Glancing back at the girl as they climbed the bank into the old trail, he felt very thoroughly the cad she had called him.

A marauder, returning to port with his prize in tow.

And quite a prize she was. Beautifully made. Impressive mettle. He found the task of making himself forget the feel of her warm, soft body struggling against his to be more than he could manage. As was trying to remember that he was a gentleman.

“Lord Hades” did not feel like a gentleman.

Hastily dismounting, he hurried back to his hostage. “Come, we still must travel a bit farther. You will ride with me.”

She stumbled, and he slipped an arm around her. She was shivering, her teeth chattering. If he didn’t get her to shelter soon, she would be ill.

The business with the girl had taken its toll on him—not the physical struggle so much as the sense of responsibility, the worry over her future.

And his, come to think of it. For absconding with a nobleman’s daughter might have severe consequences if he were found out…

Praise for

PATRICIA FRANCES ROWELL

A TREACHEROUS PROPOSITION ‘…a page-flipping, high-action adventure.’ —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

A DANGEROUS SEDUCTION ‘Rowell creates a wonderful Gothic atmosphere, using beautiful Cornwall and its history of smuggling and shipwrecks to enhance her story.’ —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

A PERILOUS ATTRACTION ‘Promising Regency-era debut… a memorable heroine who succeeds in capturing the hero’s heart as well as the reader’s.’ —Publishers Weekly

Patricia Frances Rowell lives in the woods of Northern Louisiana with her husband, Johnny, in a home they built themselves. There they enjoy visits from their collective seven children, numerous children-in-law and eight grandchildren, as well as making friends with the local wildlife. Please stop by her website at www.patriciafrancesrowell.com to visit.

Recent novels by the same author:

A PERILOUS ATTRACTION

A DANGEROUS SEDUCTION

A TREACHEROUS PROPOSITION

A SCANDALOUS SITUATION

AN IMPETUOUS ABDUCTION

Patricia Frances Rowell

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is about family, and it is dedicated to

my first family—My parents, Willard Houghton Moore

and Mary Edna Butler Moore, and the best brother

in the world, John Willard Moore

And every time for the love of my life, Johnny

AND A WORD OF THANKS

To the kindest of all editors, Ann Leslie Tuttle,

my appreciation. You took a chance on me and

gave me the chance I needed. Thank you, dear.

Prologue

1796, Derbyshire, England

The little girl plastered herself against the wall, her gaze held fast by the long streamer of ribbon she twisted around her finger.

“Come now, Phona dearest.” Mama smiled and placed an encouraging arm across her shoulders. “You want to play the game with the other children, don’t you?”

A cold paralysis enfolded the child. Everyone was looking.

At her.

She pushed harder against the wall. Her mother pried the ribbon loose from her clenched hand. “Now, Phona, my love, you don’t want to rumple your new frock. You must be perfect for your party.”

Phona clutched her pristine white skirt with both hands and transferred her gaze to the tips of her white kid slippers. The immobilizing chill seemed to be taking even her breath.

She could not. She could not. She just could not.

“Phona.” Her mother’s smile faded as she jerked the fabric away from Phona’s small hands and tried to smooth it. “This is the outside of enough. Come and join the game. The party is for you.”

The little girl began to chew on her knuckle. Tears pushed their way out from behind her eyelids. She didn’t know these children. She didn’t know the other ladies. They were all looking.

At her.

Someone tittered. Mama seized her arm and pulled her away from the wall, yanking her fingers out of her mouth. “That looks very disagreeable.” She was not smiling at all now. “Do not be such a baby, Phona. You are a great girl of five years. Big girls do not cry at parties.”

A sob burst out of the child’s constricted throat, but not a word could she utter. Someone else laughed.

Now Mama looked angry. “I went to a great deal of bother for this, and now you will not even play.”

Had a pride of lions descended on her, Phona could not have, at that moment, moved. Could not have run away.

Her mother had on her scary face now. She gave the girl a hard shake and leaned the scary face close to hers.

“Persephone Proserpina! You are embarrassing me!”

She was dragged from the room in disgrace.

Chapter One

1811, Derbyshire, England

There he was again.

The stranger on the hill.

Phona reined her gentle bay mare to a halt in the lee of a small copse and patted her on the neck. “What do you think he is doing, Firefly? He has been there on that tall, awkward-looking horse four times this week. And many times in the last several months.” She shaded her eyes with her hand. “I can’t see his face under that brimmed hat.”

The mare twitched her ears.

“No, he never makes a sound. I look up, and there he is, like an apparition in a penny dreadful. And like most apparitions, I suppose, he doesn’t seem to see me. Do you think he is a shade, Firefly?” The mare shook her head, rattling her bridle and bit. “No, I’m sure you are right. He must be flesh and blood.”

Between one breath and the next, the man disappeared again, leaving Phona to wonder if she and Firefly were wrong about his substantiality. “Did you see that? What can he be doing?”

The particular hill on which the non-apparition had appeared lay beyond her family’s land, so heeding all the usual cautions and admonitions, Phona never rode that far.

Today, however, she would make an exception. “Come, let us go and see if we can discover what is so interesting about that specific hill—other than the rider who so often appears atop it.”

Firefly sidled a bit. “Oh, stop that. I know that approaching him is completely improper. Today I have no patience with proper, nor with cautions and admonitions. None at all.”

Whoever the man was, speaking with him would be better than talking to her horse. Which was far better than the conversation of Old Ned, her presently evaded groom. Which was infinitely better than going to the little party of young ladies and their mothers to which she and Mama had not been invited.

Mama would have the vapors. Again.

Except that Mama was already having the vapors over the crushing snub dealt her by Mrs. Rowsley. Phona sighed. “I love Mama, Firefly. You know I do. But sometimes I become very out of patience with her.” And with cautions and admonitions.

Turning Firefly toward the distant hill, Phona gave her a tap of the crop and cantered across the rolling green landscape, enjoying the warm sunshine on her face and the crisp spring breeze streaming through her hair. She skirted scattered clumps of vegetation, drawing in the fragrance of early flowers emanating from them, and guided her mount around the numerous rocky outcrops. They jumped the drystone wall separating the Hathersage property from the neighbor’s and pulled up.

Finding herself at the foot of a steep incline dotted with large boulders, Phona slowed her mount to a walk as they began the ascent. As she neared the top of the hill, strange sounds began to drift to her on the wind.

Clanks and thumps. The jingle of harness and the creak of cart wheels. Coarse voices calling to one another. What in the world? There should be nothing here but open countryside.

Phona reined in. What must she do about this unexpected development? She certainly could not risk encountering a group of rough men by herself. She should turn back. But what were they doing on the far side of that hill? Perhaps she could find a spot to peek over the ridge without being seen. Of course, if she did, they might—

How long her prudent self might have debated with her more adventurous one, Phona never learned. Suddenly the sound of hoofbeats erupted just above her. She looked up to see the stranger on the tall, rawboned black burst over the crest, galloping straight at her, wild hair flying from under the hat. A glimpse of a scowling, dark-bearded visage ended the argument in a heartbeat.

“Run, Firefly!” Phona tugged her mare’s head around and kicked her sharply into motion. The steep slope forbade the pell-mell gallop her pounding heart demanded. A misstep on the rugged terrain would likely result in a broken leg for her mount or a broken neck for herself.

And certain capture.

Steady, steady. Every sense clamoring for precipitous flight, Phona forced herself to control her horse.

Oh, God. The noise of the chase was growing louder.

And closer.

He would be on her in seconds. She must find a way…

A copse of trees rose in front of her. If she could cut through them, perhaps she would gain some time, and even possibly lose her pursuer. Her little mare dived into the shelter as if she, too, feared for her life. They leaped over small bushes and fallen branches and careened between the trees.

Branches clawed at her face and raked her hat off her head, the scarf all but strangling her before giving way. Seeking protection from nature’s assault, she leaned closer to the mare’s neck, keeping her body as low as possible. The sound of the following hooves faded a bit.

Could it be that the man hesitated to squeeze his big, ugly horse through the narrow spaces? Fortune was favoring her at last. Phona angled away from where she had entered the grove. If she could make her way back to her own land, the ground was easier, and she had known it for a lifetime. She could not imagine that he would hound her all the way to her home.

Phona and the mare emerged from the trees. She glanced to the right, and despair welled up in her. Whatever its deficiencies of appearance, the stranger’s black must be a powerful beast. It had circled the grove in the time it took for her to go through it.

The next few minutes would be a head-to-head race. One which her small mare could hardly hope to win. Doubts notwithstanding, Phona turned down the hill and gave the horse her head.

The contest ended in moments. Thundering hooves pounded up alongside her, and a hard arm circled her waist. Phona fought to keep her seat, but found herself dragged, kicking and trying to scratch, onto the saddle in front of the stranger. His other arm wrapped around her, capturing her arms and clamping her tightly against him. A hand closed over her mouth.

An angry whisper sounded in her ear. “Listen to me and listen well. As you value your life, do exactly as I tell you.”

Phona turned to look over her shoulder at the menacing face. All dark. Not only did a thick brown beard cover the lower portion, but a black patch hid one eye. She stifled a gasp.

A rough hand grasped her chin. “When I drop you, lie as you fall. Lie as if you were dead. Do not move! Do not even breathe until I return.”

In the distance, Phona heard another set of hoofbeats closing on them. Oh, Lord! What now?

Her captor let out a roar and pulled her head sideways, his callused fingers sliding across her skin. And dropped her. As she hit the stony ground, Phona heard another voice shouting, “Is she dead?”

“Aye,’ ardesty, she’ll talk to none.” The dark stranger turned his horse back the way he had come, putting it between her and the other speaker.

Dear heaven! He had feigned breaking her neck! Who were these people? Phona took the hidden moment to shift her head to an awkward angle, then lay motionless.

Her attacker spoke again, in a Cockney accent. “Ye best get that load ’andled and get the ’ell out of ’ere before they come lookin’fer ’er. When her mount comes in without the chit aboard—”

The second man uttered a word Phona had never heard before and added, “These bloody hills will be swarming with searchers. Come, man. Move your arse!”

As they galloped away, Phona opened her eyes just enough to confirm something that she could hardly credit. The arm which had removed her from her mount so efficiently ended not in a hand, but in a sharp, black iron hook.

As he watched the departing convoy disappear into the next dale, Leo kept a wary watch. He could not quite see the girl where she lay on the far side of the trees, and he knew his confederates would leave a lookout in their wake to watch their back trail. He prayed he had frightened her sufficiently to keep her still. If she tried to run, the sentry might very well see her, and if he did, she would die.

Or the sentry would.

Or Leo would.

After an agonizing wait, he finally saw the scout ride away after his party. He eased his mount down the side of the hill and around the grove. The girl still lay where she had dropped, ringlets of auburn hair flung out around her, her head turned at a very strange angle. Ye gods! Surely he had not actually killed her!

Leo spurred to her and leaped out of his saddle. Going to one knee, he gently shook her shoulder. “Miss Hathersage?” She did not respond. Perhaps she had fainted from fright. He shook her a bit harder. “Miss! Can you hear me?”

Still no response. Just as panic was about to descend on him in full force, he noticed the infinitesimal movement of her breast, rising and falling as she breathed. Thank God! Sliding his left arm under her shoulders, he lifted her to a seated position, careful not to touch her with the hook. Her head lolled like a rag doll’s. He used his good hand to feel the bones of her neck. They seemed sound enough—

At a rattle of stones below him on the hill, Leo sprang to his feet and yanked the pistol from his belt, dropping the girl to earth once again. This time he heard a distinct “Ow!” and glanced down in time to see her roll to her feet and bolt down the slope, making for the sound he had heard.

“God confound clever females!” Leo jammed the pistol back into his belt and gave chase. Now he could see that her mount, rather than racing off to her stable, had wandered quietly back to her mistress. Had it not kicked a stone in its path, he might never have known it was there. The aggravating wench had simply waited her chance to make a run for it.

And she was fast. For a girl. But there was nothing wrong with Leo’s legs, and a girl in a riding habit was at a serious disadvantage. She had pulled the skirt up to her white thighs, but the train caught on every rock and bit of vegetation. Still, he barely caught her just as she seized the reins of the mare and was trying in vain to reach the stirrup of the sidesaddle.

She turned and struck at him, but he had expected no less and was ready for her. In a heartbeat he had locked his muscular arms around her from behind and lifted her off her feet. Her heels kicking against his shins made little impression on his booted legs. Fortunately, she was a tiny thing, and the back of her head slammed into his chest rather than his chin. A very game quarry!

“Miss Hathersage! Miss!” He leaned away from another crack of her head against his collarbone. “Ow! Damnation, woman, will you be still for a moment?”

Evidently not. She started squirming, desperately trying to wriggle out of his hold. Very well. If he could not subdue her with reassurance, he could resort to threats. He shifted his hook until the point of it just barely pricked her side. She stilled as if frozen in place.

Leo lowered his voice. “Be still or you will skewer yourself.”

“You bloody bastard!” She gasped for breath.

“No, although you are not the first to make that charge.” Her defiance made him grin. “But, tsk-tsk. Such unsuitable words from such pure lips.”

“Cad! Blackguard!”

“Those allegations are closer to the mark. However, we have little time for character assassination.” He cautiously allowed her feet to settle to the ground, carefully ignoring the sensation of her warm, firm body sliding down his.

Yet there was no denying the feelings invoked from the softness of her breasts against his arm. Leo forced the excitement of the chase and its incipient arousal back. He could not afford distractions of that sort. Not now.

Not ever.

She did not renew the struggle, so apparently the hook had done its work. It usually did. The mere sight of it terrified brawny men, let alone a girl barely out of the schoolroom. Perhaps he was a cad.

Her chest rose and fell in panicked breaths. Suddenly she took a longer breath and an ear-assaulting scream cleaved the quiet of the hillside. Leo jerked his head—and his ears—away from her.

“Good Lord, girl! Do not do that again. You will deafen us both.” He jiggled the point of the hook ever so slightly to enforce this message. “No one is near enough to hear you. Save your breath and pay attention.” He paused for a heartbeat to gather his thoughts before continuing.

“Your curiosity has come very close to killing the kitten, Miss Hathersage. I cannot allow you to recount today’s experience to anyone. But neither do I wish to kill you to prevent it. In that I differ from the others in this venture. My associates would have done it in the blink of an eye.”

The quietness that settled over her told him that she understood that assertion and the implied threat. She was giving him her full regard, trembling a little in his arms.

“Hence, I must constrain you to come with me for a time. What I am to do with you, I have no notion, but we will contrive something. Please believe that I intend you no harm.”

She cried out and started to twist toward him, felt the prick of the hook, and checked. Leo sighed. “And I can see that you will not come compliantly. Therefore, as much a I regret it…” Leo pulled a leather thong from his pocket.

“No!” Suddenly she was struggling again, forgetting the hook in her panic.

“Damn it, woman! You’ll hurt yourself. Don’t you know when you are outgunned? Be still!” Leo looped one of her arms with the hook and forced her slender wrists together until he could tightly grasp both of them in his powerful right hand.

In spite of her frantic attempts to pull away, he looped the cord around her wrists and tied it with the agility of much practice, using the hook as a second hand.

Leo caught the reins of the mare and guided it close. Thanks be to his lucky stars that the bay was more docile than the lady. Since the hook prevented his lifting her by the waist, he grasped one of the girl’s arms under the shoulder with his good hand and, slipping his other arm under her knees, attempted to wrestle her onto the sidesaddle. She refused to help him at all.

Her privilege, under the circumstances, but he was losing precious time. He must be away before her household missed her. “Miss Hathersage, please put your knee over the horn.”

Her mouth firmed into a hard line and her chin went up. “I’ll be damned!”

In spite of his frustration, a chuckle escaped Leo. “If you do not, I shall be forced to tie you facedown across the saddle.”

He allowed her to contemplate traveling in that position for a moment. He was fast becoming exasperated enough to do it.

At last, she sighed, and he detected a defeated whisper, “Very well.”

Yes, he definitely was a cad.

Fearing that she would try to slide off the horse, even with her hands tied, he used a second lash to secure her neat ankle and nicely rounded knee to the stirrup straps. That should make her fast.

He guided the mare back to his own mount and climbed into the saddle. Leading the bay and her passenger, he turned and started back up the hill.

“Do you have a name?”

The question, coming from behind him, startled him. “Yes, Miss Hathersage, I do. However, I fear I cannot share it with you at this time.”

“You have the advantage of me, sir. What should I call you—other than those very appropriate sobriquets?”

He turned and gazed at her for a moment, then in spite of the troublesome situation, burst into laughter. “I believe, Miss Hathersage, that under these circumstances you should call me Lord Hades.”

Lord Hathersage was at his wit’s end. His adored wife had been having one fit of hysterics after the other for the last two hours. Nothing he said comforted her. He groped for words that might not set off another outburst, but was quickly disappointed. She spun away from the window out of which she had been staring and flung herself onto a settee.

“How could she do this to me?” His lady dabbed at her eyes and took the tiniest whiff of her salts. “She knows I worry about her—riding off who knows where by herself. Not even a groom in attendance. What people say of her I shudder to think.” Suiting the action to the word, her ladyship shivered delicately, the creamy skin of her shoulders shimmering under her gossamer shawl.

Ignoring this distraction with the ease of long practice, his lordship chanced a cautious intervention. “Now, now. Demetra, my dearest…”

His dearest Demetra rolled on without pause. “But will she stay home just because I ask her?” She jumped to her feet and stamped her shapely foot. “Nooo! I am only her mother. If she had any respect… She will ride in the sun and get those horrible freckles. If she had any consideration for me, she would at least wear a large hat! How I am ever to interest a husband in her I have not the slightest notion. She comes in with her hair looking like a birch broom in a fright! And in the eyes of all, I have failed.”

For once his lordship’s patience with his adorable wife cracked just a hair. His lady tended to forget that Peresphone was his daughter, as well as hers. He had been astride a horse for many hours of the late afternoon, searching unsuccessfully for his lost child.

They had found not a trace of her, save for the prints where her horse had jumped the wall. Even now his men rode the hills with torches while he did his best to console her mother.

“Come now, Demetra. How can you concern yourself with that inconsequential drivel now? Phona might be lying somewhere—hurt or…”

“Oooh!” His wife threw herself facedown on the settee. “How can you be so cruel? You know I cannot bear to think of anything so terrible.”

Lord Hathersage beat an immediate strategic retreat. He sat beside her and gathered her into his arms. She sobbed against his cravat.

Tears coursing down her cheeks, she choked out, “Oh, George, I couldn’t bear losing her.”

His lordship swallowed a sob of his own. “We will find her soon.”

Lord Hathersage wished that he felt as sure as he sounded. Reason counseled that, had she been injured, they would have found her by now.

In spite of a tendency to indulge both his wife and his daughter, he was not an unworldly man—and certainly not a poor one. He recognized full well that everyone knew Phona stood to inherit his quite astonishing fortune.

And he knew what that meant.

How could he tell his poor, distraught wife that her daughter had been abducted?

The Hades reference could hardly be missed by anyone who had coped with the name Persephone Proserpina Hathersage for twenty years. And it told her a great deal about her escort. In spite of the fact that he looked like every child’s image of a wicked pirate, the man must be well-educated.

How else would he know that in the Greek tale, Hades, Lord of the Underworld, figured as the abductor of Persephone, the daughter of Demeter?

Which also meant that, in addition to knowing that she was the daughter of the Hathersage house, he knew her full name. Which, in turn, must surely mean something. But what? Phona had certainly never met him before. She could hardly have forgotten a man who looked like that.

A chill ran over her.

Could she possibly escape him? At the moment Phona could not see how. She was rapidly becoming more and more disoriented. Dusk had begun to fall, gathering in the crooks and shadows of boulders, trees and crevices. Nothing looked familiar. Soon it would be dark, and she would never be able to find her way back.

Hades, on the other hand, clearly knew exactly where he was going. They had been riding steadily for hours, winding through the protection of small gorges and woodlands, never in sight of a trail, let alone a road. Obviously he had a destination in mind.

Phona cleared her throat. “Lord Hades? Where are we going?”

He twisted his broad shoulders toward her. “My apologies, Miss Hathersage. I fear I cannot tell you that.”

What else did she expect? “Is it much farther?”

“Yes. I am afraid so. Are you tired?”

“A bit.”

“You certainly should be, after that engagement. We will rest presently.”

Phona made another try. “Where are we now?”

“In Derbyshire.”

A decidedly unladylike snort escaped her. “I knew that much!”

“I was certain that you did.”

The wretch! She could hear the smirk in his voice as he turned back to watch his path. She’d be damned if she spoke to him again!

The intensity of running and fighting with her intimidating adversary had faded, giving way to a discouraged weariness. Phona had been able neither to outrun him nor to outsmart him. She had been overpowered and dumped unceremoniously on the rocky ground twice each. Her neck ached from lying as if broken.

She could not slide off her mount and try to run without being dragged by the leg, and as he had so annoyingly pointed out, no one would hear her if she shrieked like a banshee.

As the warmth of the sun faded, she began to feel cool. Sweat from the chase had dampened her clothes and now sucked the heat out of her battered body. Dear heaven, she hurt all over.

Try as she might to suppress it, Phona shook with fright, fatigue and cold. How could she not be afraid? She could not get away from him, had no idea where he was taking her.

And what did he intend to do with her?

A knot began to tighten in her stomach. Surely, had he planned to kill her, he would not have taken the trouble to subdue her. But she could hardly afford to underestimate a man who called himself Hades.

Her captor had not yet deliberately hurt her, but he might prove more cruel than he now seemed. Phona knew a man might mistreat a woman in any number of ways.

Perhaps that was why he had taken her.

Chapter Two

When the sun had sunk completely and the lavender twilight had faded to black dark, Hades stopped in the shadow of a small wood and dismounted. He untied the thongs from her leg and helped her slide off her mare. Her legs wobbled from the long ride, and he steadied her with his good hand and led her to a boulder where she could sit.

“We will stay here and rest the horses until the moon rises. It is too dark to continue safely. Are you hungry?”

For a moment Phona’s pride forbade her to answer. However, second thought made her realize that she could not allow herself to become weak with hunger. Now that he brought it to her attention, she felt starved.

And she had another problem.

She would have to speak. “Yes, I am, but I also need to…” She stopped in midsentence, the heat of a blush suffusing her cheeks, and gestured with her bound hands and her head toward the bushes.

“Ah.” Lord Hades gazed at her consideringly. “Of course.” He came to where she rested on the rock and knelt on one knee in front of her. He looked so intently into her eyes that Phona’s face got even hotter. She studied her hands.

The man put a finger under her chin and lifted it until he could see her face in the faint starlight. “Do not mistake this for an opportunity to escape, Miss Hathersage. If I am forced to, I will keep watch on you every second. Do you understand?”

Phona pondered that declaration for a moment. She turned her head away from his scrutiny. “Sir, you are no gentleman!”

She thought she heard a wry amusement in his voice. “I believe we have already established that.” The humor faded. “Miss Hathersage, I would give you all the privacy you need, if I could be sure that you will not try to hide or run away. You will not succeed, but I fear that if you try, you will get lost or injured. This is not safe county.”

Every fiber of Phona’s being longed to make the attempt, but her aggravatingly practical nature told her that the man was absolutely correct. And absolutely serious. He would watch her while she… Intolerable! Reluctantly, she nodded.

“Do you give me your word?” He continued to study her eyes.

Phona sighed and nodded again. “Very well. Word of a Hathersage. I will not use this as an occasion to escape.”

Hades considered for a moment, then he nodded in turn. He obviously had not missed the qualification. But the assurance sufficed for now. With a few deft motions he untied her wrists. “Don’t go far.”

Little danger of that! The short trip into the dark bushes proved quite enough to make flight far less tempting. Mysterious small creatures rustled in the leaves, and she could imagine spiders as large as her hand dangling from the tree limbs.

She stumbled over every rock. Definitely not the time to try to lose Hades and make her way home. As soon as she could, she scurried back to where she had left him with the horses.

She found him rummaging in a saddlebag. He indicated with a motion that she should again sit and then followed her, carrying objects unrecognizable in the dim light. He made himself comfortable beside her and began to unwrap something from the folds of a white napkin. Phona’s mouth started watering at the smell of a meat pasty.

Hades broke off a generous chunk and handed it to her, placing the remainder on the rock between them. “Plain fare for a lady, but sustaining enough.”

“Thank you.” She took a hearty bite and chewed appreciatively.

He broke a bite from his portion and popped it into his mouth, watching her from the corner of his eye. When he had swallowed, he took a swig from a jug which he had placed on his other side.

Phona eyed it enviously. The day and the pasty had left her very dry. He had almost set the bottle down again when he turned suddenly to glance at her. “Are you thirsty? I have only ale, and I doubt that young ladies care much for it.”

“I have never drank any.” She considered the jug. “But I am exceedingly thirsty.”

“I doubt you will find it to your liking, but you are welcome to have some.” He paused thoughtfully. “Just don’t have too much. It will go straight to your head if you have never drank it.” He handed her the bottle.

Phona sipped cautiously—and made a terrible face.

The man laughed. “As I thought.”

“Don’t be so hasty.” She reached for the bottle as he took another swallow and set it aside. “I am quite parched.” She managed a larger drink this time.

He grinned, his strong teeth glinting in the dark beard. “Pluck to the backbone.”

Phona did not know how to answer that. She was not feeling very plucky. She ate her pie silently, occasionally sipping from the jug. The ale was not as strong as wine, but Mama only allowed Phona a tiny taste of any form of spirits. Soon she could feel a pleasant warmth steal through her limbs.

She reached for the bottle again, but Hades moved it away. “I think not. We still have a long ride ahead of us, and I don’t want you incapacitated.” He glanced at the sky. “The moon is coming up, but so are the clouds. We must hurry.”

He repacked the remains of the meal and disappeared into the bushes while Phona strolled about the clearing to stretch her muscles. And clear her head. The ale had, in fact, made her a bit dizzy. As well as bone-weary.

But for a strong application of resolution, Phona would have wept. The thought of more riding was almost more than she could bear, but apparently she had no choice. Therefore, bear it she would. And without showing any weakness to the rogue.

He was gone longer than she had expected, but made no explanation when he returned. She suspected he had scouted their back trail for pursuit. Evidently, he had found none.

Another disappointment.

He approached her and touched her cheek lightly. Phona jerked back, but he simply declared, “You are getting cold.” Untying a roll from his saddle, he shook out a cloak and put it around her shoulders. He helped her to mount, and this time she did her part. If she became too much of a problem, he might leave her here, or even… Phona did not want to remain here alone.

Not alive, and certainly not dead.

Leo glanced back at the girl as they climbed the bank onto the old trail. She had uttered not a word, but he could see her swaying in the saddle. Her little mare looked no better. He felt very thoroughly the cad she had called him. A marauder, returning to port with his prize in tow.

And quite a prize she was. Beautifully made. Impressive mettle. He found the task of making himself forget the feel of her warm, soft body struggling against his to be more than he could manage. As was trying to forget that he had her completely under his control. To remember that he was a gentleman. Leo did not feel like a gentleman.

Leo did not want to be a gentleman.

He sighed as a large drop of rain splashed on his forehead. The rest of the ride could only get worse. The wind whipped his cloak around the lady’s small body, all but pulling her off her horse. Another drop followed the first, and suddenly the rain swept over them.

Hastily dismounting, Leo hurried back to his hostage. When he lifted his arms, she all but fell into them. “Come, we still must travel a bit farther. You will ride with me.”

She stumbled, and Leo slipped an arm around her. She was shivering, her teeth chattering. If he didn’t get her to shelter soon, she would be ill.

He made the mare fast to a lead rope, and with his help the girl managed to get herself onto the front of his saddle. Leo swung himself up behind her and flung the cloak over both of them. Cradling her against his chest, he tucked the cloak in well and pulled a fold of it over her head and face.

Leo tugged the brim of his hat low against the wind and rain and kneed his black into motion. The mare resisted for a moment and then, resignedly, followed. Thank God for his own stalwart mount, rawboned and homely, but strong as the capstan for which he was named.

Alone Leo might have made the ride back to his haven in half the time with naught more than moderate weariness, but the business with the girl had taken its toll—not the physical struggles with her so much as the sense of responsibility, the worry over her future.

And his, come to think of it. Even for him—nay, especially for him—absconding with a nobleman’s daughter might have severe consequences if he were found out.

He guided his small cavalcade onto a track almost too faint to be seen. They wound their way up along the side of a steep, heavily wooded gorge. The stream at the bottom roared along noisily, full and fresh and joyous with the rain.

Leo himself might wish for a little less of it. The water trickled down the back of his neck and blew into his eye. Small branches swiped at his face and dumped their burden of droplets into his beard. At least the downpour would erase all sign of their passing.

Coming to a spot where the stream joined another, Leo urged his mount across the rising water and onto the point of land between them. The black put up a token protest, but splashed through and plodded upward along the trail, head held low. In the shelter of his body’s heat, the girl had ceased shivering and seemed to be sleeping. Thank God for that.

Leo always felt a thrill as the stone walls rose out of the trees and rocks and dark. Tonight he also felt exceedingly thankful. They rode into the courtyard through the arch in the wall and across into the stable. At the sound of the horseshoes clopping across the cobbles, the girl roused and sat straighter.

She gazed about her, craning her neck to look up into the oak-beamed rafters high above them. A horse whickered a soft, sleepy greeting. “Where are we?”

“In my stable.” Leo pulled the cape free and swung down to the hay-strewn floor.

“I can see that,” she snapped at him and tried to slide off the tall black and stand. Her knees failed to hold her, and she wound up in a heap in the straw. She swallowed a startled cry and, clinging to the stirrup, struggled bravely back to her feet.

The attempt again proved unsuccessful. Leo caught her as her legs threatened another collapse and eased her onto a box of tack. He quickly realized that would not answer, either. She began to list slowly to starboard, her eyelids fluttering closed. He grasped her shoulders once again and was trying to decide how to proceed when a welcome voice spoke at the stable door.

“See to the lass. I’ll tend the horses.”

Leo gathered the girl into his arms, careful not to touch her with the hook, and carried her into his house.

No one had slept in the chamber in perhaps a hundred years, but when Leo had decided to use the place, they had cleaned it along with the rest of the ancient lodge and furnished it with new bedding.

The rotted bed curtains and other draperies they had burned, saving one fine, ancient tapestry which had defied the damp and dust. Other than that, only a low chest, a screen and a pair of heavy carved chairs remained to soften the stone walls.

Making the long climb up the stairs, Leo laid the girl on the tall bed. He next set about kindling a fire in the big fireplace, fumbling in the dark for the flint. Thank goodness they had already brought up wood against an emergency.

When the fire at last took hold, he walked back to the bed and gazed again at his guest, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Apparently asleep or unconscious, she was shaking again. No wonder in that; the room was little warmer than the rain-drenched night. Somehow he must get her out of her wet clothes.

That promised to be a harrowing experience.

Leo winced. Just cradling her in his arms had wakened feelings best left sleeping. Feelings that had been sleeping far too long. How could he…? Perhaps he could rouse her enough to accomplish the task herself.

Please, God.

The last thing he wanted was to be accused again of impropriety with a helpless young female. One allegation of savagery had been quite enough. Leo could easily imagine the fine uproar this one would make if she woke without her riding dress. Shuddering, he turned to go and find something dry for her to use in its stead.

As he closed the door, Leo took the precaution of twisting the key in the outside lock. He was fairly certain that she was too done up to try to escape, but he had not forgotten her earlier ploy of playing dead. No, he could not assume his clever miss was incapacitated. And she had given no pledge which applied to this location.

Leo went to his own bedchamber, down the curving flight of stone steps to the next level of the old house. Rummaging in his sea chest, he extracted a linen nightshirt and, after a moment’s thought, a silk dressing gown richly embroidered in Arabian motifs. Either would swallow her whole.

He quickly blanked out the images of the young woman upstairs clad in either garment—the linen transparent across her high young breasts, the silk clinging to her neat curves, the robe falling open to reveal shapely legs.

Damnation! The job ahead of him would be difficult enough without his fancies intruding. How long had it been since he had held a woman close? And this woman…

Leo smiled. He admired her spunk. She was too young, too small, too inexperienced to be required to deal with this situation, and yet she coped with courage and resolution.

And he, maimed as he was, had no business even thinking about her lovely, fresh body. To her he would surely seem a monster. More important, she was in his care. He owed her protection and safety—even from himself.

Phona did her best to wake to the voice in her ear and the hand shaking her shoulder. “Miss Hathersage. Miss Hathersage, can you hear me?” She shoved at the hand, tried to turn away. The voice and the hand persisted. “You must get out of your wet clothing. Come now. Sit up.”

An arm lifted her, but the darkness around her refused to dissipate. Still, something pulled her relentlessly upward. Now a pounding started in her head. She mumbled, “G’away,” but neither the voice nor the hand nor the pounding obeyed.

She thought she heard a heavy sigh. Someone began to fumble with the buttons of her habit. Lily? Her maid? It wasn’t Lily’s voice. It was a man’s…

A man! Her buttons! She clutched the hand and pushed.

Another sigh. “Miss Hathersage, please. Can you unfasten your own dress? You must take it off. The rain has soaked it.”

She nodded, and the hand moved away. Try as she might, her eyes would not open. Never mind. Blindly, she grappled with the buttons, but she could not prevail.

Her fingers refused her commands. Now her head throbbed with every heartbeat and fire shot through her bones. Someone groaned. Herself? It sounded like her.

“Let me help you.” The voice sounded again. “Do not be afraid. I will only help you.”

The hot skin of Phona’s breasts cooled as her habit parted and the air found her damp shift. Then a hand rolled her from one side to the other, peeling away the wet riding dress.

“Can you remove your shift? It must come off, too.”

Phona tried to nod, but her head hurt too much. She tugged at the ties of the shift. They came undone, but she could go no further. Her hands fell helplessly beside her, defeated by the ache.

She heard a soft whisper. “God help me.” And then her shift was yanked roughly over her head.

Something soft and warm and dry immediately settled over her, and she was allowed to lie back against a pillow. The thunder in her head and the lightning bolts slicing through her bones eased just a bit. A smooth sheet and a warm cover were pulled over her body and tucked under her chin. She grasped them as firmly as she was able.

“Poor child. I shan’t touch you.” The owner of the voice drew the pins out of her hair and spread it across the pillow, running his fingers through the damp, tangled curls. “Not even a hat to protect your head. Such ill treatment for a courageous lady. I’m sorry.”

Phona drifted away again into darkness, trying to remember who he was and why he was sorry.

The scream tore itself out of Phona’s throat, rattling the shutters and setting the drums to throbbing in her head again. A skeleton leaned over her. Pale sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, a hairless head.

Bony hands reached for her.

She shrieked again and tried to roll, clawing her way across the bed. Running footsteps pounded into the room. The Pirate. Hades! He said his name was Lord Hades. Oh, God! Oh, God! Hades and a skeleton. The fire in her flesh. The flicker of a blaze leaping against the wall. The smell of smoke.

She was dead! She was dead and in Hell. Could she not feel the torturous flames punishing her body? Did she not see the fleshless shade?

Lord Hades had brought her to the underworld.

Why had she been sent to Hell? She had tried to be good. She treated everyone kindly. She always obeyed Papa, and she tried to obey Mama. But it was so hard.

Phona always disappointed Mama. She could not attract a husband. She always threw out a spot at just the wrong time. Her hair was too curly, too gingery, her dress too rumpled.

But were these mortal sins? God created her hair. It wasn’t her fault! It wasn’t fair. And it was too much. Far too much.

The wail escaped her in spite of her burning throat. “I want to go home!”

A papery voice responded. “Nay, now, lass. There’s naught to fear.”

The mattress sank as someone sat beside her and stroked her hair back from her face. A familiar voice. “What happened?”

“Like I told ye, me lord, this phiz o’ mine scares women and little children.”

“Not that much. Miss Hathersage…?”

Sobs choked their way out through her parched lips. “I don’t want to be dead. I want to be alive again. I want to go home.”

“Now, now, you are not dead.”

“I am. I know I am.” Phona gazed up into one bright blue eye. “You said you were Lord Hades. I should have known. You brought me to Hell. The Pirate killed me, and you brought me here. There is a skeleton!”

A cold, dry hand rested on her forehead, and the raspy voice said, “Fever dreams, me lord.”

“Yes, she is burning with fever.” A different hand, larger, warmer, cupped her cheek. “You are not dead, my dear, and I am not truly god of the Underworld. While this is my home, and I have brought you here, it is not Hell.”

“I tried to be good. I did try.” The sobs kept coming. Phona lay helpless as tears dripped into her hair. “Why must I suffer forever?”

Strong arms lifted her and cradled her against a hard, shirtless chest. Crisp hair tickled her nose, and she heard Hades’ voice. “Come now, it will not be forever. The fever will go away. You are good and brave.”

“I don’t…” A sob. “I don’t feel brave.”

“Nay, as I know well, it is very hard to be brave when you are so ill, when nothing is as it seems.” The big, warm hand pressed her head against the tickly hair. “Where do you hurt?”

“Everywhere. My head, my arms…” She coughed and croaked, “My throat.”

“I feared this might happen.” Lord Hades spoke to the Skeleton. “She has taken a chill.”

“Aye, a hard ride for a lass. We best be gettin’ some broth down her, and the tea, lest it get worse. She’ll rest easier.”

“Can you stop crying, little one? Can you take some soup?” Hades let her rest against the pillow again. Only now, several pillows held her in a sitting position.

Phona relaxed into their embrace and struggled to make sense of things. The Skeleton was holding a bowl and spoon out to Lord Hades. If she were not in hell, where had the Skeleton come from? If the Pirate was not Lord Hades, who was he?

She tried to take in a deep breath and stop crying, but coughing choked her. A large handkerchief wiped her eyes and nose. She tried again, and finally hiccuped into silence.

Hades extended a spoonful of broth. Phona drew back. “If I eat anything, I can never go home.”

“What is she on about now?” the Skeleton inquired.

“It is an old story.” Hades sighed. “I’ll tell you later.” He put the spoon back in the bowl. “Come, Miss Hathersage. You must have sustenance. You are not in the Underworld. You have my word.”

“On your honor?” In a fleeting moment of clarity Phona glimpsed the irony of charging either Lord Hades or a pirate with his honor.

“Word of a…” He hesitated for a heartbeat. “Upon my family’s honor.”

He refilled the spoon, and after a moment Phona accepted a sip. If she was doomed, then she was doomed. She could do nothing to change it. The soup slid warmly down her throat, stinging for a moment. The second mouthful went easier, and after a third a welcome sort of warmth spread through her body, easing some of the fiery ache.

Her eyes began to close, but the two voices exhorted her to wait, to finish her broth. But Phona could not keep the darkness at bay. The bowl disappeared and a cup of bitter tea took its place. She managed to get down several swallows before trying to push it away.

“No, Miss Hathersage. You must drink all of this. It will help you.” She heard the firm voice through a fog, but opened her mouth again, thankful when he took away the nasty draught.

The Skeleton’s voice asked, “The laudanum, do ye think?”

“Aye. It will help her pain.”

Another pungent smell assaulted her nostrils, but this time Phona obediently opened her lips. Now perhaps they would leave her alone. Even as the extra pillows were removed, she was drifting away. And she did not care if she never returned.

Tired as he was, Leo could not bring himself to leave her. He had done this to her. Certainly it had been a better choice than allowing the others to kill her. Unfathomably better than killing her himself.

Better even than allowing to be destroyed all he had spent months setting in motion. Yet, the decision was his, and he bore the responsibility for it. He could only pray that her illness would not finish her after all.

Leo built up the fire, but the room seemed too cool for him to sit bare-chested, and he was loathe to leave the girl long enough to fetch a shirt. He lay beside her, atop the bedclothes, and tugged a corner of the quilt over himself, rolling until he was well wrapped in it.

It seemed unlikely that she would even know that he lay near her, but still Leo moved as close to the far edge of the bed as the arrangement allowed, fearing that he might frighten her further should she unexpectedly wake.

She appeared to be lost in unconsciousness, tossing about and moaning now and again. Several times she started up, wild-eyed, her cry breaking the silence. Each time Leo placed a soothing hand on her shoulder and settled her back onto the pillows.

Each time he was uncomfortably aware of the heat radiating from her. Of the smoothness of her skin, the softness of her hair, the sparks of light from the fire caught in its waves.

What a surprising contradiction she was. So courageous and desirable in her womanhood. So vulnerable and childlike in her fever-induced pain and terror of Hell. Leo smiled into the dark. Little had he known how far his Persephone would take that jest.

He pitied both her pain and her fear. Leo knew what it was to lie in helpless agony, prey to delirious images, terrified, not only of the enemies in one’s dreams, but of the helplessness. The fear that gangrene and the surgeon would take the rest of his arm. Too weak to resist.

A hand plagued him with phantom tortures, yet was no longer his to command. Was no longer there at all. The image of it as it disappeared in a spray of blood and grapeshot. Hell.

She had the right of that.

Just as the light of sunrise began to creep through the shutters, his patient flung the bedclothes off. Leo reached for them to protect her once more, but realized that she was sweating. A hand to her forehead confirmed that, while she still felt too warm, her excessive fever had broken.

It would no doubt increase again later in the day, but Leo gave thanks for any sign of improvement. If they could prevent the lady developing an inflammation of the lungs, they might pull her through.

Leo had been almost two days without real sleep. Now that she slept more deeply, he would have gone to his own bed, save that he feared she would be frightened if she awoke alone.

And he feared even more that the sight of his bare stump would cause her further distress. Last night, when he had heard her scream at the sight of Aelfred, he had just removed his shirt and the straps which secured the hook to his body. He had raced up the stairs without a thought for his repulsive deformity.

Now, in the light of day…

Aelfred solved this dilemma by slipping stealthily into the room and handing Leo a shirt. “How fares the lass?”

“A little better, I think. She is sweating.”

“Aye, a good sign. Ye’ll find coffee and porridge in the kitchen and a bath drawn by your fire. I’ll sit with her until she wakes. Mayhap in the light I won’t scare the bejabbers out of her.” His thin lips quirked. “Or mayhap the light’ll be worse.”

Leo clappedAelfred on the shoulder. “Come now, man. Her fever caused that alarm, as well you know. I must sleep now. Thank you.” He paused by the bed a moment, gently touching the girl’s cheek. “She feels cooler now.”

She looked so vulnerable lying there that he could not leave her uncovered. He tucked the quilt around her and finally brought himself to take his leave.

Phona drifted to the surface of consciousness from an unfathomable depth. She wanted to open her eyes, but the growing light hurt, even if she squeezed her lids tightly. Eventually, they adjusted a bit, and she risked a peek.

The light came from a window. A window in a strange room. Rain beat upon the glass of the casement in an uneven tattoo. She closed her eyes again and tried to think.

Rain. She remembered rain. And riding. And riding and riding. A man—a pirate? And a skeleton? Surely she had been dreaming. But where was she? Phona squinted again through aching eyelids. She still lay in the strange bed in the strange room.

Between her and the window someone sat in a chair. She could not make out his features against the glare, but he was working on something in his hands. She tried to raise herself on her elbow. The person in the chair glanced up and rose.

A tall, lean man walked to the bed and looked down at her. “Morning, miss.” He held up a restraining hand. “Now don’t ye go raising another screech. I ain’t much to look at, but I ain’t no skelyton nor no boggart, neither.”

No, he could not be called a skeleton, but the skin stretched so tightly over the bones of his face that he appeared cadaverous at best. Above his deep-set eyes rose a shining, bald dome of a head, and his lips seemed but a slit in his narrow face. Phona gazed up at him. Was this the bony apparition of her dream?

The alleged apparition announced, “I’m called Aelfred. I keep things in order here.” Before she could ask where here was, he continued. “I reckon ye be needing some porridge and tea. Won’t be a minute.” The man disappeared through the door. Phona heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock.

He had locked her in!

A moment of panic swept over her. She couldn’t stay here locked in! She flung back the bedclothes and tried to put her legs over the edge of the high bed, struggling to sit. This attempt was met by a wave of dizziness, and she fell back on the pillow with a thump. Dear God, she was weak as a newborn filly!

When her head quit spinning, Phona glanced down at her body. She was wearing a… Yes. A man’s nightshirt enveloped her from shoulders far past her feet, one made of soft, translucent linen. She could see the details of her person right through it. Good grief!

She yanked on the covers. It proved all she could do to deal with the voluminous garment, but she prevailed at last. Exhausted, she lay back, motionless. Dealing with the locking in would have to wait.

After a few minutes she felt able to look around again. She had seen a pirate. He had chased her. Caught her. Forced her to come with him. Now Phona remembered riding on the saddle before him, wrapped in his cloak and his strong arms.

Was this his lair? It certainly looked like a pirates’ lair, the furnishings very old, the walls of rough stones, a huge fireplace.

At the sound of footsteps, she quickly pulled the quilt up to her chin. Aelfred opened the door and came in carrying a tray. He set it on a low chest beside the bed. Lifting her to a sitting position, he stacked the extra pillows behind her and proceeded to spread a large napkin under her chin.

He offered her a bite of porridge. She tried to take the spoon from him, but her arms felt too heavy to bear the weight. She almost knocked it to the bed.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Tears pricked behind her eyelids.

“No matter, miss. Ye passed a hard night. Little wonder ye feel a mite feeble this morning.” He gave her several more spoonfuls and then picked up a teacup. “Here ye go. This will put ye right.”

She wrinkled her face at the bitterness. The taste recalled something else. Someone sitting on the bed last night. Offering her the bitter cup. “Who else was here last night?”

“Just his—my master.”

“The Pirate?”

“Pirate? Nay… Well, mayhap, in a manner o’ speaking.”

Oh, Lord! He really was a pirate!

Chapter Three

By the time she saw him again, Phona had lost much of her interest in her host’s piratical calling. Her head and limbs had begun to ache fiercely once more, and her eyes burned unbearably.

Aelfred brought gruel and nasty brews, saying that his master would visit her when he awoke. When finally the turning of the key in the door announced the presence of this personage, Phona could hardly believe her blurry eyes.

She could not mistake the man who walked through the door for anyone other than her assailant of yesterday, yet he looked very…different. The black patch still covered one eye, but the wild, dark hair and beard had been combed and trimmed, the long mane neatly restrained at the nape of his neck by a black ribbon. No hook appeared at the end of his left arm.

Nor did a hand.

The sleeve of his fine linen shirt simply ended, folded over and tightly fastened with a pair of buttons. He wore a black leather vest, but no coat or cravat. Nor was yesterday’s scowl visible on his face—a face constructed of strong features, chin square, nose prominent.

He stopped at the foot of the bed and smiled. The flash of fierce, white teeth within the beard reminded her of his grinning like that in the dark woods. In the night she had not seen the brightness of the single blue eye that now twinkled at her.

He still looked like a pirate. A slightly civilized pirate.

Very slightly.

But when he spoke, the Cockney voice she had first heard was not in evidence. “Good afternoon, Miss Hathersage. I hope I find you feeling better?”

Phona glared at him. “No, I am not better.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” The Pirate’s smile faded. He strolled around the bed and, without a by-your-leave, rested his hand on her forehead. “You are very feverish. I had hoped for more improvement, but at least you are lucid.”

She moved away from his hand. “No thanks to you for it.”

“Au contraire, Miss Hathersage. Had I not brought you here, improvement would be beyond the realm of possibility.” He pulled the chair vacated by Aelfred nearer the bed and sat facing her.

“You mean that I would be dead.”

“Dead in fact, rather than in fancy. Do you remember last night?” He propped his feet comfortably on the chest by the bed.

“Very little. Only extremely strange dreams.”

“In your delirium you thought that I, as Lord Hades, had abducted you to the Underworld.”

“Oh, my.” Phona felt the heat rising in her face. “How foolish of me.”

“Nay, not foolish. You were quite out of your head with fever. You’d had a very hard passage. But would you prefer to call me by some other name? Perhaps Hades is a little too apt.” He stroked his beard and peered questioningly at her.

“Lord Cad, perhaps? Lord Blackguard? We agreed yesterday, I believe, that those were suitable designations.” Phona raised her eyebrows and returned the inquiring gaze.

“Ha!” A short laugh burst out of him. “I see you have recovered both your memory and your spirit. A fierce little kitten challenginga wolfhound. You must be better, after all. But I believe I might prefer some other appellation.”

“Lord Hades will do well enough. It certainly fits the situation. But how did you know my name was Persephone?”

“Persephone Proserpina. Poor child, christened in both the Greek and the Latin version of the myth.” He chuckled again. “I make it my business to know everything that might affect an enterprise before I embark upon it.”

“This most recent enterprise appears to be one of piracy.” Phona folded her arms across her chest and stared at him severely. “And you, sir, give every appearance of being a pirate.”

“I did once have a career upon the sea.” He nodded thoughtfully. “But you hardly expect me to confess to you that I am a freebooter.” His grin flashed. “Unless, of course, you wish to call me Lord Blackbeard instead of Lord Blackguard.”

“I believe I shall stay with Lord Hades. And no, I do not expect you to tell me your felonious business. I can see that it is not to my advantage to know it.”

“Quite right, Miss Hathersage.”

“I only wish to know how long I must stay… wherever it is that I am. I don’t suppose that you will tell me that, either.”

“Perceptive as always. My apologies.” He smiled again. “Our whereabouts are one of my better-kept secrets.” Sobering, he added, “As to how long you must stay, I cannot be sure. For now, you will stay in that bed until I am satisfied that you are in no more danger from your illness. After that…we will have to see how long it takes for me to complete my present…uh, felonious business. One cannot rush these things.”

In alarm, Phona tried to sit up. “But I must go home. My parents will be frantic. Mama has by now fallen into strong hysterics. You cannot so cruel as to keep me here.”

“Therein you are mistaken, Miss Hathersage. I can, and I shall. But I do not intend cruelty. I have already written to your family to relieve their minds. The letter will be delivered within a day or two.”

“But what—” At that moment Aelfred interrupted the conversation by opening the door and shoving a cot into the room. Hades rose and helped him muscle it to a place near the bed.

Phona gazed at it askance. “What is that for?”

“For me, should we be fortunate and the watch uneventful. You did not expect me to leave you here alone and delirious throughout the night, did you?”

Panic rushed over Phona. She could not sleep in the same room with a man…with him. “But…I don’t need…”

Lord Hades grinned at her in his most piratical manner. “Do you prefer that I share the bed with you as I did last night?”

Heat rushed to Phona’s face, and she covered it with both hands. “You did not! You could not.”

The blue eye twinkled. “I could, Miss Hathersage, and I did.”

As shame suffused his guest’s lovely face, Leo immediately regretted his words. He hastily sat on the edge of the bed and gently drew her hands away from her face. “No, no, Miss Hathersage. Forgive me for teasing you. We did not share the sheets. I lay atop the quilt.” He smiled. “Had I a naked sword, I should have placed it between us, as did the knights of old.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That sounds both very dangerous and very uncomfortable.”

Leo could not help but laugh. “Indeed, it does, however virtuous and romantic. But have no fear. Your honor is quite intact.”

“If anyone ever learns of the fact, that will make no difference at all. My reputation will be in tatters. If Mrs. Rowsley ever gets wind of it…”

“No one will ever hear a word of it from me—I swear to you.”

“Word of a…?”

Leo laughed aloud. “Clever minx. Do you suppose you will find me out that easily? I swear on my family’s honor.”

“A conveniently anonymous family.” She turned her face.

Leo paused. Had a man questioned his heritage in that manner, violence would certainly have ensued. But this was not a man. This was a woman, a very sick woman, one with a genuine grievance. He moved from the bed back to the chair and took a steadying breath. “Just so, Miss Hathersage.”

Perhaps the expression on his face warned her that she had gone too far. She looked at him again, started to speak, subsided once more. Finally, she closed her eyes and sighed.

Once again Leo felt a complete brute. How was she to know that at one time his parentage was a very tender subject with him? And she looked so pulled and pale. What was he doing bullying a lady too weak even to respond?

He leaned forward in the chair. “My dear, I assure you I meant no harm. You were so very ill. I could not leave you, yet I was weary and cold to the bone. If you can but seal your own lips, the matter is forgotten.”

Without opening her eyes she muttered, “You are not acquainted with Mrs. Rowsley.”

Leo chuckled and leaned back as she drifted into sleep. “Thank God.”

If the previous night had been Hell for his guest, the next night exceeded that condition for Leo. She tossed and moaned. One moment she clutched the quilts to her chin, her teeth rattling in her head and chills racking her small body. Minutes later she flung them away, revealing the sweat-soaked nightshirt clinging to every feature of that well-molded form.

Leo tried to do the noble thing and avert his gaze from high, round breasts crowned with firm nipples peeping through the damp linen. From perfectly formed legs unveiled by the rucked-up hem.

By midnight he had developed a very strained view of nobility. A lovely lady lay in his bed, and that constituted a major improvement over recent months. He would never lay a hand on a helpless woman, but she would be well again someday and still in his bed.

Might she stay there willingly?

Angry with himself, Leo shook his head in frustration and firmly tucked the quilt around her. He was doing it again, letting his self-imposed deprivation make him vulnerable to misconduct. He must muster his self- discipline. He would not put himself in the wrong again.

True, he should have smelled the trap when he found Celeste in his bedchamber. He should have known that no innocent maiden would put herself in that position, accepting forbidden intimacy with a mutilated wreck of a man.

But he never, never should have taken a virgin.

Or so he believed her at the time. How foolish she must have thought him. How she must have laughed as she wrapped herself around him.

He had not ventured to approach any woman since his maiming—not since the first one had backed away from him, horror on her face. But Celeste had enchanted him, and he had been made weak with need. He had gone against his principles and made love to a woman he believed to be an innocent.

Had Celeste truly been a virgin, he would have married her, of course. But that did not answer to his conscience. The real bite of some of the accusations that had been fired at him later was that they bit too close to the bone.

He had failed his own standards. He had given up his discipline. He had broken his own rules.

What disturbed him the most was that, for once in his life, he had thoroughly enjoyed doing it.

When Phona awakened again, it was daylight. As promised, Lord Hades lay sleeping on the cot, his long form stretched the length of it, and his feet hanging over the end. Locks of hair, escaped from the ribbon, curled around his face and made him look younger and…yes, less ferocious. He was snoring just a little.

What a difference in his aspect! Did snoring make everyone seem harmless? Phona had only seen Hades as big and threatening. Commanding and enforcing obedience. Brooking no resistance.

Piratical.

Now he looked… Well, human. She supposed even brigands had to sleep sometimes. But clearly, this man had not always been an outlaw. Not only his knowledge of the classics, but—except for the few words spoken to the man called Hardesty—his speech and address marked him an educated man. How could he have come to this?

Phona rested her eyes for a moment. They still burned and felt blurry. When she opened them again, a single blue eye regarded her steadily. Just that suddenly his humanity dissolved. He became once more the indomitable force.

“Good morning, Miss Hathersage.” He swung his feet over the side of the cot. “Apparently we both slept at last. How do you feel this morning?”

“Better than yesterday evening.” Phona tried to sit up, failed and fell back against the pillow. “Not well enough.”

“That is to be expected. You had developed a very high fever before I could get you out of the rain and cold.” He rose to his feet. “Forgive me if I leave you for a while. I’ll let Aelfred know you are awake. He will bring you something to eat.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I am confident that gruel is on the menu.”

“No doubt, at least once before the day is out. And several cups of nasty medicine. I will come again this afternoon after I have slept. Try to do the same. Your rest last night was badly disturbed.” He grinned, and again regained a hint of the human. “And obey Aelfred while I am absent.”

Phona grimaced, and he laughed aloud as he went out.

During a dismal, foggy day, Phona dutifully slept, ate as much as she could and drank from the bitter cup. In spite of the fog in her mind and the fire in her limbs, she suddenly noticed that she was eating from silver implements and sipping from fine china. Now where in the world would a man like Hades come by those niceties?

Unless, of course, he stole them.

After breakfast Aelfred brought her a fresh nightshirt. “We’ll see to changing the linens as soon as you are able to sit in the chair, miss,” he assured her. Phona could hardly wait. The sheets had become damp and sticky with perspiration.

The day dragged on interminably. She still had trouble staying alert. Sometime after a light nuncheon—which had included a slice of bread with her gruel—she woke abruptly from a doze to find Lord Hades sitting in the chair beside her bed, reading.

He set aside the book. “Good afternoon, Miss Hathersage. What is the report now? Any progress?”

Phona coughed and cleared her throat. “Well, I am no longer beside myself. That must be counted progress, I should think.”

“Yes, indeed. That is a terrifying condition.” He rose and picked up her wrist. “Hmm. Still much too warm and your pulse is a bit tumultuous.”

He returned her arm to her own keeping, and Phona hastily hid it under the covers. Something about his touch, his nearness, created an unfamiliar unease. She heaved a small sigh of relief when he sat again.

“So…” He leaned back in the chair, rested his elbows on the carved arms and cupped his right hand over the folded left sleeve. “Tell me more about the dreaded Mrs. Rowsley.”

Phona thought he might have steepled his fingers, except, of course, that he had no fingers on the left hand to steeple. The thought gave her pause. How awful to lose a limb! And an eye. She quickly looked at his face.

But he had already caught her staring. He started to move his hand to his lap, then instead, resumed the position and gave her a tight-jawed look. “Does my lack of a hand distress you, Miss Hathersage?”

His voice held a hint of ice, a challenge. Phona looked steadily into the cool blue eye. His oddity did unsettle her a bit, but she refused to be intimidated by it. Or by his manner. “No, my lord, but surely it must distress you.”

“It does so no longer. But let us return to Mrs. Rowsley.”

Phona heard the lie in his voice. His loss still distressed him very much. But she had no strength to deal with the subject. Let him deal with it himself!

“Yes, well, though it is sometimes hard to credit, she is Mama’s bosom friend. Yet the least thing puts them at dagger-drawing. They are so envious of one another. The day I first encountered you, she gave a small party and did not invite Mama and me. Mama was quite distraught.”

“Over an invitation to a party?” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Mama is much given to the vapors.” Phona sighed. “I suspect she enjoys them.”

“Very likely. But you do not?”

“No! No, indeed.” She shook her head. “I had ridden out to escape them. It is always somehow my fault, you see.”

Lord Hades raised an eyebrow. “And how did this omitted invitation come to be laid at your door?”

“I said something—well, untactful—about Mrs. Rowsley’s future son-in-law. I should not have, of course, but I had heard so much of how the very young Suzette Rowsley has already captured a fiancé, whereas I… It wears on one to have one’s shortcomings held up too often.”

“I should imagine so. And Mrs. Rowsley overheard your remark?”

“Oh, no! I would never say that in her hearing, but what must Mama do but repeat my ‘clever’ remark. So now we are all out of charity.”

“But if your Mama repeated it…?”

“It is my fault for having said it in the first place.”

His lordship—did Hades qualify as his lordship?—shook his head. “I will never understand women. What was this disastrous remark?”

Phona flushed. “That he looks as much the bantam cockerel as he sounds.”

Hades threw back his head and a roar of laughter erupted.

Phona scowled with what defiance she could muster. Then she, too, began to laugh.

She laughed until exhaustion caught up with her and tears of weakness began to escape. She wiped at them angrily, swatting at the big, linen handkerchief that appeared before her face. “Give me the handkerchief. I can do it.”

“I have no doubt you can, but today I shall do it.” Hades moved her hands away firmly and wiped her eyes.

“Stop it! I am not a child!” Phona sank wearily into the pillows.

He returned the handkerchief to his pocket. “No, my dear, you are not. Believe me, I am well aware of that fact.”

Now what in the world did he mean by that?

The footman brought the note directly to Lady Hathersage’s sitting room where she and his lordship had sought seclusion. Demetra’s breath stopped, and she grasped her throat with both hands. Dear God in heaven! Please let this be news of her dearest Phona.

Her husband took the letter, dismissing the footman with a nod. Demetra sank back into the cushions of her chaise and clutched the pillows in both hands. A sound squeezed past her lips. “George…?”

He unfolded the paper, his face grim.

“What…? What…?” Demetra leaned forward, willing him to speak. Instead he looked puzzled. She slid to her feet and tried to read over his shoulder.

He handed her the letter. “I don’t know what to make of this. On my life, I don’t.”

“What does this mean?” She raised her gaze to his. She could not make it out without her eyeglasses, and she refused to wear them.

“I was expecting a demand for ransom.” He took the note from her trembling fingers and perused it again. “And this makes no mention of it.”

“Is she alive? Is she hurt?” Demetra reached again for the letter, but this time George did not relinquish it.

“Yes, she is alive. He says that she is well save a case of la grippe.”

“La grippe! I told her it was too cool to ride that afternoon. But did she listen…?”

“Enough, Demetra! That is hardly the point.” Lord Hathersage scowled.

Recoiling in astonishment, Demetra took refuge behind a lacy handkerchief, and sank onto the chaise. Fresh tears filled her eyes. George never growled at her.

He continued, “This scoundrel says that he must keep her with him for her own safety. He suggests that we put it about that she is exhausted and has gone to Bath to take the waters.”

A delicate snort erupted from the chaise. “Phona exhausted? Phona drinking the waters? No one will believe that.”

His lordship gave her another look, and Demetra subsided. Her husband continued to read. “He assures me that as soon as the danger is past, he will return her to us unscathed.”

“Unscathed? Does he mean that he will not…? Or…oh, my God, George! What if he already has!” Demetra’s hands flew to cover her face. “Oh! She will never marry. I will have failed her completely.”

“Damn his bloody soul to hell! He’d best not have. If he is trying to force a marriage with an heiress, I shall pull him limb from limb! I shall cut off his bloody…” He glanced at her and broke off.

Dear heaven! Demetra had never seen him so angry. For a moment she feared apoplexy. Then her own anger welled up in her, almost choking her.

“No, George. You will hold him, and I shall wield the knife!”

Chapter Four

As the days passed, the unimaginable oddness of the situation began to fade. The men cared for her as Lily and Nurse might have, and Phona found herself accepting their ministrations. She even found herself looking forward to another chat with Lord Hades each afternoon.

Just to break the monotony of the day, of course.

She had slept better the previous night than before, allowing his lordship to do the same. But even though he probably was not sleeping this morning, she had not seen him since he’d left his cot.

When he did appear, Phona found herself alternately elated and dismayed. He came in with Aelfred, bearing a small table and basin, while his henchman was laden with clean sheets. Hades set his burden down near the fire.

Aelfred laid his linens on a chair. “Back directly with the water.”

Phona rejoiced. She was to have a bath and a clean bed.

With them as attendants.

Oh, no!

“Lord Hades, I… Uh… I…”

He turned to her and grinned. “Be of good cheer, Miss Hathersage, your modesty will be preserved.”

He pulled a chair into place near the table with the basin, then wrestled the heavy, carved screen from the corner of the room to shelter them. Hades turned and looked closely at her. “Why, Miss Hathersage, you are blushing.”

“I am not!” Phona turned her face away.

Hades came to the bed and, with a hand on her chin, pulled it toward him. “Yes, you are.” He smiled. “But it is a very becoming blush. It makes you appear very… innocent.” He paused thoughtfully for a moment. “Just as you should.”

She thought he might have said more, but Aelfred came through the door carrying a can of hot water. He poured part of it into the basin and put in a cautious finger.

Which he quickly jerked out. “Too hot, me lo…er, sir. Best wait a bit.”

“That is just as well. By the time I get our lady situated, it will no doubt have cooled.”

Phona gazed at him warily. He advanced on her, purpose in his eye. She grabbed the bedclothes and pulled them to her chin. “Um, one moment, my lord. Perhaps I can…”

Hades began to laugh, firmly seizing the covers. “Miss Hathersage, you have not even the strength to raise yourself on the pillows successfully. Here, let me have the quilts.”

He separated the quilts from the sheet and pulled them back. She clutched the sheet desperately to her chin. He shook his head. She need have no worry. The last thing he wanted to deal with was the sight of her nubile body. The temptation hovering in the air was burden enough. “Are you ready?”

She nodded and gamely lifted her chin. “Yes. I would like to be clean. Proceed, sir.”

“That’s my brave lady.” He tucked the sheet around her and lifted her off the bed. He carried her to the chair behind the screen and settled her into it. For a moment Leo feared she would not be able to sit, but she rallied and straightened.

“Thank you, sir. I can manage now.”

“Not so fast, Miss Hathersage. I am not sure of that at all.” Leo tested the water again, stirring it with his finger. The fragrance of lavender wafted into the room. “It is still too warm. I don’t want a burn to add to your miseries. Shall I brush your hair while it cools?”

“You don’t mind playing the lady’s maid?”

“Not at all.” In fact, he relished the idea of feeling the silky warmth in his hand. He retrieved a brush he had thrust into his back pocket, and set to work.

“My hair must be very nasty after lying on the ground.” The lady sighed. “Yesterday I could barely manage the comb.”

“Not that bad.” Leo flicked a dusting of soil from the sheet. “But you still have a few leaves and twigs caught in the curls.”

“How humiliating! These hateful curls!”

“What?” He quit brushing and leaned over to look at her face. “I cannot allow that, miss. Your curls are delightful.”

“You are very kind, sir, if untruthful. I own a mirror.”

Leo resumed brushing. “Apparently a very poor one. I must bring you one that shows your beauty accurately.”

“How gallant you are! Who would have thought it?”

She chuckled softly. He liked her laugh. He had not heard enough of it.

“Even rogues can speak the truth.” He closed his hand around a cluster of ringlets. “You are quite lovely.” Before that remark could linger, he added, “There. All done. Let us see about the water. Ah, just right. I shall be within call.”

Suiting action to the words, he stepped around the edge of the screen and waited. Hearing no sound of water sloshing, he ventured a question. “Miss Hathersage, do you need help?”

Her voice sounded near to frustrated tears. “No. It…it is just that I can’t get the sheet off.”

Deciding that meant she was still covered, Leo went back to the fireside. She slumped a bit to one side, leaning her elbow on the arm of the chair, a ghastly pallor draining her color. She would not last much longer. “I fear we must take the bull by the horns, Miss Hathersage. I will help you remove it—and the nightshirt.”

“Sir…Oh, dear. I suppose…” She rubbed her brow.

“We’d best just do it.” Leo took hold of the sheet.

“I am so tired. Perhaps I should just go back to bed.”

“I promise not to look.” He covered his mouth to hide a smile.

She gave him a suspicious glance. “How can you not? Oh, very well. Why should I draw back now? I have come this far. Close your eyes.”

A laugh escaped him. “Yes, miss.”

He dutifully closed his eyes, peeled away the sheet and tugged the nightshirt over her head.

“Are your eyes closed?”

He strongly suspected that her own were squeezed tight. “Yes, Miss Hathersage, they are quite sealed.” He dropped the sheet to the floor. Blindly, he inched backward a few steps, groping behind him for the edge of the screen.

And promptly tripped right over it. It crashed to the floor with a resounding clatter.

So did Leo.

The lady shrieked.

Leo cursed.

Hell and damnation, he could not separate himself from the blasted screen! It had fallen on top of him. As he tried to find his feet, his eyes flew open. Working frantically, he finally shoved the screen away and stood.

Miss Hathersage would be beside herself once more—this time with outrage. Leo risked a quick glance. She was reaching in vain for the sheet. He took a step toward her.

“Would ye be needing assistance, sir?” Aelfred spoke from the door, his voice carefully neutral.

Leo dived for the sheet and whipped it over the lady’s white form. He also carefully controlled his voice.

“Just right the damned screen, please, Aelfred.”

Leo stood, silent, holding the sheet while Aelfred set the shelter back up. His henchman’s face revealed not a single thought. Leo knew he was suppressing laughter. At Leo’s expense. He clenched his teeth and kept firm hold of the sheet.

Aelfred finished his task and vanished through the door. Leo knew he had stopped on the staircase, awaiting further emergencies. He sighed. “Well, let us move on before you tire completely. Call when you need me to help you dress.”

“Thank you, sir.” He thought he detected a small giggle. “But I think we should make the next attempt with your eyes open. I shall try to restrain my maidenly blushes.”

Leo’s laughter burst out of him. “Don’t do that, Miss Hathersage. I should very much miss your lovely blushes.”

She had surely blushed aplenty when his lordship returned to hastily slip the fresh nightshirt over her. Her whole body burned with it. But he had accomplished the task so quickly she felt sure his gaze had not lingered on her nakedness. Perhaps he was, after all, a more civilized pirate than she had previously believed.

Hades set her gently on the bed and pulled the cover up to her chin. He lowered himself into the chair with a plop. “My God! I’m as tired as though I had hauled canvas in a storm. Who would have thought giving one small lady a bath would be so exhausting?”

“You must think me a complete ninny, to create such a fuss.” She gazed up at him, grateful for the crisp feel and sunshiny smell of the clean sheets. Still blushing, she knew.

“Not at all, Miss Hathersage.” He propped his feet up on the chest. “Inexperienced, yes. Innocent, yes. Pure. But a ninny? No. You are bearing up amazingly well under the circumstances. One would expect you to be in strong hysterics.”

“I never have hysterics. It is just that no one has ever seen me… That is…”

“No man has ever seen your body, you mean. This must be very difficult for you.”

“Yes.” Phona sighed. “Of course. I don’t mean to seem unappreciative for the care you have given me. But if you had not…”

“If I had not brought you here in the first place, it would not be necessary. I have already explained that, but I understand your anger. Do not repine. I will take you home as soon may be.”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “But how will I go on once I am there? I feel that I will see eveything differently after this experience. Matters that once seemed important…”

He looked at her thoughtfully. “Yes, I would imagine that you will have a very different point of view. But how did you go on before? I know you rode nearly every day. Did you go to parties often?”

Phona wrinkled her nose. “Not if I could avoid it. As I said before, I loathe parties. It is all I can do even to be polite. I always feel so…inadequate.”

“You? Inadequate? I can hardly credit that.” He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Well, only at parties. I do other things very well.”

“What other things do you do?”

“Mama does not like seeing to the household and the estate, so I do much of that. I enjoy it, especially visiting the tenants. Mama…” She had to think a moment about it. “Mama does not know how to talk to them as I do, whereas at a ball she knows just how to captivate everyone. A nod here, a touch there, a word to the favored few.”

He chuckled. “Yes, an apt description. I have seen your mother in action.”

“Have you?” Phona tried to sit up. “Where?”

“At a ball.”

She fell back. “You won’t tell me, of course.” It was a statement, not a question. She let it pass and continued, “I have never been able to do that. I sit by the wall, tongue-tied, wearing unbecoming colors and feeling ugly and awkward while my hostess brings young men to introduce to me and my hair works its way out of the pins. I dare not dance. It would all fall to my shoulders. I can’t even move my head. And I blush. So they think me very stiff and a great bore. And then, of course, there are the freckles.”

He smiled. “Blushing, your hair fallen to your shoulders. Now that would be a truly captivating sight. All the young men would trample one another to make your acquaintance.”

“You are teasing me.”

“No, indeed. I am completely serious. But why do you wear colors which do not flatter you?”

Phona sighed. “Because Mama wants to drape me in maidenly white at all times—at every ball, afternoon parties, certainly all al fresco occasions. I hate it, and it doesn’t suit me.”

He gazed at her, a twinkle in his eye. “You are not qualified for maidenly white?”

Her cheeks flamed. “My lord! How dare you?”

“Forgive me, Miss Hathersage.” He laughed aloud. “You are delightful to tease.” Leo sobered. “But you seriously underrate yourself. You will make a fine wife.” He looked thoughtfully into the fire for a moment. “Yes, a very fine wife. Beautiful, in spite of your distorted vision of yourself, accomplished in the needs of an estate. And both courageous and ingenuous.” He seemed almost to be talking to himself.

Before she could answer, he stood. “And right now, very weary. You should nap. I will return at supper time to keep you company. You will be happy to know there will be no gruel tonight. Aelfred has promised to make you a panada. Rest well.”

As he went out the door, Phona, already half-asleep, had a dreamy vision of herself dancing at a ball, around and around and around, her skirts swirling, her curls flying loose.

Dancing…with whom? She could see… Yes.

A man with a beard. A black vest.

And a hook.

This was a dangerous state of affairs!

She was beginning to be attracted to this man: a nameless rogue, a brigand—a maimed thief? Unbelievable.

Yet she looked forward to his visits every afternoon. Felt relieved when he appeared after supper to keep watch over her through the night. A wave of warmth spread through her whenever he touched her forehead to gauge her fever and a subtle, smoky scent rose around him.

This would not do at all. Phona had gone from the spit right into the heart of the flames. She resolved to guard her emotions more carefully. Each resolution lasted until the next time he sauntered into the room and her heart raced in her breast.

What a goose! Mama would shriek the house down if she knew.

Phona’s strength had gradually increased as her fever receded. Aelfred now brought her baked eggs at midday and boiled chicken and onions and a bit of cheese for dinner in place of the insipid, if highly nourishing and digestible, gruel.

Every afternoon Lord Hades lifted her into a chair, wrapped in a man’s huge silk dressing gown, while he sat nearby, keeping a sharp eye on her. While it provided a pleasant change to sit, Phona always returned to her bed with a sigh of relief. Would she never feel vigorous again?

Hades did so many things for her now. This afternoon he had again played the lady’s maid, helping her wash the still-lingering grit out of her hair.

Phona badly wanted a real bath in a real tub, but her host had shaken his head with a wry grin. “But nay! I should peek around the screen to find you sunk to the bottom, and then I should have to fish you out. With my eyes closed.”

Phona wrinkled her nose, then broke into a giggle. “I must agree the last attempt ended in complete disaster.”

“You have no idea how great…” He had broken off, leaving Phona wondering what he intended to say.

This evening as she sat up against the pillows, clean and combed, awaiting dinner, Aelfred came into the room and set the small table and two chairs tête-à-tête near the bed. “Good evening, miss. His… My master thought ye might be able to eat at table tonight.”

“Why, yes, thank you. I would enjoy being out of the bed.”

As she spoke, Hades arrived, looking his most civilized. He carried something green in his hand.

“What do you have there?”

He smiled. “A wreath for my lady’s freshly washed hair.” He held it up for her inspection. It was twisted of small, pliable branches of spring leaves and tiny white flowers. “When I noticed the leaves in your hair the first time I brushed it, I thought it somehow suited you—the daughter of a fertility goddess.”

Phona laughed. “Mama is hardly a fertility goddess.”

“No, hardly. But her namesake, Demeter, was.” He laid the circlet over her curls and stepped back for a better view. “Charming.”

“I doubt that, but thank you. You are very thoughtful.” Strange how even a little bit of frippery made her feel more attractive, more feminine.

He held up the silk robe. “Are you up to a proper dinner?”

“I should love one.”

He picked her up and transferred her to one of the chairs. “Tonight you shall have venison and a small glass of red wine.”

“Wine? I am quite astonished.”

“We need to build your blood. I do not like this lingering weakness. Ah! Here is Aelfred.”

They dined on venison and potato pie, a bowl of apples, and, as promised, red wine. Phona sipped cautiously. She was barely accustomed to wine of any sort. Nor did she care much for the sour stuff. She had drunk about half of her portion when Hades moved his chair around the table nearer to her own.

From somewhere on his person a sharp blade appeared as if by legerdemain. Phona blinked and leaned away from him a bit. If he noticed, he gave no sign of it. He reached for an apple, set it on the table, and, steadying it with his truncated left arm, began to make careful slices. When he had cut half the apple, he set down the knife, plucked a piece from the pile and, without warning, slipped it between Phona’s lips.

“Oh!” Startled, she drew back again. He had been helping her eat for many days, but there seemed something different about this. The simple gesture sent a wave of sensation through her.

Perhaps it was the wine.

Or perhaps it was the way he was gazing at her, a crooked smile on his lips and a warmth she had never seen in his one twinkling eye.

She blushed.

He laughed softly. “Have a bite of apple, my lady.”

“Uh… Thank you.” Phona swallowed, and he fed her another slice.

“And another sip of wine.” He handed her the glass.

She took a tiny sip and set it down. “I am not very fond of wine.”

“I know, but you need it. And apples are very healthful.” He popped another slice into her mouth.

His fingers never touched her lips, but somehow Phona had felt their warmth. In fact, she could feel the warmth of his whole body as he sat next to her. Could sense that subtle scent. It created a response down deep inside her.

Looking amused, he picked up the uncut portion of the apple and took a large bite, white teeth gleaming. The heat blossomed.

It must be the wine.

Phona glanced at the man beside her. He took another bite, looking steadily at her as he chewed. Phona all but gasped.

It could only be the wine!

Leo had taken a distinctly wicked satisfaction in his modest seduction of Miss Hathersage. Her inexperience with dalliance made flirting with her a pleasure. He liked the flush that crept from her breast to her cheeks. Liked her response to his play with the apple.

Liked the fact that she had been aware of him as a man.

It pleased him to think she might respond to him. He had barely restrained himself from kissing her when he lifted her into his arms to return her to the bed, from lying down beside her and teaching her the delights of being a woman.

But he must not unleash his passion now, must not let those impulses take him too far. He had begun to see the shape of the future that he knew must inevitably follow this situation. It could not be kept secret forever, and the consequences of exposure were certain. Only one honorable course would be open to him.

But Leo could not yet approach that future. He still had the “felonious business” to complete. A strong chance existed that he would not survive it. And the truth was, even as much as he desired her, he would avoid a future with her if honor allowed it.

The kissing, the holding, the teaching—

Sheer fantasy.

He would never expose his scarred and crippled body to her artless gaze.

She would have to be more careful of spirits.

The sensations she had experienced last night while drinking the wine frightened her. She must keep firmly in mind that she was in the company of an outlaw. She could not afford to see him as anything else.

Just as Phona was making these resolutions anew, Hades walked into the chamber. One glimpse of the strong neck revealed by his open collar and her resolve crumbled. She had never seen a man like him. All of the other gentlemen of her acquaintance wore tall cravats and long coats.

If he could be described as a gentleman at all.

Which she doubted.

This could not continue!

He was carrying an inkwell in his hand and had a sheaf of paper wedged under his arm. “Good afternoon, Miss Hathersage.” He laid the items on the table. “I thought you might like to write a letter to your parents.”

Phona blinked. “A letter? I did not think… That is, I did not expect…”

“You did not believe that I would allow it.” He came and stood by the bed, gazing at her seriously. “But aside from the fact that you are not at liberty to leave, you are not a prisoner here. You are my guest.”

Phona could not restrain a wry smile. “Now there, my Lord Hades, is a nice distinction. In just what way does a guest who is not allowed to leave differ from a prisoner?”

For a moment he looked startled. Then he threw back his head and roared with laughter. “You have me there, Miss Hathersage. Hoist by me own petard!”

His laugh was infectious. Phona could not helping joining him. She cocked her head and gazed up at him, thinking of the locked door. “I am sure I don’t know what a petard may be, but I am eager have the answer to my question.”

Still smiling, he said, “Hmm. That is a cant phrase, and you should not know what it is. I was at fault saying it in your hearing. As to the question—I must consider it for a moment.”

He tipped his head to one side, apparently thinking. At last he said, “I believe the difference must be in my view of the situation as opposed to yours. In any event, you are quite at liberty to write to your parents, although I must ask you not to describe me in any way, nor your present surroundings. My life and yours, as well as Aelfred’s, depend on that.”

“Great heavens!” The implications of the restriction chilled Phona. “In what are you embroiled?”

“Dark doings, my dear lady, not fit for your unworldly ears.”

A shadow seemed to fall over the day. Phona had for some time considered her gravest danger to be her own feelings with respect to her…uh, host.

She had felt physically safe here. But she should have remembered the original circumstances that had precipitated her capture. The very air had been awash in violence.

“Very well. I will make no such description. I will simply assure them of my improved health and send my love.”

He studied her soberly. “Thank you, Miss Hathersage. I appreciate your good sense.”

Phona sighed. “I am ordinarily quite famous for good sense.”

“You sound as though you are not happy with that assessment.” He pulled a chair closer and sat.

“Well, you must admit it sounds very dull. I always face matters sensibly—except parties. I never faint. I never indulge in the vapors. I never weep. Well, not where anyone can hear.”

“That sounds very pleasant to me.” His forehead creased. “Except that I do not like hearing that you weep alone. What occasions these episodes of sadness?”

Phona gazed into the fire for a long moment. “It is considering my future.”

“And is it so bleak then?” His frown deepened.

“Perhaps not. But let us consider the facts. I am twenty years old. I have already had two spectactularly unsuccessful seasons in London.”

“Ah. And the Shelf looms?”

“Indeed it does. And that would not be so bad, perhaps. I enjoy the life I lead on the estate now, and I know Papa will provide well for me. But…I will not even have the opportunity to dwindle into an aunt. I have no brothers or sisters, you see.”

He raised an inquiring eyebrow. “You see yourself caring for your mother—forever.”

“I feel very selfish for not wanting to do so, but I do not.” She might as well be honest with this man. She would probably never see him again. “I would much prefer my own establishment.”

“Not selfish. Very natural. Your mama sounds rather difficult to care for.”

“Yes, she is. But she does try to do her best for me, to find me a husband. She is also beautiful and charming and…helpless. I feel…”

Lord Hades snorted. “Your mama is approximately as helpless as an Indian tiger.”

Phona frowned. “What do you mean? She falls into helpless hysterics at the smallest misfortune.”

“And thereby gets precisely what she wants.”

“Well, yes. There is that.”

He sighed. “Ah, me. Your poor papa.”

She had to chuckle at that. “He adores her, you know.”

“It is a very good thing that he does. Otherwise, he would have strangled her long ere now.”

Phona had never looked at the matter in that light. Yes, Mama must be very difficult for Papa at times. As she was for Phona. All she could answer was, “Papa would never do that.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “I admire his discipline. But if she wishes so much for you to marry, why does she insist that you wear an unbecoming color?”

“I do not believe she intentionally leads me astray. Although she is very competitive with other women and might not wish for me to be as lovely as she is, she does want me to be more beautiful, accomplished and poised than anyone else’s daughter.” Phona tried to shed more light on the situation. “For she must be a perfect mother, you see, the most devoted mother of all time.”

“Like her namesake, Demeter.”

“Yes. Just so. Therefore I must be the most perfect daughter of all time, else she has failed.”

“Egad! What a ghastly fate.”

“Indeed! I feel very angry with her at times, but that is pointless. You see, she does not really look at me. She has her own ideas of what is perfectly impressive or perfectly fashionable or perfectly suitable—and I must live up to that perfection. But you see, she also must be perfect in every way at all times.”

“An even worse fate.” He shook his head. “But what can the bachelors of the ton be thinking? Are they both stupid and blind?”

“What do you mean?”

He gestured toward her. “Here they have a woman of both beauty and fire, and they can’t see her? And she is an heiress to boot?” He leaned back in the chair and shook his head.

“Well, they are hardly beating a path to my door. Except, of course, Lawrence Hudders.” Phona sighed.

Hades raised an eyebrow. “I take it that you do not find Mr. Hudders to be a suitable suitor.”

“Indeed, no. He is not quite right in the upper story, you know. Even Mama does not encourage him. She does truly want the best for me.” After a thoughtful pause she said, “And Papa is very careful to keep fortune hunters away.”

“One of which he most likely believes I am.”

“And are you?” Phona leaned forward and gazed seriously at him.

“No, Miss Hathersage, I am not.” He sounded just a bit annoyed. “But if I were, I would take care to steer clear of your father.”

There it was again. Another hint that he knew her family. “Lord Hades, how do you…”

He stood and held out an arm. “Come, I will help you to the table where you can write more easily.”

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