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found there was no one in view but for the man presently carting her toward the estate’s front door. Well, there was the driver of the coach, too, but one glimpse of the man’s amused expression suggested that he would be of no assistance.
    Deciding she had best save her strength, Maggie remained still in her undignified position, silently promising herself she would throttle her captor at the first opportunity for this humiliating ride. Then her attention was taken up by the interior of the house they entered. A marble floor flashed by beneath her head, the legs of a narrow table, too, then steps.
    Maggie held her breath and remained as still as she could; if the last thing she wanted was to throw off her captor’s balance as he ascended these stairs. She breathed a small sigh of relief once the steps were replaced by the flat floor of a wide hallway; then she was carted through a door and into and across a darkened room. The Kidnapper’s stride slowed, his hands shifted, and he bent forward, dropping Maggie indelicately on a soft surface in the still-dark room before turning and exiting.
    It took her a moment to realize that the soft surface was a bed. Once she did, though, Maggie quickly tried to scramble off of it—forgetting that her ankles were bound together. She ended up crashing to her knees on the floor just as light flooded in around her. Lifting her head, she watched warily as her captor reentered with a taper from the hallway, which he used to set a fire going in the room’s hearth. Then he carried the taper to thetable on the opposite side of the bed from her, the one nearest the door. He set it down carefully, then turned to eye her where she knelt huddled against the bed.
    She returned his inspection, but was quite startled by the look of him. Her kidnapper was tall, with long, muscular legs and broader-than-average shoulders. His hair was dark and feathered, with gray at the temples, giving him a distinguished air. His face was handsome and strong, yet looked slightly hard, as if he didn’t smile much.
    The man gazed at her silently for a moment, taking in her wary state, then rubbed one hand wearily over the back of his neck and glanced fretfully around. “I am James Huttledon,” he announced abruptly. When Maggie stared back blankly, he added, “I was a friend of your brother’s. We fought side by side through most of the war.”
    Maggie felt surprise at this news, and some of her wariness dissipated as she made the connection in her head. Gerald had written to her often, long letters detailing his comrades, the battles they fought, the camaraderie they shared. There had been one man he had mentioned a great deal, and from his letters Maggie knew Gerald had respected and looked up to him. He had called the paragon James once or twice, but had most often referred to him as—“Ramsey,” she said a bit breathlessly.
    â€œYes. I am Lord Ramsey. Your brother died saving my life, and his last request to me was that I see after you.”
    Maggie was silent for a moment. She had known Gerald died bravely—his commanding officer had written the details of his leaping in front of a musket ball tosave a comrade. However, she had never known whom he had died to save; the name had been left out. Now she stared at the man who had kidnapped her, the man her brother had saved, and felt only bitter disappointment. Gerald had died in this man’s place?
    She couldn’t help her suddenly tight expression or the tone of her voice as she snapped, “I see. Well, forgive me for pointing out something you may not wish to hear, my lord, but I doubt very much if smothering, tying up, or kidnapping me is what Gerald had in mind.”
    Lord Ramsey grimaced, but after a moment said sternly, “It was not what I expected to be doing when I agreed. However, I doubt your brother expected you to get up to the things you have done.”
    Maggie stiffened at his