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away, Maggie rose carefully and perched on the edge of the bed, then took stock of her prison. While the exterior of this estate had appeared stark and imposing, there was nothing of that inside. This bedroom was a cheerful light blue,its furnishings and coverings all nearly new, and expensive. Hardly reflective of its owner at all.
    Grimacing to herself at the thought, Maggie glanced toward the door, briefly considering trying to leave, but just as quickly changed her mind. She could already hear the house stirring. There would be servants everywhere in no time. Besides, she had no way to return to town, or really even any idea which way London was from here. Nay, there was little sense in rushing off into the wilds of the country, especially dressed as she was.
    Then, too, it didn’t appear as if she were under any real threat here. If anything, it sounded as if Lord Ramsey were seriously trying to live up to his promise to her brother to keep her from harm. And apparently he felt her escapades under the name of G. W. Clark were too risky. Which they were, she had to admit. In fact, the whole situation had grown more and more precarious of late, for her readers were demanding more and more titillating articles. That was the reason she had risked entering the brothel—something she never would have considered ere circumstances had become so desperate, even with the heavy veil she had worn to hide her face.
    Where was that veil now? Probably still sitting on the settee in Madame Dubarry’s private drawing room. Maggie had taken it off after interviewing the last of Agatha’s girls so that she and the madam might relax over tea. Both of them had quite forgotten it in the rush to Maisey’s room. Which, in itself, showed the dangers of rushing about without planning. Nay, Maggie was best off sticking it out until she could convince Lord Ramsey to return her to her home, or think of a safe way to escape there on her own.
    No doubt Lord Ramsey would offer her some sort of agreement when they met for their discussion later—a position as nanny to his children or some such thing. Yes, he looked the sort to be married with children. He was certainly old enough. Of course, she would have to refuse. Even if she dismissed the ignominy of being known to work for a living, no position as governess could pay as much as the Daily Express . No, when Lord Ramsey made the offer, she would be forced to regretfully refuse—then somehow had to convince him to return her to town.
    Having settled the matter in her mind, Maggie stood and removed her cape and mask. She would have liked to remove her gown as well; it was terribly itchy. She didn’t know if it was the material or a lack of cleanliness on Maisey’s part, but the garment was insufferable. Unfortunately she had nothing to change into at the moment, and as indecent as the gown was, it was unthinkable to sleep in the nude.
    Making a face, she crawled under the covers and settled herself in the center of the bed, unsurprised as she was overtaken by a yawn. Now that she believed she wasn’t in any real danger, exhaustion was beginning to set in. This had been an incredibly eventful night, what with one thing after another. All she really wanted to do was rest.
    Stifling yet another yawn, she glanced toward the bedroom door and frowned. It was all well and good that Lord Ramsey claimed a desire to honor her brother’s last wishes, but really, she realized, she had no guarantee that such was the case. Actually, she had no guarantee he was even who he claimed. It was rathertrusting of her to take the man’s word for it like that. Naive and stupid, even.
    â€œOh, bother!” she muttered. Pushing the covers aside, she crawled out of bed once more.
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    â€œHere you are, milord.”
    James turned from a contemplation of the fire in his library hearth and smiled a vague thank-you at an unusually rumpled Webster. His butler at Ramsey came