Daregate grinned. "And no doubt reigning supreme. Your lady is quickly becoming the rage. Walk down Bond Street or into any drawing room these days and you will find that half the young females in the vicinity will be in a charming state of disarray. Ribbons dangling, hats askew, shawls trailing on the floor. It is all quite delightful but no one can carry it off the way Sophy does."

Julian smiled to himself. "That is because she does not have to work at it. The style comes quite naturally to her."

Fifteen minutes later Julian glided through the crush that filled Lady Dallimore's ballroom, searching for Sophy. Daregate was right, he realized with mild amusement. Most of the young women in the room appeared to have something wrong with their attire. Hair ornaments were stuck into curls at precarious angles, ribbons trailed to the floor, and scarves fluttered in a deceptively haphazard manner. He almost crushed underfoot a fan that was dangling from a long string attached to its owner's wrist.

"Hello, Ravenwood, looking for your Countess?"

Julian glanced over his shoulder and recognized a middle-aged Baron with whom he occasionally discussed the war news. "Evening, Tharp. As it happens, I am looking for Lady Ravenwood. Any sign of her?"

"Signs of her all over the place, my boy. Just take a look." The portly Baron waved a hand to indicate the crowded ballroom. "Impossible to make a move without stepping on a ribbon or scarf or some such frippery. Had a chat with your lady, myself, a bit earlier. Gave me a recipe for a cordial she says will relieve my digestive problems. Don't mind tellin' you, you're damn lucky to be married to that one. She'll see to it you live to a ripe old age. Probably give you a dozen sons into the bargain."

Julian's mouth tightened at that last remark. He was not at all certain Sophy would give him those sons willingly. He remembered well that she had not wanted to be rushed into childbed. "Where did you see her last, Tharp?"

"Dancing with Utteridge, I believe." Tharp's good-natured brow creased in an abrupt frown. "Come to think of it, that ain't a particularly good situation, lad. You know what Utteridge is. An out-and-out rake. If I were you, I'd put a stop to that association at once."

Julian felt a cold feeling in the region of his stomach. How in hell had Utteridge arranged to meet Sophy? More importantly, why had he done so? "I will see to the matter at once. Thank you, Tharp."

"Pleasure. The baron's expression brightened. "Thank your Countess again for that cordial recipe, will you? Anxious to give it a try. Lord knows I'm tired of subsisting on potatoes and bread. Want to be able to sink my teeth into a nice joint of beef again."

"I'll tell her." Julian shifted direction, glancing around the room for Utteridge. He did not see the man but he did catch sight of Sophy. She was just leaving to go out into the gardens. Waycott was preparing to follow a short distance behind her.

One day soon, Julian promised himself, he really would have to do something about Waycott.

The gardens were magnificent. Sophy had heard they were Lord Dallimore's pride. Under any other circumstances she would have enjoyed the sight of them by moonlight. It was obvious that much care had been given to the carefully clipped hedges, terraces, and flower beds.

But tonight the elaborately designed greenery was making her pursuit of Lord Utteridge difficult. Every time she rounded a tall hedge, she found herself in another dead end. As she got farther from the house it became increasingly more difficult to peer into the shadows. Twice she stumbled into couples who had obviously left the ballroom seeking privacy.

How far could Utteridge wander, she asked herself in gathering irritation. The gardens were not so vast that he could lose himself in them. Then she began to wonder why he had chosen to take an extended excursion in the first place.

The answer to that occurred to her almost immediately. A man of Utteridge's character would no doubt use the privacy of the gardens for an assignation. Perhaps even now some hapless young woman was listening to his smooth blandishments and thinking herself in love. If he was the man who had seduced Amelia, Sophy told herself resolutely, she would do her best to see to it that he never married Cordelia Biddle or any other innocent heiress.

She plucked up her skirts, preparing to circle a small statue of Pan prancing in the middle of a flower bed.

"It's not wise to wander around out here alone," Waycott said from the shadows. "A woman could become quite lost in these gardens."

Sophy gasped and swung around to find the viscount staring at her from a short distance away. Her initial fright gave way to anger. "Really, my lord, must you sneak up on people?"

"I am beginning to think it is the only way I will ever be able to talk to you in private." Waycott took a couple of steps forward, his pale hair was almost silver in the moonlight. The contrast with the black clothes he favored made him look vaguely unreal.

"I do not think we have anything to talk about that requires privacy," Sophy said, her fingers tightening around her fan. She did not like being alone with Waycott. Julian's warnings about him were already ringing loudly in her head.

"You are wrong, Sophy. We have much to discuss. I want you to know the truth about Ravenwood and about Elizabeth. It is past time you learned the facts."

"I already know as much as I need to know," Sophy said evenly.

Waycott shook his head, his eyes glinting in the shadows. "No one knows the full truth, least of all you. If you had known it, you would never have married him. You are too sweet and gentle to have willingly given yourself to a monster like Ravenwood."

"I must ask you to stop this at once, Lord Waycott."

"God help me, I cannot stop." Waycott's voice suddenly turned ragged. "Do you not think I would if I could? If only it were that easy. I cannot stop thinking about it. About her. About everything. It haunts me, Sophy. It eats me alive. I could have saved her but she would not let me."

For the first time Sophy began to realize that whatever Waycott's feelings had been toward Elizabeth, they had not been superficial or fleeting. The man was clearly suffering a great anguish. Her natural sympathetic instincts were instantly aroused. She took a step forward to touch his arm.

"Hush," she whispered. "You must not blame yourself. Elizabeth was very high-strung, easily overwrought. Even those of us who lived in the countryside around Ravenwood knew that much about her. Whatever happened, it is finished. You must not agitate yourself over it any longer."

"He ruined her," Waycott said, his voice a mere thread of sound. "He made her what she became. Elizabeth did not want to marry him, you know. She was forced into the alliance by her family. All her parents could think about was the Ravenwood title and fortune. They had no regard for her sensibilities. They did not begin to comprehend her delicate nature."

"Please, my lord, you must not go on like this."

"He killed her." Waycott's voice grew stronger. "In the beginning he did it slowly, through a series of little cruelties. Then he began to grow more harsh with her. She told me he beat her several times with his riding crop—beat her as if she were a horse."

Sophy shook her head quickly, thinking of how frequently she, herself, had provoked Julian's wrath. He had never once used violence to retaliate. "No, I cannot believe that."

"It's true. You did not know her in the beginning. You did not see how she changed after she married him. He was always trying to cage her spirit and drown her inner fire. She fought back the only way she could by defying him. But she grew wild in her efforts to be free."

"Some say she was more than wild," Sophy said softly. "Some say she was mad. And if it is true, it is very sad."