Nicholas read the letter with a frown. "In a way, it's a surprise. In another way, it seems utterly inevitable."

"That was exactly how I felt," Michael said slowly. "As if I'd been waiting to hear this news, but hadn't known it."

"I don't suppose the allied powers will accept this as a fait accompli and let Napoleon keep the throne."

"I doubt it. The battle must be fought once more." Michael thought of the long years of war that had already passed. "When Boney is defeated this time, I hope to God they have the sense to execute him, or at least exile him a good long way from Europe."

Clare looked up from the letter, her gaze level. "You're going to go back to the army, aren't you?"

Trust Clare to guess a thought that had scarcely formed in Michael's mind. "Probably. I imagine that Wellington will be recalled from the Congress of Vienna and put in charge of the allied forces that will be raised to oppose Napoleon. With so many of his crack Peninsular troops still in America, he's going to need experienced officers."

Clare sighed. "A good thing Kenrick will be christened in two days. It would be a pity to do it without his godfather. You'll be here that long, won't you?"

"I wouldn't miss the christening for anything." Michael smiled teasingly, wanting to remove the concern from her eyes. "I only hope that lightning doesn't strike me dead when I promise to renounce the devil and all his works so I can guide Kenrick's spiritual development."

Nicholas chuckled. "If God was a stickler about such things, every baptismal font in Christendom would be surrounded by charred spots."

Refusing to be distracted, Clare said in a tone that was almost angry, "You're glad to be going to war again, aren't you?"

Michael thought about the tangle of emotions he had felt on reading Lucien's letter. Shock and anger at the French were prominent, but there were also deeper, harder-to-define feelings. The desire to atone for his sins; the intense aliveness experienced when death was imminent; dark excitement at the thought of practicing again the lethal skills at which he excelled. They were not feelings he wanted to discuss, even with Clare and Nicholas. "I've always regretted that I was invalided home and missed the last push from the Peninsula into France. It would give a sense of completion to go against the French one last time."

"That's all very well," Nicholas said dryly. "But do try not to get yourself killed."

"The French didn't manage it before, so I don't suppose they will this time." Michael hesitated, then added, "If anything does happen to me, the lease of the mine will revert to you. I wouldn't want it to fall into the hands of outsiders."

Clare's face tightened at his matter-of-fact reference to possible death. "You needn't worry," he said reassuringly. "The only time I was seriously wounded was when I wasn't carrying my good-luck piece. Believe me, I won't make that mistake again."

Intrigued, she said, "What kind of lucky piece?"

"It's something Lucien designed and built at Oxford. I admired it greatly, so he gave it to me. In fact, I have it here." Michael pulled a silver tube from inside his coat and gave it to Clare. "Lucien coined the word 'kaleidoscope,' using the Greek words for 'beautiful form.' Look in that end and point it toward the light."

She did as he instructed, then gasped. "Good heavens. It's like a brilliantly colored star."

"Turn the tube slowly. The patterns will change."

There was a faint rattle as she obeyed. She sighed with pleasure. "Lovely. How does it work?"

"I believe it's only bits of colored glass and some reflectors. Still, the effect is magical." He smiled as he remembered his sense of wonder the first time he had looked inside. "I've always fancied that the kaleidoscope contains shattered rainbows-if you look at the broken pieces the right way, eventually you'll find a pattern."

She said softly, "So it became a symbol of hope for you."

"I suppose it did." She was right; in the days when his life had seemed to be shattered beyond repair, he had found comfort in studying the exquisite, ever-changing patterns. Out of chaos, order. Out of anguish, hope.

Nicholas took the tube from Clare and gazed inside. "Mmm, wonderful. I'd forgotten this. If Lucien hadn't had the misfortune to be born an earl, he'd have made a first-class engineer."

They all laughed. With laughter, it was easy to ignore what the future might bring.

Chapter 3

Brussels, Belgium

April 1815

The aide-de-camp gestured for Michael to enter the office. Inside he found the Duke of Wellington frowning at a sheaf of papers. The duke glanced up and his expression lightened. "Major Kenyon-glad to see you. It's about time those fools in Horse Guards sent me someone competent instead of boys with nothing but family influence to commend them."

"It was a bit of a struggle sir," Michael replied, "but eventually I convinced them I might be of use."

"Later I'll want you with a regiment, but for the time being, I'm going to keep you for staff work. Matters are in a rare shambles." The duke rose and went to the window so he could scowl at a troop of Dutch-Belgian soldiers marching by. "If I had my Peninsular army here, this would be easy. Instead, too many of the British troops are untested, and the only Dutch-Belgians with experience are those who served under Napoleon's eagles and aren't sure which side they want to win. They'll probably bolt at the first sign of action." He gave a bark of laughter. "I don't know if this army will frighten Bonaparte, but by God, it frightens me."

Michael suppressed a smile. The dry humor proved the duke was unfazed by a situation that would dismay a lesser man.

They talked a few minutes longer about what duties Wellington had in mind. Then he escorted Michael out to the large anteroom. Several aides had been working there, but now they were gathered in a knot at the far end of the room.

The duke asked, "Have you found a billet, Kenyon?"

"No, sir. I came straight here."

"Between the military and the fashionable fribbles, Brussels is bulging at the seams." The duke glanced down the room. When a flash of white muslin showed between the officers, he said, "Here's a possibility. Is that Mrs. Melbourne distracting my aides from their work?"

The group dissolved, and a laughing woman emerged from the center. Michael looked at her, and went rigid from head to foot. The woman was beautiful-heart-stoppingly, mind-druggingly beautiful. As stunning as his mistress, Caroline, had been, and seeing her affected him the same way. He felt like a fish who had just swallowed a lethal hook.

As the lady approached and gave the duke her hand, Michael reminded himself that he was thirty-three years old, well past the age of instant infatuation with a pretty face. Yet the woman was lovely enough to cause a riot in a monastery. Her sleek dark hair was pulled back with a simplicity that emphasized the classic perfection of her features, and her graceful figure had a sensual lushness that would haunt any man's dreams.

To Wellington, she said drolly, "I'm sorry to have disturbed your officers. I merely stopped by to deliver a message to Colonel Gordon. But I shall leave directly, before you have me imprisoned for aiding and abetting the enemy!"

"Never that," Wellington said gallantly. "Kenyon, did you ever meet Mrs. Melbourne on the Peninsula? Her husband is a captain in the 3rd Dragoons."

Amazed at how calm his voice was, Michael replied, "I'm afraid I've never had the pleasure. The cavalry and the infantry don't always have much to say to one another."

The duke chuckled. "True, but Mrs. Melbourne was also known as Saint Catherine for her work nursing the wounded. Mrs. Melbourne, Major Lord Michael Kenyon."

She turned to Michael. Something flickered in her eyes, then vanished as she gave him her hand and a friendly smile. Her eyes were as striking as the rest of her, a shade of light, clear aqua unlike any he had ever seen.

"Mrs. Melbourne." As he bowed over her hand, the duke's words snapped a fragment of memory into place. Good God, could this elegant, frivolous female be the woman he had seen in the hospital after Salamanca? It was hard to believe.

As he straightened, the duke said, "Major Kenyon has just arrived in Brussels and is in need of a billet. Do you and Mrs. Mowbry have room in your menage for another officer?"

"Yes, we have space." She made a comically rueful face. "That is, if you can bear living in close quarters with three children and a variable number of pets. Besides my husband and Captain Mowbry, we have another bachelor, Captain Wilding."

This time he recognized the low, soothing voice that had crooned a dying boy to his final rest. This sleek creature really was the lady of Salamanca. Remarkable.

The duke remarked, "Wilding is a friend of yours, isn't he?"

A warning sounded in Michael's head, saying he would be a damned fool to stay under the same roof with a woman who affected him like this one did. Yet he found himself saying, "Yes, and I rather like pets and children as well."

"Then you're welcome to join us," she said warmly. "The way the city is filling up, we'll have to take in someone else sooner or later, so it might as well be now."

Before Michael had a chance for second thoughts or polite refusal, Wellington said, "It's settled, then. I'll expect you here in the morning, Kenyon. Mrs. Melbourne, I hope to see you next week at a small entertainment I shall be holditig."

She smiled. "It will be my pleasure."

As the duke returned to his office, Mrs. Melbourne said, "I'm on my way home now, Major. Shall I take you to the house? It's on the Rue de la Reine, not far from the Namur Gate."

They came out the front of the building. Neither carriage nor maid waited for her. He said, "Surely you're not walking alone?"

"Of course I am," she said mildly. "I enjoy walking."

He supposed that to a woman who had followed the drum, Brussels seemed very tame, but no woman so lovely should walk alone in a town full of soldiers. "Then let me escort you."

His groom and orderly were waiting nearby on horseback with his baggage, so he stopped to instruct them to follow. As he and Mrs. Melbourne set off along the Rue Royale, she tucked her hand in his arm. There was nothing flirtatious in the gesture. Rather, she had the easy manner of a comfortably married woman who was accustomed to being surrounded by men.

Deciding it was time to stop acting like a stunned ox, he remarked, "It's very good of you to let me share your billet. I suspect that good quarters are hard to find."

"Kenneth Wilding will be glad to have another infantryman under the same roof."

He grinned. "Surely you know that one infantryman is easily a match for two cavalry officers, Mrs. Melbourne."

"Just because the British cavalry is famous for chasing the enemy as wildly as they run after foxes, there's no reason to be caustic," she said with a laugh. "And please, call me Catherine. After all, we shall be living together like brother and sister for the indefinite future."

Brother and sister. She was so unaware of the paralyzing impact she had made on him that he began to relax. He had shared billets with married couples before, and he could do so now. "Then you must call me Michael. Have you been in Brussels long?"

"Only a fortnight or so. However, Anne Mowbry and I have shared quarters before, and we have the housekeeping down to a science." She gave him a humorous glance. "We run a very good boardinghouse, if I do say so. There's always food available for a man who has worked odd hours. Dinner is served for anyone who is home, and there's usually enough for an unexpected guest or two. In return, Anne and I request that any drunken revels be held elsewhere. The children need their sleep."

"Yes, ma'am. Are there any other house rules I should know?"

She hesitated, then said uncomfortably, "It will be appreciated if you pay your share of the expenses promptly."

In other words, money was sometimes tight. "Done. Let me know how much and when."

She nodded, then glanced at his green Rifleman's uniform. "Are you just back from North America?"

"No, I sold out last year after Napoleon abdicated and have been living a quiet civilian life. However, when I heard that the emperor had bolted again…" He shrugged.