The colonel frowned. "Damn murky business. Gilbraith lost the colors. He was badly wounded and apparently surrendered. Spent a year in a Froggie jail until he was exchanged. Court-martial acquitted him of cowardice, but it was damn murky, nevertheless. He resigned his commission. They say if the Peer hadn't stood up for him, he'd have faced a firing squad. But Wellington would have it that he knew the man and he was no coward, however it looked."

"And how did it look, sir?" asked Edward.

The colonel stretched an arm for the water jug, taking a gulp. "Murky… damn murky. Reinforcements were on the way, and he knew it, but they say he surrendered without a whimper."

Edward frowned. "But if he was wounded…?"

The colonel shook his head. "Seems he yielded the colors and surrendered before he was wounded. Some bloody Froggie bayoneted him for the fun of it. By the time the reinforcements came up, it was all over."

"What about the men of his company?"

"Those who survived said the French were advancing for the umpteenth time, and he ordered them to surrender without firing a shot. Shocking business."

"Yes," agreed Edward. He wandered outside into the inferno of the summer afternoon. Theo couldn't marry a coward – it was unthinkable. Presumably she didn't know the story, and probably it was best if she never heard it. She'd be as miserable as sin with a man she couldn't respect. And why was she marrying Stoneridge, anyway? A hated Gilbraith. But he thought he could guess the answer to that. It would be the only way she could remain in control of her beloved home. Theo, despite her volatile nature, was ever pragmatic when it came to the estate.

But she wouldn't have agreed to marry the earl if she hadn't liked him. Theo was not that pragmatic. And did the man know what a pearl he was getting? It would be so easy to misunderstand Theo if one didn't take the time and trouble to look below the swift, efficient surface, to listen to what she was saying beneath the impatient, blunt words.

Edward had known the Belmont girls since childhood, and he knew how easily Theo could be hurt and how hard she would fight back. Life with her could be wonderful… or it could be sheer hell.

He smiled slightly to himself as he strolled through the heat. The few men not huddled in what little shade the village offered stared curiously at the absorbed lieutenant. His loosened tunic indicated that he was not on duty… only a madman would wander voluntarily in the midday sun.

Edward was thinking of how close he and Theo had come to making a match of it themselves, until Theo had decided it would be a bad idea. She'd said she wanted him as a friend, and she was afraid that having him as a husband would spoil their friendship.

If the truth be told, he'd been relieved. He'd been growing closer to Emily, appreciating her sweet-natured softness. He guessed that Theo had seen this, just as she'd been aware of her sister's affection for him. In typical fashion she'd come to a quick decision and implemented it without fuss.

Edward was so absorbed in these thoughts that he didn't realize he'd walked through the village and was approaching the farthest picket line. The sniper in the sparse olive grove beyond the pickets caught the sun-sparked glitter of the lieutenant's silver buttons on his tunic.

The sniper had only just taken up his position. He knew that he'd be able to get one victim before the English were wise to him. This bare-headed arrogant young officer, strolling with such apparent disregard for his safety, seemed the perfect choice.

He raised his rifle and sighted. Gently he squeezed the trigger.

Edward's life was saved by a kestrel. The hawk swooped down on a shrew scurrying along the roadside. Edward turned sideways to watch it, and the bullet that was destined for his heart went into his shoulder in an agonizing, fiery stab.

He yelled in surprise, his hand pressed to the spot where blood pumped in great gobbets; then he flung himself to the ground beside the shimmering white ribbon of the road, rolling beneath a cactus bush, terrifyingly conscious of how skimpy a shelter it was. But the sniper would have to fire again directly into the blinding light of the midday sun, a handicap that was Edward's only hope of seeing another dawn.

"You look harried, Lady Belmont," Sylvester observed two days before his wedding.

Elinor paused on the staircase, giving him a distracted smile. "I'm not harried exactly," she said. "Just somewhat exasperated. The seamstress has been trying to do the last fitting for Theo's wedding dress for two days, but she's never in the house. I finally managed to collar her this morning, but she's hardly being cooperative."

"Perhaps I can be of service," Sylvester suggested, raising an eyebrow.

The earl had proved to be rather good at managing his betrothed, Elinor reflected. "If you're not afraid of a quarrel just before your wedding day."

"Ma'am, I'm not in the least afraid of Theo," he replied. "And if she wishes to quarrel, then I won't stand in her way. Indeed, I believe it might do her some good… release some of her tension."

"You may be right, Stoneridge," Elinor said with a smile. "I'll leave you to your errand of mercy. You'll find the battlefield in the sewing room in the east wing."

Sylvester strolled up the stairs, humming to himself. It was true that Theo was as jumpy as a scalded cat as the wedding day grew closer, but he sensed it was as much excitement and anticipation as apprehension.

The sewing-room door stood open, and he could hear Theo's voice from halfway along the corridor.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Biddy, do be quick. What does it matter if the hem's a bit crooked? No one's going to notice."

"Of course they'll notice, Theo," Clarissa stated. "You can't walk up the aisle with half your skirt above your ankles and the other half dragging on the ground."

"Don't exaggerate, Clarry."

"Now hold still, do, Lady Theo…"

"Your mother says you're being tiresome, my love." Sylvester lounged against the doorjamb, regarding the scene with an amused eye. Theo, her eyes mutinous, her mouth set, stood on a low stool, billowing white gauze clouding around her. A woman knelt in front of her, her fingers darting through the material like silverfish as she pinned and tucked.

"You're not supposed to see the wedding dress before the wedding, my lord," Clarissa squeaked in horror, holding a pincushion from which she was supplying the seamstress.

"Oh, I think we can forgo convention," Sylvester said, stepping into the room.

"This is just stupid," Theo announced. "I have a dozen perfectly good gowns that I could have worn. It's hardly some grand-Society occasion."

It was true that it was going to be a very small family ceremony in deference to the recent death of Theo's grandfather, but Lady Belmont was insisting that some traditions had to be observed.

His lordship came over to the stool, taking his bride-to-be around her slender waist. "Now, stand still. The more cooperative you are, the sooner it will be over."

His hands spanned her waist, and he felt the tension surge through her at his touch. She quivered like a fawn about to take flight before the hunter. Standing on the stool, her eyes were almost on a level with his, and the deep pansy-blue darkened almost to black, the mutinous glare fading.

His lips curved in a comprehending smile, and he tightened his grip on her waist. A smile trembled on her own mouth.

"That's better," he said. "Most young women take an interest in their wedding preparations… instead of fighting them at every turn."

"Most young women don't have as much to do," she responded a shade tartly, although she continued to keep still under his hands. "The farrier is due at the home farm this afternoon, and I have a bone to pick with him over his last account. He billed us for shoeing both shire horses, but Big Jack had a sprained tendon and has been out at grass for two months."