She could not have made it more plain that she did not trust him. He wondered if she would be equally reluctant to join Julian Elsworth in a carriage.

He tried another approach.

"Surely it is not gossip you fear, Mrs. Fordyce," he said dryly. "You are, after all, a respectable widow, not an unwed young lady who must avoid being seen getting into a carriage with a gentleman who is not her intended"

To his surprise the small taunt had a rather startling re-action. Caroline's hand tightened almost violently around the handle of the parasol.

"I am well aware of the dictates of propriety," she said coldly.

"Of course. Then may I ask where the problem lies?" "It lies with the fact that I do not know precisely who you are, sir."

"I told you, my name is Hardesty. Adam Hardesty." "Why should I believe that is your real name any more than Grove was?"

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small white piece of pasteboard neatly imprinted with his name. "My card, Mrs. Fordyce."

She examined the card, unimpressed. "Calling cards can be forged."

She handed the card back to him as though it were a piece of trash. For the first time in a long while he felt his temper heat.

"I do not mean to give offense, madam," he said evenly, "but this coyness is a bit overdone, if you don't mind my saying so. You are, after all, an author of sensation novels."

"What of it?"

"Everyone knows what that means."

"Indeed? And just what does it imply about me person-ally, Mr. Hardesty?"

It occurred to him that he had painted himself into a very small corner. This sort of thing rarely happened to him in his dealings with women.

"It means that you write stories that rely upon a great deal of, well, sensation," he said, belatedly cautious. "What is wrong with that?"

He gave the street a quick survey, making certain that there was no one near enough to overhear the deteriorating conversation. The last thing he wanted was a public scene.

"It is a fact that sensation novelists are noted for writing plots that involve what can only be termed extremely worldly subjects," he said in low tones.

"How would you know that, sir? You have made it clear that you don't read that sort of thing"

"True. But I did happen to peruse the most recent chapter of The Mysterious Gentleman. In that single episode there were unmistakable references to adultery, illicit love affairs, both a runaway marriage and a run-away carriage, and a murder. Clearly your plots rely on one sensation after another."

She gave him a steely smile. "I am impressed with your

newfound knowledge of the genre, sir. But perhaps you should read a few more chapters before you make judgments about the author."

"There is no need to finish the story. It is obvious that Edmund Drake is going to meet a very unpleasant end. My uncle and my sister assure me that you are noted for bringing your villains to dreadful ends."

Caroline's expression underwent a sea change. "Your sister and your uncle read my work?"

"I'm afraid so."

"I see." She was delighted by that news. "It is always a great pleasure to learn that someone enjoys my stories." "Yes, well, as I was saying—"

"I quite understand now why you are so concerned about the respectability of my novels." She smiled warmly. "Naturally you do not wish your sister to be exposed to in-appropriate subjects. Rest assured that although my themes and plots are often mature in nature, my characters are suitably rewarded or punished depending upon the morality of their actions."

"That does not bode well for Edmund Drake."

`"There is no need to be concerned about him. He is the villain, after all. Bear in mind that my heroes always save the day and marry the heroine."

He planted one hand against the side of the carriage and leaned over her just far enough to cast her into his shadow. "Tell me, Mrs. Fordyce, have you ever gotten your heroes and villains mixed up?"

"Never, sir. The difference between a hero and a villain has always been perfectly obvious to me."

He could see that there was not so much as a sliver of doubt in her mind on that score. Drake was doomed. "How fortunate for you, madam," he said.

Understanding lit her eyes. "Oh, dear. You are taking this personally because I told you that I intended to use you as a model for the character of Edmund Drake." She gave him a contrite smile. "My apologies. I did not mean to insult you or injure your feelings, sir."

What in blazes was he doing standing here arguing about her villains and her heroes?

"Do not concern yourself with my feelings, madam. I assure you, they have endured far worse abuse." He straightened and took his hand off the side of the vehicle. "You can make amends by allowing me to see you safely home?

"Well—"

"If you still have doubts about my identity, Ned here can vouch for me."

Ned had been standing patiently beside the open carriage door, trying very hard to look as if he was not listening to the unusual conversation. He started violently at the sound of his name.

"Sir^?"

"Please assure Mrs. Fordyce that my name is Adam Hardesty and that I am considered, by and large, to be a respectable gentleman who is not in the habit of kidnapping ladies and carrying them off in my carriage for immoral purposes."

Ned's jaw dropped in visible shock. He swallowed quickly and pulled himself together with an obvious effort.

"I can vouch for Mr. Hardesty here, ma'am," he said with touching sincerity. "Driven for him for years. Ye've nothing to fear from him and that's a fact."

Caroline smiled. "I have your word on that, Ned?" "Aye, ma'am. And may I say, Mrs. Fordyce, that I find your new novel even more thrilling than the last one. The business with the fire and the rescue of little Miss Ann from the flames was very exciting. So was the bit with the murder."

Caroline glowed. "Why, thank you, Ned."

"It was a stroke of genius to keep Edmund Drake lurking about in the shadows, so to speak, until this new chapter. Very mysterious, he is."

Caroline blushed happily and walked to the steps that Ned had set down in front of the carriage door. "You are very kind to say so."

Ned grinned and handed her up into the vehicle. "I can't wait to see what happens to that rotten-hearted bloke."

Caroline laughed lightly. "I am working out his fate this very week, Ned."

Adam watched her bend elegantly at the waist to enter the carriage. The ridiculous green and gold velvet bow twitched enticingly and then vanished into the shadows.

Perhaps he ought to start taking lessons from Ned, he thought, climbing in behind Caroline. His coachman had had no difficulty whatsoever persuading her to get into the carriage. Hero material, no doubt.

She had done it, Caroline thought, rather dazed by her own boldness. She had taken advantage of her status as a widow to climb into the carriage, and now she was sitting here sharing the vehicle's intimate confines with the most fascinating man she had ever met in her life.

It was unfortunate that the topic of conversation was to be murder.

She gave Adam an inquiring look, trying to act blasé, as though she was accustomed to riding through the streets of London with a gentleman.

"The rumors were correct, it seems," Adam said. He lounged in the corner, one leg outstretched, an arm braced on the window frame. "There was certainly no love lost between Irene Toller and Elizabeth Delmont."

"No, indeed" Caroline forced herself to concentrate on

what she had observed at the demonstration. "Mrs. Toller made no secret of the fact that she feels justice was done."

Adam raised a brow. "I doubt if there was any justice involved, but regardless of the motive, Mrs. Delmont's skull was not crushed by manifestations from the Other Side. I cannot imagine that any self-respecting spirit would use something as mundane as a fireplace poker to commit murder."