"He'll sleep now, my lady," Henry said insistently.

"Yes," she said. "Did he have these attacks when he was a prisoner, or did they come on afterward?"

"No, he had them even worse in France," Henry told her, his face screwing into an expression of loathing. "Damned French wouldn't give him anything, not even a drop of laudanum. And he'd be screaming… screaming that name all the time."

"What name?"

Henry shook his head. "I can't rightly remember, ma'am." He bent to pull the truckle bed from beneath the poster bed. "Gerald, I think it was. Miles… Niles… Gerald. Miles Gerald or some such."

Miles, or Niles, Gerald. Theo shrugged and turned to the door. "Good night, Henry. Call me if I can be of help."

"Good night, my lady."

Theo went into her own bedroom and closed the door quietly behind her. She was almost too tired to undress but somehow managed to drag her clothes off and fall into bed, sliding into a dreamless sleep almost immediately.

She awoke very early the next morning and, still half-asleep, slipped from her room and quietly put her head around Sylvester's door. She heard only the deep, stertorous breathing from behind the curtains, interspersed with low rumbling snores from the truckle bed. The sound of his sleeping filled her with sweet relief. What must it be like to live every day with the knowledge that that hideous, degrading agony could – no, would – sweep over you without warning, and there was no cure, no promise of a future without such a curse?

Back in her own room she rang for Dora and, when the maid appeared, asked her to bring up hot water for a bath. She bathed and dressed in leisurely fashion, sipping chocolate and nibbling sweet biscuits, contemplating her next move. She must go to Brook Street and enlist her mother's help in the entertainment of Lady Gilbraith. If she could shuffle off some of those responsibilities, she'd have more time to tackle the mystery surrounding her husband. Maybe Edward could find out if anyone who had been at Vimiera with Sylvester was in London. It would be a place to start… although not as promising as the Fisherman's Rest.

It was still very early, and when she went downstairs, Foster answered her inquiry by informing her that neither Lady Gilbraith nor Miss Gilbraith had yet rung for their maids. That gave her a couple of hours before they'd be up and about and demanding attention, Theo reasoned. "Have my curricle brought around, Foster, I'm driving myself to Brook Street."

While she waited, she went into the library and wrote a note to Sylvester, then ran back upstairs. In her own room she adjusted her hat in the mirror, arranging the silver plume on her shoulder, then, picking up her gloves and riding whip, she tiptoed out to Sylvester's door and opened it softly. The curtains were still drawn around the bed, but Henry was now moving around in the dim light, setting the room to rights.

"Is he still asleep, Henry?"

"Aye, m'lady." He came to the door.

"Give him this when he awakens, please." She handed him the folded paper.

The manservant took it with a respectful nod.

"Yes, m'lady."

It was a beautiful morning, and her spirits rose as she stepped up into her curricle. Something had happened during the long hours she'd spent by Sylvester's bedside, impotently sharing his suffering, wishing she could take it from him. Theo was in love with her husband. At least, that was the only explanation she could come up with to explain this joy she felt at the prospect of seeing him well again, with his dry smile and his strong, elegant hands and his cool gray eyes. Her blood sang and her heart danced. She knew she'd come to care for him many weeks ago, but she'd not expected this quicksilver pleasure at the very thought of him. Everything in the crisp and beautiful morning seemed especially magical. The deep russet tones of the leaves on the trees lining the streets, the tang of smoke from a bonfire, a trio of rosy-cheeked children playing ball in a square garden.

She bowled around the corner onto Berkeley Square, enjoying the neat fashion in which she caught the thong of her whip, sending it up the stick with an elegant turn of her wrist. Sylvester would have approved.

Neil Gerard was strolling across the square when Lady Stoneridge's curricle came into view. His heart jumped. Sylvester's wife was alone but for her groom. It had been two days since he'd seen her outside the Fisherman's Rest. He'd called at Curzon Street the previous day, hoping to begin the cultivation of his quarry, but the butler had said her ladyship wasn't receiving. However, this was a perfect opportunity to bait his hook.

Theo was still congratulating herself on her whip play when she became aware of a waving figure on the pavement. She drew rein immediately, recognizing Neil Gerard.

Miles Gerald.

An accidental juxtaposition? Perhaps not. A surge of excitement lifted the hairs on the nape of her neck.

"Good morning, sir." She smiled down. "You're abroad early, Captain Gerard."

"I might say the same of you, Lady Stoneridge." He approached the curricle, resting one hand on the footstep, smiling up at her in the weak sunlight "I don't wish to be impertinent, but you took that corner in capital fashion. You're a most accomplished whip."

"Why, thank you, sir. I don't consider that in the least an impertinent compliment. I'm going to Brook Street May I take you up if you're going in my direction?" Theo had no clear plan of campaign, but she trusted inspiration would come to her once she had the man captive in the carriage. His face looked rather as if it had recently come into contact with a hard object.

"You do me too much honor, Lady Stoneridge." He climbed aboard the curricle. "Brook Street is on my way."

Theo flicked the reins and the horses walked on. "Were you at Vimiera with Stoneridge?" she asked casually. "I can't remember if you said so the other evening at Almack's."

Neil's thoughts and conjectures raced through his brain. What did she know? What did she want to know? This was the woman who'd been in the Fisherman's Rest – not once but twice. "We were, but not in the same engagement."

"I see. Then it seems you were lucky, sir. In view of what happened to my husband." She smiled sweetly, slowing her horses as they crossed Grosvenor Street.

"That was an old scandal, best forgotten, ma'am," he said.

"What scandal?" She turned to him with a look of complete innocence. "Do you mean the court-martial? I understood it was routine in such cases. My husband was exonerated, was he not?" She turned her eyes back to the road, and he didn't see the intense speculation racing in their blue depths.

"Of course," he replied smoothly. "As you say, it was a purely routine matter. But it caused some unpleasantness for your husband."

"Yes, so I understand." She glanced up at him. "Were you in the vicinity of the engagement, sir?" It was a shot in the dark, but if Gerard's name had haunted Sylvester's delirium, then there must be a reason.

The cold brown eyes shifted, and something fearful flared beneath the flat surface. "Uh, no, ma'am. My company was engaged elsewhere," he said after an imperceptible pause.

You lie, sir. The blood began to speed through her veins, and her pulses raced with this sudden and absolute conviction. The man was lying, and for some reason he was afraid.

"I understand your sister, Lady Emily, is betrothed to Lieutenant Fairfax," Gerard said abruptly. "He also served heroically in the Peninsula."

"Yes, indeed," Theo responded, willing to change the subject for the moment. She had enough to think about. "The wedding date is set for June."

They reached the intersection with Brook Street, and she drew rein behind a carter's dray that was making a delivery in Three Kings Yard.

"I will set you down here, Captain Gerard, if this suits you." She smiled pleasantly, extending her gloved hand in farewell.