Gracemere shuddered. "Quite innocent, I assure you. Your wife's virtue remains untainted, Marcus. Now, perhaps you'd leave me to my dinner."

"By all means. But allow me to give you a piece of advice. If you should have any further plans involving the health and welfare of my wife, I suggest you drop them forthwith." He picked up his cane and tapped it thoughtfully into his palm. "I would hate to use a horsewhip on you again, but if it did become necessary, I can safely promise you that this time it will be no secret. It will be the most talked of on-dit of this or any other Season."

He bowed, mockery in every line of his body, but there was no concealing the menace in his eyes as they rested for a second on Gracemere's flushed face. "Don't underestimate me again, Bernard. And just remember that another time I'll not let pride conceal the truth. I'll face whatever I have to to expose you. That is all I have to say."

He walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

27

Marcus walked back to Berkeley Square. Whatever reasons Judith had had for involving herself with Gracemere initially, she'd been perfectly capable of extricating herself from trouble. Judging by the half-full wineglass, she'd left in haste, and she must have made some considerable scene if her putative host hoped she wasn't going to return.

But why the hell had she been with Gracemere in the first place? Had she been defying her husband for principle's sake? But that didn't make sense-they'd resolved the issue amicably as far as he remembered. She'd agreed to do as he wished if he moderated his dictatorial manner. So why would she persist in cultivating such an acquaintanceship. No, it was much more than that. Acquaintances didn't dine tete-a-tete. So why?

The old serpents of mistrust began to wreathe and writhe in his gut, and he felt cold and sick. Did he know her at all? Had he ever known her? Had she colluded with Gracemere to wound him? But if that was so, why had she left her dinner companion against his will? Perhaps she hadn't expected seduction. His ingenuous wife had believed an invitation to a clandestine dinner to be completely innocent? Impossible. There was nothing ingenuous about Judith; she was far too worldly to fall for such a fabrication. But perhaps Gracemere had led her to believe the invitation was different-not a private party but one in company she knew. And when she'd discovered the truth… This explanation was more plausible, and he began to feel a little comforted. And then he remembered how she'd lied to him that morning-a party with her women friends. The serpents hissed and acid betrayal soured his mouth.

Judith was standing at her window, looking down on the square, when he came in sight of the house. She had been waiting for him, knowing what she had to do. She had known that Gracemere was capable of ruining a man with cheating and lies. She knew he was capable of running off with another man's fiancee. But this evening she had glimpsed the depths of maleficence that outdid anything that she already knew. A clandestine rendezvous was one thing, but to pick such a place for the kind of woman he believed Judith to be was evil beyond anything. Somehow Marcus was to have been injured by Gracemere's plotting and Marcus's wife had been just a tool. Judith was now convinced of it. Was Marcus to be somehow confronted with the information of his wife's rendezvous? Confronted and humiliated? Was it to be made public perhaps?

She stood at the window with her arms crossed over her breasts, still feeling weak and shaky after her violent vomiting but knowing that unless she could circumvent Gracemere's ulterior motive, she might just as well have yielded to seduction. If a public scandal was to be made, the simple fact of her willing presence in such a place with the earl would be sufficient cause.

She was going to have to tell Marcus the whole. If he heard it from her lips, he would be forewarned and forearmed. The thought of what she risked by such a course filled her with dread.

Marcus disappeared from view as he climbed the steps beneath her window.

She went out to the hall at the top of the stairs as Marcus was admitted to the house, then she sped lightly down the stairs toward him.

"Marcus, I need to talk with you."

He looked up, and despite the gall and wormwood of his suspicions, his eyes anxiously raked her face. She was pale and tense, but other than that, as far as he could tell seemed quite well.

"Did you enjoy your evening?" he asked, unsmiling as he handed his cloak and gloves to Gregson. Until he decided how to deal with the situation, he would pretend he knew nothing about it.

Judith shook her head dismissively. "Could we go into your book room? I have to talk to you. "

Surely she wasn't going to tell him? A thrill of hope coursed through him. "It's a book-room matter?"

"I believe so." She was clasping her hands tightly, her expression one of painful intensity.

Marcus knew he wanted her confidence now more than he had ever wanted anything. Only her honesty would have the power to erase the suspicions, defang the serpents of mistrust. But just in case he was wrong, he continued the charade. "Oh, dear." He managed a faint smile of rueful comprehension at this choice of venue.

His book room seemed to have become the arena for discussion of all potentially explosive issues. "Could it wait until morning?"

"I don't think so."

"Very well. Let's get it over with, whatever it is."

Judith led the way. The candles were extinguished but the fire was still alight. She relit the candles while Marcus tossed a log onto the embers.

"Am I going to need fortification?" He gestured to the decanters on the sideboard.

"I imagine so. I'll have a glass of port also."

Marcus filled two glasses, watching as Judith bent to warm her hands at the fire, its light setting matching fires aglow in the burnished ringlets tumbling about her face.

"I have a confession to make," she said eventually, turning to face him, her pallor even more marked. "I'm afraid you're going to be very, very angry."

She was going to tell him. He kept the joy from his expression and said evenly, "I'm duly warned. Let me hear it."

"Very well." She put down her glass and squared her shoulders. "It's about Gracemere." She paused, but Marcus said nothing, although his eyes had narrowed. He sipped his port and waited.

Quietly she told him how she had played piquet with Gracemere, what the stakes were, and where he had taken her that evening. "I'm afraid he intends to create some scandal that would humiliate you," she finished. "I had to tell you… warn you. I couldn't bear you to hear it from anyone else."

She fell silent, twisting her hands against her skirt, her expression taut with anxiety as she waited for his response.

"You recognized the place for what it was?" His voice was level, and his eyes had not left her face.

She nodded. "As children we spent some time in similar establishments… but that's another story."

"You must tell me sometime," he commented calmly. "You didn't stay very long tonight, I gather."

"No, I put mustard in my wine and made myself very sick," she said. "It's a trick I've used before to get out of a ticklish situation." A gleam appeared in her eye, a hint of the customarily mischievous Judith. "I'm afraid the earl was rather put off by the results."

The Earl of Gracemere's disgruntlement was now explained. Against all the odds, laughter bubbled in Marcus's chest. "You vomited?"

She nodded. "Prodigiously… mustard has that effect. It's also very wearing," she added. "I still feel weak and shivery."

Marcus asked his most important question. "Am I to be told why you've been cultivating Gracemere despite our agreement that you would hold him at arm's length?"