"No, I would not," Lina said flatly, shocking Charlotte as well as Pagett.

Pagett nodded grimly. "In that case I'll take my leave..."

"I won't say goodbye to him," Lina said. "I refuse to let him die, and that's exactly what I shall tell him. Do we leave tonight or is the morning soon enough?"

Was there a look of approval in Pagett's eyes? If so, Lina didn't notice it. "Traveling at night is more difficult."

"So it is. I gather by your answer that tonight would be belter. Meggie, go upstairs and pack for me. Charlotte, I presume you want to stay here?"

Alone, in London, with Adrian Rohan a few streets down? "I want to come with you," she said, rising. 'I’ll go help."

"Is there anything you need to do before we leave, Mr. Pagett? I keep a coach in London—there's room for you if you'd like to leave your horse here.” Lina's voice was cool again. Odd, when she was usually so warm and flirtatious, even with those who disapproved of her.

"I prefer to ride," he said.

"Then I'll simply have to send Sir Percy on his way, change my clothes and we'll be ready." She disappeared out the door, and they could hear her voice just beyond the door. "Percy, my love, I'm afraid I've been called out of town, but Jenkins will see that you're properly looked after."

"I wouldn't think of interrupting your lovers’ tryst," Pagett said.

Sir Percy hobbled in, aided by one of the sturdy footmen. "Demme, afraid I twisted me ankle," he wheezed. "Just call me a carriage, love, and I'll be fine.”

"Percy, your house is more than an hour out of town. You'll stay here. It's horribly rude like this, but I know my servants will take most excellent care of you."

Amid much protestation and fuss Sir Percy was aided up to one of the second-floor bedrooms by three footmen and the austere Jenkins, and then Lina turned to the vicar, who was watching her out of half-closed eyes. "I'll be ready in less than an hour."

"Isn't he a little old for you?" Pagett drawled, deliberately provocative.

Lina turned to Charlotte. "You see why I told you he's an odious human being?" she said brightly. She looked back over her shoulder. "Indeed, you need to ride your horse, Mr. Pagett. There's only room for three in the carriage and we'll need to take Meggie. I can only hope the weather will change and there'll be a nice, icy rainstorm to accompany our journey."

"We're not likely to have ice in April, and I doubt you'd enjoy traveling by coach in that kind of weather anyway. I have one more call to make, and then I'll be ready to accompany you."

"Another social call? At this time of night?" Lina said archly. "There are other people you treat as rudely as you do me?"

"Would you have preferred I wait until morning. Lady Whitmore?" he asked in his steady voice.

She glared at him. "Point taken. We'll be ready within the hour. If you're not here we'll go ahead without you." She swept from the room without another word, not even looking at Charlotte.

Simon Pagett met her curious gaze with a wry smile. "She doesn't like me, I'm afraid."

"Perhaps you might get along better if you didn't criticize her."

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea," he said, half to himself. "By your leave, Miss Spenser."

After he left, Charlotte found Lina rushing around her rooms, flinging clothes around as Meggie and one of the upstairs maids tried to keep up with her. "Do you need help, dearest?" she called out to Charlotte as she paused in the doorway.

"It won't take me that long," she said. "You didn't tell me that Mr. Pagett was so young."

"Didn't I? Well, I suppose he is. Younger than he looks, apparently. But he's got the soul of a crabby,

Charlotte remembered his wry, charming smile and the odd expression in his eyes when they rested on Lina. "If you say so," she said doubtfully.

Lina already had a trunk mostly filled, with enough on her bed to fill another.

"How long are we planning to stay?" Charlotte asked. "You're packing enough for the entire season.”

"Well, one never knows what might come up. I need to bring my new dresses, but I wouldn't want to be without some of my other clothes. I wouldn't want Mr. Pagett to think my new colors and necklines have anything to do with him."

"Why should they?" Charlotte asked, momentarily mystified.

Lina's laugh was brittle. "Indeed, why should they? Are you packed, dearest?"

"It won't take but a moment. No, Meggie, you stay and help Lina. You know it won’t take me more than a minute or two to get what we'll need, and Sussex is not at the end of the world. We can always send back to London if we've left too much behind."

"Of course we can," Lina declared feverishly. She came over and gave Charlotte an exuberant hug. "I'm glad we're leaving, aren't you? You don't want to risk running into Adrian again, and I'm dreadfully, dreadfully tired of town right now. The countryside will be perfect."

Charlotte looked at her askance. "But Lord Montague..." she said doubtfully.

"He's not going to die, Charlotte. I refuse to let such a dreadful thing happen. He's got years left, I've been assured of that."

"Who assured you?" she asked, remembering Lord Montague's pale, frail appearance. "A doctor?"

"Well, in fact I believe it was Adrian Rohan," Lina admitted. "But his cousin, thai awful Frenchman, used to be a doctor, so I imagine that's the next best thing. Adrian says that in another month or so Monty will be out doing something absurd like rowing on the Thames or dancing half clad and well to the boughs in Hyde Park after midnight."

Charlotte said nothing. Clearly Lina had no desire to believe anything else. If Lord Montague lasted another month Charlotte would be much surprised. There would be no reason for Pagett to summon them if the end wasn't near. But they would take things as they came. At least she was getting far enough away that she wouldn't be tempted by Adrian Rohan ever again.

Adrian was in a thoroughly foul mood. His insouciance had only carried him so far. Once Charlotte Spenser walked into the house, his lazy smile vanished. He dismissed his carriage—the walk back to Curzon Street was short and he needed to work off his bad temper.

He'd certainly handled that well, he thought savagely. He'd thought to make her so mad at him that she wouldn't ever countenance touching him again. Then, when he'd decided to have her after all, he'd worked her into such a state of excitement that his own arousal had been painful. And then she hadn't given in.

He cursed at the thought. What kind of games was he playing? He wasn't sure if he wanted to win or to lose. And what the hell was wrong with him? Charlotte Spenser? She was older than he was, for God's sake. She was an antidote—no one wanted her. She'd had at least one season, he supposed, since he remembered dancing with her, but clearly no one had offered for her, and by now she was a complete spinster, thirty if she was a day, with no possibilities, no future except as a companion to Evangelina Whitmore. Why in God's name had she rejected him? Shouldn't she take her pleasure where it was offered? It wasn't as if she could lose her virginity twice.

Her lie about turning into a whore like Lina was totally unbelievable. But that didn't mean it wouldn't always be the case. He'd shown her, quite effectively, the kind of pleasure that could be had between a man and a woman. With Lina's habits there'd be scores of randy men, and Charlotte would be there. With her glower, to scare them away. With her deliciously long legs and copper-colored hair and luminous eyes, with her creamy skin and delectable mouth. Once someone got her in bed they wouldn't let her go, and the thought infuriated him.

If she was going to have an illicit affair it was going to be with him. The little idiot didn't realize that partners weren't interchangeable. That what went on between them had been, for want of a better word, special. There'd been something rare and dangerous between them during those two dark days, some kind of connection that he'd never felt before. And the damned feeling had lasted, disturbing with his sleep, leaving him bored with the beautiful, experienced women he could easily have.

In truth, he wanted Charlotte and no one but Charlotte, and his efforts to get over her were only making things worse. He could have had her in the carriage. His release might have been enough to finally let go. There was no way that the sex had been as good as he remembered. Impossible. All he had to do was tup her again and he'd know that for a fact.

He was almost home. The full moon had set, and the night was dark. Perhaps that was his problem— folklore had it that everyone got a little crazy during a full moon. Certainly the watchmen were busier with miscreants and Mohocks. By tomorrow he might feel entirely differently.

But tomorrow was too far away. He could see his cozy little house up ahead, but he stopped, looking back the way he'd come. Not quite ready to admit defeat.

But what could he say? If he had any idea which was Charlotte's bedroom he'd damn well scale the walls of Evangelina's house to get to her. Perhaps he could just charge in like some bloody pirate and demand her, throw her over his shoulder and carry her off. Who could stop him?

He laughed at the thought. Charlotte would probably break his head for trying it. And he suspected Evangelina wouldn't be any help—she was damnably protective of the woman. Girl. Woman.

If he had any sense he would spend the night blessedly alone with a bottle or two or three.

He had no sense. He turned, moving back the way he'd come, when something rushed out of the darkness, straight at him. More than something— three men, brandishing clubs, and the first blow took him off guard, hitting him in the head, momentarily stunning him.

The next caught his knees, and he fell to the ground, reaching for the pistol he carried beneath his coat.