Anne Caldwell

Scandal's Darling

by Anne Caldwell

 Avon Historical Romance
ISBN 0-380-76110-6

Chapter 1

Westbryre, England, 1811

     An ancient oak stood guard at the corner of   the  orphanage. Its barren branches swayed  with the chill  winter wind, scratching its  signature into the mellow,  pink brick structure. Forgotten leaves that had sought  shelter among its gnarled roots were plucked from their  bed and scattered across the lawn, coming to rest  against a large wooden sign.

   The subscript stated simply 'Hope For The Homeless.'

    A grim smile touched Danielle Wakefield's lips as she crept closer. From the well-kept grounds and the outward condition of the home, it was no wonder people believed the false words. Taking refuge in the shelter of the sign, she ran her slim fingers under the band of her woolen cap, tucking in the loose strands of her auburn hair. This was no time to be recognized. The new Duke of Burnshire had returned to England and the Vicar was sure to have informed him of the abductions.
    Danielle's green eyes searched the front of the orphanage. The windows on the lower level were ablaze with lights that splashed across the panels of the Vicar's dark carriage, which was standing in the drive. His team of black horses stamped impatiently, their breath pale clouds of vapor in the brisk night air.
    Amy's message had said nothing of the Vicar's visit. Had something gone amiss and he meant to snare her? After all the allegations Danielle had lodged against the Vicar's policies in overseeing the orphanage, he would dearly love the opportunity to discover her part in the disappearance of the orphans.
    Reason told Danielle to return to her coach and forget tonight's plan, but Amy was inside waiting for her. Amy had been helping her abduct orphans for over two years now. Danielle couldn't leave without at least attempting to discover what had gone awry.
    Careful that the Vicar's footman beside the carriage not see her, Danielle made her way to the back of the orphanage. The cloud-streaked moon cast eerie shadows across the path and Danielle pulled her borrowed coat tighter. She would never get used to the winters of England. Even the warm fires on the hearths did little to dispel the cold dampness that seemed to cling to everything.
    Carefully, she opened the heavy door that led to the cellar. A rush of dank, stale air assailed her. Danielle swallowed hard. Where was the candle Amy normally left for her? She knew she was late. She'd had a difficult time hiring a coach. But surely Amy knew she would come.
    Moving inside, she counted her footsteps into darkness. One...two.... The door slammed shut behind her. Danielle jumped. Only the wind, she thought, mocking her fears.
    Danielle remained motionless, waiting for her eyes to grow accustomed to the dark. Her nostrils filled with the fetid smell of rotted food and discarded clothing.
    Plunk! She stiffened. Plunk! Plunk! The dead, hollow sound of dripping water echoed off the cellar walls. "Don't let your imagination get the better of you," she whispered to herself. "You've made this trip enough times to find your way blindfolded."
    Placing her hand along the cold, damp bricks, she slowly moved up the stairs. Something sleek and furry ran across the toe of her doeskin boot. Danielle swallowed the impulse to scream. It was impossible to see in the smothering darkness, but she reassured herself with the thought that it was more than likely one of the loathsome, vile rats she had encountered on her earlier trips.
    Taking a deep, steadying breath, she moved on.
    Finally, Danielle attained the first landing. Two more flights, she thought, before reaching Amy's room under the eaves.
    The unexpected sound of loud, angry voices stopped Danielle. They seemed to come from the stairs above her. Despite the cold draft, she could feel tiny pricks of perspiration on the back of her neck and her throat grew dry. She was being foolish. The doors to the stairway had long since been boarded up. Only she and Amy used it now. Even so, Danielle slipped her trembling hand into the pocket of her coat. The solid feel of her father's pistol gave her the courage to continue.
    Step by slow step, Danielle made her way through the spider webs that spanned the staircase. She passed the second landing. The orphan's rooms were on this floor. How she longed to rescue all the children tonight, but the chance of such a plan succeeding would be poor. She must console herself with the few she was able to abduct. Someday, Danielle vowed, she would return to storm the walls and save them all, including Amy.
    The door above her opened and a shaft of light sliced through the darkness of the stairwell. Danielle pressed against the wall, willing herself into invisibility. Air returned to her lungs when a small boy was thrust through the opening.
    "Stay here until Miss Danny comes," she heard Amy whisper. "Tell her she must leave quickly. There is trouble afoot tonight."
    The lad's short, blond curls bobbed in agreement.
    Before Danielle could call out, the door shut, shrouding her once more in darkness. She climbed the last steps to the small, huddled figure, then gently touched him. The boy jumped. "I'm Miss Danny," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his thin shoulders. "What do they call you?"
    "Jeremy, miss," he murmured shyly, then pulled away. "Amy said we'd best hurry." His words came in a rush. "The Vicar is here tonight and he's fit to be tied. She's 'fraid he might be on to her. She said--"
    Danielle rose abruptly and turned to the door but Jeremy stopped her. "She said we must hurry, miss," he pleaded, tugging at the corner of her jacket. "She's 'fraid for the others."
    Danielle stood with her hand on the door. She had to honor Amy's wishes. She must not do anything to jeopardize Amy's position. If that happened, there would be no hope of helping the others.
    Slowly, they made their way down the stairs. The sound of running feet and angry voices grew louder as they reached the first landing. The unsheathed light of a candle slashed through the cracks in the boards that crisscrossed the wooden door. Danielle paused. Instinctively, she held her breath, afraid that even the sounds of their heartbeats would give them away.
    "He has to be here," said a low, gravelly voice from the other side of the door.
    Danielle easily recognized the raspy voice of the Vicar. She gave Jeremy's hand a reassuring squeeze.
    "'e can't 'ave gone far," answered another. "Ol' Myrtle says 'e was down to supper less than 'n hour ago. That cup o' gruel she serves won't keep 'em warm for long. Ye takes my word for it. 'e gets cold and 'ungry 'e'll come 'ome right enough."
    "You'd best find him. He's sold and I don't wish to explain to Lord Caruthers that you let him slip through your hands. I want the boy found. Now!"
    "The swine!" Danielle muttered. The boy looked no more than five years old. To sell him for work at such a young age was unpardonable. With renewed determination, she grabbed Jeremy's arm and continued down the steps. I will return, she vowed again, and rescue them all. And somehow I'll find a way to punish the fiends responsible for this outrage.
    Reaching the bottom, Danielle cautiously eased open the door. The sky was still darkened with threatening storm clouds and she stepped out into the cold night air. Keeping to the shadows, Danielle motioned the lad to follow. She ran for the high shrubs lining the grounds of the orphanage.
    "Who goes there?" a deep voice cried out.
    Danielle stopped and quietly pulled Jeremy to her side. The light from a lantern swung a wide arc over the side yard where the two fugitives stood, poised for flight.
    "I've found him!" the man shouted, triumph thickening his words.
    "After 'im! Don't let 'im get away."
    Danielle tugged on Jeremy's arm, pulling him with her. They reached the bushes but the thick brambles formed an effective barricade. They couldn't go back. They had no choice but to crawl beneath the intertwining limbs. Danielle pushed Jeremy into the small opening. She followed, inching along on her hands and knees, the twisted briars plucking at her clothing. Someone grabbed at her boot. She screamed and plunged deeper into the thicket. Her cap was torn from her head and her long auburn curls entangled in the branches. Desperately, painfully, she managed to free herself, giving little heed to the silken strands she left behind. At last she was through to the other side.
    Freedom! Scrambling to her feet, she took Jeremy's hand and headed down the road. The boy stumbled along beside her, his short legs moving twice to each of her strides. Danielle could hear their pursuers footsteps on the far side of the hedge.
    Too close!
    Much too close. She could not allow them to be caught now, for the lad's only hope rested with her.
    Stopping, she picked up Jeremy, then continued. If only she could put a greater distance between them, but her sides ached and her breath came in short, ragged gasps. She and Jeremy had to reach the coach!
    "M - miss," Jeremy panted. "They're gaining on us."
    His small, frightened voice urged Danielle on, and her world narrowed to the sounds of their pursuers.
    Branches broken underfoot...
    Clothes ripping...
    Muffled oaths...
    Closer, ever closer, they came, until the two men crashed through the bushes behind them.
    A shaft of moonlight broke through the clouds and Danielle spied her coach up ahead. She shouted. Immediately, the driver snapped his whip over the carriage horses and the coach moved forward. As it drew near, a pale hand opened the door. Using her last ounce of strength, Danielle pulled herself and Jeremy aboard the moving conveyance.
    Not ready to admit defeat, the two men lunged for the horses as the coach sped by. One lost his hold and fell, but the other clung to the leather harness.
    Crack! The tip of the driver's whip lashed out at the man's hand. Losing his grip, he fell and rolled to the roadside.
    When the coach was safely away, Danielle leaned back in the worn seats, a sigh of relief trembling on her lips. She had more than tempted fate this time.
    "Danielle Wakefield!" scolded the grey-haired woman sitting across from them. "You continue in this manner and you're going to be the death of me yet."
    Brodie's accusation was too close to the truth for Danielle to dispute, but some things were worth the risks you were forced to take.
    "Brodie, meet Jeremy," Danielle said, deciding a change in subject might be to her advantage. "He has decided to live with us at Haverly House."
    Brodie nodded her greeting. Her argument was with Danielle, not the boy. "Danielle--"
    "Jeremy, this is Brodie. She's my companion," Danielle explained as she tucked the carriage robe around the boy. "Brodie was once my governess. I hope you like her as much as I do for she teaches you ever so many wonderful things."
    Jeremy smiled shyly.
    Brodie would not be dismissed so easily. "None of your fine talk, missy," she said. "When I think of how close they were to catching you..."
    She paused, her eyes suddenly narrowing. Danielle's cheeks were flushed a bright pink and her hair, matted with twigs and dead leaves, had fallen to her shoulders. "Where's your cap?" she demanded.
    "I lost it crawling through the bushes. But that's not important, Brodie."
    "Not important!" Brodie growled. "If anyone saw that red hair of yours, we're as good as caught."
    "I'm more worried about the men outside the orphanage. The Vicar was there and his men may have seen us leave the cellar. The stairway leads directly to Amy's room."
    Brodie's gaze warmed at Danielle's concern. "Best worry about yourself. After twelve abductions, you'd best to wonder when the Vicar will finally realize that you're the one behind them.
    Danielle gave Jeremy a broad wink. "Pay no mind to Brodie's grumblings. She would be bored to distraction if I should ever give up my life of crime."
    "Hah!" Brodie snorted in exasperation. "Whatever possessed me to think that coming to England would help you learn to be a lady? We might as well have stayed in Virginia. After two years of these little escapades, I think I could adjust quite easily to the quiet life of a governess again. That is, if I live that long."
    "I was never any good at being a lady." She took Jeremy's small hand and gave it a squeeze. "I'm much better at rescuing little ones from the mean old Vicar, aren't I Jeremy?"
    His trusting smile warmed her heart. This was why it was so difficult to convince herself that she should quit. But she had to admit, the risks of getting caught were becoming greater.
    "Are you warm enough, lad?" she asked, trying to coax him to talk. But he only continued to smile shyly. "When we get to Haverly House, Brodie and I shall get you some decent clothes and a pair of shoes with no holes. Won't we Brodie?"
    "Best worry about covering those breeches of yours before we arrive at Haverly House," she answered as she tossed Danielle a blue traveling gown. "And do something with your hair. It looks a fright. If your aunt were to see you now, your life as an abductress would come to an abrupt end."
    Removing her jacket, Danielle slipped the garment over her head. "If Aunt Margaret should stop me, you would be as upset as myself," she mumbled from within the heavy wool fabric. "We both know you wouldn't have it any other way. You care about what happens to these children as much as I do."
    Brodie smiled at Jeremy. "She's correct, you know. The difficulty is, she's aware of it."
    Brodie rummaged through the portmanteau on the seat beside her until she found the small box of chocolates she had tucked away. Pulling out one of the sweets, she handed it to the lad. "Miss Danny purchased these for her Aunt Margaret, but I'm sure Lady Bradford wouldn't mind sharing them with you." She watched him take a small bite, then devour the treat with gusto. "Did Amy instruct you that you were not to tell anyone about coming from the orphanage?"
    He nodded solemnly.
    "Not even Lady Bradford," she reiterated. "Miss Danny's aunt would never understand. We shall tell her only that you are an orphan we found during our stay in London. She would have an absolute fit if she even suspected Miss Danny had abducted the entire lot of you."
    "You need not frighten the lad, Brodie," Danielle scolded as she finished pulling the gown down to cover her breeches.
    "My intention was only to warn him," Brodie answered. "It wouldn't do for Lady Bradford to discover our secret."
    The speed of the coach suddenly quickened and Danielle found it difficult to fasten the small, ivory buttons across her linen shirt. "Even if Aunt Margaret were to discover the awful truth, I would never allow the children to return to the orphanage. I may not have an extra coin to rub together, but as long as Haverly House is mine they will have a home."
    "How long do you think the authorities will allow them to stay there once they knew," Brodie admonished, leaning with the sway of the coach. "You got away without being caught this time. You're not always going to be so fortunate."
    Danielle refused to dwell on Brodie's dire predictions and reached down to help the boy. "Hold onto the side strap, Jeremy. It will keep you from sliding off the seat. The coachman will slow as soon as he feels we've put enough distance between us and Westbryre."
    He answered her with a nod, a weak smile curving his lips.
    "That's a brave boy." She cupped his small face in her hand, then straightened and leveled a glance at Brodie. "There would have been no problem this time had not the Vicar come early for the boy."
    Suddenly, the carriage listed to one side, forcing everyone to grab for a firm hold. Danielle and Brodie exchanged glances as the coach quickly gathered speed. Whatever was the driver thinking of? Surely they were well away from their pursuers. Danielle reached behind Brodie and pounded on the coachman's trap. He appeared not to hear for the coach only picked up its pace.
    Danielle handed Jeremy across to Brodie before lowering the window of the coach. The night had suddenly turned a bitter cold. Ignoring the sharp wind that stung her face, Danielle poked her head out the window, but it was too dark to see if they were being followed. She thought about the pistol still tucked in her breeches. Yet, what good would it be if she could not see her target?
    The coach hitting another bump in the road forced Danielle to withdraw her head. "I didn't see anyone," she said at the question she saw in Brodie's eyes. She knew without asking that Brodie was thinking the same thing as she was. A runaway carriage could be every bit as dangerous as being caught by Nathan's men.
    Desperately, they held on as the coach rounded a curve in the road. Faster and faster it went, threatening to split its seams with each bump in the road. How much more could the carriage take?
    Had she only escaped Nathan's men to die in a carriage accident? The bitter irony of it all was hard to swallow. She reached to help Brodie with Jeremy when they were suddenly slammed against the side of coach. Tanner's Corner! It was a difficult spot in the road under the best of conditions. How would they ever hope to clear it at this speed?
    Danielle could hear the horses squeal in their traces as the driver attempted to negotiate the sharp turn. Their anguished cries were soon joined by the splintering of wood.
    The coach balanced precariously on two wheels. For a heart-stopping moment, they seemed suspended in air. Finally, the ancient coach shuddered, then crashed to its side. Screams exploded in Danielle's head as she was thrown against one of the carriage lamps. Then all was quiet, except for the distant beat of the horses' hooves as they continued down the lane, their traces flapping behind them.
    "Is anyone hurt?" Brodie demanded.
    Waves of pain washed over Danielle. Gently she fingered the lump on the back of her head.
    "Danielle!" Brodie demanded once more. "Are you hurt?"
    "A few bumps," she answered, thankful the darkness hid her grimace of pain. She had worried Brodie enough. She slowly gathered her legs beneath her and tried to stand. Her head throbbed as she fought back the nausea that threatened with each movement, but she managed to get to her feet. Bringing her hands up, she opened the door. The welcome rush of cold air helped clear the ringing in her head.
    The horses were gone, but where was the driver? Finding a foothold, Danielle started to ease her way out of the coach when she saw him, his broken body twisted in an unnatural pose. She stepped back down, lowering the door behind her.
    How had this happened? She had only meant to rescue a child and now someone was dead. Her stomach twisted into a knot. A hired coach and a hired driver... She didn't even know his name or if he had a family. With the nearest inn was miles away, there was no one she could summons to care for the body.
    "The driver's dead and the horses are gone," she stated, her heart numb at the tragedy her actions had caused.
    "No!" Brodie cried. "The poor man! And we'll be caught for sure."
    Danielle was well aware to that. Not only would Jeremy be returned to the orphanage, but the others as well. The two years of risks would be for naught. Was she really willing to give up?
    "If the Vicar followed us, I for one, do not plan to make it easy for him." Her mind worked quickly to formulate a plan. She carefully considered their options and, one by one, discarded them. It was too cold to walk. There was no telling how far they would have to go before they found shelter. But was staying in the coach any better? The sound of an approaching carriage brought her worse fears to life.
    "Someone is coming. You'll have to greet them, Brodie. If they're from the orphanage, pretend you're alone until you can get help."
    Brodie stared at Danielle, her eyes wide. "I'm no good at this. If it should be the Vicar, I'll never get him to believe me."
    "Then you'd best pray it isn't. No amount of acting would justify Jeremy's presence."

                    * * * * *

    His Grace, Devon Alexander Stanton, fifth Duke of Burnshire, leaned back against the velvet squabs of his roomy coach. The oil lantern within cast a harsh glow on the rugged lines of his profile. No one would guess from the frown that creased his brow that his Grace was about to become one of England's wealthiest men. He had but to fulfill the terms of his late father's will and he could add the Stanton's wealth to his own.
    The terms were simple enough. He had a year from his father's demise to marry. If he refused, all he could hope to inherit was Burnshire, his ancestral home. His father had no control over that, for it was entailed to whoever held the title. It was the vast holdings the Stanton's had acquired over the years and the funds needed to maintain them that remained the carrot his father could dangle in front of him.
    Even considering all the benefits, Devon was reluctant to comply with the dictates of a father he had not seen since their bitter quarrel seven years ago. His father's solution had been marriage then also and Devon had stormed out of Burnshire, vowing never to return. He took the inheritance left to him by his Godfather, purchased a ship and left England.
    Though dead his father was still attempting to govern Devon's life. Yet, if he didn't marry, his cousin, the Reverend Nathan Holmes, would be the one to inherit. Devon's fingers curled into a fist. His entire life had been haunted by Nathan's greed. It was ironic that the person most responsible for driving the wedge between him and his father would end up being the reason for Devon agreeing to accept the terms of the will and claiming the inheritance.
    A cynical smile formed on Devon's lips. It wasn't two days after Giles, his father's agent, had tracked him down in Jamaica to tell him of the news that someone had tried to kill him. There was no doubt the man had been sent by Nathan. His cousin had made no secret of the fact that he wanted everything that would one day be Devon's--the title, Burnshire, the lands.
    "This time Nathan's greed has gone too far," Devon said aloud. Had not Devon discovered that the same man who had tried to stab him in the back while he slept had also attempted to force his mother's carriage off the road, Devon would not have returned to England. The inheritance meant nothing to him--but his mother did.
    His entire life, Lady Julia was the one person who always believed in him. Even with all the evidence pointing to Devon being guilty of the heinous crime Nathan had committed, she had stood by him.
    Nathan's reasons for attempting to murder him were obvious, but the reasons behind wanting Lady Julia dead were a complete mystery. Other than a generous allowance paid from the estate, she received nothing. Until he was able to solve the mystery, Lady Julia's protection came first. Once he had her safely tucked away at a friend's estate in Scotland, he could concentrate on Nathan.
    He would begin by marrying and claiming the inheritance. If he was fortunate, it would be enough to force Nathan's hand.
    Having made the decision, he had returned to England to select his bride. After reviewing the available candidates with his mother, he had settled on Lady Emily Chalmers. She was beautiful and would be a good hostess for Burnshire; but most importantly, other than the exchange of marriage vows, she would require no additional commitments from him. The cynical smile that etched his face in a frown deepened. As long as she had his wealth at her fingertips, she would not care that he had no intention of remaining in England once he'd dispensed with Nathan.
    Even so, he was not entirely pleased with the selection, and had done everything possible in the last two weeks to postpone the proposal. The Lady Emily he remembered was spoiled and selfish, but he had little choice if he wanted to carry out his plans. With the anniversary of his father's death in but ten days, time was running out.
    "Whoa! Blimey, wha's this?" shouted Jem, the coachman, as he fought to bring his grace's cattle under control. "There's a ruddy coach what missed the turn, your Grace. She's going to need some help. Looks like a bad 'un."
    Lord Stanton, shaken from the contemplation of his own pressing personal problems, pulled back the heavy fabric covering the window. A closed carriage lay on its side, its crippled wheels spinning helplessly in the wind.
    The snow that had been holding off for most of the day began to fall. Filtering through the trees and coming to rest on the scene below, the tiny silhouettes of cold sparkled against the blackness of the overturned conveyance.
    As the footman came forward to secure the horses, Jem climbed down from his perch. The wind had taken on a chill and he pulled his cloak tighter about his wizened frame as he held the door open for his passenger.
    Lord Stanton climbed down. A patch of lamplight from his open coach door found the unfortunate driver. "Appears to have broken his neck," Devon said.
    "The bloke's done for all right," Jem confirmed.
    "Have the footmen put him atop our carriage then come with me," Devon instructed as he approached the toppled coach.
    "Help me," a cry came from inside.
    His coachman stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide. "It's one o' them bloomin' haunted coaches, it be," Jem whispered. "I 'eared tell they were along this road. Why me friends at the Beef and Biscuit told me about this 'ere very thing only last week."
    "A ghost coach?" Devon laughed. "Best be changing the ale house you frequent, Jem. if those are the tales they serve with their draught."
    Jem dipped his head in embarrassment. Despite his reluctance, the old man climbed upon the side of the coach and opened the door.
    "For pity's sake get me out of here," echoed a woman's voice from inside.
    Even from where he stood, Devon could see that Jem hadn't changed his mind about the carriage. His eyes were kept closed as he reached into the coach for the woman. Devon smiled. The man resembled a miser trying to retrieve a coin he'd accidentally dropped in his chamber pot.
    "Are you hurt?" Devon asked the small, grey-haired woman Jem pulled from the carriage.
    Brodie looked hesitantly at the imposing figure before her. The fact that he was not the Vicar did little to dispel the spark of fear his presence ignited. She was no good at this. Danny should have taken the speaking part of this charade.
    Nonetheless, she fixed the tall gentleman with a stern eye. "I'm not injured," Brodie answered, "but I thought I was going to freeze to death before anyone came along."
    "I'm sorry to have made you wait," he apologized, with a broad smile.
    Brodie dropped her eyes from his amusement. "It was a blessing you happened out way," she said hurriedly, attempting to dispense with her hastily rehearsed lines. "The boy and I are only a bit bruised, but my companion has been injured."
    "Get the others out, Jem," Devon instructed over the rising wind. "I'll help the lady down."
    "Thank you, sir," Brodie said as he stood her on the ground.
    Jem climbed down into the coach with a great deal more enthusiasm than he had shown climbing onto its side and it wasn't long before he handed out a small boy. Devon took him from Jem. The lad's clothes were ragged and smelled strongly of wood smoke and he puzzled over the lad traveling inside the coach. Most servants this ill-dressed traveled on the box.
    But he discarded the thought when his attention was drawn to a movement in the woods across the way. One, perhaps two, men took cover behind the trees. Were the pickings so slim in England nowadays that the highwaymen had resorted to robbing a nondescript coach?
    Hurrying to his waiting coach, Devon placed the child inside. He opened a compartment under the seat. Careful the boy should not see the pistol he removed, he pocketed it, then went to have a word with the footmen.
    "Ready your firearms," he whispered. "If the men watching our progress from the trees intend to rob us, the sight of an armed guard might help dissuade them." Tucking the pistol into the band of his breeches, Devon returned to assist Jem with the other passenger.
    "This is the last of 'em," Jem informed him.
    Devon was taken back by the beauty of the young lady Jem lowered into his arms. With great interest, his gaze traveled from the long, dark lashes that rested softly on her pale cheeks to the soft contours of her pink lips.
    As if she sensed his scrutiny, she shifted in his arms. The movement dislodged her hat and the fur-trimmed bonnet fell to the ground, exposing a luxurious head of reddish-brown curls. What a delightful bundle, he thought, as he watched the sequins of snow settle in her deep, red hair and across the front of her blue traveling gown.
    "Drats!" Brodie silently cursed to herself. "Those confounded ribbons would have to break now." Picking up the bonnet, she jammed it back on Danielle's head.
    The young girl fluttered her eyelashes and allowed a moan to escape her lips. "Brodie, Brodie. Where are you?"
    "I'm here Danielle." Brodie threaded her words with concern.
    "Where's..." Danielle's speech trailed off as her gaze came to rest on the man who held her. His chiseled good looks came as a surprise and she tried not to dwell on how his deep blue eyes made a striking contrast to a face that had been bronzed by the sun. The pair of strong arms that held her most certainly belonged to the impressive set of broad shoulders encased in the black multi-caped coat that rubbed against her cheek. Holy Hannah, but if her heart didn't stop beating so fast he was sure to hear it.
    The wind whipped about his dark hair, stirring up an image of a swashbuckler dressed in fine clothes and her mouth went powder dry. Instinct told her they shouldn't accept his help. This was not the type of man whose friendship she should encourage--he didn't appear the type to be fooled for long.
    "Jeremy's fine, Danny," Brodie broke in. What was wrong with the girl? This was no time for daydreaming. "You mustn't worry. The lad's in this gentleman's coach. You need to rest too."
    Danielle fainted on cue.
    Devon continued to stare at the slim bundle he carried. As he gazed at her delicate beauty, the idea of postponing his trip to London for another day greatly appealed to him. Hell and Damnation. It wasn't as if Lady Emily would turn him down if he were a day late. Besides which, it wouldn't do to leave this blue-eyed beauty unattended at some inn. It was his duty as a gentleman to see to her needs.
    The wind snatched the folds of Danielle's skirt and set them swirling about her ankles, providing Devon with a glimpse of her buckskin breeches. He cocked a dark brow, but made no comment as he motioned Brodie to precede him. He had noticed quite a few changes since his return to England. The fear of an evasion by Napoleon had everyone up in arms. Why even the locals had taken to drilling the young men for battle. But unless England had taken to recruiting young women in their volunteer militia, there was more to this lady than mere loveliness.
    "My home's not far," he said, dismissing his suspicions. "I shall see you settled there first; then, when the weather clears, my driver will see you home."
    "That's very kind of you," Brodie replied, still uneasy.
    Leading the way, Brodie suddenly stopped a few feet from the coach. The crest emblazoned on its door drove home her fears for the safety of their secret. This was Lord Stanton's coach. The new Duke of Burnshire. The very man who owned the orphanage.
    Devon, his head bowed against the snow, almost collided with her. "Jem over here, please," he called to his coachman.
    "Could you open the door for us. It wouldn't do for the footmen to lower their firearms until we're on our way. The disappointment of those watching us from the trees might turn to greed and I don't wish to have to deal with the thieves on a night such as this."
    Devon was somewhat surprised to feel the unconscious woman stiffen in his arms. He carefully studied her face but her eyes remained firmly closed.
    With Jem's help, he managed to get her in the carriage and propped up on the seat across from the lad. Standing aside, he assisted Brodie, then climbed aboard.
    It was difficult for Brodie to maintain a calm demeanor as the Duke took his seat beside Jeremy, but she had no choice but to brazen it out.
    As the coach moved forward, they exchanged introductions. Lord Stanton had barely gotten his name out when Brodie felt Danielle's hand grab her knee under the carriage rug. "Perhaps it would be more convenient to take us to an inn," she suggested, wishing once more she could exchange roles with Danielle. "We would not care to inconvenience your household in any way, your grace."
    "My housekeeper would never forgive me if I turned away someone who was stranded on a night such as this. Unless, of course, you live near here?"
    Brodie hesitated. Giving him directions to Haverly House was out of the question. If he were to hear of the abduction later he was bound to know they were the ones responsible. "Actually, we are from Virginia, your grace. Miss Wake - Walker is staying with relatives here." It wasn't a complete lie. They were from Virginia and Danielle's aunt, Lady Bradford, was staying with them.
    Devon was intrigued. First, a woman who is suppose to be unconscious stiffens in his arms when he mentions highwaymen. Now, from the clumsy way in which Mrs. Brodie stumbled over her companion's name, it was evident the appellation had been one of recent acquisition. Wondering what other surprises were in store for him, he studied his guests.
    "And the boy?" His question surprised even him. A tantalizing glimpse of emerald green eyes was not an excuse to delve into the personal affairs of others. He rarely discussed his own private life and had always tried to respect the need for privacy in others.
    "We were fetching him home," Brodie answered. "His parents are dead and the streets of London are no place for a boy to grow up." Oh dear, she hadn't meant to tell him so much. The little white lies were beginning to accumulate.
    "Quite commendable." Lord Stanton ran a critical eye over the lad. "Did you check with the proper authorities? It's possible his parents aren't dead and he has merely run away from home."
    At the unexpected turn of the conversation, Danielle ventured a peek at their host. Brodie was giving him entirely too much information. Had her normally practical nature been shaken by this man's piratical good looks?
    She studied him through lowered lashes, her gaze once again drawn to the sun-browned features. A lock of unruly black hair fell slowly down his forehead, coaxing the other strands to follow, and the piercing blue eyes, sheltered beneath his dark brows were strangely entrancing.
    "I see you're awake." His husky voice acknowledged her intimate perusal. "Would you care to tell me the purpose of this little tragedy?"
    A flush slowly stained Danielle's cheeks. She considered a dramatic swoon, then quickly dismissed the idea. His smile told her what she had already began to suspect. He hadn't believed their act for a moment! Never one to bemoan the loss of a skirmish, she lowered the carriage robe from her shoulders, sat up straight, readjusted the folds of her skirt and returned his smile with one of her own.

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      Updated January 12, 2007          

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