Dropping her completed braid, Nellie stared at her. "You didn't go and call them by their real names?"

Rising, Alathea stepped away from the table. "Not exactly."

Nellie started unlacing her gown. "So what did you call them?"

"Maria, Alicia, and Seraphina. I skipped the others."

"So what happens the first time he finds himself in a room with one of those books that list the lot of you? All he'll have to do will be to look up the earls-you being a countess-and it'll jump off the page at him. And he'll know who you are then, too." Straightening, Nellie helped her out of her gown. "Wouldn't want to be in your shoes then, miss-not when he finds out. He won't be pleased."

"I know." Alathea shivered, and prayed Nellie thought it was because she was cold. She knew exactly what would happen if luck dealt against her and Rupert Melrose Cynster discovered she was his mysterious countess-that she was the woman he'd kissed in the porch of St. Georges.

All hell would break lose.

He didn't have a temper, any more than she did.

Which meant he didn't appear to have one, until he lost it.

"That's why," she continued, head emerging from the nightgown Nellie had thrown over her, "I made him swear not to try and identify me. The way I have it planned, he need never learn the truth."

She knew he wouldn't appreciate having the wool pulled over his eyes. He had a deep, very real dislike of any form of deception. That, she suspected, was what lay behind his growing reputation for unmasking business frauds. "For now, everything's perfect-he's met the countess, heard her story, and agreed to help. He actually wants to help-wants to expose these men and their company. That's important." Whether she was reassuring Nellie or herself she wasn't sure; her stomach hadn't relaxed since he'd kissed her. "Lady Celia's forever complaining about him being too indolent, too bored with life. The countess's problem will give him something to work on, something that interests him."