Judith reached up and kissed Charlie lightly on the corner of his mouth. "Be safe."

"Oh, yes, of course I shall." He was impatient to be off, his eyes chasing?round the hall. "Oh, there's Larson. He's in my company."

"Off you go, then." She gave him a friendly little push. He gave her a rueful, slightly guilty smile, then ducked his head and kissed her with a jerky bob.

"I do think you're wonderful, Judith."

"Of course you do," she said. "Be off with you. You have more important things on your mind now than dalliance."

"Yes, yes I have. That's quite true."

She waggled her fingers at him as he backed away into the crowd. He grinned suddenly, blew her a kiss, and then turned and plunged into the melee, calling for his friend.

Feeling stricken, Judith turned and went back up the stairs. Sebastian was looking for her. He held her cloak, his own already around his shoulders. "Judith, I must take you home."

She glanced around at the emptying salons. "Yes, there seems little point remaining. Although maybe we might hear some more news."

"There'll be no more news to be had here." Her brother draped the gold taffeta cloak around her shoulders. "Wellington and Clausewitz have left with their entourages. They're to set out for Quatre Bras within the half hour." He urged her down the stairs with an impatient hand under her elbow.

"What's your hurry, Sebastian?"

"Oh, come on, Ju." He looked anxiously around. "I don't want to miss anything."

"Miss what?"

"The battle," he said, again propelling her down the stairs.

"You're going?" But she knew the answer. It would be impossible for Sebastian to kick his heels in Brussels while the fate of Europe was being decided such a short distance away.

He gave her the same rueful, slightly guilty smile she had received from Charlie. "I'd give my eye teeth to have a crack at Boney myself, Ju. Since I can't do that, I must at least be there."

She made no attempt to dissuade him. If their lives had been different-had been as they should have been -her brother's birthright would have included a pair of colors in the Scots Greys, the regiment that had seen the service of generations of Devereux. It must be torment for him to be forced to stand on the sidelines while his peers in their brilliant regimentals plunged into the fray.

But soon it would be put right. Soon Sebastian would reclaim his birthright. She linked her arm through his and squeezed it tightly. He returned the squeeze ab-sentmindedly and she knew that for once his thoughts were a great distance away from her own.

5

At their lodgings, Judith waited in the sitting room while Sebastian changed out of his evening dress and into buckskins and riding boots.

"Where are you going to find a horse?"

"Steven Wainwright has offered to mount me on his spare nag." He checked through his pockets, counting the bills in his billfold. "You'll be all right, Ju?"

She wasn't sure whether it was statement or question. "Of course. We'll meet here when it's all over."

He bent to kiss her. "I hate to leave you… but…"

"Oh, go!" she said. "Don't give me a second thought. But just be careful. We have things to do and we can't risk a stray bullet."

"I know. Do you doubt me?" The excitement faded in his eyes to be replaced by the shadowed intensity so often to be found in his sister's.

She shook her head. "Never."

Judith listened to his booted feet on the stairs and the slam of the front door. She went to the window overlooking the narrow lane and watched as he strode, almost at a run, toward the center of town.

It was four o'clock in the morning and the city was as alive as if it were midday. Bells were ringing; people leaned out of windows in their nightcaps, shouting across the narrow lanes. She could hear the roar of the crowds in the streets a short distance away, a roar edged with hysteria. The citizens of Brussels were terrified.

Judith had no intention of missing the drama herself, although she couldn't have told Sebastian that. It would have ruined his own adventure. Swiftly she changed out of her ball dress into a dark-blue riding habit of serviceable broadcloth and drew on her York tan gloves. She unlocked the wooden chest under her bed, put away the paste jewelry she had been wearing, and took a wad of bank notes from the supply, tucking them away in the deep pocket of her coat. Into the other pocket went her pistol, cleaned and primed.

She let herself out of the house, locking the door behind her, then hesitated, wondering which direction to take. She needed transport, but she suspected that tonight horses couldn't be acquired for love or money. The inhabitants of Brussels would be holding onto their horseflesh in preparation for flight.

Following a hunch, she turned into an alley that would lead her even farther away from the fashionable part of town, into the poorer commercial areas. The people here would see less need to run from the ogre.

Raucous shouts, singing, and laughter came from a tavern at the end of the lane, yellow light spilling from the open door onto the mired cobbles. Some people were not intimidated by the prospect of battle on their doorstep. A farmer's cart stood in the shadows and her heart leaped exultantly. Between the shafts, a thin horse hung a weary head.

Judith crept up to the cart, patting the nag's hollowed neck. The cart was empty so presumably its owner had sold his produce that evening and, judging from the noise within the tavern, was probably drinking up his profits. With luck he wouldn't surface for hours and she could return the horse before he'd missed it. She unhitched the bridle from the post. Cautiously she backed the horse and cart away from the tavern. Then she sprang onto the driver's seat, shook the reins gently, and clicked her tongue. With a heavy sigh, the horse pulled away down the lane.

As soon as she emerged from the poorer sections, Judith realized the panic in the city was full blown. Houses stood open as their residents ran back and forth with possessions, filling carriages and dog carts. Men and women hurried through the streets, and everywhere was heard the cry for horses.

As she drove down a narrow cobbled lane, two men came out of the shadows, seizing her nag by the bridle, close to the bit. The horse came to an immediate stop with a snort indicative of relief. "All right, miss, we're requisitioning your horse," one of the men said. He wore the baize apron of a servant, but the man accompanying him was a stout, florid gentleman in satin waistcoat and knee britches. He stood breathing heavily, hanging onto the bridle for dear life.

"On whose authority?" Judith demanded, her hand moving to her pocket, closing over the pistol.

"Never you mind on whose authority," the stout gentleman wheezed. "I need that horse."

"Well, so do I," Judith pointed out. "Let go of the bridle, if you please, sir."

The man in the baize apron came round to the side of the cart, his expression menacing. In his hand, he held a club. "Now, don't make trouble for yourself, miss. You step down from there nice and quick, and no one's going to get hurt."

"I hate to disillusion you, but someone is most definitely going to get hurt." Judith drew the pistol from her pocket, leveling it at the man with the club. "Step away from the cart, and you, sir, release the horse."

The stout man dropped the bridle on a wheezing gasp, but his servant was made of sterner stuff. "She won't use it, sir. Never met a woman yet who could stand to hear the sound of a gun, let alone fire one."

"Well, let me introduce you to a new experience, my good man." For the second time that day, Judith fired her pistol. The bullet whistled so close to the servant's ear, he could feel the breeze. With a foul oath, he jumped back. The startled horse leaped forward at the same moment and Judith snapped the reins in further encouragement. The ancient nag fairly galloped down the cobbles, the cart swinging and bouncing on its iron wheels behind him.

Judith laughed with pure exhilaration, then she noticed that her hands were gripping the reins so tightly they were numb. She hadn't been conscious of fear during the confrontation, but now her heart began to pound. She drew back on the reins as they left the cobbled alley behind them and took several deep breaths until she felt calmer.

She turned down the broad, tree-lined thoroughfare that would take her to the Quatre Bras road.

Lord Carrington was standing outside a tall town house, observing the antics of his fellow man with both astonishment and amusement. He was in riding dress, tapping his whip against his boots, as he waited for his horse to be brought round from the mews. He had no difficulty recognizing the driver of the cart turning onto the street. She was hatless and the tumbling copper ringlets were unmistakable in the moonlight.

Where the devil was she going Without conscious purpose, as she came abreast of him, he moved to intercept her. He swung himself upward with an agile twist, and landed on the seat beside her. "Whither away, Miss Davenport? I find it hard to believe you're running."

Judith blinked at him, bemused by this abrupt, unexpected manifestation. "No, of course I'm not, but Sebastian has gone to view the battle and I'm not to be left behind to cool my heels while the men have all the excitement. What are you doing in my cart?"

"Hitching a ride," he said shortly. "What the hell do you think you're doing, going to Quatre Bras?"

"What's it to you, Lord Carrington, where I go?"

He didn't trouble to answer that question. "You're an irresponsible madcap, Miss Davenport," he roundly informed her. "What was your brother about to leave you to brew such mischief alone?"

"I am perfectly able to have a care for myself, my lord, as I rather think you're aware." She glared at him in the gray light of the false dawn.

"Against one unarmed man, maybe. But facing a rabble of looting, rapine soldiery in the aftermath of bat-de? Permit me to doubt it, ma'am."

"I've just protected myself and my horse most satisfactorily against two armed men," she retorted.

"Pray accept my congratulations," he said caustically. "However, I am not in the least impressed by your powers of self-defense, or your foolhardy courage."

"This is no business of yours!"

"On the contrary, you seem to be becoming my business with dismaying speed." He stretched his long legs in front of him, settling down with every appearance of permanence. "I've a mind to further our ^ne acquaintance." He cast her a sharp look and she had the grace to blush. "I should have expected a hornet's response from you to something kindly meant," he said, rubbing in salt.

Judith took a deep breath. "Maybe I seemed ungracious, but I don't much like being procured."

"Being what!" he exclaimed. "Well, of all the…" His shoulders began to shake. "What an eccentric vocabulary you have, lynx. Or perhaps it's just the product of an overactive imagination."

"I don't like being laughed at, either," Judith said crossly.

"Well, you shouldn't be so absurdly insulting."

Judith gave up a battle in which she seemed to be severely handicapped. The road for the moment was deserted, a pale glimmering ribbon ahead of them, the trees and hedgerows slowly taking shape as the night faded. The sky was a deep blue, the North Star a brilliant pinprick, and she had the sensation that they were alone together at the edge of the universe… alone and waiting for something to which she could attach no name. She had a slight sinking feeling in her belly and her skin seemed to have a life of its own. The tautly muscled thigh beside her suddenly touched hers on the narrow seat and her whole body jolted with a current of unidentifiable energy.

Marcus felt the jolt deep in his own body, the energy emanating from her, joining with his own. He increased the pressure of his thigh against hers. A recklessness had entered his soul. He wanted this woman as he didn't remember wanting any other, and he didn't care what he had to do to possess her. If he could take advantage of the strange magic of this dawn journey, the apprehension and excitement and drama of events shaping the present moment, then he would. He felt the tension building in the body so close to his and kept silent for a long while, letting her grow accustomed to arousal. When he spoke, it was with a cheerful nonchalance, quite at odds with the brooding tension of the previous silence.