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“If we must stay here, then I’ll review what I know of cookery. I can boil water. And, therefore, I can, I believe, boil eggs. We will use the tea from Madame’s private stock and perhaps we will not starve utterly before we may leave here.”
    “You are a very brave woman, Miss Cole.”
    “One does what one must, that is all. Inside I shake like a blancmange.”
    “But that is exactly what bravery is all about. One does what one must even in the face of a not unreasonable fear.” He reached for her hand, squeezed it gently. “You will do, my dear.” He turned and walked away, fearing he’d do something outrageous if he were to stay in her presence much longer. Perhaps something as simple as raising that long-fingered hand to his lips. Or perhaps more. He might pull her into his embrace and, once he’d gentled her, tip up her face and kiss her and then...
    Sir Frederick growled deep in his throat. This was no time for daydreams of what he’d very much enjoy doing with and to Miss Harriet Cole! He looked down the hall to where Yves stalked toward him, a frown on his face. Daydreams fled on the instant. “What has gone wrong now?” he asked, fearing the worst.
    “The men are sleeping soundly. All of them!”
    “As we were meant to be.” Sir Frederick sighed. “Well, Yves, we’ve a rather large responsibility this night. Can you do it? Or did you drink too much of that drugged brandy?”
    “I’m a bit woozy, but it will pass. What do we do?” They laid new plans and took up positions near the women’s rooms. They waited. The wait was not so long as might have been expected. About one in the morning a door along the corridor opened. A head poked out and looked in both directions.
    When the man sighted Yves and Sir Frederick, the head jerked back out of sight. Carefully, it showed itself again. Sir Frederick had very good hearing. The soft gutter French flowing from the room and down the hall brought a grin to his face! The door shut with a snap.
    The rest of the night passed without incident.

Three
    Nearly a week passed before Harriet gave in to Madame’s urging that they go on. A carriage was converted for the use of the invalid who was still far from well. A makeshift bed was well padded with featherbeds in the hope the jouncing would be eased. Cushions were put in. In fact, everything the party could think to do for her comfort was done. They proceeded slowly toward Paris and Madame’s goddaughter’s where the women were made welcome and pampered and coddled.
    After assuring themselves the women were protected by old retainers long known to be loyal, Sir Frederick and Yves continued on to stay with Monsieur de Bartigues’ uncle until Madame was well enough to travel on.
    Sir Frederick began to chafe at the delay. At the time of their first adventure with the comte, he’d been returning to England. It was already weeks beyond the date on which he’d rather expected to cross the Channel. If Madame were slow to recover her strength, it might be still more weeks before they moved on. Frederick wanted to go home, but, hiding his impatience, he sent still another note to warn his friend in England that he’d been delayed and would, when he knew it, send information concerning his new arrival date.
    Sir Frederick’s impatience was based in the fact that, for the first time in his life, he had the wealth necessary to carry through his dreams of renewing his wasted estate. His father had begun the rot. He’d mortgaged the land heavily and had no interest in his tenants or in modern agricultural methods. Inheriting debts rather than money, Frederick had been unable to do anything upon becoming baronet, but he’d planned what he would do if he ever had the means by which to do it—and now he did. Unexpectedly and from a surprising source, he’d inherited a fortune!
    While in Florence, he and Yves had quite literally stumbled over a sick old woman dressed in rusty black. She’d been on the steps to