Jane Feather - Valentine

"Fairfax," he said warmly, extending his hand. "It's good to see you looking so well, man."

"Oh, I'm doing well enough, Lattimer. May I introduce the Countess of Stoneridge. Theo, this is Lieutenant… oh, no I beg your pardon, Captain Lattimer. I didn't notice the epaulets, Hugo. Congratulations."

"I do beg your pardon for shouting in that indecorous way, sir," Theo said. "But I was so infected with Edward's enthusiasm that I became carried away. He was saying how good you were to him on the voyage, and since he is my very best friend, I couldn't wait to meet you and thank you."

"Your very best friend?" drawled a pleasant, slightly husky voice. "Fairfax is indeed a lucky man."

"Well, there is my husband, of course," Theo said cheerfully. "But we are friends in a rather different fashion, you should understand, sir."

"Oh, I believe I do." The naval officer's slightly startled eyes shot toward Edward.

"Theo and I have known each other since nursery days, Hugo," he said.

"That would explain it," Hugo Lattimer said. "Are you recently arrived in London, ma'am?"

"It seems we've been here forever," Theo said, finding something very comfortable about this man. It wasn't just that Edward spoke highly of him, although that would have been enough, but there was a humorous spark in his eyes and a twist to his mouth, and when he laughed, as he did now, it was a rich, merry sound. He would be about twenty-five, she decided, a couple of years older than Edward.

"That tedious, eh?"

"Precisely, sir." Laughing with him, Theo entered the house and moved to the stairs to greet Lady Georgiana Vanbrugh.

She'd hoped to spend some more time with Edward's savior, hoped even for a dance, but to her disappointment Hugo Lattimer disappeared as soon as they'd reached the ballroom. She glimpsed him once or twice throughout the evening, standing against the wall, a glass in his hand, and his expression had lost the cheerful spontaneity that had so appealed to her. In fact, he looked morose, and there were shadows in the green eyes.

She thought of approaching him herself, but there was now something strangely forbidding about him, as if he were constructing a thicket around himself.

"Captain Lattimer doesn't seem to be enjoying himself," she observed to Edward when they'd met up with Elinor and her sisters and were sitting in the supper room.

"I've never yet met a naval officer who's content when he's waiting for a new command," Edward said. "They exist on half pay and haunt the Admiralty, and twiddle their thumbs the rest of the time."

"Mmm." Theo didn't sound convinced.

"He drinks a great deal," Edward said somewhat reluctantly. "Not while he's sailing, but as soon as he's in port. I was with him at Southampton, when we landed. There's something that troubles him. He calls them painted devils."

"Oh," Theo said. "Invite him to join us, Edward."

"I don't think that's wise, Theo," Elinor said, glancing at her older daughters. "If the gentleman chooses to keep himself to himself, then we should respect that"

Her mother meant that she didn't want any inebriated visitors at her table, Theo knew, but she said no more.

As they were leaving, however, Hugo Lattimer came over to them. There was brandy sweetness on his breath and just the faintest fog in his eyes, but his voice was perfectly steady, and he was entirely coherent as he told Edward that he had a new command, a frigate on the stocks at Portsmouth. He was going down to see to her fitting in the morning, so it was farewell to Society for what he hoped was a very long spell.

He took his leave of the Countess of Stoneridge with the same easy humor of before, declined a ride in their carriage, and walked off into the night.

"You'll see Theo home, Edward," Elinor said, stepping into her own carriage.

"There's no need," Theo said. "Tom Coachman can convey me home perfectly safely. I'm sure Edward would prefer to see Emily home. There's room for him in your carriage if you all squeeze up."

Elinor looked doubtful but, since neither of her elder daughters or their swains offered any objection, decided it would have to be.

"Edward can see me to my carriage, however," Theo said. He had an answer to give her.

Edward handed her into the town chaise with the Stoneridge arms emblazoned on the panels.

"Well?" When he didn't immediately respond, she said blandly, "I'll have to go without you if you won't come."

"And I'll tell Stoneridge what you're up to," he fired back.

"You don't seriously expect me to believe that, do you?"

Edward sighed. It was, of course, inconceivable he should do such a thing. "Very well," he said with obvious reluctance. "I'll wait at the corner of Curzon Street in the morning."

"Bless you. I knew you hadn't changed that much." Theo kissed him soundly. Edward closed the door, and the coachman set his horses in motion.

While his wife was busily plotting at the Vanbrughs' rout party, the Earl of Stoneridge was at White's, playing faro at the same table as Neil Gerard. The bottles of burgundy circulated as the groom porters intoned the odds at the hazard tables, and voices rose and fell in various degrees of inebriation as the evening moved into the early hours.

Neil was playing with a degree of flamboyance, but like the earl's, his glass was always full but rarely enriched by the circulating bottles.

The earl was talking to Gerard about his imprisonment in Toulouse. His plan was a simple one, but what he knew of Neil Gerard made it certain to succeed. The man had no strength of character or will, and he was already panicked. Sylvester was going to drive him to the breaking point. He was going to corner him and goad him until he spilled his guts to whoever happened to be around.

Sylvester's tone made light of his prison experience, as the rules of masculine society dictated, and he gave the appearance of a man chatting with an old friend about something they both understood. Now and again he would muse aloud about what could have happened before he surrendered. His tone was low enough to be heard only by Neil Gerard, but it was also clear to the captain that he wasn't unduly bothered by the subject's being aired in public

Once or twice a curious look was cast in their direction when a word or two was overheard, and Sylvester would immediately include the man in his conversation, which again he made sound as if it were perfectly innocuous.

It became clear to Gerard that this was not the man at the court-martial – a man confused and shamed by an implicit accusation against which he had no defense. And Gerard began to feel like the hunted. Only by reminding himself of his plan could he keep the panicky flutters from obscuring cool thought.

Sylvester finally rose from the table, several hundred guineas ahead of himself. "A better night next time," he commiserated with Gerard, who had been scrawling IOUs to the bank for the last half hour.

"Oh, I'll come about yet," Neil said, remaining in his seat. "The night is young."

"So it is," Sylvester said. "For some." He smiled, and Neil had a sudden vivid picture of Lady Stoneridge as she'd been in the Fisherman's Rest, vibrant, bubbling with sensuality. And as she'd been that morning, laughing white teeth, sparkling eyes, red lips. And how she'd be in the morning, when they drove to Hampton Court.

"Of course, marriage offers inducements for an early night," he said.

"Oh, Stoneridge is still a bridegroom," a man bellowed jocularly from the far side of the table. "Won't last, dear fellow. I assure you."

"I can't argue with experience," Sylvester said with a mock bow. "Nevertheless, I bid you good night, gentlemen." He strolled off, and Neil Gerard settled down to his cards with a sigh of relief. Now he'd be able to concentrate.

"Oh, by the by, Gerard." Sylvester was back again, smiling. Neil looked up at him. The light of a chandelier fell on the earl's face, illuminating the scar, and the gray eyes held a strange glitter. His mouth smiled, but it was a smile that sent chills along Neil Gerard's spine. "Jud O'Flannery – that was your sergeant's name, wasn't it?"

Neil could feel the color draining from his cheeks, and he imagined he could feel the blood pooling in his feet The room spun, and black spots danced in front of his eyes. If Gilbraith found O'Flannery, he would pay whatever the blackmailer demanded for the testimony that would clear his name. He was now wealthy enough to pay a lump sum that would exceed several years of accumulated blackmail payments. Jud would jump at it.

"Perhaps you don't recall," Sylvester was saying, his voice coming from a great distance. "I'm certain it was that. It's a puzzle to know where to find him, though. Somewhere in the East End, I should think, wouldn't you?"

Neil shook his head. Even as he tried to answer with suitable carelessness, he knew his unspoken reaction had given him away. "Perhaps. I wouldn't know. He was a nasty piece of work. They probably hanged him ages ago. Either that or he's rotting in the prison hulks at Greenwich."

"Probably," agreed Sylvester casually. With a wave of farewell, he walked off.

Panic weaved a red mist around Neil Gerard. He couldn't wait. There was no time for a subtle cultivation of the lady. He would have her in his phaeton tomorrow morning; it would have to be then. He pushed back his chair abruptly, casting in his cards.

"Forgive me. I've remembered another engagement. You have my IOUs, Belton?"

Lord Belton nodded with a grunt, gathering up the papers and stuffing them into his waistcoat pocket.

Neil Gerard left White's. He had little time and a lot to do.

Sylvester strolled home, well satisfied with the evening's work. Gerard was about to break. He was like an overripe plum – one prick at the right point, and he'd split asunder.

The threat of violence would do it, of course. Gerard was a coward. He could still see him blubbering and cowering in the halls of Westminster School, begging on his knees to be left alone as the grinning circle of bullies surrounded the perfect victim of a regime of terror.

He would do anything to avoid pain. But Sylvester needed witnesses to any coerced statement, and he couldn't see himself threatening to beat Gerard to a pulp in front of the objective spectators who would be the only credible witnesses on Horseguards.

So it was a simple question of coming up with the right pressure to effect the break, and the right set of circumstances in which to engineer it.

Light shone from beneath Theo's door as he passed along the corridor. Marriage did offer inducement for abandoning the card table at a relatively early hour. Smiling, he opened the door.

Theo was still deeply asleep when Sylvester awoke in the morning. A dark ringlet tickled his nose, and he brushed it aside, propping himself on an elbow to look down on her sleeping face. She seemed peaceful enough now, but there'd been a wildness to her in the night, a fervid, almost febrile, quality to her sensual excitement He hadn't found it cause for complaint at the time – far from it; but thinking about it now, he felt a faint flicker of unease. Was she plotting something?

Not that she'd tell him if he asked. He'd just have to try to second guess her. At the moment, innocently asleep, she presented him with no problems. Smiling, he brushed his lips over her forehead before sliding out of bed, careful not to wake her, pulling the sheet up over her bared shoulder.

Softly, he left the room in the gray light of dawn. He'd engaged to drive his mother and sister to Brook Street after breakfast; Elinor had nobly offered to accompany them on a visit to the Elgin Marbles. Later he intended to continue his goading of Neil. He could smell blood now; if only he could get the man to fall apart in one of their clubs.

Theo awoke when Sylvester was breakfasting dutifully with his mother and sister. She'd dined with them the preceding evening before going to the Vanbrughs', so felt quite justified in breakfasting in peace abovestairs. She was dressed when they left the house at nine-thirty to drive to Brook Street and watched them leave from her bedroom window, Mary swathed in a heavy pelisse, Lady Gilbraith tapping her foot impatiently on the pavement as the footman took an instant too long to open the door to the barouche.

Sylvester climbed in behind his mother and sat beside her, his expression stoic as he inclined his head to listen to what looked to the watcher above to be some considerable diatribe.