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He remembered Leonard mentioning a sister.

It was late one night when a group of officers sat around a scarred wooden trestle table set up outside a Spanish tavern.

It was a night for stealing relaxation where one could find it and with whom one could find it.

The next few days were hectic, and then there was Salamanca.

But that night, in the light of the flickering flambeau, Leonard’s face looked taut and dissipated.

He crudely joked about his plain spinster sister back in England and what a millstone he expected her to be around his neck his entire life.

“Captain Leonard was in my regiment in Spain for a time,” Deveraux explained slowly. A wry smile lifted the corners of his firm mouth. “I sincerely beg your pardon. I had not realized until now that you were related.”

“Oh.” Leona bit her lip, uncertain how to interpret his dry tone.

There was an undertone of commiseration there that she neither understood nor liked.

She decided to ignore it and continue her explanation.

“The villagers have been complaining for months about the tenants at Lion’s Gate.

Since I let the manor to them, they were my responsibility. ”

“Your duty,” he clarified, smirking. Charlie Leonard’s duty was clearly to himself, and according to gossip, it was the same with Edmund. No doubt a galloping family trait.

“Yes! My duty!” Leona’s chest heaved. She pinned him with her autumn gaze. “I’m sorry, sir, if a duty to one’s family is not something you hold in high regard. It is something I hold very dear indeed!”

He threw his head back and laughed richly.

“You have not the first inkling of what that word means, Miss Leonard. You play with it as if it were a toy.” He studied her critically, his sneer more pronounced.

Perhaps he was wrong in believing her an accomplice to kidnapping.

Her brother would never have the guts for such a stunt, so it was likely she didn’t as well.

What Leonard would do was take advantage of any plum that was to fall within his grasp.

“You’re like your precious brother. You like to be important, to be in the thick of things, don’t you?

You know if you went to London, you would be lost in that glittering metropolis among women richer, more beautiful, and wittier than you.

You couldn’t stand that, could you? So you stay here gloating at your perceived importance in this backwater village.

” He tossed off the last of the port and stood up, pacing the room.

Rage held Leona silent. She fought the violent trembling in her body as she lurched to her feet.

“How dare you?” she hissed, stalking him.

“How dare you come into my home and cast aspersions upon my family and me? What would you have me do? Ignore a possible crime on my family’s property? Would you do so at Castle Marin?”

He cast her a dismissing glance. “That is different. I am a man.” He turned away from her to face the window.

She grabbed his arm and spun around in front of him.

“What does being a man have to do with it? Are you saying women can have no sense of duty? Of honor?”

He stared at her. Grudgingly he had to admit she had more courage, more style than her brother did.

The flicker of attraction that had glowed within him since he first saw her suddenly flamed.

It shook him to the core of his being. But damnation, the draw did not negate her self-seeking behavior.

If anything, it explained it further. He deliberately whipped that flame into anger.

How dare this woman use Chrissy to make herself important?

He remembered the magistrate saying she’d climbed in a window to rescue Chrissy but then led her out through the house risking recapture.

Why had she taken matters into her own hands?

Why didn’t she notify Cruikston sooner? A muscle throbbed in his cheek.

He grabbed Leona by the arms and shook her.

“You risked Chrissy’s life!” he roared, the careful mask stripped away, leaving a haunted visage.

“Wh-what?” Leona stuttered, confused.

“Uncle Nigel!” cried Chrissy from the stairs.

Numbly the two combatants turned to look at her. Her lower lip thrust forward, and her blue-green eyes flashed anger. Though now dressed like a lady, she jumped down the two last steps like a hoyden and flew across the floor toward her uncle, hurtling herself at him.

“Stop it, Uncle Nigel! Stop it!” she wailed, pounding on his chest with her small fists. “She saved me! She believed me!” Fresh tears coursed down her pale cheeks. She whirled out of her uncle’s arms to hug Leona while propelling her away from Nigel Deveraux.

“I’m so-sorry, Miss Leonard,” she hiccupped. A shuddering sob wracked her small frame.

Leona stroked the child’s hair. “Sh-sh. Hush. It’s all right.” She glanced over at Nigel Deveraux, who rigidly stood where Chrissy left him. Deep furrows ran between his brows and alongside his lips. Leona sighed and looked back down at the small form that clung tightly to her.

“Y-you helped me,” Chrissy sobbed into Leona’s chest. “Y-you risked your l-life. You climbed up three stories in the rain and ice!”

Deveraux’s head snapped up. Three stories?

Leona chuckled. “Only because I believed my brother, Charles, and his tales about how easy it was. Now I think it was all a hum, for let me tell you, I was too frightened to descend after I cleared the ground floor. I had to keep climbing up.

“But don’t be too hard on your uncle.” She looked up, staring into his appraising light blue eyes.

“I think the kidnapping placed a great strain upon him. He was probably even a little frightened,” she said slowly, feeling for the truth.

“And all that emotion and fear built up inside him is like a great roaring bonfire. He has to release that, you know, and though I’m certain he’d rather release it against the Norths, where it truly belongs.

Barring their availability, I am the next available target! ” she said with a dry laugh.

She looked over Chrissy’s head at Nigel Deveraux, her smile ruefully inviting his, inviting a truce.

Slowly his posture relaxed, and his lips curved upward.

Where was his mind? What did he mean charging into battle without the least knowledge of the terrain or his enemy’s circumstances?

He couldn’t even be sure an enemy existed here!

Not nine months out of the army, and he forgot everything he knew.

He shook his head to clear his mind as he ran a hand through his hair.

Wordlessly Leona held out her hand to him.

He walked toward them, his hand reaching out to curve warmly around Leona’s outstretched fingers.

Sensing her uncle’s nearness, Chrissy loosened one arm from around Leona’s waist to snag her uncle. She pulled him close until she could embrace them together.

Leona blushed and raised startled eyes to meet Nigel Deveraux’s.

Her position next to Mr. Deveraux was awkwardly intimate, for she was pressed against his hard length, and everywhere they touched a prickling sensation skittered through her body.

She felt the heat radiating from his body and smelled his musky, masculine odor.

Her heart beat faster. Confused, she tried to pull away, but Chrissy would not let her.

“Chrissy, please dear. . . .” Leona said, her voice huskier than before.

Amusement brought the boyish charm back into Nigel Deveraux’s face.

He did not seem the least inclined to break the intimate embrace nor—damn him—to feel any of the wild, alien surging that pulsed through her body.

In fact, to steady Leona, he put his arm around her shoulders.

Leona scowled pointedly over her shoulder at his offending arm. He ignored her.

Leona didn’t know how long they would have stood there like that if Maria hadn’t audibly cleared her throat reminding them of her presence.

That sound served its purpose, for Chrissy shyly dropped her arms and self-consciously backed away.

The next thing Leona knew, she and Nigel Deveraux were ten feet apart, though she couldn’t have said who moved first or fastest. They glanced at each other and laughed.

A tickling pressure welled up again in Leona’s head. She pressed her handkerchief to her nose, willing the feeling to vanish. It didn’t. The sneeze shook her entire frame. “Oh, my goodness,” she murmured before a second and third sneeze had her clinging to the edge of the sofa.

“Didn’t I tell you how it would be? Didn’t I tell you? You should be in bed, Leona Clymene Leonard," scolded Maria as she bustled forward and encouraged Leona to sit on the sofa so she could tuck the blankets about her.

Deveraux took a step forward, his brow furrowed. “Miss Leonard is ill?”

Maria turned her most decisive governess stare upon him. “Isn’t it obvious? And no wonder, I say, tramping about the countryside at all hours of the night dressed like a scruffy urchin with nary a muffler about her neck?—”

“Urchin! That was Charlie’s best suit of clothes when he was fifteen,” Leona protested good-naturedly before ducking her head to fend off another sneeze.

“It might have been when you left last evening, but by the time you returned, that suit was only fit for the dustbin—what with the mud stains, rips, missing buttons and all.”

“Well, it is not as if Charlie will miss it,” Leona suggested with a mischievous smile.

“Am I quite hearing correctly? You went about last evening in man's attire, Miss Leonard?” drawled Mr. Deveraux, fascinated. It appeared there was much to last evening’s events that Sir Nathan Cruikston didn’t tell him—or perhaps didn’t know.

Leona cast him a scathing look. “I could hardly climb the ivy in my skirts,” she said repressively.