Judith chuckled. "He wouldn't leave if he was expecting to see you. He's in the card room."

Harriet received this information in silence. Her eyes were downcast while her fingers played with the silk fringe on her reticule. Gently, Judith asked if something was troubling her.

Without looking up, Harriet said, "I-I sometimes think that… I sometimes think that your brother plays too much," she finished in a rush.

Judith nibbled her lip. Harriet was a great deal more observant than she'd given her credit for. "He enjoys gaming," she said neutrally. "But I can safely promise you, Harriet, that he will never jeopardize your happiness, and therefore his own, with reckless play."

Harriet sighed with relief and looked up at Judith, her expression radiant, the dear eyes sparkling. "You believe that, Judith? I was so afraid he was a true gamester."

"Oh, yes," Judith said, placing her hand over Harriet's. "Not only do I believe it, Harriet, I know it. That doesn't mean he's not a gamester," she added judiciously. "But if he's away from the tables, he'll not miss them."

"Secrets… do you exchange secrets?" Agnes Barret's falsely cheery voice sounded from behind them.

"Good evening, Lady Barret," Judith said, unable to disguise the chill in her voice. "No, I don't believe Harriet and I share any secrets."

"No, indeed not," Harriet agreed, blushing and transparently flustered.

Lady Barret's gaze rested on her for a minute, a slightly contemptuous smile on her lips, before she turned back to Judith, who met the now cool and calculating scrutiny with one of her own. The animosity between them seemed to crackle and even Harriet was aware of it, her eyes darting between the two women.

"I understand you've recently returned from Berkshire, Lady Carrington." Agnes bowed.

"My husband had some estate business to attend to," Judith said, returning the bow.

Minimal courtesies satisfied, Agnes turned back to Harriet. "Harriet, my dear, should you object to remaining a little longer? I've promised to take up Lord Grace-mere as far as his house when we leave, but he's engaged in the card room." A trilling laugh accompanied the explanation. "I don't think your mama will worry, since she knows you're with me."

Harriet mumbled something, but her eyes flickered toward Judith in a distinct plea.

"I'm about to order my own carriage," Judith suggested immediately. "If Harriet's fatigued, I'd be glad to take her home on my way. I'm sure Lady Moreton will find nothing to object to in such an arrangement."

"Oh, no," Harriet agreed hastily. "And, in truth, Lady Barret, I do find myself a little fatigued." She touched her temples and offered a wan smile. "I fear I'm getting the headache… it's so hot in here."

Judith read naked malevolence in the split-second glare Agnes directed at her. It chilled her, yet she met it with a slightly triumphant lift of her eyebrows. They were

on a battleground… but what battleground and over what issue?

Routed, Agnes bowed, offered Harriet her sympathy, promised to call upon her and Letitia in the morning, and left them.

"Thank you," Harriet whispered.

Judith chuckled. "Don't thank me. Your performance was impeccable. I could almost believe in your headache myself. Let's go and drag Sebastian from the card room, and he will escort us home."

The suggestion found immediate favor with Harriet, and the two went in search of Sebastian. However, when they entered the card room, a strange expression crossed Sebastian's face. He cast in his hand immediately and came over to them.

"You shouldn't be in here," he said to Harriet almost brusquely, leading her back to the ballroom.

"We came to fetch you," Judith said, puzzled. "We thought you might escort us both home."

"With the greatest pleasure." He seemed to recollect himself, but his expression was still a little black. "I'll order your carriage immediately."

"What's the matter?" Judith whispered, as Harriet went off to fetch her cloak.

"I don't want Harriet in the card room," he stated with low-voiced vehemence. "It's no place for her."

"Oh." Judith followed Harriet to the retiring room, considering this. Sebastian wanted no taint of the gaming tables to touch his future wife. Interesting. For Sebastian, such places were associated with all that he intended to put behind him once Gracemere had paid his dues. They carried the taint of unscrupulous play, of desperation, of poverty and anger and injustice. But didn't they also carry the memories of the bond between himself and his sister? Of the years when all they'd had was each other?

The thought that she and Sebastian could be growing apart saddened her.

Marcus had just arrived home when the chaise deposited his wife at her own door. "I was about to come in search of you at the Sedgewicks'," he said as she came into the hall. "Did you have a pleasant evening?" He held open the door to the library.

Flirting with Gracemere and cheating at cards. An evening of deceit. She'd thought she'd be able to carry it off by reminding herself of the vital need for secrecy, of how much rode on maintaining that secrecy, but instead, at the sound of his voice, waves of panic broke over her. She could feel the color flooding her cheeks, sweat trickling beneath her arms, moistening her palms. How could Marcus possibly not sense her guilt? Her instinct was to plead fatigue and run upstairs without further conversation. Instead she forced herself to behave normally.

"Pleasant enough, thank you." She went past him into the library.

Now why the devil wouldn't she look at him properly? He could feel her jangling like an ill-hung bell.

"A glass of port before bed?" Marcus suggested, lifting a decanter from the salver on the pier table.

"I'd prefer Madeira, I think." She shrugged out of her evening cloak, dropping it on the couch, and went over to the window overlooking the square. She drew back the curtains, saying brightly, "It's a frosty night."

"Yes," he agreed, setting her glass of wine on a table, regarding her with puzzled amusement as she continued to stare out of the window. "What's so absorbing in the square at this time of night?"

She shrugged, laughed faintly, and turned back to the room. "Nothing, of course. For some reason I feel resdess."

Marcus decided the insouciance lacked conviction.

"I wonder why you should feel restless." He sipped port, looking at her over the rim of his glass. "What have you been up to, lynx?"

"Up to? Whyever should I be up to anything?"

"You tell me." He continued to scrutinize her until her color deepened.

"It was a tedious crush," she said, taking an overlarge sip of her wine. "I daresay that's why I feel so restless."

"That would of course explain it," he observed gravely.

Judith shot him a suspicious glance. Her husband looked amused but far from satisfied. She yawned. "I'm tired. I think I'll go up to bed."

"But I thought you felt restless," he pointed out unhelpfully.

Judith nibbled a fingernail. "I do and I don't. It's a very peculiar feeling,"

'Perhaps we should take a turn around the square," he suggested. "A little exercise in the night air might help you decide exactly which of the two you feel."

"Oh, stop teasing me, Marcus!" she exclaimed in frustration, wondering desperately how she could deflect the course of this inquiry. He could sense her guilt, although never in a blue moon would he be able to guess at how dire it was. However, that was no particular help.

"My apologies, ma'am." He came over to her and took the glass from her hand. "Let's go upstairs and I'll endeavor to wrest the truth from you by some other means of persuasion."

"There is no truth. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" His eyebrows lifted. "Well, let me explain. I know that either you have been wading hip deep in trouble this evening, or that you're planning to do so."

"How can you know that… I mean, you can't know it because there's nothing to know." Crossly she bit her lip at this inept denial.

Marcus shook his head. "If you'd not been up to mischief, lynx, you'd tell me what was bothering you. Since you're trying very hard to persuade me to drop the subject, I can only assume it's something I won't like."

This was dreadful. "You're talking to me as if I were a child, instead of a grown woman who's just come back from a tedious ball," she said, trying for an assumption of affronted dignity.

Marcus shook his head. "It won't do, Judith. Cut line, and tell me what mischief you've been brewing."

Desperately Judith cast around for something harmless to confess that would satisfy him. "I'm just being silly," she mumbled finally. "I don't want to talk about it." Silly about what? Talk about what? She had no idea, and crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping he would leave it at that. A vain hope.

"You're rather closing out my options," he observed, regarding her consideringly.

There was something about the look that put Judith instantly on her guard. The amusement was still there and there was a deeply sensual glimmer in the background, but these were not as reassuring as they might have been. There was a coiled purpose in the powerful frame, determination in the set of his mouth and the firmness of his jaw.

"You're making a mountain out of a molehill." She tried for a light touch again. "I'm out of sorts because I had a tedious evening and have the beginnings of a headache." It was feeble, and she wasn't much surprised that it didn't work.

"Fustian!"* was Marcus's uncompromising response. "You're up to something, and it's been my invariable experience that when you decide to keep something from me, it develops into the most monumental bone of contention. I am not prepared to join battle with you yet again… either now, or at some point in the future when whatever it is is finally brought unassailably to my attention. So you will oblige me with chapter and verse, if you please."

If she hadn't had such a weight on her conscience, Judith could have responded to this provocation in the manner it deserved. But tonight she was too cowed by the truth to fight back. "Please," she said, pressing her temples. "I am truly too tired to be bullied."

"Bullied!" Marcus was momentarily thrown off balance. "I want to know what's troubling you, and I'm bullying you?"

"You don't want to know what's the matter," she cried, stung by this clear misrepresentation of the conversation so far. "You believe I've been up to something and I'm keeping it from you. That's not the same thing, I'll have you know."

"In my book, where you're concerned, Judith, it is." He shook his head with every appearance of reluctant resignation. "Oh, well, have it your own way. Don't say you weren't warned."

"Marcus!" Judith shrieked, as she found herself lifted onto a low table. His shoulder went into her stomach and the next instant, she was draped over his shoulder, staring at the carpet, her ringlets, falling loose from the ivory and pearl fillet, tumbling over her face.

"Yes, my dear?" he asked, all solicitude as he strode with her to the door.

"Put me down!" She pummeled his back with her fists and sneezed as her hair tickled her nose. The absurdity of her position struck her with full force as they reached the hall. Her gown of emerald taffeta was hardly suited to such rough handling, and the pearl drops in her ears dangled ludicrously against Marcus's back. She kicked her feet violently in their white satin slippers.

"When we get upstairs," he said calmly, placing a steadying hand on her upturned rear, but other than that ignoring her gyrations.

"But the servants." Judith gasped. "You can't possibly carry me through the house in this mortifying fashion."

"Can I not?" Laughter quivered in his voice. "You've had every opportunity to be cooperative, lynx."

Judith subsided with a groan, closed her eyes tightly and prayed that everyone had gone to bed… everyone, that is, except for Millie and Cheveley. She reared up against his shoulder at the thought. "Oh, God. Marcus, you have to let me walk into my room." "Do I?" "Please!"

He stopped, halfway up the stairs. "If you tell me straightway what I want to know, I'll allow you to enter your room on your own two feet."

"Oh, God," Judith muttered again. But inspiration came to her in the same instant. It must have something to do with all that blood rushing to her head. It wouldn't be a lie, either, just half the truth.