Sebastian cleared his throat. "Well, as to that, Prue, I've been thinking—"

"Hurry, I hear footsteps in the hall."

Sebastian frowned. He heard them, too. Mrs. Leacock's trusty footmen were hastening to obey the summons of the bell. He glanced at the alarmed expression on Prudence's face and swore silently. She definitely did not have the appearance of a lady who wanted badly to be married out of hand.

He would have to give her more time. He was not yet done with this crazed courtship, he thought.

Sebastian picked up his boots, slung his greatcoat over his shoul­der, and went reluctantly to the window. He opened it and stepped out onto the ledge.

He paused there and looked back at Prudence. She looked so sweetly serious, her eyes anxious as she watched him leave. He re­membered how she had trembled in his arms.

Next time she shivered like that, he vowed silently, he would be buried deep inside her.

"Good night, Prue."

"Good night, Sebastian." Her smile glowed in the candlelight. "And thank you for your assistance tonight. I look forward to helping you solve your next case. I knew we would make an excellent team."

Life with Prue, Sebastian reflected as he made his way along the window ledge, was going to be maddening, infuriating, and alarming by turns, but he was definitely not going to be bored.

Or cold.

Chapter Seven

Whistlecroft sneezed into a dirty handkerchief, wiped his bulbous red nose, and leaned across the wooden table. He lowered his voice to a harsh, guttural whisper. "Have ye heard about Lord Ringcross breakin‘ his neck during the house party at Curling Castle?"

"I heard the news." Sebastian sat back in an effort to avoid Whis-tlecroft's obnoxious breath. "The tale was all over Town two days ago. The fool got drunk and fell from one of the tower rooms. What about it?"

Sebastian had not known Ringcross well, but he had not particu­larly liked what he had known about the man. Ringcross had had a reputation for favoring brothels that featured very young innocents of both sexes. Few people mourned his passing when word of his death circulated among the ton.

"Well, m'lord, as it happens, there's a gentleman who wants me to look into Ringcross's death." Whistlecroft hoisted his mug of ale and eyed Sebastian expectantly. "I thought the case might interest you."

"Why?"

"Why?" Whistlecroft's bushy brows quivered in surprise. "Because we may be discussin‘ a murder, sir, that's why. You ain't had an oppor­tunity to investigate a murder for several months now. Usually we find ourselves dealin' with matters o‘ blackmail, stolen goods, and the odd bit of embezzlement."

"I'm well aware of that." Intriguing cases involving murder among the ton were rather rare. Members of polite society managed to get themselves killed readily enough, it was true. But the culprits were . usually footpads, opposing duelists, or the occasional outraged hus-band. Such cases seldom presented an interesting puzzle for Sebas­tian.

"I believe you'll find this case very fascinatin‘, m'lord," Whistle-croft said persuasively. "A right puzzle it is."

"Who in blazes hired you to look into Ringcross's death? I cannot fathom why anyone would give a damn. The world is well rid of him."

Whistlecroft shrugged his massive shoulders and looked impor­tant. "Afraid, in this case, the identity of my client must remain confi­dential."

"Then you may find someone else to help you investigate." Sebas­tian made to rise from the booth.

Whistlecroft set down his mug in alarm. "Hold on there, m'lord. I need yer help on this one. There's a fat reward involved."

"Then investigate the matter yourself."

"Be reasonable," Whistlecroft whined. "If Ringcross was mur­dered, the deed was done by someone from your world, not some ordinary footpad from the stews. A Runner such as myself won't get far tryin‘ to investigate among the fancy. You know that as well as I do."

"The thing is, Whistlecroft, I don't particularly care about Ring-cross's recent departure from this earth. In all likelihood it was an accident. But if it transpires that someone pushed him, it is a matter of no great moment to me. As far as I am concerned, the murderer did the world a favor."

"My client just wants to know what happened." Whistlecroft yanked out his filthy handkerchief and blew his nose again. "He's a bit anxious."

"Why should he be anxious?"

"Don't know." Whistlecroft leaned close again. "He wouldn't tell me. But if you ask me, he's scared the same thing might happen to him as happened to Ringcross."

That bit of information piqued Sebastian's interest. There was a puzzle here. Perhaps an interesting one. He kept his face expression­less as he contemplated Whistlecroft.

"I'll have to know the name of your client," Sebastian said. "I won't go into this blind. If you want my help, you're going to have to tell me who it is who wants Ringcross's death investigated."

Whistlecroft gnawed on his lower lip while he pondered the prob­lem. Sebastian was not surprised when he shrugged again and took another swallow of gin. Whistlecroft was nothing if not pragmatic.

"Well, if ye must know, it's Lord Curling who wants to discover what happened in that tower room," Whistlecroft said.

"Curling? What's his interest in this?" Sebastian was acquainted with the baron, a dark, heavily built man in his late forties. Curling belonged to some of the same clubs that Sebastian frequented.

He was well known in some circles for the lavish entertaining he did at his country house. Curling Castle was less than an hour's ride from the city. During the Season Curling held house parties nearly every weekend. Sebastian frequently received invitations, but he had never bothered to accept. House parties generally bored him.

"Ringcross died at Curling's country house," Whistlecroft pointed out. "Mayhap Curling just wants to assure himself he ain't been en-tertainin‘ a murderer all Season."

Sebastian gazed thoughtfully at the street outside the window of the coffeehouse. "Or mayhap he knows more about the incident than he told you."

"It's possible." Whistlecroft finished off his gin. "All I care about is the reward. And all you care about is how interestin‘ the mystery is. Have we got a bargain, m'lord?"

"Yes," Sebastian said. "I believe we do."

He realized he was already looking forward to telling Prudence about his newest investigation. He had never had anyone to discuss his cases with in the past except Garrick. Garrick had been more amused by Sebastian's hobby than genuinely interested in it.

But Prudence would be enthralled by the notion of investigating a possible murder. Of course, there was a potential problem, Sebastian acknowledged ruefully. She would want to get involved in the investi­gation.

He would handle that issue when it arose, he thought as he walked out of the coffeehouse. There might be a way to let her assist him and at the same time keep her safely on the periphery of the case.

It would be amusing to work with Prue on the matter of Ring-cross's death.

Half an hour later he walked through the door of his town house, took one look at the expression of gloom on Flowers's face, and smiled wryly.

"Something wrong, Flowers?"

"A Mr. Trevor Merryweather to see you, sir." Flowers accepted

Sebastian's hat and gloves. "He insisted upon waiting until you got home. I put him in the library."

"As good a place as any, I suppose."

"Should I have had him thrown out, m'lord?"

"Of course not, Flowers. He is my future brother-in-law. We can hardly have him tossed out on his ear every time he shows up."

"Yes, m'lord. I was afraid that would be the case. He seems a rather difficult young man."