He nearly ran her down; she’d stopped just inside the door. Catching her shoulders, he steadied her; she said nothing, just continued looking around.

At the main room of the cottage, still devoid of human life, exactly as they’d left it earlier in the day…

He studied the stools beneath the table. “That left stool’s been moved. Someone’s been here.”

“Rus.” Pris stilled beneath his hands. “He’s here…yet he’s not.”

For a long moment, she remained perfectly still, then she swung about, stepped around him, and walked out of the cottage. She stopped a few paces into the clearing. From the doorway, he scanned the dark curtain of surrounding trees for any threat.

A low, mournful birdcall sounded, reminiscent of an owl. He looked at Pris; she repeated it, haunting and long.

Then she waited. Her attention, initially swinging across the semicircle of trees facing the cottage, focused on the area to the right.

Silence fell, almost palpable. Neither of them moved.

Then an answering call came, the same mournful note repeated in a series of shorter bursts.

The effect on Pris was instantaneous. She opened her mouth; he swallowed a curse and started toward her, but before he could warn her to keep her voice down, another voice spoke, an amplified whisper reaching through the night.

“Pris?”

Dillon froze. A yard from Pris, six yards from the clearing’s edge, he watched a shadow swing down from the branches, steady itself against the bole of a large oak, then slowly come forward.

Rus Dalling stepped into the moonlight, wide eyes locked on his twin sister’s face. “Damn it to hell, Pris-what the devil are you doing here?”

With those first words, Rus Dalling assured Dillon that the two of them would get along excellently well, at least as far as Pris was concerned. She, of course, paid not the slightest heed to the implied disapproval; with a high-pitched squeal, she flung herself at her brother.

Dillon swore beneath his breath; he listened to the rustlings as night creatures reacted to the sound, while Rus Dalling sternly shushed Pris. That he’d been hiding, resigned to spending the night in a tree, told Dillon a great deal. They were assuredly not safe standing in the clearing, in plain sight.

Glancing at the cottage, Dillon saw the two horses tied to the post, realized what anyone would see if they chanced by. Turning, he joined the other two. “We can’t stay out here.” He caught Rus Dalling’s dark gaze. “Let’s get into the cottage-we can explain everything there.”

“No. There are men searching-”

“I know. But if they come this way, they’ll see the horses, tied like that. Mine, the black, is well-known about town-Harkness knows him by sight.”

Rus Dalling had been studying him in the weak and fitful light. “You’re Caxton.”

Dillon nodded. “You’re on my land, and that’s my cottage.” Grabbing Pris, he started to push her to it; Rus, still entangled, inevitably came, too. “If anyone comes by, they’ll see my horse, and the mare, at this hour outside a cottage on my land-what will they think?”

Rus Dalling’s face blanked. “An assignation.”

“Precisely.” Dillon ignored the dawning suspicion in the other man’s voice; dealing with that issue could wait. “They won’t come close-aside from all else, Solomon is known to get testy. He’ll raise the alarm.”

He managed to guide Pris and her twin into the cottage. He paused by the door. “Wait while I close the shutters, then light the lamp.”

Rus moved to do so; swiftly, Dillon crossed the front of the cottage and hauled the shutters closed. He strode back into the cottage as the tinder sparked; the instant the wick caught, he closed the door.

The lamp shed barely as much light as a candle, just enough, as they gathered around the scarred table, to illuminate their faces. Looking at Rus Dalling’s, Dillon recalled Barnaby’s description-a scruffy male version of Pris, a cross between Pris and Dillon. Barnaby had been very close to the mark; Rus was a few inches taller than Pris, a few inches shorter than Dillon. All three were of similar build, the only differences being the natural ones due to age and sex. The same could be said of their faces, indeed, all else about them; they were darkly, vividly handsome-at first glance, only the color of their eyes and the shade of their hair distinguished Rus and Pris from Dillon.

In those two characteristics, the twins were identical. In others…there were slight differences in their features, and more in the way they moved and reacted. Although highly similar in appearance and, he suspected, in character and personality, there would be, as was the case with Amanda and Amelia, significant differences, too. They were not one and the same person.

At present, Rus looked tousled and worn, a day’s growth of black beard shading his jaw. He looked pale, tired, his eyes hunted; his clothes were of good quality but had taken a beating.

Pris, still beaming, was exuberantly hugging him, gaily whispering that Eugenia and Adelaide were there, too, that she’d told Dillon all, that Dillon would help him, that he’d turn green when he saw Dillon’s horses, that neither Harkness nor Cromarty had realized she was in Newmarket, that they were looking for him…it all tumbled from her lips in a scrambled mishmash. Dillon wasn’t surprised when, across the table, Rus Dalling met his eyes, sheer, stunned, incomprehension in his face.

Dragging one of the armchairs to the side of the table, Dillon seized Pris by the shoulders-by sheer surprise making her release her brother-and sat her forcefully down.

Inclined to take umbrage, she glared up at him.

He pointed a finger at her nose. “Stay there.”

Drawing out one stool, he pushed it to Rus, then subsided onto the other. “First, what’s been happening here?” He met Rus’s eyes. “Why were you in the tree?”

Rus glanced at Pris; her gaze was trained expectantly on his face, but her lips remained shut. He looked back at Dillon. “Harkness. He’s been searching for me since I left Cromarty’s stable.” He grimaced, glanced at Pris. “In fact, I left Cromarty’s because I knew he’d be looking for me.”

“You learned something you weren’t supposed to-we guessed that,” Pris said. “Were you in the tree because Harkness traced you here?”

Rus looked at Dillon. “I’ve been using what ever shelter I could find, trying to stay close enough so that I could keep an eye on the string exercising. I wanted to find proof-”

Dillon stopped him with a raised hand. “We’ll get to that. Safety first.” With his eyes, he indicated Pris. “Did Harkness find you here?”

“No-at least, not in person. He and his head lad have been searching as much as they can ever since I left, so I’ve had to keep moving. I finally found this place and thought I was safe, but then last night they rode up. Luckily, I’d gone outside to gather kindling. I saw them and hid. They watched the cottage for some time, then went in. They searched. I crept close and listened. They didn’t find my things, so they weren’t sure who was using the place. They went outside and hid in the trees, and waited for a few more hours.” Rus shivered. “It was nearly dawn before they rode away. Even then, I didn’t dare go back inside until I knew they’d be out with the string. With me gone, Harkness has to oversee all the training sessions.”

Dillon looked at Pris. “It was Pris who led Harkness this way. She went spying on the string, dressed as she is now. Harkness spotted her, thought she was you, shot at her, then chased her. By chance, she fled this way.”

Horrified, Rus stared at Pris, then swore-long and inventively. Dillon warmed to him even more. Pris looked bored.

“Hell and the devil!” Rus concluded. “What happened?”

“I happened,” Dillon dryly replied. “I was riding by, stopped Pris, then Harkness recognized me and decided he didn’t need to chase you if it meant meeting me.”

Rus snorted. “Meeting you in suspicious circumstances would be his worst nightmare.” His gaze returned to his sister. “But what by all that’s holy did you think you were about?”

Pris elevated her nose. “Looking for you.” Rus stared at her; she met his gaze levelly. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t, did you?”

An unanswerable question; having assessed their position, Dillon cut in, “We can’t stay here-I don’t even want to talk about your predicament here. The sooner we get you safely tucked away out of Harkness’s reach, the better. And I know just the place.” He stood.

Rising more slowly, Rus glanced from him to Pris. “Where?”

“No.” Dillon caught Pris’s eye as she came to her feet. “The less said here, the better. Get those bags, and let’s go.”

Pris turned and pushed her brother toward the storeroom. “He’s right. He’s pigheaded and dictatorial, but in this, he’s right.”

Rus cast Dillon another look, one both measuring and suspicious, but as Dillon had hoped, Pris’s acceptance of his direction if not his authority persuaded her twin to fall in without argument. Between them, they fetched the bags. Dillon took the traveling bag from Pris. “Douse the lamp.”

He hauled the door open and went out, speaking to Rus over his shoulder. “You take the mare and the saddlebags. I’ll take this, and take Pris up behind me.”

It was the only arrangement that would work; the mare couldn’t carry two people, and Dillon was too heavy for her. After one assessing glance, Rus assented with a nod. Pris came out, and dragged the door closed.

She turned to the mare and her brother. Rus caught her eye, with his head indicated Dillon. “Go with Caxton. I’ll follow.”

Pris hesitated, making her own assessment, then turned to Dillon.

He swung up to his saddle, then kicked one boot free to allow her to use the stirrup. He reached down; she grabbed his arm, placed her boot in the stirrup and swung up. She settled behind him, wrapping her arms about his waist. Shortening the reins, he waited while Rus adjusted the mare’s stirrups and mounted, then turned Solomon’s head to the west. “This way. Keep close.”

Pris clung to the warmth of Dillon’s back as they trotted away under the trees. Then she realized which way they were heading. She looked around, then leaned closer and whispered, “Dillon-”

“Shhh!”

She pressed her lips together and waited, but he continued along the path leading west-the same path they’d ridden in on that afternoon, the one that led to the ruined cottage. Another minute passed, and she could bear it no longer. With one finger, she poked his shoulder. “We’re going the wrong way!”

She’d kept her words to a whisper; he answered on a sigh. “No, we’re not.” After a moment, he added, “Just wait.”

Wait. It was the one thing she wasn’t particularly good at. As he well knew. She wriggled.

“Sit still.”

She stifled a sigh.

They reached the rock-strewn stream. Dillon eased his big black down the bank-then headed down the stream.

“Ah.” Pris leaned forward so her lips brushed Dillon’s ear.

He glanced briefly back at her. “Indeed.”

Relieved that it was as she’d thought and Dillon was taking Rus back to his house, she twisted around to look at her twin, guiding the mare in the black’s wake. She caught Rus’s gaze and flashed him a reassuring grin, then turned forward, tightening her arms about Dillon as he sent the black back up the stream bank, this time heading east.

Half an hour later, they clattered into the stable yard behind the manor. The stableman and a lad appeared, and took their horses.

“We’ll need them both in a few hours,” Dillon said.

The stableman saluted and led the horses away.

“This way.” The traveling bag in one hand, her hand in the other, Dillon turned toward the house.

Rus, his saddlebags over his arm, paced alongside her as they crossed a wide expanse of manicured lawn. She felt him glance at her hand uncompromisingly locked in Dillon’s, then he glanced across her at Dillon. “You’re the Keeper of the Breeding Register, aren’t you?”

Dillon glanced briefly his way. “Among other things, yes.”

Rus exhaled. “I’ve been trying to learn about that blasted register-”

“I know. Meanwhile I’ve been trying to learn who the hell you are, and why you wanted to know.”

Pris watched as Rus, his gaze on Dillon’s face, grimaced.

“That was you the other night, wasn’t it? At the back of the Jockey Club? The trap I walked into. Was the other one a friend of yours?’

Dillon’s lips curved. He nodded. “You can apologize when you meet him. Actually, he was quite impressed by your pugilistic style-if you want to make amends, offer to teach him.”

“I will.” Rus frowned. “But what I couldn’t fathom was who it was you went after-is there someone else trying to gain access to the register?”