"Perhaps maturity brings greater subtlety," he murmured, glancing down at his stockinged feet.

Judith followed his gaze and burst into a peal ol laughter. "You took your shoes off!"

"Observant of you… but, since I found you, I believe you owe me a forfeit, ma'am."

Judith narrowed her eyes. "But would you have found me if I hadn't given you those clues?"

"That, I'm afraid, we'll never know."

She chewed her bottom lip in thought. "But I still wonder if the possibility doesn't alter the original terms of the agreement."

Marcus shook his head. "No, ma'am, it does not. I discovered you… most completely, I would have said."

"I suppose that's true."

"So, I claim my reward."

Judith smiled. "Very well, then. And you can pay your forfeit afterward."

"Since when have winners also paid a forfeit?" Marcus demanded.

"Since I decided to make the rules," she retorted. "This was not a winner-takes-all proposition."

A long time later, Judith lay sprawled in wanton abandonment under glowing candlelight, the thick pile of the library carpet against her back and shoulders. Marcus held her buttocks on the palms of his hands, lifting her for his own dewy caresses. One couldn't draw qualitative comparisons between the joys of the pleasure giver and the receiver, she decided, her hips arcing under the fierce and fiery strokes of his tongue, the delicate grazing of his mouth.

Around them, the house was silent, only the hiss and spurt of the fire disturbing the quiet. Its heat was on her bared thigh, matching the rising heat in her loins. The coil burst asunder, taking her by surprise, as sometimes it did. She laughed softly, feeling his breath warm on her heated core as he laughed with her, in his own pleasure at her surprised release.

When he rolled, bringing her with him, she lay along his length, feeling her own softnesses pressing into the muscled concavities of his body. He parted her thighs, slowly twisted his hips, and thrust upward within the still-pulsating entrance to her body. Judith tightened around him, pushing backward until she knelt astride him. She moved herself over and around him in languid circles, teasing them both. With the same languor, she turned her head toward the uncurtained French doors. The moonlit lawn stretched beyond the windows, the frosty grass sparkling. It occurred to her that she was truly, completely happy, for the first time in her life.

There had never been room for unalloyed happiness before. But at this moment, fused in passion, even revenge somehow had lost its spur… was somehow irrelevant. Soon enough, they'd return to London and she would have to go to work on Gracemere again, but she wasn't going to think of that now. She brought her mouth to his.

23

"I hope you enjoyed your retreat, Judith." Bernard Melville guided his dance partner into a smooth turn.

Judith sighed. "No, it was extremely tedious. The country's so boring, and Carrington was closeted with his man of business the entire time."

"And he insisted you accompany him?" Gracemere shook his head and tutted. "How unkind of him. But then, as we know, Carrington has little interest in the preferences of others." His hand tightened on hers.

Judith controlled her shudder of revulsion and smiled up at him with a flutter of her eyelashes. "How true," she agreed. Her eyes darted swiftly around the crowded ballroom in a guilty check to assure herself that Marcus hadn't decided to abandon his own party and pay a surprise visit to the Sedgewicks' ball. Not that there was anything overtly wrong in dancing with the earl in public. Marcus himself was civil to Gracemere in company.

"My Lady Carrington was sorely missed," he assured her, a smile flickering on the fleshy lips.

"Nonsense, my lord. You know full well that redheads are not fashionable at the moment." Her laughing eyes flirtatiously invited his denial of this caveat.

He provided it without blinking an eye. "Red is not the description I would have chosen," he murmured, flicking at a copper ringlet with one finger. "And part of your charm, my dear Judith, is that you are not at all in the common way."

Judith gave him a coy look and changed the subject. "You're an accomplished card player, I understand."

"Oh, shameless evasion!" he exclaimed. "Is that your only response to my compliment?"

"Indeed, sir, a lady doesn't respond to compliments made her by stray dance partners." Her eyelashes fluttered as she gave him a mischievous smile.

"Stray dance partner! I must protest, ma'am, at such an unkind description."

"I must try to think of you in such terms, however, since I'm forbidden to consider you a friend," she responded archly.

Gracemere's pale eyes glittered. "But, as we're agreed, husbands need occasionally to be put in their places."

Judith's eyes gleamed with a conspiratorial thrill that brought a complacent smile to the earl's mouth-one that made her want to kick him hard in the shins. Fortunately, the waltz ended and he escorted her off the floor. "My brother assures me that you're a most accomplished card player," she reiterated as they went into a small salon adjoining the ballroom.

"Your brother is a fair player himself." Gracemere offered the lie with a bland smile.

"But not as good as I am," Judith declared, closing her fan with a snap. "I challenge you to a game of piquet, my lord." She gestured to a small, unoccupied card table in the corner of the room.

"An enticing prospect," he said, with the same bland smile. "What stakes do you propose?"

Judith tapped her closed fan against her hand. "Ten guineas a point?"

Gracemere smiled at the proposal: the moderate stakes of a relatively confident gamester, who liked to think she played high. He'd seen her at the card tables and knew that Agnes had met her at Amelia Dolby's, so she couldn't be a complete novice. Presumably she played like her brother, with more enthusiasm than skill. "Stakes for a tea party, ma'am," he scoffed. "I propose something a little more enticing."

"What do you suggest, my lord?" Judith had expected him to accept her wager indulgently, and unease stirred beneath her expression of eager curiosity.

He stroked his chin, regarding her. "The honor of your company at a private dinner against… against… now, what could I offer you?" he mused.

Your head on a platter, Judith thought viciously. She had every intention of losing to him but no intention whatsoever of joining him in a tete-a-tete dinner. However, that bridge would have to be crossed when she reached it. "The chance to drive your blacks in Richmond Park," she suggested in dulcet accents. "I've envied you those horses since I first saw them."

"Then let us play, ma'am." He moved to the card table.

Judith had only one purpose behind the game: She wanted to know how he played, what habits he had, what techniques he favored. Then she and Sebastian would compare notes. As Gracemere had destroyed George Devereux playing piquet, so would Gracemere meet his own Waterloo at the hands of George's children.

She took her seat at the table with a fidgety eagerness, watching as he broke the pack. She didn't think he would bother to cheat with her; she'd been careful never to play at his table before, so he wouldn't know how well she played. He would probably assume she was a moderate player at best.

She gave him a middling performance, losing the first hand by a respectably small margin, winning the second by the appearance of a lucky retention, losing the third convincingly, but avoiding the Rubicon.

"You're certainly an accomplished player, Bernard," she said, smiling as he counted the points. "Perhaps one day you'd teach me some of your strategies." What a delicious thought that was… She knew now she was a fair match for Bernard Melville, in honest play or crooked. She continued to smile, savoring the thought.

Bernard chuckled. "With pleasure, my dear. But first, I claim my winnings."

"But of course. However…" She glanced around the room. "We've already dined tonight, and this is hardly a private spot."

He chuckled again. "No, you must allow me to make the necessary arrangements, Judith. I'll inform you of the date, place, and time."

"I think, sir, that you must allow me to pick the date," she said carefully. "I'm not a free woman."

"No." Reaching for her hand, he carried it to his lips. "You are not. But are you a virtuous woman?" He smiled over her hand. "An improper question, forgive me, ma'am… However, I firmly believe that you will find a tale to satisfy Carrington, when the need arises."

She would shoot him-no, that was too quick… a long and lingering death … "I daresay I could." She stood up. "But now I must return to the ballroom before anyone notices such a protracted absence."

Gracemere bowed and remained standing by the table, watching as she wafted back to the ballroom. Whatever tale she invented to put Carrington off the scent, the marquis would be apprised of his wife's intimate, clandestine rendezvous with his old enemy. The prospect of such a wonderfully apposite revenge was a heady one. But now, having played the sister, he would play her brother for rather more material stakes.

He made his way to the card room, where the serious play was taking place. Sebastian sat at the macao table and waved cheerfully at him. "Come and take a hand, Gracemere."

"Thank you." He sat down opposite Sebastian. "I just had a hand or two of piquet with your sister."

"Oh, did you win? Ju's not much of a player," Sebastian said, grinning, laying out his rouleaux.

"Calumny!" Judith's voice came from the doorway.

"But did you win?" her brother challenged, frowning over his cards before making his bet.

"No," she admitted, moving to stand behind the earl. "His lordship was more than my match, I fear."

Gracemere looked up. "The cards fell in my favor," he demurred. "I trust you're going to bring me luck now, Lady Carrington."

"Oh, I trust so," she murmured, smiling around the table. She had absorbed Gracemere's hand in a glance that barely skimmed his cards and now continued to look smilingly around the table, her fan moving lazily in front of her face.

Lord Sedgewick held the bank. His appreciative gaze rested on Lady Carrington. She was a devilishly attractive woman. Catching his eye, she smiled at him, and Sedgewick felt a distinct prickle of arousal. Marcus was a lucky dog, but then again such a woman would take a deal of handling. His lordship wondered slightly uneasily whether he himself would be up to such a task. He thought of his own wife, a matron of even temper with little interest in matters of the bedchamber beyond those necessary to ensure the succession. Lady Carrington, on the other hand, gave the distinct impression of one who might play rather nicely…

Sedgewick forced his attention back to the cards. It was unseemly to think in such fashion of another man's wife. But she was devilishly attractive… and that wicked smile, when just the corners of her mouth lifted…

Sebastian glanced up now and again from his cards, joining in the lively conversation around the table. Judith was not the only woman standing at the table, observing the play; she was, however, the only one employing her fan. But then it was such an ordinary activity, only Sebastian truly took note.

Gracemere lost three hundred guineas to the bank in half an hour. It didn't strike him as remarkable that whenever he thought he had a winning count, Davenport played one better, declaring his hand before the earl was ready to declare his. Sebastian wasn't always the winner at the table, but Gracemere was always the loser. He put it down to ill luck.

Judith drifted out of the card room. She and Sebastian had only been practicing. They hadn't practiced in public since Brussels and both needed to see how they would handle Gracemere. The final act was fast approaching.

"Judith?"

Harriet's soft voice broke pleasantly into her musings.

"Harriet, I didn't see you here before." She drew the girl's arm through hers. "Let's go and sit by the window, it's so hot in here. You arrived late. Sebastian's been looking for you."

"Lady Barret was detained. She couldn't come for me until after eleven," Harriet confided. "And Mama is indisposed." A delicate flush mantled her cheek. "I haven't seen your brother. I thought perhaps he'd already left."