Rosalind was no longer listening to the vitriol pouring from Lady Mountjoy's mouth, she was thinking of Nicholas's grandfather. Why had she asked if he was a wizard? Because something deep inside her believed it was true, that was why, and it was all wrapped up with Sarimund and the Rules of the Pale. She remembered Nicholas had told her his grandfather also had a copy of the book and had told him all about Sarimund. But he hadn't told him what was in the book, because obviously he couldn't read it.

Rosalind said, "What was the old earl's name?"

"Galardi. Stupid foreign-sounding name."

"How old was your husband when his older brother, Edward, died, ma'am?"

"He was newly down from Oxford, only twenty. Wait, are you accusing my husband of murder? You believe he murdered his older brother and his own wife, Mary Smithson? You are a vile-minded no-account, stupid as a mole."

"Ah, so thinking about that worries you as well, does it?" Rosalind held up her hand. "If Nicholas doesn't marry me, he will marry someone else, someone probably not nearly as nice as I am, someone who would refuse to listen to your rantings, someone who would instruct her butler to close the door in your face.

"I would say you're blessed, ma'am, in having me for your future stepdaughter-in-law. Are we not drinking tea together? Did I not give you two sugars? I am so courteous I am not even berating you for your sons' misdeeds."

"There is nothing to berate!"

Rosalind tapped her fingertips against her chin. "Only imagine if Richard and Lancelot had managed to get their hands on me rather than poor Lorelei Kilbourne. And just imagine they wanted to do more than warn me away from marrying Nicholas. Just imagine they had murdered me, all to keep me from becoming their stepsister-in-law, all to prevent me from having a boy child. Imagine all that, Lady Mountjoy. I fancy it must bring you a certain amount of melancholy."

"Nicholas hoved in poor Richard's ribs!"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I don't wish Nicholas to attack my poor Richard again; he fights like an alley tough. My poor Richard said Nicholas is vicious, no better than an apish dockworker. Yes, Nicholas forced his way into the house and attacked my son viciously, with no provocation at all. Richard is delicate. His health is precarious. He could be badly damaged-"

Rosalind was relieved that she had swallowed her tea;

otherwise it would have spewed out of her mouth. "Excuse me. I thought we were speaking of Richard Vail, that very tall and fit young man who looks very much like Nicholas? You're saying that Nicholas attacked him? There was no provocation? I wonder what Lord Ramey would say to that. He is Lorelei's father, you know. I will check Nicholas's knuckles, see if they are skinned. Drat him, he knew Richard was behind Lorelei's kidnapping, and he didn't tell me. Did he hurt Richard badly? Did he really hit him that hard? Ah, his poor fists."

"No, you pork-brained ninny, he didn't hit him with his fists all that much, he used his foot- his foot! -he kicked poor Richard in the stomach, knocked him backwards. It makes me ill that this barbarian is now the Earl of Mountjoy."

"Hmm. I wonder if he could teach me to do that."

"Be quiet! I don't want him to murder my son, do you hear me?" Lady Mountjoy jumped to her feet and waved her fist at Rosalind.

"He won't, ma'am, if your sons don't try to hurt me. Do tell them that."

Lady Mountjoy went silent.

Rosalind hoped she had expended her venom. If so, it had certainly taken long enough. There was a knock on the door.

Rosalind jumped to her feet to race over and unlock the door. She was profoundly relieved to see Grayson stroll in. The last person she wanted in her drawing room at this moment was Nicholas. Nicholas and his stepmama in the same room would not be a pretty sight.

Grayson nodded to Lady Mountjoy. "You are the parent of the two young men who should have had their arses kicked many times before the age of fourteen. Richard is a bully, but I'm hatting soft-looking Lancelot is the more vicious of the two. But to give them credit, they did have the brains to return the young lady their men had mistakenly abducted. They scared her to death, but they didn't hurt her. By the way, ma'am, I am Grayson Sherbrooke."

"I am Lady Mountjoy, not this one here."

Grayson sketched her a brief bow. He was very relieved neither of his parents was here. From what he'd heard in the corridor, both his mother and his father would have rushed in and pounded this dreadful woman into the wainscoting.

"That is all a lie! My poor sweet Lancelot, vicious? Nonsense! Nor is he soft looking. His is a gentle soul, he harbors a poet's heart. Know this, Mr. Sherbrooke, my sons would never kidnap a young lady, even the wrong one."

Rosalind said, "Despite your belief in their innocence, ma'am, I would suggest you impress upon your sons that if anything happens to me, they will be dead."

Lady Mountjoy leapt to her feet, sending her empty teacup tumbling to the carpet. She waved her fist in Rosalind's face. "You are a liar and a hussy. My fine sons wouldn't touch you, they would scarce look at you unless they were forced to. You are a nasty bit of goods." After malevolent looks at both Rosalind and Grayson, Lady Mountjoy swept out of the drawing room. They heard Willicombe moving quickly to open the front door for the lady.

Grayson's eyebrow shot up a good inch. "She called you a liar. Now, that's all right because you are indeed an excellent liar. But a nasty bit of goods isn't at all accurate."

"I suppose she couldn't think of anything else to call me, poor woman, and so it popped out. Actually, she fired off insults at everyone. I also got the impression she wasn't too fond of her husband. And she also has a special friend, an Alfred Lemming.

"She knows all about my background, Grayson. I made it seem that everyone knew and who cared?"

"Poor woman, she picked the wrong target. Hmm, now that I think about it, you always have a light hand when there is unpleasantness to deter."

"Well, yes, I try. I suppose it's because when I first arrived at Brandon House I was terrified that if I yelled back at anyone, your father would kick me out. No, no, I know I was wrong, but still, I was very young and afraid. Imagine not knowing who you are, Grayson, no memories of anything at all." She shrugged. "I suppose a way of behaving begun at an early age sticks well."

"I didn't know that," Grayson said slowly. "I remember when Father first brought you home, he trembled with rage at what had been done to you, a child. And the pain in him that you would die. I remember Dr. Pomphrey and my parents spent hours at your bedside when your injuries brought on that horrible fever. I remember clearly how my father shouted to the rafters when he came running down the stairs to say you would live. Your father and mother weren't there loving you, Rosalind, but mine were. Never doubt that. Never forget that."

She felt tears sting her eyes and swallowed. "No, I won't. Thank you for telling me, Grayson. In any case, none of it matters now. A light hand was the hast way to make her spit out nuggets as well as bile. I learned a lot from her."

"Everyone views you as a mystery, and it is ever so romantic how you came to be with us, even though it was actually quite awful since you could have so easily died. You're not a no-account, Rosalind. I daresay if someone happens to remark that you are, all you would have to do is sing for them and they would admire you endlessly."

"I did offer to sing for her, but she refused."

He laughed. "I wasn't joking. Your voice is magic."

"You used to think so when we were young," she said and he grinned at her, showing those beautiful white Sherbrooke teeth of his. "How is Lorelei today?"