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promises he was demanding in exchange for her freedom. Dress like a
lady
. Act like a
lady
. Talk like a
lady
. She would dress and act and talk just as she always had and be damned to him!
    Despite the fact her father had been an English lord, she was not an English lady. She was an American. The high-handed guardian who had been appointed in her father’s will was wrong to try and force her into a mold she didn’t fit. It was like squeezing her feet into dainty satin slippers when leather riding boots would fit so much better. She liked wearing trousers. She liked riding astride. She liked saying exactly what was on her mind.
    And what was wrong with the way she was? It had been fine for dear Papa. Oh, how she missed him! If only he had not taken ill and died. If only she had been allowed to stay at her plantation home in New Orleans instead of coming to live in this damp, drafty castle in England.
    Suddenly the raging horse fell silent. Charlotte ran back to the window to see what had happened to Mephistopheles.
    He
was there. His hand lay on Mephistopheles’s nose, calming the stallion, who stood quietly for him. Charlotte quivered with indignation that Mephistopheles should stand tamely for anyone but her, and that her horse had conceded the battle so easily to their mutual foe.
    A soft knock at the door drew her attention away from the window. “Charlotte, I’m sorry.”
    She ran to the door and spoke through it. “Oh, Livy, thank goodness. Turn the key and let me out.”
    “I can’t, Charlotte. Lion would be furious if I did.”
    “Don’t be such a nodcock,” Charlotte chided. “How will he know you unlocked the door?”
    “He would ask. And I couldn’t lie to him.”
    Charlotte leaned her forehead against the cool wooden door. Lady Olivia, the earl’s sister, was eight years her elder, already five and twenty. But she was as timid as a mouse—and looked a great deal like one, too, with her plain brown hair and large hazel eyes.
    Charlotte had done all she could over the past four months since she had arrived to encourage Livy to rebel against the strictures in her life. So far Livy was a butterfly still stuck tight in her chrysalis.
    “I don’t know what your brother was so upset about in the first place,” Charlotte complained. “All we did was race his carriage to the house.”
    “You cannot blame Lion for being angry at finding his ward dressed in trousers and riding astride that huge black beast,” Livy said through the door. “You know I nearly fainted myself when I first saw you mount Mephistopheles wearing breeches.”
    “Mephistopheles would never hurt me,” Charlotteprotested. “And I refuse to ride sidesaddle when riding astride makes so much more sense.”
    “I’m afraid Lion won’t be swayed by your arguments, Charlotte. I warned you, did I not?”
    “Why have you stopped calling me Charlie?” Charlotte asked softly. “I thought we were friends, Livy.”
    A pause and then, “Lion doesn’t approve.”
    “You have a mind and a will of your own, Livy. You don’t always have to do what your brother says.”
    There was a long pause before Charlotte heard the key move in the lock. The door opened, and Olivia stepped inside. “Oh, Charlie, look at your face! What happened?”
    Charlotte’s forehead was throbbing, but too many other things had been on her mind to worry about it. She crossed now to the standing mirror in the corner and gingerly touched the black-and-blue goose egg.
    At that moment Mrs. Tinsworthy arrived at the door. “Oh, my dear Charlie,” the elderly lady said as she entered with a handful of medicinals. “What on earth was that poor boy thinking?”
    Charlotte had never been a very good patient, and it was hard to sit still for Mrs. Tinsworthy’s attentions to her bruised face. What kept her silent during her ministrations was Mrs. Tinsworthy’s references to the Earl of Denbigh as “that poor boy.”The housekeeper sounded almost sympathetic. As far