Across the street from the residence where Flora worried and Marguerite fretted. A man waited, dressed unremarkably except for the singular fact that he was wearing only black. The color, however unfashionable, was useful in blending in with the soot covered walls of London. 'So,' the black man thought, 'our quarry is gathering under one roof. Very useful. I wonder what Warburton will make of this.' With a glance over his shoulder the man in black slipped out of the alley to merge with wandering traffic, his costume drawing attention only from a serving maid who took passing exception to his black shoes.

"So you see," Cave exclaimed, "we must tell the others and head off at once."

Holt considered the Lowlander. It was rare to see Gareth Cave this animated when he was not arguing. His general practice was to retire into a cultured, aristocratic boredom when not faced with the prospect of a verbal duel. "Well, Cave" he said, after some deliberation, "I agree that we must tell the others what you have learned in Scotland. However, I'm not yet convinced it is necessary to go haring off all about the countryside just yet, Lord knows we've had enough of that recently."

Gareth agreed reluctantly but with a look on his face that said he wished Holt weren't a military man. "Very well, do we go to the Seaforth residence?"

"Where else?"

An icy January wind whipped through the streets, driving snow off house roofs and whirling it into deep drifts. It was a miserable night, dark and cold, but Seaforth House was ablaze with light and the warmth of roaring fires and good friends. After hours of earnest plans and speculation, the company had set their desperate concerns aside and resolved for once to enjoy their evening as if all the treason and treachery swirling around them did not exist.

It was a merry party that moved from the great dining room into the smaller and much warmer drawing room. "'Tis a great pity Falcon wasn't here to taste that duck, Lady Seaforth," Alexander Erskyn said, "It was delectable."

"I shall tell our cook you said so, it will gratify him, I am sure." Anne motioned to a footman to set down the silver tray and said, "Will you have some port, Mr. Erskine?"

Alexander poured himself a glass, careful not to look at the corner of the room where Primat had withdrawn. "It seems the newly wed and the nearly wed do not desire our company tonight," he continued.

Anne laughed, "I am more recently wed than Tio and Amy and I am delighted to have the house full of company. I am not yet accustomed to so many rooms, and the two of us rattle around quite pathetically when we are alone."

She gave her hand to her husband as he came up to join them, and smiling, James pressed it to his lips. A look of such love and devotion flashed between them that Alexander felt suddenly bereft and alone. He turned away a little, wishing there was some reason for him to cross the room and speak to Primat, some reason to make her great, dark eyes look at him so that he might coax her into one of her rare smiles. Although Primat had obeyed when Anne insisted she dine with them, clearly now she preferred to sit quietly in one of the deep window seats, withdrawn from the rest. Alexander briefly considered excusing himself and seeking pleasure elsewhere, but for some unknown reason the carnality he'd once so enjoyed now held no allure for him. ''Tis all these noble heroes and their ladies,' he thought ruefully. 'Somehow they have conspired to unman me.'

Marguerite watched him pace uneasily around the room, noticing how frequently his glances strayed to the exotic woman in the window seat. She also noticed that Theo and Gareth Cave had settled down to a game of cards, that Flora was opening the harpsichord and that Jacob Holt stood ready to turn her pages for her. Lord and Lady Seaforth were still standing by the fire, really standing much closer to each other than was quite proper and Lady Seaforth, who earlier had been all politeness, now seemed most willing to ignore her guests.

Sighing, Marguerite drove her needle into the tapestry she was working. Since she had begged Tio to be allowed to remain with Flora and carry on with her great adventure, she supposed she ought not to complain now, but this was turning out to be nothing more than a dull, domestic party - no doubt this would be no different from all the other dull, domestic evenings she had suffered through at Glendenning Abbey.

As the first strains of the Couperin suite danced out from Flora's nimble fingers, Duncan Tiele came into the room, carefully closing the door behind him to keep in the warmth. Marguerite, fully persuaded that she was invisible to him, watched him, too. He took the glass Lady Seaforth offered him, and bowed a little, giving Marguerite a good glimpse of his shapely, muscular calves. He looked nothing now like the naked berserker who had swept her and Flora to safety; if anything tonight he looked a dandy - almost as exquisitely dressed as Alexander Erskine.

His coat and breeches were of satin, in a pearly, light blue hue that she might have considered too feminine for men's wear, except for the way the fabric rippled over his broad shoulders. The froth of lace at his throat and wrists would have made another man look foppish, but on Tiele, only seemed to call attention to his strong, capable hands. Marguerite suddenly regretted that she had been forced to borrow a gown from Flora; she was sure that the pink color did not become her and anyone would be able to see how hastily the bodice had been taken in to accommodate her thin frame. 'I must look ghastly,' she thought. 'Pale and stringy as a leek. I should have stayed in Bath until I'd recovered my looks.'

For his part, Duncan took no notice of the over-large gown or its unfortunate color. He was too mesmerized by the little auburn curls that had escaped her careful coiffure and now strayed indolently down the white nape of her neck. What was happening to him? He had always been almost monkish in his habits, not at all susceptible to feminine pulchritude, but suddenly he seemed attuned to even the tiniest detail - soft hands, a pair of dark eyes, a straying curl...

His feet must have had a mind of their own, for before he could stop himself, he had wandered closer to the auburn curls, standing beside Marguerite for a moment so that he could admire them. When she looked up at him suddenly, he jumped back as if she'd struck him.

"M... miss Templeby," he stammered foolishly, "May I join you?"

"There must be better company for you than I," Marguerite replied, her thumping heart making her sound more haughty than she intended. "Perhaps you and Mr. Erskine can make up a card table with the others."

"I am a poor hand at cards," he replied, "And I think Erskine has other matters on his mind." They both looked toward Alexander, who had given up all pretense and now was leaning against the wall, watching the Indian woman with an indecipherable expression on his face. Duncan turned to her again, "And I like needlework above all things."

"Do you indeed?" Marguerite smiled up at him, and the little dimple that appeared near her mouth was as enchanting as the curls. "Well then, you are most welcome to sit here and see how I go on. I find it terribly tiresome, but my mother has always insisted it is a womanly art."

She shifted slightly to make room for him on the little sofa, but as he sat down he was still uncomfortably close to her. His shoulder brushed hers ever so lightly, and she was suddenly reminded of being held against that hard, powerful shoulder and the feel of his warm skin beneath her hands. She said hastily, "And do you watch your sisters at their needlework, sir?"

"I have no sisters, much to my regret. Only a couple of brothers."

"I am all sympathy for you. I have brothers, too, you know - are yours in London as well this winter?"

Marguerite regretted her question at once, for a look very like grief suddenly shadowed Duncan's face. "They are not," he said shortly, "I have not seen my younger brother these past three years, and my elder prefers not to know me."

She laid down the tapestry. "I am sorry Mr. Tiele. I know something about family estrangements. My father and Tio still are not quite comfortable together. Where is your younger brother?"

Duncan sighed. "He is in Brussels."

Marguerite needed no more explanation. It was only by God's grace and Amy's ingenuity that Tio wasn't in exile, or worse. "So," she said softly, "I gather your elder brother is not a Jacobite."

"You are quick, Miss Templeby!" Duncan gave her a swift, admiring glance. "No, Martin is no Jacobite - neither am I for that matter, though I bear our German King no great love. But Martin and my father are of one mind, and someone had to look out for Johnny."

"Surely even your younger brother is old enough to look out for himself."

"He was for sometime as helpless as a baby." Duncan picked up one of her discarded threads and began absently to wind it around his fingers. "He lost a leg at Culloden. To this day I don't know how he was gotten away from that charnel-house. It was months before I heard anything; he was too weak and ravaged by fever to even give his name to his caretakers."

Her voice was very soft. "And even this did not soften your father?"

"I have only heard him speak of Johnny once in these three years, and that was to say that he deserved a far worse fate for being such a vile traitor."

"How terrible," she whispered, thinking of a boy suffering so much misery and illness without anyone he loved near him. She couldn't imagine the Earl, however furious he might be, ever consigning Tio to such a fate. "How does your brother go on now?"

"He does well enough for himself. He has even found a girl foolish enough to love him, and they were wed this past autumn. She sounds a good-hearted, sensible Flanders girl with a father who is a prosperous merchant, and who has no son of his own to carry on the business."

"So - Johnny doesn't need you anymore." At those soft words Duncan turned toward her, his blue eyes suddenly hard with an emotion she couldn't identify.

"Why do you say that?" he asked sharply.

"I beg your pardon, sir!" His sudden acerbity ruffled her and she bent her head once more over the needlework.

The motion sent the little curls bouncing against her neck and Duncan was lost again. "You must forgive me, Miss Templeby. I am grown quite crusty and ill-tempered in my old age."

"Yes... I see that you are quite in your dotage." But he could see the little dimple flash again at the side of her mouth and knew he was forgiven.

He began winding the thread around his fingers again. "You are quite right, Miss Templeby - Johnny doesn't need me anymore. It seems that no one does. It is a hard fate to be a middle son. Martin pleases our father in all things and of course, will inherit and Johnny found his calling in rebellion, but I am neither heir nor rebel. I thought once I might have a calling for the church, but fear I would have made a sorry parson."

"So caring for your brother gave you purpose for your life?"

"Yes. I made over a portion of my allowance to him every quarter so that he would be well-cared for, and wrote him faithfully every week. He used to write me in return, but since his marriage he seems not to have the time. And he has refused anymore money now that he stands to receive his father-in-law's tidy fortune." Duncan slipped the loop of thread off his fingers and tossed it carelessly to the ground. "So you see I am quite a useless creature."

"You know I cannot agree!" Marguerite turned toward him a little. "It was only your quick thinking and bravery that kept Flora and me from falling into the hands of those dreadful people. You were of very great use to us last night, and you must know that we are in your debt."

A not-unbecoming blush spread over his pale skin, throwing into sharp relief the dusting of freckles on his nose. "You will remember that I was also trying to save myself at the time."

"And I shall be forever grateful that you were, else who knows where we would be now. I had sought a change from my retired life in Bath, but never thought I would be plunged into such danger and intrigue."

"No?" His blue eyes twinkled at her. "I have heard that you are no stranger to danger and intrigue. Was it not you who saved your family from the block last year? I have heard that you were both courageous and clever."

"Such fustian!" Marguerite protested, though she was not averse to his good opinion. "My role was very small. 'Twas Tio's wife that concocted the scheme - I was only asked to flirt a little with one of the soldiers to gain a little time for her deception. It was hardly difficult!"

He was poised to say gallantly that flirting with her would certainly not be difficult, but the words never left his mouth. Intent on their conversation, neither of them had seen Theo get up from the card table and stroll to the other great window that overlooked the street. Now he turned and said urgently, "Uncle - come and look at this!"

James came swiftly to his side, took one look into the dark street and said, "I like this not!"

Quick as a cat, Jacob Holt crossed from the harpsichord to the door. He pressed down the heavy brass latch, but the door only rattled in response. "Great God - someone has locked us in!" Cave cried. Cursing their negligence, Holt commanded forcefully, "Ladies - into this corner at once!" but it was too late.

The two windows shattered in a terrible explosion of glass - and something else. Duncan had thrown himself in front of Marguerite as the windows broke, so that she couldn't see, but the stench of smoke and burning oil were unmistakable. Flames licked greedily along the fine carpet and up the heavy draperies at each window, and...

"Primat!" Anne screamed desperately. The Indian woman, knocked to the ground by whatever missile had broken the window, raised herself as little as if she would speak. She looked toward Anne, her dark eyes clouded with pain and terror, and stretched out an imploring hand as the fire ignited the rich silken folds of her sari.

While those assembled stood momentarily rooted to the floor in horror, a scream tore itself from Primat's throat. She curled to bat ineffectually at the flames. With an answering shout, Duncan Tiele dashed across the room, snatched up the end of the Aubusson carpet upon which she lay and rolled it over her, smothering the flames. He pulled back the corner of the carpet, and saw that she had swooned.

His quick action broke the spell that had bound the others. Cursing with terror, Alexander raced to Primat's side, besting even Anne, who had been closer. Together Tiele and Alexander lifted the prone form and carried her to a fainting couch near the still-locked door. Holt, his pistol in hand, kicked away the glass remaining in the window and raced out to the balcony, followed by Seaforth and Theo. Theo yelled, "There goes the bounder!" pointing the way. The three swung down from the low balcony, landing heavily on the pavement below, and raced into the shadows. The door to the drawing room shook under the servants' assault from the other side.

Marguerite automatically returned Flora's relieved embrace, then pulled her handkerchief from her bodice to wipe her streaming eyes. She muttered, "Butter. They must have butter, for the burns. Flora, is there another way out besides the windows and door?"

Flora gave a slightly hysterical giggle and said, "No, dearest, of course there is not. But here are the servants, now."

Of course they were, Marguerite realized. What a foolish question to have asked. That the normally unflappable Lady Seaforth had been reduced to tears and sobs worried Marguerite slightly. Flora apparently shared her concern, for she joined her aunt where the older lady knelt beside Primat's still body, patting her back and murmuring nonsense while the servants streamed in. Marguerite caught a footman's eye, and said clearly above the confusion, "Bring butter, please, and some brandy for my lady." The footman jerked a quick bow and ran from the room.

Flora led Anne to the side, the latter crying inconsolably, "What will Rosemary say to me?" Marguerite took Lady Seaforth's place, but could not slap Primat's wrists, for both of the Indian woman's hands were in Alexander Erskyn's white-knuckled grip. He said nothing, but sat immobile and elegant in a chair beside the couch, lovely blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on Primat's face. Marguerite, not daring to attempt to take Primat's hands from Erskyn, turned to inspect the burns. The sari had been shriveled by flame up to mid-calf, and the wounds glistened sickeningly in the lamplight. Nauseated for a moment, Marguerite closed her eyes briefly.

When she re-opened them, she found Duncan Tiele's pleasant - more than pleasant - blue gaze fixed upon her concernedly. Moving close, he murmured, "Should you prefer that I tend to her burns? It cannot be easy for a lady to look at such things."

Marguerite felt bolstered by his sympathy, and realized that there were unexpected good points to a gentleman who was appreciative of ladies. "I thank you sir," she replied softly, "But I fear it would be most inappropriate for you to touch her limbs when I am here to do so." Seeing the footman return with butter and brandy in hand, she added, "Perhaps you might pour a glass of brandy for Lady Seaforth?"

Tiele hurried to act on her suggestion, and Marguerite, thanking heaven that Primat had not yet regained consciousness, dipped into the butter bowl and smeared it liberally over the burns, wincing with mingled sympathy and squeamishness as she did so. She heard a strangled noise from Erskyn's direction, but when she glanced up at him he was as impassive as ever. She heard Anne decline the brandy, saying it made her ill, and Flora murmur something about a baby and distress being bad for it. 'So Lady Seaforth is increasing,' she realized distantly, rubbing her way down to the delicate dark ankles.

Then, a far more pressing worry intruded. What was taking the other three gentlemen so long?