The door to what once must have been the drawing room stood open. Prudence took a quick look inside and saw that the room was filled to overflowing with more crates, papers, and other assorted items. She noticed the drapes were pulled.

"Watch yer step." The housekeeper led the way along a narrow path through the hall. "We don't get many visitors here. His lordship likes his privacy." She chortled again. Her broad back heaved with the force of her mirth.

Prudence glanced again at Sebastian. She was uncertain of his mood today. He had talked of little else except this visit to Bloomfield since he had gotten up this morning. He had not said one word about last night.

For the life of her, Prudence still could not tell if her small confes­sion of love had had any effect on him.

He had taken her by surprise last night. She had been half asleep when he had asked his startling question. She had been caught off guard, warm and relaxed from his lovemaking. She had responded without thinking.

Why did you marry me?

Because I love you.

Her first conscious thought upon awakening this morning was that she had made a serious error. All along she had been uneasy about how Sebastian would react to a declaration of love from her. His failure to mention it today had only made her all the more anxious.

She would have given a fortune to know what he was thinking. She could not tell if he was irritated or merely bored with the notion that his wife was in love with him.

It occurred to Prudence that she might not have said the words aloud. Relief went through her at the thought. Perhaps she had only dreamed that she had told Sebastian she loved him.

But surely if she had been dreaming, she would have also dreamed his answer. The sad reality was that either way, aloud or in her dreams, there had been no response from Sebastian. If he knew now that she loved him, he had apparently decided to politely overlook the fact.

Perhaps it did not amuse him.

"The master'll see ye in here." The housekeeper paused beside a flowerpot that contained the remains of a long-dead plant. She opened a door.

Prudence felt Sebastian's hand tighten briefly on her arm as if he instinctively wanted to draw her back. She peered into Bloomfield's library, wondering why it was filled with the gloom of night at this hour of the day.

Prudence glanced around and realized that all the drapes had been drawn. Only one lamp burned on the desk in the corner.

Behind the desk sat a massively obese man with bulging eyes, wild, unkempt hair, and a beard that reached halfway down his chest. There was enough gray in the beard to indicate that he was probably in his late forties. He was clasping his hands very tightly together on the desk. He did not rise.

"So you were good enough to come, Lady Angelstone. Wasn't sure if you would. Not many people come here anymore. Not like the old days."

"You're Bloomfield, I assume?" Sebastian asked.

"Aye, I'm Bloomfield." Shaggy brows snapped together above Bloomfield's pale eyes. "Expect you're Angelstone."

"Yes."

"Humph. I wanted to consult Lady Angelstone alone. Professional matter, y'know." Bloomfield appeared to be shivering although the room was very warm.

"I do not allow my wife to have private consultations with her male clients. I'm certain you understand my position. If you wish to speak to her, you must do so in my presence."

"Bah. As if I'd try to take advantage of her," Bloomfield rasped. "I've no interest in women."

"What was it you wished to consult with me about, Lord Bloom­field?" Prudence picked her way around a pile of aging copies of the Morning Post and the Gazette. She found a chair in front of the desk and sat down. There was no point waiting to be asked, she thought. Bloomfield obviously did not concern himself with social niceties.

This morning she and Sebastian had discussed their strategy over breakfast. They had agreed that she would keep Bloomfield's atten­tion focused on her as much as possible so that Sebastian would be free to observe the man and his surroundings. Now that she had seen the monumental clutter that filled the room, however, Prudence did not think Sebastian would be able to observe very much at all.

Bloomfield turned his staring eyes toward Prudence. "I hear you are an authority on spectral phenomena, Lady Angelstone."

"I have studied the subject at some length," she allowed modestly.

Bloomfield's expression turned crafty. "Have you ever actually en­countered a ghost?"

For some reason the memory of the presence she thought she had detected in the black chamber at Curling Castle flashed into Pru­dence's mind. "There was one instance where I believed I might have discovered a genuine example of spectral phenomena," she said slowly. "But I was unable to find any evidence to support my conclu­sion."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sebastian glance at her in surprise.

"At least you're honest about it, not like some of the charlatans I've talked to. Claim to talk to ghosts regularly, they do. Tell me what they think I want to hear, just to get their fee."

"I do not charge a fee for my services," Prudence said.

"I heard. It's one of the reasons I sent you that message." A soft rustling noise interrupted Bloomfield. Instead of glancing about casu­ally to see what had caused it, he jerked wildly around in his chair.

"What was that?" he demanded shrilly. "What made that sound?"

"A pile of papers slid to the floor." Sebastian smiled his cold smile and walked across the room to where several copies of the Morning Post were scattered on the carpet. "I'll restack them for you."

Bloomfield stared at the papers as if he had never seen them be­fore. He shuddered. "Leave them."

"I don't mind putting them back." Sebastian bent down to scoop up the papers.

Bloomfield turned urgently to Prudence. "I shall make no bones about it, madam. I have reason to believe I am being pursued by a ghost. I demand to know if you can rid me of this thing before it murders me the way it has the others."

Prudence looked into Bloomfield's strange eyes and knew that he believed every word he was saying. She pushed the trailing end of the purple bow out the way again. "Do you know the identity of this ghost?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, I know her." Bloomfield removed a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his sweating brow. "She said she would have her vengeance. Thus far she has killed two of us. Sooner or later she will come for me."

"What is the name of this ghost?" Prudence asked.

"Lillian." Bloomfield stared at the handkerchief in his hand. "She was a pretty little thing. But she wouldn't stop screaming. They finally had to close her mouth with a gag."

Prudence felt her palms dampen inside her gloves. She exchanged a brief look with Sebastian. He had finished restacking the newspapers and was standing quietly in the shadows. She was suddenly very glad that he had insisted upon accompanying her today.

She braced herself and turned back to Bloomfield.

"What did they do to Lillian?" Prudence asked. She did not really want to hear the answer, but she knew she had to lead Bloomfield through the tale step by step if anything was to be accomplished.

Bloomfield gazed into the flaring lamp, lost in his own private world. "Just wanted to have some sport with the wench. She was nothing but a tavern girl. It wasn't as if we hadn't paid for our fun. But she made such a fuss. Wouldn't stop screaming."

Prudence closed her gloved fingers into small fists. "Why did she scream?"

"Don't know. None of the other girls ever did." Bloomfield's hands were shaking. "You'd have thought she was gently bred, the way she carried on. I suggested we get another, more cooperative little cyprian. But Curling wanted this one. We finally got her into the car­riage. Finally got the gag on her." Bloomfield's face relaxed. "That stopped the screams."