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    Within a few minutes of finishing her wine, Jane had once again fallen asleep. Watching her, George felt oddly protective. He bentto place another log on the fire. It was most unlikely that Blake would come here, but he would wedge something heavy against the French windows they had broken to enter. He would try not to sleep, though he knew he was tired and might not be able to keep guard throughout the night despite his best intentions.
    George was thoughtful as he went off to make sure that the house was as secure as he could make it. Jane Blair—if that was her true name—was a remarkable young woman. He thought that if he had met her in other circumstances he might not have noticed her, for he was more usually attracted to ladies with pale hair and blue eyes. There had once been a lady with beautiful azure eyes who had stolen, then broken his heart. It was because of Marianne that he had run off and joined the army, wanting release from the pain she had caused. However, he had quickly forgotten her in the heat of battle, the sight of fallen comrades driving what he now realised was a mere fancy from his mind.
    George was not now the same feckless daredevil he had been in his youth. Had Marianne accepted his proposal he would probably have broken her heart a dozen times. He hadnot been ready for marriage and Marianne in her wisdom had known it. Now, having seen too much fighting and too much pain, he had returned to England to settle down, perhaps here at the estate that his great-aunt had left him. His own father had had no other son and George had inherited the greater part of his estate, which was not large, and part of which had gone to the sister he adored. He was not the richest man in England, but his great-aunt’s estate had given him the money he needed to retire from the army and build a new life in England. Having a true interest in wine, he was contemplating setting up a business to import fine vintages from Spain and Portugal.
    Thinking of his sister, George’s brow furrowed. It was because of Verity that he was in this predicament, hiding from a man George despised and disliked. Blake had some letters and personal effects that belonged to Verity and she had begged George to recover them for her.
    Blake was still withholding Verity’s property, refusing to give George what he had promised. He was not sure what he could do about his sister’s problem. Unless he took desperate measures and broke into the rogue’s house.
    It was perhaps what he should have done at the beginning, George acknowledged to himself. The one thing he ought not to have done was to let Blake blackmail him into helping with his evil plans. He was not even sure why Blake had wanted him involved—unless he’d thought to gain a hold over George, too, which in part he had for he was now guilty of a heinous crime. Yet had he not agreed, Jane might even now be dead—and the abduction would have gone ahead anyway. At least now there was a chance that he could help one, or perhaps both, of the ladies.
    He was determined that nothing should happen to Jane Blair. Her bravery in escaping and the way she faced having to stay with a man she did not know in an empty house made him admire her. Verity would have been in hysterics by now. Jane was an exceptional young woman and he would protect her with his life.
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    Jane was woken by the smell of coffee and bacon frying. She blinked hard, easing her stiff shoulders as she looked for the source of the delicious aroma. Seeing the tray of hot food on the table beside her, she glanced up at the man who had provided the feast.
    ‘How did you find these?’ she asked as he poured the steaming liquid into two delicate porcelain cups. ‘Bacon, eggs, fresh bread—and coffee?’
    ‘The caretaker, Mrs Muffet, saw candles here last evening. She came to investigate at first light. I explained that I had come down from London to look at the house and she insisted on fetching food from her cottage