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Southgate Hall had been built on the remains of the original castle. The central section dated from the sixteenth century, while the rest had been added in modern times. With its romantic profusion of turrets and gables, and its soaring height, it was known as one of the most picturesque homes in England. Art students often visited to paint their own renditions of the distinctive house and the interplay of brick and glass across its east-facing front.
    They stopped at the entrance, surmounted by trefoil moldings and a medallion bearing the family crest. After being helped from the carriage by footmen dressed in black livery, Tasia stared at the carved image over the door. It was a hawk, clutching a single rose in its talons.
    She started as she felt a touch at her elbow, and turned toward Lord Stokehurst. The sun was at his back, casting his lean face in shadow. “Come inside,” he said, gesturing for her to precede him. An elderly butler with a long chin and balding head held the door open. Lord Stokehurst introduced them. “Seymour, this is Miss Billings, the new governess.”
    Tasia was surprised at being presented to the butler, instead of the other way around. Then she remembered that she was no longer a lady, but a servant of lower rank. Inferior was always presented to superior. A rueful smile crossed her lips, and she dropped a quick curtsy to Seymour. They entered a magnificent hall two stories high, with an octagonal stone table in the center. A flood of natural light shone through the solar windows up above. Tasia's appreciation of the hall was interrupted by a shout that echoed off the walls.
    “PaPa!” A tall girl with gangly limbs and a mass of wild red hair flew into the room.
    Luke frowned as he saw his daughter rounding the corner in pursuit of a large dog. Not quite fullgrown, the dog was a mixed breed with a liberal dose of wolfhound. A few months ago Emma had bought him from a peddler in the village. No one at Southgate Hall, even those with a professed love of animals, shared her appreciation for the mutt. His coat was shaggy and coarse, a mixture of brown and gray. He had small eyes, a huge muzzle, and ridiculously long, flapping ears that had inspired Emma to name him Samson. His huge appetite was equaled only by his resistance to any kind of training.
    Catching sight of Luke, Samson rushed forward with happy, deep-throated barks. But as he noticed the presence of a stranger, he bared his teeth and began to snarl. Drops of saliva splattered the floor. Emma clutched his collar and commanded him to be quiet, while he lunged to break free. “ Stop it, Samson, you blasted beast! Be have yourself—”
    Luke's deep voice undercut the din. “Emma, I told you not to bring him in the house.” As he spoke, he automatically pulled Miss Billings's frail form behind him. The dog seemed intent on tearing her to bits.
    “He won't hurt anyone,” Emma shouted, struggling to keep hold of the dog. “He just makes a lot of noise!”
    Luke was about to drag the dog away when he realized Miss Billings had slipped around him. Staring at the snarling animal with narrowed eyes, she began to speak in Russian. Her voice was soft and guttural, crackling like flame. Luke didn't understand a word of it, but the hair on the back of his neck stood straight. Her voice had a similar effect on Samson, who quieted and stared at the newcomer with wide eyes.
    Suddenly the dog dropped to his stomach and crawled toward her. A whimpering appeal came from his throat, while his tail swept across the floor with violent wags. Miss Billings bent and patted his rough head gently. Rolling onto his back, Samson wriggled in ecstasy. Even after Miss Billings stood up, the slobbering giant remained at her feet.
    Responding to a curt order from Luke, a footman rushed to take the dog outside. Samson lumbered away with great reluctance, his head held so low that his tongue and ears nearly dragged the ground.
    Emma was the first to speak. “What