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Carstairs lifted a glass to his lips. He was in a foul temper. He knew full well that his grandmother would be exhausted. He couldn’t turn her away. And she knew it, the manipulative old tartar, which was, of course, why she had sent her dresser on ahead to make things ready and timed her own arrival to darkness. Jack, in retaliation, had restricted his grandmother’s retinue to her dresser, sending the rest off to stay in the village inn. That, if nothing else, would keep her visit short. His grandmother liked her comfort.
    The chaise drew to a halt in front of a short flight of stairs. The front door opened and two servants, a man and a woman, came running. Before the coachman could dismount, the woman tugged down the steps and flung open the door. “Here you are at last, my lady. I’ve been in a terrible way, worrying about you.”
    Lady Cahill tottered unsteadily on her feet, looking utterly exhausted. Kate felt a sharp twinge of guilt. The old lady clearly wasn’t a good traveller, but Kate’s attempts to make her more comfortable had been shrugged aside with so little civility that, for most of the journey, Kate had ignored her.
    Kate moved to help but the maidservant snapped, “Leave her be. I will take care of milady. I know just what needs to be done!” Scolding softly, she gently shepherded the old lady inside, the manservant assisting.
    The chaise jerked as it moved off and Kate almost fell as she hastily scrambled out of it. She took a few wavering steps but, to her horror, her head began to swim and she swirled into blackness.
    The man watching from the window observed her fall impassively and waited uninterestedly for her to scramble to her feet. No doubt this was another blasted maid of his grandmother’s. Jack took another drink.
    Damned fool that he was , he’d clearly mishandled his sister, refusing to see her. He’d been heavily disguised at the time, of course. Even drunker than he was now. Good thing his grandmother hadn’t asked to see him tonight. He’d have refused her too. Jack continued staring sourly out of the window, then leaned forward, intent. The small, crumpled figure remained motionless on the hard cold gravel.
    What was wrong with the girl? Had she hurt herself? It was damned cold out there. Any more time on the damp ground and she’d take more than just a chill. Swearing, he moved away from the window and limped downstairs. There was no sign of anyone about. He heard the sound of voices upstairs—his grandmother was being tended to by the only available help. Jack strode into the night and bent awkwardly over the small, still figure.
    “Are you all right?” He laid his hand lightly on the cold cheek. She was unconscious. He had to get her out of the cold. Bending his stiff leg with difficulty, he scooped her against his chest. At least his arms still had their strength.
    Good God! The girl weighed less than a bird. He cradled her more gently. Nothing but a bundle of bones!
    Jack carried her into the sitting-room and laid her carefully on a settee. He lit a brace of candles and held them close to her face. She was pale and apparently lifeless. A faint, elusive fragrance hovered around her, clean and fresh. He laid a finger on her parted lips and waited. A soft flutter of warm breath caused his taut face to relax. His hands hovered over her, hesitating. What the deuce did you do with fainting females? His hands dropped. Ten to one she’d wake up and find him loosening her stays and set up some demented shrieking!
    Jack went to the doorway. “Carlos!” No response. Dammit! He poured brandy into a glass and, slipping one arm around the girl, tipped a generous portion into her mouth. Instantly she came alive in his arms, coughing, hands flailing against him.
    “Gently, gently,” he said, irritated.
    “What—?” Kate spluttered as he forced another mouthful of fiery golden liquid into her. She gasped as it burnt its way down her throat and glared indignantly at