She bit her lip, her mind churning with grief and confusion. Only two things seemed sure: Her father had not died naturally, and she herself was persona non grata in her ancestral home. She had known that Lady Collingwood did not like her, but even so she was appalled by the depth of hostility revealed in that overheard conversation. Heathen… dusky little savage… halfbreed.

She must leave Chanleigh this very night, after the household had retired. But she would not return tamely to Boston-not until she had gone to London and discovered the truth about her father's death.

She sat up, the need to plan steadying her chaotic emotions. She had the address of the inn where Max had been staying, as well as the names of several old friends he had intended to visit. That was enough to begin an investigation.

The only question was how to reach London. While she had a few pounds, it was not enough for a coach ticket, so she would have to walk. The distance was easily two hundred and fifty miles, but that was no great challenge to someone who had spent half her life traveling the back roads of New England.

This time, however, Maxie wouldn't have her father's protection, and traveling alone would be foolish-for a female. She had never deliberately masqueraded as a male, but the rough roads of America had made it advisable to dress as one much of the time. Luckily, she had brought her masculine attire to England. With her breasts bound, her hair under a hat, and a loose shirt, vest, and coat, she would look like a nondescript young boy. And if someone wanted to investigate too closely, she had her knife.