BYRON SMOOTHED THE HAIR BACK OVER HIS EARS. Who'd have thought that he'd miss that wench Maria? The carriage ride had been excruciatingly boring so far, what with the servant Meg refusing to say a word, much less meet his eyes, and Summer just as quiet, always frowning out the window as if she contem plated her life through the English scenery.

   Even the dog had been well behaved, not once chewing at his trouser legs, too busy licking the baby fox, and the monkey only occasionally chattered a dejected squeak. The duke looked forward to arriving at Lord Balkett's and having a good row with Summer's friend. He passed the time by considering which insult would set her off the easiest.

   By the time dusk had fallen, they'd left the wooded countryside and traveled the narrow path that wound its way along the seaside cliffs of the ocean. The wind carried the salty flavor of the water and the sound of the waves crashing against the crags, and had lulled Byron half asleep.

   "When I leave," asked Summer, "who's going to look out after you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

   "You've already had two attempts on your life, and if I hadn't been with you, I daresay you wouldn't be alive."

   Byron could not believe the audacity of the chit! As if he couldn't take care of himself. She doesn't speak to him for hours, and when she does, she insults him? "That's even more reason for you to leave. I won't have to fear for your safety any longer while you're in my company." And since she reminded him, the duke stuck his head out the window for the umpteenth time that day, making sure that the escort of guards the prince had commanded them to take still followed behind them.

   "But what about the money?" she insisted. "What will you live on if you give me back your interest in the railroad?"

   He sat back with a sigh. They hadn't lost their escort. "The same thing I lived on before I met you."

   Summer leaned forward, the fading light softening the planes of her face, making her eyes seem too large for that elfin face. "But weren't you tired of it, living off other people? If you weren't so stubborn about giving up on me, you could still have the interest."

   Byron frowned at her. "I could try for years, madam, and I still don't think you'd ever get your presentation." He watched her study him, as if trying to think of another reason why she shouldn't leave. A shred of excitement twisted his belly. Could it be that she really didn't want to go? Was it possible that she was trying to come up with excuses to stay with him? Or was he being a fool?

   He folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. She'd made it very clear that she wanted this Monte fellow, and the only way she'd get him was if she got her presentation. She only wanted to make that happen—it had nothing to do with any regret she might have at leaving him.

   She just couldn't accept failure.

   And he was astonished at himself that he did.

   The carriage started to speed up on a road that he knew wasn't prudent for speed. His eyes flew open, and he poked his head out the window again, pulling it in with a curse as he realized that his face had come within inches of a jagged rock. He tried again and looked down a fall of cliff, the surf white and pounding below. The idiot coachman drove at the edge of the road.

   "I will never again travel in a carriage that I don't drive myself." He reached between the ladies and lifted the cloth that covered the small window in the back of the coach, completely prepared for the sight of the empty road behind them.

   "What is it?" asked Summer as the carriage began to bounce wildly.

   Meg blinked open sleepy eyes and watched her mistress with alarm.

   "Our escort has disappeared," replied the duke.

   Summer snatched up Chi-chi and Rosey and stuffed them in her pockets. "Not another fake robbery!"

   "Worse, I think." Byron took India from his shoulder, wincing from the pain of his injury, and stuffed the monkey in the front of his waistcoat until only his furry face stuck out. The duke continued watching the road behind them, not surprised when a group of riders came around the bend, their ragged clothes and shaggy mounts so unlike that of the prince's elegant guard.

   "Ragged or not, they seemed to have won the fight."

   Meg began to whimper, and Summer shushed her. "Fight?"

   Byron watched the men advance. There's only four, he thought with a sigh of relief, astonished at himself that he'd raised their odds of survival because he could count on Summer. "Our escort, madam. I'm sure they didn't leave us of their own accord." He pulled a pistol from beneath his coat and flung open all the curtains, so he would have a clear view of the men as they came pounding up beside them, only one at a time because of the narrow road.

   The first blighter had the audacity to leer through the window at Summer and Meg with a gap-toothed smile. Byron raised his pistol and fired, effectively removing that smile and a bit of other things as well. His heart started to pound, and he tried not to be too amazed at himself. It'd been a long time since he'd shot at a man, since he'd given up his commission and swore he'd never shoot at another human being again.

   Meg screamed, then fainted across Summer's lap. "Nice shot," shouted Summer, her eyes round with admiration, that knife of hers already in her fist. "So you believe me now?"

   "That someone's trying to kill me? I'm not a fool, madam."

   She nodded, and he cursed that she'd distracted him. Another man had reached the coachman's seat and tried to haul himself up onto it. Byron couldn't fire through the open side window and hesitated to shoot through the glass that overlooked the coachman's seat, afraid that flying shards might strike Summer. He thought the chap wouldn't make it, what with the carriage lurching wildly and the coachman kicking out at the man. But he did.

   "I'll be damned," muttered Byron as he reached over and threw open the carriage door. He reached out with his good arm and started to drag himself out.

   Summer grabbed his frock coat. "Are you loco? What d'you think you're doing?"

   "I'm going to help the coachman…"

   A shot went off, and they both ducked.

   "You're going to try and what? Swing yourself over to his seat? With an injured arm?"

   "Precisely."

   And he ducked toward the door just as the carriage swayed too close to the boulders that lined the road. When they hit the door, it slammed shut, knocking him sideways onto the floor. The coach lurched and rocked so that it took him several moments to crawl back onto the seat.

   Another rider had overtaken the carriage, and he'd taken a lesson from the man before him, for he had his own pistol trained on the occupants.

   "Stay down," shouted Byron, trying to keep his arm steady as he aimed.

   A shot exploded in his ears, but it hadn't come from the rider or his own pistol. Byron looked over his shoulder at the glass that separated him from the coachman. A crimson wave covered the surface, and he could no longer see through it. He glanced back to the horseman, who grinned at him with yellowed teeth and waved his pistol in farewell.

   The coach lurched, and Byron turned and met Summer's eyes. They both knew the moment the horses went over the cliff, when the floor beneath their feet slanted, and all the jostling and bouncing stopped, as if time froze for an eternal moment before gravity claimed its due. He realized that he'd failed to protect her, that she was indeed the only thing he cared enough about to protect with his own life. He leaned forward to kiss her, angry that there wasn't enough time, when he felt himself falling away from her as the carriage tilted straight down. But he held out his arms to her, so that when they hit solid ground she fell into them, and he shielded both hers and Meg's bodies with his own.

   Blackness enfolded Summer, and she knew that she dreamed, but she couldn't wake up. She was five years old again, and she could feel the weight of the earth over her head and hear Pa screaming Ma's name. She ran through the tunnel of Pa's mine, the dust-laden air making her cough, the shards of broken rock hurting her feet. But she couldn't stop, 'cause she knew her ma had been buried in the cave-in, that Pa couldn't lift all the rocks off her himself. That they needed Summer's help.

   'Cause Ma couldn't leave her. She'd told Summer that people who love each other never leave. But if Ma got buried under tons of rock, she couldn't find her way back to Summer, now could she?

   Then the earth shook, and she could feel Pa's arms around her as he scooped her up and carried her out of the mine. Summer screamed at him to let her go, that they had to go back down and find Ma. That Ma wouldn't leave them. But Pa wouldn't listen, and he screamed at her that Ma was already gone, and the rocks kept falling down, and she thought that the earth would smother them both.

   "We can't leave her," Summer gasped, but her voice had changed. It no longer had the high squeak of a little girl, and she awoke fully to the sound of the duke's reassuring voice.

   "Shhh, be quiet now. You've been unconscious."

   She opened her eyes to complete darkness, and still felt the weight of the earth covering her, and tried to move. Tarnation, it hurt, and Byron responded with a groan of pain. She became aware of the heat of his body beneath hers, and down around her legs the weight of another. Meg.

   Her pockets wiggled, but the two critters stayed as silent as Meg.

   The duke's head lay right next to her own, his lips so close to her ear she could feel them moving when he spoke. "Don't move either—not yet. The carriage didn't fall far, we must've landed on an outcropping or ledge. Don't know how sturdy it is… don't want to fall all the way down to the ocean. Understand?"

   Summer whined. She felt the tiny, furred fingers of India stroke her cheek, and then the light weight of him jump across her back and disappear as she heard him scramble above her.

   "We just need to wait a little longer, to make sure that those men have left; then we'll see what's what."

   "Can't breathe," she whispered.

   "I think when we came down we started a landslide,

and it covered us. That's why it's so dark. But don't worry, we're still getting fresh air from somewhere."

   "No," she replied. "We're going to be smothered. Just like Ma." Summer trembled and jerked, fighting the urge to jump up, to move, to push the rocks and dirt off and away.

   "Summer, Summer," came his soothing whisper. "Where's the girl who fought off highwaymen with me? Where's the woman who faced a gang of Paris bullies with only her knife?"

   She gritted her teeth, wouldn't answer him. How could he understand this terror that made her heart beat so fast she'd thought she'd die? How could he expect her to just lie here for even another minute, when her body told her to fight, to run?

   "Who can't you leave?" he asked. "Summer, talk to me. What were you dreaming about when you were unconscious?"

   The fear crept into her belly and made it boil. She swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat. "I… I can't do this. Must get out, Byron. Must get out of here."

   "We will," he promised.

   "Too dark, too…"

   "Focus on my voice, you hear me. It's just fear, Summer, that's all. Why are you so afraid? Tell me, what were you dreaming about?"

   A bit of warmth trickled through her fear. He had such a lovely voice, deep and compelling, when he wasn't using it to mock people.

   "Who can't you leave? Meg? She hasn't woke up yet, and we might have to leave her behind to go get help. But we'll come back for her."

   Summer's blind eyes rolled down to where the weight of Meg's body had her legs pinned. She could feel the girl breathing and gave a sigh of relief. And suddenly she felt ashamed of herself, that she'd not given Meg a thought before this, that she'd been so overcome by the panic that had gripped her, she hadn't given a thought to anyone but herself. She took a deep breath, reached into her pocket, and patted Chi-chi and Rosey.

   "That's my girl," murmured Byron. "Talk to me, Summer, but softly, just in case. Tell me about your dream."

   "It wasn't a dream," she replied. "It was a memory… of when my ma left me, when she died."

   "How did she die?"

   He spoke in such soothing tones, the rise and fall of his body beneath hers combining to lull her. "Cave in," she softly said. "I was little, and I haven't thought of it in years, but suddenly I was there again, when the rock came down, and Pa left her there, all alone, when I told him we couldn't do that. When someone loves you, you don't just walk away."

   She felt him sigh, as if she'd answered more questions for him than he'd asked. "But sometimes you have to."

   Summer felt as if she'd just lost her mother again, that memory-dream had been so real. "And then Pa got worse, started another tunnel, always obsessed with finding gold. Said that he'd buy Ma all the things she'd given up for him."

   "What had she given up?"

   "Her rich family disowned her when she married my pa. Even after she died, he still kept looking for the gold, saying that now he did it for me… but I never cared about that, all I wanted was him. I felt so lonely after she left."

   "But then he found the gold."

   Summer realized that she was breathing easier. "No, silver. And I thought that he'd spend more time with me after that, but he just wanted to make more money, to prove to those Tarkingtons that he was worthy of their daughter."

   "Do you feel better now?"

   Summer blinked in the darkness. He'd taken away her fear, and she hadn't even known it. "Yes."

   "Good, because whether those men have gone or not, I've got to move." He kissed her ear, and she shivered, but this time with pleasure. "Both of my legs have gone numb, and if I don't get them moving, I'm afraid they're going to stay that way."

   Summer's heart gave a little twist. He'd lain there and comforted her fears, while in pain himself. Who was the Duke of Monchester, really? The man who all of society feared for his cutting remarks, or the one who had used that same voice to soothe her?

   She shifted and rolled on the side that didn't hold her critters, then caught her breath as the carriage slid a bit downward. She felt the ache of myriad bruises on her body, the dreadful pounding of her skull, and lifted a shaky hand to gingerly prod at the large bump beneath the hair on the side of her head.

   Byron's voice sounded sardonic and laced with pain. "We'd better take this slow. The bottom of the carriage is parallel with the cliff, so move away from my voice until you feel the wood of it against your back."

   If only she could see, thought Summer. Even though it had to be nighttime by now, outside she'd have moonlight or starlight to break this wall of black, she could stretch out her arms and run, she could breathe…

   Her panting filled the tiny, enclosed space.

   "Don't do it, Summer," warned Byron. "Any sudden moves, and this carriage could slide the rest of the way down the cliff. Now, just listen to the sound of my voice, do what I tell you, and don't think at all."

   "All right." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, tried to calm the pounding of her heart. His voice, tarnation, she'd never hear his voice again without remembering the way it reached out to her and wrapped her in a comforting embrace and gave her back some of her courage. She'd never felt anything like this before in her life and didn't know how to deal with it. "I'm not very good at being afraid."

   The duke choked on a laugh. "No one ever is. I'm going to try to move now, and no matter what you hear, keep your back pressed to the carriage floor."

   Summer plastered her backside to the wood behind her, lifted her arms above her head, and felt the polished surface of it beneath her fingertips. She heard him move, the absence of her sight making the sounds extraordinarily loud, the pain in his grunts making her wince with sympathy.

   "So far, so good. Carriage didn't shift that time. I'm going to push Meg over to you, so give her a pull, will you? Seems like my wounded shoulder is as numb as my legs."

   She reached down and pulled Meg's inert body toward her, felt him pushing as well, and then sensed his nearness, and smelled the heavenly musky scent of him. She put out a hand, felt the heat of his chest and the weave of his linen shirt, and wrapped her fingers around his neck, beneath the softness of his hair.

   "Ah, Summer," he whispered, his own hand reaching out to caress her cheek. "We'll get out of here, I promise. We have unfinished business, you and I."

   She wondered at his words but couldn't focus on anything but getting out of this coffin. "How? How do we get out, Byron?"

   "You're lighter than I am, so while Meg and I anchor the back, you need to go forward to the left side window, that's where I felt some air coming in, and try to dig out the dirt that's covering it. Can you do that?"

   Summer swallowed. "I'm going to have to, aren't I?" She reluctantly let go of him and concentrated on only his voice as he talked her through her task.

   "That's my girl. Now go slowly, good, feel along the wall, where dirt has tumbled in. Dig at it, good, spread it behind you. Keep going, Summer, the pile of earth can't be very thick there, not if air can get in."

   "Tarnation!"

   "What's wrong?"

   Summer felt the furry hand of India, and her knife in the monkey's grip. "He found my knife! Thank you, India." The critter squeaked and crawled on her shoulder. With the blade in her hand Summer felt better, made more of a dent in that wall of dirt, until she heard a small slide and felt a cool blast of salt-laden air, and saw the blessed light of a full moon shining through the sudden opening. India scrambled through it before she could blink.

   "It's going to be a tight squeeze, getting through this window. Especially with your broad shoulders." She felt his smile and realized what she'd said, and shrugged. Right now she didn't care about his vanity. All she cared about was getting out. She stuffed her knife in its sheath and scrambled right after India, tearing her gown and quite a bit of skin, until she stood in the blessed outdoors, the wind in her face wiping away any residual fear, the moonlight in her eyes making her blink with joy. Byron had been right, the carriage lay on a rather large ledge, the torn traces dangling over the side, the poor horses nowhere in sight. Summer resisted the urge to look down at the rocky cliffs below and instead looked up, scanning the area for any trace of the men who had tried to kill them.

   She heard the carriage shift, frowned with alarm when it tilted forward, startled to be grateful that most of it lay buried beneath a landslide of rock and dirt, anchoring it in place. She watched as Byron put first one shoulder and then the other through the tight opening, cursing the entire time, then helped lower him out the window, trying to bear his weight.

   He must be made of pure muscle, she thought, for he only topped her by a couple of inches, yet certainly weighed a ton. When they both sat on the ledge, they leaned against each other and just breathed.

   Byron tilted his head up and pushed the hair out of his eyes. "It'll be fascinating to see if my shoulder will manage to get me up that."

   Summer grinned at him. "No need. India has already been up and back. Seems the ledge wraps around this hill. With any luck, it'll be wide enough for people as well."

   "You're smiling, madam."

   "I'm glad to be out of that coffin, sir." And ignoring the rule he'd taught her about never touching a gentleman, she leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth. "Thank you for saving my life."

   "Seems like you took care of yourself, as usual."

   "I would've plunged the carriage straight down the cliff with my panic, and you know it."

   "Mmm." He stared at her, and she felt as if he tried to see into her soul, tried to brand her with his gaze. There was something different about him, an intensity that she'd never felt before, that made her remember with absolute clarity the night he'd offered her comfort and she'd taken it so willingly.

   "Stop it," she blurted. "We have to get Meg help. If she wakes up all alone in there…"

   He blinked and his gaze shuttered. She felt the loss of his attention as if it were a tangible thing, and jumped when he clasped her hand, a physical demand that she stay connected to him. He held on to her and refused any attempts she made to twist out of his grasp. They climbed up the ledge, which did prove just barely wide enough to accommodate their feet, if one didn't mind one's toes dangling over the edge, and staggered onto the road, neither one any longer quite sure who supported whom. For the first time Summer felt the weight of the critters in her pocket, and the one on her shoulder, as a burden.

   By the time the sun rose, Summer felt delirious with fatigue, and when a hay wagon pulled up beside them and the man driving it doffed his hat to the duke and spoke to him as if he knew him, she only felt a slight hint of surprised curiosity. She obediently clambered onto the fragrant hay when Byron told her to, and drifted off to sleep. She woke briefly when the man and Byron laid Meg in the hay beside her, and then once again when they reached a tumble-down castle that looked nasty enough to be haunted.

   "Yours?" she murmured as she was ushered inside and then carried up the stairs to a surprisingly elegant bed.

   "Afraid so. Welcome to Cliffs Castle."

   Summer felt all the aches in her body relax, and she melted into the clean sheets, barely felt it when Chi-chi and Rosey crawled from her pocket and snuggled at her side, when India wrapped his arm around her neck and buried his face in her hair. She fought to keep one eye open. "How's Meg?"

   "She's fine. I've put her in the small adjoining room."

   Summer sighed. "Tell your ghosts not to wake me, then."

A cold, wet nose jabbed Summer's ear, and when she tried to roll over, Chi-chi growled. "It's a good thing you're so cute," she mumbled. "Otherwise you'd be in serious trouble." The dog yipped, turned in a circle, and looked at India for assistance. The monkey gave a remarkably human grin and poked his finger up Summer's nose.

   "All right," she mumbled again, then sat up and looked with wonder around the spacious room—at the elaborately carved mantel of the fireplace, the raised-panel walls, the ornate tapestries of mythical creatures, the vases, and highly polished wooden furniture. The castle she remembered from last night should've had spiderwebs throughout and dusty beds. She looked down at her sheets and realized that the only dirt in this room was what she'd brought with her. Summer wrinkled her nose, felt the tangled mess of her hair, and crawled out of bed.

   Chi-chi circled again. "I know, me too," she told the dog, and quickly looked for a water closet, sighed, and peeked under the brocade coverlet of the bedspread. Sure enough, a chamber pot. She walked over to the shutters and threw them open, sunlight making her squint, and saw the woods surrounding the house, a twinkle of water through the trees, and smiled.

   A connecting door revealed the softly snoring Meg, her head bandaged but otherwise looking quite healthy after her ordeal, and she sighed with relief. She then spied her luggage and figured that being a duke, the man would think of everything. Grabbing up soap, a change of clothes, and her critters, Summer crept out of the room. The hallways looked more like what she'd expected, with blank spots on the walls where missing portraits used to hang and faded spots on the floor where rugs had been removed. The stairs squeaked quite satisfactorily when she ambled down them, as did the door when she opened it onto the broken cobblestones of the courtyard.

   She hadn't seen a single soul in the house, nor outside of it, and broke into a run toward that line of forest, stretching out all the sore muscles and kinks from their adventure yesterday.

   "Probably should've thanked the ghosts for not waking me," she panted to her critters after they'd all relieved themselves behind different bushes. "Do you suppose that's all that lives in there?" She waved a hand at the monstrous castle, with its peaks and turrets, sagging shutters, and overgrown vines. She shuddered at the sight and turned with a smile. "But I like these woods… very much."

   She stuffed Chi-chi and Rosey in her pocket, put India on her shoulder, and began to trek through the trees, marveling at the colors of their leaves, all golds and reds with the fall. In Arizona there wasn't such an obvious change of seasons, and the sparse forests consisted of only spindly trees with the occasional evergreen. She marveled at the bounty of this land, even while she shivered from the dratted cold. The temperature of England's early fall felt like winter in the desert.

   Summer unerringly found the water, following the stream to where it widened into a pond in an open clearing. A large, smooth boulder sat at the edge of the water, its surface warm from the sun, and she spread out her change of clothes, stripped off her torn and dirty ones, and grabbed the soap. Chi-chi and Rosey sniffed around with manic delight, and the dog made sure the fox stayed near with nose-nudges and the occasional nip. India scampered up the rock, looked over the edge at the water, and scampered back to Summer.

   "You first," she told him, shivering in the chill air, just imagining how frigid that water would really be. India chattered at her and went to the edge again. "What's the matter, little man, are you scared?"

   As if he'd understood the taunt, the monkey jumped off the rock, hit the water, and seconds later shot out of it again, screaming loud enough to wake the ghosts in the duke's castle.

   Summer laughed until her sides hurt. Tarnation, that was the funniest thing she'd ever seen—the look on India's face when he shot out of the water!

   India spread himself out on the warm rock and looked at her accusingly. Well, now it was her turn, and Summer had never been one to just stick in a toe. She hopped onto the rock, tried to ignore the nasty gleam in the monkey's eyes, and jumped off.

   The shock of the icy water stopped her heart. For a moment she couldn't move, and then she swam with all her might, made it to the shore, and turned into one giant goose bump. "I n-now know the meaning of c-cold," she told her friends and tried to pretend that she didn't notice India laughing at her. With a deep breath, she plunged back in the water and washed away all the dirt and grime, realizing that the water wasn't so bad, once her skin had gone numb.

   She waded back to the shore, slightly blue but marvelously clean, holding out her arms to the sun, feeling that for the first time in a long while, she was at peace. At home.

   And felt his eyes on her, the heat of his gaze chasing away the cold until she felt flushed with fever. She didn't think Byron had meant to sneak up on her. In fact, when their eyes met, he looked more startled than she. His mouth was open as if he'd tried to call out but had unaccountably lost the power of speech. Summer's gaze flickered toward his breeches, and she realized that she wanted him. Not the playing around they'd done, but him, inside of her, a part of her. If only they didn't keep having to save each other's lives, to depend on one another, to build a trust, then maybe she wouldn't have this desire for him. How could she want to keep her promise to Monte and yearn for this man at the same time?

What was she going to do?