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in sight, shining pale in the moonlight, she could see no one inside.

"Hello?" she called softly, caution creeping up her neck. She slipped her hand into her pocket to the reassurance of the pistol as she stepped cautiously through another arch in a hedge.

A hand grabbed her arm. Before she thought to scream, another covered her mouth. She tried to pull her pistol free, but a second man passed some sort of bond around her, cinching her arms to her body. She kicked and her hard shoe connected with the man's kneecap.

"Sapristi!" he hissed, and slapped her head so she saw stars.

"None of that," said the man still covering her mouth. "Get her legs tied and she'll be helpless."

Still cursing, the Frenchman wound something else around and around her legs, then he stood and growled in French, "Not a sound, milady, or any more tricks or I'll knock you out. Understand?"

De Couriac!

Despite a small beard, she'd swear it was him, and who else here knew she spoke French?

Fool! she berated herself. Fool! She should have guessed. If Bey could produce convincing forgeries, so could anyone else! But what was the purpose of this? What did the French want with her?

De Couriac thrust his face close to hers. "Comprenez vous?"

It was him, and fear poured through her. She nodded, trying desperately to decide whether it would be worth screaming anyway as soon as she could.

The Englishman took his hand away from her mouth, saying, "Don't make any trouble, milady, and you'll be all right." He sounded uncomfortable with what he was doing, and even as if he was promising safety.

Before she could decide what to do, de Couriac picked her up and hurried toward the wall at the back of the grounds. The Englishman climbed to sit astride the top, then she was hoisted up and lowered helpless into other arms.

She gaped when she saw who it was. Lord Randolph Somerton!

"What are you doing?" she said in a furious whisper. "The king will see you hang for this!"

"Not a bit of it, my dear," he said with a smug smile that made her long to have her pistol free and shoot him.

He carried her to a waiting coach and deposited her quite carefully onto the seat. Then, with a lordly air, he dismissed her captors.

"Are you sure you can manage?" asked de Couriac. "She's a hellcat."

"Respect your betters," Lord Randolph snapped. "Begone!"

"Frogs," he muttered, then moved out of Diana's sight to give some directions to the man on the box. She cursed the fact that she couldn't hear them, though what use they'd be, she couldn't imagine. She was wrapped tight as a swaddled baby and could find no way to escape.

She noted that these bindings were unlikely to hurt her, and hoped that meant that Lord Randolph was up to mischief not wickedness.

He climbed in to sit opposite her.

"What is all this about?" she asked as calmly as she could.

"Isn't it obvious? We are eloping."

"You're mad!"

"Still thinking I'll hang, my lady?" He produced an enameled snuff box and took a pinch. "Put your anxieties to rest. The king will not be offended. Quite the opposite, in fact. He is to reward me handsomely. With an earldom, in fact.

"Yes," he added, as she sat there, dumbfounded, "I'm to be not just your husband, but full earl, with all the privileges, powers, and properties attached."

"The king would never support an abduction!"

"You think not?"

His glossy confidence made her waver. Would the king endorse this, perhaps to get rid of the blight on his kingdom she represented?

But surely the king wanted her to marry Bey.

Or, she suddenly wondered, had his behavior in the queen's garden turned the royal couple completely against him? She tried desperately to remember any sour nuances earlier at the Drawing Room. She didn't think there'd been any...

"The king told you this?" she asked.

"Of course."

"In person?"

He looked down his nose at her. "The king has many demands on his time, Lady Arradale. I received his instructions by letter."

Lud! She'd been tricked by an excellent forgery, so she couldn't look down on him for suffering the same fate. But why? The French...

Time for that later, now she must convince him to return her before any of this came out.

"But Lord Randolph," she said, trying to keep to her foolish persona while making her point, "how can you be sure that the letter you received from the king wasn't a forgery?"

"A forgery? You little widgeon" - oh, how she hated that smug, superior