"You say Curling was just as deep into his cups that night?"

"Yes. His coachman is responsible for getting us both home," Gar­rick said in a tone of self-disgust.

"If you will excuse me, I believe I will have a word with him."

"As you wish. I will see you later."

Sebastian walked to where Curling was sitting by himself. There was a fresh bottle of port on the table beside him. Curling had already poured himself a glass. He glanced up at Sebastian with bleary eyes.

"Oh, it's you, Angelstone. Join me?"

"Thank you." Sebastian sat down and poured a small measure of port into a glass. He stretched out his legs and made a pretense of settling in for a long session of companionable drinking. He took only a small swallow of the rich, sweet port.

"Here's to wedded bliss," Curling said in a slurred voice. He raised his glass and downed half the contents. "I trust your lady is still man­aging to amuse you?"

"Very much." Sebastian turned the glass between his hands.

"Tell me, is she still pursuing her little hobby?" Curling held his own glass so tightly his knuckles were white. He stared down into the contents as if peering into bottomless depths.

"She is still interested in spectral phenomena. The hobby amuses her and I have no objection to it."

"Do you remember our conversation about ghosts at the castle?"

"Vaguely," Sebastian said.

"I believe I told you that I thought it might be rather entertaining to actually encounter one."

"I seem to recall you felt the experience would be an excellent tonic for the ennui you say plagues you."

"I was a fool." Curling rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You might be interested in knowing that I have since changed my mind."

"Why?" Sebastian smiled without any humor. "Have you actually encountered one?"

Curling slumped farther into his chair and gazed into the middle distance. "What would you say if I told you that I am beginning to wonder if ghosts truly do exist?"

"I would say you have consumed too many bottles of port tonight."

Curling nodded. "And you would no doubt be correct." He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the armchair. "I cannot recall how many bottles I have had this evening."

"I'm sure they will all be accounted for on your bill."

Curling's mouth twisted. "No doubt."

There was silence for a moment. Sebastian made no attempt to end it. His instincts told him that Culling would do so soon enough. Unless the baron fell asleep first.

"Did you hear of Oxenham's death, by any chance, Angelstone?" Curling asked after a moment. He did not open his eyes.

"Yes."

"I knew him rather well," Curling said.

"Did you?"

"He and I were friends." Curling opened his eyes.

"I understand."

"Never thought he'd be the type to put a pistol to his head."

Sebastian examined his wine. "Perhaps he had suffered recent fi­nancial reverses. It is a common enough reason for suicide."

"No. I would have known if he had lost a great deal of money."

"Was he a gamester?"

"Only in a small way. He did not lose his fortune in a card game, if that's what you're implying." Curling took another large swallow of port. "Nor was he prone to fits of melancholia. I don't understand it."

"Is it important to you that you find a reason for his suicide?" Sebastian asked carefully.

"I think so." Curling's hand bunched into a fist. "Bloody hell, yes. I have to know what really happened."

"Why?" Sebastian asked gently.

"Because if it can happen to him and Ringcross, it can happen to all of us." Curling finished his port and tried to put the glass down on the table. He missed. Abandoning the effort, he kept the glass in his hand.

"I don't quite take your meaning, Curling. Perhaps you could ex­plain."

But Curling was beyond making coherent explanations, even if he had been so inclined. His head sagged into the corner of the wing chair. "Hard to credit that after all this time…" The words trailed off. He closed his eyes once more. "God help us. Perhaps we deserve it."

Sebastian sat quietly for a few minutes, watching as Curling slid deep into a drunken slumber. He caught the glass just before it fell from the baron's hand.

Sebastian did not get back to his town house until after one o'clock in the morning. There was plenty of time for reflection as his coachman made his way home through the streets. The cold fog had once again slowed the normally brisk late-night traffic to a crawl.

Through the window Sebastian watched the lamps of other vehi­cles appear and disappear in the gray mist like so many lost ghosts trying to find their way to a final resting place.

When his carriage eventually drew to a halt in front of his door, Sebastian got out and went up the steps with an odd sense of forebod­ing. Flowers opened the door promptly.

"A bitter night, m'lord." Flowers held out his hand for Sebastian's hat, coat, and gloves.

"An interesting night. Is her ladyship home yet?"

"Lady Angelstone arrived home over an hour ago."

Prudence would be in bed by now, Sebastian thought. He did not know whether to be relieved or not. At least this way he would be able to avoid having to continue the uncomfortable conversation she had wanted to conclude earlier. On the other hand, if she was sound asleep he would not be able to tell her about Curling's unusual behav­ior.

"Put out the lamps and go to bed, Flowers." Sebastian untied his cravat as he started toward the stairs.

"I beg your pardon, sir." Flowers cleared his throat portentously. "Madam has not yet retired for the evening."

Sebastian paused, one foot on the bottom step. "I thought you said she was home."

"She is, sir. I believe she is waiting up for you in the library."

Sebastian smiled faintly. "I should have known."

Prudence was not the sort of female who would be easily deflected from her course. She had been attempting to lecture him all day. There was no reason to think she would give up simply because it was after one o'clock in the morning.

Sebastian took his boot off the bottom step and walked back across the hall. Flowers opened the library door without a word.

For a moment Sebastian did not see Prudence. The library was dimly lit by a small blaze on the hearth. Much of the room was in shadow.

A soft, welcoming meow greeted him. Sebastian glanced first at his desk and then at the sofa that faced the hearth. Lucifer was curled on the back. Beneath his august perch a pool of lavender silk spilled over the edge of the sofa and fell to the carpet.

Sebastian went forward until he could look down over the back of the sofa. Prudence had kicked off her lavender satin slippers. She lay curled up, sound asleep in front of the fire. Her spectacles were on the end table next to a book she had evidently been reading.

For a long while Sebastian simply stood there gazing down at her. The warm light of the flames turned her honey-colored hair to dark gold and created a tantalizing shadow between her graceful breasts.

She was wearing another of her new ridiculously low-cut gowns. He decided that lavender was no better a shade on her than violet had been. But he could not deny that the deep neckline was an erotic frame for her gently curved breasts.

Sebastian felt himself growing hard as he contemplated the woman he had married. Everything about her was just right, he thought. Her intelligence, her passion, her amusing taste in clothes, even her annoy­ing tendency to lecture him on his responsibilities. All those factors went together to make up Prudence. He would not change a single thing.

He had lived with her such a short time, yet he could not imagine being married to anyone else. He wondered if Prudence ever imag­ined herself being married to another man. Underbrink, for example.