ervous and happy, Elizabeth stood before the full-length mirror in her bedchamber on Promenade Street while Alexandra sat upon the bed” smiling at her and at four of the maids Ian had sent over to help her dress and do her packing. “Excuse me, milady,” another maid said from the doorway, “Bentner said to tell you that Mr. Wordsworth is here and insists he must see you at once, even though we explained it is your wedding day.”

“I’ll be right down,” Elizabeth said, already looking around for a dressing robe that would be acceptable apparel for greeting a male caller.

“Who is Wordsworth?” Alex asked, frowning a little at the idea of Elizabeth being interrupted in her bridal preparations.

“The investigator I hired to try to discover what has happened to Robert.”

Wordsworth was prowling anxiously across the carpet, his hat in his hand, when Elizabeth stepped into the little salon. “I’m sorry to disturb you on your wedding day,” he began, “but in truth, that is the very reason for my urgency. I think you ought to close the door,” he added.

Elizabeth reached out a hand that was suddenly shaking and closed the door.

“Lady Cameron.” he said in a worried voice, “I have reason to think your future husband could be involved in your brother’s disappearance.”

Elizabeth sank down on the sofa. “That is-is preposterous. “ she stated shakily. “Why would you say such a thing?”

He turned from the window and faced her. “Are you aware that Ian Thornton dueled with your brother only a week before Robert disappeared?”

“Oh, that!” Elizabeth said with relief. “Yes, I am. But no real harm was done.”

“On the contrary, Thornton-er…Kensington-took a ball in the arm.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Did you also know your brother fired before the call to fire was given?”

“Yes. “

“For now, it is important that you consider the mood that must have put Kensington in. He was caused pain by a dishonest act on your brother’s part, and that in itself could be reason for him to seek retribution.”

“Mr. Wordsworth,” Elizabeth said with a faint smile, “if Ian-Lord Kensington-had wanted some sort of violent retribution, which I think is what you’re implying. he’d have gotten it on that dueling field. He is an extraordinary marksman. He didn’t, however,” she continued, carried away with her loyal defense of Ian, “because he does not believe in dueling to the death over personal disagreements’“

“Really,” said Wordsworth with unhidden sarcasm. “Really,” Elizabeth averred implacably. “Lord Thornton

told me that himself, and I have reason to know it’s true,” she added, thinking of the way he’d declined Lord Everly’s challenge when Everly called Ian a card cheat.

“And I have reason to know,” Wordsworth said with equal implacability, ‘“that the Scotsman you’re marrying” -he loaded the word with all the scathing scorn many English felt for their “inferior” counterparts-”hasn’t a qualm about taking a man’s life in a duel.”

“I don’t-”

“He’s killed at least five that I know of for certain.”

Elizabeth swallowed. “I’m certain he had-had just cause, and that-that the duel was fair.”

“If that is what you wish to believe... however, there is more.”

Elizabeth felt her palms grow moist. Half of her wanted to get up and leave. and the other half was paralyzed. “What do you mean?”

“Let us remember, if you please, what we already know. Thornton was wounded and undoubtedly-even justifiably -furious at your brother’s jumping the call to fire.”

“I know that... at least, I’m willing to accept it. It makes sense.”

“And did you also know, my lady, that three days after your brother’s unsuccessful attempt to kill Thornton in a duel your brother tried again-this time on Marblemarle Road?”

Elizabeth slowly stood up. “You’re wrong! How could you know such a thing? Why would Robert suddenly decide to...” Her voice trailed off. Three days after their duel Viscount Mondevale had withdrawn his offer, and with it all hope of financial reprieve for Robert and herself, and her brother had vanished.

“I know it because with the information you gave me I have been systematically re-creating every move your brother made during the week of his disappearance. It is standard procedure to go backward in time in order to pick up the threads that lead us forward through the mystery. Three days after his duel your brother spent the afternoon in the Knightbridge Club, where he became foxed and began talking about wanting to kill Thornton. He borrowed a carriage from an acquaintance and said he was going looking for his prey. I was able to ascertain that his ‘prey’ was in London that day, and that he left in the late afternoon for Derbyshire, which would have meant he took Marblemarle Road. Since he would have had to change horses somewhere on the road, we began checking with the posting houses to discover if anyone meeting Thornton’s or your brother’s description could be recalled. We had luck at the Black Boar; the posting boy there remembered Thornton well because he gave him half a crown. What he also remembered. very fully, was a hole near the window of Thornton’s coach and his conversation with Thornton’s coachman, who was shaken up enough to talk about how the hole came to be there. It seems there had been an altercation a few miles back in which a man bearing Robert’s description-a man Thornton told him was Robert Cameron-had ridden out on the road and tried to shoot Thornton through the window.

“Two days later your brother spoke of what he had done to cronies of his at the Knightbridge. He claimed that Thornton had ruined you and him, and that he would die before Thornton got away with it. According to one of Thornton’s grooms, that very night your brother again rode out of the darkness and accosted Thornton on the road to London. This time, your brother shot him in the shoulder. Thornton managed to subdue him with his fists, but your brother fled on horseback. Since Thornton couldn’t pursue him through the woods in his coach, your brother made good his escape. The next day, however, after leaving his club, your brother abruptly disappeared. He left everything behind in his rooms, you said. His clothes, his personal effects, everything. What does all this say to you, Lady Cameron?” he asked abruptly.

Elizabeth swallowed again, refusing to let herself think beyond what she knew. “It says that Robert was obsessed with avenging me, and that his methods were-were not exactly-well, aboveboard.”

“Has Thornton never mentioned this to you?” Shaking her head, Elizabeth added defensively, “Robert is something of a sore subject between us. We don’t discuss him.”

“You are not heeding me, my lady,” he burst out in frustrated anger. “You are avoiding drawing obvious conclusions. I believe Thornton had your brother abducted. or worse. in order to prevent him from making additional attempts on his life.”

“I’ll ask him,” Elizabeth cried as a tiny hammer of panic and pain began to pound in her head.

“Do not do any such thing.” Wordsworth said, looking ready to shake her. “Our chances of discovering the truth lie in not alerting Thornton that we’re seeking it. If all else fails, I may ask you to tell him what you know so that we can watch him, see where he goes, what he does next-not that he’s likely to be overt about it. That is our last choice.” Sympathetically, he finished, “I regret being the cause of your having to endure further gossip, but I felt you must be appraised before you actually married that murderous Scot!”

He sneered the word “Scot” again, and in the midst of all her turmoil and terror that foolish thing raised Elizabeth’s hackles. “Stop saying ‘Scot’ in that insulting fashion,” she cried. “And Ian-Lord Thornton-is half-English,” she added a little wildly.

“That leaves him only half-barbarian,” Wordsworth countered with scathing contempt. He softened his voice a little as he looked at the pale, beautiful girl who was glowering defiantly at him. “You cannot know the sort of people they can be, and usually are. My sister married one, and I cannot describe to you the hell he’s made of her life.”

“Ian Thornton is not your brother-in-law!” “No, he is not,” Wordsworth snapped. “He is a man who made his early fortune gambling, and who was more than once accused of being a cheat! Twelve years ago-it’s common knowledge-he won the title deed to a small gold mine in a game of cards with a colonial while he was in port there on his first voyage. The gold mine panned out, and the miner who’d worked half his life in that mine tried to bring charges against Thornton in the colonies. He swore your fiance cheated, and do you know what happened?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Your half-Scot killed him in cold blood. Do you hear me? He killed him. It is common knowledge, I tell you.”

Elizabeth began to tremble so violently that her whole body shook.

“They dueled, and that barbarian killed him.” The word “duel” fell on Elizabeth’s shattered senses like a numbing anesthetic. A duel was not quite murder... not really. “Was-was it a fair duel?”

Wordsworth shrugged. “Gossip has it that it was, but that is only gossip.”

Elizabeth shot to her feet, but the angry accusation in her eyes didn’t hide her own misgivings. “You dismiss something as gossip when it vindicates him, yet when it incriminates him you rely on it completely, and you expect me to do so as well!”

“Please, my lady,” he said, looking truly desperate. “I’m only trying to show you the folly of proceeding with this wedding. Don’t do it, I implore you. You must wait.”

“I’ll be the one to decide that,” she said, hiding her fright behind proud anger.

His jaw tight with frustration, he said finally, “If you are foolish enough to marry this man today, then I implore you not to tell him what I have learned, but to continue in whatever way you’ve been doing to avoid discussion of Robert Cameron. If you do not, “ he said in a terrible voice, “you are putting your brother’s life in jeopardy, if he is still alive.”

Elizabeth was trying so hard to concentrate and not to collapse that she dug her nails into her palms. “What are you talking about?” she demanded in a choked cry. “You’re not making sense. I have to ask Ian. He has to have a chance to deny this slander, to explain, to-”

That drove Wordsworth to actually grab her shoulders in alarm. “Listen to me,” he barked. “If you do that, you may well get your own brother killed!” Embarrassed by his own vehemence, he dropped his hands, but his voice was still insistent to the point of pleading. “Consider the facts, if you won’t consider conjecture. Your husband has just been named heir to one of the most important titles in Europe. He is going to marry you-a beautiful woman, a countess, who would have been above his touch until a few weeks ago. Do you think for a moment he’ll risk all that by letting your brother be found and brought here to give evidence against him? If your brother wasn’t killed, if Thornton only had him put to work in one of his mines, or impressed on one of his ships, and you start questioning him, Thornton will have little choice but to decide to dispose of the evidence. Are you listening to me, Lady Cameron? Do you understand?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Then I’ll bid you good day and resume the search for your brother.” He paused at the door and looked back at the girl in the middle of the room who was standing with her head bent, her face ghostly pale. “For your own sake, don’t wed the man, at least until we know for sure.”

“When will that be?” she asked in a shattered voice. “Who knows? In a month, perhaps, or in a year. Or never.” He paused and drew a long, frustrated breath. “If you do act in defiance of all sense and wed him, then for your brother’s sake, if not for your own, keep your silence. You, too, would be in danger if he’s guilty and he thinks you’re going to discover it and perhaps expose him.”

When he left, Elizabeth sank back down on the sofa and closed her eyes, trying to keep her tears at bay. In her mind she heard Wordsworth’s voice. In her heart she saw Ian smiling down at her, his voice husky and filled with need: “Love me, Elizabeth.” And then she saw him as he’d confronted her uncle, a muscle jerking in his cheek, his body emanating rage. She remembered him in the greenhouse, too, when Robert barged in on them and said Elizabeth was already betrothed; Ian had looked at her with murder in his eyes.

But he hadn’t harmed Robert in that duel. Despite his justifiable wrath, he’d acted with cold control. Swallowing convulsively, Elizabeth brushed a tear from the comer of her eye, feeling as if she was being tom to pieces.

She saw his face, that hard face that could be transformed to almost boyishness by one of his lazy smiles. She saw his eyes-icy in Scotland, blazing at her uncle... and smiling down at her the day he came to Havenhurst.

But it was his voice that revolved in her mind, overcoming the doubt, that rich, compelling, husky voice-”Love me, Elizabeth.”

Slowly Elizabeth stood up, and though she was still deathly pale, she had made her decision. If he was innocent and she stopped this wedding, Ian would be made to look a fool; she couldn’t even give him a reason for doing it, and he would never forgive her. She would lose him forever. If she married him, if she followed her instincts, she might never know what became of Robert. Or Ian would be vindicated. Or else she would find out that she was married to a monster, a murderer.

Alexandra took one look at Elizabeth’s white face and hurtled off the bed, wrapping her arms around her friend. “What is it, Elizabeth? Is it bad news? Tell me-please, you look ready to drop.”

Elizabeth wanted to tell her, would have told her, but she very much feared Alex would try to talk her out of proceeding with the wedding. The decision had been hard enough to make; now that she had decided, she didn’t think she could bear to listen to arguments or she’d start to waver. She was determined to believe in Ian; and since she was, she wanted Alex’s liking for him to continue to grow”

“It’s nothing.” she said lamely. “At least not yet. Mr. Wordsworth simply needed more information about Robert, and it’s a difficult thing to talk about with him.”

While Alexandra and a maid fussed with Elizabeth’s train the bride waited at the back of the church, cold with nerves, torn with misgivings, telling herself this was nothing but wedding jitters.

She looked past the doors, knowing that in the entire packed cathedral there was not one relative of her own-not even a single male relative to give her away. At the front of the church she saw Jordan Townsende step out and take his place, followed by Ian, tall and dark and overwhelming in stature and will. There was no one who could make him abide by their bargain if he chose to ignore it. Not even the courts would force him to do that.

“Elizabeth?” the Duke of Stanhope said gently, and he held out his arm to her. “Don’t be afraid, child,” he said softly, smiling at her huge, stricken eyes. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

The organ gave forth with a blast of melody, then paused expectantly, and suddenly Elizabeth was walking down the aisle. Of the thousands of people watching her, she wondered how many were still recalling her publicized “liaison” with Ian and speculating on how much too soon a babe was likely to arrive.

Many of the faces were kind, though, she noticed distractedly. The duke’s sister smiled as she passed; the other sister dabbed at her eyes. Roddy Carstairs gave her an audacious wink, and a hysterical chuckle bubbled inside her, then collided with a rump of terror and confusion. Ian was watching her, too, his expression unreadable. Only the vicar looked comforting as he waited, the marriage book open in his hands.