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Chapter One

The country in and around Surrey, 1813:

"Stop the horses! Father is ill!" Alys Margaret Middleton shouted through the box opening. A damp night wind whooshed against her face before she could close the little door above the back facing seat. As the post-boy reined in the cattle, she lost her balance and fell over the prostrate earl.

Wheels grating against gravel echoed in the small compartment. The carriage rocked to a stop at last and Alys regained her seat. Motionless, she held her breath and watched her father's distressed face before kneeling beside the Earl of Osbourne. His labored breathing alarmed her.

The staccato beat of her heart drummed in her ears and she willed herself to be calm. This was no time to be missish. A curtain of dusk hinted at the approaching darkness and heightened her sense of urgency. What should she do?

Worry lines creased his brow. His eyelids flickered open and he tried to speak. He was coming to his senses; elation filled her heart with hope.

Slowly, one of his shaking hands fumbled into the inside pocket of his black coat. The wool garment reeked of tobacco and her nose twitched. Retrieving a sealed letter, he pressed it into Alys' gloved hands. His pain-filled gaze fueled her with panic as it locked on hers.

"Get this to Chichester...to Mr. Clay...find doc..." The earl's whisper was barely audible. Choking, he tried to speak once more, "A secret...promise."

"Papa, I'll get you to a doctor but you must rest now." Alys stuffed the letter into her small reticule, then reached for his limp hand. "You can explain about the missive later, when you are well."

The calmness in her voice didn't extend to her sensibilities. She heard too much strain in his voice, felt too little warmth in his hand. Gazing sadly at the earl, she reflected on the irony that her first trip with her father could also be her last.

No! Panic stuck in her throat at the thought of being alone once more. No. She ordered her nerves to calm down. She mustn't think morbid thoughts when her father needed her help. He will recover. He must. I have no one else in this world but him.

As she made this determination, the earl's eyes closed. Alys touched her father's stubbled face; he did not respond. Fear surged up inside her, causing her heart to race like the horses' pounding hooves. This wouldn't do. She needed her wits about her if she was to be of service to her father in this extremity.

Pressing her hands against her forehead, she prayed for strength.

First she must...what must she do? The creaking of the carriage and the crunch of boots on the road outside warned her that the post-boy would be with her any moment. Before she surrendered her father to a man's care, she had to determine his condition. Alys opened the earl's wool garment and pressed her ear against his waistcoat. The faint, light flutter of his heartbeat wrung her with fear.

How could she see to his needs so far from home? Northampton was one and a half-day's journey back.

"Father, please don't die. Please!" A pain squeezed her heart at the recollection of being alone with her dear mother as she died. More than ever she would persevere; she had done it before. The chilled November night that filled the carriage didn't hold a candle to the coldness spreading through her body.

"I must get control of myself. I must be strong." She whispered the words several times willing herself to believe it as she chaffed her father's limp hands.

The door creaked open. The post-boy peered inside, his mouth half open, gaping at the earl. "What happened to his lor'ship?"

"He's had a seizure and his breathing is not very good." Alys made an effort to keep rising panic out of her voice.

"You want fer me to look at him, milady?" At her nod, the post-boy helped Alys down from the coach then climbed inside. She watched him loosen the earl's neckcloth and unbutton his shirt. She averted her gaze from her father's exposed chest. Proper young ladies did not nurse ailing men or look upon their bare person, regardless of family connection. Instead, she stared into the growing darkness and inhaled the cool, damp air to steady her lurching stomach.

First, she looked up the road for signs of a village. Nothing but moon shadows and trees ahead. Turning in the opposite direction, the same view greeted her. Alys fought rising desperation. She had no experience of travel. How could she secure aid for her father in the back of beyond?

The driver jumped out of the vehicle. "Me thinks it best to stop-off at the nearest house as quick as may be. Let me fetch a blanket out from under me boxseat to keep his lor'ship warm." He mounted the step to the box while he spoke. "It's a mite chilly, don't you think?"

"Yes." Actually Alys felt too numb with fear to be cold. "Would it be best to go back to the last house you saw?"

"No, ma'am. There be one ahead. Rest assured, we be there directly." Raising the seat, he pulled a rolled up blue plaid blanket from the storage area under it and jumped to the ground.

Her racing mind seized on a thought. "Do you suppose a mail coach will happen along directly to help us?"

"Don't lay a wager 'pon it. Got schedules, you know." The post-boy climbed back into the carriage.

Turning, Alys peered into the coach; her father's condition hadn't changed. He lay across the seat, pale enough to rival the dead as the post-boy tucked the blanket around him. A shudder rippled up her spine. She shut the door to keep the draft off the ailing earl.

Rubbing her hands over her arms, she created what little warmth she could inside her wool wrap, while apprehension overtook her usual competence. What use was Bath, their original destination, when she knew no one there? They must turn south and head directly to Chichester. If only they were reasonably close. Her friend Harriet lived there and could send for her doctor. Any other medical attention must come from a stranger.

The sound of an approaching coach startled her from her thoughts. Just as quickly, hope thundered wildly in her breast. Perhaps she could secure help for her father faster from someone more accustomed to the vicissitudes of travel. Hurrying onto the road's crest, Alys waved her arms and shouted, "Stop!"

"Ma'am, what be you doin'?" The post-boy shouted from the opened carriage door.

"The only thing I can do in this situation." Alys raised her voice once more at the oncoming coach, "Oh, please help us!"

Thank God! The driver tugged on the reins, he would not pass them by. She leaped for the verge as the sweating team bore down on her.

The coach came to a stop just beyond them. Glimpsing a crest on the conveyance, Alys sighed in relief at the appearance of another aristocratic traveler on the road. And yet, a cold finger of fear moved up her spine at the thought of meeting total strangers without her father's protection. He had warned her against mixing with outsiders for years. In letters, of course, since he was rarely home.

From the look of the handsome barouche, with its family crest on the side and boot, the owner had to be quality. Surely the occupant would show kindness in these dire circumstances. Alys held her breath.

* * *

Kenward Dunleigh fell forward, his sleep broken by the unexpected halt of the barouche.

"What the devil?" He massaged his throbbing temples before he pulled the velvet curtain aside. Opening his eyes to narrow slits, he focused on the shouting female illuminated in the faint light of the carriage lamps. Her high-pitched voice vibrated like a hundred echoes in the marquess' aching, alcohol-fogged head.

"It appears to be..."

"I have eyes, Peterman." Kenward winced as he turned to his valet. It had only been a couple of hours since he had imbibed. Never before had he drunk his troubles under the table. Damn that brandy! How was he to concentrate on business?

He turned his attention to the accursed noise outside.

"Help. Please. We need help!" The young woman waved her arms. She stood by the open door of a weathered post-chaise and two, parked slightly behind his carriage.

Kenward let out a long-suffering sigh. If it were not for the gong of an anvil behind his eyes, he would relish the opportunity to aid a damsel in distress. Reaching behind him, he pulled his great coat over his shoulders and then stepped out of the carriage under the cloud-patched, winter sky. The crisp air was an invigorating slap to his face.

In three long strides Kenward stood before the distraught female. Her bonnet barely reached his shoulder. Wisps of auburn hair peeked from beneath her wide-brimmed, outdated headgear, tempting him to tug the hat off just to see how far her tresses would cascade down her back. He felt a mad urge to reach under her cape and press her soft, feminine curves close to his body. The thick protective garment veiled what he saw in his imagination; the darkness concealed the color of her moist eyes.

"Oh, please, Sir." She arrested his wayward musings. "I need your assistance." Her slender hands clutched the front of his wool coat. Her voice rose to near-hysteria. "My father has...had a seizure. He...he cannot talk, yet his eyes remain open! Please, can you help me?" Kenward flinched at the sound. The movement did not help his head one bit either. Nor did the girl's sweet lavender scent, attractive as he would normally find it and the chit.

"First you must stop your screeching." Raising his hands palms out, as if to ward off the reverberation of her voice, he gained her attention.

Round-eyed and open-mouthed, she stared at him. Satisfied at her silence, he commanded, "Miss, I shall do all I can if you will but let me see the man." He spoke in a low, calm voice, hoping the girl would emulate him, his hands coming to rest over hers.

The young woman jerked her gloved hands from beneath his. With effort, Kenward caught himself from falling forward as the young woman turned her back on him and marched to the older carriage. She moved aside and held the door open. The anguish in her eyes as she looked back at him spoke volumes, but the chapter that extolled pure lust wasn't in the book of innocence that stared his way. When she averted her eyes to the inside of the coach, he slanted his gaze in the same direction as he approached the dusty coach.

A gray-haired man slumped against well-worn squabs. He looked vaguely familiar. Kenward frowned. He wasn't drunk enough that his instincts had gone begging. Was this a trap? He scanned the carriage and took in the post-boy, the ill gentleman, and from a sideways glance, the girl. Frail creatures were not always what they appeared, be they men or women. Still, her distress seemed real enough and the man had the appearance of a boiled eel.

Perhaps when his head cleared the man's identity would come to him. By then, the matter at hand would not be of import. All he wanted now was to reach the peace and quiet of his estate in Surrey once these people were on their way.

Kenward glanced over his shoulder to see Peterman standing behind him, hands tucked out of sight in the folds of a voluminous greatcoat, close to the girl. If anything untoward happened, Peterman had a small pistol and knew how to use it. It wouldn't be the first time the valet had backed him up. In his line of work, a trusty valet was worth the price of ten Bow Street runners.

Climbing into the carriage, Kenward knelt beside the man. Placing two fingers at the base of the man's throat, he felt the labored pulse and listened to the uneven breathing. With a shake of his head, Kenward turned back to the young lady watching intently from the door. A blanket of guilt cloaked him for lusting after the innocent. What she needed from him was trust.

This was no banger. The man was ill. Nothing he could do here. Kenward stepped out of the coach. "We must get him to a doctor straight away."

"Father, please don't die." The girl pleaded to the old man in an anguished tone before turning back to Kenward. One tear, then another escaped and slid down her delicate cheeks. He wanted to reach a finger down and stop the droplets. Her emotions were genuine, unaffected.

Kenward reined in his thoughts. Was he now imagining this female to be different from others of his acquaintance? This rumination of his must come from the bottle.

Rubbing his sore head, he wished the pain to perdition. The girl was too young to be refined he reminded himself and shook off her inexplicable appeal. As a man of honor, he recognized he must assist her. No matter what his personal inconvenience, he could not abandon a female with her attractions to the hedgepads and brigands that traversed the roads. The hour was late and dangerous.

He bowed carefully, focused on maintaining his balance. "It appears that you will need an escort. May I offer my assistance?"

"I would be most pleased if you would accompany us. I am not familiar with this area at all." Relief tinged her tone as she pulled a handkerchief out of her reticule and dabbed at the fallen tears. She added hesitantly, "Is a doctor or an inn nearby?"

"A doctor serves this county, but my estate is closer than his surgery. I will dispatch a servant to summon the doctor to meet us there."

"We would not wish to impose on your household, sir." She caught his attention as she bit her lower lip with perfect teeth.

"No," he shook his head, which increased the pain between his ears. All he wanted was to eradicate the vision of her bow-shaped lips though she probably thought it emphasized his negative answer. "It is not an imposition, I assure you."

Kenward gestured his valet forward. "How does the old man look to you, Peterman?"

His man looked inside the coach briefly. "Not very well, my lord."

Whether the girl agreed or not, the best situation was for Peterman and himself to ride with her in the post-chaise. She mustn't be alone with her ailing parent in case his condition worsened. Neither was it worth the risk of compromising the chit by having her travel alone with him in his barouche.

"Tell John Coachman to lead the way to Grayswood Manor," Kenward instructed his man. "We shall accompany the...young lady and her father in their carriage."

"Very good, my lord." The valet bowed and hurried to do Kenward's bidding.

The girl hesitated, glancing toward his barouche. "Perhaps your wife prefers not to ride alone."

"I have no wife." His lips twitched at the minx's obvious curiosity.

"I see." A frown creased her brow as she eyed him.

Kenward sighed irritably. "You shall be perfectly safe. After all, your father and my valet will be with us." He hoped this would relieve her concern, not wanting her to turn missish on him, but she continued to frown. "Your father can benefit from my valet's attention," he pointed out.

"I...I realize that, but I know nothing about you. How am I to ascertain you are a man of principles?" Uncertainty stared back in the look she leveled on him.

"You will have to simply trust me in that regard. For I, too, have not the time to question your character. Besides," he looked up and down the roadway, "I don't see another coach coming. Or perhaps you would rather remain here in hopes a highwayman does not accost you."

He felt like the veriest beast for instilling fear in her. Nevertheless she must see the danger of her position.

"Of course not. I shall accept your protection for the time being. That is," an imperceptible expression of pleading creased her face, "if you will ride with us then? For Father's sake we must locate a doctor quickly."

"As you wish." It served no purpose to inform her of his need to reach the manor and rest his throbbing head. His character was already under the gun.

He placed his hand at her elbow and helped her up the carriage step. Taking the vacant seat facing the front, she leaned forward and tucked the blanket under her father's chin. No other lady of his acquaintance exhibited such devotion to her parent as this young lady showed to her ailing father. Straightening, she glanced at Kenward with heavenly blue eyes, glistening in pale moonlight. His gaze remained locked with hers while he spoke to the post-boy.

"Follow my carriage. We shall be stopping at my estate. Now hurry, man." Kenward hoisted his weary body into the conveyance, settling himself next to the girl. As if she feared he carried the plague, she scooted against the far panel of the narrow coach and tucked her skirt close to her slim body.

Kenward forced a smile. He waited for the diatribe to erupt from her lips at being seated near him. To his surprise she remained quiet.

As the carriage dipped again, Peterman climbed in, shutting the door behind him. Lifting the older man's head, the valet settled himself on the seat, and rested the man's head and shoulders on his lap.

The carriage lurched forward. Two sets of hands went out to catch the old man's midsection and legs from falling off the seat. Her fingertips touched Kenward's. The brief contact sent a ripple of current through his body. Slanting a look, he noticed her startled round eyes and knew she had felt the sensation too.

Deliberately, Kenward relaxed against the faded squabs. A female's casual touch was hardly a novelty. From his vantage point, he studied the creature a breath away. His gaze moved over her face, half hidden in the darkness. From the light of the coach's lamp outside, he could make out her wrinkled brow. Naturally she was concerned for her father and no doubt discomfited by being in a strange male's company.

No one was on hand to make the proper introductions. And besides, he did wish to hear her speak again, in a softer tone, of course.

"What is your name?"

She turned and gave him a long, cautious look. "Lady Alys Margaret Middleton of Arbrook Hall." A certain pride rang in her voice. "And yours, sir?"

A lady? His gaze raked over her from head to toe. The cat held his tongue for the moment while he deciphered her revelation. She was no mushroom's chit after all. Then the name she'd spoken sank in.

"Middleton." He spat out the name. "Did you say Middleton?" A sinking feeling of recognition gnawed at him as she nodded. He studied the pale countenance across from him, searching again for the reason behind the familiarity. "What about that name rings a bell?"

Again, he felt on his guard. Seven years in his line of work had taught him not to trust his own countrymen. One never knew if a fellow Englishman had sold out to the enemy, Bonaparte. The air was heavy with suspicion inside the carriage.

"Sir, you have not identified yourself to me." Her quiet tone sounded reproachful.

"Kenward William Dunleigh, Marquess of Armitage." Suddenly aware of an important missing person, he snapped, "Where in hell is your maid?"

The young lady shot a glance at him and squared her shoulders. Her elbow brushed his arm and she flinched. His touch had never scared a female before. Did she think he was going to ravage her in front of her father and Peterman?

"Excuse my language, my lady. Where is your maid?" He tried to sound less formidable.

Lady Alys raised her chin a degree. "She was taken ill as we prepared to depart two days ago, my lord."

He suspected she thought him impertinent. After all, she was traveling with her father and the presence of a maid was not necessary. And how was her father to know he would become ill? By heaven, it was no small wonder the man was ailing, what with the jostling of this ill-sprung carriage. It was enough to rattle Kenward's head, and it didn't need rattling at the moment.

To take his mind off his discomfort, he glanced at Lady Alys again, taking in her features from bottom to top this time. She might conceal contours of her figure beneath that confounded cape, yet she could not disguise her lovely face. Her long dark lashes framed extraordinary blue eyes, her best feature. They reminded him of the heavens on a clear pristine day. A man could get lost in their depths, whenever she dared to look into his eyes. Her fine, straight little nose led to full, kissable lips, her next best feature after her eyes.

A wide-eyed stare again met his. Fear, like a scared rabbit awaiting its predator, etched their depths. Even with Peterman present, her apprehensions were not alleviated.

Her tongue moved nervously over her lips. She couldn't know what the sight of her mouth, moist and slightly open did to him, or she wouldn't call his attention there. Looking up, he found her regarding his lips. He smiled. Caught like a fox in a burrow, she blinked and turned her attention to her father. A sixth sense told him she blushed though he couldn't tell for certain when her bonnet's brim shaded her face in the dark carriage.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to overset you." With a calm voice he tried to put her at ease. It was of no use. Her gaze darted all about, avoiding him, and he sensed that gazing at his lips, not his remark, caused her unease. This realization pleased him.

Kenward leaned his aching head against the leather squab. Suddenly, a thought came to him. This young lady might be the answer to his dilemma. He could circumvent his aunt if he played his hand correctly.

While she leaned to touch her father's forehead, Kenward studied her surreptitiously again, like a treasure map. Auburn curls framed her dainty face. The wide brim of her bonnet dwarfed her petite features.

A mousy brown wool cape covered what appeared to be a peach traveling dress. Dust-laden brown traveling boots peaked from beneath her ruffled hem. It was little wonder, by her out-dated clothes he had assumed her to be of common extraction, though strangely appealing.

Yet her person was far from common. He wouldn't mind eyeing her across the breakfast table. On this last delightful thought, he closed his bleary eyes.

* * *

As the valet snored across from her, Alys turned from her father's resting form to watch the marquess, who had closed his eyes and shut her out. Her hands immediately shot up to touch her hot cheeks. How could she have stared at him so wantonly? To make matters worse, he had caught her out. She was sure he wasn't embarrassed, as she was, from the way he looked at her in so vulgar a manner.

If that were not enough, she had agreed for them to go to his estate. His private home! What will Father say to that when he awakes in a strange place?

She needed a diversion. Alys scanned the faded upholstery and threadbare curtains pulled to the side of the window. But she couldn't help inhaling the woodsy scent of the marquess, so near to her. It mixed with the scent of old, cracked leather.

It was a wonder the marquess agreed to ride in their rustic carriage. By the looks of his richly appointed Barouche, he didn't lack funds.

She glanced at the marquess, appearing peaceful and boyish as he napped. His angular face was not forbidding at the moment. A brown mole accented his right eyebrow, placed just to the outside. She imagined him raising his proper English brow in a haughty manner and that mark emphasizing his mood--he was quite handsome in a rugged way. He reminded her of a hero in the Gothic novels she often read.

The motion of the carriage brought his arm to rest against hers. Comforting warmth stole over her at his nearness. His eyes remained closed, and she sighed in relief. He was not aware of his body touching hers.

Looking across at her father, Alys leaned forward and placed her hand on his arm.

The valet ceased snoring and opened his eyes. Checking her father's pulse, he spoke in a hushed voice so as not to wake his master. "There is no change in him, my lady. At least he does not look to be in pain."

Grateful for his consideration, she straightened in her seat. "Thank you."

With the sway of the carriage, the marquess' firm thigh brushed hers. A spark of fire shot through her at the intimacy of the touch, and to her surprise, she had no desire to move away. Indeed, his touch engendered a longing inside her to slip closer to him. Confusion pushed her to wits' end in a heartbeat, and she glared at the marquess in his slumbering state. She mustn't tolerate this improper contact.

"My lord?" Clearing her throat, she hoped to wake him but to no avail. She was not about to repeat her earlier mistake by touching the man. Unmarried ladies simply didn't touch a gentleman unless he was closely related. Alys raised her voice this time. "Wake up!"

The marquess woke with a start.

"How long will it take before we arrive at Grayswood Manor?" Alys snapped. "I know Father needs a doctor badly." She found herself on the border of hysterics, a foolish behavior unbecoming in others, and until this moment, foreign to her. Yet with her father's life at stake and her alarming reaction to the man beside her, hysterics seemed inevitable.

The marquess sent her a glare of displeasure and straightened his lean frame. "Shortly. I sympathize with your concern, but please, don't fly up into the boughs."

"I have reason to fly into the boughs, sir. My father is ill and I am surrounded by strangers, going I know not where--"

"My country home in Surrey," he said curtly. "That was my direction upon leaving London."

"I have never been there, or twenty-five miles from my home in my whole life." She frowned and strove to hold her tongue in front of strangers.

At home she was accustomed to making decisions, yet, here she was naïve to what she must do. How father would rip up at her for making a mull of things. If only he hadn't lost consciousness she might not be sitting next to a stranger. Peering at the man beside her through lowered lashes, she amended her opinion; a handsome stranger.

Chapter Two

As the posting coach left the Bath Road an hour and a half later, Alys caught a glimpse of a house near the country lane. A lone light reflected in one of the windows as their carriage swept past the entrance.

Disappointment filled her. The house wasn't very welcoming anyway, she reflected. Surely the marquess' house should have lanterns burning at the front door. As the conveyance rattled on, she realized the house she had glimpsed was not their destination. She wasn't certain whether to be glad or sad; Father needed medical assistance as soon as possible, even if the house offered little welcome.

It wasn't long before the carriage crested a hill. The reflection of the half-moon shone across a lake and the silhouette of trees could be seen on either side of what appeared to be an open field. Just then, an outline of a huge house with numerous chimneys jutting from the rooftop of the asymmetric designed structure appeared to rise against the moonlit sky.

Candles flickered in several windows on two of the three floors inviting weary travelers toward the front entrance. The stone around the windows and front door appeared to be pink in the soft light. Perhaps the marquess' parents waited inside to greet their son.

Beside Alys the marquess stirred as he woke, stretching his long arms in front of him as he glanced out the window. "We are home at last."

The carriage rolled to a halt in front of the massive house. It was far more imposing than she had expected.

A footman let down the step and pulled the carriage door open. After climbing down, the marquess stopped him from waiting on them further.

"A very ill gentleman occupies the post chaise," the marquess informed the footman. "Get help and move him upstairs. And be quick about it."

Kenward assisted Alys from the carriage and offered his arm to her, escorting her through the elaborate entryway. With reluctance she followed his lead, looking back to the chaise where her father lay supported in the valet's arms. "My valet will see that your father is taken inside with the greatest care."

A stately butler met them in the spacious hall.

"Are the rooms in order, Morsey?" The marquess inquired.

"Yes, my lord."

"Has the doctor arrived?"

"He should be here shortly, my lord."

To Alys, the marquess said, "I sent word ahead with my footman to prepare rooms for you and your father."

"Thank you." She inclined her head with natural dignity.

The marquess held Alys' arm, keeping her from rushing to her father as the footman and driver carried him through the foyer under the valet's watchful gaze. Her heart was in her throat as she watched helplessly.

Just then, the housekeeper appeared from a door behind the stairs. One stout hand clasped the ring of keys hanging from her waist as she watched the servants moving the ill man. The marquess made hasty introductions. He informed Mrs. Morsey that the doctor should arrive shortly and to prepare a room for him in case he had reason to stay.

"Yes, milord." The short, plump housekeeper curtsied, and followed the entourage abovestairs to direct them to the appropriate rooms.

Alys made to follow the little parade and again the marquess held her back.

"Allow them to settle your father in his room first."

"What if he should wake and ask for me?" Alys pleaded.

"If he should, you will be sent for straight away." He coaxed her with a nod toward the withdrawing room.

Alys scanned the spacious room and its patterned-silk wall coverings, adorned with gilt-framed watercolors of pastoral and hunting scenes. Momentarily she felt awed by so much splendor compared to her simple home. Then she reminded herself that her parents and she had been happy there. She ran her hand over the top of a carved mahogany Hepplewhite chair. Perhaps another time she could enjoy this peaceful room.

"Are your parents not waiting up for you?" She scanned the closed doors, expecting to see someone come through to greet them.

A look of surprise crossed his face, "No, they are deceased."

"Surely you have a sister then." Alys hoped she wasn't the only female present who wasn't a servant.

"Sorry to inform you, but I have no sister or brother. I live here alone."

"This will not do." She tightened her hold on the cape she had forgotten to remove in the entrance hall. It afforded her some form of safety, if only in her mind.

The brow with its mole lifted in mockery. "I was under the impression that you needed assistance with your father. Or are you more concerned about yourself?"

She received the comment like a slap. "Of course Father's health is most important. But what will he say when he realizes we are your only...guests?"

Horses' hooves scattered gravel on the drive, drawing her attention to the window. The doctor must have arrived. She started for the door.

"Wait here." The marquess moved ahead of her, leaving the room.

Ignoring his command, she followed him into the entrance hall, bumping into his broad back when he stopped.

"I told you--"

"I have a right to be present; it is my father who lies ill abovestairs." Apprehension filled her heart.

The marquess frowned in disapproval.

The doctor wasted little time with introductions, saying instead, "Show me to the patient, my lord."

"Of course." The marquess turned, offering a stern expression to Alys, "You may wait in the withdrawing room until I return. Neither the doctor nor your father will want your presence as he sees to your father."

As he spoke, he escorted her in the direction of the designated room and held the door so she could enter. Then he led the doctor up the stairs.

For the moment, Alys obeyed his command, re-entering the well-appointed withdrawing room. He was correct; Father wouldn't like her attendance during a doctor's examination. She lowered herself onto a soft leather elbow chair. Peering at the crackling fire in the hearth, she fought for composure.

* * *

Shortly, Kenward returned to the withdrawing room, closed the door behind him and walked over to Lady Alys who rose immediately. Her lavender scent invaded his senses as he stood near her. The fragrance no longer vexed him.

"I apologize if I was short with you a moment ago. I understand you are worried over your father's health. But there is nothing you can do for him. The doctor will come down and talk to you after he assesses your father's difficulty."

"I see." She averted her gaze, looking toward a darkened window as if she were afraid of him. Small wonder she was uncomfortable in his presence, since they were alone.

She folded her hands around her waist and sought an upholstered chair not far from the hearth. To put her at ease, he moved to the table, and, picking up an open book, he idly placed a faded ribbon across the page to mark a spot. He set the book down, then dropped into another chair near the fire.

"Are you warm enough?" he inquired out of concern for the way she clutched her cloak about her slight form.

"Yes, thank you." Her reply was stiff, her smile equally so.

In the quiet of the room, Kenward's thoughts wandered. Knowing she worried about losing her father brought to mind the memory of his parents' untimely death ten years past. How ironic. He must have been close to Lady Alys' age when the accident happened off the Cornish coast. Kenward closed his eyes at the painful memory and rested his head against the hands he clasped behind his head.

Never again would he see his mother's sweet smile or smell the flowery scent of her perfume when she hugged him. Nor would he enjoy quiet talks with his father. The hunting trips that brought them together would live forever in his mind. Holidays they spent as a family were the hardest to endure that first year.

To this day, Kenward couldn't step on a boat without sadness filling his heart. It was not that he was afraid after the accident. It was the awareness of how he had lost them.

Silence hung like a heavily draped curtain, closing off the outside world. The rustle of fabrics as Lady Alys rubbed her arms under her cape returned Kenward to the present, away from the loneliness that lived within him.

For her sake, Kenward hoped her father would recover. At least she was near the man if the unthinkable did happen. He had been at a friend's hunting box when news reached him of his parents' drowning. It haunted him that he hadn't been there for them. Yet, had he been on the boat, he quite likely would have drowned as well. Sensing Lady Alys' gaze upon him, Kenward turned toward her.

"I want to thank you for all your help. I could not have seen to Father alone." Her voice ended in a near whisper. The pain in her eyes touched a familiar cord.

"You are most welcome." Kenward breathed the words more than spoke them, permitting a half smile to cross his features again. His reward was a like response from his companion of the road.

Kenward watched the young lady as she glanced down at her hands, then to the closed door. He had closed it out of habit against the cold passage, not accustomed to thinking of a chit's reputation in his house. For a vague moment he wondered if he had done her an injustice by binging them here to his private residence. Hopefully her father's health was not as critical as she suspected, and they could be on their way before anyone was the wiser that an innocent lady had taken refuge under his roof.

A cough broke Kenward's reverie as the doctor stepped into the withdrawing room, a somber expression on his face. Lady Alys rose to her feet in haste. Kenward came up close beside her and offered her the support of his hand at her elbow.

"My lord. My lady." The doctor bowed to each, then continued. "His lordship has had a heart seizure and requires complete bed rest for an extended period."

"We were on our way to Bath," she exclaimed.

"He can not travel, by any means." Dr. Elkins pronounced. "I will stay the night at least. I am sorry to say, your father is an excessively ill man."

Kenward felt her sway and tightened his hold on her elbow. Looking at her exhausted face, he saw tears spring anew to her eyes, falling unchecked down pale cheeks. She needed rest.

"A room will be prepared for you near your patient, Dr. Elkins." Turning to the earl's daughter, Kenward said, "I will have Mrs. Morsey show you to your chamber."

"I beg to take leave of you, for I must stay with my father and offer my assistance with him." Lady Alys looked from Kenward to the doctor. "I nursed my mother during her illness and I assure you I am quite capable at bedside. Please say I may stay with Father."

"Milady, if I may be permitted to say so, you look quite done in," Dr. Elkins observed. "I think it best you retire for the evening and let me care for your father."

"I am in agreement with the doctor. A night's sleep will do you good." Kenward led her to the door. "Caring for an ill gentleman is best done by a man. Your father won't thank you for invading his sickroom. Now let me have Mrs. Morsey escort you upstairs."

Bowing her head in silent acquiescence, she held back a moment. "Doctor, please send word immediately should any change occur in my absence."

The pain in her parting words touched Kenward's heart and for an instant he thought she might fall into a swoon. Without hesitation he maneuvered her into the hall where his housekeeper awaited his instructions.

After watching them ascend the stairs, Kenward returned to the withdrawing room.

"I have met most of your family, my lord. But I cannot for the life of me place the ill gentleman." Dr. Elkins eyed him askance.

"He is a connection on my mother's side of the family, a relation long strained. Recently the rift has been healed and the family now receives him." Kenward hoped this story convinced the doctor, at least for the time being.

Chapter Three

Mrs. Morsey led Alys through darkened corridors to her suite in the opposite wing from her father. The housekeeper's lamp briefly illuminated what Alys imagined were massive oil paintings and niches of objects of art as they passed.

In the pale blue room with gold accents, the perfumed scent of hothouse roses added to the airy chamber chosen for her. An ornate four-poster canopied bed drew her attention. Alys padded across the Axminster carpet to the lovely item of furniture.

As if in a trance, she dropped her reticule on a walnut table beside it. The action brought to mind the paper her father had pressed into her hand at the onset of his illness. She would study it when she was alone.

Alys fingered the wispy curtains drawn with blue and gold ties to the columns of the canopy then lightly touched the silk damask covering with its intricate needlework.

Her simply furnished room at Arbrook did not compare to the elegance of this.

The bed looked very inviting. A yawn escaped her. Fatigue weighed Alys down as she sat on the edge of the mattress.

"The maid should be here shortly to assist you, milady. Would you care for some warm milk and cake before you retire?"

"Thank you, yes. It has been a while since I last ate." Until Mrs. Morsey mentioned food, Alys had not thought about the empty pit in her stomach. She smiled at the housekeeper who curtsied and left the room.

Removing her cloak, she was glad for the comfort of a fire in the tiled hearth. Besides refreshments, there was nothing Alys wanted to do more than fall back on the bed and draw the covers over her. The carriage ride had left her body aching. She rolled her head from side to side to loosen the tight muscles of her neck.

Her gaze fell to the reticule on the bedside table and she reached for it. Retrieving the letter, Alys smoothed its creases. No direction was written on the folded, sealed missive, but her father had mumbled 'Mr. Clay' in his slurred speech. The name didn't bring to mind anyone Alys recalled. She would ask her father for further directions when he felt more the thing.

A scratching sound came from the other side of the door before she could break the seal. Quickly, Alys replaced the letter in the reticule.

A maid entered with a tray and crossed the room to a pedestal table next to a chair near the crackling blaze on the hearth. As Alys ate, the maid set aside Alys' nightrail, unpacking the rest of her clothes, then pulled the coverlet off the bed and fluffed the pillows before running a warming pan under the covers.

For now, Alys must content herself in the strange surroundings and the quiet company of the young maid who kept her eyes on her task. The familiarity of home was a two-day carriage ride away. Alys made a mental note to send a missive requesting her maid to join her as soon as possible. Her abigail's arrival would provide a modicum of company in the marquess' cold house to dispel her loneliness. If, as the doctor said, her father's health kept them here for some time.

* * *

The following morning, Kenward rose early after a restless sleep. The identity of his house guest had not come to him, though learning his name had sent up warning flags. He sauntered down the stairs to the breakfast room determined to learn all he could from the ill man's daughter about her family.

Stepping into the chamber bright with eastern light, Kenward stared at the object of his thoughts. Lady Alys sat at the table, a plate of food before her.

"I didn't expect to see you at breakfast at this hour." He noticed her pale green dress, a bit out of fashion and similar to the dated round gown she'd worn last evening.

"I want to see my father as soon as possible." Her gaze locked with his and he could see intense emotion in their blue depths.

"We shall see what the doctor advises." He wanted to learn about her family before she visited her father. "How do you find your accommodations?"

"The room is quite lovely. I thank you." Lady Alys deftly returned to the subject close to her heart. "May I be permitted to see my father soon?"

"That is entirely up to the doctor who is eating his meal abovestairs. I shall ring for him after you have eaten." Kenward walked over to the sideboard and helped himself to a generous portion of eggs, ham, and Plum Cake, then took a seat across from Lady Alys.

"I have been searching my mind to place your father. Perhaps if I knew where he hails from, it would come to me."

"Our home is north of London, east of Northampton. Father is the Seventh Earl of Osbourne."

Kenward sat straight up instantly. "What?"

The memory of his own father's face flashed in front of him. The old marquess had pointed out the earl to him at White's, years ago. Hatred had grated in his father's voice as he related how his brother George turned his back on the family to follow the dictums of Edmund Burke along with this earl's eccentric father.

Rumor had it that the old earl, Alys' grandfather, swayed George away from his family out of resentment over a lost love. Kenward had never ascertained whom the earl took exception to in the marquess' family.

Then too, George, being the younger son without benefit of title, had aspirations to be famous one day. Perhaps it was the lure of fame that led him into the hands of the enemy that long ago day in France. Whatever the reason, George died while the earl escaped a battle with little injury. Kenward's grandfather never forgave the old earl for George's death. Neither did Kenward's father.

"No, it cannot be." He shook his head. Perhaps Alys hadn't heard that particular part of her family's history.

"What cannot be?" The chit fastened on his negative tone like a terrier; she had her wits about her. He wouldn't lose control again as he spoke with her.

"Our grandfathers were adversaries in Parliament." He could not mention the rumor he had heard to a lady. Burke would be a safe subject to discuss. Perhaps the eccentric earl had contrived his own ideas out of Burke's teachings.

"Our grandfathers were acquainted? Why were they adversaries?" Her blue gaze fastened with intent on him as she tilted her head to one side.

"Because my Uncle George took it into his head to join with those who followed Edmund Burke. Your grandfather was my uncle's closest friend and a staunch advocate of Burke's." It was his uncle's death that had led Kenward to take up espionage. It was that sort of adventure that appealed to him.

"Then a connection of sorts exists between our families." She looked relieved for a moment, then frowned. "What have you against this Mr. Burke?"

"He wrote a book, 'Reflections on the Revolution in France', warning England about the ramifications regarding revolution in France. He believed the downtrodden of England would use France as an example and follow suit with their revolt against the English government. Burke went so far as to say we would lose our religion to atheism like France. He was wrong. He also sympathized with a band of French that disagreed with the revolution."

Lady Alys' blue eyes clouded. "I see, but what has any of this to do with animosity between our families? I don't understand."

He reached for her fork and folded her fingers around it. "My Uncle George traveled with your grandfather to France. French émigrés talked them into the trip. Once there, they were caught in a skirmish and Uncle George was killed. My grandfather blamed yours for influencing my uncle to go."

If possible, she sat even more erect, ignoring her plate. "That was not very noble of your grandfather, to lay blame at my grandfather's doorstep. It is quite obvious who was to blame, and it was not my grandfather. Your uncle had the capacity to make his decisions. He was a grown man, was he not? The blame should fall wholly on his shoulders."

"He would not have made such a choice had he not been misled by your grandfather." He couldn't resist casting doubt over her natural family defense.

"Mercy! What you must think of my family!" Frowning, she looked thoughtful then gave him a direct look again. "If the thought of aiding Father goes against the grain of family traditions, you need do so no longer."

He managed a half-bow from his chair, recognizing the spirit she displayed in helpless circumstances. "A gentleman does not desert a lady in distress, regardless who her father may be."

"How very kind you are, Sir." Her sweet voice sounded stifled and her features looked troubled. "You must be making an immense sacrifice to be in the same room with me, considering my relations." Tears formed on her lashes and made him feel the veriest blackguard to have made the revelation when she had no choice but to depend on him. Her forlorn expression gnawed at him. How could he be so crass as to tease her when her parent lay ill? He had only meant to distract her.

"It was not my intent to discompose you." Tears fell over her fair cheeks, and he reached across the table and handed her his handkerchief. She reluctantly reached for the white linen, not looking up. Their fingers chanced to touch, making him want to trail a forefinger along the soft skin of her wrist. His gaze darted up to meet her round eyes. She looked like a cherub. A frightened cherub.

In the next moment, her brave features dissolved into a fit of tears, and she buried her face in her hands.

Her emotional outburst discomfited him. "What have I done to bring on a waterfall?"

"It is not all your doing, my lord." She dabbed at a tear with his handkerchief. "I am beside myself with worry for Father."

Kenward stepped around the table and sat in a chair next to hers. Females with topsy-turvy emotions usually flustered him. During times like these, he missed not having siblings, especially sisters. Giving comfort didn't come naturally to him. Awkwardly, he touched her arm. She was still crying. He wasn't sure she felt his touch.

"Can I offer you anything that will relieve your present suffering?" he coaxed her gently. It was not in his nature to comfort crying ladies, yet it pained him to see this particular lady cry. Could it be the peculiar need welling inside him to protect her?

Taken by surprise, she turned into his arms, her face resting against his chest. His arms closed around her instinctively, though he rarely had a lady cry on his waistcoat.

Kenward inhaled the scent of lavender. The feel of her feminine curves pressed close to his chest ignited a desire to caress the soft fullness of her breasts. He almost groaned at the surge of longing that burned through his body where it touched hers.

He stopped himself and the direction of his mind. His conscience reminded him of the impropriety of holding a young lady under his protection so near. His scruples had never troubled him before. But then he'd never held an innocent girl in his arms. And instinct told him she was innocent.

Kenward looked heavenward, gaining control of his senses before patting her shoulder, at first tentatively, then with more reassurance. Patience, he needed patience.

Leaning his cheek against her hair, he blew away an errant curl tickling his lips. "All will come about as it is destined. You'll see."

A commotion sounded down the hall, followed by muffled voices. The breakfast room door swung open before Kenward could relinquish his hold on Alys.

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