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concerned. She had to have been standing there for a good five minutes.
    â€œMy lady?” Meg called from beside the coach. “Maybe no one is home.”
    Knocking a third time, Blanche thought about that. While she wasn’t all that cold, Meg was chilled to the bone. If no one was home, they would go inside and wait while Clarence watered the team. Sir Rex couldn’t possibly mind.
    She knocked very firmly and gave up when no one responded. Her maid was right—no one was home. And Meg was shivering so much her teeth were chattering. It was several hours back to the village and it was growing late. Surely, Sir Rex would not mind if they waited inside, or even if they made a fire. But she was unsure now. Why hadn’t a servant answered the door?
    Blanche tested the door and it opened, allowing her to step inside a modestly sized front hall. She looked around. Much to her relief, a fire roared in the gray stone hearth, which looked to be as original as the castle. And that fire indicated that someone was certainly home.
    She called out firmly. “Hello? Is anyone home?” But there was no answer.
    She glanced around. The walls were freshly whitewashed, the furnishings modest but perfectly suitable and recently upholstered. There were only two seating arrangements, one in front of the hearth, making the hall seem far larger than it was. Only two rugs were present, but they were Oriental and of fine quality. She found the room pleasant. And then Blanche saw the display of sabers and firearms on one wall.
    She intended to go outside and tell Meg to go to the laborers and ask after Sir Rex. Instead, very curious, she walked over to the display. She was certain that the weapons belonged to Rex and had been used by him in the late war.
    She stared, unable to admire the collection. Two of the swords were ceremonial, their hilts filigreed gold, their sheaths gold and silver. She gazed at a long saber, with its dark, leather-wrapped, utilitarian hilt; and a shorter sword, its appearance equally as utilitarian and menacing. He had wielded these weapons in the war. She disliked the notion. She looked at the long carbine rifle, the butt dulled from use, and the shorter pistol. She was acutely aware that his hands had grasped the butts of those guns, just as he had wielded those swords. She didn’t care for the display. It gave her an uneasy, uncomfortable feeling. But then, the war had been tragic not just for Sir Rex, but for so many.
    A noise sounded.
    It was quite the thud.
    And then more thudding began.
    Blanche was surprised. The rather rhythmic noise was coming from behind an adjacent door, which she assumed belonged to the tower room. Was someone home after all? And if so, what on earth was going on?
    She hesitated, staring at the closed door. “Sir Rex?” She tried from across the room.
    She cleared her voice and raised it, approaching. “Sir Rex? Hello! Is anybody home?”
    The banging rhythm had increased. And Blanche thought she heard a man’s voice, but without words—a sound of pain, perhaps.
    Instantly alarmed, she hurried toward the door. But just as she reached it, she heard the same male sound again. And she realized what it was.
    It was a growl of pleasure.
    Blanche went still.
    The banging continued, fast and fierce now.
    Oh, God, she thought, stunned. For she had just realized someone in that room was making love.
    She had been to countless balls and even more country weekends. She was well aware of the trysts that occurred in the ton, both behind closed doors and in the corners of corridors and mazes. She had walked past embracing couples numerous times, pretending not to see. But she had never seen more than a passionate kiss.
    Whoever was in that tower room, he was doing far more than kissing his lover. And her heart lurched unpleasantly—she had to leave now, immediately.
    And surely, it wasn’t Sir Rex in that tower room?
    She clasped her face in her