Lady Julianna Sterling gave up the idea of a husband and
babies the day she was left standing at the altar. She
survived the scandal following her abandonment and now,
four years later, society deems her on the shelf. The
boring life Julianna leads comes to an unexpected halt when
a famous highwayman, the Magpie, takes her captive.
Stranded with him in a remote cottage, Julianna discovers
the depths of her courage as she and the Magpie form an
uneasy relationship. Julianna lowers her guard and reveals
her fears and dreams. Believing he deeply cares for her,
she asks him to leave his life of crime. Her heart breaks
when the Magpie refuses and returns her home.
Viscount Dane Granville masquerades as the Magpie to catch
a spy responsible for murder and treason. Dane challenges
his own fear of death by embracing the danger and tempting
fate. His mission, known only to a few in the Home Office,
is to unearth the culprit by stealing funds intended for
him. The last job proves his undoing. Along with the money,
he captures a lovely woman who fills the void in his life.
Giving her up proves to be the hardest challenge he's ever
undertaken.
Julianna's luck runs true. She falls in love with a
highwayman and not a hero. She refuses to regret their time
together and resolves to continue her life. However, fate
intervenes and Dane must decide if he'll risk everything
for love.
A PERFECT HERO is an emotional and compelling ending to the
Sterling trilogy. Ms. James fills the tale with an
unexpected character and some surprises that will keep
readers guessing until the conclusion.
Can a perfect scoundrel be the perfect hero?
Since she was cruelly left at the altar at the age of
twenty-two, Lady Julianna Sterling has resolved to have
nothing to do with men. So she is shocked to discover she
has unwelcome feelings for the very worst of the breed -- a
dangerous, unbearably handsome highwayman who has set upon
her coach in the countryside and taken her captive. Worse
still, her righteous ire turns quickly to disappointment
when the irresistible outlaw sets her free.
Viscount Dane Granville knows he should not have revealed
his face to the enchanting Lady Julianna -- for he has
compromised the secret mission he has undertaken for the
Crown in the guise of the notorious Magpie. Now their paths
are crossing once more, and Dane aches to taste again the
sweetness of her kiss. But he must resist what his heart
demands, for their passion can only lead to perils beyond
imagining ...
Excerpt
Prologue
London 1814
Whispers had begun to circulate in the church.
Oh, but it was wrong . . . so wrong. For only moments
earlier, all she could think was that no other day could
have been more perfect for this . . . her wedding day.
High above, the sunlight shone through the stained glass
windows of St. George's Church in Hanover Square, bathing
the interior of the church in a radiant, ephemeral glow.
It was a sign, Lady Julianna Sterling had decided as she
stepped from the carriage and approached the church. For
too long now, a cloud of shadow had been cast upon the
Sterlings. She'd viewed it as a symbol of her life to come,
a good sign. For surely on such a glorious, golden day like
this, no hint of darkness would dare come to pass. Her
union with Thomas Markham would be blessed, blessed as no
other.
And yet now, but moments later . . . . She battled a low-
grade panic. Thomas should have been here by now.
Where was he? Where?
A hand touched her elbow. Julianna looked up into her
oldest brother's gray eyes. If Sebastian noticed the
whispers of their guests, he ignored them.
"You look like a princess," he said huskily.
Julianna struggled for a smile and miraculously produced
one. Her gown was of sheer, pale pink silk—her favorite
color—draped over silver satin. Matching pink slippers
encased her feet. Sheer, Brussels lace adorned the sleeves;
embroidered on the hem were delicate white rosebuds, shot
here and there with glistening silver thread. But perhaps
the most striking feature was the long, elegant train which
swirled behind her.
"I feel like one," she admitted softly. "But thank you, my
lord. I daresay you're rather dashing yourself."
"And what of me?" Another voice, this one belonging to her
brother Justin. "Am I not dashing as well?"
Julianna wrinkled her nose. "Desperate is what you are,"
she retorted, "if you must seek compliments from your
sister."
"Minx," Justin drawled.
Sheltered on each side by her dark-haired, suavely handsome
older brothers, Julianna slipped dainty, lace-gloved hands
into the crook of their elbows. For twenty-three years
Sebastian and Justin had protected her and sheltered her to
the best of their ability—not that she had wanted it or
needed it—but she loved them dearly for it.
Justin cocked a brow and addressed Sebastian. "While I
realize it's normally a mother's duty to see that a young
bride is adequately prepared for her wedding night, I trust
you've seen to it that our sister has been apprised of all
the . . . how may I put this delicately . . . the requisite
information—"
"Actually, I asked that Sebastian save that duty for you,
Justin. After all, you are a man of vast experience in that
particular arena, are you not?"
It was a rare occasion to see Justin discomfited; Julianna
savored it.
"Besides," she went on mildly, "there is no need. While I
am not a woman of excessive skill, I do pride myself on my
imagination—to say nothing of the fact that I became quite
adept at listening at keyholes in my younger years when the
two of you were in your cups. I garnered quite an
education, shall we say. Therefore, I predict no
shortcomings in that area."
Sebastian straightened himself to his full height. "The
devil you say—"
"Julianna!" Justin was saying. "Now see here—"
"Stop looking so disapproving, both of you." They both
appeared so shocked that Julianna couldn't withhold a laugh.
Little did she know it would be the last time she laughed
that day.
While her brothers were still glowering at her, her gaze
shifted to the nave of the church. From the time she was a
child, Julianna had cherished dreams of being married in
St. George's at Hanover Square, built nearly a hundred
years earlier—why, the marriage of the king's son, Prince
Augustus had taken place there in grand fashion! And thanks
to Sebastian, the fanciful dreams of a child were about to
become a reality—it was he who insisted her wedding take
place at St. George's.
Julianna did not argue. It wasn't simply that it was just
because of a child's fanciful dream; she knew, too, that
for Sebastian, it was a symbol of prosperity and success.
They had come such a long, long way, the three of them,
since the days when Society shunned the Sterlings. Upon
their father's death, it was Sebastian who had restored
respectability to their name.
The box pews on either side of the aisle were filled to
overflowing. But Julianna noted several heads had begun to
turn, traveling from the back of the church where they
stood just to the side of the doors, to the front near the
sanctuary . . .
Where Thomas should have awaited her.
An uneasy knot had begun to gather in the pit of her
belly. "I daresay fully half the ton is here," she murmured.
"I do believe you'd have invited the whole of England had
Sebastian allowed it," Justin said with a faint smile.
Sebastian made no comment.
In the west gallery, the organist coughed. The church was
still. The organist sat waiting in the west gallery for a
signal from Reverend Hodgson, who had begun to shift from
one foot to the other.
Several minutes later, Sebastian reached for his pocket
watch and flipped it open, his expression grim. The
ceremony was set for one o'clock.
It was now nearly a quarter past the hour.
Julianna could not bear to look inside the church. The
faces of the guests had turned from mild inquiry to pitying
glances; the whispers had turned into an ominous hush.
Julianna looked up at Sebastian imploringly. "Something's
wrong," she said, her voice low. "Thomas should have
arrived by now."
Justin was not so generous. His features were tight-
lipped. "He'd better have an explanation for this. My God,
late for his own wedding—"
"Justin! Thomas is a good man, a compassionate man, the
best of men. You know as well as I that he has a heart of
gold!"
"Then where the devil is he?" growled Justin.
Julianna began to fret. "Oh, a dreadful accident has surely
befallen him, for there is nothing that would keep him from
this day! He is an honorable man. He—" her voice cracked "—
otherwise he would be here. He will be here! There must be
some reason . . . "
And so there was.
The side door opened. Three sets of eyes swiveled sharply
when Samuel, Thomas's brother, stepped within.
It was just like Justin not to bandy words. "Egad, man,
where is Thomas?"
Sebastian stepped forward as well. "Yes," he said
sharply. "Where is he?"
Samuel stepped before Julianna. She could barely breathe.
His bearing was such that it seemed he carried the weight
of the universe on his shoulders.
Something was horribly, horribly wrong. She sensed it. She
knew it. "Samuel. Samuel, tell me what's wrong!"
It was only later that she realized she should have
known . . . His gaze avoided hers. "I'm sorry, Julianna.
But Thomas is gone."
Her heart gave a feeble thud. "Gone?" she said faintly.
"Yes. A note was delivered to me a short while ago. Oh, but
I know not how to tell you this! Last night, you see—last
night he left for Gretna Greene . . . with Clarice Grey."
Shocked, Samuel raised anxious eyes to
Julianna. "Julianna," he ventured tentatively, "did you
hear me?"
Julianna stared. This couldn't be happening. It was a
dream. Nay, a nightmare! Her heart was as cold as the stone
beneath her slippers.
Behind her there was a collective gasp.
"Gretna Greene!" someone was saying. "He's eloped to Gretna
Greene with another woman!"
And then it was spreading through the church, like a flame
set to tinder, until her ears were roaring and she couldn't
even think. And everyone was staring at her. She felt the
touch of their eyes like shards of glass digging into her
skin. She felt barren. Naked, as never before.
She had little memory of leaving the church. Sebastian and
Justin hustled her outside and into the carriage, shielding
her from the gaping stars of the guests who had already
begun to file from the nave.
By the time they rolled up in front of Sebastian's town
house, she had yet to speak. Justin was still swearing,
muttering something about a duel when he leaped from the
carriage.
Sebastian touched her shoulder. "Julianna?" he
murmured. "Jules, are you all right?"
"I'm perfectly fine," she heard herself say in utterly
precise tones. But she wasn't. Inside she was cringing.
With utter calm she turned her head toward her brother.
"There will be a scandal, won't there?"
A ghost of a smile crept across Sebastian's lips. "We're
Sterlings, Jules. Perhaps it's inevitable. But we've
weathered scandal before, haven't we?"
He meant to comfort, she knew. Yet how easy for him to say.
After all, he was a man. It was easier for men. Men weren't
branded as spinsters. As ape-leaders. Some old windbag
wouldn't forever be whispering behind her fan about how he
had been deserted on his wedding day . . .
She wanted to weep, to cry, to hurl herself into
Sebastian's arms and sob out her heartache. As a child, he
was the one who soothed her hurts and scrapes.
But this was a hurt he could not heal.
Through eyes so dry they hurt, she stared at him, pressing
her lips together. She dared not blink, for she knew the
tears would begin in earnest then. He searched her face
endlessly, and she wondered if he could see the gash in her
heart, the twist in her soul. She tried to be brave. She
would be brave. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't weep. Not
yet. Not yet.
For that would come later.
Sebastian leaped out, then extended a hand. Julianna took
it, alighting from the carriage. As she stepped toward the
house, she felt the warming kiss of the sun upon her head.
Mocking her, reviling her.
It was all gone, she thought wildly. All gone . . . her
girlish hopes, her fanciful dreams. She wanted to curl up
into a ball and sob her heart out.
For something had happened today. She was forever changed.
Forever shamed.
Chapter 1
Spring 1818
It was a perfect night for thievery.
From beneath the crowning shelter of an aged oak tree, the
figure on horseback surveyed the roadway. The hour was
late, and with a sliver of moon slumbering behind a wisp of
a cloud, the night was as dark and depthless as the yawning
pits of hell. The faint rush of the wind sighed through the
tree limbs to sing a plaintive, lonesome melody.
All the better to conceal his presence. All the better to
aid his endeavor. All the better to await his opportunity.
Dressed wholly in black, from his hat to the soles of his
boots. A dark mask obscured all but the glint of his eyes.
He sat his mount—Percival—like a man accustomed to long
hours on horseback, his posture straight as an arrow,
betraying no hint of weariness . . . and with the silent
stealth of a man who knew well and true that his presence
must be concealed at all costs, until such time as he
deemed the right time to strike.
Lest his very life be forfeit.
And the man known as the Magpie had no desire to meet his
Maker.
Percival's ears pricked forward. Black-gloved fingers
tightened on the reins. Squeezing his knees, he stilled the
massive horse's movement. A fingertip pressed gently over
his neck. "Wait," he cautioned.
The powerful animal quieted beneath his touch, but he could
feel his muscles bunched and knotted, ready to spring into
action.
With narrowed eyes, the man squinted into the encroaching
darkness, directly to the east. This was not his first
night masquerading as the Magpie. Nor would it be his last.
Not until his purpose was accomplished to his satisfaction.
Beneath the black silk mask, a faint smile appeared. A
familiar rush of excitement raced along his veins, an
excitement he could not deny that he relished. His
heartbeat quickened, for the pounding of hoofbeats had
reached his ears as well as Percival's. The light from a
dim yellow lantern had now appeared as well, bobbing the
distance.
Quarry approached.
He waited until it was within sight, for he was not a man
to make mistakes. As if on cue—damn, but he had the devil's
own luck!—the moon slid out from behind the cloud. The
Magpie lifted his reins, broke free of the waist-high
grasses beside the road and stationed himself directly in
the path of the lumbering coach.
When he saw him, the coachman stood on the box and hauled
on the reins. With a jingle of the harness and a shout from
the coachman, the vehicle rolled to a halt.
Coolly the Magpie raised a pair of pistols dead-center at
the man.
"Stand and deliver!" came his cool demand.
Hours earlier, Julianna seized her skirt and ran across the
courtyard at the inn, zigzagging to avoid the puddles left
by yesterday's rain. "Wait!" she cried.
The driver clearly was not particularly disposed to
patience. He glared at her. "Ye'd better hurry, mum," he
grunted. "We're late already."
Late. Yes, that was certainly the word of the day. There
was a thump as her trunk was loaded. And by Jove, she was
determined to reach Bath, if not by tonight, then tomorrow.
Nothing about this journey had gone according to plan.
Traveling by public coach had not been in the plan.
Unfortunately, she'd missed the speedy mail coach.
Breathless, Julianna hurtled herself inside. She'd barely
seated herself when the door closed and the contraption
lurched forward.
There were three passengers besides herself, an elderly
woman, another woman with a huge, drooping bonnet and a man
next to her that Julianna guessed was her husband.
Julianna found herself next to the old woman. "Good day to
all of you," she greeted pleasantly.
"Good day to ye," nodded the old woman.
The other woman eyed her gray-striped traveling gown
curiously. "Are ye traveling alone then, madam?"
Madam? Mercy, but at twenty-seven, had she begun to age so
dreadfully then?
"I am," Julianna returned evenly. "My maid and I were en
route to Bath—I recently bought a house there, you see—when
she became ill early in the afternoon. We stopped and spent
the night at the inn. I'd hoped she would be quite
recovered by today, but I fear that was not the case. But
by this afternoon, it was clear poor Peggy was in no
condition to travel the remainder of the way to Bath, so I
sent her back to London in my carriage." The fact that
Julianna was unaccompanied didn't bother her in the least.
"That was most kind of ye, mum," said the other woman. "But
we aren't traveling as far as Bath. And the roads aren't
safe after dark."
Her husband sent her a censuring glance. "Leticia! 'Tis
hardly your affair."
"Don't look at me like that, Charles. You know it's true!
There's that terrible highwayman, the Magpie. What will
come next, I ask! Why, the wretched man may very well
murder us in our beds, every one of us!" She cast an
imploring glance at the elderly woman next to
Julianna. "Mother, tell him!"
The old lady folded her hands and bobbed her head. "It's
quite true, Charles," she said, her eyes round. "Oh, he's
quite a horrid fellow, this Magpie."
"You see?" Leticia transferred her gaze to Julianna.
"I thank you for your concern, Mrs. . . " Julianna paused
meaningfully.
"Chadwick, Leticia and Charles," the woman said
briskly. "And my mother is Mrs. Nelson. You've heard of
him, haven't you? The Magpie?"
Julianna's mouth quirked. The London newspapers had been
full of the Magpie's exploits—he was becoming quite the
infamous brigand. Perhaps she was growing jaded, but it
occurred to her that perhaps his reputation had been
exaggerated, merely for the sake of selling more
newspapers. Indeed, she would have almost welcomed an
encounter with the Magpie, thus named for his cheekiness in
robbing a coach carrying the private secretary of the Prime
Minister himself, the Earl of Liverpool—a daring if not
foolhardy deed, to be sure.
But to think that they would be robbed by this notorious
highwayman-she dismissed the notion out of hand. Still, she
was reminded of her own rather mundane existence.
Three years ago, Sebastian had wed, and Julianna had taken
it upon herself to move out of the family residence. The
shame and scandal of being stranded at the altar had been
difficult to bear. Julianna counted herself a realist, and
she was aware the experience had not left her unscathed.
But she liked to think she was at least somewhat wiser.
She'd floundered for a time, spending months in Europe,
dreading the day she must face the ton again.
What a shock it had been when she returned to London on the
eve of Sebastian's wedding!
It was then that she'd realized it was time to face life
head-on. There could be no more hiding away, for what would
that accomplish? She and Justin and Sebastian would always
be close—the circumstances of their childhood had seen to
that. She lived quite comfortably on her allowance from
Sebastian, but she had made some investments of her own
which allowed her to purchase a modest town house in
London, and her newest acquisition, a lovely little manor
house in Bath.
Julianna was proud of her accomplishments, for she had
discovered a courage and a dignity she hadn't known she
possessed. It had begun that long-ago night when Thomas and
Clarice had returned from Gretna Green. Apologetic and
contrite, Thomas had come to her.
"I know my marriage to Clarice must have come as a shock,"
he'd said. "I can offer no excuse except one . . . Clarice
is carrying my child, Julianna."
In shocked, muted silence Julianna listened while Thomas
relayed how Clarice had come to him in tears the night
before they—Julianna and Thomas—were to wed.
"I cannot deny what I have done, Julianna. Clarice and I
have been friends since we were children. We succumbed to a
moment of weakness—a moment of abandon. It was wrong. I
knew it. But I told myself you would never know. Indeed
both Clarice and I agreed that we could not continue to see
each other. But when she came to me and confessed that she
was with child, I could not deny her. Honor and duty
compelled that I do the right thing and marry Clarice. And
so I did. I will regret to the end of my days if I hurt
you, Julianna. But it was the right thing to do."
If he had hurt her. He knew that he had. He knew that she'd
loved him madly . . . And honor and duty. Well, those were
things that Julianna understood, and so did her brothers.
Indeed, it was all that had stopped Justin from calling him
out. Oh, yes, she had understood . . .
In time, she had forgiven him. In time . . . for that, too,
was the right thing to do.
But never would she forget. Never.
The pain and bitter hurt had faded. They were but a twinge
in the region of her heart. But no man would ever turn her
head again. Never again would she be so gullible, so
trusting. She would rather be old and alone than to marry
simply for the sake of marrying.
For despite the abominable circumstances of their youth—
their mother's abandonment, their father's disregard—
Julianna had never lost faith in the sanctity of marriage.
A nurturer, Sebastian had always called her, sweet and soft-
hearted, always taking care of others.
It was true, she supposed. Oh, yes, it was in her nature to
be a wife, a mother. She'd once speculated that it was the
fact that their mother had run off with her lover which
instilled in Julianna the desire to be everything their own
mother was not. Indeed, Julianna had once been convinced
that the whole sordid make-up of her parents' relationship
had simply made her all the more determined that when she,
Julianna, married—and as a child she had somehow never
doubted that she would—it would be for love . . . and love
alone. Ah, yes, the longing for a husband and children was
something that only grew stronger as she grew older.
Forever it seemed she had planned the day of her
wedding . . .
Oddly, it no longer hurt to think of that day.
What hurt was knowing she would never have a child of her
own. No, there would be no children.
For there would be no husband.
And that particular heartache was one which had taken a
long time to accept—and remained a secret locked tight in
her breast for all eternity. She would never experience the
joy of a child snug against her breasts . . . her child.
For a husband was beyond her reach—perhaps more aptly,
beyond her desire. And so she had buried the yearning for a
child.
For it could never be.
No, when was no longer quite so carefree, seeing only the
good in the world. As for the Magpies of the world, well,
in time he would surely get his due.
"I daresay all the Kingdom has heard of the Magpie," she
returned lightly.
Mrs. Chadwick eyed her. "Are you not afraid?"
"Afraid of a man I cannot see, a man I've yet to meet?"
Smiling, Julianna shook her head, mildly amused. Reports of
such men and their misdeeds had fallen off in these last
few years. The notion of a highwayman made her shiver, but
not in dread. Why, if she were given to such fancies, the
notion might be almost romantic!
Now, if he were to leap through that door—" she nodded "—I
might be inclined to say otherwise."
"Oh, but you should be afraid. That's a pretty bauble at
your throat. No doubt he would take great pleasure in
relieving you of it. That and more." Mrs. Chadwick nodded
knowingly.
Julianna raised her brows.
"Oh, indeed," put in her mother. "Why, the tales we've
heard . . . Why, they're not to be spoken of in polite
company."
Mr. Chadwick finally spoke. "What nonsense is this?"
"'Tis not nonsense, Charles!" His wife thrust her chin
out. "A lady would not want to fall into his hands, for she
would surely suffer a fate worse than death, and I think I
need not expound on the matter! The man is a devil—'tis
said he even has the devil's eyes—and everyone knows it!"
Her meaning was not lost on Julianna, whose smile froze.
Until that moment, she'd actually found herself wishing for
a little adventure . . . She chewed the inside of her cheek
and reconsidered. For all the notoriety surrounding the
Magpie, the papers in London had said nothing of him
ravaging women.
Wringing her hands, Mrs. Chadwick glanced anxiously out the
window. "Oh, but I do hope the driver hurries. I want to be
home before dark. I won't feel safe until we're settled
before the fire with a nice cuppa."
Charles Chadwick lifted his gaze heavenward. "For the love
of God, missus, will you stop your whinin'! If the Magpie
should waylay us, by God, I swear I shall put you on his
horse myself and bid you good riddance!"
Mrs. Chadwick gasped. "Well, I never!" Her mother glared
daggers at her son-in-law.
Julianna directed her eyes to her lap, biting back a laugh.
The four of them lapsed into silence.
They passed through several more villages but no more
passengers alighted. It was late in the afternoon when the
coach began to slow. Leticia Chadwick had scooted to the
edge of their seat even before they came to a halt before a
small tavern. "At last," she nearly sang out, then turned
to Julianna. "May your journey be a safe one."
Julianna smiled her good-bye, welcoming the rush of clean
air that swept in when the door opened. It was cool and
fresh, with no stench of coal and smoke. It was good to be
away from London, she decided. The decision to go to Bath
had been an impetuous one, but she would so enjoy the
chance to rest and catch her breath from the hectic pace of
the Season, which was in full swing.
The trio disembarked. Julianna had wondered about their
state of marital bliss—they were clearly not in the first
blush of youth. She looked on when Charles Chadwick took
his wife's arm protectively as they crossed the street.
Leticia glanced up at him, a wisp of a smile on her lips.
An odd ache filled Julianna's throat, an ache for what
might have been . . .
Deliberately she looked away.
No other passengers boarded. The coach did not linger. The
driver shouted and they were off. The wheels cracked and
rumbled as they began to gain speed.
It wasn't long before the walls of darkness began to close
in. She found herself peering out the window, anxiously
searching the side of the road, trying to see behind every
tree and bush until she began to grow dizzy. Oh, but this
was silly, she chided herself, to allow herself to be
spooked by the Chadwicks' talk of highwaymen!
She forced herself to relax. Eventually, the sway and lurch
of the coach lulled her into drowsiness. Swaying with the
rhythm of the coach, her eyes drifted shut.
The next thing she felt herself tumbling to the floor.
Jarred into wakefulness, she opened her eyes, rubbing her
shoulder where she'd landed. What the deuce . . ? Panic
enveloped her; it was pitch black inside the coach.
And outside as well.
She was just about to heave herself back onto the cushions
when the sound of male voices punctuated the air outside.
The coachman . . . and someone else.
"Put it down, I s-say!" the coachman stuttered. "There's
nothing of value aboard, I swear! Mercy," the man
blubbered. "I beg of you, have mercy!"
Even as a decidedly prickly unease slid down her spine, the
door was wrenched open. She found herself staring at the
gleaming barrels of twin pistols. In terror she lifted her
gaze to the man who possessed them.
Garbed in black he was, from the enveloping folds of his
cloak to the kerchief that obscured the lower half of his
face. A silk mask was tied around his eyes; they were all
that was visible of his features. Even in the dark, there
was no mistaking their color. They glimmered like clear,
golden fire, pale and unearthly.
The devil's eyes.
"Nothing of value aboard, eh?"
A gust of chill night air funneled in. Yet it was like
nothing compared to the chill she felt in hearing that
voice. . . So softly querulous, like steel tearing through
tightly stretched silk, she decided dazedly.
She had always despised silly, weak, helpless females. Yet
when his gaze raked over her—through her, bold and ever so
irreverent!—she felt stripped to the bone.
Goosebumps rose on her flesh. She couldn't move. She most
certainly couldn't speak. She could not even swallow past
the knot lodged deep in her throat. Fear numbed her mind.
Her mouth was dry with a sickly dread such as she had never
experienced. All she could think was that if Mrs. Chadwick
were here, she might take great delight in knowing she'd
been right to be so fearful. For somehow Julianna knew with
a mind-chilling certainty that it was he . . .
The Magpie.
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