The earl's glance sharpened. "But you I take it, ma'am, don't share Carrington's scorn for our idle amusements." He gestured expansively around the ballroom.

If you only knew, my Lord Gracemere, just how purposeful my idle amusements are, Judith thought. But she smiled and agreed, fluttering her eyelashes at him and watching with inward revulsion the shark of interest that swam under the flat surface of his pale eyes.

Marcus strolled up the staircase just as his hostess was about to abandon her post at its head, having decided the hour was now too advanced to expect further guests. Lady Gray greeted him with flattered surprise and the information that the last time she'd seen Lady Car-rington, she'd been in the ballroom.

Marcus made his way to the ballroom. For a few minutes he couldn't see her in the melee. And then he did.

His hands clenched involuntarily as he watched her turn gracefully in the circle of Bernard Melville's arm, her eyes laughing up at him, her hand resting on his arm.

What the devil was she doing with Gracemere? But it was a futile question. She was bound to have met him sometime. It would have been too much to hope that Gracemere would have remained in rustication throughout die Season. Presumably he needed to find another pigeon to repair his fortunes at the card tables.

The dance ended and he watched the earl escort his companion off the floor. Judith was smiling in a fashion that set her husband's teeth on edge. He had watched her accomplished flirtations in Brussels with amusement and not a little admiration, and hadn't been troubled by the lighthearted coquettry that made her so popular in London. But with Gracemere, it was a very different matter. Struggling with the old rage that had barely diminished over the years, he saw the earl lead Judith toward the open French doors.

Marcus threaded his way across the crowded ballroom, acknowledging greetings with the briefest of smiles, and stepped out onto the terrace. There was no reason why Judith and her partner should not have come outside. It was a warm evening and there were plenty of people on the terrace. But the age-old rage in his soul blazed pure and bright, and he had to fight to keep it from his face and voice as he made his way to where they stood against the parapet, apparently looking at the moon.

"Good eveping, my dear."

"Marcus! What brings you here?" Judith turned at his soft greeting and for a moment he could have sworn there was a flash of pleasure in her eyes. But if it was ever there, it was gone in a trice, to be replaced with what looked like vexation, and then that too was gone and her countenance was as calm and untroubled as a doll's. Marcus knew that look. Both brother and sister wore it at the gaming tables. Prickles of unease ran up and down his spine.

"Lord Gracemere and I were just identifying the constellations," Judith said.

"Your wife appears to be an accomplished astronomer, Carrington."

"My wife has many accomplishments."

The tension in the air was as suffocating as a blanket. Judith instinctively moved to lift it. She laughed. "An odd assortment, though, I'm afraid. My formal schooling was lamentably neglected."

"Growing up on the Continent must have been an education in itself," Gracemere observed, offering his snuff box to Carrington, who refused with a flat, polite smile.

"I speak five languages," Judith said. "And my mathematics are quite sound… in some areas, at least." She shot Marcus an impishly conspiratorial look as she said this. "I count quite well, don't I, my lord?"

"Faultlessly," he agreed, unable to resist the invitation to collusion. Such invitations were all too rare, and he felt some of his tension dissipate, the slow burn of memory rage die down. Judith had nothing to do with the past, and at this moment she had eyes only for him, and there was no ambivalence now to cloud their brilliance. "I wonder if I can persuade you to dance with your husband, ma'am?"

Judith put her head on one side, considering. "Well, it's certainly unusual, and I wouldn't want it said that we lived in each other's pockets."

"Heaven forbid. If you think there's the slightest danger of that, I'll make myself scarce immediately."

It occurred to Gracemere, listening to this byplay, that they'd forgotten his presence completely. "You will excuse me," he said, bowing and walking away.

Marcus held out his hand. "A measure, madam wire.

"If you insist." She put her hand in his. "But I can't imagine why you'd wish to torture yourself in such fashion. We both know you find dancing a dead bore."

"That may be so," he said as they took their places in the set. "But I've yet to be bored in your company."

"No, just maddened," she said with an arch smiie,

"And vastly amused and aroused and fulfilled," he responded with a bland smile quite at odds with his words and the sensual glitter in his eyes.

They moved down the set and were separated by the dance movements. When they came together again, he commented, "You, at all events, seem to have been enjoying yourself this evening."

"Is that a crime?" Her eyebrows lifted in a fine and distinctly challenging arch.

Marcus shook his head. "Put up your sword, lynx. I'm not going to quarrel with you this evening."

"No?" The word was weighted with disappointment. "But we quarrel so well together."

The dance took her from him again before he could come up with a response. When she was returned to him, she was suddenly preoccupied, her eyes fixed on something over his shoulder. "My poor efforts at conversation don't appear to be entertaining you, ma'am," he drawled, when she had failed to respond to his second observation in two minutes.

"I beg your pardon." But she continued to gaze over his shoulder, chewing her lip, and whenever he touched her, he could feel the tautness in the lithe, compact frame.

"What is it, Judith?"

She shook her head. "Nothing… only, do you know Lady Barret?"

"Agnes Barret, yes, of course. She's the wife of Sir Thomas Barret. She's been on the scene for many years… a widow of some Italian count, I believe, originally. Then she married Barret this last summer." He shrugged. "Barret's a gout-ridden old fogey, but quite well heeled, so I daresay he offered a port in a storm. Although she's a damnably attractive woman; I'm sure she could have done better for herself."

"Yes, she is," Judith agreed absently. Then she seemed to shake herself out of her reverie. "Did you come here to make sure I was where I was supposed to be, sir?"

"Don't be provoking, Judith."

"I don't mean to be provoking," she protested, all innocence. "But it's only natural, when you do something so out of character, I should look for a reason."

"I came to find you," he said.

"To check up on me," she declared with a triumphant nod.

"Don't put words into my mouth," he said. "I came to find you."

"But surely it comes to the same thing. You wanted to make sure I wasn't doing something I shouldn't be."

"Well, you'll certainly think twice another time if the urge to misbehave does hit you," he remarked. "Since you won't know whether I'm likely to turn up or not."

Judith was for a moment silenced, then suddenly she began to laugh. "I do believe we're quarreling," she observed with satisfaction. "I knew it couldn't be long."

"Hornet!" He led her out of the dance.

"Shall we go home?"

"An admirable idea." He steered her across the room, one flat palm in the small of her back.

"Good evening, Lady Carrington, Marcus… Permit me to offer my felicitations. I would have done so earlier, but Barret was kept in the country with a touch of the gout and we've only just returned to town."

Lady Barret materialized in their path, extending her hand to Judith as she smiled at Marcus. "This wretched war," she murmured. "It played havoc with one's social life. Everyone disappeared to Brussels."