Tom snatched off his cap and stood awkwardly, twisting it between his hands. "The cove's gone 'ome to 'is bed, m'lord," he offered in explanation for his end of duty. "I thought as 'ow you'd like me report straight-way.

"I would, indeed. Have you had your dinner?"

"No, m'lord. I didn't know as 'ow I could leave the doorway… although the cove stayed put all evening," he added, somewhat aggrieved..

"Gregson, make sure there's a good supper waiting for him in the kitchen," Marcus instructed.

The buder bowed himself out in silence, and if he felt discommoded by being instructed to see to the welfare of a stablehand he managed to keep it hidden.

"So, Tom, what have you to report?"

Tom faithfully detailed Sebastian's movements throughout the day. Uninterestingly routine for the most part: Jackson's saloon, Watier's, Viscount Middleton's lodgings, a drive in the park. However, the gem came at the shank of the rigidly chronicled day.

"Kensington, you say?" Marcus looked into the deep ruby depths of his glass of port. It sounded promising… unless Sebastian kept a mistress there. But Sebastian was in love with Harriet Moreton, and Marcus didn't think his brother-in-law would deem a mistress compatible with courtship, despite his unorthodox lifestyle.

"I could take you there, m'lord."

"Tomorrow will be soon enough, Tom. Get to your dinner now. You've done well."

Beaming, Tom left the library, basking in his god's approval that made an empty belly and the long hours of shivering in doorways well worth while.

Marcus threw another log on the fire and refilled his glass. Tomorrow he would retrieve his wife, and he'd make damn sure he hung onto her from now on.

22

Marcus was up early the next morning, and within minutes the household was scurrying under a barrage of orders. Gregson was informed that his lordship was going into the country for a couple of weeks. Cheveley and Millie were instructed to pack for their employers and then to travel immediately to Berkshire. The traveling chaise with two outriders was ordered to be at the door by ten o'clock.

Marcus then strode down to the breakfast parlor, a distinct spring in his step. He was addressing a planer of sirloin when Charlie precipitately entered the parlor.

Marcus looked up in surprise, a smile of greeting on his lips. It died as he recognized Charlie's air of somewhat defensive bellicosity. It was a look he'd worn as a child when he considered his guardian guilty of some injustice and had screwed up his courage for a confrontation.

"What's to do, Charlie?" Marcus asked, without preamble.

"Where's Judith?" his young cousin demanded. "Gregson says she's gone to look after a sick aunt, but she doesn't have an aunt… sick or otherwise-at least not in England."

"Oh, how do you know that?" Marcus inquired calmly, refilling his coffee cup.

"Because she told me," Charlie stated. He glared at Marcus. "So where is she?"

"Sit down," Marcus said, gesturing to a chair. "And stop glowering at me, Charlie."

"I don't want to sit down," Charlie said. "I want to know where Judith is. I saw her yesterday and she didn't say she was going anywhere."

"Does she give you a report on all her movements?" Marcus asked gently.

Charlie's neck reddened and his scowl deepened. "Of course not, but she wouldn't go off without telling me. I know it."

Marcus sighed. "So what are you suggesting? You're surely not accusing me of disposing of her in some way, are you?" His eyebrows lifted quizzically.

Charlie's flush deepened at the sardonic question. "No, of course not… only… only…"

"Yes?" Marcus prompted.

"Only maybe you upset her in some way," his cousin blurted out. "I know how deuced cutting you can be when you're displeased."

Marcus frowned. "Am I really that unpleasant in our dealings, Charlie? I intend only to stand your friend."

"Yes, I know." Charlie fiddled with a fork on the table, in evident embarrassment. "It's just that you're

devilish strict in some things, and you've a rough tongue that can make a fellow feel like a worm."

Marcus winced at this plain speaking, but was obliged to acknowledge there was some justice in the complaint. He examined his cousin thoughtfully. This couldn't be easy for Charlie, who was never comfortable asserting himself. Judith certainly had the power to inspire loyalty and friendship. He wondered why he hadn't been struck before by the strength of the attachments she'd formed in the few short months since she'd been in London.

"I only want to ensure that you have a fortune to come into when you reach your majority," he said mildly.

"But where's Judith?" Charlie sat down abruptly and stabbed at a rasher of bacon with the fork. "She's not hurt, is she?"

Marcus shook his head. "Not as far as I know, Charlie. Arid certainly not at my hands, if that's what you're thinking."

Charlie chewed bacon and swallowed. "But where is she?"

Marcus sighed. "In Kensington. But we're going to Carrington Manor today for a couple of weeks."

"Kensington?" Charlie's amazement was as great as if his cousin had said Judith was on the moon. "Whatever for?"

"Now that I'm afraid is a secret I'm not prepared to divulge," Marcus said firmly. "I appreciate your concern, Charlie, but I have to tell you that it's a matter that lies between Judith and myself. I don't mean to snub you, or to be in the least harsh, but I'm afraid it's none of your business."

Charlie stabbed a grilled mushroom from the serving platter. "But she's all right?"

"Yes, Charlie. She's perfectly all right." Marcus smiled, watching with great amusement his cousin's careless, unconscious consumption of a considerable breakfast.

"Oh, well, that's all right then." Charlie heaved a sigh of relief. "I didn't mean to pry, but, well, you know how it is with Judith… a fellow can't help worrying about her."

Marcus nodded. "Yes, Charlie, I know just how it is. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have things to do, so I'll leave you to your breakfast."

"Oh, I don't want breakfast," Charlie said. "I breakfasted in my lodgings before I came."

"Really? I wonder how I could have thought otherwise." Laughing, Marcus flung an affectionate arm around his cousin and squeezed his shoulders.

A short while later, he emerged from the house and climbed into the waiting chaise with the Carrington crest emblazoned on the panels.

Tom scrambled onto the box beside the coachman and proceeded to direct him through the streets to Cambridge Gardens.

Marcus stepped out and stood for a minute looking around the quiet crescent, then up at Judith's hideaway: a discreet, modest accommodation patronized by solid burghers and their ladies, he decided, stepping up to the door.

Mrs. Cunningham gazed from her front room window at the magnificent emblazoned equipage, with its two outriders, drawing up at her doorstep. Its tall, elegant occupant in buckskins and top boots, a cloak thrown carelessly around his shoulders, jumped down and stood looking at the house for a minute before approaching the front door.

"Dora… Dora… the door, immediately!" she called, smoothing down her skirt as she billowed into the hall to greet her visitor.

Dora flung open the door before Marcus could touch the door knocker. "Good morning, sir."

"Good morning," he said with a pleasant smile, seeing the ample figure of Mrs. Cunningham behind the maid. "I understand you have a lady residing-"

"Oh, yes, sir, Mrs. Devlin, sir," Mrs. Cunningham supplied helpfully. This gentleman could only be inquiring after one of her guests.

"Ah… Mrs. Devlin," Marcus murmured with another smile. He'd been fairly certain Judith wouldn't have registered under Lady Carrington and had been wondering if this would present him with any problem. But the eagerly helpful landlady had resolved his difficulty.