“It seems that a couple of years ago your cousins did a bit of trespassing… on rather more than the colonel's land.”

Tamsyn listened as Gabriel told her the story. She kicked her feet through the grass, rubbing the sand off, her stomach churning at the thought that she shared close kinship with such gutter sweepings.

Gabriel reached up to an overhead branch and tested a pear between finger and thumb. “They've a few weeks to go yet,” he observed dispassionately, as if he were completely unaffected by the story he was telling. But Tamsyn knew better.

“Nearly killed the girl, I gather,” he continued in his leisurely fashion.

Tamsyn plucked a crab apple. She bit into it, relishing its puckering sourness; it took her mind off the thought of some innocent little girl in the vicious, defiling hands of these as yet unknown cousins.

“You'll get the bellyache if you eat too many of those,” Gabriel observed. “Anyway, from that day the colonel banned the Penhallans from his land. He's on speaking terms with the viscount, I gather. But only in public. They can't help but meet occasionally around the neighbourhood. But the twins keep out of his way.”

“What do they say in the countryside about my cou-about the twins?”

“No one has any truck with 'em. They're cowards; they think they can do whatever they like. They're Penhallans and that's all that counts.”

“Cecile said that was exactly what Cedric believed,” Tamsyn said thoughtfully. “No one could touch a Penhallan except himself”

“Well, we'll be changing that, little girl,” Gabriel said, deceptively mild.

Tamsyn looked up at him and her eyes were almost black. “Yes,” she said. “We'll bring them down, Gabriel. For Cecile, and for that girl.”

She shivered suddenly, despite the sultry warmth in the orchard, as she thought of the two horsemen on the cliff. Two horsemen. Twins? Cousins? Watching her?

Cedric had seen her once. Had that one brief glimpse been sufficient to arouse his curiosity?

Chapter Eighteen

“I DO HOPE JULIAN WON'T CONSIDER OUR VISIT AN imposition,” Lucy said, unable to hide her renewed agitation as the chaise turned into the gates of Tregarthan.

“Why should he?” Gareth asked with a touch of impatience. “Tregarthan is big enough to house a regiment.” He shifted his long legs in the cramped space. “By God, I'll be glad to be done with this infernal coach travel. I should have brought my riding horse.”

Before they'd left, he'd said that as he didn't have a horse in his string to match anyone of his brother law's, he'd let Julian mount him during their stay. But Lucy didn't remind him of this. She let down the window, closed to keep the dust from filling the coach, and leaned out, ready to catch her first glimpse of her beloved Tregarthan as they bowled around the corner at the head of the drive.

“Good God! What an incredible animal!” Gareth exclaimed, looking out of his own window. He banged on the roof and the coachman drew rein. Gareth leaned out of the window, mouth agape, at the two riders emerging from the trees onto the drive just ahead of them.

Tamsyn shaded her eyes from the sun as she examined the coach standing in the middle of the driveway. “It must be the colonel's sister,” she declared after a brief and puzzled contemplation. “I wonder why they've stopped.” Leaving Gabriel on the drive, she cantered back toward the coach. “Good afternoon. Is something the matter?”

“That horse,” Gareth declared. “I beg your pardon, but I've never seen such an animal.”

“No, Cesar is magnificent, isn't he?” Tamsyn beamed, forgetting for the moment her disgruntlement that she could only ride him around the estate, thanks to her own overly clever invention. “Are you Sir Gareth Fortescue?”

“Yes.” Gareth blinked, bemused by the combination of the milk-white Arabian steed and the diminutive rider, her silvery cap of hair shining in the sun, astonishingly violet almond-shaped eyes regarding him with frank but friendly curiosity.

“We've been expecting you,” Tamsyn said, leaning down to extend her hand. “I'm Tamsyn.”

“Oh,” he said. “Yes… yes, of course.” He took her hand. Julian had made no mention of his protegee’s name, but Gareth was positive Tamsyn wasn't a Spanish name. In fact, there didn't seem to be anything Spanish at all about this girl. “My wife… “ He gestured behind him into the dimness of the chaise and leaned back slightly so Lucy could take his place at the window.

Lucy's startled face appeared in the aperture. “I understood you were Spanish,” she said, speaking her husband’s thoughts and quite forgetting the niceties in her astonishment.

“Half-Spanish,” Tamsyn said cheerfully, leaning down to shake her hand. “My English is very good when I'm not nervous, but when I go out into company, I seem to forget it all.” She smiled, continuing expansively, “My mother was Cornish, which e why I'm staying with Lord St. Simon. We hope to discover her family, and in the meantime I'm learning to be English so I can make my debut. My parents are both dead, you see, and the Duke of Wellington agreed to be responsible for me.”

“Oh,” Lucy said faintly, as confused as ever by this explanation. “I'm so sorry about your parents.”

A shadow flitted across Tamsyn's countenance, showing Lucy for a minute a disturbingly different side to the brown-faced, bright-eyed, smiling girl. Then Tamsyn said, “Introductions in the middle of the driveway are a little uncomfortable. Shall we return to the house? Your brother should be home by now. He's been paying calls. “

She turned her horse to ride beside the chaise as it continued up the drive. Gabriel had disappeared, presumably already returned to the stables.

Julian, hearing the bustle in the Great Hall, came out of the library, a frown in his eyes, a smile on his lips. “Lucy, this is a pleasure.” He lightly kissed his sister's cheek and turned to his brother-in-law. “Fortescue. What a delightful surprise.”

Gareth shook the proffered hand and told himself he'd imagined the slightly ironic note in St. Simon's voice. “Thought we'd pay a family visit,” he said obviously. “Lucy thought she could be of help since you're entertaining visitors… We met Miss… Miss-”

“Tamsyn,” Julian supplied calmly. “Tamsyn Baron. But Tamsyn will do fine.”

“Ah, yes, of course… of course.” Gareth turned with a hearty laugh toward the subject of the conversation, standing quietly behind them, waiting for the family greetings to be concluded. “Staggering piece of horseflesh, St. Simon.”

“Tamsyn?” The colonel's eyebrows disappeared into his scalp.

“No… no,” Gareth blustered, his ruddy complexion taking on a slightly mottled hue. “You know what I mean, St. Simon.”

Lucy was looking uncomfortable. For some reason Julian always managed to make Gareth look stupid. He was never rude, but somehow in his presence Gareth became clumsy and tongue-tied.

Tamsyn stepped forward. “Milord colonel is fond of teasing, Sir Gareth. But you may compliment Cesar to your heart's content, it will only endear you to me.” She turned to Lucy. “Lady Fortescue, you must be tired after your journey.”

“Oh, please call me Lucy.” Lucy's mind was racing.

She'd expected either some pathetic, mute orphan or an exotic dark lady, swathed in lace mantillas, fluttering a fan. This boyish, self-assured young woman who spoke English with only the trace of a foreign accent was a total surprise.

“Why, Miss Lucy, you must be exhausted.” Mrs. Hibbert, wreathed in smiles, came bustling from the kitchen. “Now, you come along upstairs and I'll have a bath and tea brought up to you directly. You'll be wanting your dinner on a tray, I'll be bound.”

“Oh, yes, thank you, Mrs. Hibbert.” Lucy visibly relaxed into the comforting care of the housekeeper, who immediately hustled her toward the stairs. But Lucy paused, her foot on the bottom stair, turning back to the hall. “Tamsyn, would you perhaps come and drink some tea with me while I have my bath?”