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when he saw Miranda.
    “Ah, there she is! My darling, my precious babe, my little gem! Not a moment too soon. You’re on in ten minutes.”
    “I can hardly wait!” She threw her arms around the little man and hugged him with irrepressible spontaneity. A bit taller than he, she planted a playful kiss on his shiny pate. “I adore you, Mr. Chipping! I’m so happy. Thank you for this chance.”
    He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with affection. “You’re welcome, my dear. I know you won’t disappoint me.” He turned to his actors. “Many people have a difficult time of it around the holidays. Let’s give them our best.” He squeezed Miranda around her waist, startling her out of her momentary brooding on the fact that nobody could possibly hate Christmas more than she did. It was the single most painful day of the entire year. “Are you ready, lass?” he asked in a jaunty tone.
    She tossed her long locks over her shoulders with dramatic flair and turned on her most brilliant smile. “Always!”
     
    CHAPTER
TWO
    Damien cantered his white horse up the sweeping, moonlit road from Stratford, arriving at Birmingham at around seven o’clock in the evening. He slowed the stallion to a trot as they entered Bradford Street and inspected the burgeoning town curiously as he rode through it.
    Back in London, the memorial service for Jason had gone smoothly, but Damien had soon begun climbing the walls in his impatience for Bow Street to make an arrest. So far, they did not even have any firm leads. Lucien had finally persuaded him to leave the investigation to the authorities and to go break the news to his ward—the one thing Damien most dreaded. Still, even facing the little orphaned girl’s tears was better than waiting around for something to happen.
    Presently, he rode up to the impressive Royal Hotel in Temple Row and took lodgings for the night. The landlord turned awestruck when he read Damien’s signature on the guest register and realized who he was. He gave him the best room in the inn and insisted that he stay gratis, but Damien declined, paying like any other customer. The kitchens sent up a grand dinner, which he ate alone in his rooms.
    After bolting down his food as speedily as a starved wolf, he got up and drifted to the window, gazing out at the lights of the town and the dark countryside beyond. The glass panes mirrored his ghostly, hollow-eyed reflection back to him. He glanced longingly over his shoulder at the bed. He was so bored of his own company and, God help him, so starved for sex.
    Now that he had ventured out into the world again, he could scarcely believe it had been six weeks since he’d had a woman. The hotel had a rule against bringing in whores, but hell, he was Colonel Lord Winterley, he thought cynically. The staff would surely turn a blind eye if the war hero wanted a lass to warm his bed on this cold winter’s night.
    No, he thought stoically after a moment. Discipline. No women. No hard liquor. Discipline was everything. Pushing away from the window, he paced restlessly in his room. He could not give in to temptation. As much as he ached for someone to touch him, he could not risk unleashing his emotions, could not let go of his rigid self-control. The problem was he could no longer trust himself, his own reactions. He would never purposely harm a woman, but what if he went mad again and lashed out without meaning to? After what had happened on Guy Fawkes Night, he dared not trifle with anything that had the potential to awaken the beast inside of him. The wild release of passion might prove just the sort of dangerous catalyst that he would be wiser to avoid.
    Standing near the foot of the bed, he rested his hands on his hips with a huge sigh. The night was still early, but perhaps he need not shut himself off entirely, he thought. It had been good to see his fellow officers at Jason’s memorial service. He knew that his good friend, Lieutenant Colonel George Morris, was stationed