Virtue

9

That new butler of yours seemed inclined to deny me." Bernard Melville, third Earl of Gracemere, entered Lady Barret's boudoir without ceremony. "I trust it doesn't mean the gouty Sir Thomas is turning suspicious."

"No. He's at Brooks's, I believe. Snoring over his port, probably." Agnes stretched languidly on the striped chaise longue, where she had been taking a recuperative afternoon nap. "Hodgkins is overly scrupulous about his duties. He knew I was resting." She held out her hand. "I wasn't expecting you to return to town for another week."

He took her hand, carrying it to his lips. "I couldn't endure another day's separation, my love."

Agnes smiled. "Such pretty words, Bernard. And am I to believe them?"

"Oh, yes," he said, bending over her, catching her wrists and holding them down on either side of her head. "Oh, yes, my adorable Agnes, you are to believe them." His hard eyes, so pale their blueness was almost translucent, held hers, and she shivered, waiting for him to bring his mouth to hers, to underwrite his statement with the fierce possession of his body.

He laughed, reading her with the ease of long knowledge. "Oh, you are needy, aren't you, my love? It's amazing what an absence can do." Still he held himself above her, taunting her with promise.

"And you are cruel, Bernard," she stated softly. "Why does it please you to taunt me with my love?"

"Is it love? I don't think that's the right word," he murmured, bringing his face closer to hers but still not touching her. "Obsession, need, but not love. That's too tame an emotion for such a woman as you."

"And for you," she whispered.

"Obsession, need," he responded with a smile that did nothing to soften the cruel mouth. "We feed on each other."

"Kiss me," she begged, twitching her imprisoned hands in her need to touch him.

He let his weight fall onto her hands so that her wrists ached and very slowly brought his mouth to hers. She bit his lip, drawing blood, and he pulled back with a violent jerk of his head. "Bitch!"

"It's what you like," she said, with perfect truth.

He slapped her face lightly with his open palm and she gave an exultant crow of laughter, bringing her freed hand to his face, wiping the bead of blood from his lips with her fingertip and carrying it to her own mouth. Her tongue darted, licking the red smear, and her tawny eyes glittered. "Shall I come to you tonight, my lord?"

He caught her chin with hard fingers and kissed her, bruising her lips against her teeth in answer. A knock at the door brought him upright. He swung away from her, picking up a periodical from a drum table, idly flicking through the pages as a footman silently mended the fire.

"What's this I hear about Carrington taking a wife in Brussels?" Gracemere asked casually. "It's the talk of the town. Some nobody, I gather."

"Yes, I haven't met her yet. We came up to town ourselves only yesterday," Agnes said in the same tone. "Letitia Moreton says she's stunning and seems very much up to snuff. She's charmed the Society matrons at all events. Sally Jersey raves about her."

"Not another Martha, then?" He tossed the periodical onto the table again as the footman left, and he sat down, carefully smoothing out a crease in his buff pantaloons.

"Hardly," Agnes said. "No little brown mouse this, as I understand it. But no one knows anything about them… there's a brother too. Equally charming, according to Letitia."

"Plump in the pocket?" There was an arrested look in the pale eyes, a sudden predatory hunger.

Agnes shook her head. "That I don't know. But if he's Carrington's brother-in-law… why?"

Gracemere's manicured fingernails drummed on the carved arm of his chair. "I'm looking for another pigeon to pluck. Newcomers to town tend to provide the easiest pickings. I wonder if he plays."

"Who doesn't?" Agnes said. "I'll see what I can find out this evening at Cavendish House. But I have another idea for improving your financial situation, my love." She sat up, her tone suddenly brisk.

"Oh?" Gracemere raised his eyebrows. "I'm all ears, my dear."

"Letitia Moreton's daughter, Harriet," Agnes announced, and lay back again on the piled cushions with a complacent smile. "She has a fortune of thirty-thousand pounds. It should last you quite a while, I would have thought."

Gracemere frowned. "She must be barely out of the schoolroom."

"All the better," Agnes said. "She'll fall easily for the flattering attentions of a charming older man. You'll be able to sweep her off her feet before she has the chance to lay eyes on anyone else."

The earl tapped his teeth with a fingernail, considering. "What about Letitia and the girl's father? They'll be unlikely to look kindly on rhe suit of a fortune hunter."

"They don't know you're a fortune hunter," Agnes pointed out. "And you have the earldom. Letitia will jump at an earl for her daughter so long as you behave with circumspection. I've already become fast friends with the lady." She laughed unkindly. "Such a nincompoop she is, with die-away airs. She professes to be an invalid and can't chaperone her daughter as much as she should. So who do you think has offered to take her place?" Her eyebrows rose delicately, and Gracemere laughed.

"What a consummate plotter you are, my dear. So I can expect to meet the sweet child in your company."

"Frequently," Agnes agreed with another complacent smile.

"In the meantime, bring me your impressions of Carrington's brother-in-law. I might as well pluck a pigeon while I'm waiting for the heiress to ripen and fall," he said, rising. "I'm not invited to Cavendish House, since I'm still supposed to be in the country, so I'll rely on your acute senses, my love." He bent over her again, laying one hand on her breast, feeling the nipple rise in immediate response. "Adieu, until later."

Agnes shifted on the couch, one leg dropping to the floor. The earl moved his hand down, pressing the thin silk of her negligee against the opened deft of her body, feeling her heat. "Until later," he repeated, and then left her.

Marcus tossed the reins to his tiger and alighted from his curricle in Berkeley Square.

"Take a good look at the leader's left hock when you get them to the mews, Henry. I sensed a slight imbalance as we took that last corner."

"Right you are, governor." The lad tugged a yellow forelock before going to the horses' heads.

Marcus strolled up the steps of the handsome double-fronted mansion. The front door opened just as he reached the head.

"Good afternoon, my lord. And it's a beautiful one, if I might be so bold." The butler's bow was as ponderous as his words.

"Afternoon, Gregson. Yes, you may be so bold." Marcus handed him his driving whip and curly-brimmed beaver hat. "Bring a bottle of the seventy-nine claret to my book room, will you?" He crossed the gleaming marble-tiled expanse of hallway and went down a narrow passage behind the staircase to a small, square room at the back of the house, where a young man was arranging papers on the massive cherrywood table that served as desk.

"Good afternoon, my lord." He greeted his employer's entrance with a bow.

"Afternoon, John. What are you going to entertain me with now?"

"Accounts, my lord," his secretary said. "And Lady Carrington's quarterly bills. You did say you wished to settle them yourself." His tone conveyed a degree of puzzlement, since in general he was responsible for settling on the marquis's account all the bills that came into the house.

"Yes, I did," Marcus said absently, picking up a neat pile of bills. "Are these they?"

"Yes, my lord. And there are some invitations you might want to look at."

"I can't think of anything I'd like to do less," Marcus said, leafing through the bills in his hand. "Give them to Lady Carrington."

"I did, my lord. But she said she didn't feel able to make up your mind for you." John blushed and he pulled awkwardly on his right ear, wishing he hadn't been put in the position of conveying Lady Carrington's forthright opinion to her husband. But his lordship merely shrugged.

"Very well, I'll discuss them with her." He dropped the bills to the table and picked up the pile of embossed cards, wrinkling his nose in distaste. The number of irksome invitations that came into the house of a married man far exceeded those he'd received as a bachelor. Everyone knew he didn't care for social events, and he couldn't understand why all these overzealous Society matrons now soliciting his company imagined that marriage would change the habits and interests of a lifetime.

"If that'll be all, my lord, I'll go and work on your speech to the House of Lords on the Corn Laws."

Marcus grimaced. "Can't you find something more interesting for me to talk on than the Corn Laws, John?"

His secretary looked startled. "But there is nothing more important at the moment, my lord."

"Nothing to do with the army or the navy… further reforms in the Admiralty, how about that?"

"I'll do some research, my lord." With a hurt look, John left the book room.

Marcus smiled. John's political interests were unfortunately not his employer's. He turned back to the papers on the desk, picking up the pile of bills again.

Gregson came in with the claret. "Is her ladyship in, Gregson?"

"Yes, my lord. I believe she's in the yellow drawing room." The butler drew the cork, examined it carefully, poured a small quantity of claret into a shallow taster, and sniffed and sipped with a critical frown.

"All right?"

'Tes, my lord. Very fine." He filled a crystal goblet and presented it to his employer. "Will that be all, sir?"

"For the moment. Thank you, Gregson."

Marcus took the scent of his wine before sipping appreciatively. He wandered over to the long narrow windows overlooking a small, walled garden. The leaves of a chestnut tree drifted thickly to the grass under the brisk autumnal wind. A gardener was gathering the richly burnished mass into a bonfire. Marcus was abruptly reminded of Judith's hair, glowing in the candlelight, spread over the white pillows… the silky matching triangle at die apex of those long, creamy thighs…

Abruptly he turned back to the desk and picked up the pile of bills again, tapping them against his palm. Judith certainly didn't count the cost when it came to her personal expenditures. She was beautiful and passionate in bed and he paid her well for it.

Why in God's name did he resent it? He was a generous man and always had been. Money had never concerned him-his fortune was too large for it ever to be an issue. And yet, as he looked through his wife's bills, saw what she'd spent on her wardrobe, he could think only of how different it must be for her now, after all those years of living from hand to mouth, of making over her gowns and wearing paste jewelry, of living in cheap lodgings… of pretending publicly that she had access to all the things she now had at her fingertips.

A house in Berkeley Square, a country estate in Berkshire, an unassailable social position… She must congratulate herself every moment of every day on how well her strategem had succeeded.

Marcus drained the claret in his glass and refilled it. Since Waterloo, they'd skimmed the surface of their relationship. There had been no further mention of the encounter in the taproom. And no reference in their lovemaking to his continued precautions against conception. Socially, they obeyed convention and went their separate ways. Except during the quiet, private hours of the night. Then the needs of their bodies transcended the bleak recognition of the true nature of their partnership, so that he would wake in the morning, filled with a warmth and contentment, only to have it destroyed immediately with the full return of memory.

She never talked of her past and he never asked. In all essentials they remained strangers, except in passion. Was that enough? Could it ever be enough? But it was all he was going to have, so he'd better learn to be satisfied.

He put his glass down and left the book room, still holding the sheaf of bills. The yellow drawing room was a small salon upstairs, at the back of the house. Judith had laid claim to it immediately, eschewing the heavy formality of the public rooms: the library, main drawing room, and dining room. He opened the door, to be greeted by a light trill of feminine laughter; it was abruptly cut off as the three women in the room saw who had entered, and for an instant he felt like an intruder in his own house.

"Why, Carrington, have you come to take a glass of ratafia with us?" Judith said, quirking her eyebrows with her habitual challenge.

"The day I find you drinking ratafia, ma'am, is the day I'll know I'm on my way to Bedlam," he observed, bowing. "I give you good afternoon, ladies. I don't wish to intrude, Judith, but I'd like to see you in my book room when you're at liberty."

Judith bristled visibly. She hadn't yet succeeded in moderating her husband's autocratic manner. "I have an appointment later this afternoon," she fibbed. "Maybe we could discuss whatever it is at some other time."

"Unfortunately not," he replied. "It's a matter of some urgency. I'll expect you in-" He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "-within the hour, shall we say?"

Without waiting for her response, he bowed again to his wife's guests and left, closing the door gently behind him.

Judith seemed to have a natural talent for making friends, he reflected, and the door knocker was constantly banging, female trills and whispers filling the corners and crevices of his previously masculine-oriented house. Not only women either. There were men aplenty, anxious to play cicisbeo to the Marchioness of Carrington. Not that Judith had so far stepped out of line with her courtiers. Her flirtations were conducted, as far as he could see, with the light hand of an expert. But then that's only what he would expect from an expert.

As he reached the hallway, the door knocker sounded. He paused, waiting as the butler greeted the new arrival. "Good afternoon, Lady Devlin."

"Good afternoon, Gregson. Is her ladyship at home?" The visitor nervously adjusted the ostrich feather in her hat.

"In the yellow drawing room, my lady."

"Then I'll go straight up. There's no need to announce me… Oh, Marcus… you startled me."

Marcus regarded his sister-in-law in some puzzlement. Sally's complexion was changing rapidly from pink to deathly white and back again. He knew she tended to be uncomfortable in his company, but this degree of discomposure was out of the ordinary.

"I beg your pardon, Sally." He bowed and stood aside to let her pass him on the stairs. "I trust all's well in Grosvenor Square." He waited with bored resignation te be told that one of his nephews had the toothache or come down with a chill.

To his surprise, Sally looked startled and, instead of launching into cne of her minute descriptions of childish ailments, said, "Yes… yes, thank you, Marcus. So good of you to be concerned." Her gloved hand ran back and forth over the banister, for all the world as if she were polishing it. "I was hoping to see Judith."

"You'll find her in her drawing room."

Sally almost ran up the stairs, without a word of farewell. Marcus shook his head dismissively. He didn't object to Jack's wife, but she was a pretty widgeon with no conversation. Judith seemed to like her, though. Which was interesting, since he'd noticed that his wife didn't suffer fools gladly.

"Sally… why, whatever's the matter?" Judith jumped up at her sister-in-law's precipitate entrance.

"Oh, I have to talk to you." Sally grasped Judith's hands. "I don't know where to turn." Her eyes took in the other two women in the room. "Isobel, Cornelia… I'm at my wit's end."

"Good heavens, Sally." Isobel Henley examined a plate of sweet biscuits and took a macaroon. "Is it one of the children?"

"I wish it were as simple as that." Sally sat down on a sofa, gazing tragically around the room. Her usually merry blue eyes glittered with tears. She opened her reticule and dabbed at her eyes with a lacy scrap of handkerchief.

"Have some tea." Practically, Judith filled a teacup and passed it to her sister-in-law. Sally drank and struggled to pull herself together. She put the cup back on the table and took a deep breath.

"I've been racking my brains for three days until I think my head is about to explode. But I can't think what to do." The scrap of lace tore under her restless fingers.

"So tell us." Cornelia Forsythe leaned forward, patting Sally's hand reassuringly. Her lorgnette swung into her teacup, splashing her already slightly spotted gown. "Oh, dear." She dabbed ineffectually at the spots. "I was perfectly clean when I left the house."

Judith swallowed a smile. Cornelia was a large, untidy woman who never seemed in control of her dress, her possessions, her hair, the time, or her relationships. She was, however, possessed of a quick wit and an agile brain.

"I don't see how, unless you can put me in the way of acquiring four thousand pounds by tomorrow morning."

"Four thousand?" Judith whistled in the manner she'd picked up from Sebastian. "Whatever for?"

"Jeremy," Sally said. Her younger brother was an impoverished scapegrace. "I had to lend him four thousand pounds or he'd have been imprisoned for debt in the Fleet and now I have to get my money back. But what else could I have done?"

"Your husband?" Cornelia suggested.

Sally looked at Judith. "Jack might have helped him, but you know what Marcus thinks of Jeremy."

Judith nodded. Marcus had no tolerance for the dissipated excesses of young men with breeding and no fortune. He was inclined to declare that a career in the army was the answer for all such young fools. Either that, or politics. Judith didn't disagree with him. The reckless and undisciplined pursuit of pleasure was as alien to her as the man in the moon. However, saying so wouldn't help Sally at the moment.

"I suppose Marcus's advice to Jack is to let Jeremy suffer the consequences," Judidi said.

Sally nodded. "And in truth, I can't really blame him. Jeremy's always going to be wanting more."

"So, how did you furnish him with four thousand pounds?" Isobel brought the conversation back to the point as she took another macaroon. She had an inveterate sweet tooth, but, much to Judith's amusement, even Isobel's lamentable fondness for ratafia couldn't sugar her tongue.

"I pawned the Devlin rubies," Sally said flatly.

Isobel dropped her macaroon to the carpet. "You did what?"

Judith closed her eyes for a minute, absorbing the full enormity of this.

Sally continued in a voice devoid of expression. "I didn't know what else to do. Jeremy was desperate. But Marcus has asked for them. Jack thinks they're being cleaned."

"Why has Marcus asked for them?" Judith asked.

Sally looked at her sister-in-law as if the answer were self-evident. "Because they're yours, Judith."

"Mine?"

"You're the Marchioness of Carrington. The Devlin jewels are rightfully yours. Marcus only loaned them to me… although no one expected him to marry, so I thought…" Her voice died.

A silence fell as her three companions contemplated the situation. "What a pickle," Cornelia said finally. "You should have had them copied."

"I did," Sally said. "But the copy won't fool Carrington."

"No," Judith agreed, thinking about her husband's sharpness of eye and intellect. "I suppose I could say I don't like rubies and I'm quite happy for you to keep them… But no, that won't work. Marcus is still going to want to see them."

She stood up and walked around the room, thinking. There was one way to help Sally. It was risky. If Marcus found out, what little accord they had would be destroyed. But she could do it, and surely, if you had the means to help a friend, then you were honor bound to do so. At least, by her code of honor.

"When must you redeem them, Sally?"

"Jack said he wanted to return them to Marcus tomorrow." Sally wrung her hands. "Judith, I feel so terrible… as if I stole something that belonged to you."

"Oh, nonsense!" Judith dismissed this with a brisk gesture. "I don't give a tinker's damn for rubies. Your brother needed help and you gave it to him." This she understood as an absolute imperative. "I only wish you'd said something earlier. It'll be noticeable if I win such a sum in one evening. I would much prefer to have won it over several occasions. It looks rather singular to be spending the entire evening in the card room playing only for high stakes."

"What are you saying? I know you're fond of gaming, but-"

"Oh, it's a little more than that," Judith said. "I'm actually very skilled at cards."

"I had noticed." Cornelia surveyed Judith through her lorgnette. "You and your brother."

"Our father taught us," Judith said. Even in this company, she wasn't prepared to expand on her background. "We were both apt pupils and I enjoy it."

"But I don't fully understand…" Sally said hesitantly.

"If I went to Mrs. Dolby's card party this evening, I could probably win such a sum," Judith explained succinctly. "And it would draw no attention in such a place."

"But you can't play on Pickering Street, Judith." Isobel was shocked. The widow Dolby's card parties were notorious for their enormously high stakes and loose company.

"Why not? Many women do."

"Yes, but they're generally considered fast."

"Sebastian will escort me. If I go in my brother's company, there should be no gossip."

"What about Carrington?"

"There's no reason why he should discover it," Judith said. "It will serve very well. There's bound to be a table for macao." She smiled at Sally. "Cheer up. You will redeem the rubies in the morning."

"But how can you be so confident?"

"Practice," Judith said a touch wryly. "I have had a great deal of practice."

They left soon after, Sally looking a little more cheerful. Judith's confidence was infectious, although it was difficult to trust in such a promise of salvation.

Judith stood frowning in the empty salon. Since her marriage, she'd played only socially, for moderate stakes. Serious gaming was something quite different. Was she out of practice? She closed her eyes, envisioning a macao table, seeing a hand of cards. The old, familiar prickle of excitement ran down her spine and she smiled to herself. No, she'd never lose the touch.

She'd have to have Sebastian's escort. He would probably have plans of his own for the evening and would need time to alter them. It didn't occur to her that her brother would fail her. She'd go to his lodgings right away… but, no. Marcus was waiting for her. Just what lay behind this brusque summons to his book room? For a minute, she toyed with the idea of ignoring the summons, then dismissed the urge. Matters were delicate enough between them as it was, without deliberately stirring things up.

Marcus opened the door himself at her brisk knock. "I was wondering how long your friends would keep you."

"They had the prior claim on my attention, sir," she said. "It would have been unpardonably rude to have asked them to leave prematurely… although you don't seem to share that opinion. You made it very clear they shouldn't prolong their visit."

Marcus glanced at the dock, observing wryly "I can't have been very persuasive. I've been waiting for you for well over an hour."

Judith put her head on one side, surveying him through narrowed eyes. "And what else did you expect, Carrington?"

That surprised a reluctant laugh from him. "Nothing else, lynx." A wispy strand of copper hair was escaping from a loosened pin in the knot on top of her head. It was irresistible, and without conscious decision, he pulled the pin out. Then it seemed silly to stop there and his fingers moved through the silken mass, finding and removing pins, demolishing the careful coiffure.

Judith made no protest. Whenever he put his hands on her, it was always the same. She became powerless to do anything but respond. As the hair tumbled around her face, he ran his hands through it, tugging at tangled ringlets with a rapt expression. Then he stood back and surveyed his handiwork.

"What did you do that for?" Judith asked.

"I don't know," he said with a puzzled headshake. "I couldn't seem to help myself." Cupping her face, he kissed her, a long, slow joining of their mouths that as always absorbed them totally.

Slightly breathless, Judith drew back from him when he let his hands fall from her face. "You do kiss remarkably well, husband," she observed with a tiny laugh.

"And you have, of course, vast experience from which to draw your comparisons."

"Now, that, sir, is for me to know and you to find out."

"I'm not sure this is the time or the place for such a discovery. I shall postpone the exercise until later."

"So what lies behind this urgent summons?" Judith asked, changing the subject in the hope that it would allow her heated blood to cool and put the stiffness back in her knees.

"Ah." Leaning against the desk, crossing his long legs in their fawn pantaloons at the ankles, he reached behind him for the pile of bills. "I've been examining your quarterly bills and I think… I really think you need to explain some of them."

"Explain them?" She looked at him in genuine confusion, arousal quenched as thoroughly as if she'd been dipped in an icy stream.

"Yes." He held out the bills and she took them, staring down at the sheet on top bearing columns of John's neat figures. The total was extravagant, certainly, but not horrendous… at least not by the standards of London Society.

"So what do you want me to explain?" She leafed dirough the bills. "They all seem quite straightforward."

"Do you usually spend four hundred guineas on a gown?" he asked, taking the sheaf from her, riffling through them until he found the offending document. "Here."

"But that was my court dress," she said. "Magarethe made it."

"And this… and this…" He held out two more. "Fifty guineas for a pair of shoe buckles, Judith!"

Judith took a step back. "Let me understand what's happening, Marcus. Are you questioning my expenditures?"

He pursed his lips. "That would be an accurate interpretation of this interview."

"And you're accusing me of extravagance?" There was a faint buzzing in her ears as she grappled with the humiliation of this: to be chastised like a child who's overspent her pin money. No one, ever, had questioned her expenditure. Since she had first put up her hair, she had been managing her own finances as well as those of their small household. She had juggled bills, paid rent, ensured food of some kind appeared on the table; and in the time since her father's death, she had managed the growing fund that would underpin the plan for Gracemere's downfall.

"In a word, yes."

"Forgive me, but just how much would it be reasonable for me to spend in a quarter?" Her voice shook. "You neglected to give me a limit."

"My error," he agreed. "I'll settle these bills and then I'll instruct my bankers to make you a quarterly allowance. If you overspend, then I'll have to ask you to submit all bills to me for prior approval."

He stood up, tossing the bills on the desk as if to indicate the interview was over. "But I'm sure you'll remember how to put a rein on your spending, once you understand that marriage has not opened the gates to a limitless fund. I'm sorry if you didn't realize that earlier." He could hear the bile in his voice, could almost see the ugly twist to his mouth, and yet he couldn't help himself.

Afraid of what she would do or say if she stayed another minute in the same room with Marcus, Judith turned and left, closing the door with exaggerated care behind her. Her cheeks burned with humiliation. He was accusing her of taking advantage of her position to satisfy her own greed. What kind of person did he think she was? But she knew the answer: a conniving, unprincipled trickster who would stoop to anything to achieve her ambition.

But it wasn't true. Oh, on the surface, maybe. She wasn't dealing the cards of her marriage with total honesty. But she wasn't the despicable person he believed her to be.

And she wasn't going to submit to a meager allowance and a controlling hand on her purse strings. Her lips tightened with determination. What she could do for Sally, she could do for herself. She would simply return to the old days: Pay her own way at the tables. And Marcus Devlin and his quarterly allowance could go to the devil.

Half an hour later, footman in tow, she walked to her brother's lodgings on Albemarle Street. Sebastian was on his way out for a five o'clock ride in Hyde Park, but with customary good nature postponed the excursion and ushered his sister into his parlor.

"Sherry?"

"Please." She took the glass he handed her.

"So, what can I do for you, Ju?"

"Several things." She explained the matter of Sally and the four thousand pounds.

Sebastian frowned. "That's a devil of a haul in one night, Ju."

"I know, but what else is to be done? If Marcus ever discovered what she'd done, I can't think how he'd react. Jack might be a bit more understanding, but he'll follow Marcus's lead, he always does."

"He wields a lot of power, that husband of yours," Sebastian observed.

"Yes," Judith agreed shortly. "Jack's elder brother, Charlie's guardian… my husband," she added in an almost vicious undertone.

"What's happened?" Sebastian asked without preamble.

Judith told him, trying to keep her voice steady, but her anger surged anew as she recounted the mortifying interview. She paced Sebastian's parlor, the embroidered flounce of her walking dress swishing around her ankles. "It's intolerable," she finished with a sweep of her arm. "Marcus is intolerable and the situation is intolerable."

"What are you going to do about it?" Sebastian knew his sister well enough to know she would never submit meekly to her husband's edict.

"Provide for myself," she said. "At the tables. Just like before."

Sebastian whistled softly. "I suppose you couldn't just tell him that you didn't know who was in the taproom at Quatre Pras? Since that's what's causing the mischief."

Judith shook her head. "It wouldn't do any good. He's determined to believe the worst of me, and the truth's dubious enough, anyway." She looked helplessly at her brother. "Supposing I say: I didn't deliberately trap you into marriage, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up, for an adventuress in need of a good establishment in order to pursue her secret goal. And anyway, we're not really married, but I didn't want you to know that." She raised her eyebrows at her brother.

Sebastian pretended to consider this. "No, I'm afraid that wouldn't go over too well. At any rate, you know you can count on me. The deep play doesn't begin at Dolby's until the early hours. If you're going to Cavendish House, I'll escort you from there. Will that serve?"

"Perfectly. Marcus doesn't intend to put in an appearance at Cavendish House, and he'll not be surprised if I don't return home until near dawn. We always go our separate ways."

"You'd better dip into the 'Gracemere fund,' " Sebastian said. "You'll need decent stakes at the start, and clearly your husband isn't going to furnish them." He went into the next-door bedroom and returned with a pouch of rouleaux. "Eight hundred." He dropped it into her hand and grinned. "If you don't turn that into four thousand in one evening, I'll know you've lost your touch."

She smiled, weighing the pouch on the palm of her hand. "Never fear. Now, there's another matter in which I need your help." She put down her sherry glass. "Since I'm declaring war, I might as well do it properly. I wish you to acquire a high-perch phaeton and pair for me. Marcus has expressed himself very vigorously on the subject of loose women who drive themselves in sporting vehicles, so my driving one should nicely confirm his flattering opinion of me."

Sebastian scratched his nose and refilled his glass. Judith had lost her temper, and once she'd taken the high road, as he knew from a lifetime's experience, there was little he could do to turn her from the path. She'd pursue it until the momentum died. "Is it wise to be so blatantly provoking?" he asked, without much hope of success.

"I don't much care," his sister responded. "He thinks I'm a designing, conniving baggage, with no morals and no principles. And so I shall be."

Sebastian sighed. "How much do you want to spend for the pair?"

"Not above four hundred… unless it would be a crime to pass them up, of course."

"Grantham's in debt up to his neck… I could probably acquire his match-bays for around four hundred."

"Wonderful. Pay for them out of the 'fund,' and I'll replace it as soon as I've earned it."

She reached up and kissed him. "Now I'll leave you to Hyde Park."

"Ju?"

"Yes?" She stopped as she reached the door.

"Gracemere's in town."

"Ahhh. Have you seen him?"

"No, but Wellby was talking of him in Whites this morning."

"Ahhh," said Judith again, as a prickle of anticipation crept up her spine. "Then soon we begin, Sebastian."

"Yes," he agreed. "Soon we begin."

Judith stood on the pavement for a minute, gazing sightlessly dow.n the narrow road. The footman waited patiently. A sudden gust of wind picked up a handful of fallen leaves from the gutter and sent them eddying around her. Absently she reached out and caught one. It was dry and crackly and crumbled to dust as her hand closed over it. Once the game with Gracemere was played out, there would be no need to continue the illegal charade of her marriage. Marcus would have his freedom from her. But not before she'd taught him a lesson.