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at her. "Where were you going?"
    Her chin came up, and the expression in her eyes grew haughty. "To see a friend."
    "Your friend couldn't meet you in the park?" He had no good opinion of a lover who would expect a girl to come to him.
    "She doesn't ride."
    His resentment evaporated. He grinned stupidly. "Can't you call on your friend in a more conventional way?"
    "A mere tradesman's daughter," she said, mimicking a deep, rumbling voice obviously not her own. She was brushing the grass from her skirts.
    "A friend from the lower orders?"
    "My dearest friend."
    "Your family's disapproval must be pointed if you are driven to such ruses to meet."
    "They have an excessive regard for rank and breeding."
    "You don't?" He retrieved his hat from the hedge.
    "I believe in democratic principles."
    "All men are created equal?"
    "And women."
    He laughed. "You practice these principles by ordering your groom about?"
    "It's nearly impossible to practice any sort of rational principles in my family, but among clever, well- informed people with a liberality of ideas, there can be real, easy, and equal fellowship in spite of differences in rank."
    "Is this what you find at your friend's house?"
    She nodded, looking up at him almost shyly. "You could take me there."
    "As your last groom did? The one who sacrificed his position for your egalitarian principles?"
    "You think I was unjust to him?"
    "He lost his livelihood for your freedom."
    "His situation not his livelihood, and he was well compensated."
    "Bribed."
    "Yes, bribed. I did not say I believed all men were created good."
    "Plainly, you don't think a groom might be a man of integrity."
    "That's not the point."
    Alexander raised a brow. "Enlighten me."
    "Oh, how can I make you understand the need for escape? People in society have fixed ideas. Their heads are like oak."
    "Even your family?"
    "Especially my family. Talking to my mother is like trying to take a deep breath with stays on."
    Alexander had to laugh.
    "I just want a very little freedom, the freedom to choose my friends without regard for rank or birth. Believe me, my friend Hetty has more merit than a dozen 'gently bred' ladies of society."
    Alexander reached down and retrieved her bonnet. "Are you still willing to offer me a bribe?"
    Her eyes changed instantly. He recognized disappointment and wariness in them. "How much do you want?"
    "It's not money I want." He stepped up to her, turning the soft velvet bonnet in his hands.
    "What then?" Her mouth was a cynical line, her eyes cold, focused on the horizon.
    He closed the gap between them. "I want your name and the freedom to use it whenever I like."
    Color flooded her face. Her gaze swung back to him. "That's impossible."
    "So much for your egalitarian principles."
    "This isn't France, you know. Ladies and grooms don't mix as social equals."
    "Do you want to see your friend? Without your parents knowing?"
    He knew she did. He held his breath so long he thought she'd changed her mind.
    "My name's Ophelia," she whispered.
    "Ophelia," he said. He pulled a thin blade of dry grass from the curls at the side of her face and stuck it between his teeth. He made the gesture appear careless, but his hand shook. "Let me take you to your friend."
    It took a moment for his willingness to register. Then she smiled, a tentative smile. "Thank you."
    They turned back toward the dell when she stopped abruptly. "But what's become of the horses? I never thought you'd leave them."
    "They're waiting for us."
    She cast him an incredulous glance. "You think we'll find Shadow and Raj in the dell?"
    "I know it."
    "What on earth will keep them there?"
    "I told Raj to stand, Ophelia."

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 4
     
     
    O phelia slipped into the breakfast room of the Grays' Kensington townhouse unnoticed. The room smelled of coffee, apricot preserves, and hyacinth—every comfort familiar to Ophelia, from the print of berries and flower clusters on the walls to the clutter of jam pots and open books