All tragedies are finished by a death, All comedies are ended by a marriage.

Lord Byron, Don Juan, 1819 "I understand the need for haste, Clarendon," Ross said as patiently as he could manage, "but I can't make a definitive p.r.o.nouncement to the amba.s.sador about our investigation until I know something more."

"Can't you go back there now and do a little diplomatic lying?" the man asked, sc.r.a.ping his bent knuckle across his unshaven cheek. "Just stir the facts a bit, muddy them if you must. You saw Brunnov. He looked positively apoplectic."

"My lord, the only thing I can tell the Russian amba.s.sador at the moment is that we haven't a clue as to who abducted the three women before he got the princess. Only that the criminal is getting bolder with every attack."

"He might listen't o -"

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, sir! If I do anything to lead him to be l ieve that we're incapable of finding Princess Len k a, we'll be at war come morning. Look, I've surrounded the place with my operatives. I've covered every railway station, every dock in every harbor. I've set the world in motion. That will have to do until we've got more solid evidence. Besides, it's nearly three in the morning."

"d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n." Clarendon yanked off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. "I'm going home to bed. Though I doubt I'll sleep a wink. Just find the b.l.o.o.d.y princess, Blakestone. Alive, if you please."

"I'll send word the moment I have anything for you, sir."

Clarendon gave a final scowl, then clapped his hat down on his head just a bit too far, wrinkling folds into his brow. "Good night."

A better night would have been another one in Grousemeade Cottage with his unbridled wife. And with a miracle or two, he would be back there tomorrow night.

But in the meantime, he had a long night of research to do down in the Factory archives.

"Good G.o.d, Ross, you're supposed to be dallying with your wife in your wedding cottage." Drew was standing at the club room door, bleary-eyed and yawning, scratching the top of his head.

"Don't b.l.o.o.d.y remind me." Ross lifted the box of evidence he'd collected at the emba.s.sy and started toward the back stairs. "Let's see what we can do about getting us both back to our brides."

The guard held open the door that led into the security vestibule of the Factory, leaving Drew to stalk down the stairs after Ross.

He led the way into the evidence lab and put the box on one of the examination tables, feeling older than dirt and completely at a loss. Blind where he normally could see through stone.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on here, Drew?" Ross dropped onto a ta l l stool and tossed his nearly useless pad of notes into the middle of the table. "I've never seen anything like it. Four abducted women, four identical crimes."

"What's all this?" Drew peered into the box.

"Besides a folded white handkerchief doused in chloroform and a man's leather glove, nothing."

"No bonnets this time around?"

"The princess was sleeping. Hardly the time for bonnets. The rest of this is all for the benefit of the emba.s.sy officials. I had to do something. The whole delegation was in an uproar. Brunnov was bellowing for satisfaction. Dueling pistols at dawn. And he didn't care if his opposite was Aberdeen or Prince Albert, or the queen herself."

"So you collected a clock?" Drew lifted it partially out of the box.

"Someone heard it ticking in Princess Lenka's room sometime in the night."

"Lenka? Oh, h.e.l.l." Drew hitched his hip onto the table. "The moment Caro hears about this one, she'll be beating down the Factory door."

"A second cousin?"

"First."

"Well, what could it hurt if Caro joined the fray? She's d.a.m.ned good and certainly no stranger to the secret operations down here."

"Not to mention all those state secrets that need to be kept fro in -" Drew frowned, lifted his eyes to Ross. "Did you hear that?"

But Ross was already out the lab door and heading silently down the pa.s.sage toward the tailor shop and the noises in the dimness.

Toward the soft footfalls, moving toward him.

The whisper of fabric.

A familiar scent.

And then someone crashed into him, squarely against his chest. The person flew backward, out of his reach with a bellowing shout as Drew went dashing past them, deeper into the pa.s.sage.

"I'll go see if there are others."

"Come here, you!" Ross made a lucky grab in the dark for the burglar who was scrabbling away from him, and must have caught a sleeve.

Then a hand.

A very soft hand.

Dismissing the distracting sensation, he hauled the little sneak thief behind him along the corridor toward the light from the lab, wondering how the devil the Factory's defenses had been so badly breeched. How many of these ruffians were prowling through the rooms? And what could be done to keep them quiet?

"In here, you b.l.o.o.d.y b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" He pulled the rumpled clump into the room at the same time he realized that he was looking at the back of a rounded woman, righting herself.

At her skirts. An ap.r.o.n. Slender arms and long hair. Burnished red hair, golden tipped, tumbling out of its loosened bonds as she turned.

Silky, shining hair.

Elizabeth's hair.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!

"Elizabeth?" A stupid question. He was looking right into her beautiful sea-green eyes.

At her stunned, crimson-cheeked, open-mouthed face.

" Ross?" She squinted right back at him, tilting her head. "What are you doing here?" "Me? What the devil are you doing here? I left you in Ha in pstead." Left her sleeping and naked, but now...

"I'm very aware of where you left me."

"How the h.e.l.l did you get back to town, madam?" He reached out and lifted her hair back over her shoulder, if only to convince himself that she wasn't simply an illusion. "And where's that blighter Will? I ordered him to stay with you."

"Good heavens, Ross, he's a boy. He hadn't a chance. I tricked him. But you'll not take it out on him. Really, that's all beside the most important point. What I want to know is, what are you doing in here?" She pointed at the floor, her eyes still puzzled, flashing with exasperation. " In this place?"

"What are you talking about, wife?" They were utterly at cross purposes, speaking riddles to each other. "And how did you get in here?"

"How did you? " She seemed increasingly incensed, as though he had followed her here instead of the other way around.

"I came down the stairs, madam. And you?"

"The stairs?" She quirked her brow. Pursed her lips and looked to the ceiling.

"How did you get past the guard?" h.e.l.l, he'd just seen the man upstairs. The two other entrances were manned by multiple sentries.

"The guard? Oh."

He didn't like the sound of that. "What do you mean, 'Oh'? How did you get in here?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but pulled back her words and moved away from him as Drew came bowling through the door with a lighted candlestick.

He raised a brow when he caught sight of Elizabeth. "Well, good evening, Lady Blakestone. "

"Wexford?" She canted her head as though she was looking at a ghost.

"I thought you left your wife at Grousemeade Cottage, Ross." Drew set the burning candle on the table next to the evidence box.

"So did I." He pointed at the candle but kept his eyes on his nervous wife. "Where did you find that?"

"In the tailor shop. And I doubt Mr. Puckett left it burning."

Ross took hold of his wife's arms and turned her around to face him full on, better to catch the nuances so alive in her eyes. "Well, madam, explain yourself. How did you get in here?"

But her mouth took on an even more stubborn slant as she glared back at him. "Here's a better question, Ross: where are we? What kind of place is this? And what have you and Drew to do with it?"

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, did she really not know that she was in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the Huntsman? "Let's just say that Drew and I have a right to belong here. We work here. You don't. Now what are you doing in our cellar?"

She glanced at Drew, then back at Ross. "All right, then, my lords, since I am obviously the one who found my way into this so-called cellar by way of the... unofficial rout e -"

"Which is from where?" Drew asked in an overly diabolical voice, his arms crossed over his chest.

"In... uh in , through the paneled wall of the tailor shop."

"The what?" Ross asked, with a glance at Drew. "How? From where?"

She wrinkled her brow and rubbed the end of her nose with a crooked finger, as though wishing to m.u.f.fle the truth. "From... from the Abigail Adams."

Impossible! The place was three blocks away. "You must be joking."

Drew snorted. "I'll go check it out. If she's righ 't - and I'm a.s.suming your lovely bride wouldn't be spinning a tale for u 's - 't hen I should end up at the Adams."

"You might as well go home from there, Drew. I'll see you back here this afternoon."

Drew sent a gracious, encouraging wink toward Elizabeth, and then arched a brow at Ross. "Welcome to the husbands' club, old man."

Drew stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, turned on his heel and left the lab, trailing that d.a.m.ned contented tune behind him.

"Now, listen, Elizabet h -" Ross whirled back on his wife, ready to get to the bottom of all her dodging and deceptions, then realized that she was three sizes larger than she'd been when he left her. Her bosom matronly, her waist larger around, her dress oddly old-fashioned...

He opened his mouth to ask what the devil she was up to, but the woman reached out to him, caught her fingertips in his coat sleeve as though to soothe him.

"Look, Ross, I promise to show you everything later. But just now we don't have much time."

"No time for what?" It never ended, this riddle of his wife. One puzzle after another. One surprise before the next one, an even larger one.

She was flicking an impatient frown at him. "I thought you were trying to find Princess Lenka. Isn't that why you left me to pine away in our wedding cottage in Hampstead, while you came flying back here to London?"

"Yes, but the case of the abducted princess isn't your affair."

She took a stout breath and set her brow. "Actually, Ross, I think can help."

"Thank you, but I've got plenty of help. My own operatives, the Home Guard, the Metropolitan Police, the Foot Guard, the b.l.o.o.d.y cavalr y -"

"Isn't that going to be a little crowded for a quiet investigation?"

G.o.d, it was late. And she was more beautiful than ever with her adventurous spirit. But he was tired enough to sleep a week, had hoped for just a few hours.

"Please, Elizabeth, I appreciate your concern for the princess. It's not your problem."

But it's completely my problem! Elizabeth had never dreaded anything quite so much as she was dreading this. Telling Ross that she'd been responsible for the three previous abductions. That they weren't abductions at all.

But that the princess's kidnapping was terrifyingly real.

She had to tell him everything, if only to make him believe her.

Even this new little bit of treachery. That not only had she and her operatives already been at work on the case, but that they might have broken the first clue.

A very large clue.

Best to ju st say it right out.

"Look, Ross, I know you're not going to like anything I'm about to tell you, bu 't..." He took his time pinching out the candle flame then casting her a weary glance.

"But what?"

"I know where the princess is being held."

He rubbed at his temples, sighed. "Please, Elizabet h -"

"You have to listen to me, Ross. When I got back to London, I didn't know where you were, but I had to do something."

"You had to do something about the kidnapped princess? Why?"

The full truth would surely mean a battle between them, and would slow them down, so she didn't answer completely. "So when I couldn't find you, my a.s.sistants and I... well, we went over to the Russian Emba.s.sy to see if we could do anything."

He came fully alert and plunked her down in the chair behind her. "b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l! You did what?"