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the direction he needed to go, he had little grounds on which to deny them. They weren’t soldiers under his command. He couldn’t order them about.
    All he could do was grit his teeth and bear it, as he had the previous night.
    After learning of his mission, Esme—deftly supported by Loretta—had insisted he and Hassan, as their newly hired courier-guide and guard, should relocate to the hotel, to rooms just along the corridor from Esme’s suite. He’d been in two minds over the wisdom of such a move, but had been overridden. With a smile and a wave, Esme had secured the extra rooms and had dispatched hotel staff to fetch his and Hassan’s bags from their inn.
    So he’d found himself sharing a dinner table with Esme and Loretta, and had had to quickly buff his rusty manners to an acceptable shine.
    Then, as now, Esme had largely carried the conversation. He was still observing, feeling his way with the pair, yet last night Loretta had been strangely quiet, at least in his opinion. She’d been absentminded, distracted, her mind elsewhere, much as if she’d been composing something in her head and hadn’t wanted to be bothered by his and Esme’s chatter.
    This morning, she still seemed distant, but more in the manner of planning something. Given Esme’s insistence on adhering to their day’s schedule, it was possible he might learn what.
    Half an hour later, he was waiting in the hotel foyer when Esme and Loretta, with Gibson and Loretta’s maid, Rose, trailing behind, came down the stairs. Hassan followed, playing shepherd.
    Rafe realized he was staring, inwardly quashed the compulsion. He’d seen fetching young ladies before. No reason one in a vibrant blue pelisse should so command his attention.
    Going forward, he offered Esme his arm. “I’ve organized carriages—we’ll see you off first.”
    “Excellent, dear boy.” Clearly pleased he was actively playing his assigned role, Esme allowed him to conduct her out of the hotel’s doors onto the pavement, to the carriage that waited, door open, footman at the ready.
    Rafe handed her up, stepped back to let the footman hand Gibson in, then looked up at the driver. “The Rudas Baths.”
    He’d learned that the baths, dating from antiquity, were renowned for their medicinal properties, and as such were a magnet for wealthy ladies from all over Europe; within such hallowed portals, Esme and Gibson would be safe.
    As soon as the footman had climbed up behind, the driver cracked his whip and the carriage rolled away.
    Another replaced it at the curb. The others emerged from the hotel. Rafe glanced at Loretta, then, as the hotel’s footman rushed to open the carriage door, offered her his hand.
    Head high, determined to keep a rigidly proper and therefore safe distance between herself and the too-handsome captain Esme had drawn into their circle, Loretta laid her gloved hand across his palm, felt his fingers, long and strong, close around hers—and even through the fine leather feltsearing awareness flash up her arm, streak along her nerves, surge down her veins.
    She tried to suck in a breath, but her lungs had constricted. By sheer force of will she kept her feet moving and managed to climb the steps into the carriage. He released her hand and her senses snapped back into focus.
    Battling a dire frown—
what the devil was that?
—she sank onto the seat, looking down, arranging her skirts as Rose followed her into the carriage and sat opposite.
    A second later, the carriage tipped as Carstairs climbed in. He hesitated, then sat alongside her, leaving the place beside Rose for Hassan.
    Carstairs’s shoulder brushed hers as he settled.
    She couldn’t breathe again. Worse, her wits had scattered. As for her senses, they were flickering and flaring, not in alarm but in a most peculiar way.
    Fixing her gaze forward, she forced her lungs to work. It was preferable that Carstairs sat beside her rather than opposite; at least she didn’t have him constantly