Agnes shuddered as the hurt blossomed and she moaned, pressing her loins against his, and the inevitable, blissful excitement surged in her blood.

The earl smiled to himself as he felt her response. Life was full of attractive propositions at the moment, with Carrington's wife begging like a fawning puppy for his help in taunting her husband and young Davenport offering himself as meekly as any sheep to the shearer.

"Judith, are you feeling quite well?" Sally looked anxiously at her sister-in-law, who seemed listless, lacking her usual burnished luster.

Judith had a headache and a dragging pain in the base of her belly. It had come on since she'd arrived at the Herons' soiree, and she didn't need a visit to the retiring room to confirm what she already knew. That wild and glorious night of lovemaking had had no fruitful consequences, and she didn't know whether she was glad or sorry.

"It's just the time of the month," she said. "And this party is so insipid." The soiree had so far featured a harpist of mediocre talent, a meager supper, and indifferent champagne. "Let's go into the card room," she suggested, putting aside her nearly untouched supper plate.

"There's a loo table in the small salon," Isobel said. "We could join that."

Judith's expression was not encouraging. "No, come and play basset instead. The stakes aren't too high, and I've explained how to make the best calculation on the card order, so at least you have some tool against pure chance.

"I don't feel clear-headed enough tonight," Sally said. "I don't think I can play properly if I haven't prepared myself beforehand."

"And all the preparation in the world doesn't necessarily help me," Cornelia declared. "I'm in favor of loo."

"But it's limited loo," Judith said disgustedly. "There's no challenge in that."

"The words of a true gamester, Lady Carrington." Agnes Barret's soft tones came from behind Judith, and it was only with the exercise of supreme self-control that she kept dislike and unease from her expression as she turned.

"Good evening, Lady Barret. Have you just arrived? I'm afraid you've missed the harpist." She offered a bland smile.

"I understand she performed magnificently."

"I fear I'm a poor judge," Judith said.

"But not of the cards. Anyone who plays at Amelia Dolby's must have both inclination and skill… or perhaps simply need?" she added, her eyes narrowing as she awaited Judith's reaction.

Judith bowed. "As you would know, ma'am."

Lady Barret smiled faintly. "Husbands can be so difficult about money, can't they?" Her tawny eyes held Judith's for a long minute, then with a word of excuse, she moved away.

"Good heavens," Isobel said, taking a cream puff from a silver salver presented by a waiter. "Are you at war with Agnes Barret, Judith?"

"At war? What a strange idea. How should I be?"

"I don't know," Isobel said. "But the air was crackling. Wasn't it?" She appealed to her companions as she popped the creamy confection into her mouth with an unconsciously beatific smile.

Cornelia was frowning. "There's something about her, or is it about you, Judith? I can't put my finger on it, but when she was standing so close to you… Oh, I don't know what I'm talking about." She shook her head in exasperation. "I'm going to play loo. It may be poor-spirited of me, but I enjoy it, and I'm perfectly content to make pin money tonight."

"I am too," Isobel declared, beckoning to the footman with the pastries. "I find high-stakes playing exciting, but it makes me most dreadfully nervous… one of those, I think." She selected a strawberry tart. "These are quite delicious. Why don't you try one, Judith?"

"The chicken in aspic rather put me off," Judith said. "Besides, I haven't your sweet tooth."

"It's a great trial," Isobel said a touch dolefully. "I shall become very fat, I'm convinced."

Sally laughed. "You'll be magnificent, Isobel, a plump and indolent matron of unfailing generosity, dispensing hospitality from your sofa, and taking in every waif and stray who comes your way."

Judith smiled. It was a fairly safe prediction. Isobel had a heart to match her sweet tooth.

"Very well, we'll play loo," she agreed. "I've a bellyache and a headache, so I might as well play schoolroom games." In fact, she would really prefer to be home in her bed with a book, drinking hot milk laced with brandy. And Marcus would come in later, and when he realized she didn't feel like making love, he'd make up the fire and bring his cognac and sit on her bed and talk to her. Would he be relieved that she hadn't conceived?

Judith dug up a smile and followed her friends into the salon where the loo table was set up.

The clock in the smoky room struck midnight when Marcus downed his mug of gin and water in the Daffy Club and stood up.

"Whither away?" Peter Wellby asked, watching the smoke from his clay pipe curl upward to the blackened timbers of the low ceiling.

"I have to track down my brother-in-law," Marcus told him. "He said I'd find him at White's this evening."

"Decent fellow, Davenport," Peter observed, rising with him. He extinguished his pipe and handed it to a waiting serving lad, who took it away to be hung up over the stained planking of the taproom counter until its owner came again. "Mind if I accompany you?" Peter picked up his cane. He glanced dispassionately into his empty tankard. "Had enough blue ruin for one evening."

"A glass of reasonable port won't come amiss," Marcus agreed.

Sebastian was at the faro table when his brother-in-law arrived. He was winning steadily but with such careless good humor that the growing pile of rouleaux and vowels in front of him seemed unremarkable.

Gracemere held the bank. He glanced up as Marcus strolled over to the table. For a moment, their eyes met and again Gracemere experienced the shiver of terror of that long-ago morning, when Carrington had found him with Martha.

Hatred flickered in the earl's pale eyes and was answered with a cold, mocking disdain before the marquis turned his black gaze on Sebastian.

"A word with you, Sebastian, when the table breaks up."

"Yes, of course." Sebastian carelessly arranged several rouleaux around his chosen cards. "I think I'll close after this hand, anyway… while I'm ahead."

Gracemere slid the top card off the pack in front of him, revealing the knave of hearts. He laid it to the right of die pack. "That's me done for the night," Viscount Middleton said with a sigh, pushing across his rouleaux that lay beside his own knave of hearts. "The play's getting too rich for my blood."

Gracemere turned up the second card: the king of spades. This one he laid to the left of the pack.

Sebastian had bet on its counterpart and chuckled amid a chorus of good-natured groans at his continuing luck. "Never mind, tomorrow it'll have deserted me completely. The lady's a fickle mistress."

Gracemere took up the rake and pushed three fifty-guinea rouleaux across to him. "You can't walk away just yet, Davenport. Not with the luck running so completely in your favor."

There was something in the earl's voice that made Sebastian instantly alert: an eagerness that Gracemere could barely conceal. Sebastian glanced across the table and saw a shimmer of anticipation in the pale eyes. Gracemere expected to win the next cut.

He shrugged acceptingly and sat back, watching as the earl dealt afresh. A new pack of cards was then put in front of him. "Stakes, gentlemen." He smiled around the table.

Sebastian placed two rouleaux against the seven of clubs. The others around the table made their own bets.

Gracemere turned up the first card in the pack and laid the seven of clubs to the right of the pack.

Sebastian pushed his stake across the table without a word. The earl smiled, his eyes meeting the other's cool gaze.