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brutal and far more pained.
    She blinked in surprise. She ought to have seen it immediately—the loose fit of his expensive coat, as if cut for another form, and the gauntness of his face. Lord Oriel was not a well man.
    "If you have completed your scrutiny, perhaps we can turn to the matter at hand."
    Isobel felt her discomfort sliding into embarrassment If Lord Oriel did not like the sensation of being examined, it was no wonder. No doubt he had once possessed a formidable, if unconventional beauty. Whatever plagued him had left its mark. His face was not ugly; it was simply unsettling in its harshness.
    "I am sorry, my lord. I did not mean to be rude."
    "No, I expect you did not. Nor did you mean to insult me earlier or vex me with begging. It seems you have difficulty reconciling intent with action, Miss MacLeod. Is it a family failing?"
    "I-I do not..."
    "Ah, and again with the stammering. You really must get hold of yourself if we are to get anywhere. Am I frightening you, perchance?"
    She had, if anything, difficulty reconciling honest words with wise.
    "You are, and not without meaning it 'Tis cruel and needless."
    Nay, she thought, baiting the lion was not wise, but her wits were still scattered. The entire scene had spiraled so far from any she could have imagined that she could only wonder if she just ought to suffocate herself in her cloak and spare the marquess the effort.
    "Aye," she muttered with a sigh, " 'tis a failing family I have, Lord Oriel. And I'll not expect anything I say on the matter to change your decision, whatever it may be."
    "No more pleas?"
    She lifted her chin. "Would it help?"
    "Unlikely."
    "Well, I'll swallow them then."
    There was a long pause. Then, "Tell me, Miss MacLeod, are you finding this as unpleasant as I am?"
    She could not stop the choked laugh. "There could not be a comparison."
    "You really believe I am enjoying myself."
    Again eyeing the taut features, Isobel replied, "I've no reason to expect otherwise, my lord. And you've every right to do as you will."
    "Generous of you," he drawled.
    Isobel moistened her lips, wishing for a return to darkness where she would not have to see that ravaged face and he would not be able to see her confusion. "What— what are you going to do?"
    "I have not yet decided. Do you care to make a suggestion?"
    Oddly, it seemed a genuine question, and Isobel could not have been more surprised had he asked her to advise him on matters of finance.
    Knowing she was standing on the shakiest of ground and desperate to choose the right words, she replied slowly, "I believe, my lord, that retribution should be dependent on more than just the crime."
    "Yes? And what else ought to be considered, Miss MacLeod?"
    "Motive. And circumstance."
    The marquess lifted a dark brow. "Motive and circumstance. Is this Scots justice I am learning?"
    "God's, I would say."
    "Ah, interpretive scripture. What if I am a believer in an eye for an eye?"
    Isobel cringed. "Then I have nothing with which to make reparation, my lord. My father is neither a noble thief nor a habitual one. He lost his way, taking the money because he had none."
    "And just when I was beginning to believe I had brought a Robin Hood into my employ. 'Lost his way,' was it? Tell me, if you would, how much of my money would have found its way into your household coffers."
    "Why—well..." Lie! Isobel told herself fiercely. "He would have— It would have been..."
    "You will make yourself ill trying to prevaricate, Miss MacLeod. I have already come to the conclusion that honesty is a great strength of yours—or a great weakness." Oriel rubbed his thigh again, as if to push away a weakness of his own. "Were his circumstances so ill, then? I was under the impression that I was paying him a sufficient salary."
    Sufficient perhaps for a man with better habits and fewer children. "You are, my lord."
    "As I thought. Thus far, I see no reason for clemency."
    "I do not suppose you would. But I do have one more