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her hands shook. Laurel decided the strain of the past weeks, of wondering if a St. Julian relative was on her trail, was finally wearing her thin. Plus the fact that she had to hide her light under a bushel so to speak. Sitting on the small sofa in the hotel room in her blue silk wrapper that clung to every curve of her body, her long red mane of hair hanging down her back and over her shoulders like a sunset, caused Laurel to decide that Lavinia should go home as quickly as possible. She definitely couldn’t keep up the pretense of being a homely spinster companion much longer.
    “A coach leaves at noon,” Laurel told her and poured herself a cup of tea. “I’ll stay on until Gincie is better. Perhaps she should return to New Orleans. I think she already misses it.”
    “Gincie is faithful to you,” Lavinia commented somewhat jealously. “Almost like a little dog following after you all the time.”
    “I’ll ignore that comment,” Laurel said bitingly. “Now I must dress.” Her deep-green wrapper made a swishing sound as she left the room.
    Lavinia had just finished drinking her tea when a knock sounded on the door. She went to it and opened it a crack, rather amazed to see Tony Duvalier so early in the morning but even more aware of how handsome he looked in a cream-colored frock coat and brown trousers.
    He bowed to her. “Miss Malone, I’m sorry to be here so early. I had hoped to see Miss Delaney. Is she up yet?”
    “Yes, but she’s dressing,” Lavinia said and opened the door wider, allowing him to see her in all her early morning beauty. “She takes quite a long time to dress. May I help you?”
    Her eyes filled with eagerness and drank in Tony Duvalier’s handsomeness. She wondered what he wanted with Laurel anyway. She was so drab sometimes and so proper. Lavinia guessed that Duvalier was a man of fire, of passion. The two were entirely mismatched, she believed.
    Tony’s eyes scanned Lavinia’s luscious body, taking in her delicious state of dishabille, the tousled red curls he would never have believed had been hidden in the tightly rolled chignon she had worn. Without the glasses he realized her eyes were a piercing blue, and he caught his breath. This woman couldn’t be Agatha Malone, but she was the same woman who had traveled from New Orleans with the beautiful brunette who had perversely bewitched him.
    “I wondered when Miss Delaney might be leaving for San Antonio.”
    “Oh.” Lavinia’s hope-filled eyes lowered, then she lifted them to Duvalier’s face. “Miss Delaney will not be leaving today, but I shall.”
    “Is it usual for a traveling companion to go on ahead?” he asked.
    “I have much to attend to there before Miss Delaney arrives. Now if that is all,” Lavinia finished, a bit peeved that Duvalier’s interest was only in Laurel.
    “Thank you. Please tell her I shall call on her later in the day.”
    The door abruptly closed in his face. Tony stood outside, his gaze on the dark oak wood. He had sensed Agatha Malone’s interest in him and thought this woman was a chameleon. As he walked down the stairs to the main floor, it wasn’t the red-haired siren his mind dwelled on. It was a woman with dark hair and green eyes, a woman who might have caused his uncle’s death, a woman who had caused his aunt much pain.
    He left the hotel, wondering how someone with the face of an angel, the prim disposition of a schoolteacher, could possibly be a heartless witch. He had kissed her only a few days ago and had felt the desire within her for him.
    He walked along the piers and knew he must quench this desire for that dark-haired vixen, Lavinia Delaney. Soon she would be at his mercy, and he would make her suffer for his uncle’s shame. She would feel great humiliation for what she had done, for loving a married man old enough to be her father. For killing him with her passion, her greed, and giving nothing in return.
    Still the actual impression he had received of Lavinia