"I see you found Julianne. Doesn't she look lovely?"

"Julianne? No, I didn't see her. Where is she?"

Sarah shot her an odd look. "You were looking directly at her. She's speaking to Lord Surbrooke."

Carolyn blinked. Then her gaze flew across the room. And she realized that the petite blonde facing Lord Surbrooke was indeed Julianne. And Lord Surbrooke was still hanging on her every word.

"Lord Surbrooke seems to be hanging on her every word," Sarah commented in an undertone, her words eerily mirroring Carolyn's thoughts. "They make a handsome couple, don't you agree?"

A vice seemed to be compressing her chest, and she barely managed to force out, "Indeed."

And indeed they did. How could they not? Lord Surbrooke's masculine dark good looks perfectly complimented Julianne's delicate golden beauty.

"Lady Gatesbourne is watching them from near the potted palm," Sarah whispered from the side of her mouth, indicating the plant with a slight jerk of her head. "She's sizing up Lord Surbrooke with the sort of zeal I imagine an undertaker experiences when measuring one for a coffin."

A brittle laugh escaped Carolyn. "If Lady Gatesbourne is expecting to bring Lord Surbrooke up to snuff, she's in for a disappointment. The gentleman has no intention of marrying anytime soon."

"So Matthew has told me." She felt the weight of Sarah's regard. "I don't recall mentioning such to you, however."

Carolyn pulled her gaze away from the striking couple. "Lord Surbrooke told me himself."

"Indeed? When?"

Carolyn hoped her shrug looked less forced than it felt. "During one of our conversations," she said vaguely. Her conscience slapped her for her less than forthcoming answer, but she knew if she mentioned Lord Surbrooke's visit to her home that morning, her curious sister would ask endless questions-questions she had no desire to answer.

Sarah nodded. "Ah, at Matthew's house party. 'Tis a shame he's so set against marriage. He's a very fine man."

Carolyn's brows shot up. She'd always considered Sarah an excellent judge of character. And Lord Surbrooke was nothing more than a shallow, albeit charming, rake. Just a handsome exterior covering a pleasure-seeking shell. "You think so?"

Sarah's vigorous nod sent her spectacles sliding down her nose. "Oh, yes. He's been Matthew's closest friend for years. From everything Matthew's told me, Lord Surbrooke is loyal and honorable and very kind." She waggled her brows at Carolyn. "And he certainly isn't difficult to look at."

"No, he certainly isn't," she concurred, for to do anything else would have sparked Sarah's lively curiosity. She bit her tongue to ruthlessly squelch the barrage of questions about him that begged to be asked. She knew everything she had to-that he wanted to bed her-and she wasn't going to fall in with his tempting, er, unacceptable plan.

"Based on the way Lord Surbrooke is smiling and laughing, he and Julianne obviously aren't discussing the topic on everyone else's lips."

Lips… yes, his lips… those perfect lips. That had kissed her so… perfectly. His lips… his lips… damnation, she'd once again lost the thread of the conversation. "I beg your pardon?"

Sarah shot her an odd look. "They don't appear to be discussing the murder."

"No." What were they discussing? She glanced across the room once more. Humph. Surely a chat about the weather wouldn't cause that twinkle in Lord Surbrooke's eyes. And what was this? He was leaning forward, as if to whisper something in Julianne's ear.

At that precise moment Mrs. Amunsbury, Lady Walsh, and Lady Balsam approached, blocking her view. "Heavens, you both look so serious," said Lady Walsh, her curious gaze bouncing between Carolyn and Sarah. She lowered her voice and asked, "Are you discussing the murder? Why, it's nothing short of a public outcry. Everyone is outraged and frightened for their safety."

Before either Carolyn or Sarah could answer, Mrs. Amunsbury, quizzing glass raised, said, "They weren't the discussing the murder. Anyone can see they're discussing the very handsome Lord Surbrooke."

"Yes," agreed Lady Balsam, "who is now leading Lady Julianne onto the dance floor."

Carolyn's gaze flew across the room. Lord Surbrooke and Julianne, both of them smiling, approached the parquet dance floor. Where he would hold her in his strong arms. And gaze at her with his beautiful blue eyes. And Julianne would experience the heady pleasure of whirling around the room with him. Of his attention fixed upon her. Know the feel of her hand clasped in his. His hand resting on the small of her back.

An unpleasant sensation gripped her midsection and she dragged her gaze back to her companions.

"He's been quite busy today," Lady Balsam murmured.

"Indeed," agreed Lady Walsh, a half smile playing around the corners of her mouth. She turned her attention to Carolyn. "First a call upon you, now a dance with one of your closest friends. I wonder who will be next?"

Mrs. Amunsbury lifted a perfectly arched brow and a knowing smile curved her lips. "No doubt the scoundrel saw half a dozen women between this morning's call upon Lady Wingate and now."

"Lord Surbrooke called upon you?" Sarah asked, her brows hiked all the way up.

Carolyn cursed the flush she felt warming her face. "Just briefly, to make certain I was all right after hearing about the murder."

"Very gentlemanly of him," Lady Balsam said, her catlike gaze fixed on Carolyn.

Another flush washed through Carolyn. There was no missing the insinuation in Lady Balsam's words, nor the speculation in her eyes. Raising her chin, she replied calmly, "Yes, it was a kind gesture. We are neighbors, you know."

"Yes, dear, we know," said Lady Walsh, her tone ripe with amusement. Her gaze shifted, then she said, "We've been searching for Lord Heaton everywhere and I've just now spotted him. Will you excuse us?"

She moved off, Lady Balsam and Mrs. Amunsbury following in her wake. Carolyn watched them melt into the crowd and tried to push away her uneasiness.

It seemed clear they suspected Lord Surbrooke's visit this morning had been less than innocent. She involuntarily raised her hand and brushed her fingers over her lips while a mental image of him kissing her flickered through her mind.

Fine. It had been less than innocent. But it wasn't as if they were having an affair.

"There you are!" came Emily's voice. "I've been looking for you everywhere. Have you ever seen such a crush? People say they're concerned about a murderer lurking about, yet rather than staying safely at home they're all here, talking feverishly about the crime." She turned to Sarah. "You might want to rescue your husband. My aunt Agatha has trapped him near the potted palm in the corner and he's far too polite to escape."

Sarah craned her neck in the direction of the potted palms. "I wouldn't worry. He's very adept at such situations. Besides, if he suffers a bit, it's no less than he deserves for not yet sending me the time and place Memoirs note."

Carolyn's gaze involuntarily shifted to the dance floor. Lord Surbrooke was smiling down at Julianne as they waltzed in perfect unison. Julianne, her beautiful face flushed a delicate pink, smiled in return. A lump seemed to clog Carolyn's throat and she gave herself a mental slap then forced her errant attention back where it belonged.

"There's speculation that Lady Crawford's death wasn't the result of a botched robbery, but a deliberate act," Emily said. "Perhaps committed by a past or current lover."

"Who told you that?" Carolyn asked.

"I've spoken to so many people. Lord Tolliver perhaps? Gossip has it that Lord Warwick was her latest paramour and that he's been questioned by the magistrate and a Runner."

"Everyone who attended the masque is being questioned," Sarah said.

"Yes," Emily agreed. "But special interest is being paid to several people, Lord Warwick among them, although I've heard that he has an alibi." She lowered her voice and confided, "If you ask me, they should question Mr. Jennsen."

"Why do you say that?" Carolyn asked.

Emily raised her brows. "Am I the only one who's noticed the number of strange happenings that have occurred since his arrival in England?"

"Don't be absurd," Sarah scolded. "Just because you don't like the man-"

"I don't," Emily agreed, "and-" Whatever else she was about to add was lost when she suddenly stiffened and puckered her lips. "Botheration, here he comes. If you'll excuse me, I'd rather stare at the wallpaper than make conversation with that man."

With that she turned and stalked away, quickly melting into the crowd.

Carolyn blinked. What was that all about? Emily was normally very genial and good-natured. Could Mr. Jennsen be one of the many people to whom Emily's father was deeply in debt? Could that be the source of her uncharacteristic animosity?

"Good evening, ladies," Mr. Jennsen said, stopping in front of them. His gaze flicked in the direction Emily had just gone, then he offered them both a smile and a formal bow. "I am clearly the luckiest man in the room to find myself in the company of not one, but two such lovely women."

"Don't be fooled," Carolyn said in a loud, teasing whisper to Sarah. "I'm certain he has said that to every group of women he's joined this evening."

"I've done no such thing," Mr. Jennsen said, his dark eyes gleaming.

"Which means he's only just arrived," Sarah whispered loudly to Carolyn.

They all laughed, then after exchanging a few pleasantries, Sarah fanned herself and said, "There are so many people, and it's so warm in here… if you'll excuse me, I need a bit of fresh air."

Carolyn studied her sister, noting her pale cheeks, which should have been flushed, given the heat of the room. "I'll go with you," she said.

"I'd be happy to escort you both," Mr. Jennsen added.

"Thank you, but you two stay and chat," Sarah said with a wave of her hand. "Matthew is standing by the doors leading to the terrace. I'll rescue him from his current conversation. Besides, I want to mention the Memoirs note to him again." She mumbled the last, and Carolyn wondered if her sister even realized she'd spoken the words out loud.

"Memoirs note?" Mr. Jennsen asked as Sarah walked away.

"Oh, nothing," Carolyn said lightly. Yet the half-knowing, half-amused look in Mr. Jennsen's eyes made her wonder if he knew about the latest rage.

His gaze swept over her pale aqua gown with unmistakable appreciation. "You were lovely as Galatea, but you are even more stunning as yourself."

"Thank you," she said with a smile, and wondered why she felt so relaxed in his company. Although not classically handsome, he was undeniably attractive-masculine and powerful-and possessed a darkly sensual edge. So why didn't he render her breathless? Why wasn't she imagining him naked with her in the bath? Surely if her current flustered state was merely the result of the Memoirs, then any attractive man would do.

"I suppose you've heard of Lady Crawford's death," he said.

"Yes. I'm stunned and saddened."

"I'd only just met her at the masquerade."

Recollection tickled Carolyn's memory. "She was the costumed wench admiring your pirate garb. You spoke to her after we talked."

He nodded. "Yes. She was laughing, so vibrant. I can hardly believe she died only a few hours later. I hope you're taking care not to venture off alone."

The music ended, followed by a round of polite applause. Carolyn's errant gaze once again shifted to the dance floor and riveted on Lord Surbrooke escorting Julianne toward her mother. He glanced in Carolyn's direction, but rather than looking at her, his gaze riveted on Mr. Jennsen. She watched him bestow a kiss upon Julianne's fingers-a gesture that sizzled an uncomfortable sensation down her spine-then he started making his way toward her. Or perhaps toward Mr. Jennsen, as that's who his attention seemed fixed upon.

Since she had no desire to speak to Lord Surbrooke in front of the very observant Mr. Jennsen, she hastily said, "If you'll excuse me, I see a friend I've been looking for."

Mr. Jennsen made her a bow. "Enjoy your evening, my lady."

Carolyn quickly made her way into the crowd, then circled around, intending to head for Julianne. Enjoy her evening? She hoped to. Because thus far she most certainly had not.

Chapter Eight

He led me from the crowded party, down a series of dimly lit corridors. I didn't question where we were going. It didn't matter. He found an empty room, locked the door. Pressed me against the oak panel and lifted my skirts. My knees buckled at the first long, hard, delicious thrust into my wet, overheated sex.