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Nathaniel Praed’s window, wondering if he’d decided to close it after his nocturnal visitor had left. In the cold light ofday, the climb from the gravel path below looked rather more daunting than it had in the night, but she’d been too set on her goal for apprehension then.
    She turned away from the window as the maid knocked and entered with a tray of chocolate and sweet biscuits.
    “You’re up betimes, madam,” the girl said, setting the tray beside the bed. “Cold as the grave it is in ’ere. Best close that window, and I’ll get the fire goin’.”
    “Thank you, Maisie.” Gabrielle, shivering in her thin nightgown, closed the window and jumped back into bed, watching as the girl bent to the hearth, expertly raked the ashes, and threw on kindling.
    “Shall I lay out your habit, ma’am?” The maid straightened, dusting off her hands as the fire blazed in the grate.
    “Please.” Gabrielle poured chocolate in a rich aromatic stream from the silver pot.
    “The boot boy blacked your boots nicely,” Maisie observed, holding Gabrielle’s riding boots of cordovan leather up to the light, examining them for any residual sign of scuff marks.
    Gabrielle murmured vague assent. It had been agreed with Talleyrand that she should travel without her own maid, relying on Georgiana’s staff. The fewer people close to her, the less dangerous any inadvertent errors would be, and she’d have much more freedom of movement if she had only herself to consider.
    Maisie bustled around with jugs of hot water, lacing, buttoning, brushing hair, all the while chatting cheerfully about her pregnant sister’s latest ailments and the poacher the gamekeeper had caught during the night. Gabrielle allowed the chat to wash over her, murmuring vaguely when it seemed required. Her own thoughts were fixed on the day ahead and how best to renew her attack on Nathaniel Praed.
    An hour later she made her way down to the breakfast parlor, humming an old nursery rhyme softlyto herself:
A-hunting we will go, a-hunting we will go. We’ll catch a fox and put him in a box. A-hunting we will
go.
    But her quarry today would be more than just Reynard.
    A footman jumped to open the door to the breakfast parlor and she went in to find herself alone with Lord Praed.
    “Good morning, sir.” She greeted him with a casual smile as if she had never climbed into his bedchamber and sat on the edge of his bed in the middle of the night. “We seem to be ahead of the others.”
    “Yes,” he agreed shortly, barely looking up from his plate.
    “A lovely day,” she persevered, lifting the lids of the chafing dishes on the sideboard. “Yes.”
    “Perfect for hunting.”
    There was no reply.
    “Oh, forgive me. Are you one of those people who hates to talk at the breakfast table?” The crooked smile was faintly mocking.
    Lord Praed’s response was something between a grunt and a snort.
    Gabrielle helped herself to a dish of kedgeree and sat down at the far end of the long table, as far from her taciturn breakfast companion as she could manage. She hummed the silly nursery rhyme to herself as she buttered toast, studiously avoiding looking at Nathaniel.
    “Must you?” Lord Praed demanded abruptly, a deep frown corrugating his forehead, the greenish-brown eyes filled with irritation.
    “Must I what?” She looked up in innocent, puzzled inquiry.
    “Sing that damn song,” he said. “It’s getting on my nerves.”
    “Oh, yes,” she said with a serene smile. “It’s gettingon mine too, but I can’t get it out of my head. It’s going round and round. You know the way these silly songs do.”
    “No, I’m happy to say I don’t know,” he snapped.
    Gabrielle shrugged and reached for the coffeepot. “I must say, Lord Praed, that if I disliked company at breakfast as much as you do, I’d make quite certain I breakfasted alone.”
    “That was exactly what I was trying to do. Most people don’t appear in the breakfast parlor before half past