he skies had cleared considerably since the previous night, so Emma opened all of the carriage windows as she made her

way to London. The trip passed quite quickly, for the Wilding estate was much closer to town than Westonbirt, and Sophie

had generously lent Emma the copy of Hamlet that she had started to read the night before.

She became quite engrossed in the story, pausing only occasionally when the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses' hooves lulled

her into a semidaze. "To build a hospital or not to build a hospital. That is the question," she said aloud on one of those

occasions, followed by: "That was really awful."

It was shortly after noon when she reached London, and as they turned the final corner before reaching her cousins' home,

Emma poked her head out the window excitedly. In the distance, she saw Belle descend the front steps of the Blydon mansion.

A coachman helped her into a closed carriage.

"Oh Belle! Belle!" Emma called out, waving a handkerchief.

"I don't think she heard you, yer grace," said Ames, one of Emma's grooms.

"I think you're right." It was a long block, and Emma would have had to yell quite loudly to be heard over the clatter of the

other carriages. She furrowed her brow. There had been something odd about the way the coachman had helped Belle into the carriage. He had practically picked her up. Emma felt the first pangs of worry.

"Do you want to follow her?" Ames asked.

"Yes, I suppose—Oh!" Emma suddenly exclaimed, feeling much relieved. "I know where she's going. The Ladies' Literary Club. She goes every Wednesday afternoon. I went with her a few times. The meetings are held at Lady Stanton's home, which isn't very far away. Just follow that carriage, and I'll surprise her there."

With a nod, Emma's coachman urged the carriage past the Blydon mansion and followed Belle through the streets of London. Emma sat back, watching through her window as elegant townhouses floated by.

"Wait a minute," she said in a perplexed voice as they passed a familiar mansion. She poked her head back out the window

to talk to Ames. "That was Lady Stanton's home."

"Maybe yer cousin is doing something else today, yer grace. Maybe she's skipping the book meeting."

"No," Emma replied with an emphatic shake of her head. "She never, ever misses a meeting when she's in town."

Ames shrugged his shoulders. "Do you want to keep following her?"

"Yes, yes," Emma said distractedly. "Although now that I think of it, I didn't recognize that coachman. And he was handling

her rather roughly. I suppose they could have hired a new one, but still, it's somewhat suspicious."

"What are you saying, yer grace? Do you think someone is trying to kidnap yer cousin?"

Emma paled. "Ames," she said sharply. "Move out of the way for a moment." The groom sat

back, and Emma stretched further out the window, scrutinizing the carriage in front of her. "Oh, my God. That's not one of

our carriages. We could have hired a new coachman, but bought a new carriage? I would have heard about it."

Ames turned back around. "Don't you think yer cousin would have noticed the different carriage?"

"No. Her eyes aren't very good. All that reading, you know. But she refuses to get spectacles." Emma gulped in fear.

"Ames, whatever you do, do not let that carriage out of your sight!"

Emma sat back in the carriage and closed her eyes in anguish. There was something rotten in the city of London.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at Westonbirt, Alex was trying unsuccessfully to concentrate on his work. Norwood, the only servant who

ever entered his study when it was occupied, brought a meal in on a tray.

"I'm not hungry, Norwood," Alex grumbled.

The butler raised his brows and left the tray on a table anyway. Alex ignored the food and walked over to the window, gazing moodily out over the lawn. She really hadn't needed to leave. At least not for a week. He acknowledged that Sophie might

know a little bit more than he did about what married women did to keep themselves busy, but it certainly wouldn't take

Emma a week to learn.

Damn it, her place was with him. It had taken ages last night for the bed to warm up. He'd lain there alone, rubbing his feet against the sheets, hoping the friction would create some heat. He'd only ended up feeling sorry for himself. He wouldn't

have felt so cold if Emma had been there next to him.

He'd known he would miss her, but he hadn't expected to miss her this much. Hell, she hadn't even been gone for twenty-four hours. But her presence seemed to float in the air. The scent of her pervaded their room, and everywhere he turned he saw

some nook or corner that they had once used for clandestine kissing.

Alex sighed. It was going to be a long week.

Maybe he should go to London. His townhouse wasn't full of memories of Emma. He winced, remembering how he'd

brutally rejected her there. Well, at least not good memories, and he could simply close off the small parlor. Besides, he

was rather fond of the place, having lived there for the better part of ten years, and he supposed that he would have to

sell it soon, as he and Emma would surely take over the Ashbourne mansion in Berkeley Square.

But he probably ought to consider what she had said about being bored. He supposed that he'd been less than sympathetic

to her plight. He had never really thought about what it was that married women did with their time. And Emma wasn't the

same as other married women, he thought with more than a touch of pride. Hell, she had practically run a business.

Maybe that was what she needed. He was nearly overwhelmed with paperwork and documents regarding his many lands

and business concerns. Maybe he ought to turn over the estate management to Emma. She could certainly handle it. And his overseers were good men. They'd listen to Emma if Alex made it clear that she would be in charge from now on. He grinned, rather pleased with his plan.

His moments of self-congratulation were interrupted by a knock on the door. Norwood entered at Alex's behest, carrying

a small folded note on a silver platter. "A message has arrived for you, your grace. From your wife."

Alex quickly crossed the room and snatched up the piece of paper.

Dearest Alex,

Lord Wilding has returned rather unexpectedly from the Caribbean, and so I have decided

to spend the remainder of the week visiting my cousins. I miss you desperately.

All my love,

Emma

She missed him desperately? If she missed him so desperately, why didn't she turn around and come back home where she belonged?

Yes, he would definitely head to London. And while he was there, he might just drop in and visit the Blydons. And drag his

wife back home. Well, maybe not. Emma wasn't exactly the type of woman one dragged anywhere. He could, however,

bribe her back with the promise that she could begin managing most of his lands immediately. And if that failed, he could

always seduce her.

Alex was out of the house and on his way to London within a half an hour.

* * *

Emma sat in the back of her carriage as it slowly wended its way out of London, nearly paralyzed with fear for her cousin's safety. As the streets grew less and less busy, they had to fall farther and farther back from the carriage carrying Belle. She

didn't want anyone up ahead to grow suspicious, and even more importantly, her carriage bore the recognizable Ashbourne crest. Anyone who had taken the time and effort to kidnap Belle from her house would know of her connection to Alex and Emma.

It was Woodside. It had to be. Emma nearly shot out of her seat when the realization hit her. Woodside was mad for Belle.

He'd been after her for a year, and he had told Emma that he planned to marry her. The fact that Belle did not return his affections did not seem to affect his plans whatsoever. "Good Lord," Emma breathed. "He's going to force her." She had no

doubt that Woodside would drag Belle to the altar bound and gagged if necessary. She'd never met a man so obsessed with

titles and bloodlines, and Belle's lineage was as good as it got. And even if she managed to avoid marrying him now, she'd still

be ruined. If Woodside could sufficiently compromise Belle's reputation, then she'd have to marry him. It was either that or

remain a spinster forever, because no gentleman would wed her if it was thought that Woodside had had her first.

Emma's stomach churned in fear and fury as they traveled further and further from London. Finally, Belle's carriage pulled

off the main road and after about twenty more minutes of bumpy travel rolled into a medium-sized village called Harewood.

As they slowed down to accommodate the busier village roads, Emma put her face near the open window. She had to keep

a clear eye on the carriage up ahead.

"Don't get too close!" she hissed up at her coachman.

He nodded, drawing back slightly on the reins.

Up ahead, Belle's carriage stopped in front of The Hare and Hounds, a rustic inn and tavern.

"Stop right here!" Emma ordered. Without waiting for assistance, she jumped down from the carriage and watched the scene

at the inn. Two burly men were unloading a large burlap bag.

"Oh my Lord!" Emma whispered. 'They've put her in a sack!"

"She don't seem to be struggling much/' Ames said with a frown. "She may've been drugged."

Emma took a deep breath, trying to gulp down her panic. There was no way she and her small band could overpower Belle's captors. Who knew what kind of weapons they held? Where was Alex when she needed him?

"All right, men," Emma said urgently. "We're going to have to use our wits and devise a plan. Ames, can you ride?"

"Not very well, yer grace."

Emma turned to Shipton, the other groom. "Can you?"

He shook his head.

Emma finally faced the coachman, an unnaturally skinny man with thinning brown hair. "Bottomley, please do not tell me

that you cannot ride either."

"I won't."

"You won't what?"

"I won't tell you that. Been ridin' since I been walkin'."

Emma gritted her teeth at Bottomley's ill-timed attempt at humor. "Listen to me, Bottomley. First I want you to find someplace

to hitch up the carriage. Somewhere as far out of sight of The Hare and Hounds as possible. Then I want you to take one of the horses—whichever you think is swifter—and ride to Westonbirt. Ride as if your life depended on it. Ride as if my life depended

on it because it very well may. When you get there, find the duke immediately and tell him what has happened. We're going to need his help. Do you understand?"

Bottomley nodded, looking quite a bit more serious than he had moments earlier.

"Shipton, go with Bottomley so that we know where he leaves the carriage and meet us back here in the main street.

Ames, we're going shopping."

"Shopping, yer grace?" He looked distressed. "I'm not sure that now is—"

Emma shot him a withering glare but held on to her temper. "I'm not going shopping for fripperies, Ames. We're going to need some supplies if we're going to rescue Belle."

"Supplies? What kind of supplies?"

"I'm not sure yet, but if you give me a minute, I'll figure it out." She looked up. Bottomley and Shipton hadn't moved.

"Will you two get going!" she bit out. "We haven't a moment to lose!"

After the two men had scurried out of her sight, Ames turned to her and said, "Don't worry, yer grace. Bottomley sometimes

says the wrong thing, but he's got his head on straight."

"I hope you're right, Ames. Now, let us have a look at some of these shops." Emma scanned the storefronts until her gaze

fell on a fabric store with ready-made dresses displayed in the window. That might be promising. She turned to Ames and

pressed a coin in his hand. "Find me some lampblack and meet back here as soon as possible."

"Lampblack, yer grace?"

"For my hair. It's rather conspicuous. I'm going to get something to wear. I'll see you soon."

Emma entered the shop, and all four salesladies gasped simultaneously, for so elegant a lady rarely came to the village of Harewood, much less graced their shop.

"May—may I help you?" the bravest one finally inquired.

"Yes, indeed." Emma replied, flashing them her friendliest grin. "I need something to wear."

The head saleslady eyed Emma's stylish green dress, her expression pained. She couldn't offer anything up to Emma's obvious standards and she knew it.

"What I need, actually, is a costume," Emma said hastily. "I have a fancy dress ball to attend next week, and I want to get something a little different."

"Oh. Well, we could opt for the Grecian look. I have some lovely fabric that we can use for a tunic."

"No, I don't think so," Emma said, shaking her head. "My hair, you know. I don't think the ancient Greeks had such bright hair."

"Oh, no, of course not," the saleslady immediately agreed, nodding her head furiously.

"Something simple. Perhaps... a maid."

"A maid?"

"Yes, a maid. Of the serving variety. A housemaid."

The salesladies looked dubious. No one jumped forward to assist Emma in her quest.

"I definitely want a maid's costume," Emma said sharply. "Don't tell me that you don't supply any for any of the nearby gentry."

Two of the ladies crashed into each other in their haste to help Emma, and she exited the store not two minutes later, a

packaged maid's costume under her arm. A moment later Ames rushed up to her side.

"Did you get the lampblack?"

"Even better." Ames held up a package. "A wig."

Emma peered in the bag. An improbable shade of blond assaulted her eyes. "Well, I certainly won't look like myself.

Now, where is Shipton? We need to be off. Lord only knows what's happened to Belle."

As if on cue, Shipton bounded around the corner and nearly ran into them. "The carriage is next to the church," he said,

gasping for breath. "Bottomley's already left for Westonbirt."

"Good," Emma replied. "Let's go." Walking briskly, she led her motley crew to The Hare and Hounds, where she asked

for two rooms.

"And do you have any luggage, my lady?"

Oh drat, she'd forgotten that one needed bags when one checked in at an inn. "My grooms will bring it by later. It's still

in my carriage."

"And for how many nights will that be for, my lady?"

Emma blinked. "Um, I'm not sure. At least one. Perhaps more." She straightened and adopted Alex's most imperious stare.

"And is it necessary that I tell you now?"

"No, no, of course not." The clerk suddenly looked rather uncomfortable. "If you could just sign the register."

Emma picked up the quill and signed with a flourish. Lady Clarissa Trent. "There," she muttered under her breath,

"she always wanted a title."

As soon as Emma was shown to her room on the second floor, she changed into the maid's costume and pulled on the wig. She crossed over to the fireplace and picked up a little soot and rubbed it between her hands until they were covered by a very thin residue. She slapped her hands gently against her cheeks, applying a tiny bit of the soot to her skin. A glance in the mirror told

her that she was successful. Her skin now had a slightly ashen quality which, combined with the yellow wig, made her look frightful. But more importantly, she looked absolutely unlike herself.

She scooted out of her room and knocked on the next door down the hall. Ames pulled open the door. "Dear God, yer grace,

you look awful."

"Good. Now, one of you, go get my trunk before the innkeeper becomes suspicious. I'll try to figure out which room Belle is in."

After her grooms departed, Emma slunk down the hall, looking this way and that, all the while keeping an ear open for approaching footsteps. When she was convinced that she was quite alone, she pressed her ear up to the door next to hers.

She heard passionate groaning.

"Oh, Eustace. Oh, Eustace. OH, EUSTACE!"

Emma jumped away as if burned. Definitely not Belle's room. She moved across the hall. She heard a female voice.

"And idle hands are just an invitation for Satan. Satan I say. He lurks in every corner."

Emma shook her head and stepped back. First of all, Belle's captors were most definitely male, and anyway, she didn't think

they conducted conversations about the devil. She moved on down the hallway to the door next to Eustace's.

"Not another word out o' you, little missy. One more peep and I'm gonna take this belt an'—"

"Shut up, you ass. You know we promised the mort we'd serve 'er up safe an' sound. 'E's not gonna give us the gold if we

touch 'er."

Emma gasped. Belle must be in that room and from the sound of it, she wasn't doing very well.

"'Ow much longer 'ave we got ta wait?"

"'E said 'e would get 'ere by nightfall. Now shut up and leave me alone."

"She shore is a fancy piece. 'E might not notice if we just 'ave a wee taste of 'er afore 'e gets 'ere."

Emma's stomach dropped into her shoes, but she forced herself to remain strong, for she knew that whatever she was feeling, Belle was feeling it a hundred times worse.

"Are you stupid? Of course 'e's gonna notice if we touch 'er. Damn it, if you ruin this fer me, I'll kill ya. Don't think I won't."

A scuffle ensued. Slightly panicked, Emma knocked on the door.

"What the hell?" An unkempt man whipped open the door. Belle was sitting on a bed by the far wall next to the other man.

Next to the bed was an open window. Emma noticed that her cousin wasn't moving a muscle, and she strongly suspected

that the man next to her had a pistol pointed at her back.

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir," Emma said quickly, bobbing a curtsy. "But the innkeeper was wonderin' if you'd be wantin' something

ta eat. 'E thought you might want it up 'ere in yer room."

"I don't think so." The door started to close in Emma's face.

"Hey! Wait a minute. Did ya ever think that I might be 'ungry?" The man on the bed glared viciously at his partner.

"All right. Bring us up a meal. Meat pie, if you got it. And some ale."

"Thank you, sir. Oi'U get it up ta you as soon as oi can." Emma bobbed another curtsy, afraid that she'd overdone the accent.

She waited by the door for a few moments after it closed, listening to see if the villains suspected anything. They only continued

to bicker, so Emma was convinced that she'd carried off her charade. Besides, Belle hadn't even recognized her.

* * *

Once Emma returned to her room, she sent Ames down to order some meat pie and ale. He brought it back to her on a tray

about ten minutes later.

"Wish me luck," she whispered, and disappeared down the hall.

Taking a deep breath, Emma knocked on the door again.

"Who is it?"

"It's me, sir, bringin' ya some meat pie, jest like ya asked fer."

The door opened. "Come on in."

Emma entered and put the tray down on the bureau, taking the plates one by one to a nearby table. She had to prolong her precious few minutes in the room. She needed to let Belle know that help was on the way. But her cousin had her gaze fixed

on one of the bedposts and wasn't moving.

"Could you believe the rain we 'ad yesterday?" Emma said suddenly. "Oi swear, it was a tempest out there, don'tcha think?"

The villain by the door gave her a funny look. "Yeah, I s'pose."

Emma brought the third and final plate over to the table. "And everybody got so upset about it. Personally, oi thought it was all much ado about nothing, but ya know, some people won't listen to reason." She moved back to the tray and picked up a mug of

ale with two hands. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Belle's eyes narrow. "Oi don't know," she continued brightly. "It all turned out fine in the end. Don'tcha think? And that's all that matters, right? All's well that ends well, that's what oi always say."

No doubt about it, Belle had definitely torn her eyes away from the bedpost and was now regarding Emma curiously.

Emma, meanwhile, was still holding the second mug of ale. "Some folks, though, they just like ta complain, an' there's nothin' ya can do about it. My sister Cymbeline, she just went on and on about the rain. I thought my brother Julius was gonna kill 'er.

When Julius sees 'er wailin' it's like the devil's gotten inta 'im." Emma paused and put the last mug of ale on the table.

"But my other sister, Emma, she stepped in afore Julius could 'urt poor ol' Cymbeline. She took care of everything."

Belle started coughing uncontrollably. Her fit seemed to jolt the villains, who had been almost mesmerized by the strangeness

of their serving maid, back into reality. "Listen you," the one by the door said. "We've got a lot to do. Get on out of 'ere."

Emma bobbed another curtsy. "As you like it." And she was gone.

Through the door she could hear the men yelling at Belle. "Whatsa matter with you now? Yer not getting sick on us, are you?"

Belle's coughs petered out with a few feeble clearings of her throat. "It must have been the rain."

* * *

Bottomley rode like the devil himself was on his tail. He sailed through villages big and small, pushing his horse nearly to exhaustion. If he hadn't been convinced of the urgency of his task when he left, he certainly was by the time he arrived at Westonbirt. The hard, unrelenting pace'of his ride had slowly pushed him further and further into a state of panic, until he

was certain that the very fate of the world depended on his reaching the duke.

Sliding off his horse onto wobbly legs, he ran into the house, gasping for breath and shouting, "Yer grace! Yer grace!"

Norwood appeared instantly, ready to upbraid Bottomley for his complete lack of decorum, not to mention his use of the

front door. "Where is his grace?" Bottomley gasped, clutching Norwood's shirtfront. "Where is he?"

"Get a hold of yourself." Norwood bit out. "It's hardly seemly—"

"Where is he?" Bottomley demanded, shaking the butler.

"Good God, man, what is wrong?"

"It's her grace. She's in danger. Terrible, terrible danger."

Norwood paled. "He's gone to London."

Bottomley gasped. "Lord help us all." Infused with the urgency of his mission, he drew himself up tall. "Norwood, I need

a fresh horse," he said in quite the most imperious tone he had ever used.

"At once." Norwood himself dashed out to the stables, and five minutes later Bottomley was on his way back to London.