"Good heavens," Judith said. "How very theatrical of you."

Marcus shook his head in disclaimer. "When it comes to theatricals, my love, you're unsurpassed. That dead-of-night flight through a window was an outrageous piece of melodrama." He bundled her into his arms, kissing her again.

"Just one more thing…" Judith murmured against his mouth. "All that other business…"

"Ah." He released her reluctantly. "I've instructed my bankers that you're free to draw on the account. We're joint partners in this marriage and therefore in the fortune that maintains us both. I'll not question your expenditure again, any more than you question mine."

Hiding her bittersweet emotions at his trust in her, she gave him a brilliant smile. "Now that, sir, is an inventive and generous solution to an apparently intractable problem."

"But no more high-stakes gaming." He pinched her nose. "And if I see you within a hundred yards of a gaming hell, my love, I can't answer for the consequences. Understood?"

"Understood. I'll confine myself to social play from now on."

"Good. And now we're going into Berkshire for a couple of weeks, so ring for the maidservant to pack your traps."

"Into Berkshire? Now?"

"This very minute."

"Why?"

"Because I say so," he declared cheerfully. "Now, I'd better go and reassure Sally that you're still in one piece." He shook his head in amazement. "I wonder if Jack knows what a spirited creature she is when roused."

"Probably not," Judith said, chuckling. "And it's clearly your fraternal duty to enlighten him."

In his sister's absence Sebastian devoted himself to courting Harriet. Lady Moreton watched with growing complacence, expecting each day to bring a formal offer for her daughter's hand. Sebastian fretted silently over his powerlessness to act, but until he was in possession of his birthright, he had nothing to offer a wife. Only Harriet was sunnily untroubled by the waiting, secure and trusting in the knowledge of Sebastian's love.

None of them was aware of the threat hanging over their happiness. The threat took concrete shape in a bedchamber in a tall house overlooking the River Thames. The mullioned casement rattled under the blustery winter wind from the river, and the fire in the grate spurted as needles of wind pierced tiny cracks between the panes.

Agnes drew a cashmere wrap tightly around her body as she slipped from the bed, her body languid with fulfillment despite the nip in the air. She went to the fire, bending to warm her hands.

"I swear the wretched chit sees and hears nothing that's not done or said by Sebastian," she said as if an interlude of passion hadn't broken their previous conversation. "How many times did you compliment her on her hat this afternoon before she seemed to hear you, let alone respond?"

"At least six," Gracemere responded, flipping open a delicate porcelain snuffbox. "Give me your wrist."

Smiling, Agnes straightened and held out her hand, wrist uppermost. The earl dropped a pinch of snuff exactly where her pulse throbbed and raised her wrist to his nose, breathing in the snuff. His lips lightly brushed her skin and then he dropped her hand and returned to the subject.

"Clearly Harriet's not to be wooed and won, therefore she must be taken."

"When?" Agnes moistened her lips. "You can't wait until Sebastian has declared himself." "True enough. I will wait until I've bled Sebastian as white as it's possible-which should ruin his chances with Moreton anyway. And then we shall act." His lips tightened so that his mouth was a fleshy gash in his thin face.

"I don't doubt you, Bernard." Agnes touched his mouth with a fingertip. "Not for one minute."

He grasped her wrist again, sucking the finger into his mouth. His teeth bit down and his eyes stared down into hers, watching the pain develop, the excitement flare under the defiant challenge to endure. Agnes laughed, making no attempt to free her finger. She laughed, her head falling back, exposing the white column of her throat.

Gracemere released her wrist and circled her throat with his hands. "We are worthy of each other, my dear Agnes."

"Oh, yes," she whispered.

It was a long time before she spoke again. "With Judith and Carrington out of town, you must be missing a degree of entertainment."

Gracemere chuckled. "I have my plans well laid for her return. I may need you as message bearer, my dear."

"Messenger to whom?"

"Why, to Carrington, of course." A meager smile snaked over his lips. "There'd be no point compromising his wife if he's not to be aware of it."

"Oh, no," Agnes agreed. "None whatsoever. I'll convey the message of tarnished virtue with the utmost subtlety and the greatest pleasure."

"I thought the role might appeal to you, my love."

Judith clung to a shadowy corner of the conservatory. Her heart was beating swiftly with excitement and anticipation, her palms damp, moisture beading her brow from the exertion of the chase and the lush, hothouse atmosphere. The air was rich with the mingled, exotic scents of orchids, roses, and jasmine. The domed glass roof above her revealed the night sky, black infinity pricked with stars and the crescent sliver of the new moon offering the only light.

She had closed the drawing-room door that led into the conservatory, and the heavy velvet curtains had swung back, preventing the penetration of light from the house. Her ears strained to hear the sound of the door opening, the tap of a footstep on the smooth paving stones between the rows of shrubs and flowers. Would he guess where she was hiding? It was a relatively classic place for hide-and-seek. But then, it wasn't as if she didn't want to be found.

She stifled her laughter. Marcus had proved remarkably receptive to her penchant for nursery games. When she wasn't teasing him with outrageously provocative comments, which always produced the desired results, she was challenging him to horseraces through the meadow, making wagers on which raindrop would reach the bottom of the window first, throwing sticks from the bridge into the river and rushing to the other side to see which one was the first to emerge. They did nothing without laying odds, and the stakes were never for money. Indeed, they tried to outdo each other with the most imaginative and enticing wagers.

They'd spent the afternoon skating on the frozen horse pond, competing over who could make the most elaborate figures on the ice. Since Judith was no match for Marcus, who'd been skating on the pond every winter since early childhood, she'd spent a fair part of the afternoon on her backside. Marcus had made the most of the resulting bruises.

Hiding in her corner of the conservatory, ears stretched into the gloom for the slightest sound, Judith re-created the feel of his hands on her body, smoothing oil into the bruises he insisted he was discovering…

The door creaked, and there was a crack of light. It was extinguished so quickly, she could almost have imagined it. But she heard the faintest click as the door was closed again. There was silence, but she knew Marcus was in the conservatory. She could sense his presence just as she knew he could sense hers. Stepping backward on tiptoe, barely daring to breathe, she moved behind a potted orange tree, shrinking down into the deeper shadow, hugging herself as if she could thus make herself smaller. Her heart thudded in her ears as she waited to be discovered, as apprehensive as if she were truly being stalked by a predator.

Marcus stood by a bay tree, accustoming his eyes to the dimness, trying to sense where she was hiding. The conservatory was a wide, square building attached to the house, and he knew his quarry could evade him if he took off in the wrong direction. She could creep behind him to the door and be free and clear, with the rest of the vast house to offer for a further hiding place. But he was growing impatient with the game; he had another scenario in mind and was anxious to begin. The enticing curve of Judith's backside seemed imprinted on his palms, and his loins grew heavy at the thought of another anointing session, a more prolonged one-one that could continue until dawn if he chose.