"Curiosity? About what? Do you loiter around Scotland Yard just for amus.e.m.e.nt?"

"Not usually. Then again, Scotland Yard usually isn't br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with rebellious women."

"So I'm a curiosity? Like one of the elephants at the London zoo. Or a zebra."

The lout gave a broad, encompa.s.sing laugh that echoed against the brick walls and slipped easily between her ribs. "Not like them at all, madam. I merely wanted to see what all the commotion was about."

"Commotion! How dare you! I'll have you know we're not just a commotion! We're a movement which is growing every day."

"That's just what I'm afraid of." The man's jaw squared suddenly, his amus.e.m.e.nt gone as he strode toward the door, then turned and reached out for her. "Now come on out of here, please. You're going home."

"I'm what?" Elizabeth glanced down at his huge, open palm and felt her knees loosen at the implication. "What do you mean, going home? I'm not ready to go! I'm waiting here for the press to interview me. The real press!"

"Consider your protest finished, Miss Dunaway. For your own good." He beckoned to her with a lift of his powerful arm, as though he believed she would just walk forward and place herself under his, doubtless considerable, protection. "You've made your statement. Now, you and your friends are going to be taken safely home, where I hope to G.o.d you'll stay until this mess blows over."

"Blows over?" She'd never in her life been so angry, so ready to haul off and slap someone. Her heart was thumping with such force, she was certain the man could hear it from the doorway. "Haven't you heard a thing I've said, Blakestone? This so-called mess will blow over only after you find me facedown in the Thames."

Her anger only seemed to add to his calm. "An event that I would dearly regret, Miss Dunaway, but you're not staying here in this cell another moment. Your compatriots have been sprung and taken discreetly back to the bosom of their families. And you're going too."

"I don't have a bosom." That didn't sound right, but it threw the man momentarily off balance. She stalked forward, slowly moving him back out of the cell. "I mean, sir, that I don't have a family. No one is waiting for me at home. So no one will worry if I spend a night behind bars. Or a week. And when someone from the fo urth estate finally takes notice of me and the cause of women's rights, I want to be here to tell my story."

With that, Elizabeth took hold of the barred door, pulled it toward her, and slammed it shut between them.

He stood blinking at her for a moment, studying her as she gripped the cool metal bars, planning something that she wasn't going to like.

"So, Miss Dunaway, you're willing to spend a long, cold night in jail, battling the rats for your threadbare blanket, existing on moldy bread and stale water, all for the sake of making a political statement."

"Absolutely." Though she would rather do without the rats. "I have no choice. Because self-serving men like you won't allow me to take my rightful place in Parliament where I could express my opinion and be grateful for the privilege."

He was silent again, a flame-blue light flickering deeply in his gaze. A light that settled softly on her lashes, then glided across her cheeks.

Such a palpably compelling sensation that she hadn't noticed until seconds too late that the blackguard had slipped off his silken stock and wrapped it around one of her wrists.

"Sorry, my dear, but for better or for worse, that's the way of the world." In a single motion he yanked the door open, caught up her other wrist, bound it to the first and then began tugging her down the corridor.

"No! Let me go! Youuu! You're not a policeman!"

"Sorry for the inconvenience, madam."

"I don't want to leave!" Elizabeth planted her heels against the floor to stop him, but he pulled her gently along beside him anyway, her wrists still wrapped within his stock, his broad palm, his hot fingers, spread low across her waist. "The press are coming! You have no right to remove me from my cell, you lout!"

Ross smiled to himself as he wrangled the young woman along the corridor of barred doors, wondering if Captain Robins would appreciate the trouble he was going through just to protect him and the Metropolitan Police from Miss Dunaway's wrath. She would surely have browbeaten Robins until he'd have been forced to allow her to stay the night.

Now that would be a headline London wouldn't soon forget: Beautiful Suffragette Tortured by Scotland Yard.

At least that's the way the story would read if the beautiful lunatic suffragette were allowed to entertain the press in her jail cell.

They reached the lobby with enough racket that Captain Robins had already popped out of his office.

"Ah, there you are, Blakestone!" A smile suddenly lifted the officer's long face, a look of pure relief, as Ross approached him with the nimble Miss Dunaway tucked against his side. "I see you've got your hands full."

"I demand to be put back into my cell, Captain!" The woman stopped struggling and thrust her chin toward Robins, which gave Ross the chance to wrap his free arm around her fully and pull her perfectly rounded backside against his thigh. "Make this lout let go of me!"

"And what about your other guests, Captain?" Ross nodded toward the courtyard, pleased to see it empty of the sea of women. "How are they faring?"

"Safely on their way home, my lord, just as you suggested."

"As you suggested?" Miss Dunaway whipped her head around and glared up at Ross, her fine, full lips in a furious pout, a fire blazing deeply in her eyes. "Just who are you, Blakestone, that you can throw your weight around Scotland Yard!"

Ross did his best to glare back into all that indignation, but he found Miss Dunaway deliciously beguiling.

Every part of her. Including that lovely, ripe hip she was mindlessly grinding into his groin as she frowned up at him in her anger, innocently arousing in him a fever she ought to leave be.

Because he was in no position to be dallying with a woman just now. Though, b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, he'd always been drawn toward the Miss Dunaways of the world. Toward this one especially. Her rare, soaring spirt. Her self-possession.

And those deeply glittering eyes that would tempt him to explore.

Dragging in a huge breath to cool his brain, Ross wrenched his illicit thoughts from his prisoner and directed his attention toward Captain Robins. "Now, if you have a paddy wagon and a driver available... ?"

"Ah, Blakestone! I thought I heard your voice!" The Lord Mayor of London strode out of the captain's office, his deputy on his heels. "Good to see you, man. I was planning to pay you a visit this evening."

"That still may be best, Lord Mayor," Ross said with a nod, having no hand free to shake the man's hand. "As you see, I'm all tied up at the moment."

"Captain, I asked you to call the press," Miss Dun-away said, turning her glare on the startled Robins and stomping her foot. "Or did you expect me to fall for his lordship's little deception."

"His... I'm sorry, what?" Robins crumpled his wiry brow as he cleared his throat. "Actually, miss, I've been a bit busy with... you know."

"No, I don't know, Captain Robins. You arrested me for disturbing the queen's peace, and all I want in return is to tell my side of the story. In print."

"Yes, well, I-"

"Blakestone, if I might have a word with you. Just for a moment." Lord Mayor Callis had come to Ross's side, casting a wary glance at his prisoner.

"Go ahead." Ross shifted Miss Dunaway slightly to . the side.

"I suppose, I..." Callis hemmed a bit, tugged at his ear as he studied Miss Dunaway. "Yes, well, ahem... another one has... gone missing."

"Either you unhand me, Blakestone," Miss Dunaway said with a hiss and a wriggle, "or I'm going to have Captain Robins arrest you right here and now."

Ross did his best to ignore her, only held on more tightly, wondering what the devil the Lord Mayor was whispering about. "Another what, Callis? I've been out of the country for the last six months."

"Another woman." Callis frowned more deeply and whispered even louder, "Lady Wallace went missing this morning."

"Lady Wallace? Missing from where?" Though he still didn't understand what the man was talking about.

But Miss Dunaway obviously did. She'd gone completely still in his arms, her shoulders drooping precipitously against him. Her pale green eyes wide and worried when she glanced up at him.

"The lady simply disappeared from Regent Street, Blakestone. In broad daylight. That's why I came here to Scotland Yard. I mean to keep it completely quiet for the time being. I had just broken the news to the captain here."

"And I was just about to ask the Lord Mayor why he wanted me to keep the matter quiet, " Robins said. "After all, if the woman is missing, shouldn't as many people know about it as possible?"

"As Lord Mayor, I don't want to panic the population. After all, this is the third woman in four months to turn up missing. And we haven't been able to stop a single one."

"A shame, isn't it?" came the unexpected whisper of sympathy from Miss Dunaway.

But Ross hadn't heard a thing about any of it. "I'm sorry, Callis, I'm completely clueless. I've been on the continent. You'll have to fill me in."

"Briefly then, all of the victims have been ladies. Every one of them. From wealthy families. Aristocratic t.i.tles. Three identical crimes."

"Identical?"

"Down to the time of day."

"And the motives for these abductions?" Ross asked, surprised that his prisoner had relaxed so completely.

"Hard to say, my lord." Callis shook his head. "Very few clues left at the scene; though, as I said, each piece of evidence has been identical to the one before.

Nothing to alert the pa.s.sersby that anything is amiss."

"And then what happens? A demand for money?"

"Nothing, my lord. No ransom note. Nor any contact with the family at all afterward." "No bodies, neither," Robins added, in a whisper meant to exclude Miss Dunaway, though she was listening intently, "we can thank the good Lord."

Three women vanished completely? Three identically orchestrated crimes?

And not a single body?

"Interesting, Lord Mayor." Ross eased his hold on Miss Dunaway's shoulder, trusting that she wouldn't turn and bolt back to her cell. "But how can I help you? I've been away, as I told you."

Callis glanced down again at the becalmed woman. "If I could send over what we've got so far on the Wallace case. It's not muc h -"

"I'll be at a dinner tonight until well after midnight, but, sure. Have your officer leave it at the club with Pembridge. I'll take it from there."

"Excellent, my lord. Thank you." Callis breathed a huge sigh. "Three women in four months! b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, it's a crime wave! And it's liable to set the whole city into a fright, right in the middle of the social season, if we don't solve the crimes and put a stop to the criminal."

"The press won't get wind of this from Scotland Yard," the captain said, "I can promise you that."

"And you, Miss Dunaway?" Ross bent down to the sobered young woman, freeing her hands of his stock, but holding fast to her wrists and peering into her eyes. "Not a word from you either."

"I promise, Blakestone," she said, her gaze glittering brightly with something he couldn't read. "Cross my heart. Not a single word, to anyone. May I go home now?"

Home? Now that was a sudden change of direction.

"I thought you didn't have a home." A bosom, she had said. But the woman definitely had a bosom. Shapely and soft-edged, he'd noticed that in particular. "Or have you tired of prison life, madam?"

She shrugged and nodded slightly. "Just putting everything into perspective, sir. Hearing about those poor women. Makes one think, doesn't it?"

"Indeed."

"A paddy wagon, Miss Dunaway?" the captain said, eyeing the woman, his hands on his hips, his earlier hes-itance having vanished. "Or can I trust you in a hack?"

"Thank you, I'll walk, Captain. I promise to go straight to in y -"

"No. I'll see you home, Miss Dunaway." Ross heard the words escaping his mouth before he could pull them back. Before he had noticed his heart slamming around inside his chest.

Before he realized that he just needed to know where she called home. Because he couldn't quite let go of all that fiery courage. Not yet.

She lifted her eyes to his, searching his face, obviously a.s.sessing his motives. "If you promise not to bind my hands and drag me to my door."

Ross glanced at Callis and Robins, who were watching the exchange as though expecting a bout of fisticuffs to break out between them.

"A truce then, madam."

Her smile filled her eyes with a kind of peace. Then she turned and reached out her hand to the captain as though she'd just spent the afternoon in his mother's parlor. "Thank you for your hospitality, Captain Robins. I'll recommend Scotland Yard to all my friends."

Robins's mouth hung open as he shook hands with the woman, before he finally managed to babble out, "You're very welcome, Miss Dunaway."

She turned then to the Lord Mayor. "And the best of luck in your search for the three missing women, my lord. It seems you're going to need it."

Then the remarkable woman flounced out the front door of Scotland Yard as though she had just won the day.

"This way, madam." Ross caught up her hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm and started back toward the Admiralty livery, where he would borrow a carriage and safely return the extraordinary Miss Dunaway to her home.

A full circle completed.

Crossing Whitehall hadn't turned out so badly after all.

Chapter 4.

I long to hear that you have declared independency. And, I desire you would remember the ladies and be more generous and favorable to them than your ancestors.

Abigail Adams, to her husband John March 31, 1 776 "You live at the Abigail Adams, Miss Dunaway?"

Elizabeth delighted in the rumble of surprise lurking in Blakestone's voice. And in the scandal that flared deeply in his dark eyes as he handed her down from the coach.

"So you've heard of the Adams, my lord?"

"Madam, every man in town seems to be talking about the b.l.o.o.d.y place."

"Because every man in town is terrified of a few women gathering together, unchaperoned by their men folk." There was something wickedly sensual about pausing here with him on the very public circu l ar drive up in the courtyard of her deliciously controversial club.

Even more so because he held her hand too long, too possessively, his eyes smoky and unreadable as his gaze traveled over her brow and across her cheeks.