1

St. Joseph, Missouri

Spring 1867

«Do be reasonable, my Lord Wolfe. It wasn’t my idea to dismiss Betsy and the footmen.»

«I’m not your lord. I’m a bastard, remember?»

«I find my memory improving with each moment,» Jessica said under her breath. «Ouch! That pinched.»

«Then stop wiggling like a worm on a hook. There are twenty buttons left and they’re as small as peas. Damnation. What silly idiot made a dress that a woman has to be helped into?»

And out of.

That was the worst of it. Wolfe knew the time would come eventually when he would have to undo each of the glittering jet buttons, and each undoing would reveal more warm, fragrant skin and fine lace lingerie. She was an elf who barely came up to his breastbone, but she was bringing him to his knees with raw desire. Her back was supple and elegant as a dancer’s, graceful as a flame; and like a flame she burned him.

«I’m sorry,» Jessica whispered unhappily as Wolfe’s words scorched her ears. «I had hoped —»

«Stop whispering, damn it. If you have something to say, say it and damn all this aristocratic foolishness about talking so softly a man has to bend double to hear you.»

«I thought that you would be glad to see me,» Jessica said with great clarity. «Until this morning, I’ve not seen you once in the months since we exchanged vows. You haven’t asked me how my voyage was, nor about the train trip across the United States, nor —»

«You said you wouldn’t complain if I left you alone,» Wolfe interrupted curtly. «Are you complaining, Lady Jessica?»

Jessica fought against a wave of unhappiness. This wasn’t how she had imagined her reunion with Wolfe. She had been looking forward to riding over the Great American Desert with him on eager blooded horses. She had been looking forward to long days of comfortable silence and lively conversation, to nighttime fires beneath the blazingly clear American sky. But most of all, she had looked forward to seeing Wolfe.

«When your letter came asking me to meet you here,» she said, «I thought you had gotten over your pique.»

«Pique. Now there’s a mincing, aristocratic kind of word.» His fingers fumbled and touched warm flesh. With a savage curse he jerked his fingers back. «You don’t know me verywell, lady. I wasn’t piqued. I was bloody furious. I will remain that way until you grow up, agree to an annulment, and return to England where you belong.»

«Nor do you know me very well. You thought I would give up and beg for an annulment at the prospect of traveling alone to America.»

Wolfe grunted. That had been precisely his thought. But Jessica had surprised him. She had arranged for her own passage and that of her maid, hired two footmen with the small inheritance that had come at her marriage, and crossed the Atlantic alone.

«I doubt that you’ll find traveling with me as pleasant as you found being alone. Not that you were truly alone, my lady. Your entourage took care of your every need. Damn it, can’t you even keep your hair out of the way?» he asked roughly as a long, silken tendril of hair slid from her grasp and over his finger.

Jessica’s arms were weary from holding her hair on top of her head, but all she said as she gathered up the fugitive lock was, «A maid and two footmen aren’t an entourage.»

«In America they are. An American woman does for herself and for her man as well.»

«Betsy said she worked in a household that had twelve servants.»

«Betsy must have worked for a carpetbagger.»

Jessica blinked. «I don’t think so. The man sold stocks, not rugs.»

Wolfe tried not to let humor blunt his anger. He wasn’t completely successful. «A carpetbagger is a kind of thief,» he said carefully.

«So is a rug merchant.»

Wolfe made a muffled sound.

«You’re laughing, aren’t you?» Delight and relief were in Jessica’s voice and in her face when she looked over her shoulder at him. «You see? It won’t be so bad, being married to me.»

The line of Wolfe’s mouth flattened once more. All he could see from where he stood was a badly buttoned dress and the graceful curve of a woman’s neck. But Jessica wasn’t a woman. Not really. She was a cold, spoiled little English aristocrat, the precise kind of woman he had detested since he had been old enough to understand that the glittering ladies of privilege didn’t want him as a man; they wanted only to know what rutting with a savage was like.

«Wolfe?» Jessica whispered, searching the face that had once again become that of a stranger.

«Turn around. If I don’t get this bloody thing done up, we’ll miss the stage.»

«But I’m not dressed for the theater.»

«Theater?» Belatedly Wolfe understood. «Stagecoach.Notthat you’re dressed for that, either. Those crinolines will take up half the bench.»

«Stagecoach?»

«Yes, my lady,» Wolfe said mockingly. «A means of conveyance having four wheels, a driver, horses —»

«Oh, do hush up. I know what a stagecoach is,» Jessica interrupted. «I was just surprised. We went by horseback and carriage before.»

«You were a proper little aristocrat then. Now you’re a plain old American wife. When you get tired of it, you know the way out.»

Wolfe reached for another button. A gold chain gleamed just beneath his fingers. He remembered giving the chain and locket to her. It was a symbol of a time that would never come again, a time when he and his redheaded hoyden had been free simply to enjoy one another.

Except for an occasional low curse, Wolfe silently finished fastening the maddening jet buttons on Jessica’s day dress.

«There,» he said with relief as he stepped away. «Where are your trunks?»

«My trunks?» she asked absently, wanting to groan with the relief of no longer having to hold the heavy, slippery mass of her hair over her head.

«You must have packed your clothes in something. Where are your trunks?»

«Trunks.»

«Lady Jessica, if I had wanted a parrot I would have become a sea captain. Where are your damned trunks?»

«I don’t know,» she admitted. «The footmen attended to them after Betsy unpacked.»

Wolfe raked a big hand through his hair and tried not to notice the picture Jessica made with her ice-blue day dress peeking through the muted fire of her unbound hair.

«Bloody. Useless. Lady.»

«Swearing at me won’t help,» she said stiffly.

«Don’t bet on it.»

Wolfe stalked out of the hotel room and slammed the door behind himself.

Jessica barely had enough time to hide her unhappiness beneath a serene expression before Wolfe reappeared with a trunk balanced on each shoulder. Behind him were two rough-looking strangers who were little older than boys. Each carried two empty trunks. The young men dumped their cargo and stared with great interest at the fashionably dressed woman whose loose hair tumbled in shimmering waves to her hips.

«Thank you,» Wolfe said to the young men as they set down the trunks.

«My pleasure,» said the younger one. «We heard a real English lady was in town. Never thought we’d get a chance to see one.»

«Actually, I’m Scots.»

The youth smiled. «Either way, you’re pretty as a kitten in a velvet box. If you need any help getting the trunks to the stage, just holler. We’ll come running.»

Jessica flushed at the young man’s open admiration. «That’s very kind of you.»

Wolfe grunted and gave the youths a look that sent them out of the room in a hurry. The bold one turned back and tipped his hat to Jessica just before he shut the door.

«Bind up your hair,» Wolfe said coldly. «Even in America, a woman doesn’t let anyone but her family see her with her hair rumbling to her hips.»

Without a word, Jessica went to the small dressing table and picked up one of the brushes Betsy had set out before she left. Drawn despite himself to the implied intimacy of her unbound hair flowing around her hips, Wolfe watched from the corner of his eye as Jessica began brushing.

After a few minutes it became apparent that Jessica wasn’t happy with the brush. She kept shifting it in her grip, trying to figure out the best way to tame her seething, silky hair and make it behave as Betsy had. Twice, Jessica dropped the brush. The third time the brush fell, Wolfe picked it up, ran his fingertips over the ivory handle, and looked at Jessica curiously.

«It’s smooth, but not slippery,» he said, handing it to her.

«Thank you.» Jessica looked at the baffling tool that seemed to do nothing more than make her hair leap and crackle with electricity. «I don’t understand what’s wrong. It worked well enough for Betsy.»

«It worked well enough for…» Wolfe’s voice died.

«You’re right. There seems to be a parrot loose in this room,» she said blandly.

«My God! You don’t even know how to dress your own hair.»

«Of course not. That was Betsy’s job, and quite good at it she was.» Jessica looked at Wolfe cautiously. There was a stunned expression on his face. «I take it that American women complete their toilet unassisted?»

«My God.»

«Ah, then it’s a religious custom.» Jessica sighed. «Very well, if every Betsy and Abigail here can do it, so can I. Give me the brush, please.»

Wolfe was too staggered to resist. Numbly he watched as Jessica brought the brush down through her hair with great determination and no finesse. The too-rapid stroke caused another surge of static electricity. Her hair crackled and fanned out, tangling with buttons and clinging to whatever it touched.

One of the things her hair touched was Wolfe’s hand. Fine strands wrapped around his skin and clung like a lover. The sensation was indescribably silky. His heartbeat doubled. With a curse he snatched his hand back, accidentally yanking her hair in the process.

Jessica’s breath came in with a startled sound as her eyes watered. «That wasn’t necessary.»

«I didn’t do it on purpose. Your hair attacked me.»

«Attacked you?»

«You have a point. We must do something about that blasted parrot.»

She turned and saw her hair wrapped around his wrist and tangled in the button on his cuff. «Are the teeth very sharp?»

«What?»

«Betsy warned me about my hair’s unruly appetite for buttons,» Jessica said gravely, «but she said nothing about flesh. I hope your wound isn’t serious.»

Wolfe’s shoulders moved as he tried to stifle laughter at Jessica’s solemn teasing. He snickered as he picked individual strands of hair from the button.

«Perhaps I’d better do that,» she offered. «If you startle the red ones, they bite quite savagely.»

Wolfe gave up and laughed aloud, knowing as he did so that he was a fool but unable to do anything about it at the moment. Of all the people he had ever known, only Jessica was able to make him laugh so easily.

«Damn it, elf…»

Jessica smiled and touched Wolfe’s hand. The light caress made his hand jerk, but he said nothing. When the last silky strand of hair was freed from his clothing, he went to the table and poured clean water over his hands from the ewer. Shaking off loose drops, he went back to Jessica.

«Stand still.»

Slowly, he smoothed his damp hands over her hair from her crown to her hips. Soon her hair was lying in obedient waves.

«Give me the brush,» Wolfe said.

His voice was low, almost hoarse, and his eyes were nearly black. He dampened the brush slightly, then returned to work on Jessica’s hair. Unlike her maid, he stood in front of her rather than in back as he brushed her hair.

«Wolfe?»

«Hmm?»

«My maids stand behind me.»

«Too many buttons. Don’t want to tempt the beastly appetites.»

Jessica looked up at Wolfe, curious about the velvety roughness of his voice. Her breath caught as she realized she was standing closer to Wolfe than she had when they waltzed on the night of her twentieth birthday. With other men, she hadn’t liked being close, but with Wolfe she had resented the decorum of the waltz that had prevented her from burrowing closer to Wolfe’s strength.

The pulse in his neck beat strongly, intriguing her. If she stood on tiptoe and leaned forward just a bit, or if she lifted her hand, she would be able to feel his heartbeat.

«Did that hurt?» he asked.

«Hurt?»

«Little redheaded parrot,» he murmured. He gathered a handful of hair, lifted it well away from Jessica’s breasts, and brushed slowly all the way to the ends as he talked. «When you made that odd little sound, I thought I had hurt you again.»

She shook her head slowly, sending the cool silk of her loose hair over Wolfe’s hands. «No. I was just thinking.»

«What were you thinking?»

«I’ve never noticed the pulse beating in your neck before. Once I noticed it, I thought of touching it, of feeling the very movement of your life beneath my fingertips…»

Wolfe’s hand jerked at the sudden surge of his heart. The motion brought him very close to touching her breasts. He stopped brushing her hair.

«Dangerous thoughts, Jessi.»

«Why?»

«Because it makes a man want to let you touch the life in him.»

«Why is that dangerous?»

Wolfe looked down into Jessica’s clear eyes and knew that she hadn’t the faintest idea how much her words might arouse a man.

Teach the stubborn little nun not to fear a man’s touch. Then you’ll both be free.

Wolfe wondered if Jessica was teasing him solemnly once more, as she had about the ferocity of her silky, unbound hair. Slowly, he decided that she wasn’t teasing him. She truly didn’t know what he was talking about. The extent of her innocence astonished him. The aristocratic ladies he had known in England acquired new lovers the way a gambler acquired new cards — frequently and unemotionally.

«Have you ever touched a man like that, feeling his very life?» Wolfe asked, lifting the brush once more.

«No.»

«Why not, if it intrigues you so?»

«I never noticed it before now. And if I had, I would have done nothing.»

«Why?»

«I would have to stand quite close to a man to touch him like that,» Jessica said. «The thought appalls.»

«You’re standing quite close to me. I’m a man.»

«Ah, but you’re my very own Lord Wolfe. When the storm had me in its teeth, you snatched me close and held the thunder at bay. When other children teased me savagely about my common blood, you came and put an end to it. You taught me to shoot and to ride and to fish. And no matter how I teased you, you were never cruel to your elf.»

«Very few men are cruel to elves.»

A delicate shiver of pleasure moved over Jessica’s skin as Wolfe resumed brushing her hair.

«You’re shivering. Would you like a wrap?»

«It was pleasure, not a cold draft that made me shiver.»

Again, Wolfe’s hand hesitated as the meaning underlying Jessica’s words sent a shaft of desire through him.

«Did Lady Victoria teach you to flirt like this?» he asked curiously.

«Flirting consists of feints and sighs and lies. I am merely telling the truth. It never felt this good when Betsy brushed my hair.»

There was a time of silence broken only by the whisper of soft bristles through Jessica’s hair. Finally, Wolfe put the brush aside, turned her until her back was to him, and divided the dark red mass of her hair into three equal lots. The touch of his hands on her nape made her shiver again.

«It’s a pity we’re all wrong for each other as man and wife,» Wolfe said quietly as he wove her hair into a single thick braid. «There is passion in you, Jessi.»

Abruptly, Jessica’s body became rigid. «I think not,» she said distinctly. «The thought of lying with a man makes my stomach twist.»

«Why?»

The quiet question startled Jessica. «Would you like a man doing that to you?» she demanded.

«A man?» Wolfe laughed. «No, not a man. But a woman…ah, that’s a different thing entirely.»

«Only for a man,» she retorted. «He is strong enough to say yes or no as it pleases him. When it’s finally finished, he doesn’t lie weeping on the bed. Nor does he scream in agony months later, as what he put in the woman’s body tears her apart trying to get out!»

«Someone has filled your head with nonsense. It’s not like that.»

«Not for a man, certainly.»

«Nor for a woman.»

«From what great font of wisdom do you draw this conclusion?» Jessica asked sardonically. «Have you attended a woman in childbed?»

«Of course not. Neither have you. Hand me the light blue ribbon.»

«Ah, but I have,» she retorted, grabbing the ribbon and holding it over her shoulder.

«What? I can’t imagine Victoria permitting that.»

«It was before I went to live with her.»

Wolfe’s hands paused. He took the ribbon and began wrapping it around the tail of the single braid he had woven.

«You were only nine when Lady Victoria became your guardian. What was a girl so young doing at a birthing?»

Jessica shrugged. «I was the first born. My mother had many pregnancies before cholera took her.»

«You never told me you had brothers and sisters.»

«I don’t.» An involuntary shudder moved over Jessica as memories tried to surface, memories she had banished to her nightmares years ago.

«Jessi,» Wolfe said. He touched the curve of her neck with a gentle fingertip. «A young girl doesn’t always understand what she’s seeing, especially when it comes to the mystery of sex or birth. But if it was all so terrible, no woman would bear more than one babe.»

«Not willingly, no. Have you noticed, my Lord Wolfe, that men are considerably stronger than women, and considerably more interested in rutting?» Abruptly Jessica’s hands swept up and down her own arms, rubbing warmth into skin that was cold. «You’re right. It’s cool in here. I wonder where Betsy put my Chinese shawl. Do you see it, Wolfe?»

For the space of a breath there was no answer. Then Wolfe sighed and accepted the change of subject. «I’ll get it for you as soon as I finish braiding your hair.»

Jessica turned and looked over her shoulder at Wolfe. She smiled at him with lips that were too pale. «Thank you, my lord.»

«I’m not your lord.» The protest was automatic, but not angry. He had seen the gratitude in her eyes, and the fear that lay beneath it.

«Then thank you, my husband.»

«I’m not that, either. A wife lies with her husband. Or are you planning to pursue the vows of the Scottish marriage ceremony we took?»

«What?»

«’With my body I thee worship,» Wolfe quoted softly. «Are you planning to worship me, wife?»

Jessica turned away quickly, but not so quickly that Wolfe missed the horror in her eyes. Knowing that he repelled her as a man made anger twist as deeply in Wolfe as desire. The knowledge that he now had a weapon with which to force Jessica into an annulment should have pleased him, but it did not.

«What if I demanded my husbandly rights?»

She flinched, but said instantly, «You would not.»

«You sound very certain.»

«You didn’t want our marriage. If you rut on me, you can’t cry annulment.»

Wolfe’s mouth turned down in a bitter curl. «You’re right, Lady Jessica. I willneverrut on you. I don’t want to be saddled for life with a creature so spoiled and useless she can’t even comb her own hair.»

He tied off the ribbon with a few abrupt motions.

«Wolfe, I —»

«Start packing your clothes,» he interrupted curtly. With grim pleasure, he saw Jessica’s look of surprise and uncertainty. «Don’t know how to pack? What a surprise. You had better learn quickly, Lady Jessica. The stage leaves in an hour. You will be on it, with or without your six trunks.»

She looked at the armoires and wardrobes that had been brought into the suite of rooms in order to hold all her clothes. Then she looked at the locked trunks. It seemed impossible that so much clothing had come from so little packing space.

«It took Betsy the better part of a week to pack when we left,» Jessica said faintly.

Wolfe ran a measuring eye over the armoires and wardrobes. «That’s because you brought too much. Sort out what you’ll need for a month. Leave the rest here.»

«Are we planning to come back here so quickly?»

«Not we. You. You’ll be back as soon as you get it through your stubborn Scots skull that you don’t want to be an American wife married to ahalfbreed commoner.»

Jessica’s head came up. «I remember other vows, WolfeLonetree. Whither thougoest, I will go. Whither thoulodgest, I will lodge. Thy people will be my people, and thy God, my God.»

«My shaman grandfather will be pleased to have such an obedient granddaughter.» Wolfe’s lips curved in his dark face. «I wonder how you’ll look in buckskin, beads, and shells. How will you like chewing my meat before it comes to my mouth so that my food will be tender for me, and chewing my buckskins so they will be soft and supple against my body?»

«You’re joking.»

«Am I?» Wolfe smiled, showing all his white teeth and not one bit of comfort. «I’m going to walk to the stage office and buy two tickets. When I come back, I expect to see the trunks lined up and waiting to go, and you with them.»

The door closed behind Wolfe’s broad shoulders. Jessica looked at the ill-made wood frame and the tarnished brass hinges. As she turned away, she caught a glance of herself in the dressing glass. The odd, simple hairstyle made her look like a child playing in her mother’s clothes. Each time she moved, the braid caught on the many buttons on the back of her dress. With an impatient sound, she brought the heavy braid over her shoulder and down between her breasts, where it would be less trouble.

Setting her mouth in a determined line, Jessica pulled a key ring from the pocket of her skirt, opened the padlocks on all of the trunks, and tossed the jangling ring onto the bedside table. Then she went among the wardrobes and armoires and began assessing their contents.

The first wardrobe contained shoes, boots, hatboxes, purses, jackets, and coats. Jessica shut the doors and went on to an armoire. It contained corsets, crinolines of varying fullness, gloves, and lingerie. The third contained day dresses. The fourth held riding dresses. The fifth held the ball gown from her twentieth birthday. And so it went, until she had looked in everything.

Jessica heaved up the lid of the nearest trunk, which happened to be one that Wolfe had brought in. A sound of surprise came from her lips when she realized the trunk was already full. She had assumed both trunks were empty by the ease with which Wolfe had handled them, but this one contained her fishing and hunting gear, her favorite books, and a small sidesaddle that looked elegant despite its off-center horn.

On the top of trunk, protected by a beautifully worked leather case, lay a wedding present from Lord Robert — a matched Winchester rifle and carbine, saddle scabbards, and enough cartridges to start a war. The weapons were inlaid with intricate patterns of gold and silver. The carbine magazine held thirteen shells and the rifle held fifteen. The loading port was cleverly placed so that shells could be loaded nearly as fast as they could be shot. Wolfe had taken one look at the gift, lifted out the repeating rifle, and run his hands over it like a man touching a lover.

It’s almost worth getting married to a useless aristocrat to own such a fine rifle.

Almost, but not quite.

The memory of Wolfe’s sardonic words made Jessica sigh as she set aside the case and turned to an empty trunk. The top tray came free after a struggle, leaving the rest of the trunk empty. At first she tried to work as Betsy had, putting in each piece as though it were a bit of a very fragile puzzle.

Quickly, Jessica realized that she would still be packing come sundown if she continued working with one item at a time. Besides, none of the items fit together anyway.

She began dumping armload after armload of things into the trunks. By the time she cleaned the wardrobe of shoes and purses and coats, she had filled three trunks with heaps of leather and boxes and cloth. Frowning, she tried to remember if there had been that many trunks full of accessories when Betsy had unpacked.

«I’m sure I had no more than a single trunk, and perhaps part of another that was filled with such things.»

With a sound of exasperation, Jessica heaped more things into two of the already full trunks. When she went to shut them, she found that the trunk lids were stubborn and ill-fitting. The contents were stiff and oddly shaped. No matter how she pushed with her hands, the lids wouldn’t close enough to fasten the hasp.

Finally, she crawled up on each lid in turn and bounced up and down to settle the contents. Only then could she force the top of the trunk to meet the bottom. The instant she climbed down to fasten the hasp, the lid popped up once more. In the end, she had to stay on the lid and struggle upside-down to close the hasps and fit the padlocks. Twice she almost locked the end of her hip-length braid in with the other contents.

«The trunks never behaved this badly for Betsy,» Jessica muttered.

After packing two more trunks, she opened the gold watch that was pinned to her dress, read the time, and frowned. Wolfe would be back at any moment. She wanted to prove she wasn’tauselessaristocrat by being packed and ready to go.

«Soonest begun, soonest ended,» Jessica told herself bracingly, and blew stray wisps of hair away from her flushed face.

She piled the rest of the day dresses on top of the others and began shoving cloth down into the trunk, leaning hard on the resilient material, trying to crush everything down to the size of the trunk. Just before she jumped onto the lid in order to force it shut, she remembered theballgown and the riding clothes. She looked at the trunk she had been jamming clothes into, then at the single remaining trunk she hadn’t yet opened. The trunk beneath her hands was definitely larger.

«Oh, blazes,» Jessica muttered. «The gown will have to go in this trunk.»

Theballgown felt as smooth and weightless as moonlight, but it had yard after yard of material. No matter how she rolled, stuffed, bunched, and punched the dress, she couldn’t get it to stay within the confines of the trunk.

Wearily, Jessica straightened. The sound of a rag picker crying his wares on the street lured her to the window. When she looked out, she saw a tall, familiar shape striding down the street toward the hotel.

Jessica rushed to the trunk, frantically smashed theballgown down, slammed the lid and leaned her weight on it. At first the lid hung up, but it finally managed to swallow all that it had been fed. She fumbled hasp and lock into position, and slammed the padlock shut.

«One left.»

As Jessica straightened and turned toward the remaining trunk, she was hauled up short by a yank on her braid. She glanced over her shoulder. The last third of her hair vanished into the locked trunk. She wrapped her hands around the braid and pulled. Nothing happened. She pulled harder. The hair remained firmly caught. She yanked and then yanked again, but stayed tethered to the trunk.

«Blast and blazes! I’ll have to unlock the confounded thing and do it all over again.»

Then Jessica discovered she couldn’t reach the key ring she had left on the bedside table. Nor could she drag the trunk closer. Pushing seemed to have a better effect. Shoving, panting, Jessica alternated between shoulder and hands as she inched the stubborn trunk closer to the bedside table. One of the trunk’s brassbound corners caught on an irregularity in the wood floor. No matter how she pushed, the trunk didn’t move.

The thought of Wolfe coming in the room and finding her prisoner to one of her own surly trunks gave Jessica a desperate surge of strength. She shoved repeatedly against the top edge of the trunk, trying to jostle it free.

Without warning, the heavy trunk tipped up and rolled over, taking Jessica with it, yanking her off her feet. She gave a startled shriek as she went head over heels and landed on the floor in a tangle of soft blue cloth.

An instant later the door to the suite banged open. Wolfe stood in the doorway looking as dangerous as the long knife in his hand. The steel blade was a stark contrast to his well-cut, dark wool suit and white linen shirt.

«Jessi? Where are you?»

She grimaced but knew there was no escape. «Over here.»

Wolfe stepped into the suite. He glanced in the direction of her voice, saw an upside-down trunk and a tangle of blue cloth, creamy lingerie, and dainty blue shoes. In three long strides he was next to her.

«Are you all right?»

«Just ducky,» she said through her teeth.

«What are you doing on the floor?»

«Packing.»

Wolfe raised black eyebrows. «It’s easier if the trunk is right side up.»

«Bloody hell.»

Wolfe’s eyes followed Jessica’s long red braid to the point where it disappeared into the trunk. He started to say something, but was laughing too hard to speak.

Normally, the sound of his laughter made Jessica smile, but not this time. This time flags of anger and humiliation burned on her cheeks.

«Lord, if you could only see yourself, like a turtle in a net…» Laughter took Wolfe’s voice again.

Jessica lay on the floor and thought longingly of the case and the weapons inside. Unfortunately, they were as out of reach as the key to the padlock.

Snickering, Wolfe sheathed his knife before he reached for Jessica. He took her braid and pulled gently, then with more force. It made no difference. She was well and truly caught.

«The key,» she said distinctly, «is on the bedside table.»

«Don’t go away, elf. I’ll be right back.»

The thought of Jessica going anywhere on her short tether set off another spate of laughter in Wolfe. It seemed like a long time until he sat on his heels next to her and started fitting keys in the lock to find the right one. The fact that he kept laughing at unexpected intervals slowed down the process of freeing her quite a bit.

The third time Wolfe leaned against the trunk, all but helpless with laughter, Jessica snatched the keys from his fingers and opened the padlock herself. She still wasn’t free. She couldn’t open the trunk while it was upside-down. Nor could she right it. She could, however, push her laughing husband over.

And she did.

Still laughing, Wolfe caught himself with feline ease and came to his feet by the trunk. He righted the trunk, pried open the lid, and pulled out the length of red hair.

«Yours, I believe,» he murmured, handing Jessica the braid.

She grabbed it with fingers that shook, wishing the braid was Wolfe’s throat. The look in his eyes told her that he knew just what she was thinking.

«You’re welcome,» he said gravely.

Not trusting herself, Jessica turned and slammed the trunk lid down, locked it once more, and went to the sixth trunk. When she opened it, she saw that it was packed right to the top with curling irons, clothes brushes, flatirons, tissue paper, linens, toiletries…

«Oh, no,» Jessica breathed.

Wolfe took a breath that kept dissolving into laughter. «Problems?»

«I’m missing a trunk.»

He counted the trunks with a lazy, raking glance. Six. «They’re all here.»

«They can’t be.»

«Why?»

«I haven’t packed my riding clothes and all the trunks are full.»

Wolfe shook his head. «Somehow I’m not surprised. Hand me some of that tissue paper.»

«Why?»

«I’ll help you pack.»

«What does tissue paper have to do with packing?» she asked.

Wolfe shot a sideways glance at Jessica. «Tissue paper keeps out the wrinkles.»

«Wrinkles?»

«The things you take out of clothes with a flatiron.»

She blinked. «You do?»

«No.Youdo. Ironing is a wife’s duty. So is washing, drying, and folding the clothes.»

«What is the husband doing all the while the wife is at work?»

«Getting things dirty again.»

«A truly taxing duty,» she said sardonically.

Wolfe’s smile faded. «Any time you want to go back to being Lady JessicaCharteris, complete with maids and footmen to do your bidding, let me know.»

«Do hold your breath waiting, my lord. It will make the time so much more pleasant — for both of us!»