Grant stared at him in open amazement. The idea instantly took root inside him. Serving as a police magistrate would allow him to stay close to the work that fascinated him, but at the same time it would remove him from the danger of the streets. He would have to learn a great deal about the law--a welcome challenge--and he would still be required to investigate difficult cases. However, he couldn't help reflecting on what he knew of the magistrate's celibate, orderly, industrious life, and comparing it with his own. A doubtful, self-mocking smile touched his lips.

"The position automatically confers honorary knighthood," Cannon remarked, "if that appeals to you."

"Sir Grant," he said with a short laugh, and shook his head at the odd sound of it. "Hell. I should jump at the chance, but...I don't think I'm suitable." Cannon regarded him intently. "Why not?"

Grant hesitated and glanced down at his hands. The skin of his knuckles and palms was scraped and battered after his experiences of the previous day. "You saw what I did to Keyes," he muttered.

"Yes," Cannon said after a moment. "You did him considerable violence. However, you had provocation."

"I almost killed him. I had my knife out, and...I would have killed him, except that Victoria was watching."

"In the heat of battle--"

"No, there was no heat," Grant interrupted swiftly, laying his soul bare. "For a moment my thoughts were cold and damned clear. I became judge, jury, and executioner. I gave myself the power to end his life, and I would have done it happily. Except that I didn't wanther to see me do it, and always carry that memory in the back of her mind." He threw a grim smile in Cannon's direction. "Now do you still want me to serve as a magistrate, knowing that I'm capable of such a lapse?"

The magistrate regarded him thoughtfully, considering his reply. "See here, Morgan...I'm not dispassionate by nature, no matter what appearances may lead you to believe. Had I seen the woman I loved being attacked in such a manner, I may have done the same thing, or worse. We all have regrettable lapses. As I told you, I'm not a perfect man. And I would hardly expect more of you than I would of myself."

Grant grinned suddenly, relieved that the magistrate did not consider his actions to be unforgivable. "All right, then. I accept the position. I could use a bit of respectability. I'm getting damned tired of spending my days pursuing thieves and cutthroats on foot. Besides, with any luck, I'll soon have a wife and family to think about."

"Ah. You wish to marry Miss Devane, then."

Picturing Victoria waiting at home for him, Grant felt a smile...a warm, uncynical smile...tugging at the corner of his mouth. "All these years I thought of marriage as a noose around my neck," he said. "I swore it would never happen to me. And now it doesn't sound half bad." The flippant words concealed a sudden ache of longing inside. He needed Victoria...His life would not be complete without her. He experienced a sudden urgency to return to her and set about persuading her to accept his proposal.

He could have sworn that Cannon almost smiled at the comment. "It's not half bad," the magistrate assured him. "And with the right woman, it can be..." Cannon paused in search of a word, and then appeared to drift into a sweet, long-forgotten memory. He collected himself after a few seconds of silence. The gray eyes were warmer than Grant had ever seen them. "Good luck, Morgan," he said.

Victoria spent most of the morning in the town house's private garden. It was a cool, humid day, the sky liberally laced with clouds, the air stirring with mild breezes. She sat at the stone table and read for a while, then wandered along graveled paths bordered with boxes of lilac, jessamine, and Russian honeysuckle. The carefully tended garden was bordered by poplar hedges and ivy-covered walls. Well-stocked beds of flowering and fruitbearing plants lined the walking paths and filled the air with perfume. In this small, secluded world, it seemed as if the city were a hundred miles away. It was difficult not to be contented in such beautiful surroundings.

But she was aware of a growing need to return to White Rose Cottage. She needed to see her sister and be assured of Vivien's well-being. Moreover, Victoria felt a strong urge to return to familiar surroundings and rediscover herself in the comfort of her own home. Although her memory had returned, she knew that she wouldn't feel settled in her mind and heart until she had spent a few days at White Rose Cottage. Sitting at the stone garden table, she rested her head on her folded arms.

"What are you doing out here?"

A masculine voice penetrated the swirl of her thoughts. Lifting her head, Victoria smiled as she saw Grant standing there. He sat in a nearby chair, facing her, and took her hand in his. With the other hand he caressed the cool skin of her cheek, his thumb lightly brushing one of the shadows beneath her eyes. "You should take a nap," he murmured. "I'm going to take you back to Bow Street for a deposition this afternoon--I want you to be well rested."

Victoria leaned the side of her face into his hand. "I can't sleep. I can't stop thinking."

"About what, my love?"

"I want to see my sister. I want to go to Forest Crest and sleep in my own bed."

Grant removed his coat and placed it over her shoulders, enfolding her in the thick silk-lined broadcloth. The garment held the warmth and scent of his body, and she held it closely around herself. His voice was like a stroke of velvet as he spoke above her head. "I'll take you there after the deposition. We'll stay for as long as you like."

"Thank you, but...it's best that I go alone. I want to think clearly, and I can't do it with you there."

Grant was silent, and she knew he was struggling with a burst of impatience. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and cool. "What exactly do you plan to think about?"

Victoria shrugged. "Who I am...my past...my future..."

His long fingers slid beneath her chin, and he tilted it upward until she was forced to stare into his expressionless face. "You mean your future with me," he said.

"I just want to go home and reflect on everything that's happened to me. My life has changed so quickly, don't you see?"

His short sigh conveyed a wealth of frustration. Reaching out for her, he lifted her into his lap and slid his hand beneath his coat. The warmth of his palm sank through her gown to the side of her breast. "I understand," he said reluctantly. "But I don't like the idea of you traveling alone and staying in Forest Crest without my protection."

The possessiveness in his voice made her smile. "Grant...before I met you, I lived for quite a long time without anyone's protection."

"That's about to change," he grumbled. "Let me go to Forest Crest alone," she coaxed, though they both knew she wasn't really asking.

Somehow Grant could not return her smile. All he could focus on was his own fear that if he let her out of his sight, she might decide never to marry him. After all, it was a fact that he could never give her the peaceful country life she had always been accustomed to He was not a gentleman--she had seen evidence of the roughness and violence in him, she had seen his many flaws. He was the kind of man she must have disdained and feared in her former sheltered existence.

"All right," he said with difficulty. "I'll send you to Forest Crest after the deposition. You'll go in my carriage, with my driver and a footman to protect you. And I'm going to come for you in a week."

"A week? But that's hardly sufficient--" Victoria stopped in midsentence as she realized that her protest was falling on deaf ears. Her lips curved with a wry smile. "Very well."

A new thought occurred to Grant, and he scowled. "You're not going to see any former suitors in Forest Crest, are you?"

An impish twinkle appeared in her eyes. "No, Mr. Morgan, I was never courted by any of the village lads."

"Why not? What in God's name is the matter with all of them?"

"I was never receptive to their advances," Victoria said, settling herself more comfortably on his lap. "I was always absorbed in taking care of Father, and reading books, and..." Tenderly she laid her head on his shoulder. "I suppose I was waiting for you," she said, and felt his arms tighten until he nearly crushed her.

CHAPTER 19

Having bid the coachman to let her off at the end of the unpaved drive, Victoria walked to White Rose Cottage. The familiar sight of the thatched cottage soothed her, and her gaze hungrily absorbed the peaceful scene. Her small, private world was not as well tended as when she had left it. The ivory and cream rosebushes needed pruning, and the beds of thrift, marigold, and sweet pea were choked with weeds. But it was home. Her step quickened as she approached the small arched doorway, feeling as if she had been gone for a year instead of a month.

There was only one thing to mar her happiness, the image of Grant as she had left him in London. He had refused to kiss her good-bye, and had stood watching with a sullen expression as she waved at him through the carriage window. Amused and touched and yearning, Victoria had almost signaled the driver to stop and turn back. That she had still refused to accept Grant's marriage proposal had clearly caused him no end of frustration.

She desperately wanted to marry Grant Morgan, but was a union between them advisable...or might it eventually end in ruins? She feared he might tire of her someday and come to regret marrying her...and that was something she would not be able to bear.

She badly wanted to talk to her sister, the only family she had left in the world. Despite Vivien's occasional vagaries, she was a worldly, ruthlessly pragmatic woman who knew a great deal about men. And Victoria knew that in her own way her sister loved her enough to listen to her problems and give her the best advice she could offer. As Victoria's heart pounded eagerly with a sense of homecoming, she knocked and entered without waiting for a response.

"Jane?" came a voice from inside. "I hadn't thought you would be back from the village so..." The voice trailed away as Vivien appeared in the main room and stared at the newcomer.

Victoria stared at her sister with a beaming smile. She was struck as always by the sense that Vivien was at once familiar and exotic. How was it possible to love someone and yet never understand her? Vivien belonged to a world so far removed from her own that it seemed impossible they had come from the same family, much less that they were twins.

Vivien was the first to break the silence. "It turns out you were right to refuse all my invitations to come to town. London is definitely not the place for you, country mouse."

Victoria laughed and approached her with extended arms. "Vivien...I can't believe my eyes!" Her twin was very obviously pregnant, her stomach rounded, her fair skin glowing from beneath. Vivien's condition had given her an unexpected touch of vulnerability that made her appear lovelier than ever.

"I'm fat," Vivien said.

"No, you're beautiful. Really." Victoria hugged her sister with great care, and felt Vivien relax and sigh with relief.

"Dear Victoria," she murmured, hugging her back. "I thought you might despise me for the trouble I've cause you. I've been so afraid to face you."

"I could never despise my own sister. You're all I have left." Loosening her arms, Victoria drew back and smiled. "But oh, Vivien...how I hated being you!"

Vivien looked defensive and amused by turns, then laughed. "I don't doubt you were ill at ease, posing as a demimondaine. But I promise you, it was far better than being buried alive here in Forest Crest."

"I very nearlywas buried," Victoria said dryly.

Vivien nodded contritely. "Forgive me, dear. You know I would never have intentionally caused any harm to come to you. If only you had stayed here instead of coming to London--"

"I was worried for you."

"In the future, keep in mind that I'm far better at taking care of myself than you apparently are." Vivien put a hand at the small of her own back and made her way to the worn velvet settee. "I must sit down--my feet ache."

"What can I do?" Victoria asked with instant concern.

Vivien patted the space beside her. "Sit here and talk. I gather your presence here means that everything is over?"

"Yes. The man who tried to kill me is being held at the Bow Street jail. It turns out that Lord Lane hired one of the Bow Street Runners to kill me...or you, so he thought." "Good God. Which Runner was it?"