Juliana stood up and curtsied, feeling ridiculous in these surroundings, but not knowing how else to behave. The three men laughed heartily and bowed, but she sensed a hostile curiosity in all their expressions as they scrutinized her in the dim light.

"So why the devil did ye take a wife, Lucien?" Captain Frank demanded, having completed his examination of Juliana. "Thought you was sworn to bachelorhood."

"Oh, family pressure, m'dear." Lucien winked and took another swig of his tankard. "My cousin thought it would avoid scandal."

They all went into renewed laughter at this, and Juliana sat down again. There was something indefinably horrible about the group. They made her skin crawl, and she could feel their covert glances even though they appeared now to ignore her, all of them absorbed in some scandalous tale of the captain's. She glanced toward the door, where an elegant lady stood, a footman at her back, deep in conversation with a rotund gentleman in an old-fashioned curly wig.

As Juliana watched, the elderly gentleman counted out five coins into the lady's hands. She passed them to the footman, who pocketed them; then she tucked her arm into the gentleman's, and they entered the tavern and went up a rickety pair of stairs at the rear of the taproom. The footman leaned against the doorjamb, idly picking his teeth, watching the passersby.

The woman had looked too prosperous to be soliciting on the streets, Juliana reflected. And certainly too well dressed to be taking her clients to a back room in this noisome place. She must remember to ask Lilly to explain it.

"Lud, madam, you're not drinking?" the Honorable Bertrand declared in mock horror. "Lucien, Lucien, you neglect the dear lady shamefully."

Lucien grinned. "Tried her on blue ruin, but it didn't seem to suit her. What else can I offer you, my dear? Ale, perhaps? Port?"

"Milk punch, if you please, sir," Juliana said, her nerves prickling as she realized they wanted to make sport of her in some way. She glanced around, but there would be no help available in this riotous assembly. A couple were rolling around on the floor, the woman's legs in the air, her skirts tumbled about her head, exposing her body to the waist. Juliana felt sick. She pushed back the bench and stood up.

"If you'll excuse me, my lord, I find I have the headache. I'll take a hackney outside."

"Oh, but I don't excuse you," Lucien slurred, grabbing her hand and pulling her back beside him. "You owe obedience to your husband, madam, and your husband bids you keep him company and drink your milk punch."

Juliana thought she could probably break Lucien's hold without too much difficulty, but the eyes of the others were fixed upon her with a sinister intensity, waiting to see what she would do. She couldn't break free from them all if they tried to hold her. No one in this place would come to her aid. And she would be utterly humiliated. And Lucien would relish every minute of it. It was what he'd enjoyed about the wife-selling. The woman's total degradation had made him lick his lips like a hyena salivating over a rotting carcass.

She sat down again with a calm smile. "As you please, my lord."

Lucien looked a trifle disappointed; then he clapped his hands and bellowed for the potboy to bring milk punch. Juliana sat still, trying to maintain her calm smile and an air of nonchalant interest in her surroundings. The woman on the floor was on her hands and knees now, the man behind her, striking her flanks with his open palms as he mimicked the act of copulation to the roaring acclamation of his audience, who raised their tankards in a series of cheering toasts. The woman was laughing as much as anyone, throwing her head back and thrusting backward as if to meet him with orgasmic enjoyment.

Juliana kept the disgust from her face. She noticed that Lucien seemed to have no interest in the scene, although his friends were participating in the general uproar, thumping their tankards on the table and yelling encouragement.

"Does she get paid for that?" she inquired casually.

Lucien looked startled at the question. His blurry eyes searched her face suspiciously. She gave him a bland smile as if nothing about this place could possibly disturb her.

"I daresay," he said, shrugging. "It's not my idea of entertainment." He pushed back the bench and stood up. "Come."

"Where are we going?"

"To show you a few of the other entertainments available in this salubrious neighborhood. You did ask me to introduce you to London society . . . and your wish is ever my command, my dear ma'am." He bowed ironically.

Juliana curtsied in the same vein and took his arm, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her dismay.

"Oh, must we go?" lamented the captain, getting unsteadily to his feet.

"Oh, yes. Wherever Lucien and his wife go, we go, too," Bertrand said, draining his tankard. "Wouldn't wish 'em to want for company on this bridal evening." He took Juliana's other arm, and she found herself ushered to the door and out into the Piazza.

"Where to now?" Freddie asked, looking around with an assumption of alert interest.

"Hummums," answered Lucien. "Show m'lady wife here what goes on in the steam rooms."

"I don't think a steam room would be a good idea," Juliana demurred. "Won't it ruin my gown?"

"Gad, no, ma'am!" laughed the captain. "They'll take all your clothes from you and give you a towel. Very friendly place, the hummums."

Juliana was not going to the hummums, however friendly. She walked in the midst of her escort, awaiting her moment to break free. They had reached the corner of the Little Piazza, and she paused at the kiosk selling the obscene prints that she'd seen with the duke. "What do you think of these, gentlemen?" she asked with a smile.

Distracted, they peered into the kiosk. Juliana slipped her arms free and turned swiftly. Too swiftly. Her foot slipped on a patch of nameless slime on the cobbles, and she grabbed at the nearest object to save herself. Captain Frank proved a reliable support, although he laughed heartily at her predicament. When she was stable again, her heart was beating violently against her ribs, the captain was holding her too tightly for comfort, and she could see no escape from the hummums.

"I've a mind for a cockfight," announced Bertrand, slipping an arm through Lucien's. "What d'ye think, Lucien? It's been a while since we had a wager on the birds."

"By the devil's grace, so it has." Lucien was immediately diverted. "Madam wife, here, will enjoy it, I'll be bound." He gave Juliana his skeletal grin, and his eyes were filled with spiteful glee. "What d'ye say? The Royal Cockpit or the hummums, m'dear?"

At least in the cockpit she could keep her clothes on. And surely she could endure the cruelty if she kept her eyes closed. "The cockpit, if you please, sir." She managed another insouciant smile and achieved a certain satisfaction in seeing that her carefree response had disconcerted her husband.

"Let's to it, then!" Bertrand hailed a hackney. "After you, Lady Edgecombe."

She found herself hustled into the dark interior, the others piling in after her with much laughter. But there was an edge to their merriment that filled her with trepidation.

"The Royal Cockpit, jarvey." Lucien leaned out of the window to shout their direction. The jarvey cracked his whip, and the horses clopped oft" toward St. James's Park.