Chloe stopped at the open door, staring down into the courtyard. Hugo stood talking to two men on horseback. She recognized the elder of the two immediately, and it wasn't difficult to guess the identity of his companion, although she hadn't seen either of them for seven years.

Still holding her bread and ham, she came slowly down the steps. Dante ran across the yard to greet her, tail flying.

Jasper Gresham was facing the steps and saw her first. He was a handsome man, as his father had been, although there was a certain heaviness to his features, a florid tinge to his complexion that indicated a life of dissipation. But his eyes were frightening. They were curiously light and shallow and never seemed to hold an expression for long enough to identify it. They slid and darted, never engaging, yet somehow all-seeing.

"Ah," he said pleasantly. "We're about to be joined by the subject of this discussion."

Hugo spun around, scowling. "What are you doing here?"

Chloe's step faltered at this puzzlingly harsh reception. Then she put her chin up. "I beg your pardon, Sir Hugo, but I didn't know the courtyard was forbidden."

Before he could respond, Jasper said, "Well, little sister, look at you-all grown-up. And how do you go on?" He swung off his horse, took her shoulders, and kissed her cheek.

Dante suddenly growled. Hugo took an involuntary step forward. He knew Jasper Gresham. He knew how Jasper sullied women. Then he took hold of himself. Nothing was going to happen on this sunny morning in the courtyard of his own home, particularly with that mongrel in the vicinity.

"Very well, thank you, Jasper," Chloe responded politely, placing a reassuring hand on Dante's head. "Good morning, Crispin." She greeted the younger man, who had also dismounted.

He, too, bent to kiss her, and Hugo saw her stiffen, although she endured the salute. "Chloe, it's been a long time," Crispin said with a smile that didn't warm his flat brown eyes or do much to enliven his rather stolid features.

"Yes," she agreed, stepping back. She took another bite of her bread and ham and seemed content to leave the visitors to make the running.

Hugo stifled a smile, his concern and annoyance abruptly vanished. Chloe didn't care for her half brother or for Crispin, and she was making that most insolently clear, even while she smiled vaguely at them as she chewed.

"I trust you'll pay us a visit at Gresham Hall," Jasper said, his voice suddenly clipped. "Your nearest relatives, now that your dear mother…"

Chloe swallowed her mouthful. "You weren't at the funeral."

"No… I was in London."

"Oh." A skeptical lift of her eyebrows accompanied the bland monosyllable.

Jasper suddenly turned to Hugo. "This will is an absurdity," he said. "Can we discuss it in private?"

"There's nothing to discuss," Hugo replied. "Scranton has made that abundantly clear… to both of us, as I understand it."

A flush darkened Jasper's cheek. "It's outrageous, and you know it, Lattimer. For God's sake, let's go inside."

Hugo shook his head and said deliberately, "No, I don't think so, Jasper. You are not welcome in my house."

The air crackled. Chloe was astounded. She looked at the two men and felt the hatred coursing between them. Crispin had flushed as deeply as his stepfather and moved forward so that the two stood shoulder to shoulder.

Hugo continued to regard them calmly. Chloe noticed for the first time how disheveled he was. His chin was stubbly, his eyes heavy, the lines of his face biting deep in the harsh light of the morning sun. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He wore no cravat, and his leather britches and boots were those of a farmer.

Jasper and Crispin, in contrast, were dressed impeccably in buckskin riding britches, gleaming top boots, snug-fitting coats of superfine, curly-brimmed beaver hats tucked beneath their arms.

"You are insulting," Jasper said.

Hugo offered a mock bow and said nothing. He knew he had the upper hand. He hadn't seen Jasper since that fateful night, and his loathing for the man was as strong now as it had ever been. Allowing it full rein was a heady emotional release.

"I demand that my sister come back with me. She needs the care of a woman, and who better than my wife, her own sister-in-law, to provide it. Look at her." He flung his hand out in a dismissive gesture. "Is that any way for a young woman to appear in public?"

"What's the matter with me?" Chloe asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

Hugo could hear the mockery in the question even if the others couldn't. He couldn't restrain his grin. "You've a milky mustache for a start," he said.

"I haven't!" she exclaimed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"And you have little crusts of sleep in the corners of your eyes," he continued relentlessly. "And mud and straw on the bottom of your skirt. However, nothing that requires a sister-in-law to remedy. We can manage perfectly well ourselves."

"You throw down the gauntlet, Lattimer," Jasper declared softly.

A chill seemed to invade the courtyard. Hugo offered another mock bow of agreement. Chloe realized that the laughing banter about her own disarray had been merely a cover for whatever issue stood between her half-brother and her guardian. And it wasn't just a matter of her mother's will.

"Come, Crispin." Jasper remounted, his face black. Crispin did the same. "This isn't the end of it, Lattimer."

"No, Jasperj I don't imagine it is," Hugo said.

"Somehow, I don't believe I'll meet my match in a drunken sot," the other man said viciously.

Hugo whitened, but he said only, "I give you good day, Jasper… Crispin."

The two men rode out of the courtyard without a backward glance.

Chloe looked up at Hugo. "What was that about?" He didn't seem to have heard her. His mouth was a taut line, the green eyes distant. Absently, he passed a hand over his unshaven chin. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," she said, sensing that the mystery of what lay between her guardian and her brother would not be solved this morning.

He looked down at her and shook his head. "You really are a disreputable sight, lass. No credit to my guardianship at all."

"Well, you're not particularly smart yourself," Chloe retorted. "Did you sleep in your clothes?" "I didn't sleep," he replied. "Oh, was your leg hurting?"

"Not excessively." He wasn't going to explain about the tormenting effects of unfulfilled arousal. "I sleep little at the best of times." "Why?"

He frowned, quoting almost to himself, " 'The innocent sleep.'"

" 'Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,'" Chloe continued promptly. "But Macbeth was guilty of mass murder… it's not surprising he couldn't sleep. What could you be guilty of?"

/ killed your father. But it wasn't just that. It was all the other things. How many of those women hadn't been willing partners in their violation? It was the one question that haunted him. Stephen had been capable of blackmail. He had abused his wife, coerced her with brutality. He'd have given little consideration to the defenseless women of the streets… There'd been a virgin… No/He, wouldn't think about it.

Chloe touched his arm, alarmed by the bleakness of his expression. "What is it?"

"Painted devils," he said with an effort. That's what he called them-those hideous images dancing on the walls of his mind. "I need my breakfast. I see you've already had yours."

Chloe wondered whether to press the matter, but decided she didn't have the right. She barely knew him. "Only bread and ham," she said cheerfully. "If Samuel's going to cook eggs for you, I'd like some too."

There was something about the girl that banished the devils, Hugo realized, suddenly lighthearted. "Where do you put it all, lass?"