"The woman's a walking arsenal," Mr. Smith commented to his friend. "She says she protects herself against London."

"Are we to argue over the differences between the sophisticated Colonies and your shameful London once again, Mr. Smith?" Caroline's voice was filled with laughter. She teased, more to take the man's thoughts off his pain than anything else. With gentle, sure motions, she tied the long strip around and around his thigh.

Mr. Smith had slowly lost his pained expression. "I am feeling remarkably better. I owe you my life, dear woman."

Caroline pretended she hadn't heard his fervent statement and quickly turned the topic. She was always uneasy over compliments. "You'll be dancing within a fortnight," she promised. "Do you attend the grand functions of the ton? Do you, as they say, belong?"

The innocent question caused Mr. Smith to cough. He sounded like he was strangling on something caught in his throat. Caroline watched him for a second and then looked over at Bradford. She saw the amusement in his eyes and thought that the smile around the corners of his eyes almost made him look handsome.

She patiently waited for him to answer her, as Mr. Smith, continuing with his coughing and gasping, just didn't seem capable of the task.

Bradford wasn't a fop, she thought as she awaited his reply. It was actually a bit of a disappointment to acknowledge that. No, he didn't act like Mr. Smith at all. Oh, they were dressed in the same type of garment, but Caroline didn't think that Bradford carried a handkerchief made of nothing but lace. She didn't believe that his thigh would feel so much like the skin on a new baby's backside either. No, it would probably feel tough… and hard. He was so much more muscular than Mr. Smith too. He didn't run to flab at all. She imagined that he could easily crush an opponent with his weight alone. How would he be with a woman? Caroline felt her cheeks warm at her mind's alarming fantasy. What was the matter with her. To actually try to visualize a man without his clothes on, to consider what he must be like when he touched a woman. Lord, it was all unthinkable!

Bradford saw the pretty blush and believed that she thought Mr. Smith was laughing at her. He immediately answered, "We do belong to the ton but Mr. Smith attends more of the gatherings than I." He didn't add that he rarely attended any of the parties anymore and considered it all a trial to his patience. Instead of voicing his true feelings, he inquired, "You mentioned that you are visiting your father? You live in the Colonies then? With your mother?"

Bradford wanted to find out as much as he could about Caroline. He refused to acknowledge his sudden compulsion to gather as much information as possible and pretended, even to himself, that it was a mild interest and nothing more.

Caroline frowned. It would be rude not to answer the politely phrased questions, yet she found she didn't want to tell either of the gentlemen anything about herself. She would be in London for only a short time if her plans didn't go astray, and she didn't wish to form any friendships with the English. Still, there didn't seem to be any way around the expectation on both men's faces. She had to say something. "My mother has been dead for many years," she finally stated. "I moved to Boston when I was just a little girl. My aunt and uncle raised me and I've always called my aunt Mama. She did raise me, you see. And it was easier… to fit in," she added with a negligent shrug.

"Will you be staying in London long?" Bradford asked. He leaned forward, placing his large hands on his knees, obviously intent on hearing her answer.

"Charity would like to attend some of the functions while we are here," she replied, avoiding the real question he had asked.

Bradford frowned over the way she had skirted his question and then said, "The season will soon start. Do you look forward to your adventure?" He forced the cynicism out of his voice, admitting that he didn't want to spoil her innocent expectations. She was a female and therefore had to be eager to participate in the frivolousness of it all.

"Adventure? I hadn't thought of it in quite that way. I'm sure that Charity will enjoy the parties," she answered.

She was frowning up at Bradford and he was struck with the thought that her gaze, when directed with such force, could well make any man stutter and lose his train of thought. Of course, Bradford hastily reminded himself while he tried to remember what it was they were talking about, he had seen too much, experienced too much, to be taken in by the wiles of any chit. He was, however, growing more alarmed at his own undisciplined reactions. By God, he had never been so affected, so overwhelmed, by a woman before. What the hell was the matter with him? It must be the heat, he reflected, even as he vowed, in that instant when their gaze held, that he would know all about the woman kneeling before him. She glowed with innocence and promises of real warmth to a man who had been out in the cold for such a long time.

The spell holding Caroline captive by Bradford's dark eyes was broken when Mr. Smith cleared his throat and inquired, "You don't look forward to the season, do you?" He seemed, to Caroline's way of thinking, to be completely astonished by his own question.

"I haven't given it consideration," Caroline answered. She smiled and then added, "We have heard such stories! They are a prickly, closed group and one must always be terribly correct. Charity fears that she will do something that will embarrass my father her first night out. She wishes to be correct, you see."

Her voice sounded strained and Bradford became all the more intrigued.

Mr. Smith commented, "I predict that you'll be the talk of London." His voice sounded smug and arrogant.

He had meant it as a compliment and was confused when Caroline nodded and frowned up at him. "That is Charity's worry about me. She fears I'll do something quite dreadful and all of London will hear of it. You see, I am rarely correct in anything that I do. My mama calls me a rebel. I fear she's right."

Her comment about her character was made in a very matter-of-fact voice.

"No, no. You mistake my meaning," Mr. Smith stated. He waved his handkerchief in the air like a flag. "I mean to say that the ton will embrace you. I predict it."

"You are most kind," Caroline whispered. "But I hold little hope. It doesn't signify, as you English are fond of saying, for I'll be returning to Boston. It doesn't matter if I'm cut by Pummer himself."

"Pummer?" Both Bradford and Mr. Smith stated the name together.

"Plummer or Brummer," Caroline returned with a shrug. "Mr. Smith, if you would just move your leg a little so that I can catch this loose end. There, now I can proceed."

"Do you mean Brummell? Beau Brummell?" Bradford asked, a smile in his voice.

"Yes, that is probably the correct name. We were told by Mrs. Maybury, before we left Boston, that this Brummell rules the ton, but of course you must know that. Mrs. Maybury had only just arrived in the Colonies before we left, so we believe her story to be accurate."

"And what was her story?" Bradford asked.

"That if Brummell decides to cut a lady, then she might as well join a convent. Her season is ruined and she must go home in disgrace. Can you imagine one person having such power?" She asked the question of Bradford and glanced up at him. She immediately wished she hadn't. Of course he could imagine such power, she told herself. The man probably invented it. She sighed with frustration and lowered her gaze.

Bradford's closeness was beginning to irritate her. She looked up at Mr. Smith and saw his distressed frown. "Oh, have I made the bandage too tight?"

"N-no, it's fine," Mr. Smith stammered.

"You must understand that I personally do not care if Brummell cuts me or not. London holds no promise for me. Still, I do worry that Charity will be affected by my behavior and possibly hurt and I don't wish to see her humiliated. Yes, that is a worry."