Waycott eyed him uneasily. "You will never call me out. We both know that."

"Unfortunately, you are right," Julian agreed, thinking of the vow he had made to Sophy. He had broken, or at least bent, far too many promises to her already. He would not break another even though he longed for nothing more than to be free to put a bullet into Waycott. He walked over to the hearth and stood staring down into the flames.

"I knew it," Waycott gloated. "I told her you would never again risk your neck over a woman. You have lost your taste for vengeance. You will not challenge me."

"No, Waycott, I will not call you out." Julian clasped his hands behind his back and turned his head to smile at the other man with cool anticipation. "Not for the reasons you assume but for other, private reasons. Rest assured, however, that decision will not prevent me from accepting a challenge from you."

Waycott looked baffled. "What the devil are you talking about?"

"I will not call you out, Waycott. I am bound by a certain vow in that regard. But I think we can arrange matters so that you will finally feel obliged to call me out. And when you do, I can promise you, I will be most eager to meet you. I have already chosen my seconds. You remember Daregate, don't you? And Thurgood? They will be only too happy to assist me and to ensure that matters are conducted with utmost fairness. Daregate, you know, is very good at spotting a cheat. I can even supply the pistols. I await your earliest convenience."

Waycott's mouth fell open. Then the expression of shock was replaced with a sneer. "Why should I call you out? It is not my wife who has betrayed me."

"This is not a matter of a wife's betrayal. There has been no betrayal. Do not waste any more breath trying to convince me that I have been cuckolded, because I know the truth. The sleeping potion in your tea and that rope on the floor that you used to tether Sophy are evidence enough. But as it happens I believed her before I saw the evidence. I already know my wife to be a woman of honor."

"A woman of honor? Honor is a meaningless term to a female."

"To a woman such as Elizabeth, yes. But not to a woman like Sophy. We will not discuss the subject of honor again, however. There is no point because you, yourself, do not have any comprehension of the matter. Now, back to the issue at hand."

"Are you calling my honor into question?" Waycott snarled.

"Certainly. And what is more, I will continue to call your so-called honor into question in the most public sort of way until you finally issue a challenge or emigrate to America. Those are the two choices you face, Waycott."

"You cannot force me to do either."

"If you think not, you have a surprise in store. I will, indeed, force you to make your choice. I will hound you until you do so. You see, I intend to make life intolerable for you here in England, Waycott. I will be like a wolf nipping at your heels until I draw blood."

Waycott was very pale in the firelight. "You are bluffing."

"Shall I tell you how it will be? Listen well, Waycott and hear your fate. No matter what you do or where you go in England, I or an agent of mine will be behind you. If you see a horse at Tattersall's you wish to purchase, I will outbid you and see that the animal goes to another. If you try to buy a new pair of boots at Hoby's, or order a coat from Weston's, I will inform the proprietors that they, will not have any future business from me if they continue to serve you."

"You cannot do that," Waycott hissed.

"And that is only the beginning," Julian continued relentlessly. "I shall let all the owners of the various parcels of land that surround your estate in Suffolk know that I am willing to buy them out. In time, Waycott, your lands will be surrounded by properties owned by me. Furthermore, I shall make certain that your reputation suffers so that no reputable club will have you and no respectable hostess will want you under her roof."

"It will never work."

"Yes it will, Waycott. I have the money, land, and a sufficiently powerful title to ensure that my plan will work. What's more, I will have Sophy on my side. Her name is golden in London these days, Waycott. When she turns against you, the entire social world will turn against you."

"No." Waycott shook his head furiously, his eyes wild. "She will never do so. I did not hurt her. She will understand why I did what I did. She is sympathetic to me."

"Not any longer."

"Because I brought her here? But I can explain that to her."

"You will never have the chance. Even if I allowed you to get close enough to plead with her, which I have no intention of doing, you would find no sympathy or leniency from that quarter. You see, Waycott, you sealed your own doom before you even met Sophy."

"What in God's name are you talking about now?"

"Remember that young woman whom you seduced here three years ago and whom you later abandoned when she got pregnant? The one who took your devilish ring? The one you told Sophy was unimportant? The one you called the village whore?"

"What about her?" Waycott screamed. "She was Sophy's sister."

Waycott's expression went blank with shock. "Oh, my God."

"Exactly," Julian said quietly. "You begin to perceive the depths of your problem. I see no point in my staying here any longer. Consider your two choices carefully, Waycott.

If I were you, I'd choose America. I've heard from those who patronize Manton that you are not a good marksman."

Julian turned his back on Waycott, picked up the emeralds and walked out the door. He had untied the black's reins before he heard the muffled shot from within the old castle.

He had been wrong. Waycott had had three choices, not two. It was obvious the Viscount had found the pocket pistol in the basket and taken the third way out.

Julian put one foot in the stirrup and then reluctantly decided to go back into the ominously silent ruin. The scene that awaited him would be unpleasant, to say the least, but given Waycott's general ineptitude it would be best to make certain the Viscount had not made a muddle of the whole thing.

TWENTY

It seemed to Sophy that she had been sitting huddled in a chair for hours before she finally heard Julian's booted footsteps in the hall. With a soft cry of relief, she leaped to her feet and flew to the door.

One anxious glance at her husband's harsh, weary face told her that something very grim had occurred. The half-empty bottle of claret and the glass that he had obviously stopped to pick up in the library confirmed the impression.

"Are you all right, Julian?"

"Yes."

He walked into the room, closed the door behind him and set the claret on the dressing table. Without another word he reached out to pull Sophy into his arms. They stood together in silence for a long while before either spoke.

"What happened?" Sophy finally asked.

"Waycott is dead."

She could not deny the sense of relief that went through her at that news. She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. "You killed him?"

"A matter of opinion, I imagine. Some would certainly say I was responsible. However, I did not actually pull the trigger. He performed that task himself."

Sophy closed her eyes. "He took his own life. Just as Amelia did."

"Perhaps there is some justice in the ending."

"Sit down, Julian. I will pour you some claret."

He did not argue. Sprawling in a chair near the window he watched with brooding eyes as Sophy poured the wine and carried it over to him.

"Thank you," he said as he took the glass from her. His eyes met hers. "You have a way of giving me what I want when I need it." He took a large mouthful of wine and swallowed it. "Are you all right? Has the news about Waycott unsettled you?"