She glanced at her surroundings. In the daytime, she hadn't really noticed the dilapidated buildings with their boarded-up windows or the scraps of paper and trash lying in the gutters. She hadn't smelled the odor of sewage or seen the darkened alleys where drunken men slept off their stupor against the rough brick walls.

Mary ignored a trickle of fear and told herself not to worry; she was almost to the tavern. In the distance, she could see the glow of lamplight shining through the letters on the glass in the wide front window, hear the muted laughter of the patrons inside.

Still, as she passed the entrance to a deserted alley and a man stepped out of the shadows, a chill swept through her. His clothes were worn and a battered brown slouch hat covered most of his greasy hair. She would simply cross the street, she told herself, put herself a safe distance away from him. She turned and started walking in that direction when a second man appeared, this one wearing a woolen hat, tattered greatcoat, and old knit gloves with his fingers poking out through the ends.

The men were on her before she had time to run. Mary tried to scream but a dirty hand clamped over her mouth and an arm tightened viciously around her belly. She thought of the babe and kicked backward, connecting with the man's shin as he dragged her off the street and into the darkness of the alley. Mary struggled but his arms were like steel, his hold so tight she could barely breathe. Her heels bumped over the cobbles, then slid into the mud and dirt of the alley, and fear unlike anything she had known welled up inside her.

" 'Urry up, Shamus," the first man said. "We 'aven't got all night."

"Od's teeth! The bawd is heavier than she looks," the second man grumbled. "Got a bun in the oven, can't ye see?"

The first man moved closer, and in a thin ray of moonlight she could see the blackened stumps of his teeth, the perspiration glistening in the deep grooves and lines in his forehead.

"Ye shouldna' tried ta bargain with the devil, luv. 'Tis only gonna buy ye a ticket straight ta hell."

Fresh fear shot through her. Mary looked into the man's grizzled face and knew in that instant the message she had sent was a warrant for her death. She would never see her Freddie again, never live to birth her babe. Trying to get money from the man she had overheard that night at Parklands was the maddest, most dangerous thing she had ever done.

As Mary stared into the brooding dark eyes of her attacker, felt his fingers wrap around her neck and begin to squeeze, they were the last thoughts she ever had.

Dressed in breeches and boots, standing next to Arlie in the middle of the barn, Lee watched Caleb Tanner shoveling manure from one of the open stalls. His week was over. When he finished today, the wager he had lost would be paid.

Arlie chuckled softly. " 'E won, ye know."

She dragged her attention from Caleb back to her ancient groom. "What are you talking about? I won the race. That is why he is paying the forfeit."

His thin lips curved, showing a couple of missing teeth. "Pulled up, 'e did. Just at the last. Seen it plain. Standin' right outside when 'e did it."

Disbelief widened her eyes. "What are you talking about? Are you telling me Caleb Tanner let me win that race?"

"I'm sayin' the man 'ad ye beat. Behaved like a real gen'l'man, 'e did."

Lee shook her head. "I don't believe it. Caleb Tanner would have liked nothing better than to see me out here mucking out those stalls." She cast him a look. "If he won the race, why didn't you say something sooner?"

Arlie shrugged a pair of bony shoulders. "Couldn't do that now, could I? Ain't fittin' fer a lady ta be doin' that sorta' work. Figured better 'im doin' the shovelin' than ye doin' it yerself."

Lee fixed her gaze on Caleb, who bent to his task down at the end of the barn. His shirt was gone, draped over the side of the stall. The muscles in his broad back gleamed with sweat, flexing every time he hefted the shovel. His skin was smooth and tanned dark from the sun, his hair damp with sweat and curling at the back of his neck. For a moment, she just stood there, mesmerized by the sight of him, trying to ignore an odd sort of breathlessness and a funny little flutter in the pit of her stomach.

Arlie shuffled away, still chuckling, and Lee's temper heated. Jerking a pitchfork off the wall, she stormed down to the end of the barn.

"Get out! You're finished in here." Ignoring the astonished look on his face, she bent over and started forking the wet straw and manure out of the stall.

Caleb jerked the pitchfork out of her hand. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Lee whirled toward him, clamping her hands on her hips. "You won that race! Arlie said so! Now get out of this stall and let me go to work!"

Caleb started to smile, then he grinned. "You actually would have done it? You would have cleaned out the stalls?"

"What did you think? That I wouldn't stand by my wager? You figured you might as well let me win because it really wouldn't matter?" She reached out, grabbed the pitchfork out of his hands, and started furiously filling the wheelbarrow.

Caleb frowned. Stalking toward her, he reached over and jerked the pitchfork away. "Arlie's mistaken. You won the race."

She eyed him skeptically. "You're lying-I can see it in your eyes. What I can't figure out is why. Arlie says you were playing the gentleman. But you aren't a gentleman, are you, Caleb Tanner?"

His gaze ran over her, skimming the fullness of her breasts, the swell of her hips, outlined so clearly by the breeches. He reached out and caught the tops of her arms, and she didn't resist when he drew her toward him. His eyes were a darker shade of brown and there was a glint in them that hadn't been there before. Unconsciously, her palms came to rest on his naked, sweat-slick chest.

"No..." he said softly, "I'm no gentleman." Their eyes locked for an instant, then his mouth came down over hers.

Lee staggered at the jolt of unexpected heat. Beneath her palms, his skin felt hot and slick. He smelled of sweat and horses, and the powerful muscles across his chest flexed each time he moved. He took what he wanted, but his lips felt softer than they should have and heat spiraled out through her limbs. His tongue slid into her mouth as he deepened the kiss and she started to tremble.

All too soon, Caleb ended the kiss. He let her go and when he stepped away, she could see the heavy ridge of his sex pressing against the front of his breeches. Instead of fear or repulsion, she felt a strange blend of curiosity and excitement.

"The week is over," Caleb said as if the kiss had never occurred. "Which of us won no longer matters. With your permission, now that Jimmy will be busy riding for you, I'll hire one of the village lads to help Billy do the dirty work in here."

Lee swallowed and nodded, tried to sound as nonchalant as he. "All right, that will be fine." She turned and started walking, her heart still beating madly, her legs like India rubber. Outside the stall, she stopped and turned. "I want a rematch. You owe me at least that much."

Caleb's lips curved. She remembered the heat of them moving over hers. "Anytime, Miss Durant." But the hunger in his eyes warned that racing him today could have dangerous consequences. Lee ignored the little voice daring her to accept the unspoken challenge; she turned and walked away.

It was later that same night that Vermillion joined her aunt Gabriella and a small party for a night at the theater. Jonathan Parker, Lord Nash, was their escort, handsome with his silver-touched brown hair, impeccably dressed in a blue, velvet-collared tailcoat, blue-and-silver waistcoat, and dove gray breeches.

"I'm glad you and your aunt accepted my invitation," he said as he escorted Vermillion into the Theatre Royale in Haymarket for a production of Richard III. "It seems eons since we've enjoyed a moment to ourselves."

Which was true, of course, with Wingate and Mondale hovering over her every moment, to say nothing of Aunt Gabby's usual throng of hangers-on. But she had purposely excluded the others tonight. If she were going to make the right choice, she needed to get to know each of the men a little better.

And Nash was certainly charming. He smiled as he offered his arm and led her through the lobby, which blazed with the light of a dozen crystal chandeliers. Candles gleamed against the deep-red velvet draperies, and gilt-framed paintings hung on the walls. Nash guided them up the sweeping staircase to his private box on the second floor and they sat down in small, round, velvet-covered chairs.

He leaned toward her and she felt the brush of his coat. "I hear Noir will be racing at Newmarket come week's end. I imagine he'll sweep the field."

"It's going to be a difficult race, but I believe Noir will win."

The red velvet curtains moved just then and Aunt Gabby, dressed to kill in an exquisite gown of black and silver, turned to see Lord Claymont walk in.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, smiling at Gabriella. "Though it doesn't appear I've missed anything yet." The earl was average in height and build, with lightly graying black hair and intense blue eyes. He was attractive and intelligent, a generous, kind-hearted man, and Vermillion had grown extremely fond of him.

"We've been invited to a party in honor of Michael Cutberth, darling. Isn't that exciting?" The actor was one of England's most renowned thespians and Gabriella was wild to meet him.

Not surprising. Aunt Gabby lived for nights like this.

The earl whispered something in Gabriella's ear and she laughed.

The viscount moved a little closer. "You must be looking forward to the race," he said. "When will you be leaving?"

"On the seventh. The horses have already departed."

He flashed her one of his charming smiles. He really was a handsome man. "I'm sure they'll all do very well."

Aunt Gabby tapped his sleeve with her painted fan. "It's going to be great fun, Jon. I've taken a house for the occasion-quite a lovely place, actually. I plan to do a little entertaining. Why don't you come with us?"

He flicked a glance at Vermillion, but regretfully shook his head. "I should like nothing better, believe me. Unfortunately, I've a ministers' meeting I cannot escape." He smiled. "I promise, however, I shall find a way to make amends." His eyes were warm on her face and Vermillion felt a smile of her own appearing.

They talked more of racing and a little of the war, the threat of invasion a constant worry on everyone's mind.

"Some say the little corporal will try to make the crossing with an armada of steam-powered airships," Nash told her.

Vermillion toyed with the diamond and ruby necklace at her throat. "Airships? I should think if Napoleon has been building steam-powered engines, using them on real ships would be far more efficient."

"I agree," Nash said. "But who can know the mind of the enemy?"

"I've heard rumors he is amassing more troops in Spain, which I suppose makes sense, in light of what happened at Oporto."

Jonathan turned toward her. "I'm certain General Wellesley has the matter well in hand. At least we must pray that he does."

Amazingly, the viscount actually spoke to her as if she had a brain. It was one of the things she liked about him. They didn't discuss the latest on dit, but matters of importance.

"They'll be starting the play any moment," Nash said as the candles at the foot of the stage were doused. A few minutes later, the red velvet curtain went up and Vermillion settled back to enjoy the performance.

It was late when Lord Nash's carriage returned them to the house at the edge of the city. Aunt Gabriella excused herself and retired upstairs, allowing Vermillion and the viscount a moment in the salon. Claymont would be waiting for Aunt Gabby in her bedchamber, having used the stairs at the rear of the house. It was a silly pretense, done mainly for the servants, but Claymont insisted, and occasionally even Aunt Gabby demurred to certain of Society's dictates.

"I hope you enjoyed the evening, Vermillion." The viscount's deep voice drew her attention. His gaze took in her low-cut sapphire gown with its black lace trim and nearly unobstructed view of her breasts, but didn't linger as another man's would have. "I know I certainly did."

Lee glanced away, finding it harder and harder to maintain her facade when she was with the viscount, a man she considered a friend. She forced her chin up and smiled her Vermillion smile.

"It was a wonderful evening. Mr. Cutberth did a marvelous job as Richard the Third."

"I hope you enjoyed the company, as well."

She thought she caught a glimpse of the desire he usually kept well-hidden. "I enjoy your company very much, Jonathan. I've come to consider you a very dear friend."

Nash drew her closer. Raising one of her black-gloved hands, he pressed a kiss into her palm. "I am hoping for more than mere friendship, Vermillion. In that regard, I've made my intentions perfectly clear. I wish to provide for you, dearest, to see to your pleasure in any way I can."

She didn't miss the faint roughening of his voice. She wished she felt at least some measure of passion for him, this man whose friendship she valued so highly.

Jonathan bent and brushed a kiss over her lips, then kissed her more deeply. A memory arose of Caleb Tanner's kisses and inwardly she prayed to feel some of the fire he stirred. Instead, when the viscount touched his tongue to her lips, she turned away.

"Thank you for a very lovely evening, my lord."

Nash stood rigid, a frown on his face. "I realize you are enjoying the chase, my dear, but I won't wait longer than your birthday. Think what a man of my position can do for you. Think of your future. I pray you choose well, Vermillion."

She moistened her lips, which suddenly felt dry. "I promise to do my best, your lordship."

Turning away, he strode out of the drawing room and Vermillion released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her aunt had made choosing a lover sound simple, as if it were some kind of a game that could be played with the veriest ease. Instead, her nights grew more and more restless and images of Caleb Tanner continued to creep in.

She dreamt of him that night, though in the morning she only vaguely recalled. She thought of him again as she dressed in her comfortable men's clothing and made her way out to the stable to check on the foal. The gangly little colt with the fuzzy, sandy coat grew bigger every day. She smiled as she watched the tiny horse nursing, then laughed when he tugged with determination at his mother's swollen teat.

She was so engrossed in the foal she didn't hear Caleb approaching until he stood directly behind her.

"Up early this morning, aren't you?... Considering the lateness of the hour you returned home last night."

She stiffened at the sarcasm in his voice and turned to face him. He stood so close she could feel the heat of his body, look into his penetrating dark eyes. Even dressed in the simple garments of a servant, he looked big and strong, and more handsome than any other man of her acquaintance.

"What business is it of yours what time I returned?"

"Why, it's none of my business in the least," he said blandly, but disapproval formed a tight line around his lips. "It isn't my business where you go or when you return or whom you decide to kiss, though I would refrain from doing so in front of the windows if I were you. Might upset one of your other admirers."

Her temper inched up. "And if I were you, I would refrain from playing the role of Peeping Tom. It scarcely suits you, Caleb Tanner."

"You want to know what suits me?" His gaze raked her from head to foot. "Dragging you down in that nice clean pile of straw, tossing up your skirts, and doing what every other man you know wants to do-that is what would suit me. I shall, however, restrain from doing so, since I can hardly afford to lose my position."

Her face must have been scarlet. "You are rude and ill-mannered. I should have dismissed you for your insolence long ago." She glanced down at her breeches. "And if you haven't noticed, I am not wearing a skirt!"

Dark eyes slid over her hips and down her legs, and the edge of his mouth barely curved. "So I see. But if you're interested, I'm willing to make the adjustment. I find the notion of making love to a woman in breeches in some ways even more exciting."

For a heartbeat, she didn't move. Images of lying naked in the straw with Caleb Tanner floated round in her head. All of her suitors went out of their way to play the gallant, yet none of them could excite her with a single word, a single hot glance, the way Caleb could.

What would it be like if instead of Andrew or Jonathan, Caleb were her lover?

She let her gaze roam over his tall, broad-shouldered frame, the narrow hips, and long legs. Trying to gain control of the moment, she cast him the sort of seductive smile Vermillion would use on one of her admirers.

"If you're serious, perhaps I'll give it some thought. It might be amusing to consort in that fashion with a groom."

Those dark eyes glinted. "Make no mistake, Vermillion. The role you play for the others holds no appeal for me. The woman I want helps to birth kittens and rides like the wind. And I don't give a damn what she's wearing."

Then he bent his head and kissed her.

Oh, dear God! It was a searing, reckless, soul-stealing kiss and it set her on fire. She swayed toward him and her hands trembled as she reached up to grip his shoulders. They felt like steel beneath her fingers. He teased her lips apart and she felt the hot, damp slickness of his tongue. Caleb's arms came hard around her. He hauled her against his chest and deepened the kiss, claiming her mouth until she was utterly breathless. Then as suddenly as he had started, he stepped away.

Lee swayed unsteadily, reached out and gripped the top rail of the stall for support.

A corner of Caleb's mouth faintly lifted. "Shall I saddle your horse, Miss Durant?" Though his voice was cool, his eyes remained hot, filled with promises of the pleasure he could give her.

Lee swallowed, tried to calm the tremors coursing through her. "Yes... thank you. I believe I'm in need of a little fresh air."

One of his dark eyebrows went up. "Perhaps you would like some company. I could also saddle the-"

"No! I mean... no, I should rather go by myself, thank you." She tossed her head as Vermillion would have done, determined to put some distance between them. "The sun is shining and I need some time to myself." Careful not to look at Caleb, she walked out of the barn and into the cooling breeze, hoping it would sweep away the unsettling emotions his scorching kiss had stirred.

Knowing deep down even a North Sea storm could not succeed.

As Lee had feared, the ride through the fields gave her plenty of time to think, but she wound up feeling even more confused. Sitting in her bedchamber later that afternoon, she watched Jeannie fussing over the gowns spread out on the big four-poster bed and thought of Caleb and the way he made her feel. Even Andrew couldn't stir her to passion the way Caleb could.

"I think you should wear zee turquoise silk," Jeannie said in her thickly accented English. "It will bring out the color of your eyes." Jeannie Fontenelle was ten years older than Lee. During her years as lady's maid to the Countess of Essex, she had been married to a footman, but he had died of an influenza just months after the two were wed. Jeannie had been summarily dismissed, too tempting a morsel to dangle before the countess's roving-eyed husband.

For the last six years, Jeannie had worked for Aunt Gabby, the past two as Lee's personal maid. The relationship had turned into a friendship that Lee had come to cherish.

"I like the turquoise, as well," Lee agreed, not really caring what she wore to General Stevens's military ball she and her aunt would be attending with Colonel Wingate that night.

Lee flicked a glance at her maid. "I was wondering, Jeannie, if I could ask you something."

Jeannie stopped fussing with the gown. "Of course, cherie. What is it you wish to know?"