Caroline just swallowed and smiled weakly, having no idea how to respond to that.

“I insist that you accompany us,” the countess said, linking her arm through Caroline's. “And I might as well warn you that there is no use arguing. I always get my way.”

“That, Lady Fairwich, I don't find difficult to believe at all.”

The countess trilled with laughter. “Miss Dent, I think you and I are going to get along famously.”

Caroline gulped. “Then you plan to stay here in Bournemouth for some time?”

“Oh, just a week or so. It seemed foolish to travel all the way down here and then turn right back again.”

“All the way? Isn't it just a hundred miles?” Caroline frowned. Wasn't that what Blake had said that morning?

“A hundred miles, two hundred miles, five hundred miles…” The countess did the Ravenscroft wave. “If I have to pack, what difference does it make?”

“I—I—I'm sure I don't know,” Caroline replied, feeling as if she'd just been leveled by a whirlwind.

“Sally!” the countess called out, turning to her maid. “Miss Dent is going to show me to my brother's house. Why don't you remain here with Felix and guard our bags? We shall send someone for you with all possible haste.”

Then the countess took a step in the direction of Seacrest Manor, practically dragging Caroline along with her. “I daresay my brother will be surprised to see me!” she chirped.

Caroline moved forward on wobbly legs. “I daresay you're right.”

Blake was not in a good mood.

He had obviously misplaced every shred of good sense he had ever possessed. There was no other explanation for his carrying Caroline off to his room and nearly ravishing her in broad daylight. And if that weren't bad enough, now he was aching with unfulfilled need thanks to his meddling butler.

But the worst—the absolute worst—part of all was that now Caroline had up and gone missing. He'd searched the house from top to bottom, front to back, and she was nowhere to be found. He didn't think she'd run away; she had far too much sense for that. She was probably out wandering the countryside, trying to clear her head.

Which would have been a perfectly understandable and indeed commendable pursuit if her likeness weren't depicted on bills plastered all over the county. It was a bad likeness, to be sure—Blake still thought the artist should have drawn her smiling—but still, if someone found her and returned her to Prewitt…

He swallowed uncomfortably. He didn't like the hollow feeling he felt at the thought of her leaving.

Blast that woman! He didn't have time for a complication like this, and he certainly didn't have room in his heart for another woman.

Blake swore under his breath as he pushed aside a gauzy piece of curtain and scanned the side garden. Caroline must have left via the servants' stairs; that was the only exit she'd have had access to from the washing room. He'd searched the grounds completely, but he'd been checking the side the most often; for some reason he thought she'd come back the way she had gone. He didn't know why. She just seemed the sort who would do that.