Theo poured coffee and offered more milk as her mother-in-law declared the brew too strong for a liverish constitution. "Do you also consult Dr. Weston, ma'am?" she inquired sweetly, filling the cup to the brim with milk. "For your liver, perhaps?"

"My liver, gal, is my own concern," Lady Gilbraith announced. "I'm surprised your mother didn't teach you not to ask impertinent questions, but, then, the Belmonts always did lack finesse."

Theo felt her cheeks warm, and she bit down on her tongue until she had it under control. "Coffee, Mary?"

"I don't drink it," Mary said petulantly as if Theo should have been aware of that. "I should like to go to my room."

"By all means, I'll take you upstairs." Theo rose and moved to the door. She glanced toward the long windows looking out onto the street and saw the unmistakable figure of her husband striding toward the house. Her heart jumped into her throat, and she sent a swift prayer heavenward that he'd cooled off enough to react rationally to her presence downstairs.

The post chaise had been taken to the mews, so when Sylvester strode into the house, he had no notion of visitors. His expression was still grim, but the unruly edge to his fury had been blunted, and he was now well in control of himself. He was going to send Theo to Stoneridge first thing in the morning. It was a simple decision, one that would keep her out of the way while he dealt with Gerard and would, not incidentally, ensure she dug no deeper into his secrets.

Banishment would also make clear to his wife that he wouldn't tolerate her interference and her reckless impulses.

He entered the hall just as a footman was hefting the last of the portmanteaus onto his shoulders.

"Oh, Sylvester, you're back." Theo's clear tones came from the salon. "See, your mama and sister are come." She came into the hall, smiling. But her smile was tight and her eyes were dark with anxiety as they raked his face. "I have been making them welcome," she said softly, with a tiny apologetic shrug and a what-would-you-have-me-do quirk of her lips.

He accorded her a brief nod that told her little of his reaction to her disobedience and turned to greet his parent and sister, receiving a series of complaints and a great many sniffles from Mary for his pains.

"I am about to escort them to their chambers," Theo said. "Your sister wishes for a mustard bath, and I'm sure Lady Gilbraith would like to rest before dinner."

Sylvester inclined his head in acknowledgment, saying to his mother, "I'm afraid I'll have to leave you to dine alone with Theo this evening, ma'am. I have a previous engagement, and I cannot cry off."

Theo's indignantly indrawn breath almost made him smile. An evening alone with his mother and sister was a neat retribution; he couldn't have devised a more appropriate one if he'd tried.

He escorted them upstairs and then left them, saying he had to change his dress for his dinner engagement, but he'd see them in the morning. His eyes flicked across his wife's countenance as he said this, and she understood that that statement was to include her. She'd have to wait until the morning to hear whatever fate he'd devised for her.

Theo glared at his retreating back in mute dismay, then, gritting her teeth, turned back to her in-laws.

Henry recognized that his master was in no mood for conversation as he helped him change into evening dress. The earl was frowning, and his fingers were unusually clumsy with his cravat so that the pile of discarded squares mounted as he struggled with the intricate folds.

He couldn't send Theo away while his mother was there. He'd just have to hope that his mother and sister would keep her so occupied she wouldn't have time to go spinning off on her own frolics, and once the visitors had left, he'd pack her back to the country.

He left the house half an hour later, dwelling with a degree of satisfaction on the irksome evening Theo was going to spend, unaware that a messenger was already hotfoot to Brook Street with a desperate plea for support in the evening ahead.

The Belmonts, Edward Fairfax, and Jonathan Lacey arrived at Curzon Street within the hour to rescue a desperate Theo from perdition.

In his small, elegant house on Half Moon Street, Neil Gerard prepared to receive his guests. They were all members, past and present, of the Third Dragoons, and they were the only people who might continue to regard Sylvester Gilbraith askance. Neil hoped to overcome whatever lingering prejudice they might carry.

That done, Sylvester would surely have no need to dig into the past himself. It would be against his interests to exhume the rotting corpse of a scandal that everyone was prepared to leave buried. But as the ultimate insurance, Neil would plan a little excursion for the busy Lady Stoneridge. He knew Sylvester's pride. The man would be willing to sign anything, even a full confession to something he didn't remember, rather than have his wife's supposedly adulterous indiscretions exposed to Society. And that piece of paper would signal the end of Gerard's excruciating contract with Jud O'Flannery.

The door knocker sounded, and he heard his servant hurrying to open it. From the sound of voices, it appeared that several of his guests had arrived together.

"Good evenin', Neil." A bewhiskered captain entered, rubbing his hands. "Nippy out there tonight." His gaze fell on his host's countenance. "Good God, man, whatever happened to you? That's quite a shiner."

Neil touched his blackened eye, smiled thinly with his swollen lip. "Took a tumble from my horse," he explained. "Nasty brute, I've a mind to send him to the knacker's."

"Nothin' to be done with an ill-tempered nag, that's what I always say," the captain said cheerfully. "Now, see who I found on your doorstep." He indicated a florid gentleman with mild blue eyes, who had stepped into the room behind him. "Haven't seen old Barney here for months. Where've you been hiding, old chap?"

"In Spain with the Peer."

"Headquarters, eh?" The captain nodded and accepted a glass of wine from his host. "So what's goin' on?"

The other man didn't reply immediately. He glanced at the table set in the window alcove. "You expectin' quite a crowd, Neil?"

"Only five of us," Neil said, handing him a glass. "Yourselves, Peter Fortescue, and Sylvester Gilbraith."

"Stoneridge?" Barney raised an eyebrow. "I'd heard he was in town. Married, isn't he?"

"Quite recently. Soon after he inherited the title."

"Mm. Thought you had no time for him, after that nasty business at Vimiera."

Neil shrugged. "It's water under the bridge. No one really knows what happened. He was acquitted. It's hard to dismiss an old friend out of hand."

The other two nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I own I've always thought of him as a decent fellow," the captain declared into his now empty glass. "I'm ready enough to give him the benefit of the doubt."

"Good." Neil smiled and refilled his glass just as the door knocker sounded again. He hoped it would be Fortescue, so that by the time Sylvester arrived, everyone would be in agreement as to how to greet him.

The stringy figure of Major Fortescue loomed in the door behind the servant. He was greeted warmly by his friends, a glass pressed into his hand, his questions as to his host's battered countenance answered.

"Gerard's expectin' Gilbraith," the captain said. "D'you remember that rum business about the colors?"

"Yes, and I never believed a word of it," Fortescue declared. "He was a damn fool to resign from the regiment. Made him look guilty."

"He was severely wounded," Neil reminded him.

"True, but he had no call to resign." The major took a deep draft of his wine.

Sylvester heard their voices as he stood in the hall, handing his cape and gloves to the servant. They were well-remembered voices from the past. Gerard hadn't told him who his fellow guests would be, but he'd set up a reunion of old comrades. What the devil was he playing at now? Was this to be some twisted exercise in mortification, despite his previous gestures of friendship?