The Earl of Begley awoke from his night of debauchery in the stables of the Twining Rose Inn. His head raged, his mouth was dry as an August cornfield, and it felt as though someone had unhinged his jaw. Had he been in a fight?

His only acute memory of the night was Alamuir's luscious widow. He did recall trying to gain access to her rooms. Yes, someone must have knocked him out. It couldn't have been Alamuir's dogs-body, Simmons. He wouldn't have dared strike an earl. He'd have the bastard transported.

The Duchess was a beauty. The loveliest thing he'd ever seen. Honey blonde hair, frosty blue eyes and a rosy complexion, not some pale-faced wench who'd never seen the out of doors. He had to have her.

Alamuir had gotten the title and the wealth. If not for the carelessness of his grandfather to be born a second son, that title and wealth would have been his. The woman should have been his, too. "Damn Alamuir, I won't mourn your passing," he said aloud.

He looked around the stable and peered out into the yard, picking hay from his person. The Duke's coach and the other four carriages were gone. God's teeth! Had he slept through that commotion? He must have had more than he thought to drink.

"You!" he said to the stable boy who was mucking one of the emptied stalls. "Where was the Duchess' coach headed?"

"To Dover, then Calais, and on to Paris. I heard it straight from the Duchess' coachman himself."

He flipped the lad a coin, sniffed his armpits and went inside to get a bath and collect his bag.

As Begley soaked in the tepid bathwater a plan began to form. He would follow her to Paris. Simple he thought. He'd clean himself up, perhaps buy a new coat. He'd even stop the incessant drinking. He could present himself in a good light. Begley knew himself to be a handsome man when he put forth the effort.

The Duchess would be vulnerable and alone. Her son wasn't old enough to protect a flea. Simmons wouldn't have the bollocks to thwart him. Begley convinced himself that he could carry this off. He'd eat a good breakfast then make a dash to Paris and set himself up. He'd be in the perfect position to assist her... into his bed.

He laughed aloud. Begley was gleeful at the thought of all that money. He rose from the filthy bathwater, dressed and headed for the common room to find food.