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at the back, with Eustace trailing behind them. He was singing under his breath and Rufus realized it was one of the risqué songs from The Tin Soldier.
    Lady Averil had left a key out, no doubt so that she could sneak inside without anyone knowing, and when Eustace unlocked the door he found they were in what appeared to be a boot room. A dog rose from its bed on the slate floor with a gruff “woof” and Averil shushed it quickly.
    “Down, Hercules,” she hissed.
    In Rufus’s opinion Hercules was a good name for the animal. It was huge—some sort of massive hound. He eyed it uneasily as Eustace approached, but Averil assured him it was harmless.
    “He’s big but he’s a dear,” she added.
    Eustace grinned as Hercules came up to him with much tail wagging and wriggling. “We don’t have a dog in London,” he said, with a sideways glance at his father. “Although we have several at Southbrook. I wanted to bring one with us but Papa says they’re a damned nuisance in town.”
    “Your father is probably right,” Averil said primly. “And he can put me down now. I can manage from here.”
    Rufus gave a snort. “You can barely walk. I’ll put you down when we reach your room. Direct me if you please. We don’t want to wake Beth,” he added silkily, and then cursed himself as Eustace edged closer.
    “Very well,” she said huffily, and proceeded to tell him where to go.
    Along a corridor and through a door, then up some stairs and along another corridor, and then finally to Averil’s room. Eustace, a finger to his lips, reached out to open the door and they slipped inside. She’d left a lamp burning low, and Rufus could see at once that for a woman who would one day be very rich Lady Averil was modest to the point of Spartan.
    Apart from the bed, with its pretty flowery quilt, the room was very plain. He might have been puzzled, he might have asked her about it, but just then he realized that Hercules had followed them up. The dog, which in the lamplight he could see was brown and short-coated with a big head, went over to a sofa by the window and jumped up, making itself comfortable with an ecstatic groan. Eustace sat down beside the dog with a smile and began to rub the big floppy ears.
    Rufus took the two steps to the bed and lay Averil on it. She leaned back on the pillows, grimacing at the jolt to her knee, and looked up at him. Her creamy skin was a little pale and there were shadows under her gray eyes, while the thick waves of fair hair that had escaped her pins tumbled about her. He noticed her skirt was torn by her fall, the hem was muddy, as were her gloves, and she was still wearing her boots. And yet . . . and yet for a moment he could only stare.
    Perhaps, Rufus thought, his mind had been turned by worry. Yes, that must be it. Why else was Lady Averil suddenly so incredibly desirable? It was like that night at the opera, when he had spied her across the crowded room, and there had been a moment when he’d thought he must have her. Of course, afterward, he’d wondered what on earth he was thinking. And now here it was again, that feeling. He was tempted, very tempted, tempted in a way he hadn’t been for years, to climb onto the bed with her and take her in his arms and make wild and passionate love to her.
    Behind him, he heard Eustace asking Hercules if he was hungry, because he was, and Rufus came to his senses.
    “I suppose I should thank you,” Averil said grudgingly, watching him through long dark lashes at odds with her fair hair.
    Rufus laughed.
    “Oh, do be quiet!” she cried out in a strangled whisper. “Beth will hear.”
    Eustace jumped up and took his father’s hand. “Come on, Papa!”
    Rufus took a step back, and then another, and once at the door he gave a little bow. And then he closed it and he and Eustace made their way back outside the house. They were halfway around the side when they bumped into his uncle.
    “Did you know, dear boy, this is the house of the