Tess was with child and she was sending notes to Captain Draycutt. A b.l.o.o.d.y cavalry officer with a

reputation for seduction.

You're a hypocrite, some inner voice told him. Don't you have secrets?

Yes, but could he put up with infidelity?

Could you give up your dreams? that wicked voice countered.

Abruptly, Brenn turned and went in search of Hamlin to take his leave. After paying his addresses to

Lady Ottley, he left without saying one word to his betrothed. He wasn't feeling particularly charitable

toward her.Finding Draycutt wasn't difficult. The man habituated all the haunts patronized by cavalrymen. Brennfound him at his club, just as he'd finished rising from a losing game of cards.

"May I have a word with you?" Brenn said pleasantly.

"Of course," Draycutt answered. "Merton, no? Artilleryman. Congratulations. I hear you've landed TessHamlin."It took all of Brenn's willpower not to wrap his fingers around Draycutt's neck. Instead, he slapped his leather gloves against the palm of his other hand and motioned the cavalryman toward a private corner of the room. Once there, he said almost pleasantly, "Don't ever let Miss Hamlin's name cross your lips again."

Draycutt pulled back in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

Brenn continued, his voice level, "Because if it does, I shall call you out."

The younger man stared at him. "You're serious?"

"Deadly serious."

Draycutt blew the air out between his cheeks. He signaled for a drink from a pa.s.sing waiter. "I hear that

in spite of your leg, you are a noted swordsman."

"And a crack shot, but then my leg has never interfered with my aim."

Draycutt took a sip of brandy before shrugging. "Very well. I shall never say her name again." He even

smiled. "My word of honor."

For a second, Brenn was tempted to call the man a liar. His promise had been too easily given. Eitherthat, or else he didn't give a tinker's d.a.m.n about Tess or the baby.To Brenn, a man who didn't honor his obligations was beneath contempt. He left the club without looking back.Tess was his. He'd claimed her the moment he'd kissed her. He'd protect her and her reputation with hislife. The day after the wedding, he'd whisk her off to Wales, away from the wagging tongues and theperfidious rabble known as the ton.

That night, Tess had trouble sleeping.

Brenn had left the Ottleys' without wishing her a good evening. What manner of man was he? Stiff,formal, correct-and then suddenly, without provocation, he'd kissed her as if he could drain her soulfrom her very body then charged off without a word to her. Of course, her staring at a line of men'sprivate parts might have warned him off.

At last, tired of tossing and turning, she put her feet over the side of the bed and, with a heavy sigh, lit a candle. Her uneasy mind was not going to let her sleep.

She padded across the carpet to a leather-bound trunk filled with personal objects. Out of it, she pulled Minnie's copybook.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, the candle beside her, Tess flipped through the pages. This journal was all she had of the woman who had been so influential in her thinking. The rest of Minnie's meager possessions had been sent to her brother in Surrey.

The first time Tess had read this journal, she'd been fourteen. Minnie had just pa.s.sed on and there weretearstains on the pages where Tess had mourned. She'd not understood much of what she'd read, butshe'd cherished the copybook.

Now Tess studied the poems Minnie had written. She ran her finger across the pages. She knew this handwriting as well as she knew her own.

Many of Minnie's poems were about love. And kisses. And loss.

This one spoke of something more:

Sweet, sweet copulation,

I take my lover in to me,

I shield him with my heart Offering what is only mine to give.

The poem was dated 1794. For the first time, Tess read it with a woman's heart...and understood.

Minnie had had a lover. She'd been an attractive woman. Perhaps there had been a scandal, something that would drive a Surrey vicar's daughter to London and the penurious life of a governess. Minnie had always been firm in her admonitions to Tess to be a model of propriety.

"I wish you were here now to answer my questions." Tess sighed.

Then she blew out the candle and, rising, went back to bed. She tucked the book beneath her pillow. In a week's time, she would offer Brenn what was only hers to give. She thought of him not as the aloof man he'd been this evening but as the man she had laughed with on the Garlands' terrace. The man who had kissed her. The man she and Neil were deceiving.

She shivered and placed her hand upon the book. In this position she fell into a sound sleep to dream of sticks that turned into pillows and pots of gold that disappeared when she reached out to touch them.

The next week was the most hectic, unsettling one of Tess's life. It was as if her world had been turned upside down.

Stella was in her zenith. Everyone in their social circle vied for invitations to the wedding. Consequently, Stella wanted only the best for the celebration and was willing to pay lavish amounts for it.

Neil behaved as if he had no money worries. When Tess confided her very firm feelings that he should talk to Stella about scaling back the guest list to the wedding breakfast, he'd laughed. He'd said that nothing was too good for his little sister.

"But what of money, Neil?" she'd pleaded.

"Tess, my fortune's intact. Stella and I are paying for this." He then gave her his back as he helped himself to a freshly opened bottle of port.

"Then why don't you reimburse me for the money you lost?"

Neil over-poured his gla.s.s. He wiped up the spilled wine before saying, "I can't do that, Tess. You know I can't."

"I don't understand why you don't. It's the only honorable thing to do." She crossed her arms. "I overheard you talking to him about the marriage settlements. I think we should either tell him the truth or you should share some of the money Father settled on you."

"Tess, that is such a radical idea. And it won't fly. It won't fly at all. Why, Christopher would never authorize such an expense. He is always going on about how extravagant Stella and I are." Neil gulped down his wine.

"Talk to him, Neil. Explain."

Her brother set the gla.s.s down with force. "I can't! Don't you understand? If Christopher finds out, I'l never gain control over my own fortune. Father's will was deucedly unfair. I can't live this way. Not much longer!" He stormed out of the room before Tess could say more.

That afternoon, Brenn brought over pen and ink drawings he'd done of Erwynn Keep. He had talent as

an artist.

Tess studied the pictures of the stately brick mansion sitting on a crag of land that jutted out over a lake.

Rosebushes and ivy covered its walls. Mountains framed the background.

She pointed to them. "Is this where the wizards kicked their feet?"

Brenn smiled at her reference to his story. "One of them. This is where the herb garden will be." He pointed to a location in back of the house. "Off the kitchen."

She nodded, not really interested in herbs at this moment. Since the Ottley musicale, Brenn had been

cordial, but distant. She was tempted to ask him if anything was wrong but feared the answer.

She studied the drawings. "It looks peaceful."

"It is," he a.s.sured her. "The mountains keep the world at bay. No war, no hunger, no b.l.o.o.d.y death..."

He murmured the last words, as if speaking to himself.

"I thought soldiers lived for war," she said.

"Only those who have never seen it." He spoke without thought because the moment the words had left

his lips, he acted as if he wished he could call them back. "Not n.o.ble of me, I know, but I've had my fill,"

he explained curtly and started to roll up the drawings, handling them as if they were the most precious objects on earth.

Tess stopped him. "Wait. Tell me about the weathervane." She pointed to the cupola on the roof of the

house and its fanciful dragon weathervane. "I've never seen one quite like it before.""No, and you won't. I designed it." A frown appeared on his forehead. He cleared his throat. "I, uh, hada fit of whimsy. It isn't crafted yet and I may not use it."

She looked at the coiling body of the dragon. The fire coming from his mouth pointed in the direction of the wind. "I like it."

"You do?"

She nodded. "I enjoy whimsy."

For the first time in days, he smiled at her. His grin was slightly lopsided. She liked it.

"Well, I'll have Cedric Pughe fashion it then." He began re-rolling the drawings.

"Who is Cedric Pughe?"

"The blacksmith. There's a village within a mile of the house. About twenty families live there. Their livelihood depends upon the earl of Merton."

Tess sensed that something was bothering him, but she didn't feel comfortable prying. "I'll be able to hirehelp then for the house, although I'm sure you already have some servants on retainer.""Retainer?" He said the word as if he'd never heard of such a concept."Yes. Certainly you have servants who have been with the family?"