Now, today, he did not know what to do with himself. He cantered through the park, led his horse idly down Bond Street, looking with apparent unconcern into each shop and even into Hookam's Library. Eventually he went to his club, acknowledging for the first time the hopelessness of his search. If Henry really wanted to hide from him, she could remain hidden for a lifetime, and there was nothing he could do about it. Eversleigh sat in the reading room at White's Club, staring ahead of him in despair. A few of his acquaintances, passing the open doorway, would have stopped to exchange courtesies, but passed by when they noticed the expression on his face.

A footman found him there eventually and handed him a note. Eversleigh recognized both the handwriting and the perfume clinging to it, and almost threw it from him in disgust. But, in his present mood, almost any activity seemed better than none. He opened Suzanne's letter. She asked him to visit her that afternoon. Again he almost threw the note down, but then his attention was caught by the last sentence: "I wish to talk to you-about your wife, Marius, Do, please, come!"

Mrs. Broughton had no way of knowing the true state of affairs in Eversleigh's home. She hoped that Marius would come later in the afternoon. She had not expected to have him announced and ushered into her drawing room a mere half-hour after she had sent the note (and at the exact moment that James Ridley was dispatching his own messenger to White's). She rose to her feet, smiled warmly, and extended- a hand to her visitor.

"Marius," she began, "it has been a long time."

"What do you wish to tell me, Suzanne?" he asked, standing just inside the closed door and looking at her from beneath dropped lids.

"Gracious, Marius, let us not be in such a hurry," she purred. "Come and sit down. I shall ring for some refreshment.''

"What do you know of my wife, Suzanne?"

"About your wife?" she repeated, a puzzled frown on her face. "Oh, a mere trifle, Marius. Gossip, no doubt."

"Tell me, Suzanne," he urged softly. He had not moved from his position before the door.

"Sometimes you can be most uncivilized, Marius," she said. Then she gave a low laugh. "But, then, I think that is what I always liked most about you."

Eversleigh's eyes were glinting as be grasped the handle of his quizzing glass. "Your information, Suzanne, please," he said. "We will dispense with the games."

She looked at him coolly and lifted her chin. "You really have lost your head over her, have you not, Marius?" she said coldly. "I suppose I should be glad that she has proved to be such a slut. But I feel only sorry for you. It seems she prefers a younger man, my dear."

"I am sure you will explain yourself," he said, his hand still clasped on the quizzing glass.

"Oh, I hear that Oliver Cranshawe is currently enjoying her favors," she said, sauntering over to a love seat and seating herself gracefully. Her back had scarcely settled against the cushions before two hands closed like steel bands around her upper arms and she was jerked to her feet again.

"Where is she?" Eversleigh asked softly.

"Marius, let me go immediately!" Suzanne ordered, fear flashing in her eyes for one moment.

"Where is she?"

"How would I know that, Marius?" she replied. "Is she not at home?"

"You seem to know that she is not," he said. "You can have got your information only from Cranshawe himself. You will tell me, Suzanne."

"Marius, really," she said, attempting a light laugh. "You are letting yourself become foolish over the little girl. Oliver did not tell me where they were going."

Eversleigh finally released her shoulders. He lifted his hands and encircled her neck with them.

"Suzanne," he said very softly, "you were always a vixen. I am ashamed that-I ever responded to your animal appeal. But it would not hurt me in the least to squeeze the breath from your body right now. I shall do so if you will not tell me where I may find my wife." His thumbs increased their pressure ever so slightly on her throat.

Her eyes bulged with terror and she grasped his wrists and dug in her fingernails. "They are in Sussex, on her brother's estate," she gasped.

Eversleigh's hands immediately left her throat. He turned without a word and strode from the room.

"I hate you, Marius!" she shrieked after him. I hope you are too late!" She picked up a porcelain figurine from the table beside her and hurled it at his retreating back. It smashed into a thousand pieces against the inside of the closing door.

Eversleigh did not waste time returning home. He already wore riding clothes and had his fastest horse with him. He turned its head immediately for the outskirts of London and the road to Sussex, cursing himself for a fool in not having gone there himself the day before. He, too, made only one stop on the road, but it was a lengthy one. His horse lost a shoe on an open country road and he had to lead it slowly for two miles before he found a forge and a smith, who worked with painstaking care despite the barely leashed energy of the human animal who paced up and down before his smithy in silence.

Chapter 14

Henry had found it impossible to settle to any activity all day. She found herself constantly wandering to her room, from the window of which she could see a long distance I down the driveway. She hoped he would come today. She dreaded the thought of having to go through all this again tomorrow.

It was late afternoon when she finally spotted a curricle appearing from among the trees far down the driveway. Her heart beating faster, Henry hurried down to the drawing room and sank into a chair facing the door, a book in hand. Several minutes later, Trevors arrived with the announcement that Mr. Oliver Cranshawe wished to wait on her.

"Show him up, Trevors," she said; then, seeing that Cranshawe bad followed the butler, she leapt to her feet and smiled a shy welcome.

"Oliver," she said, extending a hand to him, "you came quickly."

"Did you expect differently, my dear?" he replied, smiling dazzlingly into her eyes and taking her hand in both of his. He turned it up as he lowered his head, and kissed the palm.

"Trevors," Henry said to the butler, who was hovering disapprovingly in the background, "I should like a light meal served immediately, please."

"Immediately, Miss Henry?" he asked. "It is not dinnertime yet."

"Nevertheless, I wish it," she replied. "I wish to take my husband's cousin riding while it is still daylight."

The butler bowed stiffly and withdrew.

"Riding, Henry?" Cranshawe queried. "I had other plans in mind, my dear."

Henry glanced at him coyly from beneath her eyelashes. "What, Oliver," she said, "in the house here where I am surrounded by faithful retainers? I know of a very pleasant and very private meadow from which we can count the stars.

He laughed and pulled her roughly into his arms. "To hell with the retainers," he said, "but I do like the idea of finally possessing you under the moon and stars. Where may I go, my dear, to change my clothes and freshen up for you?"

Henry leaned back and looked up into his face. "I have had Giles' room prepared for you," she said. "Come, I shall take you there. I must change, too, into a riding habit." To her immense relief, he released her and stood back to allow her to lead the way.

Less than an hour later, Henry and Cranshawe were on horseback, trotting toward the lower meadow. Henry had selected a russet-colored riding skirt because it had large pockets that hid the bulge of the loaded dueling pistol. But she could feel it bumping against her leg as she rode.

"Is it not as lovely and as secluded as I promised?" she asked gaily as they rode the horses single-file through the gap in the hedge into the daisy-strewn grass of the meadow.

Cranshawe smiled appreciatively at her and followed her lead as she dismounted from her horse and tethered it. "Indeed it is, Henry," he said. "I could hardly have discovered a more charming love nest. Come here."

She laughed. "The other side will be better," she said, away from the horses and with a more open view of the sky." She picked up her skirts above her ankles and began to run lightly across the grass. Cranshawe followed.

"Oh, what is that?" Henry asked, suddenly stopping in her tracks. She pointed to – a piece of paper fluttering against a stone in the middle of the field. "Do go see, Oliver.''

. "For you, tonight, anything, my dear," he replied, and changed direction to rescue the sheet of paper. He picked

it up and read it, his back to Henry as she continued on her way across the field until she came to the fence.

"What is this?" he asked incredulously, turning with the paper in his hand. He found himself looking down the barrel of a pistol held by a very determined-looking Henry.

"Read it more carefully, Oliver," she said coolly. "Perhaps it will make more sense a second time."

"What is going on here, Henry?" he asked, eyeing the gun. "You are not intending to fire that thing, are you?"

"Indeed I am," she replied, "and I would advise you to stay very still if you value your life."

"Little fool!" he exclaimed. "You would not dare. Murder is a hanging offense, you know."

"Oh, but I do not intend to murder you," she said, "as you would know if you had read more carefully the note that you hold. I am going to shoot you in the arm, Oliver. I am a good shot, I assure you. I shall hit the mark if you do not move. If you do move, of course, I might kill you by accident. That would be a pity, would it not?"

"This is madness, Henry," he said impatiently. "You know that sooner or later I shall have my way with you. Why make it harder for yourself? Now give me the gun." He took one purposeful step in her direction.

"Take one more step, Oliver, and I shall shoot you in the leg," Henry said calmly. He noticed that the barrel of the pistol angled downward very slightly. "I do not want to shoot your arm, you see, until you have signed that note."

"You will give me that pistol, Henry, right now," Cranshawe ordered, red with fury, "and be thankful if I end up making love to you tonight instead of thrashing you within an inch of your life, as you deserve." But he did not move.

"Be careful, Oliver," Henry replied, "your charm is slipping. Now, if you look at that note in your hand, you will be able to confirm that it says you were shot in the arm by Henrietta Devron, Duchess of Eversleigh, while you were trespassing on her brother's estate and attempting to seduce her. You will note also that there is a space at the bottom for your signature. If you look on the ground, you will find a container of ink and a pen beside the stone that was holding down the paper. You see, I think of everything. Now, will you please sign it so that we can get the shooting over with?"

"You are mad," he said. "What is the purpose of this, pray?"

Henry smiled grimly. "You see, Oliver," she said, "you will be returning to London with your arm in a sling. You would be the laughingstock for a long time if it became known how you received your injury. I shall have it in my power to prevent or to provoke that ridicule."

"Very neat," he declared, a ghost of his old smile playing about his lips. "Your silence in return for mine, is that it?"

"There is a brain behind the charm, I see," was the answer he received.

"I shall not sign, of course, he said, the smile becoming firmer.

"Then I shall have to put a bullet in your leg," Henry announced coolly. "The left one, I believe, just below the knee." She raised her left hand to steady the wrist of her right.

"All right, you minx, you win this round," Cranshawe said hastily, "but it will go all the worse for you, Henry, when I finally get you within my grasp."

"Perhaps, but you will need two sound arms for that, Oliver," she replied, lowering her left hand again.

Cranshawe searched around on the ground until he found the items she had described. He dipped the quill pen in the container and hastily scratched his name on the paper, using his knee as a desktop.

"Here is your paper," he said, holding it out in her direction. I am going to turn and leave, Henry. I trust that you have enough gallantry not to shoot a man in the back.''

"I shall still be aiming for your right arm between shoulder and elbow, Oliver," she said, quite unperturbed. "Of course, it is always harder to hit a moving target with accuracy. I advise you to stand absolutely still."