the edge of the settee.

Taking her hand, Shelbourne raised it to his lips and pressed a decidedly prolonged kiss to her fingertips, edging Robert's irritation up several more notches.

'I am bereft that you must leave so soon,' Shelbourne said, 'but I am delighted we were introduced. It is not often that my home is graced with such beauty.'

Robert fought the urge to drag Shelbourne outdoors and introduce him to the cobblestones. Headfirst. Damn it all, he was looking at Mrs. Brown as if she were a sugarcoated morsel he wished to nibble upon.

Tucking her arm through his with a proprietary air that curled Robert's hands into fists, the earl walked with Mrs. Brown toward the foyer. As the corridor was only wide enough to accommodate two people, Robert was forced to trail behind.

'I would like very much to continue our conversation… Alberta. Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to the opera this evening?'

'Thank you,' came Alberta 's soft reply, 'but as I'm in mourning, I'm afraid I cannot accept.'

Ha! See there, she's in mourning, you reprobate, so just cast your roving eye elsewhere. The opera, indeed. Robert knew Shelbourne well enough to know that singing was the last thing on the man's mind. He recognized that lustful gleam in Shelbourne's eye. And well you should, his inner voice taunted. It s the same gleam you have in your own eye for the lovely Mrs. Brown.

His irritation pumped up yet another notch, and he consigned his inner voice to the devil. Yes, she inspired lustful urges in him. But at least he knew he wouldn't act upon them. Shelbourne, he knew, wouldn't hesitate. Yes, unlike Shelbourne, he most certainly would not foist his lust upon a woman who still mourned her dead husband. No, he'd take such urges to a mistress.

A frown tugged down his brows. Fustian. He did not currently have a mistress. He'd been so busy trying to find a wife…

Well, he'd simply double his efforts to find a wife and bring his lustful urges to her. He'd find a beautiful young English girl and marry her and-

At that moment Mrs. Brown turned around, and their eyes met. The effect was like a blow to his midsection. His jaw clenched as the truth settled upon him like a death knell. It was going to be bloody hard to search for a bride when he could not even entertain the thought of any woman except the one looking at him right now.

*********

Pushing aside the burgundy velvet drapery in his private study, Geoffrey watched the black lacquer coach carrying Jamison and Mrs. Brown disappear from view. For the first time in what seemed like decades, he allowed himself to draw an easy breath.

Mrs. Brown had not given any indication, by her manner or conversation, that she knew his secret. Of course, she might simply be a consummate actress, but once the ring was in his possession, it wouldn't matter what she might know. He'd destroy the evidence. And then get rid of the loose ends.

At that moment he caught sight of Lester Redfern walking swiftly toward the town house. Speaking of loose ends…

Ah, yes, within a matter of minutes, the ring would be his, thus ending the nightmare that had hovered over him for so long.

*********

'I wasn't aware I had an appointment,' Allie said as the carriage moved slowly down the crowded street. Indeed, she would have contradicted Lord Robert's obvious falsehood on principle if she had not been anxious to depart. No doubt she should have been flattered by the handsome earl's obvious interest, but instead his attentions had repulsed her. Now, if only the man sitting across from her repulsed her…

A boyish smile lit his features. 'Of course not, this appointment is a surprise.'

Dear Lord, it was difficult to resist that smile, but she had to. For her own peace of mind. 'I'm afraid I do not care overmuch for surprises,' she said stiffly. 'Where are we going?'

'Nowhere sinister, Mrs. Brown, I give you my word. I simply scheduled an appointment for you at the modiste. I thought you might wish to replace your destroyed gowns.'

An embarrassed flush crept up her face. Heaven knew she did not wish to spend the next weeks and months with only two gowns to her name, but she simply could not afford to purchase new ones. And how humiliating to have to admit as much to him, especially when his gesture was so kind and thoughtful.

Raising her chin, she said, 'While that was very considerate of you, I'm afraid I only brought limited travel funds with me.'

'I do not know how clothing is priced in America, but I believe you'll find that it is quite inexpensive here in London. Remarkably so. Especially wools. All those sheep wandering about the countryside, you know.'

Although she suspected that what constituted inexpensive to him would differ vastly from her definition, a spark of hope kindled in her. If what he said was true, perhaps she could afford one new gown.

The carriage halted. 'Here we are,' Lord Robert said with a winning grin. 'Let us see what fabulous bargains Madame Renee has to offer.'

********

Geoffrey looked at the ring resting in his palm, then raised his gaze to Redfern.

'There it is,' Redfern said. 'Had it sewn into her petticoat, she did. Right clever hiding spot. But not clever enough.' He grasped his lapels and rocked back on his heels, a smug grin creasing his face.

'Where is the box?' Geoffrey asked in a perfectly controlled voice.

The smug grin faltered. 'Box?'

'The ring box.' A slow thumping commenced behind his eyes. 'You were to retrieve the matching box as well. Was the ring not in a box?'

'Yes, but-'

'So where is the box?' He enunciated each word very clearly, striving to ward off the red haze he felt draping over his vision.

'I suppose it's still in Mrs. Brown's bedchamber.'

'You left it behind.'

A flash of unease flickered in Redfern's eyes at his glacial tone, but then a defiant look crossed his ruddy face. 'I left it behind,' he concurred. 'Took the ring out of it to make sure it were the right bloody ring this time, then tossed the box on the floor like the piece of trash it were. All rusty and dented it were-not any sort of a matchin' box to that fine ring. You said nothin' about a bloody dented, rusty box. 'Get the ring and its matchin' box' is wot you said, and there'-he jabbed a stubby finger at Geoffrey's palm-'is the bloody ring. There weren't no matchin' box.' He jutted out his chin. 'I held up my end, and now it's time for you to hold up yours. I want my blunt. And I want it now.'

Geoffrey's fingers curled around the ring, the cool metal digging into his palm in an effort not to wrap his fingers around Redfern's throat. With studied nonchalance, he crossed to the fireplace, then crouched down to affectionately stroke Thorndyke's fur.

'Tell me, Redfern, do you value your life?' he asked in a soft, conversational tone.

When he did not receive a reply, he looked up at Redfern, who stood still and silent as a statue near the French windows, his jaw tightly clenched.

Finally Redfern answered, ' 'Course I value my life. But I ain't takin' all the blame here. You should have been more specific about the damn box.'

'You will recall to whom you are speaking, Redfern, and guard your tone as well as your insolent tongue.' Geoffrey forced in a deep breath to calm his fury. 'Clearly I overestimated your capabilities.'

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