She stepped back. "I'll contact you."

He felt her gaze scan his face, then, still brittlely tense, she gathered herself and inclined her head. "Thank you. Good night."

The mists parted then reformed behind her as she descended the porch steps. And then she was gone, leaving him alone in the shadows.

Gabriel drew in a deep breath. The fog carried the sounds of her departure to his ears. Her shoes tapped along the pavement, then harness clinked. Heavier feet thumped and a latch clicked, then, after a pause, clicked again. Seconds later came the slap of reins on a horse's rump, then carriage wheels rattled, fading into the night.

It was half past three in the morning, and he was wide awake.

Lips lifting self-deprecatingly, Gabriel stepped down from the porch. Drawing his cloak about him, he set out to walk the short distance to his house.

He felt energized, ready to take on the world. The previous morning, before the countess's note arrived, he'd been sitting morosely over his coffee wondering how to extract himself from the mire of disaffected boredom into which he'd sunk. He'd considered every enterprise, every possible endeavor, every entertainment-none had awakened the smallest spark of interest.

The countess's note had stirred not just interest but curiosity and speculation. His curiosity had largely been satisfied; his speculation, however…

Here was a courageous, defiant widow staunchly determined to defend her family-stepfamily, no less-against the threat of dire poverty, against the certainty of becoming poor relations, if not outcasts. Her enemies were the nebulous backers of a company thought to be fraudulent. The situation called for decisive action tempered by caution, with all investigations and inquiries needing to remain covert and clandestine. That much, she'd told him.