There was a wry edge to the curve of his mouth. "In other words, your name might be just what I need for an entrée to Irene Toller's house; is that it?"

"I do not think that it would seem odd to her if I re-quested a sitting. In fact, I might very well have done so in the normal course of events."

He contemplated that for a moment longer. Then he straightened in his seat and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs.

"Very well, Mrs. Fordyce," he said in his midnight voice. "If you can arrange a séance with Irene Toller, we shall attend it together."

Relieved at having achieved her objective, she gave him an approving smile. "I will send a note to Mrs. Toller immediately. I'm sure there will be no difficulty."

"Will I be allowed to hold your hand?" he asked. She froze. "I beg your pardon?"

He drew the curtains closed across the carriage windows with a few swift, efficient motions, plunging the interior into intimate shadow. He reached out and caught hold of her hand.

"I was under the impression that sitters at a séance often join hands." His fingers tightened gently around hers. "Something to do with strengthening or centering the power of the medium, I believe"

She looked down at his large, strong fingers and discovered that she could scarcely breathe. He was so very close. "Yes, well, that is the usual explanation," she managed.

"There are some who claim that mediums insist that every-one hold hands because that way a skeptical sitter is less likely to strike a light at an inopportune time or try to grab a spirit manifestation."

"And thereby expose the medium's tricks," he concluded. "Precisely."

"I shall look forward to holding your hand at the séance, Mrs. Fordyce"

She could not move. She did not want to move.

He held her transfixed with some invisible force while he slowly, deliberately raised her hand to his mouth. Turning her fingers palm up, he eased the green glove down just far enough to expose the exquisitely sensitive inside of her wrist.

She stopped breathing altogether.

When he kissed the place where her pulse beat so swiftly, she thought she would fall apart into a million tiny fireworks.

"Mr. Hardesty," she whispered.

He raised his head but he did not release her hand. "Call me Adam"

`Adam." She tasted the name on her tongue and discovered for the first time in her life the exotic flavors of fire and ice.

He smiled as though the sound of his name on her lips pleased him. Then he leaned a little closer. She realized with shock that he was going to kiss her right on her mouth. Before she could deal with the monumental implications of the situation, his lips closed over hers and the world around her dissolved into mist.

A euphoric feeling welled up inside her; delight, excitement, curiosity and anticipation mingled, making her light-headed. Dazzled, she put her hands on his shoulders to brace herself. When she touched him, he made a harsh, urgent sound deep in his throat, gripped her shoulders and pulled her hard against his chest.

He deepened the kiss until she could no longer think; until she was lost amid a tumult of powerful sensations.

The well-sprung carriage clattered to a halt. Adam reluctantly eased her away from him, sat back against the cushions and opened the curtains.

"We appear to have arrived at your address." He gave her a heart-stoppingly intimate look. "I can only regret that the journey did not take a good deal longer."

She did not know what to say to that so she looked out the window instead. Two figures stood on the doorstep. They, in turn, were staring at her in openmouthed astonishment.

She was instantly jolted back to reality.

"Oh, dear," she murmured. "This may prove to be a trifle difficult for you, sir."

Adam studied the pair on the step. "Your aunts, I presume?"

"I'm afraid so"

He reached for the door handle. "I told you that I am considered to be quite respectable. Surely they will not object to me bringing you home."

"The problem is that they will insist on inviting you in for a cup of tea."

"Excellent. I could do with a cup of tea."

"Wait, you don't understand," she said. "It won't be just the tea. There will be questions. A lot of them."

He smiled his mysterious smile and got out of the vehicle. "I don't mind a few questions," he said. "As it happens, I have a few of my own."

Some twenty minutes later she was still wondering uneasily what Adam had meant by that last cryptic remark. She studied him covertly, uncertain of his mood. He should have been showing signs of impatience, she thought, but instead he seemed to have made himself quite comfortable in the little parlor at Number 22 Corley Lane.

He was seated in an armchair, legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle stacked casually on top of the other. On the table beside him there was a half-finished cup of tea and a plate of Mrs. Plummer's pastries. He had made great inroads on the latter.

"I'm sure your niece has explained to you both that I believe that Elizabeth Delmont was in possession of a certain diary at the time of her death," he said around a mouthful of jam tart.

Milly and Emma had been polite but wary at the start of the conversation. However they appeared to be falling very quickly under Adam's spell.

"Yes," Milly said. "Caroline told us about the diary.^" Emma frowned. "I will admit that we are all quite curious about the contents."

"Naturally." Adam swallowed the last of his tart. "I regret to say that I cannot satisfy your curiosity entirely. I'm sure you will understand when I tell you that the diary contains some information of an extremely personal nature about other people of whom I happen to be very fond.^"

"How did you come to discover that Mrs. Delmont was in possession of the diary?" Caroline said.

He hesitated briefly. She knew he was deciding just how much to tell them.

"A fortnight ago I received word of the death of an old friend named Maud Gatley," he said. "I was saddened by the loss, but the news was not unexpected. Maud had been addicted to opium for a long time. In recent years the drug had taken control of her life. In the end, it killed her."

"How tragic," Milly whispered.

"A few days later I received a blackmail note threatening to reveal the contents of Maud's diary unless I left a very large sum of money in a certain location." Adam reached for another tart. "Until that moment, I had not realized that Maud had kept a journal. I immediately made some inquiries and soon discovered that what few possessions she had left behind had been claimed by a cousin.^"

"You tracked down the cousin?" Emma asked.

"Yes. Discovering that Maud had a relative was some-thing of a surprise, too. She had always claimed that she had no family."

`Amazing how long-lost relations emerge from the woodwork when a person dies and leaves behind a few items of value," Emma said dryly.

Adam was amused. "Yes. In any event, I realized that, given the timing of events, the unknown cousin had no doubt found the diary among Maud's things, read it, saw the potential for profit and fired off the anonymous extortion note. I made a few more inquiries and identified Elizabeth Delmont as the woman who had come to Maud's lodgings and taken away what little was there."

"That was an excellent piece of detective work, sir," Milly said, impressed.

He reached for his tea. "Actually, it was not particularly complicated at all. A few questions here and there and I soon had an address in Hamsey Street"

He spoke casually, as though anyone could have achieved similar results, Caroline thought, but she knew that was not true. Those who moved in Adam Hardesty's circles did not associate with the Elizabeth Delmonts of this world. Judging by the few possessions she had left be-hind, the opium-addicted Maud had occupied an even lower rung on the social ladder. It was highly unlikely that the average gentleman in Society would have the sort of connections required to trace a link between someone like Maud and her cousin so quickly.