"I don't know, but I'm always hungry," she confided, accompanying him to the kitchen, Dante at her heels. "I wonder if Jasper will come back?"

"He'll get short shrift if he does." Hugo glanced down at the dog, then gave a mental shrug. He seemed to have been routed in that battle. "Hot water, Samuel, I'm going to shave." He pulled his shirt out of his britches, unbuttoned it, and tossed it over a chair.

Samuel placed a bowl of hot water on the table and propped a small mirror against an empty wine bottle. "Soap's in the pantry."

Chloe perched on the edge of the table, watching as Hugo sharpened the long razor on a leather strop and lathered his face. His hands fascinated her. They were beautiful, elegant, and slender with long, sensitive fingers. For some reason, they produced a strange flutter in the pit of her stomach.

"What's that on your chest?" she asked suddenly. She'd seen the strange little design yesterday, when he'd been in bed. "Is it a snake?"

Hugo's movements stilled, and then he said carelessly, "Yes, it's a snake."

"Why do you have it?"

"Didn't they teach you in that seminary about vulgar curiosity?" he demanded. "Or about the impropriety of making personal remarks?"

"I'm sorry." She looked crestfallen. "I was just interested because I've never seen anything like it before."

"But then, I don't imagine you've seen a man without his shirt before," he said with some asperity, drawing a long swath through the soap.

"No," she agreed. "Did you get it in the navy?"

Hugo sighed and seized the easy way out. "Tattoos are common in the navy. Now, do you have a riding habit?"

To his relief, she accepted the close of the uncomfortable topic without demur. "Of course, but its another bushel." She licked her finger and picked up crumbs from the tabletop.

"Weil, I think it's time to do something about that. Well ride into Manchester and see if we can't improve your wardrobe." He wiped the soap off his face with a towel and passed a checking hand over his chin. "That's better."

He subjected Chloe, still perched on the table, to a frowning inspection. "But you certainly won't do. Samuel, give the lass a jug of hot water to take upstairs. She needs a good wash."

Samuel filled a copper jug from the kettle on the fire. He surveyed Chloe appraisingly. "I'd best take it up for ye. A puff of wind w'd blow ye away, seems to me."

"I'm a lot stronger than I look," Chloe said, holding out her hand for the jug. "I can dig canker out of a horse's hoof, and they're very heavy to hold."

"Good God," Hugo muttered. "How the hell did you become a veterinarian?"

"The head groom in the livery stables in Bolton taught me a lot. I used to sneak out of the seminary on Sundays and spend the day with him. It wasn't very popular," she added.

"No, I don't suppose it was."

"But there wasn't anything they could do to stop me," she continued blithely. "And then there's a poacher who lives in the village at Shipton. He taught me how to handle birds and small animals."

"I'm amazed the long-suffering Misses Trent kept you as long as they did," Hugo observed.

"I'm sure they were well paid," Chloe said, an edge to her voice. "I spent most of the year there, after all." She hefted the jug and went to the door. "Are we going to Manchester this morning?"

"Unless you have other plans," he said.

"No, I don't believe I do," Chloe responded with his own mock solemnity.

Hugo chuckled, wondering where she'd acquired her sense of humor. Elizabeth had been painfully serious, and Stephen had derived amusement only in extremity. "I have to talk to your bankers. How much allowance do you have at the moment?"

"Allowance?" Chloe blinked at this novel concept. "I've never had any money. If I wanted pin money, Miss Emily would give it to me. But they supplied the bushels… and there wasn't much else to spend money on."

Hugo scratched his head. "I haven't the faintest idea what would be appropriate for you." It would depend, of course, on where she lived. After the morning's visit, he no longer considered the possibility of setting her up in a private establishment with a respectable female companion. At least, not within striking distance of Shipton. She'd find it impossible to avoid her half-brother and Crispin in such circumstances.

She was still standing by the door, carrying the jug of water, and he waved her away. "Go and change your dress, lass. I'll sort something out."

"So, what're ye plannin' on doin' with 'er?" Samuel asked as the door closed behind her.

"God knows." Hugo sighed. "You read my thoughts."

"Ye reckon on keepin' 'er here?"

"For the moment, I don't see much choice." But there must be some family she could live with other than the Greshams, he thought. It wasn't possible at such a tender age to have no one who cared for her.

It shouldn 't be possible. But he suspected it was the case. Her life had been shaped so far by a debauched and bloodstained past in which he'd played a denning part. And now it seemed his chickens had come home to roost with a vengeance.

How fine you look," Chloe said admiringly, coming into the courtyard half an hour later. Her guardian had changed his farmer's garb for cravat, buckskins, and top boots.

Hugo regarded her riding habit of brown serge with a grimace. "I wish I could say the same for you, lass. Are all your clothes that ghastly color?"

"Yes," she said casually, examining with a somewhat critical frown the dapple-gray pony Billy was holding. "Am I to ride the pony?"

"I'm not putting you on one of my hunters," he said. "And Dapple's the only alternative."

"Oh." Chloe walked all around the small, fat pony. "The mare I rode at the livery stable was fourteen hands."

"The smallest hunter I have stands at seventeen hands," Hugo said. "This is what you're riding." He caught her around the waist and lifted her into the saddle. "Once you're established somewhere, we'll buy you a decent horse."

"Ah," Chloe said, gathering up the reins. "Well, on that subject, let me tell you my plan."

Hugo swung astride a rawboned gelding, casting her a sideways glance. She offered him a sunny smile. Her hair was back in its plaits, but not scraped away from her forehead as before and a few guinea-gold tendrils wisped beneath a hideous felt hat. Hugo began to wonder if he was.losing his mind as a host of completely improper images filled his head.

He pressed his heels into his mount's flanks with abrupt speed and rode ahead of her through the arched gateway to the drive outside.

Chloe's pony followed with a rolling gait that promised a slow ride. Dante, securely held back by Billy, raised his head in a mournful howl as his mistress disappeared from view.

"My plan," Chloe said from behind Hugo. "Don't you want to hear it?"

He slackened speed so that she could catch up with him. Her plans so far hadn't impressed him with their practicality. "Not particularly, if it's anything like your previous suggestions," he said. "But I'm sure I'm going to hear it whether I want to or not."

Chloe was undaunted by this less-than-enthusiastic response. "Do you have a house in London?"

"An uninhabitable one," he replied.

"But money would make it habitable, wouldn't it?"

"What the devil are you getting at?" He turned to look at her again. The sunny smile was still in place.

"Well, it's simple," she said. "You need to have a wife-"

"I need whaif" he exclaimed. His horse skittered on the gravel.

"I've decided that that's what you need," she said. "You need someone to take care of you properly. I always know when people need looking after," she added seriously.

Vaguely, he wondered if she distinguished between people and animals.