Richard rose early the next morning. He shaved and dressed, conscious of a familiar excitement-the excitement of the hunt. Creasing the last fold of his cravat, he reached for his diamond pin-a rough shout reached his ears. He stilled-and heard, muffled by the windows tight shut against the winter chill, the unmistakable clack of hooves on cobbles.

Three swift strides had him at the window, looking down through the frosted pane. A heavy travelling carriage stood before the inn door, ostlers holding a pair of strong horses, breaths fogging as they stamped. Boys from the inn wrestled a trunk onto the carriage roof, the innkeeper directing them.

Then a lady emerged from the porch, directly below Richard. The innkeeper sprang to open the carriage door. His bow was respectful, which did not surprise Richard-the lady was his acquaintance of the churchyard.

"Damn!" Eyes on her long tresses, flame bright in the morning, clipped together so they rippled like a river down her back, he swore beneath his breath.

With a regal nod, the lady entered the carriage without a backward glance; she was followed by the older woman Richard had seen in the inn. Just before ascending the carriage steps, the old woman looked back-and up-straight at Richard. He resisted the urge to step back; an instant later, the woman turned and followed her companion into the carriage.