Whitney, My Love

Understanding dawned, and Whitney burst out laughing. "Oh Papa," she said, shaking her long, shining hair, "you don't have to start matchmaking-I'm not quite at my last prayers yet." Judging from his expression, her father didn't share her humor in the matter, so Whitney tried to look dutifully solemn as she asked the name of their new neighbor.

"Clayton Westmor . . . Clayton Westland."

Lady A

After considering her father's stormy countenance, Whitney decided to rescue her aunt from his trying moods. Putting down her own spoon, she stood up. "I think Aunt A

To her surprise, Lady A

"Yes," Martin echoed instantly. "Run along to bed, and your aunt and I will have a friendly chat."

When Whitney left, Martin curtly dismissed the footmen, then regarded A

Lady A

"It is Westmoreland, if you must know," Martin snapped. "And there's a very simple explanation for his being here: He happens to be recovering from exhaustion-the result of an old ailment that sometimes troubles him."

That explanation was so ludicrous, A

"Dammit, do I look like I'm joking?" he hissed furiously.

"Do you actually believe that Banbury tale?" A

"Be that as it may, I can only tell you what he told me. His grace feels the need to escape from the pressures of his life, and he has chosen to do it here. Since only I-and now you-know who be is, I trust that neither of us will deprive him of his privacy by giving his identity away."

Upstairs in the solitude of her rooms, Lady A

Very well, A

Lady A

Not for one moment would A

Lady A

Three miles away, the objects of both their* thoughts were together at Clayton's temporary home, relaxing over a brandy after a game of cards. Stretching his legs toward the fire, Paul savored the taste of the amber liquid in his glass. "Are you pla

Clayton's expression was guarded. "Yes."

"Wouldn't miss it, myself," Paul chuckled. "Unless Whitney's done a complete turnabout, it should be an entertaining evening."

"Unusual name-Whitney," Clayton remarked with just the right degree of mild curiosity to encourage his guest to continue.

"It's a family name. Her father was bent on having a boy, as I understand it, and he hung the name on her anyway. He nearly got his wish, too. She could swim like a fish, climb like a monkey, and handle a horse better than any female alive. She showed up in men's pants one day-another, she set off on a raft saying that she was sailing for America on an adventure."

"What happened?"

"She came to me end of the pond," Paul said, gri

Dark brows lifted over inscrutable gray eyes. "Did you accept?"

"Hardly!" Paul laughed, taking a long swallow of brandy. "She was barely out of the school room and determined to compete with Elizabeth Ashton. If Elizabeth came down with a case of mumps, Whitney wanted a worse case. God! She was a tangle-haired ruffian. Never conformed to a single rule of propriety in her life." Paul fell silent, remembering the day she had left for France, when he had brought her the little pendant. But / don't want to be just your friend, she had pleaded desperately. The smile faded from his face. "For her father's sake," he said with feeling, "I hope she's changed." Clayton eyed Sevarin with amusement, but said absolutely nothing.

After his guest had left, Clayton relaxed back in his chair and thoughtfully swirled the brandy in his glass. At best, this masquerade of his was risky, and the more people he came into contact with, the greater his chances of being discovered.

Yesterday, he had received a jolt when he learned that the Emily Archibald he'd been hearing so much about was married to a remote acquaintance of his. That problem had been handled with a five-minute private meeting with Michael Archibald. Not for a moment had the baron believed his explanation about "needing a rest," Clayton knew, but Michael was too much of a gentleman to pry, and honorable enough to keep Clayton's identity secret.

Lady A