Blake cracked a smile at the sight of the elegant Marquis of Riverdale balancing a tea service. "If I could find another I trust, I'd hire him in a minute. At any rate, as soon as I'm done with my duties at the War Office, the discretion of my servants will no longer be quite as paramount."

"Are you still determined to quit, then?"

"You have to ask?"

"I think he means yes," James said to Caroline. "Although with Ravenscroft, one never knows. He has an appalling habit of answering questions with questions."

"Yes, I'd noticed," she murmured.

Blake pushed himself off the wall. "James?"

"Blake?"

"Shut up."

James grinned. "Miss Trent, why don't we retire to the drawing room? The tea ought to restore your voice at least somewhat. Once we have you speak­ing without pain, we ought to be able to figure out what the devil to do with you."

Blake closed his eyes for a moment as Caroline trailed after James, listening to her raspy voice as she said, "You should call me Caroline. I've already given Mr. Ravenscroft leave to do so."

Blake waited for a minute or two before follow­ing, needing a moment of solitude to sort out his thoughts. Or at least to try. Nothing seemed clear where she was concerned. He'd felt such a rush of relief when he'd found out that Carlotta De Leon was not really Carlotta De Leon.

Caroline. Her name was Caroline. Caroline Trent. And he wasn't lusting after a traitor.

He shook his head in disgust. As if that were the only problem facing him just now. What the hell was he supposed to do with her? Caroline Trent was smart, very smart. That much was abundantly clear. And she hated Oliver Prewitt enough to help bring him to justice. It might take a little convincing to help her get past her distaste for espionage, but not much. Prewitt had, after all, ordered his son to rape her. Caroline wasn't likely to turn the other cheek after something like that.

The obvious solution was to keep her here at Sea-crest Manor. She was surely full of information they could use against Prewitt. It was doubtful that she was privy to his illegal dealings, but with the proper questioning, he and James could unearth clues that she probably didn't even realize she knew. If nothing else, she'd be able to give them the layout of Prewitt Hall-invaluable information if he and James decided to break in.

So then, if she was such a good addition to their team why was he so reluctant to ask her to stay?

He knew the answer. He just didn't want to look deep enough within his soul to admit it.

Cursing himself for seven different kinds of a coward, Blake turned on his heel and strode out the front door. He needed some air.

"What do you suppose is keeping our good friend Blake?"

Caroline looked up at the sound of James's voice as she poured his tea. "He certainly isn't my good friend," she replied.

"Well, I wouldn't call him your enemy."

"No, he isn't that. It's just that I don't think friends tie friends to the bedpost."

James choked on his tea. "Caroline, you have no idea."

"The point is moot, anyway," she said, glancing out the window. "He's walking away."

"What?" James shot up from the sofa and crossed the room. "Bloody coward."

"Surely he's not afraid of me," she joked.

James turned his head to look at her, his eyes bor­ing into her face so sharply she grew uncomfortable. "Perhaps he is," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

"My lord?"

James shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts, but he didn't stop staring at her. "I told you to call me James." He grinned mischievously. "Or 'dear friend' if you think James is too familiar." .

She let out a ladylike snort. "Both are too familiar, as you well know. Given my remarkable predicament, however, it seems silly to split hairs over such a matter."

"An eminently practical woman," he said with a smile. "The very best sort."

"Yes, well, my father was in trade," she quipped. "One must be practical to succeed in such endeavors."

"Ah, yes, of course. Trade. You keep reminding me. What sort of trade?"

"Shipbuilding."

"I see. You must have grown up near the coast, then."

"Yes. In Portsmouth until my- Why are you looking at me so oddly?"

"I'm sorry. Was I staring?"

"Yes," she said baldly.

"It's simply that you remind me of someone I once knew. Not in looks. Not even quite in man­nerisms. It's more of a..." He cocked his head as he searched for the right word. "It's more of a re­semblance of spirit, if there is such a thing."

"Oh," Caroline replied, for the lack of anything more intelligent to say. "I see. I do hope she was someone nice."

"Oh, yes. The very best. But never mind that." James walked back across the room and sat down in the chair adjacent to her. "I've been giving our situation a great deal of thought."

Caroline sipped at her tea. "Have you?"

"Yes. I think you should stay here."

"I have no problem with that."

"Not even for your reputation?"

Caroline shrugged. "As you said, I'm practical. Mr. Ravenscroft has already mentioned that his servants are discreet. And my other options are re­turning to Oliver-"

"Which really isn't an option at all," James inter­rupted, "unless you want to end up married to that lackwit son of his."

She nodded emphatically. "Or I can go back to my original plan."

"Which was?"

"I'd thought to find work at an inn."

"Not exactly the safest of prospects for a woman alone."

"I know," Caroline agreed, "but I really didn't have a choice."

James stroked his jaw thoughtfully. "You'll be safe here at Seacrest Manor. We're certainly not about to return you to Prewitt."

"Mr. Ravenscroft hasn't yet agreed to let me stay," she reminded him. "And this is his house."

"He will."

Caroline thought James was being a trifle over­confident. But then again he didn't know about the

kiss she and Blake had shared. Blake had seemed rather disgusted by the entire affair.

James turned to face her suddenly. "We'll want you to help us bring your guardian to justice."

"Yes, Mr. Ravenscroft said as much."

"Didn't he tell you to call him Blake?"

"Yes, but somehow it seems too..."

Intimate. The word hung in her mind, as did the image of his face. Dark brows, elegantly molded cheekbones, a smile that rarely appeared... oh, but when it did...

It was really embarrassing, Caroline thought, how one of his smiles could make her feel so giddy.

And his kiss! Dear Lord, it had made her feel things that couldn't possibly be good for her sanity. He had leaned toward her, and she'd simply frozen, mesmerized by his heavy-lidded stare. If he hadn't upset the moment by calling her Carlotta, heaven only knew what she would have let him do.

The most amazing thing had been that he had seemed to enjoy the kiss as well. Percy had always said that she was the third-ugliest girl in all Hamp­shire, but then again Percy was a fool and his taste had always run toward buxom blonds...

"Caroline?"

She looked up sharply.

James's lips were curved into an amused smile. "You're woolgathering."

"Oh. Terribly sorry. I was just going to say that Mr----er... I mean Blake already talked to me

about helping you arrest Oliver. I must say, it's rather disconcerting to know that he may go to the gallows as a direct result of my involvement, but if, as you say, he has been conducting treasonous ac­tivities ..."