"Lost a wheel just outside of London."

"Playing hunt the squirrel, I warrant."

"Willoughby put me to the dare. I ran him clean off the road. I put on a good act for old Bullion. He's sending up bathwater."

"Damn the bathwater. Where is the wine?"

"It's coming-ah, here it is."

When he opened the door, he was wearing his inane smile and gave a good imitation of a fool. “Mind you don't jiggle it, lads. That is rare good stuff you're handling. Shall I draw a cork, master?” he asked, turning to Hartly.

"If you would be so kind, Mott. Give the lads a pourboire, there's a good fellow."

Mott reached into his pocket and handed the two servants a generous pourboire. Then he turned to the dresser and scowled at the wineglasses on a tray

"They call these tumblers wineglasses!” he exclaimed, with a shake of his head. “We would not use them in our kitchen."

As soon as the servants left, he drew a cork and filled the glasses. Handing one to Hartly, he lifted his glass and said, “To success. I shall follow your orders in peace as I did in war, Major. Dashed kind of you to help me."

"I am happy for the chance. I find England just a tad dull after the recent excitements of the Peninsula. And by the by, cuz, I am Mr. Hartly here. Let us not confuse our personas."

"Damn, I don't have to act the foolish valet when we are alone, I hope?"

"You do not have to act quite so convincingly even when we are not alone. I suspect you harbor a love of the stage and are enjoying the role."

"I enjoy the prospect of meeting Major Stanby, the bounder. I would give a monkey to know where he is and what he is doing."

"I hope to meet him this evening. It seems we members of the ton will be dining en masse. Bullion has no private dining parlors."

"He did not say so when I asked. Said you'd already arranged that."

"So I have. He suggested hiding me in a corner behind a screen. I opted for a table next to Lady Crieff, a pretty lady putting up here. The name sounds familiar.” He looked a question at Mott.

"So it does,” Mott replied, refilling his glass, “though I cannot say I have met her. What does she look like?"

"Like a black-haired angel, with a devilish eye in her head. Young. The fellow traveling with her is called Sir David Crieff. I noticed a ‘Bart.’ after his name in the registry. A baronet. He is not old enough to be her husband, yet he is too old to be a son. He cannot be her brother, or she would not be Lady Crieff. That title is reserved for his wife. An odd business, is it not?"

"Demmed odd. You don't figure she could be a lightskirt who ain't quite clear how titles work? I mean to say, just calling herself Lady Crieff?"

"That leaps to mind, of course. The lady has a roguish smile. On the other hand, Bullion tells me she is a friend of Lady Marchbank, a local worthy. I doubt she has anything to do with Stanby, in any case."

"Unless he has taken up with a bit o’ muslin,” Mott added. “If she is as pretty as you say, she would attract victims for him."

"She'll want watching. I noticed her servant was carrying a padlocked case-jewelry, presumably. Selling paste for diamonds might be a new rig Stanby is running."

"Have you any notion how to approach Stanby?"

"When he sees my curricle and traveling carriage, and my excellent valet, I venture to say he will accost me."

"Yes, and then what?"

"I shall let him make the first move. A game of cards is one possibility."

"Mind you don't drink from his bottle, or let him use his own deck."

"I shall drink only tap ale-or my own excellent claret,” Hartly replied, lifting his glass in a toast.

"Will he have as much as fifteen thousand with him, I wonder? That is the sum we are going for."

"If he does not have it with him, he can get it. He is high in the stirrups. It stands to reason."

"I despise the fellow. Hanging is too good for him."

"I trust it will not come to murder,” Hartly said blandly. “We have shed enough blood. After all, Rudolph, we are officers and gentlemen."

"And that is another thing,” Mott said, beginning to rant now. “Posing as an officer. He gives the military a bad name. I doubt he ever wore a uniform. Ask him where he served, when you meet him."

"No, no. We do not want him to suspect we harbor such a pernicious thing as a brain in our heads. We shall rob him most politely, like the gentlemen we are, cousin."

They were interrupted by a tap at the door. Mott admitted two serving girls carrying in a tub of hot water.

Mott fussed about, dipping in his finger and scolding that the water was too hot. “Fetch up a pitcher of cold water. No, never mind. We shall let the water cool and my master will have his bath later. You may tell Cook I shall be down shortly to discuss my master's dinner with her."

The girls exchanged a wide-eyed grin and bounced out.

"I shall dart down to the kitchen now and begin making up to those chits while you have your bath,” Mott said. “Servants always know what is going on at an inn. We might want to get into Stanby's room later. If they do not have a key, they could get one."

"You might make a discreet inquiry about Lady Crieff while you are there,” Hartley said.

Mott scowled. “Seems to me you are mighty interested in Lady Crieff. We ain't here to enjoy ourselves, Daniel."

"Any man with an eye in his head would be interested in her. ‘Carpe diem’ is my motto. Seize the day. You should always milk any situation for any enjoyment there is in it, Rudolph. If she is working with Stanby, she might prove useful-as well as amusing,” he said, with a saturnine smile.

"Aye, and she might get her fingers into your wallet, too. What do you want for dinner?"

"Meat and potatoes."

"Damme, I have to know more than that. What shall I complain of? I want to sound as if I know what I am talking about."

"If it is beef, it is overdone. If it is fowl, it is tough as white leather. Improvise, Mott. You know what a fussy gourmet I am. The bully beef in Spain refines the palate to such an extent that even ambrosia does not entirely please me."

Mott left, and Hartly eventually undressed and took his bath. After several years fighting the French in Spain, he needed no assistance with his toilette. He had gone as a lieutenant and had been raised first to captain, then major, during the course of hard-fought battles. A man learned to do for himself in such rough circumstances as he had endured. His batman had been in the boughs at being left behind, but Hartly had felt it desirable to keep him on standby in case a new face was required later in the game. When Mott returned, he cast an approving eye over his cousin's black evening jacket and immaculate linens.

"I congratulate myself,” Mott said. “I did a fine job of dressing you, Daniel. Lady Crieff will be impressed."

"Did you find out anything about her? Or Stanby?"

"Sally and Sukey-the servant girls-they are Bullion's daughters, by the by. They say Lady Crieff has never visited the Marchbanks. She is completely unknown hereabouts. As she just arrived, they have no way of knowing whether she is a friend of Stanby's. I did learn something about Sir David. He is her stepson."

"Stepson,” Hartley said, frowning. “Yes, that is possible. One assumes, then, that she married a gentleman considerably older than herself."

"And since the stepson is now Sir David, then obviously the husband is dead. Lady Crieff is a widow."

"Not for long, I warrant,” Hartly said, with a pensive smile that set his cousin frowning in concern.

Hartly always had an eye for those raven-haired girls.

Chapter Three

Hartly was not so foolish as to imagine Bullion's Great Room would be as large as the average ballroom; the inn's size made it impossible. He did, however, anticipate something larger and grander than the dining room to which he was led when he went belowstairs to dinner.

It was a low room approximately thirty feet square, which seemed considerably smaller, burdened as it was with scurrying servants, not less than six tables for four (each with accompanying chairs), two sideboards, and a fireplace with a settee fronting it. The walls were of rough, smoke-dimmed plaster and beams. Some strange, dark objects resembling giant bats suspended from the ceiling beams at irregular intervals. When he passed warily beneath one of those objects, he discovered it to be flowers hung to dry some decades previously, to judge by their brittleness.

Despite the room's crowded condition, it was pleasant enough. The blazing fire in the hearth cast a flickering light and warmth on the chamber. Voices rose in laughter and conversation from the occupied tables. The tantalizing smell of good roast beef fought with the gentler aroma of baking apples and cinnamon. A quick survey of the tables told Hartly that Lady Crieff's party had not yet arrived.

Bullion greeted his guests at the door. For the occasion of dinner in the Great Room, he had plastered his unruly hair down with grease and donned a jacket of brilliant blue, sporting yellow mohair buttons as big as saucers. With a wink and a nod, he led Hartly to a table and took his order. Hartly entertained himself with a surreptitious survey of the other guests until his dinner arrived. He had not spotted a likely candidate for Stanby, but two tables were empty. The other tables held family parties.

Abovestairs, Moira was preparing herself for her formal debut as Lady Crieff. She felt naked in the low-cut gown that displayed the upper portion of her bosoms in a wanton manner. Yet this was the pattern shown in La Belle Assemblée as being the latest mode in London, and Lady Crieff would surely be au courant in matters of toilette. Her silky hair did not take kindly to the intricate arrangement suggested in La Belle Assemblée. By dint of wetting it and curling it in papers, it had assumed an unfamiliar set of corkscrew curls that was so unattractive, Moira had pulled it all back from her face and held it with a ribbon.

"What do you think?” she asked Jonathon, when he came to accompany her down to dinner.

"You look like a lightskirt,” he said bluntly. “But a very pretty one. Stanby will certainly try to scrape an acquaintance."

"I shall flirt and giggle and act the vulgar fool. You must try not to laugh, Jonathon. This is extremely serious business."

Excitement lent a flush to her ivory skin and a glitter to her silvery eyes. Her heart pounded tumultuously as she took Jonathon's arm for the descent to the Great Room.

A hush fell over the dining room when she entered. Glancing to the doorway, Hartly observed it was the arrival of Lady Crieff's party that caused it. He displayed neither pleasure nor curiosity when they were shown to the table next to his own. His eyes did not rest transfixed on the young lady's ivory face, nor did they wander in a leisurely manner from her raven curls over her lithe waist to her dainty kid slippers.

Yet without ogling in any obvious way, he had taken a close inventory of her charms. He decided that her mulberry velvet gown had been chosen to add to her years and make it appear less ludicrous that she had a stepson nearly as old as herself. The richly colored gown set off her pale satin skin to great advantage. He caught a tantalizing peep of the incipient swell of bosoms as she was seated. A modest set of diamonds sparkled at her throat. They were the only modest thing about her toilette, for the gown had a vulgar quantity of ribbons and lace. The lady's face was a visual delight, though. He cocked an ear to overhear what the party had to say.

"What wine shall we have, David?” she asked, in the voice of a young girl trying to sound experienced.

"I should like champagne,” the young fellow announced.

"We shall have claret,” Lady Crieff said. “And you are not to guzzle it. You know your papa would dislike to see you fuddled."

Hartly could not hear Sir David's reply. Jonathon said in a low voice, “I do not think Stanby is here, but Hartly has noticed us. P'raps you should ogle him a little."

Hartly finished his roast beef and had another sip of wine. It was not until Lady Crieffs party had ordered their dinner that he glanced that way again. Lady Crieff was studying him with sharp interest. She allowed her eyes to play with his a moment across the room before turning away. She whispered something to the lad. There was a flurry of low talk, after which Lady Crieff paid attention to her dinner for a few moments.

E'er long, her wicked eyes slid to Hartly again. She was definitely flirting now, using her handsome eyes in a very practiced way. She did not stare but glanced shyly, looked away, then glanced again, with a fleeting, tantalizing smile that displayed a delightful set of dimples.