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shirt. Strength that had been used for protection, not assault. As they moved through the garden, she said, “I hope the duke does not choose to ruin me socially.”
    “He won’t,” her rescuer said confidently. “The situation reflects badly on him.”
    When they reached the side of the mansion, the flaring torches lining the driveway revealed Lady Wheaton waiting beside her carriage, her expression concerned. Though Leah would like to see her rescuer’s face, she did not want it to be at the price of him seeing hers, not after what had happened.
    She stopped and slipped off his coat. As she handed it to him, she said, “You have my deepest thanks, sir. And—please don’t watch me go.”
    Understanding, he said with amusement, “Leaving us strangers in the night, with all embarrassment safely covered by the dark. But what if we meet again?”
    “We’ll pretend this never happened,” she said firmly.
    “As you wish.” He executed a courtly bow, his shirt pale in the darkness.
    She gave him a sweeping curtsy, hoping they would meet again under more normal circumstances. Then, head high, she crossed the soft lawn to her godmother.
    Her rescuer watched her for a moment, unconsciously raising the coat to his face, as if seeking for a trace of her scent. Then he turned back to the dark garden, before she was so well lit that he could not fail to identify her in the future.

    Hidden in the deepest shadows of the garden, Ranulph watched Leah join her godmother, his faery sight giving him a cat’s vision at night. He’d been in London for several days, exploring the great parks but always coming back to the dense patch of bushes and trees in the center of the square where Wheaton House stood. Hungrily his gaze followed as Leah climbed into the carriage. Goddess, but he tired of waiting!
    His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. If he had been closer tonight, he might have slain the duke when the drunken sot had attacked her. Luckily that other mortal had happened along in time to save Leah from harm. It would have enraged the powers of Faerie if Ranulph had killed the duke because of a mortal woman. Debts must always be paid, and those between Faerie and the mortal world weighed heavy indeed.
    Intent on his thoughts, Ranulph spun about with dangerous alarm when a warm hand touched his wrist. His grip on his sword relaxed when he saw that he had been accosted by Lady Kamana, the Indian faery.
    “You again,” he said, voice cool though in truth he was pleased to see her. “I thought you would have joined one of the faery courts by now.”
    “Nay, my lord.” She tossed her head. Her long black hair was pulled into a luxuriant silken rope, banded every six inches by a circlet of gold until the tip brushed the earth. “I will not choose a permanent home until I’ve seen more of your land.”
    He’d forgotten how richly purring her voice was. Instead of her Indian silks, she was garbed in the provocative evening gown of a grand London lady. Perversely, the English garments made her seem even more exotic.
    “You’ve made your little country girl very beautiful,” she observed.
    “You recognized her?” he said, surprised.
    “Of course. You could not have made her outward appearance so beautiful if it did not reflect her soul. She is young as only mortals can be young, but her heart is good, and music runs through her like pure fire. Otherwise the faery glamour you laid on her would be a pale thing, fit only to convince mortals.”
    “Mortals are easily deceived,” he said dryly. “I’ve made her the toast of London, but the foolish girl has not yet fallen in love, and I cannot ask my price until she does.”
    “Patience, Lord Ranulph. She will find the love of her life soon.” A smile touched her voice. “Very soon.”
    Ranulph frowned. “Do your Folk see the future clearly? I can sense it sometimes, but not with any detail.”
    “When I concentrate, I can see patterns of destiny like silver threads