"I will grant you that. But he could not expect to hold me forever. What was he planning to do?"

Priscilla waved that objection away. "I don't know. Maybe he is going to leave soon anyway-rob her or cheat her out of some large amount of money. After that, it wouldn't matter what you told her. He just wants you out of the way until then."

He nodded. "It makes sense." He smiled. "You're quite good at this, did you know that?"

"People say I have a good imagination." She looked at him. She wanted, in that moment, to tell him about her writing. She wanted him to know that she had written the book he enjoyed last night. More than that, she wanted him to know her, to know everything about her. He would not be horrified, she thought; after all, he was worried that he had been a criminal of some sort. Her vocation of writing would probably seem quite innocuous compared to that. He did not seem to have the usual prejudices and entrenched beliefs.

Priscilla hesitated, on the verge of telling him. Then she pictured the shock that might appear on his face, the disbelief. He would never look at her in the same way again; she could not call back her words or make him forget them. If she was wrong, it would be disastrous. Anxiety clutched at her, paralyzing her. She swallowed and did not tell him.

Instead, she said, "The d.u.c.h.ess is having a party Sat.u.r.day evening."

"Really?"

"Yes. She should, not because they are still in mourning, but they have always had a large party in the spring at Ranleigh Court, and she says she does not want to break tradition. Personally, I think it is more that she loves parties. I think it would be just the thing for you to accompany us."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. I would like to see what Mr. Oliver does when he sees you arrive. Maybe he will make a mistake and let out who you are. Or perhaps you could question him in private."

"Yes. Perhaps I could." He smiled. "An excellent idea, my dear Miss Hamilton. Excellent." He paused. "Now, if only I can remember how to dance."

"Don't worry." Priscilla smiled up at him, dimpling. "I shall teach you."

PRISCILLA SLEPT LATE THE NEXT MORNING. They had tried out John's dancing skills in the drawing room after dinner, with Miss Pennybaker providing the music on the piano. It turned out that John remembered quite well how to dance-so well, in fact, that they spent the rest of the evening dancing. He had even twirled Miss Pennybaker around the room while Priscilla played the piano. Miss Pennybaker's face had flushed pink with pleasure, and even Florian had been drawn from his study by the sounds of their gaiety and stayed to listen to the music, tapping his foot. By the time she finally went up the stairs to bed, Priscilla had been quite happily exhausted.

This morning, when she awoke, she found herself bursting with ideas, and she sat down immediately at her small desk and began to write. She did not even change out of her nightgown, simply threw a light dressing gown over it. She scribbled away without stopping for almost two hours, and when at last she set down the pen, her hand was cramped. She got up, smiling as she rubbed her aching hand. She had been worrying over this scene, between the hero and the woman he had saved from certain death for some time now. She had rewritten it twice, but she had never been satisfied with it. This morning, however, it had come to her, perfect and complete, and writing it down had been like opening up a dam and releasing the water. It was wonderful when it came like that.

She dressed and went downstairs, humming contentedly and wondering what she and John would do today. There was something very pleasant in the idea of having someone with whom to share her day-no, if she was honest, it was in having John with whom to share her day.

However, when she got downstairs, she did not find him in the sitting room or in her father's study, nor even in the kitchen, flirting shamelessly with Mrs. Smithson. When she asked Mrs. Smithson if she had seen him, the cook replied, "Why, yes, he headed off to the village this morning. Said he had some things he had to do and would be back as soon as he could."

The day suddenly seemed not nearly so bright. "Oh, he did, did he?"

"Yes. I told him to look out for those villains, for Miss P., she told me what ye said about what happened yesterday afternoon. But ye know that lad. All he said was, 'Now, Mrs. Smithson, me love, don't you know it's those villains that better look out for me!' He's a sight, that one."

"Mm... A sight. He certainly is."

"It's past noon, Miss Priscilla. Won't ye be wanting yer meal now?"

"What? No. Yes. I don't know. I am not feeling very hungry."

"Well, ye should eat anyway. Can't have you turning into skin and bones."

Priscilla sat down distractedly at the table while Mrs. Smithson bustled around, dishing up a plate of meat and potatoes and setting it down on the table in front of her. At first Priscilla felt only deflated by the fact that John had taken off for the village without her. Why had he denied her a part of the fun? Did he simply not want her with him?

But she knew that was not it. He was doubtless protecting her, keeping her out of danger. The more Priscilla thought about it, the more irritated she became. She'd thought he had reached the point where they were sharing things together equally, both danger and fun. She'd thought he had grown to understand that she did not want to be left out, did not want to be swaddled and smothered with patronizing concern. She wanted to partic.i.p.ate, to take part in it all. She wanted to be with him!

Priscilla frowned at her thoughts. She sounded pitiful, even to herself, and she did not like that. She straightened up and began to eat, forcing down mouthfuls of meat and potatoes, even though they tasted like sawdust to her. She thought about what she ought to do. One thing she would not do, she was certain, was sit meekly here in the house. Nor was she going to chase after John into Elverton. But she could think of no way she could further their hunt for the two men. Finally she decided that it would be a good day to go visit Lady Chalcomb. It would not accomplish much, but she liked Anne, and at least she would not be sitting here, quietly tending to her housework and waiting for him to return. She could take her drawing pad and pencils and consult with Anne on the needlepoint pattern she had been planning for the new dining room chair cushions.

A short time later Priscilla tied her bonnet on her head and set out along the path toward Chalcomb Hall, pad and pencils in hand. It was not a long walk, and it was one she usually enjoyed, winding as it did through broad meadows. At this time of year everything was green, and flowers dotted the meadows. A few puffy white clouds floated in the sky, and a faint breeze kept the temperature pleasant, despite the sun. Today, however, Priscilla paid little attention to the scenery.

She hardly looked to left or right as she plowed along the path, her head down, a frown furrowing her brow. She considered whether she should be angry or freezingly polite when John returned-or pretend she had not even noticed he was not there. She reminded herself of all the reasons John Wolfe was nothing to her, and mentally cursed herself for being worried about what might happen to him. Priscilla was not used to feeling such a jumble of emotions concerning any man-or at least not since she was fourteen years old and had had a severe crush on the vicar's new a.s.sistant-and she did not like feeling this way now.

By the time she reached Chalcomb Hall, she was in a thoroughly foul mood, and Anne Chalcomb, upon seeing her face, jumped to her feet and came forward, saying with concern, "Priscilla! My dear child, what is the matter?"

"Nothing," Priscilla replied gruffly, and when Anne looked taken aback by her answer, she sighed and went on, "I'm sorry. I should not have come here in this mood. I apologize."

"Never mind that. What's wrong? Let me help." The other woman's kind face was creased with worry. "I have never seen you look so black."

"It's nothing important. I don't know what is wrong with me. It is just that..." She hesitated, looking at her friend, and suddenly the whole story came tumbling out of her mouth.

Anne listened, her brown eyes wide, as Priscilla described the manner in which "John Wolfe" had arrived at her home and the events since then, as well as all the things about the man that irritated her and the many times when he had been overbearing, foolish and stubborn.

When at last Priscilla wound down, Anne drew a deep breath and said, "Oh, my." She put a hand to her head. "I can hardly take it all in."

She turned, leading Priscilla to the sofa. "I think we had better sit down." They did so, and Anne turned so that she faced Priscilla, her hands folded in her lap. "Now, let me get this straight. John Wolfe is not your cousin, nor is his name John Wolfe."

Priscilla nodded. "Yes. And he is the most aggravating man I have ever met."

"Yet you are furious because he went to town without you."

"I know that sounds foolish...." Priscilla began unhappily.

"Only because it is," Anne put in, a twinkle in her eye. "But I think there's far more going on here than a man merely going into Elverton by himself." She gazed at Priscilla steadily for a long moment. "It seems to me that this young man, whoever he is, is terribly important to you."

"He is a complete stranger."

"That makes it even more obvious. A complete stranger, and you are worried, upset, angry.... Priscilla, dear, I think you have rather deep feelings for this man."

Priscilla grimaced. "That is impossible."

"Is it?"

"Of course. I barely know him. Why, it has been only a week or so since he banged at our door."

Anne smiled, lighting up her face, and Priscilla thought that she must have been considered a great beauty in her day. One could see it clearly in her now, when she smiled like that, even though crow's-feet nestled at the corners of her large, expressive eyes and lines bracketed the corners of her mobile mouth. Mrs. Smithson had once told Priscilla how amazed everyone had been when Lord Chalcomb brought home his lovely young wife. "A right beauty, she was," Mrs. Smithson had said with a sigh and a mournful shake of her head. "All wasted on that old roue."

"Is that the way it was with you?" Priscilla asked quietly. "Can it happen that way?"

Anne nodded, and Priscilla thought she caught a glimmer of tears in her friend's light brown eyes. "Yes. I saw him on horseback. The sun was on his hair, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. His arms were browned by the sun. He looked so...so elemental, so powerful. He dazzled me." She turned aside, closing her eyes.

Priscilla felt painfully as if she were intruding. "I-I'm sorry."

"No." Anne blinked a little and turned back, forcing a smile onto her face. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I am foolish to be thinking of things that happened so long ago. It doesn't matter now. I only meant-well, that I know love can happen so fast it takes your breath away."

"He more often takes my breath away with fury," Priscilla replied lightly. She wasn't in love with John Wolfe. She wasn't.

Then she thought of the way she trembled when he laid his hand on her arm, and the way she seemed to melt when he kissed her, and she was no longer so sure. "But it is only...only l.u.s.t!" she protested. "That is not the same as love. Is it?"

Her friend smiled wryly. "Sometimes it is hard to tell the difference."

"Then how do you know?" Priscilla wailed.

Anne's smile grew smaller and sadder. "I suppose... all you can do is wait and see. When it doesn't go away, you know it was love."

Priscilla was even more dissatisfied with this answer. "Anne! That's hardly very helpful now."

"I don't know what to say. I think...if your heart swells up as if it is about to burst whenever you see him, or if, when he enters the room, you can hardly sit still and you want to jump up and run away or else run straight to him, when you can't think of anything or anyone else, and you don't care a flip what happens so long as you can be with him, it is love."

"Even when you disagree about everything?"

Anne chuckled. "I'm not sure. I guess it depends on whether you find it exciting to disagree with him."

Priscilla stared at her. She had never thought about it before. But it was exciting to disagree with John. Feelings boiled up in her until she thought she would explode...and yet, oddly, she found herself looking forward to those arguments. She would never think of trying to avoid one.

Her thoughts shook her. She rose restlessly to her feet and crossed the room to the window. "This is nonsense," she declared stoutly. "I am not in love with that man. He is completely aggravating. I am merely curious about who he is and why he is here. That is all. And it was foolish of him to go out alone."

"You are out alone," Anne pointed out calmly.

Priscilla looked at her. She had not thought about that fact until this moment. It gave her a shiver of apprehension. How blithely she had walked over here, not looking about her or even thinking about the two men who had a.s.saulted John.

"I was careful," she replied by way of an excuse. "And at least I am knowledgeable about the countryside."

"Yes, but you are not six feet tall, with great muscles in your arms, as he is," Anne pointed out.

"All right. I am being unreasonable, I admit it." She sighed and resumed her place on the sofa.

After that she settled down to talk to Anne about the purported reason for her visit: the design for new needlepoint covers on the cushions of their dining room chairs. Later, Anne invited her to stay for tea. The whole time, Priscilla did not think about John Wolfe, or his trip to the village of Elverton without her-at least, not more than once or twice.

It was late in the afternoon when she left Chalcomb Manor. This time she was more conscious of the landscape around her and the possibility of someone lurking in the bushes, but she reminded herself that the men had probably fled the area, and, if not, they would be in the village, not out here in the countryside. Still, the thought of them made her quicken her step.

She had just pa.s.sed the huge oak tree that was almost halfway between the two houses when she heard a noise. She whipped around to see what had caused it, and a fist came down hard on her back, knocking her to the ground and forcing all the air from her lungs. Her pad and pencils went flying. As she struggled silently for breath, two men pounced on her and dragged her to her feet. Air was finally returning to her lungs, and she gulped it in. It felt as if she were breathing fire.

Before she could turn and look up to see her captors, one of them threw a large dark cape around her, covering her from head to foot, and in only seconds she was wound up in it and secured as tightly as if she had been bound, and she could see nothing but darkness. She began to scream and struggle, but by then it was too late. Her struggles only made it more stifling inside the heavy cloak, and when one of the men tossed her casually over his shoulder and began to stride off with her, jarring her with every movement, she felt sick and faint. Panic set in. She was helpless, and she was certain that some terrible fate awaited her. She began to writhe and struggle frantically. The tightly wrapped cloak felt as if it were smothering her. Redness swam before her eyes, and there was a buzzing in her ears, and in another instant she was aware of nothing at all.

WHEN SHE AWOKE SOME TIME LATER, Priscilla had no idea where she was or what time it was. For a moment she could not even recollect what had happened to her. Everything was dark and hot, and it was hard to breathe. Then she remembered what had happened, and she realized that she was still encircled by the dark, heavy garment. She was not, however, still being jounced along on someone's shoulder. Rather, she was lying on some hard surface.

She continued to lie still, gathering what little information she could. There was such a penetrating silence all around her that she soon became convinced that she was alone. No one could remain this quiet; there would bound to be a shuffle, the sc.r.a.pe of a heel, or a breath, a cough or a sigh.

Cautiously she sat up. Nothing happened. There were no shouts, and no one knocked her down again, further proof that she was alone. The cloak sagged open a little at the top, and a bit of light seeped in. Priscilla jiggled and shook, writhing until the cloak loosened further and she was able to bring her arms up and pull it open.

She shrugged it off and rose to her feet, looking around her. It was still quite dark, and she was sure she was inside a building. There was not even the twinkle of stars or the light of the moon. She extended her arms on either side of her and felt nothing, then squatted and touched the floor around her. It was hard-packed dirt. She was beginning to suspect that she was in the same cabin in which John had been locked up.

By standing still and looking long and carefully about her, she was able to make out a few faint streaks of...not quite light, but paler darkness. These, she thought, must be cracks between the boards of the shed. There was in one wall a definite thin line of paleness that ran in a rectangular shape. Priscilla made her way carefully toward the traces of light, holding her hands out straight in front of her and sliding her steps across the floor. When at last her hands made contact with the wooden wall, she felt her way along to a corner and an intersecting wall. She continued, turning corners and groping her way along, until she was certain that she was in a very small room and that there were no windows.

She was trapped in the darkness, she realized, unable even to alleviate it by opening a window. Panic began to rise in her, clawing its way up her throat. Priscilla clamped her mouth shut on the scream that wanted to come out. She clenched her hands into tight fists and shoved the panic back down.

It was night, that was all, she told herself. There was nothing to fear here in this small hut. In the morning, the sunlight would come through the cracks, and she would be able to see better. She would simply have to wait. In the meantime, her family would have realized she was missing. John would know about it...if he had returned from the village. What if they had gotten him, too?

No. She forced herself to calm down. She refused to think that way. They could not have gotten John, or else there would have been no need to take her. No doubt they hoped to bargain with him, to get him back in exchange for her. They would have perceived that it was too dangerous for them to try to take John once they could not surprise him. That was doubtless why they had come after her.

John was free, and John would guess what had happened. He would search for her. Would he guess that she was at the same hut? Would he be able to find it?

It never occurred to her to wonder whether he would make the effort. She knew him better than that.

He would come for her. And that thought was what enabled her to remain calm in the small, dark hut as she waited for him.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

JOHN RETURNED FROM ELVERTON not long after Priscilla left for Lady Chalcomb's. He grimaced when Mrs. Smithson told him where Miss Hamilton had gone, but he was not surprised. He was sure that she was angry at him for having left her behind when he went into the village this morning. He could understand that, too, but there had been no way he could go into the rough taverns and housing that he had visited today with a lady on his arm. And it was in that sort of place that he would find his quarry-or news about them.

He had found news, too, which was pleasing, but it had been of little use. The two men had been staying in rooms above a dark and dirty tavern, where they had been serviced frequently by the women who worked the streets outside. He had found three girls who got over their disappointment that John was not a prospective client and were happy to talk about the two men from London who had hired them, one of whom had blacked Maisie's eye. John had heard more than he had wanted to about the pair's s.e.xual habits, and he had also learned that the men had cleared out of their room this morning, taking their belongings with them.

They were gone, had no doubt hurried back to London when they saw him yesterday in the village, scared that he would turn them in to the constabulary. Now he would never find out why they had seized him or who he was. He had turned back, failure grinding at his soul. He was not used to not getting what he wanted. He was sure of that. He hated failing, and he hated the thought of facing Priscilla and telling her that he had failed. It was not that he thought she would upbraid him for it-no, the scolding would doubtless be reserved for the fact that he had gone without taking her along on the adventure. It was simply his pride; he hated to have her think he was not capable of capturing two buffoonish ruffians. It was bad enough to be penniless and nameless, to be completely dependent on Priscilla's generosity, without showing that he was incompetent, as well.

Disgruntled, he had sat down to wait for Priscilla, sure that she would take her sweet time about the visit. She would want to make sure that he returned before she did; otherwise, there would be little point in going. At first he read, but as the afternoon wore on, he became less and less able to keep his mind on the story. By tea-time he had abandoned the book altogether, and when it grew dusk, he was pacing back and forth across the sitting room like a caged animal.

Florian looked up from the book he was perusing with a pained expression. "I say. Whatever are you doing?"

"Don't you realize that she has not come home? Don't you realize how late it is?" John turned on the man with a growl.

Florian blinked, taken aback by John's ferocity. "Why, yes, it is a quarter till seven. But what has that to do with-"

"She hasn't come back yet!"

"Who?"

"Who?" John repeated in amazement. "Your daughter, that's who. Priscilla! She has been gone since early this afternoon, and she has not returned yet."

"There is nothing unusual in that." Florian waved away the problem. "You know how it is. You are going somewhere. Then you sit down for a spell, and pretty soon you are thinking about something, and before you know it, several hours have pa.s.sed."

John gazed at him blankly. "No. I don't know how that it is."

"Oh." Florian looked surprised. "Well, perhaps you aren't like that. I am. Priscilla is. She likes to daydream, think up stories, you know. She will be back before you know it. Is there something you want her to do?"

"No. But a young girl out like that for hours...there's no telling what might happen to her."

"I shouldn't think anything would happen to her." Florian's brow wrinkled with thought. "Pris is quite careful, you know. Never knew her to break a bone or anything. That was Gid. He was a daredevil, forever coming home with bruises and broken bones and all."

"Other things can happen to a woman by herself." John grated the words out through clenched teeth.

Florian looked at him in amazement. "Here? In Elverton? I wouldn't think so. It is different here, you see."