Nicholas walked to his stepbrother, drew back his fist, and slammed it in his jaw. Richard fell back, hit the arm of a chair, and went down. He was stunned for a moment. Nicholas moved to stand over him, hands on his hips.

"I didn't hit you that hard, you little puke, get yourself together."

Richard Vail shook his head and rubbed his jaw. He looked up at Nicholas and slowly got to his feet.

Then, without warning, he leapt upon Nicholas.

He was strong and fast. Both of them went down. Richard sent his fist into Nicholas's belly. It hurt, but not all that much. Nicholas smiled as he struck Richard's throat with the heel of his hand, sending him scrambling backwards, gagging, to fetch up against the wall, all the while his hands wildly rubbing his neck. Nicholas grabbed him by the collar and hauled him upright. He didn't hit him, but took two steps back and sent his foot into his belly. Richard grunted and stumbled back against the fireplace, now clutching his stomach.

Nicholas said, "I could hit you lower, would you like that?" "No!" Richard yelled, trying to get his breath, turning quickly to the side to protect himself. Nicholas stood quietly, waiting.

"You bastard! You kicked my belly into my backbone. I've never seen anything like that. Is that from your heathen Chinese friends?"

"I will tell you this one time, Richard, then if you act again, I will kill you. Today you kidnapped the wrong girl. If you ever attempt to take Rosalind again, you are a dead man. Do you understand me?"

Richard Vail didn't attempt to deny his complicity. He looked upon his half brother with hatred and a good deal of fear. His stomach burned ferociously.

Nicholas said, his voice even lower, quieter, "Do you understand?"

Finally, Richard nodded.

"Good," Nicholas said, dusted his britches, and turned to leave. He paused at the doorway. "You hired two incompetent toughs, that's how Lorelei Kilbourne described your men. You have all your father's money. Surely you could have purchased better talent. Do you know the fools let the cloth fall away a bit from our father's family crest on the carriage and Lorelei saw it? I would have known it was you without that information but it makes me feel better to have it verified."

Richard Vail leaned against the mantelpiece, his swarthy face pale, impotent fury in his eyes. "I only wanted to talk to this girl you're going to marry, this girl who is of no importance at all, who has no money save what the Sherbrookes will give you as a dowry. I wanted to tell her what you were really like, warn her she was making a big mistake."

"If you wished to speak to the lady, why didn't you simply pay her a visit? Didn't your dear mother teach you any manners at all?"

Richard said nothing.

"Ah, of course you wanted to add on the threats, didn't you? Do you know, I venture to say that if someone were stupid enough to threaten Rosalind, he would sorely regret it. She is"-Nicholas found himself looking at a statuette of a limp shepherdess sitting beside Richard's ear atop the mantelpiece-"she is quite fierce." And he realized, as he turned on his heel to leave, that he was smiling. But then he stopped in his tracks and whirled around. "If, by any mad chance, you weren't considering threats, if you planned to weigh her down and throw her into the Thames to be rid of her once and for all-" Nicholas realized he was shaking. He said very quietly, "If you were considering making my betrothed simply disappear, don't, Richard. If anything happens to Rosalind, Lancelot will be next in line for my title. You will be dead."

"Damn you to hell! I hope she plays you false!"

Nicholas laughed at that.

The pale young man who'd greeted him at the front door stood not a foot outside the drawing room, wringing his hands. He was darting frantic looks behind Nicholas's left shoulder.

"What are you doing hare?"

Nicholas turned to see Lancelot Vail trip quickly down the front staircase, dressed elegantly, like his older brother, his face flushed at the sight of Nicholas.

"I was on the point of leaving, Lancelot," Nicholas said. "Why don't you go pour your brother a nice snifter of brandy?"

Rosalind was staring out the bow window at the daffodils waving in the Wednesday afternoon breeze, waiting for Nicholas, when the door opened. But it was Willicombe who came into the drawing room. She was impatient and worried, but still she smiled at him because Grayson had recently confided in her that he was making Willicombe a magician in his next novel, with a head full of red hair, and it was to be a surprise. Rosalind cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Lady Mountjoy is here to see you, Miss Rosalind."

Wrong Mountjoy.

Lady Mountjoy didn't simply walk into the drawing room, she sailed in, a figurehead swathed in lavender from her boots to her big bonnet decorated with big clusters of purple grapes. She was short and on the plump side, but still, she looked ready to take on the Roman legions, something both to alarm and impress. Beneath the awesome bonnet, her hair was quite blond, the few gray strands difficult to see. Her eyes were very light, perhaps blue or gray. Lancelot was Picture of his mama. So this was Nicholas's stepmother,

Miranda, the woman who had spawned three sons and taught them to hate Nicholas.

Lady Mountjoy didn't look happy, but she did look determined, and to Rosalind's eyes, she looked fretful, lines of discontent bracketing her mouth. She looked on the edge, as if afraid that something was happening she couldn't control. Ah, perhaps she's upset that her sons failed to get rid of me to prevent Nicholas from having a boy child off me, and she's come to convince me to break off my betrothal to Nicholas herself. Rosalind hoped the woman didn't have a stiletto in her lovely beaded reticule.

She eyed her future stepmama-in-law and hoped this was her mission; she could get her teeth into that. Maybe she was here to try to buy her off. Rosalind remained silent as Lady Mountjoy stopped a foot short of her nose-very rude, to be sure-but Rosalind found she wanted to laugh at this plump little peahen of a woman trying to intimidate her. Lady Mountjoy looked her up and down, and snorted. She took one step back, as if realizing she was at a disadvantage since Rosalind topped her by a good six inches, and announced, "You are young and don't look as if you have much sense. I am surprised Nicholas would choose you, but than again, perhaps he is desperate. Tell me, missy, how much of a dowry are the Sherbrookes putting in his pockets?"

Missy?

A straight shot over the bow, no namby-pamby attack for this one. "Ah, I presume you are Nicholas's stepmother?" "Unfortunately that is true."

"I understand you haven't seen your stepson since he left after his grandfather's death. What was he, twelve years old? And how many times did you and his father visit him while he was living with the former earl's father? Once, twice? It appears to me, madam, that you do not even know him; Nicholas is a stranger to you. You could pass him on the street and not know him. Why then are you surprised at whom he would choose?"

Lady Mountjoy waved her hand around. "One hears things from one's relatives and one's friends. All agree he is not stupid and therefore choosing you has left them bewildered, perhaps believing you seduced him."

"Hmmm. I only met him a week ago. A very fast seduction, don't you think?"

"Don't you make sport with me, missy!"

Rosalind gave her a sunny smile and a wave of the hand. "How do you do, Lady Mountjoy? To what do I owe the honor of your presence?"

"You ask me how I am? Very well, I will tell you how I am. My spirits are upended; I am perturbed. I didn't wish to ever meet you, missy, yet here I am forced to come. I wish you no honor with my presence."