family. The situation is desperate!”

The Earl considered this.
Cozette moved closer to him, looking up with urgent appeal into his sil-

ver-gray eyes. “Since your King is unwell, and Mr. Pitt so reluctant to become
involved, is it possible for me to present the case to someone else in power? I
have heard that the Prince of Wales has the support of the Whig Party, who
might not be averse to sending a rescue mission for our Royal Family.”

This suggestion met with marked disapproval. “Where have you picked up

your sudden familiarity with English politics?” he demanded suspiciously.

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Cozette was disconcerted by this change in his manner. “Why, I listened to

Dibble and Pierre. They were arguing yesterday when Lex and I passed through
the kitchen on the way to the stables. And of course all the grooms—”

His Lordship’s sneer cut off her halting explanation. “I see! Kitchen gossip

and stableboys’ talk! You should be more particular in whom you choose as
intelligencers. For the last time, I shall advise you to leave these matters of
state policy to Mr. Pitt!”

Deflated by the Earl’s scornful condescension, Cozette still had the spirit

to mutter angrily. “Mr. Pitt shows no evidence of concern, but I must! It is my
duty.” She faced him with an odd little air of command. “I wish to be pre-
sented to your Prince.”

The Earl’s eyebrows rose almost to his white-powdered hair. “What you

ask is impossible, Mademoiselle deLorme. You were just a messenger in this
matter. A successful one, against heavy odds,” he conceded, “but the matter is
now out of your hands, believe me!” And then Milord added coldly, “May I
suggest that you do not ever take that tone with me again?”

They glared at one another like antagonists. Cozette’s eyes were the first

to drop. She shrugged and turned away.

The Earl’s voice came harshly. “You have much to learn. I haven’t yet dis-

missed you, Miss deLorme!”

Reluctantly she faced him again. “Milord?”
The Earl had no intention of letting her off lightly. “In future you will

inform me if you wish to leave Lex.” He watched with a grim little smile as the
angry color flooded her cheeks.

“You cannot be saying that you care what a servant does with her free

time?” the girl protested incredulously.

“Any other servant, no. I leave such arrangements to Dibble. But you are

the companion of my heir, and as such are responsible directly to me.”

Cozzette nodded wordlessly.
“My uncle and aunt, Lord and Lady Wantage, are arriving from Sussex

tomorrow for a few weeks in London. They will be staying here with me.
Of course they have come to meet Neville’s son.” His smile held a bitter
mockery. “If I die without issue, Uncle Hector was next in line for the suc-
cession, until you brought me Alexander. Rather a shock for the
Wantages,” he added dryly. “Aunt Henrietta has ambitions. Her son Henry
also. They will be planning to attend every assembly, ball, and ridotto the
season offers.”

Cozette wondered why he was telling her this. There had been a note

of warning in his voice. Surely she was not expected to try to force her-
self into any entertainment the Earl might offer his kinsmen? She would
not presume!

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She raised angry eyes to his—and felt a chill of apprehension as she saw

his expression. He was warning her, but the object of his concern was Lex!
Could the Wantages truly mean harm to the child?

Milord’s mood had changed. He dismissed her crisply, with the command

that she seek his permission if she wished to leave the house in future.

Cozette returned to Lex’s rooms seething with resentment at the overbear-

ing nobleman. Seek his permission, indeed! What sort of feudal despotism was
he trying to enforce? He must think this was 1392, not 1792! But sight of little
Lex, rosy and relaxed, sleeping in his four-poster bed, quite reconciled her to
his arrogant, overbearing, hateful uncle. Whoever menaced the boy, Cozette
thought, be it Wantage or Stone, would have to contend with her.

The next morning, as they prepared for their daily riding lesson, Cozette

defiantly dressed in Neville’s habit. While they were making their way down
the back stairway, Lex smiled up at her mischievously.

“You look very neat in my father’s habit, Coco,” he told her. “Why do not

all ladies dress that way? I should not like to have to manage long skirts on
horseback, as most ladies seem to do.”

“It is not considered comme il faut for ladies to wear breeches,” Cozette

answered him. “But you see, I have no proper riding costume.” She met his lit-
tle grin—so heartbreaking, like his father’s!—with one of her own. “Which is
why you must not call me Cozette when we are cantering through the park.
Charlot, perhaps, or Colin? Claude?”

Sensibly disregarding these absurdities, Lex said gently, “I think you look

very pretty. Were we not lucky that Mrs. Dibble remembered the trunks full
of my Papa’s old clothes? His riding breeches fit you perfectly.”

“Lucky,” agreed Cozette, who had enjoyed yesterday’s jaunt around the

park so much more than the daily exercises in the stable yard and mews that
had preceded them.

The boy, pursuing his own train of thought, startled her with a question.

“Why do we not search among my father’s clothes to see if there is anything
else that fits you, Coco? You do not have many dresses, do you?”

Cozette smiled into his worried little face. Not for her to explain to the

child that her hurried flight to England had given her no opportunity to pack
an elaborate wardrobe. Instead she teased, “You would tell me your Papa had
some dresses tucked away in that attic? La!”

Lex giggled. “No, but other members of my family might have!”
Cozette was so enchanted with his quick wits that she hugged him. “We

shall look this afternoon, mon brave! Perhaps we shall find treasures for Cozette
to put on for our supper together in our rooms! We may even find something
of your Papa’s you may like to have, hmm? But I am a lady, and must not wear

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the clothes of a young gentleman!” She curtsied deeply, mincing and postur-
ing in an exaggerated manner with nonexistent skirts.

Lex chuckled, his eyes shining. “But you are not wearing skirts, Coco! And

what will mon oncle say if he sees you?”

“A great deal, I fear,” admitted Cozette, laughter fading.
Lex tried to recapture the joke. “You looked funny doing that in Papa’s

breeches, Coco!” He grinned.

“So you see, I am right,” Cozette retorted firmly. “A lady should wear

skirts. After today I shall do so.” But it was so delightfully freeing to bestride
the mare in these well-tailored breeches!

Fortunately for the culprits, the Earl did not catch them when they

returned from their ride later that morning. Cozette made haste to get out of
the incriminating garments and back into her own pretty brown walking
dress before they settled down for lessons and then lunch. After the meal,
Lex protested that he was not really tired enough to take a nap that was usu-
ally his after-luncheon program. Cozette searched his little face. It was going
to be a painful break to leave him, as she must, within the next few days.
What sort of governess would Milord provide for his nephew? Would she be
severe, rigid? Cozette put the thought from her. For these last precious days,
she must give the child all the love she could, and try to make him secure in
his own person.

“Shall we forgo the sleep today, then, little cabbage? Let us advance upon

the attics and ransack the trunks!”

“Allons!” piped the boy gleefully. “Let’s go!”
The trunks were a treasure trove. They found one that held several gowns

at least twenty years old, and were torn between admiration for the metallic
brocades and appliquéd jewels, and hysterical laughter when Cozette wiggled
into the enormous whalebone and wire frameworks that supported the skirt.

“You look like a donkey with panniers!” chuckled Lex.
“And where have you ever seen any such animal, Master Impudence?”

challenged Cozette, getting out of the absurd garment as quickly as possible.

“With Maman. My father took us both to the seaside last year for a holi-

day,” explained the boy, and all the laughter faded from his little countenance
at the reminder of his loss.

Cozette hastened to change his mood.
“I am feeling hungry, my friend. Shall we go down to see what Chef Pierre

can provide?”

This suggestion meeting with unqualified approval, the next half hour was

most enjoyably spent by the treasure-seekers.

Chef Pierre had news for them. As he watched them devouring his ele-

gant pâtisseries, he told them that the Wantages had already arrived, and were

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casting Dibble into the sullens with their endless and unreasonable demands
for service.

“For you must know, Sir and Madam,” said Chef Pierre with a sly wink,

“these persons who are related to the Earl are not at all of his quality.”

Cozette’s gaze locked with his quickly. Was he trying to tell her some-

thing? To warn her to be on her guard? It seemed he was, for his smile faded
into an intent expression.

“Greedy!” chided Chef Pierre reprovingly to little Lex, guzzling pastries.

But his eyes returned to meet hers with meaning. So, it was the visitors who
were greedy.

She got the boy upstairs unobtrusively by the servants’ staircase. She had

him washed and redressed in one of his attractive little suits and was brushing
his hair when the summons came. Dibble himself had been sent to bring the
Heir to meet his kinsmen in the drawing room.

Dibble’s approving glance at the handsome small boy was enough reward

for Cozette. The butler said formally, “His Lordship wishes you to present
yourself within fifteen minutes in the drawing room. To escort Mr. Neville’s
son back to his nursery.”

Cozette was thankful for the time to get herself ready, sartorially and emo-

tionally, for the encounter.

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hen she walked into the drawing room fifteen minutes later,
Cozette felt she had prepared herself for any contingency. The
neatly pressed brown dress was quietly elegant but not osten-
tatious. Her dark gold hair was plainly styled and covered with

a lace handkerchief, which she believed gave her a properly dignified, mature
appearance. The Earl, in his first glimpse of her, thought she looked like a
charming girl playing at propriety.

It was soon evident that the Wantages were not impressed either by

Cozette’s charm or by her discretion. Lady Henrietta fired the first shot.

“Is this the female who claims the boy is Neville’s son?” she demanded. “I

suppose she has given you some tall story.”

“No,” the Earl rejoined coldly, “the documents I have safely locked away in

my study prove it.”

Lord Hector, never a sensitive man, was yet able to detect the contempt in

the Earl’s manner. “You can’t think Stone would accept any such claim on the
word of an—” His glance disparaged Cozette.

Meanwhile, the girl’s gaze had flashed around the room in search of Lex.

She discovered him seated in a small chair near the fire, with a book open on

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his lap. Apparently it had not been considered important by the Wantages to
show interest or affection for the child. Pushing him out already! thought
Cozette fiercely.

The child’s eyes, she noted, were fixed upon her anxiously. At once she

gave him a mischievous, conspiratorial smile, confirming their ties of friend-
ship in this hostile situation. She was at once rewarded by his wide, endearing
smile, as Lex rose and came to her in a rush. She caught him in outstretched
arms and drew him protectively close to her side.

Naturally all eyes had focused on the small, smiling figure as it darted

across the room. Lady Henrietta gasped.

The Earl nodded arrogantly. “Neville’s smile,” he pointed out unnecessarily.
“Does this—woman claim to be the mother?” persisted Henrietta, defeated

but refusing to admit it.

“This lady is Mademoiselle deLorme, daughter of Professor Henri deLorme

of Paris, tutor to several noble houses. She brought Neville’s son out of France
at great risk to herself. I am sure all the family must be suitably grateful to her.”

It was in the nature of a rebuke, but the Wantages did not seem to realize

it. Lady Henrietta sniffed her opinion of all foreigners. Lord Hector gave the
little Frenchy the same scrutiny he would have accorded a mare he considered
buying. Cozette, who had come downstairs prepared to be her most suave
self, felt a treacherous flush of anger rising in her cheeks.

And then a diversion occurred that took everyone’s attention from Lex

and even Cozette. A top-of-the-trees dandy strolled into the drawing room
from the hall, paused to view the company through a quizzing glass, and
then made his bow. For one heart-stopping second the girl thought that
Neville Stone stood before her. Then he straightened and smiled, and the
illusion was shattered.

“Since no one has seen fit to present me, I shall introduce myself to this

charming lady,” he said, with Neville’s gentle mockery but without Neville’s
redeeming warmth. “I am Henry Wantage, most decidedly at your service,
Ma’am! And you?”

“It’s the boy’s nursemaid, Henry,” advised his Mama, quick to deflate any

pretension Cozette might attempt.

Before the Earl or anyone else could say a word, Lex uttered a little cry and

threw himself at Henry Wantage, a small arrow to the gold.

“Daddy!” he said, and embraced the young man around the waist.
Henry realized that he was the center of attention. Bending over, he

caught the child up into his arms. “So you are Alexandre, are you?” he said
with a laugh. “I am your cousin Henry.”

Lex’s small arms stiffened, and pushed his body away from Henry’s chest

so he could scan the handsome face so close to his own.

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“Not—not my father?” he whispered.
“Sorry, young Alexandre. Your father is still in France.”
Both the Earl and Cozette stiffened as Henry told his lie about Neville.

Cozette knew that the careless remark had opened the door to new grief for
the child, and difficult explanations from herself. Her fine brows drew
together. How could Henry Wantage be so insensitive? He must know that
the child was here because Neville was dead!

“Not my Papa,” repeated Lex forlornly. Tears began to slide down the

small face.

Cozette moved forward quickly, holding out her arms to Lex. “Would

you like to visit Jille, mon brave? You have not had time to play with her
today,” she coaxed in a voice so gentle and loving that the Earl glanced at
her with raised brows.

“Allons-nous? Shall we go?” the girl coaxed.
“And not before time!” snapped Lady Henrietta. “I am not—as you may

remember, Stone—an advocate of spoiling children.”

“Spare the rod and spoil the child,” agreed Lord Hector.
“I agree that the idea of a visit to his pet is an excellent one at this

moment,” said the Earl, so grimly that Cozette cast him a worried look. None
of this was Lex’s fault, nor, for that matter, hers. Why should the Earl’s arro-
gant countenance be turned upon her so angrily? As she took Lex from the
arms of his cousin, the thought struck her that the Earl had been as disgusted
by Henry’s maladroit remark as she had been. She was unable to pursue this
idea, however, as at that moment her eyes met Henry’s intent stare. He was
looking at the boy in her arms, the boy he had been holding with such a show
of affection.

A chill raced over Cozette’s skin. The young man’s blue eyes seemed to

bore into Lex’s back. What was the emotion behind that piercing scrutiny?
Trembling, Cozette hurried the little boy out of the room.

When, comforted with a hot mince tart from Chef Pierre, and a nice bowl

of scraps for Jille, Lex was happily feeding the ferret in the stables, Cozette sat
on a bale of hay to review her impressions of the Wantage family. For all Lady
Henrietta’s rancor and Lord Hector’s insensitivity, she found she did not fear
them as much as she did the handsome, smiling Henry with the wide blue
eyes and the genteel airs and graces.

“You are turning into a fearful old woman,” she scolded herself. “You see a

villain behind every quizzing glass!” She tried to laugh at her apprehension,
but somehow she could not dismiss from her mind the memory of Henry’s
careless, cruel lie, or his intent stare at the child. By the time Lex was ready to
return to their rooms for his tea, Cozette knew she could not leave the boy
until his unpleasant kinsmen had returned to their own home. With an ago-

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nized prayer for her father’s safety, Cozette led her small charge back to the
nursery suite.

She was reading him a story, later, and watching his heavy lids droop over

his eyes, when Martha appeared in the open bedroom doorway and beckoned
silently to her. Within a few minutes, Lex was sound asleep. Cozette went
quietly into the sitting room and pulled the door almost closed behind her.

“You need to speak to me?” she asked the little maid.
“Oh, yes, Miss! It’s His Lordship wants you. He says for you to come down

to his study right away. I’m to show you.”

“Where are the Wantages?” Cozette dreaded another confrontation.
Martha grinned. “Oh, they’re in their rooms, prettifying themselves for

dinner. Mr. Dibble says that Mr. Henry is forever titivating himself!” She gig-
gled. “His Lordship is going to take them to Lady Clara Custance’s for dinner,
since she’s an old friend of Lady Wantage.”

Thankful that she would not have to encounter the unpleasant guests again

that day, Cozette hurried after Martha down the back stairs to the Earl’s study.
When the maid paused outside the door, Cozette asked her in a low voice if
she would go back to the nursery and wait with Lex until Cozette returned.
Martha nodded importantly, and slipped back up the stairs without another
word. Relieved of a nagging anxiety, Cozette tapped on the study door.

The Earl’s voice was muffled through the heavy door. “Come in.”
Cozette slipped inside and closed the door quietly after her. She had not

been in Milord’s sanctum sanctorum before. It surprised her a little: a plainly
furnished, well-lighted room with a practical desk and a safe made of metal in
one corner. Small boxes sat on shelves. Cozette had an idea they held estate
documents and other important papers. A man of the Earl’s wealth and conse-
quence would naturally have much business to be taken care of, and the girl
knew that a secretary came in every day to handle it.

Almost at once, however, her gaze was attracted to the tall figure just ris-

ing from his chair behind the desk.

“You sent for me, Milord.”
The Earl stared at her with considerable discontent. Every time he decided

he would establish the little witch as his mistress, some emergency concerned
with his nephew arose, requiring the girl’s loving devotion to the boy. As long
as Lex seemed to need her, as long as she behaved with such fierce dedication
to Lex’s welfare, the Earl knew he could not remove Cozette from her task of
caring for the child. Milord scanned the beautiful face with mounting dissat-
isfaction. He had a hunger to see that lovely countenance aglow with sensual
pleasure, to feel that softly rounded body pliant in his arms. But such indul-
gences must be deferred until he had the girl bestowed in some small com-
fortable ménage. He must restrain his appetite until the French girl was no

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longer a member of his own household. And that, he realized resentfully, must
wait until the Wantages returned to their own estate—however long that
might be!

“The Wantages intend to stay here for the season,” he said grimly.
Although this opening remark did not seem to concern her, Cozette felt a

wave of sympathy for a host forced to endure such disagreeable guests. “I shall
try to keep Lex out of their way as much as possible, no matter how long they
stay,” she assured her employer, and was surprised to note that this promise
seemed, if anything, to increase Milord’s discontent. Did he wish her out of
his life so strongly? But if so, why not send her away at once? Surely there
were other suitable governesses in London?

Then a hideous thought struck her. He did intend to dismiss her, and had

summoned her here to tell her so!

The Earl became aware of her worried expression. “What ails you now?” he

asked testily, as though all his troubles were her fault—a manifest absurdity!
Yet in one sense they were. If she had not been so devilishly desirable—!

The girl was attempting to answer his question. “Do you wish me to leave,

Milord?” she managed to ask the question with some calmness. Was that not
what she needed: the freedom to leave London and go to search for her
father? Yet how could she abandon Lex to those monstres upstairs?

The Earl was glaring at her as though she were an imbecile. “Leave? Of

course not! Haven’t I just told you you must remain to protect Lex from the
Wantages? That woman!” He came as close to a snarl as his imperturbable
facade, now grimly maintained, would permit.

Cozette was thoroughly confused. “Then why did you invite them?” she

asked reasonably.

He permitted himself a sneering smile. “You are more than seven,

Ma’am’selle! Can you tell me you think that female waited for an invitation?
This wretched visit was her idea!”

“Or her son’s,” said Cozette, with a return of the fear she had felt earlier.
“Henry? He’s a silly fop. That quizzing-glass! And that waistcoat! I can see

I am going to be embarrassed before all my friends when I am seen with him.”

The girl looked at him soberly. “He hates Lex.”
The Earl raised his thick black eyebrows. “Henry? That little would-be

dandy is too engrossed in himself to hate anyone.”

“He hates Lex,” reiterated Cozette. “He made a most unsettling remark

about your brother being still alive in France. The child may suffer a return of
the nightmares he had when his father died. I have left Martha to look after
him, but I think I should return to Lex at once—that is,” she amended hastily,
remembering his often-repeated injunctions, “as soon as you are ready to dis-
miss me, Milord.”

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“Oh, go to the boy!” snapped the Earl, frustrated by the impasse in which

he found himself and not averse to taking out his disappointment on the girl.

Cozette was glad to escape his baleful stare. As she scuttled up the back

stairs, she was wondering what had put the Earl into such a taking, for surely
the duties of a host toward uninvited guests did not require that he keep all
three of them in his pocket twenty-four hours of the day?

Such speculation was abruptly cut short as she approached the nursery

suite. Standing outside the door, leaning forward as though to listen, was the
resplendently dressed figure of Henry Wantage!

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“W

ere you looking for someone, Mr. Wantage?” Cozette
asked, marveling at the cool assurance in her voice.

Henry turned quite slowly. For some reason this

frightened her more than a hasty action or a display of

embarrassment would have done. She wondered, meeting the full, almost
vacant stare of those wide blue eyes, how the Earl could dismiss his cousin as
a youthful fop. This cold-eyed, hard-faced man who scrutinized her so daunt-
ingly was no silly boy. He had a purpose; Cozette was dreadfully sure it con-
cerned the little child who was heir to the Earldom.

“I came,” said Henry Wantage in a silky voice, “to say good night to

Alexandre. I am surprised you leave him alone. You are his governess, are
you not?”

“I am, sir. He is at present attended by a maidservant. He was asleep before

I left him, so I am afraid you cannot wish him a good night.”

“Then perhaps I can wish you one?” Henry moved closer to her and took

her chin in one hand, lifting her face against her will.

Cozette was suddenly very much afraid of this youth who looked so

finicky and harmless, and whose hand was like iron on her chin.

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“Sir!” she protested, trying to step back.
It did not seem that he intended to release her, and his odd, empty eyes

were focusing on her mouth, when a querulous, suspicious voice behind
them demanded:

“What on earth is going on here? Is this servant trying to catch your inter-

est?” When her son made no move, Lady Henrietta’s voice rose sharply.
“Henry, I am speaking to you!”

Cozette pushed his hand away successfully this time, and turned to enter

the nursery. The older woman’s voice followed her. “You, there! What is
going on?”

Cozette had had all she could endure from this virago. She faced her

ladyship and said firmly, “You had better ask your son, Madam. I caught him
listening at the nursery door. He seemed disturbed to be discovered here,
and told me he was waiting to say good night to his cousin. Then he seized
my face. I am not sure why.” She bobbed a curtsy. “May I return to my
charge, Madam?”

The older woman’s face was red with fury. “At least until I can inform your

employer of the insolence with which the servants treat the guests in this
house! After that, I am sure you will no longer have a ‘charge’—or a position!”

She flounced around and started down the hallway at a rapid pace.

Cozette, turning thankfully toward the nursery once more, was surprised to
catch a flash of deadly anger in Henry’s face as he started after his Mama. So
the strange youth did not wish his mother to make trouble for the governess?
It hardly seemed that he would bother about the fate of a servant who had, in
effect, snubbed him. She closed the door softly, to become aware of a wide-
eyed, worried Martha standing nearby.

“Oh, Miss,” the girl whispered, “I was so feared for ye! I was goin’ to push

open the door and pretend I was comin’ to find ye, when the old hag busted in!”

Cozette found herself shaking with relief as much as the laughter she had

to smother for Lex’s sake. After a shocked glance at her superior’s unexpected
mirth, the little maid joined in, and a moment later they were seated facing
one another, hands across their mouths, trying to smother the hysterical
laughter that had seized them both.

“I’m glad I have a witness that I was not trying to ensnare Master Henry,”

gasped Cozette at length.

This comment sobered Martha at once. “Oh, but they’d never take my

word for anything like that, Miss,” she said, worried again. “It’s always the ser-
vant who is wrong, you know.”

She sounded as though she were quoting someone. Cozette could not

believe that the Earl, arrogant, self-willed, and demanding as he undoubtedly
was, would be actively unfair to his servants. She said so.

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Martha pursed her lips. “Well, Miss, I must say I’ve never seen anyone dis-

missed from Stone House for such a reason—but then I’ve only been here six
months. It’s really the old hag I’m fearful of. She’s nasty. Even her own dresser
says so.”

Cozette shrugged. “I think the Earl will not discharge me, Martha. He is as

impatient of the visitors as any of us. More so, perhaps,” she added with a
small smile, “since he had to spend so much time bear-leading them around
London society.”

Martha was so tickled by this picture that she lapsed into giggles again.

Cozette did not find out whether Lady Henrietta had opened her budget

to the Earl or not, since no mention was made of the incident again in her
hearing. There was just a little sense of unease in her mind as she recalled that
first picture she had caught of Henry, poised in rigid silence outside the nurs-
ery door. She soon put it out of her mind, as so many other things were hap-
pening. Everyone in Stone House, from its master to the lowliest bootboy,
was caught up, willy-nilly, in the enormous bustle of entertaining the difficult
guests. As soon as it became known to the hostesses of the ton that the Earl
was host to his kinfolk, invitations began to pour in. The Earl, for all his
unwillingness, found himself dragooned into attending a number of functions
he would far rather have avoided. Society matrons welcomed the chance to
honor the Wantages, since it would ensure Alexander Stone’s presence in their
homes as well. Tension mounted, above and below stairs, until one unfortu-
nate morning when matters came to a head.

Henry Wantage had been conducting a devious, secret campaign with the

little French governess as his target. He limited his attentions to times when
he could catch her alone, and was proving himself a clever campaigner. Many
times Cozette, leaving the nursery suite, would find him lurking in the hall-
way, a vapid grin on his face. He never did or said anything offensive, but his
constant presence was beginning to disturb Cozette very much. Martha even
whispered to her that the other servants were aware of his behavior, and the
grooms and footmen were exchanging bets on how soon Ma’am’selle would
give in to Henry’s charms.

This outrageous canard sent Cozette into a passion.
“You tell me that they are daring to wager about my virtue?” she blazed. “I

would have thought the grooms at least knew me better!” The daily riding
lessons and visits to Jille had been the one comforting interlude in the day
during the past week.

“Oh, yes, Miss!” Martha explained hurriedly. “All the grooms is bettin’

you’ll put a flea in Master Henry’s ear!”

As though that should comfort me! thought Cozette, but Martha had more to say.

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“I don’t quite see how you can give him a settler when he’s the Earl’s guest

and cousin, and you—”

“I am a servant in the house,” finished Cozette. Her anger had hardened

into determination. She would speak to His Lordship this very day, report
Henry’s persistent harassment, threaten to leave!

She groaned. This was being foolish beyond permission. Henry had actu-

ally done nothing worthy of report. Reluctantly, she relinquished the idea of
going to the Earl to protest his cousin’s behavior, especially since it appeared
that Martha had more to tell her.

“Did you hear the ruckus an hour ago, Miss? The servants that wait on the

Wantages are all in a twitchet! Seems the Earl got a biddance from His Royal
Highness! It come today by one of the Prince’s own footmen, very naffy
dressed, as Dibble tells it! Lady Henrietta’s in alt, her dresser says. Every one of
the Wantages is worrying about what to wear!” Catching Cozette’s enquiring
glance, the maid explained, “It’s a masquerade, Miss! Dressing up like someone
else, and wearing a mask! Ain’t it enough to put you in a quiver, Miss?”

Cozette smiled at the young maid’s obvious excitement over the flattering

invitation. Hastily dismissing an unworthy thought that the Wantages would
be better for a mask, she was just about to ask Martha to tell her more—which
the girl was obviously dying to do—when a startling idea flashed into
Cozette’s mind. A masquerade! That could mean a chance to speak to the host
of the party, His Royal Highness, without attempting the almost impossible
task of getting an official interview. She stared at Martha. Should she enlist
the girl’s help in finding a costume? Or would the criticism the inevitable dis-
closure of her ploy was bound to receive recoil upon Martha? Cozette
decided to search out a costume for herself. She waited until the maid left,
and then sat down to plan her attack. The costume would not be the major
problem; the Earl’s attics were full of carefully packed garments, many of
which must be old enough to consititute a disguise. No, her major obstacle
would be the lack of an invitation. Could she dress as a groom and add herself
to the entourage of the invited Wantages and their host? Then try to follow
them inside without attracting notice? Guests seldom looked behind them
when entering a house in which a ball or entertainment was being held.

Musing thus, Cozette waited for Lex to waken from his nap so that she

could take him for his walk in the railed park that was the center of the square
before Stone House. Lex was eager to go, since they took a large ball he could
roll or throw to Cozette—one of his favorite games. They were scarcely into
their play when Cozette noticed not one, but two young gentlemen watching
Lex and herself. One was quickly identified as Henry Wantage.

The other watcher was someone Cozette had not seen before. He lounged

against one of the trees in the park, grinning at Lex’s very evident pleasure in

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his sport. After several minutes, this young man got the opportunity it seemed
he had been waiting for. The ball, escaping Cozette’s not too expert grasp,
went rolling quickly along the path toward the watching youth, who caught
it neatly and threw it back underhand, so that it rolled close enough for Lex
to sweep it up with a cry of triumph.

Cozette, much in charity with a man who could so delight her charge, gave

the volunteer ball-player one of her charming smiles. His eyebrows rose with
pleased satisfaction, and he wasted no time in strolling toward the players.

“May I have the pleasure of joining the game, ma’am?” he asked in a voice

whose accent proclaimed the gentleman. “Your brother gives promise of being
a rare bowler,” he added, with a warm smile at Lex.

Cozette, who should have known better, was sufficiently lulled by this

flattering overture to permit the young man to enter the game with them.
This move delighted Lex, who found their new friend a much better player
than Cozette, and deferred eagerly to the newcomer’s instructions. Cozette
found that she could go and sit on one of the convenient benches, while Lex
enjoyed the lesson and the companionship of a friendly adult.

While she was thus resting, she caught sight of Henry Wantage hurrying

back to Stone House. She experienced a sudden qualm. Of course she should
not have permitted a strange man to speak to her or to Lex, much less actually
enter the game! She rose and went over to the two players, who had gotten a bit
farther away from her position than she had noticed. Thanking the young man
for his kindness to the child, she drew Lex away from the game, to his very evi-
dent displeasure. The young man’s eyes met her own in a rueful apology.

When she and a still-reluctant Lex entered the house, it was to receive a

summons from the Earl.

“His Lordship says, Miss, will you go to the study as soon as you have

returned Master Lex to his nursery?” enunciated Dibble.

Quaking at the thought of the well-merited rebuke she was about to

receive, Cozette turned Lex over to a willing Martha and then, hardly pausing
to brush her hair or tidy her person, went downstairs to meet her fate.

The Earl, seated at his desk, rose to greet her. In fact, he walked around

the desk and confronted her at close quarters, looming over her, she thought,
like an avenging deity.

“Henry Wantage tells me you have been meeting with a man in the park,

under guise of playing with Lex.”

Cozette ventured an upward glance at the stern face above her. “It is true

that a pleasant young man caught Lex’s ball while we were playing, and then
began to instruct your nephew in the finer points, uh, the smooth delivery of
the ball.” She hesitated, aware that there had been no softening of Milord’s
set expression.

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“How often have these ‘lessons’ been taking place?” demanded His

Lordship in hard, cold tones that reminded Cozette of her first meeting with
him. Indignation began to rise in her. She faced him fully now, quite unaware
of how temper made her huge eyes sparkle and brought becoming color to
her cheeks.

“The ‘lessons’ began for the first time today. I have not noticed this young

man in the park before. Perhaps he is a guest at one of the houses fronting on
the square. Just as Henry Wantage is,” she added, crossly. “Yet he has never
offered to play with Lex!”

“Did you wish him to?” countered the Earl nastily. “Don’t bother to deny

it, Miss deLorme. I am quite aware that Henry has taken to hanging about
after you at all hours of the day and night!”

This unjust remark quite overset Cozette’s control over her temper. “Then

if you knew your wretched cousin has been persecuting me, I do not know
why you permitted it to continue!”

“Persecuting you?” challenged the Earl. “If that is true, I cannot think why

you did not inform me of it.”

“A fine fool I should look, a mere servant running to her master with tales

of his guest’s infamous conduct!”

The Earl frowned at this plain speaking. She was a thorn in his flesh, this

little female with her beauty and her resty spirit and her fascinating charm! He
had to get her into that cozy little maisonette, and exorcise for once and all
the obsession that kept her in his mind against his will! He said abruptly, “It
seems that you are forever creating problems in this household. I am of a
mind to make other arrangements.”

The girl received this quite unfair charge with suitable resentment.

“Forever creating problems—! It is your wretched cousin who is creating all
the problems, dangling after me whenever he can escape his Mama’s eagle
eye, and then running tattling to you about a harmless game in the park.”

Unfortunately, at this exact moment, Cozette recalled her own sudden

qualm of apprehension as she saw how far away the youth had drawn Lex in
their game. Because of this memory, she paused abruptly in her tirade and
began to blush. To the man watching her, her behavior was the result of her
awareness that the word “harmless” might not be completely true in connec-
tion with the goings-on in the park. Of course, being a very sophisticated
man of the world, his mind immediately leaped to the conclusion that
Cozette’s blushes were related to her own behavior or feelings toward the
unknown man. He was enough in control of himself, however, to dismiss
Cozette with cold civility, and the remark that he would consider the matter
of her conduct with care, and inform her as to his decision about her trust-
worthiness as his nephew’s governess within the next few days.

Elizabeth Chater—The Earl and the Émigrée

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This sudden icy detachment chilled the girl, who had been secretly hop-

ing that relations between herself and her handsome employer were improv-
ing. Bending her head with embarrassment at the implied rebuke, she went
quietly out of the room. It seemed clear to her that the Earl was seriously con-
sidering dismissing her. Yet why should that action distress her so greatly? She
had always known that her tenure here was a limited one. She had even
planned to make it even shorter by slipping back to France, now that Lex was
safe and her duty to King Louis finished.

But was it? she asked herself. One way to be sure was to carry out the plan

of attending the Prince of Wales’s masquerade ball, and asking him if he had
received any notice of King Louis’s request for help.

Setting her jaw firmly, Cozette decided to attend that ball, no matter what

the difficulties.

Once the decision had been made, Cozette found no difficulty in securing

a costume. In fact, Milord’s spacious attic supplied an embarrassment of riches,
so many lovely bejeweled dresses that the girl was enchanted at the treasures
she uncovered. But at the back of her mind was a sort of nagging anxiety.
Even with a mask, and one of the old-fashioned wigs she found in small
boxes, she might be too easily recognized by the Earl or some member of his
party if they ran across her, as well they might, at Carlton House. The Earl
had seen her in the silk dress in which she delivered his nephew to him. He
had also seen her, she reminded herself with an access of color to her cheeks,
in very little, in the bed the following morning. No, she would have to have a
less likely disguise than one of these charming gowns. What then? Could she
go as a maidservant? Unthinkable! She would probably not be admitted in
such plebeian disguise! Then as an animal? No way to secure such a costume.
As a highwayman? An Oriental dancer? Again, no way to obtain the disguise.

Cozette seated herself on a box in which someone had stored riding boots

from several former males in the family. Her eye fell upon the trunk from
which she and Martha had abstracted the riding habit of young Neville, the
breeches and coat she had worn for the riding lessons with Hardy. At once an
idea, born of an earlier speculation, flashed into her mind. A pirate, of course!
There were boxes of plumes from hats and from formal costumes, one of
which could be taken to add a touch of panache to an old hat. The breeches
that still reposed at the back of her wardrobe, Neville’s jacket, one of his fine
linen shirts, even his boots! She had worn them all; they fitted closely enough!
Just an old hat to be embellished with a saucy plume, a mask for her face,
which could be contrived out of black silk quite easily, and she was ready for
her daring impersonation—and for her opportunity to speak to the Prince of
Wales in his own home!

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Quickly the girl assembled the plume, the hat, and a broad scarlet sash

that might give a needed dash to her costume. She looked rather longingly at
a heavy sword Lex had discovered in a far corner, but regretfully rejected it.
She had had no training in the portage or use of such a weapon, and might
easily trip over it, or poke someone in the crowd—either of which eventuali-
ties would no doubt result in an instant unmasking and eviction from the ball!

Chuckling at this picture, Cozette gathered up her booty and descended

to the nursery.

Elizabeth Chater—The Earl and the Émigrée

[ e - r e a d s ]

t was awkward and time-consuming, but not, in the end, impossible to per-
suade Hardy to let her mount the perch at the rear of Milord’s most luxu-
rious carriage on the night of the ball. She had been forced in the end to
confide enough details of her project to convince that forthright man of

the necessity of her disguise if she were to be able to reach His Royal Highness
long enough to make sure that he had received King Louis’s message.

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Hardy objected. “If you’re discovered, it

means trouble for all of us.”

“But how is this? You do not think I should try to implicate you, or in fact

anyone but myself?” protested the girl.

Hardy shook his head. “I know you won’t, and you know you won’t, but

His Lordship is a hard man to fool, Miss Coco.” All the stable hands had
adopted Lex’s name for his governess, “Mademoiselle Cozette deLorme” being
too large a mouthful for most of them.

“Hardy, I must do this, before I return to France to see if—to see where my

father is,” pleaded the girl.

Hardy’s usually imperturbable countenance turned gray at the very

thought of this lovely girl casting herself blindly into the tiger’s den after her

Elizabeth Chater—The Earl and the Émigrée

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almost miraculous escape with the Heir. Then he took a second, longer look
into the determined small face; saw and saluted the courage and the love he
found there. With a few unspoken reservations of his own, he agreed to help
her with her harebrained scheme.

It proved less difficult than he had feared. The girl, leaving Lex in Martha’s

care, had slipped down to the stables immediately after the child was safely in
bed. She carried her costume under a large black cloak. In the stable, carefully
guarded by Hardy, she changed, and donned the mask and cloak over
Neville’s riding habit. Hardy had to admit that the plume hat, worn with a
rakish cock, was an effective addition to the pirate’s outfit. A reluctant grin
forced itself to his lips as he watched Cozette swaggering about, getting the
feel of her role. Young rascal! he thought. God grant she pulls off this mad,
reckless scheme without getting herself into some sort of calamitous upheaval!
He decided to accompany Tom Coachman on the box, and put his most
trusted groom on the perch at the rear, beside the girl, with instructions to
hold onto her if it looked as if she might fall off.

In fact, the whole staff of stablemen were full of alarm over this totty-

headed fakery on the part of one for whom they all felt a great deal of respect
as well as responsibility. Still, Old Hardy would keep an eye on her, and
Blevin an arm ready to hold her onto the perch if she seemed likely to fall off.
With considerable anxiety, they decided to wait up for the return of the coach
from Carlton House.

Cozette, jolting down the darkened streets beside Blevin, took her hat

out from under her cloak and placed it carefully over the black silk scarf she
had tied around her head in the stable before the carriage rumbled around to
the front of Stone House. Hardy had put her on the side farthest from the
house, so that the guests, hurrying into the carriage, had not noticed the
slight figure beyond Blevin’s husky one. Now they were arriving at Pall Mall,
the street in which the Prince’s mansion stood, its Corinthian columns high-
lighted by dozens of torches. The carriage drew up slowly before that impos-
ing entrance, with the Earl’s coachman and Hardy shouting instructions and
warnings to the throng of common folk who crowded the wide street, eager
for a glimpse of the Nobs. Blevin dropped down as the vehicle came to a
halt, and ran around to open the door and give a hand to the descending
occupants. Milord alighted first, and also offered assistance to the Lady
Henrietta, offering her his arm and leading her up to the massive, wide-open
portals. The two Wantage men followed closely on the Earl’s heels. Cozette,
clambering down in sprightly fashion from her uncomfortable perch, was
thankful to have arrived without disaster at her destination. She hurried
along behind the Earl’s party, pulling her mask up from under her chin and
adjusting it over her face.

Elizabeth Chater—The Earl and the Émigrée

[ e - r e a d s ]

“The Earl of Stone and party.” Milord offered his invitation to the

Majordomo guarding the entrance to Carlton House.

That worthy bowed, with a look that proclaimed that he had recognized

the nobleman without the need for identification or invitation.

It had been easy enough for Cozette to slip through the curious, pushing

crowd. Since coaches were continually unloading masked and costumed
guests, it was simple for the girl to ease herself into the stream of persons
approaching the great portals of the Prince’s townhouse. She followed almost
on the heels of Lord Hector and Henry; the Prince’s majordomo accepted her
as a member of the Earl’s party, perhaps the young nephew there had been
some talk of. He did not have time to scrutinize the slight figure, being
already occupied with the next group of guests.

Cozette was thankful that the Earl had such a commanding presence. It

was easy to follow that distinguished and resplendent figure, as many admir-
ing or envious eyes already were. Instead of powdering his hair, the Earl had
donned the full-bottomed, flowing wig of black curls worn by his character,
Charles II. At his wrists and throat were falls of lace. The short, beribboned
breeches and trunk hose that displayed his powerful thighs and calves were
copied after the Lely portrait of Charles, and on his head the Earl wore a hat
with plumes. Cozette thought she had never beheld so splendid a nobleman.
Like a sharp pang came the wish that she had been, in truth, one of his party,
basking in the light of those silver eyes, feeling the warmth of that strong
white hand around hers. She scarcely noticed the Wantages.

Once inside, Cozette took a minute to observe the ornate splendor of

the Prince’s residence while the Earl’s party moved ahead of her and out of
sight amid the throng of guests. Already music was sounding from at least
two orchestras. Thousands of candles illuminated a scene of almost barbaric
richness. Plants, both real and artificial, flourished everywhere; fountains
tinkled. It was a dazzling scene, with the press of fantastically dressed peo-
ple, the flash of jewels, the babble of voices striving to be heard above their
neighbors and the music, and the mingling of tropically warm air (the
Prince had a morbid fear of chills) and the hundred different perfumes worn
by the guests.

Cozette exhaled sharply, gave her cloak to an attendant, and followed the

crowd up the great staircase to the ballroom.

The Prince of Wales was well known to have a shrewd eye for a pretty

woman. In this characteristic he was like most of the male members of the
Beau Monde. His tastes, however, usually ran toward florid, well-endowed
females slightly older than himself. It is interesting, then, that his sharp and
knowledgeable eye picked out from that enormous crush of exotically cos-
tumed guests one slim figure—almost a youth, one would say—dressed in the

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costume of a pirate. Running an admiring glance over the slender boy, Prince
George suddenly grinned. He turned to his hovering Aide de Camp.

“Toddy, bring that, er, pirate into the Blue Room in a few minutes, will

you? Supply some cognac while you wait for me.”

The Aide scrutinized the rather unimpressive figure of the pirate with dis-

belief. What would His Royal Highness want to do with—ah!

“You think he is an interloper, Sir? An unauthorized guest?”
The Prince winked.
“I think she is a very unlikely pirate. Fifteen minutes, Toddy!”
So it was that Cozette found herself neatly caught up by a stout, middle-aged

gentleman dressed as a Colonel, and very discreetly conducted to an intimate
and overfurnished salon at some distance from the ballroom. She was not stupid;
it immediately occurred to her that her disguise had been penetrated. She steeled
herself for questioning. She dared not mention the Earl unless they threatened to
put her in gaol. Could she request to speak to the Prince? Dared she mention
King Louis? They would consider her deranged, and send her to Bedlam!

However, instead of the sharp challenges she expected, her urbane guard

merely invited her to remove her mask and enjoy a glass of brandy.

“The King!” proposed her captor, forcing her to drink, since any guest in

England must honor such a toast. She sipped again.

“The Prince of Wales!” The corpulent Colonel raised his glass again.
This was duly honored. Cozette began to feel an exhilarating warmth.

How Papa would have loved this fine cognac!

“To your health, young sir!” was the next toast, which must, of course,

be reciprocated.

“To yours, sir!” agreed Cozette, draining the glass. After which she sud-

denly felt a need to sit down.

At that moment the door opened, and a gorgeously dressed gentleman

entered the salon. He was not in masquerade costume, Cozette decided,
although his ostentatious finery merited the description. He looks, thought
Cozette, like someone masquerading as a Prince. She took another look
through the rosy haze induced by the cognac.

It was George, Prince of Wales! A smile of such delight flowered on

Cozette’s enchanting little face that the Prince felt quite a surge of the emotion
by which he was so often overcome. He strode forward, one hand out-
stretched, his face wreathed in smiles. Cozette, endeavoring to stay in charac-
ter, bowed deeply and bent over the royal hand, doffing her plumed hat.

“Your Highness,” she murmured, deep-voiced.
George laughed with pleasure at the performance, and directed his Aide

out of the room. This promised well! A delightful interlude, and perhaps even
a closer connection if the girl pleased him tonight!

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“Shall we sit down, my dear?” the Prince suggested, taking Cozette’s arm

with one large, plump hand and pressing it against him.

The girl’s gaze flew to his face. So he knew, then! The look on that flushed,

still handsome countenance startled her. He knew—and he enjoyed the role
he obviously had decided she was trying to play. Best to set him straight
before he said something that would later embarrass him and put paid to her
hopes for his help.

Cozette said in an ardent, low voice, “Your Highness, this is greater kind-

ness on your part than I had dared hope for! I have a message of supreme
importance for the Prince of Wales from King Louis of France! He well knows
your gallantry, Sir, and your generosity and warm sympathy for a fellow mem-
ber of a royal house.”

Cozette paused, warned by the wary look that was replacing the open sen-

suality on the Prince’s face.

“Just who are you? And how did you get into Carlton House?” he asked,

seating himself near but not too close. It was evident that he did not quite
wish to relinquish the hopes stirred in him by Cozette’s masquerade.
“Better tell me quickly what you’re up to, little actress! I have guests wait-
ing for me!”

Whom you were quite willing to ignore when you thought you had a chance of a little

dalliance! thought Cozette unkindly. However, she briefly recounted the rea-
son for her hurried flight from Paris, explaining about the message she had
given to the Prime Minister; her determination that one, at least, of the Royal
Family should know that the King of France pleaded for asylum in England
with his family.

George frowned, but not, she was glad to observe, at her daring in thrust-

ing herself into his presence. It was clear that the Prince was entertained by
the thought of secret messages and desperate flights, and naively disappointed
that her daring attempt had come to so little.

“Pitt is my father’s man,” he said, a little indiscreetly. “And all the Tories are

a slow, dull, hidebound lot! When I am king—!”

“You will be a splendid ruler!” encouraged Cozette.
The Prince nodded slowly, his eyes warm on her face. As she observed the

ardency of his gaze, Cozette tried to avoid the proposal he was clearly about
to make to her.

“I know that your guests await you, Sir, and that I must no longer trespass

upon that kindness which has permitted me to make my plea. Perhaps if we
might talk again, perhaps tomorrow?”

As soon as the words had left her lips, she regretted them, the interest and

speculation in the Prince’s expression telling her just how he was interpreting
her request.

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Before she could remedy the damage, he was saying, with an ardent look,

“But of course we must meet, my dear! Before supper, there will be a general
unmasking—so awkward to eat with the face swathed, is it not? I shall have
your supper served here, and will come to join you when I have done my duty
by my guests. Is not that an excellent plan? You can give me all the details of
your quest, and perhaps seek to persuade me to help your monarch?”

He patted her shoulder benevolently, although the smile on his face

was far from the paternal goodwill he was trying to project. Heart sinking,
Cozette was forced to say all that was proper, and, in her apprehension,
forgot the role she had assigned herself, and curtsied to the Prince as he
rose to leave.

His Highness chuckled at the sight, gave her a wicked grin, and went out

of the room, closing the door after him. Cozette could hear his low-voiced
comments to someone who stood outside the door; then there was silence.

Cozette sat down again. Quelle bêtise! Or, as her hosts would probably say,

A fine kettle of fish! How was she to divert the amorous Prince long enough
to get the urgency of her message to him? She began to think that the Earl
had been right when he discouraged her plan to speak to the Prince. She rose
and wandered over to one of several large mirrors adorning the silk-covered
walls of the salon. Minus the hat and her mask, she looked strangely unlike
the serious daughter of a scholar whose image she was accustomed to behold.
In fact, Cozette thought with a naughty smile, she looked very much like the
creature Prince George suspected her of being: rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed,
with her lovely masses of hair tumbling over her shoulders in provocative dis-
array. And the breeches! Damning! Impossible to explain away! What, she
thought almost hysterically, would the Earl say to those, after his express
command that she not be seen in them again?

The door opened. Startled, she whirled around. It was an imperturbable

footman, bearing a heavily laden tray. Silently he put it down upon one of the
numerous tables in the room, edging it on with care for the bric-a-brac that
cluttered it. In charity, the girl sprang forward and removed the larger pieces
to give him room.

The servant bowed and prepared to leave the salon as silently as he had

entered. As he approached the open door, Cozette walked over to seat her-
self at the table and begin her supper. She heard an inarticulate sound and
glanced up. Staring in at her, eyes wide with shock and condemnation, stood
Lady Henrietta.

The footman passed through the doorway. Lady Henrietta stepped back.

The door was closed.

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ady Henrietta had not been enjoying the Prince’s ball. Her costume
represented the glorious Queen Elizabeth, but Lady Wantage had nei-
ther the presence nor the spirit to carry it off. Lord Hector had disap-
peared into the cardroom within five minutes of their arrival. Henry,

quite ignoring his Mama, had engaged himself to dance every dance, while the
Earl, after a single duty dance with her, had vanished into the crowd. Lady
Henrietta could not discover any of the few cronies she had in London; no one
sought her out. Feeling bitter and resentful at the desertion of those whose
duty it should have been to attend her, Lady Henrietta was standing near the
wall, glaring about her, when her eye was caught by the sight of the Prince of
Wales, who, as host, was not wearing a mask. He was in conversation with the
stout army officer who had announced himself as the Prince’s Aide de Camp
before he presented them to his royal master in the reception line.

As she watched the two in close converse, Lady Henrietta observed the

officer nodding and bowing, and then hurrying into the throng of dancers as
though in search of someone.

Being disgruntled as well as unescorted, Lady Henrietta continued to

watch the Colonel. Very shortly, she was gratified to behold him approaching

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her, with a slender youth dressed as a pirate in tow. He led this young man out
of the ballroom. Her Ladyship wondered what such a plainly dressed youth
was doing at Carlton House, and kept her eyes on the ill-assorted pair. There
was something about the way the young man walked . . .

Just then, Cozette lifted her face to reply to some remark of the Colonel’s.

Lady Henrietta drew in her breath sharply. Where had she seen just that
piquant face? Could it be . . .? Without pausing to consider that it was none of
her business, she followed the two out of the ballroom and along the wide,
crowded hallway. She caught a glimpse of the two entering a doorway, and
marked it carefully.

The door closed firmly after them. Curiosity frustrated, Lady Henrietta

prepared to return to the ballroom. That prospect was so bleak that she hesi-
tated, then found a seat in an alcove screened by several flowering bushes set
in metal pots. Anything was better, she told herself, than returning to the
crowded room where she was forced to sit by the wall and watch other
women dancing! After a quarter of an hour, her patience was rewarded by the
sight of the Prince of Wales himself entering the room, almost immediately
followed by the exit therefrom of the stout soldier.

Lady Henrietta, suspicious and on the alert, asked herself if the Prince

would carry on a lewd assignation in his own home during a ball? She decided
to wait for him to emerge, no matter how long it took. She just had to have
another look at that slight figure that had so haunting a resemblance to the
Heir’s governess!

The Prince’s departure, disappointingly oversoon, followed almost imme-

diately by the announcement that supper was being served, finally dislodged
Lady Henrietta from her spy-post. She went into the room in search of Lord
Hector, drew a blank, and proceeded unescorted to the supper room, where a
monstrous buffet had been set along two walls, and dozens of small tables
were set out with napery, silver, and flowers. These were rapidly filling with
guests. Where were Hector and Henry? Where was the Earl? In a fury of
resentment, Lady Henrietta resolved that someone would pay! But there must
be evidence—facts that could not be lightly dismissed or glossed over! She
hurried back to the alcove where she had previously kept watch over the
French governess’s tryst with the Prince. Whatever the little slut was up to,
Henrietta Wantage would discover it!

She was hardly ensconced in her spying covert, when a footman

approached bearing a laden tray. He entered, but left the door slightly ajar
behind him. Avid to behold again the slender, shamefully clad figure,
Henrietta pressed forward across the now-empty corridor and peered into
the room.

With a gasp, she realized that she had found her evidence.

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Now to find the Earl!
She caught him just as he was about to enter the supper room. He was

alone, but she would have dragged him away had he been in the company of
one of Society’s great leaders.

She grasped his arm and hissed, “Did you know, Cousin Alexander, that

your nephew’s precious French governess is disporting herself here tonight
with the Prince?” She laughed harshly. “She is dressed as a pirate!”

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en minutes earlier, His Royal Highness had entered the Blue Salon.
He had hardly waited to taste the lavish offerings his chefs had pro-
vided for his guests. The little French girl fascinated him, stimulat-
ing all his romantic tendencies. At this moment he did not really

care whether she was the emissary of the beleaguered French King or not. As
he entered the salon, he saw that his guest had just finished what appeared to
have been a large supper. A good appetite, then. That augured well! He
advanced toward her, his expression already openly amorous.

Cozette was prepared. She rose at once and curtsied in the proper form to

salute a Prince of the Blood Royal.

The combination of her piratical costume and the deep, formal, feminine

obeisance startled His Highness into a grin.

“Ma’am’selle deLorme, you must stay in character! That curtsy doesn’t at all

fit your costume, you know!” he was surprised into remarking.

Cozette grinned back at him like an urchin. She sketched a finicking mas-

culine bow, and said, deep-voiced, “Vive le Prince! Bless your Royal Highness for
your concern for King Louis and his family!”

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The elevated note of this speech rather put a damper upon the Prince’s

erotic mood. Never really confident when it came to his relations with women,
he usually preferred maternal, placidly good-humored females who were pre-
pared to accept him with gratitude and let him set the pace of the affair. This lit-
tle charmer, more boy than girl, did nothing to stimulate passion. The reverse.
The Prince regarded her doubtfully. Then he shrugged and said, with a very dif-
ferent smile, “My dear child, you have set me an impossible task! Exactly what
did you think I could do for your King, if William Pitt is in charge?”

“William Pitt is ignoring the whole matter,” said Cozette resentfully. “It is

obvious he has no sense of concern for the House of Bourbon!”

The Prince nodded grimly. “He concerns himself only with England’s

good, and my father’s wishes. Pitt is probably convinced that nothing less
than a full-scale invasion of France would be required to get your King and his
family out of the Tuileries. Have you any idea how long it would take a British
army to march to Paris? And what do you think would be happening to Louis
and his family while that was going on?”

Cozette, white-faced and suddenly sobered, stared up into the florid,

handsome face. “The Revolutionaries would remove them to some secret
place?” she faltered.

“More likely they would guillotine them all at once,” the Prince told her

cruelly. “Such an invasion as you ask for could sign their death warrants.”

Cozette tried her last hope. “Could Your Highness arrange to get them out

secretly, as I escaped?” she pleaded.

The Prince frowned at such naiveté. “Such a clandestine escape of the

whole Royal Family would be impossible, I am afraid. So many of them! And
none of them accustomed to such stratagems and desperate expedients as you
used, my dear, in your daring escape. Can you imagine Louis bedding in a
barn with a ferret?” Especially, the Prince thought with a private grin, since he
would probably demand that his wardrobe and his current mistress be brought along!

However, he did not share this jest with the French girl. Her downcast

expression touched his shallow, easily aroused pity, and he said, putting a
comforting hand on her shoulder. “There now, my dear girl! Do not look so
dejected! These are weighty matters, you know! Beyond your touch—or
mine, at the moment,” he added resentfully. Would he never have the freedom
and the rights proper to his station? How long would that mad old man keep
him in leading strings? He dredged up a benevolent smile, anxious now to be
rid of the girl. “I promise I’ll send a message to Pitt tomorrow, urging him to
do his best for you and your King.”

Appalled at her new understanding of the King’s situation and her own

powerlessness to aid him, Cozette was still deeply grateful for even this much

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reassurance from the Prince after the grim comments he had made.
Impulsively, she rose up on tiptoe and placed a kiss of thanks upon the florid,
scented cheek. The Prince, startled but willing, clasped her to him and
returned the salute heartily on her pretty mouth.

The door opened.
“Your Royal Highness!” said the Earl of Stone. “We beg to extend our

thanks for your kindness to Mademoiselle deLorme, and are ready to escort
her home.”

With more relief than embarrassment, the Prince gave the little trouble-

maker into their care.

Lady Henrietta scarcely waited until they were out in the hallway before

sneering at the girl. “A good thing Stone arrived when he did! His Highness
would have had you—”

“Be silent!” interrupted the Earl in a low voice of such intense rage as to sub-

due even Lady Henrietta.

With hands deliberately rough he pulled her mask up over Cozette’s face,

and thrust his own Cavalier’s hat down on top of her riotous curls. He led the
two women through the chattering, occasionally curious groups of guests, and
instructed a footman to have his carriage brought round at once.
Commanding the women to remain silent, he secured his own cape and Lady
Henrietta’s from one of the maids. By the time this had been accomplished,
the carriage was outside the door. Grimly, he led the women to it and thrust
them inside, with more force than grace.

“Lord Hector! And Henry!” protested Lady Henrietta.
“I’ll send the carriage back for them,” the Earl ground out. “If I know them,

they’ll neither of them give a thought for anything but their own pleasure
until the ball is over.”

Quelled at last, his aunt sank back into her corner of the luxurious

vehicle, glaring in front of her. An ominous silence reigned for the rest of
the trip.

When they were all standing once more in the gracious front hall of the

Earl’s townhouse, Lady Henrietta turned upon the girl, obviously ready to flay
her verbally for the fiasco at the Prince’s ball. Before the indignant dame could
get a word out, however, the Earl turned to her sternly.

“You will retire to your apartments, Milady, if you please. I shall have

someone bring you a cup tea. Good night!”

Even so hardened a campaigner as Lady Henrietta could not prevail

against so much icy fury. Casting a repulsive look at the girl, she flounced up
the wide stairway to her room.

The Earl turned to Cozette. “My study,” he said between set teeth.
Without a word, Cozette preceded him to that room.

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Once inside, the Earl closed the door with menacing softness. His very

self-control alarmed the girl. He seated himself behind his desk and, for the
first time since the encounter in the Blue Salon, stared directly into her face.

Since he had not invited her to be seated, Cozette stood before him, her

hands clasped meekly in front of her, his Cavalier’s hat still riding gallantly
atop her curls.

“Take off that mask and that absurd hat!” the Earl commanded.
Cozette had an impulse to remind him that he himself had placed both

objects upon her, but she had the wit to remain silent. Quickly she removed
the offending objects.

“And now, my devious little adventuress,” snarled the Earl, “you will tell me

the exact meaning of tonight’s unsavory exhibition. Had you hoped to make
yourself available to Prinny?”

Cozette’s fine amber eyes began to sparkle with anger. “How dare you

speak to me so? I was appealing to His Highness on behalf of my King, since
your stupid Mr. Pitt refused to help me!”

The Earl sneered, his black brows lifted with blatant incredulity.

“‘Appealing to His Highness’? Well, that’s one way of saying it! You had your
arms around his neck, kissing him, when we entered! If we had been ten min-
utes later, I wonder what we would have seen?”

He paused, as much struck by his own sense of the unworthiness of that

thrust as by the sudden whiteness of the girl’s face.

“His Highness had just finished saying that he would send a message to

Mr. Pitt tomorrow, to urge him to do all he could for King Louis and his fam-
ily.” Her voice had a leaden quality to it the Earl had not heard in it before. “I
was so relieved that I . . . I tried to express my gratitude.” Cozette could not
bring herself to answer his other accusation. It was clear to her now exactly
what the Earl thought of her. She lifted her head and faced him bravely, the
amber eyes dull. “I shall of course leave your employ tomorrow. Unless you
would wish me to go tonight?”

There was a suddenly arrested look, a blankness, in the Earl’s expression.

Slowly his silver eyes narrowed and darkened. A line of white appeared
around his mouth and on the flare of his nostrils. Striking and distinguished
he had been in the rich ornateness of his Cavalier’s costume; he was now, in
this dramatic flaring of anger, the most splendid male creature Cozette had
ever beheld. She felt herself trembling, spellbound by the man’s overwhelm-
ing presence. Under her fascinated gaze, his mouth formed words that flayed
her with his icy contempt.

“How often am I to be forced to listen to your whining attempts to get out

of your obligations? To deny your given word?” His gaze moved over her fig-
ure and rested on her white face. “Is that what you are telling me? That your

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word means nothing? Your freely given pledge is worthless?” He got up,
moved around the desk toward her. Confused, unhappy, Cozette could only
shake her head silently. She would never understand this huge male creature:
his fiery anger pent with iron control under a facade of icy hauteur!

“If you think I am so despicable,” she whispered finally, “why do you wish

me to remain in your household, Milord?”

There was the smallest relaxation of the tautness that had held the Earl’s

body rigid. His eyelids drooped insolently over the silver eyes, and he tilted
his dark head so as to stare down his aristocratic nose at Cozette’s small, defi-
ant figure. She was not to know how much he resented her power to destroy
his carefully drilled imperturbability. A gentleman must never show emotion.
His father had so instructed him; his tutor and later his schoolmasters had
drilled the rule into the very fiber of his body. Yet here was this little French
female, a servant in his house, who had the diabolical ability to ruffle and
enrage him—worse, to make him want to laugh at times—at things she said
and did. A thorn in his flesh! And now she had the impertinence to demand
why he wanted her to remain in his household! If only he knew, himself! He
set his jaw.

“A good question,” he managed an admirable coolness. “Since I am com-

pelled to accept you for Lex’s sake. You already knew the answer, did you not?”

The lovely little countenance was alight with anger now. “I shall answer

you, Milord! You keep me here to punish me!”

The Earl caught a breath, but his voice, when he spoke, was calm. “And

why should I wish to punish one hysterical female? Do you suggest that you
matter to me, Miss deLorme?” Now why the devil had he said that? he fumed
at himself.

The girl flamed at him. “‘Hysterical’?” she hissed, coming an incautious

step closer in her rage. “I am alive, Milord: concerned and compassionate
for that small boy who must spend his life under your iron discipline! I love
the child! You don’t know the meaning of the word, you cold-hearted,
sneering monster!”

It was too much. The Earl’s arms shot out and grasped the maddening

woman, jerked her toward his body with an urgency so compelling that he
knocked the breath from her lungs.

“So I do not know the meaning of the word love? Well, perhaps I had bet-

ter show you exactly what it means! I think I am as well qualified as Prinny!”

He glared down into the small countenance so close to his, a beautiful face

in which fury and alarm battled for supremacy. The rosy lips parted with
unconscious seduction. “You would not dare! In your own home, Milord!”

“It is time,” said the Earl grimly, “that we had this out, Mademoiselle! You

have been flouting and infuriating me ever since you arrived in this house! You

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speak to me as no servant, no other adult has ever dared to do! It is past time I
showed you who is master here!”

“I told you so!” cried out the warm and vibrant little creature in his arms.
This remark gave him momentary pause. “You told me—?”
“I told you you kept me here only to punish me!” Cozette repeated.

“Because you wish to possess me, and hate yourself for such a weakness toward
one far beneath you in the social order.” Her voice faded to a whisper with the
last few words, as she caught full sight of the expression on the Earl’s face.

He was staring at her like a man who has had a fatal blow. His eyes again

showed the shocked blankness, the inward-turning, that she had noted once
earlier when she had offered to leave his house at once. Although his arms
were still painfully tight about her, Cozette could tell that his mind was far
from the present situation.

After a painful pause, he released her and moved back behind his desk.

Still standing, he gave her an enigmatic look. The habitual imperturbability
was once more back in his expression.

“It is obvious, Miss deLorme, that I must take steps to end this constant

emotional upheaval. It is time I sent you down to Stone Castle with my
nephew. In such a setting, you will be less likely to give way to, ah, feminine
instability and vaporings.” He regarded her outraged countenance with some
satisfaction, as he waited for her response to this telling blow.

Cozette found herself quite unable to speak. Surely, she told herself, this is

the best solution to the problem of Lex? To have him away from the stresses
of London, free to roam the open fields, ride his pony, enjoy pets. . . . And
your own needs? some portion of her mind challenged. What of your quest
for your father? What of your feeling for this arrogant and hateful man who
disposes of your life so complacently? Yet she had given her word to stay with
Lex. The Earl was justified in feeling scorn for her shillyshallying behavior.
But, oh, mon père—! Wordlessly she wrung her hands.

Something of the distress she was feeling must have gotten through to His

Lordship. With a sudden contraction of the black eyebrows, he scanned her
white countenance.

“What is it? What is wrong now?” he asked almost grudgingly. And then,

cautiously, “Is there someone you regret leaving here in London?”

Cozette faced him bravely. “I had hoped to return to Paris.”
The Earl’s frown darkened. “You left someone there? But you told me—”
“My father,” said Cozette, bitter with self-reproach. “I should never have agreed

to stay on in England! I should have left the boy with you, and gone back at once.”

“Are you insane? Return to that madhouse, that abattoir? You gave me to

understand that your father had been arrested and brought to trial for aiding
les aristos! You cannot believe he is still alive?”

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The girl clutched at the back of a chair to steady herself.
The Earl, damning himself for an insensitive brute, rose and went to her

side at once. She held him off with an imperious stare.

“You are correct to remind me that my hopes are foolish beyond permis-

sion, Milord! No one but a—an unstable female would continue to cherish
hope under such circumstances. Very well, sir, I shall be ready to accompany
your nephew to your castle tomorrow, if that is your wish. May I be dismissed
now, Milord?”

Silently, the Earl went before her to hold open the door. Silently, he

watched her small, erect figure as it moved past him into the hall. While he
was painfully aware of the look of hopeless grief upon the girl’s face, she her-
self did not see the bitter self-condemnation upon the man’s countenance.

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fter a sleepless night, during which Cozette was not sure whether
her tears were for her father or for herself, the girl rose, heavy-
eyed. Taking a quick glance in the mirror above her commode,
she squared her shoulders and rallied her spirits. This was no way

for the daughter of Professor deLorme to conduct herself among the
English! For Papa’s sake, she must present an air of control and self-
restraint, that very imperturbability that seemed to be the Earl’s own goal
and most respected trait. So it was a white-faced, heavy-eyed, yet impas-
sive young woman who, upon the summons of his uncle, brought her
small charge down the great front stairway at Stone House the following
morning.

The Earl was waiting to receive them in his study, to Cozette’s dismay. She

had hoped to leave this place of torment without another interview with her
employer, but something in his cold, closed expression made her aware that
he had further instructions for her. Rather to her surprise, he took Lex up in
his arms and kissed the solemn little boy on both cheeks.

“I wish you were coming with us, mon oncle,” said the boy in a small voice.

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The Earl forced a smile. “But I am, mon brave. In a few days, when you and .

. . Coco are settled and working hard!” The man uttered the words with mock
fierceness, and the child giggled happily.

“Oh, we shall work hard!” he repeated cheerfully. “Coco tells me Hardy is

coming down with our horses. I shall really have a chance to ride in the coun-
try!” Looking much happier, the child went to Cozette when his uncle put
him down. The girl took his hand.

“You have instructions for me?” she asked. Her voice held that dead

note which the Earl had heard in it last night for the first time. Her face
was pale and haggard. She was too quiet. His eyes narrowed as he scanned
her critically.

“Are you ill?” he asked abruptly.
She shook her head in silence.
“Something is wrong,” he muttered, dissatisfied.
“Your instructions?” the stubborn female persisted.
The Earl grimaced. “Evan and Martha are to accompany you, with four

outriders for your protection—for my nephew’s protection,” he substituted
as he caught her frown. “There are staff already at the castle. It is not Paris,
but you should be comfortable enough.” This was absurd! Why was he
explaining and excusing as though he were banishing her to some dreadful
prison? “Hardy will follow with Lex’s mare and your own. I have sent a
groom ahead with instructions to reserve rooms and supper at the Crossed
Swords Inn, to break the journey for Lex’s comfort. And here.” He held out
a small leather sack. “Funds for you and the boy. There may be something
you wish to purchase.”

Even this generous gesture did not bring any brightness to the small pale

face. What did the woman want? Could it be she regretted leaving him? The
thought sent a sudden warmth through his body, which startled him. Feeling
unexpectedly cheerful, he smiled at Lex. “Be prepared to give an account of
yourself, Alexander! I shall expect to find you much improved in all subjects
when I arrive at the castle!”

“Come soon, mon oncle!” coaxed the boy, chuckling happily.
The Earl glanced at Cozette. Why wasn’t she responding to his attempts

to show friendliness? Wretched female! Was there no pleasing her? He’d even
had Jille put in the carriage in her basket as a surprise. He led the way out into
the hall, where all the servants were assembled to bid farewell and safe arrival
to the Heir. Dibble even condescended to wish Miss deLorme a pleasant jour-
ney. She thanked him quietly, said “Adieu,” to Chef Pierre, accepted a small
bouquet he offered her, and followed the boy out to the carriage. The Earl,
refusing to be part of any maudlin leave-takings, returned to his study while
the party was still preparing to set out. Why hadn’t he thought to give her

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flowers? was his chief concern—until he realized furiously just how absurd
that idea was.

As the carriage drove off, Cozette allowed herself to relax the rigid control

she had been keeping over her volatile emotions. How she would have loved
to have wept! Even perhaps reached up and placed a kiss upon those beauti-
fully chiseled lips! Urged the Earl to come to his Castle with all haste; that the
minutes would be days and the days endless until she saw him again. But that
would have loosed upon her one of his chilling glances, showing all too
plainly his contempt for her “hysteria.” Lex’s hand on her arm, urging her to
welcome Jille, whom he had just discovered, made her wish to weep, but she
controlled herself for the child’s sake and watched them play until the ferret,
fed, went to sleep. Thereafter Cozette, brought back to a sense of her obliga-
tions, joined the boy as he leaned out the carriage window observing the
strange or interesting sights as they passed through the great city. Dutifully,
she peered out the window beside him, asking Martha to identify and explain
about whatever it was that interested him. Gradually she was able to restore
the tone of her mind, to conquer the ridiculous grief she felt at being forced
to leave the man who had nothing but scorn for her.

As the day wore on, her spirits rose under the combined charm and affec-

tion of Lex and Martha. It also became clear that the Earl had made careful
arrangements for their comfort. There was the tasty luncheon at a charming
inn; and before Lex could become too weary of the confinement of the luxu-
rious carriage, they found themselves stopping for dinner and the night at a
splendid hostelry whose host was abustle to please them. Martha was so
enraptured with the lavish attention to their comfort that she declared she
hoped they would never reach the Castle!

Prophetic words!
The following morning, Cozette had them all up betimes, and on their

way after a hearty breakfast. She wished to arrive at the Castle in broad day-
light, so that Lex would not be frightened by what would necessarily be a
strange and possibly overpowering dwelling—dark, gloomy, and cold. In
point of fact, however, Lex was so eager to behold a real castle that he could
hardly wait to get there. He told Martha that his uncle had informed him the
Castle had been in his father’s family for over two hundred years, and had
originally been built under license from a king in the fourteenth century, to
defend England’s shores from the encroaching French. This was said with such
a mischievous twinkle at Cozette that both girls laughed heartily. Lex chuck-
led too, pleased at his attempt to tease Coco.

He kept talking about the Castle, asking questions neither Cozette nor

Martha could answer. Obviously regarding their failure as something to be

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pitied rather than censured, he consoled them with the thought that someone
would surely know when they got there. Then he turned his wide, guileless
eyes upon his governess.

“What shall we play, Coco?” he coaxed.
Suppressing her own unhappiness and anxieties, Cozette suggested a game

they had occasionally played in those tense days of their flight through France.
“Do you remember when we looked around for anything exciting we could
see, and challenged one another to discover what it was?” she asked the boy.
She had used it to explain her own constant vigilance while they rested, hud-
dled together under a hedge or in a barn or even a cave or deadfall of trees.
“‘Hy spy with my little eye/Something that begins with . . .’” quoted Lex.

“That’s the one!” Cozette praised him.
“We played it so I might surprise mon oncle with my good spelling of

English,” the boy boasted to Martha, enjoying her amazement and admiration.

“Let us hope you have not forgotten,” teased Cozette. “Come now, little

English scholar, you begin!”

There ensued an hilarious hour during which Martha and Lex, novice

spellers both, proposed and defended some outrageous “words,” being fre-
quently reduced to pointing to the mysterious object to identify it. The time
sped by very pleasantly. None of them noticed when the carriage left the
main highway and proceeded down a much-less-traveled road toward the sea.
They were alerted to the fact that there was a problem when the carriage
lurched to a halt halfway through a thick wood.

Craning out one window, Lex informed them that a huge tree had appar-

ently fallen across the road. The outriders had dismounted, and were endeav-
oring to wrestle the enormous obstruction out of the way. It seemed beyond
their strength. After a good deal of shouting and an acrimonious exchange
between the coachman and one of the outriders, the former got ponderously
down from his perch and stamped over to view the obstacle at close range,
accompanied by all the grooms except the one who was supposed to be hold-
ing the horses for the outriders.

It later became clear that he had indeed been faithful to his task—until

some dastardly fellow crept up behind him and dealt him a vicious blow upon
the head, thus rendering him temporarily hors de combat.

The first the women in the carriage knew of the attack, however, was

when a masked figure appeared at each door of the coach, flourishing a large
pistol. “You will all keep quiet or the boy will die,” stated one of the ruffians,
opening the door and making a long arm to drag Lex out onto his saddle.

Martha, mouth opening to utter a scream, shut it promptly and scrambled

after Lex. The abductor struck her sharply with his pistol butt, and she col-
lapsed onto the floor.

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Cozette took advantage of the fact that the man leaning in at her window

had his gaze fixed on Martha. She seized his pistol in both hands, pointing it
away from the maid and trying to wrest it from him. As they struggled for it,
it went off. The horses reared.

There were shouts of alarm from the outriders, attracted by the noise of

the shot. Then Cozette heard the thud of galloping hooves back along the
way they had come, as the abductor escaped with Lex. The second ruffian
vanished from the window.

Almost without thinking, Cozette wrenched open the door and jumped

down from the carriage after him. She caught a flying glimpse of a scene of
confusion. Grooms were racing toward the carriage. The horses, alarmed by
the pistol shot and the shouting, were rearing and neighing. Tom Coachman
stood staring back along the road after the fleeing abductors, his mouth open.
The second ruffian was rapidly mounting his own horse.

Cozette ran to the outriders’ horses and clambered up onto the saddle of

the least nervous. This would be a different game than the decorous canter in
the park under Hardy’s benevolent supervision, but she must do it! As she
pulled at the reins to turn the horse’s head in the desired direction, Cozette
was shocked to discover that the first abductor, the one who had taken Lex,
was already out of sight around a distant bend in the road. Still, the other vil-
lain would know where his confederate was headed, and could lead her to
their rendezvous.

Could. But would he? He was riding flat out, drawing away from her

rapidly. Not surprising, since the horse Cozette had mounted, a well-trained
and amiable beast, was aware of her ineptness and seemed hesitant to gallop
lest he dislodge his rider. On her part, the girl was too anxious about Lex to
consider her own rather precarious situation.

At this point the second ruffian, made aware of her pursuit by the sound of

hooves on the road, glanced over his shoulder, saw her and, turning slightly,
fired back at her.

If the shot was intended as a deterrent, it failed. Cozette, who had

mounted astride, kicked her heels into the horse’s flanks. “Allons, mon brave!” she
cried out to encourage her steed. The horse responded well, but the abductors
had too great a lead. As Cozette rounded the bend, it was to see the second
horseman disappear into the wood that bordered the road. Of the first rider
there was no sign.

Reining in her mount, Cozette frantically evaluated the situation. She had

no guarantee that Lex and his captor had in fact gone into the woods. A sec-
ond turn in the road one hundred yards ahead could conceal him. The man
she followed could have been creating a diversion to lead her off the trail,
allowing his companion to escape. Also, in the wood the possibilities of

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ambush were too great. As he sat there, anxiously debating her next move,
she heard the rapid drumming of hooves advancing toward her. Then around
the bend of the road ahead appeared a horse and rider.

Cozette’s eyes widened in disbelief—and then pure joy. The magnificent

figure on the great gray stallion was the Earl! Prodding her horse, she cantered
to meet him.

“À point nommé!” she cried. “In the nick of time! Did you see them, Milord?

Did they pass you on the road?”

The Earl drew up and stared askance at her disheveled appearance, the

length of shapely leg displayed as she sat astride the horse causing his heavy
black brows to rise.

“What hoyden romp is this, Miss deLorme? Where is the carriage?”
“They have taken Lex!” she gasped, impatient of such pompous strictures.

“If they did not pass you on the road, then the first one must have taken him
into the forest here!” She indicated the narrow opening between the trees,
scarcely more than a footpath, that led off the road. Awkwardly, she began to
try to turn her horse. “Oh, do hurry!” she cried. “They have such a start on us!”

The Earl reached out and caught her bridle. “You will calm yourself,

Ma’am’selle!” he demanded. “What is this hysterical nonsense? Where is
the carriage?”

Cozette glared at him. “You would seek to present your phlegmatic

English front at such a time as this? When your nephew has been abducted?
M’sieur, I cannot stay to argue with you! Every minute which passes allows
those scélérats to remove themselves and the boy farther!” In her anxiety, she
had become very Gallic in phraseology. The Earl leaned down and seized her
wrist in a crushing grip.

“Answer me! What is the meaning of this absurd performance? Where is

the carriage?”

His question was answered by the thunderous approach of three outriders,

who charged around the bend at this moment, followed almost immediately
by the Earl’s carriage. Upon beholding their master, the grooms pulled up and
tried to babble excuses for losing the Heir. The Earl’s expression became very
grim indeed. It darkened further as he listened to the tale of the fallen tree and
the abduction. Martha, white-faced and weeping, thrust her head out of the
carriage window and added her voice to the uproar.

“Oh, Your Lordship! They got the boy! Hit me over the head, he did, that

black-hearted villain!”

The Earl called for silence, and, amazingly, got it. “What did they look like?”
Everyone looked at the two women. After all, they had had the best

chance to view the kidnappers. Martha wailed, “They had masks, Your
Lordship! And guns!”

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“Pistols,” said Cozette gently. “The one I grappled with had scarred hands

and smelt of fish.”

The Earl cast her a scornful look. “Were they tall, short, thin, heavyset?”

he demanded.

“Heavyset,” agreed Cozette. “His skin was dark brown, as though he had

spent his time outdoors in the sun and wind.”

The Earl, suddenly aware that the girl had described a fisherman, looked

on her more kindly. “Which way did they go?”

None of the others had any inkling, since only Cozette had had the quick-

ness of wit and opportunity to follow the second abductor closely. She was
feeling depressed at Milord’s coldly dismissive attitude toward herself, but
personal hurts must not be permitted to delay the search for Lex. She spoke
clearly. “I did not see the first man. He was too far ahead of me. The second
man rode down that path, sir. I tried to—”

“Enough! Evan, you, Tom, and Donal shall come with me. You have

your pistols?”

The outriders nodded.
“Good! The rest of you go ahead to the Castle and await me there. Miss

deLorme, you will inform my factor of all that has happened, and tell him I
wish the total male staff to be prepared to follow me as soon as I return.
Meanwhile, have him list the names of inns and taverns in the area, especially
those for dubious customers. That is all!”

“That is all?” the girl asked herself. He intends me to go meekly to the

Castle and leave Lex in the hands of those barbarians? She stared long-
ingly—and resentfully—at the five men as they conferred briefly and then
split into two groups. The Earl and Evan set off along the path, riding
quickly but alertly; the other three galloped their horses back along the road
toward the highway.

“Where are they off to?” fumed Cozette. “The rogues could not have gone

that way! His Lordship would have encountered them!”

“His Lordship is downy cove,” pronounced Coachman. “E’s remembered

w’ere that ‘ere path comres out, an’ ‘e’s likely gonna try to ‘ead off them rum
coves at the other end o’ that path.”

Moving the tree with their reduced manpower, and with no tools avail-

able, was judged to be an impossibility. The coachman drove to the highway
to take another route to the castle. Cozette had already given a single look at
Martha’s devastated face and taken the still weeping maid in her arms.

She said gently, “My dear child, no one could possibly blame you for this

disaster. As well blame the Earl for sending us to the Castle in the first place!
How could anyone guess these creatures would have so vicious a plan? The
fallen tree that halted us was their work, I am sure!”

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“I let him take the child,” grieved Martha.
“Hush, little friend,” urged Cozette. “The Earl is after them with four

strong men. They will bring Lex safely home.”

Unfortunately, this hopeful promise was not fulfilled. When the carriage

rumbled across the drawbridge, through the twelve-foot-long stone passage-
way in the castle wall, and into the huge cobbled courtyard, the servants who
waited to welcome the Heir had had no word either of the abduction or the
progress of the search.

Cozette hardly had time to observe her surroundings, but she knew

with a quick pang that little Lex would have loved the moat, and the draw-
bridge, and even the smallish rooms built in the hollow square of the
ancient castle. Within the cold walls, however, the most modern luxuries
were to be found. Stone walls were draped and warmed with colorful tapes-
tries and velvet hangings. Floors were covered with thick carpets. There
was even a fur cover upon the beds assigned to the Heir and his governess.
Lex’s room was an imposing one, as befitted the Earl’s nephew, but the
adjoining room, which the factor, a tall, bluff man named Clonmel, showed
her into, was furnished with every comfort and convenience she had
enjoyed at the townhouse.

Clonmel said harshly, “I brought you here myself so that you might give

me Milord’s orders at once, ma’am.”

Cozette repeated the Earl’s instructions. With a nod, the factor stode away

to carry them out. Within a few minutes, a groom brought up Cozette’s port-
manteaux and set them down inside her door. “A meal will be ready whenever
you wish to eat, ma’am,” he informed her.

“I shall come at once,” said Cozette. She was not hungry, but knew that

she would need all her strength in the coming hours. Then, “Where is
Martha?” she asked. “I should like her to have a bed set up in this room. She
has had a great shock, and I do not wish her to be alone.”

The groom nodded and went to fetch Martha.
Cozette forced the maid to eat something, and insisted that they must be

ready to care for Lex when the Earl brought him back. They went to Cozette’s
room to wait, since it overlooked the great central courtyard. The sound of
carriage wheels brought them both to the glazed window, an innovation the
Earl had had carried out in most of the rooms in the castle. The vehicle arriv-
ing was a huge lumbering coach containing luggage, and commanded by
Hardy. As he began to supervise the unloading, Cozette noticed a small for-
lorn basket sitting on the cobbles.

“Jille!” she cried remorsefully, and went rapidly down to the courtyard

to rescue her small friend, who had been quite forgotten in the stress of
recent events.

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The day dragged on. In the late afternoon, Evan rode in, shoulders droop-

ing. He came at once to report to Cozette. She sent for Martha and Hardy,
devoted retainers who knew Lex best, to the council.

Evan began. “No sign of the boy, ma’am. His Lordship’s afeared they’ve

taken him to France. He wants the men here to set out in pairs, and ask at
every port or landing along the coast.”

“Ask?” whispered Cozette.
“If anyone’s seen a man and a boy boarding a boat.”
Cozette’s heart sank. A man and a boy. It was futile! Lex could be dressed

as a girl, drugged, hidden in a small crate—the possibilities were too numer-
ous and hideous to contemplate. She drew in her breath. “I am going.”

“You, ma’am? His Lordship would never permit it!” Evan objected.
Hardy had his gaze fastened on the girl’s face. “I’ll go with you, Miss Coco.”
Evan looked scandalized. Hardy vouchsafed an explanation. “We’ll take

Martha with us, Evan. Both these ladies have seen the ruffians close to, and
might spot something—voice, clothing, who knows? I’ve got a feeling in my
bones that they’ll lay low until dark, and try to move then.” He glanced under
heavy brows at the two women. “Stands to reason they’d be afraid to show
themselves with the boy in daylight. No, I’m sure they’ve gone to earth in
some den or other, waiting for the dark.”

Cozette was already searching for her cape in the ancient armoire against

the wall.

Hardy spoke again, surprising her. “No, ma’am.”
“No? But you just said you’d take Martha and me.”
“I’m thinking it’ll be wiser if you dress as a boy again, Miss Coco, and

Martha too. If he’s conscious, Lex will recognize you at once that way, since I
taught you both to ride when you were wearing his father’s breeches.” A dark
red stained his cheeks, but he kept his eyes steady on hers.

Suppressing a smile, Cozette turned to Martha. “Will you be willing to

dress yourself as a man? I think Hardy is correct; we shall both be much less
noticeable in male garments in the sort of places we shall be visiting.”

“Oh, yes, Miss, whatever you say,” breathed Martha. It was clear she was in

alt at the very thought of going with the Heir’s governess on this rescue mis-
sion. Then her expression clouded. “But where can we find suitable clothing?”

Evan, who had been watching and listening to this exchange with deep

misgiving, now spoke up. “There’s always stacks of clothes for Milord’s ser-
vants, ma’am. The factor will let you have whatever’s needful.”

And so it proved. If the taciturn Clonmel wondered what the Heir’s gov-

erness needed with two sets of male clothing, he said nothing, merely con-
ducted her to the storeroom and left her to choose what she wished. Very
shortly she and Martha were back in her bedroom, the maid giggling irre-

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pressibly at the figure she was cutting in breeches and a stout overcoat.
Cozette set her groom’s hat on her head at a rakish angle. This sent Martha
off into gales of laughter, quickly smothered.

“But, oh, Miss, we mustn’t talk, lest they discover us to be females!”
Cozette was pleased that Martha’s black mood had been somewhat light-

ened by the hopeful masquerade. She herself was thankful that Hardy was
to be with them; his steady strength of purpose was like a strong arm in
Lex’s defense.

It had been planned that the small party should ride out as soon as possi-

ble for the Port of Rye, which Hardy had decided was to be their first,
because most likely, objective. “I’ve seen with my own eyes, Miss Coco, rough
sailors sitting over their drink at the old Mermaid Inn, their pistols on the
table in front of them.”

“Sailors?” gasped Martha. “With pistols?”
“Smugglers, they were,” Hardy advised her, “and it’s the likes of them

that could be hired to do a job of kidnapping. His Lordship’s got men out
from Folkestone to Eastbourne, scouring every low dive and sailor’s tavern
along the coast. He’s told me to use my own judgment. Pray God I’m in the
right of it!”

Cozette felt a frisson of fear as she mounted the unobtrusive little cart

Hardy had chosen for their transportation to Rye. At the last moment, when
they were about to leave, Cozette asked the stablehand who was holding the
sturdy pair of horses Hardy had chosen, to bring to her the ferret Jille in her
basket and put it under the seat of the cart.

“Miss Coco.” Hardy, preparing to mount into the cart, shook his head.
“Oh, pray, do not think this is some female whim, Hardy,” begged the girl.

“It is just that Jille was our good luck—our mascot, I believe you would say—
all during our dark flight from Paris. She brought us safely to Milord. Lex
loved her. He will remember and be reassured if he sees her with us.”

Hardy nodded slowly. “That might be a good idea, Miss,” he admitted.

“Even if they’ve frightened him badly, or hurt him, he will recognize his pet, I
should think.” He did not add the fear in all their minds, that the boy might
be drugged into insensibility.

As they were bowling along the narrow road toward the Port of Rye,

Cozette took notice of the pair of horses that drew the cart. She was con-
cerned that such noble-looking animals might arouse suspicion in anyone
who saw the three rather plainly dressed persons riding in the cart. When she
suggested this to Hardy, he grinned at her.

“We’ll just have to chance it, in the dark and all,” he explained. “Those two

are the best horses Clonmel could provide. If we’ve got to get away fast, I’ll
unharness ‘em and we’ll ride ‘em.”

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“Bareback?” faltered Cozette.
“I had the grooms throw their saddles in the cart,” Hardy comforted her.

“I’ll take the boy in my arms. Martha can hang on behind me. You’ll have only
yourself to look out for.”

“That’s good,” murmured Cozette, appalled but accepting. She only hoped

she would not ruin all by her ineptitude.

It was full dusk, the long summer twilight having faded at last into night,

when they came to Rye. Hardy pulled up the horses near the head of the
long, sloping cobbled street, halfway down whose steep descent perched the
old Mermaid Inn. The plastered, half-timbered exterior was well lighted, and
sounds of good fellowship rang harshly in the still air.

Hardy was frowning. “It’ll be hard enough to get down those cobbles now,

at a sober pace. But trying to make a quick escape with the boy—! And maybe
them rascals after us, shooting.”

Cozette interrupted him. She too had been studying the popular inn. “I do

not believe those villains will have gone to such a well-lighted, crowded
place, where so many men might observe their prisoner,” she whispered. “Is
there not some some smaller inn, some obscure little tavern?” She hesitated,
unsure of her judgment, but Hardy had seized on her idea.

“They’d be sure to seek out a hole-in-the-wall,” he agreed. There was

silence while he reviewed his not very extensive knowledge of the old port.
“Down by the water, across the marshy ground,” he pondered, “I think I
recall a boozing ken on the shingle where the road ends. I’ve not been
there, you understand, but I hear it’s a regular thieves’ den.” As deftly as pos-
sible he maneuvered the cart down the steep, cobbled street and out toward
the harbor.

There was indeed a building, a low, dark blur against the silver-lead of the

water. Only a dim light showed by the front entrance. There was a rumble of
noise, cursing and drunken shouts.

“Much more like it,” whispered Cozette with satisfaction. “If I were a kid-

napper, I should seek out just such an uncouth hiding place.”

Martha spoke for the first time in an hour. “You’d make a poor kidnapper,

Miss.” She tried for a teasing tone.

“On the contrary,” replied Cozette firmly. “I intend to make a very good

one, and steal Lex back from those scélérats.”

“That sounds like a very naughty word,” smiled Martha, trying hard

for nonchalance.

Hardy chuckled, but forbore to respond. Instead, he drove the cart up to

the entrance as carefully and quietly as possible, not an easy task considering
the shingle—sand and rocks—upon which the building was set. He posi-
tioned it in front of the door, then carefully unharnessed the horses and led

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them cautiously across the shingle to concealment in the deep shadow
between two large luggers that had been beached near the tavern. The girls
followed with Jille.

Cozette and Martha had scarcely dared to breathe during this exercise, to

their ears a dangerously noisy one. Cozette realized how close to an impossi-
bility it would have been to make their escape in the cart, with a crowd of
angry men boiling out of the tavern after them like hornets from a hive.

Hardy was saddling the horses. “We’ll leave the cart where it is. May slow

them down for a minute or two while we’re riding off with the boy. I don’t like
the feel of this place,” he admitted. “We’ll need to be ready to leave fast.” He
lifted Martha astride the larger horse. “Stay put,” he cautioned, low-voiced.
“Keep a sharp lookout. And keep quiet.” He handed her the reins of both
horses, and the basket containing the ferret. With a final encouraging pat, he
turned toward the squalid little building across the shingle.

Cozette trod quietly beside him. “Could we make a great outcry at the

front, and then run back here to catch Lex when they try to escape by the rear
door?” she whispered urgently. “I cannot like the idea of walking into that den!”

Hardy paused, giving her a sharp look. “Not a bad idea. The minute we

walk in there, we give warning to the kidnappers. But what sort of outcry
could we make? ‘Tis more than likely they’d only barricade themselves inside
and start firing off their pistols at random through the shutters. We’d still be
on the outside, and powerless to winkle ‘em out.” He caught his breath as an
idea struck him. “What sort of alarm would send them all tumbling headlong
out of the place? A fire, of course!”

He bent down near the building. “Perfect,” she head him mutter.

“Anything they were done with, they threw out here.” He began to scrabble
together broken boxes, dried weeds, even a discarded chair. “Do help me,
Miss,” he instructed in a murmur.

Cozette hastened to assist, moving silently about on the shingle to collect

any sea-wrack that might be dry enough to ignite. She raced back to the front
of the tavern, where Hardy was piling trash in the cart and around the wheels.
“We weren’t going to need it anyway,” he muttered, “and I don’t want to burn
the place down in case—in case Lex is tied up inside. If they’re in a panic,
they might forget the boy.”

Cozette shuddered, and gave thanks for Hardy’s good sense.
There was the scrape and click of flint and steel, and some tiny sparks

glimmered and caught among the piles. Hardy caught up more rubbish, espe-
cially dried weeds, and added them to the small flames. Almost before
Cozette was prepared, he had a fire glowing, licking ravenously at the piles of
trash. Hardy caught Cozette’s hand and guided her around the building, there
to station her beside him in the shadow at one side of the back door.

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For several minutes those within the tavern did not seem to be aware of

the fire. Cozette, her senses sharpened by excitement, had time to notice that
the stinking earth, dumping ground for all the refuse from the tavern, was
very close to the water at this point, and that several small fishing boats were
drawn up on the beach close by. She peered along the shale toward the larger
lugger, behind which Martha waited with the two horses, and prayed that the
girl would keep her wits and her courage.

Suddenly there was a shout of alarm from within the squalid building, and

a hoarse cry of “Fire!” Immediate uproar followed: shouts, the crash of furni-
ture knocked aside, the pounding of heavy boots on the wooden floor. The
rear door was thrust open with a crash that almost tore it from its ancient
hinges, and a flood of burly men tumbled out onto the narrow strip of shingle.
All was confusion, since several men were knocked down and trampled in the
rush to escape the fire. This was now roaring and sending flames toward the
night sky, as the wooden cart burned briskly.

Berating herself for her inadequacy, Cozette peered anxiously at the

cluster of men, who were shouting questions at another as they milled
around the doorway. They began to run toward the front of the tavern.
The girl caught her breath in anguish. How could she have been so stupid
as to expect to recognize the masked kidnappers in the dark, in the midst
of this chaos?

And then two men ran past her, heading directly for one of the two small

fishing boats beached directly behind the tavern. A waft of stinking fishy odor
went with them. Cozette clutched Hardy’s arm and pulled him after the two
men, who were now struggling to push their small craft into the water. Its
overlapping planks served as runners to slide the boat across the shale.

They have Lex in that boat! A safe and secret hiding place! thought the girl. They

must not get away!

And then she saw Hardy racing toward the boat with the silent ferocity

of a charging lion. Thankfully leaving him to the business of subduing the
kidnappers, Cozette ran to the boat. The only idea in her mind at this
moment was to get Lex safely ashore. Ignoring the sounds of conflict, the
heavy grunts and dull thuds of fists on flesh, she scrambled aboard and ran
to the small hatchway, almost tumbling down into the reeking darkness
below decks.

“Lex! Oh, Lex, it is Coco!” she cried softly.
There was a tiny cry, then a rustling to one side. Groping toward the

sound, Cozette’s seeking hands fastened upon a small body. Immediately she
felt the coarse ropes with which the child was bound.

“They told me if I made a single sound they would cut my tongue out,”

whispered Lex against her throat.

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“Hardy is dealing with those villains,” Cozette whispered back, her fingers

bruising themselves against the salt-hardened rope. She gave up quickly.
Better to get the boy out of this trap and untie him later. After so long, his
muscles would be too cramped to make a flight simple. No, she must carry
him, fight her way to the horses.

She was abruptly aware that the quality of the struggle outside on the

beach had changed. Now several voices were shouting angrily, and there were
the thud of hooves and the neighing of horses near the boat.

Oh, no! prayed the girl. They have not discovered Martha and the horses! And what

of Hardy? Was he down? Cozette balanced Lex up on her shoulder with a mur-
mur of reassurance. Then she scrabbled around on the bunk for a weapon.
Her fingers came in contact with a man’s heavy boot. Seizing it, she stumbled
toward the ladder and climbed awkwardly up onto the small deck.

For a moment she paused, staring down at the confusion on the beach.

The cart, burning merrily, cast a reflected glow upon the scene. Four mounted
men, flourishing pistols, were herding the remnants of the motley crew from
the tavern back against the wall. Hardy was clinging to the saddle of one of
the riders—it was the Earl! With a cry of joyful relief, Cozette staggered to the
side of the boat.

“We are here, Milord! I have the boy!”
With a quick word to Hardy, the Earl brought his horse to the shale beside

her and lifted both Cozette and Lex onto its back in front of him. Then he
turned the horse and gave a sharp order to the grooms. Cradling Lex in her
arms, Cozette leaned back luxuriously against the big, hard body behind her,
sighed, and closed her eyes.

The next moment they flew open again. “Martha! And Hardy is surely hurt!

He fought those wretches while I got Lex!” she babbled.

“What,” asked the Earl coldly, “are you doing with that malodorous boot?”
Cozette’s eyes dropped to her hands, clasped around Lex. From the right

one dangled a huge, dilapidated, and undeniably smelly fisherman’s boot.

“Oh!” She dropped it, chuckling. “I was intending to use it as a weapon

against those villains who had ‘ied Lex up. Can you undo the ropes now,
Milord?”

“We’ll get out of here, I think, before our fishy friends decide to unite

against us,” said the Earl firmly. He gave a rally-cry to his own party. Then for
good measure, he shouted to all and sundry, “The Preventives are coming!
Beware the Officers!

“That should send ‘em to ground,” he predicted in his ordinary cool voice.
Cozette looked up worshipfully into his darkly saturnine face, lit devilishly

by the flame-glow. “Oh, Monseigneur, how did you ever find us at just the
right moment?” she breathed.

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He looked down at her. “We saw the fire from the top of the hill. Clonmel

had told us where you planned to search. I knew you would have had some-
thing to do with such a very noticeable blaze!”

At that moment, Hardy rode up, with Martha in front of him clasping the

basket. “You, too, Martha?” queried the Earl. “Is this all the party?”

White-faced but grinning, Martha waved the basket at them. “And Jille!”
“My God,” said the Earl, staring at Cozette, “you brought the ferret, too?”

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he ride back to the Castle was made in great comfort. For one thing,
Milord had led his party to the Mermaid Inn and demanded a pri-
vate room for himself, Martha, and Cozette, and a splendid dinner
for all the party. While the feast was being prepared, he escorted the

women and Lex to the bedroom, and proceeded to cut the salt-encrusted
ropes from the child’s body. Lex was so relieved and happy to see them that
he did not cry or fret. Instead, big-eyed and exhausted, he nonetheless insist-
ed upon regaling them with the whole story of his capture and imprisonment
upon the fishing smack.

“I was brave, mon oncle!” he boasted at the end of his short tale. “You would

have been proud of me, I think!”

“Indeed I am,” agreed the Earl, with the special warm smile he reserved

for the boy. “You have behaved like a true Stone, Alexander. We are all proud
of you.”

The boy nestled against Cozette, who was washing his face gently with a

cloth. Her careful scrutiny did not reveal any wounds; whatever had been the
plan of the kidnappers, it had not included harming him at once. Cozette
trembled, refusing to pursue that idea to any conclusion.

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The Earl had apparently noticed her distress. He came to her and took the

boy from her, placing him down on the bed. “Now I am going downstairs to
see that the landlord is providing us with a good dinner. You will rest here
with Martha until we return.” He held out his hand imperatively toward
Cozette. “You will attend me. I wish to talk to you.”

Assuring herself that both Lex and Martha were comfortable on the big

bed, Cozette followed His Lordship from the quaint little room. She expected
to see his broad shoulders descending the narrow staircase before her, but
instead he was going into another room next to Lex’s. She followed, knowing
that the reckoning must come sooner or later.

The Earl waited until she had entered the room, and then closed the door.

The girl looked around her. It was another bedroom like the first: the furniture
old but lovingly cared for, the floor just slightly slanted, its wide, uneven
boards gleaming with the wax of years. Two lamps on the lowboy gave ade-
quate light for her to observe the stern expression upon Milord’s countenance.

“And now, Miss deLorme, you will explain to me this madcap flight

into danger which you—” He broke off, strode forward, and seized
Cozette in his arms. Holding her so tightly that she could barely draw
breath, he bent his head over her upturned face and muttered, “Idiot! You
might have been killed!” He kissed her, a hard, firm kiss that bruised her
lips. “Thank you for saving Lex,” he added, when he had raised his head. “I
am in your debt. Again.”

“No,” argued the girl. “I love him, too. I had to search for him. But how did

you find us?”

The Earl, still holding her in a close grasp, stared around him for a place to

sit. The one chair was too small, so he lifted the girl and carried her over to
the bed. There he seated himself comfortably, and settled Cozette snugly
against him in his lap. Giving her a stern look, he kissed her, rather more gen-
tly this time, and then said, “Clonmel had the wits to send a groom for me
after you left. He knew where I had intended to set up headquarters when I
had alerted the Customs’ Riding Officer in the district. As a matter of fact,
Clonmel met me on the road. When he told me what a wild ploy you had got
up to, I collected several grooms and rode to Rye post-haste.”

“Ventre à terre,” said Cozette, glorying in his large masculine body. Her eyes,

as she gazed up at him, were more revealing than she knew.

The Earl held her closer almost reflexively. She was a delicious little arm-

ful, but he relaxed his hold almost immediately. This ancient inn was no place
to settle his accounts with the little charmer. In fact, Milord was not quite
sure, for once in his arrogant, worldly existence, just what he felt about the
woman he was holding in his arms. So he concentrated rather grimly upon
tonight’s adventure. “Tell me!” he commanded.

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“Hardy thought Rye would be our best objective, since he knew that some

smugglers came in to the taverns there,” she began. “And it is close to France.”
She shuddered. “I wonder why they were taking him back there? No, don’t
tell me, Milord! I shall have nightmares as it is! Oh, le bon Dieu be thanked we
found him!”

“Amen to that,” said the Earl, deep-voiced. “What led you to the tavern by

the water?”

“Hardy recollected hearing it was a squalid den, haunt of all manner of

rogues. It seemed an appropriate place.”

“Hardy surprises me almost as much as you do,” the Earl advised her, but

his voice held a new softness. “Was it his idea or yours to set the place alight?
Rather risky if Lex was hidden in some cellar under the tavern!”

“We didn’t actually set fire to the building,” confessed the girl. “Hardy

thought they’d run out if they thought the tavern was on fire, and, being out-
numbered, we needed to get them outside without a fight. But we just set fire to
your cart—oh!’” Her eyes opened wide on his face. “Your cart! It is destroyed!”

The Earl grinned boyishly. “A small price to pay! So then you caught them

as they fled the inn with Lex?”

“No. The kidnappers were almost the last to leave, and they came alone. I

was about to go into the tavern and look for Lex, when I—I smelled the fishy
odor I had noticed on the man who held up your coach. He and his friend
were running toward a small fishing boat near the water. They began to push
it into the sea. Hardy engaged them in fisticuffs while I clambered aboard and
began to search for the boy. I found him on a bunk below decks.”

The Earl held her close to him. “Rash little female! What if there had been

another of the villains below? Or if the two on the beach had overcome
Hardy?”

“Impossible!” stated Cozette. “Hardy is a very dependable man!”
The Earl frowned at her enchanting little face. “Which brings me to my

next grievance, Madamoiselle! I wish you had included me in your foray! It
depresses my pretensions to arrive just as you and Hardy are solving the prob-
lem so triumphantly.”

Although he was smiling, the girl realized that the Earl did resent his role

as a mere tidy-up reinforcement. She hurried to soothe his pride.

“But if you had not arrived as promptly as you did, Milord, we might still

have failed. The other smugglers might easily have rallied to the assistance of
our two kidnappers, and we should all have found ourselves on a lugger bound
for Boulogne!”

The Earl’s muscles tightened at that thought. This adorable little female

carried off to France in the clutches of those beasts! He was really forced to
place a kiss on the rosy lips, so soft and seductive.

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“This is for my own comfort,” he advised her, when at length he lifted his

face from hers. “When I consider what might have taken place, I become faint.”

Cozette smiled demurely. “I too become faint at the thought of our peril,”

she offered hopefully.

The Earl laughed and pulled her close for a long, satisfying kiss. “What am

I going to do without you?” he murmured at length. “I found I could not
endure even one day alone in London! I had to follow one small, thorny
female who persistently flouts my authority and challenges my manhood!
What am I to do with you, little wretch?”

Cozette appeared to ponder this question carefully.
“Since I am not of Your Lordship’s social class,” she began, as one clarify-

ing a problem, “we must find a solution outside the, ah, accepted customs of
your society.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” demanded the Earl, a trifle threat-

eningly.

“When Lex no longer needs me as his governess,” offered the girl, “you

might wish to set me up in a charming maisonette—”

“Cozette!” thundered His Lordship awfully. Then, meeting her mischievous

grin, he began to smile. “You little devil! You know I cannot wait for several
years before—And who told you,” he interrupted himself, dark red color in his
face, “about the charming little maisonettes that rakes set up for their lights-
of-love?”

“You did,” averred Cozette, shocking him into a momentary silence. “At

least, I thought that was what you meant when you told me, one day in the
Ladies’ Parlor, that you would ‘make arrangements’ to—to be ‘in touch with
me.’ I thought you were speaking of a bijou residence such as men of your class
provide for their—”

“Did you, indeed!” demanded the Earl, interrupting this very improper discus-

sion with a roar. Then, calming himself with an effort, he glared at the glow-
ing, provocative little face so close to his. “It is high time you were taken in
hand, you little scape-grace!” he informed her.

“Did you have someone in mind to do so?” asked Cozette, greatly daring.
Her answer was a kiss that surprised and frightened her. If she had thought

that the Earl was adept only at fashionable dalliance, this kiss taught her dif-
ferently. There was a force, a passionate urgency, that quite overpowered her
defenses. She felt her resistance weakening; her body softened in eager acqui-
escence against his big, hard frame. She became dizzy—and then felt her
senses fading out.

Alerted perhaps by her soft collapse against him, the Earl lifted his head.

He stared down into the flowerlike face with harsh dominance. The girl’s eye-
lids lifted slowly, seeking to focus on his gray-eyed, dark-browed, masculine

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appeal. She appeared dazed and vulnerable. The Earl was pleased with the
effect his kiss had had upon her.

“That,” said Milord, “was what I had in mind. Have you any objections?”
“No. No.” Her voice became stronger. “I have not. Was it that remarkable

for you, too?”

His arrogant eyebrows raised. “Remarkable?” he teased.
“I thought I would faint, or die,” confessed the girl.
The man’s complacence was mixed with a little alarm. “You are feeling

unwell? You were hurt during the rescue?”

“Oh, no! It is the effect of your—of your embrace,” confessed Cozette

shyly. “I had not experienced that feeling before.”

The Earl’s eyes began to sparkle with satisfaction. “And now that you have,

are you prepared to place yourself in my hands?” He grinned. “Theoretically,
of course.”

But Cozette surprised him again. “In every way,” she said, smiling up at

him with open adoration. She put gentle arms around his strong column of
throat, tugged gently, and when he lowered his head to her, she kissed him
with such sweetness that his senses reeled.

When she broke the contact at length, the Earl found himself breathless

and curiously warm. He had never before experienced quite the feelings that
now possessed him. He stared down at Cozette’s gently smiling face. “We
must—that is, I think . . .” Words failed him.

“What do you wish me to do, Milord?” the girl asked in a soft voice.
The Earl struggled against this strange and delightful paralysis of his will.

“Why, I think you must call me Alexander,” he managed to say.

Cozette beamed at him. “Yes, Alexander,” she repeated softly.
The Earl felt himself to be of giant stature. It was obvious that the pres-

ence of this girl in some way enhanced him, brought him to a full realization
of his own powers. “I must have you near me at all times,” he said, and
accepted the validity of the statement even as he made it.

“Yes, Alexander,” breathed Cozette.
The Earl knew that his mind was working more clearly than ever before.

“And since Lex needs you, also, you must remain in my household. There is
only one thing for it,” he concluded, amazed at the keen perceptivity of his
own mind in solving the problem. “You must marry me without delay!”

“Yes, Alexander. Darling, darling Alexander!” the girl cried softly, and

hugged him close.

“I knew I could persuade you to see reason,” commented the besotted

lover, as he took her once more into his close embrace.

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heir reception at the Castle the following day was a triumph. Not
only had the Heir been recovered without harm, but his lovely gov-
erness with him. And it was three of their own—Hardy, Martha, and
Clonmel—who had been instrumental in the rescue! The Earl him-

self had never been more expansive and generous; the whole day was a feast
and a celebration.

As the day went on, however, and families from the great houses in the

neighborhood came to pay their respects to the Earl, it was noted that the
Heir’s governess, an attractive Frenchwoman, was always at the Earl’s side, by
his own insistence. Certain high-nosed sticklers began to murmur at this ele-
vation of a servant into the company of her betters, and one dame was over-
heard to remark that London ways were not acceptable here in the county.

Such cavilers were quite set back by an announcement the Earl made just

after tea had been served. Champagne was brought in for all the guests, and
their host rose and drew the young Frenchwoman to stand beside him.

“My friends,” he announced, “I bid you drink with me to the health of

the future Countess of Stone and Hamer: Mademoiselle Michelle deLorme
of Paris.”

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The guests rose, some rather reluctantly, and honored the toast. Then

there was a bustle of congratulations and good wishes, and requests for
information. All these comments and questions were handled with great
skill and some hauteur by His Lordship, and the rest of the afternoon passed
quite pleasantly.

“That will give them something to buzz about,” commented the Earl as the

last guest made a reluctant adieu.

Cozette sighed. “It is obvious that they think you are marrying beneath

you,” she said sadly. “I was afraid it might be so.”

“Shall I tell everyone that I cannot live without you?” asked her fiancé. “It

is true, you know.” He caught her to him with such hungry need that the girl
trembled in his arms. “Do I frighten you?” he murmured against her throat.

“No, Alexander. You excite me,” she confessed.
“We shall be married within three weeks,” the man said almost morosely. “I

am sorry it is so long, but that is our custom.”

“It is acceptable to me,” said Cozette formally. She hesitated, and then

continued, “I will need that long for my quest.”

The Earl’s chin lifted sharply. “What quest?” he demanded.
“I am going to Paris to discover if my father is still alive,” said Cozette quietly.
“Impossible,” said the Earl.
“Alexander, you must see that I cannot remain in doubt upon so vital a

matter,” the girl pleaded.

Her fiancé stared at her intently. “My dear girl—” he began.
“They may not have killed him!” cried Cozette. “He had done no wrong!”
The Earl shrugged. “And if he is alive? What shall you do? What can

you do?”

“I shall try to get him released, on condition that he leaves France and

comes to England.”

“And how do you propose to get to Paris to make this appeal?” challenged

the Earl in his most arrogant manner.

Cozette stared up at his imperturbable countenance with desperate hope.
“You wish me to take on the armed might of Revolutionary France? The

roving bands of masterless men, thieves, murderers? You think I am capable
of that?”

The girl’s expression gave him his answer.
Milord sighed. “Very well. It is insane, but I see I am to be your deus ex

machina. We shall return to London tomorrow and I will call upon Mr. Pitt.”

“Pitt?” said Cozette, with the utmost scorn.
“He is our Prime Minister, my dear child, and has more power than any

of us in such a matter. You have not considered passports, have you? Since
in your flight you evaded port authorities and all such officials! But in this

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case, it is as important that I gain permission to leave France as it is to enter
it. I must have some sort of official sanction if I am to obtain the release of
your father.”

Cozette’s brows drew together. For the first time she used reason rather

than emotion in her consideration of the problem. This journey to rescue her
father would not be, could not be, a secret foray. Negotiations for Professor
deLorme’s release from whatever prison the Tribunal had confined him to
must be made through recognized channels. He could hardly be spirited out
of the Bastille as easily as she had taken Lex from her home in Paris! Suddenly
the girl understood what sort of an undertaking she had urged upon this noble
Englishman, what sort of impossible, romantic feat of daring she had begged
him to perform. She was using his affection—his love!—for herself to force
him into a position of the gravest danger!

Wordlessly she shook her head, trying to prevent the tears of remorse

from flowing from her eyes. Then she lifted her face to his gaze, and said,
with a creditable effort at composure, “I have been behaving like the child you
call me, Alexander! Of course you must not put yourself at the risk of entering
that den of murderers!” She took a deep breath. “We shall set inquiries afoot,
and learn what we can of my father’s . . . fate.” She turned away.

The Earl caught her hands in one of his big hard ones, using the other to

turn and hold her face for his inspection. “I mistrust this sudden change of
front, my dear! What are you planning now in that busy brain of yours?
Another mad excursion into Limbo? In this case, I think you would find it a
Hell of raw savagery!” When the girl refused to meet his eyes, his tone
became imperative. “You will promise me that you will abandon any idea of a
secret journey into France. Believe me, my darling idiot, your successful
escape with Lex was a once-in-a-lifetime miracle! This situation is different in
all particulars!” He shook her. “Have I your sacred word that you will leave
this matter entirely in my hands?”

Impulsively, Cozette bent her head and kissed the hand holding hers. “You

are wonderful!” she breathed, her lips soft against his skin. “Je t’adore!”

Milord’s expression remained stern. “I have your promise?”
Cozette nodded. Her eyes, her whole countenance, revealed the feeling

she had for this big, vital male.

The Earl returned her look with one of quizzical skepticism. “You terrify

me, Coco,” he murmured, and none of his elegant associates had ever seen the
expression with which he regarded the girl.

“Terrify?” repeated Cozette doubtfully. “Why is this?”
Her fiancé gave her an irresistible, boyish grin. “It is as well you do not

know the extent of your magic, little witch!” Then he became sober as he
caught her hands and pressed a rather solemn kiss upon her lips. “Be sure I

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shall do my best for you and your father,” promised the Right Honorable Earl
of Stone and Hamer.

When the Earl’s party returned to London, they found the Wantages still

in residence at Stone House. Lord Alexander lost no time in announcing his
proposed marriage to Mademoiselle deLorme.

“While I have you all here,” he began coolly, glancing around his spacious

and elegant drawing room, “I shall inform you that I am to be married within a
few weeks. I am sure you will want to offer me your congratulations, and my
fiancée your good wishes.”

Expressions of shock and dismay crossed all three faces, but only Lady

Henrietta was graceless enough to challenge the Earl’s right to marry
whomever he pleased.

“Your nephew’s governess, Stone?” she protested angrily. “You intend mar-

rying a servant?”

“I intend marrying Mademoiselle deLorme, ma’am,” the Earl corrected her

coldly. “If you are unhappy with my decision”—and he left no doubt how little
he cared for her feelings on the subject—”we must arrange that you go to stay
with your cousin Dora. I could not in good conscience force you to remain in a
household that was celebrating a marriage of which you disapproved.”

Both the males of her family subjected the maladroit Lady Henrietta to

threatening glares. Was she fool enough to endanger their visit to the most
elegant residence in London? It seemed she was.

“You will find yourself the laughing-stock of the ton,” she averred mali-

ciously. “And no one of consequence will be willing to receive that—foreigner!”

Lord Hector’s coarse tones overrode his wife’s spiteful comment. “We shall

be pleased to welcome Miss, uh, Delmore to the family, Stone! Have I not
been telling you to get leg-shackled this last ten years? We thought you’d set-
tled it with Lady Clarissa, and were just waiting until you’d had time to enjoy
yourself—” He halted, even his insensitivity becoming conscious of his wife’s
basilisk glare.

Milord had begun to enjoy the wrangle among his unpleasant relatives.

“Before I entered the marriage trap, you would say?” He observed Lady
Henrietta’s purpling visage with satisfaction. “While I must admit you know
more about the, ah, hazards of the wedded state than I, as a mere bachelor,
can do, still, I must remind you that it was Neville who was intended to be
leg-shackled to Lady Clarissa.”

“True! So it was,” bumbled Lord Hector. “Nasty bit of scandal, that!”
“When Neville’s son was returned to you—such a dear child—” gushed

Lady Henrietta, “we quite understood you would not have to marry to secure
the succession—”

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“Speaking of my heir,” interrupted the Earl, suddenly not at all amused,

“did you know he had been kidnapped on the way to the Castle?” The Earl
watched their faces closely as he asked the question.

“Kidnapped? Nonsense!” blustered Lord Hector. “Just saw the nipper led

upstairs by that, that woman you say you’re going to marry!”

“It is my fiancée who recovered the boy from his abductors at Rye,” con-

tinued the Earl grimly.

“Anyone we know?” gibed Henry Wantage, speaking for the first time

since the Earl had entered the room. He had been seated near the fire drink-
ing cognac, and had hardly glanced at his cousin.

The Earl gave him a considering look. “We have both the ruffians,” he

shocked them by saying. “That is, they are being delivered to Colonel
Richardson at Bow Street today, having been turned over to his Runners by
the Customs’ Riding Officer at Rye. I am sure it will not be long before we
learn who was behind the abduction.” He gazed thoughtfully from one star-
tled face to another.

Lady Henrietta was first to speak. “You are serious, then, Stone? The child

was stolen?”

“Very serious indeed, ma’am! And it will be so for the, ah, culprit, when the

Runners trace him, or her, down.”

“Her?” Lady Henrietta stared at him. “You think some female was the crimi-

nal?” Her eyes narrowed. “But of course! The little Frenchwoman arranges a
dramatic ploy, and then ‘rescues’ the boy so you will be under obligation to
her!” She crowed with scornful laughter. “I had not thought you so easily
gulled, Stone!”

The Earl was watching his two male relatives. Lord Hector had finally

become conscious of that intent stare, and was looking puzzled but not par-
ticularly alarmed. Henry, on the other hand, now rose swiftly and, placing his
brandy glass on a small table, walked from the room. Frowning, his father
watched him leave.

“What’s biting the boy?” he asked his wife.
“How should I know?” she shrugged off the question. “Too much brandy in

the middle of the day? How quickly you men adopt town customs!”

“Do not tell me that Hector and Henry do not imbibe at home!” begged

the Earl, who was enjoying himself.

“I have not formerly observed my son drinking brandy this early in the

day,” said the Mama positively.

“Something worrying him, I suppose,” countered the Earl. “Now I wonder

what it could be? But I suppose we shall learn soon enough!”

Lord Hector was suddenly looking very grim. He knew all too well the

rage of disappointment that had engulfed Henry when the discovery of a new

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heir had been made. Until Neville’s son had been found, it was Lord Hector
who would be expected to inherit, and, after him, Henry. The young man had
basked in that thought ever since he was old enough to understand what was
involved. And then the waif from France, accepted so easily by Stone as his
brother’s son! But surely, Henry would not, could not have engineered any
such dangerous plot as a kidnapping . . .? And Stone had been saying that the
culprits had been caught, and would be questioned! Lord Hector suddenly felt
very queer indeed. He rose to his feet and cast an urgent glare at his wife.
“Come with me, Milady! I am concerned about Henry’s well-being!” And he
led her, willy-nilly, from the drawing room.

The Earl, listening carefully, heard her spate of querulous anger as her hus-

band led her up the great staircase. Then abruptly her complaints ceased, and,
stretch his ears as he might, the Earl could not hear any more of the low-
voiced conversation.

He nodded his head with satisfaction. He did not really believe that

Henry had planned the abduction, but at least the threat of his being a sus-
pect, and the resulting scandal, might persuade the Wantages to cut short
their visit to London. A consummation devoutly to be wished!

The Wantages did depart the following day, with very little fanfare. When

the Earl rather maliciously asked Lord Hector where they could be found if he
needed to get into touch with them, Henry’s Papa hemmed and hawed and
admitted that they were not, at the moment, exactly certain. “M’wife wishes
to go to Scotland,” Lord Henry finally vouchsafed.

The Earl, knowing all too well how determinedly Lady Henrietta pur-

sued the delights of a London season, did not believe him, but so thank-
ful was he to see the last of them out of his house that he forbore to cavil
or challenge.

He did, in fact, receive a visit from Colonel Richardson, and the news this

former soldier brought was sobering. The villains had been reluctant to con-
fess their sponsors, but being faced with the alternatives of instant hanging if
they refused to speak, and transportation to Australia if they named their
employer, finally confessed that they had been approached, while boozing in
the ken at Rye, by a nob who offered them a round sum to bring the boy
there to their fishing smack, and ferry him over to Boulogne.

“Could they describe their employer?” asked the Earl.
“It could have fitted a hundred men,” said Richardson. “Well dressed, well

spoken, and the money was good. Have you enemies, Milord?”

“I must have,” admitted the Earl. “I shall keep a very close watch on the

boy from now on.” He rose to see his official guest out. “My thanks,
Colonel Richardson.”

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He returned to the library to find Cozette waiting for him. “Could he tell

you who had done this deed?” she asked.

“No. The men are to be transported to Australia, but the real criminal, the

one who offered money for Lex’s disappearance, is not identified.”

Cozette eyed his stern, restrained expression with some awe. “You can

consider those scélérats so calmly? I should be thirsting for their blood!”

His expression softened and a small smile tugged at his lips. “So passion-

ate!” he murmured, moving toward her with clear purpose in those gleaming
silver eyes.

Cozette did not know whether to run to meet him or to shrink away. Her

own emotions puzzled her. When she considered the strong disapproval with
which she had at first regarded this arrogant man, she could scarcely under-
stand her present adoration of him. Had he changed so much, or had she? Still,
there was another feeling, a sort of melting warmth for which she could find
no name.

He had her in his arms before she could settle the problem to her own sat-

isfaction. “Are you going to show me some of that passion you have displayed
toward Lex’s kidnappers?”

“It is not what you would wish, surely?” countered Cozette, blushing

delightfully.

The Earl laughed. “I see I shall have to teach Lex’s governess about pas-

sion,” he teased. “It seems it is not a subject in which you have majored!”

Cozette surprised him again. “I am so glad it is to be you, Alexander, who

is to be my teacher,” she whispered. “I can hardly wait for the lessons!”

The man’s arms closed tighter around her. “Be careful, little temptress!”

Then, enjoying her rosy cheeks, he grinned. “You are such a little innocent!”

“Do you—do you like that?” the girl asked rather anxiously. Perhaps a man

of his nous would find her lack of worldly knowledge disappointing.

“I like it,” he assured her. Then he made a mock-rueful grimace. “I see I

shall have my work cut out for me.” He sighed, but the gleam in his fine gray
eyes disputed the complaint.

Cozette felt such a wave of love sweep over her for this man that she was

nearly ready to take action to demonstrate her besotted admiration, when
Dibble entered with a discreet cough to announce his presence.

“There is a gentleman wishing to see you, Milord,” he intoned. “He is

accompanied by a member of Mr. Pitt’s staff.”

The Earl, changing with disappointing rapidity from his playful mood,

said soberly, “Show them in at once, Dibble.” Then, when the girl made a ten-
tative motion to withdraw, he caught her hand and kept her beside him.

Dibble swung the door wide. “Professor deLorme and Mr. Jonah

Trevelyan, Milord,” he announced.

Elizabeth Chater—The Earl and the Émigrée

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Cozette flung herself forward into her father’s open arms.

Half an hour later, when Trevelyan had been heartily thanked, plied with

superb cognac, and sent on his way, the Earl faced the two deLormes.

“I hope, Ma’am’selle Coco, that you will make suitable apologies for the

disparaging remarks you made about our Prime Minister?”

Cozette, dazed with happiness, would have agreed to anything at this

moment. “Do you tell me he has been working to save my Papa since first I
met him?” she wondered.

“With Pitt, who knows?” replied the Earl. “I wager that young Trevelyan

hides a suit of shining armor under his faultless coat!”

“He was indeed a most accomplished rescuer,” agreed deLorme.
“Then I must be sure he has my thanks,” murmured the girl, with a mis-

chievous glance from under her eyelashes at the Earl.

“Do not bother,” that gentleman advised her. “I shall see that he is properly

rewarded.” He cast a searching look at Cozette’s father. “You must be ready for
a rest, sir. Cozette and I will show you to your rooms. Then, tomorrow, when
you are quite yourself again, we shall tease you to tell us the whole story of
your escape.”

“And I must hear all about Coco’s adventures with your nephew, sir,” added

deLorme. “But now, yes, I should enjoy a rest.”

They carefully saw the old man up to a luxurious suite next to

Cozette’s room. Dibble and two maids were already there with hot water,
coffee, and warming pans for the bed. The Professor looked around him
with undisguised pleasure.

“Now this is magnifique!” He sighed. “I shall sleep for a week, at the least!”

He took Cozette gently into his arms and kissed her on both cheeks. “My
dearest girl,” he said softly. “You brought Neville’s son safely home! I knew
you would do so!”

He shook the Earl’s hand, and waved them both off with a smile. “Á demain!

I shall see you in the morning, my dearest Coco!”

They left him making himself comfortable with the assistance of the Earl’s

valet, Allen. Cozette turned an adoring face up to her fiancé.

The Earl seemed fearful of being thanked. “Now you can have no possible

reason for postponing our wedding,” he said before the girl could begin to
express her gratitude.

“None at all,” agreed Cozette. “I had had a little fear that I might not be

suitable as a bride for you, but now—” She waved her fingers. “No doubts!”

The Earl was fascinated and hopeful. “Why not?” he demanded. “Not that

I ever had doubts,” he hastened to add, “but I know that you did. What made
you sure?”

Elizabeth Chater—The Earl and the Émigrée

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126

“It is because I have been having such feelings of love for you that I shall

not be able to contain them if I do not marry you soon,” she explained care-
fully. “I have the need to touch you, to hold you very close to me.”

“Go on,” whispered the man, quite unable to take his eyes from that intent,

lovely little face.

“It is a strange feeling, that which I have for you, Milord,” said the girl.

“It is not like the deep love I have for my father, or the tenderness I feel for
little Lex, although it has some of each of those emotions in it. No,” she
added soberly, “there is a sort of hunger, a thirsty need for your warmth
and sweetness.”

The man who loved her could not endure it any longer. Moving swiftly,

he took his little charmer into his strong embrace and carried her off to his
study, where, in comfortable privacy, he could examine this fascinating sub-
ject most fully.

Elizabeth Chater—The Earl and the Émigrée

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127

About the Author

ELIZABETH CHATER was born in Canada in
1910, the only daughter of parents who wanted
sons. She read many books from her father’s collec-
tion and the public library, leading to a lifetime love
of literature.

She married Mel Chater and had two daughters

and a son, also pursuing an M.A. and writing and
publishing numerous science-fiction, fantasy and
mystery novels. Following the loss of her beloved
husband in 1978 and her retirement from teaching,
Elizabeth embarked upon a highly successful career
as a romance novelist, penning twenty-two novels in
eight years.

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