She considered sending him a note the following morning to cancel the outing. But she realized with a dim premonition of dread that she could not afford to offend Oliver. He could press for an early repayment of her debt; he could tell Marius the truth. He had it in his power to make life very unpleasant for her. Henry was beginning to wonder if she had been very foolhardy to confide in him and to accept such a large loan from him.

She thought of going to Marius and telling him the whole. It would be wonderful to go now, she thought, into his room and tell him what had happened, to beg him to pay off Oliver Cranshawe for her, to put her head against his chest and close her eyes and relax. Would he put his arms around her and kiss her as he had that day when Peter had been so horrid, that time when she had felt such powerful and frightening sensations pulse downward from her lips to her breasts to her womb and her thighs that she had panicked? It would be such bliss just to go to him and let him take charge of her life. And he would do so, she knew.

Henry had closed her eyes and let her head sink back against the pillows. Suddenly she pulled herself erect again. It was useless and far too feminine to think that way! She did not want to become dependent upon any man. She did not need Marius to get her out of her troubles. She could fight alone. Maybe she was wrong to feel uneasy about Oliver. But, however it was, she would work her own way through this. Besides, she could not confide the whole truth to Marius without betraying Giles, and she had promised him that she would never disclose his indiscretion to Marius, or ask his help.

Henry's eyes hardened and her lips compressed in the darkness as she recalled the new information about her husband that she had learned that afternoon. It hurt more than she would ever admit to know that he had a mistress. And Mrs. Broughton was a formidable rival, Henry concluded. How could she hope to compete against a woman of such poise and elegant beauty, a woman with such an amply proportioned body? She thought of her own slim, boyish figure and small breasts, of her weathered and freckled face, of her short and wayward curls, and for the first time in her life was dissatisfied with her own appearance. How could she ever hope to attract her husband away from his other love? It was ludicrous even to consider Marius really wanting her-Marius, with his very masculine physique and good looks; Marius, at the age of thirty-two, with years of experience with women behind him. He would make love to her within the next few weeks, yes, but what joy or triumph would there be for her when she knew that he would merely be consummating their marriage, merely setting out to ensure himself an heir other than Oliver Cranshawe?

Why had he married her, anyway? There were so many girls of the ton more eligible than she. She amused him, he had said on more than one occasion. What sort of reason was that?

Henry turned and thumped a fist angrily into her pillows. "I wish this were your nose, Marius Devron," she said aloud, "and I. wish the blood would come gushing out. Everything was fine before those confounded boys thought to wager on my bringing you up to scratch. How I wish they had settled on the chinless one, whatever his name was. I am sure I should be much happier with him!"

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The next few days until the Wednesday were unhappy ones for Henry. She had to visit a modiste she did not usually patronize, with only Betty in tow. There she purchased a dark-green domino and mask and hoped either that the dressmaker did not know her identity or that she would find no topic worthy of gossip in the Duchess of Eversleigh's having bought those particular items.

Worse, Henry had to deceive her husband. They had not accepted any particular invitation for Wednesday. She perused the small pile of cards that she had received and set aside as being of no particular importance. Which one would Marius be least likely to want to accept? She settled on a musical evening to be held at the home of Mrs. Augusta Welby, a lady strongly suspected of being a bluestocking. The program seemed particularly promising to Henry. It was proudly billed as a ladies' evening: an unknown but promising lady pianist, lately come from the provinces to take the capital by storm; Lady Pamela Bellamy, one of the year's crop of debutantes, who had generously agreed to contribute a rendering of several English love songs; Signora Ratelli, the Italian soprano who was currently enjoying great success in a tour of England. She was actually known to have sung for Prinny at Carleton House. Henry read no further. She could almost picture Marius holding the invitation at arm's length while he regarded it incredulously through his quizzing glass before languidly ordering poor Mr. Ridley to get rid of it.

After dinner that evening, while riding in the carriage with Eversleigh on the way to the theater to watch the renowned Kean play Lear, Henry told him that she had accepted the invitation. At the same time her heart beat painfully with the necessity of telling the lie.

"Good God, Henry!" he exclaimed, his language unusually strong. "When did you acquire such highbrow tastes?"

"I thought it time to learn about more cultural matters," she answered primly. "You keep reminding me that the Duchess of Eversleigh is expected to behave in a more ladylike manner."

"I believe I was talking about bonnets," he, said, giving her a sidelong look. "But an evening of ladies' musical talent, Henry? Is that not going too far?"

"I think not," she replied crossly. "Why should female talent be more to be laughed at than men's?"

-1 might have known I could depend upon you to change the focus of the discussion, my love," he remarked indulgently. "Go and enjoy the triumphs of your sex. But you will not expect me to accompany you, will you?"

"I had hoped you would," she replied cunningly, "but I shall not try to insist, of course. I am sure you can find some other way to spend the evening."

"Horton has invited me to play cards that evening," he continued. "It will break my heart to be away from you for a whole evening, of course, my love."

"Absurd!" she said, dimpling. But then she remembered that her part in this conversation was all deception and turned to stare into the darkness outside the carriage window.

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By the time Wednesday evening came, Henry was feeling quite wretched. She had spent the afternoon with Marius and the twins at the British Museum, viewing the Elgin Marbles. It had been an absurdly happy-go-lucky outing. The twins were in high spirits, as they usually were before some prank, Henry had noted from past experience. They did not get into trouble, but had merely darted from exhibit to exhibit, exclaiming over everything with loud enthusiasm. Henry had held to her husband's arm and had been almost breathlessly aware of his masculinity. He had used his quizzing glass freely and affected a shocked disapproval of the nakedness of many of the statues. Henry had giggled more than she had since leaving Roedean.

Eversleigh had been invited to Lord Horton's home for dinner before the all-male card party. It was a relief to Henry at least not to have to face him across the dinner table, knowing what she was planning to do that night. It also eased her mind that it was a card party that Marius was attending. It was bound to keep him away from home almost until morning. But her conscience was not eased at all. It was with a heavy heart that she left Manny sewing placidly in the drawing room (the twins had already gone to bed, yawning loudly and claiming to be tired out by their afternoon excursion) and retired to her room to get ready for the masquerade.