He was also an Englishman, too old for her, and one of the hated nobles besides, and probably rich, with the wherewithal to buy whatever he wanted and the temerity to do whatever he wanted. Rules would mean nothing to such a man. Hadn't he abused her outrageously? The rogue, the wretch . . .

"Georgie?"

The whisper floated down to her, not very close. She didn't bother to whisper as she called back,

"Down here, Mac!"

A few moments passed while she heard Mac's footsteps approaching, then saw his shadow at the top of the stairs. "Ye can come up now, lass. The street's empty."

"I could hear it was empty,"Georginagrumbled as she climbed the stairs. "What took you so long? Did they detain you?"

"Nae, I was waiting aside the tavern tae be sure they'd no' be following ye. I was afeared the yellow-haired one was of a mind tae, but his brother was laughing sae much at his expense, he thought

better of it."

"As if he could have caught me, great lumbering ox that he was."Georginasnorted.

"Be glad ye didna have tae be putting it tae the testing," Mac said as he led her off down the street. "And maybe next time ye'll be listening tae me—"

"So help me, Mac, if you say I told you so, I won't speak to you for a week."

"Well, now, I'm thinking that might just be a blessing."

"All right, all right, I was wrong. I admit it. You won't catch me within fifty feet of another tavern other than the one we're forced to lodge in, and there I will only use the back stairs as we agreed. Am I forgiven for almost getting you pulverized?"

"Ye dinna have tae apologize fer what wasna yer fault, lass. It was me those two lairds were mistaking fer someone else, and that had nothing tae do wi' ye."

'But they were looking for a Cameron. What if it's Malcolm?"

"Nae, how could it be? They thought I was Cameron from the look of me. Now I ask ye, do I look at all like the lad?"

Georginagrinned, relieved at least on that score. Malcolm had been a skinny eighteen-year-old when she'd been so thrilled to accept his marriage proposal. Of course he was a man now, had likely filled out some, might even be a little taller. But his coloring would be the same, with black hair and blue eyes very similar to that arrogant Englishman's, and he was still more than twenty years younger than Mac, too.

"Well, whoever their Cameron is, I have nothing but sympathy for the poor man,"Georginaremarked.

Mac chuckled. "Frightened ye, did he?"

"He? I recall there were two of them."

"Aye, but I noticed ye only had the one tae deal wi'."

She wasn't going to argue about it. "What was it about him that was so ... different, Mac? I mean, they were both the same, and yet not the same. Brothers apparently, though you couldn't prove it by looking at them. And yet there was something else that was different about the one called James ... Oh, never mind. I'm not sure what I mean."

"I'm surprised ye sensed it, hinny."

"What?"

"That he was the more dangerous of the two. Ye had only tae look at him tae ken it, tae see the way he looked over that room when they first walked in, staring every mon there right in the eye. He'd have taken on that entire room of cutthroats and laughed while doing it. That one, fer all his fine elegance, felt right at home in that rough crowd."

"All that from the look of him?" She grinned.

"Aye, well, call it instinct, lass, and experience of his kind. Ye felt it, too, sae dinna scoff . . . and be glad ye're a fast runner."

"What's that suppose to mean? Don't you think he would have let us go?"

"Me, aye, but yerself, I'mno' sae sure. The mon held ye, lass, like he dinna want tae be losing ye."

Her ribs could attest to that, butGeorginamerely clicked her tongue. "If he hadn't held me, I'd have broken his nose."

"Ye tried that, as I recall, wi'out much luck."

"You could humor me a little."Georginasighed. "I've been through a trying time."

Mac snorted. "Ye've been through worse wi' yer own brothers."

"The sport of children, and years ago, I might point out," she retorted.

"Ye were chasing Boyd through the house just last winter wi' murder in yer eye."

" He's still a child, and a terrible prankster."

"He's older than yer Malcolm."

"That's it!"Georginamarched off ahead of him, tossing over her shoulder, "You're as bad as the lot of them, Ian MacDonell."

"Well, if ye'd wanted sympathy, girl, why did ye no' say so?" he called after her before he gave in to the laughter he was holding back.

Chapter Five

Hendon was a rural village, seven miles northwest ofLondonTown. The ride there on the two old nags Mac had rented for the day was a pleasant one, a grand concession forGeorgina, who still despised everything English. The wooded countryside they rode through was lovely, with valleys and undulating hills offering splendid views, and many shady lanes with pink and white blossoms on hawthorn hedges, wild roses, honeysuckle, and bluebells by the wayside.

Hendon itself was picturesque, with its cluster of cottages, a comparatively new manor house, even a large red brick almshouse. There was a small inn with too much activity in its yartt, so Mac elected to avoid it in favor of the old ivy-covered church with its tall stone tower at the north end of the village, where he hoped they could find out where Malcolm's cottage was.

It had been a surprise to learn Malcolm wasn't actually living inLondon. It had taken three long weeks to find that out, to finally locate Mr. Willcocks, Malcolm's supposed chum, who turned out not to be a chum of his after all. But he had steered them in another direction, and at last they had some luck, or Mac did, in finding someone who actually knew where Malcolm was.

While Mac spent half of each day working to earn their passage money home and the other half searching for Malcolm, Georgina, by his insistence, had spent the three weeks since the night of the tavern fiasco cooped up in her room, reading and rereading the one book she had brought along for the ocean crossing, until she was so sick of it she'd tossed it out her window, hit one of the tavern's clientele with it as he was leaving, and almost lost her room, the landlord had been so upset. It was the only excitement she'd had, mild as it was, and she'd been about ready to climb the walls, or toss something else out the window to see what would happen, when Mac returned last night with the news that Malcolm was living in Hendon.

She'd be reunited with him today, within a matter of minutes. She was so excited now she could barely stand it. She had spent more time getting ready this morning than it had taken them to get here, more time actually than she ever had before, her appearance usually not a matter of particular importance to her.

Her buttercup-yellow gown with its short, matching spencer, was the best of the outfits she had brought with her, and was only slightly mussed from the ride. Her thick brown curls were tucked securely under her silk bonnet, also yellow, the short wisps of hair across her brow and framing her cheeks the more becoming for being windblown. Her cheeks were blooming with color, her lips chewed a bright pink.

She'd been turning heads all morning, perched so prettily on the old nag, intriguing gentlemen in passing carriages and the townsfolk in Hampstead, through which they'd ridden, but only Mac took notice.

Georginawas too busy daydreaming, drawing forth her memories of Malcolm, pitifully few actually, but

precious for all that.

The day she'd met Malcolm Cameron, she had been dumped over the side ofWarren's ship when he'd had enough of her sisterly pestering, and six dockhands had jumped into the harbor to save her. Half of them couldn't swim nearly as well as she could, but Malcolm had been on the wharf with his father and had thought to play the hero, too. As it happened, Geor-gina pulled herself out of the water, while Malcolm had to be saved. But she had been duly impressed with his intention, and thoroughly infatuated.

He was all of fourteen and she twelve, and she decided then and there that he was the handsomest, most wonderful boy in the world.

Those sentiments didn't alter very much in the following years, even though Malcolm had had to be reminded of who she was when next they met, and the time after that, too. Then there had been Mary Ann's party, whereGeorginahad asked Malcolm to dance, and got her toes stepped on at least a half dozen times. He was sixteen then and more manly, and though he remembered her, he seemed more interested in her friend Mary Ann, who was closer to his age.

Of course, she hadn't determined to have him for herself yet, nor had she given him any indication of how certain she was that her infatuation with him had turned into love. Another year went by before she decided to do something about it, and this she did in a wholly logical manner. Malcolm was still the handsomest boy in town, but his prospects were not the best. She knew by then that his ambition was to be captain of his own ship, and that he would have to obtain his goal the hard way, by working his way up. She also was realistic about herself, knowing that she had nothing to recommend her in looks, that she sort of just blended in with the crowd. She had five handsome brothers, but something had gone wrong when it came to the only female in the family. But what she did have was a handsome dowry—her own Skylark ship to be hers alone on her eighteenth birthday, just as her brothers had received theirs.

But though she couldn't captain her ship as her brothers did theirs, her future husband could, and she made sure Malcolm was aware of this.

It was a calculated plot, to be sure, and she was the tiniest bit ashamed of it, especially when it worked.

Malcolm began courting her a few months before her sixteenth birthday, and on her birthday, he proposed. Sixteen, in love, and deliriously happy! It was no wonder she managed to ignore whatever guilt she was feeling in more or less having bought a husband. After all, no one had twisted Malcolm's arm. He was getting what he wanted just as much as she was. And she was sure that he felt something for her, and that his feelings would grow to match hers eventually. So everything would have worked out fine if the English hadn't interfered, blast them.

But they did. Her brothers had tried to interfere, too. She had discovered that they'd only been indulging her when they allowed her to become engaged at sixteen, assuming she would change her mind at least a half dozen time before she reached eighteen, when they would let her marry. She had fooled them though, and since the end of the war, each time they came home, they would try to talk her into forgetting about Malcolm and finding another husband. She'd had other offers. After all, her dowry was still a

powerful draw. And she wasn't so scatterbrained that she wasn't aware and delighted with the change in her appearance in recent years. But she had remained loyal to her one and only love, even when it got harder and harder to make excuses for why he hadn't returned to marry her in the four years since the war ended. But there would be a good reason, and today she would finally learn what it was. And before she leftEngland, she would be married.

"This be it, lass."

Georginastared at the lovely little cottage with its whitewashed walls and well-tended rose beds. She rubbed her hands together nervously but made no move to accept Mac's help to dismount. She couldn't even recall stopping at the church and waiting while Mac got directions.

"Maybe he isn't home?"

Mac said nothing, just patiently held up arms to her. They had both seen smoke coming from the single chimney. The cottage was definitely occupied.Georginachewed her lip a moment longer, then finally squared her shoulders. What was there to be nervous about anyway? She looked her best. She looked far better than Malcolm would remember. He couldn't help but be pleased that she had found him.

She let Mac lift her down, then followed him up the red-bricked walkway to the door. She would have paused another few moments just to get her heartbeat under control, but Mac wasn't taking such things into account. He pounded smartly on the door. And then it opened. And Malcolm Cameron stood there.

His face might have become vague in memory, but she recalled it now, for it hadn't really changed at all.

There were a few squint lines about the eyes, the mark of a sailor, but otherwise, he seemed not to have aged at all, seemed too young to be twenty-four. But he had grown. He was much, much taller, stood six feet at least, as tall as that James fellow . . . For God's sake, what made her think of him? But Malcolm hadn't widened any to compensate for the gained height. He was slim, almost gangly, but that was all right. Broad chests and thickly muscled arms were on her list of dislikes just now.

Malcolm looked fine, better than fine. He was still so handsome, she barely noticed the toddler he was holding, a pretty little girl of about two, with long blond hair and gray eyes.Georginahad eyes only for Malcolm, who was staring back at her as if, well, frankly, as if he didn't recognize her. But of course he did. She hadn't changed that much. He was only surprised, and with reason. She was likely the last person he would expect to turn up on his doorstep.

She should say something, but her mind didn't seem to be working quite properly. And then Malcolm glanced away from her to Mac, and his expression slowly altered, lit up in recognition, and he grinned in

welcome, unaware of what this seeming slight did to the girl who had traveled so far to find him.

"Ian MacDonell? Is it really you?"

"Aye, laddie, in the flesh."

"InEngland?" Malcolm shook his head incredulously, but chuckled. "You've bowled me over, youhave.

But come in, man, come in. We'll have to have a long visit. Damn me, this is a surprise!"