Judith crumpled the sheet with a soft exclamation. There was no way out of this one. She couldn't refuse without annoying Gracemere and, as before, she couldn't afford to annoy him, not this close to the endgame.

She dressed and went in search of Marcus. He was in his book room, closeted with John, but looked up, his eyes crinkling with pleasure at her entrance. "Good morning, my love. What can I do for you?"

Sweet heaven, how she hated lying to him. She smiled at John to take her mind off what she was saying. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm going to a very private dinner this evening."

"Oh," Marcus said, putting down his quill. "Am I not invited?"

"No, I'm afraid not." She turned her eyes to him, hoping she was now in control of her features. "It's all women, you see."

Marcus laughed. "Cornelia and the others?"

"Just so. I'm sure I won't be late, though."

John coughed apologetically. "Excuse me, your ladyship, but you and Lord Carrington are engaged to the Willoughbys this evening-the musicale," he said. "The harpist, if you recall?"

"Oh, I'd completely forgotten," Judith said. "And I do so want to spend the evening with my friends. Marcus… would you mind?"

He couldn't resist the appeal in those golden brown eyes. "I must go alone, it would seem."

"You are a prince among husbands," she said, reaching across the desk to kiss him. John averted his eyes.

"I shall expect compensation," Marcus said.

"That goes without saying." She went to the door. "And as I said, I won't be late."

In fact, if she managed matters aright, she wouldn't be out of the house for much more than an hour. Bernard Melville, Earl of Gracemere, was not going to enjoy the clandestine company of his enemy's wife… whatever he might think.

Thus resolved, Judith felt a little better about her lie. Circumstances were working in her favor, since none of her friends had been invited to the musicale. The Willoughbys were an elderly couple who didn't go about much in Society, but were friends of Marcus's mother and he had felt obliged to accept the invitation to a small and select gathering of elderly music lovers. By the time he came home, his wife would be virtuously abed, having spent the greater part of the evening irreproachably by her own fireside.

She dressed with care that evening, choosing a gown with an unusually high neckline and arranging her hair in a demure braided coronet. Her conduct tonight would be the antithesis of flirtatious. Before leaving, she sent Millie on an errand to the kitchen that greatly puzzled the abigail. However, questions were not invited so she fetched what was required and saved her curiosity for later in the servants' hall, when her ladyship's strange request could be discussed at length.

Judith dropped the small package into her reticule, adjusted the shawl about her shoulders, and went downstairs. The Willoughbys kept early hours and Marcus had already left.

The unmarked chaise awaited her on the same corner as before, and as before the earl was inside to greet her.

"Good evening, Bernard," Judith said cheerfully. "I must say, sir, that you don't give much notice of your invitations."

"Adventures are supposed to take one by surprise," he said. "And you do like adventures, don't you, my dear Judith?"

Judith allowed a little giggle to escape her. "Life would be very dull without them, sir."

"Just so. And the so-staid husband… how was he disposed of for the evening?"

Judith gritted her teeth. "Marcus had his own engagement," she said. "Where do we go, Bernard?"

"Ah, that's a surprise," he told her. "I trust you'll be pleased."

"I'm sure I shall." She clapped her hands softly, her eyes glowing in the dim light of the chaise. "I like surprises as much as I like adventures."

"Splendid," he said, reaching across to take her hand. "I hope this one will be all that you expect."

"And I hope the evening will be all that you expect, Bernard," she said, smiling a little shyly.

He carried her hand to his lips.

The chaise drew up in front of a tall town house, its door lit by a lantern, light glowing from behind curtained windows. Judith stepped out and looked curiously up and down the street. "Where are we?"

"Jermyn Street," Gracemere said casually. "A small and very discreet hotel I frequent on occasion. Come, my dear." He escorted her to the door that was opened by an elderly butler in a powdered wig.

"My lord… madam." He bowed. "Madame is in die salon."

Judith allowed herself to be ushered into the salon. She looked around at the gilt moldings, the heavy satin draperies, the deep armchairs, and the women in their elegant gowns with just a little something out of place. The air was heavy with the fragrance of musk, a decadent, overblown scent, and Judith knew immediately what Gracemere had brought her to. She'd been in such places before: the luxurious bordello catering to the wealthy and whatever tastes they might have. There was nothing these women wouldn't do if the price was right.

She glanced sideways at her escort and saw the smile flickering on the cruel mouth as he greeted their ostensible hostess. He wouldn't think she knew what the place was, she realized. After all, what respectable lady of the ton would? He wasn't to know that her father had had many good friends who ran places like this one-friends who would provide free lodging on occasion to the impoverished gamester and his children… lodging and comfort to the lonely widower. Her father had never been short of female company, Judith remembered. Something about him appealed to women. She suspected he'd never paid for the comfort offered him in places such as this. Once his children had reached a certain age, however, George Davenport had stopped accepting this kind of hospitality, but Judith's memory was crystal clear.

Madame greeted her courteously, but her eyes were shrewdly assessing and she too seemed to share in the jest with Gracemere. They obviously knew each other well.

"Your private dining room is ready, my lord," she said. "Bernice will show you up." She beckoned to a young woman in crimson satin, who came over immediately. Her gown was rich, the fall of lace at the neck delicate, but the lace was slightly awry, and the neckline so low that it barely covered her nipples.

"This way, sir… madam." She barely acknowledged Judith but smiled at Gracemere, who chucked her beneath the chin with a lazy forefinger.

They went upstairs to a small parlor, as ostentatiously decorated as the one downstairs. A fire burned in the grate, and a round table was set for two. A richly cushioned divan was the only other furniture, apart from a worked screen in the corner. It would conceal the commode, Judith knew. Rooms such as this were equipped to cater in total privacy for all needs.

"Goodness me, Bernard," she said with an amazed little titter. "What a strange place. It's almost more like a bedchamber than a dining parlor."

"It's a very private hotel," he said, pouring wine into two glasses. "A toast, my dear Judith."

She took the glass. "And what shall we toast, sir?"

"Adventure and the confounding of dictatorial husbands." He raised his glass, laughing at her as he drank.

Judith took a sip, smiling, then, carrying her glass, she strolled over to the window and drew aside the curtain to look down on the street. Under cover of the curtain, she took the packet from her reticule and shook the contents in her wineglass.

"Are there many such hotels on this street, Bernard?" she asked in tones of innocent curiosity, turning back to him, giving him a wide-eyed smile as she drained the contents of her glass. "May I have some more wine?"

"Of course, my dear." He brought the decanter over to her. If she became foxed again, it would only add spice to the affair this time. She probably wouldn't remember what had happened, and he'd deposit her at her doorstep for her husband in a distinctly shop-soiled condition.