"You're not going to like it, Ross, but here it is." She took a huge, worried breath then sighed through it. "The first three women weren't kidnapped. Lady Wallace and the other two."

His heart went still. "What do you mean 'not kidnapped.' Has someone contacted you? Are they dead? "

"Of course not. They're very much alive. All three of them."

A b.l.o.o.d.y odd thing to say. "How could you possibly know this?"

She straightened her shoulders, growing taller in the seat. "I know they weren't abducted because... well, because..."

"Because... ?"

"Because I... because I helped each of them plan and execute an escape from her husband."

Her words had become a wall he couldn't see past. Dizzied him with its height. Or maybe he was just tired to death.

"You did what, love?"

"I had to make it look like the women had been taken against their will and never found, otherwise they might look like a runaway wife." When he could only nod, the impossible woman pushed on. "That's how I knew that the princess wasn't kidnapped by the same person who had kidnapped the other women. Because I had."

"You can't be serious." His ears were still ringing with the impossibility of what he was hearing, with the morning traffic rattling past them in the street.

"That's why I'm suggesting that we mount a similar fiction to rescue the princess. Because I've done it three times already, Ross. More, really."

"I still don't understand, wife." His brain felt mushy and slow. "You kidnapped Lady Wallace? How? Then who left all those clues behind?"

"Me. I merely arranged for temporary lodging and a steamship ticket to New York for her, then executed a broad-daylight abduction, on Regent Street in front of as many reliable witnesses as we could manage. And then we slipped her safely out of town in a disguise."

Elizabeth had expected Ross to be angry or shocked or stunned or raving when she finished confessing her role in the so-called abductions. Outright bellowing would have been good.

But she hadn't expecte d him to be so completely silent.

Dumbstruck.

Though his dark eyes with their fathoms-deep fires were shifting across her face, watching her every breath, her every blink.

"Don't you see, Ross? You can't use any of the evidence from the first three abductions in your investigation of the abducted princess. The hat, the glove, the handkerchief with the chloroform. Because there were no abductions. And none of your information applies."

The only muscle that moved was his jaw; it squared and flexed and squared again.

"That's why I had to come to tell you the truth in person after I read your note at the cottage. The princess must be frightened to death. And I'm frightened for her. She's truly been abducted by some fiend who has copied my clues from reading about the details in the newspaper. Her life is probably in danger! We have to rescue her as soon as possible."

"Christ, Elizabeth, what the h.e.l.l have you done?"

Too much to explain right now.

"Please, Ross, I know how to do this. How do you think I managed to make three women disappear without a trace?"

"Because you're mad?"

"Did you or Scotland Yard ever find a single piece of evidence against in e?"

He bucked backward as though he'd caught her dead to rights. "Their membership in the Adams."

"Which led you absolutely nowhere. You know I'm right, Ross. If I hadn't just now confessed that I'm responsible for the abductions, you would never have discovered it on your own."

"That's beside the point."

"The point is that we're running out of time for the princess. Maybe for the entire world."

He had stopped his ranting and now looked at her through one eye. "I know the princess. She knows me. I've danced with her. How exactly do I explain to her the reason that I've come to her rescue without the Russian delegation demanding a full investigation?"

"You've danced with her?" Well, good. He was willing to listen. Thank G.o.d.

She softened her voice, hoping to sound more reasonable to him. Less the lunatic.

"Whoever took the princess must have actually used the chloroform in the handkerchief to get her quietly out of the emba.s.sy. Which would render her unconscious for a time, and disoriented for a number of hours."

Ross was leaning forward, nodding, frowning. "She might not have seen the kidnappers. Wouldn't know they were from the Austrian Emba.s.sy."

"Exactly. With a blindfold and absolute silence the moment we lay our hands on her, she won't know who rescued her or even how she got back to the emba.s.sy."

"The Austrians certainly won't be able to cry foul for fear of bringing down the wrath of the tsar on their heads. It's a d.a.m.ned near perfect stalemate, Elizabeth." And he looked appalled by the very idea.

"But only if we can make the princess disappear, in a public shop, in broad daylight, then deliver her back to the Russian Emba.s.sy. No questions asked."

He studied her for the longest time, his breathing deep and controlled. Scrubbing at his jaw, weighing the gains and losses in his head.

Until he finally said so softly that she barely heard him over the traffic, "h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation."

Ross had begun to believe that he was dreaming. Or writhing in purgatory for the brief happiness he'd discovered with Elizabeth. The world had gone topsy turvy.

But here he was, wide awake, crammed into a carriage with his wife, actually considering her antic strategies as the only rational risk.

Because time was a critical commodity. As critical as secrecy. The last thing he needed at the moment was to have the little shop surrounded by the police, or the Home Guard, or the entire Russian Army.

The tsar screaming b.l.o.o.d.y murder at the affront of it all.

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

" What kind of fiction, madam?" he asked carefully, knowing that he would be setting off an operation that would put the woman he adored into harm's way.

"It's already in progress, Ross. The girls are in place on Huggett Lane. Shopping, chatting, having te a -"

"In place? Do you mean right now? At this very minute?"

"We've no time to waste. Everything is set. They're just waiting for me't o -"

"For you to show up in your disguise and rescue the princess single-handedly. That's why you're dressed that way. "

"Not just me. There are to be four of us."

"You're wrong, wife." He couldn't believe he was about to say it. "There will be five."

"Five! Oh, Ross! Thank you!" There wasn't a lick of triumph in her eyes, only urgency and terror. "It's an easy plot. All you have to do is follow my lead."

"No, madam, you'll do as I say, when I say it." He needed to be able to put himself between his wife and a bullet meant for her. "That goes for your confederates. Now, how were you going to deliver the princess back to the emba.s.sy?"

"I've hired a private hack to meet us at the Adams."

"No. I'll take care of that at the Factory." If this madness worked, he'd have a huge mess to clean up afterward.

"The Factory?" Her eyes widened at his admission. "Oh, I see."

Then she nodded soberly and went back to wrestling things out of her ponderous satchel.

A substantial bonnet. A wig box.

"What the devil have you got there?"

"A few things for our pantomime. Remember, you're the father, Ross." She opened the lid of a small wooden box, pulled out a black hairy thing the size of two caterpillars and started fiddling with the back of it. "I'm the mother. And we have three teenaged daughters."

"Three teenaged... b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!"

He'd married a quick change artist with the tracking skills of a Seminole warrior.

Twenty minutes later Ross was stepping out of the coach onto the limestone curb a block down Huggett Lane from the import shop. As well-rehea.r.s.ed in his wife's b.l.o.o.d.y fiction as he was ever going to get.

The pair of them dressed to the teeth in costumes that would fool the most discriminating audience.

Elizabeth wore a slightly old-fashioned dark wig, shot with strands of gray, a fashionable hat, a heavier bosom, a thicker waist, a beige, flawlessly tailored skirt and bodice, and a gold pince nez on her nose, secured to a brooch with a black silk ribbon.

Ross felt like a b.l.o.o.d.y orator, his frock coat enhanced by an unfolded walking stick, a silk hat, kid gloves, grayed temples, spectacles. And a rather virile moustache, the ends of which he could see when he glanced down.

All of which his wife had conjured out of her satchel like a magician.

"Mama!" Down the street came their three stylishly dressed teenaged daughters, waving exuberantly. Decked out with parasols and shopping baskets, bundles of brown wrapped packages.

"Good morning, Papa!" Jessica and Ca.s.sie each grabbed an elbow, unfazed by his addition to their theatricals.

But while he had them gathered around him, he needed to be sure they understood the gravity of the situation. This was no longer a freelance operation.

"One thing to keep in mind, ladies," he said, including his wife in his hushed tones and the sweep of his gaze. "You're now acting as official agents of the crown. Everything you do or say reflects directly back upon Queen Victoria. And since I am Her Majesty's champion and she is a longtime friend to me, you will do everything in your power to behave in her best interest."

Their mouths opened to perfect O's. Hopefully awed. Hopefully aware of the stakes. The threat to each and every one of them.

"Now, don't dawdle, girls," Elizabeth said, breaking out of the group with a noisy trill. Instantly transforming herself into a sophisticated matron on a shopping spree with her family.

She preened at a windowpane , then waved to someone across the street, and even added a little waddle to her stride.

The girls fell into step behind her, like a mama duck and her ducklings.

The Carter P. Norris family on parade. And he was their proud father.

Their protector, should anything go wrong. And it d.a.m.ned well better not. Because his wife had a lot of explaining to do when he got her back to their rooms in the Huntsman.

Elizabeth and the girls trolled the various shop windows ahead of him, exclaiming over hats and lamps and china displays until they finally reached the import shop.

It was an odd thing to be looking into that window. Not at the tins of herring and the bolts of cloth as Elizabeth and the girls were doing. But through the window into the small store itself; at the layout, the single clerk and the woman customer, the play of light and the stairway that he could see through a break in the curtain in the rear.

A long counter on the right, a wall of shelved goods on the left. The perfect setup for their ruse.

"After this customer, wife," he whispered as she slipped her hand through his crooked elbow and smiled primly up at him, "and then we'll go."

He had the strangest urge to kiss her.

For show.

For luck. For love. Because this was a b.l.o.o.d.y dangerous business and he'd grown quite used to her being in his life. In his heart.

He bent his head and caught her smile on his mouth, the deep impression of petals and roses. The exotic sensation of having a thick moustache between his upper lip and hers.

She kissed him right back, her eyes wide open and serious. Then she pulled away in mock ire. "Why, Mr. Norris, you dear cad, you!"

"And here we go," he whispered against her ear as the woman inside the shop completed her purchase and pranced out the door.

Perfectly on cue, the girls laughed, then flounced into the store, a dangerous cloud of crinoline, exclaiming over everything in sight.

"Ah, good afternoon, ladies, sir," the clerk said with a chortle, thickly laced with an Austrian accent. A medium-sized man that Ross knew he could easily take down with the back of his hand should it be necessary.

Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.

But Elizabeth had hung back just outside the doorway, raising a terrified sweat on the back of his neck, though her actions were exactly as they had planned.

"Mr. Norris, have you seen our Patrick? Oh, my stars! Where did that boy go?" Then she cupped her hand to her mouth and shouted down the street like a fishmonger's wife. "Paaaaaaaaatrick!"

His heart had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. These were dangerous men with dangerous intentions.

"Oh, look, Papa! Humbugs!" Jessica had stopped near the front door, just as they'd planned, drawing the clerk's attention.

"May I help you, miss?"

"Papa, please!" She poked her finger against the big jar of candy. "Humbugs are my favorite! And sherbet lemons and licorice and bonbons!"

"Helen, you know your mother doesn't like you eating candy." Ross moved into place on Jessica's left as he carefully blocked the clerk's view of the back of the shop.

"It's bad for your complexion, dear."

"Oh, Mama, please!"