"Dante," she whispered. She jumped out of bed and ran to the window. She listened, trying to pinpoint the direction of the frenzied barking. Her room faced the front of the house and the side opposite to the courtyard, but if she craned her neck she could see the gravel driveway winding down to the road. The sound was coming from somewhere along the driveway. But why? He must be hurt, or stuck.

She ran from the room, her bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor, down the staircase, and across the hall. She stubbed her toe on an uneven flagstone and her cry of pain, hastily bitten back, sounded loud in the creaking quiet of the house.

She listened, but to her relief it seemed that she hadn't awakened anyone. Dante had already caused enough upheaval without dragging the two reluctant men from their beds at dead of night.

She opened the door quietly and slipped outside, pulling it to gently behind her. Clouds had come up and the stars were now mostly hidden, making the night much blacker than it had been. She wondered what time it was, wishing she'd thought to look at the clock in the hall.

An owl hooted and there was a sudden screech of a small animal's terror and pain. But the barking had ceased.

Chloe knew she hadn't imagined it. She ran lightly down the steps to the courtyard, the cobblestones cold beneath her feet. A breeze stirred, freshened with the coming of dawn, and she shivered as it pressed her nightgown to her body. She hesitated, thinking of the overcoat behind the kitchen door. But when she heard a faint yelping on the breeze, she forgot the cold and ran down the driveway, heedless of the gravel pricking the soles of her feet.

Hugo had heard her cry from the hall, but it took many minutes to penetrate the brandy stupor he had finally achieved as he sat slumped over the keyboard, a candle guttering beside him.

He raised his head, blinking fuzzily, listening, but there were only the usual night creaks of the sleeping house. He shook his head and let it drop onto his folded arm again; one finger of his free hand began picking out the melody of a piece by Scarlatti. But slowly, a prickle of unease penetrated his semi-conscious trance. He raised his head again, listening. There was still no sound, but he had the unmistakable conviction that something was missing from the house.

Chloe? She was sound asleep above him, knocked out by brandy and milk and physical and emotional exhaustion. His head dropped and then lifted again. He pushed himself off the bench and stood for a second swaying as he tried to marshal his senses. He'd go upstairs and satisfy himself that she was asleep in her bed and then perhaps he'd be able to pass out in his own bed.

Staggering slightly, he negotiated the obstacles in the library and stepped into the hall. A gust of wind blew the unlatched front door open, and he blinked at it, puzzled. Then the puzzlement left him and his head cleared somewhat.

again! Presumably, she'd gone out in search of that damned mongrel-wandering around the countryside all alone in the dead of night. Hadn't she the faintest sense of self-preservation? It was a relief to turn his anger on someone outside himself, and a relief to recast her in the image of a stubborn, exasperating schoolgirl with a proclivity for scrapes that urgently required curbing.

He strode to the door, his step becoming firmer with each one as the brandy fumes cleared. He stared down into the shadows of the courtyard. There was no sign of her. He couldn't guess how long it had been since he'd heard the first alerting noise. It could have been anything from five minutes to twenty-brandy played merry hell with a man's sense of time.

Then he heard a dog's bark, faint but frenzied, coming from the direction of the bottom of the driveway. It explained Chloe's expedition, although it didn't excuse its recklessness. Why the hell hadn't she called him?

He set off down the drive, following the sound. The trees lining the driveway formed an archway, blocking out what little moonlight the intermittent clouds let through. He peered ahead, trying to catch the sounds of her footsteps or the glimmer of her shape. The barking grew closer and the frenzied note was even more pronounced. The dog must be trapped somewhere. He increased his speed, thankful that he knew the twists and turns of the drive like the back of his hand.

He called her name several times, but there was no reply. Presumably, intent on listening to Dante's barking, she had ears for nothing else. He emerged from the avenue of trees at the bottom of the drive and then the barking ceased. A sense of foreboding sent a chill through his gut.- Without knowing why, he began to run toward the crumbling stone gateposts. As he reached them, a scream, abruptly cut off, shivered on the air.

He hurtled onto the narrow lane outside his estate. Frantically, he gazed up and down the lane as a crescendo of barks deafened the night. He could make out a group of moving shadows a hundred yards down the lane. An agonized yelp interrupted the barking and the shadows wreathed in some kind of frenetic dance. The indecisive moon chose that moment to emerge, and the knives in their belts glinted.

It had to be Jasper, there was no other explanation. And then he had but one thought as he veered sideways into the undergrowth: He had no weapon. And whatever was going on, it was violent and one unarmed man would be no match for the three shapes he could make out. Three… no four. But the fourth was on the ground, a shapeless bundle wrapped in something.

Somehow, he had to separate them. One he could take on, but no more. He could hear their voices now and Dante's alternate barks and yelps. Then he heard Chloe's voice as furious as she liad been that afternoon with the turnip seller. She was yelling at them to leave her dog alone. He couldn't see so could only guess that she'd somehow freed herself from her wrappings. Praying that she'd have the strength to distract them for a few moments longer, he crept on his belly until he was alongside the scene.

Dante caught his scent and began another frantic whirligig at the end of the rope that Hugo now saw bound him. Someone swore and turned on the dog, a knife lifted.

ChSoe hurled herself across the lane and grabbed his arm, her teeth sinking into his hand. The knife clattered to the ground, six inches from Hugo.

He had it in his hand while the other two men were grappling with Chloe, flinging a blanket over her head, struggling to restrain her wildly thrashing limbs in the suffocating folds. Hugo sliced through the rope holding Dante, and the dog leapt for the throat of one of the men holding Chloe. He went down with a shrill scream of terror.

One down, one unarmed. Hugo sprang for the third man's back. His knife sank into his shoulder. The man spun around, a look of total surprise on his face, his hand flying to his shoulder. Hugo reached forward and yanked his knife out of his belt.

He had no way of telling whether he had disarmed his opponents or whether one of them might produce a pistol. Either way, he was still one against three, and the odds, even with Dante, were not good enough to stay around and ask questions. Surprise was his last card.

Chloe was still struggling with the blanket, and he simply picked her up, maneuvered her slight weight over his shoulder, and again dived sideways into the undergrowth. He had no desire to present a running target for a pistol shot, and he had a boyhood's knowledge of the rough terrain.

Dante crashed through the bushes at his side and Hugo was capable of one grateful prayer that this time the dog didn't consider him the enemy, for all his rough handling of his mistress.

Chloe had the sense to lie still despite her shock and the violently jolting progress. Her head and arms were still buried in the stuffy folds of the blanket and she'd seen nothing of what had happened. But she knew who held her and she could hear Dante, so she lay limp and tried not to sneeze.