"Take Billy with you, since it's largely his responsibility."

"What if I don't find him?" Her eyes were purple.

"I'll go out with you after dinner," he promised. "But be back here in half an hour."

Chloe returned punctually but empty-handed and sat miserably at the table, picking at the laden plate Samuel put in front of her.

"Summat wrong wi' it?" he demanded roughly.

She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry… I'm not hungry"

"That's a first," Samuel remarked to no one in particular.

"Have some wine." Hugo filled her glass. "And eat your dinner. You only think you're not hungry."

Chloe chewed a mouthful of chicken. It tasted like sawdust. She drank her wine with rather more enthusiasm and by the second glass was beginning to feel more cheerful. Dante was a young, healthy dog who hadn't had too many opportunities to roam the countryside, chasing up scents.

"Wretched animal!" she exclaimed crossly, and attacked her dinner. There was no point going hungry because the exasperating creature was doing what dogs, given half a chance, did.

"That's better," Hugo approved. "What are you going to do with him when he does decide to return?"

"Nothing," Chloe said. "What could I do? He doesn't know he's doing anything wrong… in fact, he's not. He's just being a dog."

But the knowledge that Dante would never choose to spend this amount of time away from her obtruded through wine-induced buoyancy.

By midnight she was distraught and Hugo at point non plus. All three of them had stumbled across fields by the light of an oil lantern, trod cautiously through the tinder-dry wood, and called until they were hoarse.

"Go to bed, lass." Hugo leaned wearily against the kitchen door to close it. "He'll be outside in the morning, a picture of penitence."

"You don't know him," she said, the catch in her voice accentuated by unshed tears.

But Hugo had formed a pretty fair impression of Dante and didn't believe for one minute that his continued absence from his beloved owner's side was voluntary. However, he strove to keep that from Chloe.

"It's time you were in bed," he said again. "There's nothing more to be done tonight."

"But how can I sleep?" she cried, pacing the kitchen.

"Supposing he's hurt… in a trap…" She covered her face with her hands as if to block out the images of Dante in agony.

" 'Ot milk and brandy," Samuel declared, setting the oil lamp on the table. "That'll send 'er off like a babby."

"Heat some milk, then," Hugo said. He took Chloe's shoulders and spoke with calm authority. "Go upstairs and get ready for bed. I'll bring you up something to help you sleep in a minute. Go on." He turned her with a brisk pat on the behind. "You can do Dante no good by pacing the floor all night."

There was sense in that, and she was bone-weary. It had been a long and exhausting day after a disturbed night. Chloe dragged herself upstairs. She put on her nightgown and sat beside the hat box, trying to take comfort from the contentment of Beatrice and her now-much-prettier offspring.

Downstairs, Hugo contemplated lacing the milk with laudanum rather than brandy. But then he thought of Elizabeth, slipping into addiction. Maybe such tendencies could be passed on. He slurped a liberal dose of brandy into the beaker Samuel filled with milk and took it upstairs.

He tapped lightly on the door to the corner room and went in. Chloe was sitting on the floor. She looked up as he entered, her eyes huge in her white face. He remembered how young she was, but he also remembered fourteen-year-old midshipmen who'd witnessed death and suffered agonizing deaths of their own under his command. Seventeen was mature enough to handle the emotional stresses of a missing dog.

"Into bed, lass." He put the beaker on the table beside the bed. "In the morning, you'll be able to deal with it."

She didn't argue. "It's not knowing, that's all," she said, scrambling to her feet. "I could accept his death… I just find it hard to think of him suffering alone somewhere." She pushed her hair away from her face and regarded him seriously. "You mustn't think that I count the suffering of a dog above the suffering of people. But I do love Dante."

Perfectly mature enough to handle the emotional stresses of a missing dog… and some. Without conscious thought, he put his arms around her and she hugged his waist fiercely, her head resting against his chest. He cupped her chin in the palm of his hand and turned her face up, lowering his head.

He had intended an avuncular kiss on the brow, or perhaps the tip of her nose. But instead he kissed her mouth. All might still have been well if it had been a light brushing of lips. But as his lips met hers, a heady, intoxicating rush of blood surged through his veins, driving all else from his mind but the warmth of her skin through the thin shift, the delicate curve of her body in his arms, the press of her breasts against his chest. His hold tightened as he possessed her mouth with a fervent urgency and she responded, her lips opening for the probing tongue, her arms gripping his waist. Her scent of lavender and clover honey engulfed him, tinged now with the spice of arousal… and for too long he yielded to the intoxication, exploring her mouth, encouraging her own tentative exploration, his hands sliding to her bottom, kneading the firm flesh, clamping her to the rising shaft of his body.

Too long he yielded to temptation, and when reality finally broke into entrancement, he pushed her from him with a roughness that could almost have been engendered by revulsion. For a moment he took in her swollen, kiss-reddened lips, her tousled hair, the excitement in her eyes, now the color of a midnight sky. With a soft execration he turned from her and left the room. Chloe touched her lips wonderingly. Her heart was pounding, her skin damp; her hands trembled. She could feel the imprint of his body on hers, his hands pressing her against him. And she was on fire, a surging maelstrom of emotions and sensations that as yet she had no name for.

Dazed, she picked up the beaker of cooling milk and drank it down, the brandy curling in a hot wave in the pit of her stomach, bringing insidious relaxation to her already heavy limbs. She blew out the candle and climbed into bed, pulling the sheet up to her chin, lying still and flat on her back, staring up into the moonlit dimness, waiting for the fire to die down, for some words to come to mind that would make sense of what she was feeling… of what had just happened to her.

Hugo walked slowly downstairs, cursing himself. How had he allowed himself such a piece of flagrant self-indulgence? And the memory of her eager response lashed at him even further. He was her guardian, a man she trusted. She lived under his roof, subject to his authority, and he'd taken shameless advantage of his position and her innocence.

Samuel looked up as Hugo entered the kitchen, watched as he swept up the brandy bottle from the table, and left again, the door banging shut behind him. Samuel recognized the signs, and sighed. Something had happened to send him into one of his black tempers, from which sometimes he wouldn't emerge for days.

Music drifted in from the library. Samuel listened, recognizing Beethoven's strong chords. Anger was the driving force at the moment. When the bleak despair was on him, Hugo played the most desolate passages of Mozart or Haydn. Samuel preferred the anger-recovery was usually speedier.

The library was beneath Chloe's bedchamber, and the strains of the pianoforte came clearly through her open window. She'd heard him playing the night before, a haunting melody that couldn't drown out Dante's howls. The power of this music would drown groans from heil. A wave of sleepiness broke over her, and she turned over, pulling the sheet over her head.

She didn't know how long she slept, but something brought her awake and upright in the same movement. The music had stopped and the night seemed blacker. She sat unmoving, straining her ears to catch the sound that had awakened her. Then she heard it again. It was faint but unmistakable. A dog was barking frantically.