Her eyes widened, though she said nothing.

"There is a problem, however," he continued calmly. "I vowed not to touch you without permission, and I intend to honor that vow. But Sir Richard's dancing party is tomorrow. Your rank is such that refusing to dance with you will cause speculation. So we can either share one set-country dances involve little contact-or I can decline to attend. Your choice."

"But staying away will reflect poorly on you and insult Sir Richard."

"I can live with that."

She bit her lip. "I cannot. One set, my lord."

"Thank you. It will be the highlight of the evening. Harry tells me that you remain concerned about his reputation," he continued, giving her no time to react to his claim. He shifted his eyes to the portrait above the mantel to avoid her white face and clenched hands. She looked so fragile, he wanted to pull her into his arms and promise her safety.

Frederick's father provided a suitable distraction. He had never realized how shifty the baron had looked, his beady narrow-set eyes far too like a fellow he had known in India. Ashwini had been his chief clerk for two years, but he had come to a bad end, helped to the afterlife by a group of street a.s.sa.s.sins. Somehow, they had known that Ashwini had stolen the packet of gems his office manager had left unattended for a moment.

"I cannot help it," Mary said on a long sigh. "Everything happened so fast. How can any of us know whether he is sincere?"

"Sooner or later, you will have to let yourself trust, Mary." He ignored her glare at the intimate address. Despite his own brief acquaintance, he had forged deep bonds with both of his companions since arriving at Ridgeway. "No one can deny that Harry has enjoyed life. But he is responsible and takes his vows seriously. He inherited a prosperous estate from his grandmother, and has an enviable knack for wise investing-fortunate in a younger son who must provide for his own future. And he loves Amelia deeply."

"He says he does, but how can I believe him? Ten days ago he did not even know she existed."

"Do you think a Season in London would have given them more time to become acquainted?"

She nodded. "Three or four months of attending a variety of activities would certainly reveal more of his character."

"Mary, you don't understand London." This time he met her glare. "I lived there for two years before my father died, and I just spent two months attending Marriage Mart events, so do not imply you know more of London than I."

Not until she acknowledged his expertise did he continue. "A gentleman cannot pay close court to a lady without offering for her, which makes it nearly impossible for two people to become acquainted before committing themselves. Think about it. Sharing a set at a ball will allow them to exchange perhaps a dozen brief comments-none of a profound nature. But sharing a second set raises expectations."

"That is true of country sets, but what of the waltz?" she demanded skeptically.

"Yes, waltzing allows more conversation, but it was only approved at Almack's this past Season and is still frowned upon for young girls. Waltzing twice with the same lady will definitely raise expectations. As will dancing with her several nights in a row. They might drive in the park, but even there, most conversation is with other people. Driving more than once raises expectations, as does including her in theater parties, paying morning calls, taking her to an art exhibit, or nearly anything else. He must pay equal attention to several ladies if he is to avoid linking his name to one. Once those names are linked, he risks both of their reputations if he does not offer for her."

"So how does he choose a wife?" Her forehead was deeply creased.

"After checking her family, her dowry, and her connections, he tries to divine her character from a few superficial meetings and judges her interest through an exchange of flirtatious glances. And he prays that he will discover her faults before he is too involved to cry off. But even a betrothal gives a couple little chance to become acquainted. Living in each other's pocket is frowned upon, as is any contact that might call her virtue into question, so they will continue to be surrounded by other people until after the wedding."

"That sounds awful."

"But true. You must realize that aristocratic marriages are still arranged mostly for financial and dynastic reasons. I knew more about the last horse I bought at auction than about any young lady I met in London. Harry and Amelia have already spent more time together and discussed more serious topics than they could have managed in two or three Seasons, even had they been betrothed. They love each other, something few society couples ever experience. Most know little beyond the superficial until after marriage, so they are lucky if they develop a comfortable friendship."

"I understand that, but love can also cloud perceptions. What happens when he decides that Amelia will discredit him in society? He has lived in London for years, but Amelia knows little of town and has never craved excitement. He is attracted now because she seems so different from his usual flirt, but I fear he will soon grow bored."

"No one can predict the future," he admitted. "But I honestly believe his heart is engaged. He was seriously looking for a wife last Season, having grown tired of languishing in town, but he wants a wife of substance. I have often heard him complain that the girls making their bows were shallow and selfish. Amelia is not."

"True." Mary's voice had relaxed. "Perhaps this will prove good for her. I just hope that she is not overwhelmed by town. One cannot expect him to eschew London in the future."

"No." He could not erase every fear, he conceded. "In fact, his father has offered him a seat in Commons. But Amelia seems a levelheaded young lady whose training will see her through every challenge."

He had deliberately introduced the idea, because Mary had been responsible for that training. He suspected that many of her tears mirrored her own concerns. She did not feel comfortable even in local society, so she a.s.sumed that Amelia shared that unease.

"You have a point," she conceded when he dared mention this conjecture. "But not entirely. Neither of the girls is at ease in company. Frederick was not well liked, and my reputation is tarnished. Because I raised them, people question their morals. And gossip being what it is, the rumors will carry far beyond Shropshire. A single incident could ruin her in town."

"But Harry's reputation will protect her," he reminded her.

"Destroy her, more like."

"Mary." He sighed. "London society is not Ridgefield, and men have always been judged by different standards than women, even here." He caught her glare and returned a rueful smile. "I agree that it is unfair, but that is the way of the world."

She nodded.

"John was despicable by any standard, but Harry and other young bucks are beloved by all." He met her gaze. "Yes, he conducted several affairs, but only with ladies of a certain cla.s.s."

"Courtesans?" She glared.

"Willing companions," he corrected her gently. "Society expects such escapades from single gentlemen. They look askance on those who eschew them, for a gentleman is supposed to bring experience to his marriage bed. Harry never knowingly bedded a married woman, though society would have shrugged if he had, so long as the meetings were discreet."

She gasped.

"I know that your upbringing was different, but the ton doesnot always follow church teachings. All that matters is that Harry is honorable. He does not seduce innocents; he does not fleece greenlings; he does not lie or cheat."

"So a gentleman is welcomed as long as his adultery is discreet and his fleecing confined to men old enough to know better?"

"All too true," he answered before he spotted the twinkle in her eye. He laughed. "You are far more knowing than you let on. Many gentlemen have flexible ideas about what const.i.tutes dishonor. But my friends and I take a literal view. Marriage vows include fidelity. Breaking them is dishonorable. Harry would never do so, which is what you really wanted to know, isn't it?"

She nodded, but he knew there was more, for other fears shadowed her eyes. He ignored her uneasiness about moving into aristocratic society. That could be dealt with later, but this might be a good time to give her something to ponder.

"Harry will be gentle with her, Mary. He would never hurt her, for allowing fear into his bed would reduce the pleasure for both of them."

She snorted, though she tried to cover the sound with a cough.

"I am serious, Mary. Intimacy is beautiful, bringing enjoyment to both parties. It is true that a brutal man can make it painful, but that changes the nature of the contact to a.s.sault. Think about it."

"Very well."

"Good. Have you learned anything new since we last spoke?"

"Nothing. But contemplation has forced me to admit that you are probably right about Frederick."

"That he was murdered?"

She nodded. "Justin talked to Squire Church yesterday. The evidence for accident seems conclusive at first glance, but it does not stand up under scrutiny."

"Did he notice marks on the road?"

"He didn't look. He found a man with a broken neck in the bottom of a quarry, so he decided the fall had killed him. Frederick's clothes were muddy despite landing on bare rock, thus he must have fallen from his horse onto the muddy road. Drunkenness explained how he wandered over the edge."

"But?" She had accepted murder, so there had to be more.

"The fall was a straight drop-no projections to snag him on the way down, for the quarry wall undercuts the road at that point. He did not roll once he landed on his right side, yet his left temple carried a wound." She stared at his head where he had absently shoved the hair back, exposing his own cut. "One could make a case that he struck his head when he fell from his horse, but the tops of both boots were full of mud."

"Somebody pulled him to the edge."

"I believe so, and it must have been the same man who attacked you. Since your only provocation was asking about John's death, the three incidents have to be related."

He nodded. "I also spoke with Isaac, and got a more detailed description of John's injuries. They included a blow to one temple-which was why Isaac a.s.sumed John had been overpowered by a larger, stronger a.s.sailant."

"But it was a rock, so the motive must relate to something John and Frederick both did. But that is more likely to involve people from London. They came here rarely and never remained long."

"Nonetheless, the culprit is here. John fled after Frederick's death, returning to London. Why would a London killer wait to dispatch him until after he had returned to Ridgeway? Besides, yesterday's attack removes the last doubt."

Mary's heart leaped into her throat. Another attempt? Heat and cold washed over her in waves.

"What happened?" Somehow, she kept her voice steady, though she had to set down her cup lest her hands betray their shaking. She wanted to leap up and examine him for wounds.

"While I was visiting Ridgefield yesterday, someone sawed halfway through the axle of my phaeton. If 1 had been speeding as gentlemen are wont to do, it would have broken on that curve by the quarry."

She shivered. "How long were you in town?"

"Most of the day."

"That does not help much, then. It was market day. Anyone could have been there."

"And probably was. But the note that drew John to his death must have come from someone he trusted-or someone who impersonated someone he trusted."

"I doubt it." She met his eyes straight on, then nearly lost track of her thoughts as heat again coiled inside. "He would have invited a trusted friend to the Court. I believe he went out because he did not trust the man. The note made him so furious that he intended to settle matters his own way, possibly by killing its writer when he reached the meeting site."

He frowned. "It is possible. He was clearly ambushed."

"There is an abandoned shepherd's hut on Brewster's Ridge a quarter mile past where his body was found. Perhaps that was the meeting place." She sighed. "I wish I knew what the note said. Maybe the man was blackmailing him, or had threatened blackmail to draw him out."

"You have a devious mind."

She would have taken offense, but he had spoken absently, still in shock over admitting that John might have plotted murder. Learning such truths about a brother was bad enough. Being a twin must make it worse. Twins were supposed to be close.

"Maybe I'm wrong," she said, more to console him than because she? believed it.

"No, it fits too well, and places Sir Tristan at the top of my suspect list."

"Why?"

"Rumor claims that John debauched Sir Tristan's daughter. John was killed midway between Ridgeway and Sir Tristan's estate."

"I never believed the rumors about Julia. John had been gone for two months before they started."

"So you think he was innocent?"

"Of that charge, yes. Why would she hide it so long?"

"Maybe she discovered she was increasing."

"That's a thought. Or perhaps they had an affair, but she claimed rape when her father discovered she was no longer innocent. Or she might have had an affair with someone else, but cited John to protect her lover-everyone knew he had a roving eye and would resort to force if seduction failed. Or her lover might have started the rumors because she spurned him."

He sighed. "You can think of far too many possibilities. A lady should not know so much about the sordid side of life."

"Why? Ignorance makes one vulnerable. If I had been less naive in my youth, I would have done a better job of avoiding him." She bit off her words, but it was too late to recall them.

"Did John force you?"

His voice had turned dangerous, revealing a fury she could not explain.

"No. He tried to seduce me, but I refused."

"And he just dropped it?"

"He was young enough at the time to retain a few scruples, though I had to strike him before he accepted my reluctance. But he never forgave me for turning him down."

"Thus the lies he spread. How old were you?"

"Sixteen." She shrugged.

Back in 1800. d.a.m.nation. "I wish I had known."

"Why? Short of killing him, you could have done nothing without hurting me worse. Don't you understand him yet?"

Pain squeezed his eyes shut. "Yes. I understand him far too well. You bested him, something he would never have forgiven. His original lies hurt you but did not ruin your life. So he drove off your suitor with worse stories, which added credence to his earlier tales. And he ordered the Bridwells to keep the stories alive. Did he have a hand in arranging your marriage?"

"No. Frederick's guardian suggested that. He wanted the lot of them off his hands as quickly as possible. John did not learn of it until later. Then he took Frederick under his wing."

"Frederick and John would have become friends and allies anyway," he pointed out. "They were too much alike."

"Enough. There is another problem with Sir Tristan," she said, ruthlessly returning to business, though she should have realized ten years ago that John had driven George away. It was so obvious. "The killer struck down Frederick as well. But no rumor connects him with Julia."

"Perhaps not, but it would not have been the first time they'd shared a victim." He snapped his mouth shut, proving that he had not meant to reveal that.

"I don't need protection. After seven years as his wife, nothing surprises me." She sighed. "But you are ignoring the killer's choice of weapons. Rocks and knives are hardly aristocratic tools. Wouldn't Sir Tristan have used a pistol if he wished to dispatch John?"

"A pistol would call dueling to mind, casting suspicion on gentlemen with recent grievances. Surely he is smart enough to choose weapons that would point to the lower cla.s.ses."

"Then why kill John on a lane leading to his own estate?"

He frowned. "Perhaps he didn't think of that since the murder was actually on Ridgeway land."

"Don't blind yourself as Squire Church does," she warned. "If you have to twist the evidence to make it fit a theory, then the theory is invalid. It is more likely that the killer chose the spot because the rumors supplied a ready scapegoat. So who else do you suspect?"

He frowned, but allowed her to move on. "Walden. He could have easily lured John away from the house-inspecting an estate problem, for example. And he would be able to destroy the note if John had not already done so."

"True, but he was a meek man. Why would he have harmed Frederick?"

"Perhaps it was an accident. He couldn't express his rage at John, but it might have burst out at another target. He might have met Frederick near the quarry and found himself in a quarrel. If John learned the truth, he would have sought revenge. Or more likely, John would have used his knowledge to blackmail Walden into some other crime. Seeing endless repercussions over an unintentional death, Walden would have had to eliminate John."