Throwing off the rest of her clothes, she slipped into a filmy wrapper of apple-green muslin edged with lace. Sitting before her dresser mirror, she brushed her hair, enjoying the novelty of her bared neck and the lightness of her head. Her sisters had given her a small vial of perfume on her wedding morning. She rarely used it because she was always in such a hurry to get dressed that such niceties tended to be forgotten, but now seemed like an appropriate occasion. Sylvester wanted her dressed for seduction, so that was what he should have.

She put a few drops behind her ears, at her throat, and on her wrists. Then, with a little smile, she applied the delicate fragrance behind her knees and on the inside of her thighs. Where else did Sylvester like to play? Her navel, the dimpled hollows in the small of her back, the high, arched insteps of her long, narrow feet.

Deciding she must smell like a whorehouse, she cast one last glance at her reflection before leaving the room and speeding barefoot down the corridor to the small parlor overlooking the rear garden, where they spent time when they wished to be private from the household.

Sylvester was already there, pouring wine into two glasses. "No cheese tarts, I'm afraid," he said as she came in. "But there's -" The words died on his lips. Slowly, he set the glasses back on the table, his eyes narrowed as he examined her.

Dark curls clouded around her face, softening her features in a way the plain, uncompromising plaits had never done; her cheeks were aglow, her eyes banked fires at midnight; the wrapper clung to every sinuous line of her body, the narrow girdle accentuating her waist and the slight flare of her hips. London and winter weather had done away with the tanned complexion, leaving her skin the color and texture of clotted cream.

"I really have lost my gypsy," he murmured. "But just look what I have in her place."

"What?" she said, stepping toward him.

"A most beautiful woman," he replied simply. "A wayward and unruly wife, but a most beautiful woman."

"Oh, don't scold," Theo protested, coming into his arms.

"It was a statement of fact, not a scolding," he said, smiling, running his hands down her body, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the delicate material, the ripple of muscle in her back as she reached against him.

"Take it off, Theo." There was a husky rasp to his voice, and he took a step backward from her.

Her eyes fixed on his face, she unfastened the robe and let it slip to the floor.

His eyes ran slowly down her body, devouring every inch of skin, the firm, jutting breasts, the dark nipples, growing hard and erect under his scrutiny, the flat belly, the cluster of dark curls at the apex of her long creamy thighs. Then he made a little circular motion with his forefinger, and she turned obediently. He gazed at the straight, narrow back, the pointed shoulder blades, the curve of her buttocks, the backs of her thighs, and the softness behind her knees.

He knew every inch of her body, and yet each time it was as if it were uncharted territory.

"Let's eat," he said into the silence, where lust quivered so thick one could almost touch it.

"Eat?" Theo spun round, astonishment and a touch of indignation in her eyes. "Now?"

"Now." He handed her a glass of wine, his own eyes filled with sensual amusement. "No," he said when she bent to pick up the discarded wrapper. "Stay just as you are. I want to enjoy you with my eyes for a while."

"I'm to eat naked?"

"Just so." He pulled out a chair for her. "You'll not be cold by the fire." He bent to kiss the nape of her neck as she sat down, and Theo shuddered with pleasure and anticipation.

This was something they had never done before. It felt most peculiar to sit naked in the room while he was fully clothed. Peculiar but most arousing. The fire lapped against her right thigh, and the embroidered seat of the chair was slightly scratchy under her bottom and thighs. She gave a little experimental wriggle.

Sylvester sipped his wine, watching her. "Open your thighs a little," he instructed softly.

Theo's eyes widened and her tongue touched her lips. She shifted again on the seat and bit her lip suddenly. "How can I eat?"

"You'll manage." He took another sip of wine and deliberately carved a slice from the breast of a cold chicken, placing it on her plate. "Pickled mushrooms?"

Theo nodded silently and he passed her the dish. She took a spoonful, her breasts brushing against the edge of the table as she leaned forward. Her nipples burned, and she sat back with a little gasp. "I can't do this, Sylvester."

"Yes, you can." He began to eat, watching her as he did so. "Tell me what you feel."

Theo took a mouthful of chicken, then gave up. This game had chased away all vestige of ordinary appetite. She leaned back in her chair, her breasts lifting on her rib cage. "Everything?" Her voice was low, her eyes a swirling riot of arousal.

"Everything."

Chapter Twenty-seven

"So you see, Edward, it won't be at all dangerous for either of us." Theo sat back in the swaying darkness of the carriage, bearing them to the Vanbrughs' rout party that evening.

Edward shook his head. "You are suggesting that you'll lead Neil Gerard into the maze at Hampton Court and get him to talk at gun point about Vimiera, while I hide behind a goddamned box hedge listening, so if he says anything incriminating, there'll be a witness? Theo, you have windmills in your head."

"It'll work," she said stubbornly. "He was at Vimiera, and he's behind these attacks on Sylvester. Now we just have to find out what really happened. Then we can tell Sylvester what we've discovered, and he can do what he wants with it. If it's enough to reopen the court-martial, then he can clear his name once and for all."

"But just why hasn't Stoneridge hit upon such a brilliant plan himself, if, as you're so certain, he knows that Neil Gerard is the man who's been trying to kill him?" Edward inquired with naked sarcasm.

"I don't know," Theo said as stubbornly as before. "I don't know because he won't tell me anything. But this will work – only there has to be an objective witness."

Edward sighed. "You're playing with fire, Theo. As badly as you were on Dock Street. And if Stoneridge sends you to live with his mother, I wouldn't blame him," he declared unequivocally.

"Oh, you're so infuriatingly priggish these days." Theo sat forward urgently, laying her hand on his satin-clad knee. "Nothing could be simpler. He wishes to drive to Hampton Court, and it's a perfect place. You be waiting on Curzon Street and simply follow us. Gerard will never notice a curricle behind him. And he won't notice anyone following in the general press of people at Hampton Court. My wanting to go into the maze will be the most natural thing in the world. There's no way he could harm me in such a place, and anyway, I'll be the one with the pistol."

"And what makes you think he won't be armed himself?"

Theo detected the beginning of a waver in her friend's opposition. "Why would he be? Besides, I don't think he's too clever."

"What makes you think that?" Edward asked glumly.

"If he had been, he'd have succeeded in killing Sylvester by now. He strikes me as thoroughly clumsy."

Edward couldn't find any argument to this terse rejoinder. However, he felt obliged to point out that even the not so bright and clumsy could be extremely dangerous. In fact, possibly more so, since they could be unpredictable.

"Yes, but we won't be in the least danger," Theo said impatiently. "How could we be, in such a circumstance?"

The carriage arrived at their destination, and Edward took advantage of the opportunity to delay his response. "I'll tell you at the end of the evening," he said, jumping down and reaching up his hand to help her alight. "But if you mention it again before we're in the carriage on the way home, I won't entertain the idea. Is that understood?"