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sowing my wild oats. That was how my grandmother in particular explained my frequent absences from England.”
    “Then why did you choose such a career?”
    “The truth is,” he replied honestly, “I wanted to make a difference in the world.”
    She nodded. “That was Papa’s sentiment exactly.” Madeline’s gaze searched his face. “And now? I should think you would miss it after so many years of dedication to a cause.”
    Rayne felt surprise that she seemed to understand why he found himself at loose ends. It was not that he regretted the war’s end. On the contrary, he was infinitely glad to see the last of death, destruction, and deception. Yet he missed his fulfilling life as a spymaster—saving lives, righting injustices, championing the weak, and experiencing daring adventures.
    For most of his adult life, he’d been driven by one single overriding purpose—to win the bitter, bloody struggle against Napoleon Bonaparte—and he had yet to find a suitable replacement to fill the emptiness of his days. He still had not grown entirely accustomed, either, to the stark changes he’d faced upon his return to civilian life. Nor had he adapted well to the meaningless social expectations of the ton.
    “I do indeed miss it,” he said finally, “but my familial obligations take precedence for now. My own father died last year, far earlier than I could have wished. I never wanted to inherit the earldom, but it was my lot since I am an only son.”
    She smiled. “I suspect there are very few gentlemen who would feel as you do.”
    “Perhaps so,” he agreed congenially.
    “I would have preferred to be born a man,” she said rather wistfully. “When I was a child I wanted to march off to war and fight evil and tyranny. It was only when I grew older that I realized how terrible war can be.” Her voice turned quiet. “My father rarely spoke of his experiences, but the haunted look in his eyes….”
    “Your father was an incredibly courageous man,” Rayne said softly.
    “How did he save your life?”
    “He had gained intelligence about a scouting party inthe area where we were traveling and so was more alert than usual when we came upon an ambush. When we were attacked, he startled my horse to one side just as one of the enemy soldiers fired at me. The bullet lodged harmlessly in the tree behind me instead of my head or my chest.”
    “I am glad you were spared,” she said quietly.
    She fell silent then, apparently lost in thought, while Rayne’s reflections shifted from his past to his future.
    He planned to marry to fulfill his duty to his new title but more to appease his persistent grandmother, since the family seat was entailed and would go to Rayne’s uncle if he failed to produce an heir.
    He wasn’t eager to forfeit his bachelorhood or his freedom, but he bore his aging grandmother great affection. Mary Kenyon, the dowager Countess of Haviland, had practically raised him after his mother died in childbirth and so thought of him as her own child. She’d claimed to be on her deathbed and wrung a promise out of him to marry and give the title an heir before she expired of a heart condition, which she’d severely exaggerated.
    Rayne was well aware he was being manipulated, but this was the only significant thing his grandmother had ever asked of him. And at three and thirty, it was time he settled down.
    And so he had agreed to diligently search for a bride. In fact, he had already interviewed numerous possible candidates, although thus far he’d found none who appealed to him.
    He was more than willing to make a marriage of convenience. Indeed, he wanted nothing more intimate,since his one hapless experience with love had cured him of the sentiment entirely.
    Abruptly cutting off that line of thought, Rayne glanced over at his companion, aware that the silence between them had drawn out.
    Yet it was not uncomfortable in the least. In fact, Rayne greatly appreciated a female who knew how to hold