Christmas in Crimson (Colors of

Scandal Book 18) Sandra Sookoo

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 Christmas in Crimson
Colors of Scandal
Book Eighteen
Sandra Sookoo

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,
including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the author. Likenesses of
characters to anyone living or dead is strictly a coincidence.

CHRISTMAS IN CRIMSON © 2022 by Sandra Sookoo

Published by New Independence Books

ISBN- 9798201664848

Contact Information:
sandrasookoo@yahoo.com
newindependencebooks@gmail.com
Visit me at www.sandrasookoo.com

Book Cover Design by The Midnight Muse

https://midnightmusedesigns.com/site2/

Font placement and back cover by: David Sookoo

Publishing History:
First Digital Edition, 2022
 Contents
Dear Readers,
Dedication
Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Regency-era romances by Sandra Sookoo
Author Bio
Stay in Touch

Dear Readers,
Well, we’ve arrived at the final book in this Color of Scandal series. Writing these books has brought
me so much joy, so many other emotions that it’s a bit sad to leave them all behind. I hope you’ve
enjoyed all the characters and things we’ve explored in these books, and I hope the have brought you
hours of joy and have given you an escape when you needed it the most.
You’ll see some novellas attached to this series in the next couple of years within some boxed sets
and collections, but I hope you’ll come along with me on new adventures through the new series I’m
releasing over the next few years.
Until then, enjoy and may your holidays this year be merry and bright.

Sandra
 Dedication

Jessica A. Clements. Thank you so much for your friendship, for

letting me into your circle, for the support. That means so much to
me and provides bright spots in my days.
 Blurb
Nothing says Christmastide like a bit of intrigue, a lost treasure, and an unlikely romance.

When widowed Amelia (Belle) Stanton—Lady Ravenscroft—finds a raggedy military man using her barn as refuge from December
rains, she’s not immediately concerned. Returning soldiers often crossed the countryside enroute to other destinations. However, there’s
something about the way the handsome man speaks and holds himself that makes her doubt his story, to say nothing about the immediate
heat between them.

The Honorable Montague Gabriel Hawkins is not on the attractive widow’s land in the Wiltshire countryside by accident. Sent by the
Home Office, he is to reconnoiter and retrieve a valuable painting and other treasures stolen by Napoleon but hidden when it became
evident France would lose the war. Once belonging to French royalty, the return of said items would bring a hearty fortune and
accolades, but instant desire for the widow might distract him.
When the attempt to keep his mission a secret fails, Hawk is caught up in Christmastide activities. Belle is entirely too intelligent and soon
she joins him on the quest. As they uncover clues and are waylaid by a torrid affair that ignites between them, danger follows closely in
their footsteps. It’ll take some clever planning and holiday play acting to keep not only the priceless heirlooms safe but also themselves
alive. By Christmas night, love might be theirs if luck is on their side.
.
 Chapter One

December 15, 1819

Ravenscroft House
Near Sherston
Wiltshire County
England
Ah, Laurence, you would have adored the twilight tonight. At least before the fat, gray
clouds, swollen with rain, scudded across the purple, pink and golden shades of the setting sun.
Amelia Stanton—Belle to her close friends—or Lady Ravenscroft to the rest of polite society,
walked the grounds around Ravenscroft House as a chilly breeze ruffled her navy wool skirts, and
with every step, memories beset her mind. One of her husband’s favorite times of the day was the
twilight, especially if it was brilliantly colored. They might not have shared many things, but the love
of twilight was one of them. Another was carnal pursuits but pondering the loss of that at this time felt
entirely too odd. A shiver coursed down her spine when the wind skated beneath her skirting,
recalling her attention to the fact that winter was oncoming. Perhaps it would snow soon if the
temperatures dropped a bit further. That would help put her more in the holiday frame of mind.
And put grief for a life half-lived back into the boxes she kept in her mind. Being five years
removed from losing her husband she’d learned how to handle the emotion better than when it had
been fresh, and most times it left her alone. Yet it was those unexpected little moments—seeing a
colorful twilight, hearing a piece of music, meeting with a mutual friend—that dredged up those
memories and sent her down the rabbit hole once more.
Despite the direction of her thoughts, there was much to look forward to, for the Christmastide
season was almost here, and it was one of her favorite times of the year. Decorating the manor house
amidst the festive attitude of the servants helped buoy her spirits. To say nothing of the Christmas Eve
ball she hosted every year. It was one event she was adamant about throwing, and if truth be told, it
was because she bought a new gown for it. Now that she had no need to make appearances in London,
she rarely bought clothing. It seemed wasteful, somehow, so she spent that coin on her maid, sneaking
her dainty handkerchiefs or different baubles the girl wouldn’t ordinarily have.
It made them both happy, so where was the harm? To add to the festivities, her close friend
Helen was due for a visit on the morrow, which was exciting, for Belle had been alone for a long
time. Where she used to entertain frequently in London—for it was expected for a lady—once she’d
relocated to the country, none of that seemed important.
Especially since Laurence preferred hunting to dancing most times… except during her
Christmas Eve ball.
Then her husband had unexpectedly died, and she buried herself in the country, unable to
acclimate to being alone. But what really irritated her was the idea that perhaps it was her own self
preventing the solving of the problem. If she truly wished to reenter society—either here or in London
—she could have at any time, yet in the country she remained.
Out of fear or something else? She couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say.
 You will forever remain a coward, Amelia, because you are too afraid to admit you want or
even need a man.
Shut up, she told the annoying voice inside.
There is no shame in it, though, that voice insisted. Men do have their uses.
Therein lay the crux of the matter.
As a few raindrops hit her cheeks, she put up the hood of her cloak. Was there anything more
annoying than cold rain? Despite the precipitation, Belle strolled a bit more slowly. Laurence had
loved the rolling lawns and verdant vistas that Ravenscroft land afforded. He’d hunted the acreage,
rode every chance he had, enjoyed the occasional fox hunt, and spent every second he could in the out
of doors. Her husband had truly been a proper gentleman of leisure when he wasn’t laboring beneath
the duties to his viscounty. Which was why it had come as a shock that a simple infection had
ultimately felled him.
A sigh escaped her. One would have assumed the man to have met death being thrown from a
horse or in another hunting-related accident, but fate was nothing if not ironic. Laurence had obtained
a deep scratch while out riding. It hadn’t seemed that much of a concern at the time. He’d gone about
his regular routines without thought. Except three days later, he developed a fever then an infection
that grew continually worse. Two weeks later, he was gone, leaving her a widow and alone.
Well, that wasn’t essentially true. He’d left her two hunting dogs, but they’d both expired two
years after he had.
No matter. Laurence’s death had been five years ago, and since she’d never cared for the
hustle and bustle of London, Belle had remained at his country estate. For being a viscountess, she’d
stayed in Town when he was there for Parliament, but as soon as those responsibilities were over,
they had both left immediately for the fresh air and peace of the country. Another irony, that. The very
peace and solitude she’d craved while in London was the very thing that might drive her into insanity
now. And through it all, she waited for her husband’s younger brother to come and claim the holdings
and viscounty. He always wrote each year that he would arrive for Christmastide, but those plans
never materialized. In fact, rarely had she seen the man while in London. He was a bit of a rogue and
spent copious amounts of time skirting the bounds of propriety.
Laurence had tried many times to curb his ways, but to no avail. Her husband had lectured his
sibling, had lauded the virtues of being someone in society people wished to know, advised him to
align himself with a suitable match, but for whatever reason, his brother had ignored all of such talk.
He’d taken himself off to his own devices.
Life remained much the same for her as it had been since Laurence departed this world for the
next. She oversaw the running of the estate in lieu of a steward—for that man had left upon her
husband’s death without notice—and because of the solitary existence she kept, she rather thought she
might go mad at times, for the silence was often deafening, and there was no one of consequence to
talk with.
God help her maid, for she was the closest thing to a best friend she had these days. Everyone
else she’d ever known resided in London, and none of them were inclined to travel out her
Ravenscroft House for an extended stay.
So she was largely left with ghosts and memories. And her sleek, blue-gray cat named
Mathieu. The breed originated from Persia and came to England through France, so she’d given the
animal a French name. He’d been with her for two years and was considered her personal guard and
protector. For this service, she treated him to succulent bits of her breakfasts and dinners. Sometimes,
to solidify his presence in her life, the cat brought her mice, rats, snakes, bird, chipmunks, and all
manner of other small nuisances.
Thankfully, most of them were dead, for if the rodents were alive, she would faint dead away
at the sight of them.
But then, that was why she’d acquired Mathieu. Besides being a good companion, he adored
hunting, and in that, he reminded her of Laurence. Which brought her thoughts around full circle.
Why did you leave me so soon?
Of course, she’d loved her husband, but he had considered her as an afterthought most of the
time. He’d been a lean and rugged man, and when it became evident they were not destined to be
blessed with children, he would increasingly spend more and more time away from home. There was
no evidence he kept a mistress, and when she’d asked him about it, he had looked her in the eyes and
denied it. She’d believed it, as, each time he was in her company, he attended to her adequately,
which led her to surmise there was not, in fact, a mistress.
Perhaps.
That attention had been enough… until it wasn’t, and after a while, she’d begun resenting his
love of hunting and outdoor sport, for her fondness lay in curling up on a comfortable piece of
furniture with a book—and the aforesaid cat—or spending an evening playing whist or chess. At
least, that was what she’d spent her time doing ever since she left London in her past.
Oddly enough, the silence was more comfortable for her than standing about ballrooms
wondering if she was still attractive at one and thirty with random cat hairs stuck to her gowns or
whether she should marry again merely for companionship, over and above said cat. For that matter,
if she did, what sort of gentleman would a widow of five years attract? And any sort of man would
need to befriend Mathieu. That would be an interesting endeavor, for the cat was quite protective.
Belle snickered. Though she would enjoy watching a gentleman try and come up to that mark,
but then that assumed she’d have to offer her heart again, and it was barely healed from when it broke
at Laurence’s passing.
“Enough.” The wind snatched at the whisper. With another sigh, she shoved all of those
maudlin thoughts aside. It was time to return to the house, merely to sit down to dinner alone, and then
retire alone, and no amount of thinking about the past would help in that endeavor. Perhaps she should
move into the next phase of her life by having the butler set a place at the table for the cat and then
letting the feline sit next to his plate and eat with her.
Oh, dear. Perhaps I have already gone ‘round the bend.
As if knowing she was thinking of him, a soft meow sounded behind her. Smiling, Belle turned
about. Trotting lightly toward her was Mathieu with his fur slightly mottled by the raindrops. “You
poor little thing. What are you doing out here?” She crouched and took the cat into an embrace.
Already, his purring reverberated in her chest, and he bumped his head beneath her chin. She giggled.
“Come on, then. I suspect you want your dinner, same as me.”
The sleek cat meowed again. He jumped out of her arms and walked with dainty steps toward
the direction of the manor house. As he turned his head to look back at her, she laughed.
“Clearly, you expect me to do your bidding, don’t you?” There were times when she thought
she wasn’t the cat’s mistress but instead she was a handmaiden for the feline.
As the rain came down with a bit more gusto, the cat’s trot became a full-out run. By the time
the manor house came into view, he’d scampered so far ahead of her that he’d no doubt gain entrance
through the kitchens and be curled up in front of a fire long before she gained the entry hall.
“Of course you would leave me to the rain by myself,” she called after the feline, but he didn’t
stick around to hear her complaint. “Just like a male. Snuggling up and putting me in a good mood,
then running away to chase after his own desires regardless of what I want.” Good heavens, now I’m
talking to myself.
Which was worse than merely talking to a cat.
As she rounded a curve in the path, a light glimmering within the winter-bare trees on the back
lawn gave her pause. What was anyone doing out in the rain? She snorted. I am, aren’t I? The hood of
the cloak kept the worse of the precipitation off her head and face. When another gust of wind blew
against her skirting, another shiver went down her spine. Perhaps a little investigation wouldn’t hurt
before she shut herself into the warm house for the night.
Thankful for the rain that muffled her footsteps, Belle picked her way closer to the stand of
trees. The lantern light bobbed along, winking in and out of the trees in a direction toward the barn
where the horses used to be housed. In the days when Laurence had been alive, they owned at least
six horses of various kinds. Now, there were only two, merely for the times when she wished to take
out a buggy or carriage. Truth be told, she didn’t really care for the large beasts; they frightened her
with their massive size and big hooves. Her husband had always laughed off her fear, telling her they
were just horses, but she’d never moved past that unease. It stemmed from falling off a pony in her
childhood and nearly being trampled. She hadn’t approached an equine ever since.
Yet that dratted light bobbed through the rain until it ducked into the darkened barn. Belle held
her bottom lip between her teeth for the space of a few heartbeats while she considered what to do
next. It was the height of folly to plunge after this stranger, who could very well be of a criminal
mind, and she had no weapon to speak of. Yet if she hesitated or took the time to return to the house
and summon a footman, the intruder could escape. If he planned to rob them later, it was best to quell
the threat now.
But…
Find your courage, Amelia. You have been without a man to protect you for five years. This
is your estate just as much as it was your husband’s. Defend it if necessary.
Right. She had hidden herself away from everything in life since Laurence died because it had
been easier than sorting through the mess and mire of emotions or even facing fears. No one bothered
her at Ravenscroft, no one made demands of her time, but conversely, no one challenged her or
stimulated her mind.
It was almost as if she’d given up living when Laurence left, and that wasn’t like her at all, but
she’d been weary of losing people over the years, and in this way, if she kept herself aloof and
hidden, perhaps she wouldn’t need to grieve again.
Such startling insights had never come to her before, so why now?
There were no answers.
Shaking her head as the rain continued to come down, Belle focused on the task at hand. The
intruder needed to be dealt with. If it was merely a vagrant wishing for a warm, dry place to stay, of
course she would offer the barn on the premise that they would move on in the morning, but if the
owner of that lantern was more threatening then she would head off disaster the best she could. As she
prowled closer to the barn, a series of shivers coursed down her spine.
Oh, why couldn’t he have chosen the carriage house or even one of the other outbuildings?
Even through the rain, the pungent aromas of excrement, straw, and animals reached her nose. When
she reached the doors, one of them had been cracked open—a sure indication that someone had
indeed gone inside.
Drat, drat, drat!
Then she got hold of herself. Belle straightened her spine. She slipped inside the building, and
immediately breathed a quick sigh of relief, for the temporary cessation from the rain was most
welcome. Putting down her hood, she let her eyes adjust to the darkness. If the person who’d carried
the lantern had come this way, they must have extinguished the light, for there was no illumination in
the darkened building.
Soft wuffles from the horses as they settled into sleep met her ears. With every step forward
she took, Belle scanned the rafters as well as the hayloft. Nothing seemed out of place, but then how
often did she frequent the barn? Would she even notice if something odd were housed here? Another
shiver wracked her shoulders. The two horses occupied stalls on the right-hand side. Was someone
lurking in the empty stalls on the left? Slowly, she approached them.
Her heartbeat pounded through her veins. Fear twisted down her spine as her breathing
became shallow. What to do now? A crash at the far end of the barn behind her provoked a gasp. She
turned quickly about and trained her gaze to where she thought she’d heard the noise. Was it the
intruder attempting to hide or was it a natural occurrence of tools settling?
No sooner had she taken a few steps toward the site of the crash than an arm snaked about her
waist. A gloved hand clamped over her mouth, and as shock held her captive, the owner of the hands
pulled her backward into the shadows toward one of the far stalls on the left side of the barn.
“Who the hell are you?” The raspy, whispered inquiry gave away the fact her attacker was a
man.
Oh no!
No amount of struggling could dislodge that hand from her mouth. Neither could she free
herself from the man’s grasp. And she certainly ignored the fact his voice had been this side of
thrilling. She was in real danger here!
One of her worst fears was being realized on her own property. What should she do? Frantic,
and with the hand over her mouth making it difficult to breath, Belle searched through her mind for
what her husband used to tell her to do in the case of this event.
Jab an attacker hard in the ribs with your elbow. If you are fortunate, you’ll upset his
breadbasket and he’ll relax his hold.
As fear iced over her veins, she stood as still as she could in the hopes the man would let his
vigilance slack, but with every beat of her heart, she readied for defense.
 Chapter Two

The Honorable Montague Gabriel Hawkins—Captain Hawkins to the men he’d left behind
when he got out of infantry—merely Gabriel to his contemporaries, and Hawk as he’d rather be
called, couldn’t risk the chance he’d been followed to the Ravenscroft estate, but even a blind man
could see that the cloaked person in his hold was not a rival or an enemy combatant.
It was, in fact, a woman, and the warmth of her seeped into his form. Additionally, she
possessed enough curves to tempt a saint, and as the hood of her cloak slipped further down, her
wheat blonde hair was visible in the shadows.
Well, damn. Lady Ravenscroft. He’d studied her dossier before ever arriving on this property,
knew all about her life and why she resided here, even had committed her appearance to memory
along with the rest. Yet at the forefront of his mind was the threat that other men searched for the same
thing in this locale he did. Not exactly agents but private investors perhaps or desperate men in search
of quick fortunes.
And that had made his current mission for the Home Office all the more difficult.
Then, the deuced woman bit the meaty part on the heel of his hand. Pain streaked up his arm to
his elbow.
“Bloody hell.” Though that took him by surprise, as did her elbow to his stomach, which led
to him gasping for air, he had the wherewithal to keep hold of her. He did not need her to sneak about
asking questions. And from all accounts, she was timid and fearful enough to stay inside the manor,
with the exception of her morning walk. That was the way he wished to keep it. However, he hadn’t
been a celebrated spy for nothing. Right now, he wanted answers. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
he hissed out in an annoyed whisper.
“Me?” So much irritation roiled in that one-word answer it almost made him grin. She
squeaked when he roughly turned her about so she faced him in the empty stall but didn’t release his
grip on her person. “What sort of man goes around trespassing on property that is not his, and then
proceeds to take the owner hostage?” Outrage only someone of the Quality could produce rose in her
tone.
Damn but he wished there was stronger illumination in the barn to see the color of her eyes.
Though he knew from that dossier they were lake blue, he would have liked to spy them for himself.
“I would think only the best sort—or the worst, depending on your perspective. Besides, I
have my reasons.” Outside of what the Home Office knew about her, she was much a stranger, and he
wasn’t one to trust easily. The nature of his mission was too important to have it compromised due to
her curiosity or interference. “None of which you need to know.” Because she felt so good against
him, and it was raining outside, and in the very dim light coming in from the high window to the rear
her dark rose lips had parted as if in anticipation, Hawk did the next logical thing that came to mind.
He kissed her. For the space of a few heartbeats, he pressed his lips to hers. A few drops of
rain clung to those two warm, soft pieces of flesh, and suddenly he wanted to taste her more fully, for
it had been all too long since he’d last indulged. As he slipped his free hand beneath the cloak to
glance his gloved fingers along the side of her breast, eventually, Lady Ravenscroft stopped struggling
then her tense muscles went pliant, and a tiny sigh escaped her. He grinned. Needing much more, he
moved his other hand from the small of her back to her nape, pulled her close to his body, and then set
out to kiss her properly.
Instead of finding an on-the-shelf widow or even a wilting lady frightened of her own shadow,
which is what the dossier said she was, Hawk had the distinct feeling he’d caught a tiger by the tail.
The lady kissed him back with enthusiasm and skill. One of her hands curled into his cravat, and that
small tell of enjoyment spurred him onward. Daring much, he moved his lips over hers seeking,
exploring, asking… introducing.
It was a fine line he walked, this having a mission and being two steps away from letting this
woman, this veritable stranger, distract him from it.
Then she pulled away, stumbled slightly backward, and was all too breathless. “Why the devil
did you do that?” Before he could respond, she lifted a gloved hand and slapped his cheek. The sound
of the kid connecting with his skin echoed in the suddenly overly quiet barn.
Hell’s bells.
Hawk gaped as he put a hand to his heated cheek. “Why the blazes did you do that?” Not that
he hadn’t enjoyed the kiss, but her swift rebuttal rankled.
Immensely enjoyed, if his partially hardened shaft was any proof, and the faint sting of pain
from the slap only enhanced that.
“If you have to ask, you are more of an arse than I thought.” Anger wove through the words.
She crossed her arms at her chest. Too damn bad the cloak of midnight blue wool she wore hid her
body from his view. “Well? What have you to say for yourself?”
What indeed. This woman was quite the managing baggage, and he liked engaging in verbal
banter with her. With effort, he reminded himself that he was here on a secret mission for the Crown,
and that he had a part to play right now. None of that included trying to worm answers from this
woman merely to satisfy his curiosity.
“I won’t apologize for the kiss.” It was as good a place to start as any.
She uttered an unladylike snort. “That wasn’t actually what I meant.” Yet she wasn’t so much
of a harridan that she rebuked him for the liberty.
“Then you enjoyed it?” Despite the fact he was preparing to spin her a bit of fiction, a tiny
part of him wished to know if she had.
“Of course not. You are a stranger.” The chilly haughtiness in her tones should have scared
him, but instead, he only chuckled.
“You are a terrible liar, for a woman who didn’t enjoy being kissed—stranger or not—
wouldn’t have returned the embrace with the enthusiasm you did.” Of that he was certain.
She uttered another huff.
“What? No pithy reply, my lady?” Had he managed to set her at sixes and sevens? Wishing to
keep her in confusion, Hawk closed the distance between them again, which caused her to retreat
deeper into the stall. When the wall halted further movement and he reached around her, she gasped,
and he chuckled. “Don’t worry. I have no plans to accost you again.”
At least not tonight.
Instead, he plucked a lantern from the hook on the wall then took it to the side, lit a match, and
then touched the flame to the wick inside the lantern. After he blew out the match and tossed it away,
he replaced the lantern onto the hook. She watched him warily and had managed to scuttle into one
corner while he’d fussed with the lantern.
“Who are you?” Her lake blue eyes were round in the soft glow from the lantern. The blush in
her cheeks could have been from the chill in the air or a reaction from being kissed.
 “Who are any of us?” he asked merely to see her further nonplussed. More to the point, why
did he have such an immediate and swift reaction to her?
“Must you be so annoying?”
“Of course, since it is much more fun.”
She rolled her eyes, and the dear woman stamped a foot. Oh, this night was proving quite a
surprise! “I demand answers from you else I shall put forth steps to have you thrown off this
property.”
“Easy. Don’t tire your tart mouth so early in the evening.” Hawk held up a hand. Perhaps he
had teased her too far. “I am a former soldier looking for work.”
Again, she crossed her arms at her chest. “And you thought skulking about the grounds after
dark and in the rain was the best idea instead of coming to the kitchen door?”
Well, she would be trouble if he wasn’t careful. “I’ll admit, that idea didn’t occur to me.” And
why would it? For the last several weeks, he had rented rooms in a boarding house in the village, for
he’d been monitoring area estates and land in the search of the location his one clue mentioned.
“Ah. You must have suffered a head wound while in the war, hmm?”
“Hardly.” One corner of his mouth twitched with the beginnings of a grin, for he liked that she
was spirited. “But I was shot a few times.”
“Undoubtedly, you’d annoyed the enemy until they couldn’t stand you any longer and took
action.”
This time he chuckled. She was a lovely diversion, but it was time to recall himself to his
mission. “While that may be so, once my commission expired, I knocked about England as a jack-of-
all-trades throughout the countryside.”
“The war has been over for some time. Could you not sort yourself by now?”
“I suppose I could have, but perhaps I enjoy doing odd work.” Or at least he would have if he
were truly the man he was trying to convince her he was. When his gaze met hers, he had the curious
thought that drowning in those blue depths would be a lovely experience.
“Ah.” The lady continued to stare at him. “How long have you been searching for work?”
“Two years.” How easily the lie rolled off his tongue. Though, it was partially true. After the
war ended, he’d lingered until everything wound down, but then after that, he was employed by the
Home Office as a spy. It was his duty now to monitor supporters of Napoleon or neutralize any other
threat that office deemed necessary.
“In all that time, you never put down roots or found an interesting reason to join a village or
community?”
Obviously, Lady Ravenscroft wasn’t a stupid woman. “I did not. There was never a feeling of
acceptance there.” He frowned, for that had always eluded him. While he certainly had a family in
London, he didn’t wish to live off the coin his father had set aside for him upon his death, and he
refused to apply to his older brother who now held the Viscount Blackwell title for funding. He
would make his own way in the world, or he would die trying. To say nothing of the fact that working
for the men at the Home Office made settling down or finding a wife difficult at best.
“What do you expect to find here?”
If he was fortunate, treasure stolen by Napoleon’s army, and thereby gain recognition by his
superiors and receive a small, tidy fortune for his troubles. In order to do that, he would need to gain
access to the main house, which would let him poke about the rooms.
Aloud, he said, “Work, of course. Perhaps a purpose.” That wasn’t entirely a lie. Surely there
had to be something more for his life than being a spy who was rapidly aging out of the productive
cycle. All too soon, he would find himself either training much younger men or sitting behind a desk
pushing papers.
She drummed her fingers upon her upper arm. For long moments, the lady regarded him with
slightly narrowed eyes. “I suppose there must be odd chores about the place that need doing. Let me
confer with my butler and stable master to see if that is true.”
It was the first step into his plan to explore the property. “Thank you. That is very gracious.”
“Perhaps.” With a sigh, she relaxed her stance. “Tell me about yourself. If you have been an
unsavory sort from childhood, I’d rather not keep you on.”
No, definitely not stupid. Which might be dangerous before too long if she fell into the habit of
asking too many questions. Best to stick as close to the truth as possible, for then his voice inflections
wouldn’t betray a lie. “I have two living siblings—brothers. My parents were steadfast in love until
they died within two months of each other.” Though those events occurred nearly eight years before,
the grief and the missing of them took him unawares at times. “I had been away on the march during
that time and wasn’t able to be there for their final moments.”
“It is terrible losing someone you care about.” She lowered her voice. “Everyone always says
that time heals all wounds, but I rather think time only tenderizes the grief. Mourning doesn’t truly go
away, and neither does the hole close those people left.”
“You are correct, Lady Ravenscroft.”
She gasped and her wheat-blonde eyebrows raised in surprise. “How do you know who I am?
I hadn’t introduced myself.”
Well, damn. He’d need to be more careful. “Uh, someone in the village this morning told me
about Ravenscroft House, and then you told me you were an owner earlier when I—”
“—played captor and then kissed me without permission?” she interrupted with a tantalizing
curve of her lips.
“Yes, that.” Hawk couldn’t help but return the gesture. There was no logical reason for the
easy way they interacted, for he’d never met her before, but he couldn’t help but think their paths had
converged at this point for a reason beyond the search for stolen treasure. Which was a shame, for the
unexpected attraction that crackled between them would run at cross purposes with his mission.
And that always came first.
Once more, the lady regarded him, and this time she raked her gaze leisurely up and down his
person. Too bad she wouldn’t see much since he wore a gray greatcoat. Stop that, Hawk. She is not
for you, and you are not looking for a romance. “What is your name?”
This might prove a problem. However, she’d been removed from London society long enough
that he doubted she would remember such an unusual name. Still, he intentionally mangled his given
name. “Hawk Montague.”
“Granted, I don’t meet many people, but that is an interesting name.” Interest wove through her
tones, and in the golden lantern light, her tentative smile had the power to plow into his chest with the
force of a blow. “So, are we of an accord that you will stay on to help out with the chores?” She
searched his face for God only knew what, but he hoped she found it.
“I will do whatever you need me to do.” And yes, he did intend the double entendre merely to
discover how she would react. No, perhaps he wasn’t looking for a romance, but a toss in the hay
wouldn’t hurt, and what was more, it wouldn’t distract from his mission.
“Ah.” Then a shiver racked her shoulders, and she pulled the cloak more tightly about her
person. “It is much too cold out here for you to linger in the barn.” She frowned and cast a glance
around the immediate area. “I assume you have bags or a rucksack?”
 Oh, yes, she would be trouble. Investigating the house as well as any of the outbuildings
would be a difficult endeavor. “Of course I do.” Thank the gods he’d had the insight to leave the bag
in the barn a few hours earlier. He pointed to the stall next to theirs. “In there. This far stall felt too
cold to bed down in since there’s a hole in one of the boards.”
She darted her gaze to the wall, and he rather doubted she could see much, for that portion of
the stall was plunged into shadow. With every breath they took now, the air was visible in the
declining temperatures. “Well, it is too cold to stay out here in any event. You may take one of the
guest rooms in the house.” He must have let his incredulity show, for she smiled again. “Just until
Christmas, mind. The weather is dreadful just now, and I rather think it won’t improve. There are
more than enough tasks to take up inside.”
He hadn’t anticipated such a boon. Being beneath the same roof as this woman and knowing
she resided down a corridor from her would seriously tax his restraint, but he was still on a mission,
and that’s how it would need to remain. “I appreciate that, Lady Ravenscroft.”
“Think nothing of it, Mr. Montague. I often sponsor local charities and showing kindness to a
former soldier is nothing more than that.”
Well, that did absolutely nothing to stroke his ego. “God will smile upon you, surely,” he
mumbled and then moved out of the stall to retrieve his bags, and damn if she didn’t follow. If he was
fortunate, he would have some of that divine guidance as well. “Allow me to escort you to the house.”
When he put a hand to the small of her back, a barely audible gasp escaped her, which made him even
more curious about her life.
Well, damn. What now? He would be hard pressed to keep the whole of his attention on his
mission.
 Chapter Three

December 16, 1819

Belle awoke the next morning to more gray, overcast skies. No doubt it would rain again, for
though it was chilly, it wasn’t yet cold enough for snow, and she really hoped that would be an
eventuality soon. Christmastide was ever so much better with snowflakes swirling through the air and
clinging to trees, which made the world look magical.
After doing the necessary as well as her morning ablutions, her maid helped her to dress. A
simple day dress of a dove gray wool blend that featured three-quarter sleeves and a plain bodice
would suffice for the day. Paired with an ivory wool shawl, it would keep the chill off well enough.
Besides, she would no doubt spend a good portion of the day curled up somewhere with a fire and a
book. That had been how she’d passed her time. It didn’t matter that there was a guest now beneath
her roof.
“My lady, might I ask you a question?”
The sound of her maid’s voice wrenched Belle from her thoughts. “Of course, Anna. You can
—and have—asked me anything.” Over the years, they had become close friends, and though it had
been ingrained while growing up and then again residing with her husband that servants were not
equals, she couldn’t help but confide in Anna. Five years alone had been a long stretch, and she rather
suspected no one was better than another, regardless of class or whether or not they worked for a
living.
“Would you ever marry again? After all, it has been five years since Lord Ravenscroft passed,
and you would do well with companionship.”
She stifled a sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know. As of yet, there hasn’t been a man who has
interested me in that way.”
“But if you returned to London, say?”
“Perhaps. I would leave that to fate, for I don’t know if I wish to offer up my heart again.
Grief is exhausting, both to the body and to the mind.” To say nothing of how difficult it was to move
past heartbreak.
For long moments the maid remained silent. “Did you know there is a man occupying one of
the guest rooms at the end of the hall?”
Belle frowned at the abrupt change in topic. “I did. In fact, I authorized it after dinner last
night.” She stood up from the vanity table where Anna had just finished dressing her hair. “I came
upon a soldier in the barn who needed work, so I offered him the chance to do odd jobs here about the
house in exchange for room and board through Christmas.”
No one needed to know of the unexpected and immediate attraction that had surged between
them or the remarkable kiss they’d shared that had seen her whole world tilted.
The maid’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “From what I heard this morning from the kitchen
maid, he is quite easy on the eyes.”
“Pish posh.” Belle moved toward the door so Anna couldn’t see her face. “I don’t know about
that. It was rather dark when we met, and the moment we entered the house, I left him in the care of
Walters.”
La! What a lie! The moment the man had lit the lantern in the barn, she’d been able to catch a
glimpse of him. His wind-tossed, rain dampened black hair had gleamed with a blue hue in that soft
light, and those ice-blue eyes of his had held an intensity that even now had the power to increase her
pulse. The facial features had hinted at aristocratic bloodlines, but it was the soft, firmness of his lips
she’d remembered most as they pressed against hers during that kiss where she’d thrown all decorum
to the wind and returned the embrace.
Anna snorted. “I can’t wait to have a look at him later today. Do you know if he’ll take his
meals with your or in the servants’ hall?”
Heat filled her cheeks, and she thrust the remembrance away, but it had been all too lovely to
enjoy the thrill of a man’s arms about her in the dark. “Uh, I am not certain. We hadn’t discussed it,
but I will make certain to do so this morning.” She gripped the door latch all too tightly. “If you don’t
mind, I am going down to breakfast. Please press the blue watered silk gown for me. I’ll wear that to
dinner.”
It wasn’t a surprising request, for even though she took her meals alone, she adored pretty
clothes and dressed for the occasion. Her husband had liked it overly much when she purchased new
frocks, so she placed two large orders each year. The fabrics and cuts reminded her that she wasn’t
dead yet, and that she could rejoin society at any time if she so wished it.
To live again.
The thought sent a shudder of apprehension down her spine.
Do I even remember how to do the pretty?
“Of course, my lady,” Anna murmured as she went into the adjoining bedroom, presumably to
tidy it.
Belle proceeded into the corridor beyond and slowly made her way along the hall by rote, for
her musings had once more centered on Mr. Montague.
His clothes were too clean as well as too expensively tailored to support his claims that he
was an unemployed solider who’d been working across the countryside for two years. In fact, outside
of his mud-caked boots—which had been surprisingly well made—the remainder of his garments
held not a speck of mud or even wear one would expect from someone who had bunked down in
various barns for months.
To say nothing of the fact that he was clean-shaven. The absence of stubble was one of the
first things she’d noticed when he’d kissed her. And because she’d been in such close proximity to
him when he’d dragged her into the shadows and then proceeded to embrace her, she’d been able to
smell him. That scent of Bay rum and lime as well as a hint of leather was not the scent of an
unwashed soldier who had fallen upon hard times. Additionally, that deep black hair had been
recently cut, and he no doubt wore it in a popular style. The wind and rain had obviously destroyed
that, for he hadn’t worn a hat.
What sort of man on reduced circumstances would have the blunt to waste on a barber or a
tailor?
Most curious, indeed, but she looked forward to puzzling out the answers.
In fact, she intended to seek him out before she did anything else, but when she reached the
door to his bedchamber, a swift knock on the panel didn’t result in an answer. Daring much, and
reminding herself that she was the lady of the manor, Belle pressed the brass handle. When the door
swung inward, a quick visual check didn’t reveal anyone inside, but the four-poster bed had been
redressed and made with crisp corners and a smoothness achieved by someone very much
accustomed to doing that for themselves.
Intriguing, and yet another layer to the mystery of her house guest.
No matter. She would track him to earth more sooner than later, for she’d also spied a shaving
kit and a book on the bureau top, so he hadn’t left the property altogether.
Moments later, she arrived at the breakfast room that was much more cheerful when the sun
was shining. One of her favorite rooms of the manor, it looked out onto the expansive back lawn that
today seemed less colorful and a bit dismal thanks to the clinging gloom. Though the buffet was ready
for service and a footman nodded to her when she made an appearance, the room was devoid of all
other sorts of life.
“Well, drat.” With a slight rumble in her stomach, she fixed herself a plate of all her favorite
breakfast foods and then nodded as the footman poured hot tea into her waiting cup. This was her
routine every day, so why would this morning be any different just because there was a house guest?
“Thomas?”
“Yes, my lady?” He gave her a look of inquiry after finishing his task.
“Did Mr. Montague come into breakfast already?”
“He did, my lady. Had a hearty appetite, too. Downed his food as if there were hungry hounds
behind him and washed it down with two cups of strong coffee.”
Well, that was interesting. The man enjoyed coffee and didn’t take anything in it to make the
brew less bitter. She sighed. “Do you know what his intentions were following breakfast?”
“I do not, my lady. He kept to himself, but I will say Mathieu trotted along behind him.”
“And he didn’t seem to mind?” That was another curious bit of information. Usually, her cat
didn’t enjoy strangers entering into what he considered his domain.
“Apparently not. Mr. Montague spent a few minutes scratching the cat and murmuring to it, and
by the time he left, they seemed fast friends.” Quiet amusement wove through the footman’s voice.
“I see.” Though she really did not. The cat’s apparent defection rankled, for he had been her
constant companion for the past three years, and she didn’t particularly wish to share him.
It took all her willpower to eat her breakfast with ladylike decorum. Once she’d finished, she
bid Thomas good day and then set out in search of the errant solider.
An hour later, she’d determined that he was not in the manor house. Then where the devil was
he? As she pondered the problem, she happened to look out the window in the portrait gallery. The
wide expanse of the back lawn met her gaze, but there was also a figure clad in a gray greatcoat
moving quickly over the ground in the direction of Brambleberry Cottage, which was the Dower
House.
Why?
As her heartbeat accelerated, he disappeared from view. She frowned. Was that truly his
destination, or was he headed to the village, which was two miles farther out? “What are you about,
Mr. Montague?”
Ten minutes later, she’d donned her cloak and set out to follow in the direction he’d gone.
When she found him, he was skulking about Brambleberry Cottage.
Why?
Before she could formulate an appropriate question or even hail him, the dratted man pried
one of the ground floor windows open and then he climbed inside the house. How would he even
know to do that? What kind of man thought of such things?
While annoyance tightened her chest, she couldn’t help but be intrigued as well. With a furtive
glance about the area, Belle waited a few minutes and then scrambled over the windowsill after him.
This particular room was a little used back parlor, so had there been someone in residence, it was
doubtful the intruder would have been heard or detected straight away. She landed unceremoniously
on her backside when she tried to avoid a small table, but when he didn’t make an appearance to
investigate the thud she’d made, her confidence grew.
Oh, the man deserved a scathing dressing down for this! In fact, she should have done exactly
that last night after he’d dared to kiss her.
Rubbing her hip that throbbed slightly from the fall, Belle left the parlor. By the time she
gained the small entry hall, she caught the hem of his greatcoat as he sprinted up the stairs, taking two
treads at a time. Though she thoroughly enjoyed the distraction of this adventure, such behavior was
outside of enough. This was private property, and he was trespassing!
As quietly as possible, she sneaked upstairs to hide behind a longcase clock in the corridor.
Mr. Montague went from room to room. He didn’t stay in each for long before he moved onto the next.
Why? What was he searching for?
When he entered the dowager suite, she padded silently along the hall only to linger in the
doorway. You are definitely not who you said you are. The man peeked behind various paintings. He
knocked softly on various places of the walls, and then he opened drawers in the clothes press. The
behavior was most odd and perplexing.
Finally, when she could stand the mystery no longer, Belle burst into the room. “I don’t
believe I gave you leave to traipse about Brambleberry Cottage, Mr. Montague.” She propped her
hands upon her hips. “Explain why, this instant.”
To his credit, he startled, but when he turned about to face her, a slight grin curved his
sensuous lips, and she couldn’t help but stare at his mouth. Drat the man. “Ah, Lady Ravenscroft.
Good morning.”
As if they were in the breakfast room instead of him being confronted.
“I refuse to waste a moment on pleasantries. You do not deserve them.” Though annoyance
bounced through her veins, she raked her gaze up and down his person. No, this man was not a
wayward former soldier going through the English countryside without purpose, but she couldn’t quite
figure him out. Something about him niggled at the edges of her mind. She might not know what right
now, but eventually she’d remember. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Ah, straight to the point.” His grin widened. “However, I am afraid the answer isn’t so
simple.”
Apparently, nothing was with this man, and that only added to his mystery. Drat his eyes!
“Why are you prowling about Brambleberry Cottage?”
“I don’t know that I would consider what I’m doing prowling, per se…”
Oh, he was the height of annoying! Squashing the urge to stamp her foot as she’d done last
night when they’d engaged in banter, Belle huffed in frustration. “Prowling, skulking, acting in a
furtive manner. Take your pick, but there is something off about you.” She narrowed her eyes. “And
what is more, now that I’m seeing your face in the daylight, there is something familiar about you I
just cannot place at the moment.”
Obviously, she would need to think upon the problem a bit more, but the reasons why would
come to her. They always did.
A tiny flicker of unease appeared in those ice blue depths, gone at his next blink. “What can I
say except I was curious.”
“So you decided to sneak into the house through a window?”
He shrugged, and of course the gesture was an elegant affair. Slowly, he removed his
greatcoat and then draped it over the back of a nearby winged-back chair. “Perhaps I wanted the
adventure, for the front door was undoubtedly locked and the residence isn’t in use.”
“Did it occur to you to come find me and that I could take you over here?”
No, this man didn’t have the look of an unemployed former soldier. The jacket of bottle-green
superfine hugged his broad shoulders and chest like a lover’s caress. There was no sign of
malnourishment or disease about him, and at no time did he scratch at himself or his head like a
person would if they’d contracted lice or fleas. A waistcoat of brown tweed practically begged her to
remove it merely to see if his abdomen was as flat as it appeared. And good heavens, it should be a
crime at how well his buff-colored breeches fit his legs.
“Where is the fun in that, Lady Ravenscroft?” The corners of his mouth tugged his lips into a
faint grin. “And is not the point of life to at least chase adventure whenever one can?”
“I couldn’t say.” She frowned. “Why are you trying to distract me, Mr. Montague?” As she
glanced about the room, she couldn’t understand why he would have needed to enter the house in the
first place.
“Oh, there are a few reasons, but right now, you will probably want to know there is a mouse
nearly at your feet.”
“What?” When she looked down, sure enough, there was a little brown mouse who had
paused, perhaps in fright. “Oh, I do not like rodents!” Because she was deathly afraid of those tiny
little animals, Belle squealed. She didn’t care how ridiculous it made her, but she vaulted over the
mouse, scrambled over the floor, and then climbed onto the four-posted bed. “Get it right now, Mr.
Montague!” Standing on the bed, she frantically searched the floor for the rodent.
“Me? Why me?” Amusement twinkled in his eyes as he watched the progress of the mouse.
“It’s the least you can do, and isn’t that the purpose of bringing you on? This is an odd job.”
She waved a hand as her heartbeat raced. “Go perform it.”
“It’s merely a little mouse, Lady Ravenscroft.” He edged closer to the bed, and his grin grew
wider with every step. “Never say you are frightened of him?”
“Yes!” She ventured to the edge of the bed, but when she spied the mouse scuttling over the
floor, another squeak of fear escaped her throat. “There he is! Quickly, Mr. Montague.” The fear
showed her in a horrible light, but she just couldn’t move past it. Not since that time in her childhood
when she’d been beset with mice…
I cannot think about that now.
“Calm yourself. He will be gone more sooner than later, and especially if you continue to
shriek with alarm.”
Oh, goodness, the mouse’s little whiskers were twitching. She could even see his tiny little
feet and claws. Revulsion crawled up her spine. “I asked you to catch him. Please do so.”
“As you wish.” But when he moved toward the rodent, the mouse shot across the floor and
then went beneath the bed.
“Ah!” Now that she couldn’t see the mouse, but she knew it was there, the situation was even
more terrifying. “Do something!” If her heart pounded any harder, it would jump out of her chest.
“All right.” The man dropped to his knees at the side of the bed. “Let me just take a look, but
there are no guarantees.”
If that mouse should spring at me, I can guarantee I will faint dead away.
 Chapter Four

Hawk chuckled. The viscountess’ fright was all too real but was also adorable. “You are
aware that mice can climb, aren’t you, Lady Ravenscroft?”
Never would he have suspected the woman who’d slapped him yesterday, the woman of
strength and backbone was afraid of a little rodent. Why was that? He wanted the story, but right now,
he had to distract her because he couldn’t reveal his mission.
Of course he’d known she’d followed him—she wasn’t skilled in regulating her breathing nor
could she walk without making noise—and her attempts had both amused and discomfited him. If she
got wind of what he was truly about, it would put her into danger and slow down the process of
locating the valuables.
“They don’t,” she argued in a soft voice, but her eyes were as round as saucers. “I have only
ever seen them on the floor or the ground outside.”
“Ah, my lady, I wish I could tell you otherwise.” As delightful as she was, as soon as he
located that damned treasure, he’d be off for London and away from this widow who had the power
to fascinate him. Nothing of import had been found in this room, but the clue he had could potentially
point to this Dower House.
Why and where?
“Surely not.” She balanced on the bed with her arms crossed at her chest.
“Believe what you will. That is your prerogative, of course, but I’m telling you, I have seen
them climb walls, draperies, wallpaper, cords. How else do you think they navigate the inside walls
and reach upper floors?” After giving the floor a cursory check, Hawk scrambled to his feet. “I have
lost sight of the mouse.”
“Oh, no.” One of her hands crept to her throat.
“Indeed.” It was best that he stall. What the devil could he talk about that was not his mission?
She was far too astute, and he feared she’d find out anyway. “It is why God gave them those little
claws.” When she uttered a half-cry half-whimper of terror, he chuckled again. It wasn’t well done of
him, but to see her in a pelter again was rewarding.
“I need to go.” In the process of navigating the bedding, she lost her footing. With another
adorable squeak, she tumbled to the mattress in a flutter of limbs and cloak. Her skirts lay in delicious
disarray and revealed two well-turned ankles and shapely calves.
Well, that is just too tempting.
Anticipation buzzed at the base of his spine. Nothing distracted a lady more than kisses she
both wanted and didn’t. And since his top priority besides finding the treasure was keeping it from
this woman, he chuckled and joined her on the bed. “It would seem, Lady Ravenscroft, that you are a
bit disheveled.”
In the course of trying to untangle her limbs from her skirts and cloak, a lock of hair fell over
her forehead and finally she propped herself up on one elbow. “Whose fault is that, Mr. Montague?”
The faint scent of lilacs wafted to his nose, and it drew him closer.
Damn, but the one regret he had from lying to her was she didn’t know his real name. No
matter. It wasn’t the most important thing. “Certainly not mine. I am not the one frightened by a
mouse.” Would she slap him again? There was only one way to find out.
Hawk took full advantage by slipping a hand to cup her cheek, leaning over, and pressing his
lips to hers. Just like the last time he’d stolen a kiss, the puzzling attraction simmering between them
ignited into an inferno, and the fact she didn’t offer much of a protest only added to the flames. As he
pulled slightly away, he met her gaze with his, and when she gave an almost imperceptible nod, he
uttered a groan, rolled onto his side, and pulled her more fully into his arms. He kissed her again, and
this time one of his hands crept to the small of her back while the other cradled her head.
The petal softness of her lips glided beneath his. The slight taste of tea she’d no doubt had
with breakfast came away on his palate, and oddly enough, it only spurred his curiosity. She twined
her arms about his shoulders while one of his knees went between her legs. A half-gasp half-moan
escaped her throat, and he grinned against her mouth. Oh, the widow was quite responsive—perhaps
even willing for more than kissing—and if he managed to wrap his mission early, he would explore
that temptation.
As he moved over her lips, explored, and teased those two pieces of flesh, he tugged at the
ties that kept her cloak closed. When the fabric fell away, he dragged a line of kisses along the side of
her silky throat. Lady Ravenscroft lifted her chin to give him greater access. She furrowed her fingers
through the hair at his nape and the other hand she laid against his cheek, possibly in an effort to urge
his mouth back to hers.
Who was he to deny her?
Again, he drank from her lips, danced his fingertips up and down her side, and when he
settled at her breast, cupped it, and then dared to brush the pad of his thumb over her nipple, her moan
of surprise worked to further stoke his ardor. That tip hardened beneath the fabric of her dress, and
she squeezed her thighs about his knee. His shaft tightened, pulsed with erotic need. For the space of a
few heartbeats, he considered yanking down the bodice to taste that pebbled tip, but he refrained.
Now was not the time, and this session was proving too much of a distraction.
It was dangerous to let himself become lost in her, no matter that he wanted to explore the
connection between them. Regardless of the thoughts that conflicted with his body’s responses, he
enjoyed himself all too much.
So had she, apparently, and that intrigued him all the more. Definitely, it deserved further
consideration… after he completed his mission.
All too soon, the lady pulled away enough to look into his face. Her eyes had darkened and
that desire he’d felt in her returned kisses lingered in those depths. She slid her hands to his shoulders
as confusion flitted through her expression, quickly followed by annoyance. “Why do you keep doing
that?” Her voice was decidedly breathless.
Hawk shrugged. There was absolutely no remorse in the gesture. “You seemed to need it.”
Then he winked, and she frowned. “Additionally, you are a beautiful woman. Why should I not wish
to kiss you?”
A hint of a blush stained her cheeks even after they’d already indulged in two bouts of kissing.
“Must you be such a rogue?”
“Oh, yes, and I can make a much better showing of it if you wish.” What the devil was wrong
with him? He hadn’t come to Ravenscroft House to flirt with the widow. But to be fair, he hadn’t
known she would be such a choice morsel. Nothing in the dossier had given him that hint.
For several long moments, they stared at each other. In that time, his length hadn’t calmed, not
when he was still holding her in a loose embrace. Surprise reflected in her eyes. For what, he hadn’t
a clue. Finally, she broke the silence.
 “If you tell me your real reason for being on this property, I’ll let you kiss me again.”
A surprised chuckle pulled from his throat. Oh, the lady was wily and clever. “Now that is a
tempting offer.” An all too dangerous one, but tempting, nonetheless.
The annoyance grew more pronounced in her expression. Or was it frustration? Perhaps
exasperation was the more correct description. “Fine. If you steal another kiss, though without my
permission, I will summon the constable and watch cheerfully as they haul you away.”
Oh, how very naïve she was!
As if he wouldn’t vanish before that happened. One of the tricks he’d learned while being a
spy was the art of slipping away undetected even from the most dire of circumstances. Still, he was
thoroughly delighted by her.
“Let me think about your offer.”
“Surely it doesn’t require pondering. You will either tell me the truth or you won’t. And if you
do not, I’ll let the authorities have at you.” She shrugged. “That decision is yours.” In the process of
struggling up and away from him, her knee brushed his engorged shaft, and a groan escaped him. She
snickered. “You will need to relieve that yourself, but it is rewarding to know I can still inspire a
man in that quarter.”
Of course she could. What sort of maggot had gotten into her brain that made her think any man
in England wouldn’t desire her carnally? Regardless, Hawk chuckled, for her tart mouthed replies
and responses to his kisses had well and truly hooked his interest. “While that is disappointing, the
truth of why I’m here has much intrigue wrapped into the story.” Should he or should he not tell her?
More to the point, did she know something of the missing treasure? She was familiar with the
property and her knowledge therein might prove useful. Yet… could he trust her? Many people had
searched for the valuables, but none had ever found them. Had her husband joined their ranks?
It was difficult to ascertain at the moment, but he would eventually.
“Doesn’t that make the telling all the better?” Lady Ravenscroft smiled, and he was
immediately lost on a spinning tide as he maneuvered into a sitting position.
That hadn’t happened to him in a long time. He’d kept his dealings with the fairer sex to a
minimum due to his lifestyle and the danger therein. They were fleeting and he had trouble trusting
anyone. Not to mention he’d been betrayed by a woman once. Love had made him soft and stupid. Yet
he had grown tired of being alone.
“Well, Mr. Hawkins? Will you not answer my question?” Victory lit her lake blue eyes as she
stood at the bedside.
“What?” He gasped. Prickles of unease shivered down his spine. “How do you know my real
name?” This was a terrible turn of events, and one he couldn’t extricate himself from.
“It only just came to me while we were talking.” When she narrowed her gaze on him, a chill
wrapped around him. Would she kick him off the property? “Everyone assumes that because I have a
pretty face and have hidden myself away on this property I am inept at things or frightened of my own
shadow, but that is not true. I’m not stupid. Beyond that, I never forget a face, and yours is quite
arresting.”
Well, there was that. “I never said you were less than and neither would I ever assume to think
you were stupid. From our brief interactions, that has not been my experience.” Never had he been
more honest.
“I appreciate that.” The lady crossed her arms at her chest. “I met you years ago in London at
a ball. You were in uniform and had quite the crowd about you. No doubt you were all too skilled
back then at charming the ladies. It seems that hasn’t changed.”
 A bit of heat went up the back of his neck. Not willing to let her go just yet, he stood up from
the bed and closed the distance between them. “I apologize for not remembering you or the event.
Why did you not join them?” He dared to skate his knuckles over her cheek and was rewarded by a
slight shiver from her.
“And add to your already enormous ego?” She batted his hand away, but that only made him
crave the connection more. “Besides, I was engaged.”
“To Lord Ravenscroft.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” For a few seconds, her eyes took on a faraway look. Then she sighed and came back to
the present. Remembering her husband with fondness? Wishing he were still alive? Though the
questions burned on Hawk’s tongue, he uttered none of them. “All things end, I suppose.”
“Yes, but that only means you have room to usher in something equally grand.” Why the devil
was he flirting with her? He couldn’t have a romance, not even if he wanted one, which he did not.
Taking a mistress, possibly, but there could be nothing permanent in the relationship. Not while he
still had ties to the Home Office and that world.
“I’m not certain about that. A person doesn’t truly move past heartbreak.” She stepped away
from his touch. “Which makes them wary of extending trust a second time.”
“On that I quite agree.” But the moment of connection between them had been broken. Hawk
felt the loss and acutely as if he’d been slashed with a dagger. “Trust is fleeting. Or so I’ve
experienced.”
Her brow furrowed with either concern or understanding. “I want your story, Mr. Hawkins,
else I’ll kick you off the property.”
“Only if you tell me yours.” Then because he was nothing more than a fool, Hawk closed the
distance and took one of her hands in his. “You and I need to talk candidly on other matters as well.”
“I won’t deny that.”
“Good.” Slowly, he raised her hand to his lips then flipped it over and pressed his lips to the
inside of her wrist where her pulse fluttered. “And Lady Ravenscroft?”
“Hmm?” Her expression reflected pleasure.
“Please call me Hawk, or Montague if you must. I have always detested that name, though.”
Suddenly, he very much wished to hear his name in her voice.
“There is nothing to be ashamed of. Montague is a splendid name.” For a few seconds, the
same desire she’d had in her eyes earlier when he’d kissed her rolled through those depths.
“Perhaps, but that was the name my father always called me, and it was never with affection.”
With a sigh, he released her hand. “There is much to my life I have regretted, and in those moments, I
attribute those things to Montague.” He raised his gaze to hers. “But the excellent times? The bright,
shining moments when I was able to make a difference, when I proved more than the disappointment
my father assumed that I was? Oh, those moments I can lay squarely at Hawk’s feet. And those
moments make me proud.”
Why the devil was he telling her this? It was one of the core truths of himself and never had he
told anyone that secret.
Her kissable lips curved into a smile. “We all have secrets and failures… Hawk. What we do
next is what builds character. And you may refer to me as Belle.”
“Belle?” Now that was odd. “How did Belle come from Amelia?”
“Oh, it’s a bit of a story.” She laughed, and the sound immediately warmed his chest and made
him… happy. Merely a coincidence, nothing more. “My middle name is Annabelle. I dislike my given
name because it reminds me of a great aunt who was especially strict during my childhood.” Her
eyebrows rose. “In fact, there was an incident with mice I could never manage to forget…” A shiver
wracked her frame. “That’s why I temporarily lost my mind when I saw that mouse just now.”
If his interest hadn’t been snared before, that hint had done it. “I definitely wish to know more
about that story, but none of that tells me why you decided on Belle.”
A blush infused her cheeks. “Since I don’t care for Amelia, I detest Annabelle. So, I settled
for Belle. It reminds me of happiness and joy and…”
“And?” Why did her words trail off like that?
“And it’s like the bells that ring on Christmas morning. They’re cheerful and give people
hope. That’s why I chose the shortened version many years ago. I’d like to think I bring the same to
everyone I meet.”
God, could she be more adorable? “That is a lovely explanation, but somehow it doesn’t fit
the image of you I have of a retiring, shy widow who somehow possesses a tart mouth.”
“Only around you.” She edged away from him, came back, and when he thought she might
have embraced him, she reached around him and grabbed her cloak. “Do not forget that during your
odd jobs about the manor we need to talk.”
He frowned as she once more crossed the floor to the door. “Where are you going?”
“I have a friend coming for tea. Since I’ve gotten a bit disheveled, I must go dress and prepare
for her arrival.”
“Oh?” He cocked an eyebrow.
“No.” Belle wagged a forefinger at him. “I know what you’re going to ask, and the answer is
no. You may not join us. You have been entirely too naughty and have already had a reward, wouldn’t
you say?”
“I won’t apologize for this most recent round of kisses, so I suppose you are correct.” He was
having entirely too much fun with the lady, but it had to stop. There was a mission to take care of
before he gave more thought to his own needs.
She huffed. “Always a rogue. You are no former solider.”
“Oh, but that was the truth. I attained the rank of a captain, actually, before I became a sp—”
He clamped his lips together lest he betray a fact she wouldn’t need.
“A spoilsport? A spineless buffoon? A sparrow?” Then her eyes rounded, and shock clouded
those blue depths. “You were a spy. Still are.”
Well, damn. “This is true.”
“Is that really why you are here at Ravenscroft House?”
“I promise to tell you everything, but not now. You have tea to prepare for, and I need to
gather my thoughts.”
For long moments, she paused at the door. “If you wondered, you can trust me, Hawk. I have
been out of touch with everyone I have ever known for at least five years. No one visits me here, and
I go nowhere.” She shrugged but there was a trace of excitement in her eyes that spelled trouble for
him. “As far as I am aware, I have no enemies.”
So you assume. But he nodded. “I’ll take that under advisement.”
“If you feel comfortable enough, take dinner with me tonight.” Then she exited the room and
was gone.
He sighed. There was much thinking to do.
 Chapter Five

December 18, 1819

Belle frowned as she delved into one of the boxes of tin bells and glass balls she’d had the
butler bring down from the attic. Yes, traditionally such things didn’t go up until Christmas Eve, but
since she lived alone and there was no one to answer to—or argue with—about the decorating, she
would do what pleased her.
Though she adored everything about the Christmastide season, the bulk of her thoughts
revolved around the captain—or rather Hawk as she’d been instructed to refer to him. Of course, she
rather preferred the name of Montague, but until they were on more intimate terms, she would
continue to call him by his moniker.
As she examined ribbons and bows, she couldn’t help but grin. He had managed to steal two
kisses now, the dratted man, and each time she hadn’t bid him nay. The reason therein was quite
simple—she enjoyed kissing. Honestly, the five years since her husband had perished had been
incredibly long and lonely, and she was a woman who had thoroughly adored the physical aspects for
her marriage. Those urges and cravings hadn’t gone away merely because her husband had perished,
and since the captain was easy on the eyes, why shouldn’t she indulge in a few bouts of harmless
kissing?
Yet, aside from that, Hawk still hadn’t told her the truth regarding his real purpose on
Ravenscroft land, and to add insult to injury, he had avoided her much of the past two days. Where
he’d gone and what he filled his time with was anyone’s guess, but then, household duties and
planning for the annual Christmas Eve ball had kept her busy enough that she hadn’t had the time to
search him out.
But she would, for the attraction building between her and him couldn’t be ignored. It
conflicted with the memories of her husband. He might not have been the best of all husbands, and
there had been rocky moments in their union, but she missed him. Grief still caught her off guard when
she wasn’t ready for it. Which was why she didn’t know if she could extend her heart a second time,
even if she decided she wished it. Quite frankly, if Hawk lingered too long at Ravenscroft House, she
might be sorely tempted.
“Good afternoon, Belle.”
She startled and nearly dropped the glass ball she held when his voice sounded behind her.
Flutters scuttled through her lower belly. Dear heavens, he is so potent! When she turned about, he
was there, standing before her with a grin flirting with those all-too-sensual lips. “Good afternoon,
Hawk. I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Can a man not seek out the drawing room for a stretch of reading?” He held up a folded copy
of The Times. “Besides, now that I know you are also occupying this room, why would I wish to
leave?”
“You can do what you want, of course, since you are a guest.” As a bout of nervous energy
moved through her veins, she smoothed a hand along the front of her navy day dress. Had she known
that he would make an appearance, she would have donned a better frock, but there was nothing for it
now. “Did you, ah, attend to some of the chores Danvers set out?”
“I did. Two of them today, actually. Small repairs, really. One of the footmen could have
attended to them.” He frowned as he settled into one of the blue brocade wing-backed chairs near the
fireplace. “Hasn’t your husband’s man-of-affairs spoken with you about hiring someone for such
things?”
“He has not.” Belle transferred her gaze to the box of decorations. Not even the sharp scent of
pine boughs that laid in front of the fireplace could coax her back into her happy mood of before. “In
fact, I haven’t heard from Mr. Sherwood for quite some time.”
“He doesn’t visit?”
“No.”
A frown tugged down the corners of Hawk’s mouth. “Who does he write to regarding the care
and upkeep of Ravenscroft House?”
She shrugged. “I would imagine Laurence’s brother, Philip. He is the legal heir to the
viscounty and all the holdings therein.”
“Your husband didn’t set aside an inheritance for you?”
“He did, of course. There is a lovely yearly income allowance, and Brambleberry Cottage is
mine for the length of my life.” She slid a red satin ribbon through her fingers. “I had hoped he would
have gifted me the property in Brighton, for it is a favorite spot of mine, but he did not. I suppose he’d
forgotten that detail.”
Which wouldn’t have surprised her. Rarely had Laurence paid much attention to what she
liked or didn’t. His mind was always firmly on hunting or other pursuits he’d adored, as well as the
physical side of their relationship. But she’d always hoped there would have been something… more
that bound them together.
“I see.” For long moments, he held her gaze. “While I am sorry for your loss, it annoys me that
your husband hadn’t seen fit to recall the little details about you that make you interesting.”
Unexpected heat went into her cheeks. “It didn’t occur to him, but that didn’t make him a bad
person or a negligent husband.”
Hawk grunted. “I’ll keep my own counsel on that.” When a streak of gray darted across the
Aubusson rug, he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Hello, Mathieu.” He patted his
knee and the cat jumped lightly up onto it, much to Belle’s shock. “I haven’t seen you since breakfast,
old chap.”
Even from her position, the low ebb of the feline’s purr reached her ears. “How did you
manage to charm him? He doesn’t usually take to strangers.” A tiny spear of jealousy went through her
chest from the defection.
“What’s to charm?” Hawk scratched the cat beneath his chin, much to the cat’s pleasure. “We
are kindred spirits. I’ve always had an affinity for every sort of animal.”
“Mathieu is certainly not a rogue.”
Her companion snorted. “I hate to tell you, but every male animal has a bit of a rogue inside
him.”
“Not my cat. Well, at least I’d hoped not.” Her frown deepened. “He used to be quite loyal.”
She looked at the sleek feline. “Until you turned traitor and decided to prefer him.”
The cat merely glanced at her with those blue eyes, and she could have sworn he grinned.
Then he lifted his chin so Hawk could better scratch beneath it.
Much like what she did when the man pressed kisses along her jawline… “Ah, I see how it is.
You two have formed a pact, and now I’m left out in the cold.”
 “If you are chilly, I’m glad to show you more than a few ways you I can warm you.” Hawk
waggled his eyebrows. “We’ll start with kisses.”
Heat invaded her cheeks. She put her attention firmly back on the boxes of decorations. “I am
quite well just now. Thank you.”
If she would let him, he would thoroughly sweep her away, but it was lovely to have a man
nearby again.
“Too bad. You and I are rather good together in that regard.” When Mathieu jumped to the
back of his chair, Hawk rested an ankle on a knee, unfolded the newspaper, and then settled into
reading.
Time passed while he read, and she laid fir boughs on the fireplace mantel. Since the lip was
a few inches taller than she was, Belle utilized the ladder one of the footmen had placed for her. It
necessitated her going up and down a few steps many times, but she didn’t mind the exercise. The
crisp scent of the pine put her immediately in mind of winter and Christmastide. She scattered tin
bells and glass balls within the greenery and then tied a few red bows here and there. Pronouncing the
effect lovely, she came down once more in order to move the ladder, for she intended to place a
darling wreath onto a hook set into the wall specifically for that purpose.
“You really should let one of the footmen on that ladder,” Hawk said with his face still hidden
behind the paper. Gentle censure echoed in his tones.
“Pish posh. I am quite capable.” Yet she eyed the evergreen wreath lying on the top of one of
the boxes and then glanced at where it needed to be. The task would prove challenging by herself.
“Oh, no doubt you are, but this has disaster in the making.”
Apparently, Mathieu agreed for he offered a meow before stretching himself out lengthwise on
the back of Hawk’s chair and then promptly closed his eyes.
“Have some faith, Hawk. I decorate the house every year.”
“I’m sure you do, but do you usually have assistance?”
“Well, yes.” She ignored the heat in her cheeks. “I think I can take care of it myself. I am not
elderly yet.”
“No, you are not,” he said, and this time he folded down a corner of the paper and raked his
gaze up and down her person. “Far from it, actually.”
“Rogue.” Instead of hanging the wreath, she took up handfuls of evergreens and scattered them
strategically about the room.
“I can only be who I am.” His lips twitched in amusement before he hid behind the paper once
more.
Belle smiled as she nestled tin bells within the various bunches of evergreens. It was all too
domestic having him in the drawing room with her, and if she didn’t mind herself, she would fall to
his charm. That was unsettling enough, but a deep, hidden part of her yearned to belong to a man
again, to have that close companionship again.
“I suppose that is the fate of all of us,” she said softly. “The hope is that there is someone out
there who will appreciate those quirks or bits of oddness.”
When Hawk lowered his newspaper, shadows clouded his eyes. She would have given
anything to know what went through his thoughts. “There is a certain amount of truth in that statement.
I think most of us reach a point where we want a family or a spouse in order to stave off that
loneliness.”
“Indeed.” She paused with a tin bell in her hand. “I assumed I would have had that with
Laurence, but fate had other plans.”
Another random document with
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Trophi—see Mouth-parts
Trox, stridulation, 195
Truffle-beetle, 222
Trumpeter bumble-bee, 58
Trypanaeus, 230
Trypanidae, 395
Trypetidae, 504, 506
Trypoxylonides, 118
Trypoxylon, 118;
T. albitarse, 118;
T. figulus, 119
Tse-tse fly, 512, 513
Tubulifera, 1 f.
Tubulifera (Thrips), 531
Tulip-tree, tubes on, 578
Turkey-gnats, 477
Turnip-flea, 278
Tusser, or Tussore, silk, 374
Tympanoterpes gigas, 572
Typhlatta, 179, 180
Typhlopone, 178, 179, 180

Ugimyia sericariae, 507

Ulidiidae, 504
Ulopa, 578
Uncus, 314
Urania rhipheus, 419
Uraniidae, 368, 419
Uric acid pigments, 357
Urodon, 278
Uzel, on Thysanoptera, 527

Vanessa, 352;
larva, 354—see also Pyrameis and Araschnia
Vanessula, 356
Vapourer-moths, 407
Variation, of Anomma burmeisteri, 179;
 of Bombus, 58;
of larvae, 336;
of Sphecodes, 23;
of male and worker ants, 160;
of workers and females, 162;
due to parasites, 26;
of larva and imago, 408;
generic, 401;
local, 398;
in nervuration, 414;
and dimorphism in Geometrid-larvae, 412;
of mandibles of Lucanidae, 193;
in colour of Psyllidae, 579;
trichroism of hind wings, 351;
in size of Brenthidae, 297;
of time and form in Cicada, 570;
in wings, 540;
as to winged or wingless, 531;
change in, 414;
seasonal, 335
Vasa deferentia, 321
Veils, 493
Veins—see nervures
Velia currens, 552
Velleius dilatatus, 227
Verhoeff, on Agenia, 106;
on Halictus, 25;
on Siphonophora, 239;
on Stelis minuta, 29;
on terminal segments of beetles, 186
Vermileo degeeri, 481
Vermipsylla alakurt, 523, 526
Verson, on rudiments of wings, 328
Vertebrates, larvae of Diptera, attacking, 506, 510, 512, 514,
517, 520;
tick-fleas on, 526
Vespa, nests of, 79, 83;
 V. austriaca, 81, 88;
V. crabro, 81;
V. germanica, 79
Vespidae, 78
Viviparous, Aphids, 583;
fly, 506, 511, 513, 518 f.;
moths, 430;
Staphylinidae, 227
Voice—see Song, Sound-organs, Stridulation
Volucella, 500;
V. bombylans, 441

Wagner, on morphology of fleas, 523 n.;

on paedogenesis, 460
Walker, J. J., on Halobates, 552
Wallace, on flight of Hesperiidae, 364
Walsingham, Lord, on Tortricidae, 427
Walter, on mouth of Lepidoptera, 308, 310
Wandering ants, 175 f.
Wanzenspritze, 536
Wasmann, on Ants'-nest Insects, 181 n., 183;
on Lomechusa, 142, 226;
on Weismann, 143
Wasps, 71 f.
Wasps'-nest, beetle, 235;
Insect, 268
Water-scorpion, 563
Wax, 65, 575, 576, 597
Wax-glands, 589
Wax-hairs, 580
Wedde, on mouth of Hemiptera, 535
Weeping-trees, 577
Weevil, biscuit-, 247;
pea-, 277
Weinland, on halteres, 448
Wet- and dry-season forms, 336
Whirligig-beetle, 215
White wax, 576, 597
Whittell, on Pelopaeus and Larrada, 117
Wielowiejski, on luminous organs, 250
Wing-cases, of beetles, 186, 270
Wing, of bugs, 539;
of Diptera, 447;
of Lepidoptera, 315 f.;
development of, 328;
structure of, 329
Wingless—see Apterous
Wingless and winged Aphids, 584
Wing-nervures—see Nervures
Wing-rib, 330, 333
Wing-veins—see Nervures
Winter-gnats, 473
Winter-moth, 414
Winter-mother, 586
Wire-worm, 258
Wood-ant—see Formica rufa
Wood-leopard moth, 309, 395
Woodpecker, Diptera in, 506
Workers, 54, 66, 67, 79, 85, 132, 140
Worm-eaten furniture, 248

Xantharpyia straminea, parasite of, 521, 522

Xenos, 303;
X. rossii, 299, 301
Xestobium, 248
Xylocopa, 32, 34, 70;
submentum of, 14;
X. chloroptera, 34;
X. violacea, 33
Xylodiplosis, 458, 459
Xylophagidae, 479
Xylophaginae, 480
Xylophilidae, 266
Xylotrupes gideon, 199
Yellow-fever-fly, 464
Yolinus, 558
Young carried, 556
Yucca-moth, 432

Zabrus, 205
Zaitha anura, 566
Zelotypia staceyi, 396
Zemioses celtis, 296
Zeuzera aesculi, 309, 395
Zeuzeridae, 395
Zygaenidae, 369, 388, 390, 392, 394
Zygia, 253
 END OF VOL. VI

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in the University of Oxford); Jelly-fish, Sea-Anemones, etc., S.
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 NOTES

[1]

Systematic monograph, Mocsáry, Budapest, 1889. Account of the

European Chrysididae, R. du Buysson in André, Spec. gen. Hym.
vol. vi. 1896.

[2]

Ent. Mag. vi. 1869, p. 153.

[3]

Ann. Sci. Nat. (7) ix. 1890, p. 1.

[4]

C. R. Ac. Paris, cxviii. 1894, p. 873.

[5]

Trans. ent. Soc. London, 1873, p. 408.

[6]

Zeitschr. wiss. Zool. xxv. 1875, p. 184.

[7]

Morph. Jahrb. xxiv. 1896, p. 192.

[8]

Zeitschr. wiss. Zool. xxx. 1878, p. 78.

[9]

Proc. ent. Soc. Washington, iii. 1896, p. 334.

[10]
Trans. ent. Soc. 1878, p. 169.

[11]

The mode of wetting the pollen is not clear. Wolff says it is done by
an exudation from the tibia; H. Müller by admixture of nectar from
the bee's mouth. The latter view is more probably correct.

[12]

In studying the proboscis the student will do well to take a Bombus

as an example; its anatomy being more easily deciphered than
that of the honey-bee.

[13]

Leuckart proposed the term lingula; but the word gives rise to the
impression that it is a mistake for either lingua or ligula. Packard
calls the part "hypopharynx."

[14]

For figures and descriptions of the proboscides of British bees,

refer to E. Saunders, Jour. Linn. Soc. xxiii. 1890, pp. 410-432,
plates III.-X.: and for details of the minute structure and function to
Cheshire, Bees and Bee-keeping, vol. i.

[15]

Breithaupt, Arch. Naturges. lii. Bd. i. 1886, p. 47.

[16]

See Fig. 26, p. 71.

[17]

Bull. Mus. Paris, i. 1895, p. 38.

[18]

C.R. Ac. Paris, lxxxvii. 1878, pp. 378 and 535.

[19]

Catalogus Hymenopterorum, Leipzig, 10 vols. 1892-96; Bees, vol.

x.

[20]

Zool. Jahrb. Syst. iv. 1891, p. 779. This paper is a most valuable
summary of what is known as to the habits of European solitary
bees, but is less satisfactory from a systematic point of view.

[21]

Bull. Soc. ent. France, 1894, p. cxv.

[22]

Marchal, Rev. Sci. 15th February 1890, and Ferton, t.c. 19th April.

[23]

C.R. Ac. Paris, lxxxix. 1879, p. 1079, and Ann. Sci. Nat. (6), ix.
1879, No. 4.

[24]

Act. Soc. Bordeaux, xlviii. 1895, p. 145.

[25]

Verh. Ver. Rheinland, xli. 1884, p. 1.

[26]

It is impossible for us here to deal with the question of the origin of

the parasitic habit in bees. The reader wishing for information as to
this may refer to Prof. Pérez's paper, Act. Soc. Bordeaux, xlvii.
1895. p. 300.

[27]

Refer to p. 70 postea, note, as to a recent discovery about

Xylocopa.
[28]

Souvenirs entomologiques. 4 vols. Paris, 1879 to 1891.

[29]

The "Chalicodome des galets" or C. "des murailles" of the French

writer; in some places he speaks of the species as being C.
muraria, in others as C. parietina.

[30]

Trans. Zool. Soc. London, vii. 1870, p. 178.

[31]

Mt. Ver. Steiermark, xxxi. 1882, p. 69.

[32]

Zool. Anz. vii. 1884, p. 312.

[33]

SB. Ges. Wien. xxxviii. 1888, p. 34.

[34]

Ent. Nachr. xii. 1886, p. 177.

[35]

Tr. ent. Soc. London, 1868, p. 133.

[36]

Tr. ent. Soc. London, 1884, p. 149.

[37]

Ann. Soc. ent. France (5), iv. 1874, p. 567.

[38]
See Pérez, Act. Soc. Bordeaux, xxxiii. 1880, p. lxv.; and Cameron,
Tr. Soc. Glasgow, n. s. ii. 1889, p. 194.

[39]

Ann. Nat. Hist. (6), xix. 1897, p. 136.

[40]

Janet has suggested that the folding is done to keep the delicate
hind-margins of the wings from being frayed.

[41]

Zool. Anz. xix. 1896, p. 449. See also note, antea, p. 70.

[42]

Monographie des guêpes sociales, Geneva, 1853-1858, pp. cc.

and 356, plates i.-xxxvii.

[43]

Hence probably the great difference in the abundance of wasps in

different years: if a period of cold weather occur during the early
stages of formation of a wasp family, operations are suspended
and growth delayed; or death may even put an end to the nascent
colony.

[44]

CR. Ac. Paris, cxvii. 1893, p. 584; op. cit. cxxi. 1895, p. 731; Arch.
Zool. exper. (3) iv. 1896, pp. 1-100.

[45]

Kumagusu Minakata, in Nature, l. 1894, p. 30.

[46]

As this work is passing through the press we receive a book by Mr.

and Mrs. Peckham on The Instincts and Habits of the Solitary
Wasps, Madison, 1898. They are of opinion that, in the case of
some species, it does not matter much whether the victim is or is
not killed by the stinging.

[47]

P. ent. Soc. Washington, iii. 1896, p. 303.

[48]

Monograph by Lucas, Berlin ent. Zeitschr. xxxix. 1894.

[49]

"Die Gattungen der Sphegiden," Ann. Hofmus. Wien. xi. 1896, pp.
233-596. Seven plates.

[50]

We will take this opportunity of correcting an error in the

explanation of Fig. 333 of the preceding volume, showing the
propodeum, etc. of Sphex chrysis. f points to a division of the
mesonotum, not of the metanotum, as there stated.

[51]

Pelopaeus disappears from the new catalogue of Hymenoptera as

the name of a valid genus; its species being assigned to
Sceliphron and various other genera. We have endeavoured, as
regards this name, to reconcile the nomenclature of previous
authors with that used in the new catalogue by placing the generic
name adopted in the latter in brackets.

[52]

When a second cell is more or less perfectly marked out, the cell
with which it is connected is said to be appendiculate. The
nervures frequently extend beyond the complete cells towards the
outer margin, forming "incomplete" cells; only complete cells are
counted, except when "incomplete" is mentioned.
[53]

See on this point the note on p. 130.

[54]

The pupae and cocoons of ants are usually called by the

uninstructed, "ants' eggs." In this country they are used as food for
pheasants.

[55]

The parthenogenetic young produced by worker females are

invariably of the male sex.

[56]

The student must recollect that the winged female ants cast their
wings previously to assuming the social life. The winglessness of
these females is a totally different phenomenon from that we here
allude to.

[57]

See Forel, Verh. Ges. deutsch. Naturf. lxvi. 1894, 2, pp. 142-147;
and Emery Biol. Centralbl. xiv. 1894, p. 53. The term ergatoid
applies to both sexes; a species with worker-like female is
ergatogynous; with a worker-like male ergatandrous.

[58]

Nature li. 1894, p. 125.

[59]

Biol. Centralbl. xv. 1895, p. 640.

[60]

Prof. Forel has favoured the writer by informing him of several

cases of these rare intermediate forms he has himself detected.
[61]

Biol. Centralbl. xiv. 1894, p. 53.

[62]

Forel's latest views on this subject will be found in the Ann. Soc.
ent. Belgique xxxvii. 1893, p. 161; the very valuable paper by
Emery, in Zool. Jahrb. Syst. viii. 1896, p. 760.

[63]

Ann. Soct. ent. France, 1893, p. 467.

[64]

Ann. Soc. ent. France, 1893, Bull. p. cclxiv.

[65]

Forel, J. Bombay Soc. viii. 1893, p. 36.

[66]

See von Ihering, Berlin. ent. Zeitschr. xxxix. 1894, p. 364; and
Forel, Ann. Soc. ent. Belgique, xl. 1896, p. 170.

[67]

Ann. Soc. ent. Belgique, xxxvii. 1893, p. 163.

[68]

Bih. Svenska Ak. xxi. 1896, Afd. iv. No. 4.

[69]

Until recently this genus was generally known as Atta, but this
name is now applied to the leaf-cutting ants, that were formerly
called Oecodoma.

[70]

Forel, Bull. Soc. Vaudoise, xxx. pp. 29-30, 1894.

[71]

Tr. ent. Soc. London, 1893, pp. 365-467.

[72]

For a valuable revision of Dorylus and its allies see Emery, Zool.
Jahrb. Syst. viii. 1895, pp. 685, etc. We, however, doubt the
wisdom of extending the sub-family so as to include Cerapachys,
Parasyscia, etc.

[73]

A Catalogue of Myrmecophilous and Termitophilous Arthropods

was published by Wasmann, Berlin 1894.

[74]

For a summary of this subject see Wasmann, Congr. internat.

Zool. iii. 1896, pp. 411-440.

[75]

For explanation of this term see vol. v. p. 524.

[76]

An interesting exception occurs in the Malacodermidae, where this

coadaptation is wanting, or is imperfect; they are frequently
considered to be the most primitive of existing beetles.

[77]

In a series of memoirs in various German periodicals during the

last five or six years (see especially Deutsche ent. Zeit. 1893 and
1894, also subsequent years of Arch. Naturges.). It should be
noticed that in the course of his studies Verhoeff has modified
some of his earlier views.

[78]

We consider this term inferior to Tetramera for nomenclatorial

purposes.
[79]

Danske Selsk. Skr. (6), viii. No. 1, 1895.

[80]

Horae Soc. ent. Ross. xiv. 1879, p. 15.

[81]

In this sub-family there are numerous forms in which the elytra

cover the pygidium, and in which the number of conspicuous
ventral segments is reduced to five or even four. We use the term
Coprides as equivalent to the "Laparosticti" of Lacordaire (Gen.
Col. iii. 1856); it thus includes the "Coprini" and "Glaphyrini" of the
Catalogus Coleopterorum, vol. iv. Munich, 1869.

[82]

Considérations genérales sur l'anatomic comparée des animaux

articulés, etc., Paris 1828, 4to. xix. and 435 pp., and Atlas of ten
(xx.) plates, and 36 pp.

[83]

Raspail, Mém. soc. zool. France, vi. 1893, pp. 202-213.

[84]

Ann. soc. ent. France, (v.) iv. 1874, p. 39.

[85]

In Theratides this outer lobe is in a rudimentary state, like a seta.

[86]

The first portion of a classification of Cicindelidae by Dr. Walther

Horn, Revision der Cicindeliden, Berlin, 1898, has appeared since
this was written.

[87]