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military down on the area! Everyone would suffer."
    Miles stared at her. This was the first time she'd really seemed flustered, and this was on behalf of Rupert Dunsmore whom he'd thought to be the villain of the piece.
    He was suddenly exhausted. "Oh, to hell with it. If you think he'll not report it, the rest can wait until tomorrow. Is there any food in this house?"
    It seemed a reasonable request, but it reignited her rebelliousness. "Certainly," she retorted. "But as the servants normally go to bed when Aunt Annie does, you'll have to fend for yourself."
    "You aren't going to play hostess?"
    "I most certainly am not. Now, may I go to bed, guardian dear?"
    He wanted to shake her again, but fighting with Felicity was exhausting. He was beginning to have more sympathy for her relatives.
    There was one more battle, though, that couldn't be avoided. He grasped her arm. "I'll have your word that you won't leave the house again tonight."
    A resentful flicker told him she'd intended to go out.
    Miles was tired, sore, hungry, and badly out of temper. "Your word, Felicity," he repeated, "or I'll chain you to me for the night. Oh, don't worry. I'm not threatening your chastity, if such a thing exists, but you're in my charge. One way or another, for the next six weeks you are going to live as quietly and virtuously as the best-raised girl in the kingdom."
    Her magnificent dark eyes seemed to flash fire. "You have no right to govern me!"
    He hauled her a bit closer. "I not only have the right, I have the responsibility and the will. Don't cross me. I am a dangerous man when roused. Give me your word."
    "Why in God's name would you trust it?"
    It was a good question. "You seem to have the cockeyed honor of a wild, patriot-boy. I'll trust your word."
    He could almost feel the resentment coming off her like steam. "Very well," she snapped at last. "You have my word. I won't leave the house tonight."
    As soon as he let her go, she turned and ran up the stairs, leaving him to fend for himself.
    Miles supposed his valet must have arrived earlier as arranged, bringing his baggage, but it hardly seemed worth finding Hennigan, who could be no more familiar with this place than he was.
    So he found the kitchen for himself. A young lad slept on a pallet by the fire, but Miles didn't rouse him. Three cats slid in to investigate, but as they didn't offer to serve him, he ignored them, too. The larder yielded a cold pie and a keg of beer. He drew some into a tankard, then sat at the table to enjoy his meager supper and contemplate the future.
    This was going to play hell with the hunting season.
    The next morning, Miles breakfasted with Annie Monahan, and therefore ate in the company of a half-dozen cats. Squat, grizzle-haired, and untidy, Annie was patently relieved to have him on the scene.
    "Such a wild child," she said, ladling her plate with eggs and ham, and feeding morsels to the marmalade cat draped on her shoulder. "A dear, sweet girl in many ways, but wild at heart. I put it down to that Dunsmore."
    Miles dislodged a young black cat that seemed intent on sitting on his lap. Black cats might bring good fortune, but he had no intention of stroking one at the table. "Dunsmore?" he queried, remembering the strange way Felicity had reacted to the subject last night.
    "A neighbor of ours." Annie prevented a white cat from climbing on the table to eat off her plate. "Not when we have guests, Yffa."
    Miles suppressed a shudder and dislodged the black cat again.
    "A slick, slippery wretch of an Englishman," Annie continued with a touch of her niece's fire. "How Kathleen Craig could have been so foolish as to marry him, I'll never know. But she was always man-mad, you know, despite not having whatever it is that draws men to a woman..." She rambled off into stories of youthful rivalries. Since Annie and Miss Craig had clearly been contemporaries, the latter must have been considerably older than her husband.
    A clear case of fortune hunting, but