"Thank you, Augusta. May I ask what changed your mind?" He waited tensely for the response.

"I have done a great deal of thinking about the matter and I realize I have very little choice. As you have pointed out on numerous occasions, it is my duty as your wife to obey you."

"I see." Harry was silent for a long moment, much of his relief turning sour. "I am sorry you are guided only by duty, madam."

She frowned. "What else would you have me guided by, if not duty?"

"A sense of trust, perhaps?"

She inclined her head politely. "There is that. I have concluded that you will keep your word. You said you would not expose my brother's secrets to the world and I believe you."

Harry, who was not accustomed to having his word questioned in the first place, not even for a moment, could not quite squelch his irritation. "It took you nearly three full days to conclude you could trust my oath, madam?"

She sighed. "No, Harry. I trusted your word from the start. If you must have the truth, that was never really the problem. You are a very honorable man. Everyone knows that."

"Then what was the problem?" he demanded roughly.

Augusta kept her eyes focused between her mare's ears. "I was afraid, my lord."

"Afraid of what, for God's sake? Of what you might learn about your brother?" It took all his willpower to keep his voice low so that Meredith would not overhear.

"Not precisely. I do not doubt my brother's innocence for a moment. But I was anxious about what you would think of me if, after reading that poem, you somehow conclude that Richard was guilty of treason."

Harry stared at her. "Damnation, Augusta. You believed I would think less of you because of something I concluded your brother might have done?"

"I am a Northumberland Ballinger, too, my lord," she pointed out in a strained voice. "If you believed one of us was capable of treason, you might very well question the integrity of others in my family."

"You thought I might question your integrity?" He was appalled at the workings of her mind.

She sat very straight in the saddle. "I am aware that you already believe me to be sadly frivolous and inclined toward mischief as it is. I did not want you to question my honor, as well. We are bound together for life, my lord. It will be a very long and difficult road ahead for both of us if you think all Northumberland Ballingers lacking in honor."

"Devil take it, madam, 'tis not honor you lack, but intellect." Harry halted his horse and reached out to sweep Augusta off the sidesaddle.

"Harry."

"Were all the members of the Northumberland side of the family so singularly obtuse? I can only hope it does not run in the blood."

He pulled her across his thighs and kissed her soundly. The heavy skirts of her riding habit swung against his stallion's sides, causing the animal to prance. Harry tightened his hand on the reins without lifting his mouth from Augusta's.

"Harry, my horse," Augusta gasped when she could. She clutched at her outrageous little green hat. "She will wander off."

"Papa? Papa, what are you doing to Augusta?" Meredith's voice was thin with anxiety as she jogged back toward her father.

"I am kissing your mother, Meredith. See to her mare, will you? We do not want her to run off."

"Kissing her?" Meredith's eyes widened. "Oh, I see. Do not worry about Augusta's mare, Papa. I will catch her."

Harry was not in the least concerned about the mare, which had only wandered as far as the nearest clump of grass. All he really cared about at the moment was getting Augusta into bed. The battle had only lasted two nights and three days, but that was definitely two nights and three days too long.

"Harry, really. You must put me down at once. Whatever will Meredith think?" Augusta glowered up at him as she lay cradled in his arms.

"Since when did you become so concerned with the proprieties, madam wife?"

"They have been increasingly on my mind since I became the mother of a daughter," Augusta grumbled.

Harry roared with laughter.

Harry opened the door to Augusta's bedchamber later that night and found her sitting at her dressing table. Her maid had just finished preparing her mistress for bed.

"That will be all, Betsy," Augusta said, her eyes riveted to Harry's in the mirror.

"Yes, ma'am. Good night, sir." Betsy's eyes held a pleased, knowing expression as she made her curtsy and let herself out the door.

Augusta got to her feet with a tentative smile. Her wrapper fell open and Harry saw that her nightdress was made of sheerest muslin. He could see her soft breasts swelling against the gossamer fabric. When he allowed his gaze to wander lower, he saw the dark, triangular shadow that crowned her thighs. Suddenly he was achingly aware of his arousal.

"I suppose you have come for the poem?" Augusta said.

Harry shook his head and smiled slowly. "The poem can wait, madam. I have come for you."

Augusta rose from the bed a long time later, her body still warm from Harry's lovemaking. She relit a taper and carried it across the bedchamber to her dressing table. Harry stirred in the bed behind her.

"Augusta? What are you doing?"

"I am getting Richard's poem." She opened the small chest which contained her mother's necklace and the folded sheet of paper she had saved for two years.

"It can wait until morning." Harry propped himself on his elbow and watched her with narrowed eyes.

"No. I want to finish this now." She carried the folded sheet back to him. "Here. Read it."

Harry took the paper from her hand. His dark brows drew together in a frown." 'Tis doubtful I can tell anything about it with only a quick glance. It will need study."

"It is nonsense, Harry. Not an affair of state at all. Just nonsense. He was dying when he bid me take it and keep it. In his agony he may have been suffering from some strange inner visions."

Harry looked up at her and Augusta abruptly ceased talking. She sighed, sank down on the edge of the bed, and looked at the terrible brown stains on the paper. She had memorized the words by heart.

The Spider's Web

Behold the brave young men who play upon the glistening web, See how their silver sabers shimmer.

They meet for tea at number three and return again to serve their master's dinner.

He dines amid the silken strands and drinks the careless young men's blood.

He bides his time at three and nine until the light grows dimmer. Now many are few and few are none.

The spider plays a hand of cards and finds be is the winner.

Count twenty as three and three as one until you see the glimmer.

Augusta waited tensely as Harry reread the poem in silence. When he was finished he looked at her again, this time with a cool, searching intensity.

"Did you show this to anyone after your brother's death, Augusta?"

Augusta nodded. "A man came to talk to Uncle Thomas a few days after my brother was killed. He asked to see my brother's effects and Uncle Thomas said I should show him everything. He read the poem."

"What did he say?"

"That it was nonsense. He was not interested in it. Only in the documents that had been found on Richard's body. And then he started hinting that Richard had been selling information to the French. He and Uncle Thomas agreed the matter should be kept quiet."

"Do you remember the man's name?"

"Crawley, I believe."

Harry closed his eyes briefly in disgust. "Crawley. Yes, of course. That stupid, blundering buffoon. No wonder there were no further inquiries made."

"Why do you say that?"

"Crawley was a fool."

"Was?" Augusta frowned.

"He died over a year ago. He was not only an idiot, he had some rather antiquated notions about the propriety of gathering military intelligence. He found that sort of task highly improper and far beneath the touch of a true gentleman. As a result, he knew very little about the process and would not have recognized a coded message if it had bitten him on the ass. Damn the man."