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her but herself, her mind became crystal clear. She couldn’t make a dash for the door because she didn’t know where he was. There was no pistol or knife concealed among her things, and if there had been she wouldn’t have used them. A woman who had stood trial for murder would have a hard time explaining away a corpse in her bedchamber.
    Other things gradually came to her. He smelled of strong spirits. If he had been drinking, that could work in her favor. The poker was on the hearth beside her feet, and as she well knew, a poker could be a lethal weapon.
    Not the poker, she thought with a shudder. She couldn’t bear to take a swing at him with the poker, except as a last resort. The water carafe, then. It was only a few steps away, on the table beside her chair. Then, when she’d disabled him, she would lock him in this room and hide in Bea’sroom.
    If only it could be that simple.
    She began to inch her way to the table, and was shocked into immobility when he spoke again. “I apologize for being so late,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to wait up for me. I thought I’d find you in bed.”
    Though his voice was pleasant, his words chilled her. He seemed to think that William had set this up with her and that she would welcome him with open arms. The sooner she disabused him of that notion the better.
    “I want you to leave. Now.” She stopped when she heard the quaver in her voice, cleared her throat then went on. “If you lay a hand on me, I’ll scratch your eyes out.”
    Silence. She had the distinct impression that he was weighing her up in much the same way as she was weighing him. Maybe he thought she had a gun. Maybe that’s why he was holding off. And maybe she’d better do something before it was too late.
    He said, “This isn’t like you. You don’t even sound like yourself. I must have had more to drink than I thought.”
    When his shadow suddenly loomed up in front of her, she moved like lightning. She snatched up the water carafe and backed away from him.
    “Don’t come any closer,” she cried out.
    He disregarded her warning. “Look-”
    She brought the glass carafe down with all her might, but it shattered uselessly against the bedpost, and in the next instant, her assailant caught her in a flying tackle and carried her across the bed.
    Sara stifled a whimper. Her legs were splayed wide and the press of his weight crushed her into the feather mattress; her wrists were held in an iron grip above her head, and the metal buttons on his coat bit into the soft flesh of her breasts. She flinched when his head descended.
    His voice was husky. “You seem different tonight. I can’t explain it.” He laughed softly “I think I may have underestimated your appeal. Ah, Deirdre, don’t fight me.”
    When his mouth took hers, she braced herself for violence, but he was gentle, and that amazed her. And as that brandy-flavored kiss lingered and the thought of Deirdre circled in her mind, it came to her that she’d taken a wrong turn. She’d been thinking of William when the stranger climbed in through her window, and her imagination had done the rest.
    She went limp with relief and tried, weakly, to push himoff. When that didn’t work, she offered a passive resistance, neither participating in his embrace nor fighting it.
    He went very still, then his head lifted. His features were indistinct, but she saw sculpted bones and the flash of white teeth as he smiled. “You’re not Deirdre,” he said.
    “No.”
    “I think I knew it from the first. I climbed in the wrong window, didn’t I?”
    It was madness, but she found herself returning his smile. Her mind had already worked everything out. He wasn’t William’s emissary; he wasn’t a thief; he wasn’t going to rape her. He’d simply entered the wrong room, the room where he’d expected to find Deirdre, and instead he’d found her.
    She should be ranting and raving at him for all the needless terror he’d put her through. She