It became clear to Gerard that this was not the man at the court-martial – a man confused and shamed by an implicit accusation against which he had no defense. And Gerard began to feel like the hunted. Only by reminding himself of his plan could he keep the panicky flutters from obscuring cool thought.

Sylvester finally rose from the table, several hundred guineas ahead of himself. "A better night next time," he commiserated with Gerard, who had been scrawling IOUs to the bank for the last half hour.

"Oh, I'll come about yet," Neil said, remaining in his seat. "The night is young."

"So it is," Sylvester said. "For some." He smiled, and Neil had a sudden vivid picture of Lady Stoneridge as she'd been in the Fisherman's Rest, vibrant, bubbling with sensuality. And as she'd been that morning, laughing white teeth, sparkling eyes, red lips. And how she'd be in the morning, when they drove to Hampton Court.

"Of course, marriage offers inducements for an early night," he said.

"Oh, Stoneridge is still a bridegroom," a man bellowed jocularly from the far side of the table. "Won't last, dear fellow. I assure you."

"I can't argue with experience," Sylvester said with a mock bow. "Nevertheless, I bid you good night, gentlemen." He strolled off, and Neil Gerard settled down to his cards with a sigh of relief. Now he'd be able to concentrate.

"Oh, by the by, Gerard." Sylvester was back again, smiling. Neil looked up at him. The light of a chandelier fell on the earl's face, illuminating the scar, and the gray eyes held a strange glitter. His mouth smiled, but it was a smile that sent chills along Neil Gerard's spine. "Jud O'Flannery – that was your sergeant's name, wasn't it?"

Neil could feel the color draining from his cheeks, and he imagined he could feel the blood pooling in his feet The room spun, and black spots danced in front of his eyes. If Gilbraith found O'Flannery, he would pay whatever the blackmailer demanded for the testimony that would clear his name. He was now wealthy enough to pay a lump sum that would exceed several years of accumulated blackmail payments. Jud would jump at it.

"Perhaps you don't recall," Sylvester was saying, his voice coming from a great distance. "I'm certain it was that. It's a puzzle to know where to find him, though. Somewhere in the East End, I should think, wouldn't you?"

Neil shook his head. Even as he tried to answer with suitable carelessness, he knew his unspoken reaction had given him away. "Perhaps. I wouldn't know. He was a nasty piece of work. They probably hanged him ages ago. Either that or he's rotting in the prison hulks at Greenwich."

"Probably," agreed Sylvester casually. With a wave of farewell, he walked off.

Panic weaved a red mist around Neil Gerard. He couldn't wait. There was no time for a subtle cultivation of the lady. He would have her in his phaeton tomorrow morning; it would have to be then. He pushed back his chair abruptly, casting in his cards.

"Forgive me. I've remembered another engagement. You have my IOUs, Belton?"

Lord Belton nodded with a grunt, gathering up the papers and stuffing them into his waistcoat pocket.

Neil Gerard left White's. He had little time and a lot to do.

Sylvester strolled home, well satisfied with the evening's work. Gerard was about to break. He was like an overripe plum – one prick at the right point, and he'd split asunder.

The threat of violence would do it, of course. Gerard was a coward. He could still see him blubbering and cowering in the halls of Westminster School, begging on his knees to be left alone as the grinning circle of bullies surrounded the perfect victim of a regime of terror.

He would do anything to avoid pain. But Sylvester needed witnesses to any coerced statement, and he couldn't see himself threatening to beat Gerard to a pulp in front of the objective spectators who would be the only credible witnesses on Horseguards.

So it was a simple question of coming up with the right pressure to effect the break, and the right set of circumstances in which to engineer it.

Light shone from beneath Theo's door as he passed along the corridor. Marriage did offer inducement for abandoning the card table at a relatively early hour. Smiling, he opened the door.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Theo was still deeply asleep when Sylvester awoke in the morning. A dark ringlet tickled his nose, and he brushed it aside, propping himself on an elbow to look down on her sleeping face. She seemed peaceful enough now, but there'd been a wildness to her in the night, a fervid, almost febrile, quality to her sensual excitement He hadn't found it cause for complaint at the time – far from it; but thinking about it now, he felt a faint flicker of unease. Was she plotting something?

Not that she'd tell him if he asked. He'd just have to try to second guess her. At the moment, innocently asleep, she presented him with no problems. Smiling, he brushed his lips over her forehead before sliding out of bed, careful not to wake her, pulling the sheet up over her bared shoulder.

Softly, he left the room in the gray light of dawn. He'd engaged to drive his mother and sister to Brook Street after breakfast; Elinor had nobly offered to accompany them on a visit to the Elgin Marbles. Later he intended to continue his goading of Neil. He could smell blood now; if only he could get the man to fall apart in one of their clubs.

Theo awoke when Sylvester was breakfasting dutifully with his mother and sister. She'd dined with them the preceding evening before going to the Vanbrughs', so felt quite justified in breakfasting in peace abovestairs. She was dressed when they left the house at nine-thirty to drive to Brook Street and watched them leave from her bedroom window, Mary swathed in a heavy pelisse, Lady Gilbraith tapping her foot impatiently on the pavement as the footman took an instant too long to open the door to the barouche.

Sylvester climbed in behind his mother and sat beside her, his expression stoic as he inclined his head to listen to what looked to the watcher above to be some considerable diatribe.

It couldn't have been a more convenient absence, Theo reflected. He'd be well out of the way when Neil Gerard came to collect her.

Critically, she examined her image in the mirror. Gerard hadn't seen her new haircut, and she had every intention of making the most of the surprise.

She wasn't planning seduction, but with cold-blooded certainty Theo knew that the more alluring she could look, the more likely she would be able to slide beneath his guard. A chip straw hat with dark-blue velvet ribbons allowed the glossy ringlets full play as they dangled over her ears and wisped on her forehead; her driving dress of blue velvet matched the ribbons; kid half boots offered a nice touch to a neat ankle. York tan gloves and fur muff completed a picture that her mother and Madame Hortense, the milliner, had gone to a deal of trouble to put together, without much help from the Countess of Stoneridge, the countess was obliged to admit. However, examining her reflection, she decided that maybe she would pay a little more attention to such details in future. They were very useful when one needed to call upon them.

She tripped lightly down the stairs, offered Foster a sunny smile, and said she would await Captain Gerard in the library. She didn't have long to wait, however, before the butler announced the gentleman in the flat tones that Theo knew denoted disapproval. Foster did not like the idea of the countess's going out with a strange man. While he wouldn't bat an eyelid at her unescorted excursions around Stoneridge and Lulworth, driving out alone with a strange gentleman through the hazardous streets of London town was another thing altogether.