"No." Stephen frowned at Justin, then completely ignored him.

"I thought you'd be hard at work," Justin remarked casually. He took a sip of brandy and studied Stephen over the edge of his snifter.

"I dismissed Peterson for the day."

"Indeed? Why?"

"Because I couldn't concentrate and I was wasting both his time and mine." Stephen pinned a hard look on his friend. "Is there any particular reason you've invaded my privacy, other than to drink my brandy?"

"As a matter of fact, there are two reasons. The first is we need to discuss the latest attempt on your life."

Stephen heaved a sigh. "What is the point of discussing it again?"

Justin cocked a brow. "Someone tried to run you over last evening outside White's. You don't think that warrants discussion?"

"It seems to me we spoke about it last night."

"The fact someone has once again tried to murder you demands our attention. Clearly we need to watch Gregory very closely."

"Gregory was inside the club when the incident occurred," Stephen reminded him. "I left him at the faro table not five minutes earlier."

"He easily could have hired someone," Justin pointed out.

Stephen shrugged. "I suppose."

"I must say, you appear quite calm under the circumstances."

"How would you have me behave?" Stephen asked. "Perhaps you'd prefer it if I swooned or burst into tears?"

"It would ease my mind if you appeared even the least bit concerned," Justin said. "We must find out who is behind this before they strike again. We may not be so lucky next time. We've delayed long enough. Gregory is our best suspect."

Again Stephen shrugged. "Yes, I suppose he is."

"Then it's time we set a trap for him. I've taken the liberty of setting up a situation where the two of you can be alone together. I've arranged for you to be watched, and when he makes a grab for you, we'll nab him."

"Fine," Stephen said, not caring one way or the other.

"I know it's dangerous," Justin said, frowning, "but we must do something, and fast. If our plan is properly executed, we'll catch him and not a hair on your head will be disarranged."

"And if not properly executed?" Stephen asked dryly. "I suspect in that case more than my hair will be disarranged."

"That will not happen, Stephen," Justin vowed quietly.

"What sort of scenario have you set up?"

"A party. At my home just outside London. Large grounds. Lots of people. Gregory will likely attempt to get you off somewhere by yourself and do the deed."

Stephen raised his brows. "Don't you think it unlikely he'd try something with so many people around?"

"I think he'll view this as his perfect opportunity. I believe he'll adhere to the axiom of 'hide in plain sight.' There is more confusion in a crowd, more chance to slip away unnoticed, just like last night. He could leave the room, kill you, and return in a matter of minutes, and undoubtedly find half a dozen guests who would swear they'd seen him the entire time.

"If that fails," Justin continued, "we shall simply make sure you wander off alone into the gardens, far away from the house to allow whoever is behind this a chance to pop you off. I and several Bow Street Runners will have an eye on you at all times. With half the ton at the party, even if Gregory should turn out to be innocent, no doubt the true culprit will be present."

Stephen mulled over Justin's words. "All right. Let's just get it over with. When is this party?"

"In four days. I wanted to have it immediately, but Victoria insisted she needs that long to make the arrangements. She actually insisted she needed two weeks, but I gave her four days."

"She doesn't know about-"

"Of course not," Justin broke in. "But I could hardly plan a party without her. In the meantime, I have engaged several Bow Street Runners to keep an eye on your brother."

"It seems you have my safety well in hand," Stephen remarked between sips of brandy.

"Someone has to. Your mind is clearly on other matters."

Stephen shot his friend a quelling look. "You said there were two reasons you invaded my sanctuary. What is the other one? Or do I not want to know?"

"I was sent by my dear wife to request your presence at dinner this evening."

"She could have sent a note."

"She believed you'd refuse, thus she convinced me to ask you in person. You've turned down her last three invitations."

"I can't make it."

"It would mean a great deal to Victoria," Justin said quietly. "And to me as well."

Stephen polished off his brandy and slammed down his snifter. He strode to the window and looked outside. Across the street stretched the expansive lawns of Hyde Park. Fancy carriages and glossy horses carrying esteemed members of London's ton passed before his unseeing eyes.

"Can we expect you at seven?" Justin asked.

Stephen wanted to refuse. He had no desire to make polite conversation. In fact, he felt wholly incapable of it. But there was little he would refuse his sister, and as he had begged off from her last several invitations, he felt he had to accept.

"Will anyone else be there?"

"Actually, yes. We invited your parents and Gregory and Melissa."

A bark of incredulous laughter erupted from Stephen. "A cozy family gathering? Forget it, Justin."

"I want to observe Gregory's reactions to you in a private setting. You don't have to do anything at all except sit, eat, and drink brandy."

"How much brandy do you have?"

"Enough."

Stephen doubted there was enough brandy in the bloody kingdom to dull his pain. "Very well. I'll be there at seven. This is sure to be a delightful evening."


* * *

The luxurious carriage moved slowly through Hyde Park, the lone occupant staring through the window with hate-filled eyes. You survived again, you bastard. Why won't you die? Black-gloved hands clenched into fists. You're the only thing standing between me and everything I've always wanted and deserved. No more mistakes. No more hiring fools. I will kill you myself.


* * *

"You're looking rather pale, Stephen," his mother observed over the rim of her wineglass. "Are you ill?"

Stephen stared across the dinner table at the woman who had given birth to him and then promptly forgotten her son except for such times as suited her. She was undeniably stunning, was a charming hostess, and graced the guest list of every Society function. She was also completely selfish and blatantly uninterested in anything that did not directly concern her own wants. Stephen knew she wasn't really concerned about his health-only the possibility that she might catch whatever sickness he might have, thus interrupting her social engagements. He noticed she wore a new bauble around her neck, a large square-cut emerald surrounded by diamonds. Obviously a token from her latest lover-her husband had ceased purchasing her jewelry years ago.

"I'm fine, Mother. How kind of you to inquire."

His sarcasm sailed over her head, as he'd known it would, and she smiled, clearly relieved.

"Are the accounts of the Yorkshire estates ready for my review?"

Stephen turned to his father. At fifty-two, the Duke of Moreland still cut a tall, imposing figure. Gray streaked his dark hair and deep lines bracketed his unsmiling mouth. He had the coldest eyes Stephen had ever seen. "No. I need another day to finish them."

"I see." The duke accompanied those two words with a long, silent, frigid stare that clearly indicated his disapproval. He returned his attention to his dinner, dismissing his son as effectively as slamming a door in his face.

Stephen realized that that exchange was the longest conversation he'd had with his father since his return to London.

"I heard an interesting bit at White's this afternoon," Gregory said, accepting more wine from a footman. "The betting book is filled with wagers on the outcome."

Stephen's gaze moved down the table and settled on his brother. Signs of Gregory's dissipated lifestyle were taking their toll, marring his handsome face, and the alcohol-induced bleariness never completely left his eyes anymore. His high color announced his inebriated state. If Gregory weren't such an immoral bastard, Stephen would feel sorry for him.

"What did you hear?" Victoria asked.

"There's talk that a woman has been writing a series of stories appearing in Gentleman's Weekly magazine."

Stephen froze. "What?"

Gregory gulped his wine, spilling burgundy drops on his white cravat. "Do you read A Sea Captain's Adventures by H. Tripp in the Gentleman's Weekly?"

"Indeed I do," said Justin from the head of the table. "You read them as well, Stephen."

"Yes. Continue, Gregory."

Clearly confident that he held his audience spellbound, Gregory said, "Of all the stories serialized in the magazine, H. Tripp is the only author who has never been seen in person. Why is he not a member of any writing society? Why does he not attend any social functions? There is speculation that the reason is because he's a woman."

"Perhaps he's merely shy, or infirm, or lives too far away," suggested Melissa in a quiet voice.

Gregory fixed his wife with a watery, baleful stare. "Why, what a brilliant suggestion," he taunted, his words thick with sarcasm. "I cannot imagine how we'd carry on without your sparkling insights."

Twin slashes of red humiliation colored Melissa's thin cheeks and her gaze dropped to her lap.

Schooling his features into an impassive mask, Stephen said, "Melissa's suggestions explain very logically why no one has ever met H. Tripp."

"Then explain why Mr. Timothy, publisher of Gentleman's Weekly, becomes visibly distraught when H. Tripp's name comes up in conversation," Gregory challenged. "The color drains from his face and sweat breaks out on his brow."

A humorless smile curved Stephen's lips. "Perhaps the alcohol fumes on your breath do him in."

Crimson mottled Gregory's face. He made a move to rise from his chair, but Melissa laid a restraining hand on his arm. "Gregory, please don't make a scene."

Gregory's attention turned to his wife and he pinned her with a venomous stare. "Get your hand off me. Now."

Melissa's pinched face reddened to crimson. She snatched her hand away, and for just one instant, before she lowered her gaze once again to her lap, Stephen thought he saw hatred flash in her eyes.

Gregory brushed at his sleeve where her palm had rested. "Your touch makes me ill. Just sit there and keep your stupid mouth shut."

Stephen's fingers tightened around his wineglass. "That's enough, Gregory. As for your theory regarding H. Tripp, I hope you didn't wager more than you can afford to lose."

"Indeed? Why is that?"

"Because I am personally acquainted with H. Tripp, and I assure you the author is the breeches-wearing sort."

Stephen could tell by the dismay that flashed on Gregory's face that his brother had indeed overextended himself in White's betting book.

Belligerence quickly replaced dismay, however, and Gregory narrowed his eyes. "Where did you meet him?"

"I am not at liberty to say."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Are you questioning my integrity, Gregory?" Stephen asked in a deceptively quiet, icy tone.

Gregory's watery eyes shifted nervously. "Do you give your word as a gentleman?"

"Absolutely," Stephen said without hesitation. "In fact, I'll make it a point to visit White's at my earliest convenience and put an end to this nonsense."

With a nonchalance he was far from feeling, he turned to Victoria and asked her about the party she was planning, knowing she would rhapsodize on the arrangements for at least a quarter hour.

He'd make sure he visited White's on his way home this very evening and squelch that damn rumor. No one would dare question the Marquess of Glenfield's word of honor.

He realized this might be the first time in his whole life he was grateful for his title.


* * *

"Delightful dinner party, Justin," Stephen remarked several hours later when he and his friend retreated to the library. The Duke and Duchess had departed, no doubt anxious to meet up with their latest lovers, and Gregory had staggered out, berating Melissa, who'd followed meekly behind. Victoria had retired to her bedchamber claiming the headache, and Stephen could not blame her. His own temples pounded from the tension-filled atmosphere.

Pouring himself a hefty brandy, Stephen tossed the drink back in one gulp. The liquor burned through him, relaxing his tense muscles. He promptly poured another, bringing it and the decanter to a wing chair next to the fire. He set the decanter down on the small mahogany table next to him.