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four men riveted him with their gazes. "We're listening," Elliot said. "I've tried everything, even telling tales of the man-eating Beast of Barrowby."
    Marcus folded his arms. "Rumor is effective. Shall we spread the word that the heir to Barrowby has been found? That will send home the ones looking for more than a widow's portion."
    Elliot smiled slowly. "I'm in."
    Eames bridled. "Lie? Never! I am a gentleman."
    Marcus widened his eyes innocently. "It isn't a lie. I heard it myself, just before I left London. He's on a ship from the West Indies even as we speak." To be truthful, there was a possibility that Barrowby's lost heir lived in Johannesburg—then again, there was a possibility that he did not.
    Either way, it was not Marcus's problem.
    So it was in unspoken and temporary truce that they all moved into the crowd, spreading the word.
     
    In the elegant halls of Barrowby, Julia heard voices coming from her parlor and pressed herself against the wall at the top of the stairs, keeping out of sight of the entrance hall below. They were back.
    She pressed a hand to her forehead. Perhaps if there weren't so damned many of them. Or perhaps if they weren't so attentive.
    She'd tried speaking very little, then not speaking at all. She'd instructed her cook, Meg, to lessen the supply and quality of the refreshments, and the same of Furman, the innkeeper in the village. Now there was no food and no fire and still they came!
    She'd tried pleading ill once, only to be deluged with notes and gifts wishing her well, all of which then had to be politely answered, which only encouraged the lot of them. She daren't try it again.
    She'd always understood the mourning process of the upper classes to be rather isolating, but since each and every one of the gentlemen insisted they were merely here to "console" her, she could not in politeness turn them away.
    She was desperate, even contemplating a sudden, vigorous attack of the pox and sneezing on them all.
    "Never lie," Aldus had instructed her. "Not if you can possibly help it. It is too difficult to keep track of the ripples in the water. It is better to tell part of the truth and behave as if you've told it all."
    She sighed. So many rules to remember and follow. Over the years most of them had become second nature… but now she was faced with something she'd never experienced.
    Male attention was not something she'd had aplenty in her life. She'd been a gawky girl and an unprepossessing bride. True, she'd improved somewhat in the following years, but by then she'd been lady of the manor. Hands off.
    She was still lady of the manor, and more importantly, she was the Fox, wily manipulator of countries and kings. So what was so difficult about a roomful of adoring fellows unsubtly seeking her favor?
    The difficulty was that she missed Aldus. She missed his conversation when he was well and his need for her when he wasn't. For the first time in ten years, she felt alone.
    Igby, one of her footmen, passed her in the hallway and gave her pert smile and an encouraging wink. Julia mustered up a smile and nod in return. She wasn't alone. Barrowby was her family, all the staff and cottagers who had become so dear to her.
    She sighed and pushed herself away from the wall. There was no help for it. She must face the mob.
    She entered the parlor with her head high and the merest of polite smiles on her face. Surprisingly, there was no mob in sight, only a bare dozen fellows—the most persistent of the former crowd and one other.
    The tall stranger stood back from her faithful coterie as they moved forward as one to greet her. He remained clearly visible to her, as if the others instinctively left him a path to her side.
    A small tremor went through her, surprising her into examining him more closely. He was beautiful. With his sculpted cheekbones he might have been almost too pretty, but for the bump on his nose that gave one the impression that there was a brawler beneath the polished