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recommend Scotland Yard to all my friends."
    Robins's mouth hung open as he shook hands with the woman, before he finally managed to babble out, "You're very welcome, Miss Dunaway."
    She turned then to the Lord Mayor. "And the best of luck in your search for the three missing women, my lord. It seems you're going to need it."
    Then the remarkable woman flounced out the front door of Scotland Yard as though she had just won the day.
    "This way, madam." Ross caught up her hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm and started back toward the Admiralty livery, where he would borrow a carriage and safely return the extraordinary Miss Dunaway to her home.
    A full circle completed.
    Crossing Whitehall hadn't turned out so badly after all.

Chapter 4
    I long to hear that you have declared independency. And, I desire you would remember the ladies and be more generous and favorable to them than your ancestors.
    Abigail Adams, to her husband John
    March 31, 1 776
    “You live at the Abigail Adams, Miss Dunaway?"
    Elizabeth delighted in the rumble of surprise lurking in Blakestone's voice. And in the scandal that flared deeply in his dark eyes as he handed her down from the coach.
    "So you've heard of the Adams, my lord?"
    "Madam, every man in town seems to be talking about the bloody place."
    "Because every man in town is terrified of a few women gathering together, unchaperoned by their men folk." There was something wickedly sensual about pausing here with him on the very public circu l ar drive up in the courtyard of her deliciously controversial club.
    Even more so because he held her hand too long, too possessively, his eyes smoky and unreadable as his gaze traveled over her brow and across her cheeks.
    "Indeed, Miss Dunaway, you ladies leave us men folk quaking in our boots."
    "Don't mock us, my lord. It only proves my point."
    "I'm merely confessing a timeless truth. Whether you admit it or not, you ladies have us gentlemen completely at your mercy. Always have and doubtless you always will."
    The clever blackguard! So like a man. Wielding his platitudes with such backhanded grace!
    "Very open-minded, Blakestone. But still you object to the mere presence of the Abigail Adams."
    "I have no opinion at all, Miss Dunaway." As though to prove his disinterest, he gave the practical sandstone edifice a browsing glance, then swept that same glance back across her face. "It's just that I should have realized that you would be a member of London's first ladies' club."
    "I'm not just a member of the Abigail Adams, my lord. I'm the owner."
    One of his brows lifted slightly and then he smiled like a tiger. "So not only are you a radical suffragette, but a notorious hosteler as well."
    Notorious? H m m m ... the notorious Miss Dunaway!
    How   wonderful!    She   wanted   to   giggle   at   the thought, but bottled it up inside her belly and struck a dignified pose, tilting her chin at the man.
    "I prefer the term s uff r a gist, if you please."
    "What's a suffragist?" His brow dropped skeptically low, as though he believed she would concoct a new word just to confound him.
    "A suffragist is any disenfranchised citizen who demands the vote. By adding the French suffix 'ette' to suffrage, one renders an otherwise creditable position feminine."
    "And is a feminine position so objectionable?"
    "It is when everything feminine is dismissed out of hand."
    Another flick of a smile, again setting off her heart at a full gallop. "Meaning that you don't want to be associated with anything feminine?"
    "That's right." Though it suddenly didn't sound at all like what she'd wanted to say.
    "What a great loss to the world, then." He shook his head slowly, with high drama, clicking his tongue on his teeth. "Attempting to obliterate anything female about yourself."
    "That's not at all what I mean." She wasn't sure what she meant at the moment, not with his full attention beaming down on her. Clothed in his crisp linen and glinting gold buttons.
    "Then