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followed her line of vision out of the window and saw only the gray pavement, wet from the early-morning rain, and the endless red bricks of Mayfair and his own carriage waiting at the curb.
    Where in the hell is Burke?
    "Of course you are planning to stay with us for a while, aren't you, Mr. Delane? I can't bear it when visitors come for just a week or two. Please say that you will stay with us until Christmas."
    "I don't know, Caroline."
    "Of course you will. I won't hear otherwise."
    She turned away, one hand pressed against her forehead as though in an attempt to contain the confusion within. "How many times I've told Burke—" As she passed by the sofa she spied the silver service on the low table, sat primly on the edge of the sofa and poured a cup.
    "Does Burke—have a lover, Mr. Delane?" she asked poHtely.
    Taken aback by the question, Delane laughed. "I'm sure I don't know, Caroline. I'm afraid you will have to ask Burke."
    "Oh, I have," she said, smiling over the rim of her coffee cup. "I know he doesn't have a wife, but I suppose he has mistresses, plenty of them. A boy that good-looking—"
    Suffering embarrassment, Delane looked back toward the door.
    "Mr. Delane, I want you to promise me one thing. You must promise me that you will talk to Burke—"
    "About what?"
    "Tell him that he must never leave me, that he will kill me if he does." She was trembling, her thin arms wrapped about her.
    "Caroline, please," Delane begged.
    "No, you must listen to me!" she pleaded, gripping his arm with surprising strength. "I know what he's up to. Every night he rides away from here. I have spies working for me and they report back. They tell me that on occasion he journeys as far as Mobile for his whores—"

    Delane wanted to move away but she continued to grasp his arm. *Tlease," she begged, "tell him that I can abide whores. But tell him what I cannot and will not abide is a wife. Tell him that for me, Mr. Delane. We must not have a wife here. No, no, never. No wife, no wife; not for Burke, no!"
    Then at last, blessedly, he heard it, a firm step on the stairs. And in the next minute Burke was at the door, lines of fatigue creasing his face, as though he'd slept too hard or not enough.
    "Ah, Delane . . ." He smiled, adjusting his gray waistcoat. But the smile faded as he caught sight of his mother.
    Delane looked back at Caroline, expecting a reaction from her. But there was nothing. She sat on the sofa, her hands lying idly in her lap, a tuneless humming escaping from her lips.
    He glanced up at Burke in time to see the small death on his face, as though he'd hoped to make his escape unnoticed. "Sorry I was delayed," he muttered, heading toward the drifting woman.
    Delane watched as Burke knelt before his mother and took her hands between his own. He noticed the knuckles on Burke's right hand. Bruised they were, red and scraped. Obviously the young man had passed an eventful night.
    Well, Delane was certain he'd hear all about it during the journey to Eden Castle. For now, he watched in sad fascination the scene between mother and son.
    "I'm leaving now," Burke said, above the tuneless humming. "I'll be away for a fortnight, but Charles knows where to reach me—if you need me—"
    Still no response from the humming woman. If she was even aware of her son kneeling before her, she gave no indication of it.
    "Mother, did you hear me? I said I was leaving now. Promise me you'll be good and do as Florence says."
    Slowly Burke stood and straightened himself. "She's worse," he commented quietly.
    "Come," Delane murmured. "We should have been on the road an hour—"
    Burke nodded, still standing over her, his eyes dark with worry. As he drew on his gloves, he frowned as though his injured hand had caused his discomfort. He tried once more. "Mother, can you hear me? I'm leaving now."
    But still there was nothing from the humming woman except for a

    small smile that was vaguely triumphant as though she were pleased by his