"By society's standards-your society-she is ruined already."

"I have the wherewithal to remedy that."

"Oh, yes. Your famous riches. All that money that you have and we Benchleys do not." She gave him a tight smile. "I have no information that can help you. He did not take one of our carriages, but that signifies nothing. Perhaps your innocent little sister provided the equipage."

"She did not."

"Then they rented a hack. Or could they have chosen to travel by horseback?" she added, hoping to gain some snippet of information from him.

He frowned and thought for a moment. "I do not think Alice so adept a rider as to attempt such a long journey by horseback."

But she was, Jinx thought. On horseback she could make much faster time than could a hired hack. But first she must rid herself of Harrison Stirling.

"However they travel, you but waste your time speaking with me, Lord Hartley."

"Perhaps so. Then again, perhaps not. I caution you, Miss Benchley, not to aid the runaways. You may delude yourself into believing it possible to marry purely for love, but the rest of English society is far more practical."

"Indeed. Since you are so practical, then, you must realize that you do but waste your time lingering here. Get on with you, Lord Hartley. Rescue your sister before a man who loves her can make her his wife. Then hurry back to London before all the wealthy heiresses are sto-

len out from under your nose. Be practical," she taunted him. "Time is wasting."

Harrison bided his time, but not easily. The quicktempered Miss Jinx Benchley was right. Time was wasting. He needed to be practical, he needed to be on his way. And yet something made him linger.

He'd ridden out of the gravel courtyard fronting the Benchleys' very odd manor home with its myriad turrets and steep roof walk. He made his way furiously beyond reach of the towering yew dragons, past the half-sized Dutch windmill, and the miniaturely proportioned replica of the classic Greek Pantheon. But once beyond the strange house and the collection of outlandish follies that dotted the otherwise serene landscape, he doubled back through the hunting park, his jaw grimly set, his frown securely in place. Now he waited, along with Rogers, his valet, to see what Miss High-and-Mighty Benchley was up to.

Though he did not like to admit it-and would do so only to himself-the feisty Miss Benchley had scored a direct hit with her pronouncements regarding the state of society matrimonies. He doubted her claim that everyone in her family had made love matches. Still, it raised the question of whether it was possible these days for anyone to marry for that nebulous reason.

He stared beyond his sheltered bower and across the damp meadows, just rousing to the bright sunlight burning through the morning fog. But he did not see the sheep that dotted the lush green landscape, nor the meandering stone walls that marked fields in use for a thousand years and more. Instead he pictured his sister, Alice, and their last conversation.

She'd been very upset, almost to the point of tears. But she hadn't cried, even when he'd browbeaten her about Arlen Forrester, Lord Meever. That had been eight days ago. He'd gone blithely on to Winchester afterward, sure in his conceit that she would come around to his way of thinking. After all, Lord Meever was not too old-her objection to Lord Barton. He was not a sot-her objection to Lord Tinsdale. Nor was he a womanizer-her objection to Lord Lamkin. Barton, Tinsdale, and Lamkin had each been well connected, with solid family names and deep pockets. But Harrison recognized now that none of them had truly been right for his sweet younger sister.

Arlen Forrester, however, had no such flaws.

Alice had called the man dull as dirt, and perhaps he was. But that was hardly a fatal flaw, and indeed, he might make a better husband for it. He was a conscientious fellow who took his responsibilities seriously.

Yet the thought of marrying Forrester had sent Alice straight into the arms of a penniless opportunist who'd promptly dragged her off to Gretna Green.

No doubt she believed herself in love with the man, and for that Harrison was prepared to forgive her. Benchley, however, would receive no such leniency. For Colin Benchley had taken advantage of a green girl, and Harrison meant to punish him dearly for his audacity.

Unfortunately, Harrison could not escape some portion of the blame himself. He'd left Alice alone too much. Then when he'd decided she was ready for marriage, he'd tried to rush her into it.

He, of all people, should have known that the selection of a mate could not be rushed. It had been three years since he'd decided to select a wife and produce the heir he knew his position demanded. Three years, three seasons, and not one eligible miss he'd go so far as to actually commit a lifetime to. Whether silly or serious, titled or merely wealthy, not one of the many young women he'd danced and flirted with had moved him to propose marriage.

Not that he was waiting for love to strike, as Jinx Benchley obviously was. She was already old enough to be considered on the shelf. Before long she'd be a confirmed spinster. And all in the name of love.

But that was not his problem. He was not waiting for love.

The fact remained, however, that he'd not found the right woman for himself. So why had he presumed he could find the right man for Alice? That didn't mean he could allow Alice to choose her own husband without some guidance from him. This disaster with Benchley was proof that she was not capable of it. Still, Harrison knew he'd been a lackluster guardian to his much younger sister. He'd not sufficiently considered her feelings regarding marriage. He would have to do better in the future.

He waited silently in the woodland bower. Above him a pair of mating squirrels tore around the trunk of a towering oak, chasing one another in a dizzying upward spiral. His sleek mount stamped one foot and nickered softly to Rogers's placid mare. Love was in the air. Then he grimaced at such an idiotic notion. Not love, but lust.

He frowned and shifted uneasily in the saddle. Squirrels. Horses. Young men. Did Alice feel lust for this Benchley? Was that what she found missing in Lord Meever?

Harrison didn't like to think of his sister that way, nor of any innocent young woman of good breeding.

You thought of Miss Jinx Benchley that way, a silent voice accused.

His fist tightened on the reins. The horse tossed its head, restless from the wait. Maybe for a moment or two he'd thought of Miss Benchley that way. But then, why shouldn't he? She was not, after all, your typical gentleman's daughter. Her wild red hair, her eccentric wardrobe. The intriguing fragrance that clung to her.

Those bells that tinkled when she moved.

Any right-thinking man could be forgiven for harboring less-than-wholesome thoughts about such a vibrant creature. Even her temper had sparked his interest, for she was no shy, mumbling child, intimidated by either his anger or his physical presence.

And her voice, confident and yet musical-

"Look, milord," Rogers called, interrupting Harrison's inappropriate musings. "Someone's leaving the manor grounds."

Cursing himself for a fool, Harrison leaned forward, focusing at once on the distant rider. At first he was disappointed. It was a man, for he rode astride. Then his eyes narrowed. The rider's hat nearly fell off and a long knot of hair unfurled down his back. Her back, Harrison realized when the sunlight struck sparks off the rich red mass. Jinx Benchley, riding astride in some sort of combination of breeches and skirt. He could hardly believe it! She thundered down the road, trailed by another rider. One of the stable men, he would guess.

So, she was off to find her brother herself-no doubt to warn the wretch that someone was hot on his trail. Harrison had been right to wait, and now he meant to follow her straight to the runaway pair.