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hands on her.
    “Mr. Doyle, gentlemen, you may go,” he said sternly to the remaining smugglers. “You were wise to cooperate. We may now consider this matter resolved. But if I hear of any similar mischief in future,” he warned in an ominous tone, “rest assured, you will not find me so forgiving.” He waved his hand with an idle motion, signaling their dismissal.
    “Aye, sir. Good night, then.” Doyle bowed his head to him, then nodded to his followers. They hurried after the old man, no doubt as happy as he to be hastening toward the exit.
    “Doyle!” Rohan called after him.
    The old chief paused and turned back. “Aye, sir?”
    “About the girl.” Rohan looked at him wryly, wondering if he could get the old man to admit the truth about her assignment here. “She did not happen to wash ashore along with the rest of the booty your boys picked up on the night of the shipwreck, hm?”
    Caleb looked astounded at the accusation. “Nay, sir! Not at all!”
    His lips twisted. “Who is she?”
    “A village lass, Yer Grace! She’s as tired of livin’ hand to mouth as we all are, but unlike the rest of us, she’s pretty enough to find herself a better life in Town.”
    Rohan narrowed his eyes, sizing him up in amused vexation. Why so nervous, Caleb?
    “Many a wench not half so fair as she has made a fine career in London entertainin’ highborn gentl’men like yourself,” the smugglers’ chief hastily explained.
    “These are her wishes?” Rohan inquired.
    “Aye, the lass aspires to be a rich man’s ladybird.”
    He raised an eyebrow. “Surely you do not expect me to keep her?” He already had more women in London, almost, than even he could handle—a harem, as the scandal sheets preferred to call it. What they saw in him other than a thorough rogering, he was never sure.
    Not promises, that was for certain.
    Doyle was shaking his head emphatically. “Not at all, sir! It’s just that seein’ as how Yer Grace is such a favorite with the ladies, she hoped you might be willing to, ah, show her the ropes, if ye don’t mind.”
    A few of Doyle’s men stifled coughs.
    “Oh, it’ll be a sacrifice,” Rohan drawled. Doyle grinned—rather in relief. “What is she called?”
    “Kate, milord.”
    “Kate what?”
    “Madsen.”
    “Hm.” The name was not familiar. “Had a bit to drink, I take it.”
    “Nerves, Yer Grace,” Doyle answered without blinking an eye. “Well, sir, you do have, er, a certain reputation as a man of high standards. But from what I hear, our Kate should be able to keep up with you, no problem. Quite a hussy in the making, she is. We’re awful proud of ’er.”
    Rohan’s lips tilted sardonically. Leave it to a band of criminals to be proud of their daughters who grew up to become notorious London courtesans. “Thank you, Mr. Doyle. That will be all.”
    “Then we shall leave you to your night’s enjoyment!” Doyle’s cheery grin faded as he bowed out, hurrying after his men.
    Eldred discreetly sent Rohan a wry look before gliding off to show their rustic visitors out.
    A hussy in the making, he mused, casting a lusty glance toward the staircase as he rose from his chair. Sounds like my kind of girl.

Chapter 3
    F ree at last to turn his full attention to his waiting bedmate, Rohan set his weapon aside and left the great hall, still musing cynically on what Doyle had said about the girl’s career ambitions.
    So, he mused with a speculative gleam in his eyes, the young temptress desired a little instruction from a man of the world on how she might go about joining London’s demimonde.
    With her looks, she could make a fortune, and certainly, he could show her the road to perdition. Alas, he knew the route well. As it happened, he was acquainted with two or three grand madams in London discreetly offering high-priced whores to a most selective clientele.
    One of these elegant abbesses would no doubt be happy to take on an alluring new girl, especially if she came