The presence of a hallway in this wing struck South as an oddity. There were additions to the house and improvements made over the centuries, but the east wing was original to Marlhaven and was likely to have served as the family's private apartments for much of that time. Hallways were not common to Elizabethan structures. People moved through adjoining rooms and connecting doors, not along an outside corridor. Privacy in the bedchamber and lady's boudoir was provided by great four-poster beds with their heavy curtains drawn around. South wondered at the costliness of carving up the rooms to add the hallway, and what purpose had been served by it. He could think of only one from Margrave's perspective: to keep others out.

  South counted five doors along the hall. He knew there were more than five rooms on the other side, but that each door probably represented the entrance to a suite. If India was a prisoner in this part of the house, then he would have to find the proper entrance to her suite, and finally the room where she was being held. Getting her out could prove as difficult as getting in. In this case, one entrance meant one exit. South understood the nature of Margrave's trap on this occasion.

  The metal pails clattered loudly as South dropped them on the hardwood floor. The noise was meant to bring Margrave out, and it was successful within seconds. South barely had time to tip one of the pails and scatter coals before the earl was stepping out from the door at the far end of the hall. Kneeling, South bent quickly to his task of cleaning up the mess just as he had on the stairs.

  "Bloody hell," Margrave said, striding down the hall. "What's this? What's happened here?"

  "Beggin' your pardon, my lord." South kept his head bent as he gathered the coals. Margrave's foot came down on South's hand as it curled around one of the bits. The action was intended to hurt, and South could not pretend that it didn't. He grimaced under the grinding weight that Margrave applied to his knuckles.

  "Where's Smythson?" Margrave demanded. He eased the pressure on South's knuckles but did not remove his foot. "Why isn't he here?"

  "I don't know, m'lord. I was the only one who could come wi' the coals."

  "Weren't you instructed to leave them at the end of the hall?"

  "Aye. But which end? I was thinkin'."

  Margrave was unamused. "Stupid old man." He ground his foot again, harder than he had done before. "Clean them up."

  South could not accomplish the task single-handedly, and he could not ask the earl to remove his foot. He picked up as many coals as he could reach with his free hand and awkwardly managed the dustpan and brush to sweep some of the soot. It was only then that Margrave stepped back. South's fingers uncurled slowly around the bit of coal cutting into his palm. His hand tingled with the rush of blood. In his hurry to answer the earl's bidding, the gloves he usually wore to haul the coal had been left lying on the stool by the kitchen hearth. He'd had nothing to protect himself from the heel of Margrave's grinding boot.

  What he wanted to do was grab the earl by the ankle and upend him in the hallway, smash his face with a well-planted fist, then push a bit of coal into the space he'd make by breaking most of Margrave's teeth. It was a tempting and satisfying picture. The problem was that it would not necessarily lead him to India. If she wasn't behind any of the doors in the east wing, Margrave might never reveal where she was after he'd been attacked.

  South flexed his fingers, shook out his hand, and proceeded to finish his work. There was not a moment when he was unaware of the earl's hovering. Upon completing his work, he sat back on his haunches and awaited direction.

  "Leave the pails here," Margrave said, his voice clipped. "Go. And inform Smythson that you are not to be sent here again."

  South stood slowly, bobbing his head slightly as he rose. He did not come to his full height. Rather, he remained stooped, his posture stiff as though every bone ached when he tried to unfold his hunched frame. Behind his spectacles, South's eyes remained respectfully downcast. His weight shifted from one foot to the other. "Yes, my lord. Of course."

  Brushing his blackened palms on the apron, South began to back away. He came very close to bumping one of the coal pails again. Margrave's sharp intake of breath halted him in his tracks.

  "Go," Margrave repeated, impatience rife in the single word.

  South turned sharply on his heel and hurried away as quickly as the limping gait he'd perfected allowed him. He disappeared into the servants' stairwell and descended half the steps before he stopped and waited. He stood there for several moments, listening for Margrave's approaching footfalls. When they didn't come, South knew he had not been found out. The earl had no reason to follow him. Quietly, with the utmost care, he began retracing his steps to the top of the stairs.

  As he approached the rise, he stopped again and slid sideways into the shadow against the wall. He looked down the corridor and saw that Margrave was still standing beside the coal pails. He looked as if he had not moved at all. His head was bent as he studied something in the palm of his hand.

  Watching him, South was first struck by how slight a figure he was. It had not seemed so earlier when he had brought his weight to bear, nor a few days ago when Margrave had strode from the house wearing his heavily caped greatcoat and polished beaver top hat. The earl had a presence about him; South would give him that. He held himself perfectly erect, the manner more haughty than merely proud, but also with a certain grace that South had seen in India as well. He was self-possessed in a way she was not, and there, perhaps, South thought, was the chink in his armor.

  It was difficult at first to see Margrave as Mrs. Garrety. South had to look past the straight Roman nose and reshape it with putty and paint to imagine the aquiline beak at the center of the dresser's face. In his mind's eye he placed a dark mole on the earl's right cheek and gave it three frighteningly aggressive hairs for good measure. He added deep frown lines to the corners of Margrave's mouth, and a wig of coarse gray hair. He could see the hunch in the earl's back and the sharp, jutting elbows that were used so effectively to remove the rabble from India's dressing room.

  Margrave had expressed his disapproval without once clucking his tongue or using the shrill tones he affected as Mrs. Garrety, but South had no difficulty recalling them.

  He thought about his interview with Marlhaven's dowager countess several weeks ago and the description Doobin had given him later of Lady Margrave. South knew now there had been nothing wrong with his instincts. The woman he met—indeed, the woman he had spent almost an hour with, making inquiries about India—was not the countess but her son.

  Margrave had not meant his disguise to look like his mother. He knew South and Lady Margrave had never met. It was enough that he had simply fooled South into thinking he was his mother. As the dowager countess, Margrave had expressed a precise mix of disdain and contempt, doubt and concern. The remarkable performance sent South from Marlhaven believing that India and the earl must be in London. He remembered thinking then that Lady Margrave might be moved to protect her son, but she would not do so at the expense of India's well being.

  The slim smile that shaped South's lips was grim. He had been well and truly gulled. There was little solace in the realization that he was not Margrave's only victim, merely one who had managed to live long enough to discover it. Mr. Kendall had not been so fortunate. Neither had Mr. Rutherford.

  Margrave's movement in the corridor caught South's attention anew. He watched the earl manipulate the object that was resting in his open palm and take a step toward the door at his right. It was then South understood that Margrave held a key. He watched the earl use it in the lock, then pocket it. Margrave pressed the toe of his boot against the door to nudge it open before he picked up a coal pail in each hand and entered the suite.

  South stepped out of the shadows and finished climbing the stairs.

  * * *

  At the sound of Margrave's key in the lock, India and the dowager countess exchanged startled, apprehensive glances. For a moment, their hands were still over their needlework. They caught themselves simultaneously, their eyes returning to their embroidery hoops, and resumed the stitching that had occupied them for the better part of the evening.

  Margrave entered from India's bedchamber. He paused in the doorway and looked on the scene before him with a somewhat jaundiced eye. "Such domesticity. Mother, how is it that India can persuade you to spend your time in such a manner when you despise it so?"

  "I do not despise it," she said slowly. Her expression was vaguely puzzled, as though she were searching for the proper words. "I find it tedious, Allen. There is a difference, you know."

  One of Margrave's slim, dark brows lifted in a perfect arch. "I had not realized such," he said, his tone plainly sardonic. He raised the pail of coal in his hand to draw attention to it. "I have placed one beside the hearth in your bedchamber, India. Have you need of another here?"

  "Yes, please."

  Nodding once, Margrave entered the sitting room. He added several coals to the fire before he set the pail down. He did not choose a chair for himself; rather, he stood beside the fireplace, his shoulder against the mantel. "You have had a pleasant visit?"

  It was Lady Margrave who answered. "Yes, Allen." Her expression shifted again, this time displaying a weary, slightly distant smile. "Quite pleasant."

  India did not look up from her needlepoint as she addressed Margrave. "We have been discussing the theatre," she said. "That is, I have been discussing it. Your mother has been kind enough to listen to me."

  "Oh?"

  "I think I should like to return to the stage. Would you consider such a thing, my lord?"

  "No," he said not unkindly. "I don't believe I would."

  There was a momentary pause between stitches, and then India nodded. It was not an unexpected answer.

  "No argument?" he asked.

  "I think not," she said. "I find I haven't the stomach for it."

  "Have a care, India. You will begin to bore me."

  "That would indeed be unfortunate."

  "Yes, it would."

  India glanced up and saw that he meant it. There had been no humor in his tone and certainly there was none in his darkly piercing glance.

  Margrave pointed casually to the easel that stood near the window. A large cloth draped the framed canvas, hiding his work from view. "Have you shown Mother our latest effort, India? I think it is as good as any I have ever done."

  India set her embroidery hoop aside and came to her feet. Momentarily light-headed, she touched her fingertips to her temple. "May I have a word with you, my lord?"

  "I believe you are."

  "Privately." Her eyes darted to the dowager countess, who remained bent over her embroidery. "Please."

  Margrave did not immediately respond. He regarded India with no small amount of suspiciousness. "I think not. You may speak freely in front of Mother."

  Before India could protest, Lady Margrave stood and offered them both an apologetic if somewhat vapid smile. "If you will excuse me." Without waiting for permission, or even acknowledging that permission was needed, the countess made a gravely dignified exit.

  "She cannot be left alone long," India said. "I do not believe she is at all well."

  "Then say what you must quickly." He cocked his head in the direction of the bedchamber, listening for his mother's telltale movements. Had she enough wits about her to try the outer door? he wondered, or would she make a comfortable nest for herself on India's bed? "I will hold you responsible if she comes to harm."

  India took a shallow, fortifying breath. "I do not wish Lady Margrave to see the painting," she said. "You suggested it with no purpose save to punish me."

  He shrugged. "I do not trust you, India. You cannot expect that I should. If you do not want Mother to see our painting, then you should mind your tongue and your tone."

  India felt the sting of tears. She blinked them back.

  The edges of Margrave's mouth curved upward in a dry, appreciative smile. His light applause was the perfect ironic accompaniment. "Very good. Tears are often overdone, but never by you. As always, you choose your moments judiciously."

  India made an impatient swipe at her eyes. "Let us go, Margrave."

  "You grow tiresome." Straightening, the earl stepped away from the fireplace. "Mother? You may return. India is quite finished." There was no reply and no swish of skirts. "Mother?"

  Ignoring Margrave's accusing glance, India started for the bedchamber. She was brought up short by his fingers tightly circling her arm just above the elbow. She stayed her ground and did not try to shake him off. It was not a battle she could win.

  "I will see to her and you will remain here."

  Nodding, India waited for Margrave to release her. He did so with some reluctance, then brushed past her and stepped through the doorway into the bedchamber. India had a glimpse of him being halted in his tracks before she hurried to follow.

  Whatever diversion the dowager countess had created, she thought, it was exceeding expectation.

  Chapter 16

  India came to a halt just behind Margrave. He quickly threw an arm out to the side to prevent her from moving around him. Looking over his shoulder, India saw why he meant for her to go no farther.

  The dowager countess's diversion was not of her own making. It was South's presence that had changed things. India's heart hammered hard in her chest, and for a moment she forgot to breathe. He was here and he was whole. Her eyes drank him in, seeing past the roughly cut hair and lined face of the old man to the sharply intent gray eyes and familiar ironic smile. She would love that face when he was an old man, she thought, and it did not seem the least bit odd to her that she should think that now. If only for the span of a few heartbeats, it was as if she were alone with him. She did not want to give that up. It would be painfully hard when the reality came upon her.

  India glanced from South to the door of her bedchamber. "How did you get in?"

  South casually rested his shoulder against one of the corner posts of the bed. "It was left unlocked. I don't suppose he was expecting a visitor."

  "No," she said, matching his gently wry tone. "I don't suppose he was."

  Her perfect mimicry deepened his smile. He recognized, as she did, the nuance of intimacy in their exchange. They might have been sharing a private joke, something silly and without consequence, the kind of humor that made lovers smile and annoyed everyone else.

  It had exactly that affect on the Earl of Margrave. The arm he had flung out to the side stiffened, and when India pushed at it, she found he would not be moved. When she ducked to go under it, he blocked her path with his body.

  "Let her come to me," South said with perfect affability. "Or I swear I will kill you."

  Margrave frowned. The broad accents of the man he had met minutes earlier in the hallway were absent now. The subservient posturing and cowed manner had also disappeared. This man stood taller and possessed an easy grace that had been no part of the coal tender's bearing, and he had just threatened to do murder in a tone so pleasant and friendly that it must be taken seriously.

  "You." The single word had the import of an accusation as Margrave saw what he had not been able to before. His slight smile did not touch his eyes. "My compliments, Southerton. I am not usually gulled by so simple a disguise, but then my own experience has taught me that one never looks too closely at the servants. It would seem I am hoist by my own petard. You played your part admirably."

  Though South acknowledged Margrave's recognition with a faint, mocking bow of his head, his position remained unchanged. "Release her, Margrave."

  The dowager countess stood uneasily at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Unnoticed until now, she regarded her son with imploring eyes that were made liquid by the increasing tension in the room. "Please, Margrave. Do as he says. You must let her go."

  One of the earl's brows kicked up. "You, Mother?" he asked softly. "You would betray me also? Or has he made some threat against you?"

  "Lady Margrave is free to leave," South said, indicating the door with a turn of his hand.

  The countess made no move to do so. "Please," she repeated, her full attention on Margrave. "He means to do you harm."

  Margrave laughed lightly. "He means to kill me, Mother. It is rather more than threatening to blacken my eye or bloody my lip."

  While the earl's attention was elsewhere, India made a second attempt to push past his braced arm. He was able to hold her back with little effort. Frustrated, she changed the angle of her approach and shoved hard at his shoulders, forcing him to take a single staggering step out of the doorway. Taking advantage of the small opening she was afforded, India darted through it. She was brought up short by the handful of skirt that Margrave caught in his fist. He drew her back against him and captured her waist in the crook of his arm.

  Seeing that India was in no real danger yet, South stayed his ground. He watched her take a steadying breath and then relax in Margrave's hold. In consequence, there was an almost imperceptible easing of the earl's grip. South was careful not to catch her eye or show his approval of her tactics.

  "What is it you hope to accomplish, Margrave?" he asked. "Do you imagine you have some ownership of India?"

  That struck a chord with the earl. "She is mine." He nudged India with his arm. "Tell him, Dini. Tell him that you have always been mine."

  "I have always been his," she said simply.

  Lady Margrave's knuckles whitened as she pressed her hands even more closely together. Her voice was taut. "Do not humor him. It is not natural that he should make you say such things." She sat suddenly on the edge of the bed, her head bent and her shoulders sagged. "He is not natural."

  India did not feel Margrave's start of surprise next to her own. What she did notice after recovering herself was that his arm had dropped away from her waist. She bolted out of the circle of his reach and threw herself into South's protective embrace. She laid her cheek against his shoulder and heard the soft murmur of his voice next to her ear.