Grayson said, "Excellent idea, Father, since no one really knows much about him. However, it does seem to be the consensus that he is a pauper and desperately needs to attach an heiress."

Ryder nodded. "I've also heard that the old earl left his heir nothing that wasn't nailed down in the entailment. He beggared his own son out of spite-the reason for this strange behavior no one seems to know. I will ask Horace to find out, if, that is, Nicholas Vail appeals to Rosalind."

He had indeed appealed to her, Rosalind thought, but didn't say that aloud. She didn't want to alarm Uncle Ryder before he'd ensured Nicholas Vail wasn't a bad man.

But she knew he wasn't; she knew it to her bones.

Grayson said, "We haven't given out any information about your early years, Rosalind."

"What is there to say? I am of no account, I am nothing at all."

Anger rippled through Ryder's voice. "You listen to me, Rosalind, you are not too old for me to wallop you."

"But it is only the truth, Uncle Ryder. I know you always prize the truth."

Ryder said to his wife as she came into the dining room, sniffing the air, "Rosalind has become impertinent, Sophie. What do you think we should do?"

"Wallop her, Father," Grayson said.

Sophie laughed. "Don't let her have one of Cook's nutty buns. That way I will have more and she will learn a valuable lesson."

"There are three left, Aunt Sophie," Rosalind said. "I swear I took only one; it's your son who is the glutton."

Grayson toasted her with his teacup.

Sophie said as she selected a nutty bun, "The Earl of Mountjoy presents the face of a man of mystery, a man with dark secrets. I have always found that a man of mystery piques a woman's curiosity, she cannot help herself. It is the nature of things."

Rosalind nodded. "He is mysterious, yes, but he also looked apart from everyone at the ball, as if he knew he had to be there but did he want to be?"

"That is called arrogance," Sophie said and took a blissful bite of one of the three remaining nutty buns. She chewed slowly, eyes closed. "Ah, Nirvana is close."

"I don't think women are allowed in Nirvana, Mother," Grayson said.

Sophie waved the last bit of nutty bun at him before she popped it into her mouth, and closed her eyes again. "Ah, you are wrong, my dearest. I have ascended."

Grayson said, "Nicholas Vail sounds like Uncle Douglas. He has a way of looking at a roomful of people as though their only purpose is to amuse him."

"He even has the look of Douglas when he was young," Ryder said thoughtfully.

Rosalind said, "He's coming to visit and I never even spoke to him. I could perhaps understand his wishing to visit me had he waltzed with me, since I am such a superb dancer, but he didn't. And he never enjoyed my wit, since I didn't have the opportunity to speak to him. Hmm, perhaps others spoke to him of my lovely way with words, my exquisite grace, do you think?" Even as she laughed at herself, she saw him very clearly in her mind. She could easily see him wearing a black cloak billowing in a night wind. He oozed mystery, dark boundless secrets, hidden and obscure.

Sophie said, "Regardless of his motive for wishing to see you, Rosalind, I would say he's a man who likes to be in control. One cannot be in control unless one knows about everything."

"Perhaps, my dear," Ryder said slowly, "just perhaps you are right. The earl does look like he knows what he's about, and if that is indeed true, then he must know that you are not an heiress. So it's a mystery we have."

"It isn't always about a girl's dowry, is it, Uncle Ryder?"

"Yes," said Ryder.

"Ha," said Sophie. "You took me with naught but the chemise on my back."

Ryder Sherbrooke's blue eyes dilated, something neither his son nor his ward wanted to explore, something that made both of them vastly uncomfortable. Rosalind took another drink of her tea. Grayson played with his fork.

Sophie said, "He doesn't look like an easy man. All those secrets. He looks like he's seen many things, done many things, perhaps to survive." She sighed. "He is so very young."

"Not so young at all, Mother," Grayson said. "He is about my age. Perhaps I look mysterious as well?"

His mother, no fool, said immediately, "Of course you do, dearest. And your novels-goodness, there are so many terrifying happenings, so much mystery, my poor heart nearly leaps out of my chest, and one wonders where these black mysteries shrouded in dread and cunning come from. One must accept that they emerge from a mind that cannot be understood, only admired and marveled at."

Rosalind listened, feeling her own heart sound slow, hard strokes. She saw Nicholas Vail standing in front of Uncle Ryder, dark as a Barbary Coast pirate prince who would perhaps return to his opulent tent and lie at his ease on silk pillows, and watch veiled dancing girls. As for his size, well, he was larger than Uncle Douglas, she was certain of that. And he looked powerful, a hard disciplined man, both in mind and body. Nicholas Vail-she realized his name sounded through her mind with a strange sort of familiarity, and wasn't that odd? But she knew she 'd never heard of the family. And he was an earl-Lord Mountjoy. She 'd never heard the title before either. She wondered what he wanted with her. She was eighteen and not at all stupid. How she wished that Ryder Sherbrooke, the man whose blood she wished she carried, would let her meet with Nicholas Vail alone, completely alone. Unfortunately, she thought sadly, that wouldn't happen. It was not one of the benefits of being eighteen and unmarried.

At exactly eleven o'clock, Willicombe, his bald head shining brilliantly from the new recipe he'd used just that morning-aniseed, imagine that!-spoke in his lovely musical voice from the doorway of the first-floor drawing room, "The Earl of Mountjoy, madam."

Sophie said, "Do show the earl in, Willicombe."

Nicholas Vail paused a moment in the doorway. His eyes went to her immediately, as if no one else were in the room.

Ryder, who was standing by the fireplace, pushed off the mantel and walked to the young man, forcing his attention away from Rosalind. "My lord, do come in and meet my ward, and my son, Grayson."

Nicholas was a hunter, but he wasn't stupid. He bowed over Mrs. Sherbrooke's hand, then Rosalind's hand, but he didn't linger. He realized Grayson Sherbrooke was studying him intently, and said to him, "You write mysterious novels, Mr. Sherbrooke."

Grayson laughed. "Yes, I do, but there are primarily mysterious ghosts and otherworldly beings in my books, my lord, who enjoy meddling in the lives of men. And women."

Nicholas said, "I read The Phantom of Drury Lane. I enjoyed it immensely. It fair to curdled my innards."

Rosalind laughed, charmed to her toes, as, she knew, were Uncle Ryder and Aunt Sophie since they were Grayson's proud parents. Grayson beamed. "Yes, it curdled a lot of readers' innards, my lord, mine as well. I am pleased you liked it."

Sophie thought, what was a mother to do in the face of such a lovely compliment toward her beloved son? A mother would obviously unbend, and so Sophie unbent. "You are obviously a gentleman of excellent literary taste, my lord. You are possibly even worthy of one of Cook's excellent nutty buns. I begged her to bake more and she decided to please me. Willicombe, do bring in tea and any nutty buns that haven't already been filched off the plate."

Willicombe eyed the imposing young man who'd had the brain to compliment Master Grayson, and unbent himself. "Yes, madam," he said, and bowed low so the earl could enjoy the shine.

When Willicombe was gone, Nicholas said to Sophie, "His head-it near to blinded me."