Lee whirled to face him and he must have noticed how pale she was, for he hesitated only an instant before he pulled her into his arms.

"I'm sorry, dammit. When I saw you struggling with that big blond oaf, something inside me just snapped." She felt his chin on the top of her head. "Howie told me you'd gone off to look for Jimmy. When he showed me which way you went, I was afraid you were in for trouble." He held her away from him. "Don't ever do that again, you hear me?"

Lee looked up, caught his fierce black scowl, and began to smile. She was his employer, the woman who paid his wages. Only Caleb Tanner would have the cheek to give her orders. And yet she found his concern oddly endearing.

His scowl went even blacker. "You think it's funny? You were manhandled and very nearly raped and you think it's funny?"

She shook her head, fighting a grin. "I don't think it is the least bit funny. I do, however, find your audacity amusing—considering I am the one who is supposed to be giving the orders. And I am extremely touched by your concern. Thank you again, Caleb. I shall not forget what you did for me today. And I will remember to be more careful in the future."

The scowl slid away, but the worry remained. "This isn't a place for a woman alone, Vermillion."

The smile she wore softened. "Lee," she said to him gently. "My friends call me Lee." Then she turned and walked away.


The day of the Gold Cup arrived and Vermillion, along with her aunt and several carriages filled with gaily dressed members of their party, left the house and headed for the racecourse. Though a bright sun beat down on the row of coaches lining the course, a stiff wind rattled the flags and banners set out along the distance the horses were set to run.

Seated in the carriage today, next to Colonel Wingate, Vermillion watched the colorful spectacle and the jockeys milling about in the bright silks of their owners' stable: the scarlet and blue of the Earl of Winston, the impressive green and gold that signified the Duke of Chester, the familiar purple-and-white silk of the Earl of Rotham.

Vermillion could see the countess in a coach farther down, seated across from the earl, their attendance together done occasionally for the sake of propriety. Next to Vermillion, across from her aunt, Colonel Wingate leaned toward her.

"It's nearly time, dear one. With your permission, I'd like to place a wager in your name." The colonel looked splendid in the full regimental uniform of the Life Guards, gold epaulets sparkling on his scarlet coat. "I've spoken to your aunt," he said, smoothing his black mustache. "If Noir wins the race, I intend to host a party tonight in celebration."

She smiled. "That would be lovely, Colonel." Sometime over the past few days, she had eliminated Wingate as a candidate for protector, but in typical military fashion, the colonel refused to concede the battle.

"And the wager?" he pressed.

"I should be pleased to accept." Wingate was a favorite of Aunt Gabby's, a close chum of Lord Claymont's since boarding school. Perhaps that was the reason Aunt Gabby had spoken on the colonel's behalf in regard to his suit as her protector.

"The man is a well-respected officer, darling. Oliver is intelligent and kind, if a bit stuffy at times. And you can see the man adores you."

He adored the notion of bedding her, Vermillion thought, besting men years younger and thereby proving his virility. But she was no longer interested in the colonel and she didn't think that would change. Like the horserace soon to start, she had narrowed the field to Mondale and Nash, and as her birthday neared, it was a neck and neck drive to the finish.

Wingate's aide, Lieutenant Oxley, spoke up as the colonel rose to leave. "Shall I take that for you, Colonel? The betting post is just there, beyond the trees." The lieutenant, a young man in his twenties with sandy hair and hazel eyes, also wore his very impressive scarlet uniform. Though the lieutenant wasn't particularly good-looking, there was a sweet sort of shyness about him that somehow made him attractive.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Wingate handed him a pouch of coins and instructions on how much of a wager to place for each of them.

Oxley departed and Vermillion fidgeted on the seat, eager for the race to begin.

Caleb Tanner appeared at the edge of her vision, walking toward her with the same erect bearing as the colonel, a fact she had noticed before. Beside him, a shorter man in a dark gray tailcoat and light gray trousers tried to match Caleb's long-legged strides.

Both men stopped in front of her and the grim look on Caleb's face put her on alert. "I'm sorry to bother you, Miss Durant, but this is Constable Shaw. He's here on a matter of some importance."

He was a lean-faced man beneath the high beaver hat he removed and clutched in one hand, his features tight and drawn. She whipped her eyes back to Caleb for some sign of why the man had come, but his expression remained unreadable and suddenly she knew.

Her insides drew into a painful knot and her hands started shaking. Lee rose unsteadily to her feet, praying she was wrong. "If you all will excuse me…"

"What is it, darling?" Aunt Gabby asked worriedly.

"I-I'm not yet certain."

The colonel stood up beside her. "I shall accompany you, dearest. We'll discover what this is about."

Lee stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Colonel, but I would prefer to speak to the constable in private."

Wingate flicked a glance at Gabriella, who simply nodded, accustomed to her niece's independence, having encouraged it for as long as Lee could recall.

Wingate made a stiff inclination of his head. "As you wish, my dear."

Turning away from him, Lee descended the carriage stairs and walked to where Caleb and Constable Shaw stood waiting beneath the shade of a tree far enough away so they wouldn't be overheard. It occurred to her that she should send Caleb away, as she had done the colonel, but her heart was beating with fear and she wanted him to stay.

"I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Miss Durant," the constable said, "but this concerns the matter of a Miss Mary Goodhouse."

She steeled herself and tried to remember to breathe. "Have they… have they found Mary then?"

"I'm afraid so, Miss. Unfortunately, late in the evening on the night before last, Miss Goodhouse was found floating in the Thames."

Lee swayed on her feet, suddenly light-headed. She clenched her teeth as a wave of nausea hit her. Caleb's big hand settled at her waist and she held on to his arm until the spots dancing before her eyes disappeared.

"Take a deep breath," he said softly. She took several, in fact, and the nausea began to recede. "Better?"

She nodded. "Yes… thank you." She tried to smile but her lips refused to curve and she had to force back tears. "It is just such a shock, is all. I had hoped… prayed that Mary had simply gone off with a friend, or perhaps was trying to reach Freddie Hully, the man she loved."

The constable turned the brim of his hat in his hand. "It appears that wasn't the case. I hate to be indelicate, Miss Durant, but the fact is a murder has been committed and we were hoping you might be able to shed some light on the crime."

Murder. The word swirled through her head with all of its horrible implications and the nausea returned. "I'll help in any way I can."

He cast a glance at Caleb, whose jaw looked hard, then started speaking again. "Her body appeared to have been in the water for some time, which leads us to believe she may have been killed the night she went missing."

Lee's fingers tightened around Caleb's arm. "You are… you are absolutely certain it was murder? It couldn't have been some sort of accident?"

"As I said, she was in the water for quite some time, but the marks on her throat were clear to see. We believe she was strangled, then thrown into the river in the hope she would simply disappear."

Lee trembled, but Caleb was there and his closeness became her anchor. "Dear God, poor Mary."

"Is there anyone you can think of, Miss Durant, who might have wished to do her harm?"

Lee shook her head. "No, I-I can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt dear Mary."

Caleb turned her to face him. "You told me she had previously worked at Parklands. Did she have any sort of disagreement with anyone there? Another member of the staff, or perhaps even one of the guests?"

"No. Everyone liked Mary. The housekeeper came to me in her behalf when she found out Mary was with child." Lee glanced up, her stomach roiling again. "Oh, God, the babe." Tears came then, a sudden rush of them that clogged her throat and spilled onto her cheeks.

"That's enough for now," Caleb said to the constable, keeping her close at his side. "Once she's had time to think things over, perhaps she'll be able to come up with something that will be useful."

Like everyone else, the constable did as Caleb commanded.

"I shall speak to you again after your return to Parklands," said Constable Shaw. "Again, I am sorry for your loss."

She nodded, dashed the tears from her cheeks with the tip of her glove, and looked up at Caleb. "I can't go back to the carriage just yet." She gazed in that direction, saw the others laughing. "I can't simply forget poor Mary and pretend the death of a servant is unimportant." She looked up at him, hoping he would understand. "I can't be Vermillion—not today."

Caleb nodded. "I'll tell your aunt you are feeling unwell and need to return to the house. It isn't that far. There's a wagon parked behind the stalls—I can take you there myself. The Gold Cup won't be run until later in the day. I can be back here before it begins."

She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. "Thank you."

They spoke little as the wagon rumbled along the dirt road leading to the big Tudor mansion her aunt had rented. Lee tried not to think of Mary and the babe, but in the end, she couldn't help it.

"What could have happened?" she asked softly. "Why would she go off like that in the middle of the night? Why would she risk herself and her unborn child that way?"

On the wooden seat beside her, Caleb flicked the reins, setting the horse into a trot and jolting the wagon forward. "Whatever the reason, it must have been important."

"Yes…" Lee agreed. "Very important to Mary."






10


« ^ »


"Be at ease, Captain Tanner."

"Thank you, sir." Caleb relaxed a little, though his back remained straight, his feet braced slightly apart. Standing in front of the colonel's desk, he waited as Cox reviewed the latest report Caleb had sent him in regard to the death of the maid, Mary Goodhouse.

Cox set the letter aside. "Since your return from Newmarket, have you spoken to the girl, Vermillion, in this regard?"

"I've questioned her as much as I dared. She says Mary was well-liked and had no enemies she knew of She believes the boy, Freddie Hully, the father of Mary's unborn child, is no longer in England and that even if he were, he wasn't the sort to commit a violent crime."

Cox leaned back in his chair, silver hair freshly barbered and shining. "So tell me, Captain, what do you think happened to the girl?"

"I wish I knew. No one saw her leave that night and no one knows where she went. It could have been simple bad luck, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Walking up on a crime, perhaps, something like that."

"It could be, but you don't really think it was."

"No sir, I don't. There had to be a reason she left the house at that hour in the first place."

"So you believe there is a chance she was somehow involved in the spy ring working out of Parklands."

Caleb clasped his hands behind his back, trying to appear nonchalant. "So far we have yet to prove there is a spy ring working out of Parklands."

The colonel opened a file on top of his desk. "Actually, it would seem we have recently managed to do so." He lifted out a sheet of foolscap and handed the paper to Caleb. "Three days ago, a man was apprehended near Folkstone on the coast. The sheriff had heard rumors of smuggling in the area and he was on alert. When he took the suspect into custody, he found a satchel containing a number of letters. Those letters carried information about General Wellesley's troop movements in Spain."

A knot of tension coiled in Caleb's stomach. He finished scanning the page and handed it back to Cox, who returned it to the file.

"I don't believe it is necessary to discuss the methods we employed," Cox said. "It is enough to say the courier was convinced to divulge his sources. He said he knew only one thing—the documents he was transporting were originally picked up in a small village near Kensington on the outskirts of London. The name of the village was Parkwood."