How had she known about the scar? William had a small scar on his upper right arm, a trophy from a childhood riding mishap. Could she have known William? Intimately enough to know his body?

Softly illuminated in the moonlight, her disarranged hair teased by the summer breeze, she certainly did not look like a spy, a murderess, or a seductress, but he well knew that looks were deceiving. Some of the most beautiful women he knew were vicious, conniving, and heartless. What sort of person lay beneath her innocent facade? He didn't know what game she was playing, but he was determined to find out. And if it was necessary to play along with her "visions" ploy, he would.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word she said "I'm not playing games, your grace. I want to help you."

Damn. He was going to have to be very careful around this woman. While he discarded her claims of visions- what sane man wouldn't?-she was uncannily, eerily perceptive.

If he didn't watch his step, he suspected she might somehow learn his secrets-secrets that could ruin his family.

"Tell me what you know about my brother," he said.

"I don't know anything about him, your grace. Until I touched your hands, I hadn't known he existed."

"Indeed? How long have you been in England?"

"Six months."

"And you expect me to believe that in all that time, no one has mentioned my brother?" A mirthless laugh escaped him.

She hesitated then said in a quiet voice, "I'm afraid I haven't been what one would call the social success of the Season. I find I am most often talked about rather than talked to."

"Surely your aunt keeps you abreast of the latest on dits?