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."