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and ecstatic in the center of himself as he looked at her. She had a sort of heart-catching innocence that sat ill with his sense of who she was, what she was capable of.
    â€œHello, Dr. Beckworth,” she said in a soft, cultured voice. Then she looked at Ian, the huge brown eyes showing—not surprisingly—no recognition at all. “Good day to you, sir.” Then she frowned.
    â€œIs something wrong?” Beckworth asked.
    â€œNo. For a moment I thought...” She waved her hand distractedly. “It was nothing.”
    â€œMy dear,” Beckworth said, his meddlesome manner irritating, at least to Ian. “Do you recognize this man?”
    â€œHello, Miranda,” Ian said softly. He lowered himself so their gazes were level and sent her his kindest smile. “It’s a high relief to find you at last.” Another of his well-honed skills was the intimate whisper. Women succumbed to it almost too easily, tumbling into his arms in fits of ecstasy. He waited for Miranda to melt.
    Instead she cocked her head to one side and asked, “Do you play chess?”
    He blinked. “Chess.”
    She frowned in concentration at the chess board. “It seems that I do. Perhaps too well. Each time I play myself, it ends in stalemate.”
    â€œThis gentleman claims he knows you,” Beckworth said. “He says you were betrothed.”
    She caught her breath. “To be married?” She stared at Ian with new, keen interest.
    â€œThat’s right, love,” Ian said, amazed that he felt guilty deceiving her. According to Fanny, this woman was a deadly traitor and the key to a hideous plot to assassinate the crowned princes of Europe. Yet suddenly he felt as if he had stepped on a kitten. “You canna remember?”
    â€œNo.” She bit her lip. It was a full lower lip, the very sort that begged for a kiss. This could prove to be dangerous indeed, Ian thought. In ways he had not yet considered.
    â€œDarling.” He took both her hands in his and drew her to her feet. The top of her head just reached his chin. “Surely you remember me. I am your one true love, your Ian.”
    At this the other women clustered round, jabbering and clucking like hens.
    â€œKiss her!” one of them urged.
    â€œYes, kiss her, kiss her!” The others took up the chant.
    It was odd, Ian thought, looking at these hopeless, disheveled creatures. After all they’d been through, they still wanted to believe in a happy ending.
    â€œKiss her!” they continued to chant. A buxom woman with black hair and laughing eyes made a smooching sound with her mouth.
    â€œIan,” Miranda repeated. Her breathing quickened, and she made a sound of distress. “Dr. Beckworth, may we please have some privacy?”
    Ian was more stunned than the doctor by her request. He felt a jolt in his chest. God. She was falling for the ruse. He ought to feel pleased by his own cleverness. Instead he sensed a faint edge of panic. He might very well find himself with a fiancée before this day was out.
    â€œMiranda, I shouldn’t allow it,” Beckworth said. “It would not be prop—”
    â€œThe lady made a simple request,” Ian broke in.
    â€œYou may go to the empty cell across the hall.” The doctor held the door for them. “I shall be outside.” He aimed a meaningful stare at Miranda. “You need only call out and I’ll come.”
    â€œShe’ll call out, right enough,” said the black-haired woman. “But not for you, Beckie.”
    Ian glared at the doctor as they left the room. Officious little toad. Does he think I would ravish her right here in this rank cell?
    Rather than seeming absurd, the very idea made him hard. Perhaps he was crazy, too, lusting after a woman in Bedlam, of all places. His chest felt tight when he turned to Miranda. “Does the name Stonecypher mean anything to you?”
    â€œStonecypher.” She