When Jasper's messenger arrived at Mount Street at eight o'clock the following morning, Hugo and Samuel had been on the road for four hours. The letter with its seemingly innocuous information that Chloe was safe and sound in her brother's charge and on the way to Shipton lay on the hall table to await Hugo's return. Jasper was leaving nothing to chance. He wanted Hugo to pursue Chloe to the crypt, and if drink had addled his brains to such an extent that he failed to put two and two together on his own, his ward's captor would help him out.

Chloe had said almost nothing since she'd awakened, disoriented, in the cold dawn. For a few seconds she had no idea where she was. Her arm was stretched out away from her body and she tried to pull it back. Something tightened around her wrist. It all came back then. She turned her head on the pillow. Jasper seemed to be asleep beside her, but the belt was wound several times around his wrist and the tie clasped in his clenched fist.

She lay still again, remembering everything he'd told her last night. She had the secret now to Hugo's painted devils. Why hadn't he told her himself of the desperate part he'd played in her own life… how inextricably he was bound up in the coils that had determined her lonely childhood. Hadn't he trusted her enough? But of course she knew the real answer. He hadn't loved her enough. He hadn't loved her enough to trust her with his soul.

The manner of her father's death didn't overly trouble her. Judging by Jasper's description of the Congregation's activities, Stephen Gresham's death was no great loss to the world. She minded much more about her mother… that Hugo hadn't told her he'd loved her mother with a love so deep and abiding that he was prepared to risk his life for her. If he'd told her everything, told her about her father-the kind of man he was -then she would have understood about her mother's withdrawal from the world. She would finally have understood why Elizabeth had seemed to reject her daughter. There would have been a reason for the bitter loneliness Chloe had endured throughout her childhood in the hands of indifferent caretakers, and she would have been able to lay to rest the bleak assumption that there was something lacking in herself that had made her unsuitable company for her mother.

But he hadn't cared enough for her to see that.

And it was all irrelevant now. Once she was wedded to Crispin, nothing would matter anymore. And Jasper was going to make that happen unless she could escape. But she felt small and powerless and knew herself to be so when pitted against the combined strengths and resources of her brother, his stepson, and Denis.

Feeling sick with hunger and in serious need of the commode, she pulled tentatively on the belt, hoping to wake her companion without giving him the impression she was trying to escape. She was not prepared to do or say anything that might result in the loss of her breakfast.

Jasper sat up in one movement. He was not disoriented. "What die hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm sorry to wake you, but I need the commode," she said meekly.

He glanced at the clock. "It's time we were moving anyway." He released the belt from their wrists. "Hurry up and get dressed."

An hour later Chloe stood in the freezing courtyard, her breath steaming in the frigid air as they waited while the horses were put to the chaise. Denis stamped his booted feet and blew on his hands, rubbing them together for warmth. Crispin leaned against the wall of the inn, his mouth thinned with impatience at the fumbling of the ostlers' frozen fingers.

Chloe glanced toward Denis. For an instant his eyes lifted and met hers. Then he turned away with an abrupt movement of his head. This was the man with whom she'd danced and laughed, flirted and played silly games. And now he wouldn't even meet her eye. Guilt at his betrayal? Somehow Chloe doubted it. He was a member of the Congregation. He and Crispin would both have the snake pricked into the skin above the heart. Guilt was not something they would feel.

Escape would be impossible with all three of them watching her. Perhaps, if she offered no resistance or hint of provocation, even to the loathsome Crispin, she would lull them into complaisance. But she knew this was a forlorn hope.

She looked toward her brother. Jasper was not going to relax his vigilance. His mouth was a thin slash in the slight heaviness of his face, his jaw jutting aggressively as he cursed the slowness of the ostlers, slapping his silver-knobbed cane into the gloved palm of one hand.

Chloe shivered, and immediately he shot her a swift, appraising glance from his pale, shallow eyes. He knew she was frightened; even though she pretended she'd shivered with cold and huddled into her cloak, she hadn't deceived him. His mouth quirked with a sardonic satisfaction.

"Get in," he ordered, gesturing with his head to the chaise.

Chloe obeyed without an instant's hesitation and sat in her corner, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head to cover her cold ears.

Jasper watched her through half-closed eyes. He hadn't expected her to be so compliant so quickly. From what he remembered of her as a child, she'd been stubborn and quick to anger; a passionate girl whose emotions were easily roused. He didn't think she'd changed that much, so this meek acceptance of her fate was interesting. He hadn't hurt her much. A few threats, an empty belly, and a couple of slaps were not enough to intimidate such an obstinate and emotional creature. Since severe physical punishment wasn't possible on such a public journey, when they were frequenting inns, he had intended to keep her sedated if necessary. No one would question a drowzy young woman being carried from a chaise. But so far she was making such a precaution unnecessary.

Chloe closed her eyes again. For some reason she felt less vulnerable, less exposed to them with her eyes shut. What did Hugo think had happened to her? Had Persephone taken to the wet nurse? Dante would be pining… had anybody remembered to let Demosthenes off his chain for a run in the yard? The stable hands were all terrified of him… The desolate litany went around and around in her head as the chaise bore them north.

Hugo and Samuel picked up the trail at St. Albans at mid-morning. The landlord of the Red Lion, where they stopped for breakfast, informed them that three gentlemen and a young lady, the sister of one of the gentleman, had lodged overnight and left at eight o'clock that morning. "How did the young lady seem to you?" Hugo gazed into his coffee cup as if the question were of little importance.

"Quiet," the innkeeper said, filling a tankard of ale for Samuel. "She'd not been feelin' too well… them coaches can give a bumpy ride. But she ate an 'earty breakfast this mornin'."

"With anyone else, that'd be a good sign," Samuel remarked to no one in particular.

Hugo smiled faintly. Samuel's companionship was keeping him on an even keel. "When the horses have baited, we'll be on our way." He cut into his platter of sirloin.

"We'll likely catch 'em by nightfall," Samuel said quietly as the innkeeper bustled around the taproom. "If we change the 'orses in a couple of hours, we'll make much better time than a chaise."

"True enough, but I don't want to catch up with them," Hugo said.

"Oh?"

"I don't intend to catch them at all," Hugo said slowly. "It's time this tale came full circle, Samuel. Jasper and I have a meeting ahead and a long-delayed vengeance." His voice was quiet, the words without emphasis, but his companion felt the ice of conviction, the force of purpose, and he knew that this was the last thing remaining to restore Hugo Lattimer to full health and sanity.

"You're not afraid for the lass?"

"I know the role they have in mind for her," Hugo responded, his mouth hard, his eyes green glaciers. "They'll not harm her before then."