He threw aside the bedclothes and stood up, stretching before going to the window, flinging it wide, inhaling the salt-sea fragrances on the light breeze blowing from the cliff top. He stared into the misty, pale light and heard in his head Theo's voice, despairing in its confusion and rage, hurling those dreadful accusations at him.

He glanced toward the connecting door to his wife's bedchamber. Presumably she was still asleep. In other circumstances he would have been tempted to go in and wake her in the way he knew she loved, with the long, slow strokes of passion that would bring the sleepy whimpers of delight to her lips, and her eyes would eventually open, deep, limpid pools brimming with sensuality, her mouth curving with amused pleasure.

But not this morning.

Deciding he'd take advantage of the dawn peace to gather his thoughts and marshal his arguments, he dressed rapidly and went downstairs, where he took a shotgun and a game bag from the gun room and let himself out of the house.

Webster's Pond lay beyond the orchard, through a band of thick undergrowth and massed blackberry bushes. The air smelled of sea and the damp grass beneath the tangled undergrowth. Spiky tendrils from the bushes caught at his buff coat and slashed across his buckskin britches. The sun was veiled in the dawn mist, a suffused reddish glow on the horizon, and the morning was alive with the exuberant calls of the dawn chorus and the indignant chatter of squirrels as he penetrated the undergrowth, disturbing their preserve.

He was following a narrow ribbon where the undergrowth was trampled into something resembling a path, but it clearly hadn't been used that recently, and the whole feel of the place was of somewhere rarely visited by man. The sport certainly should be excellent.

He caught a glimmer of the pond through the bushes as he pushed aside a tangle of thorny branches with the butt of his gun. It was a large body of water, more of a lake than a pond, thick reeds massed at the edge, lily pads floating serenely across the flat brown surface.

Sylvester took a step forward onto the narrow bank, and something hit him in the middle of the back, sending him crashing to the ground.

"What the hell!" Winded, he stared up at his assailant, more angry than alarmed. A young man stood over him.. a young man with the empty sleeve of his jacket pinned across his chest, and a gun on his other shoulder.

"I beg your pardon," Edward said. "But you were about to put your foot into this vile thing." He gestured to the oval jagged-toothed trap concealed in the underbrush. "I saw it a second before you took that step."

"Sweet Jesus!" Sylvester got to his feet, staring at the vicious iron, nausea rising in his gorge as he imagined the bite of those teeth rending his calf, breaking the bone.

"They've never used man traps on Belmont land before," Edward was saying, frowning. He glanced at his companion. "You must be Lord Stoneridge, sir."

There was a crackle of breaking twigs from the bushes, and they both spun round, with a soldier's instinct bringing their guns to the ready, Edward with a neat twist, swinging his weapon under his arm.

"There's a goddamned man trap back there!" Theo exclaimed, her eyes blazing, her mouth a taut line.

"And another one here," Edward said, gesturing, lowering his gun.

Theo bent and picked up a thick chunk of wood. She drove it into the trap, and the teeth sprang forward with well-oiled speed, sinking into their prey.

"I sprung the other one, too," she said. She looked up at Sylvester, the anger still burning in her eyes. "Was this your doing, Stoneridge? We have never tolerated man traps on Belmont land."

She glared at him, her chin lifted, hostility and challenge in every line of her body. Clearly the night had brought no softening. Sylvester replied calmly, "No, of course it was not my doing. I nearly stepped into the damned thing myself. If it hadn't been for the speedy action of…" He turned to Edward. "Lieutenant Fairfax, I presume."

"Yes, sir." Edward extended his hand. "I hope you don't think I'm trespassing, but Theo and I were to meet here for some shooting."

"My dear fellow, I stand in your debt," Sylvester said with a grimace. He glanced at Theo and saw that she too had a shotgun over her shoulder. "Three minds with but a single thought, clearly."

Theo's brow wore a preoccupied frown, and she seemed to have simmered down. She said slowly, "I don't think someone likes you very much, Stoneridge."

"What?" For a minute he thought she was referring to herself.

"This, on top of Zeus's saddle," she said. "Does it strike you as pure coincidence?"

"Don't be fanciful," he responded. "A man trap could catch anyone."

"But hardly anybody comes here. Who told you about the pond? I'm sure I didn't."

Sylvester frowned. "I can't remember… Oh, yes, it was Henry. He said someone in the village had mentioned it."

"Who in the village?"

He shook his head. "I don't know."

"Well, somebody set these traps, and it sure as hell wasn't any Belmont man."

Sylvester glanced at Edward. The young man appeared not to notice Theo's free and easy tongue. But, then, neither did anyone else… only her husband, it seemed.

"I think we'd better beat the undergrowth and see if there are any more of these filthy things." Edward picked up a thick stick and swished it through the brambles.

They separated, taking the tangled brush in sections, and found two more.

"Do you notice how they're all along the same route?" Theo said, slamming another dead branch into the last trap. "All placed along the path someone from the manor would take."

"We didn't find a single one anywhere else," Edward agreed. He glanced at the earl, who was staring into the middle distance, deep in thought. "It does seem, sir, as if someone was out to do a mischief to someone from the manor. And no one in these parts would hurt Theo."

"But it isn't anyone from these parts," Theo said definitely. "You know these people as well as I do, Edward… even if Stoneridge doesn't," she added belligerently.

Edward cleared his throat a little awkwardly. "Perhaps it's someone from the past, Lord Stoneridge. Someone who bears you a grudge, maybe?"

Sylvester considered this. Someone was creating mischief, and he did seem its object. He looked down at the disarmed trap at Theo's feet, and that sick feeling rose in his gorge again. Who could possibly wish him that degree of harm – lethal harm? He'd not led a blameless existence, far from it, but nothing he'd ever done warranted such a ghastly vengeance.

He glanced sideways at Theo. His wife had more reason to bear him a grudge than anyone, and he knew damn well she was not responsible.

"I'm sure we're letting our imaginations run away with us, he said finally. "I don't know about you, but I've rather lost the urge to shoot this morning."

"Me, too," Edward agreed.

"Then the least I can do is offer you breakfast," Sylvester said cheerfully, putting aside his unease. He clapped Edward on his good shoulder as he turned back toward the house. "I'll send someone to get rid of these things. Come along, Theo."

"I'm still interested in doing some shooting," she said.

"Not on your own, you're not," he retorted, stung out of patience by such obstinacy.

"Why not?" She looked genuinely surprised. "I've hunted here on my own many times."

"That was before some bright spark started planting a minefield," he pointed out.

"But they weren't supposed to catch me."

"Maybe not, but something's not right around here. Don't be obtuse, Theo."

And whose fault is it that nothing's right at Stoneridge anymore? Edward's presence forced her to bite back the bitter accusation. What should have belonged to her had been snatched from her. The familiar places had changed, become hazardous and unpleasant. Would she next begin to see threat in the faces of the people who'd been a part of her life since she could remember?

Edward stepped back toward her. He could sense her distress, just as he could sense the jangled emotions flowing between Theo and her husband.

"Come on, Theo, I'm famished," he said. "And if you insist on staying here, I'll have to stay with you."

She managed a smile of disclaimer and joined him on the path.

Sylvester hesitated, then walked on ahead of them, an outsider to this long-standing friendship. It wasn't lost on him that where he dictated, her friend cajoled.

He walked on, deep in frowning thought, hearing their voices on the path behind him. A leisurely breakfast would give him the opportunity to get to know Lieutenant Fairfax. Did he know anything at all of Vimiera?

At that moment Edward was remembering his colonel's description of the military scandal attached to Sylvester Gilbraith. In his own agonies of the last weeks he'd forgotten all about it, but now it came back to him. Theo had her arm in his as they walked back to the house, but she was distracted, thinking of the peddler without a pack, and responded only briefly to Edward's occasional observations.

Theo probably didn't know of Vimiera, Edward reflected. Such a history bore no relation to sleepy Lulworth life and was so much in the past that there'd be no reason for her husband to have revealed such a humiliating personal fact. He couldn't imagine doing so himself except in the most compelling of circumstances. But something was causing the hostility he could feel in her whenever she addressed her husband.

He looked at the broad back of the Earl of Stoneridge, preceding them on the narrow path. He had taken to the man immediately, as one sometimes does on a first meeting. There was an ease to him, a comradely acceptance. Not once had he referred to Edward's amputation, but neither had he deliberately ignored it. His eyes had encompassed the empty sleeve in the same way they'd taken note of his eye color and his physique.

If he'd ever reflected on the kind of man who would appeal to Theo, Edward realized that he would have come up with a description of someone like Sylvester Gilbraith. Some young sprig would never do. Theo needed a man of substance, someone who would appreciate her straightforward nature, who would not be threatened by her unusual competencies and her fiery spirit. She needed a husband experienced in the ways of the world, who could match her and, when necessary, curb her wilder flights. Someone, in short, like the earl. And yet he knew he had not imagined the antagonism that morning – at least on Theo's part.

The man securely concealed in the crotch of a massive oak tree on the far side of the pond clambered down as the wildlife on the pond settled back into its customary pattern once the three noisy, trampling humans had departed. Of all the cursed ill luck. His daily dawn vigil had been on the verge of being rewarded, and then that damn cripple had interfered. He'd been ready to stroll around the pond and administer the coup de grace as his victim struggled in the trap. He would have used the earl's own gun, and it would have appeared that in his violent struggles he'd accidentally shot himself… or maybe intentionally ended his sufferings in this deserted spot. No one would look too hard for a motive in such a case.

And then he would have returned to London to collect the final payment that would enable him to buy that little tavern on Cheapside.

Now, he'd have to return and report failure. He'd hung around the area too long already. Accidents took too damn long to arrange.

In the breakfast room the earl was all affability and proved himself an entertaining and sympathetic conversationalist. Edward warmed to him even more. It was only toward the end of the meal that he realized they'd talked only of his own experiences of the Peninsular campaign. Stoneridge made political and military observations aplenty, but he offered no reminiscences of his own, although he had been in this war and its two preceding ones, and Edward had little more than a year under his belt.

The man couldn't be a coward. It seemed impossible. Edward had an image of a man who'd do what Major Gilbraith was said to have done, and this man before him, filling his tankard with ale, tactfully encouraging him to talk of his wound, of how he felt about being crippled in this way, didn't fit that image.

Theo said little throughout the meal. She could see how Edward was responding to Sylvester, how he needed to talk to someone who would really understand what it was like out there. His parents would want him to talk, but he'd have to edit the tale. His father would want to hear only of successes, of valor and glory; his mother only of the comfortable billets and the kindness of the villagers and the brave support of the partisans. Neither of them could endure to imagine the reality of battle, the terror and the noise, the heat and the thirst and the screams of the wounded.