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  Maryland's rolling countryside charmed Meagan even as it frustrated her. The roads were poor, seeming to grow muddier with every mile. Each hill became a frightening challenge as the horses struggled to bring the yellow post-chariot to the summit. Through the rain, Meagan could see the farmhouses and stone barns standing desolate under the frozen gray sky. Flocks of sheep huddled together, nibbling at the dry, brown stubble that poked through the frosty ground. She consoled herself with the knowledge that soon enough the fields would be moist and warm and filled with flax, with the sheep happily roaming the lush hillsides.

  Luck favored them the day they ferried the Susquehanna River, for though it was dangerously swollen, the weather was unusually mild. There were no frightening winds or sudden lurches during the crossing, and Meagan managed to keep Priscilla calm.

  The next few days took them across the head of the Elk River and on into Delaware. The journey to Newcastle, which was usually accomplished in one day, took them two. Meagan could see that Lion was becoming less tense, however, as they neared the Pennsylvania border. The next day they left Newcastle and followed the majestic three-mile-wide Delaware River northward.

  When they drew up outside a remote tavern that evening, Lion helped the girls down with an irresistible grin. "Ladies, this is our last stop, God willing. This time tomorrow night I hope to be sampling a bottle of Bingham's brandy!"

  Meagan felt herself smile back at him, caught in his high spirits and her own excited anticipation of the future.

  Priscilla, on the other hand, managed to sniff loudly while looking the other way. "I must say, it is about time! I can't imagine enduring a more terrible ordeal than the last fortnight has been for me. My upbringing certainly did not prepare me—"

  Lion's eyes hardened as he regarded her with distaste. "It is evident that your upbringing neglected to prepare you for anything worthwhile."

  Priscilla's lower lip trembled with rage as she sought a retort. Failing that, she turned and flounced into the inn.

  Shrugging tiredly, Meagan started after her, Lion at her side. She ventured a tentative glance in his direction, expecting rage and finding instead an expression of rueful amusement. One side of his mouth curved cynically as he rolled his eyes at her, and for a moment Meagan feared he might chuckle aloud.

  Once upstairs in their tiny chamber, Priscilla calmed herself with a glass of wine. Two more were consumed before their supper arrived, by which time Priscilla was stretched out across the narrow bed in her chemise. While she rambled about her plans for the future, Meagan busied herself by washing with cold water and a rough cloth, trying to ignore her. When the innkeeper's wife arrived with a tray of food, the two girls sat down facing each other, sharing the wobbly table between the beds. The stew held more barley than beef and seemed to have cooled down considerably during the trip upstairs. Priscilla pushed around in the bowl with her spoon, searching for meat and smiling to herself.

  "What do you look so pleased about?" Meagan demanded.

  "I was just wondering where I'll be dining tomorrow night... I'll wager that I'll be living like a queen by then. Did you hear Lion mention the name Bingham? Do you suppose he knows them? I've heard such tales from James about their house! It's supposed to be modeled after the Duke of Manchester's, only Anne Bingham wanted it grander—"

  "If I were you I'd tread a little more cautiously," Meagan broke in curtly, "If you don't use more discretion in your dealings with Captain Hampshire, you may find yourself eating with me in the kitchen!"

  Priscilla wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue, a gesture which ended in a huge yawn. Stretching like a cat, she lay back on her bed and was fast asleep, the empty wine glass dangling from her slender fingers.

  Meagan sighed as she leaned over to remove it and spread a quilt across her friend. By now the stew was cold. The fresh decanter of wine beckoned to her, and after pouring a glass, she leaned back against the feather pillows. Dusk had darkened into night by the time she finished the wine and ceased her brooding. On an impulse, she decided to venture downstairs. There was a longing inside her for honest human contact, a craving for laughter.

  An oil lamp had been lit in the paneled hallway, throwing elongated shadows down the steps. Meagan descended quietly, listening to the muffled voices that drifted up from the kitchen and the taproom. Although she had been hoping to run across the friendly wife or daughter of some fellow traveler, the first person she saw in the taproom was Lion Hampshire. The room was not empty. A handful of men were gathered around a large gate-leg table arguing over a sheaf of papers, two more were hunched across a game table, and one lone fellow snored against the wall near the fireplace. Lion sat not far away, scowling at a newspaper while drinking from a stoneware jug. Gilded by the firelight, he looked more handsome than ever.

  The wine gave Meagan courage to venture in among the men, and she walked up to Lion and peeked over the top of the paper. "Hello."

  He turned his chin a fraction as he observed her, squaring his jaw. Meagan noticed the hair that showed above the open collar of his shirt, curling against his nut-brown neck. She felt alarmed at the sudden pounding of her heart.

  "Ahh, Meagan. Is anything wrong? Has Her Highness made a proclamation?" He smiled a little, in spite of himself, and Meagan's own mouth twitched helplessly.

  "No, as a matter of fact, she's asleep."

  "Then, why—?"

  "I'm bored silly, and that dark room was driving me to distraction." She glanced longingly at the chair next to his. "Would you mind very much if I sat down for just a few minutes?"

  "Be my guest. I apologize for not offering you a seat sooner.

  She sank down, spreading her skirts.

  "Let me get you a glass of wine," Lion said, gesturing to the tavern keeper. From behind his cage-topped bar, the burly man poured the glass and brought it across the room, eyeing them knowingly.

  "I can see why you might feel a little crazed after an evening shut up with Priscilla," Lion remarked.

  Startled by his comment, she decided to speak her mind. "Pardon me for saying so, but I think that's a rather odd attitude for a man to hold about his bride-to-be!"

  "You're absolutely right."

  "You admit it?" she exclaimed incredulously.

  "I fear I must. I have no talent for deception." He smiled slightly, but there was an unmistakable bitterness in his expression.

  Meagan stared at him hard before she spoke again. "I know this is unpardonably rude of me, but I simply cannot help myself! Why ever are you marrying Pris—that is, Miss Wade? Is it for her fortune? I don't think it's as great as it might appear..."

  A voice in the back of her mind told her that she was out of place as a servant, but she took another sip of wine to silence it. Lion Hampshire was leaning back in his chair, looking at her with the same interested curiosity she had seen in his eyes the night they had dined together in Baltimore. He grinned, and Meagan felt as though a fire had been lit inside her. It was a dazzling smile and she responded to it instinctively.

  "There is something very suspicious about you." He attempted to sound stern. "I sensed it that first day when you ran me down in the entryway at West Hills. The trouble is, I can't put my finger on it. And the other problem is, I like you. I don't trust you—but I like you. And I appreciate your efforts to make this journey as bearable as possible—not to mention safe for your mistress. If I'd been alone with her she'd probably be at the bottom of the Potomac right now." There was a glint of laughter in his eyes as he raised the mug. "Am I right in assuming that we are allies of a sort?"

  Meagan strove for a neutral expression. His bluntness took her by surprise, and she knew that any good lady's maid would never show any disloyalty to her mistress. Valiantly she attempted to take Priscilla's side, but when she met his eyes, she felt her cheeks grow hot and the words died on her lips.

  Lion grinned triumphantly. "I knew it!" He leaned close to her blushing face, and Meagan felt faint as she breathed in the scent of him. "W
e are friends, aren't we? I don't suppose you'd care to reveal the solution to your mystery...?"

  I must never talk to him alone again, Meagan thought wildly. Aloud, she stammered, "No! That is, there is no mystery! It is all in your mind."

  Lion shook his head with amusement as he leaned across the table to light a cheroot on the guttering candle.

  "Whatever you say, little one. In that spirit, I also deny any ulterior motives... save the noble one of true love."

  Meagan cast a dubious glance at his dancing eyes. "I don't believe you."

  "Neither do I believe you." His smile flashed in the shadows. "You are an enigma. I am sure that solving the mystery will provide an entertaining winter diversion."

  "Don't trouble yourself," she murmured darkly. Across the room, the three men rolled up the sheaf of papers and got to their feet, chairs grating on the planked floor.

  "Careful," Lion taunted. "Let's not be insolent. I shouldn't like to be forced to dismiss you."

  "You—" Meagan began, rising to the bait. Her teeth bit her tongue as she stopped herself.

  "Ah, that's more like it." Leaning closer, he grazed her neck with a lean finger. His mouth was just inches away.

  For a frightened moment, she was unable to exhale, then recovering her senses, she glared at him. "You behave strangely for a man overcome by true love."

  Lion laughed out loud at this and reached out to catch her wrist. "What unbelievable nerve! You are the one behaving strangely, my dear lady's maid!"

  Meagan snatched her hand away just as a magnolia-scented shadow fell across the table, and they both looked up to find Priscilla standing there.

  Immaculately gowned, she smiled at them with narrowed green eyes. "My, what a cozy twosome you make," she purred. "I don't recall giving you permission to leave the room tonight, Meagan."

  Meagan's knuckles went white as she gripped the edge of the table, all too conscious of Lion's interested eyes watching them.

  "I'm sorry, ma'am. You were asleep, and I felt the need for some fresh air."

  "It seems to me that this air is decidedly smoky," Priscilla returned sweetly. "Why don't you run along now, dear? I'm sure you have bored Captain Hampshire quite long enough with your chatter. From now on, I suggest that you remember your place."

  Meagan stood up, cheeks crimson, her eyes drawn to Lion's by some magnetic force she couldn't control. While Priscilla took over her chair, he winked at Meagan quite deliberately. She dragged her eyes away and murmured with cold effort, "I beg your pardon. It won't happen again."

  Blood pounded in her head as she turned toward the doorway, but it couldn't drown out their voices.

  "I hope you won't think me too forward, Lion, but I've decided that it's time you and I became friends," Priscilla was saying in a sugary voice. "I'm afraid I haven't behaved very well these past two weeks, but I'm hoping you'll forgive me and we can start afresh."

  "My dear, you have read my mind. Those are my thoughts and desires exactly."

  Chapter 7

  Darkness and silence stretched the minutes out in Meagan's imagination as she lay in her narrow bed, waiting. The room grew starkly cold. At last she forced herself up, hurrying across the frozen floor to agitate the embers in the fireplace. She was turning the hot brick at the foot of her bed when Priscilla came in wearing a satisfied smile that doubled Meagan's rage.

  "Meagan, are you still awake? I would have thought you'd be asleep ages ago!"

  Meagan regarded her angrily in the darkness, thinking that Priscilla's pieces no longer fit together so predictably. The empty-headed stare was gone; a new shrewdness lurked behind her innocent expression. Meagan's keenest instinct warned her to speak with care, but her temper had raced beyond caution. "Don't you put on airs with me, Priscilla Margaret Wade! I am so mad at you I could spit! How could you speak to me the way you did tonight?"

  Priscilla, unfastening the front of her gown, widened her eyes in an effective imitation of incomprehension. "I can't think why you're so angry! I was only trying to act my part. I thought I was supposed to treat you like a servant!"

  Her pretty chin trembled in the shadows, but Meagan warned herself not to be taken in.

  "I know better than that, Priscilla. You loved that scene downstairs! You really enjoyed acting high and mighty with me."

  "I think that's a hateful thing to say, Meagan Sayers!" Loud sobs were heard as she lifted her dress over her head, but when her face came back into view it was dry. "Besides, maybe it's my turn. You've been bossing me around ever since we were tiny children."

  "That's ridiculous. All I've ever done is prod you into action occasionally. If you had had your way, you'd have spent your life lying in bed, having your hair brushed, and taking baths!"

  "At least I wouldn't be in the scrapes you're always in!" Buttoning her bedgown, she went on. "Look at you now. You could be living in society in Boston, but you've chosen to reduce yourself to a servant. I realized tonight that it really isn't such a masquerade. I mean, you really are dependent on me now. Whom else do you have?"

  Meagan was stunned by her words. Tiny hairs rose on her arms and legs in the chilly night air; slowly she crept into bed.

  The silence stretched between them, finally broken by Priscilla, sweetly imploring, "Meagan, don't misunderstand now. You'll always be my best friend, no matter how high I go on Society Hill. You know, that's what James says they call the rich part of Philadelphia. You needn't fear that I'll desert you."

  "You're too good," Meagan said sarcastically.

  "Just don't you embarrass me with one of your little pranks! Oh, Meagan, I want to thank you for bringing me to my senses tonight—about Lion, I mean." She pulled up her quilt to her chin and sighed meaningfully. "I'm going to make him love me, you'll see. I wouldn't be surprised if he does already! I declare, he can look so attractive when he's being charming!"

  * * *

  The final day of their journey put Priscilla's new determination to the fullest test.

  The three travelers rose before dawn. In his single-minded desire to reach Philadelphia, Lion was distant and brusque toward both girls, saving his attention for the horses and the roads.

  As it turned out, the sun never had a chance to make an appearance, for as they moved northward, a band of black clouds began to climb on the horizon. Inside the carriage, Meagan had little to say to Priscilla, transferring her attention to the blurred little window beside her. Through it she could see the clouds stacked across the sky like fat, clinging puffs of smoke. Lion cantered nearby on his chestnut roan, his face set as he watched the storm gathering strength. The air was eerily still. Finally the rain began and the wind rose up to join it so that the heavy droplets shot from the black sky like bullets.

  Meagan clearly saw the old terror in Priscilla's eyes, but felt disinclined to reassure her, and for once Priscilla's pride kept her silent. Barely a minute passed before the carriage came to a stop at the bottom of a hill, and Meagan saw Lion tethering his roan to the rest of the team. When he came around to the side and pulled open the door, the assault from outside had the impact of a tidal wave. By the time Lion and Joshua had both climbed in, the girls were nearly as wet as the men.

  Meagan managed a bemused smile as she ran a hand over her rain-splashed face and pushed back her hair. The coachman sat next to Priscilla, looking very young and pale. Then Meagan felt Lion Hampshire beside her, felt his sodden cape soaking her skirts. The seat was small, and their hips pressed together. Meagan's heart began to pound.

  "Damnation!" Lion ejaculated, pulling off his hat to rake a hand through his hair. "I swear that nature has conspired against me to prevent this journey from being completed!"

  The pair across from him stared back, speechless, but Meagan heard herself rejoin, "What hellish luck!"

  She could have slapped herself once it was out. Priscilla looked faint; Joshua stunned.

  However, after barely a moment's pause, Lion gave a shout of laughter. "Good Lord, what a delight you are!"
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  Meagan was blushing and examining the seam of her pelisse when the post-chariot was rattled by a sudden onslaught of hailstones. The horses whinnied and stamped helplessly.

  "Won't they run, poor things?" Meagan asked anxiously.

  "No, ma'am," came the coachman's quiet voice. "I tells them to stay."

  Lion grinned. "Joshua has a talent with animals. Those horses understand every word he says and never disobey him."

  The four passengers were jostled from side to side as the lead pair of horses reared up against the storm outside. Meagan's heart ached for them. Across from her, Priscilla's face was as bloodless as Joshua's, but she seemed determined not to give way to her usual bout of hysterics.

  They all sat together for over an hour, waiting for the wind and rain to abate. Little was said. Meagan stiffened beside Lion, feeling the hard muscles in his arms and legs pressing against her own body through her thin cloak and dress. Every one of her nerves was painfully aware of his presence, and she hated her body for its instinctive betrayal.

  Lion, however, seemed unconcerned with her or anyone else. His damp head was turned toward the window as he stared at the gray sky and the dead, dark fields. It was depressing for him to see the land looking so bleak, for he knew it best in the spring, when clover, grain, and flax abounded, followed by miles of orchards and elegant villas, each with a garden more beautiful than the last.

  Alert to the silence outside, he looked over to Joshua. The rain had tapered off and stopped; now Lion threw open the door. The air that rushed in was pure, fresh, and cold.