Eighteen

R eliving her story had exhausted Ellen. After years of the whole ugly tale corroding in her heart, the sheer effort to say it all aloud had taken a toll. After slipping from a sleeping Liam's loose embrace, she had come upstairs, wearing just a chemise, and had fallen onto the old counterpane on her own bed. She was almost immediately in a deep sleep, her mind refusing to belabor her past another moment. It was a dreamless sleep, and it wasn't until Natalie was shaking her that Ellen could even drag herself up from the depth of it—groggy, she forced her eyes open.

"Mother, you're still abed!" Natalie complained.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't feeling well," she said truthfully, and pushed herself up to her elbows, eyeing her young daughter. Natalie's frock, she noticed, was all askew. "Turn round," she muttered through a yawn.

"Won't you feel better now? Captain Lockhart said to come and fetch you, for he's to take us on a picnic today," she said as Ellen fumbled to rebutton her dress so that it hung properly. "And he said he'd teach me how to fish!"

"Did he?" Ellen asked, smiling.

"He said the fish aren't as big as they are in Scotland, and that they'd likely all float to the top and take all the sport from it, but all in all, we'd have a jolly good time of it. But that first we'd walk through Vauxhall Gardens."

Ellen's smile deepened. "Vauxhall Gardens…I haven't been there in years," she said, patting Natalie's shoulder. "All right, then, run along and find your boots. I'll not have you fishing in those slippers."

Natalie made a sound of elation and ran to the door.

"Mind that you stay in your room! I'll come fetch you when I'm ready!" Ellen called after her.

"I'm going to fish!" Natalie responded with great enthusiasm, and skipped out of the room so quickly Ellen wasn't certain if she had heard her or not.

She sighed, stood up from the bed and stretched her arms high overhead, almost regretting that she had betrayed Natalie by revealing the truth about her paternity to Liam. Yet she instinctively believed that if there was anyone she could trust with Natalie's secret, it was him. Ellen wandered over to the window and pulled open the heavy drapes, feeling the instant warmth on her skin as sun spilled into the room. That was the way with Liam, wasn't it? Every day filled with sunshine, every day warm and bright and happy.

And as she padded to her dressing room, she thought that he was indeed an honorable man, a gentleman. The sort of man who could hear the truth and not instantly label her a whore. Nonetheless, she had feared deep inside that he would be daunted, disgusted by her lustfulness, and find her behavior so wanton as to believe her to be a whore.

That was a risk Ellen had taken quite willingly—she had needed (for reasons she truly did not understand so much as know innately) to be honest with him, both physically and emotionally, even if it meant losing him. She didn't understand it, but there was nothing to be done for it now, and he had, in all truthfulness, seemed more sympathetic than appalled. And he had invited them to Vauxhall Gardens. She could think of nothing better than a stroll in the sunshine to clear those old cobwebs from her heart.

Liam was waiting for them in Belgrave Square; Natalie rushed forward to show him the scuffed boots she would wear for fishing, over which Liam fawned appropriately. He looked up as Ellen approached, his winsome grin deepened, and his dark green eyes danced with pleasure. "Ah, lass, what a vision ye are. Ye'd charm the collar right off a priest, ye would."

As a matter of fact, she had donned her best walking gown—albeit last Season's fashion—a golden brown brocade with dark maroon trim and a pelisse that matched exactly.

Liam extended his right arm to Ellen and his left to Natalie, who colored deeply before shyly slipping her hand through the crook of his arm. "Ach, there's no' a luckier man alive," he said jauntily, and indeed, he looked quite proud of them, Ellen thought. Not ashamed. Proud.

They walked to Vauxhall Gardens, strolling deep into its bounds. The day was brilliant and blue, with just enough of a nip in the air to add color to the faces of the many people strolling about the gardens and supper rooms. Natalie dashed ahead, only to scamper back to make sure Liam and Ellen were coming, then dashed ahead again.

As they neared the middle of the gardens, Natalie came running to them, her eyes glistening with excitement. "Come see, come see!" she cried, grabbing Liam's hand. In the middle of the expansive gardens, a man in a green coat had erected a scarecrow of sorts, wearing the red jacket of the military on which a crude heart was drawn, a pair of torn and dirty trousers, with feet and hands of straw and sporting a pumpkin for a head, complete with a smiling face. In addition to the man with the patched green coat, four gentlemen were standing about, examining the scarecrow, and a small crowd had begun to form around them. The man in the green coat gestured to the scarecrow, explaining something to the four gentlemen, then suddenly ran to the scarecrow, whirled about, and walked thirty paces away, into the crowd. Everyone moved aside save the four gentlemen, who moved to position themselves in the place Greencoat had marked.

"What are they about?" Ellen asked curiously, taking several steps toward the group.

"A game of odds," Liam said as he watched Greencoat withdraw a dagger from his waist and hold it aloft for the growing crowd to see. One of the gentlemen said something that made the crowd laugh.

"May we watch?" Natalie asked excitedly as Greencoat whisked off his hat and began to pass it around. Several gentlemen in the crowd tossed money into the hat.

"Ah, the winner divides the spoils with the man in the green coat," Liam informed them, and with his hand on Ellen's back, moved her and Natalie closer to the contest.

The first gentleman positioned himself directly in front of the scarecrow and took the dagger from the man. With a great heave, he flung the dagger toward the stuffed redcoat, but he let go too late, and the dagger speared the ground only a few feet in front of him. The small crowd broke into laughter as Greencoat scrambled to retrieve the dagger.

"They are too great a distance from the target," Liam said. "There's not a man among them who could spear even a palace wall from that distance. "

He was right; the next contestant sent the dagger flying, but it landed wide of the scarecrow, spearing nothing but leaves and dirt. Another man tried; his attempt landed well short of the tree. The small crowd was growing; Greencoat called for more gentlemen to play, and an ale vendor wandered close by, passing cups to several in the crowd.

Greencoat took the proceeds of the first round from his hat, then passed it again. Another gentleman had his turn, and with great theatrics, he flung the dagger with ferocious strength; it sailed very long of the stuffed redcoat. The crowd laughed as a friend stepped up and clapped the gentleman on the back.

Greencoat retrieved the dagger, looked once again to the crowd. "Come, now, who else will try?" he called, and caught sight of Liam, towering above most. "You there, sir! You look as if you could spear our foe!"

The crowd turned to look at Liam.

He grinned down at Ellen. "Aye, of course I could," he called back, grinning. "I'd surely give it a go had I the promise of proper recompense for me troubles."

Greencoat jingled the hat, grinning. "Half for you, half for me, sir," he said. "There's thirty pounds in here if there's one."

"That's a princely sum," Liam said. "But 'tis no' enough."

The crowd was beginning to enjoy the exchange, and moved so that there was a clear path between Greencoat and Liam. Ellen instinctively pulled her bonnet forward to hide her face.

"Why, sir, what more could you ask?" Greencoat shouted. "The prize is fair!"

"Aye, 'tis a fair prize but no' the fairest prize, eh? It would seem to me a lady's kiss would be just reward for such a feat."

A happy, enthusiastic cry went up from the crowd; mortified, Ellen shrunk back. "Liam!" she hissed. "What are you doing?"

"I'm attempting to win yer heart, leannan."

Greencoat made a show of a thumping heart, earning a laugh from the crowd. "What say you, miss?" he called to her.

"Say yes, Mother!" Natalie squealed with delight, and several in the crowd began to call their encouragement, too.

Ellen peeked up from under the rim of her bonnet and looked at Liam. He flashed a beguiling smile that simply rocked her, and feeling rather playful, feeling alive, she lifted her head, pushed her bonnet away from her face, put a finger to her mouth, and tapped it against her lips as she playfully considered his offer. "And if you do not succeed, sir? What shall by my recompense?" she asked to the delight of the crowd.

Liam's green eyes grew brighter; he threw back his head and laughed with the crowd. "A fair question. If I miss the redcoat's heart, I shall give ye a medal of honor, one from the king, bestowed on me during the war."

That was met with thunderous approval from the crowd that Ellen could hardly deny; with a laugh, she put out her hand to Liam. "We have a bargain, sir. Upon my word, if you should put the dagger in the heart of that redcoat, I shall give you a kiss."

The crowd excitedly urged Liam forward.

As did Ellen. She looked down at Natalie; her blue eyes were shining with excitement. They were having fun. Fun! She hadn't felt so free and joyous in years, and on a whim Ellen walked forward, took the dagger from a grinning Greencoat, and flushed with excitement, turned and presented it to Liam with a deep curtsy.

The crowd bellowed their approval; Liam grinned and took it from her. "Stand aside, lass, and see how a Scot wins his maiden's hand," he said, and took his position in front of the redcoat. He pointed the dagger at the scarecrow, then slowly drew his arm back. In one fluid movement, he flung the dagger.

He hit the redcoat perfectly in the crude little heart drawn on its chest.

The crowd went wild and immediately took up the call for Liam's prize. A kiss, a kiss, they chanted, Natalie the loudest of them all.

Liam turned to Ellen with a triumphant grin.

"I…I did not believe you could…" Ellen stammered as she took a step backward.

"I know," Liam said, and before she could move again, he grabbed her wrist, pulled her into his embrace, bent her over backward, and bestowed an outrageously bold kiss for a victorious man. Around them, the crowd screamed with delight, cheering and applauding. After what seemed forever, Liam yanked her back up and let her go, his grin, impossibly, even more triumphant. Stunned by the kiss, Ellen stumbled backward and brought her hand to her mouth as more gentlemen sought Greencoat for the chance to impress their ladies.

"Ellen?"

Ellen whirled around at the sound of the familiar voice. Her sister, Eva, along with her husband, Willard, and their son, Frederick, were all gaping at her in stunned disbelief. "Eva," she said, her panic irritatingly evident in her voice, her heart pounding.

"What are you doing?" Eva hissed loudly, eyeing Liam as he accepted fifteen pounds from Greencoat.

"We, ah…well, we came out for a picnic," she said, frantic at how her imperious younger sister, and her even more imperious husband, Willard, were staring at Liam, horrified.

"And exactly who is we? "

"Well, obviously, Natalie and myself. And Captain Lockhart."

"I beg your pardon, are we acquainted with Captain Lockhart?" Eva asked, folding her arms tightly across her stomach as Willard stood by, his face pinched with his obvious disapproval.

"I donna believe I've had the pleasure of making yer acquaintance, madam," Liam said, standing behind Natalie, his big hands protectively on her shoulders.

Eva's mouth dropped open. "A Scot?"

"Aye, a Scot."

Her mouth still agape, Eva looked at Ellen. "I certainly have not had the pleasure of making the captain's acquaintance!"

Fabulous. Bloody fabulous. Eva would act the superior, judgmental part of Farnsworth while he was away. Bristling, Ellen dug her fingernails into her palms in an effort to maintain her composure. "Eva, may I introduce to you Captain Lockhart. Captain Lockhart, may I present Lord and Lady Diffley. My sister."

"Milord, milady, how do ye do, then?" Liam asked, bowing over Natalie's head.

"And where have you had the chance to meet?" Eva demanded of Ellen, ignoring Liam's greeting.

When exactly was it that she had become accountable to her sister? "Captain Lockhart has let rooms from Father."

Eva gasped; her jaw dropped, impossibly, even lower. "He is Father's tenant?"

"Aye, that I am," Liam said in a voice gone cold.

Still, Eva ignored him, could only look at Ellen with outright contempt. "Do you have any idea what you are doing?" she hissed. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I don't know what you mean—"

"Don't you!" Eva snapped, and glanced at Willard, who was observing the whole scene with his lips pressed together, looking thoroughly disgusted. Eva forced her mouth closed, propriety suffocating everything else, and took a careful step backward, away from Ellen. "Very well, then," she said stiffly, slicing a look across Liam. "A pleasure, sir," she allowed very curtly, then shifted her gaze to Ellen. "Ellen? I suppose we shall speak of this at another time."

"Oh, I'm certain we shall," Ellen said coldly, and lifted her chin as her sister took her husband's arm and turned him away, as if to shield him from some gruesome scene, and walked on, pausing only once to shout at Frederick, who was sticking his tongue out at Natalie.

"If ye'll pardon me saying, Ellie, I think yer sister has pulled her iron drawers a wee bit too high."

That was putting it mildly. As she watched Eva's retreating figure, Ellen knew instantly and instinctively that this was the most disastrous thing that might have happened to her. On that bright, sun-splashed autumn afternoon, Ellen Farnsworth knew that her actions had just given her a mere week to find a way out of this mess for her and Natalie, for when Father returned from God knew where he had gone, Eva would certainly tell him what she had seen, and Ellen had not the slightest doubt that he would turn her and Natalie out.

How she managed to make it back to Belgrave Square without collapsing under the weight of that knowledge was nothing short of a miracle, really. Her sudden melancholy was made worse by Natalie's disappointment at having to give up the promise of fishing, even though Liam tried to persuade her that they would go another time.

Fortunately, he did not argue with Ellen's desire to go home. But he kept looking at her as if he expected her to do something. What she wanted to do was tell him that her sister was one of the most high-handed, superior, mealymouthed ladies that paraded about in a ridiculous bonnet, and Eva's, as she recalled, had been quite preposterous, really, what with all the feathers and silly little flowers stuck everywhere. But to conduct herself as if Ellen had committed a capital offense, when all she had done was enjoy a little sport? And exactly who had appointed Eva her conscience? No, she wasn't going to be cowed by her sister's high-handed ways. She had tasted life again, and she wasn't willing to give it up, not for Eva, not for anyone. She had done nothing wrong. Nothing.

Dear Liam, but there was nothing he could say to bring a smile to her face. When they reached Belgrave Square, he reluctantly retired to his rooms to ready for the Lockhart ball that evening.

"Good luck," Ellen wished him, but in truth she was too angry and resentful of Eva to think. Yet she wasn't so angry that she didn't notice the look of bewilderment on Liam's face as she and Natalie climbed the stairs.

And indeed, had he the luxury of time, Liam would have followed her and persevered until he understood what had happened at Vauxhall. But at the moment, unfortunately, he had a more important matter to attend to—specifically, a bloody-arsed ball.

His preparation—without Ellie's help but with Follifoot's bumbling hands—was excruciating. But when he at last departed for the event—with a wee approving smile from Follifoot—he was anxious to have it over and done as quickly as possible.

So anxious was he that he gave into the appeal of the faster hack chaise, cringing a bit when he gave up the crown.

He arrived at the Lockhart mansion, his tattered invitation in his pocket, and handed the invitation to the penguin manning the front door as he had seen others do, then waited patiently to be given leave to enter. He did not, therefore, see Nigel wobbling forward on his right until the man nearly toppled right into him. "Cousin Liam!" he shouted happily, and clapped him hard on the shoulder. Diah, Nigel was already so far into his cups that they'd likely have to send a man in to extract him. "You must come, you must come and meet my sister, Baaaahbara," he drawled.

Oh, aye, he could scarcely wait to meet yet another overly privileged Lockhart, and sensing as much, Nigel clamped a possessive hand on his arm and began to drag him through the throng of guests, of which there had to be three hundred, if not more. They were so tightly packed into the Lockhart mansion that Liam could envision the entire house expanding and contracting with their collective breath.

The women, at least, brightened the surroundings considerably. They were dressed in varying shades of white and cream and gold, their bodices and hems intricately embroidered, and for many, a wisp of the sheerest silk covered their bosoms. Pearls, feathers, and sparkling little fluffery and ribbons adorned their hair, which was, almost to a woman, dressed in little ringlets about their heads. Delicate little slippers covered their small feet (this, he noticed, after the unfortunate incident of stepping on one as Nigel dragged him through), and he instantly feared dancing with any woman wearing those shoes, for he was quite certain he'd destroy them.

The men were dressed as he was—long tails, white waistcoats, and neckcloths trimmed so tightly that more than one looked as if his head might very well burst right off his shoulders. Nonetheless, Liam was exceedingly glad Ellie had insisted he take these old clothes, even if they were unbearably tight. At least he looked as if he belonged .

After bumping into not one, but two, doors, Nigel at last navigated his way into a room Liam had seen before. The furniture had been pushed up against the walls, and the room filled with long tables at which several people sat, eating what looked to be cake, sipping a reddish-brown-looking drink, and all laughing quite gaily.

"Would ye like a bit of prog before the whiskey?" Nigel asked Liam. Having no idea what prog meant, but having dwelled long enough at Farnsworth's to fear any English cook, Liam quickly shook his head. Nigel shrugged indifferently. "Just as well, really. Leaves little room for the good stuff, eh?" he asked with a wink, and nudged Liam none too gently in the ribs. "Come on, then, let's have a look for my sister. She's quite keen to meet you," he said, lurching forward.

They waded through the crowd; Liam was at least a head taller than most, so that he could see quite clearly as Nigel pushed and shoved toward the opposite end of the room, which was why, then, he was able to see Barbara Lockhart long before Nigel spotted her. And there was no question which of the ladies was his cousin Barbara—the poor lass had the exceedingly dreadful misfortune of resembling her brother exactly, down to the measurement of her waistline and the bulbous nose.

"Babs! Babs, darling!" Nigel called over the din.

Barbara instantly turned toward the sound of his voice and grinned broadly.

Nigel, panting from the exertion of having parted the crowd, reached into his pocket and withdrew a kerchief that he dabbed across his forehead. "I've the distinct pleasure of introducing you to our long-lost Scottish cousin, Liam," he wheezed.

Cousin Barbara instantly dipped (to the extent she could do so) into a curtsy, and extended her gloved hand, over which was one very large glittering ring. Swallowing back a tedious sigh, Liam took the hand, bent over it with as much flourish as he could muster without making himself ill. "Cousin Barbara, 'tis a pleasure indeed to make yer acquaintance."

Cousin Barbara managed to lift herself from her curtsy and flutter her lashes. "Ooooh, Cousin Liam!" she exclaimed, and as he let go of her hand, she instantly snapped open her fan and began to wave it at her face with quite a fervor. "What a pleasure to at last make your acquaintance! My brother's good opinion of you is well known in spite of all that nasty family business, and truly, he's not done you justice."

"Has he no'?"

She giggled, slanting her gaze at Nigel. "Oh Nigel, you poor dear, I am certain you are quite parched, aren't you? Run along, then, for I'd be delighted to show our cousin Liam about," she said, and before Liam could move, she had slipped her pudgy hand into the crook of his arm. "Nigel's told me all," she whispered, looking surreptitiously over her shoulder to see if anyone eavesdropped. "Horrid people, your family. But I daresay he was quite inaccurate about you."

"Pardon?"

Cousin Barbara slapped Liam's arm with her fan so hard that it actually stung. "Silly boy! You're much more handsome than he described to me!"

How alarming, but he could actually feel himself color.

Cousin Barbara laughed. "Oooh, and you're a shy one!" she squealed, and Liam wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

But, alas, Cousin Barbara fancied herself his irrefutable escort, and dragged him from one room to the next, making his introduction to various ladies. Most of their lovely faces went by in a blur, most of them looking appalled by his scar, save one very pretty auburn-haired woman with thickly lashed golden brown eyes. Wearing an astounding red gown, Miss Addison was the only one who seemed, all and all, rather perturbed by Barbara's machinations. "Really, Miss Lockhart, your cousin looks positively exhausted what with all the introductions you insist on making," she said matter-of-factly as she openly eyed Liam.

Cousin Barbara swelled up, just like a peacock. "Thank you for your kind concern, Miss Addison," she seethed, "but I assure you, my cousin is quite atwitter with all the acquaintances he's had the good fortune to make this evening."

Atwitter? He had never, not once in his life, been atwitter about a bloody thing. And he had never wanted to strangle a woman until this very moment.

To make matters worse, Miss Addison had the audacity to smirk at his discomfort. "I commend you, Captain Lockhart. You've a rather grand way of looking all atwitter,"

"Do I, then? I didna mean to."

"Why, how very exotic of you. A Scot," she observed, before slinking off to join another group of women. It was time, Liam realized with some consternation, to extract himself from his cousin's attention before he became the laughingstock of the entire ball, and he was just about to do so when the first strains of string music drifted into the room.

"Oh, how very splendid!" Cousin Barbara trilled. "I shall have the pleasure of the first dance with my dear cousin Liam," she exclaimed loudly for all to hear, and immediately began pulling him in the direction of the ballroom.

This ball, it seemed, was destined to be the venue for the complete personal humiliation of Liam Carson Lockhart.

Or so he thought. But as it turned out, he quite unexpectedly impressed the hell out of himself.

The first dance was a quadrille, which he despised with all his heart, and was certain would end with him on his arse in the middle of that beeswax-polished dance floor beneath dozens of shimmering candles suspended above them, which would cast light on hundreds of bobbing English heads tittering all about him. If that happened, he'd simply have to draw his pistol and kill the lot of them, and he really didn't relish the thought of that.

But miraculously, as he bowed in front of Barbara, his feet began to move, and before he even knew what was happening, he was turning and dipping and passing behind the ladies like a bloody rooster. Even more astounding, Cousin Barbara begged to be led to a chair at the conclusion of the lengthy dance, exclaiming loudly about the heat and her poor aching feet. Liam was more than happy to plant her there, and even went so far as to fetch her some punch with the hope she might even put down roots. And when he was certain she would not grab him by the tails, he begged his leave and managed to escape…but ran smack into Miss Addison, who eyed him suspiciously as he attempted to pass.

"No doubt you meant to inquire if my dance card was full," she said pointedly.

Liam couldn't help himself; he sighed. It wasn't as if there weren't two dozen roosters all lined up along the dance floor, was it? Why him? "So ye want to stand up, do ye?" he asked.

That less-than-enthusiastic invitation caused her to raise an imperious brow, but she nonetheless held out her gloved hand and drawled, "Yes. I do. "

He escorted her onto the dance floor, winced when a minuet was begun. He managed to guide her through the first movements—no easy feat, that, as Miss Addison watched him carefully—which meant that Liam watched her carefully as he attempted to discern what she was about. That in turn meant that he had less opportunity to think of his damned feet, and made more than one clumsy mistake.

"You don't dance much, do you, sir?" she purred as they dipped.

"No," he said, putting his hand on her back and forcing her to turn.

"I'm always rather suspicious of men who don't dance," she said, as she gracefully twirled away and back again. "It leads me to believe they've been living under some wretched rock if they've no more regard for society than that."

"Is that so?" he responded politely. "As for me, I am always suspicious of women who talk too much. Empty prattle, empty head."

Miss Addison smiled a little at that. "How positively charming," she said, and twirled away from him, then dipped back to him. "How did you acquire the scar?" she asked as Liam took her hand to promenade.

"Under me wretched rock."

Miss Addison laughed, a pleasantly full laugh, and at the end of the dance, Liam was satisfied she was merely a woman who was as bored as he was with all the glittery pomp and circumstance, and was only seeking amusement, nothing more. She needed, he thought, a taste of life. Real life, not salon life.

After escorting Miss Addison back to the pack of ladies, Liam managed two waltzes and another quadrille before he was able to extricate himself from a group of debutantes and the ballroom altogether.

The corridor was teeming with small groups, couples, and still another set of ladies stealing shy glances at various gentlemen. As he moved through the crowd, more than one guest paused to look at him as he passed, assessing him, peering at his scar. He clasped his hands behind his back as he had seen the English do and strolled insouciantly down the corridor to the staircase. He knew below were the rooms set up for dining, cards, and the manly pursuit of whiskey and cigars, for Barbara had dragged him through each in her zest to display him to the other ladies. He had noted then, unhappily, that the beastie was not among the many objects on display.

That left the upper floors. How exactly he might make his way up without being noticed posed a bit of a problem. It was impossible to ascend the staircase without being seen. Wouldn't someone stop him? Question him? That left the outdoors. All he required was a trellis, a tree, or even a hedgerow would do the trick. He was pondering that when someone touched his arm, and he turned slightly; it was Miss Addison peering up at him with a knowing little smile. Beside her stood two ladies who had been previously introduced to him, but whose names he had, of course, forgotten.

"Why Captain Lockhart, you seem positively perplexed."

"Do I, now?"

"We were just to the ladies' retiring room."

"Ah." He nodded, wishing to hell she'd go on about her retiring and leave him be.

But Miss Addison smiled boldly at him. "Perhaps you are in need of a retiring room, sir? I should be happy to point the way."

Her companions gasped at her boldness, but Liam rather liked it. He was always one to appreciate those who spoke their mind, and moreover, he rather liked the idea of her pointing him to a retiring room. Preferably, one on the floor above. "That'd be right kind of ye, lass," he said, and grinned right back when the ladies tittered at Miss Addison.

She arched that fine dark brow again. "Well then, you may follow us. I believe the gentlemen are in the room just adjacent to ours," she said, and lifting her skirts, began a smooth, authoritative ascent. Her companions were instantly behind her, stealing shy looks at Liam over their shoulders, which were accompanied by titters, giggles, and a bit of whispering.

Mo creach, women!

He unabashedly followed them up, noted the door to which Miss Addison carefully nodded, and returned her smile when she slipped into the ladies' retiring room. Waiting a moment until he was certain they were indisposed, Liam moved silently and quickly down the corridor, opening each door he passed, glancing inside. But the rooms were dark—he could make nothing out—and when he reached the far end of the corridor, he paused again, ascertaining that he was alone for the moment, and slipped inside the end room.

Shutting the door quietly behind him, he paused in the dark, his hands on his hips. It would be a quarter of an hour at most before Cousin Barbara or Miss Addison would notice him missing. Not much time to search several darkened rooms. Instantly, he groped about the door for a candle, which he found on a small table just a foot or so away, along with matches. He managed to light the thing, and holding it high, had a look around. He was in a sitting room of some sort; a writing table and a smattering of soft chairs adorned the room. Paintings, ornate fixtures, and elaborate frieze moldings on the ceiling made him growl. The English Lockharts had more money than they needed, obviously, judging by the way each room was overly appointed for show. He quickly searched among the many trinkets, but there was no evidence of a beastie. There was, however, a door leading to the adjoining room.

He pressed his ear against the door, heard nothing, and very slowly, very carefully, opened it onto yet another sitting room. The English thought quite a lot of sitting, apparently. This one appeared more masculine in its decor. Holding the candle ahead of him, he moved slowly, walking the length of one wall, then the next. Nothing. As he neared the door that led to the main corridor, he could hear several voices engaged in conversation, and holding his breath, he stood there until he was certain the voices had passed. That was when he noticed the armoire. He had not seen furniture like it in any other room. He walked to it, jiggled the handle. Locked, damn it.

Cursing under his breath, he squatted, reached under his trouser leg, and withdrew his sgian dubh from his stocking. Then, setting the candle aside, and still on his haunches, he reached up and picked the lock. One of the doors sprang free so quickly that it startled him, and he grabbed the candle as he surged to his feet and staggered back, still holding the dagger.

He saw it.

Liam lifted the candle, saw its hideous face staring out at him— the beastie . It was the goddamned beastie, all right, sitting among various other dubious works of art, glaring at him. It was just as hideous as he had heard tell: Its ruby-red eyes were too big for the thing's face; its yawning mouth glittered with a larger ruby and gold fangs; and the claws, crossed on the beastie's chest, seemed to be honed to a deadly point of gold.

"I suppose you've found something quite interesting, by the look of it."

Miraculously, Liam held on to both dagger and candle at the sound of the woman's voice, and calmly slipped the dagger into his pocket before shifting his gaze to Miss Addison. "Aye, that I did," he said, and smiled.