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    But she did not see where she was making progress engaging his affections. She could go that most direct route to her goal by depositing herself naked in his bed. She didn't think he would resist such an advance. However, her lesson from the first day here was that even her boldness had its limits. Merely considering such a thought had her heartbeat racing again painfully in her chest.
    She was also surprised that for a man who used the sword so proficiently he did not seem to practice. On the third day she asked if he would like to practice together and received a scowl and polite refusal. His eyes had strayed to her injured arm shortly after that and she knew that he was still bothered by the fact that he had hurt her.
    Plagued by all these thoughts, on the morning of her fourth day at Belle Fleur , she decided to go for a ride and clear her head.
     
    As breakfast wasn't a formal affair, Quince didn't feel that he needed to wait for Miss Bittlesworth to arrive before eating. But when she still hadn't arrived thirty minutes later he found himself concerned. She seemed to be an earlier riser than himself, not that it was difficult to be, but for the last two mornings had taken breakfast with him. She had seemed bent on being an affable guest, though why she thought he would believe her to be anything other than the domineering harridan she had exposed herself to be on the first day, he had no idea. He waved over a footman. "Did our guest already eat earlier this morning?"
    "No, your grace. She left for a ride earlier this morning and has not yet returned."
    Although happy to have his question answered so quickly and completely, he wondered why the dining room footman already had that information. Belle Fleur was far from his largest estate but it had a fairly large complement of staff. At least fifty, he thought, though he wasn't quite sure. Had the staff already been talking among themselves about her absence?
    At luncheon she still hadn't arrived and Quince found himself a bit perturbed, but refused to worry about it overly. He allowed her to stay here because in his opinion people ought to be able to do as they liked. Surely he had to allow her the latitude to do as she wished with her time. In the afternoon as he sat in the library staring at a book but not reading a single page, Havers came to him.
    "Your grace, the lady has still not returned from her ride."
    "I see." Quince had known that the Bittlesworth girl hadn't returned yet due to the deathly silence of the house. What had seemed a peaceful quiet before her arrival now seemed dull. As though the entire household awaited her return to breathe life back into it again.
    "The men would like to search for her. With your permission, of course."
    "Of course. It would not be seemly to lose a viscount's daughter. Have them search."
    "Very good, your grace," the butler responded, withdrawing quietly from the room. Quince returned to staring at a book he had yet to read a word in.
     
    Sabre reared back from the sharp scent that assaulted her nose. As she shook her head to clear it she heard scuffing on a wooden floor and the creak of someone sitting in a chair. She was sitting as well. Tied to a chair, in fact. She struggled with the ropes on her wrists while tossing the hair out of her eyes to identify her captor. Who she saw made her stop struggling immediately.
    "Robert, what is this meaning of this?" She looked around the room, which appeared to be a cellar in a run-down house.
    "Hullo, little sister. Shouldn't I be asking you that? I thought you were going to Jack's house."
    Her brother had seated himself on a wooden chair a yard away. Just far enough away to avoid any kicks if she should manage to get her foot free. His chair was turned around and he rested his folded hands and chin on the chair-back as he studied her. She began to struggle against the ropes again and he held up a finger.
    "Ah-ah. How will you explain rope burns to your lover?"
    Sabre blew out