"Another blow for logic and reason."

"I suppose so, but hardly an interesting solution to the puzzle." She eyed him closely. "What was going on out there on the terrace between you and your cousin? I do hope you were not causing trou­ble."

"I am crushed by your lack of faith in my social tact."

"Hah."

"I have been wanting to speak to you for the past several hours," Sebastian said.

"Have you?"

"I tracked down the owner of the snuffbox."

Prudence brightened. "That is wonderful, my lord. How very clever of you."

"Thank you." Sebastian could not keep the trace of smugness out of his voice.

"I am delighted to hear the news and I cannot wait to learn the details, but what has that got to do with Mr. Fleetwood?"

"The snuffbox belongs to Jeremy."

Prudence stared at him. "Sebastian, are you serious?"

"Very." Sebastian watched his cousin reenter the ballroom and move quickly through the throng. Jeremy's face was grim as he headed toward the door. His stride was that of a tense, angry man.

"Good heavens," Prudence whispered in dismay as she followed his gaze. "Jeremy looks upset."

"Yes."

"Oh, dear. The word will be all over Town tomorrow that you and he have quarreled."

Sebastian shrugged. "A quarrel between Jeremy and me will not be news, Prue. The only thing that would interest the gossips would be rumors that he and I had engaged in a friendly conversation."

"Did you?" she asked, looking extremely hopeful.

"No," Sebastian said. "We did not."

Chapter Eleven

Prudence awoke abruptly, aware that something was wrong. This was the first night she and Sebastian had gotten to sleep before dawn. The combination of the demands of their busy social life and Sebastian's lovemaking had somehow combined to keep her awake all night every night since her marriage. She got the feeling that Sebastian was accustomed to staying up all night. He seemed in the habit of not going to bed until after dawn.

Prudence had begun to wonder if she would ever be able to return to a normal schedule, one that involved going to bed at a decent hour and getting up early in the mornings. Perhaps now that she had mar­ried Sebastian she would be obliged to adapt to Town ways. The thought of being up all night for the rest of her life was daunting.

She lay still for a moment. Ghostly remnants of a dream drifted through her mind. She concentrated, but could not quite catch them. She thought she recalled black drapes blowing in front of a window that opened out onto an endless night. But the image vanished almost at once.

Then she realized that she was alone in the big bed. She turned on the pillow.

"Sebastian?"

"I'm here, Prue."

She glanced toward the window and saw the large but rather fuzzy shape of him standing there. He had his back to her, one hand braced against the sill. Prudence sat up against the pillows and reached for her spectacles.

When she fumbled them into place on her nose she saw that Se­bastian had put on his black dressing gown. He looked more like a

Fallen Angel than ever as he stood there gazing out into the night-darkened gardens. Lucifer was sitting on the windowsill next to Sebas­tian. The cat was as intent on the night as Sebastian was.

"Are you having difficulty sleeping?" she asked softly as she lit the candle by the bed.

"I never sleep before dawn."

"Oh. Then there is nothing wrong?"

"No." His voice was dark and brooding. "Go back to sleep, Prue."

Prudence ignored the instruction. She drew her knees up under the bedclothes and wrapped her arms around them. "You may as well tell me what you are thinking about. I am unlikely to go back to sleep with you standing there staring out the window like that. It makes me uneasy."

Sebastian stroked Lucifer. "I'm sorry that I'm keeping you from your sleep."

She smiled. "Well, you are, so you had best tell me what it is that you are contemplating so intently. Otherwise I shall never get back to sleep."

He glanced at her, momentarily amused. "I believe you mean that."

"I do mean it." Prudence rested her chin on her knees. "You are contemplating the investigation, are you not?"

"Yes."

"I thought that might be it." Prudence hesitated. "I suspect you are thinking about Jeremy's snuffbox. You are no doubt trying to fig­ure out why it was in that chamber."

"I have begun to wonder lately if you have developed a talent for reading my mind."

"As you once observed, my lord, we are very much alike in our thinking processes."

"Yes." Sebastian stroked Lucifer in silence for a moment. "It puz­zles me," he said at last.

Prudence knew without being told that he had leaped back to the original topic. "Jeremy's connection to the investigation? I agree with you. It is very puzzling."

She and Sebastian had discussed the matter at length after the ball. Sebastian had told her about his confrontation with Jeremy and of how Jeremy had denied any knowledge of the black chamber.

"I made some inquiries earlier this evening. It seems my cousin is

1

not one of Curling's close friends. That weekend that Jeremy spent at the castle was the only time he had ever been there."

"Who told you that?" Prudence asked. "Jeremy?"

"No, a man named Durham who is in the habit of regularly attend­ing Curling's house parties. He's a professional hanger-on who main­tains a presence in Society by making himself amusing and agreeable. You know the sort."

Prudence smiled ruefully at Sebastian's obvious contempt. "I sup­pose poor Mr. Durham's role in the polite world is rather like that of an Original such as myself. People tolerate us as long as we are amus­ing."

Sebastian turned his head swiftly. His eyes gleamed fiercely in the shadows. "You, madam, are now the Countess of Angelstone. Do not ever forget it. You do not exist to amuse and entertain Society. Quite the contrary. Society exists to amuse and entertain you."

Prudence blinked at the controlled violence of his response to what she had intended only as a small jest. "An interesting concept, my lord. I shall consider it more closely some other time. For now, let us return to the matter of your cousin Jeremy."

"The problem," Sebastian said slowly, "is that there is nothing to which one may return. We know nothing else yet except that Jeremy was at the castle when Ringcross died and that it was his snuffbox that we found in that damn chamber."

"Along with the gold button."

Sebastian tapped one finger slowly on the windowsill. "Yes. I have not yet started my inquiries in that direction. It might prove interest­ing to see what we learn about the button."

Prudence studied him for a moment. "Do you think your cousin lied to you when he claimed he had never been in that black cham­ber?"

"I don't know."

"Are you concerned that he may actually be involved in Ring-cross's death?" Prudence asked.

"I think the coincidence of that snuffbox being in that black cham­ber is a bit hard to dismiss out of hand. My instincts tell me there is some connection."

"Coincidences do happen, Sebastian."

"I'm aware of that, but they don't happen often and it has been my experience that they rarely occur at all in an investigation of this sort."

Prudence considered the matter for a minute. "I do not know him well, but from what I have seen of your cousin, I would have a hard time envisioning him as a murderer. He seems to be very much a gentleman."

Sebastian stared out into the fog-bound night. "Any man can be driven to murder if there is sufficient motivation. A gentleman may kill as easily as the next man."

"But what on earth could the motivation be in this case? Why would Jeremy want to kill Ringcross?"