"What I do know, madam, is that every lead I've followed in these three kidnapping cases, every speck of evidence, has come to an absolute dead end."

What a great relief. But fo r reasons so di ff erent than she ever could have imagined.

"As though these women never existed after the moment they were abducted."

Even better. Because he'd never have to discover the extent of her falsehoods. As long as she remained clearheaded in her decisions and meticulous in her methods.

"What do you think that means, my lord? Professional kidnappers?"

"It means that once you've been taken, madam, you'd be gone for good, just like the others." He held tightly to her upper arms, nearly growling at her, his voice low and coming from deep inside him. "And by G.o.d, I wouldn't like that one d.a.m.n bit."

She was about to ask him why, when she heard Skye come beside her, whispering, "Miss Elizabeth, may we give the two ladies samples of the creamy chocolates from Coraleigh ' 's Confections? Nothing like word-of-mouth advertising to help Miss Cora find steady customers."

Elizabeth turned and nodded, a bit dizzied by the earl's intensity. "A fine idea, Skye, please do."

"Delicious!" The candy disappeared in a flurry of female whimpering that left her haunting exchange with Blakestone unfinished, her heart wanting more of him.

"And now, Miss Dunaway," the princess said, her eyes twinkling as she handed her brown-wrapped paper bundle to Ross, "about this ladies' club of yours..."

"Yes, yes, how do we join?" Lady Hawkesly stuffed her package under Ross's free arm.

"Join? You?" Why would either of these highly accomplished, so obviously independent women need to belong to a scandalous ladies' club?

"I don't think that's wise, my ladies." Blakestone frowned down upon the room.

"Why?" Lady Hawkesly shot back, her chin thrust at him.

"Because... wel l..." He looked suddenly wordless, sheepish as they stared hard at him. "Shouldn't you consult with your... never mind."

"Oh, pish-tosh, Ross." The princess waved him off in a playfully regal way and hooked Elizabeth's arm with her own. "Now, Miss Dunaway, if you don't mind, we'd love to see the Abigail Adams for ourselves."

They were out the door a moment later and plowing across the street like the prow of a great galleon, the traffic miraculously coming to a complete stop in the wake of the ex-Princess Royal of Boratania and her entourage, including the ta l l, brooding earl and his leagues-long stride, pulling up the rear.

The royal tour of the Abigail Adams included nearly every inch of the club, except the cellar and the guest room floor, finally ending in the foyer, where they had left Blakestone behind in the visitors' parlor, where he'd taken up residence like a palace guard.

"You've done a perfectly wonderful job, Miss Dunaway," the princess said, "with everything. A true home away from home."

"A den of revolutionaries." Ross hadn't meant to speak aloud, but now every female head had turned to him in the doorway of his cave, as though he had just tossed his boot into their punch bowl.

"What I mean, ladies, is... a place where you can kick off your shoes and exchange... never mind." He'd been about to say recipes, but decided he would rather live.

More silent scrutiny. Kate had begun to slowly shake her head at him.

Miss Dunaway raised a tolerant brow at him. "Thank you, Lord B lakestone."

Then they all went back to their animated discussion, as though he hadn't spoken at all.

Which was just fine. He had plenty of things to do before his meeting with the Lord High Admiral.

He had just decided to leave his two charges to the princess's burly driver and the carriage that was parked in the drive up when Hawkins burst from his little side room and threw open the front door to block the way of two men.

"Sorry, sirs, but this is a ladies' clu b -"

"You were right, Jared, they're still here!" Drew and Jared both stalked past the befuddled Hawkins and into the foyer, then went straight to their wives.

Jared lifted Kate's hand to his lips. "Have you forced the women's vote on Parliament, my love?"

"Tomorrow, sweet. Afternoon session."

"Don't tell me you're checking up on us, Drew," Caro said as her husband collected her into his arms for a quick waltz around the floor.

"Never more, my dear. I had enough of watching your every move two years ago to last me a lifetime."

b.l.o.o.d.y ballocks, Ross thought. The man was, and always would be, a hawk when it came to his princess and their new little son.

And d.a.m.ned if he wasn't beginning to understand why. Even now he found himself intently watching Elizabeth, who was herself closely watching the two effusive couples in their own Unbridled Embraces. A smile of wonder in her brilliant eyes, a softness to her brow.

Happiness in marriage, my dear rebel. It's possible. He'd seen it. Felt it in his dreams.

And as though she had heard his thoughts, she turned her head and met his gaze, a worried smile now caught between her teeth, her eyes glinting like emeralds. His heart stuttered at the sudden intimacy, dancing sideways before it righted itself.

"Hey, Ross! This came for you at the Huntsman." Drew left Caro with the others long enough to hand him a message, a serious cant to his brow. "From the Foreign Office."

"A declaration of war, do you suppose?" Ross asked wryly as Jared joined them, weary of the tangle of personalities as he thumbed open the envelope and gave the message a quick scan. "Ah, not quite yet. Merely a few tempers to soothe."

"The Austrians?" Jared asked. "Or the French?"

"The Russians this time." Ross tried to read Clarendon's dashed-off message, but the man's hand was nearly inscrutable. "Apparently one of their diplomatic couriers was knocked down this morning in Euston Station by someone who wanted his attache case badly enough to try to grab it in broad daylight as he stepped off the train."

"Please tell me the Russian courier is alive."

"Apparently alive and kicking, Drew," Ross answered to the group now gathered around them. "Now, if you'll excuse us, ladies, Drew and I have to pay an official visit to the Russian Emba.s.sy."

But Caro persisted, the most doggedly curious woman in the world. "Did they get the attache case, Ross?"

"Apparently not, madam." Ross folded up the note and stuck it into his pocket before the woman could decide to join the hunt. "Come, Drew. And no, Princess, you can't come along."

"But I can help. I know Brunnov's weaknesses. He's terrified of spider 's -"

"That's why Ross said no, my love. Jared and Kate will see you get home safely."

Drew gave his wife the smacking good kiss that Ross suddenly wished he could give to Elizabeth, and a very few minutes later he and Drew were on their way in a hackney to the Russian Emba.s.sy to forestall a political scandal.

"So, Ross, why exactly are we racing over to the emba.s.sy? No harm's been done. Making more of the confrontation than it actually is will only aggravate the situation."

"A diplomatic mission. Clarendon's request."

"Ah, we're to soothe Brunnov's temper. Maybe we should have brought Caro."

"The amba.s.sador's blaming Aberdeen's government."

"For a simple robbery attempt?"

"He's making noises about an intentional act of sabotage by the British Foreign Office."

"That's absurd."

"But it's got everyone dancing to his music. He's demanding that Scotland Yard and the Foreign Office investigate the a.s.sault. And insists upon an apology not only from the prime minister, but Victoria herself."

"That's not going to happen any time soon." Drew leaned back against the coach seat, his longtime distinction as the queen's favorite diplomat granting him an invaluable insight into the woman's personality. "At least not an apology from the queen."

"Which is why Clarendon wants us to defuse the situation immediatel y -"

"Express Her Majesty's concern for the Russian mission in Londo n -"

"Without actually issuing a formal apology." Ross rubbed at his suddenly aching shoulder. "b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, Drew, I hate this. I'm a soldier, not a nanny. How do you stand it?"

"Diplomacy," Drew said with a grunt, "is not for the faint of heart."

A quarter hour later they were met at the door of the Russian Emba.s.sy by a liveried page, then ushered into the elaborate receiving room.

They waited the obligatory ten minutes until the deputy amba.s.sador finally strode in with his effusive apologies for keeping them waiting, though he knew as well as they did that he had purposely lingered upstairs the prescribed length of time, and that they had been expecting him to do just that.

"Diplomacy," Drew had whispered again.

The other formalities rang just as dry and hollow to Ross, and their questions about the a.s.sault on the courier were expertly deflected. As though the targeted attache case had held something of a highly delicate nature.

Troop movements, weapon strength, fleet conditions, the royal pearls.

"If we might speak with the courier himsel f -"

The deputy amba.s.sador shook his nattily coiffed head firmly. "I'm afraid that's not possible, Lord Blakestone. He is indisposed." Ross heard Drew's m.u.f.fled grunt beside him on the settee, but tried again. "We wish merely to ask him a few questions about the inciden 't -"

"You may ask me, my lord. He has told me everything."

"Then shall we start from the beginning, Mr. Deputy Amba.s.sador? Were yo u - I mean, was your courie r - a ble to get a description of the man who attempted to grab the attache case?"

"Well, now as I understand it, Lord Blakestone..."

By the time they left the Russian Emba.s.sy, Ross's notepad was a snarled web of the deputy amba.s.sador's wild-a.s.s suspicions, pointing the blame at nearly everyone the man could imagine, including Prince Albert, and the President of the United States.

He dropped Drew off at his town house, where Caro yanked open the door with young Andrew in her arms and pulled him inside with a quick wave to Ross in the carriage.

They made it look so simple.

When he knew very well that their road had been long and difficult, a road he would gladly take should the right woman ever come into his life.

A woman with a warm, deliciously rebellious spirit.

The sort who couldn't be flattered.

Or cajoled.

Who wouldn't turn from a challenge.

Or walk away from an injustice.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l! What was it Drew had said about diplomacy? That it wasn't for the faint of heart.

But then neither was protecting Elizabeth Dunaway.******************"Oh, I hate jam pots!" Elizabeth held her breath, gripped the lid of the jar with all her might, then put all her weight into a grunting twist.

"Blast it all!" She let up on the pressure. The lid was glued down by its own sweetness. And she dearly wanted to top off her late night crumpet with the last of the cook's brandied cherry preserves.

It was after eleven; all the staff was in bed. However, Blakestone's guards weren't.

They never slept.

But they were always hungry, always courteous and ready to help.

She quickly set up a tray for the night man in the drive up, including the stubborn pot of preserves, and slipped from the kitchen through the darkened tea room and into the foyer. But as she approached the front door, she noticed a light flickering around the door frame of Blakestone's makeshift office and couldn't help looking inside.

Now, here was a man who could open a jam pot! Among other feats of strength and daring.

She set the tray on the entry table, took the pot with her to the door, then peered through the cracked opening.

He was bent over the desk, his fingers raked through his dark hair, his arm propping up his forehead. He was shuffling papers across the surface.

"Lord Blakestone? "

He whirled around and shot to his feet, looking so vulnerable in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat.

"Can I help you, Miss Dunaway?"

She felt utterly ridiculous now, with the pot of preserves and her petty request. But she held out the pot anyway.

"Can you open this please, my lord?"

"With the greatest pleasure." He smiled like a rogue, then drew himself up, even flexed an arm muscle for her, before he got a grip on the lid and opened the pot with ease.

"Thank you." She felt even more ridiculous as he handed it back to her. "Sorry. I had a craving for brandied cherry preserves."

"Please, I appreciate the friendly face." He leaned back against the desk and winced slightly as he began to absently knead a muscle in his shoulder.

"Working late I see."

"There's never enough time during the day." He yawned and rolled his shoulder. "If it isn't a diplomatic uproar, it's the Lord Mayor wanting to know how far I've come in the investigation of the abductions."

"No luck?"