Caroline gasped. The man was lying on top of her! She would have blistered his ears, except that she knew she had to keep her voice down. Not to mention the fact that she was lying facedown on the ground and had no desire to get a mouthful of grass.

"How old is the butler?"

She nearly gasped. His breath was warm against her cheek, and she could swear she felt the touch of his lips against her ear. "At-at least fifty," she whispered, "but he's a crack shot."

"The butler?"

"He served in the army," she explained. "In the Colonies. I believe he was awarded a medal for valor."

"Just my luck," Blake muttered. "I don't suppose he's handy with a bow and arrow."

"Why, no, but I did see him once hit a tree with a knife from twenty paces."

"What?" Blake swore under his breath-another one of those splendidly creative curses that so im­pressed her.

"I'm joking," she said quickly.

His entire body tensed with fury. "This is not the time or the place for-"

"Yes, I realize that now," she mumbled.

James appeared from around the corner, crawling on his hands and knees. He eyed them with interest. "I had no idea you were having such fun over here."

"We are not having fun," Blake and Caroline hissed in unison.

James shook his head with such solemnity that it was clear he was mocking them. "No, obviously you are not." He then focused his eyes on Blake, who was still lying on top of Caroline. "Let's get back to work. The butler's gone up to his room."

"Are you certain?"

"I saw the light leave the drawing room, then go upstairs."

"There's a window in the side stairwell," Caro­line explained. "You can see it from the south."

"Good," Blake said, rolling off of her and moving into a crouch. "Lef s get back to work opening those windows."

"Bad idea," Caroline said. Both men turned to face her, and in the dark she couldn't be certain whether their expressions were interested or disdainful.

"Farnsworth will hear you from his room," she said. "It's only two stories up, and since it's warm out, he's most likely opened the windows. If he hap­pens to look out, he will most certainly see you."

"You might have told us this before we at­tempted break in," Blake snapped. "I can still get you in," she shot back. "How?"

' Thank you, Caroline. " she said sarcastically. ' 'That is very thoughtful of you.' 'Why, you're welcome, Blake, it's no trouble at all to assist you.'"

He didn't look amused. "We don't have time for jokes, Caroline. Tell us what to do."

"Can you pick a lock?"

He looked affronted that she'd even asked. "Of. course. Riverdale is faster, though." '

Fine, follow me."

His hand landed heavily on her right shoulder. "You are not coming in."

"Am I supposed to remain out here by myself? Where anyone who passes by would recognize me

and return me to Oliver? Not to mention thieves, brigands-"

"Begging your pardon, Caroline," James cut in, "but we are the thieves and brigands in this little tableau."

Caroline choked back laughter.

Blake fumed.

James looked back and forth between them with unconcealed interest. Finally he said, "She's right, Ravenscroft. We can't leave her alone out here. Lead on, Caroline."

Blake was cursing a streak so blue it might as well have been black, but he trudged behind James and Caroline without an otherwise negative comment.

She took them to a side door that was partially concealed by a tall English maple. Then she crouched down and put her finger to her lips, in­dicating that they should remain still. The two men looked at her with puzzlement and interest as she heaved upward, slamming her shoulder into the door. They heard a latch come undone, and Caro­line swung the door open.

"Won't the butler have heard that?" James asked.

She shook her head. "His room is too far away. The only person who lives on this side of the Hall is the housekeeper, and she's quite deaf. I've sneaked in and out this way many times. No one has ever caught on."

"You might have told us this before," Blake said.

"You'd never have gotten it right. You have to hit the door just so. It took me weeks to learn."

"And what were you doing sneaking out at night?" he demanded.

"I fail to see how that is your business."

"You became my business when you took up res­idence in my house."

"Well, I wouldn't have moved in if you hadn't kidnapped me!"

"I wouldn't have kidnapped you if you hadn't been wandering about the countryside with no thought to your own safety."

"I was certainly safer in the countryside than I was at Prewitt Hall, and you well know it."

"You wouldn't be safe in a convent," he mut­tered.

Caroline rolled her eyes. "If that isn't the most ridiculous- Oh, never mind. If you're so upset that I didn't let you open the door, here, I'll close it again and you can have a go at it"

He took a menacing step forward. "Do you know, if I strangled you here and now there's not a jury in this country that wouldn't acquit-"

"If you two lovebirds can stop snapping at each other," James cut in, "I'd like to search the study before Prewitt returns home."

Blake glared at Caroline as if this entire delay were her fault, causing her to hiss, "Don't forget that if it weren't for me-"

"If it weren't for you," he shot back, "I would be a very happy man indeed."

"We are wasting time," James reminded them. "The both of you may remain here, if you cannot cease your squabbling, but I am going in to search the south drawing room."

"I'll go first," Caroline announced, "since I know the way."

"You'll go behind me," Blake contradicted, "and give me directions as we go along."

"Oh, for the love of Saint Peter," James finally burst out, exasperation showing in every line of his body. "I'll go first, if only to shut the two of you up. Caroline, you follow and give me directions. Blake, you guard her from the rear."

The trio made their way into the house, amaz­ingly without another word except for Caroline's whispered instructions. Soon they found themselves in front of the door to the south drawing room. James pulled out an odd flat tool and inserted it in the lock.

"Will that thing really work?" Caroline whis­pered to Blake.

He nodded curtly. "Riverdale's the best. He can pick a lock faster than anyone. Here, watch. Three more seconds. One, two..."

Click. The door swung open.

"Three," James said with a slightly self-satisfied smile.

"Well done," Caroline said.

He smiled back at her. "I've never met a woman or a lock that didn't love me."

Blake muttered something under his breath and strode past them. "You," he said, turning around and pointing to Caroline, "don't touch anything."

"Would you like me to tell you what Oliver also did not want me to touch?" she asked, her smile patently false.

"I don't have time for games, Miss Trent."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of wasting your time."

Blake turned to James. "I'm going to kill her."

"And I'm going to kill you" James returned. "Both of you." He stepped past them and made a beeline for the desk. "Blake, you inspect the shelves. Caroline, you-well, I don't know what you should do, but try not to yell at Blake."

Blake smirked.

"He yelled at me first," Caroline muttered, well aware that she was acting juvenile.

James shook his head and went to work on the locked desk drawers. He carefully picked each lock, then examined the contents of each drawer, rear­ranging them afterward so that Oliver wouldn't no­tice they'd been tampered with. .