“Except you won’t. Kindly put down the gun and let me be on my way.”

“I can’t do that. For you see, madam, regardless of how I was employed, my real mission is to keep you from your father. I see in your eye a determination to head in his direction so as to rescue the Wisteria Society, and I am obliged to stop you.”

“Why?” Cecilia almost put her hands on her hips before recollecting her dignity. “Exactly who are you?”

He shrugged. “It depends on whom you ask. To Lady Armitage, I am Eduardo de Luca, Italian mercenary, hired to kill the beautiful ward of her archnemesis. To Captain Morvath, I am Edward Lightbourne, a pirate just wanting new premises and willing to do whatever it takes to get them. Which means stealing houses and returning Morvath’s long-lost daughter safely to his care. (This is where you shudder with fear.)”

“I am not frightened, Mr. Lightbourne.”

“Captain.”

“So you say.”

“But it’s true. For I am also known to Her Majesty as Ned Smith, a captain of the royal secret service, charged among other things with keeping Miss Cecilia Morvath out of her father’s hands. And I am—”

“You!” came a shout.

Ned sighed. Grabbing Cecilia by the arm, he pulled her against him and held the gun to her temple, as Constantinopla and Tom came racing across the field.

“Fiend!” Constantinopla yelled. “Blighter! Rogue!”

“Hello, Oply,” Ned said wearily.

“Where have all the houses gone?” Tom asked in bewilderment.

“Hijacked by Captain Morvath,” Cecilia said. “This fellow helped orchestrate it.”

“I’m not surprised!” Constantinopla declared. “Unscrupulous! Traitor! Rake!”

“You are acquainted?” Cecilia asked.

“This is Teddy Luxe!” Constantinopla shouted, her face as pink as her hair bow. “My fencing master!”

“Oh.” Cecilia recalled Constantinopla’s descriptions of hot, melting wax and undulating hips and tried with sudden urgency to pull herself from Captain Lightbourne’s grip. It only resulted in him drawing her even tighter against him. “But he has no mustache,” she said rather inanely.

“It was horsehair,” Ned confessed. “Itched like crazy.”

“Horsehair?!” Constantinopla’s face progressed from pink straight through red to a violent purple. “As false as your seductive words! You said you would see us in Monday’s class, but by the end of the weekend you had vanished, leaving not even a stray button or lock of hair to entertain our forlorn hopes!”

“I am sorry for the deception, Miss Brown. But at least you are now proficient in fencing and tango dancing.”

“Is that all you taught her?” Cecilia asked.

“Good God, madam, what do you take me for?”

“A pirate. A thief. A devious assassin double-crossing everyone . . .”

“Yes, but she is a mere child,” Ned replied, waving his gun briefly, expressively, at Constantinopla. “Of course I didn’t—”

“I’m not a child,” Constantinopla retorted, and would have said further but Tom took sudden hold of her and pulled her around to face him.

“What does he mean?” the young man demanded. “You told me you were nineteen.”