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eagerly, then hurried to the door and peered into the corridor. “It is safe to go now.”
    She felt him come behind her and quickly stepped aside to let him pass. As he did, he briefly touched her hand.
    Her breath caught in her throat even as shesteeled herself to order him to go. She would not look into his fascinating eyes.
    She would charge him not to kiss her again.
    But in the next instant, he was gone.
     
    Galen dressed in the faint light of dawn without his valet’s assistance. Not wanting to disturb anyone and not hungry in the least, he immediately went to wait in the library, which was as silent as his villa on a Sunday afternoon.
    He would read, which was how he usually spent his silent Sundays. He scanned the shelves and finally decided on a volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets. However, when he opened the book, he discovered that damp and more than one insect had been at work, more proof if he required it that the books in Eloise’s library were more for decoration than literary enjoyment.
    He closed the book, returned it to its place and paced, with frequent glances at the gold clock on the mantel, which was so ornate it was not easy to tell the time the first few times he looked. However, it got easier.
    What was he going to say to Verity? he pondered. He must be firm, for he was determined to hear the truth from her own lips. Yet he must not be too harsh, not if he wanted to know more about his daughter, and to see her again. He would ruinany chance of that if he frightened Verity, and he knew he could be very frightening when angry.
    He decided just how he would begin, and the tone he would use, and at last nine o’clock came.
    And went.
    He gave her fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes during which he tried to believe she had not deserted him again, and that he had not been a fool to trust her.
    Fifteen minutes to anticipate her arrival. To be annoyed and then hopeful, then annoyed again. To try to command his emotions so that he wouldn’t upset her or give her any cause to flee.
    After that long fifteen minutes, Galen strode into the hall and commandeered the first liveried footman he spied. “I’d like you to take a message to Mrs. Davis-Jones.”
    “Mrs. Davis-Jones?” the young man repeated stupidly.
    “Yes, Mrs. Davis-Jones.”
    “But Your Grace, um,” the fellow stammered, looking down as if feeling a sudden need to count the buttons of his purple jacket. “She’s gone, Your Grace.”
    “Gone?” Galen growled.
    “Aye, Your Grace, left this morning at six o’clock, Mrs. Davis-Jones, her little girl and that minx of a servant, too.”
    “Thank you,” Galen said evenly as he returned to the library and shut the door behind him.
    He strode to the window and stared out unseeing at Eloise’s garden and the shrubbery beyond.
    Verity had done it again, damn her. She had run away like a thief in the night, without explanation or any concern for him at all.
    He had not gone after her ten years ago. This time, though, things were different.
    This time, he had a most excellent reason to go after Verity.
    And her name was Jocelyn.

Chapter Four
    T he hired carriage rolled to a stop outside Verity’s house.
    They had disembarked the post chaise at Jefford, a village of five hundred souls in Warwickshire, and hired the innkeeper’s lad and carriage to take them to their house, located a short way beyond the village and down a secluded lane.
    “Well, here we are, safe and sound, although my back may never be the same,” Nancy declared. “I swear them chaises get smaller all the time.”
    “Or you’re getting bigger,” Jocelyn proposed.
    Nancy glanced at her sharply, but a sudden lurch of the vehicle turned her attention to the innkeeper’s son, a tall fellow who seemed all arms and legs and slouching posture, as if he were a sleepy spider.
    “Watch it, there, you nit!” Nancy snapped, her command making Jocelyn giggle and Verity giveher friend a mildly chastising look. They had discussed