A half-dozen maids, led by Mrs. Henson and Anna, buzzed about the room making certain Grace was no more than a mannequin in the undressing and dressing process. Jo stood at the end of the bed, directing everyone with the efficiency of a field commander maneuvering his troops. All this just to put Grace into dry clothes.

Once the drill was complete and the ankle inspected and wrapped, ‘General’ Jo sat on the bed beside her.

“I think you’re right about the ankle being sprained. But we’ll still have Dr. Namby look at it when he brings Darby back to Baronsford.” Jo tucked the bedclothes around Grace. “I was about to say we’ll have to lock the good doctor in Baronsford’s attics if we want to keep any information about your health private, but I’m fairly certain Mrs. Namby and Lady Nithsdale are at this very moment inventing the details of the attack over their tea.”

Grace looked up, relieved at the trace of a smile on her friend’s face. This was much better than her expression of panic when Hugh insisted on carrying her up to the bedchamber.

“A tray of food, Mrs. Henson, if you please,” Jo ordered as the maids took away towels and wet clothes. “I know for a fact Miss Grace has had nothing to eat today.”

As the room emptied, Grace reached over, taking Jo’s hand.

“Thank you. And I’m truly sorry for holding back the truth. I—”

“Hush. I never want to hear those words from you again,” Jo scolded gently. “I can only imagine. Witnessing your own father’s murder. And then locked in a crate for five days.”

After carrying her up, Hugh had drawn his sister into the sitting room for a few moments. Now she knew that he’d passed on to Jo what Grace had told him earlier.

“It must have been terrifying, not knowing what was to become of you,” she continued. “And when you opened your eyes here, who were we? Strangers? No, Grace. You had every right not to trust us. I wouldn’t trust us.”

Grace smiled as she pulled Jo into her arms. A friend. She’d never known a kinder, more forgiving person.

“Answer one question,” Jo asked, pulling back.

“Anything.”

“Do you have a husband?”

Grace shook her head. “No.”

“Are you betrothed? Promised? Spoken for?”

“Those are questions two, three, and four,” Grace told her friend, smiling. “But the answer is ‘no’ to all of them. Since the end of the war, I’ve spent all my time caring for my father. Why do you ask?”

“Because of my brother.” Jo held Grace’s hand and looked into her eyes. “Today, when he found you were missing . . .”

The words trailed off, but Grace understood. She recalled the vision of man and horse charging furiously at the attackers. Even now, her body grew warm at the memory of him leaping from the saddle and taking her in his arms and holding her. Affection for him flowed in her veins like her very life blood. And the kiss they shared afterwards still astonished her. She’d never experienced such unbridled passion in herself, all thought of propriety obliterated, her body the servant of her desire.

Hearing Jo’s words, her heart soared. At least for today, at least for this moment, she was allowed to dream. Tomorrow, or the day after, or next week, the reality of her situation would inevitably crush any hope of happiness. The affections Hugh or Jo felt for her might not change, but to the English crown she was still a French sympathizer. A traitor. And Grace knew that whoever hired the men who attacked her today was still lurking there in the mist, biding their time, waiting for her.

“And I have a request,” Jo said, breaking through the cloud of gloom that was quickly descending.

“Anything.”

“I understand that you still have a great deal that worries you,” Jo went on, reading Grace’s thoughts. “I only ask that you give him a chance.”

A chance for what? A hopeless dream, she thought. But she had no opportunity to reply. A quiet knock came at the door and Anna entered.

“A caller for you, m’lady,” she said to Jo, turning then to Grace. “And she wishes to see you too, Miss Grace.”

“In spite of what I said,” Jo whispered conspiratorially, “this is too soon even for Lady Nithsdale.”

She took the calling card from Anna and read it aloud.

“Mrs. Douglas.”

Grace shook her head. She had no wish to speak to that woman now.

“Anna, take this to his lordship,” Jo said. “I’m quite certain my brother would be pleased to meet with her.”

* * *

The woman didn’t know the danger she was facing in coming here now, Hugh fumed as he stormed toward the drawing room. She’d have done better to stick her head in a hornet’s nest.

Striding in, he found Mrs. Douglas sitting in a chair by the window. As she began to rise, he waved her back into her seat.

“Madam?”

“Lord Greysteil, I can’t tell you how shocked and sorry I am to hear of the insidious attack on your guest. I had to come the moment I heard the news. I hope she’s well? I pray she wasn’t injured.”

Hugh said nothing, but stared at her in stony silence. She brushed a nonexistent speck of dust from the back of her gloved hand and continued. “I was in Melrose Village when Mr. Truscott brought that poor worker of yours into Dr. Namby’s surgery. The entire village is in an uproar, as you can imagine.”

As cool as her manner was, Mrs. Douglas was presenting herself as a far more talkative woman than he’d met when she and Lady Nithsdale accosted them from their carriage.

“I repeat. I do hope Miss Grace is not unwell.” She paused, waiting unsuccessfully for a response from Hugh. “I came here today because I fear that I must bear some responsibility for what happened.”

She adjusted her reticule on her lap.

“Perhaps you’re aware that I sent your guest a note.” She gazed steadily at him. “In doing so, I only intended to convey my willingness to be a friend to the young woman. You see, m’lord, I do recall being introduced to her years ago.”

The clock in the corner chimed, and Mrs. Douglas waited. When she continued, he fancied a slight change in her. Something in her look that hinted of the studied air of an actress.

“When I met her in Paris, I was so taken with her loveliness and her poise. Of course, she was so much younger then, not the mature beauty she is now. What a spectacle it was!” she said, waxing nostalgically. “And the splendor of the occasion was only heightened by her presence. No one who saw her could think otherwise. She was the loveliest of the royal entourage, outshining by far the other thirty-six ladies of the palace attending the empress. But I’m certain you would agree, had you seen her.”

She was playing to Hugh’s feelings of protectiveness for Grace, he decided, and he was working hard to keep his anger in check. The cool, silent passenger in that carriage had suddenly been replaced by this ingratiating creature who sat before him.

“But I’m wandering off the point. I just wanted to convey in person my deepest sorrow if my letter to her was in any way responsible for this horrible event. When I sent it to her, I never, never imagined it would cause any harm.”

She sat for a moment, still and silent.

“I’m taking far too much of your time, m’lord. Would it be possible to visit with your sister or your guest, if only for a few minutes, to tell them both how sorry I am to be in any way mixed up with this dreadful affair?”

“Why didn’t you say that you remembered her when you saw her from the carriage?” he asked sharply.

“Why, I . . .” He’d caught her off guard with his question, but she recovered her composure quickly. “I wasn’t certain she wanted to be exposed in that manner. Frankly, I couldn’t be certain her memory loss was genuine. In either case, I doubted you would have wanted her exposed in the presence of Lady Nithsdale.”

“When was the last time you were on the Continent?”

“Let me think. I was there this past autumn. My late husband left some property—”

“Were you in Antwerp?”

“No, Brussels.”

He could see a steely anger stretching across her pale face.

“M’lord, I don’t understand the meaning of these questions.”

“Have you had some connection with the Bonaparte family, in Brussels or in America?”

“Absolutely not. The only time I had any contact with them was in the company of my late husband, who you know was a minister in the government. And that one time was at the christening of the infant prince.” She began to stand. “I’m not sure what you’re about, asking such a thing? My husband gave his very health in the service of—”

“Sit, madam,” he ordered.

As she lowered herself into her chair, he saw that the masked demeanor he’d noted when they first met was back. She was clearly not accustomed to taking orders from anyone.

“Your reckless behavior put my guest and my worker in danger. Frankly, I have a difficult time believing your intentions regarding Miss Grace were as altruistic as you represent them to be. If you wanted to meet with her, you could have called here at Baronsford. You could have engaged her in conversation here in the gardens, if you required such privacy, and offered your friendship in safety. Instead, you engaged in a game of intrigue, luring her into a situation that could have turned out far worse than it did.”

If his words stung her at all, her face did not show it. She remained silent, staring at him, her back straight as a ramrod, and her hands motionless in her lap.

“That’s all I have to say to you, madam. My sister and my guest have no time to see you this morning. My footman will escort you to your carriage.”

Bowing curtly, Hugh strode without another word from the sitting room.

* * *

With a stern injunction to rest for the afternoon, Jo left Grace alone in her room.

Exhausted as she was, she immediately realized closing her eyes was pointless. Trying to sleep was absolutely futile. Too much had happened. As she lay staring at the ceiling, her mind tumbled with acrobatic leaps through the emotional and physical events of this tumultuous day.

She had unburdened herself of all her secrets, which gave her tremendous relief, but that didn’t lessen her worries about what lay ahead. Jo had more than hinted of her desire for Grace to form an attachment with Hugh. But in spite of their invitation to stay, the rest of their family would soon be descending on Baronsford. As an outsider, Grace would be encroaching on their lives. There was a limit to how long she could stay here without the risk of abusing their hospitality.

Then she had to consider the blistering passion that sizzled in her body each time she and Hugh kissed. Her pulse beat madly at the very thought of it. All sense was stripped from her whenever he touched her. Something melted deep in her belly even now at the memory of his touch. That was a complication that she couldn’t allow herself to think of now.

And there was the matter of the diamond. Someone wanted that jewel enough to arrange for an attack on her. If it were indeed a kidnapping, she had no doubt it would have been demanded as ransom. Staying here, she’d brought danger to the gates of Baronsford, and as a result a brave man had been seriously wounded. Perhaps it would be best, and safer, if she left here and traveled to Brussels as she’d intended. Once there, after delivering the jewel to its intended recipient, she could decide where her future lay.

But even as she thought about taking such a step, Hugh’s face appeared in her mind’s eye, and an ache nudged at her heart.

Increasingly restless, Grace could find no respite from this mental torment. Not an hour had passed since Jo left her, but she threw back the coverlet and climbed out of bed. The wrapped ankle hurt when she put her weight on it, and she was grateful for the cane Mrs. Henson had the foresight to leave beside the bed. Picking it up, she couldn’t help but admire the carved lion’s head that formed the handle of the stick.

She needed a distraction to take her mind off the dilemmas facing her. Surely, she could make it to the library, Grace told herself. As she made her way slowly through the hallways and into the west wing, she exchanged pleasantries with a few of the maids bustling in and out of the bedrooms and suites. She didn’t know the exact date of the family’s arrival, but she guessed they would be coming in soon.

The curtains had been tied back, the casement windows were standing open. The rain and mist of the morning was gone, and the afternoon sunlight stretched lazily across the Persian carpet and the comfortably upholstered chairs and benches. The upper library truly exuded an aura of welcome. Looking at it now, Grace was reminded why this was Lady Aytoun’s favorite room.

Volumes of books beckoned to be read, but once again she found herself drawn to the scrapbooks. Less than a week had passed since she’d perused these volumes, but so much had happened since. She’d learned and come to understand much more about the man that so many of the articles focused on.

Quiet voices of the household staff reached her from the halls. The sounds of those working in the gardens drifted in from the windows. Grace found a sun-drenched corner and settled down with a volume in her lap and her feet up on a cushioned footstool.

The album she’d selected consisted mostly of blank pages. Entire pages of newspapers from recent weeks and months had been neatly folded and stored inside the cover for Lady Aytoun. Amongst them, she found an article from an Edinburgh newspaper, The Scotsman. Last week, while perusing other journals, she’d read an editorial excoriating this new publication for its “radical and dangerously independent” views. Out of curiosity Grace had mentioned it, and Jo told her that the founders of the newspaper had declared themselves “avowed enemies of privilege and corruption, determined to upset Edinburgh’s establishment.” Jo had laughed, saying that they were so successful that copies were supposedly being smuggled to readers who dared not be seen buying it.

Seeing a page of the newspaper among the others, Grace smiled to find the “radical” paper had published a glowing article on the “Right Honorable, the Lord Viscount Greysteil.” Poring over every line, she decided she could easily become a supporter of this William Ritchie, the editor.

“Well, that’s a sight to behold.”

Grace looked up, startled and happy to find Hugh standing in the doorway. So few hours had passed since she’d seen him last, but that made no difference to the wild thump of her heart and the heat rising into her face. She pushed the volume onto a table beside her, starting to put her feet down and stand.

“Please don’t,” he instructed, coming into the room. “Give your ankle a rest.”

Grace didn’t know if she’d ever be getting used to the way his presence affected her. Each time she saw him, she was taken aback by her response to his darkly handsome face, his great height, his confidence. He’d changed his clothes. Her gaze took in the long muscular legs sheathed in the tight buff trousers, the embroidered gray silk waistcoat, and the double-breasted blue coat. Above his broad chest and hidden beneath his neck cloth lay the strong neck she’d tasted this morning.

Realizing she’d sighed audibly, she hazarded a look into his face. And he was watching her again. She bit her lip as he glanced at the open library door before looking back to her.

A smile tugged at his lip. He crossed the room to the window and took in a deep draught of the warm breeze.

“I was told you were sleeping.”

“How did you know that I wasn’t?”

“Spies. Paid informants. Faithful servants.” He came to her side and opened the volume she’d been reading. “More inquiry into my legal failings.”

“More glowing reports on your achievements, even from The Scotsman.”

“That’s only because William Ritchie was a solicitor before descending into the abyss of journalism. And he’s still a friend of mine.”

She already knew it was so like him to deflect a compliment.

“Have you heard anything about Mr. Darby’s condition?” she asked.

“Truscott returned an hour ago with good news. The doctor stitched him up and says he’ll mend nicely. He wants to keep him at his infirmary tonight, however. Tomorrow, he’ll bring Darby back out in his carriage.”

She was tremendously relieved. She never could have stopped or survived that attack if it weren’t for Darby’s heroism.

“You might also like to know that we’ve begun a search to find the three men.”

“I thought you would.”

For years Grace had been the arranger of everything in the lives of her father and herself. Perhaps it was her nature, or perhaps it was her upbringing as the daughter of a military man, but she’d always planned and organized every move. Listening to Hugh, she could see they shared that trait.

“I’m sorry that you had to receive Mrs. Douglas along with everything else today,” Grace told him as he walked to the fireplace. He took a toy block from the mantel and turned it around in his hand before putting it back.

“The perfect host did not greet her when she called. Her late husband’s position in the government might buy her a great deal of status, but she found it meant nothing here. She faced the judge in me, and she stood accused.”

“Did she explain her reason for the sudden visit?”

“To make certain that she was absolved of any guilt or responsibility,” he told her. “Or to glean more information than she learned in the village. As you thought, she was walking in Melrose at the time of the attack. She also admitted everything about her letter that I already knew from you.”

“Your verdict, my lord justice?” she asked. “Guilty or innocent?”

“I’m withholding judgment for now. Mrs. Douglas’s performance was strong enough to allow for another hearing.”

When he spoke as a justice, Hugh assumed a severe and commanding presence that Grace imagined few men or women would not cower before. She was not disconcerted by it; she’d grown up in the company of generals and kings. But this side of him, this confidence in his ability to act decisively, only added to her growing feelings. It only made her want him more.

He walked back to where she sat and picked up her cane, flexing it to test its sturdiness.

“This was my father’s cane,” he said. “If it’s too long, we can cut it down to the right size for you.”

“It’s a beautiful stick. I could never allow you to do that. The length is fine as it is.”

“As you wish.” He inspected the carved lion’s head for a moment before continuing. “Do you have any plans for this afternoon, Miss Grace?”

His gaze moved languorously over her, pausing on her lips and then her breasts before moving down along her legs to her wrapped ankle, leaving a wake of delicious chills rippling through her.

“I was planning on doing more reading.”

“Excellent. Hold on to this,” he said, handing her the cane.

She gasped when he lifted her off the chair in one sweep. As she looped one arm around his neck, Grace espied a maid walking past the open door.

“What are you doing? Where are you taking me?”

“Where would you like me to take you?” he whispered in her ear.

Grace’s gaze flew to his. Their faces were mere inches apart. She looked into gray eyes that gleamed suggestively as they focused on her lips. She suddenly felt wicked, undone. She’d go anywhere. She would do whatever he asked. She wanted him.

“I’ll take that as a highly favorable response to an unspoken question,” he whispered with the hint of a smile. “But we’ll save that for later. Right now, I’m taking you to my study and putting you to work.”