Judith shrugged. "It's hardly my fault if he fancies himself in love with me."

"Oh, but it most certainly is your fault. Do you think I haven't watched you?" He leaned against the trunk of the oak, folding his arms, his eyes on the pale glimmer of her face, the golden glow of her eyes. "You are a masterly coquette, madam. And I would have you turn your liquid eyes and undeniable arts upon some other young fool."

"Whom your cousin chooses to love is surely his business," she said. "I fail to see how it could have anything to do with you, my lord."

"It has everything to do with me when my ward's embroiled with a fortune-hunting, unprincipled baggage with no-"

Her palm cracked against his cheek, bringing a sudden dreadful silence in which the strains of music drifted incongruously from the house.

Judith spun away from him with a little sob, pressing her hands to her lips, as if struggling with her tears in an excess of wounded pride and sensibility. Marcus Devlin had to be disarmed, somehow, and if honesty wouldn't do it, then she'd have to take another tack. She couldn't run the risk that he would spread his accusations around the London clubs when the Davenports made their entry into London Society. On the spur of the moment, she could think only to offer him the picture of deeply affronted innocence and hope to create if not compassion then some willingness to make amends with his future silence.

"You know nothing of me," she said in stifled tones. "You can know nothing of what we endure… of how we are in this situation… I have never knowingly injured anyone, let alone your cousin…" Her voice died on a gulping sob.

She was certainly a consummate actress, Marcus reflected, for some reason not deceived for one minute by this masterly display. He stroked his stinging cheek, feeling the raised imprint of her fingers. There had been more conviction there, but such a violent exhibition of outraged virtue seemed hardly consonant with the disreputable woman he believed her to be. Ignoring the bravely stifled sobs, he observed dispassionately, "You've a deal of power in your arm for one so slight."

That was not the response she'd hoped for. Raising her head, she spoke with a brave, aloof dignity. "You owe me an apology, Lord Carrington."

"I rather think the boot is on the other foot." He continued to rub his cheek, regarding her with a penetrating scrutiny that did nothing to reassure her.

It seemed most sensible to escape the close confines of the shadows and an increasingly unstable confrontation that was not following her direction. Judith shrugged faindy. "You are no gentleman, my lord." She turned to go back to the house.

"Oh, no, you're not running off like that," the marquis said. "Not just yet. We haven't concluded our discussion, Miss Davenport." He caught her arm and for a second they stood immobile, Judith still turned toward the house, her captor still leaning against the tree. "That was a singularly violent assault, madam, in response to..."

"To an unmitigated insult, sir!" she interrupted, hoping she didn't sound as back-to-the-wall as she was beginning to feel.

"But one not without justification," he pointed out. "You have admitted by default that you and your brother are… how shall we say… are expert gamesters, with somewhat unorthodox methods of play."

"I would like to return to the house." Even to Judith's ear, it was a pathetic plea rather than a determined statement of intent.

"In a minute. For such an accomplished flirt, you're playing the maiden of outraged virtue most convincingly, but I've a mind to taste a little more of you than the sting of your palm." He pulled her toward him like a fisherman drawing in his line and she came as reluctantly as any hooked fish. "It seems only right that you should soothe the hurt you caused." Cupping her chin with his free hand, he tilted her face. The black eyes were no longer hard and Judith could read a spark of laughter in their depths… laughter, and a most dangerous glimmer that set her nerve endings tingling. Desperately she sought for something that would douse both his laughter and that hazardous glimmer.

"You would have me kiss it better, sir, like a child's scraped knee?" She offered an indulgent smile and saw with satisfaction that she had surprised him, and surprise afforded advantage. Swiftly she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "There, that'll make it better." After twisting out of his abruptly slackened hold, she danced backward out of the shadows into the relative light of the garden. "I bid you good night, Lord Carrington." And she was gone, flitting under the moonlight, her body lissome as a hazel wand under the fluid silk of her topaz gown.

Marcus stared after her through the gloom. How the hell had such a disreputable baggage managed to win that encounter? He ought to be more than a match for a slip of a girl. He was annoyed; he was amused; but more than anything he was challenged by her. If she wouldn't be warned away from Charlie, then he'd have to find some more potent inducement.

Judith returned to the card room, but only to make her farewells, pleading a headache. Charlie was all solicitude, begging to escort her home, but Sebastian was on his feet immediately.

"No need for that, Fenwick. I'll take m'sister home." He yawned himself. "In truth, I'll not be sorry to keep early hours myself tonight. It's been a hard week." He grinned engagingly around the table.

"A demmed lucky one for you, Davenport," one of the players said with a sigh, pushing across an IOU.

"Oh, I've the luck of the devil," Sebastian said cheerfully, pocketing the vowel. "It runs in the family, doesn't it, Judith?"

Her smile was somewhat abstracted. "So they say."

Sebastian's eyes sharpened and his gaze flickered to the door of the card room, to where the Marquis of Carrington stood, taking snuff. "You look a little wan, m'dear," Sebastian said, taking his sister's arm.

"I don't feel quite the thing," she agreed. "Oh, thank you, Charlie." She smiled warmly as the young man arranged her shawl around her shoulders.

"Perhaps you won't feel like riding tomorrow," Charlie said, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. "Shall I call upon you-"

"No, indeed not. My aunt detests callers," she broke in, touching his hand fleetingly as if in consolation. "But I shall be perfectly well tomorrow. I'll meet you in the park, as we arranged."

Brother and sister made their way out of the card room. Marcus bowed as they reached the door. "I bid you good night, Miss Davenport… Davenport."

"Good night, my lord." She swept past him, then, on an impulse she didn't quite understand, murmured over her shoulder, "I am riding with your cousin in the morning."

"Oh, I fully understand that you've thrown down the glove," he said, as softly as she. "But you have not yet tasted my mettle, ma'am. Take heed." He bowed again in formal farewell and turned away before she could reply.

Judith bit her lip, aware of a strange mingling of apprehension and excitement unlike anything she'd felt before, and she knew it was as dangerous as it was uncomfortable.

"What's amiss, Ju?" Sebastian spoke as soon as they were out of the mansion and on the cobbled street.

"I'll tell you when we get home." She climbed into the shabby carriage that awaited them on the corner, sitting back against the cracked leather squabs, a frown drawing her arched brows together, her teeth dosing over her lower lip.

Sebastian knew that expression. It usually meant that his sister's eccentric principles were aroused. She wouldn't say anything until she was ready, so he was content to sit back and wait for her to tell him what was absorbing her.

The carriage drew up outside a narrow house on a darkened lane in a part of town that had definitely seen better days. Brother and sister alighted and Sebastian paid the driver for the evening's work. Judith was already unlocking the front door, and they stepped into a narrow passage, lit by a single tallow candle in a sconce on the stairway wall.

"One of these days someone's going to notice how we never give anyone our direction," Sebastian observed, following his sister up the stairs. "The tale of the irritable aunt won't hold good forever."

"We won't be in Brussels for much longer," Judith said. "Napoleon's bound to make his move soon and then the army will be gone. There'll be no point in our remaining in an empty city." She pushed open a door at the head of the stairs onto a square parlor.

The room was dark and dingy, the furniture shabby, the carpet direadbare, and the gloomy light of tallow candles did nothing to improve matters. She tossed her India shawl on a broken-backed couch and sank into a chair, a deep frown corrugating her brow.

"How much did we make tonight?"

"Two thousand," he said. "It would have been more, but after you'd gone off with Carrington, I lost the next hand by miscounting an ace." He shook his head in self-disgust. "It's always the way; I grow careless if I rely on you for too many hands."

"Mmm." Judith kicked off her shoes and began to massage one foot. "But we need to practice now and again to keep our hands in. In fact, I think we must spend some serious time perfecting the moves because I must have made a mistake, although I can't think how. But the Most Honorable Marquis of Carrington is wise to us."

Sebastian whistled. "Hell and the devil. So now what?"

"I don't know exactly." Judith was still frowning as she switched feet, pulling on her toes with an absent vigor. "He said he'd not call foul on us, but he issued a most direct command that I cure Charlie of his infatuation."

"Well, that's easily done. You've never had any difficulty disentangling yourself from an overzealous suitor."

"No, but why should I? I have no intention of hurting Charlie. In fact, a little sophisticated dalliance will do wonders for him, and if he loses a few thousand at cards, it's not as if he can't afford it. Apart from those few minutes tonight, the only unfair odds he's faced are in your native talent. He plays because he chooses to, and I fail to see why Carrington should be allowed to meddle."

Sebastian regarded his sister warily. It was definitely a case of offended principles. "He is his guardian," he pointed out. "And we're a disreputable pair, Ju. You shouldn't take it too much to heart if someone realizes that and behaves accordingly."

"Oh, nonsense!" she said. "We're no more disreputable than anyone else. It's just that we're not hypocrites. We have to put a roof over our heads and bread on the table, and we do it in the only way we know."

Sebastian went to the sideboard and poured cognac into two goblets. "You could always go for a governess." He handed her one of the goblets, chuckling at her horrified expression. "I can just see you imparting the finer points of watercolors and the rudiments of Italian to frilly little girls in a schoolroom."

Judith began to laugh. "Not at all. I would teach them to play piquet and backgammon for large stakes; to flutter their eyelashes and offer amusing little sallies to gentlemen who might be induced to play; to know when it's time to move on; to find the cheapest lodgings and servants; to slip away in the night to avoid the bailiff, to create a wardrobe out of thin air. In short, I would teach them all the elements for a successful masquerade. Just as I was taught."

The laughter had left her voice half way through the speech and Sebastian took her hand. "We'll be avenged, Ju."

"For Father," she said, lifting her head and taking a sip of her cognac. "Yes, we'll be avenged for him."

Silently Sebastian joined her in the toast, and for a moment they both stared into the empty grate, remembering. Remembering and reaffirming their vow. Then Judith put the glass on a side table and stood. "I'm going to bed." She kissed his cheek and the gesture reminded her of something that brought a glitter of determination to her eyes. "I'm in the mood to play with fire, Sebastian."

"Carrington?"

She nodded. "The gentleman needs to be disarmed. He said he wouldn't cry foul on us, but supposing he decided to alert people in London to beware of playing with you? If I can intrigue him… engage him in a flirtation… he'll be less likely to concern himself with what you do at the tables."

Sebastian regarded his sister dubiously. "Are you a match for him?"

Was she? For a minute she felt again the press of his fingers on her skin, saw again the sharp shrewdness in the black eyes, the unconciliatory slash of his mouth, the prominent jaw. But of course she was a match for any town beau. She knew things, had seen and done things, that had honed her wits to a keenness he would not be expecting.