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her own child. For twenty years in a country where to profess Catholicism was to be persecuted, she had struggled for a conversion, and now it was within reach.
    Maude closed her eyes under the soothing strokes of Berthe’s fingers. Lady Imogen would be beside herself, but she would discover that all the torments of the saints couldn’t shake her young cousin’s faith. She would show them all what true fortitude was.
    The landlord of the Adam and Eve didn’t look best pleased at the return of the monkey. “I trust that wild beast won’t be roamin’ around, m’lord.”
    “I shouldn’t think so,” Gareth said carelessly. “Show me to that private chamber you promised me and then bring supper for me and my companion.” He gestured to Miranda, moving her in front of him.
    Molton’s little mouth pursed but he turned to ascend the stairs ahead of them.
    “His mouth looks just like a chicken’s arse,” Miranda observed in an undertone, taking a firm hold on Chip.
    “An accurate if infelicitous comparison,” agreed Lord Harcourt, gently prodding her to follow the fortunately oblivious innkeeper.
    “In here, m’lord. Clean and sweet as you could wish.” Molton lifted the latch on a small narrow door under the eaves and flung wide the door with a grand flourish. “Nice an’ quiet it is,
too.
Away from the street and the taproom. An’ there’s no washday until Wednesday, so you’ll not be disturbed by the girls heating the coppers below.”
    Gareth glanced around the apartment. The ceiling was so low he had to duck his head, but the bed was of a reasonable size. A round table and two stools stood beneath the small window that was graced with a narrow window seat. The air was stuffy, infused with the acrid residue of lye and the sickly smell of the soap made from rendered beef fat wafting from the washhouse below. But it was private and far enough away from the main part of the inn to ensure continued privacy.
    “It’ll do,” he said, drawing off his gloves. “Now see to that supper and send up a couple of bottles of Rhenish.”
    “Aye, m’lord.” Molton bowed, his little eyes darting toward Miranda, who stood just inside the door, clutching Chip. “The young person’ll be stayin’, will she?” An oily lascivious note was in his voice.
    Gareth turned slowly and stared at him. Both indolence and humor had vanished from the brown eyes and the landlord backed out hastily, closing the door behind him.
    Miranda wetted her lips that were suddenly dry again. The landlord’s question, but even more Lord Harcourt’s refusal to answer it, had banished her hunger. Her previous wariness returned in full measure. How could she possibly know that a complete stranger could be trusted? His lordship might appear unthreatening but Gertrude had said many times that smooth surfaces were also slippery, particularly when it came to gentlemen.
    She reached for the door latch with the hand that wasn’t holding Chip. “I … I think I’ve changed my mind, milord. I … I don’t think I’m interested in a proposition and it wouldn’t be fair to take your supper in bad faith.”
    Gareth frowned. “Just a minute, Miranda!” He reached for her wrist and drew her back into the room. Miranda’s eyes sparked alarm. She tried to pull away with all her sinuous strength but the fingers at her wrist tightened. Chip suddenly shrieked and bared his teeth, only Miranda’s hold keeping him from jumping at the man.
    “God’s good grace!” Gareth released her wrist, half laughing, half exasperated. The monkey was a formidable bodyguard. “I do assure you I have no designs on your virtue. I’m just asking you to hear me out in exchange for a decent meal.”
    He moved away from her farther into the room. She reminded him of a fawn On the banks of a stream, quivering with wariness as it plucked up the courage to drop its guard enough to drink.
    He sat down on one of the stools, rested his elbow on the table, and propped his chin