"I'd like you to handle that for me."

He hadn't thought of that, though he should have. A woman didn't enter the bidding, it wouldn't be seemly, perhaps wasn't even allowed. And she didn't want to be recognized as Vermillion-not that there was much chance of that. Still, she was always more circumspect when she was Lee.

Considering he also had no desire to be discovered, Caleb had hoped to stay in the background himself. Unfortunately, Vermillion hadn't left him any choice.

"As you wish," he said, not really all that concerned. His acquaintances were mostly in the military and he hardly looked like an officer of the British Army with his overlong hair and dressed in the clothes of a groom. "Come. Let's find a place to stand before Hannibal's Lady and her foal come up for bid."

The horses entered the ring not long after. By waiting for the bidding to near an end, he was able to step in without driving up the price, which seemed to please Vermillion. The financial deals were concluded and a promise made to pick up both horses on the morrow.

"It's been a good day," Vermillion said as Caleb returned the women to the carriage.

"You're sure you don't want to look at any of the others?"

"I'm satisfied for now. Perhaps another day."

"You chose exceptionally well. The mare and her foal are well worth the price you paid."

"Actually, I would have gone higher. You're a shrewd negotiator, Mr. Tanner."

He didn't mention that he had learned the trick from his father. The earl was a master of manipulation. Caleb knew that firsthand. He had joined the army to please his father and though it suited him very well, he often wondered if he would have made the same choice if it hadn't been for his father's subtle hand.

Continuing through the crowd, they had almost reached the coach when he heard someone shouting his name. Recognizing his brother Lucas's voice, Caleb silently cursed.

"That man," Vermillion said, her footsteps beginning to slow. "He seems to know you."

There was no avoiding the confrontation. Damn, Lucas. His eldest brother had a knack for stirring up trouble. Praying Lucas would follow his lead, Caleb turned and smiled.

"Lord Halford," he said, using his brother's courtesy title. "It's good to see you, sir."

His brother's dark eyebrows narrowed for an instant as he took in Caleb's homespun shirt and course brown breeches, and his hair, usually kept short, curling now at the nape of his neck. Lucas wasn't a fool. His look said whatever might be transpiring, he would play along for now-though Caleb couldn't begin to imagine the scenarios that must be swirling through his head.

"It's good to see you as well," Lucas replied easily, giving him a chance to invent whatever story he liked. His brother made a quick perusal of Vermillion, and the faint darkening of his pupils said he recognized the beauty she seemed unaware of, dressed as simply as she was.

"I used to work as a trainer for his lordship in York," Caleb supplied, making no attempt at introductions that would scarcely be appropriate for a groom.

"That's right," Lucas agreed. "I was sorry to lose you. I was hoping perhaps you might be ready to return to the north again."

"No, sir, not at present, but I'm flattered by your interest."

Lucas, ever a man with an eye for beauty, turned the full force of his charm on Vermillion. Luc was as tall as Caleb, his hair as dark. His shoulders were wide, though Lucas was slimmer, more leanly built. He also had a wicked reputation with the ladies nearly as sordid as Andrew Mondale's.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance," Lucas said, making her a very dashing bow. "Viscount Halford at your service, madam." His brother was beginning to enjoy himself. Considering his scandalous reputation and the fact he often sampled the delights of a beautiful Cyprian, he might already have met her, even spent the night in her bed. If not, he clearly wished to. Caleb felt a sudden urge to hit him.

"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse us, my lord," Vermillion said, determined not to give him her name; certainly it wouldn't have been proper if she had done so. "My aunt will be worried should I be gone overly long." Turning away, she started walking, almost bolting for the carriage, Jeannie close at her skirts.

"Beautiful woman," Luc said, his gaze still following Vermillion. Caleb could see by the interest in his eyes he had never made her acquaintance. He was surprised by the enormity of his relief.

Lucas shifted his gaze back to Caleb. "So what are you doing with a chit just out of the schoolroom? Or are you so besotted you are posing as her groom simply to be near her?"

"Sorry to disillusion you, brother, but she isn't the innocent she seems. I'll explain everything later. In the meantime, it would be best if you forgot you ever saw me."

Luc smiled. "That shouldn't be too hard to do. Now the lady... that might be a more difficult matter. What did you say was her name... ?"

The corner of Caleb's mouth barely curved. "I'll see you when this is over. Not a word of the matter until then." His brother's smile faded as he recognized the seriousness in Caleb's tone.

"I gather there is more at stake than at first it might appear. Take care of yourself, brother." Lucas gently grasped his shoulder.

"You as well, Luc." Turning away, Caleb headed for his seat on the carriage next to the driver, grateful it had been Lucas he had encountered and not another of his brothers or one of his more rapscallion friends.

Yesterday had been more enjoyable than she had expected and Lee was delighted by the purchase of the mare and her foal. But the pleasant interlude was over and tonight her life had returned to normal. Aunt Gabriella was holding a small soiree in honor of the occasion of Lady Rotham's birthday. The countess would be turning thirty years old, not an auspicious event for some, but Elizabeth Sorenson seemed to see it as a portal into another, more hopeful phase of her existence.

"Charles has always thought of me as a child," she explained as they stood beneath one of the chandeliers in the drawing room, a crush of guests swirling around them.

Most of them were men, of course, but there were women as well, a novelist and poet named Sally Grisham, who thought herself something of a bohemian; Lisette Moreau, Sir Peter Peasley's current chere amie; and a couple of actresses up from Drury Lane. Colonel Wingate was there along with his aide, Lieutenant Oxley; and Jonathan Parker, Viscount Nash.

"Now that I have entered into my middle years," Elizabeth continued, "Charles shall be forced to see me as the woman I have become, rather than the innocent I was when we married."

Elizabeth rarely spoke of the man she had wed at her parents' insistence. It was interesting, Vermillion thought. Lady Rotham flouted convention at every turn. As soon as she had delivered her husband of an heir and a spare, she had begun to take lovers. She had a reputation for being shamelessly wicked and embroiling herself in one scandal after another, yet Vermillion thought that perhaps she had once been desperately in love with her husband.

Lee cast a glance at the Earl of Rotham. Charles Sorenson was refined and handsome, with light brown hair and pale blue eyes. Though he had always been more discreet than his wife in his affairs, it was rumored that just days after his marriage, Charles had returned to his mistress, a widow named Molly Cinders. Vermillion wondered if perhaps Elizabeth had been crushed by the faithless act.

"Vermillion, my beauty! At last I've found you. I've been looking all over." Mondale strode toward her. Tonight he was dressed in a peacock blue tailcoat, even brighter than his brilliant blue eyes. "The music has begun. The orchestra is playing a waltz and I believe you have promised this particular dance to me."

He cut quite a dashing figure with his handsome face and gleaming blond hair. Distantly she wondered why it was that Caleb Tanner seemed more appealing in a pair of coarse brown breeches and a simple homespun shirt.

"Good evening, my lord."

He made an extravagant bow over her hand. "You look ravishing, as always."

Lee thought that she did look pretty tonight, in a simpler gown than she usually wore, a tunic dress she had ordered in a moment of weakness that looked rather placid in contrast to Vermillion's usual extravagant attire. Though the bodice was so low it barely concealed her nipples, the silk was a soft shade of aquamarine. The tunic fit over a slightly darker lingerie skirt, both of them trimmed with cream lace. There were tiny bowknots down the front of the tunic and pearls sewn into the lace.

"Thank you, my lord. You look extremely dashing yourself." The coat might be a little bright, but it was a lovely shade of blue, slightly darker than his eyes, and the fit was perfect. Behind him, she could hear the strains of the waltz as Mondale reached for her hand. In a way she didn't mind. She loved to waltz, scandalous as many thought it was, and Lord Andrew was an excellent dancer.

Leading her onto the polished wood floor, he pulled her into his arms, swept her into the rhythm of the music, and she felt as if she were floating. She tried to imagine what it might be like if Andrew were her lover, but her aunt had always been protective of her in that regard. She had seen a stallion mounting a mare, and during a party or ball, some of the guests might sneak away to the rooms upstairs. She had heard the odd sounds they made and of course Gabriella's friends often talked about it, so at least she knew what occurred. Still, there was no real way to envision what it might be like should they make love.

She felt Andrew's hand at her waist, drawing her shamelessly close.

"You don't have to wait, you know... till your birthday, I mean. We could simply go off together. We could leave tonight, if you wanted." He led her into a sweeping turn and she felt his hardened male anatomy pressing against her hip. She tried not to flush but a hint of color crept into her cheeks.

"It's too soon, Andrew. I'm not ready to make my choice." He was pressing her more and more. The men in the drawing room all believed she was a seasoned courtesan, an illusion her aunt had skillfully woven. They believed she held herself back from her string of eager admirers only to heighten the excitement when she chose her next lover.

But as Vermillion felt Lord Andrew's growing arousal and recalled what the stallion had done to the mare, she felt more and more uncertain.

When the dance came to a close, she stepped away. "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, my lord. There's a somewhat pressing matter I need to attend."

"Remember what I said." Andrew smiled, certain she was headed for the ladies' retiring room. "I shall remain just here, eagerly awaiting your return. Perhaps when you arrive, you will join me for a walk in the garden."

She should, she knew. The time to make her decision grew nearer each day. Perhaps if she were better acquainted with Andrew, if she allowed him to take certain liberties with her person, she would be more reassured in her choice.

She glanced up at him, remembered the dampness of his hands as his stiff length rubbed against her, and fled the drawing room instead. With a glance around to be certain no one witnessed her escape, she disappeared down the hall to the study and quietly made her way out to the garden.

Lee didn't stop until she was well away from the house, away from the light of the crystal chandeliers glowing like jewels through the drawing room windows. It was quiet in this distant part of the garden, except for the sound of her slippers crunching on the gravel path. She could see the roof of the gazebo through the branches of a sycamore tree, hear the hum of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl.

Seating herself on a wrought-iron bench near the fountain, she inhaled the musk of damp leaves, the soft scent of lilacs just beginning to blossom.

She felt better out here among the flowers, able to escape her turbulent thoughts for a while. She was listening to the trickle of water into the bowl of the fountain, beginning to relax, when she heard the rustle of leaves and recognized the sound as someone moving along the path toward the rear of the garden.

She knew she shouldn't be out there by herself. She was too far away from the house. If it were Mondale or Wingate, she might find herself with a problem. She started to rise from the bench when she heard Caleb Tanner's familiar, insolent drawl.

"You don't have to go. Not on my account."

She stood up anyway, not wishing to be at such a disadvantage. As he strolled toward her along the path, a distant torch illuminated his profile, but she couldn't read his face.

"What are you doing out here in the garden?" She tried to look affronted and ignore the little leap her heart made at his approach.

"I was listening to the music... watching the dancing."

"You're not supposed to be out here. You're hardly one of the guests."

"True enough." He sauntered toward her, stopped a few feet away. Propping a wide shoulder against the trunk of a tree, he gave her a sweeping perusal, then his dark gaze returned to her breasts. For an instant, she couldn't seem to breathe. When she did, each breath came much too fast and forced her bosom even nearer the top of her dress.

Tanner's eyes went dark. "And, of course, there is always the chance that someone might see me. Lord Andrew would scarcely approve your being out here alone, conversing with one of the servants."

But Caleb Tanner was as far from a servant as she had ever encountered. He was arrogant and impertinent. He was overbearing and at times even rude. In short, he was nothing at all like any man she had ever met and every time she saw him, her attraction to him grew.

It was ridiculous. She was a wealthy woman with a circle of admirers that stretched across the whole of London. She couldn't imagine how it was that he could make her feel so off balance every time they chanced to meet.

He pushed away from the tree and strolled toward her, looking dark and male and unbelievably handsome. Since the day they had spent together at Tattersall's, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about him.

"And then there is Wingate," he drawled, moving closer still. "Perhaps he'll be the one to follow you outside. I'm sure the colonel would like nothing better than to catch you alone out here, perhaps convince you to give him a tumble on the cushions in the gazebo. Or perhaps he has already done that. Perhaps he would prefer to take you right here by the fountain."

Anger shot through her, dissolving any of the ridiculous attraction she might have felt for him. "How dare you speak to me that way!" Caleb stood right in front of her, close enough that when her hand swept out, it made a resounding crack across his cheek.

He didn't move, not a muscle. He didn't even flinch. But she could see into his eyes and they had turned as black as pitch.

"My apologies," he said coolly. "More likely it will be Nash who follows, come to check on your welfare. Perhaps he hopes you will reward him for his concern."

The anger mixed with hurt. Was that the way he thought of her? No better than a whore? Her bottom lip threatened to tremble. She reminded herself that she was Vermillion. She didn't tolerate condemnation from a servant, and especially not this one.

"You have two choices, Mr. Tanner. You may remove yourself from my sight this instant, or you may pack your things and leave Parklands for good."

Something flickered in his eyes. Tanner stared down at her for several long moments and there was turmoil in his gaze.

"Why do you do it?" he asked very softly. "You don't need the money. Is it really so exciting? Is it worth the price you pay?"

Why did she pretend to be the most sought after courtesan in London? Why, on the night of her nineteenth birthday, would she meekly accept the life her aunt had so neatly laid out for her?

Because it was what Aunt Gabby wanted. What Gabriella Durant needed as other people needed to breathe.

The years were stealing away her aunt's beauty. Little by little, Gabriella was losing her vaunted position as La Belle, but through Vermillion she could continue the life she loved.

Because Lee owed her everything.

Because Gabriella had saved her from the terrors and loneliness of the orphanage she had been taken to after her mother had died, had brought her instead to London and given her a home. Because she had provided Lee with a brilliant education and set up a trust fund that would protect her as her own mother could not.

Because, should Lee choose another, different sort of future, she would be showing contempt for the life her aunt had chosen, spitting on the woman who had been the only real family she had ever known.

There were a thousand different reasons that Lee had become Vermillion, but none that Caleb Tanner would understand.

"I'm a Durant," she answered softly. "It's what Durant women do."

Caleb said nothing, just stood there in the shadows silently searching her face.

There was something in his expression as he turned and walked out of the garden. Vermillion couldn't tell if it was contempt or if it was pity.

5.

"Good afternoon, Captain Tanner."

"Good afternoon, Colonel. I apologize for my appearance. I didn't have time to change." Still wearing his homespun shirt and breeches, Caleb stood in front of Colonel Cox's desk in an office in Whitehall that Cox had commandeered for his use. Two chairs sat on the opposite side, one of them empty, the other occupied by Major Mark Sutton, the third member of this small band of men under special orders from General Sir Arthur Wellesley.

"Yes, well, that is understandable, given the nature of your assignment. We had hoped to hear from you sooner, but perhaps that was a bit optimistic. What have you got to report?"

"I'm sorry to say, Colonel, I haven't learned all that much." Dressed in the clothes of a groom, Caleb felt vaguely uncomfortable in the presence of his direct superiors, but his time away from Parklands without arousing suspicion was limited, as both of them understood. "The potential for collecting information is certainly there. Both of the women keep company with men who are highly connected, either in the military or in the government."

"You're speaking mainly of Nash and Wingate." The colonel was a man in his late fifties, silver-haired and strong-featured, with an air of vitality that seemed almost palpable.

"In Vermillion's case. The Earl of Claymont is also well connected. For the last several years, he has been keeping a close association with Gabriella Durant."

"You mean she is his mistress," the major put in. Sutton was only a few years older than Caleb, perhaps thirty-one or -two, a tall man with curly black hair. He had been studying to become a barrister before his enlistment. No one seemed to know why he'd changed his mind, but he seemed to have a number of interesting-if seemingly illicit-connections that had, on numerous occasions, proved useful in assignments like these.

"From what I've been able to discern," Caleb said, "Claymont and Gabriella Durant share a mutually exclusive relationship."

Colonel Cox plucked a quill pen from the shiny brass holder on his desk. "That would make a certain amount of sense. According to gossip, Claymont's been in love with the woman for years."

"Hardly surprising," Caleb said. "Both the Durant women are highly skilled in the art of pleasing a man."

Cox's paused in the act of dipping the pen into a crystal inkwell and one of his bushy gray eyebrows went up. "Are you speaking from personal experience, Captain?"

Caleb thought of the well-deserved slap he had received in the garden and shook his head. "No, sir. Merely from observation."

"For the present, you should probably keep it that way. You need to remain objective. That might become more difficult if you are bedding one of the wenches."