"I put forth every conceivable argument to prevail upon you to accept marriage, or at least I thought I had. Lady Elizabeths-Lady Northam now-she said something that made me realize I had neglected to mention one thing of import."

West caught Ria's chin when she would have turned away and brought her around to look at him. Her beautiful blue-gray eyes were luminous with unshed tears, but their expression was still shuttered. He thought she wanted to hope but was afraid to.

"Shall I put it before you plainly, Ria?"

She nodded.

West watched as Ria's small movement caused a tear to slip free of her lower lashes and slide down her cheek. She seemed to be unaware of it, neither raising her hand to brush it aside, nor blinking back the others that threatened to follow in its wake.

"I love you," he said. "That is what I had not written in support of a marriage between us. It is what I did not say when I asked you to marry me earlier. It is because I love you that I could not let you leave without hearing me out, and it is because I love you that I will still ask you to leave when I am done. I wanted to believe it was understood between us, that I did not have to say the words aloud, but that does not acquit me of being a coward for failing to do so."

West let his hand fall back to his lap and watched her follow the movement. "I do love you, Ria."

She closed her eyes a moment, pressing her hand to her throat. Emotion made it difficult for her to speak. Whispering in a reed-thin voice, she said, "Ask me again."

He knew what she meant. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes." She launched herself into his arms. "Oh, yes."

"It was not a pretty proposal."

"It was perfect." Ria said this against his neck as she buried her face there. "Perfect."

He pressed his smile against her silky hair. "Does this mean you have developed a tendre for me?"

Ria drew back, her features set solemnly, even gravely. "A tendre? That is inadequate to describe what I have felt for so long. There is tenderness and passion in my heart. There is affection and wanting and sometimes a sort of helplessness that I cannot feel differently toward you. There is such a surfeit of love that it has made me afraid. I have been afraid of what price I would be asked to pay for it, afraid it was unwanted, afraid to embrace it, enjoy it, or even exploit it. With so much to fear, what was left to me but to guard it closely, hide it occasionally even from myself, and hope you would not tease the truth from me and immediately regret that you had done so? A tendre is what I felt when I was yet a young girl, and I would steal into the duke's gallery to look upon your portrait and imagine you were looking back at me."

Ria's solemn expression faltered, and her slight smile was shaped by guilt. "I do not think I could become so angry with you if it were still a mere tendre that attached you to my heart. I am quite certain it is love that provokes that other response." "Is that so?" he asked wryly. "I shall endeavor to remember it."

Ria began to speak, but the arrival of the repast West had ordered interrupted her. She did not know what effect confession had had on her soul, but it had most definitely whet her appetite. It was all she could do not to fall ravenously on the tray of vegetable broth and warm bread that was carried in. West did not share in the generous portions they were given, and Ria could not induce him to do so. She was aware that he watched her instead and derived some amusement from her carefully measured bites. It was a certainty he knew how hungry she was.

Out of the corner of her eye, she gave him a significant look. "If this is what you mean to do at every meal, I will be moved to murder. Your murder, you understand. No one else's. You must not attend me so closely."

Grinning, he poured himself a cup of tea. He carried the cup to the fireplace and poked at the logs. "Is it acceptable for me to speak?" he asked, glancing back at her.

"As long as you are not in expectation of a reply. I mean to continue eating." She tore off a chunk of bread and dipped one corner into the broth. "Go on. I am listening."

West didn't doubt that she could listen to him. What he remained skeptical of was her ability not to insert a comment or question. "It is about tomorrow's reception. Sir Alex Cotton will be there. As will Herndon." He replaced the poker and turned around. The piece of bread Ria had torn off from the loaf and sopped in the broth simply hovered in front of her open mouth. Droplets of broth fell back in the bowl. She seemed to be unaware of holding it in her hand.

"They are both heavily invested in the East India Company and had a great deal to lose if the settlement did not proceed. They will be present to extend their thanks to the colonel for making it possible, and I will be there to mark their trail afterward. Still, I do not mean to misrepresent my interest in going there. I would have attended this reception regardless of their presence. It is merely fortuitous that we will cross paths. Eastlyn is my friend and deserves my loyalty, my support, even my admiration. Colonel Blackwood has been my mentor, my confessor, my fiercest advocate and critic, and when he cannot help himself, more father to me than my own. So, yes, I will pause in searching for Jane Petty long enough to stand by the people who have stood by me. If you believe I have failed you in some way because I cannot fail them, then you should know that I will fail you again... and again."

For a moment Ria could not breathe as it was borne home to her how deeply she had cut him. She slowly lowered her hand and replaced the corner of bread on her plate. "I do not deserve to be forgiven for speaking rashly when I understand so little, therefore I will not ask for it. What I know, though, is that you could not have come to love me so well if you had not learned how to love them first. It is far more likely that I shall fail you, not the reverse."

West shook his head. "You do yourself a grave injustice to think so. It is not a failing to speak with passion, though perhaps you might refrain from honing your tongue to such a fine sharpness."

Ria's eyes dropped to the edge of the table where her hands rested, and she did not look up until she heard West's throaty chuckle. "I am most sincerely contrite," she said. "What is it that amuses you?"

"Only that you manage that particular mien so beautifully."

"It is because I often have had occasion to use it." That raised West's knowing smile. "I thought you might have had considerable practice."

Ria decided she was done with being contrite. Her mouth flattened in a faint line of disapproval, which predictably deepened West's amusement. There was nothing for it but to distract him. "If you still mean for me to attend the reception tomorrow, then you will have to find me something to wear. I brought nothing suitable with me."

"I have seen the contents of your armoire," he said. "You own nothing suitable."

"Perhaps if you were to increase my allowance."

"So that you can turn your students out better than yourself? Not likely. If the Lady Northam cannot manage a suitable gown for you in a day's time, it will be the first thing she has not been able to manage. I am confident that placing you in her hands will bring the thing about."

Ria was not as certain the countess would appreciate having this charge thrust upon her, but she deferred to West's judgment. "And after the reception? What then?"

"That can wait until tomorrow. I want to hear about Mr. Beckwith's visit to your school." When Ria opened her mouth to speak, West held up his hand. "Also tomorrow. There is also the matter of this meeting of the governors that brought you to London. I was informed about the meeting, but not that you had been invited. It seems likely they intend to confront us there, if not close ranks around us. As you mentioned, we have been found out."

Ria pushed her chair back and came to her feet. "Can I not persuade you to allow me to remain here?"

"No."

"But there is a pledge of marriage between us."

"You and I will share a bed again when there has been an exchange of vows."

"You are fixed on this."

"I am."

Ria crossed the room to the fireplace and set her mouth within a moment of his. "I love that you honor me, that you honor marriage." She kissed him, not as a temptation, but as one sealing a promise. Drawing back, she studied his face. "You still have a rogue's smile," she said at last, and she was not at all displeased by it.

Ria was not permitted the luxury of lying in bed the following morning. The Countess of Northam arrived at the Oxford Street residence before Ria was properly awake, and by way of introduction, put Ria through the morning rituals of bathing, dressing, and breaking her fast in just under two hours. Lady Northam repeatedly apologized for the haste with which Ria had to be made ready, but it was a matter of getting to Firth Street before the modistes were so busy that not one of them would accept the challenge of dressing Ria for that very evening.

"It will be a narrow thing," Elizabeth confided as the carriage pulled away from the town house, "butWest has been very generous with his coin. That is always helpful."

There was little for Ria to do except allow herself to be managed. It happened so infrequently that she found she could enjoy the experience. Lady Northam made it comfortable for her to be led about from one shop to the next. Although they were of an age, the countess was vastly more knowledgeable about fabrics and fashion. She had a superior eye for color and seemed to know instinctively what not only suited Ria, but what Ria would suit. She never made a choice without asking Ria's opinion, and she never seemed to make a wrong choice.

Madame Poncelet did not respond to Lady Northam's cajolery, but she was sufficiently flattered by the sum Elizabeth promised that she agreed to make a gown for Ria. Every seamstress in the shop was summoned from the workroom for the fitting. While Elizabeth and Madame Poncelet discussed particulars, Ria stood on a stool, stripped to her thin cotton chemise, and suffered the indignities peculiar to having a dress fashioned: being measured, poked, prodded, and pinned, then having every aspect of her form critically discussed by other women as if she were not present.

They agreed on a mint-green bombazine gown trimmed with bands of satin ribbon under the bosom.

Puffed sleeves, edged with the same fine satin bands, would be visible under the slashed, capped sleeves that provided an accent for her exquisite shoulders. A top hat trimmed in ostrich feathers, satin gloves, and kid slippers were all to be fashioned in the same fabric and color, and for some extra coin in her purse, Madame Poncelet agreed to find the milliner, glover, and shoemaker who would have it all ready at seven.

"It will never be done," Ria said, taking her seat in the carriage again. "They are seamstresses, not magicians."

"Don't you believe it," Elizabeth told her. "For what West has paid, Madame and her girls will do nothing today but work on your gown and still find themselves able to turn a profit."

Ria accepted the fact that Elizabeth was confident, even if she wasn't. "Is Madame Poncelet one of the dressmakers you spoke to about Jane Petty?" She could see immediately that she had surprised the countess with her knowledge. "West told me that you made the inquiries on Firth Street for him. It was kind of you to lend assistance. After seeing you with Madame, I understand why he asked you to help. I do not think he would have been so successful with any of the modistes as you were."

"Then you underestimate his smile." Elizabeth's almond-shaped eyes shone with a teasing light. "Do not worry. My husband has such a smile, although without those parenthetical dimples that bracket West's mouth. I should not be able to live with him if he had those dimples."

"I know," Ria said softly. "They make him entirely too..."

"Perfect?"

"Well, very nearly. One is deeper than the other."

Elizabeth laughed delightedly. "I hope you have told him so."

"Yes."

"Good. He enjoyed hearing it, I am certain." Elizabeth smoothed her fur-trimmed pelisse over her knees.

"It was the colonel who first asked me to speak to the dressmakers. I would have done it for West, but itwould not have occurred to him to ask me."

"He did later, though."

"Yes. It was no easy thing for him to do. I think he felt he had little choice. It was no trouble for me and small enough repayment for all the assistance he lent to me and to my husband."

"They are as close as brothers, are they not? The Compass Club, I mean."

"As close as we like to think brothers can be and rarely are. The rhyme is their creed. North. South.

East. West. Friends for life, we have confessed. All other truths, we'll deny. For we are soldier, sailor, tinker, spy. Southerton wrote their charter when they were still at Hambrick Hall. You know it, don't you? West recited it for you?"

Ria shook her head, mouthing the last words more than saying them aloud. "Soldier. Sailor. Tinker." She looked at Elizabeth, the line of her mouth vaguely wry. "Spy." Ria pressed two fingers to her temple and massaged it lightly. "He always denied it. I knew, or at least I thought I knew, but he never admitted as much."

"Do not take it literally," Elizabeth said quickly. "South would be the first one to tell you that too much should not be made of the last line. Deny. Spy. It is all about the rhyme and has no greater significance than that."

Ria realized she could accept Elizabeth's explanation without swallowing the whole of it and graciously did so. As the carriage wended its way back to Oxford Street, Ria listened, entranced, to Elizabeth's version of the Compass Club lore from their days at Hambrick Hall.

West was waiting for them at the town house. Elizabeth greeted him warmly and reported on the most important aspects of the morning excursion; then she accepted West's offer of refreshment but insisted on having it alone in the library.

"You do not truly expect me to chaperone, do you?" Elizabeth asked, her amber eyes darting between West and Ria. "I thought not."

When she had disappeared, West turned to Ria. "It seems we are expected to conduct ourselves above reproach."

"Really? I did not have that same sense."

Before Ria could elaborate on her view in front of the servants, West escorted her into the drawing room and closed the door. He kissed her soundly, then separated himself before he could not. He had almost left it to too late as it was, and the generous pouting line of Ria's mouth did not help in the least.

"Pull in that lower lip," he said. "Bite it if you must, else I will summon one of the maids to dust it off."

Ria laughed. "As you wish." She pushed away from the door and followed him into the room. He ignored the damask-covered couch in favor of a pair of wing chairs and bid her choose one. Ria did not tease him about the selection of the chairs over the couch. There was nothing about his demeanor now that suggested lightheartedness would be welcome. West waited until Ria was sitting before he lowered himself into the chair opposite her. "Tell me about Beckwith's visit to the school," he said without preamble, just as if there had been no interruption of last night's discourse.

Ria picked up the threads of their earlier conversation and told him everything she could remember. He listened carefully, interrupting from time to time to ask her to repeat a detail or describe the nuance of Beckwith's tone and manner.

When she finished, he merely sat back in his chair and remained thoughtfully aloof.

Ria was grateful for the diversion that the arrival of tea brought. She dismissed the maid and poured for both of them. "There is one other thing," she said, handing West his cup. "I wrote to Miss Parr about Mr.

Beckwith's desire to attend her performance of Speed the Plough. Do you think she received my letter?"

"I know she did not."

"How can you be certain?"

He used his fingers to tick off the reasons. "The Drury Lane Theatre is still standing. Mr. Beckwith continues to draw breath. Miss Parr performed to widespread acclaim. You must believe me when I say that South would have influenced one or all of these things."

"Perhaps Miss Parr did not tell him." She saw that this clearly had not occurred to West. "If she was as certain as you that Lord Southerton would act so recklessly, she might have been moved to protect him from himself."

"I assure you, there would have been nothing reckless about South's actions. There would have been a plan. South always has a plan." He regarded Ria steadily over the rim of his teacup. "I think Miss Parr is done keeping secrets from South. There is every possibility they will marry."

"Truly?"

"There is a wager among us to that effect. I have pledged twenty shillings." He chuckled at Ria's surprise.

"You may as well know now that there is always a wager. Unless North's mother has involved herself in it, however, it is never for more than a few sovereigns."

"This is something you did at Hambrick Hall, is it not?"

He nodded. "Our pockets were invariably light in those days, and in truth, until very recently I could not have held my own with the rest of the club if they had chosen to place substantial bets."

"They made certain you could be included, then."

"Always." The curve of West's mouth softened. "Are you concerned about this evening, Ria? I believe you will find they are in every way decent, honorable men."

"I don't doubt it. You chose them as your friends."

"Perhaps," he said. "Then, again, perhaps they chose me." He finished his tea, then leaned forward in his chair and rested his forearms on his knees. "They will like you enormously." She flushed a little that he had divined her uncertainty. In truth, she had been less anxious on the occasion of her first presentation to society. "Friends for life, we have confessed," she recited quietly. "

All other truths, we'll deny. For we are soldier, sailor, tinker, spy. You must see that your compass is a formidable circle. It can be no easy thing to be part of it."

"You have already been taken in-it is only that you've been unaware."

Ria considered this. "There is a wager concerning us?"

"Most certainly. I do not know the particulars, but I suspect that Elizabeth set it in motion and that Finch, traitor that he is, has become her primary source of information."

"Your valet? Why, that is-"

"Underhanded? Appalling? Deuced clever?" West laughed. "She is only turning the tables. She and North were subject to such a wager and it all has ended well enough. Better than that, for they are most certainly in love." He saw Ria's light flush deepen even as she held his gaze. "Is Elizabeth the one who told you our club charter?"

"Yes."

"You cannot make too much of it. South was ten, I believe, when he wrote it."

"That may be, but Lady Northam says that North became a soldier, South, a sailor, Eastlyn, a most extraordinary tinker, and you... well, it is clear you were not merely a clerk in the foreign office."

West shrugged. "In regard to South and Miss Parr, they must be told about Beckwith's interest in her performance."

Ria offered no reaction when West brought their conversation back to the matter at hand. Perhaps it was only that he was not accustomed to discussing the manner in which he'd been employed by the colonel, but she thought it just as likely that he did not regard his contribution-whatever the exact nature of it had been-as unexceptional. She decided she could let it pass unremarked for now, but that he would learn she would not always accommodate him in such a fashion.