What Price Love? by Stephanie Laurens

learn where he was. And whether the cold lump of fear congealing in her stomach was justified.
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    A s it happens we do have a map showing the stables and studs.” The lady behind the counter of the lending library smiled at Pris. “I’m afraid you can’t borrow it, but you’re very welcome to study it.” She nodded across the foyer of the lending library. “It’s hanging over there.”
    Pris swung around, eyes widening as she saw a very large, very detailed map covering a considerable section of the opposite wall.
    Behind her, the helpful lady continued, “We get so many gentlemen calling in, trying to find their way to this stud or that stable, that we had the aldermen make that up for us.”
    â€œIs it up-to-date?”
    â€œOh, yes. The town clerk drops by every year to make adjustments. He was here in July, so the details are very recent.”
    â€œThank you.” Pris flashed the lady a brilliant smile. Leaving thecounter, she crossed the foyer that ran across the street end of bookcases stretching back into the dimness of the building. There were chairs and low tables grouped in the area, more or less in the library window. Two old ladies were sitting in armchairs, comparing novels. Pris halted before the large map mounted on the wall.
    It was huge and wonderfully informative. It even showed some of the bigger stands of trees out on the Heath. She located the wood in which she and Caxton had kissed; backtracking, she found the area where Cromarty’s string exercised, then traced the route back to the stable southeast of Swaffam Prior. Even the tavern in the village was carefully marked.
    Elsewhere, somewhere between the bookcases, Eugenia and Adelaide were pursuing books on the Breeding Register.
    Locating the Carisbrook house, Pris scanned the major estates, the studs and famous stables ringing the town. She memorized the names and outlines of the larger properties, searching for distant sheds or disused buildings, any places Rus might be using as a refuge.
    She knew he was close, still in the vicinity. While the possibility of his having gone to London had to be examined, she didn’t believe he had.
    Next to a large stud labeled Cynster, she found a smaller property, an old manor with a house called Hillgate End. The name carefully lettered beneath was CAXTON . Pris took note of the surrounding lanes and woods, her mind—if not her enthusiasm—preparing for the inevitable, that she would have to approach Caxton again.
    After their interlude in the wood, she absolutely definitely didn’t want to think of having to do so. Of having to risk it. Turning her mind from the prospect, she set about quartering the Heath, searching for old or disused dwellings.
    Behind her, the bell above the library door jingled. An instant later, one of the assistants exclaimed, “Why, Mrs. Cynster! You’re just the person we need. I have a lady here terribly keen to learn about the register—I assume that’s the Breeding Register Mr. Caxton keeps—but we’ve no books about it, which I must say seems strange. Perhaps you could speak with her?”
    Pris looked around, and beheld a vision in soft summer blue. Mrs. Cynster was a youthful matron, extremely stylish, elegantly gowned with a wealth of guinea gold curls exquisitely cropped. Byher side, a young girl, perhaps ten or so, stood patiently waiting.
    The young girl saw Pris. The girl’s eyes grew wide, then wider. Staring unabashedly, she blindly reached up and tugged her mother’s sleeve.
    Pris turned back to the map. She was often the recipient of such stunned fascination, but in this case, given her mother, the girl had an unusually high standard for comparison.
    Regarding the map, Pris considered the Cynster stud, with the smaller Hillgate End estate nestled above it. Mrs. Cynster, assuming she was the Mrs. Cynster, was Caxton’s neighbor.
    Behind her, Mrs. Cynster agreed to