Author: Anne Stuart

At the ominous, enticing sound of that single word she tried to scramble to her feet, but he caught her, pulling her up against his hard, strong body, one hand around her waist, imprisoning her quite easily. "Are you going to speak, or is this vow of silence permanent? Not that I'm not enjoying this game tremendously, but sooner or later it's going to come down to my bedding you, and you know it. Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

She could push back her hood and declare herself, and he'd release her, horrified at his mistake. He had no interest in plain, virginal Charlotte Spenser—he was here looking for a talented playmate.

But then everyone would know. He'd scarcely keep quiet about it, and doubtless everyone in London society would find it vastly entertaining. She'd never be able to show her face in town again.

Which wouldn't be a terrible fate, but she couldn't abandon Lina. No, her best bet was to go along with him, keep her head down and say nothing and wait for her next chance to run. She'd gotten away from him once, and would have succeeded if it hadn't been for the wretched sandal. Barefoot, she could be fleet and determined—she was used to running through the meadows at home, barefoot. He'd be no match for her.

She calmed her struggles, and his grip loosened. He released her, and she knew a totally mad moment of regret. There had been something undeniably wonderful about being held in Adrian Rohan's arms.

It was hardly the stuff of her fantasies, she tried to remind herself briskly. For one thing, he thought she was a man. For another, this was a place of unbridled licentiousness. He'd probably shag a goat if one wandered by.

"You've decided to be agreeable?" Rohan said "How mysterious. Either you've taken a vow of silence, young friar, or I know you. That, or perhaps your voice might betray a less than patrician upbringing. Let me assure you I'm wonderfully democratic when it comes to sex. But not to worry—I have far better things for your mouth to be doing."

Charlotte thought of that statue, the one where the female had actually put her mouth on the sculpted male. If he wanted someone so do that he was going to have to look elsewhere.

He held out his hand, and she surprised herself by taking it, using it to balance herself as she took off her recalcitrant sandal. She needed every advantage she could get. He took it from her hand before she could drop it on the ground.

"Such a small sandal. You have very delicate feet," he observed. "And lovely hands as well. I think I'm going to enjoy the next three days immensely."

Three days? Good God, what could he possibly find to do with someone for three whole days?

She'd been a fool to attempt this, she thought, sick with misery. She couldn't afford to waste time berating herself now—it would have to wait until she got back to the safety of her room. In the meantime, she had to concentrate on getting away from Rohan and any other degenerates roaming these grounds in

"Are you ready. Brother Silence?" he murmured, his voice mocking, as if he knew very well she wasn't who she pretended to be. Well, of course—he knew she was but someone masquerading as a monk, and he was playing along, barely.

But why hadn't he demanded to see her face? He'd made no effort to push the cowl back, thank God, but wasn't that slightly odd? Wouldn't he want to know what the person he planned on bedding looked like? Apparently not, and she could only count her blessings. There was still a chance she might pull this off, escape before he found out her identity.

Adrian was still holding her hand. She simply nodded and let him lead her toward the temple.

Evangelina picked up her heavy skirts and followed the servant out into the darkness lit only by the lantern the footman was carrying. The festivities had already begun—she could hear the sounds of carnal delight fill the evening air, and she suddenly thought of Charlotte. She'd meant to keep a close eye on her innocent cousin, perhaps enlist a few friends to make certain she was safe. One of those friends had been Montague.

She hadn't even noticed his collapse, his sudden disappearance, too intent on her twin purposes of keeping Charlotte safe and getting Adrian Rohan into her bed. Once the servant had found her and whispered in her ear, all Lina's plans had vanished, and she had taken off with the man.

As she climbed back into one of the flat-bottomed boats that were used to carry the revelers to and from the abbey ruins she knew a moment's misgivings. This wasn't beyond the realm of the Mad Monks-one of them could have dressed in Monty's livery to lure her away. Games like this one were simply part of the frivolity.

If that were indeed the case, she wasn't sure whether she'd be pleased or angry. But no, the man holding the torch wasn't anyone she knew, and he carried himself like a servant, not an aristocrat. Monty must truly be ill.

"Hurry," she said in a sharp voice.

"Yes, miss. Mr. Dodson told me I was to get you there as quick as can be. His lordship won't take his medicine and is insisting on returning to the party, and Mr. Dodson's that worried."

"Won't take his medicine?" Lina said grimly. "I'll see to that."

By the time the boat pulled up back at the quay by Hensley Court she was half-frantic, and she didn't wait for the footman to tie up and help her out, she scrambled onto the riverbank and took off across the wide lawn.

Dodson, Monty's devoted manservant, was waiting for her, wringing his hands and pacing. "Oh, your ladyship," he said, his voice shaken. "Thank goodness you've come. I'm at my wits' end."

"How is he, Dodson?"

He was already leading her into the house. "Not good, my lady, though he could be worse. If I could just convince him to retire for the night, to take his medication and rest, but he insists he must return."

"Insists, does he? I don't think so. He'll have me to reckon with."

Dodson paused outside the salon door. "It's just for tonight, my lady. By tomorrow Mr. Pagett should arrive, and he should be able to help the master..."

"What did you say?" came a roar from the room beyond.

Lina pushed the door all the way open. "You always did have devilishly good hearing, Monty." She smiled. "Now stop being a prima donna and let Dodson look after you properly."

In truth, Montague looked awful. His color was gray, and despite the coolness of the night his thin, powdered and patched face was covered in sweat. Nevertheless, he still managed to fix Dodson with a ferocious glare. "What's this about Simon coming early?" he demanded in awful tones.

Dodson had served Montague for too long to be cowed. "I thought it would be for the best, sir. You're getting weaker, you won't listen to your doctor or to me. Perhaps Mr. Pagett will be able to make you see

"The vicar? Pah!" he said in disgust, his voice breathless as he struggled not to cough. "He's a demmed parson! All he'll do is ring a peal over me, preach to me about the error of my ways. I tell you, Lina, there's nothing worse than a reformed hellion. Just because they've found God or some such nonsense doesn't mean everyone else has to."

"You'll pardon my saying so, my lord, but you've given him the living hereabouts. Isn't he supposed to help everyone else find God?" Dodson asked tentatively.

"Demme, but you're a nervy bastard tonight, Dodson."

"Yes, sir," Dodson said serenely.

Lina sank onto the tufted stool near the head of the divan where Montague lay, his body stretched out beneath a silken counterpane. "I imagine he was thinking of me," she said. "You won't listen to the servants and someone must make you behave. Since I'm one of the very few people who can keep you in line, that role falls to me, and he didn't want me to relinquish my entire three days of fun."

Montague surveyed her from beneath his lank blond hair. "Doing it a little too brown, my precious," he murmured. "Dodson has a fondness for you, and he disapproves of all this. I expect he'd like nothing better than to keep you out of it."

"My lord!" Dodson looked genuinely shocked.

"Oh, go away, Dodson. And when the vicar shows

one has arranged for a housekeeper for him." "Someone has," Dodson said with real dignity.

Since Dodson served as Montague's valet, butler and social secretary, that someone was certainly he.

"Milady, would you care for a cup of a tea, or a glass of wine, perhaps?"

Lina smiled pleasantly. If she was to spend the night by Montague's side and not in bed with one of

the Heavenly Host, then she had no need to drink. "Tea would be lovely. And a cold supper? Bring enough for his lordship."

"I don't want any demmed food," Monty said fretfully. "Unless you can bring me a sirloin and a pint of ale."

'A good beef broth, I think.” Lina said, ignoring him. "With some barley water."

"Barley water? Faugh!" He fixed a glared on both of them. "You may as well kill me now. If Dodson can send for Adrian Rohan instead, you may return to the Revels. Yes, I know you had your eye on him for this occasion, but my needs take precedence. Adrian will understand I can't bear such pig swill."

"Viscount Rohan will be just as strict, my lord," Dodson said. "No one wishes you to die."

A spasm of coughing shook Monty's frail body, and the he lay back against the pillows, exhausted, two bright spots of color on his cheeks. "Do you what you want." His feint voice was querulous. "I don't have the will to fight you. At this rate you'll plague me to death."

"Indeed, I hope not, sir," Dodson said with great dignity before retiring.

There was silence for a moment. The tall windows were open to the cool night air, and in the distance Lina could hear music floating over the water, accompanied by the sound of laughter. And because no one would notice, she breathed a sigh of relief. At least tonight she could be at peace.

"You're terrible to poor Dodson," she said.

Monty sighed. "Yes, I am, aren't I? It never seems to bother him." He paused, his long thin fingers plucking at the quilt covering his frail body. "You'll see to him, won't you, Lina? I've made what arrangements I could, but I worry about the old thing."