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single, folded sheet of his finest foolscap. Vaguely aware that his nostrils were flaring like a spooked horse, he opened it.
    The writing was not his own, scrawled swiftly beneath the monogram, though with the weight of his hand and the angle of his script. Ian read the words, and his entire female body went cold.
     
    You thorough scoundrel! What have you done?

Chapter Five
    S WEAT DRENCHED CORINNA FROM THE mass of wiry hair beneath her arms stuffed into the skin-tight coat to her neck trapped in a snug collar and elaborately arranged cravat. The late October day was cool, but she had not donned the greatcoat the butler proffered for her as she clomped out the front door. She’d known the man for years; during her girlhood he’d been first footman at Dashbourne, the Chance family’s estate. Somehow she imagined he would recognize her.
    But she did not recognize herself.
    She did not recognize herself.
    A groan of sheer confusion arose from her chest. The rumble of distress sounded low and alarming. The birds in the trees and hedges on the green chirped cheerily, the crisp and unusually clean breeze swirled around her head, teasing her short locks, and she begged God for a return to reality.
    This simply could not be happening. She simply could not have woken up four interminable hours ago in Ian Chance’s house.
    In Ian Chance’s bed.
    In Ian Chance’s
body
.
    Corinna prided herself on her liberality of thought. She believed that even the most outlandish theorists should have their moment on the stage. Persons of true elevation of mind could learn something from every area of science, religion, literature, philosophy, as well as the other faculties of study. She might not believe in reincarnation, alchemy, ghosts, transcendentalism, and the Loch Ness Monster, but she respected them as avenues of human inquiry.
    But this...
this
could not be. From her studies and discussions with experts she knew that ghosts inhabited only willing hosts. Demons, on the other hand, simply did not exist. And of course, neither Ian Chance nor she was dead—unfortunately, in the case of Ian.
    Which left only insanity.
    But if she were insane, he was as well, unless the note he had sent in response to her panicked missive also comprised part of this imaginary horror. He had demanded to meet here in the green rather than at her home. Their houses were only four doors apart, a misfortune she had been happy to entirely ignore and easily did, since he kept scoundrel’s hours and she lived more attuned to the polite world’s schedule. But at least he had finally replied to her note.
    The hedge was thick along the fence and she could not see to the door of her house. Finally the gate opened and a lady wearing a black walking dress stepped through it, closed it behind her, and turned.
    Corinna’s heart fell into her stomach, then her stomach into her feet.
    “Oh, merciful heaven.” She fought back a scream, then a thick roll of nausea. Ten feet away from her stood...
Corinna Mowbray
. Or a near perfect twin.
    Corinna was not a foolish woman, but a person of rational thought. There was nothing whatsoever rational about her present circumstance, of course. But she could not deny the fact that her body stood across from her, staring at her. Just as she was no doubt staring at it from clear blue eyes. Ian Chance’s eyes.
    “Is it you?” Her voice came forth deep and smooth. Ian’s voice.
    The woman stood immobile, her features more astonished than Corinna had ever seen her own face in the glass.
    Corinna took a step forward. Her boots dragged on the pebbled walkway. They were astoundingly heavy. The valet had put them on for her. She wouldn’t have known the first thing about doing it herself, not to mention the cravat and coat. And of course, the shaving. She’d sat silent as the man rattled on about “my lord’s” plans for the day, in shock and entirely unable to form words. When she finally did speak after the boot