The Earl And The Emigree

The Earl and the Émigrée

The Earl and the Émigrée Elizabeth Chater

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, scanning or any information storage retrieval system, without explicit permission in writing from the Author. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. © Copyright 1985 by Elizabeth Chater First e-reads publication 1999 www.e-reads.com ISBN 0-7592-2245-2

Other works by Elizabeth Chater also available in e-reads editions

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The Earl and the Émigrée

Elizabeth Chater—The Earl and the Émigrée

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ibble, butler to the Right Honorable Earl of Stone and Hamer, strode impatiently toward the massive front doors of Milord’s great London townhouse. He was more than a little annoyed as he swung back one panel of the door in response to the peremptory battering of the knocker. At this hour—dusk of a cold, rainy afternoon in March—the third footman, a gauche but earnest youth, should properly have been in attendance in Milord’s great hallway, ready to receive or discourage any visitor ill-advised enough to brave the wretched weather at such an unfashionable hour. But the third footman, Batty by name, had reported to his superior with an inflammation of the nose and throat so obviously putrid that Dibble waved him away to the servants’ quarters before he infected his elders and betters. Dibble had, perforce, to man the door himself until Batty could send down the second or even the fourth footman, both of whom were enjoying their regular four-hour respite. The Earl, Dibble decided grimly, was far too lenient with his staff. Four hours free per diem, for every member of the staff of the townhouse! Unheard of! And all to be arranged, of course, by Dibble! The timekeeping alone imposed another burden upon an already heavily laden

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Majordomo, Dibble grumbled, and resolved to give the importunate upstart who was belaboring the door knocker what for, and send him off with a flea in his ear! But when he swung the huge portal open, his mouth followed suit. The disturber of the peace of the Earl of Stone and Hamer was a slight, unimpressive figure just over five feet tall, draped theatrically in a black, hooded cloak far too long for it. Dibble eyed the mud-splattered garment with extreme repugnance. He was struck in the face by a gust of icy-cold rain, and his exacerbated temper flared. “Wot d’ye think yer playin’ at?” he growled in plebeian accents his master had never heard from his pursed lips. “Get t’ell ahta ‘ere before I shifts yer ballast!” As he began to shut the door, the bedraggled creature dared to address him. In a voice whose odd yet cultured accent startled him, the creature announced, “I am the émigrée whom Milord is expecting. You may lead me to him, if you please!” The name, which sounded like Amy Gray, gave Dibble pause, but only momentarily. It was quite unthinkable that His Lordship should have scheduled an appointment with any person so obviously not of the ton. Dibble peered over the intruder’s shoulder—not a difficult feat—to check that no great carriage waited for the visitor. The street was empty, soaking wet, and miserably cold. With a feeling that banishment to such an icy hell was no more than the intruder’s due, Dibble prepared to shut the door. To his surprise, the creature thrust its way past him in one decisive, writhing movement, and turned to face him in the huge, warm, well-lighted hallway. Placing a small basket upon the white-and-black marble tiled floor, the bedraggled little figure thrust back the shrouding hood, revealing a dirty, female face with masses of matted hair and a pair of huge amber eyes that blazed at the butler like molten gold. “You would deny me entrance?” snapped the intruder, with impeccable English faintly accented, and very evident anger. “You will take me at once to your master, sirrah! I have not come this far to be put off by the impertinence of a servant!” “Indeed?” A cold voice sounded from somewhere above the heads of the antagonists. “Perhaps you will deign to tell me what it is you have come to do?” Down the massive carpeted stairway advanced the imposing figure of Lord Alexander Christopher Deeth Stone, twelfth Earl of Stone and Hamer. In the light of the thousand candles he was an impressive figure indeed, and the presumptuous intruder drew a breath and stared at his magnificence for a moment without answering his question. He was a big man, well over six feet and broad in proportion. Light gleamed from the pristine white of his freshly powdered wig, and glinted from the cold silver of his remarkable eyes, fringed

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round with black lashes and accented by heavy black eyebrows. His costume was a quelling black brocade, cut formally, and relieved only by a white silk waistcoat and knee breeches above silk stockings and black, silver-buckled shoes. A single fob hung from his waist, and a heavy crested ring was the only adornment upon the white hands. As he waited for a reply, one black eyebrow arrogantly raised, the Earl took out a white handkerchief and touched it to his lips. A pleasant scent of spice wafted to the nostrils of the two standing in the hall below him. At this moment, the butler’s nose wrinkled. In the warm air of the great hallway there was beginning to be apparent a most unexpected odor. The basket that the cloaked female figure had placed upon the floor had a divided lid, the two flaps of which began to move disconcertingly. It was from this basket that the unpleasant odor seemed to be emanating. “Milord, there is something alive within the basket,” began the butler, moving toward it and stretching out a hand. “You will open that basket at your own risk,” advised the female in a tone of considerable anticipation. “I have a ferret in it. Jille is not happy with her present situation!” She then had the effrontery to laugh. Dibble stared at the ragamuffin with acute distaste. Then he turned to his master. “Milord, shall I call a footman to evict this creature?” he asked humbly. “I am surprised that you permitted it to enter the house,” said the Earl repressively. At once the golden eyes were ablaze. “I have done you and your house a signal service, at great hazard to my own life and purpose,” came the cultured and charming voice in purest Parisian French. “I had considered your dignity, sir”—the lack of title emphasized her scorn as she continued in impeccable English. “However, since you refuse to permit me the courtesy of a private hearing, I shall tell you, in front of your servant, that I am returning two things which belonged to Your Lordship’s brother!” At this remark, a sudden glacial chill seemed to strike the men. Dibble’s ample form froze in an attitude of acute embarrassment; only his eyes moved, under lowered brows, to see how his master was taking this home thrust. The Earl’s large figure merely stiffened slightly, and his black lashes concealed for a moment those silver-cold eyes. After a minute he said softly, “Perhaps we should adjourn to the library, Mademoiselle. Dibble, see that I am not disturbed.” The butler bowed, happy to have escaped a severe reprimand for permitting the little French troublemaker to enter the hallowed precincts of Stone House. The other two went down the huge hallway, past several inset doors under heavily carved lintels. The girl, following the Earl, paused to regard these appreciatively.

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“Rather fine,” she conceded. Milord, glancing back over his shoulder, raised his eyebrows. When they were both inside the well-lighted library, the Earl strode over to stand in front of a glowing fire. As he faced his uninvited guest, he said, in a voice from which all warmth had departed, “What is this you bring me?” The girl placed her malodorous basket on a small side table, and cooed, in a tone so seductively sweet as to raise Milord’s eyebrows a second time, “Come, ma petite Jille, good little mother, let Cozette take from under you that uncomfortable object which has so disturbed your rest!” Fishing in some hidden pocket, she brought out a scrap of meat and, opening one half of the divided lid, offered the tidbit to the long narrow head that was tentatively poking, snakelike, from the depths of the basket. While her pet consumed her treat, Cozette put her hand into the dark interior, lifted up a piece of worn, tatty fur, and drew out a rag bundle from the bottom of the basket. This she tendered rather haughtily to Milord. That nobleman found a quizzing glass in one coat pocket, and raised it to inspect the dubious bundle coolly. “Take it!” snapped the disrespectful child. Milord did so and, laying it upon the top of a leather-covered desk, prodded it open gingerly with a pen and the shaft of the quizzing glass. And then suddenly there was a glorious shimmer of light, and from the dirty rag Milord drew forth a diamond necklace of such purity and magnificence that even Cozette’s eyes widened, and she forgot to give the ferret its next bit of meat. Milord bent over the necklace with the first trace of interest Cozette had observed on his countenance. “My mother’s necklace,” he breathed. Then, looking sternly into her face, he said, “Where did you get it?” Cozette started, not because of his tone, but because Jille, impatient for her supper, had gently nipped her finger. Hastily passing out the next small bit of meat, Cozette explained, “Your brother took it when he ran away with the daughter of the French ambassador.” She frowned. “I had thought you knew of this?” The Earl said noncommittally, “We missed it after he had gone, but we hesitated to connect him to . . . the theft.” Cozette frowned at the pale, arrogant face. Then, shrugging, she continued, “Did you know that Charmaine’s Papa forbade her to marry your brother, and, in fact, disowned her? They were much in love, however, and set up housekeeping in a cozy attic in Paris. Your brother worked as a translator, and taught English to anyone who could pay his fees.” The Earl cocked his head arrogantly. “So Neville had something worth selling,” he commented. “My father and I wondered how he would manage to provide for himself. To say nothing of the little French baggage—”

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“I think that is not very convenable of you, to speak so of any lady, but especially of your brother’s wife,” said Cozette severely. “Wife?” The Earl’s black eyebrows rose in sardonic disbelief. “Oh, yes, they married. Some poor priest evidently thought it better that they marry than burn—as Saint Paul told the Corinthians.” A glint of what might have been laughter flashed for a moment in the cold gray eyes. “So they married? And now they are sending back the necklace? Well, what do they want to buy with it?” Cozette’s expression became closed and guarded. “They are not offering to bargain,” she said tersely. “They are dead, both of them. They were caught up in the street into a mob fleeing from the King’s soldiers. Both were killed under the mistaken impression that they were part of the mob of revolutionaries.” She eyed him somberly. “Fortunately, their son was not with them that day.” “Their son?” snapped the Earl. “Are you trying to foist some gutter-bred brat off on me as my brother’s son?” “I am not going to foist anyone or anything on you,” Cozette snapped back. “I notice, however, that you displayed little of this reluctance in acknowledging the ownership of the diamond necklace, accepting it as your own.” She patted the ferret’s head, put it gently back into the basket, and turned to leave the library. “Wait!” said the Earl coldly. “I have not given you permission to go.” The small dirty face tilted up to his with as much arrogance as his own. “I am not, thank le bon Dieu, under any compulsion to obey you,” she said haughtily. “You are a monster, cold and unbending, and insensitive as all the English! I would not permit le pauvre petit Alexandre to come to you now if you begged me! You would freeze le bébé with your hauteur du diable!” “Did Neville name the boy after me?” said the Earl, his icy demeanor momentarily dissolving into interest and something more. “How should I know whether they named the poor child after so bitter and unloving an uncle?” sniffed the small, grimy female. “In any case, I do not think I shall give him to you and your pompous Dribble.” “Dibble,” corrected the Earl absently. He was evidently uncertain of the good faith of this very articulate urchin. The girl shrugged and turned again to the door. A hand on her shoulder swung her around abruptly. The Earl, with more animation than she had yet seen on his face, was glaring down at her from his superior height. “Where is my nephew?” he demanded. When she did not answer at once, he shook her roughly. “I intend to have him in this house tonight if he is hidden anywhere in London,” he warned the girl. “You will harm only yourself by defying me! Unless—Is it money you want for bringing him to me?”

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Cozette shook his hand from her shoulder. Her small face was aflame with rage. “Money? You would ask such an insulting question of me? I have brought that poor child out of a France gone mad, disrupted by civil war! We have hidden, and slept in barns, and once even a pig sty! We have never had food enough to satisfy hunger! Had it not been for Jille, that well-trained and loving friend, we should surely have starved! She caught the rabbits and—and other small game that kept body and soul together during those terrible weeks when I struggled to bring your nephew to the safety and comfort—as I thought!—of his father’s home! And your wretched baubles! Poor Jille had to rest upon them in the bottom of her bed, lest some sans culotte should find them and take them from me! And now you have the . . . effrontery to suggest that I did this for money!” The Earl took her arm, this time less roughly. “I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle,” he said. The girl could not read any real warmth or, indeed, regret at his callous behavior, into that apology. “You must admit that you have given me surprising news—shocking information! I will ask you now where my nephew is. When we have him safe in his father’s home, there will be time for discussion and . . . appreciation.” Narrow-eyed, the girl glared at the imposing figure so close to her. “I do not trust you, Milor’, and I only hope that poor infant will be treated tenderly in this cold, dark mansion! From what I have seen of you and other of the English, you are a race of heartless monsters.” “At least we have not threatened to kill our King,” said the Earl sternly. But the chit had an answer. “Not this one, at least!” she riposted. “I believe that your Charles the First was beheaded, was he not?” The Earl glared his dislike at this presumptuous little ragamuffin. Very few of his male acquaintances and none of his female friends would have cared to tempt his disapproval by correcting him so summarily. He set his teeth and gritted out, “Where is the child—if you please?” Sniffing her disdain, the girl led the way out into the hall. “He is outside, hiding in your shrubbery. I dared not bring him in until I was sure your household was suitable to receive him. And I am not yet convinced of it,” she added darkly. “This house will be suitable,” snarled the Earl. “At least we shall not have to depend upon a ferret to feed him.” “It is obvious,” said the maddening little female, “that you have never had to escape from a country torn by civil dissent!” Setting his jaw against reprisals, the Earl followed the girl outside his imposing front doors, attended at a safe distance by Dibble and the two footmen he had summoned. The girl went at once to a rather handsome clump of shrubbery that served to mask the front windows from the gaze of the com-

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mon folk who might have business upon the street. There, with a coaxing, gentle tone the Earl remembered from her conversation with the ferret, Cozette wheedled forth a very small, weary, and exceedingly dirty little boy. When he would have staggered getting out of the bushes, the Earl was beside him instantly, and caught him up into his arms. The boy did not cry out, only stared hard up into the face looming above him in the dusk. “He is made of good stuff,” exulted the Earl, who would not have been surprised to have a screaming, writhing child in his arms. Quickly, he took the boy inside. The girl followed, and when Dibble would have shut the door in her face, she sailed through it with all the airs and grace of a duchess. In fact, she caught up with the Earl as he was about to take the boy into the library. “He needs food first, then a bath and a clean bed,” she said firmly. “This is neither the time nor the place for questions and . . . intimidation.” The Earl found himself, for the first time in his adult life, glaring at another human being. “I did not intend to intimidate the boy,” he said, between his teeth. “Perhaps,” the infuriating female said patronizingly, “you are not aware of how—formidable,” lapsing into French, “your manner is?” She shuddered too elaborately. Risking a glance down at the small boy he held in his arms, the Earl was first surprised and then delighted to catch a knowing little twinkle of laughter in those wide blue eyes so much like Neville’s. His breath caught in his throat. Nev had always been a merry little fellow, amused by the weight of their family’s consequence rather than impressed by it. It had been, in their father’s stern opinion, a fault in him that must be rigorously rooted out. Perhaps, thought the Earl in a rare flash of insight, it had been that constant harrying that had finally driven the gentle, laughing boy to run off with the charming little Frenchwoman. So this was Nev’s son! “Parles-toi l’anglais?” he murmured. The child’s smile flashed—Neville’s smile! “Coco has made very sure I speak Papa’s language with an accent of high tone,” he said in impeccable English. “And who might Coco be?” murmured the Earl. Alexandre’s glance sought out the girl’s rumpled, dirty figure. He pointed, his own small finger grubby. “Cozette de Nullepart,” he explained with his endearing grin. “It means Cozette of Nowhere.” The Earl’s elevated eyebrows emphasized his opinion of that designation. Huge amber eyes challenged his judgment. “It was better to teach him to say that, when we were stopped and questioned,” she explained quietly.

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The Earl felt a frisson over his skin, the merest touch of emotion, as he considered the plight of a small girl and child being stopped by soldiers or ruthless members of the mob or even wandering rogues preying on the devastated countryside. She seemed to catch his feeling of unease. “When they became too brutal, I escaped or diverted their attention by appearing to hear other members of my nonexistent group approaching.” She was smiling slightly, but the Earl could see the bleak memory of fear in those amazing eyes. “Eh bien! Let us get young Lex some food, Milord!” she suggested. Wordlessly, the Earl moved out into the hall. “Where do you take us?” questioned Cozette. “To the dining room, of course,” the Earl answered over his shoulder impatiently. “But no! This is absurd!” As the girl uttered the unseemly contradiction of His Lordship’s statement, Dibble was heard to utter an obvious gasp. No one in the household ever contradicted the Earl. It was unthinkable! Yet this grubby little female with her ridiculously top-lofty ways had just done so. Even worse, she had turned and handed the foul-smelling basket to Dibble, and was taking the child from Milord’s arms in a most peremptory fashion. “We had much better eat in your kitchen,” she said firmly. “We are both too dirty to eat in a civilized dining room.” Dibble, horrified at the burden he had been forced into accepting, stared at his master in agonized indecision. The Earl was looking at the determined female with a quizzical glance Dibble had never seen upon that hard, handsome countenance. “Dibble, you may lead us to the kitchen,” he said. “And then get rid of that malodorous basket before Chef Pierre leaves us in a Gallic huff.” And he grinned at the girl. “Jille will be fairly comfortable in your stables if we feed her very well. Then tomorrow I shall see about a room somewhere for myself, with a landlord who will not mind a ferret in residence.” Even Dibble was forced to grin at this naiveté. Neither of the men made a reply, however, leaving the chit in blissful ignorance of the absurdity of her expectations. The small procession moved to the kitchen, whence, thanks be, Pierre had already departed to his own rooms, and the kitchen maids and boys were busily cleaning up. To say that they were surprised at the sudden appearance of their master and his unusual guests is an understatement. In fact, one boy had to be sharply nudged by the senior maid before he would close his gaping mouth. Cozette took charge with a calm air of authority that had the Earl’s brows elevating over sharp silver eyes.

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“Some warm food for the little one, if you please,” she asked pleasantly. “That soup which is simmering on the back of the stove, perhaps, and a piece of bread, buttered? I shall have the same. And you, my friend,” she addressed the gaping boy, “will you get me some meat for Jille? She is a very useful ferret who has kept us alive during our flight from France.” Neatly done, thought the Earl. She’s told them enough to satisfy their most urgent curiosity, and possibly win their sympathy. Although none of them had ever taken orders from such a ramshackle miss, they did her bidding with a willingness that surprised His Lordship and quite obviously amazed the butler. He had lost no time in surrendering the basket to the kitchen boy, and was now glaring as the latter cut up a nice piece of raw beef into small bits and offered them to the bright-eyed, alert, but friendly animal. The soup was presented in two bowls, and a platter heaped with crusty bread lavishly buttered joined it on the servants’ table. It looked and smelled so delicious that the Earl asked the senior kitchen maid for another bowl for himself, and sat down beside his guests, to the affronted disapproval of Dibble. The girl, who had used the time of serving up the meal to wash her own hands and face and the child’s, shot a glinting look at Milord, inviting him to share her amusement at the pompous servant. The Earl did not smile— she wondered briefly what a smile would do to that cold, handsome countenance—but at least his face lost the stern chill that had seemed habitual to it. The soup was filling and tasty, and all three diners enjoyed a second bowlful. The bread, too, seemed to disappear like magic. Toward the end of the informal meal, young Lex’s head began to droop and his eyelids to flutter. The girl observed these signs with satisfaction. “He will be asleep before I finish bathing him,” she said quietly. “Will you have someone show us to a room, Milord?” “I shall myself conduct you and my nephew upstairs,” said the Earl. “Dibble, have someone prepare my brother’s old room for his son.” He glanced around the ring of staring, wondering faces. “This lady has brought Mr. Neville’s son from France at great danger and pains to herself,” he said in a low voice. “The child’s parents were victims of a mob. He will be staying with me now.” He turned and led the way out of the kitchen and toward the front of the house. Cozette came after him, carrying the drowsy child.

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2 C

ozette surveyed the spacious, handsomely decorated room with approval. A maid was kneeling in front of the grate, fanning a good fire into warmth and light. Another maid was going from one massive candelabrum to another, touching them alight with a taper. Two more maids were just entering the chamber with brass hot water cans, while Dibble himself was pulling a bathing tub in front of the fire. “This is well done, Milord,” she commented to her involuntary host. “Your servants are well trained and willing.” The Earl’s hard lips twisted. “A good deal of the willingness may be simple curiosity,” he murmured. “The arrival at Stone House of an unknown nephew is an earthshaking event.” Cozette was stripping the filthy rags off the child. “Some cold water, please,” she requested of Dibble. “I would not wish the boy to be scalded like a lobster!” Her bright smile held such sweetness that the butler obeyed her without reluctance. The Earl, watching this exchange with a sardonic eye, made a mental resolution that this grimy little witch should not work her wiles upon him. There would be a reckoning, and very soon, but at least he would permit her to

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clean the boy and make him comfortable first. A suitable governess would be found in the morning, and this female paid off and sent about her own business—accompanied by her familiar, the ferret Jille. This categorization of the girl as a witch so amused His Lordship that a small smile tugged at his lips. Dibble, straightening up from dumping a large pitcher of cold water into the tub, caught sight of the abortive smile and wondered whatever had come over His Lordship. Levity in such a situation, he would have thought, was the last thing the Earl would be displaying! Dibble could not recall having seen his master smile once in all the years he had worked for the family. The butler shook his head. The sooner this odd little madam could be removed from Stone House, the better it would be for all concerned. At this moment, Cozette took off her long, concealing cloak in order to kneel by the tub and wash the sleepy child. Dibble’s gasp was echoed by nearly every person in the room. Under the filthy garment was a dress of pale gold silk, also stained and dusty, and hacked off well above the ankles to show a number of full petticoats, also cut short. It revealed a figure that had the Earl narrowing his cold gray eyes. He stared more closely at the face half hidden by the dirty masses of hair. Then he strode over to the kneeling girl. “You have disguised yourself to make your escape easier, have you not?” he demanded. “I shall have your real name, Mademoiselle, not the nonsense you have taught my nephew to call you!” “Cozette is only a—how do you say?—love name my father used for me.” She turned a weary, smiling countenance up to his. “I am Ma’am’selle Michelle deLorme, daughter of Professor Henri deLorme, tutor to the children of noble houses. Your brother’s wife, Charmaine, had been a pupil of my Papa’s, and brought your brother to us to discover if we might find work for him. Papa was delighted to help so charming and courteous an Englishman.” This last phrase was accompanied by a minatory look that made evident Cozette’s opinion of Neville’s brother. “Papa was able to find him work teaching English to the sons of minor nobility who were hoping to travel to England or Canada for refuge.” She sighed and leaned wearily against the high tub. Then, pulling the sleepy Lex to his feet in the tub, she endeavored to drape one of the large towels about him. With an exclamation of mingled disgust and alarm, the Earl stepped forward and took the boy, towel and all, into his own strong grasp. He carried the boy over to the bed and placed him on it. “Tuck him in,” he commanded, and gestured the servants out of the room. Silently, Cozette dried the child and pulled the clean, lavender-scented covers over him. As she straightened up from the task, she staggered slightly. Before she could recover herself, two strong arms were about her own person,

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and she was clasped close to a massive body. Too tired to struggle, she merely turned her head and stared warily up into Milord’s face. “Shall I take care of you, now, as you did of my nephew?” the Earl murmured, his eyes on the white breasts that threatened to swell out of the oncefashionable garment. He carried her over to the tub and set her on her feet beside it. With her last bit of strength, Cozette pushed him away. “Milord!” she said. “I had not expected to find such treatment in an English nobleman’s home!” “But we are all heartless monsters; cold, unbending, and insensitive, I believe you named us,” taunted His Lordship. “Surely you do not expect gentle treatment from me? I think I should enjoy bathing that grimy little body—” From somewhere within her weary body the girl drew enough strength to stand erect and face him with defiance. And then she smiled with such sweetness that the Earl felt his heart beat painfully in his chest. “You make the joke with me! Just like your brother Neville—always il fait le farceur! Eh bien! Where would you have me rest tonight, Monsieur le Comte? Might it not be well for me to remain here near the little one, lest he wake in the night and be afraid?” The Earl regarded her with respect. Knowingly or not, she had successfully put an end to his lecherous intentions, reminding him clearly of the debt he owed her for her care of his nephew and his family jewels. He stood back with a slight bow. “Bien entendu, Ma’am’selle deLorme! You have won this round with the insensitive Englishman. Sleep well, for tomorrow we shall have a reckoning! To determine your reward for your services to my House,” he explained, at her puzzled, apprehensive look. “To see le bébé resting so sweetly is reward enough, Milord,” the girl said softly. The Earl bowed again and left the bedroom. Cozette frowned, sighed, and then began to divest herself of her stained garments, her eyes on the water in the tub, and especially on a cake of lavender soap that rested in a dish beside it. In a minute she had slipped her exhausted body into the still-warm comfort of the bath, and was scrubbing away blissfully. She noted that there was another brass pot of warm water at hand, which would do nicely to wash the sticky dirt from her hair. It had been a wise plan to make herself look dirty and unattractive, but for some reason she did not wish to consider too deeply, it now seemed equally important that she present the best appearance of which she was capable when she met the Earl in the morning. She got out of the tub and began to dry herself with the big towels warming before the fire. Her glance fell upon the heap of dirty clothing she had so thankfully discarded. With a sharp thurst of panic she ran over and delved

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among the grimy petticoats for the two small, flat packages she had worn next to her skin since the night she had left her father’s house. With relief, she found them. One of the packets contained the record of a marriage between Neville Stone and Charmaine de la Valeur, while a second document testified to the birth of a son, Alexandre Julien Stone, a year later. These official documents were necessary, Papa had said, to prove little Lex’s birthright. Papa had warned her to keep them safe until she could deliver them, with the boy, to his father’s people. Cozette placed that package, unopened, on the table by the bed. She would sleep here with the child tonight, so it would be safe to leave the documents there beside her. The experiences of the last few weeks had been so terrifying that she had trained herself to stay alert and waken at the slightest sound. The other packet was of quite a different nature. The girl stood with it clutched in both hands, her eyes searching the room for a hiding place. She dared not lock the door. Such an act would draw unwelcome attention, even arouse curiosity. She had no nightrobe under which to hide the letter, and she could not bear to put on her clean body the filthy garments she had worn for weeks. Yet she dared not leave the second package on the table. It was too important, too dangerous to be exposed to the risk of idle or hostile scrutiny. Under the pillow? No, for Lex might waken early, discover it, and open it in childish curiosity. Reluctantly, at length she took up the clothing she had discarded so eagerly, and flicked through it until she found the strip of material that had served as a pouch to bind the packets to her body. She put it on again and secured the second packet. Then she donned the cleanest of the petticoats and climbed wearily into bed beside the sleeping child. Cozette’s awakening was sheer delight. The bed had been comfort itself: goose-down mattress, lavender-scented sheets, a soft woolen comforter—and all so clean! After her nights in haymows, barns, and even in rough brush under the stars, such soft, clean comfort was a matter for rejoicing. And then to waken to see Lex’s dear little face smiling down into hers, and feel his hands patting her gently to rouse her from slumber! She did not think to scan the room, so lulled was she in the drowsy security of the bedroom. She gurgled a laugh as she caught the little child close to her breast— remembering too late that she had slipped into bed almost naked, with just one petticoat to conceal the packet. Her involuntary gesture of rejection had brought a puzzled look into Lex’s face. The girl hastened to reassure him. “Coco puts you away, mon brave, because she has no clothes to wear.” “You are cold?” asked the child. “See, someone has given me a robe! Perhaps mon oncle? I like it very much.” He displayed a dressing gown of bright wool, belted around his small figure. “Shall I look to see if mon oncle has given

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you a robe also?” His sparkling blue eyes went beyond Cozette’s bare, gleaming shoulder. “I have it here,” a deep voice sounded from the other side of the room. The Earl advanced toward the bed, carrying a négligée of amber velvet and lace. The girl gave an involuntary cry of pleasure, and then withdrew hastily under the covers. “A thousand thanks, Monseigneur!” she stammered. “If you will go away until I have donned it . . .?” “Now why,” asked the Earl, “should I do anything as foolish as that?” He favored her with a wide and wolfish smile, a predatory smile that had nothing of humor in it. For this effrontery he was treated to a flash of golden fire from Cozette’s fine eyes. He regarded her with an insolent gaze. “One hears,” he drawled meditatively, “of the, ah, flexibility of behavior among the beautiful habituées of King Louis’s court. Can it be that rumor lies? One would think not.” “I do not care what you or rumor—an unreliable intelligencer!—says about the habituées of the Court! For my part, I never was such an one. The daughters of tutors, however gently born, are not usually invited into the Royal Circle! In any case, my behavior is not, and never has been, what you are pleased, with that hateful arrogance, to call flexible! Now will you please go away and let me get some clothes on?” the girl ended, with a cry that was almost a wail. For the first time, Cozette heard the Earl laugh. He threw back his head and gave a shout of mirth that softened his austere and forbidding countenance into attractive warmth. She caught her breath at the powerful attraction that radiated from the big man. He was dressed for riding, and the hard, virile appeal of him was very evident. He regarded her closely, eyes glinting with mischief, then gave a pseudo-disappointed sigh. “If I must, I must! One would not wish to alarm little Lex!” The two males shared a grin as the Earl swept a mocking bow. “Cover yourself with the négligée, Ma’am’selle! Your breakfast will be brought to you shortly. You may eat it in this room. Later this morning, we will have our conference.” This last was said in a colder tone from which all trace of amusement had gone. Cozette shivered involuntarily. “Monseigneur! Am I to go to this conference dressed en négligée?” “You would prefer a less formal costume?” His wicked glance probed suggestively at her body. “Mon Dieu!” breathed Cozette. “Are all Englishmen sex-mad? The half was not told me!” Again, involuntarily, the Earl laughed. “I have ordered a dressmaker to attend you here in one hour. She will bring costumes from which you may

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make a choice. I cannot have you running tame in my house in your present get-up,” he taunted. “I have had your, ah, traveling costume burned,” he added casually. While agreeing heartily with this decision, Cozette was reminded of the packet she had formerly worn under that grimy costume, and glanced hurriedly at the bedside table where she had left it. The documents were gone! How could she prove Alexandre’s identity now? Her glance flew to the Earl. He was dangling the packet from his fingertips. “I saw these when I entered the room,” he offered with unforgivable complacence. Cozette shrugged. They were, after all, his nephew’s documents. She would have given them to him this morning in any case. “They are for you,” she said agreeably, and ventured a smile. For some reason, this easy acquiescence put him in a better humor. With a final lazy glance over as much of the girl as could be discerned under the covers, he extended his free hand to the boy. “Come, Lex, we must permit our Coco to dress herself. Are you hungry, mon vieux? I waited to have breakfast with you.” Lex took the proffered hand eagerly and walked out of the room chatting happily to his new-found uncle. Cozette realized with a twinge of sadness that he had missed a man’s presence in his small world; no matter how dearly he had come to regard her, she was no true relative, and would soon be replaced in his affections by some woman of the Earl’s choosing. Better so, perhaps. The sooner the boy could forget those frantic, desperate weeks of running and hiding, the better for him. She must always be associated in his mind with those dreadful days. Here in this England he would have a life more secure, both as to safety and wealth, than his young parents had ever been able to provide. And she would be free very soon to carry out the dangerous and difficult part of her mission. The girl drew a deep breath as she rose and slipped into the lovely garment the Earl had provided. Had it been worn by some woman of his house? It seemed new. Had he sent out to get it very early this morning? He puzzled her, this arrogant, beautiful nobleman in his somber black elegance and frigid attitude. So coldly critical, yet he had shouted with laughter twice, like a boy. So rigidly correct in form, yet he had behaved and spoken with shocking sensuality upon occasion. A riddle! She had better depart quickly, Cozette warned herself, lest she become too attracted to the virile intimidating master of this mansion. She could leave very soon, she realized, and complete her other mission in this country. Lex was safe. He would soon be willing to do without her. The thought pained her warm heart. Still, it would be much better to go. She feared the Earl, and what he might discover. She had no way of knowing

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where his sympathies might lie. True, she had made him laugh twice, she reminded herself. And that laughter had changed and softened his harsh beauty remarkably. Perhaps he needed someone to challenge his authority, to infuriate and amuse him? Cozette sighed. Do not spin impossible dreams, she advised herself practically. You have your urgent task, and after that is completed, your own way to make. The sooner you can get the packet delivered and find work, the better for you, my girl! A lavish breakfast gave support to this mood. When she was dressed, she found a pair of bedroom slippers that were a shade too large, but comfortable and warm. Then she explored the rather masculine-looking dressing table in the adjoining room, where a cot had already been set up for her use. She found also, brushes, combs, and even a small flacon of perfume waiting for her! What a joy to touch delicate scent to her wrists and throat, to run the comb gently through hair deliberately matted and unkempt to aid her disguise! She was brushing the heavy silken length of it in a sort of lazy euphoria when she heard a knock on the bedroom door. Going through quickly, she called out, “Entrez!” The door swung open, and a modishly dressed older woman, accompanied by two younger women bearing boxes and large bags, came into the room. The older woman’s eyes lit up as they beheld the slender, golden-haired girl in the luxurious négligée. Not a great beauty, perhaps, but charming and even lovely—given the proper clothing, which she was eager to supply! She burst into staccato speech. “Ah, Mademoiselle! Are you the young woman I am to have the pleasure of dressing? Thank God you have a figure, and the looks to do me credit! Now let me see your coloring, if you please! Will you step over to the window, Mademoiselle?” Before the willing but slightly bewildered Cozette could catch her breath, she found herself being robed in one attractive garment after another to the accompaniment of a constant stream of advice, instruction, questions to which the modiste did not wait for answers, and gossip about the great ladies of London’s Beau Monde, which was so much Greek to Cozette, since she had never heard of any of the ladies mentioned. After half an hour of this, the girl called a halt. “Madame,” she said firmly, “enough!” She softened that with a smile. “I do not know what you have been told—” “His Lordship has told me that you escaped the Terror with his beloved nephew, and brought him safe through horrible dangers to London! For this he wishes to express his thanks with a few garments, since you left everything behind you when you fled the Revolution!” The modiste shivered with fright, and her two girls echoed the gesture. But Cozette was not to be diverted from her protest.

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“You have displayed gowns which would grace a duchess, Madame, but I shall be fortunate indeed to obtain a post as a governess in this London, and I must have gowns which will be suitable for that position. Oh,” she noticed the shock upon three faces, “of course I must accept one or two dresses today, since the clothing in which I made my escape is beyond use. Now I have noticed two costumes which I think exceptionally pretty and quite suitable.” Three faces brightened. “This seal-brown walking dress will resist staining and be warm enough for your rather cool climate.” Three heads nodded agreement. “Then there is this amber silk afternoon dress—ah, élégante! What woman could resist it?” Three wide smiles greeted that judgment. “And that brown cloak you have not shown me yet,” Cozette pointed to a soft woolen cape one of the girls had placed over a chair. “That should keep me warm while I look for work, n’est-ce pas?” The modiste gave a sudden cackle of mirth, and said, in the strong accent of her native Provence, “It will keep you warm, petite, no doubt about that! But it may lose you the job, if the mistress of the house sees it!” She lifted the cloak and flung it about Cozette’s shoulders with a fine flourish. It was lined with sable. For just a moment Cozette cuddled the exquisitely soft fur around her, then took it off with a sigh. “Beautiful, but quite impractical,” she decided. “On the contrary,” said the Earl, coming in through the open doorway, “it is completely practical in this climate. We will have it, Madame, and any other garments you deem suitable for a gently bred woman who is my nephew’s companion and a member of my household.” Now it was four female faces that were momentarily awe-stricken by the virile force of the big man who confronted them. Then the modiste broke into her normal stream of half-commanding, half-wheedling conversation, as she began to display the various costumes she thought suitable. The Earl held up one white hand. “Thank you. Please leave whatever dresses Mademoiselle deLorme liked, and send the account to my agent. Good day.” It was a firm though quiet dismissal, and the modiste knew it. Very quickly she gathered up those costumes that had not suited Ma’am’selle for one reason or another, and, leaving behind the boxes of delicate silk underwear and the smaller boxes of shoes, whisked her assistants away with her. Cozette stared with dismay at the heaps of clothing she had left. “I cannot possibly pay for this upon the salary of a governess!” she protested. “Then you will have to stay with me until you have worked it off, will you not?” asked the Earl, coolly mocking. Cozette glanced quickly at that saturnine face. For a moment she was sure the Earl himself was surprised at what he had just said, but the fleeting expres-

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sion faded almost at once into his usual arrogant calm. Observing this, the girl said slowly, “It is a point of pride with the English to keep the face stiff, is it not? Why should this be? Is it degrading to show emotion, Milord?” The Earl stared at her uncomfortably. What was she at now, prying into a man’s behavior? One kept one’s own counsel, to be sure! So his own father had always instructed, and acted. It betrayed weakness to allow anyone to know what emotions might be seething under a calm facade. To have such intimate knowledge could give other men power over oneself. He looked at her coldly. “If you are to remain here as Alexander’s governess, Miss deLorme”—no more fancy French Ma’am’selles! Begin as you mean to go on—”you must learn to control your own emotions, and your speech as well. Your unruly tongue will bring you nothing but difficulty in England. And Alexander must be trained to be less open, as well.” The wide amber eyes fixed on his face so intently slowly darkened. “You would make le petit Alexandre such a one as yourself? Cold and rigid and closed? I cannot permit it!” she cried with a soft intensity. “You cannot—? You have nothing to say about the way my nephew will be trained. The sooner you realize that fact, Miss deLorme, the sooner you will settle into your rôle in this household.” Then, seeing the stricken expression on the small, delicately pretty face, the Earl relented enough to say, in a less threatening tone, “I accept the fact that I owe you much for your rescue of the child. For this reason alone, I am willing to permit you to remain here until the boy is old enough to be sent to boarding school. Four years, possibly five. By that time, if you are as frugal as the French female is reputed to be,” he added with a note of mockery, “you should have been able to save enough from your salary to keep you until another post can be found for you. You seem well educated, for a female. The position of governess provides security and protection from the harsher realities of life.” Cozette found his patronizing attitude enraging. “I would venture to guess, Milord, that I am better educated than you are! I have heard my father say that young males in English public schools learn ‘small Latin and less Greek,’ as Jonson said of your great poet Shakespeare. All Englishmen, alas, do not have Shakespeare’s genius to offset their lack!” “Your father had made a deep study of English public schools?” sneered the Earl. Really, this wasp of a girl had a diabolical skill for getting under one’s skin! It could be quite dangerous to the smooth running of his household to hire her. Yet he did owe her a tremendous debt for bringing the boy safe to England. He glared at the small, defiant figure in the pretty darkbrown walking dress. A momentary memory of soft white shoulders and a swelling breast under tattered silk invaded his mind, but he put it firmly from him. The girl was a danger and he knew it. How to get rid of her without dis-

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honoring his obligation to her? He said coldly, “If you find the English and their ways so distasteful, permit me to discharge my great debt to you by providing enough money for you to return to France, where things are done so much better!” It was a low blow, and he realized it as soon as the words had left his lips. A wave of pallor blanched all color from her face, and the amber eyes darkened with pain. After a moment she said, in a small, controlled voice that had the effect of daunting the Earl, “I am afraid I cannot return to France, Milord. My father was betrayed to the Tribunal, arrested for summary trial, and may already have gone to the guillotine for aiding les aristos. His crime: He tried to hide two noble children whom he was tutoring. I have nothing of which to be ashamed, but there is no one left of my family to whom I could return in Paris. I must accept your . . . generous hospitality for a time, until Lex is old enough to go to school—or you decide to dismiss me.” The Earl’s gaze dropped under that unhappy glance. He tried to shrug as he turned slightly away. Well, he had got his wish; the girl was humbled and submissive. “When you have eaten breakfast, will you be kind enough to attend me in the library? There are certain matters which must be discussed in a more formal atmosphere.” His gaze went around the bedroom, taking in the bed disheveled by the boy and his companion. “You will be given the room next to this—” “A cot in the dressing room will be best,” Cozette corrected steadily. “Then I can hear him if he calls out at night. His wardrobe should not be so extensive just yet as to require the whole space in that room.” “Do you have to challenge everything I say?” Milord found himself snarling at the irresponsible little female. Humble? Submissive? That would be the day! He glared at her defiant little face. “A good servant would know better than to continue provoking her master!” “I am not a servant, sir!” flared the girl. “You have ample funds to support you in London without working? Forgive me if I remind you, but you have just given me a pitiful little story about your destitute and friendless conditions!” His challenge forced her to lower her eyelids and retract her defiance. “You are correct, of course,” she said after a moment. “I—I pray you will forgive my—intransigence. I shall strive to—to control my emotions, to become less . . . provoking.” The Earl, although for the moment victorious, found himself strangely anxious to get away from the face that seemed to reproach him. He wanted to escape the awkward situation quickly, so he nodded and left the bedroom. It is as though I were the one routed, he mused. What is it about this little French waif which so unmans me? My father could have—And then he rallied

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himself with a grimace of wry humor. I’ll wager the little tigress would have proved a match even for him! Cozette stood very still in the center of the room after he had left. Her eyes were blind with sorrow at the reminder of her loss. It was something to have been robbed of one’s father and one’s country in one disastrous blow. What was left? The love of the boy, for whom she had both deep affection and pity. Her other task, every hour becoming more urgent. And life itself, a gift denied to so many of her countrymen. “I shall contrive, Father,” she whispered. “If the sansculottes and the roving bands of soldiers and the rogues on the roads could not destroy me, can I permit one cold and uncaring Englishman to do so?” An involuntary shudder wracked her thin body. He was a formidable antagonist, that Comte Anglais! She shrugged to rid herself of such sickly fears. Where there is life, there is hope, she told herself sternly. I have le bébé safe with his family, and myself secure for the moment in this great household. Perhaps it is not so bad! From such a haven I may quickly and unobtrusively accomplish my other mission. Meanwhile, Lex needs me in this mausoleum. Á bas the arrogant Earl! She checked her appearance and went down to the kitchen to ask for luncheon. Chef Pierre decided, after one look at her, to accept this quietly élégante countrywoman with the Parisian accent as a valuable addition to the staff. Gouvernante to the newly discovered heir, she merited better service than a plate at the servants’ table. So he had her placed in a small, unexpectedly bright morning room, and prepared for her one of his finest omelettes aux fines herbes, and the croissants he was saving for himself. Much flattered by her knowledgeable appreciation of the feast, he himself presented wine and coffee, and spent a few minutes deploring the anarchy that had overtaken their beloved country. It was Dibble, looking into the room in a search for the French girl, who interrupted the chef’s discourse. Cozette rose, thanking him again for the superb luncheon, then followed Dibble to Milord’s library. That nobleman was waiting for her, the only visible signs of his impatience being a fine white line outlining the haughty curve of each nostril. “I trust you had a satisfactory luncheon?” he asked. “Your chef is a master,” the girl acknowledged. “Perhaps, then, you are ready to discuss the details of your position in my household?” Without waiting for her reply, the Earl continued, “Normally, my Comptroller, Ian Ross, would have dealt with the matter, but since it so closely concerns family business—my heir—I shall handle it personally. I have decided to keep you both here for a few weeks until I have learned to know the boy, especially his habits and capacity of intelligence. I shall instruct you as to what course of training I deem suitable for his further

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development. Including, as you must be aware, the need for more restraint in his behavior.” “He is four years old,” said Cozette between her teeth. “I am well aware of that,” replied His Lordship, moving aside to reveal a small Persian rug dreadfully spattered with ink. “When I brought him in here this morning, he seized my inkwell, as you see, a lion made of gold and copper, and thinking it a toy, he tipped it over the rug before I could prevent him. It was a very valuable rug.” Cozette stared at the mess with horror. “If I had been here with him as I should have been—!” she began. The Earl held up his hand. “I had taken him from your care, to permit you to eat your breakfast and to be fitted with needed clothing.” “It will not happen again,” she promised, eyes steady on his. “As long as I am here.” “We shall see.” He shrugged. “Where is Lex now?” “I had Dibble give him into the care of one of the younger maids, who is taking him for a walk in the garden at the center of the square,” the Earl advised her. “When they return, Alexander is to be given his lunch in the nursery and put down for a nap. The girl will stay with him until you return to take charge. Now,” he said firmly, “I have written out a program and schedule I wish you to follow. You are to have one hour a day free for your own comfort, as well as one whole day a month. Your salary will be as specified.” He handed her two sheets of paper covered closely with firm writing, and a slip with a figure. The sum of money astonished her, and she raised wide golden eyes in inquiry. “So much? To care for a little boy? I should prefer to do it for nothing.” “But I prefer you to receive the money, and I am the master here,” said the Earl with chilling hauteur. Cozette glared at him. Why did he have to make even his great generosity feel like an insult? The master, indeed! “You are more haughty than the greatest aristocrat in France!” she heard herself saying. “My lineage is equally distinguished, I am sure,” said the twelfth Earl of Stone and Hamer coldly. His glance rested upon a carved escutcheon over the massive fireplace. The girl’s gaze followed his. Carved deep into the wood was a great hammer which seemed about to crash down upon a massive stone. Beneath it was the legend, Beware the Might of Stone and Hamer. It could have been an omen. Cozette shivered. The nobleman regarded her thoughtfully. “I think you will be very careful of the boy until he is feeling secure in his new life. Has he spoken of his parents?”

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“Once or twice,” replied Cozette. “I have told him they have gone to Heaven, where he will one day join them. He asked, le pauvre petit, when we landed in England off the fishing boat, if this was Heaven.” “I imagine you told him it was not,” said the Earl caustically. The girl nodded. “I have tried to comfort and entertain him. He is a brave, cheerful little child. I believe you will grow to love him and take pride in his manliness.” “Then let us both make sure you do not undermine his manliness with too much cossetting,” advised her employer. Cozette should have let it go at that, but her evil genius prompted her to say, rather pertly, “You wish all that joie de vivre to turn into cold, rigid insensitivity?” In a single swift stride he was beside her, towering over her with a controlled rage that suddenly terrified her. He took her arm in a grasp that made her flinch. “First,” he said in a voice so low she had to strain to hear it, “you will never again use that tone of voice when speaking to me. I am master here. Do you understand that?” “Yes,” the girl whispered, appalled at the fury she had unleashed. “Second, you will follow my instructions as to the child’s schedule and training exactly. Is that clear?” “Yes.” Cozette felt her composure returning slowly, but she was shocked at the ease with which he had dominated and frightened her. “Third, you will adopt an attitude toward the child which is compatible with my wish to see him become an English gentleman, not some foreign fop, mawkish and theatrical. Do I make myself plain?” Cozette’s chin lifted. The taunt that foreigners were too emotional had gone home. Her amber eyes blazed gold defiance. “Yes, Milord, I understand your wishes. And the child is, after all, of your blood, and must live in your world.” Heaven defend him, her eyes seemed to add. “But I am not one who can thrust all human feeling into a deep well, or under a heavy rock. I can only love the child, and care for him in ways that le bon Dieu has given me. You may dismiss me from your service if you become dissatisfied with my—my attitude!” “Be very sure I will,” snapped the Earl. Still he did not release his crushing grip upon her arm, and his ice-gray eyes seemed to bore into her very brain. After an uncomfortable pause, Cozette tried to draw her arm away. Subtly, the Earl’s manner changed. His grip softened but remained firmly on her. The ice-cold eyes warmed with little glints, and he scrutinized her face and then her body in a leisurely manner that was like an insult. Cozette’s quick anger flashed. “Let me go at once, sir! I am not accustomed to such—”

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“Such what?” inquired the Earl, lazily insolent. Very obviously he allowed his gaze to rest upon her breast, now moving quickly with the force of her anger. “Perhaps I should take advantage of that hot Gallic emotion that comes to you so easily?” he speculated, his manner a subtle affront. “The idea interests me, but there are always problems. Are you by any chance untouched? How old are you?” Cozette jerked her arm away from his grip. “I am twenty,” she said in a voice whose coldness rivaled his most chilling speech. “I am the spinster daughter of an intellectual, carefully reared within a safe and loving home. I am not a woman of the streets, nor do I intend to be treated as such! Is that clear to you, Lord Stone?” Before he could answer her, she had turned away to leave his infuriating presence. The sound of his voice stopped her. “You will remain here until I dismiss you. How many times must I remind you that I am the master in this house?” Ignoring her outraged glare, he produced a small, grimy packet from a drawer in his desk. “You will tell me how you got these.” “Your brother brought them to my father for safekeeping the day he . . . died,” said Cozette gently. “He and his wife were worried about the unrest in Paris, the violence, the suspicion of foreigners. My father advised them to make ready to return to England at once. Your brother’s wife was reluctant to leave her beloved Paris, but had finally agreed to do so. There were papers and official permissions to get, passage on the stage to be arranged for . . . It was all in train on that fateful day.” She twisted her hands in anguish. “Oh, if only they had heeded the warnings a little sooner! They were so young—so happy!” The Earl’s face was set in hard lines, his eyes hooded by the heavy lids. After a moment, he said, “And now you will tell me why you were so nervous when you noticed that I had taken the papers.” Did the man miss nothing? Cozette’s heart sank. Did she dare to lie to him? She must! The second packet was of so vital, so demanding an importance that she dreaded to think what her few days of hesitation, of postponement of that imperative duty, might result in. The Earl’s hard gaze had never left her face. “Tell me what is wrong,” he said harshly. “Is there another packet? Did you think I had found the wrong one? Is that why you were terrified when you saw this one in my hands?” When Cozette shook her head blindly, refusing to answer, he went on inexorably, “What other important papers might a little Frenchwoman have brought to England? Was your ‘rescue’ of my nephew merely a blind for some other, less humanitarian scheme?” “Your nephew’s safety has been my first objective,” said Cozette stolidly. “But not your only object?” demanded the man. “If I am to trust you—”

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“If you do not trust me,” interrupted the girl, “I shall leave at once.” But this easy solution was not acceptable to His Lordship, it seemed. “Since I have admitted you into my household, and am, in some sense, responsible for your actions, I must know what sort of—person I have sponsored. Are you, Ma’am’selle deLorme, under your rather charming affectation of romantic innocence, a calculating little spy?” He snapped the last word out at her so sharply that it shook her composure exactly as he had intended. Cozette stared at him, a bird hypnotized by a snake, fascinated by his piercing stare. “It is a private matter between my father and—and an old friend of his.” “And would this ‘old friend’ be an informer or agent for the French government?” challenged the Earl. The girl, white-faced, met his probing stare openly. “I can tell you only this: The person to whom I am to deliver my message is a member of the British government.” The Earl was smiling unpleasantly. In the light, which seemed to Cozette to be dazzlingly bright, his handsome face bore a look of hard arrogance that daunted her. She forced herself to look straight into those intimidating silver eyes. She must keep her wits about her! The secret was not hers to tell! What was he saying? “Are you so naive that you do not know there are many political factions in my country, and that some of them might not be blindly devoted to the party in power? Some in fact are subversive, and would like nothing better than to do our country harm!” He stepped to her side and shook her fiercely. “Are you a spy? I demand to know!” “I am not a spy,” said Cozette. Her mind was racing. No simple excuses would convince this astute antagonist. What was a likely story? He obviously believed that she—and all women—were romantic idiots. She took a deep breath and plunged into speech. “My father met a certain Englishwoman when both were younger—before he met my mother, that is. Papa knew that his chance of surviving the Terror was slight, and wished to bid farewell to a lady for whom he had always felt the deepest affection and admiration.” She sighed soulfully. It could have been true—and if so, how romantic! “Very pretty! Quite an histoire, in fact! Very likely a lie. But if your mission is one of pure sentiment, then you will have no reason to refuse when I ask to behold this so harmless letter.” Caught up in the emotions appropriate to her story, Cozette glared at him. “Have you no delicacy of feeling? No sense of propriety? How can you demand to read a private communication? Another man’s love letter?” She was halfway to believing her own invention.

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The Earl glared at her in exasperation. Then heavy lids drooped over the piercing silver eyes, and he said, “Your father’s position was—is,” he corrected himself, “a precarious one. He must have felt an overwhelming need to have that letter delivered, if he was willing to send his only daughter.” “He also had an overwhelming need to send Lex to the safety of his own family,” the girl reminded him. “I believe he was trying to protect me from the—savage, senseless cruelty of the Revolutionary Tribunal.” The Earl was silenced by the controlled anguish in Cozette’s voice and expression. After a moment he said quietly, “Do not despair, my child. A man of your father’s spirit will survive, depend upon it! He has done nothing for which he might . . . receive a heavy penalty.” Cozette, aware as he never could be of the hazards and the injustices of the revolution, made no reply. He had only, in fact, expressed her own deepest hopes for her beloved parent. After a moment, the Earl said, more kindly than he had ever spoken to her. “Your father entrusted you with heavy responsibilities, Ma’am’selle.” Then, as if compelled, he added, “He seems to have judged you correctly.” Cozette felt a remarkable pleasure in this half-apology. That this cold man should speak well of her inexplicably pleased her. Now he was going on, “You may give your Papa’s letter to one of my grooms. It will be delivered today.” Alarm! Had the creature been lulling her into a false sense of security, only to pounce? Think quickly, Cozette! “I could not treat so delicate a matter so casually,” she objected. “A groom to present such an intimate message? No, no, Milord, I must deliver it in person!” And she smiled sweetly. Checkmate! Not so! “Then you must use one of my carriages,” instructed her antagonist blandly. “I shall tell Dibble to have one waiting for you. You will not wish to lose any time.” And of course the coachman would report the address without loss of time to his master! It was clear to Cozette that the Earl was still suspicious. This was no time to provoke him further. She said gently, “I shall be happy to accept your most generous offer—when I can find time. At the moment I must go to Lex. Thank you, Milord!” “You are welcome.” The odious creature was deliberately taunting, as though he knew she had lied to him; as though he had discovered and opened the packet. Could she bring herself to share the dangerous secret with him? She bit at her full lower lip, considering the risks. “But now you must go off to find Lex,” the Earl reminded her mockingly. Seething, the girl dropped him her most formal curtsy and walked from the library as haughtily as she could. The Earl laughed!

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eated alone beside the sleeping child later in the afternoon, Cozette tried to decide upon a course of action. She had, as she had promised Papa before they came for him, delivered the small boy to his father’s people. In theory, then, that part of her task was completed. Yet there was an atmosphere in this great mansion, a formality, a chill, that might destroy the spontaneous charm and joy of the small child so peacefully resting near her. He had had enough to bear in his short life! And so, if it came to that, had she! Cozette recalled that hasty, furtive departure . . . the house in darkness, the servants vanished, her father carrying small Alexandre in his arms through the passage to the deserted kitchen; Papa’s steady eyes and his final quietvoiced instructions to her before he gave the child into her arms and silently opened the back door into the reeking alley. And then the thunderous, dreaded, yet expected knocking at the front door, and her father closing and locking the kitchen door behind her without even time for a farewell kiss or a father’s blessing! Biting her trembling lips, Cozette had made her stealthy flight over the slimy cobblestones, not daring to weaken her self-control by thoughts of the beloved parent even now facing the dread interrogation; only

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wondering if he had been deceived, or if there would in fact be the promised covered dung cart behind whose noisome vats she could crouch with the small drugged boy, her dark cloak spread over them both. It had been her father’s idea that even rabid revolutionaries would not wish to examine so malodorous a vehicle too closely. So it had proven. Her taciturn driver had not been stopped until they reached the gates of Paris. There, he had been waved on with crude shouts. When finally he drew up in a farm barnyard at dawn, he did not reply as Cozette thanked him for their safe deliverance out of the city. Stiff from the long confinement, the girl staggered down from the cart and pulled the boy gently out after her. The driver merely stared at her out of dark, hooded eyes in a seamed gray countenance, then turned away and drove the cart behind the barn. “Are we there, Cozette?” The child’s voice had recalled her to her responsibility. Alexandre’s eyes were heavy and dazed, but utterly trusting as he stared up at her. “Not yet, mon brave,” she replied with a warm, reassuring smile. “First we must eat, and then find a less smelly way to continue our journey, no?” The boy smiled at her, wrinkling his little nose. A wave of tenderness for the small figure had swept over the girl. She resolved grimly to get young Alexandre to safety with his father’s people no matter what it cost her. And she had done so, she reminded herself, staring down at the boy’s relaxed body. The Earl had accepted his nephew’s arrival with a coldness she supposed might be natural to the very restrained English. Accepted; not welcomed. Therein lay her problem. Could she abandon the child to the frigidity of this English household? Would he be unhappy, lonely, frightened? Of course he would! His parents had been loving, if casual, in their attitude toward him. The concierge’s wife had acted as a surrogate grandmother to the child, and Cozette had found herself cast in the role of sister, friend, and occasional governess. Now Neville and his Charmaine were dead; the concierge’s wife had begged her to remove the boy because she was afraid for her own family; and Cozette’s father, who had taken the child under his quiet protection, was . . . He had warned her it was unlikely he would survive the interrogation, known adherent to the King’s cause as he was. Yet there had been only warmth and the serenity of quiet dedication in his countenance as he left her that night. The girl rose and walked quickly to the window to drive away such anguished recollections. She must control her turbulent emotions, become as calm and self-controlled as her host. Learn, in fact, to keep the stiff upper lip! She picked up the schedule the Earl had handed to her and began to read it carefully. She was relieved to discover that the subjects he had noted for his

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nephew’s program of study were well within her scope—although she doubted the wisdom of instructing a four-year-old boy in even simple mathematics or history. Still, perhaps she could make games out of numbers, games that might interest a small boy. And the history could be told as exciting stories of valorous knights and deeds of great bravery; surely such tales would enthrall a child as bright as Lex. Nodding with satisfaction at her plan for interesting studies, Cozette scanned the schedule further. Walks in the park, visits to certain suitable museums—yes, that was good. Then her eyes widened. Equitation! Was she supposed to teach the child to ride? She had never been on a horse in her life! Before she could panic, she reminded herself that this was a noble household; there would be stables somewhere, and grooms capable of teaching a child to ride. She was not sure how eagerly Lex would approach the idea of mounting some enormous animal, for surely there would not be any ponies in Milord’s stables? In order to accustom the boy to the idea before his uncle frightened him by forcing it upon him, Cozette aroused her charge gently, saying with a smile, “En avant, mon brave! We must go to the stables of your uncle and pay a visit to an old friend!” The dear small face smiled trustingly up into hers, and Cozette silently vowed, with a rush of warm love, that she would stay near this darling child as long as the Earl permitted. He was quickly awake, and smiling over her little puzzle. “Our old friend—in the stables of mon oncle? Now who—?” Then with a gurgle of joy, he exclaimed “Jille! Yes, let us go to her at once!” “But first we must tidy yourself, my little cabbage! Do not forget you are the nephew of the Earl.” With much laughter they got Lex’s face and hands washed, and his person suitably attired for an important visit to the stables. Cozette did not make changes in her own attire, partly because she had so few garments to choose from, mostly because she did not feel there would be important visitors to impress in that place. Of course, Jille was excited to welcome them, although the grinning stableboys, who seemed to have accepted her as a pet, were quick to inform Cozette that the ferret had eaten until she could not swallow another mouthful, and was apparently pleased with her new quarters. These were a roomy, clean box, well padded with old pieces of carpet over clean straw. A bowlful of fresh water and a well-licked food dish attested to Jille’s comfortable estate. One of the boys told them that Jilly, as he called her, had already proven her worth by bringing in a number of rats. After his happy play with the eager ferret, it was not hard to interest Lex in the horses. Here Cozette had the willing help of the grooms, all of whom

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had heard of the new heir and gave him a warm, respectful welcome, enjoying his open, friendly, and fearless acceptance of them and their huge charges. Lex made no protest when the head groom, a lean, whipcord-tough elderly man, picked him up and placed him on the back of a steady little mare. “I’m Hardy, Miss.” He regarded her out of keen old eyes. “I threw Master Neville up on his first pony. It’s good to do the same for his son.” Cozette’s last fears evaporated under the cheerful acceptance of herself and her charge. She watched closely, but Lex was obviously enjoying every minute of his first riding lesson. She accompanied them out into the spacious stable yard, as did all the other grooms and boys, and was proud of her little pupil as he earnestly attended to all Hardy’s instructions. The atmosphere of trust and friendship was so universal that the visit was prolonged. Suddenly realizing that over an hour had elapsed, Cozette promised to bring Lex out again tomorrow for his second lesson, thanked Hardy, observed Lex extending a small, by now distinctly grubby hand to his teacher, and was gratified at the serious way in which the head groom accepted the proffered thanks. Then she whisked the exuberant child away from the many delights of his new playground and smuggled him into the mansion by a side door. She was trying to calm his elated discussion of his new experience by promises of hot scones and strawberry jam, cautioning him to be very quiet on the way up to their rooms, “especially in the great hall.” And of course the first person they met, in the enormous somber hall, was the Earl. Black brows drew down with disapproval over his piercing gray eyes. The two culprits, caught in all their disorder, could only stare back wordlessly into that steel-cold glance. Cozette became conscious of her crumpled gown, decorated with wisps of straw and dust at the knees where she had knelt to pet Jille. Around both delinquents clung the unmistakable redolence of the stables. “Alexander, who are these urchins? And what are they doing in your house?” demanded a woman from the shadows behind the Earl. Although his voice was well controlled, and his manner calm, Cozette could tell how angry the Earl was. “Ah, there you are! I had sent Dibble up to your rooms to summon you to present yourselves, so that Lady Clarissa could meet Neville’s son.” There was an exaggerated gasp from the lady. “You are telling me me that this is Neville’s son?” The modishly dressed figure moved into the light and subjected both Lex and Cozette to a very daunting examination. The little boy clasped Cozette’s hand hard, but faced Lady Clarissa bravely. “I am Alexandre Julien Stone,” he said clearly in his small boy’s voice. “Named after mon oncle and the father of my Mama, as is comme il faut.” He smiled tentatively at the frowning Lady Clarissa.

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“What nonsense is this child babbling?” she inquired sharply. “Is he unable to speak his own language?” She missed the quick frown that darkened the Earl’s face as she turned to scrutinize Lex’s equally grubby partner. “Who is this—person?” she demanded scathingly. “This young lady brought Neville’s son out of France through incredible hardships, and delivered him safely to me,” began the Earl quietly. Lady Clarissa sniffed rudely. “She reeks of the stables! Surely you did not accept the word of such a creature in the matter of your heir?” “Miss deLorme brought me documents which proved his birthright.” The Earl was so quiet that Cozette felt nervous for the other woman, who, however, rushed blindly on. “He hasn’t the look of Neville!” she objected. “All that fair hair!” She glanced scornfully at Cozette’s golden head. “Documents can be forged, my dear Alexander.” “He has Nev’s eyes and Nev’s smile.” The Earl grinned widely at the solemn-faced child, and got a quick, sweet smile in return. Lady Clarissa caught her breath at the charm of the small, laughing face. “I thought you might recognize it,” the man said silkily. Cozette was pleased to hear, in his tone toward the modishly dressed woman, the same icy contempt she herself had had to endure upon occasion. She resolved to find out as soon as possible what the connection had been between Neville and this thoroughly unpleasant female. Was she a relative? Former sweetheart? That might account for the venom in her voice and glance. It was to be hoped that she would not have any control over poor Lex! The Earl was performing a formal introduction. “Lady Clarissa, may I present a veritable heroine, Mademoiselle Michelle deLorme of Paris? Ma’am’selle, this is the Lady Clarissa Montague.” Lady Clarissa did not bother to acknowledge the introduction. Instead she turned a rancorous glance upon the Earl. “But who is she? Was she Neville’s servant? Surely Neville would never choose such a jade to be governess to his son?’ Cozette had taken enough from this offensive woman. Jade, was it? In her flawless Parisian French she began, smiling coolly, “Je suis Mademoiselle deLorme— ” and then broke off with a patronizing laugh to say in English equally impeccable, “—but of course this young woman does not speak my language, so I must use hers, must I not?” Lady Clarissa, glaring at the affront, began incautiously in her nursery French, “Je suis—uh—la Madame—” but broke off as Cozette elevated her eyebrows and chuckled maliciously. “As I said, Lady Clarissa doesn’t speak French. Pray let us continue in English—or German, or Italian, if you prefer it, Lady Clarissa.” And that will teach you to call me a jade!

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She cast a glance beneath her lashes at the Earl. He was staring at her, but it was impossible to read his thoughts from the mask that was his face. He moved forward now and gave his arm to the Lady Clarissa. “Shall we go into the drawing room?” he suggested smoothly “Miss deLorme will bring Alexander to me there, as soon as she has seen him tidied up.” This last was accompanied by such a look at Cozette as caused her to revise her opinion about his response to her insolence in ridiculing his guest. Thankfully she made her escape up the stairs to the nursery suite, haven for Lex and herself. She washed the little boy so thoroughly that he moved to protest, but she resolved that neither dust nor taint of the stables could be discerned upon his person when she took him down to the drawing room. Some handsome little suits had appeared in his wardrobe; she dressed him in the neatest of them, brusing his soft hair into a fashionable wave and inspecting his fingernails fiercely. “Aren’t you going to tidy up, too?” Lex asked plaintively. It was clear that he dreaded the coming interview in the drawing room. Cozette hesitated. Was she supposed to bring the boy down and then disappear until summoned to remove him? Or was it expected, perhaps, that she would stay, seated unobtrusively in the background, of course, but available if the child should misbehave or do anything awkward? After all, he was just four years of age, newly orphaned, and in a strange country and house. Rather reluctantly, Cozette realized that she must accompany him and remain with him, whether invited or not. She made a careful but hasty toilette, being forced to discard the stained brown walking dress in favor of the amber silk afternoon dress. When she had this on, and had brushed her hair to a soft shine, Cozette felt much better about the visit to the drawing room. Lex took her hand with touching affection, and said with a small boy’s grin, “Now we both look fine as fivepence!” Since this had been one of Neville’s frequent comments, the girl had to master her pity and favor the little fellow with a heartening grin. “Or even five francs!” she replied, to his amusement. It was fortunate that they had bolstered up their courage before entering the room where Lady Clarissa was seated, pouring tea, for her scrutiny was searching and critical, and she never once addressed a single remark to Cozette, nor answered the two tentative remarks Cozette offered. Her Ladyship did, however, condescend to ask Lex about his parents, returning so persistently to the subject that she had reduced the child first to stubborn silence, and then to tears. When Cozette observed the darkening frown on Milord’s face, her temper could no longer be restrained. She rose, came forward to where the child sat sobbing quietly, and took his hand.

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“You shall come with me to the kitchen, mon brave, where Chef Pierre has a special little gateau just for you,” she said in bracing tones. Lex lifted a tearful face to meet hers, tried for a smile, and stood up to take her hand. Cozette placed her other hand warmly on his small shoulder, and turned him to face the two adults. “Say good-bye to your uncle and his guest, my dear,” she urged gently. “I have not said Alexandre may leave,” began the Earl coldly. “When a child is robbed of his hard-won courage by the insensitivity or deliberate cruelty of an adult, it is time for those who truly care for him to remove him from persecution,” snapped Cozette. “Perhaps Lady Clarissa does not understand that the child’s parents were taken from him a very short time ago, and that he is but four years old. You may deal with me as you choose later, but I shall take Alexandre away now.” Without acknowledging the gasp of outrage from the noblewoman, or the suddenly arrested movement of the Earl, she led Lex out into the hall and down to the kitchen. There the chef and his assistants made much of the little boy, sensing from Cozette’s forced cheerfulness that there had been an incident in the drawing room. When Lex had stuffed himself on the goodies so lavishly brought out to tempt his palate, Cozette led him up to his room by way of the rear, servants’ stairway. She had regained her poise, but she knew there would be a heavy price to pay for her defiance of Milord as well as her slighting remarks about his insensitive friend. As she set out one of Lex’s favorite games upon his small table, and chose a book to read to him when she should eventually put him to bed, her mind was working hard at her own problems. Her first and most rebellious thought was to pack up her own things and the child’s and slip away from this dreadful house before the Earl could impose punishment upon them. How could the child endure years of such cold, unloving behavior? Would he run away as his father had done, or would he wither and become cold and unloving himself? Would all the childish warmth and fun and sweetness freeze into the rigid correctness of the Earl’s behavior? Cozette frowned. Had she the right to remove the boy from his natural protectors, unsuitable though she believed them to be? Legally she had no rights; she knew that. But morally? Then there was the matter of the child’s welfare. Could she obtain work in this foreign country, earn a salary sufficient to support the boy and herself in some comfort? When she delivered the second packet to the person for whom it was intended, could she request that he recommend her for a job as a translator? Would he do so? She had skills that surely were useful! When she had come to this conclusion, she suggested to the now drowsy Alexandre that he prepare for bed, and named the story she would read to

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him when he was cozily tucked in. This plan suited him very well. While she undressed him and got him into a tub of warm water, Lex talked about the mare he had ridden, and Hardy, his new friend, and the admiration the stableboys had for Jille. The girl was happy to see that he had forgotten his distress in the drawing room. She entered into all his enthusiasms heartily. It was upon this rather noisy scene that the Earl entered. A cool draft from behind her was the first hint she had of the arrival of retribution. The next was a delighted crow of pleasure from Lex, who had apparently not blamed the Earl for his unhappiness. “It is mon oncle!” he cried, beaming up at the man over a beard made of soap suds. “You see, I am Father Christmas!” he chuckled, pointing to the dripping mess on his little face. Cozette, turning awkwardly from her kneeling position by the tub, was startled to observe a grin on the Earl’s face. He strolled over to the bath and stood smiling down at his nephew. “I’ll wager your Papa taught you that trick,” he said softly. “Yes, he did!” crowed the child. “How did you know?” “Because I taught it to him when he was about your age,” replied the Earl. Cozette’s eyes widened. Could this kindly, smiling man be the cruel, insensitive creature who had threatened her in the drawing room? Was the Earl two men, or twenty? Every time she encountered him he seemed to present a different facade! Drawing a deep breath, she ventured to hope that this smiling fellow would remain in control at least until she had the child safely asleep! Gently she rinsed the suds from the small, rosy face, then lifted Lex out onto the towel she had spread, and began to dry him with another. Still there was no acknowledgment of her presence from her employer, only a mild stream of small talk between uncle and nephew, mostly concerning his exploits in the stable yard that afternoon. Lex was at his childish best describing his lesson in equitation. His rosy face was sparkling with laughter and his blue eyes met his uncle’s without reserve or fear. Cozette’s heart swelled with pride. If only the child could have performed so charmingly in the drawing room! But how could he, faced with that cruelly thoughtless barrage of questions about his recently dead parents? She glanced shyly at the Earl. He was attending to the boy’s story with every sign of interest. But the day had been a strenuous one, and little Lex was beginning to droop. Gently, Cozette tucked him under the covers and stroked the soft blond hair. “Time to sleep now, little cabbage,” she whispered. “Rest well, my dear.” Lex smiled drowsily, sighed, and closed his eyes. Cozette turned and faced the Earl, straightening her shoulders defensively.

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The man was watching her, and she saw that the warmth and laughter were gone from his expression. He continued to stare at her for a very long moment. Then, without words, he motioned to her to follow him from the bedroom. Cozette did so, closing the door quietly after her. She lifted her chin, looking up at the big man as bravely as she could. The worst he can do, she told herself, is to cast me from his door into the streets tonight. Well, in such case she was no worse off than she had been before she entered this house. Better, in fact; for he had fed and clothed her and given her a clean and beautiful room to rest in. She even had a few francs left of the money her father had put in Jille’s basket the night she left Paris. So with renewed confidence, the girl faced her judge. “We will talk in the library,” decided the Earl, turning to lead the way downstairs. Cozette followed, thankful that his voice had remained cool and controlled. She was planning how best to ask him if he doubted the boy’s parentage, when he led her into the library and closed the door decisively behind her. At once, although the room was well lighted and a good fire burned upon the great hearth, Cozette felt a sudden chill. She raised her eyes to his and discovered the reason for her unease. The man’s face was hard with anger, and his narrowed gray eyes thrust at her like two knives. Cozette gasped and stepped back a pace. “You do well to be afraid, Ma’am’selle,” said the Earl coldly. “However, I am prepared to listen to your explanation for your disheveled appearance, and your apology for your impertinence to my guest.” This was too much! “Impertinence!” Cozette raged. “Do you permit your guests to belittle and insult your servants at will? It is not so in the homes de bon ton in Paris!” His Lordship was guilty of a sneer. “Insult you? What did she say?” “She called me a jade!” stormed the girl. “I would not accept such a term from King Louis himself.” Her voice had risen in her anger. “Perhaps,” hissed His normally imperturbable Lordship through set teeth, “you would prefer the term fishwife, since you are acting like one!” Cozette glared at him from huge, amber eyes. “Fish wife? What is this fish wife? You are saying I am a mermaid? That is une idée ridicule!” She appeared to the man very much like an enraged small kitten with her enormous glowing eyes of molten gold. An irrepressible grin tugged at his lips, and he replied in a much less contemptuous tone, “No, you little idiot, I don’t mean you’re a mermaid. I mean that your behavior, your unbridled fury, just now, lacked self-control, restraint.” Cozette frowned. “You tell me that mermaids lack self-control? How has this been determined? I had understood them to be mythical beings.” The Earl gave a shout of laughter. Really, talking to this little Frenchy was a piquant challenge. One never knew what odd remark she would make! “A

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fishwife,” he explained solemnly, “is a woman who sells fish in a stall in a market. Such persons are not noted for elegance of style or address. Thus, fishwife: any loud and abusive woman.” He kept his eyes intently on her small, flushed face. At first Cozette nodded understandingly. “In Paris there are many women selling things from wooden stalls. Perhaps their loud voices are the result of trying to be heard above the rumble of coaches upon the cobblestones and the competing cries of other vendors. Fishwife.” Then understanding of his implications burst through her scholarly interest in a new word. “You would say I am such a loud and abusive female?” She regarded his impassive countenance broodingly. After a moment, her expression softened. “You may have reason, Monseigneur. I apologize for my lack of self-control, but it hurt me to hear you speak so scathingly of my behavior when your guest had been the one to provoke me. More reprehensible, however, was her persistence in quizzing le pauvre enfant about his dead parents! Such—such—” “Insensitivity?” suggested the Earl dryly. “I must admit that Clarissa was not very tactful.” Cozette was guilty of a sniff of disdain for that understatement. “As to our bedraggled appearance,” she went on to explain kindly, as to one lacking in normal perceptivity, “one does not spend an hour in the stables with horses and a ferret and emerge—” “Smelling like a rose,” suggested the Earl with a grin. “Emerge en grand tenue and point-device—that is, as fine as fivepence!” retorted Cozette, and was rewarded by another chuckle from the arrogant Earl. It had become a matter of some moment to the girl to provoke laughter or even a smile from her host. Observing how amusement brought life and charm to the coldly beautiful countenance, she had a sudden desire to bring about such a softening warmth more often. Too soon, alas! the customary mask of cool arrogance was back in place. “We have a saying in English you will do well to heed, Miss deLorme,” he advised rather curtly. “It is: Do not press your luck. I shall say no more concerning your impudence to Lady Clarissa, but you may consider yourself fortunate that I do not dismiss you from my service. I do not do so,” his voice hardened as he met her resentful gaze, “because of your loyalty to my nephew, and the affection which you evidently have for him. Now let us proceed at once to a discussion of the schedule I gave you. Can you carry it out effectively?” “I can,” said Cozette, the more firmly because she was annoyed at his reprehensible tendency to make an outrageous statement and then cut off the dialogue by rushing into a new subject. “You can manage all of my requirements?” persisted the Earl.

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“With the exception of equitation, which is already assigned to Hardy, I am quite capable of teaching the subjects you specify at the level of a fouryear-old’s understanding,” the girl retorted crisply. And then added, sotto voce, “However ill-advised I consider it to be.” It appeared that her voice was not quite soft enough to escape Milord’s keen hearing. He frowned sharply. “You disapprove of my schedule? In what respects?” Cozette answered with a little tilt of her chin, “Mathematics can be made into games a small boy can enjoy, as can reading and spelling. Your nephew’s mind is a good one, capable and alert, Monseigneur. But his body is that of a child, and the long, rigorous hours that would be necessary to implement the program you have outlined might be harmful to his full physical development. You would not wish your heir to be a stoop-shouldered, near-sighted—” The Earl’s uplifted hand commanded silence. “You must have noted, in your careful analysis of my program, that I specified adequate exercise and rest?” “You specified no time for recreation and play,” said the girl stubbornly. “Exercise is play,” explained the Earl, odiously condescending in his turn. “Perhaps the Gallic mind cannot—” “Bah to that!” snapped Cozette unforgivably. “I am talking of the play which stretches the imagination and brings spontaneous laughter, not a grim three circuits of the park, at a pace that precludes civilized conversation or scientific observation.” “Perhaps I had better engage a male tutor, one who would be capable of providing healthy sports and who would be aware of their importance in the upbringing of an English gentleman.” At this threat, Cozette recollected not only her own position but her affection for little Lex. Better she should remain with the child as long as possible, to ensure a measure of love and gentleness in his small life. Reluctantly, she forced an acquiescent expression upon her mutinous features. “I believe I can conduct Alexandre’s program as you have outlined it, sir,” she said. But the Earl was after his pound of flesh. No other employee had ever dared to defy him as did this little wasp of a French female. “You ‘believe’?” he challenged silkily. “I am sure,” capitulated the girl. “I love him, you see.” This mawkish declaration had a strange effect upon the Earl. “You will not cosset or indulge the boy,” he rapped out. “I want a man, not a fop!” Cozette, defeated, bowed her head without comment. Her employer glared at her display of meekness with a fulminating expression, but her complete surrender had left him with nothing to carp at. He did not pause to wonder why it was so important that the little witch accept his authority completely.

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“From now on, you are to pronounce my nephew’s name as Alexander, or Lex, if you can get your Gallic tongue around the English pronunciation,” he commanded. The girl’s head was flung up, and the amber eyes flashed defiance. “My Gallic tongue can function with correct pronunciation in five languages, sir! Which I imagine is four more than—” she stopped herself abruptly, rosy color flooding her face. She faced his arctic gaze courageously. “I do not know how it is, Monseigneur,” she said softly, true regret in every syllable, “but when you speak to me so slightingly, my . . . my regrettable temper rises.” Milord grinned. To the girl’s amazement, he addressed her without a trace of hauteur or condemnation in his voice. “In the interest of establishing his superiority,” he said, wry amusement making his eyes gleam, “the Englishman provokes his opponent into a temper, thus rendering him less clearheaded, less able to command himself or win the argument. It is a way of determining strengths—and weaknesses.” Before the girl could recover her aplomb sufficiently to make a cutting retort, the maddening male was continuing. “Now we shall discuss this important letter you wish to deliver. I have decided to accompany you.” He watched the ludicrous dismay on her countenance with satisfaction. “Surely you did not believe I would accept your mawkish little romance so complaisantly?” When she did not answer, his expression hardened. “You will give me the documents at once, Miss deLorme.” Her hand went involuntarily to her waist, pressing the concealed letter to her protectively. His sharp eyes did not miss the gesture. “You keep it upon your person at all times? A precious missive indeed! Will you give it to me now?” “How can I?” snapped Cozette. “It is pinned to my—undergarments!” The wretched creature had the impudence to grin at her. “You would like me to take it from you by force?” he demanded, moving toward her with disturbing alacrity. “No!” It was a small cry, but it halted the man, who stood staring enigmatically at the girl’s anxious face. “I must see the document,” he pronounced coldly. “If you will let me go to my room—?” Cozette asked, unable to meet his eyes. “I am not a fool,” was the harsh reply. “You do not leave this room until I have seen those papers.” “Then you must leave!” The girl’s courage had returned, fueled by anger, and she faced his probing glance defiantly. “I shall not disrobe in your presence!” “Shall not? Do you offer me a challenge, Ma’am’selle?” The man grinned insolently.

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“You are like those men upon the streets of Paris,” the girl breathed, her eyes widening. “And the others, prowling the roads, robbing, ravaging.” The Earl frowned, then, at the small pale face and the huge innocent eyes. Surely no hardened criminal, no spy, could have so unguarded, so artless a countenance? Under his intent scrutiny, a rosy flush was suffusing her pale cheeks. The Earl decided that no worldly female could blush so appealingly. In fact, he thought, the little woman desperately needed the guidance of a man who could get her out of whatever absurd imbroglio she had landed herself in. His glance ranged the library and rested on a high-backed wing chair beside the fireplace. “There is room behind that chair for you to, ah, retrieve the packet while retaining your modesty,” he suggested. When she did not move to comply, but merely stared at him, he snapped, “At once!” Shaking with outraged modesty, the girl went to stand behind the big chair. True, it hid her body well enough, but it was a precarious shelter at best. Anyone moving to either side of the massive wings could see her clearly. She peered around one wing. “This is insulting and—and ridiculous!” she flung at her tormentor. Seeing that small angry face peering around the chair, the Earl was betrayed into a wide grin. She looked like a small angry kitten with her golden curls ruffled and her huge tawny eyes gleaming in the little heartshaped face. The sight of his open amusement further enraged her. “Lock the door!” she commanded. “I do not wish your servants to blunder in upon this degrading farce!” The Earl’s crow of laughter advised her just how lightly he regarded her maidenly distress. He did stroll over to the door, however, tossing over his shoulder an amused, “My servants make no such blunders, Ma’am’selle! If any did, he would no longer remain in my employment.” “Is that supposed to reassure me?” muttered the girl, frantically working to undo the packet tied around her waist and frustrated by the multiplicity of petticoats. Emerging finally from the mass of clinging garments, and straightening up, she peeped once more around the edge of the sheltering wing, to note thankfully that the Earl had his back to her and appeared to be studying the set of his modish coat in a large mirror. Hesitantly she stepped out from behind the chair and walked toward him, holding out the packet. The Earl came to meet her. He took the small flat package, still warm from her body, and strode over to the desk to open it. It was sewed into a piece of cloth. This was a careful, professional job. “For whom was it intended?” he demanded. The answer shocked him.

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“Your King George the Third,” said Cozette grimly. “Or his Prime Minister.” The Earl mastered his surprise enough to comment coolly, “You aim high, Ma’am’selle deLorme.” He proceeded to cut open the cloth cover. Cozette caught her breath audibly. “You would dare to examine private papers intended for your monarch?” “Yes,” was the succinct reply. “I do not intend presenting myself before either the King or the Prime Minister with some piece of childish absurdity that could embarrass us both. It is necessary to be sure that what you have here is indeed an important message and worth such exalted attention.” He met her angry gaze with equanimity. “And, in your judgment, is it so?” demanded the girl with heavy sarcasm. The Earl stripped off the cover and scanned the single document intently. The message was scrawled on a single sheet, obviously written under the influence of strong emotion. After a long, silent appraisal, the Earl refolded the heavy vellum carefully. “Well?” challenged the girl. “Is it important?” “It would certainly seem so,” the Earl admitted. “Of course, I have not the benefit of speaking five languages, but my French is adequate to decipher Louis’s rather wretched scrawl.” “You are insufferable!” breathed the girl. “No,” he said soberly. “I am only afraid that my own King, who is, at the moment, suffering one of the unfortunate attacks of nervous disorder that now so frequently harass him, might not be sufficiently clearheaded to deal with a request for aid from a brother monarch. What is the ‘slight favor’ your King Louis requests? To be whisked out of the Tuileries with all his family, and carried off to safe asylum in England!” He made a casual gesture to demonstrate the insouciance with which King Louis ignored all the dreadful dangers and difficulties of the proposed escape. “Did your father have this direct from King Louis’s hand?” “No. Papa was given the note when he called at the Town House of the Duc d—that is,” she amended hastily, “at the home of two of his pupils. He was arranging, at their father’s request, that the boys and their aunt be sent secretly to Canada. Their Mama chose to remain beside her husband,” she concluded proudly. “As I would have preferred to remain with my father, had not an escort been required for little Alexandre, and a courier for this message.” She watched him as he tapped the note lightly against his open palm. “Is the message important enough to be delivered?” she asked scathingly. “Yes, it must be done,” agreed the Earl somberly. “I shall arrange a private meeting with Mr. Pitt tomorrow. Do not expect to be treated with any uncommon civility,” he advised her, making an obvious effort to restore lightness of tone to the discussion. “Our Prime Minister, who, by the way, does not

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wish to be addressed by that title but by his name, is not very comfortable with females. I should advise you to present the letter, explain—briefly—how you came to be in possession of it, and then prepare to be dismissed. Comprenez-vous?” His tone mocked her. “I understand,” said Cozette coldly, but she was frowning. “Tomorrow? In daylight?” she repeated dubiously. “Surely it would be wiser to conduct such secret business after dark? You yourself have told me of the dissension that exists within your own government.” His blandly superior glance infuriated the girl. As did his words. “My dear child, you have been reading too many romantic novels! Clandestine meetings after dark! Poor Mr. Pitt would fear to compromise his reputation, if such an one as you were seen entering his chaste domicile at night!” “You mean,” asked the girl, ignoring his attempt at humor, “that a noted peer is to present himself before your highest official in the company of an unknown woman, without attracting attention?” “Be grateful. You’d never get in without me,” replied the Earl. Cozette shrugged. “I cannot expect you to have any loyalty to my King, Monseigneur. I had only hoped that you would not create problems for your own Prime Minister. I am sure there are spies within his organization, or close to him. But, as you remind me, I cannot even enter the premises without your sponsorship,” she concluded quietly. The Earl waited a moment, to see if she had more to say, then accepted her submission to his instructions. “I see you are learning self-control,” he said complacently. “Perhaps your visit to England will be of some benefit to you after all.” Cozette did not dignify this barb with a reply. She was deeply apprehensive as to the wisdom of Milord’s plan, but powerless to change it. She rose from the chair in which the Earl had seated her. “If that is all, then, Monseigneur?” “You may return to Lex,” agreed the Earl. “You will meet me in the main hall at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. Considering the source of this missive, I shall have no difficulty in arranging an appointment to meet with Mr. Pitt at eleven-thirty. Dress modestly.” He grinned, knowing as well as Cozette the state of her wardrobe. The girl scrutinized his face under its white formal wig. His strong features seemed a little more relaxed today, the heavy black brows less menacing. Her gaze lingered on the disciplined mouth with its full lower lip. Then, without further comment, she nodded and left the library.

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4 F

or want of anything more suitable, Cozette donned the dark brown walking dress (already neatly brushed and cleaned by the Earl’s excellent servants) and the modish, fur-lined cape. Its hood would serve well to conceal her too-bright hair, which she had neither the wish nor the means to powder fashionably. She had bathed herself and combed that toonoticeable hair into a very sedate style. To her critical gaze, she presented a modest and unremarkable appearance. What the Earl thought, as he watched her descent of the staircase at precisely eleven o’clock the following morning, she was quite unable to read from his stern, closed countenance. She sighed unconsciously. He was dressed in black again, very restrained yet somehow élégant, she decided. And wondered what he would look like in younger, brighter colors, and with a carefree smile on that handsome face. The servants stared straight ahead, with the detachment expected of welltrained members of a nobleman’s staff. On the road before the mansion stood a light covered vehicle of extreme smartness drawn by two superb horses. The Earl’s footman boosted the girl into the curricle while his groom stood hold-

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ing the reins for his master. When the Earl had mounted and accepted the reins, he glanced at Cozette. “Are your maidenly fears allayed? A common closed curricle; no footmen or outriders attendant.” Cozette threw him a glance of dislike. “A matched team, a smart vehicle, yourself at the reins, Milord? All it lacks is a military band to proclaim your consequence to every loiterer in London,” she said bitterly. “I am sure every other person who sees us will wonder why the Earl of Hamer and Stone is taking an unknown Frenchwoman to see the Prime Minister!” The Earl permitted himself to grin. She rose to it so predictably every time, and yet with some little quirk of wit or waspishness that tickled his risibilities! After such a preface, the visit itself was disappointing. They were led through a private corridor to a room where a very tall, very thin gentleman in somber black—did the noble English never wear bright colors?—greeted them with restraint, scrutinized the girl with exceptionally keen bright eyes set on either side of a prominent nose, nodded acknowledgment of the Earl’s introduction, and received the packet from Cozette’s hands. He listened without comment to Cozette’s carefully brief account, which she made while conscious of the Earl’s presence at her shoulder. When she finished her story of the circumstances in which she had received the packet, Mr. Pitt opened it and examined the contents. Then he raised his eyes to her face, said a few words commending her courage and dedication to King Louis’s cause, and addressed the Earl. “Thank you. Thank you both. I shall have my secretary make a careful translation, and shall see that this matter is considered in the proper quarters.” A brief handshake with the Earl and a nod to Cozette indicated that the interview was over. Silently the visitors left the room, the corridor, and the building, and remounted their closed carriage. As they were driving away, an open vehicle carrying two modishly dressed ladies swept past them. “Damn!” said the Earl. Cozette glanced at him quickly. She herself had had strong feelings that this open presentation was ill-judged. “What is wrong?” “We have just passed, and been recognized by, the worst gossip in London society,” growled Lord Stone. “What unbelievably bad luck!” “She will probably tell everyone she observed the elusive Earl with some sort of foreign . . . jade!” Cozette snapped. “Let us hope that’s exactly what she thought, and says,” the Earl surprised her by retorting. “If she’s spreading that sort of nonsense, she won’t be wondering what you and I were doing coming away from that special building.” The girl fell silent, worrying about the new threat. When they were nearly home, the Earl broke his silence with a rather mocking, “Satisfied?”

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“Disappointed,” admitted Cozette, too concerned not to speak truly. “I told you he would not be entrapped by that delicious air of femininity which you Parisiennes project so easily,” he taunted. Surprising even herself, the girl laughed. “That is not what disappointed me, nor, indeed, is it the tune you have been singing, Milord! ‘Grimy little body’ was the phrase you used when you suggested bathing me that first night. To say nothing of the volumes of contempt one reads daily in your eyes! Délicieux, ma foi!” And she chuckled at the dark red rising in his cheeks. No one, male or female, in the Earl’s lifetime had ever spoken to him with just that gentle raillery. He found to his surprise that he did not resent it. Rather enjoyed it, in fact. Still, it must not be permitted to continue, of course. Quite unsuitable for a servant of the house to be upon familiar terms with its master! “I think I shall get you and Lex down to Stone Castle as quickly as possible,” he announced. “That is my estate near the coast in East Sussex. It’s a fine old castle rather badly gone to ruin, but it’ll be a place no one would ever think to search for you, if you’re worried.” Privately he thought the child was overdramatizing, with her fears of spies and reprisals. “Thank you,” said Cozette with an elaborate display of gratitude. “I’m sure a ruined castle is just what Lex and I wish for! I’ll need to take Jille to find us food, I suppose?” The Earl chuckled. “Oh, there’s food stored, and a couple of servants to cook it for you. I cannot permit my nephew to get back into the half-starved state in which I first met him!” A quick glance assured Cozette that her employer was trying for a joke, and making heavy weather of it. Still, everyone has to learn, she reminded herself. Perhaps in fifty years he will be as witty as his brother was! “Since the boy gets along well with Hardy,” the Earl was continuing, “he shall accompany you to continue the riding lessons.” Cozette, unaccountably depressed at the idea of banishment from the Earl’s presence, supposed that she should be grateful for the kindly thought that included his head groom in his nephew’s entourage. “Do you wish us to leave tomorrow?” she asked. Milord frowned. “No. I am not quite ready to part from the boy. I shall inform you when I wish you to go.” There was no further discussion before they reached Stone House.

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5 T

he Earl did not anticipate any very startling developments from the visit to the Prime Minister. He was surprised, therefore, to receive an urgent visit upon the very next afternoon from the Lady Clarissa Montague, who had at one time been considered by both families to be a suitable match for Neville. His unforgivable conduct in eloping with the daughter of the French Ambassador had created an unpleasant situation between the two families. It was felt by the Montagues that, in all decency, Neville’s brother should offer to fill the delinquent’s obligation, while the then Earl of Stone, Alexander’s father, had much higher ambitions for his elder son and heir. In point of fact, neither of these ambitions was fulfilled, for the death of his father made Neville’s brother too important a figure to be used to salve a girl’s hurt feelings, while Alexander himself refused to rush into matrimony. With a persistence that was hard to counter, however, Lady Clarissa continued to make herself a part of Lord Alexander Stone’s life, and her rather shrewish demands upon him were beginning to irk him beyond bearing. There was the embarrassment of the broken engagement to compensate for, that was true, but the Earl was beginning to think that he must get rid of what was more than a nuisance. In spite of his father’s wishes, Alexander had no

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desire to enter the state of matrimony with any of the current crop of débutantes. He was quite able to establish a mistress from among the many Diamonds of the demimonde: elegant courtesans whose skills, beauty, and compliance could satisfy a man’s normal desires. His experience with his own mother, a demanding, cold, and querulous woman, and later with Lady Clarissa, had given him a hard distaste for tying himself up in the matrimonial trap. And now that this little Frenchwoman had brought him so healthy and acceptable an heir, he was free at last of the compulsive need to secure the family line. In fact, Milord was in very good frame, in such good spirits that the servants commented upon it and wondered if it was the presence of his heir that had mellowed their master’s forbidding arrogance. Only Chef Pierre, with a naughty twinkle, suggested that it might rather be the presence of the charming Cozette that had sweetened Milord’s temper. For whatever reason, the Earl was in a benevolent mood when apprised of the arrival of Lady Clarissa. He gave benign permission for her to be ushered into the library, and while he waited for her, he toyed with the notion of accompanying his nephew and the French girl to Stone Castle. Within a very few minutes he was in a different mood. A towering fury, to be exact. Clarissa had had the unmitigated gall to charge him with a liaison with his nephew’s governess. “I shall try to forget that you said that, Clarissa,” he intoned awfully. “Don’t try your rigs on me, Alexander. Everyone in the ton knows what a womanizer you are, under that icy manner! But to favor some little French tart who is living in your own house—! I can’t and I won’t allow it!” The Earl’s eyes narrowed. “You won’t allow it? What have you to say to anything I may care to do?” Clarissa gasped and went an unbecoming red with anger. “As your future wife—” she began unwisely. “But it was Neville whose wife you were to become, was it not? I cannot recall ever asking you to marry me. Nor shall I.” It was the scorn on his face as much as the final denial of all her hopes that drove the Lady Clarissa beyond caution. She ran at the Earl and slapped his face. Then she gasped, took one appalled look at his slit-eyed fury, and began to cry. The Earl rang the bell beside the fireplace. Then he stood rigid, silent, ignoring the weeping female until Dibble presented himself. “You will see that Lady Clarissa is assisted out to her carriage, if you please,” said the icy voice. Then, as Dibble came forward to offer his arm, the Earl continued, “I shall not be at home should this lady chance to call again at Stone House.”

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Dibble’s eyes widened. What had the woman been at, to send His Nibs up into the boughs like this? Deny her the house, must he? He gave the sobbing woman a nervous glance. Rode roughshod over the servants, did Lady Clarissa. He’d maybe have trouble getting her into her carriage. Instead, he was not called upon to assist. Suddenly abandoning the theatrical sobs, Clarissa flung a furious glance and a very rude phrase at the Earl, and flounced out of the room. Within a minute, they heard the closing of a carriage door and the rattle of wheels upon the cobbles. Both men relaxed. “I mean it, Dibble,” cautioned His Lordship. “If you let that harpy in my house again, I’ll dismiss you from my service!” “I would wager we’ve seen the last of her, sir,” Dibble assured him, and the Earl nodded grimly, but with a certain satisfaction. They were both wrong.

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6 D

uring the next two weeks, the lives of Lex and his governess fell into the careful routine the Earl had demanded. Although loath to admit it, Cozette discovered that such a quiet, well-organized program was beneficial to her charge, after the alarms and hazards of their recent experiences. Lex was sleeping more soundly, putting on healthy flesh and muscle from the regular, strenuous exercise, eating well of nutritious foods—in short, proving in an exasperating manner that Milord had known what he was talking about! Expecting to be bored, Cozette instead found a remarkable satisfaction in her ordered routine, and noted improvements in her own person and temperament that equaled Lex’s. Milord did not descend to anything as crude as “I told you so,” but, on one of his frequent meetings with his nephew and Cozette, allowed the girl to read the message in his insolently complacent expression. It seemed odd to the girl that a gentleman so much in demand socially as the Earl of Stone and Hamer should find time to accompany his heir and the governess on their daily walks around the little park in the center of the square, or to offer them so many little trips to Astley’s Amphitheater to see

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the horses perform, or to Green Park to watch a balloon ascent. Her feelings warmed toward this busy nobleman who so obviously cared about his little orphaned nephew. Her feelings about Milord became so particular, so disturbing, in fact, that she decided to send her charge out to the park for the next few days in the care of Martha, a most trustworthy young maidservant whom Lex admired for her skill in throwing a ball. “I’d three older brothers, Miss,” Martha explained, rosy with pleasure at being trusted with the Heir for half an hour. Lex received the news of the change in routine with some reluctance. “Why can’t we all go, Cozette? You and mon oncle and Marfa and me? Marfa could help you, you see, against me and Uncle Alex.” “I see what you are doing, you schemer!” teased the girl. “You are trying to recruit the stronger team!” The little boy chuckled wickedly, and assured her that he had only her own good at heart. This phrase, copied from an overheard remark, set them both to giggling. It was thus the Earl found them. Cozette was a little afraid he might reprimand her for her conduct with his nephew, but he gave them both a tolerant, if quizzical glance. “May I be told the occasion for this mirth?” he asked. Cozette told him. It seemed to her that his reaction to her quite practical plan was an extreme one. “You wish to add a servant to our little party?” “I am a servant,” she was forced to remind him. A little of the stiffness went out of Milord’s attitude. He seemed a little disconcerted. “But you are Lex’s governess—and playmate.” “You are still my employer.” “Perhaps you feel I am in the way?” he challenged. Her eyes flew to his face. Surely there was color there, and the emotion she had longed to see upon that normally impassive countenance. She opened her lips to urge him to go with them, but he was already turning away. During the next few days, while the riding lessons and visits to Jille continued to please and interest the child, the nursery party contained only three persons when it ventured into the park. It appeared that the Earl had tired of such unsophisticated company as his nephew and the governess. Sore at heart that her careless speech had robbed the little boy of his uncle’s presence, Cozette included Martha in their daily jaunts. Still, Lex was quieter, less open. A slow resentment against the arrogant lord began to burn in Cozette’s breast. He had not needed to take her casual suggestion quite so literally, she fumed. How dare he win the boy’s affection and trust, and then drop him so abruptly? When by chance she encountered

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the Earl during those days, she bobbed him a formal curtsy and refused to meet his eyes. This coolness, which the Earl told himself was exactly what he wanted, was curiously unsatisfactory to him. He had earlier decided to cure himself of what he regarded as a dangerous attraction to the little Frenchwoman, an unnatural interest, surely, considering their disparate positions? What had the Earl of Stone and Hamer to do with his heir’s governess? She herself had been quick to point out that he was her employer! Still, he found himself looking for her in the great hall, and picturing how her bright golden head would shine against the dark velvet of the chair-back across from him at his dining table. He even caught himself brooding over her in his empty library on those nights, increasing in number, when he had decided not to attend a social gathering to which he had been invited. With a smothered curse, the Earl rose to his feet and summoned Dibble. “Order my carriage. I am going out.” The butler’s startled glance went past his master’s shoulder to the clock on the mantelpiece. “Now, Milord?” The Earl frowned and followed Dibble’s gaze. It was midnight. Meeting the old man’s eyes, he forced a light smile. “Not too late to visit a lady.” Dibble was shocked. Not at the fact that his noble master intended to visit one of his “Peculiars” at this hour; oh, no! Dibble was more than seven, and knew the ways of the world. He was surprised at himself for daring to ask the question, and disapproving that the normally imperturbable nobleman would mention his destination. As he dispatched a footman to the stables to summon Tom Coachman—and how pleased he’ll be to be routed out at this hour, I don’t think!—Dibble watched the Earl go quickly up the stairs. Acting very odd lately, was the master. Perhaps he should marry and settle down. Get a few children of his own; that’d give him an interest! The Earl’s thoughts as he allowed his surprised valet, Allen, to change his coat and select a cape and chapeau, would have startled both that skillful cynic and Dibble. For the Earl, too, was thinking it was time he got himself a wife and dispensed with the absurdity of visiting a mistress at such an awkward hour. A reluctant grin pulled at his lips. Midnight was not a late hour in fashionable London. Perdita wouldn’t have gone to bed yet. A harsh bark of laughter startled Allen, as the Earl considered the alltoo-likely possibility that Perdita might indeed be in bed when he reached the house he had given her . . . in bed with someone else. He had neglected her of late. The last time he visited her, there had been something in her manner—and had there been a faint tang of a masculine scent in her boudoir?

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Accepting his cape from Allen, Milord strolled down the stairway and out to his waiting carriage. When he gave his orders to the footman who assisted him in, that worthy’s eyes widened. “Wants ye to drive ‘im out to Windsor an’ back,” the footman reported as he scrambled up on the box. “At this hour?” snarled the coachman, who had not relished being hauled out of a warm bed. Inside the coach, the Earl was echoing both the words and the incredulity. What in the fiend’s name was he up to? But he knew that, for some reason he didn’t care to explore, he did not wish to visit Perdita or any of her ilk this night. The following morning the Earl entered his library and instructed Dibble not to disturb him unless the house was on fire, and then only if the servants could not cope with it. He had ridden his horse unfashionably early in Hyde Park, and eaten so little breakfast that Chef Pierre was concerned for his health. And now he was grimly determined to settle the problem that had disturbed the ordered calm of his days. The disturbing element was, of course, Cozette. Mademoiselle deLorme, that obstinate, impertinent, prickly, beautiful little French chit who troubled not only his waking hours but now his sleep as well. For last night, after his late return from that absurd carriage ride, he had dreamed of the little creature, such a startling and erotic dream that he had wakened, laughing and roused, and turned in his bed to take her into his arms. A dull red burned in his cheeks as he recalled vividly the sharp pang of disappointment that had pierced him as he realized that he was alone. He must get the girl out of his life—or out from under his skin! The easiest way to deal with an attractive female, in Milord’s experience, was to have an affair with her. One soon had one’s fill of any woman’s affections, lures, and tricks. But a man could not—at least, the Earl of Stone could not—embark upon a liaison with his nephew’s governess. To carry on an illicit relationship with a servant in his own house would be most offensive to Milord’s dignity. Therefore, he must dismiss her from his service, and establish her in some charming bijou residence where he could visit her at will. Milord frowned. How could he remove young Lex’s staunch friend and guardian? The boy would be hurt by her defection so soon after the tragic loss of his parents! So much for the bijou residence, then! The Earl was surprised at his own reluctance to dismiss that possibility. What did she offer, that little French spinster, that he could not find in greater measure in any one of his flirts or mistresses? She was not as beautiful as Perdita, or any one of the dazzling Diamonds he had had in keeping, was she? The Earl set his jaw. Annoying, recalcitrant, critical little wretch that she was, the image of her little heart-shaped face, with its golden cat’s eyes, came

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between him and every other female face he looked at. And his flesh still tingled at the way she had felt in his arms, in his dream! So, if he could not get rid of her attraction for him without making her his mistress, and could not rob Lex of her company, then he must remove the chit to some place where her presence would not tempt him. And send Lex with her. The Earl sat back in his chair and waited for the sense of relief he should feel at having solved the problem. It did not come. What did arise was a host of objections: He needed more time to get to know his nephew. Another change of residence so soon might upset the child. The Castle might be too cold and austere for such a small boy. There were many objections, the Earl was forced to admit, which would work against the quick despatch of Lex to Stone Castle. His expression grim, the Earl admitted the unpalatable fact that he would have to remove himself from temptation, accept more invitations, pay court to acknowledged beauties and débutantes in the Beau Monde, in short, enter more enthusiastically into a social activity in which he was one of the acknowledged prizes. His secretary, a young man just down from Oxford, was forever trying to interest him in the piles of invitations that arrived daily at his door. Well, young Heathcot could have his way! The Earl would accept enough of the invitations to drive one small female face out of his mind! And keep her out! After masterful solution of the problem had been achieved, Milord brooded over the irksome little woman until luncheon was announced, rather tentatively, by Dibble, who had his head snapped off as a reward.

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he whole of Milord’s staff was fully aware of the tensions under which His Lordship was suffering. These were fully discussed in the servants’ hall. Although Hardy did not carry tales from the dinner table, still the grooms and stableboys, seated around their own table in a large room off the scullery, were equally conversant with the fact that Milord, who had been much admired for the icy arrogance that was deemed highly fitting for one of his noble lineage, was now behaving very much like any other man who was being thwarted in love. “Only other time I’ve seen one o’ the Nobs this tetchy is when I worked for ole Lord Whitman,” vouchsafed one of the footmen. “Fair mad ‘e was wi’ the gout. Useta keep a pile o’ shoes by his chair, and fling ‘em at any servant what came near ‘im.” He rubbed his head reminiscently. “Sharp eye with a ridin’ boot, had ole Whitman.” “What has that to say to anything?” the housekeeper reproved him. “His Lordship does not have the gout.” The footman, who had not claimed Milord had, was shrewd enough to hold his tongue.

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The housekeeper was continuing, in a more mild tone, “It is my belief that His Lordship has been given the ‘Go-by’!” The maids, upstairs, downstairs, and kitchen, were delighted at the very idea that that unassailable fortress of masculine arrogance had been breached, if not conquered. The footmen were vocal in their commiseration for Milord in his hour of rejection. One of them testified that he had it from one of the grooms that Milord hadn’t been next or nigh the Diamond in a week. All eyes focused upon Milord’s valet, who said nothing. At this point, Dibble delivered a thundering setdown to all gabblemongers whose tongues were hung in the middle and wagged at both ends. It was left to Pierre to ask the crucial question. “But who is this seductive creature who has reduced our imperturbable master to such remarkable bad temper? Who has caused our arrogant Earl to behave like any common man frustrated in love?” “Lady Clarissa?” ventured one of the upstairs maids, who had not actually observed Her Ladyship at close quarters. The housekeeper smiled pityingly. “Not likely.” Dibble permitted himself a grin. “‘E’s forbidden ‘er the ‘ouse,” he informed the company around the dinner table. One of the footmen, who had suffered the lash of Lady Clarissa’s bad temper upon occasion, raised his mug of ale. “I’ll drink t’that!” The toast was honored. But Chef Pierre’s quick and rather reprehensible Gallic mind was not satisfied. “Not his current mistress, nor a new one? And not, I think, a débutante, for all he’s out every evening at some soirée or grand bal.” “Why not a débutante?” argued a romantic kitchen maid. “Because if Milord showed an interest in any o’ them,” explained the butler, “the parents as well as the girl herself would serve her up to the Earl on a silver platter.” “Wiv an apple in ‘er mouf,” chuckled one of the kitchen boys from the foot of the table. This picture delighted the servants, but Pierre was still not satisfied. “Not, I tell myself, one of the season’s fledglings. You have reason when you state there would be no opposition, no frustration for Milord if that were his object. Nor, I think, a married lady.” The housekeeper and the older maids primmed up at this Gallic plainspeaking, but Allen, speaking unexpectedly, gave agreement. “The Earl is not in the habit of dallying with other men’s wives,” he said repressively. “Too dangerous?” suggested the newest footman. “Beneath his dignity,” corrected the valet.

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“Cherchez la femme,” Pierre insisted. “There is a woman in it somewhere. I’ve never known His Lordship to be so—so—” “Resty is the English term,” supplied Dibble patronizingly. “I can only hope, Pierre, if you are correct, that she says yes to him soon. He is not at all himself,” the butler added censoriously. In his opinion, formed during his long service to the present Earl’s father, a nobleman should never reveal emotion. The old lord never had. Dibble sighed for the good old days. Cozette, who had made up her mind to see less of her disturbing master, was not at all pleased to discover that he had apparently had the same idea concerning her. Her feelings confused her. She found herself disappointed, resentful, and, at last, desolate. She realized that she missed his arrogant presence very much. Even his mocking insolence was stimulating, made her feel alive with anger and a kind of excitement that wasn’t anger at all—rather the reverse! For several days she wondered if the Earl had become interested in a new mistress. Cozette did not eat in the servants’ hall. As the Heir’s governess, she was served in her room or in the morning room, a bright little Ladies’ Parlor that had not been used since the Dowager Countess died. So she had not been present during any of the numerous discussions of Milord’s newly exacerbated temper, and was therefore not aware that it was generally accepted that the Earl’s love-life had suffered a setback. It startled the girl, then, as much as it did His Lordship, when she literally ran into him one morning outside the Ladies’ Parlor. Before she could frame either a greeting or an apology, the Earl put one hard arm around her shoulders and whipped her back inside the room she had just quitted. Then he closed the door and leaned against it, saying in a curiously husky voice: “I have not seen very much of you this last while, Miss deLorme. Have you been ill?” Cozette heard her own voice trembling and unaccountably breathless. “Oh, no, sir, I have been quite well, I thank you!” The big man stared down at her so grimly that her heart beat even faster. Yet when he spoke, it was only to say, “And Lex? How is the boy?” This was easier to answer. Already the impact of his virile masculinity was softening her fear of him, coaxing her into familiar, slavish admiration of his hypnotic silver gaze and his seductive mouth. Cozette launched into a story of Lex’s latest clever remark. Her eyes sparkled; soft rose color flushed her cheeks. “He is such a bright, high-spirited little fellow, Milord! He seems to fear nothing. And his comments have a certain wisdom in addition to an infectious good humor. You would be proud of him if you heard him talk!”

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Milord felt a quick irrational surge of jealousy of the small boy who could command this eager admiration. “You would imply that I neglect the boy?” he heard himself snap at the startled girl. “No, Milord, I—” she began in hasty apology. And then she caught herself, and her splendid eyes began to gleam with anger. “Although, since you ask me, Milord, I must admit that you have quite definitely neglected your heir of late. The poor child asked me only yesterday if he had done something to offend you.” And how do you like that plain-speaking, Milord Arrogance? her expression seemed to ask. Defiance of this overpowering, magnificent male was like a shield against the slavish admiration she was beginning to feel for him. Hopeless to adore one so far above her in position, lineage, everything! She made her smile consciously pert, knowing how that enraged him. She had the doubtful satisfaction of seeing his handsome countenance darken. And then his expression changed, became speculative. “Now I wonder why you are trying so hard to provoke me, little one?” he drawled, in that odiously soft voice that did alarming things to her poise. “Trying to attract my attention? Shall I try to discover your . . . intention?” His gaze moved over her, from her flushed face with its wide gold eyes to the sweetly rounded breasts that rose and fell with her agitated breathing. The girl’s hands clasped hard as though to conceal that betraying nervousness. “Oh!” she said, half protest, half entreaty. Milord smiled, a wide white smile of triumph. “So there is a method in your pertness! I thought as much! Well then, let us see if we can discover the motive behind your provocative behavior.” Before she could believe what she was reading in his expression, Milord had her in his arms, pressing her close to his body. “Is this what you want, little temptress?” he murmured against her lips, open to protest his invasion. Cozette was shocked by the force of her own response to the Earl’s assault. Her eyes opened wider, trying, yet unable, to focus upon that searching, demanding gaze so close to her face. Then, like a bolt of lightning, the shocking truth hit her and her heart raced and pounded so frantically it shook her body. She wanted to be held in this man’s arms, close to his warmth! The rigid bands of his arms, the disturbing movement of his hands, the seductive pressure of his mouth upon hers—all these were welcome to her, were exciting, satisfying needs she had not conceived of! The stunning force of this realization shook her whole body so powerfully that the Earl, engrossed in an exercise that he, too, found exciting and satisfying, became aware of her trembling against his body. He held her a little away from him, in order to get a clearer sight of her face. What he saw there pleased him.

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“So, I was right!” he breathed, surveying her delicious little person with proprietary pleasure. “You do want me. Well, I shall have to see what can be done about it, shall I not? For both our sakes,” he added silkily, holding her closer as she would have drawn away from him in shame for her behavior. He bestowed what Cozette was compelled to recognize as a patronizing kiss upon her mouth, then set her firmly aside. “Until I have, ah, made new arrangements, you will continue your good work with my nephew.” He walked over to the door and opened it. “Off to your charge, Mademoiselle deLorme,” he said with hateful complacence. “I shall be in touch with you shortly, my dear.” Grinning wickedly at his double entendre, the Earl closed the door softly behind his tall figure. Cozette, hands to burning cheeks, stared at the blank panel. What had she done? There could be no doubt that the whole situation between them had changed for the worse. She did not want some clandestine little affair, no matter how elegantly mounted! No matter that Milord’s powerful body drew her, attracted her own body with irresistible seduction. No matter that, even when he was being his most annoying, there was something about the line of his hard jaw and the flare of his arrogant nostrils that quite melted her sternest resolve! There could be no convenable outcome to such an improper coupling. The Earl and his nephew’s governess! How the clubs would buzz to that! And the highborn ladies! Cozette could imagine the Lady Clarissa’s comments. Such a mésalliance would be a blot upon even so invulnerable a reputation as His Lordship’s. If she had the slightest concern for the Earl’s good name, she must make sure that this—this consummation so desirable, so longed for by her lonely heart, should never be allowed to occur. Straightening her shoulders proudly, the girl slipped from the Ladies’ Parlor and went to find Lex. While she and the boy were enjoying their usual riding lesson under Hardy’s strict tutelage, Cozette found time to make her plans. She must return to France. She had always known it. It was not enough to tell herself that her father had escaped the Terror; she must personally confirm it. And if he is, indeed, dead? came the agonizing thought. Then I must know that, she told herself. How she was to find out she did not at the moment consider. But what of little Lex, whose life was given into your care by Papa? That one was easier to deal with. However stern the Earl’s regimen, however strict his standards, he loved the child, and would do everything possible to give him a good life. With this she must be content. She must accept that her work for the boy was done. Already he was accepting the friendly services of Martha and Hardy as part of a reliable, supportive background. And his delight in his uncle’s attention and comradeship was evident. Oh, little Lex was home at

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last, safe and contented. He no longer needed the inadequate protection and succor one French spinster could offer! Enfin, what had she still to do before slipping away from the Earl’s home? A problem that had nagged at her for days now came to the surface of her mind. She had heard nothing from anyone as to the results of the message she had brought from King Louis. Had it ever reached the English monarch’s notice? Was the Prime Minister doing anything to assist the French King, beleaguered as he was in the Tuileries Palace? It suddenly seemed important to Cozette, if she were to be blessed with a reunion with her father, that she be able to tell him she had done all possible to carry out that task he had given her. So, tonight at dusk, she would return to that secret house where the Prime Minister had granted her audience and accepted the royal message. With this plan decided upon, Cozette turned herself to preparation for her coming departure. It would, alas, be necessary that she take with her, on her person and in a small satchel, the clothing Milord had provided for her. He had burned her wretched rags, of course, but she knew now that he need not have given her clothing of such quality. To balance that, however, she decided with shrewd Gallic good sense, he had not yet instructed his bailiff to pay her any salary, although several weeks had passed since she first entered his household. So that might compensate in part for the garments she must take with her, for decency’s sake if nothing else. Had she francs enough to leave a small sum for Martha? Or would the giving of a gratuity be considered pretentious in one of Cozette’s circumstances? There was one very pretty and impractical chemise the modiste had left, which Martha had lingered over as she tucked it away in the lowboy. She would leave that! Cozette nodded her head with satisfaction. The francs would most likely prove essential in making her way back to Paris. She washed her face to remove all traces of fear and excitement by means of the cold water, and then went to get Lex from the stables where he had lingered to play with Jille. Jille! The small ferret would have to come with Cozette to France. She might need its special talents yet again. It struck the girl, who was no dull-wit, that in thrusting herself back into the chaotic inferno that was revolutionary France she was risking death. And a loss equally great: the chance of knowing Milord’s love. Still, it had to be done. Cozette sobbed once, a raw little sound, then set her jaw firmly. She would have to leave, of course, but before she did . . . just a few more days to show the child she loved him; to add a few happy memories of his innocent charm to comfort her in the grim days ahead. And, insisted her aching heart, a few precious souvenirs of a big man with fascinating silver eyes! Already she could foresee the lonely nights filled with regret and painful memories, bittersweet, of her encounters with the enigmatic Earl.

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For the next few days, Cozette followed her plan. She spent every possible minute with Lex, assuring him over and over how much she loved him, and what a fine man he would someday become. The child accepted her assurances with an open sweetness that tore at her heart. “You will be proud of me when I am grown,” he promised her. “Even if I must return to be with my Papa,” she told him, “I shall always think of you.” The small brow clouded. “You are going away?” Cozette put on a confident smile. “Everyone must go away, my friend! You to school with many other friends to share your play and study. Your uncle to his estates, to make sure all is in good heart. But he will take you with him, I am sure of that!” she ended on an optimistic note. “What fun you both will have, riding around those smiling fields and woods!” This prospect seemed to reconcile the boy to at least a temporary parting from his beloved Coco. “Riding, eh? I hope I am good enough to keep up with him! Did you see the new boots mon oncle has had made for me?” He put out a small, well-shod foot. “And my new coat? Hardy says it is fine enough to ride out in the park with the swells!” Hesitating to chide him for so harmless a bit of cant, Cozette giggled. “You are fine as fivepence, little cabbage,” she smiled. “I would I could come with you!” “But you can!” the child’s face sparkled with glee. “Hardy asked Marfa if there were no riding costumes about the place which you might wear! And Marfa said, ‘Them attics is full of old clothes. There must be something!’ I heard her! She’s up there now, looking for something for you!” While deploring the conspiracy, Cozette admitted she would like nothing better than to accompany Lex and Hardy on a brisk canter through one of the elegant parks in which leisured Londoners daily disported themselves. So it was with guilty delight that she urged Martha to enter the room some minutes later. Martha had a heap of garments over one arm, and her eyes were big with laughter over the intrigue. “Found you something, ma’am!” she whispered, and displayed a trim riding coat and breeches—for a young male! “These was Master Neville’s, I think. Leastways, I found ‘em in one of the trunks full of his things he had when a boy. I got an idea you’d fit into ‘em very neatly, Miss Cozette. Do try!” Almost against her will, Cozette sent Lex off with the servant while she herself slipped out of her clothing and into the riding habit of the young Neville. It was tight in some places, loose in others, but on the whole, a tolerable fit. Martha had even brought riding boots, which were definitely too large, but could be padded with some hand-knit woolen socks. Within a few

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minutes, Cozette presented a casual observer a very neat and smart image of a young equestrian. She stared at herself in the mirror, pink-faced, smiling, and knew she was going to have to risk it. When Martha brought Lex back into the bedroom, she beheld a modish youth, perhaps rather too pretty, who was cramming a great deal of hair into an old-fashioned riding hat. “O-o-oh, Miss Cozette, ma’am! You do look smart as a new-scraped carrot!” Lex added his little voice to the chorus of praise, and Cozette was lost to prudence, to decorum. The prospect of trying out her new skills somewhere else than the stable yard and mews was too tempting. She took Lex’s little hand, accepted an ancient riding crop from the competent Martha, and accompanied her charge quietly down the back stairs to the stables. Hardy gave her a pretty sharp look, and swore the grooms and stableboys to silence by dire threats. He put her up on her docile and sweet-mannered little mare, and, leading his charges discreetly out of the mews, headed them toward the park. It was everything she had hoped it might be. The day was unusually fine, yet at this unfashionably early hour in the afternoon, few “Sparks” or “Blades of the Ton” were flaunting their modish costumes or their “Bits o’ Blood”— prime horseflesh, Hardy explained. The horses seemed as pleased as their riders to stretch their limbs. Little Lex was beaming with delight, and Cozette surrendered herself to mindless pleasure. Cozette and Lex had almost reached the haven of their rooms when a deep, cool voice requested them to halt. Turning guiltily, Cozette beheld her employer advancing down the wide, carpeted hallway toward her. Lex was quiet, understanding that he and Coco had done something his uncle might not quite like, although the boy did not know why. A slight nod in Lex’s direction advised Cozette she should get him out of the way of the threatened reckoning. Thankfully, she pointed him toward his room, and told him to get Martha to change and wash him. As the boy moved reluctantly off, the Earl allowed his gaze to roam insolently over Cozette’s boots, breeches, and riding coat, finally rising to her flushed face. “Your hair is escaping from Neville’s hat,” he said mildly. The calm before the storm? Or acceptance of her daring prank? Cozette did not have to wonder long. A hand like iron came out and caught her wrist. Wordlessly, the Earl pulled her along to another door farther down the hall. Pulling this open, he thrust the girl inside and closed the door. “And now, Miss deLorme, suppose you explain this masquerade?” he commanded icily. “I was so anxious to ride in the park,” explained the girl. “To share the fun Lex so enjoys. I asked someone to get me a riding habit.”

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“Martha,” said the Earl. His voice seemed a little warmer when he spoke the maid’s name, so Cozette ventured greatly. “You must not be angry with Martha! She did only as I instructed.” “I am not angry at Martha,” the Earl said equably. “Like the rest of my servants, she has developed a remarkable liking and respect for you, and would find it unthinkable to refuse anything you asked. But you, Miss deLorme, should surely know better than to make such a show of yourself”—his glance dwelt scathingly on the boy’s riding habit—”in view of half of London!” “We stopped nowhere, talked to no one,” said the girl fiercely. “No one noticed us! No one would connect us with the arrogant Earl of Hamer and Stone!” “Luckily for you,” her employer told her in an ominous tone. “I had thought to keep you and the boy in town until I had formed a solid relationship with him, but if you are to be getting up to such hoydenish ploys as this, I shall send you both down to the Castle tomorrow!” “And if I do not choose to go?” Cozette defied him. He considered the small, furious figure, unexpectedly provocative in the breeches and fitted coat. His grin became predatory. “Are you challenging me, my dear?” he asked softly. “Do you wish to put our association onto a different level?” He moved closer, the whole stance of his body telling her exactly what he meant. Cozette was not prepared for that sort of confrontation. She drew back slightly, and hated his knowing grin. “I intended only to remind you that my duty to Alexandre is done, and I must be seeking different employment.” She faltered under the contemptuous look in his fine eyes. “You forget very quickly the agreement we made, that you should remain as his governess until he is ready to go to school. Perhaps I should have made you sign a contract.” He was conveniently ignoring his other plan for Cozette’s immediate future. Until he had Lex safely settled with a new governess, and until Ian Ross had located exactly the proper bijou residence for Cozette, the Earl had no intention of informing her of the details of her new role. Meanwhile, let the chit’s conscience bother her! It might make her more malleable! The Earl regarded her with dissatisfaction. He would have preferred a defiance he could have quelled with physical force. At length, still watching her averted, rosy face sternly, he motioned toward the door. “Get out of those breeches,” he said. Cozette escaped thankfully. The scene with the Earl had brought home to her, as nothing else could have done, the most pressing danger of her situation: that she might find herself a willing victim of his virile attraction. The sooner she removed herself from his seductive masculinity, the better!

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First, then, to see Mr. Pitt, and ask what King George was going to do to aid King Louis to escape from the Tuileries Palace. Dared she suggest that inquiries be made for Professor deLorme? She sighed regretfully. The reserved Mr. Pitt would have no time to aid one elderly scholar! And after she had talked to Mr. Pitt? Back to Paris to search for Papa.

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n pursuance of this decision, Cozette left Lex with Martha after his early supper. The rosy little face was nodding over the bowl of pudding; he was more than ready for his bed, and Martha was pleased to take charge of him. She was a little curious as to what business should take Alexandre’s governess abroad alone at this hour of the evening. Cozette dared not confide in Martha lest the girl be punished if difficulties arose. Smiling, she assured the worried maid that she had an appointment with an old colleague of her father’s, and would take a hackney coach both ways, and be home within the shortest possible time. She rather spoiled the effect of all this by her final, too breezy remark: “If anyone should ask for me, pray tell them I am out for a walk.” Martha gazed after the softly closing door with dismay. Out for a walk? With dusk coming on? In the darkness, even the familiar square with its pretty paths and trees and shrubs became a place of fear for Martha. Cozette faced her own very different fears on the way to that unremarkable house where Mr. Pitt carried on certain of his less public duties. She had no guarantee that he would still be there, but at least she might be able to arrange for a later meeting if he had already gone. The cabby took her brief directions silently, and moved his horse along at a fairly good pace.

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When they reached their destination, there were still lights visible from a number of windows in the building. Instructing the driver to wait, Cozette hopped nimbly down and ran up to the front door. After a long wait, the girl was relieved to see the door swing open and a young man in sober black ask her rather shortly what she wanted. “I must see Mr. Pitt,” Cozette said firmly. “It is about a message I brought him several days ago, from France. My name is deLorme.” The sober young man regarded her dubiously. It was plain that he was not accustomed to ushering strange young females into his master’s private offices at such an hour. “You have an appointment?” he began cautiously. “No, I have not,” Cozette felt anger rising at this further exercise of masculine obduracy. “How can I have an appointment when I did not know whether I could manage to get here? Please do not keep me waiting longer! I have a carriage waiting!” Although what that has to say to anything, I am not sure, the girl thought as she followed the reluctant guardian back into the long dark corridor she remembered from her earlier visit. Mr. Pitt was clearly unhappy to see her again. He listened silently as she phrased her question, thought about it, and then said, “I am afraid I am not at liberty to tell you anything at all, Miss—uh. His Majesty’s government is grateful for your efforts in bringing the message safely to London, but you must of course see that there can be no further communication between you and . . . anyone who is dealing with this matter. Thank you for coming. Good night.” The young man led her back to the front door, his silence making very clear to her that he resented her forcing him to act as her guide. In fact, his relief at seeing the last of her was so heartfelt that even in her disappointment, Cozette had a flicker of amusement. He saw her up into the hackney with meticulous care, but made no response to her quiet, “Thank you, and good night.” When she returned to Stone House, the entrance and great hall were ablaze with light. Standing like an avenging deity surrounded by his apprehensive votaries, the Earl awaited her. He had evidently been conferring with Dibble, for that individual thankfully stepped back a pace as the girl came forward. Milord spoke not a word, yet Cozette’s heartbeat faltered and then pounded at the very sight of his fury as she followed the tall imposing figure silently into the library. The attack began without preliminaries. “You did not feel it necessary to get my permission to go out at this hour, leaving Alexander with a servant?” His cold, set expression, his arro-

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gant tone told the girl too clearly that she had better have a valid reason for her defection. In that moment Cozette realized that she loved this hard, bad-tempered, beautiful male who was glaring at her like an affronted lion. Instead of anger, she felt a tiny thrill of hope that his anger might indicate concern for her safety, and with that came such a warm surge of love that the girl lowered her eyelids lest he should guess her emotion. Swallowing and trying to pull her wits together, Cozette recalled his words. “But I am a servant, Milord. What does it matter, one of us or another?” The Earl ignored this quite logical answer. “Where were you?” he demanded. “Martha told me—under considerable pressure, I may say!—that you had gone out to meet a friend. I had not realized you might have made a connection so quickly!” Then, as she hesitated, startled and a little confused at the force of his attack, the Earl demanded, “Who is he, your gallant who appoints clandestine meetings? Someone you met during one of your jaunts in the park?” Cozette’s humility dissolved under the injustice of this charge. “I was trying to get an audience with your Prime Minister, but he is shy of females, as you warned me! He refused to discuss it with me! Perhaps he feels guilt that he has not done anything about King Louis’s appeal!” The Earl’s frown faded. “Did you really expect to get an interview with Pitt? I thought I had told you it was useless.” “My father risked his life, and mine, to get that note to your monarch! It is my duty to be sure King George has been allowed to receive King Louis’s message!” She gave him a smoldering glance. “I begin to believe there is more intrigue and double-dealing in London than ever there was in Paris! Or perhaps it is merely indifference? King George may never have received Louis’s missive!” “Probably not,” agreed the Earl maddeningly. “But not because Pitt is indifferent or careless. Our King is most unwell. He has a nervous disorder that has his physicians baffled.” “But your government cannot ignore King Louis’s appeal for help! He is a virtual prisoner in the Tuileries, with all his family. The situation is desperate!” The Earl considered this. Cozette moved closer to him, looking up with urgent appeal into his silver-gray eyes. “Since your King is unwell, and Mr. Pitt so reluctant to become involved, is it possible for me to present the case to someone else in power? I have heard that the Prince of Wales has the support of the Whig Party, who might not be averse to sending a rescue mission for our Royal Family.” This suggestion met with marked disapproval. “Where have you picked up your sudden familiarity with English politics?” he demanded suspiciously.

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Cozette was disconcerted by this change in his manner. “Why, I listened to Dibble and Pierre. They were arguing yesterday when Lex and I passed through the kitchen on the way to the stables. And of course all the grooms—” His Lordship’s sneer cut off her halting explanation. “I see! Kitchen gossip and stableboys’ talk! You should be more particular in whom you choose as intelligencers. For the last time, I shall advise you to leave these matters of state policy to Mr. Pitt!” Deflated by the Earl’s scornful condescension, Cozette still had the spirit to mutter angrily. “Mr. Pitt shows no evidence of concern, but I must! It is my duty.” She faced him with an odd little air of command. “I wish to be presented to your Prince.” The Earl’s eyebrows rose almost to his white-powdered hair. “What you ask is impossible, Mademoiselle deLorme. You were just a messenger in this matter. A successful one, against heavy odds,” he conceded, “but the matter is now out of your hands, believe me!” And then Milord added coldly, “May I suggest that you do not ever take that tone with me again?” They glared at one another like antagonists. Cozette’s eyes were the first to drop. She shrugged and turned away. The Earl’s voice came harshly. “You have much to learn. I haven’t yet dismissed you, Miss deLorme!” Reluctantly she faced him again. “Milord?” The Earl had no intention of letting her off lightly. “In future you will inform me if you wish to leave Lex.” He watched with a grim little smile as the angry color flooded her cheeks. “You cannot be saying that you care what a servant does with her free time?” the girl protested incredulously. “Any other servant, no. I leave such arrangements to Dibble. But you are the companion of my heir, and as such are responsible directly to me.” Cozzette nodded wordlessly. “My uncle and aunt, Lord and Lady Wantage, are arriving from Sussex tomorrow for a few weeks in London. They will be staying here with me. Of course they have come to meet Neville’s son.” His smile held a bitter mockery. “If I die without issue, Uncle Hector was next in line for the succession, until you brought me Alexander. Rather a shock for the Wantages,” he added dryly. “Aunt Henrietta has ambitions. Her son Henry also. They will be planning to attend every assembly, ball, and ridotto the season offers.” Cozette wondered why he was telling her this. There had been a note of warning in his voice. Surely she was not expected to try to force herself into any entertainment the Earl might offer his kinsmen? She would not presume!

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She raised angry eyes to his—and felt a chill of apprehension as she saw his expression. He was warning her, but the object of his concern was Lex! Could the Wantages truly mean harm to the child? Milord’s mood had changed. He dismissed her crisply, with the command that she seek his permission if she wished to leave the house in future. Cozette returned to Lex’s rooms seething with resentment at the overbearing nobleman. Seek his permission, indeed! What sort of feudal despotism was he trying to enforce? He must think this was 1392, not 1792! But sight of little Lex, rosy and relaxed, sleeping in his four-poster bed, quite reconciled her to his arrogant, overbearing, hateful uncle. Whoever menaced the boy, Cozette thought, be it Wantage or Stone, would have to contend with her. The next morning, as they prepared for their daily riding lesson, Cozette defiantly dressed in Neville’s habit. While they were making their way down the back stairway, Lex smiled up at her mischievously. “You look very neat in my father’s habit, Coco,” he told her. “Why do not all ladies dress that way? I should not like to have to manage long skirts on horseback, as most ladies seem to do.” “It is not considered comme il faut for ladies to wear breeches,” Cozette answered him. “But you see, I have no proper riding costume.” She met his little grin—so heartbreaking, like his father’s!—with one of her own. “Which is why you must not call me Cozette when we are cantering through the park. Charlot, perhaps, or Colin? Claude?” Sensibly disregarding these absurdities, Lex said gently, “I think you look very pretty. Were we not lucky that Mrs. Dibble remembered the trunks full of my Papa’s old clothes? His riding breeches fit you perfectly.” “Lucky,” agreed Cozette, who had enjoyed yesterday’s jaunt around the park so much more than the daily exercises in the stable yard and mews that had preceded them. The boy, pursuing his own train of thought, startled her with a question. “Why do we not search among my father’s clothes to see if there is anything else that fits you, Coco? You do not have many dresses, do you?” Cozette smiled into his worried little face. Not for her to explain to the child that her hurried flight to England had given her no opportunity to pack an elaborate wardrobe. Instead she teased, “You would tell me your Papa had some dresses tucked away in that attic? La!” Lex giggled. “No, but other members of my family might have!” Cozette was so enchanted with his quick wits that she hugged him. “We shall look this afternoon, mon brave! Perhaps we shall find treasures for Cozette to put on for our supper together in our rooms! We may even find something of your Papa’s you may like to have, hmm? But I am a lady, and must not wear

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the clothes of a young gentleman!” She curtsied deeply, mincing and posturing in an exaggerated manner with nonexistent skirts. Lex chuckled, his eyes shining. “But you are not wearing skirts, Coco! And what will mon oncle say if he sees you?” “A great deal, I fear,” admitted Cozette, laughter fading. Lex tried to recapture the joke. “You looked funny doing that in Papa’s breeches, Coco!” He grinned. “So you see, I am right,” Cozette retorted firmly. “A lady should wear skirts. After today I shall do so.” But it was so delightfully freeing to bestride the mare in these well-tailored breeches! Fortunately for the culprits, the Earl did not catch them when they returned from their ride later that morning. Cozette made haste to get out of the incriminating garments and back into her own pretty brown walking dress before they settled down for lessons and then lunch. After the meal, Lex protested that he was not really tired enough to take a nap that was usually his after-luncheon program. Cozette searched his little face. It was going to be a painful break to leave him, as she must, within the next few days. What sort of governess would Milord provide for his nephew? Would she be severe, rigid? Cozette put the thought from her. For these last precious days, she must give the child all the love she could, and try to make him secure in his own person. “Shall we forgo the sleep today, then, little cabbage? Let us advance upon the attics and ransack the trunks!” “Allons!” piped the boy gleefully. “Let’s go!” The trunks were a treasure trove. They found one that held several gowns at least twenty years old, and were torn between admiration for the metallic brocades and appliquéd jewels, and hysterical laughter when Cozette wiggled into the enormous whalebone and wire frameworks that supported the skirt. “You look like a donkey with panniers!” chuckled Lex. “And where have you ever seen any such animal, Master Impudence?” challenged Cozette, getting out of the absurd garment as quickly as possible. “With Maman. My father took us both to the seaside last year for a holiday,” explained the boy, and all the laughter faded from his little countenance at the reminder of his loss. Cozette hastened to change his mood. “I am feeling hungry, my friend. Shall we go down to see what Chef Pierre can provide?” This suggestion meeting with unqualified approval, the next half hour was most enjoyably spent by the treasure-seekers. Chef Pierre had news for them. As he watched them devouring his elegant pâtisseries, he told them that the Wantages had already arrived, and were

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casting Dibble into the sullens with their endless and unreasonable demands for service. “For you must know, Sir and Madam,” said Chef Pierre with a sly wink, “these persons who are related to the Earl are not at all of his quality.” Cozette’s gaze locked with his quickly. Was he trying to tell her something? To warn her to be on her guard? It seemed he was, for his smile faded into an intent expression. “Greedy!” chided Chef Pierre reprovingly to little Lex, guzzling pastries. But his eyes returned to meet hers with meaning. So, it was the visitors who were greedy. She got the boy upstairs unobtrusively by the servants’ staircase. She had him washed and redressed in one of his attractive little suits and was brushing his hair when the summons came. Dibble himself had been sent to bring the Heir to meet his kinsmen in the drawing room. Dibble’s approving glance at the handsome small boy was enough reward for Cozette. The butler said formally, “His Lordship wishes you to present yourself within fifteen minutes in the drawing room. To escort Mr. Neville’s son back to his nursery.” Cozette was thankful for the time to get herself ready, sartorially and emotionally, for the encounter.

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9 W

hen she walked into the drawing room fifteen minutes later, Cozette felt she had prepared herself for any contingency. The neatly pressed brown dress was quietly elegant but not ostentatious. Her dark gold hair was plainly styled and covered with a lace handkerchief, which she believed gave her a properly dignified, mature appearance. The Earl, in his first glimpse of her, thought she looked like a charming girl playing at propriety. It was soon evident that the Wantages were not impressed either by Cozette’s charm or by her discretion. Lady Henrietta fired the first shot. “Is this the female who claims the boy is Neville’s son?” she demanded. “I suppose she has given you some tall story.” “No,” the Earl rejoined coldly, “the documents I have safely locked away in my study prove it.” Lord Hector, never a sensitive man, was yet able to detect the contempt in the Earl’s manner. “You can’t think Stone would accept any such claim on the word of an—” His glance disparaged Cozette. Meanwhile, the girl’s gaze had flashed around the room in search of Lex. She discovered him seated in a small chair near the fire, with a book open on

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his lap. Apparently it had not been considered important by the Wantages to show interest or affection for the child. Pushing him out already! thought Cozette fiercely. The child’s eyes, she noted, were fixed upon her anxiously. At once she gave him a mischievous, conspiratorial smile, confirming their ties of friendship in this hostile situation. She was at once rewarded by his wide, endearing smile, as Lex rose and came to her in a rush. She caught him in outstretched arms and drew him protectively close to her side. Naturally all eyes had focused on the small, smiling figure as it darted across the room. Lady Henrietta gasped. The Earl nodded arrogantly. “Neville’s smile,” he pointed out unnecessarily. “Does this—woman claim to be the mother?” persisted Henrietta, defeated but refusing to admit it. “This lady is Mademoiselle deLorme, daughter of Professor Henri deLorme of Paris, tutor to several noble houses. She brought Neville’s son out of France at great risk to herself. I am sure all the family must be suitably grateful to her.” It was in the nature of a rebuke, but the Wantages did not seem to realize it. Lady Henrietta sniffed her opinion of all foreigners. Lord Hector gave the little Frenchy the same scrutiny he would have accorded a mare he considered buying. Cozette, who had come downstairs prepared to be her most suave self, felt a treacherous flush of anger rising in her cheeks. And then a diversion occurred that took everyone’s attention from Lex and even Cozette. A top-of-the-trees dandy strolled into the drawing room from the hall, paused to view the company through a quizzing glass, and then made his bow. For one heart-stopping second the girl thought that Neville Stone stood before her. Then he straightened and smiled, and the illusion was shattered. “Since no one has seen fit to present me, I shall introduce myself to this charming lady,” he said, with Neville’s gentle mockery but without Neville’s redeeming warmth. “I am Henry Wantage, most decidedly at your service, Ma’am! And you?” “It’s the boy’s nursemaid, Henry,” advised his Mama, quick to deflate any pretension Cozette might attempt. Before the Earl or anyone else could say a word, Lex uttered a little cry and threw himself at Henry Wantage, a small arrow to the gold. “Daddy!” he said, and embraced the young man around the waist. Henry realized that he was the center of attention. Bending over, he caught the child up into his arms. “So you are Alexandre, are you?” he said with a laugh. “I am your cousin Henry.” Lex’s small arms stiffened, and pushed his body away from Henry’s chest so he could scan the handsome face so close to his own.

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“Not—not my father?” he whispered. “Sorry, young Alexandre. Your father is still in France.” Both the Earl and Cozette stiffened as Henry told his lie about Neville. Cozette knew that the careless remark had opened the door to new grief for the child, and difficult explanations from herself. Her fine brows drew together. How could Henry Wantage be so insensitive? He must know that the child was here because Neville was dead! “Not my Papa,” repeated Lex forlornly. Tears began to slide down the small face. Cozette moved forward quickly, holding out her arms to Lex. “Would you like to visit Jille, mon brave? You have not had time to play with her today,” she coaxed in a voice so gentle and loving that the Earl glanced at her with raised brows. “Allons-nous? Shall we go?” the girl coaxed. “And not before time!” snapped Lady Henrietta. “I am not—as you may remember, Stone—an advocate of spoiling children.” “Spare the rod and spoil the child,” agreed Lord Hector. “I agree that the idea of a visit to his pet is an excellent one at this moment,” said the Earl, so grimly that Cozette cast him a worried look. None of this was Lex’s fault, nor, for that matter, hers. Why should the Earl’s arrogant countenance be turned upon her so angrily? As she took Lex from the arms of his cousin, the thought struck her that the Earl had been as disgusted by Henry’s maladroit remark as she had been. She was unable to pursue this idea, however, as at that moment her eyes met Henry’s intent stare. He was looking at the boy in her arms, the boy he had been holding with such a show of affection. A chill raced over Cozette’s skin. The young man’s blue eyes seemed to bore into Lex’s back. What was the emotion behind that piercing scrutiny? Trembling, Cozette hurried the little boy out of the room. When, comforted with a hot mince tart from Chef Pierre, and a nice bowl of scraps for Jille, Lex was happily feeding the ferret in the stables, Cozette sat on a bale of hay to review her impressions of the Wantage family. For all Lady Henrietta’s rancor and Lord Hector’s insensitivity, she found she did not fear them as much as she did the handsome, smiling Henry with the wide blue eyes and the genteel airs and graces. “You are turning into a fearful old woman,” she scolded herself. “You see a villain behind every quizzing glass!” She tried to laugh at her apprehension, but somehow she could not dismiss from her mind the memory of Henry’s careless, cruel lie, or his intent stare at the child. By the time Lex was ready to return to their rooms for his tea, Cozette knew she could not leave the boy until his unpleasant kinsmen had returned to their own home. With an ago-

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nized prayer for her father’s safety, Cozette led her small charge back to the nursery suite. She was reading him a story, later, and watching his heavy lids droop over his eyes, when Martha appeared in the open bedroom doorway and beckoned silently to her. Within a few minutes, Lex was sound asleep. Cozette went quietly into the sitting room and pulled the door almost closed behind her. “You need to speak to me?” she asked the little maid. “Oh, yes, Miss! It’s His Lordship wants you. He says for you to come down to his study right away. I’m to show you.” “Where are the Wantages?” Cozette dreaded another confrontation. Martha grinned. “Oh, they’re in their rooms, prettifying themselves for dinner. Mr. Dibble says that Mr. Henry is forever titivating himself!” She giggled. “His Lordship is going to take them to Lady Clara Custance’s for dinner, since she’s an old friend of Lady Wantage.” Thankful that she would not have to encounter the unpleasant guests again that day, Cozette hurried after Martha down the back stairs to the Earl’s study. When the maid paused outside the door, Cozette asked her in a low voice if she would go back to the nursery and wait with Lex until Cozette returned. Martha nodded importantly, and slipped back up the stairs without another word. Relieved of a nagging anxiety, Cozette tapped on the study door. The Earl’s voice was muffled through the heavy door. “Come in.” Cozette slipped inside and closed the door quietly after her. She had not been in Milord’s sanctum sanctorum before. It surprised her a little: a plainly furnished, well-lighted room with a practical desk and a safe made of metal in one corner. Small boxes sat on shelves. Cozette had an idea they held estate documents and other important papers. A man of the Earl’s wealth and consequence would naturally have much business to be taken care of, and the girl knew that a secretary came in every day to handle it. Almost at once, however, her gaze was attracted to the tall figure just rising from his chair behind the desk. “You sent for me, Milord.” The Earl stared at her with considerable discontent. Every time he decided he would establish the little witch as his mistress, some emergency concerned with his nephew arose, requiring the girl’s loving devotion to the boy. As long as Lex seemed to need her, as long as she behaved with such fierce dedication to Lex’s welfare, the Earl knew he could not remove Cozette from her task of caring for the child. Milord scanned the beautiful face with mounting dissatisfaction. He had a hunger to see that lovely countenance aglow with sensual pleasure, to feel that softly rounded body pliant in his arms. But such indulgences must be deferred until he had the girl bestowed in some small comfortable ménage. He must restrain his appetite until the French girl was no

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longer a member of his own household. And that, he realized resentfully, must wait until the Wantages returned to their own estate—however long that might be! “The Wantages intend to stay here for the season,” he said grimly. Although this opening remark did not seem to concern her, Cozette felt a wave of sympathy for a host forced to endure such disagreeable guests. “I shall try to keep Lex out of their way as much as possible, no matter how long they stay,” she assured her employer, and was surprised to note that this promise seemed, if anything, to increase Milord’s discontent. Did he wish her out of his life so strongly? But if so, why not send her away at once? Surely there were other suitable governesses in London? Then a hideous thought struck her. He did intend to dismiss her, and had summoned her here to tell her so! The Earl became aware of her worried expression. “What ails you now?” he asked testily, as though all his troubles were her fault—a manifest absurdity! Yet in one sense they were. If she had not been so devilishly desirable—! The girl was attempting to answer his question. “Do you wish me to leave, Milord?” she managed to ask the question with some calmness. Was that not what she needed: the freedom to leave London and go to search for her father? Yet how could she abandon Lex to those monstres upstairs? The Earl was glaring at her as though she were an imbecile. “Leave? Of course not! Haven’t I just told you you must remain to protect Lex from the Wantages? That woman!” He came as close to a snarl as his imperturbable facade, now grimly maintained, would permit. Cozette was thoroughly confused. “Then why did you invite them?” she asked reasonably. He permitted himself a sneering smile. “You are more than seven, Ma’am’selle! Can you tell me you think that female waited for an invitation? This wretched visit was her idea!” “Or her son’s,” said Cozette, with a return of the fear she had felt earlier. “Henry? He’s a silly fop. That quizzing-glass! And that waistcoat! I can see I am going to be embarrassed before all my friends when I am seen with him.” The girl looked at him soberly. “He hates Lex.” The Earl raised his thick black eyebrows. “Henry? That little would-be dandy is too engrossed in himself to hate anyone.” “He hates Lex,” reiterated Cozette. “He made a most unsettling remark about your brother being still alive in France. The child may suffer a return of the nightmares he had when his father died. I have left Martha to look after him, but I think I should return to Lex at once—that is,” she amended hastily, remembering his often-repeated injunctions, “as soon as you are ready to dismiss me, Milord.”

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“Oh, go to the boy!” snapped the Earl, frustrated by the impasse in which he found himself and not averse to taking out his disappointment on the girl. Cozette was glad to escape his baleful stare. As she scuttled up the back stairs, she was wondering what had put the Earl into such a taking, for surely the duties of a host toward uninvited guests did not require that he keep all three of them in his pocket twenty-four hours of the day? Such speculation was abruptly cut short as she approached the nursery suite. Standing outside the door, leaning forward as though to listen, was the resplendently dressed figure of Henry Wantage!

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10 “W

ere you looking for someone, Mr. Wantage?” Cozette asked, marveling at the cool assurance in her voice. Henry turned quite slowly. For some reason this frightened her more than a hasty action or a display of embarrassment would have done. She wondered, meeting the full, almost vacant stare of those wide blue eyes, how the Earl could dismiss his cousin as a youthful fop. This cold-eyed, hard-faced man who scrutinized her so dauntingly was no silly boy. He had a purpose; Cozette was dreadfully sure it concerned the little child who was heir to the Earldom. “I came,” said Henry Wantage in a silky voice, “to say good night to Alexandre. I am surprised you leave him alone. You are his governess, are you not?” “I am, sir. He is at present attended by a maidservant. He was asleep before I left him, so I am afraid you cannot wish him a good night.” “Then perhaps I can wish you one?” Henry moved closer to her and took her chin in one hand, lifting her face against her will. Cozette was suddenly very much afraid of this youth who looked so finicky and harmless, and whose hand was like iron on her chin.

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“Sir!” she protested, trying to step back. It did not seem that he intended to release her, and his odd, empty eyes were focusing on her mouth, when a querulous, suspicious voice behind them demanded: “What on earth is going on here? Is this servant trying to catch your interest?” When her son made no move, Lady Henrietta’s voice rose sharply. “Henry, I am speaking to you!” Cozette pushed his hand away successfully this time, and turned to enter the nursery. The older woman’s voice followed her. “You, there! What is going on?” Cozette had had all she could endure from this virago. She faced her ladyship and said firmly, “You had better ask your son, Madam. I caught him listening at the nursery door. He seemed disturbed to be discovered here, and told me he was waiting to say good night to his cousin. Then he seized my face. I am not sure why.” She bobbed a curtsy. “May I return to my charge, Madam?” The older woman’s face was red with fury. “At least until I can inform your employer of the insolence with which the servants treat the guests in this house! After that, I am sure you will no longer have a ‘charge’—or a position!” She flounced around and started down the hallway at a rapid pace. Cozette, turning thankfully toward the nursery once more, was surprised to catch a flash of deadly anger in Henry’s face as he started after his Mama. So the strange youth did not wish his mother to make trouble for the governess? It hardly seemed that he would bother about the fate of a servant who had, in effect, snubbed him. She closed the door softly, to become aware of a wideeyed, worried Martha standing nearby. “Oh, Miss,” the girl whispered, “I was so feared for ye! I was goin’ to push open the door and pretend I was comin’ to find ye, when the old hag busted in!” Cozette found herself shaking with relief as much as the laughter she had to smother for Lex’s sake. After a shocked glance at her superior’s unexpected mirth, the little maid joined in, and a moment later they were seated facing one another, hands across their mouths, trying to smother the hysterical laughter that had seized them both. “I’m glad I have a witness that I was not trying to ensnare Master Henry,” gasped Cozette at length. This comment sobered Martha at once. “Oh, but they’d never take my word for anything like that, Miss,” she said, worried again. “It’s always the servant who is wrong, you know.” She sounded as though she were quoting someone. Cozette could not believe that the Earl, arrogant, self-willed, and demanding as he undoubtedly was, would be actively unfair to his servants. She said so.

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Martha pursed her lips. “Well, Miss, I must say I’ve never seen anyone dismissed from Stone House for such a reason—but then I’ve only been here six months. It’s really the old hag I’m fearful of. She’s nasty. Even her own dresser says so.” Cozette shrugged. “I think the Earl will not discharge me, Martha. He is as impatient of the visitors as any of us. More so, perhaps,” she added with a small smile, “since he had to spend so much time bear-leading them around London society.” Martha was so tickled by this picture that she lapsed into giggles again. Cozette did not find out whether Lady Henrietta had opened her budget to the Earl or not, since no mention was made of the incident again in her hearing. There was just a little sense of unease in her mind as she recalled that first picture she had caught of Henry, poised in rigid silence outside the nursery door. She soon put it out of her mind, as so many other things were happening. Everyone in Stone House, from its master to the lowliest bootboy, was caught up, willy-nilly, in the enormous bustle of entertaining the difficult guests. As soon as it became known to the hostesses of the ton that the Earl was host to his kinfolk, invitations began to pour in. The Earl, for all his unwillingness, found himself dragooned into attending a number of functions he would far rather have avoided. Society matrons welcomed the chance to honor the Wantages, since it would ensure Alexander Stone’s presence in their homes as well. Tension mounted, above and below stairs, until one unfortunate morning when matters came to a head. Henry Wantage had been conducting a devious, secret campaign with the little French governess as his target. He limited his attentions to times when he could catch her alone, and was proving himself a clever campaigner. Many times Cozette, leaving the nursery suite, would find him lurking in the hallway, a vapid grin on his face. He never did or said anything offensive, but his constant presence was beginning to disturb Cozette very much. Martha even whispered to her that the other servants were aware of his behavior, and the grooms and footmen were exchanging bets on how soon Ma’am’selle would give in to Henry’s charms. This outrageous canard sent Cozette into a passion. “You tell me that they are daring to wager about my virtue?” she blazed. “I would have thought the grooms at least knew me better!” The daily riding lessons and visits to Jille had been the one comforting interlude in the day during the past week. “Oh, yes, Miss!” Martha explained hurriedly. “All the grooms is bettin’ you’ll put a flea in Master Henry’s ear!” As though that should comfort me! thought Cozette, but Martha had more to say.

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“I don’t quite see how you can give him a settler when he’s the Earl’s guest and cousin, and you—” “I am a servant in the house,” finished Cozette. Her anger had hardened into determination. She would speak to His Lordship this very day, report Henry’s persistent harassment, threaten to leave! She groaned. This was being foolish beyond permission. Henry had actually done nothing worthy of report. Reluctantly, she relinquished the idea of going to the Earl to protest his cousin’s behavior, especially since it appeared that Martha had more to tell her. “Did you hear the ruckus an hour ago, Miss? The servants that wait on the Wantages are all in a twitchet! Seems the Earl got a biddance from His Royal Highness! It come today by one of the Prince’s own footmen, very naffy dressed, as Dibble tells it! Lady Henrietta’s in alt, her dresser says. Every one of the Wantages is worrying about what to wear!” Catching Cozette’s enquiring glance, the maid explained, “It’s a masquerade, Miss! Dressing up like someone else, and wearing a mask! Ain’t it enough to put you in a quiver, Miss?” Cozette smiled at the young maid’s obvious excitement over the flattering invitation. Hastily dismissing an unworthy thought that the Wantages would be better for a mask, she was just about to ask Martha to tell her more—which the girl was obviously dying to do—when a startling idea flashed into Cozette’s mind. A masquerade! That could mean a chance to speak to the host of the party, His Royal Highness, without attempting the almost impossible task of getting an official interview. She stared at Martha. Should she enlist the girl’s help in finding a costume? Or would the criticism the inevitable disclosure of her ploy was bound to receive recoil upon Martha? Cozette decided to search out a costume for herself. She waited until the maid left, and then sat down to plan her attack. The costume would not be the major problem; the Earl’s attics were full of carefully packed garments, many of which must be old enough to consititute a disguise. No, her major obstacle would be the lack of an invitation. Could she dress as a groom and add herself to the entourage of the invited Wantages and their host? Then try to follow them inside without attracting notice? Guests seldom looked behind them when entering a house in which a ball or entertainment was being held. Musing thus, Cozette waited for Lex to waken from his nap so that she could take him for his walk in the railed park that was the center of the square before Stone House. Lex was eager to go, since they took a large ball he could roll or throw to Cozette—one of his favorite games. They were scarcely into their play when Cozette noticed not one, but two young gentlemen watching Lex and herself. One was quickly identified as Henry Wantage. The other watcher was someone Cozette had not seen before. He lounged against one of the trees in the park, grinning at Lex’s very evident pleasure in

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his sport. After several minutes, this young man got the opportunity it seemed he had been waiting for. The ball, escaping Cozette’s not too expert grasp, went rolling quickly along the path toward the watching youth, who caught it neatly and threw it back underhand, so that it rolled close enough for Lex to sweep it up with a cry of triumph. Cozette, much in charity with a man who could so delight her charge, gave the volunteer ball-player one of her charming smiles. His eyebrows rose with pleased satisfaction, and he wasted no time in strolling toward the players. “May I have the pleasure of joining the game, ma’am?” he asked in a voice whose accent proclaimed the gentleman. “Your brother gives promise of being a rare bowler,” he added, with a warm smile at Lex. Cozette, who should have known better, was sufficiently lulled by this flattering overture to permit the young man to enter the game with them. This move delighted Lex, who found their new friend a much better player than Cozette, and deferred eagerly to the newcomer’s instructions. Cozette found that she could go and sit on one of the convenient benches, while Lex enjoyed the lesson and the companionship of a friendly adult. While she was thus resting, she caught sight of Henry Wantage hurrying back to Stone House. She experienced a sudden qualm. Of course she should not have permitted a strange man to speak to her or to Lex, much less actually enter the game! She rose and went over to the two players, who had gotten a bit farther away from her position than she had noticed. Thanking the young man for his kindness to the child, she drew Lex away from the game, to his very evident displeasure. The young man’s eyes met her own in a rueful apology. When she and a still-reluctant Lex entered the house, it was to receive a summons from the Earl. “His Lordship says, Miss, will you go to the study as soon as you have returned Master Lex to his nursery?” enunciated Dibble. Quaking at the thought of the well-merited rebuke she was about to receive, Cozette turned Lex over to a willing Martha and then, hardly pausing to brush her hair or tidy her person, went downstairs to meet her fate. The Earl, seated at his desk, rose to greet her. In fact, he walked around the desk and confronted her at close quarters, looming over her, she thought, like an avenging deity. “Henry Wantage tells me you have been meeting with a man in the park, under guise of playing with Lex.” Cozette ventured an upward glance at the stern face above her. “It is true that a pleasant young man caught Lex’s ball while we were playing, and then began to instruct your nephew in the finer points, uh, the smooth delivery of the ball.” She hesitated, aware that there had been no softening of Milord’s set expression.

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“How often have these ‘lessons’ been taking place?” demanded His Lordship in hard, cold tones that reminded Cozette of her first meeting with him. Indignation began to rise in her. She faced him fully now, quite unaware of how temper made her huge eyes sparkle and brought becoming color to her cheeks. “The ‘lessons’ began for the first time today. I have not noticed this young man in the park before. Perhaps he is a guest at one of the houses fronting on the square. Just as Henry Wantage is,” she added, crossly. “Yet he has never offered to play with Lex!” “Did you wish him to?” countered the Earl nastily. “Don’t bother to deny it, Miss deLorme. I am quite aware that Henry has taken to hanging about after you at all hours of the day and night!” This unjust remark quite overset Cozette’s control over her temper. “Then if you knew your wretched cousin has been persecuting me, I do not know why you permitted it to continue!” “Persecuting you?” challenged the Earl. “If that is true, I cannot think why you did not inform me of it.” “A fine fool I should look, a mere servant running to her master with tales of his guest’s infamous conduct!” The Earl frowned at this plain speaking. She was a thorn in his flesh, this little female with her beauty and her resty spirit and her fascinating charm! He had to get her into that cozy little maisonette, and exorcise for once and all the obsession that kept her in his mind against his will! He said abruptly, “It seems that you are forever creating problems in this household. I am of a mind to make other arrangements.” The girl received this quite unfair charge with suitable resentment. “Forever creating problems—! It is your wretched cousin who is creating all the problems, dangling after me whenever he can escape his Mama’s eagle eye, and then running tattling to you about a harmless game in the park.” Unfortunately, at this exact moment, Cozette recalled her own sudden qualm of apprehension as she saw how far away the youth had drawn Lex in their game. Because of this memory, she paused abruptly in her tirade and began to blush. To the man watching her, her behavior was the result of her awareness that the word “harmless” might not be completely true in connection with the goings-on in the park. Of course, being a very sophisticated man of the world, his mind immediately leaped to the conclusion that Cozette’s blushes were related to her own behavior or feelings toward the unknown man. He was enough in control of himself, however, to dismiss Cozette with cold civility, and the remark that he would consider the matter of her conduct with care, and inform her as to his decision about her trustworthiness as his nephew’s governess within the next few days.

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This sudden icy detachment chilled the girl, who had been secretly hoping that relations between herself and her handsome employer were improving. Bending her head with embarrassment at the implied rebuke, she went quietly out of the room. It seemed clear to her that the Earl was seriously considering dismissing her. Yet why should that action distress her so greatly? She had always known that her tenure here was a limited one. She had even planned to make it even shorter by slipping back to France, now that Lex was safe and her duty to King Louis finished. But was it? she asked herself. One way to be sure was to carry out the plan of attending the Prince of Wales’s masquerade ball, and asking him if he had received any notice of King Louis’s request for help. Setting her jaw firmly, Cozette decided to attend that ball, no matter what the difficulties. Once the decision had been made, Cozette found no difficulty in securing a costume. In fact, Milord’s spacious attic supplied an embarrassment of riches, so many lovely bejeweled dresses that the girl was enchanted at the treasures she uncovered. But at the back of her mind was a sort of nagging anxiety. Even with a mask, and one of the old-fashioned wigs she found in small boxes, she might be too easily recognized by the Earl or some member of his party if they ran across her, as well they might, at Carlton House. The Earl had seen her in the silk dress in which she delivered his nephew to him. He had also seen her, she reminded herself with an access of color to her cheeks, in very little, in the bed the following morning. No, she would have to have a less likely disguise than one of these charming gowns. What then? Could she go as a maidservant? Unthinkable! She would probably not be admitted in such plebeian disguise! Then as an animal? No way to secure such a costume. As a highwayman? An Oriental dancer? Again, no way to obtain the disguise. Cozette seated herself on a box in which someone had stored riding boots from several former males in the family. Her eye fell upon the trunk from which she and Martha had abstracted the riding habit of young Neville, the breeches and coat she had worn for the riding lessons with Hardy. At once an idea, born of an earlier speculation, flashed into her mind. A pirate, of course! There were boxes of plumes from hats and from formal costumes, one of which could be taken to add a touch of panache to an old hat. The breeches that still reposed at the back of her wardrobe, Neville’s jacket, one of his fine linen shirts, even his boots! She had worn them all; they fitted closely enough! Just an old hat to be embellished with a saucy plume, a mask for her face, which could be contrived out of black silk quite easily, and she was ready for her daring impersonation—and for her opportunity to speak to the Prince of Wales in his own home!

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Quickly the girl assembled the plume, the hat, and a broad scarlet sash that might give a needed dash to her costume. She looked rather longingly at a heavy sword Lex had discovered in a far corner, but regretfully rejected it. She had had no training in the portage or use of such a weapon, and might easily trip over it, or poke someone in the crowd—either of which eventualities would no doubt result in an instant unmasking and eviction from the ball! Chuckling at this picture, Cozette gathered up her booty and descended to the nursery.

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11 I

t was awkward and time-consuming, but not, in the end, impossible to persuade Hardy to let her mount the perch at the rear of Milord’s most luxurious carriage on the night of the ball. She had been forced in the end to confide enough details of her project to convince that forthright man of the necessity of her disguise if she were to be able to reach His Royal Highness long enough to make sure that he had received King Louis’s message. “I don’t like the sound of this,” Hardy objected. “If you’re discovered, it means trouble for all of us.” “But how is this? You do not think I should try to implicate you, or in fact anyone but myself?” protested the girl. Hardy shook his head. “I know you won’t, and you know you won’t, but His Lordship is a hard man to fool, Miss Coco.” All the stable hands had adopted Lex’s name for his governess, “Mademoiselle Cozette deLorme” being too large a mouthful for most of them. “Hardy, I must do this, before I return to France to see if—to see where my father is,” pleaded the girl. Hardy’s usually imperturbable countenance turned gray at the very thought of this lovely girl casting herself blindly into the tiger’s den after her

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almost miraculous escape with the Heir. Then he took a second, longer look into the determined small face; saw and saluted the courage and the love he found there. With a few unspoken reservations of his own, he agreed to help her with her harebrained scheme. It proved less difficult than he had feared. The girl, leaving Lex in Martha’s care, had slipped down to the stables immediately after the child was safely in bed. She carried her costume under a large black cloak. In the stable, carefully guarded by Hardy, she changed, and donned the mask and cloak over Neville’s riding habit. Hardy had to admit that the plume hat, worn with a rakish cock, was an effective addition to the pirate’s outfit. A reluctant grin forced itself to his lips as he watched Cozette swaggering about, getting the feel of her role. Young rascal! he thought. God grant she pulls off this mad, reckless scheme without getting herself into some sort of calamitous upheaval! He decided to accompany Tom Coachman on the box, and put his most trusted groom on the perch at the rear, beside the girl, with instructions to hold onto her if it looked as if she might fall off. In fact, the whole staff of stablemen were full of alarm over this tottyheaded fakery on the part of one for whom they all felt a great deal of respect as well as responsibility. Still, Old Hardy would keep an eye on her, and Blevin an arm ready to hold her onto the perch if she seemed likely to fall off. With considerable anxiety, they decided to wait up for the return of the coach from Carlton House. Cozette, jolting down the darkened streets beside Blevin, took her hat out from under her cloak and placed it carefully over the black silk scarf she had tied around her head in the stable before the carriage rumbled around to the front of Stone House. Hardy had put her on the side farthest from the house, so that the guests, hurrying into the carriage, had not noticed the slight figure beyond Blevin’s husky one. Now they were arriving at Pall Mall, the street in which the Prince’s mansion stood, its Corinthian columns highlighted by dozens of torches. The carriage drew up slowly before that imposing entrance, with the Earl’s coachman and Hardy shouting instructions and warnings to the throng of common folk who crowded the wide street, eager for a glimpse of the Nobs. Blevin dropped down as the vehicle came to a halt, and ran around to open the door and give a hand to the descending occupants. Milord alighted first, and also offered assistance to the Lady Henrietta, offering her his arm and leading her up to the massive, wide-open portals. The two Wantage men followed closely on the Earl’s heels. Cozette, clambering down in sprightly fashion from her uncomfortable perch, was thankful to have arrived without disaster at her destination. She hurried along behind the Earl’s party, pulling her mask up from under her chin and adjusting it over her face.

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“The Earl of Stone and party.” Milord offered his invitation to the Majordomo guarding the entrance to Carlton House. That worthy bowed, with a look that proclaimed that he had recognized the nobleman without the need for identification or invitation. It had been easy enough for Cozette to slip through the curious, pushing crowd. Since coaches were continually unloading masked and costumed guests, it was simple for the girl to ease herself into the stream of persons approaching the great portals of the Prince’s townhouse. She followed almost on the heels of Lord Hector and Henry; the Prince’s majordomo accepted her as a member of the Earl’s party, perhaps the young nephew there had been some talk of. He did not have time to scrutinize the slight figure, being already occupied with the next group of guests. Cozette was thankful that the Earl had such a commanding presence. It was easy to follow that distinguished and resplendent figure, as many admiring or envious eyes already were. Instead of powdering his hair, the Earl had donned the full-bottomed, flowing wig of black curls worn by his character, Charles II. At his wrists and throat were falls of lace. The short, beribboned breeches and trunk hose that displayed his powerful thighs and calves were copied after the Lely portrait of Charles, and on his head the Earl wore a hat with plumes. Cozette thought she had never beheld so splendid a nobleman. Like a sharp pang came the wish that she had been, in truth, one of his party, basking in the light of those silver eyes, feeling the warmth of that strong white hand around hers. She scarcely noticed the Wantages. Once inside, Cozette took a minute to observe the ornate splendor of the Prince’s residence while the Earl’s party moved ahead of her and out of sight amid the throng of guests. Already music was sounding from at least two orchestras. Thousands of candles illuminated a scene of almost barbaric richness. Plants, both real and artificial, flourished everywhere; fountains tinkled. It was a dazzling scene, with the press of fantastically dressed people, the flash of jewels, the babble of voices striving to be heard above their neighbors and the music, and the mingling of tropically warm air (the Prince had a morbid fear of chills) and the hundred different perfumes worn by the guests. Cozette exhaled sharply, gave her cloak to an attendant, and followed the crowd up the great staircase to the ballroom. The Prince of Wales was well known to have a shrewd eye for a pretty woman. In this characteristic he was like most of the male members of the Beau Monde. His tastes, however, usually ran toward florid, well-endowed females slightly older than himself. It is interesting, then, that his sharp and knowledgeable eye picked out from that enormous crush of exotically costumed guests one slim figure—almost a youth, one would say—dressed in the

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costume of a pirate. Running an admiring glance over the slender boy, Prince George suddenly grinned. He turned to his hovering Aide de Camp. “Toddy, bring that, er, pirate into the Blue Room in a few minutes, will you? Supply some cognac while you wait for me.” The Aide scrutinized the rather unimpressive figure of the pirate with disbelief. What would His Royal Highness want to do with—ah! “You think he is an interloper, Sir? An unauthorized guest?” The Prince winked. “I think she is a very unlikely pirate. Fifteen minutes, Toddy!” So it was that Cozette found herself neatly caught up by a stout, middle-aged gentleman dressed as a Colonel, and very discreetly conducted to an intimate and overfurnished salon at some distance from the ballroom. She was not stupid; it immediately occurred to her that her disguise had been penetrated. She steeled herself for questioning. She dared not mention the Earl unless they threatened to put her in gaol. Could she request to speak to the Prince? Dared she mention King Louis? They would consider her deranged, and send her to Bedlam! However, instead of the sharp challenges she expected, her urbane guard merely invited her to remove her mask and enjoy a glass of brandy. “The King!” proposed her captor, forcing her to drink, since any guest in England must honor such a toast. She sipped again. “The Prince of Wales!” The corpulent Colonel raised his glass again. This was duly honored. Cozette began to feel an exhilarating warmth. How Papa would have loved this fine cognac! “To your health, young sir!” was the next toast, which must, of course, be reciprocated. “To yours, sir!” agreed Cozette, draining the glass. After which she suddenly felt a need to sit down. At that moment the door opened, and a gorgeously dressed gentleman entered the salon. He was not in masquerade costume, Cozette decided, although his ostentatious finery merited the description. He looks, thought Cozette, like someone masquerading as a Prince. She took another look through the rosy haze induced by the cognac. It was George, Prince of Wales! A smile of such delight flowered on Cozette’s enchanting little face that the Prince felt quite a surge of the emotion by which he was so often overcome. He strode forward, one hand outstretched, his face wreathed in smiles. Cozette, endeavoring to stay in character, bowed deeply and bent over the royal hand, doffing her plumed hat. “Your Highness,” she murmured, deep-voiced. George laughed with pleasure at the performance, and directed his Aide out of the room. This promised well! A delightful interlude, and perhaps even a closer connection if the girl pleased him tonight!

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“Shall we sit down, my dear?” the Prince suggested, taking Cozette’s arm with one large, plump hand and pressing it against him. The girl’s gaze flew to his face. So he knew, then! The look on that flushed, still handsome countenance startled her. He knew—and he enjoyed the role he obviously had decided she was trying to play. Best to set him straight before he said something that would later embarrass him and put paid to her hopes for his help. Cozette said in an ardent, low voice, “Your Highness, this is greater kindness on your part than I had dared hope for! I have a message of supreme importance for the Prince of Wales from King Louis of France! He well knows your gallantry, Sir, and your generosity and warm sympathy for a fellow member of a royal house.” Cozette paused, warned by the wary look that was replacing the open sensuality on the Prince’s face. “Just who are you? And how did you get into Carlton House?” he asked, seating himself near but not too close. It was evident that he did not quite wish to relinquish the hopes stirred in him by Cozette’s masquerade. “Better tell me quickly what you’re up to, little actress! I have guests waiting for me!” Whom you were quite willing to ignore when you thought you had a chance of a little dalliance! thought Cozette unkindly. However, she briefly recounted the reason for her hurried flight from Paris, explaining about the message she had given to the Prime Minister; her determination that one, at least, of the Royal Family should know that the King of France pleaded for asylum in England with his family. George frowned, but not, she was glad to observe, at her daring in thrusting herself into his presence. It was clear that the Prince was entertained by the thought of secret messages and desperate flights, and naively disappointed that her daring attempt had come to so little. “Pitt is my father’s man,” he said, a little indiscreetly. “And all the Tories are a slow, dull, hidebound lot! When I am king—!” “You will be a splendid ruler!” encouraged Cozette. The Prince nodded slowly, his eyes warm on her face. As she observed the ardency of his gaze, Cozette tried to avoid the proposal he was clearly about to make to her. “I know that your guests await you, Sir, and that I must no longer trespass upon that kindness which has permitted me to make my plea. Perhaps if we might talk again, perhaps tomorrow?” As soon as the words had left her lips, she regretted them, the interest and speculation in the Prince’s expression telling her just how he was interpreting her request.

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Before she could remedy the damage, he was saying, with an ardent look, “But of course we must meet, my dear! Before supper, there will be a general unmasking—so awkward to eat with the face swathed, is it not? I shall have your supper served here, and will come to join you when I have done my duty by my guests. Is not that an excellent plan? You can give me all the details of your quest, and perhaps seek to persuade me to help your monarch?” He patted her shoulder benevolently, although the smile on his face was far from the paternal goodwill he was trying to project. Heart sinking, Cozette was forced to say all that was proper, and, in her apprehension, forgot the role she had assigned herself, and curtsied to the Prince as he rose to leave. His Highness chuckled at the sight, gave her a wicked grin, and went out of the room, closing the door after him. Cozette could hear his low-voiced comments to someone who stood outside the door; then there was silence. Cozette sat down again. Quelle bêtise! Or, as her hosts would probably say, A fine kettle of fish! How was she to divert the amorous Prince long enough to get the urgency of her message to him? She began to think that the Earl had been right when he discouraged her plan to speak to the Prince. She rose and wandered over to one of several large mirrors adorning the silk-covered walls of the salon. Minus the hat and her mask, she looked strangely unlike the serious daughter of a scholar whose image she was accustomed to behold. In fact, Cozette thought with a naughty smile, she looked very much like the creature Prince George suspected her of being: rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed, with her lovely masses of hair tumbling over her shoulders in provocative disarray. And the breeches! Damning! Impossible to explain away! What, she thought almost hysterically, would the Earl say to those, after his express command that she not be seen in them again? The door opened. Startled, she whirled around. It was an imperturbable footman, bearing a heavily laden tray. Silently he put it down upon one of the numerous tables in the room, edging it on with care for the bric-a-brac that cluttered it. In charity, the girl sprang forward and removed the larger pieces to give him room. The servant bowed and prepared to leave the salon as silently as he had entered. As he approached the open door, Cozette walked over to seat herself at the table and begin her supper. She heard an inarticulate sound and glanced up. Staring in at her, eyes wide with shock and condemnation, stood Lady Henrietta. The footman passed through the doorway. Lady Henrietta stepped back. The door was closed.

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ady Henrietta had not been enjoying the Prince’s ball. Her costume represented the glorious Queen Elizabeth, but Lady Wantage had neither the presence nor the spirit to carry it off. Lord Hector had disappeared into the cardroom within five minutes of their arrival. Henry, quite ignoring his Mama, had engaged himself to dance every dance, while the Earl, after a single duty dance with her, had vanished into the crowd. Lady Henrietta could not discover any of the few cronies she had in London; no one sought her out. Feeling bitter and resentful at the desertion of those whose duty it should have been to attend her, Lady Henrietta was standing near the wall, glaring about her, when her eye was caught by the sight of the Prince of Wales, who, as host, was not wearing a mask. He was in conversation with the stout army officer who had announced himself as the Prince’s Aide de Camp before he presented them to his royal master in the reception line. As she watched the two in close converse, Lady Henrietta observed the officer nodding and bowing, and then hurrying into the throng of dancers as though in search of someone. Being disgruntled as well as unescorted, Lady Henrietta continued to watch the Colonel. Very shortly, she was gratified to behold him approaching

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her, with a slender youth dressed as a pirate in tow. He led this young man out of the ballroom. Her Ladyship wondered what such a plainly dressed youth was doing at Carlton House, and kept her eyes on the ill-assorted pair. There was something about the way the young man walked . . . Just then, Cozette lifted her face to reply to some remark of the Colonel’s. Lady Henrietta drew in her breath sharply. Where had she seen just that piquant face? Could it be . . .? Without pausing to consider that it was none of her business, she followed the two out of the ballroom and along the wide, crowded hallway. She caught a glimpse of the two entering a doorway, and marked it carefully. The door closed firmly after them. Curiosity frustrated, Lady Henrietta prepared to return to the ballroom. That prospect was so bleak that she hesitated, then found a seat in an alcove screened by several flowering bushes set in metal pots. Anything was better, she told herself, than returning to the crowded room where she was forced to sit by the wall and watch other women dancing! After a quarter of an hour, her patience was rewarded by the sight of the Prince of Wales himself entering the room, almost immediately followed by the exit therefrom of the stout soldier. Lady Henrietta, suspicious and on the alert, asked herself if the Prince would carry on a lewd assignation in his own home during a ball? She decided to wait for him to emerge, no matter how long it took. She just had to have another look at that slight figure that had so haunting a resemblance to the Heir’s governess! The Prince’s departure, disappointingly oversoon, followed almost immediately by the announcement that supper was being served, finally dislodged Lady Henrietta from her spy-post. She went into the room in search of Lord Hector, drew a blank, and proceeded unescorted to the supper room, where a monstrous buffet had been set along two walls, and dozens of small tables were set out with napery, silver, and flowers. These were rapidly filling with guests. Where were Hector and Henry? Where was the Earl? In a fury of resentment, Lady Henrietta resolved that someone would pay! But there must be evidence—facts that could not be lightly dismissed or glossed over! She hurried back to the alcove where she had previously kept watch over the French governess’s tryst with the Prince. Whatever the little slut was up to, Henrietta Wantage would discover it! She was hardly ensconced in her spying covert, when a footman approached bearing a laden tray. He entered, but left the door slightly ajar behind him. Avid to behold again the slender, shamefully clad figure, Henrietta pressed forward across the now-empty corridor and peered into the room. With a gasp, she realized that she had found her evidence.

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Now to find the Earl! She caught him just as he was about to enter the supper room. He was alone, but she would have dragged him away had he been in the company of one of Society’s great leaders. She grasped his arm and hissed, “Did you know, Cousin Alexander, that your nephew’s precious French governess is disporting herself here tonight with the Prince?” She laughed harshly. “She is dressed as a pirate!”

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en minutes earlier, His Royal Highness had entered the Blue Salon. He had hardly waited to taste the lavish offerings his chefs had provided for his guests. The little French girl fascinated him, stimulating all his romantic tendencies. At this moment he did not really care whether she was the emissary of the beleaguered French King or not. As he entered the salon, he saw that his guest had just finished what appeared to have been a large supper. A good appetite, then. That augured well! He advanced toward her, his expression already openly amorous. Cozette was prepared. She rose at once and curtsied in the proper form to salute a Prince of the Blood Royal. The combination of her piratical costume and the deep, formal, feminine obeisance startled His Highness into a grin. “Ma’am’selle deLorme, you must stay in character! That curtsy doesn’t at all fit your costume, you know!” he was surprised into remarking. Cozette grinned back at him like an urchin. She sketched a finicking masculine bow, and said, deep-voiced, “Vive le Prince! Bless your Royal Highness for your concern for King Louis and his family!”

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The elevated note of this speech rather put a damper upon the Prince’s erotic mood. Never really confident when it came to his relations with women, he usually preferred maternal, placidly good-humored females who were prepared to accept him with gratitude and let him set the pace of the affair. This little charmer, more boy than girl, did nothing to stimulate passion. The reverse. The Prince regarded her doubtfully. Then he shrugged and said, with a very different smile, “My dear child, you have set me an impossible task! Exactly what did you think I could do for your King, if William Pitt is in charge?” “William Pitt is ignoring the whole matter,” said Cozette resentfully. “It is obvious he has no sense of concern for the House of Bourbon!” The Prince nodded grimly. “He concerns himself only with England’s good, and my father’s wishes. Pitt is probably convinced that nothing less than a full-scale invasion of France would be required to get your King and his family out of the Tuileries. Have you any idea how long it would take a British army to march to Paris? And what do you think would be happening to Louis and his family while that was going on?” Cozette, white-faced and suddenly sobered, stared up into the florid, handsome face. “The Revolutionaries would remove them to some secret place?” she faltered. “More likely they would guillotine them all at once,” the Prince told her cruelly. “Such an invasion as you ask for could sign their death warrants.” Cozette tried her last hope. “Could Your Highness arrange to get them out secretly, as I escaped?” she pleaded. The Prince frowned at such naiveté. “Such a clandestine escape of the whole Royal Family would be impossible, I am afraid. So many of them! And none of them accustomed to such stratagems and desperate expedients as you used, my dear, in your daring escape. Can you imagine Louis bedding in a barn with a ferret?” Especially, the Prince thought with a private grin, since he would probably demand that his wardrobe and his current mistress be brought along! However, he did not share this jest with the French girl. Her downcast expression touched his shallow, easily aroused pity, and he said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “There now, my dear girl! Do not look so dejected! These are weighty matters, you know! Beyond your touch—or mine, at the moment,” he added resentfully. Would he never have the freedom and the rights proper to his station? How long would that mad old man keep him in leading strings? He dredged up a benevolent smile, anxious now to be rid of the girl. “I promise I’ll send a message to Pitt tomorrow, urging him to do his best for you and your King.” Appalled at her new understanding of the King’s situation and her own powerlessness to aid him, Cozette was still deeply grateful for even this much

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reassurance from the Prince after the grim comments he had made. Impulsively, she rose up on tiptoe and placed a kiss of thanks upon the florid, scented cheek. The Prince, startled but willing, clasped her to him and returned the salute heartily on her pretty mouth. The door opened. “Your Royal Highness!” said the Earl of Stone. “We beg to extend our thanks for your kindness to Mademoiselle deLorme, and are ready to escort her home.” With more relief than embarrassment, the Prince gave the little troublemaker into their care. Lady Henrietta scarcely waited until they were out in the hallway before sneering at the girl. “A good thing Stone arrived when he did! His Highness would have had you—” “Be silent!” interrupted the Earl in a low voice of such intense rage as to subdue even Lady Henrietta. With hands deliberately rough he pulled her mask up over Cozette’s face, and thrust his own Cavalier’s hat down on top of her riotous curls. He led the two women through the chattering, occasionally curious groups of guests, and instructed a footman to have his carriage brought round at once. Commanding the women to remain silent, he secured his own cape and Lady Henrietta’s from one of the maids. By the time this had been accomplished, the carriage was outside the door. Grimly, he led the women to it and thrust them inside, with more force than grace. “Lord Hector! And Henry!” protested Lady Henrietta. “I’ll send the carriage back for them,” the Earl ground out. “If I know them, they’ll neither of them give a thought for anything but their own pleasure until the ball is over.” Quelled at last, his aunt sank back into her corner of the luxurious vehicle, glaring in front of her. An ominous silence reigned for the rest of the trip. When they were all standing once more in the gracious front hall of the Earl’s townhouse, Lady Henrietta turned upon the girl, obviously ready to flay her verbally for the fiasco at the Prince’s ball. Before the indignant dame could get a word out, however, the Earl turned to her sternly. “You will retire to your apartments, Milady, if you please. I shall have someone bring you a cup tea. Good night!” Even so hardened a campaigner as Lady Henrietta could not prevail against so much icy fury. Casting a repulsive look at the girl, she flounced up the wide stairway to her room. The Earl turned to Cozette. “My study,” he said between set teeth. Without a word, Cozette preceded him to that room.

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Once inside, the Earl closed the door with menacing softness. His very self-control alarmed the girl. He seated himself behind his desk and, for the first time since the encounter in the Blue Salon, stared directly into her face. Since he had not invited her to be seated, Cozette stood before him, her hands clasped meekly in front of her, his Cavalier’s hat still riding gallantly atop her curls. “Take off that mask and that absurd hat!” the Earl commanded. Cozette had an impulse to remind him that he himself had placed both objects upon her, but she had the wit to remain silent. Quickly she removed the offending objects. “And now, my devious little adventuress,” snarled the Earl, “you will tell me the exact meaning of tonight’s unsavory exhibition. Had you hoped to make yourself available to Prinny?” Cozette’s fine amber eyes began to sparkle with anger. “How dare you speak to me so? I was appealing to His Highness on behalf of my King, since your stupid Mr. Pitt refused to help me!” The Earl sneered, his black brows lifted with blatant incredulity. “‘Appealing to His Highness’? Well, that’s one way of saying it! You had your arms around his neck, kissing him, when we entered! If we had been ten minutes later, I wonder what we would have seen?” He paused, as much struck by his own sense of the unworthiness of that thrust as by the sudden whiteness of the girl’s face. “His Highness had just finished saying that he would send a message to Mr. Pitt tomorrow, to urge him to do all he could for King Louis and his family.” Her voice had a leaden quality to it the Earl had not heard in it before. “I was so relieved that I . . . I tried to express my gratitude.” Cozette could not bring herself to answer his other accusation. It was clear to her now exactly what the Earl thought of her. She lifted her head and faced him bravely, the amber eyes dull. “I shall of course leave your employ tomorrow. Unless you would wish me to go tonight?” There was a suddenly arrested look, a blankness, in the Earl’s expression. Slowly his silver eyes narrowed and darkened. A line of white appeared around his mouth and on the flare of his nostrils. Striking and distinguished he had been in the rich ornateness of his Cavalier’s costume; he was now, in this dramatic flaring of anger, the most splendid male creature Cozette had ever beheld. She felt herself trembling, spellbound by the man’s overwhelming presence. Under her fascinated gaze, his mouth formed words that flayed her with his icy contempt. “How often am I to be forced to listen to your whining attempts to get out of your obligations? To deny your given word?” His gaze moved over her figure and rested on her white face. “Is that what you are telling me? That your

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word means nothing? Your freely given pledge is worthless?” He got up, moved around the desk toward her. Confused, unhappy, Cozette could only shake her head silently. She would never understand this huge male creature: his fiery anger pent with iron control under a facade of icy hauteur! “If you think I am so despicable,” she whispered finally, “why do you wish me to remain in your household, Milord?” There was the smallest relaxation of the tautness that had held the Earl’s body rigid. His eyelids drooped insolently over the silver eyes, and he tilted his dark head so as to stare down his aristocratic nose at Cozette’s small, defiant figure. She was not to know how much he resented her power to destroy his carefully drilled imperturbability. A gentleman must never show emotion. His father had so instructed him; his tutor and later his schoolmasters had drilled the rule into the very fiber of his body. Yet here was this little French female, a servant in his house, who had the diabolical ability to ruffle and enrage him—worse, to make him want to laugh at times—at things she said and did. A thorn in his flesh! And now she had the impertinence to demand why he wanted her to remain in his household! If only he knew, himself! He set his jaw. “A good question,” he managed an admirable coolness. “Since I am compelled to accept you for Lex’s sake. You already knew the answer, did you not?” The lovely little countenance was alight with anger now. “I shall answer you, Milord! You keep me here to punish me!” The Earl caught a breath, but his voice, when he spoke, was calm. “And why should I wish to punish one hysterical female? Do you suggest that you matter to me, Miss deLorme?” Now why the devil had he said that? he fumed at himself. The girl flamed at him. “‘Hysterical’?” she hissed, coming an incautious step closer in her rage. “I am alive, Milord: concerned and compassionate for that small boy who must spend his life under your iron discipline! I love the child! You don’t know the meaning of the word, you cold-hearted, sneering monster!” It was too much. The Earl’s arms shot out and grasped the maddening woman, jerked her toward his body with an urgency so compelling that he knocked the breath from her lungs. “So I do not know the meaning of the word love? Well, perhaps I had better show you exactly what it means! I think I am as well qualified as Prinny!” He glared down into the small countenance so close to his, a beautiful face in which fury and alarm battled for supremacy. The rosy lips parted with unconscious seduction. “You would not dare! In your own home, Milord!” “It is time,” said the Earl grimly, “that we had this out, Mademoiselle! You have been flouting and infuriating me ever since you arrived in this house! You

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speak to me as no servant, no other adult has ever dared to do! It is past time I showed you who is master here!” “I told you so!” cried out the warm and vibrant little creature in his arms. This remark gave him momentary pause. “You told me—?” “I told you you kept me here only to punish me!” Cozette repeated. “Because you wish to possess me, and hate yourself for such a weakness toward one far beneath you in the social order.” Her voice faded to a whisper with the last few words, as she caught full sight of the expression on the Earl’s face. He was staring at her like a man who has had a fatal blow. His eyes again showed the shocked blankness, the inward-turning, that she had noted once earlier when she had offered to leave his house at once. Although his arms were still painfully tight about her, Cozette could tell that his mind was far from the present situation. After a painful pause, he released her and moved back behind his desk. Still standing, he gave her an enigmatic look. The habitual imperturbability was once more back in his expression. “It is obvious, Miss deLorme, that I must take steps to end this constant emotional upheaval. It is time I sent you down to Stone Castle with my nephew. In such a setting, you will be less likely to give way to, ah, feminine instability and vaporings.” He regarded her outraged countenance with some satisfaction, as he waited for her response to this telling blow. Cozette found herself quite unable to speak. Surely, she told herself, this is the best solution to the problem of Lex? To have him away from the stresses of London, free to roam the open fields, ride his pony, enjoy pets. . . . And your own needs? some portion of her mind challenged. What of your quest for your father? What of your feeling for this arrogant and hateful man who disposes of your life so complacently? Yet she had given her word to stay with Lex. The Earl was justified in feeling scorn for her shillyshallying behavior. But, oh, mon père—! Wordlessly she wrung her hands. Something of the distress she was feeling must have gotten through to His Lordship. With a sudden contraction of the black eyebrows, he scanned her white countenance. “What is it? What is wrong now?” he asked almost grudgingly. And then, cautiously, “Is there someone you regret leaving here in London?” Cozette faced him bravely. “I had hoped to return to Paris.” The Earl’s frown darkened. “You left someone there? But you told me—” “My father,” said Cozette, bitter with self-reproach. “I should never have agreed to stay on in England! I should have left the boy with you, and gone back at once.” “Are you insane? Return to that madhouse, that abattoir? You gave me to understand that your father had been arrested and brought to trial for aiding les aristos! You cannot believe he is still alive?”

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The girl clutched at the back of a chair to steady herself. The Earl, damning himself for an insensitive brute, rose and went to her side at once. She held him off with an imperious stare. “You are correct to remind me that my hopes are foolish beyond permission, Milord! No one but a—an unstable female would continue to cherish hope under such circumstances. Very well, sir, I shall be ready to accompany your nephew to your castle tomorrow, if that is your wish. May I be dismissed now, Milord?” Silently, the Earl went before her to hold open the door. Silently, he watched her small, erect figure as it moved past him into the hall. While he was painfully aware of the look of hopeless grief upon the girl’s face, she herself did not see the bitter self-condemnation upon the man’s countenance.

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14 A

fter a sleepless night, during which Cozette was not sure whether her tears were for her father or for herself, the girl rose, heavyeyed. Taking a quick glance in the mirror above her commode, she squared her shoulders and rallied her spirits. This was no way for the daughter of Professor deLorme to conduct herself among the English! For Papa’s sake, she must present an air of control and selfrestraint, that very imperturbability that seemed to be the Earl’s own goal and most respected trait. So it was a white-faced, heavy-eyed, yet impassive young woman who, upon the summons of his uncle, brought her small charge down the great front stairway at Stone House the following morning. The Earl was waiting to receive them in his study, to Cozette’s dismay. She had hoped to leave this place of torment without another interview with her employer, but something in his cold, closed expression made her aware that he had further instructions for her. Rather to her surprise, he took Lex up in his arms and kissed the solemn little boy on both cheeks. “I wish you were coming with us, mon oncle,” said the boy in a small voice.

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The Earl forced a smile. “But I am, mon brave. In a few days, when you and . . . Coco are settled and working hard!” The man uttered the words with mock fierceness, and the child giggled happily. “Oh, we shall work hard!” he repeated cheerfully. “Coco tells me Hardy is coming down with our horses. I shall really have a chance to ride in the country!” Looking much happier, the child went to Cozette when his uncle put him down. The girl took his hand. “You have instructions for me?” she asked. Her voice held that dead note which the Earl had heard in it last night for the first time. Her face was pale and haggard. She was too quiet. His eyes narrowed as he scanned her critically. “Are you ill?” he asked abruptly. She shook her head in silence. “Something is wrong,” he muttered, dissatisfied. “Your instructions?” the stubborn female persisted. The Earl grimaced. “Evan and Martha are to accompany you, with four outriders for your protection—for my nephew’s protection,” he substituted as he caught her frown. “There are staff already at the castle. It is not Paris, but you should be comfortable enough.” This was absurd! Why was he explaining and excusing as though he were banishing her to some dreadful prison? “Hardy will follow with Lex’s mare and your own. I have sent a groom ahead with instructions to reserve rooms and supper at the Crossed Swords Inn, to break the journey for Lex’s comfort. And here.” He held out a small leather sack. “Funds for you and the boy. There may be something you wish to purchase.” Even this generous gesture did not bring any brightness to the small pale face. What did the woman want? Could it be she regretted leaving him? The thought sent a sudden warmth through his body, which startled him. Feeling unexpectedly cheerful, he smiled at Lex. “Be prepared to give an account of yourself, Alexander! I shall expect to find you much improved in all subjects when I arrive at the castle!” “Come soon, mon oncle!” coaxed the boy, chuckling happily. The Earl glanced at Cozette. Why wasn’t she responding to his attempts to show friendliness? Wretched female! Was there no pleasing her? He’d even had Jille put in the carriage in her basket as a surprise. He led the way out into the hall, where all the servants were assembled to bid farewell and safe arrival to the Heir. Dibble even condescended to wish Miss deLorme a pleasant journey. She thanked him quietly, said “Adieu,” to Chef Pierre, accepted a small bouquet he offered her, and followed the boy out to the carriage. The Earl, refusing to be part of any maudlin leave-takings, returned to his study while the party was still preparing to set out. Why hadn’t he thought to give her

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flowers? was his chief concern—until he realized furiously just how absurd that idea was. As the carriage drove off, Cozette allowed herself to relax the rigid control she had been keeping over her volatile emotions. How she would have loved to have wept! Even perhaps reached up and placed a kiss upon those beautifully chiseled lips! Urged the Earl to come to his Castle with all haste; that the minutes would be days and the days endless until she saw him again. But that would have loosed upon her one of his chilling glances, showing all too plainly his contempt for her “hysteria.” Lex’s hand on her arm, urging her to welcome Jille, whom he had just discovered, made her wish to weep, but she controlled herself for the child’s sake and watched them play until the ferret, fed, went to sleep. Thereafter Cozette, brought back to a sense of her obligations, joined the boy as he leaned out the carriage window observing the strange or interesting sights as they passed through the great city. Dutifully, she peered out the window beside him, asking Martha to identify and explain about whatever it was that interested him. Gradually she was able to restore the tone of her mind, to conquer the ridiculous grief she felt at being forced to leave the man who had nothing but scorn for her. As the day wore on, her spirits rose under the combined charm and affection of Lex and Martha. It also became clear that the Earl had made careful arrangements for their comfort. There was the tasty luncheon at a charming inn; and before Lex could become too weary of the confinement of the luxurious carriage, they found themselves stopping for dinner and the night at a splendid hostelry whose host was abustle to please them. Martha was so enraptured with the lavish attention to their comfort that she declared she hoped they would never reach the Castle! Prophetic words! The following morning, Cozette had them all up betimes, and on their way after a hearty breakfast. She wished to arrive at the Castle in broad daylight, so that Lex would not be frightened by what would necessarily be a strange and possibly overpowering dwelling—dark, gloomy, and cold. In point of fact, however, Lex was so eager to behold a real castle that he could hardly wait to get there. He told Martha that his uncle had informed him the Castle had been in his father’s family for over two hundred years, and had originally been built under license from a king in the fourteenth century, to defend England’s shores from the encroaching French. This was said with such a mischievous twinkle at Cozette that both girls laughed heartily. Lex chuckled too, pleased at his attempt to tease Coco. He kept talking about the Castle, asking questions neither Cozette nor Martha could answer. Obviously regarding their failure as something to be

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pitied rather than censured, he consoled them with the thought that someone would surely know when they got there. Then he turned his wide, guileless eyes upon his governess. “What shall we play, Coco?” he coaxed. Suppressing her own unhappiness and anxieties, Cozette suggested a game they had occasionally played in those tense days of their flight through France. “Do you remember when we looked around for anything exciting we could see, and challenged one another to discover what it was?” she asked the boy. She had used it to explain her own constant vigilance while they rested, huddled together under a hedge or in a barn or even a cave or deadfall of trees. “‘Hy spy with my little eye/Something that begins with . . .’” quoted Lex. “That’s the one!” Cozette praised him. “We played it so I might surprise mon oncle with my good spelling of English,” the boy boasted to Martha, enjoying her amazement and admiration. “Let us hope you have not forgotten,” teased Cozette. “Come now, little English scholar, you begin!” There ensued an hilarious hour during which Martha and Lex, novice spellers both, proposed and defended some outrageous “words,” being frequently reduced to pointing to the mysterious object to identify it. The time sped by very pleasantly. None of them noticed when the carriage left the main highway and proceeded down a much-less-traveled road toward the sea. They were alerted to the fact that there was a problem when the carriage lurched to a halt halfway through a thick wood. Craning out one window, Lex informed them that a huge tree had apparently fallen across the road. The outriders had dismounted, and were endeavoring to wrestle the enormous obstruction out of the way. It seemed beyond their strength. After a good deal of shouting and an acrimonious exchange between the coachman and one of the outriders, the former got ponderously down from his perch and stamped over to view the obstacle at close range, accompanied by all the grooms except the one who was supposed to be holding the horses for the outriders. It later became clear that he had indeed been faithful to his task—until some dastardly fellow crept up behind him and dealt him a vicious blow upon the head, thus rendering him temporarily hors de combat. The first the women in the carriage knew of the attack, however, was when a masked figure appeared at each door of the coach, flourishing a large pistol. “You will all keep quiet or the boy will die,” stated one of the ruffians, opening the door and making a long arm to drag Lex out onto his saddle. Martha, mouth opening to utter a scream, shut it promptly and scrambled after Lex. The abductor struck her sharply with his pistol butt, and she collapsed onto the floor.

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Cozette took advantage of the fact that the man leaning in at her window had his gaze fixed on Martha. She seized his pistol in both hands, pointing it away from the maid and trying to wrest it from him. As they struggled for it, it went off. The horses reared. There were shouts of alarm from the outriders, attracted by the noise of the shot. Then Cozette heard the thud of galloping hooves back along the way they had come, as the abductor escaped with Lex. The second ruffian vanished from the window. Almost without thinking, Cozette wrenched open the door and jumped down from the carriage after him. She caught a flying glimpse of a scene of confusion. Grooms were racing toward the carriage. The horses, alarmed by the pistol shot and the shouting, were rearing and neighing. Tom Coachman stood staring back along the road after the fleeing abductors, his mouth open. The second ruffian was rapidly mounting his own horse. Cozette ran to the outriders’ horses and clambered up onto the saddle of the least nervous. This would be a different game than the decorous canter in the park under Hardy’s benevolent supervision, but she must do it! As she pulled at the reins to turn the horse’s head in the desired direction, Cozette was shocked to discover that the first abductor, the one who had taken Lex, was already out of sight around a distant bend in the road. Still, the other villain would know where his confederate was headed, and could lead her to their rendezvous. Could. But would he? He was riding flat out, drawing away from her rapidly. Not surprising, since the horse Cozette had mounted, a well-trained and amiable beast, was aware of her ineptness and seemed hesitant to gallop lest he dislodge his rider. On her part, the girl was too anxious about Lex to consider her own rather precarious situation. At this point the second ruffian, made aware of her pursuit by the sound of hooves on the road, glanced over his shoulder, saw her and, turning slightly, fired back at her. If the shot was intended as a deterrent, it failed. Cozette, who had mounted astride, kicked her heels into the horse’s flanks. “Allons, mon brave!” she cried out to encourage her steed. The horse responded well, but the abductors had too great a lead. As Cozette rounded the bend, it was to see the second horseman disappear into the wood that bordered the road. Of the first rider there was no sign. Reining in her mount, Cozette frantically evaluated the situation. She had no guarantee that Lex and his captor had in fact gone into the woods. A second turn in the road one hundred yards ahead could conceal him. The man she followed could have been creating a diversion to lead her off the trail, allowing his companion to escape. Also, in the wood the possibilities of

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ambush were too great. As he sat there, anxiously debating her next move, she heard the rapid drumming of hooves advancing toward her. Then around the bend of the road ahead appeared a horse and rider. Cozette’s eyes widened in disbelief—and then pure joy. The magnificent figure on the great gray stallion was the Earl! Prodding her horse, she cantered to meet him. “À point nommé!” she cried. “In the nick of time! Did you see them, Milord? Did they pass you on the road?” The Earl drew up and stared askance at her disheveled appearance, the length of shapely leg displayed as she sat astride the horse causing his heavy black brows to rise. “What hoyden romp is this, Miss deLorme? Where is the carriage?” “They have taken Lex!” she gasped, impatient of such pompous strictures. “If they did not pass you on the road, then the first one must have taken him into the forest here!” She indicated the narrow opening between the trees, scarcely more than a footpath, that led off the road. Awkwardly, she began to try to turn her horse. “Oh, do hurry!” she cried. “They have such a start on us!” The Earl reached out and caught her bridle. “You will calm yourself, Ma’am’selle!” he demanded. “What is this hysterical nonsense? Where is the carriage?” Cozette glared at him. “You would seek to present your phlegmatic English front at such a time as this? When your nephew has been abducted? M’sieur, I cannot stay to argue with you! Every minute which passes allows those scélérats to remove themselves and the boy farther!” In her anxiety, she had become very Gallic in phraseology. The Earl leaned down and seized her wrist in a crushing grip. “Answer me! What is the meaning of this absurd performance? Where is the carriage?” His question was answered by the thunderous approach of three outriders, who charged around the bend at this moment, followed almost immediately by the Earl’s carriage. Upon beholding their master, the grooms pulled up and tried to babble excuses for losing the Heir. The Earl’s expression became very grim indeed. It darkened further as he listened to the tale of the fallen tree and the abduction. Martha, white-faced and weeping, thrust her head out of the carriage window and added her voice to the uproar. “Oh, Your Lordship! They got the boy! Hit me over the head, he did, that black-hearted villain!” The Earl called for silence, and, amazingly, got it. “What did they look like?” Everyone looked at the two women. After all, they had had the best chance to view the kidnappers. Martha wailed, “They had masks, Your Lordship! And guns!”

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“Pistols,” said Cozette gently. “The one I grappled with had scarred hands and smelt of fish.” The Earl cast her a scornful look. “Were they tall, short, thin, heavyset?” he demanded. “Heavyset,” agreed Cozette. “His skin was dark brown, as though he had spent his time outdoors in the sun and wind.” The Earl, suddenly aware that the girl had described a fisherman, looked on her more kindly. “Which way did they go?” None of the others had any inkling, since only Cozette had had the quickness of wit and opportunity to follow the second abductor closely. She was feeling depressed at Milord’s coldly dismissive attitude toward herself, but personal hurts must not be permitted to delay the search for Lex. She spoke clearly. “I did not see the first man. He was too far ahead of me. The second man rode down that path, sir. I tried to—” “Enough! Evan, you, Tom, and Donal shall come with me. You have your pistols?” The outriders nodded. “Good! The rest of you go ahead to the Castle and await me there. Miss deLorme, you will inform my factor of all that has happened, and tell him I wish the total male staff to be prepared to follow me as soon as I return. Meanwhile, have him list the names of inns and taverns in the area, especially those for dubious customers. That is all!” “That is all?” the girl asked herself. He intends me to go meekly to the Castle and leave Lex in the hands of those barbarians? She stared longingly—and resentfully—at the five men as they conferred briefly and then split into two groups. The Earl and Evan set off along the path, riding quickly but alertly; the other three galloped their horses back along the road toward the highway. “Where are they off to?” fumed Cozette. “The rogues could not have gone that way! His Lordship would have encountered them!” “His Lordship is downy cove,” pronounced Coachman. “E’s remembered w’ere that ‘ere path comres out, an’ ‘e’s likely gonna try to ‘ead off them rum coves at the other end o’ that path.” Moving the tree with their reduced manpower, and with no tools available, was judged to be an impossibility. The coachman drove to the highway to take another route to the castle. Cozette had already given a single look at Martha’s devastated face and taken the still weeping maid in her arms. She said gently, “My dear child, no one could possibly blame you for this disaster. As well blame the Earl for sending us to the Castle in the first place! How could anyone guess these creatures would have so vicious a plan? The fallen tree that halted us was their work, I am sure!”

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“I let him take the child,” grieved Martha. “Hush, little friend,” urged Cozette. “The Earl is after them with four strong men. They will bring Lex safely home.” Unfortunately, this hopeful promise was not fulfilled. When the carriage rumbled across the drawbridge, through the twelve-foot-long stone passageway in the castle wall, and into the huge cobbled courtyard, the servants who waited to welcome the Heir had had no word either of the abduction or the progress of the search. Cozette hardly had time to observe her surroundings, but she knew with a quick pang that little Lex would have loved the moat, and the drawbridge, and even the smallish rooms built in the hollow square of the ancient castle. Within the cold walls, however, the most modern luxuries were to be found. Stone walls were draped and warmed with colorful tapestries and velvet hangings. Floors were covered with thick carpets. There was even a fur cover upon the beds assigned to the Heir and his governess. Lex’s room was an imposing one, as befitted the Earl’s nephew, but the adjoining room, which the factor, a tall, bluff man named Clonmel, showed her into, was furnished with every comfort and convenience she had enjoyed at the townhouse. Clonmel said harshly, “I brought you here myself so that you might give me Milord’s orders at once, ma’am.” Cozette repeated the Earl’s instructions. With a nod, the factor stode away to carry them out. Within a few minutes, a groom brought up Cozette’s portmanteaux and set them down inside her door. “A meal will be ready whenever you wish to eat, ma’am,” he informed her. “I shall come at once,” said Cozette. She was not hungry, but knew that she would need all her strength in the coming hours. Then, “Where is Martha?” she asked. “I should like her to have a bed set up in this room. She has had a great shock, and I do not wish her to be alone.” The groom nodded and went to fetch Martha. Cozette forced the maid to eat something, and insisted that they must be ready to care for Lex when the Earl brought him back. They went to Cozette’s room to wait, since it overlooked the great central courtyard. The sound of carriage wheels brought them both to the glazed window, an innovation the Earl had had carried out in most of the rooms in the castle. The vehicle arriving was a huge lumbering coach containing luggage, and commanded by Hardy. As he began to supervise the unloading, Cozette noticed a small forlorn basket sitting on the cobbles. “Jille!” she cried remorsefully, and went rapidly down to the courtyard to rescue her small friend, who had been quite forgotten in the stress of recent events.

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The day dragged on. In the late afternoon, Evan rode in, shoulders drooping. He came at once to report to Cozette. She sent for Martha and Hardy, devoted retainers who knew Lex best, to the council. Evan began. “No sign of the boy, ma’am. His Lordship’s afeared they’ve taken him to France. He wants the men here to set out in pairs, and ask at every port or landing along the coast.” “Ask?” whispered Cozette. “If anyone’s seen a man and a boy boarding a boat.” Cozette’s heart sank. A man and a boy. It was futile! Lex could be dressed as a girl, drugged, hidden in a small crate—the possibilities were too numerous and hideous to contemplate. She drew in her breath. “I am going.” “You, ma’am? His Lordship would never permit it!” Evan objected. Hardy had his gaze fastened on the girl’s face. “I’ll go with you, Miss Coco.” Evan looked scandalized. Hardy vouchsafed an explanation. “We’ll take Martha with us, Evan. Both these ladies have seen the ruffians close to, and might spot something—voice, clothing, who knows? I’ve got a feeling in my bones that they’ll lay low until dark, and try to move then.” He glanced under heavy brows at the two women. “Stands to reason they’d be afraid to show themselves with the boy in daylight. No, I’m sure they’ve gone to earth in some den or other, waiting for the dark.” Cozette was already searching for her cape in the ancient armoire against the wall. Hardy spoke again, surprising her. “No, ma’am.” “No? But you just said you’d take Martha and me.” “I’m thinking it’ll be wiser if you dress as a boy again, Miss Coco, and Martha too. If he’s conscious, Lex will recognize you at once that way, since I taught you both to ride when you were wearing his father’s breeches.” A dark red stained his cheeks, but he kept his eyes steady on hers. Suppressing a smile, Cozette turned to Martha. “Will you be willing to dress yourself as a man? I think Hardy is correct; we shall both be much less noticeable in male garments in the sort of places we shall be visiting.” “Oh, yes, Miss, whatever you say,” breathed Martha. It was clear she was in alt at the very thought of going with the Heir’s governess on this rescue mission. Then her expression clouded. “But where can we find suitable clothing?” Evan, who had been watching and listening to this exchange with deep misgiving, now spoke up. “There’s always stacks of clothes for Milord’s servants, ma’am. The factor will let you have whatever’s needful.” And so it proved. If the taciturn Clonmel wondered what the Heir’s governess needed with two sets of male clothing, he said nothing, merely conducted her to the storeroom and left her to choose what she wished. Very shortly she and Martha were back in her bedroom, the maid giggling irre-

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pressibly at the figure she was cutting in breeches and a stout overcoat. Cozette set her groom’s hat on her head at a rakish angle. This sent Martha off into gales of laughter, quickly smothered. “But, oh, Miss, we mustn’t talk, lest they discover us to be females!” Cozette was pleased that Martha’s black mood had been somewhat lightened by the hopeful masquerade. She herself was thankful that Hardy was to be with them; his steady strength of purpose was like a strong arm in Lex’s defense. It had been planned that the small party should ride out as soon as possible for the Port of Rye, which Hardy had decided was to be their first, because most likely, objective. “I’ve seen with my own eyes, Miss Coco, rough sailors sitting over their drink at the old Mermaid Inn, their pistols on the table in front of them.” “Sailors?” gasped Martha. “With pistols?” “Smugglers, they were,” Hardy advised her, “and it’s the likes of them that could be hired to do a job of kidnapping. His Lordship’s got men out from Folkestone to Eastbourne, scouring every low dive and sailor’s tavern along the coast. He’s told me to use my own judgment. Pray God I’m in the right of it!” Cozette felt a frisson of fear as she mounted the unobtrusive little cart Hardy had chosen for their transportation to Rye. At the last moment, when they were about to leave, Cozette asked the stablehand who was holding the sturdy pair of horses Hardy had chosen, to bring to her the ferret Jille in her basket and put it under the seat of the cart. “Miss Coco.” Hardy, preparing to mount into the cart, shook his head. “Oh, pray, do not think this is some female whim, Hardy,” begged the girl. “It is just that Jille was our good luck—our mascot, I believe you would say— all during our dark flight from Paris. She brought us safely to Milord. Lex loved her. He will remember and be reassured if he sees her with us.” Hardy nodded slowly. “That might be a good idea, Miss,” he admitted. “Even if they’ve frightened him badly, or hurt him, he will recognize his pet, I should think.” He did not add the fear in all their minds, that the boy might be drugged into insensibility. As they were bowling along the narrow road toward the Port of Rye, Cozette took notice of the pair of horses that drew the cart. She was concerned that such noble-looking animals might arouse suspicion in anyone who saw the three rather plainly dressed persons riding in the cart. When she suggested this to Hardy, he grinned at her. “We’ll just have to chance it, in the dark and all,” he explained. “Those two are the best horses Clonmel could provide. If we’ve got to get away fast, I’ll unharness ‘em and we’ll ride ‘em.”

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“Bareback?” faltered Cozette. “I had the grooms throw their saddles in the cart,” Hardy comforted her. “I’ll take the boy in my arms. Martha can hang on behind me. You’ll have only yourself to look out for.” “That’s good,” murmured Cozette, appalled but accepting. She only hoped she would not ruin all by her ineptitude. It was full dusk, the long summer twilight having faded at last into night, when they came to Rye. Hardy pulled up the horses near the head of the long, sloping cobbled street, halfway down whose steep descent perched the old Mermaid Inn. The plastered, half-timbered exterior was well lighted, and sounds of good fellowship rang harshly in the still air. Hardy was frowning. “It’ll be hard enough to get down those cobbles now, at a sober pace. But trying to make a quick escape with the boy—! And maybe them rascals after us, shooting.” Cozette interrupted him. She too had been studying the popular inn. “I do not believe those villains will have gone to such a well-lighted, crowded place, where so many men might observe their prisoner,” she whispered. “Is there not some some smaller inn, some obscure little tavern?” She hesitated, unsure of her judgment, but Hardy had seized on her idea. “They’d be sure to seek out a hole-in-the-wall,” he agreed. There was silence while he reviewed his not very extensive knowledge of the old port. “Down by the water, across the marshy ground,” he pondered, “I think I recall a boozing ken on the shingle where the road ends. I’ve not been there, you understand, but I hear it’s a regular thieves’ den.” As deftly as possible he maneuvered the cart down the steep, cobbled street and out toward the harbor. There was indeed a building, a low, dark blur against the silver-lead of the water. Only a dim light showed by the front entrance. There was a rumble of noise, cursing and drunken shouts. “Much more like it,” whispered Cozette with satisfaction. “If I were a kidnapper, I should seek out just such an uncouth hiding place.” Martha spoke for the first time in an hour. “You’d make a poor kidnapper, Miss.” She tried for a teasing tone. “On the contrary,” replied Cozette firmly. “I intend to make a very good one, and steal Lex back from those scélérats.” “That sounds like a very naughty word,” smiled Martha, trying hard for nonchalance. Hardy chuckled, but forbore to respond. Instead, he drove the cart up to the entrance as carefully and quietly as possible, not an easy task considering the shingle—sand and rocks—upon which the building was set. He positioned it in front of the door, then carefully unharnessed the horses and led

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them cautiously across the shingle to concealment in the deep shadow between two large luggers that had been beached near the tavern. The girls followed with Jille. Cozette and Martha had scarcely dared to breathe during this exercise, to their ears a dangerously noisy one. Cozette realized how close to an impossibility it would have been to make their escape in the cart, with a crowd of angry men boiling out of the tavern after them like hornets from a hive. Hardy was saddling the horses. “We’ll leave the cart where it is. May slow them down for a minute or two while we’re riding off with the boy. I don’t like the feel of this place,” he admitted. “We’ll need to be ready to leave fast.” He lifted Martha astride the larger horse. “Stay put,” he cautioned, low-voiced. “Keep a sharp lookout. And keep quiet.” He handed her the reins of both horses, and the basket containing the ferret. With a final encouraging pat, he turned toward the squalid little building across the shingle. Cozette trod quietly beside him. “Could we make a great outcry at the front, and then run back here to catch Lex when they try to escape by the rear door?” she whispered urgently. “I cannot like the idea of walking into that den!” Hardy paused, giving her a sharp look. “Not a bad idea. The minute we walk in there, we give warning to the kidnappers. But what sort of outcry could we make? ‘Tis more than likely they’d only barricade themselves inside and start firing off their pistols at random through the shutters. We’d still be on the outside, and powerless to winkle ‘em out.” He caught his breath as an idea struck him. “What sort of alarm would send them all tumbling headlong out of the place? A fire, of course!” He bent down near the building. “Perfect,” she head him mutter. “Anything they were done with, they threw out here.” He began to scrabble together broken boxes, dried weeds, even a discarded chair. “Do help me, Miss,” he instructed in a murmur. Cozette hastened to assist, moving silently about on the shingle to collect any sea-wrack that might be dry enough to ignite. She raced back to the front of the tavern, where Hardy was piling trash in the cart and around the wheels. “We weren’t going to need it anyway,” he muttered, “and I don’t want to burn the place down in case—in case Lex is tied up inside. If they’re in a panic, they might forget the boy.” Cozette shuddered, and gave thanks for Hardy’s good sense. There was the scrape and click of flint and steel, and some tiny sparks glimmered and caught among the piles. Hardy caught up more rubbish, especially dried weeds, and added them to the small flames. Almost before Cozette was prepared, he had a fire glowing, licking ravenously at the piles of trash. Hardy caught Cozette’s hand and guided her around the building, there to station her beside him in the shadow at one side of the back door.

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For several minutes those within the tavern did not seem to be aware of the fire. Cozette, her senses sharpened by excitement, had time to notice that the stinking earth, dumping ground for all the refuse from the tavern, was very close to the water at this point, and that several small fishing boats were drawn up on the beach close by. She peered along the shale toward the larger lugger, behind which Martha waited with the two horses, and prayed that the girl would keep her wits and her courage. Suddenly there was a shout of alarm from within the squalid building, and a hoarse cry of “Fire!” Immediate uproar followed: shouts, the crash of furniture knocked aside, the pounding of heavy boots on the wooden floor. The rear door was thrust open with a crash that almost tore it from its ancient hinges, and a flood of burly men tumbled out onto the narrow strip of shingle. All was confusion, since several men were knocked down and trampled in the rush to escape the fire. This was now roaring and sending flames toward the night sky, as the wooden cart burned briskly. Berating herself for her inadequacy, Cozette peered anxiously at the cluster of men, who were shouting questions at another as they milled around the doorway. They began to run toward the front of the tavern. The girl caught her breath in anguish. How could she have been so stupid as to expect to recognize the masked kidnappers in the dark, in the midst of this chaos? And then two men ran past her, heading directly for one of the two small fishing boats beached directly behind the tavern. A waft of stinking fishy odor went with them. Cozette clutched Hardy’s arm and pulled him after the two men, who were now struggling to push their small craft into the water. Its overlapping planks served as runners to slide the boat across the shale. They have Lex in that boat! A safe and secret hiding place! thought the girl. They must not get away! And then she saw Hardy racing toward the boat with the silent ferocity of a charging lion. Thankfully leaving him to the business of subduing the kidnappers, Cozette ran to the boat. The only idea in her mind at this moment was to get Lex safely ashore. Ignoring the sounds of conflict, the heavy grunts and dull thuds of fists on flesh, she scrambled aboard and ran to the small hatchway, almost tumbling down into the reeking darkness below decks. “Lex! Oh, Lex, it is Coco!” she cried softly. There was a tiny cry, then a rustling to one side. Groping toward the sound, Cozette’s seeking hands fastened upon a small body. Immediately she felt the coarse ropes with which the child was bound. “They told me if I made a single sound they would cut my tongue out,” whispered Lex against her throat.

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“Hardy is dealing with those villains,” Cozette whispered back, her fingers bruising themselves against the salt-hardened rope. She gave up quickly. Better to get the boy out of this trap and untie him later. After so long, his muscles would be too cramped to make a flight simple. No, she must carry him, fight her way to the horses. She was abruptly aware that the quality of the struggle outside on the beach had changed. Now several voices were shouting angrily, and there were the thud of hooves and the neighing of horses near the boat. Oh, no! prayed the girl. They have not discovered Martha and the horses! And what of Hardy? Was he down? Cozette balanced Lex up on her shoulder with a murmur of reassurance. Then she scrabbled around on the bunk for a weapon. Her fingers came in contact with a man’s heavy boot. Seizing it, she stumbled toward the ladder and climbed awkwardly up onto the small deck. For a moment she paused, staring down at the confusion on the beach. The cart, burning merrily, cast a reflected glow upon the scene. Four mounted men, flourishing pistols, were herding the remnants of the motley crew from the tavern back against the wall. Hardy was clinging to the saddle of one of the riders—it was the Earl! With a cry of joyful relief, Cozette staggered to the side of the boat. “We are here, Milord! I have the boy!” With a quick word to Hardy, the Earl brought his horse to the shale beside her and lifted both Cozette and Lex onto its back in front of him. Then he turned the horse and gave a sharp order to the grooms. Cradling Lex in her arms, Cozette leaned back luxuriously against the big, hard body behind her, sighed, and closed her eyes. The next moment they flew open again. “Martha! And Hardy is surely hurt! He fought those wretches while I got Lex!” she babbled. “What,” asked the Earl coldly, “are you doing with that malodorous boot?” Cozette’s eyes dropped to her hands, clasped around Lex. From the right one dangled a huge, dilapidated, and undeniably smelly fisherman’s boot. “Oh!” She dropped it, chuckling. “I was intending to use it as a weapon against those villains who had ‘ied Lex up. Can you undo the ropes now, Milord?” “We’ll get out of here, I think, before our fishy friends decide to unite against us,” said the Earl firmly. He gave a rally-cry to his own party. Then for good measure, he shouted to all and sundry, “The Preventives are coming! Beware the Officers! “That should send ‘em to ground,” he predicted in his ordinary cool voice. Cozette looked up worshipfully into his darkly saturnine face, lit devilishly by the flame-glow. “Oh, Monseigneur, how did you ever find us at just the right moment?” she breathed.

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He looked down at her. “We saw the fire from the top of the hill. Clonmel had told us where you planned to search. I knew you would have had something to do with such a very noticeable blaze!” At that moment, Hardy rode up, with Martha in front of him clasping the basket. “You, too, Martha?” queried the Earl. “Is this all the party?” White-faced but grinning, Martha waved the basket at them. “And Jille!” “My God,” said the Earl, staring at Cozette, “you brought the ferret, too?”

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he ride back to the Castle was made in great comfort. For one thing, Milord had led his party to the Mermaid Inn and demanded a private room for himself, Martha, and Cozette, and a splendid dinner for all the party. While the feast was being prepared, he escorted the women and Lex to the bedroom, and proceeded to cut the salt-encrusted ropes from the child’s body. Lex was so relieved and happy to see them that he did not cry or fret. Instead, big-eyed and exhausted, he nonetheless insisted upon regaling them with the whole story of his capture and imprisonment upon the fishing smack. “I was brave, mon oncle!” he boasted at the end of his short tale. “You would have been proud of me, I think!” “Indeed I am,” agreed the Earl, with the special warm smile he reserved for the boy. “You have behaved like a true Stone, Alexander. We are all proud of you.” The boy nestled against Cozette, who was washing his face gently with a cloth. Her careful scrutiny did not reveal any wounds; whatever had been the plan of the kidnappers, it had not included harming him at once. Cozette trembled, refusing to pursue that idea to any conclusion.

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The Earl had apparently noticed her distress. He came to her and took the boy from her, placing him down on the bed. “Now I am going downstairs to see that the landlord is providing us with a good dinner. You will rest here with Martha until we return.” He held out his hand imperatively toward Cozette. “You will attend me. I wish to talk to you.” Assuring herself that both Lex and Martha were comfortable on the big bed, Cozette followed His Lordship from the quaint little room. She expected to see his broad shoulders descending the narrow staircase before her, but instead he was going into another room next to Lex’s. She followed, knowing that the reckoning must come sooner or later. The Earl waited until she had entered the room, and then closed the door. The girl looked around her. It was another bedroom like the first: the furniture old but lovingly cared for, the floor just slightly slanted, its wide, uneven boards gleaming with the wax of years. Two lamps on the lowboy gave adequate light for her to observe the stern expression upon Milord’s countenance. “And now, Miss deLorme, you will explain to me this madcap flight into danger which you—” He broke off, strode forward, and seized Cozette in his arms. Holding her so tightly that she could barely draw breath, he bent his head over her upturned face and muttered, “Idiot! You might have been killed!” He kissed her, a hard, firm kiss that bruised her lips. “Thank you for saving Lex,” he added, when he had raised his head. “I am in your debt. Again.” “No,” argued the girl. “I love him, too. I had to search for him. But how did you find us?” The Earl, still holding her in a close grasp, stared around him for a place to sit. The one chair was too small, so he lifted the girl and carried her over to the bed. There he seated himself comfortably, and settled Cozette snugly against him in his lap. Giving her a stern look, he kissed her, rather more gently this time, and then said, “Clonmel had the wits to send a groom for me after you left. He knew where I had intended to set up headquarters when I had alerted the Customs’ Riding Officer in the district. As a matter of fact, Clonmel met me on the road. When he told me what a wild ploy you had got up to, I collected several grooms and rode to Rye post-haste.” “Ventre à terre,” said Cozette, glorying in his large masculine body. Her eyes, as she gazed up at him, were more revealing than she knew. The Earl held her closer almost reflexively. She was a delicious little armful, but he relaxed his hold almost immediately. This ancient inn was no place to settle his accounts with the little charmer. In fact, Milord was not quite sure, for once in his arrogant, worldly existence, just what he felt about the woman he was holding in his arms. So he concentrated rather grimly upon tonight’s adventure. “Tell me!” he commanded.

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“Hardy thought Rye would be our best objective, since he knew that some smugglers came in to the taverns there,” she began. “And it is close to France.” She shuddered. “I wonder why they were taking him back there? No, don’t tell me, Milord! I shall have nightmares as it is! Oh, le bon Dieu be thanked we found him!” “Amen to that,” said the Earl, deep-voiced. “What led you to the tavern by the water?” “Hardy recollected hearing it was a squalid den, haunt of all manner of rogues. It seemed an appropriate place.” “Hardy surprises me almost as much as you do,” the Earl advised her, but his voice held a new softness. “Was it his idea or yours to set the place alight? Rather risky if Lex was hidden in some cellar under the tavern!” “We didn’t actually set fire to the building,” confessed the girl. “Hardy thought they’d run out if they thought the tavern was on fire, and, being outnumbered, we needed to get them outside without a fight. But we just set fire to your cart—oh!’” Her eyes opened wide on his face. “Your cart! It is destroyed!” The Earl grinned boyishly. “A small price to pay! So then you caught them as they fled the inn with Lex?” “No. The kidnappers were almost the last to leave, and they came alone. I was about to go into the tavern and look for Lex, when I—I smelled the fishy odor I had noticed on the man who held up your coach. He and his friend were running toward a small fishing boat near the water. They began to push it into the sea. Hardy engaged them in fisticuffs while I clambered aboard and began to search for the boy. I found him on a bunk below decks.” The Earl held her close to him. “Rash little female! What if there had been another of the villains below? Or if the two on the beach had overcome Hardy?” “Impossible!” stated Cozette. “Hardy is a very dependable man!” The Earl frowned at her enchanting little face. “Which brings me to my next grievance, Madamoiselle! I wish you had included me in your foray! It depresses my pretensions to arrive just as you and Hardy are solving the problem so triumphantly.” Although he was smiling, the girl realized that the Earl did resent his role as a mere tidy-up reinforcement. She hurried to soothe his pride. “But if you had not arrived as promptly as you did, Milord, we might still have failed. The other smugglers might easily have rallied to the assistance of our two kidnappers, and we should all have found ourselves on a lugger bound for Boulogne!” The Earl’s muscles tightened at that thought. This adorable little female carried off to France in the clutches of those beasts! He was really forced to place a kiss on the rosy lips, so soft and seductive.

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“This is for my own comfort,” he advised her, when at length he lifted his face from hers. “When I consider what might have taken place, I become faint.” Cozette smiled demurely. “I too become faint at the thought of our peril,” she offered hopefully. The Earl laughed and pulled her close for a long, satisfying kiss. “What am I going to do without you?” he murmured at length. “I found I could not endure even one day alone in London! I had to follow one small, thorny female who persistently flouts my authority and challenges my manhood! What am I to do with you, little wretch?” Cozette appeared to ponder this question carefully. “Since I am not of Your Lordship’s social class,” she began, as one clarifying a problem, “we must find a solution outside the, ah, accepted customs of your society.” “And what is that supposed to mean?” demanded the Earl, a trifle threateningly. “When Lex no longer needs me as his governess,” offered the girl, “you might wish to set me up in a charming maisonette—” “Cozette!” thundered His Lordship awfully. Then, meeting her mischievous grin, he began to smile. “You little devil! You know I cannot wait for several years before—And who told you,” he interrupted himself, dark red color in his face, “about the charming little maisonettes that rakes set up for their lightsof-love?” “You did,” averred Cozette, shocking him into a momentary silence. “At least, I thought that was what you meant when you told me, one day in the Ladies’ Parlor, that you would ‘make arrangements’ to—to be ‘in touch with me.’ I thought you were speaking of a bijou residence such as men of your class provide for their—” “Did you, indeed!” demanded the Earl, interrupting this very improper discussion with a roar. Then, calming himself with an effort, he glared at the glowing, provocative little face so close to his. “It is high time you were taken in hand, you little scape-grace!” he informed her. “Did you have someone in mind to do so?” asked Cozette, greatly daring. Her answer was a kiss that surprised and frightened her. If she had thought that the Earl was adept only at fashionable dalliance, this kiss taught her differently. There was a force, a passionate urgency, that quite overpowered her defenses. She felt her resistance weakening; her body softened in eager acquiescence against his big, hard frame. She became dizzy—and then felt her senses fading out. Alerted perhaps by her soft collapse against him, the Earl lifted his head. He stared down into the flowerlike face with harsh dominance. The girl’s eyelids lifted slowly, seeking to focus on his gray-eyed, dark-browed, masculine

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appeal. She appeared dazed and vulnerable. The Earl was pleased with the effect his kiss had had upon her. “That,” said Milord, “was what I had in mind. Have you any objections?” “No. No.” Her voice became stronger. “I have not. Was it that remarkable for you, too?” His arrogant eyebrows raised. “Remarkable?” he teased. “I thought I would faint, or die,” confessed the girl. The man’s complacence was mixed with a little alarm. “You are feeling unwell? You were hurt during the rescue?” “Oh, no! It is the effect of your—of your embrace,” confessed Cozette shyly. “I had not experienced that feeling before.” The Earl’s eyes began to sparkle with satisfaction. “And now that you have, are you prepared to place yourself in my hands?” He grinned. “Theoretically, of course.” But Cozette surprised him again. “In every way,” she said, smiling up at him with open adoration. She put gentle arms around his strong column of throat, tugged gently, and when he lowered his head to her, she kissed him with such sweetness that his senses reeled. When she broke the contact at length, the Earl found himself breathless and curiously warm. He had never before experienced quite the feelings that now possessed him. He stared down at Cozette’s gently smiling face. “We must—that is, I think . . .” Words failed him. “What do you wish me to do, Milord?” the girl asked in a soft voice. The Earl struggled against this strange and delightful paralysis of his will. “Why, I think you must call me Alexander,” he managed to say. Cozette beamed at him. “Yes, Alexander,” she repeated softly. The Earl felt himself to be of giant stature. It was obvious that the presence of this girl in some way enhanced him, brought him to a full realization of his own powers. “I must have you near me at all times,” he said, and accepted the validity of the statement even as he made it. “Yes, Alexander,” breathed Cozette. The Earl knew that his mind was working more clearly than ever before. “And since Lex needs you, also, you must remain in my household. There is only one thing for it,” he concluded, amazed at the keen perceptivity of his own mind in solving the problem. “You must marry me without delay!” “Yes, Alexander. Darling, darling Alexander!” the girl cried softly, and hugged him close. “I knew I could persuade you to see reason,” commented the besotted lover, as he took her once more into his close embrace.

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heir reception at the Castle the following day was a triumph. Not only had the Heir been recovered without harm, but his lovely governess with him. And it was three of their own—Hardy, Martha, and Clonmel—who had been instrumental in the rescue! The Earl himself had never been more expansive and generous; the whole day was a feast and a celebration. As the day went on, however, and families from the great houses in the neighborhood came to pay their respects to the Earl, it was noted that the Heir’s governess, an attractive Frenchwoman, was always at the Earl’s side, by his own insistence. Certain high-nosed sticklers began to murmur at this elevation of a servant into the company of her betters, and one dame was overheard to remark that London ways were not acceptable here in the county. Such cavilers were quite set back by an announcement the Earl made just after tea had been served. Champagne was brought in for all the guests, and their host rose and drew the young Frenchwoman to stand beside him. “My friends,” he announced, “I bid you drink with me to the health of the future Countess of Stone and Hamer: Mademoiselle Michelle deLorme of Paris.”

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The guests rose, some rather reluctantly, and honored the toast. Then there was a bustle of congratulations and good wishes, and requests for information. All these comments and questions were handled with great skill and some hauteur by His Lordship, and the rest of the afternoon passed quite pleasantly. “That will give them something to buzz about,” commented the Earl as the last guest made a reluctant adieu. Cozette sighed. “It is obvious that they think you are marrying beneath you,” she said sadly. “I was afraid it might be so.” “Shall I tell everyone that I cannot live without you?” asked her fiancé. “It is true, you know.” He caught her to him with such hungry need that the girl trembled in his arms. “Do I frighten you?” he murmured against her throat. “No, Alexander. You excite me,” she confessed. “We shall be married within three weeks,” the man said almost morosely. “I am sorry it is so long, but that is our custom.” “It is acceptable to me,” said Cozette formally. She hesitated, and then continued, “I will need that long for my quest.” The Earl’s chin lifted sharply. “What quest?” he demanded. “I am going to Paris to discover if my father is still alive,” said Cozette quietly. “Impossible,” said the Earl. “Alexander, you must see that I cannot remain in doubt upon so vital a matter,” the girl pleaded. Her fiancé stared at her intently. “My dear girl—” he began. “They may not have killed him!” cried Cozette. “He had done no wrong!” The Earl shrugged. “And if he is alive? What shall you do? What can you do?” “I shall try to get him released, on condition that he leaves France and comes to England.” “And how do you propose to get to Paris to make this appeal?” challenged the Earl in his most arrogant manner. Cozette stared up at his imperturbable countenance with desperate hope. “You wish me to take on the armed might of Revolutionary France? The roving bands of masterless men, thieves, murderers? You think I am capable of that?” The girl’s expression gave him his answer. Milord sighed. “Very well. It is insane, but I see I am to be your deus ex machina. We shall return to London tomorrow and I will call upon Mr. Pitt.” “Pitt?” said Cozette, with the utmost scorn. “He is our Prime Minister, my dear child, and has more power than any of us in such a matter. You have not considered passports, have you? Since in your flight you evaded port authorities and all such officials! But in this

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case, it is as important that I gain permission to leave France as it is to enter it. I must have some sort of official sanction if I am to obtain the release of your father.” Cozette’s brows drew together. For the first time she used reason rather than emotion in her consideration of the problem. This journey to rescue her father would not be, could not be, a secret foray. Negotiations for Professor deLorme’s release from whatever prison the Tribunal had confined him to must be made through recognized channels. He could hardly be spirited out of the Bastille as easily as she had taken Lex from her home in Paris! Suddenly the girl understood what sort of an undertaking she had urged upon this noble Englishman, what sort of impossible, romantic feat of daring she had begged him to perform. She was using his affection—his love!—for herself to force him into a position of the gravest danger! Wordlessly she shook her head, trying to prevent the tears of remorse from flowing from her eyes. Then she lifted her face to his gaze, and said, with a creditable effort at composure, “I have been behaving like the child you call me, Alexander! Of course you must not put yourself at the risk of entering that den of murderers!” She took a deep breath. “We shall set inquiries afoot, and learn what we can of my father’s . . . fate.” She turned away. The Earl caught her hands in one of his big hard ones, using the other to turn and hold her face for his inspection. “I mistrust this sudden change of front, my dear! What are you planning now in that busy brain of yours? Another mad excursion into Limbo? In this case, I think you would find it a Hell of raw savagery!” When the girl refused to meet his eyes, his tone became imperative. “You will promise me that you will abandon any idea of a secret journey into France. Believe me, my darling idiot, your successful escape with Lex was a once-in-a-lifetime miracle! This situation is different in all particulars!” He shook her. “Have I your sacred word that you will leave this matter entirely in my hands?” Impulsively, Cozette bent her head and kissed the hand holding hers. “You are wonderful!” she breathed, her lips soft against his skin. “Je t’adore!” Milord’s expression remained stern. “I have your promise?” Cozette nodded. Her eyes, her whole countenance, revealed the feeling she had for this big, vital male. The Earl returned her look with one of quizzical skepticism. “You terrify me, Coco,” he murmured, and none of his elegant associates had ever seen the expression with which he regarded the girl. “Terrify?” repeated Cozette doubtfully. “Why is this?” Her fiancé gave her an irresistible, boyish grin. “It is as well you do not know the extent of your magic, little witch!” Then he became sober as he caught her hands and pressed a rather solemn kiss upon her lips. “Be sure I

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shall do my best for you and your father,” promised the Right Honorable Earl of Stone and Hamer. When the Earl’s party returned to London, they found the Wantages still in residence at Stone House. Lord Alexander lost no time in announcing his proposed marriage to Mademoiselle deLorme. “While I have you all here,” he began coolly, glancing around his spacious and elegant drawing room, “I shall inform you that I am to be married within a few weeks. I am sure you will want to offer me your congratulations, and my fiancée your good wishes.” Expressions of shock and dismay crossed all three faces, but only Lady Henrietta was graceless enough to challenge the Earl’s right to marry whomever he pleased. “Your nephew’s governess, Stone?” she protested angrily. “You intend marrying a servant?” “I intend marrying Mademoiselle deLorme, ma’am,” the Earl corrected her coldly. “If you are unhappy with my decision”—and he left no doubt how little he cared for her feelings on the subject—”we must arrange that you go to stay with your cousin Dora. I could not in good conscience force you to remain in a household that was celebrating a marriage of which you disapproved.” Both the males of her family subjected the maladroit Lady Henrietta to threatening glares. Was she fool enough to endanger their visit to the most elegant residence in London? It seemed she was. “You will find yourself the laughing-stock of the ton,” she averred maliciously. “And no one of consequence will be willing to receive that—foreigner!” Lord Hector’s coarse tones overrode his wife’s spiteful comment. “We shall be pleased to welcome Miss, uh, Delmore to the family, Stone! Have I not been telling you to get leg-shackled this last ten years? We thought you’d settled it with Lady Clarissa, and were just waiting until you’d had time to enjoy yourself—” He halted, even his insensitivity becoming conscious of his wife’s basilisk glare. Milord had begun to enjoy the wrangle among his unpleasant relatives. “Before I entered the marriage trap, you would say?” He observed Lady Henrietta’s purpling visage with satisfaction. “While I must admit you know more about the, ah, hazards of the wedded state than I, as a mere bachelor, can do, still, I must remind you that it was Neville who was intended to be leg-shackled to Lady Clarissa.” “True! So it was,” bumbled Lord Hector. “Nasty bit of scandal, that!” “When Neville’s son was returned to you—such a dear child—” gushed Lady Henrietta, “we quite understood you would not have to marry to secure the succession—”

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Elizabeth Chater—The Earl and the Émigrée

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“Speaking of my heir,” interrupted the Earl, suddenly not at all amused, “did you know he had been kidnapped on the way to the Castle?” The Earl watched their faces closely as he asked the question. “Kidnapped? Nonsense!” blustered Lord Hector. “Just saw the nipper led upstairs by that, that woman you say you’re going to marry!” “It is my fiancée who recovered the boy from his abductors at Rye,” continued the Earl grimly. “Anyone we know?” gibed Henry Wantage, speaking for the first time since the Earl had entered the room. He had been seated near the fire drinking cognac, and had hardly glanced at his cousin. The Earl gave him a considering look. “We have both the ruffians,” he shocked them by saying. “That is, they are being delivered to Colonel Richardson at Bow Street today, having been turned over to his Runners by the Customs’ Riding Officer at Rye. I am sure it will not be long before we learn who was behind the abduction.” He gazed thoughtfully from one startled face to another. Lady Henrietta was first to speak. “You are serious, then, Stone? The child was stolen?” “Very serious indeed, ma’am! And it will be so for the, ah, culprit, when the Runners trace him, or her, down.” “Her?” Lady Henrietta stared at him. “You think some female was the criminal?” Her eyes narrowed. “But of course! The little Frenchwoman arranges a dramatic ploy, and then ‘rescues’ the boy so you will be under obligation to her!” She crowed with scornful laughter. “I had not thought you so easily gulled, Stone!” The Earl was watching his two male relatives. Lord Hector had finally become conscious of that intent stare, and was looking puzzled but not particularly alarmed. Henry, on the other hand, now rose swiftly and, placing his brandy glass on a small table, walked from the room. Frowning, his father watched him leave. “What’s biting the boy?” he asked his wife. “How should I know?” she shrugged off the question. “Too much brandy in the middle of the day? How quickly you men adopt town customs!” “Do not tell me that Hector and Henry do not imbibe at home!” begged the Earl, who was enjoying himself. “I have not formerly observed my son drinking brandy this early in the day,” said the Mama positively. “Something worrying him, I suppose,” countered the Earl. “Now I wonder what it could be? But I suppose we shall learn soon enough!” Lord Hector was suddenly looking very grim. He knew all too well the rage of disappointment that had engulfed Henry when the discovery of a new

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Elizabeth Chater—The Earl and the Émigrée

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heir had been made. Until Neville’s son had been found, it was Lord Hector who would be expected to inherit, and, after him, Henry. The young man had basked in that thought ever since he was old enough to understand what was involved. And then the waif from France, accepted so easily by Stone as his brother’s son! But surely, Henry would not, could not have engineered any such dangerous plot as a kidnapping . . .? And Stone had been saying that the culprits had been caught, and would be questioned! Lord Hector suddenly felt very queer indeed. He rose to his feet and cast an urgent glare at his wife. “Come with me, Milady! I am concerned about Henry’s well-being!” And he led her, willy-nilly, from the drawing room. The Earl, listening carefully, heard her spate of querulous anger as her husband led her up the great staircase. Then abruptly her complaints ceased, and, stretch his ears as he might, the Earl could not hear any more of the lowvoiced conversation. He nodded his head with satisfaction. He did not really believe that Henry had planned the abduction, but at least the threat of his being a suspect, and the resulting scandal, might persuade the Wantages to cut short their visit to London. A consummation devoutly to be wished! The Wantages did depart the following day, with very little fanfare. When the Earl rather maliciously asked Lord Hector where they could be found if he needed to get into touch with them, Henry’s Papa hemmed and hawed and admitted that they were not, at the moment, exactly certain. “M’wife wishes to go to Scotland,” Lord Henry finally vouchsafed. The Earl, knowing all too well how determinedly Lady Henrietta pursued the delights of a London season, did not believe him, but so thankful was he to see the last of them out of his house that he forbore to cavil or challenge. He did, in fact, receive a visit from Colonel Richardson, and the news this former soldier brought was sobering. The villains had been reluctant to confess their sponsors, but being faced with the alternatives of instant hanging if they refused to speak, and transportation to Australia if they named their employer, finally confessed that they had been approached, while boozing in the ken at Rye, by a nob who offered them a round sum to bring the boy there to their fishing smack, and ferry him over to Boulogne. “Could they describe their employer?” asked the Earl. “It could have fitted a hundred men,” said Richardson. “Well dressed, well spoken, and the money was good. Have you enemies, Milord?” “I must have,” admitted the Earl. “I shall keep a very close watch on the boy from now on.” He rose to see his official guest out. “My thanks, Colonel Richardson.”

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He returned to the library to find Cozette waiting for him. “Could he tell you who had done this deed?” she asked. “No. The men are to be transported to Australia, but the real criminal, the one who offered money for Lex’s disappearance, is not identified.” Cozette eyed his stern, restrained expression with some awe. “You can consider those scélérats so calmly? I should be thirsting for their blood!” His expression softened and a small smile tugged at his lips. “So passionate!” he murmured, moving toward her with clear purpose in those gleaming silver eyes. Cozette did not know whether to run to meet him or to shrink away. Her own emotions puzzled her. When she considered the strong disapproval with which she had at first regarded this arrogant man, she could scarcely understand her present adoration of him. Had he changed so much, or had she? Still, there was another feeling, a sort of melting warmth for which she could find no name. He had her in his arms before she could settle the problem to her own satisfaction. “Are you going to show me some of that passion you have displayed toward Lex’s kidnappers?” “It is not what you would wish, surely?” countered Cozette, blushing delightfully. The Earl laughed. “I see I shall have to teach Lex’s governess about passion,” he teased. “It seems it is not a subject in which you have majored!” Cozette surprised him again. “I am so glad it is to be you, Alexander, who is to be my teacher,” she whispered. “I can hardly wait for the lessons!” The man’s arms closed tighter around her. “Be careful, little temptress!” Then, enjoying her rosy cheeks, he grinned. “You are such a little innocent!” “Do you—do you like that?” the girl asked rather anxiously. Perhaps a man of his nous would find her lack of worldly knowledge disappointing. “I like it,” he assured her. Then he made a mock-rueful grimace. “I see I shall have my work cut out for me.” He sighed, but the gleam in his fine gray eyes disputed the complaint. Cozette felt such a wave of love sweep over her for this man that she was nearly ready to take action to demonstrate her besotted admiration, when Dibble entered with a discreet cough to announce his presence. “There is a gentleman wishing to see you, Milord,” he intoned. “He is accompanied by a member of Mr. Pitt’s staff.” The Earl, changing with disappointing rapidity from his playful mood, said soberly, “Show them in at once, Dibble.” Then, when the girl made a tentative motion to withdraw, he caught her hand and kept her beside him. Dibble swung the door wide. “Professor deLorme and Mr. Jonah Trevelyan, Milord,” he announced.

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Cozette flung herself forward into her father’s open arms. Half an hour later, when Trevelyan had been heartily thanked, plied with superb cognac, and sent on his way, the Earl faced the two deLormes. “I hope, Ma’am’selle Coco, that you will make suitable apologies for the disparaging remarks you made about our Prime Minister?” Cozette, dazed with happiness, would have agreed to anything at this moment. “Do you tell me he has been working to save my Papa since first I met him?” she wondered. “With Pitt, who knows?” replied the Earl. “I wager that young Trevelyan hides a suit of shining armor under his faultless coat!” “He was indeed a most accomplished rescuer,” agreed deLorme. “Then I must be sure he has my thanks,” murmured the girl, with a mischievous glance from under her eyelashes at the Earl. “Do not bother,” that gentleman advised her. “I shall see that he is properly rewarded.” He cast a searching look at Cozette’s father. “You must be ready for a rest, sir. Cozette and I will show you to your rooms. Then, tomorrow, when you are quite yourself again, we shall tease you to tell us the whole story of your escape.” “And I must hear all about Coco’s adventures with your nephew, sir,” added deLorme. “But now, yes, I should enjoy a rest.” They carefully saw the old man up to a luxurious suite next to Cozette’s room. Dibble and two maids were already there with hot water, coffee, and warming pans for the bed. The Professor looked around him with undisguised pleasure. “Now this is magnifique!” He sighed. “I shall sleep for a week, at the least!” He took Cozette gently into his arms and kissed her on both cheeks. “My dearest girl,” he said softly. “You brought Neville’s son safely home! I knew you would do so!” He shook the Earl’s hand, and waved them both off with a smile. “Á demain! I shall see you in the morning, my dearest Coco!” They left him making himself comfortable with the assistance of the Earl’s valet, Allen. Cozette turned an adoring face up to her fiancé. The Earl seemed fearful of being thanked. “Now you can have no possible reason for postponing our wedding,” he said before the girl could begin to express her gratitude. “None at all,” agreed Cozette. “I had had a little fear that I might not be suitable as a bride for you, but now—” She waved her fingers. “No doubts!” The Earl was fascinated and hopeful. “Why not?” he demanded. “Not that I ever had doubts,” he hastened to add, “but I know that you did. What made you sure?”

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“It is because I have been having such feelings of love for you that I shall not be able to contain them if I do not marry you soon,” she explained carefully. “I have the need to touch you, to hold you very close to me.” “Go on,” whispered the man, quite unable to take his eyes from that intent, lovely little face. “It is a strange feeling, that which I have for you, Milord,” said the girl. “It is not like the deep love I have for my father, or the tenderness I feel for little Lex, although it has some of each of those emotions in it. No,” she added soberly, “there is a sort of hunger, a thirsty need for your warmth and sweetness.” The man who loved her could not endure it any longer. Moving swiftly, he took his little charmer into his strong embrace and carried her off to his study, where, in comfortable privacy, he could examine this fascinating subject most fully.

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About the Author ELIZABETH CHATER was born in Canada in 1910, the only daughter of parents who wanted sons. She read many books from her father’s collection and the public library, leading to a lifetime love of literature. She married Mel Chater and had two daughters and a son, also pursuing an M.A. and writing and publishing numerous science-fiction, fantasy and mystery novels. Following the loss of her beloved husband in 1978 and her retirement from teaching, Elizabeth embarked upon a highly successful career as a romance novelist, penning twenty-two novels in eight years.