________________________________

Milord's

Liegewoman

Elizabeth Chater

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Published by

e-reads

New york

ISBN: 1-58586-261-4

Electronic format made

available by arrangement with

e-reads

peanutpress.com, Inc.

www.peanutpress.com

To Dan, Mike, Mimi, and Mel Morse,

with love

Chapter 1

ALISON STARED at her brother across a table which bore the remains of a frugal meal, the best she
could prepare with the pittance Edmond gave her for housekeeping.

"Surely you do not intend going back to Boodle's tonight, Edmond!" she protested. "You have already
lost your whole quarter's allowance!"

His handsome face was set in the lines of sullen obstinacy Alison knew and dreaded. "There is more
where that came from."

"Only if you force our father to sell more of your inheritance," his sister reminded him quietly. "Have you
thought what you will be returning to, when this disastrous Season in London is over?"

"Is it my fault that the old man can't pay the piper? That he sends his only son out into the world ill shod
and penny-pinched?"

"That is unfair!" cried Alison, hotly. "He has beggared himself to give you this Season—"

"So I could snare a wealthy girl with a generous father, and restore the family fortune which he himself
dissipated over the gaming tables," sneered her brother.

Alison caught a deep, steadying breath. It was true: that had been the reason for their coming to
London. The last remnants of the Conninge competence— for it had not been a great fortune since their
father's reckless youth— had been scraped up to provide a suitable image for Edmond Conninge to
present to the Ton. Brother and sister knew that he must marry well if anything were to be saved of
Conninge Court and its depleted estates. Looking at her brother's beautiful, petulant countenance, Alison
experienced an unfamiliar resentment.

"But you haven't made the effort, have you?" she said. "Instead of attending Almack's to find a suitable
parti, you have frequented Boodle's and White's and— and I know not what other gaming hells, night
after night, and now you have lost every penny Father could give you!"

"How do you know that?" The whining tone in her brother's voice set Alison's teeth on edge.

"Because I found my purse open on my bureau, and how you expect me to pay the rent and buy food
for a week out of the two pounds you left me, I wish you will tell me!"

"I'll win enough tonight to set all to rights," said Edmond with a cozening smile.

"You never win," stated his sister categorically. "One would think you would have sense enough to
realize your limitations by now. You have neither luck nor skill at gaming, Edmond. Do you not recall
how, as a child, I beat you every time we played at cards? You gave away your holdings by the look on
your face—"

Edmond stood up, crashing his chair to the floor in one of his quick gusts of rage.

"This is too much! That a man should be forever schooled by a sanctimonious, dough-faced female!"

Her unfamiliar anger suddenly dissolved, Alison broke into a chuckle. "Dough-faced, Twin?" she smiled.
"When you know we are as much alike as two peas in a pod? What sort of bread does that make your
pretty countenance?"

The youth glared at her like a sulky child, refusing to meet her peace overture halfway. He was a fine
enough figure of a Town Beau as he stood there in his brocade coat and soft foamy lace, fuming, anxious
to get away, yet not sure how far he could push his sister without completely alienating her and losing her
services. His coat, cut to the latest style, sat well upon his slight, well-built figure. Its deep gold brocade
emphasized tawny amber eyes. The face, which many men found too effeminate, was undeniably
handsome with its short, straight nose and well-cut lips. Alison frowned. It was strange that the features,
identical in shape and color to her own, which on her brother were almost too pretty, were on her too
coldly classical and severe for a girl. She thought, not for the first time, that being a twin was not easy.
Alison sighed. In spite of the devotion she had always lavished upon her brother, she had of late become

painfully aware that he was incapable of offering anyone either friendship or love. Had he not been the
light of their father's eyes, Alison felt she would long ago have ceased to concern herself with the difficult,
spoiled young man. Still, it was her duty to prevent him from embroiling himself in disaster, for her father's
sake if nothing else. If she could find means of doing so! Taking a deep breath, she said quietly, "I had
hoped— that is, you spoke most enthusiastically of the Lady Isolda Forteyn?"

Edmond's beautiful features softened into a smile. "She's a charmer, Alis! As pretty as she can stare, but
a minx! If it were not for that stiff-rumped brother of hers ..."

"You have met her brother, then? Have you made application for her hand?" asked Alison hopefully.

Edmond refused to meet her eyes. With an airy gesture, he shrugged off the question. "I am to see her
tonight at the Dorkington's Ball," he told her. "She's promised to save me three dances!"

Alison's mouth quirked into a smile. "That is significant devotion indeed," she said admiringly. "It is plain
you have made an impression, my dear." Then she added, a little anxiously, "You will not forget to go to
the Ball? Sometimes when you are engrossed in play—"

Edmond's complacent smile changed to a lowering frown. "For God's sake, Alison, must you be forever
at me with your nagging? I know which side my bread is buttered upon, I assure you! Isolda is a notable
heiress, and I flatter myself she has a tendre for me. If you had seen the little witch you would know that
no man could forget an appointment to dance with her!"

Alison set her lips against the peevish reminder that she herself had been nowhere and seen no one since
they arrived in London, since all their limited funds were needed to present Edmond suitably to the Beau
Monde. It would do no good to complain; for one thing, Edmond never wasted a thought upon anyone's
comfort or pleasure but his own; for another, she herself had little real desire to cut a dash in society. Her
great wish was to see her twin safely wedded to a girl of enough fortune to save their father from worry
during his declining days at Conninge Court.

Arthur Conninge was the wreck of a once handsome man. His example to the son he idolized had not
been a good one, for he had been even a more reckless gamester than was Edmond, and had so reduced
his fortune that he had been forced to retire to his country estate while the twins were still quite young.
His long-suffering wife, a delicately beautiful woman, had not long survived the rigors of country living
and a querulous, heavy-drinking husband, and had slipped thankfully out of life when the twins were but
ten years old. Arthur blamed her for leaving him with a brace of brats to see to, but his increasing
admiration for his beautiful son had mellowed him enough to make him at least a bearable companion.
Edmond had learned very early how to twist his father around his finger, and Alison, watching, was glad
she had the management of the household to challenge her, for her life was a singularly lonely one. There
was never enough money, after Papa had made sure Edmond was clothed and horsed and supplied with
funds, to do anything much for Alison. She kept Conninge Court shining clean, if increasingly shabby; she
managed to find the pennies to pay the servants, and kept the table adequately supplied with nourishing
food from the Home Farm. She even took courses in gourmet cooking from a charming Frenchwoman,
Mrs. Anthony, who had married an Englishman and landed up in the unlikely refuge of the small

Devonshire village of Conninge. Although Arthur grumbled constantly, and Edmond took all her efforts
completely for granted, Alison had been happy enough with her home, her friends in the village, her riding
and reading. Until the day when her father, menaced by the threat of complete financial disaster, had
decided to send his golden son to London to enjoy a Season and come home with an heiress whose
fortune should solve all the problems.

Alison had felt a strong reluctance to accept this stratagem, although she knew it to be a common
practice. When she ventured to broach her objections to her parent, he stormed at her in his wonted
manner.

"Are you a complete sapskull? Persons of our order do not marry for love, but for security and the
establishment of strong family connections at a suitable level!"

"I had thought it was only young ladies who sought out an eligible connection," offered Alison.

"Nonsense! If the young man is well-bred but in straitened circumstances, he is expected to go about
establishing himself in a sensible manner," her father explained sharply. Then his features softened into a
smug complacence very much like Edmond's usual expression. "And when he looks as handsomely as
my son, he can expect to have his pick of the debutantes!" he finished with a satisfied smile.

So the brother and sister had journeyed to London, where Alison found them a pokey lodging on the
fringe of a good neighborhood and set up housekeeping for Edmond. The latter's demands on the small
store of money their father had managed to wring from his lands for this last-ditch effort were so great as
to frighten Alison, but she had to admit that her brother, when modishly attired, made a figure at once
eye-catching and memorable. She had only to hope that a suitably circumstanced young female would be
caught by Edmond's undoubted beauty and potent, if fluctuating, charm.

To her increasing alarm, Edmond seemed to prefer the gaming tables to the dance floor, and although
he had received a voucher to Almack's through the good graces of an old friend of his mother's, he was
more often to be found at White's or Boodle's. He had mentioned, in answer to her hesitant questions
about the success of his campaign, that he had found himself quite taken with a lovely young miss
enjoying her come-out. Upon further questioning, he informed Alison that the girl was the Lady Isolda
Forteyn, sister of the Earl of Havard.

This intelligence sobered Alison. Would a youth, no matter how beautiful and charming, who had no
fortune and could boast only an old but quite undistinguished county family, be acceptable to the Head of
a Great House? A presentiment of trouble-to-come disturbed her. Edmond brushed aside her tentative
warnings, calling her a fearful old woman.

"But you said the Earl was a high stickler," she protested. It had been one of the crumbs of information
she had managed to coax from him in response to what he called her constant prying about his progress
in securing a wife. "Will he not wish for a better match for his only sister than we can provide? What have
you told him about yourself and the Conninge estates?"

"I have spent my time more wisely convincing the little minx herself," boasted Edmond. "She's a
self-willed piece and can persuade her brother better than I ever could." He refused to discuss the matter
further, only giving his sister a slyly knowing glance which made Alison feel fear as to what her brother
was getting himself into. Had he no scruples? Paying court to the daughter of a noble house was a
different matter from seducing a barmaid.

Edmond was going to the door of their sitting room now, his elegant tricorne set acock upon his
carefully powdered hair. That hair was their chief difference: his was guinea gold, while Alison's was
softer in color, like moonlight spun with sunlight to a delicate gilt sheen.

"Expect me when you see me, Alis," he said gaily. "I feel lucky!"

"Perhaps you should try your luck first with the lady rather than the cards, Brother," Alison advised him
urgently. "Our resources will not stretch beyond one more week's stay, and then we must go home
empty-handed if you have not won your bride."

"I am to see her later tonight, at the Ball, as I told you," Edmond muttered petulantly, and closed the
door behind him with quite a slam.

Chapter 2

THREE HOURS LATER, a gray-faced youth leaned forward tensely toward the table on which were
scattered cards and several large piles of coins and notes. Unfortunately none of the piles was in front of
Edmond. The other men around the table were languidly redeeming IOUs and totting up their debts.
Edmond raised shocked eyes toward the tall dark man across the table from him.

"What— what is the amount of my loss?" he asked through lips suddenly very dry.

The Earl of Havard shrugged. "About one thousand guineas. Call it pounds." His eyes, so dark a brown
as to appear black in the candlelight, flicked arrogantly over the youth's sweat-filmed face. "Perhaps you
should not have been so insistent upon forcing your way into the company of your betters," he added
with an icy mockery intended to be offensive.

The other men at the table overheard the words and turned startled eyes upon the speaker. Lord
Griffon Miles Victor Forteyn, the Right Honorable the Earl of Havard, was well known not to suffer fools
gladly, but unless provoked was not often heard to give so sharp a public set-down. Was there more to
the encounter than the outcome of a game of cards? Glances became avid as angry color stained the
handsome face of the youth, who flung his head up sharply at the insult.

"I shall have to visit my banker at Conninge," he began stiffly. "You shall have your guineas within three
days—"

"Do not hasten back to London on my account, Conninge," the Earl told him icily. "It will be quite
acceptable for you to send a bank draft."

Crashing his chair to the floor in a characteristic gesture, Edmond rose and glared at the older man. "I
know why you wish me out of London," he began angrily.

"But of course, having pretensions to gentility," interrupted the Earl unforgivably, "you will not mention
the reason in company."

Swiftly the furious color faded from the youth's countenance, and he turned away without another word
and hurried out of the card room.

"Sa-sa! Have at ye!" murmured the Earl's best friend, Sir Hilary Hastings. "Using a poleax to crush a
butterfly, ain't you, Griff?"

"Say rather, a louse," retorted the Earl. He yawned behind two fingers, his hard dark eyes restive. "Let
us leave this dreary place. I cannot think what I ever saw in it!"

"Don't try to come the weary sophisticate with me, you Norman upstart! You'll catch cold at that!"
teased his friend. "Don't forget it was by your sufferance that the callow Mr. Conninge sat down to play
tonight. None of the rest of us knew the fellow."

"A serious want of judgment upon my part," agreed the Earl. "I believe I must really get away from
London. I appear to be losing my sense of values."

"Never tell me you'll return to that medieval rock-pile of yours on the south coast?" gibed Hilary.
"Think, man! The month is November! You'll die of an ague!"

The Earl greeted this attempt at humor with a mirthless grin. "I think I may find ways of keeping warm."

Sir Hilary nodded enthusiastically. "Can I ever forget that last revel you held there? Of course I am
invited this time."

The Earl raised an eyebrow. "Who suggested a revel?"

"You don't plan to keep all the Sweets for yourself?" Hilary bantered. "You'll suffer a surfeit!"

Whatever Lord Havard might have replied to this was lost when Sir William Trevayne peevishly
demanded that Milord accept his winnings or continue the game. "All this bibble-babble at the table! I
came to play!"

Under some constraint, the business was settled. The Earl rose from his chair. "I promised Isolda that I
would join her at that woman's Ball," he said crisply. "Do you bear me company?"

"I do admit to a wish to escape the situation you and your country bumpkin have created," Sir Hilary
said with a grin, as he rose to accompany the Earl. They strolled toward the doorway. "You are a rather
uncomfortable friend, you know," he teased.

"Cut me out of your life then," shrugged Milord in a cold, languid voice.

Hilary stared up at the big man as they descended the stairs. He was compelled to admit that although
not as handsome as the young upstart he had recently discomfitted, the Earl easily outshone every man in
the club. His commanding height aside— and he towered over the assembly by a good six inches— Griff
Forteyn was an arresting devil with his shining dark eyes and ebony hair, which in defiance of
alamodality, he never wore powdered. His formidable nose, beaked like the eagle-head of the griffon on
his family's coat of arms, was well balanced by a powerful, thrusting chin and a fine high forehead. In
truth, Hilary thought, Griff would be a stunningly attractive man if ever he permitted a smile to warm those
iron-grim features.

As the two men strolled along St. James' Street toward the Earl's carriage, Hilary asked, "Were you
trying to provoke a challenge from that cockerel, Griff? He's not worthy of your sword."

"Not a hope," sneered the Earl. "Haven't you taken the cub's measure yet? He'll run if given the chance.
Witness how he swallowed my insults at the table. No, I'll have to force him into a corner he can't slip out
of."

Hilary stared hard at his friend. "Why so much heat?"

There was a little silence as the two mounted into Milord's elegant town vehicle. Then, in the darkness,
Forteyn's voice took on a diabolic note as he said, "Because he cumbers the earth. Because he has dared
to raise his eyes to my sister." The cruel voice softened into mockery as he finished, "But mostly because
he cannot play Pharo."

Hilary barked a laugh. "You are a cold-blooded devil, Griff. I really believe you'd kill the fellow."

"Let him beware of crossing me," answered the Earl. "I think I shall drop a hint at White's that he be
refused when next he offers himself."

Shaking his head, Hilary commented, "Vindictive devil, ain't you, as well as cold-blooded? If you've
taken against him, he'd as well go back to his rustic domicile and forget the Metropolis."

"Much the best course for him to pursue," agreed Milord, who seemed in brighter spirits. "Now may we
drop the subject of this exceedingly unpleasant youth and talk of something sensible? Otherwise I shall
refuse to listen to you."

Sir Hilary grunted a laugh and maintained silence as the Earl's carriage wended its stately way to Milady
Dorkington's mansion in Portman Square.

Chapter 3

EDMOND CONNINGE HAD been able to restore his shattered equanimity during his ride (in a hired
hack) to the Dorkington residence. He was prepared to present his usual smiling countenance to his
hostess and his fellow guests, especially the Lady Isolda Forteyn, that dazzling little minx who was setting
London's Beau Monde on their ears. Everyone in that exclusive little world had observed his determined
pursuit, and the heiress's marked preference for the handsome young provincial. Many a malicious
whisper behind a discreetly lifted fan had assessed the effect of this campaign upon the high-nosed
brother; wagers were being offered as to the youth's chances with the acknowledged coquette.

It had been too much to hope, thought Edmond resentfully, that rumors of the general interest in Lady
Isolda's latest flirt would not get back to her brother. Hence the Earl's insolence and the unsubtle warning
tonight. Edmond's jaw clenched in anger as he recalled Forteyn's cavalier treatment of him in front of the
other men at the table. The youth set his shoulders stubbornly. After tonight the arrogant devil could learn
to hold his sneering tongue, for Edmond had resolved to pop the question, and secure the greatest prize
in the Marriage Mart for himself. Then let the Earl do his worst! For Edmond had discovered that the
Lady Isolda controlled her own fortune— or enough of it to make Edmond easy for the rest of his life!

Supported by such thoughts, the beautiful youth strode up the steps of the Dorkington Town House
with a flourish, and handed his tricorne to one of the waiting footmen.

The lady he sought was to be found, as usual, at the center of a group of elegant courtiers, all suing for
her attention and favor. Lady Isolda was looking her best tonight: curls cascaded from the top of her
well-shaped head to rest in charming profusion upon perfumed white shoulders. The brown eyes which
looked out so intimidatingly from her brother's dark face by turns sparkled and languished in her piquant
countenance. Her gown of gold tissue was a trifle daring even for the taste of her glittering coterie, and
masculine eyes lingered upon the unusual expanse of white skin which was presented to their gaze.

Edmond made his way through the group with the authority of a preferred suitor. In a moment he was

bowing his neatly powdered head above one white, heavily bejeweled hand, murmuring his excuses for
being late in paying his respects to his lady.

Isolda received him with a demure smile and a sparkling glance from her brown eyes. As the musicians
were just striking up, Edmond claimed her for the cotillion in spite of the strident protests of at least three
other gentlemen, each of whom claimed the lady had indeed promised him this dance.

Isolda smiled sweetly at them all. "But you must see how it is, I am sure! When Apollo summons—"

"Circe must needs obey?" taunted one of the losers.

When they were treading the first measure, Edmond said pettishly, "What was all that about Apollo and
Ceecee?"

Isolda reached up and patted his cheek. "I called you the Sun God, and Darcy called me an
enchantress. It's mythology, silly."

"Thank God I have never addled my wits with bookish nonsense," retorted her partner.

"What wits, darling Edmond?" teased the lady. "Oh, don't pucker up!" as Edmond frowned. "That is
one of the reasons I prefer you to Kilgow, and even Darcy. They are so damned scholarly in their
compliments that a woman feels like a rare volume or a statue from Classical Greece rather than a living
female when they pay her court!" She gave him her naughty smile. "Whereas you, my beautiful Edmond,
my simple, carnal-minded, passionate youth—"

But Edmond was still frowning. "Your brother hates me."

"But of course," agreed Lady Isolda. "He is afraid I shall marry you and escape his grim guardianship!"

"And shall you, my adorable vixen?" pleaded Edmond, happy that the necessary subject had been
brought up so quickly and smoothly into the conversation. These dances were not endless, although at
times they seemed so. Unfortunately the exigencies of the cotillion required them to part briefly at this
crucial moment, and Edmond had all he could do to maintain a civil expression. Shortly, however, the
partners were reunited, and Edmond donned a look of brooding passion which he had carefully practiced
in front of his shaving mirror. He caught her slender body close to his.

"Say you will marry me, adored Isolda! We should deal so comfortably together!" He bent his
handsome head and placed his beautifully cut lips against hers in an awkward kiss.

"Fie, sir!" sparkled the girl. "You presume— in front of company!"

"But not when we are alone, my angel? Let us go away from them all and settle our affairs in a quiet
spot!"

It appeared that Milady was not averse to a more private encounter, for she smiled coquettishly up at
Edmond and nodded slightly. Needing no further encouragement, the youth led her off the dance floor, to
the obvious interest or displeasure of the others in their set. Eyes gleaming with excitement, Isolda made a
great play of animated chatter with her companion, thus effectively fending off greetings or strictures from
the row of chaperones. She led the way along a corridor to a small room. Once inside, she waited for
Edmond to shut the door.

The youth might have wondered at her knowledge of so cozy a retreat had he not been much
concerned with winning her promise to marry him before her bully of a brother wrecked all. Absorbed in
this scheme, Edmond closed upon the girl quickly and took her luscious little body into his arms. Putting
on his most seductive grin, the one which had been so successful with every farmer's daughter within
miles of Conninge Court, he coaxed softly, "Isolda, my adored one! Say you'll marry me this minute, or I
shall be forced to take measures!"

"What measures?" queried the lady with great interest.

Since Edmond hadn't, actually thought of any, having a dearth of creative imagination, he behaved
normally and rushed his fences. Taking the lovely girl into a closer embrace, he kissed her heartily.

"Mmmmm!" murmured Lady Isolda, "I like that measure! Do it again!"

Edmond did so, this time with rather less enthusiasm. Bother the girl! Why couldn't she just say yes and
get the business over with? Then, to his surprise and anger, Isolda pushed him away.

"Not good enough, Mr. Conninge! You may look like Apollo, but you kiss like my cousin Juline, who
seems always to be thinking of her maquillage and her coiffure rather than the person she's kissing."

Edmond dropped his arms, feeling affronted. "I don't wear face paint," he explained stiffly. "I've met a
few elderly noblemen who do, but it is an outdated fashion for a man—"

"Stupid as well," pronounced the lady a little scornfully. "I should have heeded Griff. He told me you'd
no love for anyone but yourself, but you're such a pretty little man that I just had to try you out."

Edmond's quick temper flared. "I am not stupid! Can you deny that you have been throwing out lures to
me this last fortnight?"

"Stupid," confirmed the girl, with a mocking laugh. "Now suppose you escort me back to the ballroom.
I've promised the next dance to Lord Darcy."

"I'm damned if I will," snapped Edmond, his self-complacence badly ruffled. "I'll kiss you again, and
then you will stop this silly coquetting and agree to marry me."

"I shall?" mocked the girl, slipping past him toward the door. "You begin to weary me, pretty fortune
hunter!"

Edmond saw red. He leaped after the girl, seized her shoulders, and whirled her to face him. "Bitch!" he
spat, glaring into her bright, scornful eyes. Jerking her closer to him, he thrust his mouth down on hers in a
punishing kiss. At first she seemed to be enjoying the unaccustomed roughness of the contact, then her
gaze went past his shoulder and widened, and she stiffened in his arms. He clasped her harder, forcing his
mouth against her lips.

The next thing he knew, an iron clamp had fastened on his shoulder and he was pulled back with such
force that he staggered and fell against a table. Unfortunately, he had automatically clung tighter to the girl
in his arms, and he brought her down with him, squawking and writhing, first against the table and then to
the floor.

Lady Isolda was up first. "He attacked me!" she cried shrilly. "I had ordered him to take me back to the
ballroom! I told him I did not want—"

A very cold voice cut through her protests. "Hilary, take my sister back to the ballroom. You," he
addressed the girl, "stay there until the Ball is over. Hastings will bring you home."

Isolda's eyes widened and her face paled at the condemnation in her brother's dark countenance.
Arrogant misanthrope though she knew him to be, not so much hating as despising other men, she had
never seen so terrible an anger in her brother's face. She bent wordlessly before it, a reed in the wind,
and preceded Hilary through the door. Milord closed it firmly behind them.

Edmond stared up at the Earl, his beautiful face strained and frightened. "I was— I was asking your
sister to marry me—"

"Enough!" There was no trace of mercy in the Earl's expression. "You were warned. Now I shall deal
with your insolent presumption as I should have done earlier. Have you any friends who would be willing
to act as your seconds? Send them to me at Havard House tonight."

Ignoring Edmond's gasp of protest, the Earl went on inexorably, "Since you are the challenged, you may

name your weapon."

"I cannot— I will not fight you!" cried Edmond. "I did not insult your sister. I was only urging her to
marry me— and she has been leading me on! Anyone will tell you that—"

"You call what you were doing 'asking her to marry you'? Marry you?" the Earl repeated. "Is that not
an insult? A cheap little fortune hunter daring to raise his eyes to a Forteyn!"

"My family is not noble, but it is respected in Devonshire," protested Edmond wildly.

Milord laughed once, a sharp sound, and the younger man was forced to accept the futility of further
protest.

"Yes," the Earl's smile was a satanic grimace, "you do well to be silent. You should have bolted for your
rustic midden when you had the chance."

The door opened and a modish couple, as well aware of the possibilities of the small room as Lady
Isolda had been, came laughing in. Upon seeing the Earl and Edmond, they checked; the girl tittered, but
the man, reading Milord's thunderous scowl correctly, apologized and backed out, drawing his partner
with him. At once the Earl controlled his fury. This insult to his House must not become fodder for the
tattlemongers. He took Edmond's arm in a grip of iron and steered him toward the door.

"We shall leave now," he said in such a quiet voice that the youth stared at him in surprise. He found
himself swept out to the wide entrance hall with Milord, and accepting his hat from a footman, almost in a
daze.

"Our hostess—" he protested, with some idea of seeking safety from this quiet devil in the populous
ballroom.

Milord's savage grin doomed that possibility.

"As you can see, Lady Dorkington has long abandoned her post at the head of the stairs. I think she will
not be offended that the quite unimportant Mr. Edmond Conninge does not seek her out to take formal
leave of her."

Ignoring the staring footmen, he pushed the now-shaking youth out of the front door.

"Perhaps I expect too much of you, Conninge. You have not formed any real friendships in town, have
you? Shall we dispense with the seconds?"

Blind, unreasoning relief flooded along Edmond's nerves and muscles like a warm tide. Forgotten were
petulance, anger, even pride. Could this be reprieve?

"Oh, yes!" he stammered with a nervous smile. "Let us do so!"

"I was sure you would agree," said the Earl with a mirthless grin. "I too do not wish to advertise the
matter. We two shall meet at 6 A.M. in the fields outside town. Go north on Green Lane past Bilson's
Farm. I shall await you in the field off Love Lane— so appropriate for our business, don't you agree?"

He is amusing himself at my expense! thought Edmond, but his fear was too deep to permit of anger.

"This is playacting!" he shrilled. "Of course I shall not meet you!"

"No?" The mocking devil was enjoying Edmond's obvious fear. "That is, naturally, your privilege. As it
shall be mine to expose you for the craven lickspittle you are. I shall slap your face in public every time
we meet." His smile was nasty. "I must charge my valet to make sure I have my gloves with me when I go
out. One would not wish to soil one's hands upon such filth as you."

Fury rose and crashed through the bonds which fear had set upon Edmond's will. His own hand struck
out and connected with the sneering devil's face. Then, meeting the smile of icy satisfaction, Edmond
stepped back, appalled at what he had done.

"Excellent!" said Milord. "I am now the injured party and can name the weapons. Swords, I think. At
Love Lane tomorrow morning. Six o'clock. Be there." He got into his own carriage, leaving Edmond
shaking with reaction upon the flagstones.

The full enormity of his situation was now being borne in upon the wretched youth. The Earl of Havard,
Edmond knew, was widely accepted as the most dangerous man in London. Winner of half-a-dozen
duels, in which he had only once been forced to kill his opponent (a man who had blatantly forced the
affair upon him), he was a bad man for either sex to tangle with. In the days before he acceded to the
title, he had been known as the vicious Viscount— but not within his hearing. Still, there were plenty who
gossiped about the Earl. That he was also known as a loyal if domineering friend to those few he deemed
worthy of his trust seemed only to exacerbate the resentment caused by his attitude of bone-deep
arrogance which he maintained toward everyone else.

Edmond knew he was no match for this feudal seigneur. As he stumbled along the street looking for a
hackney, he cursed his luck in being caught out before he could convince— or compromise— that little
cheat he had hoped to make his wife. Now, he thought in a panic of fear, he would be fortunate to
escape with his life. That icy black devil was going to kill him tomorrow morning at six o'clock!

Chapter 4

WHEN EDMOND FINALLY stumbled into his lodgings, he was a trembling wreck of a man. Alison,
being unable to sleep until she had learned the outcome of his efforts to secure Lady Isolda's hand in
marriage, was sitting over the embers of the, small fire they permitted themselves. One glance at her
brother's face prepared her for disaster.

"She refused you? But perhaps another girl might—"

"He intends to kill me," said Edmond clearly.

It took Alison ten minutes to get the story of the debacle from her brother. Finally she said, not too
positively, "He is only trying to frighten you away from his sister."

"Don't be a damned fool!" shrilled her brother. "Haven't you heard what I've been saying? He is going
to run me through in six hours!"

"I shall inform Bow Street. Surely dueling is against the law?"

"Much good that thought will do me when I am lying dead in Love Lane!" snarled Edmond.

An irresistible and quite spontaneous sense of the absurd quirked the corners of Alison's lips. Her
brother eyed her with a dislike approaching hatred. "You are amused at the idea of my death?"

"Of course not! I am confident the Earl is merely seeking to frighten you away— perhaps even teach
you a lesson—"

It was the wrong thing to say.

Edmond rose from the couch on which he had thrown himself and stood over her, shaking with rage.
"Well, dear sister, I do not intend to wait to find out if your knowledgeable judgment happens to be
correct! I am getting out of here right now— and to hell with it!"

"You're going home? But if you are right, and the Earl is serious, will he not seek you out there?"

"I am not going home. I'll take what money we have left in your precious little cash box, and your
trinkets, and lie low for a while. As soon as the bitch's marriage to someone else is announced, I'll go

home. Or perhaps I'll try Bath," he added with a more hopeful expression. "There are other heiresses less
famous and spoiled than Havard's slut of a sister."

"But what will I tell Father?" protested Alison.

"Oh, you can spin him some tale to fob him off till I come about," said Edmond, in better humor since he
had discovered a way out of his predicament. "Tell him I'm following a charming heiress to Bath."

The girl looked at the handsome, self-indulgent face of her twin. "You do not mind refusing the Earl's
challenge?"

"Only a fool would accept it." It was clear that Edmond had twisted the situation to fit his own picture of
himself. God knew she did not wish to see him embroiled in a duel! Still, she could not actually bring
herself to believe that a nobleman would chance killing someone in this enlightened age. Most probably
he was giving the young man a scare, teaching him a lesson. It would not come to actual bloodletting! If
Edmond refused to meet the challenge, however, Alison was sure the Earl would spread the story around
London. If that happened, her brother was finished in that Beau Monde he was so desirous of entering.
Even in Bath, he could not escape the stigma of cowardice. What would that do to his chances of
winning a bride?

Alison kneaded her aching temples. What was the best thing for Edmond to do? How should she advise
him? She spoke slowly. "If you run away, the Earl is sure to spread the story throughout Society. Your
honor is involved."

"And his sister's," retorted Edmond. "I could threaten to spread the tale of her lecherous behavior
through the Ton ... I wish I'd thought to put that flea in his ear when he was challenging me." He gnawed
at his lip. "No, it won't do! If I said that to him tomorrow, he'd kill me to prevent me talking."

Alison stared at Edmond in horror. It seemed to her that she had never really seen her brother before.
Under that young, handsome exterior was a vicious, spoiled boy who took no thought for anyone but
himself. She made one final effort.

"Meet with the Earl tomorrow. Tell him you are leaving London, and will not see his sister again. Surely
that should satisfy him." At his open sneer, she went on, low-voiced, "You will finish yourself in Society if
you run."

"The Earl will finish me if I don't."

"Shall I meet with him and explain— our decision?"

"You? Why should he listen to you? He will ignore you— cut you dead if you try to buttonhole him with
some stupid whining tale." He walked toward his bedroom. "Get me the rest of the money and your
trinkets."

"You mean the ring and necklace Mother left to me? My dowry?" Alison asked, incredulously.

Edmond did not even have the grace to look ashamed. "Since my life depends upon it, I shouldn't think
Mamma would object," he pronounced. "You may keep enough of the money to purchase your ticket
home upon the stage," he added generously.

Within an hour he had packed all his new clothes with the exception of the gold brocade he had worn
that night. "Havard might try to trace me by it," he told Alison. Then, looking very sharp in a bottle-green
riding coat and beige buckskins, with the new riding boots Alison had painstakingly polished gleaming on
his feet and his golden head brushed free of powder, he went out into the streets. After only a quarter of
an hour he had secured the services of a beef-faced hackney coachman returning empty from depositing
a family party. Alison had the doubtful pleasure of seeing her brother set off, very pleased with his
contriving, with just four hours to go before the Earl's deadly appointment.

She moved away from the window and seated herself as stiffly as the old woman Edmond had named
her in her chair by the dead fire. For a long time she sat there, staring blindly at the ashes. Finally a look
of resolution tightened her features. She rose swiftly and went into the bedroom her brother had used.
His discarded suit lay on the bed, his underclothing, shoes, and hose scattered on the floor where he had
flung them. Slowly picking them up, Alison held them in her hands, considering. Then she tightened her
lips and began to undress.

Half an hour later, settling the powdered wig Edmond had bought and then discarded over her own
tucked-up hair, Alison faced her brother's image in the mirror. It astonished her to perceive how much
alike they actually were. The moon-gold hair which had distinguished her from her golden-haired brother
being concealed, the resemblance was unbelievable. Edmond's breeches were a shade tight on her hips,
but his coat, which he had ordered cut so close she had had to ease him into it, was comfortable on her
shoulders, while the heavy fall of the lace jabot at her throat served to conceal the fullness of her breasts.

She extinguished the candles she had set out to light her work. Moving out into the sitting room, she put
on the tricorne with the trim of lace which matched her jabot. She locked the outer door behind her,
wondering dully if she would ever be back to unlock it. Then she set out to walk the dark streets to the
nearest hackney stand.

Dawn was just breaking, pink and gold through the city's smokey haze, as the hired hack moved slowly
along Love Lane. On either side stretched acres of hay stubble, broken by random groups of trees and
sodden meadows. A dull place for dying, Alison thought wryly. For she had just seen a huge black coach
drawn up under an oak tree near the road.

"Stop here, driver," she called. "Can you wait for me? I shall not be long." I hope, she added in her

mind.

The driver was suspicious of this dawn tryst. "Wot's ter do?" he demanded, pulling up by the side of the
road. "It ain't a dool, is it?"

Alison got down and stood looking at him, her small face white and austerely beautiful in spite of the
dark shadows beneath the amber eyes. The driver was a virile and uncomplicated man with no notion of
the intricacies of attire prescribed for fashionable males. He saw beyond the brocaded coat to the slender
shoulders beneath it. The soft fall of fine lace at his fare's throat was, to his uncompromising gaze, a very
feminine adornment; the shapely legs in the tight satin breeches did not put him in mind even faintly of a
man's sturdy thighs and brawny calves.

"What's a young leddy doin' out 'ere so early?" the driver asked a trifle censoriously. He peered across
the field at the black coach in time to see the Earl step down from it. "Ar! I gets it! Meetin' yer fancy
man, be ye? Well, I've no mind to wait 'ere all day! Better gi' me my money now. Like enough he'll see
ye back to City when he's ready." What would the Quality be up to next, with their playacting and their
revels? he thought disapprovingly.

Wordlessly the girl handed him the agreed-upon fare. This too-perceptive driver must not be permitted
to speak to the Earl's servants lest he reveal the hoax. Alison had made up her mind to masquerade as
her twin not only to conceal Edmond's lack of courage, but to get an opportunity to appeal to the Earl's
sense of justice. She must do this in the person of Edmond. It was to be hoped the Earl would be less
perceptive than the hackney coachman.

The hack reversed smartly and rattled back along the road to London, and Alison picked her way
across the field toward the black coach. When she approached the trees under which it stood, she halted
and raised her eyes to the rough terrain. In the increasing light she was able to make out the man who
stood waiting for her. Her breath caught in her throat. Suddenly, at sight of that huge, solid figure, she
understood Edmond's fear— and is bitterness and anger and envy. The powerful face of a man who
would neither give nor ask for quarter. From this man, the girl realized, she could not expect mercy or
compassion. Justice would be done, but it would be the Earl's justice, and from his judgment there would
be no appeal. Now at last Alison understood Edmond's terror. Then, as she noticed the Earl's glance
flick contemptuously over her person, she rallied her forces.

"Good morning, Milord," she said, low-voiced.

He did not bother to return her greeting, but said with studied insolence, "You surprise me, Conninge. I
had not really expected you to show your front."

Alison could think of nothing to reply. The Earl's mockery did not frighten her as much as did the gaze
of those implacable dark eyes.

After a minute he continued, "At Heidelberg University the students have a quaint custom. They inflict
upon one another's faces dueling scars which are thought to give a dashing cachet— a visible sign of
courage. Perhaps we should celebrate your bravery in keeping our appointment by giving you one or two
such honorable scars?" A feral grin did nothing to reassure the girl. Alison was quite prepared to believe
that the Earl would like nothing better than to scar his enemy's handsome face.

At that moment Milord raked a glance over her body.

"Where is your sword, pretty little man? Have you forgotten to bring it?"

"I do not own a sword," Alison confessed, white-faced. Dear God, she thought, how could I have
forgotten that? He'll murder me!

The Earl was indeed favoring her with a particularly savage grin. "No weapon, sirrah? Or did you plan
to do battle with the lance which serves you so well with the ladies?"

At this unbelievably coarse remark, such a tide of red surged into Alison's pale face that she felt the heat
of it. Milord's sharp eyes did not miss the blush. A derisive leer replaced the wolfish grimace.

"Blushing, by God! What sort of niminy-piminy mannequin have we here? I'd like to see Isolda's face
when I tell her her attacker is a blushing virgin!"

Since this struck too close to the bone, Alison hurried to try a diversion. "I have no sword, sir, but if you
could lend me one— or a gun?"

"D'ye think I carry an arsenal about with me, Virgin? What kind of creature are you who comes to a
meeting without weapons?"

Alison squared her shoulders under the golden coat, tawdry now in the increasingly cold light of day.
This confrontation in the virile flesh with the overwhelmingly powerful nobleman was the farthest cry from
her tepid imaginings. Still, her absurd masquerade must be carried to a conclusion. "You must forgive me,
sir, but I forgot."

The Earl gave a shout of incredulous laughter. "Forgot— or hoped to wiggle out? How many duels have
you fought, Hero?"

"None," admitted the girl. "To date, that is," she added stoutly. Now she would see if her surmise was
correct, that Milord only sought to teach a green boy a never-to-be-forgotten lesson.

Havard was watching her closely. "What game is this? I warn you, fellow, you'll catch cold trying to
gammon me." Then, as the slight figure stood silent, great amber eyes steady on his face, Milord
continued fiercely, "Answer when I speak to you, you— thing!"

The girl took a deep, steadying breath. She did not think her brother had much reputation to lose in the
Ton, but certainly his name— her father's name— would be dragged in the mud if it were hinted that
Edmond had fled from a duel. Therefore she must play out the scene as honestly as she could, and pray
she did not die of it!

"Sir," she said, deep-voiced. "Milord, I do not own a sword, nor have I fought a duel. But if you have
an extra weapon, or a gun—"

"Pistol!" corrected the Earl, scornfully.

"Or a pistol," repeated Alison, "I shall try hard to— er— satisfy the demands of honor. But I am afraid
you will have to show me how to operate a— a pistol," she said humbly. "I have not fired one."

"My God!" The Earl was beyond even scornful laughter. "So our little Apollo has no weapons, and
wouldn't know how to use them if he had! Who let you loose to come to London, mooncalf?" Then,
reminded of his grievance, his features hardened into cruelty. "It is obvious that you are not worthy of my
sword, nor do I shoot vermin. I think perhaps a horse-whipping should suit the occasion, and the
company. Take off your coat!"

He waved imperiously toward his coach and a groom ran up. "My riding whip," he ordered. With a
furtive glance at the white-faced youth, the groom ran back and fetched Milord's whip. Another gesture
sent him to the horses' heads again.

Alison looked at the whip with bitter dread.

"You came prepared?" So much for her childish notion of a simple lesson-by-fright.

The big dark man shrugged. "Do not flatter yourself, little man. When I conveyed my sister and her
chaperone to London, I preferred to ride beside the carriage rather than to sit inside listening to their
raptures or complaints. I keep a whip handy." His smile mocked human frailty. "Well, Conninge, have
you any further delaying questions or tactics?"

Alison's eyes were fixed with horrid fascination on the slender whip which the Earl was flexing between
his big hands. Catching the direction of her glance, Milord smiled cruelly.

"D'you want to bend over, young Conninge?"

Knowing how Edmond would have hated being treated as a schoolboy, Alison turned her back to her
opponent, and, locking her arms across her breasts, set her teeth. The first blow across her shoulders
staggered her and drew an involuntary gasp of pain. Further blows followed inexorably. The girl braced
her feet wide to keep her balance. After an interval which seemed endless, Alison felt a betraying
wetness begin to trickle down her back from her shoulders. The Earl was drawing blood! She stifled a
groan, but in spite of her resolve, tears began to flow down her cheeks. The taste of blood in her mouth
warned her she had bitten her lips in an effort to prevent herself from crying out.

For a few moments she did not realize that the whip no longer burned across her back. Could he be
finished? Hastily she wiped away the tears on the soft lace of her jabot.

The Earl's voice, cold and insolent, sounded behind her. "Not a cry for mercy? Not even a groan,
Conninge? That doesn't suit me. I've a fancy to see you grovel. Perhaps a final cut or two across your
pretty face will teach you never to raise your eyes to a lady." When Alison was unable to respond, the
Earl snapped at her, "Damn your eyes! Look at me when I am speaking to you!"

An iron grip fastened on the girl's shoulder, and she was whirled around to face her tormentor.

"Tears?" jeered Milord. "But you didn't plead for mercy, did you? I think for that much manliness, just
one cut across your face will be enough to attest to your courage."

Alison could take no more ... of his mockery, of pain, of fear. Sinking to her knees with a grace of
which she was quite unconscious, the girl stared at the huge figure above her through tear-blinded eyes.

"Milord ... of your charity ... do not cut my face!" The normally gruff voice was high and thin. "I am on
my knees. Will that not suffice?"

The Earl drew a sharp breath. His black eyes narrowed with incredulity. Bending quickly, he pulled her
to her feet and caught her face in a big, hard hand.

"Are you— a female?"

When Alison was unable to answer, he seized the soft lace at her throat and tore it from her neck. This
caused the top buttons of her fine linen shirt to rip off. With a low cry, Alison put her hands across her
breast.

The Earl flung her away from him with an oath. She huddled on the rough ground, shaking with shock
and fright. She clung to the hope that Male Honor was now satisfied, and that the angry nobleman would
go away and leave her to her misery. Instead, the booted feet remained close to her. At length she raised

her eyes to his face. She shuddered away from the expression on it.

"So," whispered the Earl, "our fancy little man is a woman! A slut who frequents men's clubs in
breeches, and listens to the kind of conversation men use when they are not restrained by the presence of
ladies." The word was a blow. His lordship drew in a hissing breath. "What game did you think to play
with my sister, you— you—"

"It was not I, sir!" In the face of this new attack, the girl forced control upon her shaking limbs. She
staggered to her feet. "I am Alison Conninge. Edmond is my twin brother. He was forced to leave the
city today. Our father is very ill. The message came while Edmond was at Lady Dorkington's Ball last
night," she improvised desperately. "Our doctor sent for him—"

"Of course filial duty took precedence over an affair of honor," sneered the Earl. "And did this dutiful
son send his sister to fight his battles? Faugh!" It was an exclamation of disgust. "How long did you intend
your squalid hoax to last? Did you actually hope to go through a marriage ceremony with my sister?"

Alison looked at him with horror. "You cannot believe that I met your sister! I told you— Edmond
courted the Lady Isolda!"

"So, as well as being a coward, you are a liar."

The icy contempt in his voice stung Alison out of the shock which had thrown her into such confusion.
"You cannot have it both ways, Milord! Either I am a coward— in which case I would never have come
to meet you— or a liar, and would surely have worked out a better story than this— which happens to
be the truth!"

"I do not believe there are two human beings who so closely resemble Apollo," mocked his lordship.
"Twin brother! That ploy was stale in Shakespeare's time!"

"Whatever you may think of me, Milord," said Alison, of a sudden weary of the confrontation, "I have
satisfied my brother's debt to the conventions of male society and to you. You have had your blood
payment, sir. May I now be permitted to leave?"

The Earl's narrow smile became satanic. "Oh, but that is just what you have not done, Miss Conninge.
Surely you cannot so soon have forgotten your ill-advised venture in the card room at Boodle's?"

Alison's face paled. Edmond had not mentioned gaming losses. Perhaps he had forgotten them in his
panic. "My brother— lost money to you last night?"

The Earl repeated the phrase scornfully. "Your brother insisted, with his usual brash stupidity, upon

thrusting himself into the company of his betters. He lost one thousand pounds to me."

"One thousand pounds!" breathed Alison in despair. "How could he? We cannot raise a hundredth of
it!"

"Let us end this farce." The Earl spoke harshly. "There was never a brother, only a brazen little
adventuress without morals or scruples. I have punished you for your grotesque charade with my sister.
Now I shall listen to your plan for repaying the debt of honor."

Alison swallowed convulsively to regain her voice. The magnitude of the disaster had reduced her to
shocked numbness. "Sir— Milord—" she faltered, "to give you such a sum would require the sale of our
father's estate in Devonshire. He is a critically ill man—" She could not continue the fiction she had
offered as an excuse for Edmond's flight. At the same time she knew that this latest disaster would put an
unbearable strain on her father's frail health.

The Earl regarded her sardonically. "Still holding to your cock-and-bull story, are you? Very well, then,
you will accept whatever measure of repayment I decide to require of you personally?"

It was more a command than a question, but Alison agreed. "I must do so, must I not? Since my
brother is not present, and my father must not be told of this enormous debt of honor—"

"It offends me to hear that word upon your lips," advised the Earl coldly. His mocking glance raked the
drooping figure in dusty white satin breeches and a torn, blood-stained shirt. He thought: not a
gentleman, obviously; nor a lady, that was equally obvious but not for the same reasons. An
ingenious and enterprising female of the lower orders, without delicacy or scruple. Fair game, in
fact, for anything he wished to propose.

An unholy gleam sparked in his dark eyes and he grinned at the shrinking girl. "Since you cannot repay
me in currency, you shall do so in kind," he decreed.

"In k-kind?" stammered the girl.

"I claim the use of your body until the debt has been discharged to my satisfaction."

"The use—" The Earl could see the idea piercing through the girl's benumbed brain until understanding
shocked her out of her temporary paralysis. Her tawny eyes opened wide and her glance met his in
outrage.

"I would rather die," she said quietly.

The Earl uttered a harsh laugh. "Don't tell me a slut like you has reservations?" he gibed. "As it happens,
I would not soil myself by intercourse with you. I had another sort of service in mind for you— one
appropriate to the course of behavior you have already chosen." He paused provocatively.

"I suppose you will enlighten me in your own good time," Alison said grimly.

The dark eyebrows lifted. "A spark of spirit? Perhaps I did not thrash you hard enough?"

"You did," corrected Alison. Now that she was getting to grips with the situation, she could dredge up
strength from somewhere to deal with it. She was conscious of her back as a fiery agony, but strangely
enough it seemed to give her courage. "What further torment have you in store for me, sir? I am not
strong enough to resist a physical attack from you."

"Are you implying that your sex should afford you protection, madam? Perhaps you should understand
that I have a very low opinion of females— a shallow, greedy, predatory sex, stupid and faithless. And
those, my dear Miss Conninge, are the well-bred ladies! Such women as you are beneath contempt!"

"Then you will wish to rid yourself of my contaminating presence as quickly as possible, will you not?"
asked Alison hopefully.

"On the contrary," the Earl corrected her, "I have decided to use you as my body servant until I
consider your debt paid. You may attend my person whenever I require you," he concluded with a wide
smile.

Alison had regained some of her wonted spirit. "Are you not afraid, Milord, that I may poison your
wine?"

The Earl was surprised into laughter. "But of course I shall require you to taste it first," he mocked.

Alison, unwisely, struck out at her tormentor again. "But surely even a nobleman of your reputation
would not flaunt such a woman as you consider me to be in the face of the Ton?"

The amusement vanished from Milord's face, to be replaced by a look of rage. With a single stride the
man was beside her. Seizing one wrist in a punishing grip, he forced her to her knees.

"Insolence, my dear? Have you not learned your lesson? You will never again use that tone in
speaking to me. Now get into the carriage before my patience ends!" He flung her wrist from him.

Staring up into the dark, saturnine face, trying and failing to hold her own eyes steady under the seething
black glare of his, Alison got awkwardly to her feet.

"Throw your coat over your shoulders," ordered the Earl. "I do not wish the upholstery of my carriage
to be stained with your blood."

Alison obeyed, and stumbling over the rows of stubble, followed Milord as quickly as she was able.

Chapter 5

AS MILORD'S CARRIAGE rolled into London, Alison, sitting on the rear-facing seat, lifted her
drooping head and looked at the man lounging at his ease opposite her. He had not spoken during the
ride from Love Lane, nor acknowledged her presence in any way. Now, however, she found his glance
resting upon Edmond's clothing disparagingly. Meeting her pain-glazed eyes, the Earl said, "Pretty as
your coat is, Conninge, I believe I prefer to have you dressed in my livery. My valet will bring you
whatever you need; supplies of clothing are kept in store for my servants. I have no wish to be shamed
by your appearance when we drop in at White's or Boodle's."

"You are saying that I am to accompany you to such places? But surely someone there will remember
Edmond?"

"Of course," agreed the Earl, his well-cut lips set in a thin, unpleasant smile. "It will please me to have
your former acquaintances observe to what depths you have fallen, Mr. Edmond Conninge." Raising one
large hand to silence her protest, he continued, "It is part of your repayment of your debt that you
continue in your masquerade. I could not flaunt a doxy in a gentlemen's club—"

"You feel it necessary to drag Edmond Conninge there?"

"I desire to display an impudent toady in his proper role— as a lackey among gentlemen."

"Do you not also dishonor thus any who were kind enough to accept my brother?" Alison dared to ask.

"If there were any such, it would shame them more to realize how their courtesy had been abused by
your grotesque masquerade."

Aware of the futility of further argument, Alison shrugged, and then gasped with the pain the gesture
brought to her back and shoulders. She leaned forward, away from the comfortably padded seat-back.

"What do you now? Are you in pain?" inquired the Earl unfeelingly.

"I would not wish to get blood upon your fine covers," the girl said between her teeth.

"I'll have my valet, Griggs, bind up your injuries," said Milord. "He has some skill in patching up minor
wounds."

Alison replied stoutly, "I have nearly two pounds in my pocket. I should like to have a physician attend
my back, lest it fester and render me unfit to work."

The Earl viewed this spark of assertiveness with sardonic amusement. "I see I shall have to keep you on
a tight rein, little filly," he taunted. "But you shall have your medico— unless you would prefer my
services?"

"I have already had a surfeit of those," muttered the girl.

Again the Earl was surprised into a laugh.

Emboldened, Alison asked, "Will not your lordship's household be scandalized by the introduction of a
female as your personal servant?"

"My household knows enough to keep its thoughts to itself," the Earl informed her loftily.

"But they are sure to discover my sex," Alison unconsciously adopted the tone she used toward
Edmond. "You must know how servants gossip! Your reputation will be blown upon!"

"It shall be your concern to see that it is not," Milord informed her, one eyebrow raised in what Alison
privately felt was a devastatingly attractive manner. She gave him a quelling glance and looked away.

At this point the Earl was forced to acknowledge that this amoral creature was beginning to pique his
rather jaded interest. Aside from her remarkable beauty, she had managed, until he broke her with the
threat of a scarred face, to present a facade of dignity under circumstances which might have made a man
quail. There had even been a flavor, in her remark about his reputation, which put Milord strongly in mind
of his own childhood governess. And as the little blagueur was no doubt well aware, those remarkable
eyes were capable of giving a creditable impression of pristine honesty—

The Earl caught himself up sharply. By all the gods, what sort of witchcraft was the bitch capable of?
When everything he knew of her was disreputable, dishonest, vile! Milord hardened his heart.

"Take off that coat and come here beside me," he commanded. As the girl hesitated, he snapped, "Do
as you are told, at once! I would like nothing better than to beat you again, little cheat!"

Hastily Alison struggled out of Edmond's coat and scrambled over to a seat beside the Earl. He pushed
her shoulders forward and surveyed the blood-stained shirt. With one hand he pulled up the tail of it,
exposing her back. Ignoring her gasp of protest, he ran his fingers across the deepest cuts, smearing his
hand with her blood. Then he forced her down to kneel on the floor of the coach between his knees.
There was a grim smile on his face as he noted her outraged expression.

"I am establishing our relationship," he told her. "You are a lawless little wretch, without conscience or
decorum, as your behavior has clearly demonstrated. Still, I believe I have found a way to control you."
He forced both her hands between his big ones. "My family is a very old one. My ancestor came over
with William the tanner's grandson from Normandy, where Forteyn was an older name than his liege
lord's. After the Conquest, he claimed feudal rights in this country, and we have never been flouted or
even challenged by any succeeding monarchies. I now propose to seal you by blood oath to serve me as
my vassal. You will be my liegewoman, on pain of death, for your lifetime, or until I tire of you and set
you free."

"This is barbarous medievalism!" began the girl, in a fury of disbelief. "Besides being quite illegal!"

"I assure you, little rogue, that women of much greater desirability than you are being bought and sold
today in London by panderers for a fifth of the sum you owe me."

"It is despicable to traffic in human flesh— and souls," cried the girl.

"I should not have to remind such a little moralist as yourself that paying one's debts is also considered
honorable," said Lord Havard with heavy sarcasm. "Have you the money or means to discharge your
debt?"

"It was Edmond's debt! He will not permit such a degrading thing to happen to his sister!" Alison argued
desperately, as much to convince herself as the Earl.

"Can you produce an Edmond? Can he produce the money?" challenged Milord, his eyes hard on her
face.

Alison's teeth savaged her soft pink lower lip, and her hands clenched until the knuckles showed white.
She had no way of discovering where Edmond had gone, no way of reaching him with a message, and in
truth no real belief that he would, or even could, raise the sum of one thousand pounds to save her. As
for taking her place as Milord's servant—

The Earl had lost patience. "Your lies and evasions begin to weary me," he said. "There is no brother

Edmond. Do you repudiate your debt of honor, Conninge?"

The girl's tawny eyes fell before the contempt in his face.

"I swear to you I shall try to pay it," she offered in a small voice, trying to slip her hands from his grip.

"But of course you have no money now, and no way of getting any. Very well, we shall do this my way.
With your hands in mine, sealed with your blood—" and he displayed his broad palm on which was a
smear of reddish brown, "— you will make an oath of allegiance."

Alison allowed her hands to rest in his. He gripped them painfully tight. He began to speak, and the girl
repeated the oath, phrase by phrase, as he spoke it.

"I pledge my body ... to the service and support ... of the Lord Griffin Miles Victor Forteyn, Earl of
Havard ... to be his vassal and liegewoman ... until I die or he frees me.... In return, the Lord Havard will
forgive my debt ... and provide me protection, food, and shelter ... and this do I swear, upon my life and
honor," Alison finished, her amber eyes firmly on his dark countenance.

Milord released her hands so abruptly that she lost balance and had to catch at his knees to steady
herself as the coach jolted over the cobblestones.

His expression was withdrawn and brooding. "You have proven yourself a cheat and a liar, but at least
you are not a coward, Edmond," he began.

"Must you call me by that name? I am Alison," said the girl wearily. All the fears, the physical and
mental agonies of the last two days, seemed to be weighing on her, sapping her body of strength and her
mind of resolution. If only this ordeal were over— if only she could lie down somewhere— rest ... But
her liege lord was still talking.

"I shall call you Conninge," was his response to her appeal. "At least you lay claim to that name, do you
not? A fitting one, in truth, since you are a cunning, cozening jade! Now get back to your seat and put
your coat on. We shall soon arrive at Havard House, and I would not wish to diminish my consequence
by appearing with a rag-tailed servant."

He was laughing at her, playing with her as he had done since they met, Alison realized. What kind of
devil had she committed herself to? Alison was suddenly deathly afraid of this situation she had so
recklessly thrust herself into. It was one thing to sit alone by a dead fire and plot a stratagem to save her
brother's honor; at that time, all the actors in the drama had been figments of her imagination, bloodless,
manageable. Seated in the Earl's sumptuous carriage, facing that huge, virile body, that dark satanic
power, she knew she was being swept into a world where she had neither authority nor control.

But what else could she have done, she wailed silently. Where was the moment in the night's events
when she could have done other than she had? She raised a haggard countenance to meet the mocking
challenge of Milord's dark eyes.

"Having second thoughts, young Conninge? I warn you, it is too late!"

Too late. The words were the death knell of hope.

The Earl's arrival at his Town House was attended by the utmost in formal observance. It was plain that
Milord kept his state jealously. The presence of a new servant was not openly remarked. When the
formalities of welcoming the Master had been duly performed and accepted, Milord said to his butler,
"My new body servant, Conninge, has been— ah— wounded in my service, Pomfret. Have him taken to
my dressing room. Then bring Griggs to me. I shall be in my study."

Alison found herself led to a luxurious room in which two walls were lined with closets and chests
obviously containing Milord's wardrobe. There was also a comfortable couch in rich cordovan leather,
onto which she sank gratefully. The young footman who had been delegated to escort her gave her a
sympathetic if curious glance. "Ye do look all at sixes and sevens, cocky, for sure! Shall I bring ye a
drink? His lordship's like to be an age with ole Pomfret and Griggs."

Alison found her voice— the deep tones she must remember to use if she wished to maintain the
necessary deception. "Thank you, I should be grateful for anything. I have had no breakfast."

"I'd better bring it to ye here," the footman decided, "since it's here his lordship told us to put ye. My
name's Jim," he added, holding out his hand with a smile. As Alison shook it gravely, he scanned her
face. "Wounded, are ye? Yer pale as a ghost. Look as though ye'd been through the grinder. Yer fancy
coat's a wreck and them breeches is dirty. Wot's to do, cocky?"

"I'm Conninge, Jim, and I'd be grateful for a drink. I'm about at the end of my tether," she explained
apologetically.

Jim gave the white-faced, trembling youth a shrewd glance and then said briskly, "One drink," and
strode out of the room.

Alison leaned back on the couch, too weak with pain to care whether her blood soaked through
Edmond's coat or even onto Milord's elegant furniture. She was in a half daze when Jim returned, bearing
a small tin tray on which rested a glass of some colorless liquid and a thick crust of bread.

"Get this down quick, Conninge. I saw Griggs comin' out of his lordship's study."

Alison sat up and took the bread in both hands. Her mouth was dry, but as she bit and chewed, the
delicious taste of the fresh-baked bread brought a flow of moisture. She finished the slice quickly. Jim
handed her the glass with a laugh.

"Now wash it down wi' this and ye'll be ready to take on the Devil hisself."

"It is to be hoped that you are right," came the cool, hateful voice from the bedroom doorway, "for
young Conninge has much ahead of— him."

Jim turned so quickly that he almost dropped the tray. "Yer pardon, Milord! I was told to bring—"

Startled, Alison had gulped down a larger mouthful of the colorless fluid than she had planned: it set her
to gasping and coughing. "What is this brew?" she wheezed.

"Mother's ruin," stammered Jim, his face beet red with embarrassment.

Milord laughed.

Jim took the glass Alison was holding out and slipped from the dressing room into the hallway with a
haste which drew another laugh from Milord. Almost against her will, the girl chuckled at that precipitate
retreat. Milord was watching her with an expression which startled her.

"Up to your doxy's tricks already? I advise you not to seduce my servants, or your name will become
as much a byword among the lower orders as it is now in the Ton."

"I was not trying to— to seduce Jim! He saw that I was nearly fordone, and brought me bread and—
and that awful drink to restore me! Can you not credit anyone with simple human compassion?"

Milord ignored this outburst, turning to a man who had just entered the dressing room, a shocked
expression upon his face.

"Griggs, this object in the dilapidated finery is my new body servant, Conninge. See to it that he is
dressed in my livery, and is presentable at all times."

"Yes, Milord." The older man's face was a mask of disapproval as he surveyed the limp body on the
couch. "He'll need schooling, Milord."

The Earl nodded. "I intend to see that he gets it."

He watched as his valet stepped over to the couch on which Alison, now apprehensive, was perched
upright.

"Don't you know enough to rise when your betters enter the room?" Bending, Griggs seized Alison's
shoulder and hauled her to her feet.

The girl tried to stifle her cry of pain, but both men heard it. The Earl assessed the quickly controlled
grimace on the pallid lips.

"Have you sent for Dr. Foster? I was compelled to punish Conninge for a piece of insolence this
morning. You'd better take off his coat."

Frowning, Griggs helped Alison off with the brocaded garment, for her own efforts were fumbling and
ineffective. As he pulled the garment away, the valet's eyes widened at the bloody wreck of the shirt, and
his glance flickered to Milord's impassive countenance.

"What shall I do with this?" Griggs held out the coat.

"Throw it away," said Milord. "Then bring suitable clothing from Pomfret's stock. He will have
something to fit Conninge among the spare liveries. Take Conninge's shoes for size. And get Foster up
here as soon as he arrives."

When Griggs had departed, the Earl turned to the ashen-faced girl. "Courage, young Conninge!" he
mocked. "The doctor will bind up your wounds and no doubt give you something to help you bear the
pain. You see how civilized we are in this century! I have no doubt my ancestors would have had a
recalcitrant servant thrown into the dungeon until he begged to be forgiven!"

Alison ignored this levity. "How do you intend to explain to the doctor that your body servant is a
female?"

Milord strode over and pulled her to her feet. "It would seem that you have not learned your lesson," he
said grimly. "Shall I give you something to remind you?"

"I doubt you could find a strip of my back which is not already bruised or bleeding," gasped Alison, and
fainted at his feet.

With an oath, Milord picked her up, and, carrying her into his bedroom, put her down onto his bed. He

stripped off the blood-stained shirt. Observing the small proud breasts a familiar heat began to burn in his
loins, and he disciplined his thoughts with a feeling of self-disgust. As he turned her facedown, he
dislodged her powdered wig, and her mass of silken hair fell over her shoulders. A thick strand clung to
his wrist. He shook it off as though it were unclean, then considered the mass grimly. Its shining beauty
quite transformed the austere little face, giving it a soft, feminine beauty. The Earl went back into his
dressing room, found a pair of scissors, and returned to Alison. Seizing a handful of hair, he cut it close to
her head. Rapidly one lock after another fell before the onslaught.

Milord had seldom in his well-served life been required to pick up after himself, but this was an
emergency. If his credit was not to be undermined in his own household, or his name blackened in the
Beau Monde, as Alison had warned, by the inevitable spread of backstairs gossip, it must not be
suspected that Milord's new body servant was female. Noblemen were allowed a remarkable degree of
license in this licentious age, but there was a line drawn between maintaining a mistress in a comfortable
bower, or even visiting a house of ill fame, and keeping a woman in one's own home. Therefore the Earl
painstakingly gathered up the shining strands of the girl's hair and carried them to a lacquered cabinet
between two windows. The top drawer had a small lock with a key. Opening the drawer, Milord
dumped Alison's hair inside. Several strands clung to his fingers as if magnetized. Smothering an oath, the
Earl brushed them off and locked the drawer.

Strolling back to the bed, he tousled the shorn mop and was obscurely pleased to see it fall into soft
curls. Then Milord stared at the torn, bruised flesh of the girl's back. A couple of those cuts might leave
permanent scars unless Foster were very careful.

"The doxy deserves whatever she gets," he told himself. "Still, I would not wish my property damaged
unnecessarily." He found himself thankful that Foster was a supremely skillful professional man, as well as
a trustworthy and closemouthed one.

Chapter 6

ALISON RETURNED TO consciousness just as Dr. Foster was completing the bandaging of her
back. She met his concerned glance with a small, gallant smile.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Then her eyes involuntarily searched the room for the Earl's massive figure. He was lounging by one
window, his elbow resting on a lacquered cabinet, watching her through narrowed eyelids.

"The wounds will heal quickly?" he inquired.

"The— ah— subject seems healthy enough," replied Dr. Foster, "but there may be one or two scars. It
was a savage beating."

"Quite warranted, I assure you," said the Earl crisply.

Dr. Foster lifted an eyebrow but forbore further comment. When he had gone, the Earl strolled over to
the bed and indicated two white pills and a glass of water on a tray.

"Swallow these. Then you may wait for your new clothing in my dressing room." He threw one of his
own linen shirts to her. "Cover yourself with this in the meantime." Then, as she still stared at him, her
great amber eyes bemused, he said sharply, "Unless you prefer to stay here in my bed?"

This taunt had Alison up off the bed as though it were afire. The Earl's sardonic grin acknowledged her
panic-stricken response.

"I have had a cot set up in the dressing room for you. I do not wish you to share a room with Jim or any
of the other servants— no matter how appealing such a situation might be to you," he added, and grinned
to see the sudden flush of anger which brightened her pale cheeks. "Get in there at once," he ordered
abruptly. He followed her slightly unsteady progress into the room and, seeing the small cot already in
place, waved her toward it. "Lie down and rest until your livery comes. I shall be going to Boodle's after
dinner this evening, and shall require you to attend me."

The Earl turned and left the room, closing the door after him. Thankfully Alison sank onto the cot,
finding its rather spartan comfort heavenly to her aching body. Pulling the sheet over her, she was asleep
within a moment, and did not waken when Griggs brought the somber black livery. It was relieved only
by a white stock and heavy silver buttons bearing a stylized griffon. Griggs laid the livery down, with
underclothing and stockings, and a pair of neat, black shoes. After a long, considering look at the slight
figure on the cot, he passed through into Milord's bedroom.

There he found his master staring moodily at the lacquered cabinet. "Am I to rouse Conninge now, sir?"

"No, let him sleep. He'll need all the strength he's got, to face tonight's entertainment. I intend to
introduce Mr. Edmond Conninge at Boodle's as my body servant. The jumped-up mushroom has
vaunted himself as a Tulip of the Ton, point device, as that ridiculous brocade coat testifies. We shall see
how well he carries off the livery appropriate to the station to which I have relegated him."

"There's a mouthful," muttered Griggs, taking the liberty of an old and devoted servant. "You are a
vengeful devil, sir."

Accepting the fact that his valet knew as much about Milord's affairs as Milord himself, the Earl agreed
complacently to Griggs' accusation. "Yes, I am, as young Conninge will discover. Meanwhile, let him
sleep until there is just time enough for him to dress. And don't help him! He must learn to care for
himself."

"What if he's not able?" asked Griggs. "That must have been a cruel thrashing you gave him, sir."

"Are you suggesting I should temper the wind to the— er— shorn lamb, and postpone my visit to
Boodle's until tomorrow night?"

"He may not be able to stay on his feet tonight," said Griggs sourly.

"He deserved to be thrashed twice as hard," said the Earl with finality. "Get him ready to accompany
me, and warn him that another beating will be the penalty for disobedience. I shall begin as I mean to go
on."

"Pore wretch," said Griggs irrepressibly.

"Save your sympathy," he was advised. "Have you got my black velvet coat ready?"

"Very handsome, too," said Griggs with enthusiasm. "Funny how plain black and white can look so
elegant when it's a velvet coat with white satin breeches and a white and silver brocade waistcoat!"

"Does your discerning eye note a subtle distinction between my black-and-white and Conninge's?"

"He'll look neat but not gaudy," judged the valet. "Quite put in the shade by your lordship, for all he's
such a pretty little man."

Although every movement caused a twinge of agony in her back, Alison dressed herself in the servant's
clothing later that evening. At first, roused by the taciturn Griggs, she had feared she might not be able to
rise and clothe herself, but pride and grim determination came to her aid. She knocked at Milord's
bedroom door as the clocks were striking ten.

The Earl's somber magnificence struck her momentarily dumb. Correctly interpreting the admiration she
tried to disguise, he said, "Griggs believes that you will be put quite in the shade by my state, young
Conninge. 'Neat but not gaudy' was how he described your appearance." When she did not rise to the
bait, he asked abruptly, "Have you eaten?"

"No, thank you," said Alison. How could she, she thought angrily. Griggs had wakened her too late.

"If you faint behind my chair at Boodle's, I shall beat you till you get back on your feet," warned his
lordship.

"You are all heart, Milord," murmured Alison.

The Earl laughed. "Still a bit of fire in you, is there, young Conninge? Or is it that you conjecture I would
not be taking a riding crop into the card room? Be not foolhardy, vassal! This will serve my purpose just
as well." He indicated an ebony cane with a silver knob. "Have you ever been caned?"

"The men of my family have not been in the habit of beating women, Milord. No doubt it is a weakness
in them."

"Crows the little cock loudly?" mocked the Earl. "Or should I say, clucks the hen? You would be well
advised to heed Griggs' warning." Then, seeing her puzzled look, he asked, "He did not convey my
warning?"

"Your valet wakened me, told me to dress at once, and offered food I had no time to eat. He gave me
no warning that I can recall."

"You'd remember this one," said the Earl. "I instructed him to tell you that if you fainted, or in the
slightest way disobeyed me at Boodle's, I should administer another thrashing on the spot."

Alison's resentful gaze said what her lips dared not utter.

Milord chuckled. "I am going to enjoy this game, young Conninge. No holds barred. I shall train you in
your vassalage until you acknowledge yourself to be my property, body and mind."

"And soul?" challenged the girl. "How do you propose fettering a human soul, Milord?"

The Earl's glittering gaze moved over Alison's pale face and defiant body. "It will amuse me to break
you to my will, to make you my creature. I have found the London Season tedious, insipid. You will
entertain me until I can dispose of Isolda and return to Havard. Now, I am nearly ready to go out. Get
down to the kitchen and eat something. Be at the front door in ten minutes. By the way," he stopped her
as she was already turning to go, " 'you are never to leave this house unaccompanied. If you break that,
or, indeed, any of my commands, you shall be severely punished."

Alison escaped thankfully and found her way to the kitchen three floors below. Milord's servants were
just sitting down to table in a large room next to the kitchen. Griggs pointed to an empty chair next to his.
When Alison explained that she was to accompany Milord in ten minutes, the valet tutted crossly and
advised her to pick up a slice of the roast beef and a couple of chunks of bread.

"If it's good enough for the Earl of Sandwich, it's good enough for you," Griggs said, dismissing her

reluctance.

Alison forced down the hot meat and bread and found the combination delicious. She refused a mug of
ale offered by a gangling kitchenmaid, asking politely if she might have a cup of milk or water instead.
The maid was quite obviously smitten by the charms of the new manservant, and hovered solicitously,
even finding a fairly clean dish cloth for the handsome youth to wipe his fingers on when he had finished
the sandwich. Gulping down the last of the milk, Alison hurried back up to the imposing entrance hall.

Milord was just coming down the great staircase. Throwing a careless nod in Alison's direction, he
preceded her through the doors held open by two footmen. Silently the girl followed him into the massive
carriage on whose panel was the Forteyn crest: a black griffon rampant on a field argent. Milord seated
himself comfortably. The girl, hopping in behind him, perched on the facing seat, her back to the horses.
As they took off, the Earl subjected his liegewoman to an assessing stare.

"Your duty tonight will be to stand at my shoulder, a pace behind me. You will keep your eyes on me at
all times, anticipating my requirements."

"Anticipating?" protested Alison. "How could I?"

"You have been there often enough to know what gentlemen need when they are at play," Forteyn
reminded her coldly. "A glass of wine— the brandy at Boodle's has been, of late, suspect. I do not drink
whiskey when I play."

"I thought there were servants to bring refreshments, or cards, or whatever the guests required?" Alison
objected.

The Earl frowned. "You see fit to disagree with my first order?"

Alison experienced a twinge of fear. "No, Milord," she answered quickly. "I merely sought information."

"About a place in which we gamed together last night?" sneered the Earl. "You begin to weary me with
this ill-advised insistence upon your having a twin brother. You will neither state nor imply this falsehood
again in my hearing, under pain of punishment."

Alison fell into a despairing silence. Lest her back be further chafed, she braced herself with rigid arms
against the jolting of the carriage. As the coachman drove over the cobbled streets, she reflected
miserably upon the situation in which she had placed herself. Far too quickly the coach drew up in St.
James' Street, the footmen sprang down from their perch, held open the door, and assisted the Earl to
alight. Milord sauntered up to the door of Boodle's, and was bowed inside by an obsequious attendant.
Alison scrambled out as best she might, and getting herself into position the required pace behind her
master, followed him to the card room.

Keeping her eyes on the Earl's massive shoulders, Alison was able to avoid meeting the curious glances
of the gentlemen gathered for an evening's play. Some of these were already seated at round tables,
others were strolling about in search of friends. One of the latter hailed his lordship with evident pleasure.

"Griff I could not find you at home. Do you really wish to play, after your animadversions of last night,
or can we go downstairs and talk?"

Milord's smile was a glitter of white teeth. "What you mean, Hilary, is that you are dying of curiosity and
desire to pump me."

But Hilary Hastings' gaze had gone beyond his friend and lighted upon the beautiful youth in the striking
black livery of the House of Forteyn. "Conninge! What the devil is he doing in your livery, Griff?"

"I should suppose it to be evident to the meanest intelligence that Conninge has entered my service. To
such a close friend as yourself, I may confide that he is hoping thus to pay his debt— of honor." The
emphasis upon the word was a taunt.

Observing the wash of shamed color on young Conninge's downy cheek, Hilary snapped, "You've a
damned nasty tongue in your head, Forteyn!" He glanced surreptitiously around to discover whether any
of the gentlemen present had yet recognized Milord's servant. "And a damned nasty way of dealing with
your enemies," he concluded gloomily.

The Earl gave his wolfish grin. "My enemies? Oh, no, Hilary, I would hardly dignify this green sprout by
such a formidable title. Say rather—" he sent a mocking glance at Alison, "— how would you
characterize yourself, Conninge?"

"As your victim, Milord," answered the girl in her small, deep voice.

Hilary cast a worried glance at the youth's white face. "Well, at least you didn't murder him," he said
quietly. "Your sister assured me, when I returned her to your home last night, that you were going to kill
him in a duel."

"How well Isolda knows me!" murmured his lordship.

At this moment a red-faced gentleman in a puce satin coat came up to speak to the Earl, casting a
jaundiced eye upon the slight figure in. Milord's livery. "What new start is this, Forteyn? Bringing your
lackey into a gentlemen's club! Don't tell me you've need of his services in the card room?"

"I won't," said Milord equably, his darkly saturnine face wearing what Griggs characterized as his
haughty look. "What I will tell you, Trevayne, is that I'll give you a game of Pharo if we can find a few
more to play."

"Good!" Sir William Trevayne beamed. He glanced around the room. "There's Arthur— Mallison—
Gale, will they do?"

"Their money's as good as anyone's," agreed the Earl. "Recruit 'em!"

Hilary moved up beside the Earl toward a vacant table. "Gale was one of those who played with us last
night when you won from Conninge. He's sure to recognize him."

"So?" grinned the Earl.

Hilary stared at him. "That's what you want, isn't it? You play a damned vindictive game, Griff! I'm not
sure I want to associate myself with it."

"Then leave," said the Earl. "You are too soft. You'd end up carrying the blaggard to safety in your
arms," he taunted.

Hilary tightened his lips. He held no brief for the encroaching mushrooms who tried to thrust themselves
into the company of their betters in Polite Society, and he knew that this particular mushroom had been
casting out lures to his friend's sister. He looked again at the pallid youth standing behind Milord's chair.
Conninge's lowered eyelids hid his reaction to his difficult position, but the dark shadows around his eyes
and the tight lines of strain on his face testified to pain inflicted, either physical or mental. How had Griff
forced the youth to attend him here?

Frowning, Hilary took a chair from which he could continue to observe the boy's condition. Trevayne
bustled up with the other three men in tow. As they seated themselves around the table, Gale's glance
rested on Conninge and identified the livery. His eyes widened, then slid toward the Earl.

"I see you have acquired a pretty new servant," he gibed. "Am I to gather that Conninge is not playing
with us tonight?" He smirked at the pale-faced youth. "It seems there is more than one way of paying off
a debt, eh, Forteyn?"

"At least he is paying it," drawled the Earl.

Hilary flashed a look at him. Since it had been rumored that Gale was not always too meticulous in
matters of play and pay when his opponents were not members of the highest Ton, this thrust could have
been as much a gratuitous snub to Gale as a defense of Conninge. Yet the Earl had always accepted

Gale's company at Boodle's and White's, seeming to enjoy the fellow's rather heavy-handed humor.
Hilary studied the Earl's dark features thoughtfully.

"Can we have done with this gabble-mongering?" sputtered Trevayne. "You were prosing on last
evening, too! I came to play, dammit!"

The cards were dealt. Footmen brought drinks. The air became heavy and stale. Hilary kept an
unobtrusive eye upon Conninge, and noted his increasing pallor and the strain upon the white, drawn
face.

Gale was having an unexpected run of luck. Guineas and notes were piled in front of him in a sizable
heap. His face was flushed; his eyes glittered. He was drinking quite heavily. At the conclusion of one
successful hand, he looked from the Earl to his body servant, now clutching the back of Milord's chair
with white-knuckled fingers.

"A side bet on the next hand, Forteyn," he challenged. "Your handsome new servant against one of my
horses?"

There was a general laugh at this, and Mr. Mallison was understood to say that, knowing Gale's stable,
the bet was too uneven.

The Earl glanced from Alison's shuttered face to Gale's mocking one. "Really, Gale, one of your nags?
Perhaps you might venture a small sum of money instead?"

For the first time that evening Alison raised her eyes to stare at the Earl. His bold dark gaze taunted her.
The others around the table waited, grinning, for the outcome. Gale appeared to be considering the idea.

"You surely do not expect me to pay off the young fool's debt," he made a mock protest. "I was present
last night, you may recall! He must have lost hundred's of guineas!"

"At what sum would you value young Conninge, Gale?"

All the men at the table now directed an assessing gaze upon the slight figure in Milord's livery.

"Well, those buttons are worth something," began Gale with a laugh. "Silver, ain't they? I assume
clothing comes with servant?"

Mallison chuckled, Trevayne and young Lord Arthur guffawed.

"Let him have the livery," urged Lord Arthur. "You'd never send the young knave out of here
bare-arsed?"

In the ensuing burst of laughter, no one but the Earl and Hilary observed the painful deep blush which
suffused Alison's face. With a grimace of distaste, Hilary pushed back his chair. "You must excuse me,
gentlemen. I find the atmosphere in this room— unpleasant."

The Earl's glance flicked to his friend's face. The hint of censure seemed to annoy him, for his eyebrows
rose disdainfully. However, he shrugged and stood up, amid vociferous objections from Gale and
Trevayne, and amused arguments from Mallison and Sir Arthur.

"Do not say you are running away from a wager?" teased Sir Arthur, sweeping up the Earl's pile of
guineas and holding them out.

"I'll let Mr. Gale fleece you for a change," answered Milord, waving aside his coins. "Throw them on the
table to sweeten the next game," he suggested, and followed Hilary to the door. Alison, feeling very
queer indeed, kept her place at his shoulder with some difficulty.

They were waiting silently inside the entrance of the club for Milord's carriage to be announced when a
very minor nobleman from the northeastern counties, catching sight of Edmond Conninge, with whom he
was newly acquainted, in the company of the Earl of Havard, with whom he was not but wished to be,
came toward the silent group and greeted Conninge effusively in the hope of securing an introduction to
his elegant friends.

"My dear fellow, good to see you!" and he clapped the supposed Edmond heartily on the back.

It was the last straw for Alison. Uttering a little whimper of pain, she fainted.

The encroaching youth eyed the recumbent figure with dismay. The Earl eyed it with resignation.
Summoning an attendant from the club, he said, "Take him out to my carriage and put him in it." Turning
to the dismayed stranger, he remarked, "Too much champagne." Then he walked out to the street,
holding Hilary's arm. "I might have expected it," he sighed. "The lower orders have so little stamina these
days."

Hilary was not attending to his friend's peculiar sort of humor. Highly critical of the casual roughness
with which the footman was handling the inert form of Milord's servant, Hilary got into the carriage first
and said sharply, "Give him to me!"

Receiving the limp body in his arms, he hauled it against the cushions, settling it back securely and
attempting to wedge it in a corner.

Suddenly Hastings froze, his hand on the soft firm swell of Alison's breast. His shocked gaze went to the
Earl, who had just mounted and taken his own place, with his back to the horses. "You and my servant
seem to have preempted the better positions," he said with a mocking smile for his friend's astonishment.

"This is a woman, Griff!" Hilary accused.

The carriage began to roll along St. James' Street.

"Yes, it seems young Conninge conned us all nicely, did he not?" remarked Milord casually. Hilary was
peering down through the gloom of the enclosed coach into Alison's face. He had placed one arm gently
around her, and was holding her slight body against the jolting of the vehicle.

"I cannot believe this is the young lout who forced his way into our company last night—"

"Half flash and half foolish— a thoroughly unpleasant fellow, was he not?" agreed Milord. Then his face
hardened. "She plays her roles well, the cozening little slut! When I've finished with her, she will have a
different song to sing. Already I have effected some salutary changes, don't you agree? The whip is a
persuasive agent."

"A woman— you whipped a woman?" repeated Hilary with incredulous disgust.

"Oh, I hadn't seen through her masquerade at that point. I still thought I was dealing with a shameless
knave."

"But now that you do know ... surely ..." Hilary was stunned at the implications of the situation.

"I told you I offered the conniving bitch a way of paying off her debt of honor—" His voice again made
an insult of the term. Hilary frowned.

"Acting as your servant to pay her debt seems to me the choice of a truly honest person."

"Choice?" The Earl grinned mirthlessly. "Who said the doxy had a choice?"

"I am not," came a small voice unexpectedly from the gloomy corner, "a doxy. Neither am I a— a—"
her voice faltered.

"Slut?" suggested his lordship.

"Really, Griffon!" protested Hilary.

" 'Griffon'? You haven't called me that since Eton," commented the Earl.

"Why do you address Conninge— Miss— er, who is she?" Hilary demanded querulously.

"You may well ask," sneered the Earl. "She claims to be a sister of the Charming Edmond. A twin, no
less! Pure farce, isn't it? Two Gentlemen of Devonshire— only in this case one of the Gentlemen was no
gentleman, and the other is no lady."

"She may be speaking the truth," argued Hilary, but his voice clearly revealed his doubts.

"Precisely!" The Earl directed his answer to the implied doubts. "Her claim is highly unlikely. I am
waiting for the appearance of the Real Edmond— but not, I assure you, with hated breath."

Alison gave a dispirited sigh. She was too tired, unhappy, and pain-racked to continue the battle.
Beside her, Hilary kept a supportive arm around her, but said nothing more until they reached Milord's
Town House.

Chapter 7

THE ARRIVAL AT the Earl's London residence was attended by an unusual bustle. When his lordship
had given orders that Conninge should be helped to his bed in the dressing room, the butler informed his
master that Lady Isolda and her ladyship's chaperone, Lady Clare, awaited his lordship's company in the
Grand Salon. "Very urgent she is, Milord!" warned Pomfret.

Milord sighed. Hilary, superintending Alison's shaky progress to the foot of the Grand Stairway, paid no
attention to this byplay. Not one of Isolda's admirers himself, he was indifferent to her airs and tantrums,
and disgusted by the endless demands she made upon her brother. No wonder Griff had set her up in her
own smart ménage with the dowager Lady Clare, of ancient and unimpeachable lineage, to be her
chaperone. Of course Isolda had protested, craving the opulent luxury of Havard Town House, but the
Earl, standing firm, had correctly claimed that his was a bachelor establishment, and that his friends were
not always persons he would wish his sister to hobnob with.

Now she was here, and, Hilary judged, up to some new devilry. By this time, the Earl was at the great
double doors to the Grand Salon. As the butler flung them open for him, Lady Isolda swept out, her face
a petulant storm-cloud.

"You said you would come last night after the ball! And you promised to take me to the Duchess's Rout
party tonight! I waited and waited!" she said angrily. Then she caught sight of Alison climbing slowly up
the stairs. The girl was alone, having quietly declined the assistance of Sir Hilary or a footman.

"What is Edmond Conninge doing here?" cried Lady Isolda. "I have told you the little worm attacked
me!"

The Earl took his sister by one shoulder and pushed her ahead of him into the Salon. One glance around
revealed a very perturbed elderly duenna. The Earl bowed courteously.

"My dear Lady Clare, may I ask you to accompany Pomfret to the Ladies' Parlor to recruit your
strength with a cup of tea? Or ratafia, if you prefer it? Charge Pomfret to bring you whatever you desire.
I wish to speak to Isolda. I shall not be long: then, if you both desire it, we can proceed to Her Grace's
Rout. It is a quite à la mode to be late at these affairs, you know!"

Lady Clare escaped thankfully to the competent ministrations of Pomfret, leaving Isolda suddenly
nervous before the expression on her brother's face. After Pomfret had closed the door softly behind
him, the Earl strode over to his sister and pushed her down into a chair.

"Suppose you tell me exactly what happened between Conninge and yourself," he demanded icily. "And
this time I want the truth."

Isolda's petulance vanished before the cold menace of her brother's attack. She could not meet his
eyes, but looked at her heavily beringed hands clenched in her lap.

"I told you—" she cleared her throat and began again. "I told you what the cheap little upstart did! He
had the impudence to ask me to marry him, and when I refused, and ordered him to return me to the
ballroom, he— attacked me!"

"How?" prodded her brother grimly.

"He seized me in his arms and began to kiss me. I c-couldn't break away! I struggled but he was too
strong for me."

"You're lying," the Earl told her.

Isolda's eyes opened wide. "Lying? What are you talking about? Oh!" She glared at him. "I suppose
you've had that wretched mushroom here since last night, torturing him to make him confess! He looked
all no-how— he was staggering! But of course he'd tell you anything to get you to let him alone!" Her

eyes began to sparkle. "Tell me! What did you do to the little worm?"

"I have been told I am a medieval barbarian, my dear sister, but you are more savage than I am! I
horsewhipped your suitor until he fainted, and then I had him dressed in my livery and forced him to
attend, as my servant, the club where last night he played as a gentleman, incidentally losing a thousand
pounds to me. That was just before he made his impassioned proposal to you." His smile mocked her.

Isolda's face hardened. "You mean he was only trying to secure his losses? And I let him kiss me! Give
me your riding crop. I'll beat the life out of him!"

"But he is now my servant, my dear sister," the Earl reminded her. "I reserve for myself the pleasure of
punishing the upstart. I am interested, however, in your admission that you let him kiss you. Tell me—
how was he?"

Isolda glanced at her brother from under her lashes. She had never understood him, and was usually
more than thankful to live under the cloak of his enormous prestige and wealth, while pursuing her own
pleasures screened from that enigmatic, imperturbable surveillance. She was more than seven, she told
herself, resenting and fearing Griffon in this new role as monitor of her behavior.

"I asked you how young Conninge was?" persisted the Earl.

"Repulsive." That was safe enough, surely?

"Amateurish?" suggested her brother.

Realizing the folly of attempting a missish coyness with him, Isolda said, consideringly, "No-o-o, not at
all. He reminded me of Cousin Juline. You told me she was always more interested in her appearance
than in the man she was kissing."

"My dear Isolda, you must be mistaken. I have never kissed our cousin, nor would I discuss it with you
if I had."

"Oh! Then it must have been Darcy, or perhaps Kilgow told me."

"Indeed? I must advise Lady Clare to instruct you as to acceptable topics of conversation with
gentlemen," sneered the Earl. "You would say, then, that Conninge kissed like a woman?"

Isolda was startled at his black scowl. Then she laughed scornfully. "Whatever gave you that idiotish
notion? Oh— my remark about Cousin Juline! No, Edmond, kissed like a man who is more interested in

himself than in the lady, but he is nothing like a female. His beard scratched my face."

"What?"

Isolda pouted. "You may think of him as a pretty boy, but he's as cold and selfish as you are when he
wants his own way!" A sense of her own injuries overwhelmed her. "Overbearing, greedy, insensitive
men! I can dream of nothing better than to— to—" Her powers of invention failed her.

"To marry one of us?" supplied her brother with a hateful smile. "Kilgow, or Darcy, perhaps?"

Isolda despaired of gaining anything from this singularly silly discussion. Trying on an air of hauteur, she
asked, "May we go to the Duchess's Rout party now? I have promised all the dances, and we are
already hours late!"

The Earl nodded curtly. He looked at her with an odd expression. "You are a pretty knowledgeable
puss where my sex is concerned, are you not?" He shrugged. "Yes, we shall go now. Are Darcy and
Kilgow to be there?"

"Two dances each," boasted Isolda complacently. "And Darcy begged for three."

"I shall accept his offer for your hand," the Earl said as quietly as though he were not exploding a keg of
gunpowder.

"Darcy!" squealed the Lady Isolda. "He has offered for me, and you did not tell me? You beast, Griff!"
She was sparkling with pleasure, her beautiful face alight.

"Poor besotted devil," said Milord. "They both asked permission to pay their addresses. It is to be
hoped that Darcy will be able to control your wilder excesses."

"Also he is richer than Kilgow, and more knowledgeable. He would never permit his beard to scratch
my face." The girl hurried off to collect Lady Clare.

Milord stared after her, a frown on his face.

Chapter 8

THE FOLLOWING MORNING Alison wakened very early. Griggs brought a cup of tea to her in
Milord's dressing room. It seemed to Alison that her whole back had stiffened into a hot metal plate, and

that every movement sent a sliver of the metal into her. She could not choke off a groan as she sat up to
accept the tea with a quiet word of thanks.

"You should not be putting yourself to this bother for me, Mr. Griggs," she said to the valet. "I can get
down to the servants' dining room quite easily."

"Time enough for that when your back is healed," Griggs replied austerely.

Milord's new servant looked a veritable child sitting there in one of the voluminous nightgowns supplied
to the Earl's pages and footmen. His cropped hair was tangled into soft curls above a face much too pale.
Dark shadows lay beneath his strange, golden-amber eyes. "Did you sleep well?" Griggs was compelled
to ask.

"Thank you, I was very comfortable, Mr. Griggs," the lad said in his funny deep little voice.

"Dr. Foster will be here this morning to see to your back. If you are smart, you'll tell him the truth, not
try to fob him off with nonsense about feeling up to the mark. You look," said Griggs unequivocally, "like
death warmed over, and his lordship plans to leave for the Castle this afternoon, after he has signed the
wedding settlements."

"The Earl is to be married?" gasped Alison. "How brave the lady must be!"

Griggs permitted himself a grim smile. "It's the Lady Isolda— to Lord Darcy," he told her, and was
startled to observe the dazzling smile which transformed the pale face.

Alison had recalled Edmond's words: As soon as the bitch's marriage is announced, I'll go home.
Alison only hoped the Earl would make a public announcement soon, and that the wedding would be
solemnized without undue loss of time thereafter, with enough pomp and ceremony to reverberate
throughout the country so that Edmond would hear of it, wherever he had gone to earth. Then perhaps he
would go to see Father before he launched his new campaign in Bath.

The girl sighed, smile fading. She herself was bound until Edmond paid his debt. She frowned anxiously.
Surely he would pay it, when he had snared his heiress? Otherwise he could scarcely contemplate
returning to London! But perhaps he had had his fill of the Metropolis— where admittedly he had not
been successful— and would be content to shine in Bath, or even some smaller, less fashionable town
near the home of his new wife? And if such were to be the case, what of Alison?

These thoughts caused the girl such anxiety that Griggs, who prided himself on being as hard and
unfeeling as his master, experienced an unfamiliar concern at sight of the small, haggard face.

"Are you in pain?" he demanded gruffly.

"Oh, no! I do very well, thank you. I shall get up and dress now."

"You'll do nothing of the kind," snapped Griggs. "You are to remain in bed until Dr. Foster gives you
leave to rise." Improvising hastily, Griggs added, "His lordship's orders!"

Alison sank back onto her pillow very gingerly, her relief at the reprieve obvious. Griggs left the room
with a final, minatory glance, and closed the door firmly behind him. Alison settled herself on one side,
taking pressure from her back. She had barely closed her eyes when the door to the hallway opened and
Jim came in, bearing a tray on which reposed a large fresh crust of bread, dripping butter, a small glass of
ale, and a battered orange.

"Get this down w'ile it's nice an' 'ot," he urged, beaming at his own provisioning.

Alison was much moved by his generosity. "Fresh bread— and an orange! However did you manage
that?" she marveled.

Jim grinned. "It come back from dinner las' night. Seems as 'ow th' Quality favors grapes an' peaches
an' such like. There's never none o' them left in the bowls! But ornagers 'n' apples ain't in such demand,
an' we gets 'em. I saved one."

Alison expressed thanks generously. Young Jim seemed disposed to linger. After an initial hesitation, he
said gruffly, "Your way o' talkin' is champion, Conninge, real toplofty wi' them jawbreakers. D'ye spose
ye could learn me to talk like that? I got a plan, see ..."

Alison correctly interpreted the hunger and the shyness which battled in the youth's mind. "Could you
tell me something about your plan, Jim? I promise to help if I can."

"Well," Jim looked anywhere but at Alison, "I got 'opes o' bein' a vallay, see, like Griggs— someday—
but I'd 'ave to talk better, see—" he paused, embarrassed.

"I'll be happy to help you whenever I can, Jim," Alison answered quickly. "I'm not sure what free time
I'll be allowed."

"I c'n keep a lookout for ye on me afternoons off. I 'as one every other week, or I c'n 'ave a 'ole day
once a month if I'd druther. Then, if I sees ye ain't on dooty—"

"We can surely do better than that!" Alison was appalled at the prospect of improving Jim's speech one

day a month, if she could get that day free. "Can you read, write?"

Jim's color heightened. "A bit."

"Then I'll get you a book and we'll read it together. Don't worry, Jim, we'll find time and a quiet place to
meet—"

"At it already, Conninge, in spite of my warning?" interposed an icy voice from the inner doorway. "I
see it is necessary to teach you a lesson." The Earl came toward the cot where Alison sat, the tin tray on
her lap, and butter gleaming on her lips and, regrettably, her chin. Neither that homely touch nor the
shock and growing fear in the wide, beautiful eyes appeared to move Milord to compassion. His hard
glance flicked over the red-faced Jim, standing his ground at Alison's side.

"You may take your walking papers," the Earl told him.

Jim's face went white with shock. "Yes, your lordship," he managed, and wheeled and marched through
the door, closing it quietly behind him.

Alison glared at Milord. "Unjust! Despicable! The boy had brought me food under orders, from
Griggs—"

"Which you were planning to share with him 'in some quiet place'?" taunted the Earl.

"No! That was so I could—" she caught herself up, unwilling to expose Jim's pitiful dream to this man's
scorn.

"So you could—" prompted the Earl hatefully. "It is obvious what a woman of your stamp hoped to do
with the boy!"

This insult was too much for Alison. She sat up very straight in the truckle bed, tawny eyes ablaze,
looking like some small enraged chorister in the draping nightgown.

"It may appear obvious to you, Milord, with your twisted mind, but you are for once in your life
completely mistaken! I was offering to instruct Jim—"

Milord lifted a maddening palm as he ruthlessly interrupted her explanation. "I do not wish to hear either
excuses or the details of your sordid affairs," he stated with the quelling arrogance which had successfully
silenced far bolder and more experienced persons than herself. He was in for a surprise in this case,
however, for Alison, faced with the dreadful fact of young Jim's dishonorable discharge, took up the

cudgels bravely.

"Jim asked me to teach him to improve his speech so that he might hope to better his position in life. He
has ambitions to be a valet, and wished only to acquire a greater elegance of speech than his education
has so far provided."

"Indeed?" commented the Earl skeptically, feeling, for some reason which he did not inquire into, a
good deal easier about the incident. "And how had you planned to conduct your classes, Madame
Scholar?"

"I was in the process of trying to explain to Jim that, with only one lesson a month, he would be a very
long time in acquiring the proper pronunciation and ease of language he desired," acknowledged the girl
unhappily.

"But now that he has every day free," the Earl reminded her with a merciless smile, "he will be able to
devote himself full time to self-improvement— thanks to you."

The girl stared at him with hatred and rebellion clearly visible in her lovely face. Slowly the Earl shook
his head, his ruthless smile widening.

"You have not yet learned, girl, what annoys me and what pleases me? You are more in need of
schooling than Jim."

Alison clenched her hands on the sheet until her knuckles shone white. The Earl waited, his mouth a
twisted smile.

Slowly the girl got out of the cot, looking absurdly young and surprisingly attractive in the large
nightgown. Coming toward the man, she sank gracefully to her knees before him, and bent her head of
bright curls.

"Milord—" It came out roughly, and she was forced to clear her throat before continuing. "Milord, will
you forgive Jim for— for talking to me, and permit him to keep his place in your household?"

The Earl remained silent.

After a long moment, Alison raised her eyes to his face. The look of implacable contempt on the dark
features shocked her.

"Do you imagine that that mawkish bit of playacting will persuade me to reinstate your latest victim?

You women are all alike! Nobly born or gutter-bred, you play off your tricks to cozen the credulous!
Perhaps you should begin to face the consequences of your willful disobedience upon other lives than
your own."

"Sir," stammered the girl, "only tell me what I must do to reinstate Jim! I beg of you!"

The Earl turned away toward the door. Alison scrambled to her feet and ran after him. She caught at
the arm he had extended toward the door knob.

"Please, your lordship! Beat me again, if that is what will serve. Do not dismiss Jim!"

Almost reluctantly the Earl turned to face her. As he saw the tears on her cheeks, his black eyebrows
rose. "Weeping, young Conninge? Have matters gone so far between you and the boy? What a fine bag
of tricks you are mistress of! It is time you learned I am one man who will never be entrapped by any of
your tawdry ploys. Get dressed! You accompany me this afternoon. Be ready at the front door at two
o'clock."

The door snapped firmly to behind him.

Alison walked slowly over to her cot and sank down upon it, covering her face with shaking hands. The
tears she expected did not come, and after a few minutes she rose and began to dress herself in Milord's
livery.

A few minutes before two o'clock a gray-faced Alison, fresh from a daunting interview with Dr. Foster,
took up her position near the front door of the Earl's Town House. Pomfret cast a suspicious glance at
the pallid youth before moving back toward the green baize door at the rear of the wide, beautifully
furnished hall. One of the attendant footmen whispered to his fellow, "Looks as sick as a dog, don't 'e?
Whey-faced!"

"So'd you be, me lad, if 'is lordship 'ad given you a dose of the w'ip!" confided the other.

The first speaker had been on his monthly day of freedom, and received this news with interest.
"W'ipped the kid, did 'e? W'ot for?"

"I dunno, and I ain't about to arsk," replied the other. "Better 'im than me!"

To this his fellow gave hearty if subdued agreement, adding, "Kid don't look like no 'ot'ead to me."

"I 'ears as 'e got Jim turned off," began the other, then froze into silent rigidity as the Earl appeared at

the head of the stairway and began to descend.

Pomfret, with his uncanny ability to sense his master's approach, was making his own way to open the
front doors. Alison fell in silently, two proper paces behind Milord's shoulder. A groom had already
swung down from his perch at the rear of the dashing curricle, and was prepared to assist his master to
mount and take up the reins.

"I shall not be needing you, Dimmock. Conninge will take your place as tiger."

Without comment Alison clambered up onto the precarious perch behind his lordship and clutched
grimly at the straps. I shall hang on as long as I am able, she told herself, recalling the doctor's stern
injunctions against undertaking any exertions prematurely— in fact, no exertion at all for several days,
until the unsightly wounds healed, lest her flesh be permanently scarred. Hastily dismissing this unwelcome
recollection, Alison told herself sternly, "If I fall, let me be killed quick and clean, rather than linger on
with a broken back or limbs." It was not likely that his lordship's benevolence would extend to a
liege-woman who could serve neither her liege lord nor herself.

As the curricle jolted over the cobbles, a sullen anger began to replace the sick, despairing resignation in
the girl's breast, and she drew in deeper breaths of the chill air and held her head higher. Thoughts of Jim,
so casually deprived of his livelihood through no fault of his own, caused quite a rush of angry blood to
her cheeks, and she looked, and even felt, better than she had for several days. A particularly vicious jolt
nearly sent her onto the roadway. Milord drew the curricle to a halt by the side of the street, with lordly
disregard of any pedestrians who might be using the walkway.

"Get up here beside me," he ordered, to Alison's surprise.

Gingerly the girl climbed down from her uncomfortable perch, feeling several sharp pains in her back as
she did so. These naturally added to her sense of anger at her persecutor. Awkwardly she hoisted herself
up beside her liege lord.

"What did Dr. Foster tell you about your— injuries?" the Earl asked in his coldly mocking voice, giving
his cattle the office to proceed.

"He said I should be scarred for life if I did not remain in bed until the wounds on my back healed,"
replied the girl tonelessly. Then, unable to prevent herself, she added angrily, "Of course that will be of no
moment to you!"

The man beside her was silent as he guided his team back into the traffic. After five minutes, resentful on
Alison's part, coldly imperturbable on the Earl's, the latter pulled up his pair before a barnlike structure at
the end of a grimy mews. Several other teams were being walked by liveried grooms. The girl climbed
down without too much difficulty and went to the horses' heads. Milord, still holding the reins, frowned as
he looked down at the slight figure.

"I should not have dismissed Dimmock," he muttered. "He could have returned the horses to the stable
and called back for me later. I do not like them kept standing in this hole in the wall."

He has more compassion for his animals than he has for me, was Alison's first wrathful thought,
followed by a reprehensible pleasure at seeing the normally imperturbable nobleman in a quandary. She
knew enough not to offer comment or advice. The mews had, in spite of the number of elegant vehicles
which now crowded it, an unpleasantly cold, grim, and dirty atmosphere. To make matters worse, a
slight rain had begun to fall. If the Earl did not intend to leave her out here with his team, she could
possibly huddle somewhere out of the rain until it pleased Milord to go elsewhere. But that did not
dispose of the problem of the horses.

"Would you wish me to drive them back to their stable, Milord?"

The Earl raised his eyebrows.

"Trust you with such a mettlesome pair?"

"I would be very careful with them, Milord!" protested Alison, this slur on her ability coming as a final
blow. "I have frequently driven a spirited team at home!"

"It is not your meager skill at the reins I'm afraid of," retorted the Earl nastily, "so much as the possibility
that you'd cut and run as soon as my back was turned."

"I gave my word to serve you until the debt was paid!" flamed the girl.

The Earl sneered. "For what that is worth!"

"That is unjust and you know it," snapped Alison, forgetting her position yet again.

"You expect me to cater to your sensibilities as well as your physical weaknesses? How little you
understand me— or your own position! 'Unjust'? Did our oath promise you justice?"

"It promised me your protection!" cried Alison in a low, tortured voice. " 'For what that is worth!' " she
quoted his own scornful phrase.

Color burned in Milord's stern countenance. "Take care, doxy! I have no scruples against beating you
here and now!"

"A fine protective measure!" the girl sneered, incorrigibly.

At this moment the Earl uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. Alison followed the direction of his gaze
and saw the long, dapper figure of Sir Hilary Hastings dismounting from his horse, tossing the reins to a
mounted groom.

"Griff!" exclaimed Hilary, striding toward them with a smile of welcome. "I had not expected to see you
here."

"Well met," agreed the Earl, smiling lazily with half-closed eyes. "I have need of your groom's services."

"Of course, Griff," smiled Hilary, with a quick glance at Alison. "It would be barbarous to keep—
young Conninge walking the horses in this drizzle."

"To say nothing of the fact that it is sure to turn into a drenching downpour just as I am ready to leave,"
added Milord. "Therefore I propose that your groom tie your horse and his to my curricle and drive the
lot to my stables. Then he can bring one of my carriages back for us both."

The two gentlemen strolled into the building, followed by a sullen Alison. It soon became apparent, to
Alison's horrified disgust, that the business of the day was cockfighting. At the center of the huge,
barnlike structure, heavy lamps had been suspended above a circular stage about twenty feet in diameter,
around which a low barrier had been erected. The light glared down onto this stage, on which a main was
already in progress. Crowded around the barrier was a motley collection of gentlemen, red-faced with
excitement, shouting encouragement and waving paper money in tightly clenched fists.

The Earl and Hilary made their way toward the cockpit, but Milord halted before they reached the
crowd. His fine beak of a nose flared.

"I cannot be expected to mingle with the hoi polloi," he said in what Alison considered to be an
odiously toplofty voice. "Conninge, get me a chair!"

The girl tore her hypnotized glance from the proceedings in the pit and stared around helplessly. She
noticed a sort of flimsy structure of elevated benches set to one side above the pit. "There, Milord?"

"I said a chair," repeated the Earl. "You cannot imagine I would be willing to jostle for a place among
those clowns?"

Observing her worried expression, Sir Hilary touched her shoulder and pointed to a burly character

standing near the entrance beside a few oddly shaped pieces of furniture.

"Tell him the Earl wishes a chair at once. He will bring it here."

Thankfully Alison did as she was told, and within a few minutes the burly man had brought the chair to
them, and, forcing his way quite ruthlessly among the yelling, gesticulating crowd, had set it down near the
pit. The Earl proceeded to seat himself upon it. Alison was interested to observe that he straddled the
leather-upholstered structure as though it were a horse, and rested his forearms on the broad, padded
armrest.

"Do you tell me," Alison whispered to Sir Hilary, "that someone has invented a chair so men can watch
this barbarous pastime in comfort?"

Hilary threw back his head in a shout of laughter. "No, young Conninge, these are actually library chairs,
intended to soften the rigors of reading some of our modern three-volume novels. Some ardent devotee
of cockfighting decided he could use the comfort and support they give while he watched these
interminable matches." Catching sight of the girl's expression, he added, chuckling, "No, his lordship is
not such a dedicated enthusiast. I have no doubt he will wish to watch only a main or two. Perhaps just
the Battle Royal which is scheduled at the close of this main."

The excitement at the pit had reached a height of frenzy; handlers and spectators doubled their
exhortations to the battling cocks. There was one final shout: a raucous blend of triumph at bets won and
disappointment at dashed hopes, and then the handlers were removing their birds and the bettors were
settling their accounts. A pompous, well-dressed man, who appeared to be the judge, announced that the
next event would be a Battle Royal between twelve acknowledged champions who would be set at the
same time and left in the pit until all but one was either killed or disabled. Alison was so shocked at this
information that she did not wish to follow the rest of the announcement, but bent her head and breathed
deeply of the hot, stale air in an effort to control a mounting dizziness. At once there was a quiet voice at
her shoulder.

"Are you ill? Perhaps you would like to go outside for a moment?"

Sir Hilary's kindness almost broke the girl's faltering control. She raised her eyes to his pleasant
countenance, her own expression clearly revealing her gratitude.

An arrogant voice cut into the moment. "Hilary, I caution you not to interfere between myself and my
servant. Such ill-judged concern can only result in harsher treatment for Conninge."

Hilary lifted his head and stared challengingly at his friend. "Griff, I warn you—"

Their eyes met and held, and then the Earl's saturnine features softened into a mocking grin. "It won't do

you any good to take snuff," he advised the affronted Sir Hilary. "Our long friendship gives you neither
authority over my servants nor the right to question my decisions. If you are not satisfied with this, you
know what to do."

"You are insufferable," snapped Hilary.

"Then you should no longer suffer me," retorted the Earl with a cold smile. "I am beginning to find the
demands of friendship wearisome."

Sir Hilary glared at him with unconcealed dislike, but before he could voice the bitter reply which was
patently trembling on his lips, a stentorian voice proclaimed the Battle Royal.

At once there was a concerted rush toward the pit, on whose matted surface handlers were setting a
number of handsome gamecocks. The birds were between one and two years old, fine showy cocks,
bright-eyed and belligerent. Alison, swept along in the general wave, found herself, to her horror, pressed
against the low barrier around the cockpit, beside the Earl's chair. From this position it would be quite
impossible for her to avoid witnessing every detail of the carnage to come.

She saw the three-inch metal sheaths which had been fitted over the natural spurs of most of the birds;
the gleaming metal sickened the girl. The handlers gripped their tense charges; the air seemed to vibrate
with urgency. Desperately Alison cast her eyes about for something to take her attention from the
approaching conflict. She encountered the cold intent stare of the Earl, who was watching her rather than
the cockpit.

"You are no stranger to this sport," challenged Milord in a low, harsh voice. "I first met you, if you
recollect, a few weeks ago in this very place. You lost a rather large sum of money, I remember."

"That was Edmond," answered the girl, keeping her voice as low as the Earl's.

Milord's lip curled into a sneer, but any reply he intended to make was lost in the roar of voices as the
Battle Royal began. Within three minutes Alison was white-faced and nauseated, her eyes tightly shut
against the sight of the vicious battles between the maddened birds. All around her men were yelling,
avidly demanding greater savagery from their own particular champions. Sums of money were being
wagered in side bets upon what seemed to Alison to be cruel and irrelevant details of the matches.
Fearing that she was about to be sick, the girl turned and began to force her way through the crowd. She
had barely won clear of the press when a hand gripped her shoulder with punishing force.

"Did I give you permission to leave?" demanded the Earl.

Alison lifted a greenish face to his accusing glare. "Would you have me embarrass us both? I do not
think I can control my stomach."

Muttering a curse, the Earl thrust her ahead of him through the outer doorway. Fortunately he spied his
coachman seated upon the hammercloth of one of his lordship's own carriages. Roughly he hauled the girl
over and thrust her up into the coach. As he was about to get in after her, Sir Hilary came out of the barn
at a run.

"Is she—"

"I am forced to take this wretched creature back to the house," said the Earl in tones of crisp disgust.
Alison was conscious of the coachman and the attendant grooms. "A more miserable, sickly excuse for a
servant I have never encountered. I shall have to get Jim back." He sent a sharp glance at the servants on
the seat above him. "Since you have been interested spectators of this fiasco, I shall charge you to get Jim
back for me by tonight."

Jim being a general favorite in the Earl's household, the grooms and the coachman were grinning widely
as the Earl, followed determinedly by Sir Hilary, leaped up into the coach and slammed the door.

As the vehicle lurched off, Alison huddled in a corner, shaking with nausea and reaction. Almost before
an angry Hilary had a chance to open his mouth, the Earl launched the attack.

"Do you intend to announce Conninge's sex before all London? Even you should be aware that the girl
will be the chief loser from exposure! 'Is she— ' you shouted for all to hear!"

Thus neatly forestalled, Hilary closed his mouth and glared uncertainly at his friend. "You do not seem
greatly concerned either as to her health or her reputation," he struck back, but it was a weak effort and
the Earl did not dignify it by a reply. Instead he turned to Alison and asked coldly.

"Can you control your stomach until you reach your room? I do not wish my carriage befouled."

Sir Hilary gasped at his crudity, and the girl raised tormented eyes to her liege lord's face. However, she
straightened her shoulders and held her head higher. Without comment, the Earl lowered the window
beside her. Alison turned to it and began to draw in deeper breaths, and in a few minutes her color had
returned. The dark ruthless gaze had not once left her.

When she felt ready to meet those implacable eyes, the girl managed to say, "I shall do now, thank you,
Milord."

"God be praised," said his lordship with his mocking grin.

"You are becoming a monster," snapped Hastings.

"Becoming?" sneered the Earl. "I thought you had already decided I was a complete villain— the Devil
incarnate."

Alison stared from one angry face to the other. It appeared that the friends were at outs over her, and at
first she felt a kind of satisfaction that the arrogant Earl was receiving criticism from a man he had
honored with his friendship, and gratitude to Sir Hilary for the concern he had shown for her welfare. But
then, looking from Hastings' anger-reddened face to the Earl's darkly saturnine countenance, she began
to recall that it was the latter who had followed her so quickly from the barn, who had thrust her, no
matter how roughly, into the private haven of the carriage, who had attempted to restrain his friend's
unruly tongue in order to protect her reputation— and who had opened the window that she might have
more air to breathe!

Now thoroughly confused, Alison was compelled to accept that the Earl's idea of their relationship,
while it might offend her sensibilities and enrage her temper, had at least the virtue of the promised
protection. Sighing, she leaned back against the luxurious squabs and gave up the effort to understand
that very complex man, the Right Honorable the Earl of Havard— liege lord, monster, and Devil
incarnate.

Chapter 9

WHEN THE EARL'S party arrived at Havard Town House, Sir Hilary seemed, for one who was in so
little charity with his host, oddly reluctant to take his leave. Perforce, smiling narrowly, the Earl invited him
in to the library to take a glass of brandy.

"I believe— er— Conninge should come with us," urged Hilary, sotto voce.

"You feel he needs the restorative virtues of my best cognac?"

"We must talk," insisted Hilary.

"I fail to see the necessity," objected the Earl. "You have absolutely nothing to say in this affair which
can have any influence on my decisions."

Hastings set his teeth and preceded his host into the library. Alison followed unbidden, since she did not
at the moment feel competent to climb the stairs to her bed in the Earl's dressing room. Unobtrusively she
seated herself near the door, to be drawn to her feet immediately by the cold command, "Attend me,
Conninge!" from her liege lord.

Stumbling to her feet, she went to the table at which the Earl was pouring out three glasses of the
aromatic brandy.

"Take this to my guest," ordered Milord, placing a glass in her hand.

Hilary frowned but accepted the glass from her. Alison returned to the Earl's side and accepted the
second glass.

"Drink it," said her master.

There was no recourse from that command. The girl raised the glass to her lips and took a large gulp.
Then gasping, choking, tears running down her cheeks, she fought for air.

"All," instructed her persecutor.

Alison glared resentment through watering eyes and complied.

"You'll have her drunk next," complained Hilary crossly.

"In vino veritas," commented the Earl. "That might be a way discovering the truth."

Alison had recovered sufficiently from the stunning impact of the cognac to be able to speak. "To
convince you that I am speaking the truth I would be willing to make myself drunk, your lordship."

"Miss Conninge!" protested Sir Hilary, moving toward her protectively. "Of course you must not!"

"Spoilsport!" taunted Milord with a devilish smile.

Sir Hilary was not to be diverted from his purpose. "By now, Griff, even you must admit that the girl has
been telling the truth. Young Conninge was not at all squeamish about cockfighting. Only too eager to
hang about and wager his blunt. Never left until the last main."

"How do you know all this? Was he a particular friend of yours? I had not guessed it," said Milord.

"Of course I wasn't the fellow's friend," Hilary objected. "That jumped-up demi-beau—" At Milord's
sardonic grin, he recalled that the fellow's sister was standing beside him. "That is to say— I hardly knew
the— him! Oh, devil take you, Griff, stop grinning! You're a cursed marplot! You know what I mean.

Edmond Conninge's behavior at the barn was not at all what we observed today in his sister."

"What we were permitted— intended— to observe," corrected the Earl with a mocking smile.

Sir Hilary set his jaw. "I know you are deliberately advancing that point of view for your own
purposes—" he began with heat.

"Nefarious purposes, don't you mean?" interpolated the Earl silkily. "I won't put you to the blush by
asking you what possible advantage I could gain by denying belief in the mythical brother." He smiled
with horrid complacency at Alison. "Produce your twin if you can," he invited.

Alison, goaded beyond endurance, turned to her professed champion. "Sir Hilary! Could you, of your
kindness, send to my former lodging and question the other residents about the Conninge brother and
sister who lived there?"

"But could we believe anything a venal landlord, most likely bribed to tell the tale, would attest to?"
objected the Earl with a judicial air cloaking what Alison felt was insufferable enjoyment. "A determined
and wily cozener could sally out in different guise and thus convince the unwary that there were two
persons residing upon the premises."

It is all a game to him, Alison thought, with a kind of horror at such cruel insensitivity. Milord was
continuing.

"Even the name— Cunning!— smacks of deceit. I've no doubt our little poser has her background
carefully prepared in case she was unmasked."

"Let us go to Conninge Court!" cried the girl. "There, my father and the servants we have employed
since before my birth— the whole village— will attest to the fact that there were twins, Edmond and
Alison!"

The Earl surveyed her with lazy disdain. "You are seriously suggesting that I drive off to some
godforsaken village and make inquiries as to the background of one of my servants?" The mockery faded
from his face. "No, madam, you are my liegewoman and you will cause me no more trouble. Get up to
your bed and rest until your well-publicized wounds heal, and you are fit to serve me properly."

Heedless of Hilary's cry of protest, Alison ran from the room. An hour later, lying face down upon the
trundle bed on which she had cried herself to sleep, Alison woke slowly to become aware of someone
standing above her. She rolled over quickly and uttered an involuntary gasp of pain. Then she gasped
again, and her eyes widened as she perceived the riding crop the Earl held between his hands.

He read her expression accurately. "Yes," he informed her, "I came here with the express intention of
beating you. I warned you! Your behavior disrupts my household and quite destroys my comfort. I
sacked Jim because you attempted to seduce him; as a result, my whole staff mutters behind my back. I
was forced to abandon the Battle Royal because a servant— you!— became squeamish! With your lies
and your pathetic posturings you have set my best friend against me. Do you wonder I am ready to beat
you?"

"Thank you for rehiring Jim," Alison said in a small, hoarse voice. "He really wasn't to blame. And I
wasn't trying to s-s-seduce him!" she finished with a resentful wail.

The arrogant face above her did not soften. "You are a woman. What follows from that? Trouble!" he
said in his deep voice. "Even more than most of your kind, you attract it. Well, I warn you, woman. Build
me no more mare's nests! Involve my household in no more imbroglios! The next time I have occasion to
reprimand you, I shall do it with this." He struck the pillow beside her head once, sharply, with his crop.
Alison shrunk away, her great eyes wide with alarm. The Earl looked down at her for a long moment, his
expression hard and brooding. Then with a muffled curse, he turned and went into his bedroom,
slamming the door.

Half an hour later Dr. Foster came in quietly. After examining Alison's back, he spread on a
pleasant-smelling ointment and applied fresh bandages. With a kind comment as to the satisfactory
healing of her injuries, he left her several pills with instructions about taking them. He turned to look at her
just as he reached the door to the hall.

"His lordship has instructed me to tell you that you must remain in this room until the cuts are completely
healed."

Alison nodded listlessly.

"You are quite fortunate, you know," Dr. Foster said quietly. "His lordship would have my head if he
knew I was betraying him, but I must tell you he is a just and compassionate master to all his servants.
The health of this household is the best maintained in London."

"But it was he who beat me!" protested Alison, outraged by this praise of her tormentor.

"He probably thought you deserved it," suggested the doctor with a twinkle deep in his eyes. "I'll wager
a pony he didn't know you were a girl when he did it. I wish I had seen his face!"

Brooding alone in the dressing room as she waited for her dinner, Alison found it impossible to accept
the doctor's assessment of her liege lord. Her dreams that night were made hideous by his dark, massive,
looming figure, and by a queer feeling of guilt which possessed her when she wakened.

Chapter 10

IT WAS FIVE days before Alison saw her employer again. Five strangely frightening days during which
she rested, slept, ate delicious meals, drank glasses of port brought to her by a grateful Jim, who would
not accept Conninge's assurance that the latter had had nothing to do with the rehiring of his fellow
servant. The fright arose from the series of nightmares the girl suffered every night, brought on, she was
convinced, by the foreboding presence of Milord in the next room. Holding off terror during those five
days was the disapproving presence of Griggs. It quickly dawned on Alison that Griggs' censure was not
aimed at her but at his master upon her behalf. Did the valet suspect that Conninge was a woman? Or did
he merely begrudge the extra work he was compelled to perform because the savagely beaten Conninge
occupied Milord's dressing room? Coming in on quiet feet to select clothing for his lordship's wearing,
Griggs would ignore the servant in the trundle bed. Still, Alison was grateful for his no-nonsense attitude.
It served as a screen against the terrifying presence of the Earl.

On the fifth day Dr. Foster announced that Conninge's wounds were healing well, and would probably
leave no scars.

"I shall inform his lordship that you are fit for service again," he told her, watching her face with an
assessing gaze.

Alison could not meet his eyes. "Thank you," she managed to say in her deep, boy's voice. "You have
been most kind to me."

"I wonder?" mused the doctor. "Well, it's not my business. I've restored you to the fray. How you fight
is your concern."

Alison was not long left in doubt as to the challenges she would have to meet. Immediately after she had
finished her breakfast, brought on a tray by the ever-friendly Jim, Griggs entered the dressing room and
told her his lordship wished to see her at once. "In his bedroom," he concluded, frowning down at her
young beauty as she sat, childlike in the trundle bed, dressed in the coarse nightgown of the Earl's
servants, "Fully dressed."

Alison was not sure whether the final adjuration was relayed from Milord or was Griggs' personal
addendum, but she washed her face, tucked her curls under the wig, and donned the black uniform in
such haste that she was ready with her hand raised to knock upon Milord's door when Griggs opened it.
At his nod of approval, she entered. Griggs discreetly disappeared.

For a long moment the Earl stared at his liegewoman.

"So you are recovered at last?" he asked coldly.

"Yes, Milord. Dr. Foster assures me I am quite fit for service."

His lordship appeared to find this statement provocative. "Indeed? And did you discuss with the doctor
the various services you might be fit for?" he asked nastily.

Alison blushed.

A slow grin started in Milord's dark eyes and gradually softened the harsh lines of his face. "Incredible!"
he shook his head. "How such a hardened little doxy can bring up a blush at will! I had not thought it
possible."

"What service do you require of me today, Milord?" asked the girl, impatient of such levity. She felt she
could not endure even one more of his taunts without reprisal.

"Are you by any chance attempting to put me in my place, or challenge my authority? It seems you have
forgotten your first lesson, and I must school you again. Shall I send for my whip?"

Alison's flare of independence flamed higher at this poor-spirited threat. "Perhaps you should ask your
charming sister to join us? I have no doubt she would be pleased to help you beat me!"

Milord's answer was a smile of chilling cruelty. "Oh, I have no need of assistance in the punishment I
mean to give you, little doxy." He strode over to loom above her, his dark eyes flashing with contempt,
the very embodiment of her worst nightmares. Alison was stunned when he seized her in hard arms and
jerked her against his body. Taking her head in an iron grip, he forced her face up to his and pressed his
lips over hers.

After one instant of frozen shock, Alison writhed convulsively against him, her tawny eyes wide with
anger. For a long moment he maintained his hold on her body and the crushing pressure on her mouth,
then he thrust her roughly from him so she staggered and fell against a chair.

"No more impudent defiance?" demanded the Earl. "Have I silenced you?"

Alison nodded dumbly.

"I shall let you know what I intend for you in my own good time. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Milord," she Whispered from a dry throat.

The Earl glared at her with still-smoldering anger. "For such a negligible creature, you have managed to
cut up my peace to a remarkable degree," he said slowly. "Hastings is making a damned nuisance of
himself pleading your cause; my pest of a sister is clamoring for your blood; my household is a buzz with
scandalous rumors; my physician regards me with a jaundiced eye— I wish to God you had never come
into my sphere of influence!"

"I would be heartily delighted to get out of it," Alison offered humbly.

The Earl ignored her comment. "In seven hundred years, no man of my family has ever been so defied
by one of his own servants. In earlier days, had any vassal spoken to his liege as you have done, he
would have had his tongue torn out, or been beaten to death. Fortunately for you, we live in more
civilized times— or softer ones! Still, you are my liegewoman sworn, and I am your lord. You understand
that I cannot let you continue to be a visible thorn in my flesh?"

"You will release me from my oath?" the girl asked hopefully.

"I will break you to my will," was the grim answer.

Alison paled. This was the stuff of the nightmares made real. "Surely such a negligible creature as I am
could not really disturb you?" she protested, appalled by the threat in the brief statement.

"You think not?" Again that sardonic smile. "I have considered the matter, and have decided to take you
to Havard Keep, where I shall be able to discipline you properly."

"I cannot believe that one wretched female servant could be so important in your life. Can you not
relegate me to the scullery and forget about me?" begged the girl. "I am a good cook. I promise I will not
seek to defy or flout you. How could I if I never beheld you?"

The Earl's grim countenance showed no sign of softening.

"I have made my decision," he said.

Alison's most terrifying nightmares were in a way to becoming reality.

A knock upon the door interrupted whatever answer Milord might have made. A footman entered and
presented a salver to the Earl.

"Mr. Pomfret says he believes this is a letter you will wish to see at once," the man explained, with a
sidelong glance at Alison.

The Earl dismissed him with a nod and opened the letter. "This is addressed to Mr. Edmond Conninge,
27 Motford Mews, London," he said casually.

"You have had our mail brought here?" gasped Alison.

"Of course. It is a sensible precaution to know all I can about such a cheat and liar. Keep still while I
read it."

Totally ignoring the girl's cry of anger, Milord perused the missive. After a pause he said, "This message
is from a Doctor Sevenage. He informs Edmond that Mr. Arthur Conninge is very ill— not expected to
live— wishes to see his son. There is no mention of a daughter. What kind of a family spawned you?"

Disregarding the taunt, Alison pleaded, "Milord, of your mercy, say I may go! I swear to you I shall
return and serve my full term as your vassal. Oh, I beg of you!"

Frowning, the Earl considered her appeal. "Shall you go as Miss Alison?" he asked finally.

"No. As my brother Edmond."

The Earl's mouth tightened. "Why not go as yourself? Your father is surely aware of your sex?"

Alison could not endure that suspicious, piercing scrutiny. Head bowed, she made a low-voiced
confession. "It is Edmond he wishes to see, not me. My father has never— has never been very close to
me ..."

The Earl held up one hand in his characteristic gesture. "Spare me your maudlin efforts to seduce my
pity," he said coldly. "Why should I permit the even tenor of my life to be disrupted so that one
insignificant servant may indulge in a piece of playacting?"

"Playacting?" repeated Alison. "My father is dying!"

They faced one another. At length the Earl shrugged. "Since you are so determined to carry out the
farce, I shall send you in one of my carriages. But I intend to go with you, to expose your double-dealing
and chicanery once and for all. No doubt we shall find there is no father, just as there has been no twin
brother produced." He nodded decisively. "Your devious intrigues interest me, Conninge, as an exercise
in evil worthy of the Devil himself!"

When the girl, white-faced, made no reply to this taunt, but merely twisted her hands together in an
involuntary gesture of anguish, the Earl folded the letter and placed it in the pocket of his riding coat. "We
shall leave within the hour. Prepare to accompany me in your livery."

In the event, they were not to depart from London without one further confrontation. As Alison
followed the Earl down the front stairway to the great hall, Pomfret was discovered ushering in Sir Hilary
Hastings.

"Not again!" groaned Milord, very audibly.

Hastings flushed but advanced to meet them. "I have come to offer my services to uncover the true facts
of the situation you know of," he began awkwardly, one eye on the impassive servants.

"Ever gallant," supplied the earl, sotto voce.

Hastings ignored that and looked at Alison. Even in her grief and anxiety, the girl's beauty shone with an
austere luster. "I hope you are feeling more the thing, Conninge," he said kindly. "It is good to see you up
and about."

"Yes, is it not?" agreed the Earl blandly. "In fact we are up and about to go into Devonshire, to which
place Mr. Edmond Conninge has been summoned. I feel sure that our little tangle is in a fair way to being
unraveled, and that all will shortly be revealed."

"I shall come with you," announced Sir Hilary with a suspicious glance at his friend.

"Of course I shall be delighted to be your host, Hastings, but time does rather seem to be of the
essence. Conninge Senior is in dire straits, according to his physician, and I cannot feel that his son would
welcome a delay while you return home to collect your gear."

With a quick glance at Alison's pale, strained countenance, Sir Hilary uttered an oath and glared at the
Earl. "Where do you go?" he asked. "Tell me the place and I'll follow as soon as I am able."

"You spare yourself nothing in your search for truth," said the Earl, pushing Alison ahead of him out the
massive front doors. "But on second thought, Hilary, I believe you will admit your presence at Conninge
Court would create an unnecessary complication, impose extra burdens upon a staff already
hard-pressed to care for a dying man. No, you must rest in patience for a day or two. I promise I shall
have the whole truth for you when we return."

Hilary attempted to demur, but Milord was conveying Alison inexorably toward his carriage all the
while. As the girl hoisted herself into the familiar vehicle, she gave Hilary a grateful glance and a trembling

smile. He was one of three persons in all of London whom she might regard as a friend, the other two
being Jim and— strangely enough, with his austerely disapproving manner— the taciturn Griggs.

Chapter 11

THE EARL'S LUXURIOUS equipage trundled along the highway bearing two silent occupants. Milord
lounged back against the padded rear seat, his long legs stretched out before him. The girl, ill-at-ease,
perched rather less comfortably facing him. Alison found it difficult to keep her eyes from the big,
handsome figure sprawled so close to her. She found herself studying his attire, seeking to understand
what made it so much more elegant than the clothing of her brother or even of Sir Hilary. Edmond
possessed more modish garments, and Sir Hilary wore brighter colors, but the Earl's somber
magnificence outshone them both in some subtle way. Perhaps it was the breadth of his shoulders, the
lean, tapered waist and hips, the muscular long legs, which allowed his well-tailored garments to fit upon
him with such style and good taste.

Her eyes shifted to his face and were caught by the mocking amusement in his expression. Lazily he
shifted his long legs until a booted foot rested on the seat on either side of her. There was no suggestion
in the action, yet a sudden warmth rose in the girl's body at the intimacy of his position.

"You have been staring at me for quite ten minutes," the man taunted her. "Can I take it that you like
what you see?"

Color flamed fiercely in Alison's cheeks. She could not move her eyes from the Earl's
grinning-countenance, for she dared not let her gaze seem to explore the masculinity sprawled out so
close to her.

"Well, liegewoman?" challenged his lordship.

"My lord— sir," she caught a deep breath, "I beg of you—"

"You beg of me," he mimicked wickedly. "What is the boon you would have, liegewoman?" He was
obviously enjoying the game. "Does my vassal claim my protection? Or perhaps— something else?"

Suddenly the girl took refuge against his over-powering attraction in a kind of anger, modified by truth.
"Milord, you very well know you are embarrassing me," she said in the tone she might have used to a
younger Edmond. "As a matter of fact, I was wondering why your lordship's clothing seemed to present
a more elegant appearance than that of my brother or your lordship's friend, Sir Hilary."

The Earl raised one dark eyebrow in the gesture which gave his features a sort of devilish appeal. "Was
that the reason for your very detailed observation of my person? And did you reach a conclusion?"

"Conclusion?" faltered Alison, who had lost the thread of her explanation under the disturbing influence
of that dark eyebrow.

"Did you decide what it was which rendered my clothing superior?" the Earl clarified, blandly.

Too late Alison saw the trap into which she had betrayed herself. Her cheeks could not radiate any
more heat, but her long lashes dropped over tawny eyes suddenly unable to bear his glance.

"Answer me!" commanded her liege arrogantly.

"I decided it was your— your superior physique," said the girl faintly.

The Earl gave a shout of laughter. "So! That austere little face conceals a doxy's lust, does it?" He
leaned forward, dropping his feet to the floor, and pulled Alison over onto his lap.

The girl stiffened in his grasp. "You are offensive, sir," she said indignantly. "I have given you no reason
to treat me so contemptuously!"

"No?" Milord kept his hard, probing gaze on the girl's flushed face as he thrust one hand inside her neat
black jacket and rested it upon her breast.

Alison's eyes widened and she tried to pull away from his grasp. He held her firmly. The mocking grin
faded from his hawklike visage, to be replaced by a scowl.

"Even if I treated you much more offensively, it would still be less than you deserve. For instance: I saw
you forcing your attentions upon my sister against her will— thus ..."

He bent his head closer to her upturned face, caught her chin in one hand, and proceeded to savage her
soft lips with his own. Then he raised his head and jeered, "A kiss for a kiss! Mosaic Law. What have
you to say to that?"

"I— I am not responsible for my brother's boorishness— nor will I accept yours without protest!"

"Will you not, indeed?" asked Milord, smoothly. "And how do you propose to stop me?"

Under the menace of those dark, glittering eyes Alison swallowed convulsively. "I must remind you of
your oath to protect me, my liege lord," she managed to whisper.

Slowly the crushing grip relaxed, and the glare of cruelty faded from the man's face. "You would seek to
convince me that you have a very naive view of the feudal obligation, madam. Have you never heard of
the droit du seigneur, then? My rights to your body are absolute, young Conninge— should I wish to
enforce them! Still," he acknowledged, "you are shrewd." He set her abruptly back on the seat opposite
to his, and sat staring at her intently. Alison tried to preserve a calm demeanor under that searching
scrutiny. After a pause, the Earl said slowly, "I have a bargain to offer you, Alison-Edmond."

The girl did not speak.

"I will cancel your debt— one thousand pounds— upon one condition: that you become my mistress ...
willingly."

Alison's eyes widened with shock. "But you hate— you despise me as a liar, a cheat—"

"And a slut," added Milord with cool brutality. "What has that to say to anything? A man is not required
to respect the woman he uses."

"No!" Alison got the word past dry lips. Then, "No!" she repeated in a stronger voice.

The Earl contemplated her pale features without expression. "I have another suggestion," he said finally.
"If you will admit the truth, I shall release you from your oath of vassalage."

"The— the truth?" whispered Alison.

"Swear that you have been lying ever since you came to London; that there never was an Edmond; that
this pose of yours, this pretense of being an untouched girl, is the biggest lie of all. Admit that," he finished
quietly, "and I shall excuse your debt, free you, and send you home by yourself from the next posting
house."

Alison wrung her hands. He cannot bear to admit he has been wrong, she thought, that his cruelties
and insults have been unjustified and unworthy of the Earl of Havard. That his lofty judgment
could have been in error! How simple it would be to admit to the lie, endure his contempt— and
then be free of him! Her huge amber eyes were dark with stress.

"I cannot swear it," she said finally. "It is not true that I lied to you, or that I have acted the man in
London. I am Edmond Conninge's sister, Lord Havard. As God is my judge, I swear it!"

The Earl scanned her anguished face for a moment longer. Then he smiled faintly. "So close you were to

freedom, liegewoman! Was it not worth a few easy words? Or perhaps it is that you find it impossible to
leave— me?"

When Alison, head bent, refused to answer this last shaming accusation, he shrugged and leaned back
against the cushioned seat, the small smile still in place. In a few minutes he noticed a tear sliding down
the girl's cheek, to be followed by several more in quick succession.

Alison fumbled in the pocket of her livery jacket for a handkerchief, but could not find one. Sighing, the
Earl extracted a spotless piece of linen from his own coat and tossed it to her.

"For God's sake, dry your eyes! I refuse to countenance a watering pot in the close confines of this
carriage!"

Alison sniffed dolefully and dried her face. "Thank you," she said in her gruff little voice.

"You are welcome," replied the Earl meticulously. "It is, after all, part of my duty to you."

"To dry my tears?" The girl looked up, a watery smile lighting her forlorn face.

"To protect you— as you so shrewdly reminded me," the Earl replied with a rueful smile. Then he pulled
the cord to halt his coach, gave instructions to the outrider who immediately attended him, and within a
brief space of time was mounted upon a fine horse, while the groom went up on the box. Alison was left
alone in the carriage to consider her situation.

Should she have accepted the Earl's offer, although it involved agreeing to a lie, and gone home alone?
Once Milord reached Conninge Court, he would discover the truth, that there were Conninge twins. But
would that change his opinion of either of them? It would certainly not pay Edmond's debt of one
thousand pounds. That had still to be contrived in some way. Alison knew her father's estate could not
provide any such sum, even if the whole of it were sold. So her oath of service to the Earl must be
honored until he himself deemed an adequate restitution had been made. Perhaps when he had learned
that the doxy was actually an insipid little miss he would lose interest in the relationship.

At this moment Alison realized with horror that she did not wish him to sever the connection. She did
not want that at all!

Chapter 12

WHEN THE EARL'S carriage drew up outside Conninge Court several days later, Alison was no
closer to resolving her problem. Milord had spent little time in the coach with her, preferring to ride ahead
of the vehicle. Griggs, in a smaller coach with Milord's luggage, also rode ahead to establish Milord's

comfort at the best inn available each night. It was like a Royal Progress, Alison thought wistfully, but
with a spurious princess being driven in solitary state through the countryside.

Although the Earl himself scarcely spoke to her, there was always a small trundle bed set up for her in
Milord's room, behind a curtain or a screen; and food was served to Milord's body servant in the room,
while the other servants dined lustily in the Common. If the various landlords thought there was anything
odd about this arrangement, they were too well paid to comment.

For the last stages of the journey, however, Milord elected to ride inside the carriage, sheltered from a
steady downpour of rain. He had ordered the blinds partly drawn, a whim which Alison appreciated,
since it made it possible for her to arrive in her home village wearing Milord's livery without comment.
The villagers had never liked Edmond and would give her a meager welcome in the persona of her
brother.

As the coachman negotiated the winding, unkempt road from the gates to the house, the Earl looked
about him disparagingly.

"If you had truly loved your father, you would have done better to stay here and run the estate rather
than bleeding it dry for a fling in London."

Since these were exactly her own sentiments, Alison was reduced to saying crossly, "You know nothing
of the details of my father's plans!" to which the Earl had the discourtesy to reply, equally crossly, "It is
not for want of asking!"

This childish exchange over, both participants looked out their respective windows at the discouraging
scene presented to them. Whether she was seeing it with eyes made critical by the elegances and
amenities of London, or whether her home had deteriorated sharply in the two months she had been
away, Alison did not know. The grounds, the house itself, even this weed-infested driveway leading up to
the front door, all were shabby and sadly ramshackle. Seeing it as the Earl must be doing, for the first
time, Alison was ashamed.

Old Prettiman, her father's butler, stood to the door, rather in the manner of one repelling boarders.
Rather apprehensively he evaluated the magnificent carriage with its six horses, its postillions, its
impressive coachman, attendant grooms, and outriders. When a groom had the door open, Milord
descended.

Alison followed slowly. The butler's eyes slid past the Earl and fastened on the dark-clad, white-wigged
figure with unmistakable aversion.

"So yer back, Master Edmond? Where's Miss Alison, then?"

Alison tried to catch the Earl's eye to see how he liked this proof of her claim, but he was busy dealing
very adroitly with the crotchety old butler. It was little surprise to Alison when the old fellow bowed
Milord in, and even offered to instruct his wife, Mr. Conninge's housekeeper, to prepare a hot meal at
once.

"Thank you, Prettiman, but we have recently dined. I should like a room prepared for myself, although
my servants will find housing at the Conninge Arms in your village. And of course Master Edmond will
have his old room."

Prettiman's expression rapidly lost its warmth. "Aye, that he will! I suppose I had best set the woman to
cleaning it. Comes in by the day from the village, when we ask her, she does. There's only m'self and
Mrs. Prettiman left, Master Edmond, as I suppose you know. Your father had to let the rest of them go.
Couldn't afford to pay them." His baleful glance made it clear who was responsible for this state of
affairs.

Alison, who knew she had to preserve the fiction that she was her twin if her father was to have his
dying wish gratified, merely nodded and spoke her thanks gruffly.

Even that much courtesy caused the old butler to cast her a critical glance.

"My father— how is he?" the girl asked. "May I see him at once?"

"Dr. Sevenage is up there now," was the crabbed answer. "He comes every day. It was him wrote to
fetch you here. Where's Miss Alison, then?" queried the butler, as though he suspected Edmond had
excluded his sister.

"Miss Alison will be here shortly," volunteered the Earl unexpectedly. "She was prevented from coming
with us, but she is much concerned and sent her good wishes to all."

" 'Tisn't like Miss to neglect her Pa, no matter what some offspring do," grumbled the old man. Any
further animadversions were cut off by the arrival in the hall of the doctor, stumping down the stairs and
subjecting the newcomers to a jaundiced scrutiny.

"I see your sister finally got you here, Conninge," he began, glancing from Alison to the Earl. "I do not
think I know your friend."

"Milord, may I present my father's physician, Dr. Julian Sevenage? Dr. Sevenage, the Earl of Havard,"
said Alison tonelessly, her eyes straying up the stairs. Then, before the doctor could ask the questions so
plainly trembling on his lips, she went on in a low, urgent voice. "My father— how is he? May I see him?
Please!"

"It will probably do him good, since he has been on the fret to see you for weeks," replied the doctor
testily.

"Conninge set out within half an hour of receiving your message," retorted the Earl surprisingly. "He had
recently been forced to change his lodging, and his mail was not sent forward very promptly."

Sevenage was not mollified. "Milord, he knew his father's precarious state of health before he left—
taking the only sensible member of the family with him, to 'look after him' in London, forsooth! As though
Arthur and this great barn of a house didn't need Miss Alison to keep them alive!" The good doctor
snorted disapproval. "Well, our fine Master Edmond ignored my earlier appeals. His father is so much
worse that I have no confidence he will last out the day—"

With a gasp of impatience at this ill-natured harangue, Alison turned and fled up the old stairway. The
Earl strode after her. Shrugging, Dr. Sevenage let himself out the front door. "Tell anyone who's
interested that I'll be back tonight," he informed the butler crabbedly.

The Earl followed Alison into a darkened room smelling of medicine and sour dust. Upon a huge old
four-poster the dying man reclined, eyes closed in his gaunt, wasted face. Near the head of the bed a
middle-aged woman sat in an armchair. As the Earl entered, he caught the look of intense dislike with
which the woman was favoring the slender, dark-clad figure kneeling by her father's side.

Alison took one bony hand gently in hers. "Father, it's— it's Edmond. I am here with you. You must
promise to get well!"

The thin hand tightened on Alison's and the eyelids fluttered. "Edmond ... my dear boy ... you are
home!" sighed Arthur Conninge, and then lapsed into silence again.

"Pray do not excite your Pa, Master Edmond," chided the woman by the bed.

"Mistress Ames, is it not? I have to thank you for attending upon my father so kindly," said Alison
quietly, rising to her feet. "I'll freshen up from my journey, and then come to relieve your watch."

"Well, I must say that's thoughtful," admitted Mrs. Ames, albeit grudgingly. "But you stay now. I've been
here since early morning, and I need my dinner. I'll be back in a pig's whisper." She rose and walked
stiffly to the door. "Be sure you don't leave him till I get back here. Dr. Sevenage wants to be sent for at
once if there's any change," she said in a scolding tone.

"One of my grooms shall ride for him at the first sign of a change," the Earl assured her. "I'll send you
home in my carriage, and you can point out the doctor's house to the groom." To Alison's amazement he
smiled down at a fluttering Mrs. Ames. "I am the Earl of Havard."

"Oh sir, your lordship, I'll not go home this night!" the woman protested. "Doctor trusted me to watch
Mr. Conninge. I'll just get some food and a cup o' tea and be back at once."

When the woman had gone, Alison came quietly over to stand before the Earl. "Thank you for all you
are doing," she said softly.

The Earl glared at her. "Where in God's name is that wretched brother of yours? Why do you continue
to protect the miserable coward?"

"You do admit that there is an Edmond Conninge?" Alison, hurt by his cavalier reception of her
gratitude, asked sharply.

"I've suspected it for quite a while," the Earl admitted, shamelessly.

Alison gasped her outrage. "But you said— you refused to believe me— you insulted me! That offer in
the coach—"

"I was testing you."

Alison managed to keep her voice down in deference to her father's illness, but her "I hate you! I would
like to beat you!" had a sincerity which set the Earl grinning.

"I shall go to my room and wait for you to try it," he said outrageously.

"You had better go to the inn," the girl advised him. "The amenities here at Conninge Court will not be
up to your requirements."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," teased Milord, giving her a mock-lascivious look which surprisingly almost set
her to laughing. With a sense of shock she realized that the arrogant nobleman was actually teasing her,
that she was actually joking with her tormentor, and, most strange of all, she was enjoying it! And her
father so gravely ill beside her! The girl knew she would have to think carefully about this amazing
interlude, this new sense of acceptance and friendliness. That could come later; for now she must devote
every effort to helping her father.

She looked soberly up at the Earl. "You have defended your vassal this day, my lord, and I give you
thanks for it. I beg your leave to attend to my father."

"It is granted," said the Earl with a sudden quiet formality which impressed her. "You will keep me
informed as to your father's progress."

Chapter 13

WHEN MRS. AMES returned, refreshed but still suspicious, to Arthur Conninge's bedroom, she was
relieved to see that the wicked son was still seated by the dying man's side, clasping his father's hand in
both his own.

Repenting at the old man's deathbed, she thought; then, complacently, much good it will do him! Mrs.
Prettiman says the whole place won't fetch above five hundred, even with the rents. And then
there's Raf Tregar breathin' fire when anybody mentions Edmond. Wait till he hears the little
good-for-naught is back! She nodded smugly. He'll get his just dues! Then her thoughts turned to the
sister. Poor Alison! Never had a chance, she didn't, with these two rakehells! Like father, like son!

Feeling quite out of charity with the male Conninges, Mrs. Ames advanced stolidly toward the bed. "I'll
watch now. You can get your supper."

"Thank you," said the youth, rising wearily from his cramped position by the bed. "He has not stirred
since you left. You— you will be sure to let me know if there's any change, Mrs. Ames?"

"I've done a good bit more nursing than you have, Master Edmond," said the good woman, choosing to
be insulted by this natural anxiety. "I promised Doctor I'd send for him if Mr. Conninge gets worse, and
I'll do that!"

Thus angrily dismissed, Alison slipped from her father's bedroom and along to Edmond's. As she
washed and changed into some of his old clothes, the girl hoped that her presence as her brother would
ease their father's last hours. After spending an hour by the bedside of the dying man, she was not able to
hold out any hope for a dramatic recovery. But surely the presence of his favorite child would be a
comfort to Arthur Conninge?

Alison went down to the kitchen to secure a cup of tea. Prettiman and his wife were there, assisted by
Griggs, all of them setting out on trays such culinary treats as the larder afforded. The Prettimans were
ready to give Master Edmond short shrift, but Griggs, who seemed to be aware of this, said kindly, "Do
you go into the dining room, Mr. Conninge. I'll serve you with his lordship."

The Earl looked up at her entrance. His somber expression lighted briefly, to be schooled at once into
conventional formality. "Are you joining me, Conninge? How is your parent?"

"Much the same," Alison said bleakly. "I appreciate your patience, Milord, but—"

One strong, well-kept hand rose arrogantly to cut off her apologies. "Say no more! I am only too
pleased," just as old Prettiman entered with a tray.

It was, at first, a silent and hurried meal. Alison, aware that she would need all her strength to deal with
the deception she must practice for her father's sake, forced herself to eat some of the food offered. It
was simple but well cooked. Almost insensibly she found herself warmed and comforted, as much by her
silent companion as by the good meal. She raised her eyes to the Earl's face. He was seated very much
at his ease in his chair, one strong hand lightly clasping the stem of a wineglass, as he watched her with a
somber gaze.

"I am pleased that you are endeavoring to make a good meal," he said. "Your situation in this house is
such as must demand stamina— and courage."

"I have always found the servants most cooperative," the girl fumbled to find excuse for the cold dislike
which had been most evident in the silent Prettiman's demeanor.

"To Miss Alison, whom they respect and admire," said the Earl. "Master Edmond is a different kettle of
fish, as well you know. When will you abandon this pernicious masquerade?"

The girl raised grief-ridden eyes to his. "I must maintain the deception for my father's sake. He dotes
upon Edmond ... and he has so little time left!"

The Earl was not convinced. "You and your brother are identical in appearance," he said broodingly.
"The beauty which is petulant and self-seeking in him is warm and gentle in you. Surely your father would
prefer to have his last hours comforted by his daughter's real love?"

Alison shook her head. She could not explain to this big, intolerant man the pitiful details of her
relationship with her father.

As they were finishing dinner, voices in the hallway announced the return of Dr. Sevenage. Alison went
out quickly to offer him hospitality.

"Yes, I'll take a warm drink, Edmond," the older man said shortly. "There's a chill in the air—"

They were interrupted by the hasty appearance of Mrs. Ames at the head of the stairs. "Mr. Conninge's
worse! Oh, Doctor, it's a mercy you are arrived! I think he's going—"

Alison raced up the stairs, closely followed by the doctor. The Earl did not appear to be hurrying, but
he arrived in the sickroom while Dr. Sevenage was testily ordering more light as he bent over his patient.

Mrs. Ames lit more candles. Alison stood by her father's bed, her eyes fixed on the strained, twitching
countenance.

"Better pray, young Edmond. He's going fast," advised the doctor. "Unless that's what you've been
waiting for. All this show of filial concern!" Sevenage held the bony wrist carefully, his attention on his
patient. The Earl stood back from the bed, but his gaze was fixed upon the girl's face.

Arthur Conninge opened his eyes and peered around the room. "Edmond?"

The girl knelt by his side and took his groping hand in her own warm ones. "Father— I am here. I am
with you."

The old man exhaled softly. "Edmond!" he breathed, his eyes lighting with pleasure. "You've come at
last, boy. How glad I am to see you!" It was clear he did not remember their meeting earlier in the day.

"I had not heard that you were so ill," the girl apologized softly.

The old man did not seem to hear her, but rambled on, content with her presence. "Always loved you
best, Edmond," he said on a long sigh. "Proud of you, my dear boy. Another just like myself." His voice
strengthened momentarily. "Time to give you a father's blessing, is it not?"

"And— Alison?" prompted the girl in a choked voice.

"Who? Oh, your sister." The white head moved restlessly on the pillow. "Why waste breath on her—
you know I never could abide her!"

"Why?" came the question, a muted cry of agony.

The dark, watching figure of the Earl stirred once, then was still again. The doctor, standing across the
bed from Alison, took his patient's wrist again and frowned at the kneeling figure.

The old man seemed about to ignore the question, but after a moment he said, querulously, "You know,
Edmond! We've laughed about it often enough! Big graceless lump of a female ... an obscene caricature
of you, dear boy! Just like her damned mother, always scolding and complaining and trying to manage ...
me" the fretful voice faltered, then the old man raised his head in a final flare-up of strength, "... no fun in
her at all, the prudish bitch!" Whether he was referring to his wife or his daughter, Alison never knew, for
her father fell back against the pillow, gray of face, silent.

Sevenage frowned angrily at Alison and motioned her out of the bedchamber with the hand which was

not holding Mr. Conninge's wrist. Then he placed it on the sunken chest with its fellow and pulled the
sheet over the old man's head.

"Send Mrs. P to me at once," he commanded harshly. "Will you never cease putting everyone into a
turmoil, you young whelp? You've killed your father!"

Dazed, horrified by the accusation, Alison gave him one anguished look and then crumpled to the floor
before the Earl could reach her. Sweeping the slender figure up into his arms, Milord snapped,
"Ill-spoken, sir! He was a dying man before we arrived, and I myself witnessed the comfort Edmond
brought to his last minutes." Quite ignoring Sevenage's stammered apologies, the Earl strode out of the
room and carried Alison to his own room. There, behind a locked door, and with a ruthless disregard for
the Proprieties, he divested the inert figure of Edmond's clothing and put her carefully into one of his own
fine linen nightrobes. It was enormously large on the girl's slight figure. After a brooding look, he tucked
her into his bed and went out quietly.

As he closed the door behind him, the Earl saw Dr. Sevenage coming along the hall. The older man was
obviously ill-at-ease in such exalted company, and perhaps a shade remorseful of his ill-considered
attack on Edmond.

"Is the boy all right?" he inquired testily. "I'll send Mrs. P to cosset him as soon as she's helped Mrs.
Ames lay out the body."

"There is no need," said Milord coldly. "My valet will attend him. He fainted but is now sleeping."

Sevenage shrugged, relieved to be rid of the charge. The Earl went quietly downstairs to find Griggs.

Chapter 14

EARLY NEXT MORNING, Alison, attended by a grim-faced Earl, came silently down the stairway.
The girl was numb with misery, and hardly noticed where she was going. She was dressed again in her
black livery and, though looking curiously young and vulnerable, was suitably attired for mourning.
Milord, after one sharp glance at her face, had placed his hand under her elbow and was unobtrusively
guiding her.

They had just reached the foot of the stairs when the front door was slammed open. A young giant
stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the early morning light. Prettiman bustled forward, angrily
demanding by what right Raf Tregar intruded into a private dwelling.

Alison, lifting lackluster eyes, recognized the village blacksmith. "Tregar," she murmured. "What can I
do—"

The man, red-faced, glared at her. "So ye've come back to pick the carcase, have ye, Conninge?
Precious little ye've left of the holding, from all accounts, wi' yer Lunnon fads an' fancies! Well, I got a
reck'nin' for ye. There's me sister had to run away from home to have yer brat—"

Taking in the stunned look on Alison's face, Tregar sneered, "Forgot all about Meg, have ye? I've come
to give ye sommat to keep ye in mind o' her, ye rotten swine!" The blacksmith surged forward in a rush
of fury.

Alison made no move to escape or to defend herself. The angry Tregar brought up his fist, and, before
the Earl could prevent him, he had struck Alison on the chin.

The girl went down without a sound.

Tregar stood over the recumbent figure, rubbing his clenched fist in the other palm. "Playing dead,
Conninge? Like the cur-dog you are? After I've made a few changes in that pretty mug o' yers, yer fancy
Lunnon leddies won't find ye so tasty! Get up an' fight, ye—"

The Earl, noting that Prettiman was staring at the scene with a sort of guilty pleasure, stepped forward.
"Back away, Tregar, if that's your name."

The blacksmith turned and crouched, fists up to repel interruption. "An' who d'ye think you are?" he
snarled.

"I am Havard," the Earl told him coldly, "but more important for you to know, the person you have just
struck down is Miss Alison Conninge, come in place of her cowardly brother to comfort her father in his
last hours."

Prettiman gasped in horror, and tottered forward to kneel by the recumbent figure, moaning softly. The
blacksmith was made of sterner stuff.

"A likely story! Miss Alison's too nice a leddy to flaunt herself in men's breeches— unless she's learned
yer loose Lunnon ways!"

He might have said more, had not the Earl leveled him with two blows as pretty as any seen in
Jackson's or Mendoza's. The butler, still crooning regrets and reassurances, missed the masterly
performance, but, Griggs did not. He came out of the shadows at the rear of the hallway and stood at
Milord's shoulder.

"Neat," said Griggs, who considered himself a connoisseur.

"A sitting duck," disclaimed the Earl, turning to Prettiman. "I shall carry Miss Alison up to her own
room. Get your wife upstairs at once to lead the way."

Dr. Sevenage came through the open doorway. His eyes widened at the sight of two bodies on the floor
of the hall. He walked over and identified the blacksmith. "Have I missed a mill?" With some interest he
regarded Alison's supine form. "Edmond got his just desserts, did he?"

"This is Alison, Sevenage," replied the Earl crisply. "I am surprised you did not realize it. I find it strange
that her concern for her father, her gentle behavior, her courage, were not enough to make you aware of
her true person."

The doctor knelt hastily beside Alison's body. While he was conducting an anxious examination, the
Earl turned to Griggs.

"Let's get this savage out," he ordered. Between them, they lifted the heavyset blacksmith and shunted
him out the still-open doorway. "I'd like to boot him all the way back to his smithy," said the Earl from
between tight lips.

"He didn't realize he was hitting Miss Conninge." Griggs stared at his master with a frown.

"If you are minded to suggest that this is all my fault for employing the girl, I advise you to keep your
pious animadversions to yourself," snapped his master. Behind them in the hallway there was a sudden
feminine wail. "Mrs. Prettiman has made the momentous discovery," said Milord nastily. "Let us hope she
is regretting her harshness to Alison."

"She shouldn't be the only one," Griggs replied with a minatory glance at his employer.

Whatever the Earl might have replied to this piece of insolence was lost in the bustle of a hire-coach
pulling up to the front of the house. From it, without waiting for a servant to open the door, burst out Mr.
Edmond Conninge, closely followed by a weasel-faced man in a sober brown coat. The sight of the Earl
and Griggs holding up a groggy Tregar gave Edmond momentary pause, but he quickly regained his
aplomb. Peering past the unusual tableau on the porch, he asked of no one in particular, "My father? I
heard— that is— is he dead?"

The Earl relinquished his grip on Tregar. The blacksmith, shaking his head, stumbled a few steps toward
the foppishly dressed Edmond, who drew back apprehensively.

"Your father is dead," confirmed the Earl coldly. "I would advise you to go within doors at once, before
the blacksmith recovers his wits. He seems to bear you a grudge."

"Oh— Tregar," faltered Edmond.

"In the matter of his sister Meg, I understand," explained the Earl in a voice loud enough to penetrate
Tregar's daze.

"Yes— well, I am sure I cannot be expected—" began Edmond petulantly, keeping one eye on the
weaving figure of the giant.

Tregar shuddered and tried to focus his eyes. The first thing he observed clearly was the face of the
youth he hated. A rumbling growl began in his chest and he bared his teeth.

Edmond darted past him into the hallway, slamming the front door after him. The weasel-faced man,
giving the group on the porch a wide berth, opened it again and slipped inside. The Earl considered
Tregar dispassionately. "Better go home," he advised. "You've already got yourself in a sad pickle,
striking Miss Alison. Edmond Conninge is here now, and will keep for a day or two. I suggest you return
and take vengeance on the real male factor after the funeral."

With an inarticulate snarl, the blacksmith lurched off down the driveway toward the village. Shrugging,
the Earl returned to the house.

In the hallway he found a scene of confusion. Mrs. Prettiman and Dr. Sevenage were helping Alison to
her feet, where she stood swaying as groggily as ever Tregar had done. The butler hovered anxiously in
the background, clasping a bottle of brandy in one hand and a glass in the other. Dr. Sevenage began to
coax the dazed girl to mount the steps to the upper floor. Of Edmond and his crony there was no sign.

The Earl stepped forward and swept the slight figure into his arms. "Lead the way, Mrs. Prettiman," he
ordered crisply. "Miss Alison's own room, this time."

Preceded by the volubly lamenting housekeeper and followed by a frowning doctor and Prettiman still
bearing the brandy, Milord bore the girl up the stairway and along the corridor to a small room at the
back of the house. It was plainly decorated but quite clean and attractive. Mrs. Prettiman bustled over to
remove the quilted counterpane from the small bed. The Earl deposited his burden upon this and went to
stand at the foot to watch Sevenage's ministrations. The doctor, alternately scolding and murmuring
encouragement, settled his patient, accepted a glass of brandy the butler was offering, and coaxed the girl
to drink it.

"You must rest in your bed all day tomorrow," he ordered. "This is all very irregular, Miss Alison, very
irregular indeed! Mrs. P, you will give your mistress one of these powders every four hours, dissolved in
a glass of water. They will keep her quiet until the pain in her jaw is gone. Is that clear?"

Mrs. P, weeping copiously, was understood to say that she never would understand Miss Alison, and
what was to become of them now that viper had returned, and the master dead in his bed!

The Earl raised a contemptuous eyebrow. Dr. Sevenage, noting it with annoyance, walked over to Mrs.
Prettiman and tapped her sharply on one tear-wet cheek.

"If you cannot control yourself enough to look after Miss Alison properly, I shall have to get someone
else in. I think Goody Vernon is free at the moment."

Mrs. Prettiman's tears stopped as though a tap had been turned off. "Over my dead body will you bring
that woman into this house," she snapped, and turned on her husband. "Well, where's the water for Miss
Alison's medicine?" she scolded. "And send up some hot tea and bread and butter. This poor child has
had no food today. 'Tis no wonder she feels faint!" and the embattled dame glared around at the circle of
males. "Men!" she said with loathing.

When the others had gone, Dr. Sevenage lingered in the doorway. "Get the poor child out of that
ridiculous getup, Mrs. P," he ordered. "Masquerading as her brother! Tregar might have killed her!"
Then, closing the door carefully to shut out the wrathful face of Mrs. Prettiman, he muttered softly, "
Women!"

"Just so," agreed a cold voice behind him. The doctor swung about to confront the Earl with a
suspicious glance.

"What was the fool girl doing with you, in that getup?"

"You claim to know Miss Conninge?" Milord was at his loftiest. "I should think her plan obvious to the
meanest intellect."

Dark color rose in the doctor's weathered cheeks. However, he was made of good stuff, and after
bestowing an affronted glare upon the Earl, he said slowly, "Alison was ever one to protect her father
from the results of Edmond's folly and selfishness. I can only suppose she heard old Conninge was about
to stick his spoon in the wall?"

"And lacking information as to her brother's whereabouts, she played his role to ease her father's dying,"
the Earl confirmed. "At considerable expense to herself."

Dr. Sevenage looked grim. "It was ever thus! From her childhood she has protected those two stupid,
insensitive men, and no thanks did she ever receive for it." He pursed his lips. Milord led the way down
the staircase. "Milord," began the older man, scanning the Earl's forbidding profile, "as an old friend of
Miss Alison's, may I ask ... what is her relationship to you?"

There was no help for it. "She is my servant," said the Earl.

Then before the doctor could voice his outrage, Milord continued, "She was repaying the debt of
honor— one thousand pounds— which Edmond Conninge repudiated."

The doctor called Edmond a very rude name.

"Exactly," agreed the Earl.

"But a woman?" argued the doctor. "Surely you would not accept repayment from a female?"

"Do you say that females have no right to a sense of honor?" queried the Earl, giving him a level glance.

"But— but—" sputtered Sevenage, "surely, Milord, that is a man's prerogative?"

"The Forteyns have always held their women equally responsible with their sons and brothers," stated
the Earl arrogantly.

"Archaic!" breathed the older man.

"In any event, Miss Conninge appears to believe that to protect her family's good name is her
concern— in the absence of a similar belief on her brother's part."

Dr. Sevenage was shaking his head. "To hire out as a servant! Does she work in your kitchen, Milord?
Or as nanny to your children?"

"She is my personal servant," said the Earl imperturbably.

The doctor's face lost its ruddy hue. "You did not seek to victimize a young woman of breeding—" He
drew a deep breath. "I was well aware that Edmond had no honor, but I had thought that a nobleman of
your stamp—"

"Yes, Dr. Sevenage? You wish to make a comment upon my integrity?" The Earl's gaze fixed on the
heavy, shocked face of the man confronting him. "You were going to say—"

Under that ice-cold menace, Dr. Sevenage turned to pleading. "Milord, the child is hurt. She has just
lost a parent. She is gently born and bred ..." He shook his head incredulously. "Your servant, Milord?
This will destroy her if it becomes known!" Meeting that cold, implacable gaze, he finished in a pleading
voice, "I trust you will not make— demands— upon her until she is herself again?"

"I am, in a sense, her protector," the Earl began, and then, observing the stiffening of Dr. Sevenage's
features, added, "in the feudal sense. Her virtue remains as it was when she offered to pay her brother's
debt by working for me."

"Of course, sir!" said the doctor testily. "I had not considered anything else!" but he looked relieved.

By this time they were at the front door, and Prettiman was bowing the doctor out. The door had
scarcely closed when Edmond appeared in the hallway, his weasel-faced companion at his shoulder.

"Come for your thousand pounds?" he sneered.

Milord ignored the taunt. "You do realize your father is dead?"

Edmond could not meet the stern, searching look. "I— I had heard he was ill," he muttered. "I came as
soon as I could." Then, at a nudge from his companion, he said brusquely, "Milord, may I present Mr.
Mottle—"

"No," answered the Earl succinctly.

"No? But he is—"

"I do not accept the introduction," stated the Earl.

Shocked into speechlessness at this arrogance, Edmond quickly cast about for a way out of the
impasse. "Well, Milord, I wish to tell you that Mottle is going to make me an offer for this place."

"Indeed?"

"Yes," continued the youth stubbornly. "I have plans—"

"I am sure of it," agreed the Earl in a distinctly unpleasant manner.

"I shall of course take care of my debts," Edmond said loftily.

This time there was no comment, merely a widening of the contemptuous smile. "Your sister has
assumed responsibility for your gambling debt to me."

"Alison?" Edmond's incredulity was obvious. "But she has nothing of her own! The place was willed to
me— I know that. I've seen the will. And whatever money my father had left is to be mine—" He turned
to Mottle. "It is as I told you. The will names only me."

Weasel-face evaluated the nobleman's contemptuous expression. "Maybe your sister come 'ere for a
reason, Mr. Conninge. You don't know 'ow long she's bin 'ere, what she's said about you to the old
man."

Edmond's expression darkened. "But she was dressed as me, playing me to comfort my father! The
Prettimans said—"

"All the better to cheat you. She could of worked on the old man, coaxed 'im to leave everything to 'is
pore, 'elpless daughter."

"He'd never have done it," protested Edmond. "He never liked her above half!" But it was plain that he
was shaken by the possibility.

The Earl reentered the discussion with an air of distaste. "You need have no fear, Conninge. Your sister
is foolishly loyal to you— a quality you would not recognize. She even dressed in your clothing to
comfort your dying father with the delusion that his son had taken the trouble to come to support his last
hours."

"If I had known—" began Edmond defensively.

The Earl laughed insultingly. "You knew enough to get in at the death."

"And you can jolly well get out!" flared Edmond. "It's my house now and you're not welcome."

Milord grinned wolfishly. "I shall leave as soon as you pay me the thousand pounds you owe me."

Shocked out of his anger, Edmond opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, then looked at Mottle.

The little man shook his head. "Whole place won't raise much more than that— if as much," he gave his

opinion sourly.

Edmond turned on the Earl. "You told me Alison had assumed the debt."

"You'd disappeared. She did it to save your face. You had defaulted on a debt of honor."

"But she hadn't anything—"

"True, you had abandoned her in London without funds. She offered to pay off your debt by working as
a servant in my house."

"Well?" said Edmond petulantly. "What's wrong with that?"

"Have you considered how many years your sister will have to work as a drudge in my household to
earn one thousand pounds? Are you content to see a female member of your family spend her life in
domestic service?"

"What else could she do? She is not trained for anything, and there's no money to keep her now," said
the youth sullenly.

"You could find work to support her," suggested the Earl. "The money this creature gives you for your
ancestral home will not last long, and you will be compelled to find— employment of some kind."

"What business is that of yours?" sneered Edmond.

"Perhaps he has— an interest— in your sister?" smirked the weasel-faced man, who had been following
the exchange with avid attention.

Edmond seemed much struck by this. "Just what is my sister's position in your household, Havard? By
God, if you've made her your drab, I'll—"

"Challenge me to a duel?" taunted the Earl with a wide, feral smile. "Why don't you, you miserable
excuse for a man? I should like nothing better than to have you at my sword point."

The color drained from Edmond's face. "I won't fight you Havard! Mottle's my witness, I don't accept
your challenge!"

"Then you had better see that you never come in my way again," said the Earl with deadly promise.
"You are beneath contempt. A cringing poltroon."

"You won't goad me into it, either," averred the youth, backing away.

"Tregar has the right idea," said Milord. "He doesn't wait to issue a challenge in form. You had better
seek some hole where he can't find you. He's already knocked your sister down, thinking she was you.
Will even that rouse your manhood, you craven?"

"If Alison has been flaunting herself in men's clothing, she's forfeited all claim to respect," retorted her
brother. "No man could be expected to protect a drab—"

There was a low cry from the head of the stairs. Three pairs of eyes turned to behold the girl who stood
there, a shabby dressing gown over the Earl's nightgown, clinging to the baluster as she stared down,
white-faced, at her brother.

The Earl was the first to act. Striding up the stairs, he snapped, "Where is Mrs. Prettiman? What the
devil are you doing out of your bed?"

Alison put up one hand to conceal the great, swollen purple bruise on her chin. Her drug-dazed eyes
went beyond Milord to the golden-haired youth in the hallway below.

"Edmond! You are here! Oh, brother ... our father ... is dead!"

The Earl caught her as she fell.

Chapter 15

WHILE THE BUTLER cornered a reluctant Edmond and bore him off to make the funeral
arrangements, the Earl carried Alison back to her bedroom. Mrs. Prettiman, darting in after them,
launched into a spate of excuses and explanations for her failure to keep her charge in bed.

"She must have heard her brother's voice. She's been asking after him— too worried to sleep, poor
lamb! I had just slipped down to the kitchen for one minute to get her a cup of tea, Milord! Very
soothing, is tea! And then there's dinner to see to— yourself, and Edmond, and that Mottle— and the
collation for after the funeral to be planned for— Oh, I am beside myself with it all!"

Carefully depositing the slender body onto the narrow cot, the Earl demanded, "Is there no abigail who
can take care of Miss Alison, and free you for your regular duties?"

"Well, there's Mrs. Ames, now she's finished with laying out the master," the flustered housekeeper
offered dubiously.

"Get her," advised Milord. With a last searching glance at the pale, bruised face on the pillow, he strode
from the room. Griggs, who was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs, thought he had seldom seen
those arrogant features set so coldly.

"Go out to the stables at once and have my carriage brought round. Then go in it to the village and
engage me the best accommodation the place affords— if the godforsaken hamlet boasts an inn!"

Griggs, who knew his master, had already made inquiries. He nodded austerely. "The Conninge Arms,
Milord. Prettiman says it is plain but clean."

"My God!" groaned his lordship, "one of those! Well, bespeak all the rooms. I do not wish to remain in
this wretched house one minute longer than I need."

"What are we going to do about Miss Alison, Milord?"

The Earl gave him a stare which mingled annoyance and suspicion. "This is her home. We leave her in it,
of course."

"Her brother has just dismissed the Prettimans. They are to leave the day of the funeral. The house has
been sold to— er— Mottle."

The Earl experienced a sudden sense of outrage. Was there to be no end to his involvement with this
miserable family? He said harshly, "The girl will go with Mrs. Prettiman, I imagine. The woman seems to
have respect and compassion for her."

"The Prettimans are London-born, my lord," Griggs advised him. "They have no home except this
house." He cleared his throat in the manner the Earl recognized as one preceding a significant
announcement. "Prettiman informs me that his wife is in a taking, my lord. They have nowhere to go; their
wages have been small and reluctantly paid. The confusion belowstairs is extreme."

The Earl set his jaw grimly. "And you— damn you!— have decided, I apprehend, that I am to resolve
all difficulties?"

Griggs endured his master's raking stare. After a moment he said quietly, "She is your liegewoman,
Milord."

The Earl exhaled a harsh breath. "Very well, Griggs. You may tell the Prettimans to rack up at the
Conninge Arms, with Miss Alison, until we are ready to leave for London. As soon as you have
organized transport, we'll send 'em all to Havard Castle. It will be your task to persuade my factor there
to find work for 'em."

The valet permitted himself a discreet smile. "As you say, Milord. An admirable solution to the problem,
sir! This way, Mrs. Prettiman can look after Miss Alison and get her ready for traveling. After the funeral,
of course."

His master's look would have flayed the skin of a less self-confident man. "I see you have the whole
situation well in hand! I am now to cool my heels in this bucolic limbo, moralized at by bladder-nosed
medicos, insulted by craven louts, until after the rustic last rites of an unpleasant country nobody! Is it
your intention that I attend the obsequies?" When he received no answer, Milord said bitterly, "Of course
I see what you are about! I had hoped I might rid myself of the troublemaking little chit—"

"Had you indeed, Milord?" asked Griggs demurely. "I had understood your family motto read, What I
have, I hold." Then, catching the fulminating gleam in the Earl's eye, he absented himself quickly to put
his master's commands in train.

It soon became evident that Milord had one more encounter to endure before he could shake the dust
of Conninge Court from his feet. The meeting took place in the hallway immediately after the Earl had
dismissed Griggs. Edmond popped out from the library, startled to see his noble guest but carrying it off
with a panache which the Earl decided was the result of freely imbibing to celebrate the closing of the
sale.

"You are leaving, Havard?"

"As soon as my carriage can be brought around," agreed the Earl. Then, glancing contemptuously at the
smirking youth, he said, "I understand you have dismissed your old servants out of hand?"

"Why not? I have sold the house, and I'm damned if I'm going to bother with a pair of old
fuddy-duddies who've been sponging on my father for donkey's years."

"Are you going to say good-bye to your sister? You may never see her again."

"I can only hope," said Edmond, with the air of one pulling aside his robe from contamination, "that none
of my friends in Bath will have heard of her exploits—"

The Earl's mouth set in a grimace of contempt. "I advise you not to return to London," he said. "Men of

your stripe are not welcome in St. James' Street."

But Edmond had already returned to the library, and the comfort of his father's brandy.

Chapter 16

THE FUNERAL WAS attended by every ablebodied man and woman in the village. It was not that the
selfish, irascible Arthur Conninge had been a beloved figure, but rather that every adult was agog to
behold the Earl of Havard and Miss Alison. Her reappearance at her old home in man's clothing, and in
Milord's company, had already given rise to widespread rumors, but even the most censorious critics
were willing to concede that, no matter how ill-advised her action, Miss Alison had probably done it to
comfort her father's deathbed. His preference for his spoiled and willful son was widely known. It was
agreed that Miss Alison had tried to save her brother's groats for him once again, and had succeeded. It
was known that Edmond was sole heir of his father's depleted holdings— no thanks to himself!

There was a good deal of resentment among the villagers at the summary dismissal of servants who had
grown old in the Conninge service. Edmond, compelled to appear at his father's funeral, showed a
disposition to cling to the Rector's side. Then, fooling all observers, including a rancorous Tregar, he had
slipped away in the hired coach with Mottle while the rest of the mourners were accepting the Earl's
invitation to proceed to the Conninge Arms to partake of a cold collation in honor of the departed squire.
Raf Tregar, hardly controlling his fury out of respect for the dead, was aware of Edmond's sudden
absence— just too late to stop him.

The Earl had provided a modest repast for the entire village in Miss Alison's name. He had prevailed
upon the Rector to act as host, since Alison was still confined to her bed in the Conninge Arms, too
weak and desolated to attend her father's last rites. Sharing a glass of wine and a few civil words with the
priest, Milord was then thankfully preparing to mount into his own carriage to return to London when a
disturbing report was brought to him.

"Miss Alison has disappeared," announced one of the two maids who worked at the bar at the Arms.

The Earl experienced an unaccustomed emotion. He had quite convinced himself that he wished nothing
better than to be finally rid of the whole Conninge connection, but this news of his liege-woman's
vanishment touched a deeply buried feudal anger. Milord snarled at the wretched informant. "Miss Alison
is under Mrs. Prettiman's care in a bedroom upstairs!"

"Well, she was, Milord, that's true enough," admitted the rustic Hebe, "but she ain't there now. She's
disappeared, she has, and Mrs. Prettiman's in a rare taking!"

There were indeed strange sounds proceeding from the upper regions of the inn. "Is there to be no end
to this?" The Earl's black eyebrows lowered in a thunderous scowl as he strode up to settle yet another
infuriating contretemps.

Managing at length to get a straight story from the hysterical housekeeper, Milord discovered that Mrs.
Prettiman had decided to have just a peek at the setting out of the funeral baked meats, Miss Alison
being fast asleep— as she believed— and not therefore likely to miss her old housekeeper, but when the
good woman returned to her charge's bedroom, it was empty and the bird flown!

"Where have you looked for her?" demanded Milord between set teeth.

"Why, nowhere, yet!" replied the lachrymose female. "Does your lordship think she might have gone
back to her home— or to the graveyard, mayhap?"

Milord at once dispatched servants to search in both places, suggesting icily that Mrs. Prettiman begin a
thorough investigation of the inn premises at once. "She may have gone to seek you— or to get food—
and fainted in some squalid cupboard," said the Earl. Then, an unpleasant thought occurring to him, he
paused in the doorway. "Is it possible she might have tricked us all, and joined her brother to go to
Bath?"

"Master Edmond would never have agreed to take her," said the barmaid positively.

Mrs. Prettiman turned on her. "Do you think my Miss Alison would go anywhere with that wretch?" she
snapped, then somewhat spoiled her rebuke by adding, "even if he would agree to take her, which of
course he never would."

Silently agreeing, the Earl turned and ran lightly down the stairs. He found himself admitting to a very
uncomfortable suspicion which had come to him upon first hearing the news of Alison's disappearance.
No one had better knowledge than himself of the quixotic, idealistic nature of the girl, and of the
pressures she had recently suffered. High-principled as he now acknowledged her to be, overly
protective of both her father and her brother, their rejection of her love, their betrayal of her finest
feelings, must have struck her open, devoted nature with a devastating shock. Fighting very hard against a
nebulous image of a slender gilt-haired figure swinging gently at the end of a rope from some high dark
beam, the Earl recruited his own grooms and sent them to search the village and its environs. At first he
intended to remain at the inn until the girl was found— for surely she could not have gotten far in her
exhausted condition in so short a time! Then, denying his own motives, he rose with an oath from the
table where he sat drinking and strode out into the late morning sunlight. Griggs was standing near the
porch, consulting with two of Milord's grooms.

"She's nowhere in sight, your lordship," said the valet grimly. "Surely that brother of hers did not carry
her away? He seemed glad enough to be rid of her."

The Earl found himself unable to comment, only deeply aware of an urgency he could not understand.
His hard glance raked the terrain. "Have you searched the barns and stables here at the inn, and the
outlying buildings?"

"Why no, your lordship," said one of the grooms. "We thought she'd try to get back to her home. We've
been searching that way."

The nagging suspicion had become a dreadful certainty. He could almost see that slender figure ...

"Try all the buildings here— at once!" the Earl shouted, and himself ran full out toward the farthest barn.
As he was about to enter it, a faint flick of color teased one corner of his vision.

Whirling like a great cat, he raced toward the pond which stood between the inn and a sheltering copse
of trees. Someone ... was wading out into the water ... someone who did not turn nor pause nor heed his
shout of command. Alison.

The girl had launched herself forward into the deepest part of the weed-grown pond before he reached
the edge. She sank from sight as he was plunging in after her. He reached the place where the water was
disturbed, and dived into the murky depths, his arms thrusting and grasping. After an agonizing time his
fingertips brushed against cloth. Rising, he flung his body forward and down and grasped the girl's body
in his arms. She did not struggle against his grip, and for one dreadful moment he believed he had found
her too late. But then she whimpered and retched in his arms, and twisted to escape him and finish what
she had started.

Staggering through the weeds, in danger of slipping on the mucky slime of the bottom, the Earl managed
to get out of the pond with his unwilling burden. As he strode toward the inn, Milord said quietly, "This is
unseemly behavior for my liegewoman, Alison. I had thought better of you."

The girl did not reply, but ceased her restless struggling and collapsed against his broad chest. The
Earl's grip relaxed a little, and his voice was almost gentle as he mocked, "I see I shall have to teach you
how to swim."

At that, Alison raised her great anguished eyes to his dark intent face. "I cannot go on ... there is nothing
... I tried, in the barn ... beams too high ... I am so tired," she whispered disjointedly.

I tried in the barn ... beams too high ...

"Are you repudiating your debt to me, liege-woman?" the Earl asked softly.

Alison hesitated, tried to focus her eyes on his face.

"Oh— no. But you cannot wish—"

"We took blood oath," the man said firmly. "You belong to me. I have no intention of releasing you."

They had reached the back of the inn, and, from all quarters, men who noticed the burden he bore were
moving toward them. There was no time for conversation. Besides, the girl was drugged, and dazed with
grief. The Earl strode into the kitchen and found Mrs. Prettiman, her husband, and Mrs. Ames.

"You will see," he told the two women sternly, "that Miss Alison is never left alone for one minute until
we leave for London. Is that understood?"

Both women nodded, soberly. For once they had nothing to say.

"We shall set out for London the day after tomorrow, in the morning. You, Mrs. Prettiman, will attend
Miss Alison in my coach. Your husband will accompany Griggs in the second coach. I shall send Dr.
Sevenage to you in half an hour."

Before a blazing fire in the inn's best bedroom, Mrs. Prettiman silently stripped the sodden garments
from the girl's trembling frame. Wrapping her in a woolen robe, she put her into a warmed bed and then
washed the pale face and body with a soft cloth. Still without words, she gently combed the fine silken
hair, removing weeds and bits of leaf. Bringing a bowl of fresh water, she soaped and then rinsed Alison's
curls.

Eyes closed, the girl permitted her ministrations. Finally, the soft hair bright again, the older woman said
softly, "There now, my dearie, there now!" as though Alison were still a child. Mrs. Prettiman did not
know whether the girl was asleep or just exhausted by her ordeal. The housekeeper went to the door
and beckoned to one of Milord's grooms who stood waiting at the head of the staircase.

"Hot milk, and a slice of bread to crumble in it," she whispered. Nodding, the man went down to the
kitchen. But when he returned, the girl was breathing regularly, and Mrs. Prettiman decided not to waken
her. Instead, she placed clean garments ready for the morning. Tutting over their age and lack of style,
she pursed her lips and wondered if Milord might be planning to keep herself and Prettiman in his Town
House to attend their young mistress.

"He'll have to buy her some better clothes than these, if she is to live in his grand London house,"
thought the housekeeper with a worried frown. She went to stand above the sleeping girl, staring at the
pale face. Tried to kill herself. Why?

The door opened quietly and Dr. Sevenage came to the bedside. "Asleep, is she?" he whispered. "Poor
lass! What a time she's had with that old tartar and young Edmond!"

"They're both gone now— and good riddance!" snapped the old woman.

"And as usual, Miss Alison remains to bear the burden."

"Why did she come home dressed as a man?" ventured Mrs. Prettiman. "Oh, I know she wanted old
Conninge to think she was Edmond, and die easy, but she could have changed at the Court. She arrived
in men's clothes with the Earl. D'you think Milord knew she was a girl?"

The doctor read her worried old face. "I think it is no business of ours," he answered gently. "She
helped that old reprobate to die easy, and she took the blow Tregar meant for Edmond. Those of us who
love her should be content to honor her for that."

Mrs. Prettiman nodded vigorously. "I don't know a single soul in the village who speaks against Miss
Alison, but there's talk, Dr. Sevenage, and that's only human!"

The doctor rubbed a weary hand across his forehead. "I cannot satisfy the general curiosity, Mrs. P. I
do not know Miss Alison's reasons for the masquerade, or what she got up to in London, but I'd pledge
my life she behaved as a decent and modest woman should— in spite of her appearance here in that
shameless rig-out with that nobleman." He gave the woman a small packet. "Here are several powders
for you to administer to Miss Alison within the next few days. They will keep her from feeling the worst
of her pain— both of body and mind! But you must keep an eye upon her at all times, while she is under
the influence of the drug. You and Mr. P are to accompany her to London, are you not? Yes; well, see
she takes these. One every night to help her sleep, and in the daytime if she appears nervous or
grief-stricken. She has just lost a father whom she loved, and been most callously abandoned by a
brother. It is only to be expected that she might feel an excess of sorrow."

He frowned down at the white face on the pillow, on which Tregar's purple and black bruise made an
ugly mark. "It was ever thus, Alison! When did you not stand between Edmond and his just desserts!
Will you never learn?" Then with a breath of anger and regret, "Why did you not tell us it was you?"

The girl slept heavily, and the doctor's remorse and pity did not penetrate the frozen darkness, into
which her mind and spirit had retreated.

Chapter 17

TWO MORNING LATER, Dr. Sevenage gave his consent to the moving of Miss Alison to London. "I
have no need to tell you, Milord, that the journey will be an arduous one for her, even in so comfortable
and well-sprung a vehicle as yours must be." The doctor thought he detected a faintly contemptuous
sneer about the Earl's firm lips, and interjected hastily, "No, the girl is neither malingering nor physically ill.
There is, however, a depression of the mind, a lack of spirit—"

Milord, recalling the confrontation at Love Lane, could not agree to the idea of a lack of spirit, but,
raising one eyebrow, said nothing.

"One thing is certain," Sevenage continued. "To linger on here, within sight of her former home, will only
serve to deepen the melancholy into which she has sunk." He hesitated. "Mrs. P tells me the girl refuses
to speak. Perhaps she has done so to you, Milord?"

The Earl's dark countenance did not lighten. "I have not tried to converse with Miss Conninge," he
replied with an air of icy detachment the doctor found offensive. "We have your permission to depart this
morning, then? I have to thank you for your care of the Conninges, père et fille. If you will present your
account to Griggs, he will see that you receive payment."

Although this was said civilly enough, Dr. Sevenage bristled. "You have been put to a great deal of
bother and expense over this, Milord," he said brusquely. "That scoundrel Edmond has decamped
without settling any of his obligations, but I am reliably informed that you, sir, have discharged every one
of them, as well as hiring Mr. and Mrs. P. This is generous beyond belief! Young Edmond is fortunate to
have such a— friend."

Milord's grim smile made it plain that he knew the good doctor was probing in the hope of discovering
the motive behind such princely generosity. "Young Edmond is not now, and never has been, any friend
of mine. In fact, if he forces himself upon my notice even once more, I shall run him through."

Getting himself out of Milord's presence as quickly as he could, the doctor was left to wonder, since the
Earl was not Edmond's friend, why he had discharged the Conninge family's debts so royally. He was
forced to conclude, unwillingly, that it was on Miss Alison's behalf that the nobleman had dispensed
bounty. That conclusion gave him many sleepless nights.

The whole village turned out to watch when the Earl of Havard's party left the Conninge Arms. It was
an imposing cavalcade. First came Milord's own carriage, huge and glittering, pulled by six matched bays
and with coachman and footman on the box, two footmen up behind, and four magnificently mounted
outriders. Within the luxurious vehicle the Earl could be observed leaning back against the squabbed
velvet, his arrogant, eagle-beaked profile looking as though carved from granite. In a corner beside him,
disappointingly out of view, huddled a cloaked, veiled figure.

"Miss Alison ... Miss Alison ..." the name whispered through the crowd. A little cheer of farewell rippled
around the carriage. The slender figure seemed to shrink further into the dark corner.

In contrast— and relishing every moment— Mrs. Prettiman dominated the rear-facing seat, which she
filled with her girth, her cape, and a large bonnet of incredible ugliness. The Earl, deciding that he could
not face that formidable creation all the way to London, resolved that after today he would mount a horse
and ride ahead of his carriage.

Following the Earl's coach came a second vehicle, pulled by a mere four horses, all powerful,
sweet-tempered beasts, wherein Griggs and Mr. Prettiman presided over the luggage. As the sunlight
flashed from the brasses and rippled on the gleaming hides of Milord's splendid cattle, the villagers
heaved a concerted sigh of pleasure, and waved off the young mistress of Conninge Court with hearty
good wishes which extended to Milord's toplofty valet and the complacent Prettiman.

The Earl's party halted for refreshment early in the afternoon. Milord gave Griggs instructions to have
one of the outriders' horses brought up for his use after the nuncheon. The man could continue the
journey in the luggage coach. Milord had decided that, aside from that horrendous bonnet, he was finding
it most disconcerting to be so close to Alison without having the freedom to bullock her as he felt an
increasing need to do. How dare the chit ignore him so completely? The blood of generations of
implacable seigneurs began to burn in his veins. But there was ever present before his affronted gaze the
grotesque creation of some rustic milliner, inhibiting speech while it exacerbated every sensibility.
Therefore: abandon the carriage with its exasperating, infuriating, silent liegewoman, and ride off his quite
justified displeasure in the fresh air.

Griggs, who was waiting to assist Alison and Mrs. Prettiman from the carriage, nodded soberly. His
worried gaze was fixed on the shrouded figure of the girl. Mrs. Prettiman rallied her charge, and, after a
long moment, Alison allowed herself to be helped down. A private parlor had been bespoken for the
ladies, and there they were conducted, to partake of a tasty nuncheon of cold meats, oysters, and a
pupton of fruit. Mrs. Prettiman was voluble in her appreciation of the Earl's consideration.

Alison said nothing. Whether it was natural grief, shock, or even the powders which Mrs. Prettiman
forced upon her so frequently— in the notion that if a little is good, more is better— in whatever case, the
girl felt herself frozen into some dark and lonely void. In her breast, where normally her heart beat
warmly, there seemed now to be a lump of ice. She had the vagrant thought that she had indeed retreated
into some small, cold place and locked a door between herself and anything which might hurt her ever
again. When thinking, remembering, could sear with such pain, surely it was better to keep the mind
blank and the emotions numb? Almost idly she refused the food, even the fragrant China tea which
Griggs brought with his own hands from the kitchen. Mrs. Prettiman, comfortably gorged, regarded her
charge with despair.

"Miss Alison, this will not do!" she began crossly, but Griggs motioned her to be silent, and himself
poured and placed a cup of heavily sweetened brew in Miss Alison's reluctant hands.

"It isn't like her to make trouble," the housekeeper apologized. "Always been very helpful, has Miss
Alison."

This left-handed encomium roused the girl as no direct order could have done. She lifted the dismal
crepe veil behind which she had been sheltering. Slowly she sat down at the table, drank some of the
sweetened tea, and picked up a fork. After spearing and swallowing a few bites of salad and cold
tongue, she accepted a small serving of fruit, ate it, and drank the rest of the tea. She made no response
to Mrs. Prettiman's enthusiastic monologue on the food, the comfort of Milord's carriage, and the delight
of returning to London.

Griggs' eyes rested speculatively on the girl's face, so pale and strained against the dowdy black dress
and bonnet. The only touch of living color on her whole person was the drowned gold of her huge eyes.
The valet silently refilled her teacup and then went out of the room.

The next two days fell into a pattern. The coach bearing the luggage left very early, in order that Griggs
might reach that night's scheduled resting place in time to make all ready for his master's arrival: fires lit in
all the best rooms, fresh sheets aired, preparations for a tasty meal set in train, the best vintages brought
up. The Earl continued to ride ahead of his carriage. He dined alone in his bedroom, and each evening
Griggs and Mrs. Prettiman persuaded Alison to partake of a little food and drink. The girl complied
listlessly, but remained sunk in melancholy, not appearing to hear the continual stream of chatter, coaxing,
and scolding uttered by her old housekeeper.

On the third day this routine was sharply interrupted. Mrs. Prettiman was not in the bedroom when
Alison awoke. A nervous maid brought tea and freshly baked hot rolls to the room and asked Alison
shyly if she wished help in dressing. Since the girl stood waiting for an answer, Alison was forced to
speak.

"Thank you, no. Mrs. Prettiman will do anything I need."

"Your abigail has gone ahead with her husband in the other coach," the child told her. "His lordship sent
me to help you."

Alison wondered dully whether Mrs. Prettiman was ill, or had merely become disgusted with her
charge. Alison dismissed the maid gently and got out of bed. She was struck by her annoyance at the
necessity of organizing her own activity. It disturbed her to realize how much she had come to let herself
depend upon her old housekeeper, and upon Griggs. She felt also a sort of thirst for the white powder
which Mrs. Prettiman had given her morning and evening in a glass of water. Vaguely she looked around
the room, but no glass was in evidence. Alison fretted. The frozen calm in which she had been able to
shroud herself since her father's death was being melted away. She resented and feared the pain of
returning life and feeling.

She could not face the food upon the tray, but she did sip the hot tea. That gave her heart to wash and
don the clothing which had been laid out for her. She came slowly down the stairs, and, seeing no one in
the wide front hallway, and none of her party in the common into which she glanced, went directly out to
the inn's forecourt.

There she found Milord's carriage, the six horses upon the fret. One of the inn's servants helped her up
into the carriage and slammed the door behind her, just as she realized that the Earl was already seated
therein.

No greetings were exchanged, although Milord subjected his liegewoman to a keen and critical survey.
The coachman, who had evidently been waiting for her to arrive, cracked his whip. The vehicle moved

out onto the highroad.

After several minutes the Earl said, "You disappoint me, Miss Conninge."

When Alison made no answer to this challenge, he leaned toward her and, removing her bonnet
roughly, threw it onto the floor. "You will look at me when I question you, liegewoman, and answer my
questions."

A small flame of anger began to burn deep in Alison's consciousness. She said quietly, "I was not aware
that you had asked a question, Milord."

"I shall do so now," retorted Milord— most unfairly, the girl thought. "Where is your vaunted courage?"

"It is dead— with my father."

The Earl looked at her without sympathy. "I cannot believe that the little fire-eater who came to fight a
duel to save her brother's honor, who endured a savage beating without pleading for mercy, is now
become a whimpering, self-pitying swooning Miss!"

"I am not swooning!" protested the girl.

"You are breaking up the peace of your devoted servants— to say nothing of mine!— with your
absorption in your tragic role," the Earl retorted mercilessly. "The little gamecock has become a dead
chicken."

A sudden wave of red fury blasted through the girl. Turning in the seat, she thrust against the inner
handle of the coach door.

"So! You would run away again!" sneered Milord. His arm reached out like the flick of a serpent's
tongue and caught her shoulder, jerking her back against the seat. "Another carefully planned, abortive
attempt at suicide, to ensure that everyone will pity you— poor bruised innocent that you are! If only
these good simpletons knew you as well as I do!"

Alison's golden eyes, gleaming with rage, were fixed on that dark, taunting face. "I hate you!" she
gasped. "I will kill myself if I please! Death is better than life in a world where there is no tenderness, no
love—"

"But if there were?" the Earl challenged.

"I should know it was not for me— Alison the drab, who flaunts herself in men's clothing— Milord's
drab, I believe my brother named me. Who could have love for such a creature?"

"When I am ready to do so, I shall provide you with a husband," said the Earl coldly. "Do not forget
that I protect my vassals."

"All I wish is that you will leave me alone!" cried the vassal in an impassioned tone. Her trancelike peace
was quite cut up.

"You may be sure I shall not," the Earl advised her, with a look which promised dire developments.

There was no answer to this which Alison cared to make. Her brief flare of rebellion seemed to have
burned out. Milord smiled odiously, but made no further attack. The two in the great carriage rode on in
silence to the noon stopping-place. There Alison found her old housekeeper waiting. Fussing the while,
Mrs. Prettiman led her charge into the charming private parlor, all sunshine, blowing white curtains, and
pretty china. There was even a posy in the center of the table upon which was laid out an attractive
display of salads and cheeses. The inevitable pot of tea steamed enticingly upon a little brass stand.

"Now dearie," urged the housekeeper, "you must take nourishment, or the Earl will be in a rare taking
with the both of us."

It was the last straw.

That cold, cruel creature, with his endless series of orders— commands!— and his utter lack of
sympathy for a newly bereaved girl! In her anger, Alison smothered the vagrant thought that perhaps she
had been rather full of self-pity, and behaving with an apathetic languor quite unlike her usual cheerful
alertness. It did occur to her, however, that Mrs. Prettiman's white powders might be contributing to her
feeling of weakness, and she resolved to accept no more of them. She found herself in what Mrs.
Prettiman would have been quick to describe as a pet, bitterly resentful of a man who had had the poor
taste to accept without argument his liegewoman's plea to be left alone. Fine treatment for a grieving
female! And then to have the colossal arrogance to threaten anger if his vassal did not eat! It was too
much! For the next few minutes Alison subjected the astonished housekeeper with a flow of invective
quite as acerbic, if not as profane, as ever her sire could have released. The older woman was challenged
to explain what sort of protection it was, when a girl felt bereaved and miserable and much in need of the
relief of a good set-to, to accept at face value her very natural request that he leave her alone? After
thwarting two attempts at suicide, the very least the detestable man could do would be to try to argue her
out of the notion of repeating the action! But no! He had sat like a graven image for hours, after
announcing in his detestable way that he would find her a husband when he was good and ready!

"Well?" Alison almost spat the final syllable at her openmouthed servant.

Slowly Mrs. Prettiman closed her mouth. Then she nodded, once, decisively. "When he's ready, you'll
get one," was all she said.

Miss Alison, white with rage, announced succinctly that the Earl could go to the Devil for all she cared.

"Miss Alison!" breathed the housekeeper.

"And stay there!" the girl added insult to insult.

"You sound just like Master Edmond in one of his tantrums," said the older woman, deflating her fine
rhetoric to the level of a nursery brangle.

Alison attacked the meal with such savagery that she had soon demolished the entire portion upon her
plate. Mrs. Prettiman was so relieved that Milord's command was being carried out, albeit with scant
grace, that for once she had sense enough to refrain from comment.

Eager for the fray, Alison got up into Milord's carriage after the luncheon. To her chagrin, the vehicle
was empty. Then Mrs. Prettiman was heaved up, puffing and scolding, the door was shut, and the
carriage pulled away from the inn. As it turned out onto the highroad, Alison caught a glimpse of Milord
riding far ahead with two of his outriders in attendance.

"So! It is he who is running away now!" the girl said between her teeth. "Coward!"

"What's troubling you now?" asked the housekeeper with a decided look of sympathy. "You never used
to be such a crosspatch!"

"Nothing is troubling me," gritted Alison. "I am only very much relieved that I shall not have to endure
his lordship's company all afternoon."

"Tired of your tantrums, I should suspect," Mrs. Prettiman commented dryly. "Ah well, we can have a
nice nap. That luggage coach was well enough, but this is the most comfortable carriage I have ever
ridden in." She sighed, adjusted her monstrous bonnet to allow her head to recline against the squabs,
and promptly fell into a doze.

Alison fumed and made dark plans for revenge.

Chapter 18

HER OPPORTUNITY CAME later that night. The Earl's party was comfortably ensconced at the
Shield and Buckler, an inn finer than any they had yet encountered. The closer they came to the
Metropolis, Mrs. Prettiman assured Alison, the more lavish would be their accommodation. "For it is well
known," said the good dame complacently, "that nowhere upon this Earth is there to be found greater
elegance and comfort than in London!"

This encomium, since the housekeeper had left the city in her youth and never since revisited it, must be
attributed to loyalty or hearsay, thought the disgruntled girl. However, she ate her meal with a sort of grim
determination, not being just sure when, if her plan succeeded, she would be able to purchase anything
like the variety and richness of the viands spread before her now. For Alison had conceived a way out of
her difficulties which suited her present frame of mind very well indeed. She was going to take the few
pounds she had in her shabby reticule and take a ticket on a stagecoach to some vague destination where
she would be forever hidden from Milord's scathing criticism.

Ever since their arrival at the Shield and Bucker she had noted that the huge inn yard was a bustle of
confusion, stages departing north, south, east, and west. If she could manage to slip out and secrete
herself in one of them, pursuit would be impossible. So she ate well and bided her time.

It came when, after settling her charge comfortably in their bedroom, Mrs. Prettiman announced she
was going to spend an hour in the public room with her husband, since Miss Alison was quite safe, and
could entertain herself with a book. Alison hardly waited for the sound of the woman's footsteps to fade
along the corridor before she was up and stuffing some clothing into the battered hatbox which had been
Arthur Conninge's and which Mrs. Prettiman had borrowed to house her new bonnet. When that
monstrosity was removed, the box sufficed to hold the few garments and personal belongings Alison
wished to take with her on her bid for freedom.

"I am not running away this time," she told herself fiercely. "I am fighting to be free of a cozening male
who was hypocrite enough to impose his ridiculous masculine code of behavior upon a defenseless
female."

She did not stop to question the logic of this statement, nor the real reasons behind her precipitate
departure. Instead she crept quietly down the stairs at the rear of the building, ending up in a corridor one
end of which led to the kitchen, the other to the stable yard. Here she was able to move unobtrusively
through the crowds of stableboys, ostlers, grooms, coachmen, passengers, and peddlers who thronged
the courtyard twenty-four hours a day in this popular stagecoaching depot.

She had only a little difficulty in finding a coach which was preparing to set out for Brighthelmstone
within the next quarter hour, and just a little more trouble in trying to secure a seat in its dark, musty,
crowded interior. She pushed and wiggled her way inside the coach at once, very well pleased at the
darkness which would make it impossible for Anyone to see her, in the unlikely event that Anyone would
be moved to looking out of a window to watch a stage depart. Which of course Anyone would not think
to do, considering his helpless victim to be safely secured in the comfortable bedroom on the second
floor, closely guarded by her old housekeeper.

The stage, which lacked the excellent springs and upholstering of Milord's luxurious vehicle, jolted and
thumped out onto the Brighthelmstone road. Alison, jostled and almost smothered between a farmer's
stout wife and an even stouter merchant, told herself how delighted she was to have made so clever an
escape.

In the courtyard of the Sun and Sea Inn at Brighthelmstone eighteen hours later, she was not so
sanguine. For one thing, it was dark; the night was cold, windy, and threatening rain; and she had still to
find a place to stay, to say nothing of employment which would pay for food and lodging. The other
passengers were all very anxious to get under shelter on such an inclement night; they were disappearing
before her eyes. Even the coachman had abandoned his team to the ostlers, and gone inside to the bar to
take the chill from his bones. A small boy was sweeping the stableyard with complete unconcern for the
horses moving all around him. Alison approached him hopefully.

"Is there somewhere I could put up for the night which would not cost much money?" she asked.

The urchin peered up at her from beneath the peak of a cap far too large for his head. "This place ain't
bad, lady," and he named a sum which staggered the girl.

"I— I am afraid I need a cheaper room," she began.

The boy nodded. It was clear that his life was not spent in such comfort as the Sun and Sea might
afford.

"Me own folks lives in Pool Valley, near the shore," he said slowly. "All the fishermen lives there. You
might get a room cheap from one o' their wives."

"How do I get there?" asked the girl.

The urchin gave her an appraising glance. Perhaps something in her strained face spoke to anxieties and
rigors familiar to his own experience. He offered shyly, "If you'd like to wait a bit, lady, me Dad comes
by for me on his way home. He'll give ye a ride."

Alison was only too thankful to accept. The urchin's Dad, a stocky, cheerful fellow driving a small cart
redolent of the fish he hawked through the streets, was pleased to offer her a place on the front seat
beside his son. He listened with interest as the boy talked about his day at the inn, and accepted with
respect the handful of pence the child had received for his day's work, stowing the money away in a deep
pocket.

"Yer mum'll be that pleased wi' ye, Osbert," he said sincerely, and the urchin nodded with a wide smile
of pride.

Reassured by this evidence of family solidarity, Alison had no hesitation in asking the fishmonger to
recommend a hostel.

"Well, ye couldn't do better nor Mistress Bosey's— if she'll, have, ye, that is," the man advised
cautiously. "Very solid folk, the Bosey's. They've their own cook shop right on the ground floor of their
home. It's an Old Established Business," he concluded, with the facility of one quoting an often-repeated
phrase. "Very handy it must be for them, not to have to go out to work in all weathers," and he shivered a
little in his heavy, stained fustian coat.

"Don't you fret, Dad," Osbert piped up, "Just a few more years and you 'n' me'll have enough saved to
set us up in our own fish market."

"That's a fact," agreed his father cheerfully. "Gossen an' Son, we'll call it. But we won't set up on the
same street as the Boseys."

"Mistress Nosey-Bosey would want an account of every cockle we sold," chuckled the boy.

"And every whelk," grinned his father.

"Does she sell fresh fish, or just cook them?" queried Alison, her mouth watering. It had been
twenty-four hours since that delicious meal at the Shield and Buckler.

"Cooks 'em!" said Osbert in a devout tone which revealed he was as hungry as Alison. His father
laughed and urged the tired horse to greater efforts.

Her new friends left Alison at a corner where two streets met in front of a narrow, three-storied house
set in a row of smaller buildings. Clutching her leather box, the girl entered a well-lighted eating place,
crowded with men and women seated at small tables and on a bench built the whole length of one wall,
with a shelf in front. Her first impression was of cozy warmth, pungent smoke, and loud voices. Finding a
small space at the end of the long bench, Alison slid into it and rested her elbows on the clean deal shelf
in front of her. Her neighbor, a poorly dressed woman in a shawl, gave her a gap-toothed grin.

"Chilly out ternight, ain't it?" she volunteered.

Alison smiled and shivered in agreement.

"Bet yer hungry, too, from the looks of ye," the woman went on. Alison noticed the rough wooden
platter in front of her, piled with fish in golden batter and small green sprouts.

"That smells awfully good," she ventured. "How much did it cost?"

The woman named a sum so small that Alison's heart lifted. If lodging were on the same scale, she
would have time to look for work before her last few pennies were used up.

"Ye goes up to the hatch there, an' tells 'em what ye wants, and then waits for it and pays when ye gets
it," advised the woman, taking pity on the girl's obvious ignorance.

"Can you save my place?" Alison asked nervously.

For answer the woman shifted over and occupied both spaces. "Get yer fish," she said briskly.

Later, finishing the last crisp morsels with avid relish, Alison spoke to her neighbor, who had been
watching her with a grin. "I could eat as much again," she sighed, longingly.

"Lots do," agreed the woman. "Mistress Bosey is a prime cook, and her husband and two sons the best
fishermen in Brighton. It's an Old Established Business."

Alison's lips quirked at the familiar phrase. "So I am given to understand. But you called this town
Brighton. I thought—"

"Oh, we mostly calls it that, just as folks calls Cholmondeley Chumly, and Claverhouse, Clayvers." She
cackled a laugh, gap-toothed but friendly. "There's a fine Sussex doctor tellin' all the nobs they ran get rid
of their aches and pains here, so now Lunnon folks are callin' us 'Dr. Brighton,' 'cause Dr. Russell's
forever goin' on about the fine sea air, and bathin' in the ocean bein' better than medicine."

"You don't tell me anyone goes into the sea in this weather?" Alison shuddered in sympathy.

"No, but the more people comes, the more fish our men sells!"

Soon after, Alison's new friend departed. Alison went back to the open hatch. "May I speak to Mrs.
Bosey?" she asked the formidable cook.

"I am Mrs. Bosey. What would you be wantin' to say to me?"

"I have been told that you might have a small room which you would rent to me for a few days. I am
hoping to find work here in— Brighton."

A week later in the small room at the top of the house, Alison was not so sanguine. She had not been
able to find employment, partly because she had not been trained in any specific skills, and partly
because she had no one to recommend her for unskilled work. Even scullery maids in great houses
needed a reference, Alison discovered, and, clinging to her anonymity, she could not even use her own
name and former family residence to forge one. As the days dragged past, the girl found herself
increasingly unwilling to leave the security of the tiny cold room for the greater chill and challenge of
Brighton's windswept streets. So this is where my foolhardy declaration of independence has led me, she
thought, huddling into the single blanket which was supplied with her cot. The house was an old one,
vulnerable to the wind of the sea, but was kept scrupulously clean by Mrs. Bosey and her
daughter-in-law.

Mrs. Bosey had demanded the money for two night's lodging before she would conduct the weary girl
to her room. Alison had just been able to pay it. Very early each morning the girl set out to the town to
seek for work. As dusk began to fall on the second day, she found herself passing a used clothing shop
she had noticed earlier, at the head of a long cobbled street leading down to the sea. She slipped inside,
determined to sell something to provide money for a few days' rent. In this task she was successful. Her
heavy cloak, though far from alamodality, was of excellent material and well made. Alison was surprised
and pleased as the merchant counted coins into her hand. The wind pierced her as she left the shop, but
she ignored it during the time it took her to reach Mrs. Bosey's establishment.

Her redoubtable landlady gave her a suspicious glance as Alison came into the shop and over to the
hatch. The girl faced her bravely.

"I'll have the fish and potatoes."

"That'll be a shillin'," said Mrs. Bosey.

"Here it is— and money for a week's lodging." Carefully Alison counted over the precious coins.

"Got a job, did ye?" asked Mrs. Bosey.

Alison's smile was strained. She said nothing.

Mrs. Bosey shrugged and filled a wooden platter generously.

The next day it was raining and Alison put on every petticoat she had brought in the hatbox. She tied a
shawl over her bonnet. All day she went up and down the streets of Brighton, asking in every shop if any
help was needed, but to no avail.

The next day she did not go out at all into the rain-lashed streets, having developed a tightness in her
chest and a sore throat, accompanied by sneezing, coughing, and a very red nose. At dusk there was a
rapping on her door. When she opened it, she found Mrs. Bosey on the tiny landing bearing a platter of
fish and a mug of porter.

"Why— what—" began the girl, and then was shaken with a fit of coughing.

Mrs. Bosey pushed past her and placed the mug and platter on the dresser. Her sharp eyes scanned the
room and registered her tenant's neatness with grudging approval. From every projection an article of
clothing hung drying.

"What happened to your cloak, Miss? How did you get so wet?"

Alison ignored this. "I did not order dinner, Mrs. Bosey."

"Comes with the room." Mrs. Bosey could not meet Alison's challenging gaze. "That is, if I find I have
cooked too much for the demand, I serve what's over to the lodgers. Better than throwing it out! I do not
believe in waste!" she concluded, eyeing Alison as sharply as though the girl had advocated such a
reckless course.

Color rose in Alison's pale cheeks. Judging by the sounds which rose up from the eating-house below,
trade was every bit as brisk as usual, and surely it was too early to tell whether there would be fish left
over by the time the shop closed? This was Charity— or friendliness.

"Thank you, Mrs. Bosey," Alison said. "You are most kind."

"Well, eat it while it's hot," sniffed the Good Samaritan crossly, "and come into the shop for it tomorrow
night. I can't be expected to carry your supper up here every night!"

As her landlady thumped down the stairs, Alison fell upon the savory food with trembling fingers.

The next day she was out early again, searching for work. Fortunately the rain had stopped, but
although Alison went further afield than before, and tried every shop she saw, she found no one who
needed her help.

The following morning she emptied everything from her hatbox and took it to the place where she had
disposed of her cloak. The proprietor bought it, but he gave her less than she had hoped. Leaving the
premises, Alison began to fear that her bold bid for freedom had been, rather, an exercise in folly.

"What shall I do when this is gone?" she asked herself, clutching the few coins tightly. "I have nothing
more to sell!"

The next morning dawned fair and warmer, but Alison did not go out. Instead she sat on the one hard
chair in her room and tried to decide upon a course of action. She found herself dwelling upon the
memory of the Earl of Havard. It startled her to find how clearly she recalled everything he had said to
her, the very sound of his deep, hard voice, every line and angle of the dark, arrogant face and massive
body. Resentment began to grow within her as she remembered his physical cruelty and his
contemptuous attitude toward her. She had only been seeking to redeem Edmond's lack of integrity!
There had been no need to hurt and humiliate her! She set her teeth hard as she recalled his mockery, the
places he had forced her to go with him, even the beating he had given her.... Of course he had still
considered her to be a man at that time, but indeed he should have had some compunction, about
whipping a defenseless youth! The one picture she would not, dare riot, let herself recall was the
equivocal scene in Milord's coach on the way to Conninge Court, when he had pulled her onto his knees
and fondled her and made those hateful comments. And she dressed as a man in his livery! If anyone had
observed what was happening within the carriage— Putting her hands over her burning cheeks, Alison
groaned at the memory.

After a few moments she tried to pull herself together enough to get back to her planning. The one thing
she was sure of was that she would never return to London— nor anywhere near the Earl of Havard.
Well, then, where? As the day warmed to noon and then lengthened toward night, the girl sat in the tiny
room fighting a battle between her pride and her common sense. Perhaps if she got in touch with the
Prettimans ... But they would be in Milord's London house, and what guarantee had she that they would
not reveal her hiding place to their new master? Somehow it did not occur to Alison that the Earl,
disgusted by her flight, might have dismissed the Conninge servants he had taken onto his staff.

The more she recalled her experiences with Milord, the more despondent Alison became. Every avenue
of thought seemed, by some perversity, to lead to thoughts of him. At some time during the day she had
been forced to admit that her feeling for the haughty nobleman was not hatred, not even fear, but some
other emotion which she did not recognize but which made it essential to her comfort that she should be
within the ambience of his arrogant personality. Even facing his cruelty or indifference, she now realized,
was preferable to never seeing him again. But how could this be possible? She had burned her bridges.

She began to regret her lack of courage, her absurd bid for freedom, and to value the opportunity she
had thrown away. By dusk, she was so deeply sunk in self-reproach and melancholy that she hardly
stirred when, after a brief knock upon her door, Mrs. Bosey entered carrying a tray.

"You make it hard for Millie," said Mrs. Bosey, slapping the tray down upon the dresser. "I told you to
come down to the shop for your dinner. You missed it last night."

"I am not hungry," said the girl in a dead voice.

Mrs. Bosey glared at her suspiciously. "Are you sick again? You might have told me—"

"Not sick— just beaten," said the girl, finally lifting her amber eyes to the fat, red face of her landlady.
"You had better find a new lodger for this room when the week is over. I have failed to find work, and I
have nothing left to sell."

"Hoity-toity, Miss," snapped her landlady. "You have paid for the week. You do not intend to starve
yourself, I hope."

"Let be, I beg you," pleaded the girl, turning her head away.

"If you die in my house," said Mrs. Bosey aggressively, "it will cause me a great deal of trouble."

"Oh!" The protest was wrung from the girl's lips. "Can you not leave me alone?"

"No," said Mrs. Bosey.

Within the girl's troubled mind, where all that was vital had retreated, Alison's attention was caught by
this harsh, uncompromising negative. She looked up into the landlady's angry face, really seeing it for the
first time.

"No?" she asked in a shaken voice.

"No," Mrs. Bosey repeated. "I cannot permit you to die upon the premises."

Of a sudden the dreadful lethargy which had been draining the girl's strength was shattered by the
expression of stubborn practicality on Mrs. Bosey's countenance. A sort of macabre amusement stirred
in Alison. She heard herself agreeing, "It would be awkward, wouldn't it? For someone to die of hunger
in the Old Established Firm! What could you say to the Magistrate?" The girl's slight figure was shaken
with hysterical laughter, and she gasped with mirth until her face was nearly as red as Mrs. Bosey's. At
length the paroxysm was over, and with a final "ooooh!" the girl fell silent, staring with alert eyes at her
landlady.

That doughty female regarded her peculiar guest with approval. "Now you've had a good laugh, dearie,
wash your face and eat this codfish before it gets cold. There's nothing like a laugh to set things right!"

Now Alison was laughing again, this time with genuine amusement.

Half an hour later, Alison presented herself in the huge kitchen behind the cookshop. "I've come to help
you, Mrs. Bosey," she said firmly. "I am very good indeed with sauces for fish, as I can demonstrate to

you at this instant. I can also make an apple tartlet that will become a popular item on your menu."

Rather to her surprise, although jibbing at the word menu, Mrs. Bosey did not refuse her offer. A busy
two hours later, when the dwindling demands upon the kitchen gave them time to relax with a cup of tea
and one of Alison's tartlets, Mrs. Bosey heaved a sigh of pleasure.

"You were right! You can cook! Good plain English food, none o' that foreign rubbish." She took
another bite of apple tart. "Now about your work. You couldn't find anything."

"I am not trained—" Alison began.

Mrs. Bosey waved the last of the tart, which she had been holding in her fingers, at the girl before she
popped it in her mouth. "You can cook. You keep your room clean and yourself tidy and neat. I've
watched you tonight. You're a quick worker, and you take orders without getting angry or fussed. If you
don't have toploftical ideas, I think I know a place you can get work."

The girl's whole face came alive with interest and hope. "Oh, Mrs. Bosey, where? Tell me quickly!"

The good woman would not be robbed of her moment. "I'm friends with Martha Clayton, Martha Dill
as was. We went to Goodie Jones' school together, and learned to write and read— cipher, too. For
even in those days, Martha and I were bound we were going to better ourselves!"

Alison, trying to look interested, wondered about the promised work.

"Martha married well," continued Mrs. Bosey remorselessly. "She was pretty enough for two, and had a
pert way with her. Her husband was a farmer, owned the biggest place in the county, but he didn't just
fancy mucking about in the dirt for the rest of his life, and neither did Martha. So they made up their
minds to build an inn—" she paused in triumphs— "the Sun and Sea!"

"Oh!" The last two weeks, if they had done nothing else, had sharpened Alison's sense of true values.
Here before her was a woman, successful in her own Old Established Business, who was also a bosom
bow of the wife of the most important hosteler in Brighton! One who, moreover, seemed to be willing to
use the connection to help her young lodger. "Would you— could you speak to her about me?"
stammered the girl.

Mrs. Bosey nodded smugly. "I already have done! Went over today and took a cup of tea with her.
She'll give you a try starting tomorrow, for one week. Mind you do well, now! I've as good as pledged
my word you'll suit! Of course I had no notion you were such a nice cook, so it's been arranged you'll do
whatever needs doing this week."

Alison expressed her gratitude in words and a manner which appeared to satisfy her sponsor, who
promptly invited her to partake of a thick slice of plumduff, taken from the boiling water a scant half hour
before, cooled in its cloth bag, and ready to be cut. Spooning the rich, raisin-and-currant-packed dough
into her mouth minutes later, and refusing reluctantly a second helping of thick country cream, Alison
thought she had never tasted anything more satisfying in all her life. When she expressed this thought,
Mrs. Bosey accepted the praise, and said graciously that Alison's sauce for the fish had created a mild
sensation this evening, many customers demanding more.

"It goes to show how that English cookery outvies the rest, for all the talk about French chefs! Martha's
got one in her kitchen at the Sun and Sea. I'd back this sauce of yours against anything he can concoct.
French cooking!" sniffed the lady with fine patriotic scorn.

Alison nodded appreciation of this tribute to English cuisine. It did not seem the time to inform her
sponsor that the recipe the latter had just praised was one Madame Anthony had brought direct from her
kitchen in Paris, and taught to a youthful Alison.

Chapter 19

ALISON PRESENTED HERSELF at the Sun and Sea the following morning, attired very neatly in her
best black dress with a white scarf over her bright hair. Mistress Martha supplied her with a voluminous
apron and a white mobcap, and advised her to get a pair of comfortable slippers, for the shoes she was
wearing had heels too high for comfort.

"Like standing about on stilts all day, those will be, my girl," she said. Before the day was over, Alison
was forced to own that she was right. Her feet ached, her head ached, even her ears ached from the
constant noise and hustle of the popular coaching house.

Her work at first was to be cleaning rooms and making up beds; filling water pitchers and emptying
chamber pots; placing fresh towels in all the rooms, not just the better bedrooms; sweeping and dusting
and setting all to rights. Alison worked quickly, and obeyed cheerfully every command given by her
mistress. Before the week was out, Martha Clayton affirmed herself well pleased with her new servant.
Gradually Alison was given less exhausting work to do in the kitchen: the preparation of fruits and
vegetables for which she could sit on a high stool at a sink; the setting of tables in the Ordinary as well as
in the private dining parlor reserved for the highest sticklers among the guests. This latter she was
encouraged to do because of her knowledge of correct placement of cutlery and glassware for the
various vintages and liqueurs.

Later, Mistress Martha, taking note of the effect the beautiful little face beneath the mobcap was having
upon every male in sight of it, suggested that the girl assist Host Clayton by bringing from the kitchen the
courses and removes, and placing them upon the sideboard, from where he could carve and serve them
to his elegant patrons.

A month passed with all parties to the agreement well satisfied. Alison, although she still found the work

physically demanding, slept well in the tiny neat room provided by her employers. She ate enormously,
finding the famous French chefs concoctions very much to her taste. This was not too surprising, since, in
addition to unquestioned skill, the gentleman had the finest of fresh vegetables, fruits, country cream and
butter, eggs fresh from the nest, and meats as well hung as any he had ever worked with in Paris. Then
too there was the abundant harvest of fish, fresh daily. With plenty of sleep and such delicious food,
Alison developed gracious curves, and her skin and hair acquired a lovely luster. Had she had time and a
mirror to observe herself, she would have realized that she had never looked better. If occasionally there
was a deep sadness in her golden eyes, and a vulnerable softness about the rosy lips, she did not know it.
Her mind at those moments was filled with her memories of the Earl, and she put aside each week the
major portion of her wages, and all of the vails she received, hoping some day to send the money to Lord
Havard.

It was inevitable that a girl of such beauty and aloofness would become an object of interest in a small
town like Brighton, and even more especially among the masculine guests at the Sun and Sea. Mistress
Martha contrived, however, to see to it that her maidservants were not exposed to temptation from male
guests, one of whom was heard to remark feelingly that the inn should have been called the Smiling
Dragon. Alison was thankful for such excellent protection, which enabled her to carry out her tasks
without harassment.

One evening, however, she came into the private dining room carrying a platter on which reposed an
enormous sirloin of beef, fittingly garnished with some of Jacques' excellent baked Yorkshire puddings.
As she eased the enormous platter down onto the sideboard before Clayton, she caught a flash of a tall,
slender man frozen halfway to his chair, staring at her. A quick glance revealed Sir Hilary Hastings rising
rapidly to his feet, his eyes incredulous but hopeful.

Without appearing to notice him, Alison turned and went quickly from the room. Out in the back
hallway, she ran lightly to the kitchen and then through the scullery to the pantries. With one excuse and
another, she was able to keep herself busy there until Mistress Martha herself came to see why Alison
was missing from the dining room. An embarrassed blush, a few incoherent words, were quite enough to
give that worthy dame a completely false idea of Sir Hilary's intentions, and Mistress Martha promised
Alison she could remain in the kitchen for the duration of the day, and Poll could assist Host Clayton.
When the dinner was finally over, and the scullions began to wash dishes, her employer summoned
Alison to her.

"Now perhaps you will tell me what that was all about this evening," she said.

"There was a young man who seemed ... too interested," explained Alison with scrupulous honesty. "I
did not wish—"

"Say no more," intoned the landlord's wife. "I am pleased that you acted as you did, but in future tell me
when any of the guests makes himself bothersome to you, rather than bolting like a scared rabbit!"

Alison had the grace to feel shame for poor innocent Hilary. "Oh, he didn't really bother me! It was just
that— I think, perhaps— he thought I might be someone he once knew," stammered the girl.

Mistress Martha raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Is that the story he was telling you? You must learn to
deal firmly with these licentious creatures! He even asked Clayton for your name! I am not always here
to defend you from persecution, and you cannot be running away forever, Alice."

Alison was now feeling doubly guilty. First, because she well knew that Sir Hilary was too gentle and
considerate a man to persecute or annoy any female, however humbly circumstanced. Second, she
regretted that she had lied to Mrs. Bosey, her kind sponsor, and, by extension, Mrs. Clayton, telling them
that her name was Alice Jones. At the time, it had seemed a wise precaution, in case inquiries were ever
made about one Alison Conninge. Still, with the appearance of Sir Hilary, she could only be grateful for
the deception. At least he would have nothing to carry to Milord!

The following day was her once-a-month free time, for which fortunate coincidence Alison gave thanks.
She went off very early and spent the day helping Mrs. Bosey, who was embarrassingly appreciative of
her protégée's kindness in spending her day off helping her benefactor. When Alison returned to the Sun
and Sea, her cautious inquiries revealed that the young man from London had gone back there in some
haste.

"Put a flea in his ear, Mistress Martha did!" chuckled Poll.

Alison drew a long breath of relief. So he hadn't recognized her— or at least, not definitely! Probably
he was now convinced that the girl he had known so briefly in man's dress was not the same as Alice
Jones, a maid in the inn at Brighton.

Late that afternoon Alison was standing at a table near the kitchen window, chopping nuts for a
mouth-watering dessert Madame Anthony had taught her to make. The weather had deteriorated rapidly,
becoming inclement even for January; a devastating thunder storm had moved overhead and rain was
lashing Brighton. A bright splash of color caught the girl's eye through the heavy curtain of rain. It was
young Osbert, wearing the scarlet woolen cap and scarf Alison had knitted as a Christmas present for
her first friend in Brighton. Watching him now, Alison admired the sturdy set of the small body as it
labored valiantly to sweep away the muck and refuse of the stable yard.

Setting aside the full bowl of chopped nuts to soak in a quarter of a cup of peach brandy, Alison draped
a heavy shawl over her head and ladled a cup of Chef Jacques' admirable potage which was simmering
on the back of the stove.

The Chef looked up with a smile from his interminable sauce-making. "You have hunger, ma petite? Be
careful you do not become— gross, is it?"

"Fat," suggested Alison automatically. She and the Chef had come to a good understanding. They
alternated conversing in French and English, and had agreed to correct one another's vocabulary and
accent.

"No," the girl continued, "with your permission, M'sieu, I would like to take a bowl of this excellent
soup to young Osbert. It is such a wretched day! He must be soaked to the skin, poor child."

"Eh Bien!" nodded Chef Jacques. "There is enough to spare for one petit garçon."

There was a brief flash of distant lightning. Alison hurried out through the back door and started toward
the little boy in the yard. Then suddenly her heart jolted. A very large accommodation coach was
rumbling through the wide entrance gate, its wild-eyed horses racing at top speed across the slimy
cobbles toward the safety and shelter of the stables. At this moment, with a crack and a monstrous
pandemonium of noise, thunder filled the sky.

Osbert's back was turned to the horses; he was quite unaware that he was directly in the path of the
maddened animals. His whole attention was fastened upon the bowl of steaming soup in Alison's hands.
With a wide smile he came toward her. Above his head loomed the horses.

Alison threw the soup from her and flung herself toward the child. From somewhere behind her she
heard a door slam open and shouting in a deep male voice. The driver, shockingly aware of imminent
disaster, tried to control his terrified horses. The moment seemed to freeze into inevitable tragedy.

And then Alison had reached the child. There was no hope of achieving a stable balance on the
irregular, slimy cobbles; no time to lift and carry the child away from those pounding, iron-shod hooves.
Instead she clutched Osbert tightly to her body and let the momentum of her dash toward him carry them
forward in a heavy fall. The driver was sawing on the reins. The horses, neighing shrilly, reared and then
plunged on toward the stables.

Alison nearly succeeded in her forlorn hope. Her frantic plunge carried her and the boy almost beyond
striking range. One frantic hoof struck her a glancing blow as she fell forward. Her protective twist, to
cushion the crash with her own body, brought her head in stunning contact with a large cobble.

When Chef Jacques and two ostlers reached the huddled bodies, they discovered a startled Osbert
trying manfully not to cry as he tugged anxiously at the limp body of Alice Jones.

Chapter 20

TWO MONTHS EARLIER, when the Earl of Havard had been informed by an hysterical Mrs.
Prettiman that Miss Alison was gone from her bedroom in the Shield and Buckler, his fury had surprised
even himself. He immediately commandeered the private parlor of the inn, and had all his own servants in,
one by one, for a blistering interrogation. Having got nowhere with this, he next demanded the presence
of every ostler, groom, or servant of the Shield and Buckler who might have seen a young lady in a black
costume leaving the inn that evening.

This of course produced no better results, since Alison had made good use of the bustle, confusion, and
darkness of the inn yard. Dismissing everyone but Griggs, the Earl began to pace the parlor in a silent
rage. Finally he spoke.

"I have given that ungrateful chit every consideration! I had her driven in my own carriage to see her
father. More, I accompanied her to that ramshackle and comfortless house in its sordid little village. I
leveled the lout who struck her. I hired her turned-off servants. I saved her from committing suicide. And
what is the result? She has run away, like the little craven she is! I—"

"You have driven her from us, Milord, by your coldness and bad temper," said Griggs, dourly. His
master whirled on him, too shocked for the moment to do more than glare.

The valet continued remorselessly. "All she is guilty of is an attempt to recoup her family's honor.
Granted she acted recklessly— but she did her innocent best. She endured in silence pain which would
make many men groan aloud. She was ordered out to attend her master when the stripes on her back
were still raw. In her own home, where she might have expected love, she was set upon by a brute,
wounded to the heart by a selfish old man, and repudiated with ugly aspersions by an even more selfish
younger one. When her will and courage finally broke, and she tried to put a period to her sufferings, did
her rescuer speak one gentle word of reassurance? Give her one hope of a happier future? You will
know about that better than I, your lordship."

During this unexpected harangue from a man who had been in Milord's service for twenty years, the
Earl's eyes at first widened into a glare of outrage and then narrowed into cruel slits. By the end of it,
however, he had recovered his wonted imperturbability. "Quite a sermon, Griggs," he said softly. "Are
you thinking of going into the ministry?"

Griggs stared at his master for a moment and then shrugged. "I do not apologize, Milord. You may
dismiss me if you wish."

"But I would much rather keep you in my service, and punish you for this inexcusable outburst," said his
master grimly.

"Exactly as I described you— cruel and threatening," nodded Griggs, stubbornly recusant.

There was a prolonged silence between master and man. Then Milord said, in a tone Griggs had not
heard from him before, "Was I too harsh with the chit? She was my servant ... my liegewoman—"

"And as such, Milord, she deserved your protection. Your compassion."

"I have never seen myself as a particularly, compassionate man," said the Earl slowly. "You have not
spoken thus before."

"There has not been the need. We have not had in our care an innocent like Miss Conninge."

"We haven't got her now," objected the Earl. "Thanks to that incredibly stupid woman, she is gone
without trace. Finding her must be our first endeavor."

"Unless," said Griggs, striking while the iron was hot, "she has been successful in carrying out the plan
you frustrated at Conninge."

The Earl, going quite pale, damned his eyes for a callous, scare-mongering, case-hardened doomsayer,
and demanded that he immediately produce a workable plan for recovering the lost liegewoman.

Griggs shook his head with real despondency. "It won't be easy, Milord. Women being what they are—
and men being what they are— we'll just have to pray the little one is safe somewhere."

Nearly two months had elapsed since that night, and the Earl's extensive, and expensive, search was still
unrewarded by so much as a single word of news. Milord's friends and acquaintances, excepting Hilary
Hastings, were not aware of his preoccupation, but everyone agreed that the Vicious Viscount had very
predictably hardened into the Unapproachable Earl, for although he appeared, point-device, at the most
exclusive dinner parties and elegant balls, and himself hosted the Reception of the Season, to celebrate
the announcement of Lady Isolda's engagement, yet his manner held more than formerly an air of
coldness and hauteur. Only Griggs knew the anger, the bitterness, the searing apprehension which set
Milord to pacing his bedroom night after night.

One evening the Earl was coming down the great staircase on his way to dine with Royalty, when Sir
Hilary Hastings, knocking thunderously upon the front door, was admitted by a disapproving Pomfret.
Hilary caught sight of his friend and gave an audible groan of relief.

"Thank God I've found you in, Griff I think I know where she is, old boy!" Then, taking in his friend's
magnificence, the sash and glittering orders, he groaned again. "Summoned to the Palace? When can you
get back here?"

During this impassioned address, the Earl's eyes narrowed into glittering dark slits, and his nostrils flared
white. Without speaking, he completed his descent of the staircase and led the way into the library. Hilary
followed on his heels. When the door was safely closed, the Earl turned on his friend like a tiger about to
spring.

"You've found her? Where is she? Is she— well? What did she say?"

"I haven't exactly spoken to her—" began Hilary.

"By God, if you're playing some game—"

"No, no! It's m'cousin Bella— you recall Arabella Chatress? Considers herself an interesting invalid,
husband only too pleased to see her jauntering off to spas and watering places— leaves him free to
spend his days on horseback and his nights gaming at the hells—"

The Earl took a forward stride and caught at his friend's neckcloth. "If you don't stop vaporing and give
me a plain tale, I'll strangle you," he said between his teeth— and meant it.

Hilary, reading the menace in that dark face, took a deep breath, swallowed, and collected his wits.

"I accompanied my cousin Arabella to Brighton on Tuesday. She has been listening to the gibble-gabble
about the quality of the sea air there, from a friend of hers who is a patient of Dr. Russell, that Sussex
chap who's singing the praises of bathing in the ocean—"

"In the winter? "

"Whenever," Hilary tossed this aside as nonessential to his tale. "In the absence of her loving husband, I
drove my cousin down to the place last Tuesday. Got her settled nicely— rustic, but not a bad place and
the food's superb—"

The Earl tightened his viselike grip and twisted slowly at Hilary's cravat. "Alison?" he said softly.
Wincing under the pressure, Hilary went on hastily, "Thought I saw her in the dining parlor— private, all
the crack, none of your Ordinary or Common rooms— Tried to speak to her at once, of course, but she
got one look at me and vanished into the nether regions—"

"You were drunk," said the Earl, shaking his friend savagely.

"Word of honor, Griff!" pleaded Hilary. "I followed, of course, and ended up in the kitchens, where no
one seemed able to speak English. No sign of the girl. I hung around until a regular dragon of a female
took me in charge and neatly herded me back to the front of the house."

"You were mistaken," said the Earl, releasing his grip on his friend and turning wearily to the door. "Or
drunk."

"I'll swear I was not," protested Hilary. "I slipped the barmaid a guinea and learned they had a new

kitchen maid whose name was Alice, Alice Jones."

Milord paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Alice?" he repeated in the coldest voice Hilary had ever
heard from him.

"And she's blond and has eyes like a cat— golden eyes, the barmaid told me."

The Earl turned back to him. "Get Pomfret to feed you while I change. We'll go to Brighton tonight."
Milord strode out into the hall, ordered his traveling carriage to be brought round at once, and raced up
the stairs two at a time, leaving Hilary staring after him. Then a wide grin split Hilary's face, and he
loosened the cravat at his throat. He strolled out to reassure a seriously perturbed butler.

"I shouldn't worry if I were you, Pomfret," the young man advised. "Can you get me a sandwich and
some ale? It seems your master and I are off to Brighton."

"But His Highness's dinner!" wailed Pomfret.

"Send a footman to report that the Right Honorable the Earl of Havard has suddenly been stricken with
a dread disease—"

"Sir Hilary!" chided Pomfret, who had known the young man all his life, "You know I cannot send such
a message!"

"Lèse majesty?" smiled Hilary. "His lordship would only be joining the majority. Come, Pomfret, get
some sort of message off and then feed me, for I've just driven up from Brighton—"

"Brighthelmstone," corrected the butler, who had no patience with modern liberties of speech.

"You must keep up with the times, Pomfret," chided Hilary, grinning. "And if you don't keep up with his
lordship's orders, there'll be a new butler in this house tomorrow!"

Tutting distractedly, Pomfret hurried away, leaving a suddenly sobered young nobleman to wonder what
would happen to Hilary Hastings if the golden-eyed Alice was not, in the event, found to be Alison
Conninge. His hand went to his cravat.

Chapter 21

ALISON WOKE EARLY in her neat room under the eaves. The enormous purple bruise on her hip

had become less painful, and the lump on her head could be neatly hidden under her cap. Quite
unsuspecting of any further disaster, Alison arranged the crisp mobcap at a fetching angle upon her
golden curls— then sighed and pushed every shining' loop tidily under the sheer lawn frill. Still, there was
no way she could disguise the delicate color mantling her cheeks, nor the sparkle in her eyes. You look
happy, she told her reflection in the tiny square of mirror which was all Mistress Martha allowed, and
that only to insure neatness.

Alison sighed. It was satisfying to do useful work well, to be paid for it, and to be admired— yes, even
sought after— by so many eager young men. Her earlier fears that some former friend of Edmond's might
recognize her had faded with the passing weeks, and even the fright of seeing Hilary Hastings two nights
before had not seriously shaken her newfound confidence. To be sure, he, had seemed to think he
recognized her, but Mistress Martha assured her that she had fobbed the young gentleman off very
neatly, and quite convinced him that he could not possibly know a local maiden by the name of Alice
Jones. So, humming softly, the girl went down to the kitchen to receive her orders for the day.

Mistress Martha was absent. The Chef, who had begun by deciding that he didn't like Alice Jones, but
had now come to regard himself in the dual role of protector and teacher, gave her an abstracted smile
and continued with the delicate operation of inventing a new sauce for the quenelles of veal which were to
be tonight's triumph.

"May I help you?" asked Alison softly.

Chef Jacques shook his head. "Ah, non, ma'am-selle, but there is a tray to be taken to the Neptune
suite. Some vairy important visitors arrived de bonne heure— early, you would say— and Madame has
gone to market to purchase especial supplies, so you must take up the trays. Nell is awkward and Dodie
is too forward."

"Who are the special guests, do you know?"

Chef Jacques shrugged. "Some Monseigneur and his wife, I would say, from the brouhaha attending
their arrival. I myself was too much engaged with this sauce to inquire. The ostlers say their equipage is of
great elegance, with a crust upon the door panel."

Alison stifled a chuckle. "You pronounce it crest, M'sieu."

The Chef made a Gallic gesture. "Crust, crest, n'importe! It is to drink the sea, that is, impossible,
trying to speak this barbarous tongue of yours!"

Alison smiled and got out the best silver tray. "It's going to take more than one trip," she muttered, but
softly, being careful not to disturb genius at work. She decided to take up a pot of freshly brewed coffee
first, with tiny hot croissants. While delivering this to the very important guests, she could learn from them
what food would tempt them to break their fast. She hoped the Chef would have finished his new sauce

in time to prepare one of his superb omelettes aux fines herbes. And there were mushrooms to grill,
earthy-smelling and provocative in texture, and ham cured by Mr. Clayton's brother to a tender, tangy
sweetness, and fish newly caught— oh, the important visitors would discover that even in a tiny seaside
resort like Brighton, there were culinary marvels to be enjoyed!

Humming softly, she spread a snowy cloth on the tray, set out Mistress Martha's most delicate china,
and decanted the coffee into a heated china pot. Adding the matching creamer and sugar bowl and two
silver spoons, and the wrapped croissants, Alison carried the burden carefully up the back stairs to the
first floor.

The Neptune suite— Mr. Clayton's sons had gone to a good boarding school since their father had:
added successful innkeeping to successful farming, and had introduced classical nomenclature— was on
the side of the building which faced the ocean. It was quite the grandest set of rooms the Sun and Sea
could boast. Tapping gently at the door of the sitting room, Alison balanced the tray over one hip,
opened the door, maneuvered her burden inside, and sat it gently on the center table. Then she raised her
eyes and found herself looking into the black gaze of her liege lord.

"So we meet again, young Conninge," said Milord silkily, but his eyes were ablaze.

"I am Alice Jones," was the best Alison could come up with.

"Indeed?" said Milord.

Since this remark did not open any comfortable avenues, of discussion, a strained silence ensued, which
the Earl showed no disposition to interrupt.

Alison, mesmerized as much by the sheer joy of seeing him again as by the hypnotic quality of his
night-black gaze, sought frantically to break the spell. She tried to tear her eyes from his compelling
countenance. No man had a right to look so powerful, so magnificent, so dangerous!

"I have brought coffee for you and— and your wife," was all she could find to say.

One black eyebrow rose— a devastating gesture of whose power Milord was quite aware. "My wife?"

Oh, why did he turn everything she said back upon her? Making her realize her own naiveté, her
weakness, her unworthiness? Alison tried to whip up a comforting anger, but Milord's overwhelming
masculinity quite defeated her purpose. Instead she tried for proper detachment.

"The Sun and Sea is noted for superior cuisine, your lordship, since we employ a chef trained in Paris,
France. What would you and the Countess desire for breakfast— or will you be guided by Chef

Jacques' taste and skill?"

The suggestion that he might need to be guided by anyone's taste other than his own did not sit well with
Milord. It sat so ill, in fact, that it shook him out of the extraordinary trance he had fallen into at the
appearance of Alice Jones. His fine nostrils flared as the Earl said harshly, "Sir Hilary is at this moment
informing the landlord of my wishes in the matter of food. We have driven through the night from London,
and have scarcely the stomach to ingest any foreign pap at this hour." Quite overriding Alison's attempt to
remind him that his own ancestors came from the same country as Chef Jacques, the Earl continued,
"You have much to explain, young Conninge, and you had better begin at once."

"I am needed in the kitchen," gasped craven Alison, making a break for the door.

The Earl rapped out, "You are to remain in this room with me until I am ready to leave— liegewoman!"

Alison turned back reluctantly. "But I am employed here, Milord."

"You do not feel that your loyalty is to me?" The Earl's countenance was dark with anger. "You are a
runaway vassal who has caused your liege more trouble than any servant in my memory. Your behavior
is particularly reprehensible in that you gave your oath to serve me— your parole d'honneur, young
Conninge! And now we see how much that word is worth!"

"It was Edmond's debt!" protested the girl. "He sold our home— there must have been money! I made
sure he would have paid you. Why did you not persecute him?"

"He repudiated the debt," answered the Earl crisply. "You, on the other hand, volunteered to assume it."
He smiled thinly. "I am coming to expect broken promises from your family."

"How dare you!" gasped the girl.

"Why should I not? You are both in the habit of running out on your obligations," said Milord with
contempt.

"When do you wish me to be ready to leave, Milord?" Alison flung up her head.

The Earl did not show any sign of triumph. "As soon as Sir Hilary and I have eaten. You will remain in
this suite, to serve us, and then you will accompany me in my carriage."

"My clothing—" protested the girl.

The Earl's glance disparaged the neat gown, apron, and mob-cap. "You will leave everything. I prefer
my servants to wear the Forteyn livery."

Bitterly Alison reflected that there was nothing in the tiny room under the eaves which she would care to
bring, but the very thought of once more donning male garments sent angry color to her cheeks.

"I do not wish to demean myself by wearing those disgusting garments in public," she objected rashly.

Milord's frown was thunderous. "You find the Forteyn livery disgusting?" he snapped.

"On a man— no," Alison snapped back just as sharply. "But I refuse to wear those— those trousers
again! I cannot appear in your London house as a man—"

"If you go as a female servant, however, there will be no shame. The women servants of my family have
a neat and quite suitable habit," said the Earl with what Alison felt was insufferable hauteur. He further
depressed her pretensions toward sensibility by adding, "It happens that I ordered a suitable traveling
costume to be placed in my carriage last night; it awaits you in the bedroom. Go and put it on."

Alison stared rebelliously at her liege lord. There was no softening of the harsh expression on that
hawklike countenance; no weakness; no possibility of compromise. Alison clenched her small fists. One
day, when the debt was paid— But by then I shall probably be too old to do anything but say "Yes,
Milord," and "No, Milord," she thought in despair.

"Go," said the Earl remorselessly.

Alison went.

When she saw the garments laid out on the bed, her first fleeting thought was that Milord had been very
confident, both of her presence at the inn and of his ability to bullock her into behaving as he wished.
These resentful musings were almost immediately superseded by amazement and sheer unalloyed delight
at the quality and style of the costume on the bed.

There was a carriage dress of amber Genoa velvet, very full and soft, closed at the front in the latest
style, with a little cream lace double-ruff at the throat. A stiffened velvet bonnet with a wide brim haloing
the face had long amber ribbons to tie beneath the chin. Beside these surprising items was a neat pile of
soft silk undergarments whose elegance made Alison gasp with pleasure— and embarrassment. Surely
the Earl had not chosen those garments with her in mind? Then sober judgment pushed vanity aside, and
the girl asked herself if this could be the livery worn by Milord's female servants. If truly so, then it was a
wonder any traffic could make its way past Milord's Town House, where hordes of females must be
thronging the street to fight for an opportunity to serve on Milord's staff!

No, decided the girl, the costume was more suitable for the Earl's sister than for his servitor. Or
perhaps— and her cheeks flamed at the thought— it was a costume intended for one of Milord's
"peculiars," as she had once heard Edmond call a certain class of female. This idea so enraged her that
she rushed to the connecting doorway and thrust it open. Ready as she was to do battle, the scene in the
private sitting room was such as to weaken her resolve.

Three startled faces were turned toward the scene of her tumultuous entrance: Milord— to whose
person her eyes were first attracted— was seated at the table doing yeoman work upon a large plate of
ham and eggs; Sir Hilary was cutting his way into a gigantic slice of rare roast beef; beside the table, and
in the act of presenting a pigeon pie to their attention, stood Host Clayton, her employer.

The latter was the first to speak.

"Ah, there you are, Alice," he said mildly. "I was wondering where you'd got to. Chef Jacques, is calling
for you in the kitchen."

"I am afraid it will be quite impossible for— er— Alice to attend upon Chef Jacques," said the Earl
smoothly. "I require her services here. I shall be taking her with us when we leave for London within the
hour."

"Oh— I see," stammered Clayton, who obviously did not.

Alison's bosom swelled and her face got, if it was possible, redder. How dared the Earl inform the strict
and rather narrow-minded innkeeper that one of his female servants was going off to London with a
member of the peerage? Before she could find words to express her chagrin and anger, however, the
Earl had cut in again with insufferable self-confidence.

"You will inform Mistress Clayton that Alice will no longer be working for her. That will allow your
good wife opportunity to secure the services of another maid."

"Yes it will, your lordship," Clayton was forced to accept the logic of that statement. "I'll so inform her.
Thank your lordship."

"Not at all," the Earl disclaimed gratitude with intolerable smugness.

Clayton bowed himself out, with one dubious glance at the girl.

No sooner had the door closed behind him than Alison was facing Milord, her eyes flashing gold

sparks. Totally ignoring the presence of Sir Hilary, she cried, "How dared you give that man cause to
think I was— you were— that is, we ..."

"Incoherent, but provocative," said Milord unforgivably. "I merely announced the facts. It would have
more seriously exacerbated your sensibility had I told him the truth, which is that you are a runaway
vassal whose punishment in wiser days than this would have been a public whipping or even hanging. Do
you wish me to recall him and explain the situation in full?"

"No," muttered Alison, her fleeting hope that Mistress Martha might come to her rescue blighted by the
reminder of her broken oath. "Where are you taking me?" she demanded.

"I do not have to explain my plans to a disobedient servant, and one, moreover, who has caused me as
much trouble as you have done, young Conninge. But if you are prompt in donning the garments I had set
out for you, I may feel like telling you our first destination— and it is not London."

As she scuttled into the bedroom, momentarily quite defeated by her arrogant liege, Alison thought she
heard Sir Hilary begin to make a worried expostulation. But the door shut upon it, and the girl decided it
was better to get on with her dressing, lest his lordship should feel it necessary to come in to expedite the
matter.

Chapter 22

IN THE EVENT, Alison was permitted to robe herself in privacy, and even, urged by Sir Hilary, to
take a mouthful of toast and ham, and sip a cup of tea while waiting for Milord's carriage to be brought
around. This she proceeded to do, with a resentful glance or two in the direction of the Earl. Since he
was standing in the window with his back to her, these intended barbs missed their target.

It was just as the girl was finishing the last bite of toast crowned with plum jam that the door from the
hallway opened to admit the formidable presence of Mistress Martha in full battle array.

" 'Ware dragons!" Hilary advised, sotto voce. Then, with a grin, "I did warn you!"

The Earl turned from the window, quite without the belligerence Alison expected, and walked toward
Mistress Martha. This firm yet courteous advance rather checked the landlady's attack; she hesitated and
cast a quick look at the threatened, menaced, or possibly ravished maidservant.

Again the would-be rescuer was disconcerted. Alison, looking positively exquisite in the most modish
traveling costume it had ever been Mrs. Clayton's privilege to behold, was obviously far from being
threatened, menaced, or even ravished. In fact she appeared excited, pleased, and cosseted.

"There is," said Mistress Martha sternly, "plum jam on your face."

Alison blushed and applied her napkin.

"You wished to speak to me?" inquired the Earl, taking the battle into the enemy's camp. He presented
such a figure of masculine beauty and power that Mistress Martha felt herself blushing. Still, she knew
herself to be the mistress of this establishment, and, unlikely as it now seemed, this beautiful girl had been
placed in her care.

"Clayton tells me you are taking Alice Jones away," she said.

"My ward, Alison Conninge, is returning to my home," Milord corrected her, very stiff-rumped.

This placed a new light upon the situation, and, looking again at the elegantly dressed, beautiful young
woman, the dragon began a strategic withdrawal.

"You are sure you are safe?" she gave the exquisite girl a final chance.

"She is under my protection," said Milord, "in the feudal sense, of course," he added repressively.

Mistress Martha stared at him with shrewd eyes. He bore that searching scrutiny well.

The dragon capitulated. "I must advise you, Milord, that your— ward was nearly killed two days ago in
the act of rescuing a child from under the hooves of a frightened team. That the child lives today is by
grace of your ward's courage."

Sir Hilary rose, his eyes on Alison, and bowed. But the girl's gaze was on her liege. He smiled at her
and her knees felt weak.

"Thank you for telling me, Mrs. Clayton," was all he said.

Within a surprisingly short space of time— such are the privileges of rank and wealth— Alison found
herself seated beside her liege lord in that same comfortable carriage in which she had begun her abortive
journey to London. The one with the crust on the door panel, she thought, and a fugitive smile of great
sweetness softened her anxious expression. The Earl, who had been regarding her through his eyelashes,
was much struck by the beauty of the smile.

"Something amuses you?" he asked coldly.

Sir Hilary, facing his fellow travelers from the forward seat, frowned at the icy civility of his friend's tone.
What had got into Griffon? He had always been a starched-up fellow, devilish jealous of his authority and
privileges, but this continued harassment of a child— and a girl child at that— was the outside of enough.
Then, taking a better look at the little, golden-haired beauty with the flashing amber eyes, dressed with a
modish good taste which enhanced all her delicate girlish loveliness, Sir Hilary began to have second
thoughts. Where had Griff found the costume which fitted the girl like a second skin? Had he had it ready
and waiting through those interminable weeks while he bent every effort to find the girl?

Sir Hilary grinned. Surely not old Griff, the cold, the unapproachable; at once the hope and despair of
every matchmaking Mamma in London's Beau Monde! Not at long last, and to the sister of the
unspeakable Edmond! Hilary settled back to observe developments with great interest.

He had not long to wait.

"I was recalling something Chef Jacques said this morning," belatedly Alison answered Milord's
question.

"Spare me the culinary ramblings of your fellow servants," begged the Earl in a fashionably fading voice.

Alison ground her white teeth in rage, having, failed to perceive the sparkle in Milord's eyes. She sprang
to the attack.

"Where are you taking me, if not to London?" she demanded.

"You would tell me you have a right to know?" countered the Earl, then held up a hand to forestall her
reply— a maddening habit of which he was frequently guilty, fumed the girl.

"I shall, however, condescend to tell you. Since you ran away without regard for your given word or my
comfort, I have decided to take you to Havard Keep, where conditions suitable for your punishment and
proper training are available."

This quelling statement gave both his listeners a good deal to think of, none of it pleasant. It was Alison
who first found courage to challenge.

"I no longer agree that I deserve to suffer for Edmond's sins," she said. "I am not, and, whatever you
claim to believe, I have never been Edmond—"

"Thank your God for that," advised the Earl, "no matter how woolly-headed the remark must sound to a

disinterested onlooker."

"What will you do to me when we have reached Havard Keep?" asked the girl, a little nervously.

"I shall have you locked up," stated Milord with heartless relish, "and brought to a sense of your
indebtedness to me by the application of darkness, solitary confinement in a dungeon, and a diet of boiled
bread and water!"

Alison, not sure whether or not to believe him, was still too appalled to answer. Hilary was under no
such compulsion.

"I say, Griff, you can't— that is, you wouldn't ... dash it, Griff, there isn't any—"

"And you," his erstwhile friend whirled on him, "will keep your lip buttoned or get a thick 'un! I realize
that I owe you much for your discovery of my vassal, but do not presume upon my friendship or my
gratitude! Not another word, I warn you—"

Hilary studied the dark eyes for a long minute. The Earl's dynamic presence seemed to fill the coach,
massive and powerful and dangerously male. Hilary said, with the faintest of grins, "I'm mum as an oyster,
Griff, but playing gooseberry is deuced embarrassing! Can't I mount one of your outriders' nags?"

"There is merit in your suggestion," agreed his friend. "But until the exchange can be made at the next inn
we come to, I advise you to keep as mum as the bivalve you mentioned."

Alison stared hard from one to the other of the men, but as each of them preserved an unbroken silence
for the next quarter hour, she was forced, willy-nilly, to do the same.

Even so, it was with trepidation that she watched the transfer at the inn, when one of the outriders
surrendered his mount to Sir Hilary, and climbed up on the box at the rear of the carriage. During the
exchange, Milord insisted that Alison partake of a glass of wine, which was brought to her in a stirrup
cup. When she had swallowed a couple of mouthfuls, Milord took the cup from her, drained it, and
tossed a guinea inside it. Then he tossed it back to the grinning servant. Sir Hilary watched this byplay
with a mischievous grin.

Mounting the groom's horse, he cried, "Tallyho!" and spurred off ahead of the carriage, leaving a
puzzled girl to observe the unaccustomed color in Milord's dark face.

"Have you really the intention of confining me in a dungeon?" she asked bravely when they were once
more under way.

"With rats," her liege lord informed her, straight-faced.

The girl frowned. Something about his lordship's manner did not ring true to what she already knew of
him. She examined the dark, handsome face carefully. He was looking straight ahead, presenting only a
profile, his long lashes shadowing his eyes. Alison wished that she could understand his behavior, for it
seemed to her to be a strange mixture of arrogance and playfulness, so that she did not know what
response to make to his verbal attacks. Surely this comment about the rats, while quite possibly true, was
not in keeping with his usual attitude, which might be arrogant, eve cruel, but was not petty.

She glanced down at the soft velvet of the carriage dress he had supplied her. Was it one of Lady
Isolda's? It had not the look of a castoff. When had it been bought? She did not credit that all Milord's
female servants— if indeed he had any!— were so elegantly attired. If her suspicions were true, it
followed that he had bought the costume for her, for the despised sister of the cowardly Edmond. For his
liegewoman. Why should he have done such a thing? And why was he threatening her with dire
punishment, even in jest? Alison wished very hard that she had more nous more worldly wisdom. A little
country mouse could never hope to understand such a man as the Earl of Havard.

Still, she must make a trial. She turned to face Milord. "Sir— My Lord—" she began, her husky little
voice strangely hesitant.

"Yes, liegewoman?" He turned his dark probing glance upon her.

Alison blushed. "Why?"

Milord paused to consider the question, not taking his night-dark gaze off her face for one instant.
"Explain your question," he finally vouch-safed a reply.

Alison's cheeks sported a deeper rose under that challenge, but she persevered. She had to know what
this fascinating nobleman wanted of Alison Conninge.

"Why did you give me this beautiful dress, which fits me as though it had been made for me? Why did
you seek me out at the Sun and Sea? And why are you taking me with you in your own carriage, with
every observance for my comfort? This does not march with the threats to imprison me in solitary
confinement."

"I had not thought you obtuse," the Earl said abruptly, with a frown. "Use the brains God gave you,
young Conninge!"

"Do not call me that again!" flared the girl. "My name is Alison. If you cannot force yourself to use it,
you may call me Miss Conninge!"

"Thank you," said the maddening creature with heavy courtesy. "I must admit I do not care for the name
Conninge. You will admit it holds unpleasant connotations for me? So it had better be Alison."

"Conninge is my name and I cannot change it!" cried the girl, distracted and unhappy with the turn the
conversation was taking.

"You could always change it by deed poll," suggested the Earl, as one who seriously considers all
possibilities. "Or marriage—"

Alison had her mouth open to make an angry retort, but she closed it quickly at this startling suggestion.
To cover her amazement at the turn the conversation had taken— for he surely could not be thinking of a
marriage between himself and her, and it would be fatal to read more into his words than he meant to
imply— the girl said crossly, "You still have not explained why you have acted toward me with so much
consideration, when you think me a hussy, a cheat, a liar—"

"Hell and damnation!" said the Earl of Havard, "how many ways do I have to explain myself to you, you
silly little idiot? Are you blind as well as bad-tempered, unreliable, cowardly, willful, stubborn, and—" he
took a deep breath and continued, cutting off her furious attempt to retaliate with the familiar,
maddeningly uplifted hand, "to which catalogue of your sins I must add, irresistible! Why do you think I
accompanied you— a mere servant!— to your father's home? Why did I floor the belligerent
blacksmith? Why excuse your wretched brother of his gambling debts, and see him off the premises with
heartfelt relief? Why did I hire the Prettimans, whose only virtue is that they care for you as greatly as you
do for them?" His voice rose, louder and harsher with exasperation. "Why have I sought for one stubborn
small idiot for two endless months, at great inconvenience to myself! Think, liegewoman! Would I have
done so much for a hussy, a cheat, a liar? My family goes back in direct line to the man who stood at
William's shoulder when the Norman conquered England. Through the centuries the men of my line have
chosen their women wisely, to stand beside them, guarding name and honor, steadfast in time of peril,
devoted, passionately loving, fit mothers of future Earls—" he broke off and sat glaring at her, his face set
in lines of arrogant anger.

Alison dared not accept what he seemed to be saying, since his manner toward her was not in the least
admiring. Was he reminding her that she had run away from him, broken her promise to serve him? "Why
do you tell me this?" she cried in anguish. "Is this part of my cruel punishment?"

The Earl looked at her sharply. "Cruel?"

"That you should show me Paradise, and name the words which keep me out!"

The Earl lay back against the seat. His anger had disappeared. His voice was softer. "Perhaps I test
you, liegewoman. Perhaps I have always tested you."

The girl stared at him in silence.

Milord raised his provocative eyebrow. "What? No flaming eloquence? No attack? No fire? Where is
my strong shield partner?"

A luminous glow was melting the sadness in the amber eyes which now searched the Earl's dark.
countenance with mounting eagerness. "Shield partner?" queried the deep little voice hopefully.

"If you are worthy," the Earl said sternly. "Are you a fit vessel to carry the seed of Havard?"

What could the girl say, faced with the record of Edmond and the insensitive selfishness of Arthur?
Then, meeting the arrogant challenge of those night-dark eyes, Alison took her heart in her hands and
rose to it. Pulling her slight body to its proudest height, setting small fists against defiant hips, Alison
Conninge faced her liege lord.

"Are you man enough to master me, Forteyn?" the golden eyes flashed gloriously.

The Earl of Havard opened his arms with a triumphant laugh.

"Come and try me, my liegewoman— my love!" he said, and took her to his heart.