Sylvester banged the door at his back. Theo turned to face him, and the tension on the gamine face, the strain in the midnight eyes, brought him a certain grim satisfaction – tiny recompense for his own gut-wrenching fear for her.

"How dare you do something so unutterably stupid and reckless!" he demanded.

Theo clasped her hands tightly. "I know it was stupid. I didn't think to take a pistol, I -"

"What!" he interrupted in disbelief. "Is that all you can say? You defy my orders, you meddle in my affairs, willfully expose yourself to danger, and all you can apologize for is forgetting to take a pistol!"

"Oh, don't you understand?" she cried. "What else could I do? You promised me a partnership. You… you seduced me with the promise of a partnership. I would never have married you if you hadn't promised that. Instead, you keep your self away from me. You won't permit me to know anything about you… anything important, that is." She flung away from him, tears of frustration blurring her vision.

"You dare to blame me for your defiance and your stupidity?" Furiously, he took a step toward her and then stopped, aware that his hands were shaking with his rage. He took a deep breath. "I'm too angry to deal with this now," he stated. "I can't trust myself in the same room with you!" He turned back to the door. "You'll stay in here until I come back."

"What?" Startled, she swung to face him again.

"I intend to know where you are – every step you take from now on," he declared savagely. "So you'll stay in this room until I've cooled off enough to be rational. And so help me, Theo, if you so much as stick your little toe outside this door, you'll regret it to your dying day."

Theo stared, dumbstruck, as he stormed out and the door crashed closed behind him. She felt sick and shivery. Angrily, she dashed the tears from her eyes with her forearm and went to the window. Sylvester appeared in the street below. He glanced up once at the house, but if he saw her in the window, he gave no indication. Then he turned and strode off down the street, slashing at the neat privet hedges with his cane.

Theo stepped back into the room. She filled a glass with water from the pitcher on the washstand and drank slowly, waiting for the nausea to recede and for her breathing to steady.

The fat really was in the fire now.

She kicked off her shoes and dropped into a deep armchair by the hearth, drawing her legs under her, gazing into the wreathing flames. The devil of it was that she'd been forced to reveal her own hand. Sylvester now knew that she wasn't prepared to accept his silences as royal commands, and knowing her husband, he was bound to take serious steps to prevent her continuing along her chosen path.

If she couldn't persuade him to take her into his confidence, it rather looked as if she was stymied.

She let her head fall back against the cushions and cursed under her breath. Sylvester was presumably stalking the streets of London devising some foolproof scheme to turn her into a model wife who never questioned her husband's decisions or asked awkward questions or, heaven forbid, took matters into her own hands. A nice, meek little wife who'd warm his slippers and order his favorite foods and hang her head in mute obedience to his every command.

Well, he wasn't going to find it easy. She turned her head and looked at the closed door of her bedroom. Maybe he wasn't going to find it easy, but, somehow, she didn't feel like defying his parting order.

The sound of commotion in the street below brought her out of her reverie, and she sprang up from her chair, going to the window. A post chaise had drawn up before the door, boxes and portmanteaus strapped to its roof. Its yellow painted wheels were coated with mud, and the side panels were thickly splattered. Obviously it had come quite a journey. Six outriders, with blunderbusses, sat their horses – a dangerous journey, presumably.

As Theo stared down, a postilion flung open the door and let down the footstep. Lady Gilbraith descended to the street, shaking down her skirts, adjusting her bonnet with a sharp jerk as if the garment had in some way offended. She took up her lorgnette and examined the facade of Belmont House just as Foster came hurrying down the front steps to greet her, and Mary alighted from the post chaise swathed for some extraordinary reason in a purple blanket and clutching a white handkerchief to her nose.

In horror Theo stared at the amount of baggage on the roof of the vehicle. How the hell long were they coming for?

She turned at a hasty rap at her door. "Beggin' your pardon, m'lady, but 'is lordship's ma… I mean, Lady Gilbraith 'as jest arrived," Dora announced, slightly breathless from her haste. "Mr. Foster sent me to tell you."

"Thank you, Dora." Theo turned to the mirror, hiding a slight smile. She had an interesting choice before her: to obey her husband's express commands or to greet his mother with all due courtesy and hospitality. She thought she would do the latter. Sylvester would be hard-pressed to find fault.

Her tousled reflection looked out at her from the mirror. An afternoon fighting and running for her life from a gang of dockland thieves didn't lend itself to a tidy appearance.

"Help me change my dress, Dora… the cream silk will do." She began to pull the pins from her hair, shaking it loose. "And I'll have to do my hair again, but be quick. I mustn't keep Lady Gilbraith waiting."

Ten minutes later she hurried down the stairs to the hall, where her dismayed eyes took in the mountain of luggage still being carried in by the footmen.

"Her ladyship and Miss Gilbraith are in the salon, Lady Theo," Foster informed her. "I ventured to suggest they might care for some tea, but her ladyship didn't believe we could make a pot to her satisfaction."

"Bring coffee instead. I seem to remember her ladyship prefers it," Theo said, giving him a conspiratorial wink, dropping her voice to a whisper. "How long are they going to stay?"

Foster's lips twitched. "I couldn't say, my lady. It's to be the Chinese room for Miss Gilbraith and the Garden suite for her ladyship?"

Theo nodded, braced her shoulders, and entered the salon. "My dear ma'am, welcome to Belmont House. I trust the journey was not too fatiguing?"

"It was tedious in the extreme," her mother-in-law declared, putting up her glass and subjecting Theo to a long and unnerving scrutiny. "Hmm. You seem to have lost some of that brown tinge to your complexion… something of an improvement." She managed to convey surprise rather than approval. "Where's Stoneridge?"

Marching the streets in a fury. "He had to go out, ma'am. I'm certain if he'd known you were to arrive today, he would have made sure he was here to welcome you."

Theo turned to her sister-in-law, still huddled in her astonishing purple blanket, still clutching a white handkerchief to her scarlet nose. It clashed most interestingly with the blanket. "Mary, I trust you're well."

"Does she look well?" demanded her ladyship. "Sniveling and snuffling. It's to be hoped that fool Weston can do something for the gal. Not that I put much store in doctors… quacks the lot of 'em… and demmed expensive."

"If I could just have a mustard bath, Mama," Mary pleaded thickly. "I'm sure I'll be better directly."

"Coffee, ma'am." Foster entered the salon bearing a tray.

"Thank you," Theo said. "And, uh… uh, Miss Gilbraith would like a mustard bath, if it could be arranged." She turned back to the sufferer, inquiring solicitously, "Just for your feet, Mary, or would it be wiser to immerse your whole self?"

Mary spluttered, looking outraged at such a suggestion made in the hearing of a butler.

"I'll have a basin taken to the Chinese room, my lady," Foster said in repressive accents, shooting his young mistress a reproving look. "Your maid, Lady Gilbraith, has been directed to your apartments and awaits your pleasure."