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my good man,” Dash exclaimed, forcing all thoughts of the case from his mind. “Tell me, if you had to wager on a woman either driving me to marriage or driving me to death, which would you choose?”
    The butler stood in the doorway, his face devoid of emotion. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me, my lord.”
    Bell had presided over Carrington House for more years than Dash could remember. He was loyal, intelligent, and supremely capable.
    More important, he’d been a trusted friend to the late viscount. And while Dash didn’t know the man intimately, there was something comforting in his presence.
    “Nothing, Bell, nothing at all,” Dash assured the man. “Now, what is it you need?”
    “Miss Elena Barnes is due to arrive,” Bell replied, the parted keys on the desk catching his eye. He paused. Then he blinked slowly and his emotionless gaze returned. “At any moment, my lord.”
    Dash reached for the two pieces and put them back together. “A puzzle man, are you, Bell?”
    “Not in the slightest, my lord. But your father …” Bell looked at the floor.
    Dash gently returned the keys to the desk. “Father did love a good ‘stretch of the brain,’ as he was so fond of saying.”
    Bell swallowed. “Quite right, my lord. Now, Miss Barnes?”
    “Yes, of course. Miss Barnes. I suppose I should prepare to …” Dash let his words fall off, hopeful that Bell would excuse him from the impending welcome party.
    “To meet Miss Barnes, my lord. Exactly,” the butler confirmed.
    “Exactly,” Dash repeated.
Exactly
.
    Bell offered him a hint of a smile. “I’ll await you in the foyer, my lord.”
    Dash nodded as he watched the butler leave. “Of course. I’ll be right there.”
    God. Miss Elena Barnes was the last thing he wanted in his life. And for that matter, the last thing he
needed
either. If not for his promise to his father that the books would be given to Lord Harcourt, Dash would have left them as they were.
    It was the worst time to have the woman in his home. He couldn’t have known that Nicholas’s return would spur such action on his part. But Dash had already written to her father by the time he’d heard of his friend having sailed for England.
    How was he to honor his father’s request
and
get rid of the woman as quickly as possible? A bluestocking? Most of his acquaintance loathed those with a weak mind—especially men. Dash was accustomed to remaining silent and allowing others to assume his intellectual inferiority. But perhaps the situation called for him to play a more active role.
    Dash reclaimed the puzzle, smiling as he did so.
    He’d have Miss Barnes back in Dorset before her father had time to miss her. He’d bet his life on it.

     
    “I beg your pardon, Miss, but I think I’m going to be sick.”
    Elena had reason to take her maid Rowena seriously. The poor girl had already cast up her accounts several times during the three-day ride from Verwood to London. The stops between had done little to ease the agony of Rowena’s sour stomach.
    “Right,” Elena said with brisk reassurance, thumping the roof of the carriage and calling for her father’s coachman to stop.
    The traveling coach slowed and came to a full stop. Elena turned the brass door handle and pushed hard, forcing it open.
    Rowena dove from her well-appointed seat, landing safely on her feet, and vomited into a manicured patch of roses.
    Elena rushed out after her, settling a supportive hand at the back of the poor maid’s waist. “Oh Rowena, are you all right?”
    “Might I be of assistance?”
    Something coiled in Elena’s stomach at the sound of the rich, deep male drawl. That, or she’d managed to secure Rowena’s ailment for herself. “Yes, if you would be so kind,” she began, rubbing Rowena’s back lightly as she turned to look over her shoulder at the servant.
    Only it was not the liveried form of a Carrington house footman that met her gaze. A gentleman stood before her, his clothing of the