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does Lady Amelia haunt the Graystokes?” Moira asked curiously. Being Irish, ghosts and such had always intrigued her.
    “’Tis a sad story, miss,” Pettibone said, warming to the subject. He enjoyed nothing better than displaying his knowledge of Graystoke family lore. “Lady Amelia’s only son was a wastrel of the worst sort. He spent his days drinking, gambling, dueling and…er…visiting ladies of ill repute. ’Twas he who lost the family fortune. Lady Amelia finally managed to get him married to a lovely girl, but it didn’t change his dissolute ways. He was killed in a duel days before the Graystoke heir was born.”
    “How sad.” Moira sighed.
    “Upon her death some years after that of her son, Lady Amelia made a deathbed promise. She vowed that no Graystoke heir would walk the same path as her wastrel son, even if she had to haunt future generations of Graystokes to accomplish it. And the story goes that she has kept her vow, appearing only to those male Graystoke heirs who led debauched lives and were well on the road to perdition.”
    “Do you believe that tale?” Moira asked, thoroughly intrigued by Lady Amelia and her pledge to the future generations of Graystokes.
    Pettibone shrugged. “Aye. There have been no wastrel males in the Graystoke family for several generations. Like as not it could be the result of Lady Amelia’s intervention.”
    What he left unsaid was that Black Jack Graystoke surely qualified for Lady Amelia’s help, and if Lady Amelia didn’t intervene soon, it would be too late for his rakehell master.
    “Thank you for telling me, Mr. Pettibone.”
    “If there is nothing you wish, miss, I’ll continue with my chores.”
    “I was wondering what happened to my clothing. I don’t see them anywhere.”
    “They are being cleaned and mended. They’ll be returned when the doctor says it’s all right for you to leave your bed. He’ll be here later today to place a cast on your arm.”
    After Pettibone left, Moira had much to think about, not the least of which was her handsome benefactor. Just how well-meaning was Jack Graystoke? she wondered. She wasn’t so naive as to think that men did good deeds without expecting some kind of reward. Jack didn’t strike her as an altruistic man. Pleasure-seeking, self-indulgent, arrogant came to mind. Was amusement his only reason for wanting to pass her off as a lady and find her a husband?
    Sweet Blessed Mother! Moira found it impossible to think of anything but Black Jack’s sensual gray eyes—eyes that held a tempting touch of wildness, of vital energy almost mesmerizing in its intensity. She was grateful for the lesson Lord Roger had taught her. No man was worthy of trust. She vowed to remember that lesson in her dealings with Black Jack Graystoke.

Chapter Three
    Jack did not let his houseguest interfere with his normal habit of visiting his usual haunts that night. After a solitary dinner, he dressed carefully and left the house at nine after first stopping by to bid Moira good night. He hoped to win enough at the gaming tables to pay off a few pressing debts. Tomorrow would be time enough to begin the task of turning a little Irish nobody into a lady of quality.
    The mansion was crowded. Jack was greeted by numerous friends as he threaded his way to the gaming room. More than one lady smiled coyly at him, while others openly ogled the infamous Black Jack Graystoke. A beautiful, sophisticated woman boldly approached Jack and took his arm in a possessive manner that bespoke of familiarity.
    “Jack, you rogue!” She tapped his arm playfully with her fan. “How naughty of you to keep me waiting.”
    “Had I known you were waiting, Lady Victoria, I would have made haste,” Jack returned gallantly.
    Lady Victoria Greene’s keen blue eyes hinted of unbridled passion and promised much more. She knew Jack needed to marry money, and since she was immensely rich, she considered herself perfect for a rogue like Jack. She wasn’t