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snuffling softly beside her, but Diana lay awake, mind staggering through fear and around danger, and on to danger of another kind. That kiss. Then rushing forward again through fear and danger and bloody death, and all the changes it had brought.

To Bey.

The Marquess of Rothgar.

The eminence noire of England.

Her comrade in arms, embracing her in the dirt after death.

Holding the hand of a dying man, making death as tolerable as possible with a calm voice and steady eyes.

Glimpsed in a revealing moment later, as they waited for help to arrive, face stark with that death of one of his own.

Who was comforting the comforter now?

That, in the end, was her excuse for slipping out of bed, for pulling the pink cotton coverlet around herself, and venturing out into the corridor of the night-quiet inn. The innkeeper's wife had said there were only four good rooms here and no other guests, so it shouldn't matter if she picked the wrong one.

She hesitated for a moment, wondering what his reaction would be, but it didn't stop her. She quietly opened the door next to hers and found the room unused. She went to the two doors opposite and listened at each.

Nothing.

Did his manservant sleep with him? That would be awkward. Lord Rothgar, however, seemed a very private person. If there were enough rooms, she felt certain he would sleep alone. She carefully opened one door and peeped inside.

Regular soft snores.

With a suppressed laugh, she decided that must be Fettler. Surely the eminence noire's throat would not dare to snore!

Closing the door again with only the quietest click, she turned to the next one -

And found the marquess in open-necked shirt and breeches, watching her. His dark eyes were completely unreadable.

Clutching the coverlet more closely, she whispered, "I wondered if you were all right."

For a moment he did nothing, but then he moved away from the door and gestured her inside.

Heart racing, she walked into his bedroom.

Chapter 15

It was a similar room to hers, not large, with space only for the bed, two chairs bracketing a small table, and a wash-stand. Simple quarters for such as they, but not unpleasing. It was clean and neat, and a bowl of fresh flowers stood on a table by the dark gable window. The pastel-shaded petals glowed softly in the light of the single, flickering candle. Sweet peas. When she sat on one of the wooden chairs, the heady perfume wove around her.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He stayed standing. "Most people think me made of cold steel."

"Perhaps you encourage them to."

"Would it do any good to encourage you to?"

"I don't think so. I couldn't sleep."

"Hardly surprising." After a moment, he gestured to a glass and half-full decanter on the table. "Port. Indifferent quality, I'm afraid. My own is doubtless spilled on the road somewhere. But would you like some?"

She nodded, and he refilled the glass and passed it to her. Then he sat in the opposite chair. "We are safe here. There's no need to be afraid."

She took a mouthful of the port, which as he said was not of the finest quality, but welcome. "I'm not afraid. Our attackers died. It will surely take longer than a few hours to regroup."

His eyes rested on hers. "Did you recognize either of the men in the coach?"

"There was no time to - " She stared. "You noticed."

"Am I not omniscient? Four men with the coach..."

"And three corpses. But surely the survivor will flee."

"I'd rather catch him. Lady Arradale," he said, "were you perhaps trying to protect me from worrying knowledge?"

She smiled ruefully. " 'Tis my nature to protect."

"We are likely to trip over each other then. So, did you recognize anyone in the coach?"

"Truly, there wasn't time - for a mere mortal, at least." But then she realized. "De Couriac?"

"Not so mere a mortal after all."

"A deduction, that's all. Who else could it be? What if he pursues you here?"

"I am awake." When she glanced at the decanter, he added, "And no longer on guard. I sent immediately to London for reinforcements and they arrived a little while ago. This place is now guarded by my men. It truly is safe."

The knot of scarce-acknowledged fear untangled, and she took a deep drink of the port. "Why are they doing this? What can you do to harm the French?"

"I can oppose their principal objectives. They want to rebuild their fleet, and preserve their fortifications at Dunkirk, since that is their base for invasion. I