If Delgado had been one of their more successful leaders, Sebastian acknowledged,thenWellington was right. Ferdinand's gratitude would preclude any action being taken against him, no matter what proof might be presented of his role in the viscount's murder.

And as of now, of course, he had no such proof.

He had nothing but his own absolute surety that Delgado had been responsible for Harry's death.

"The only thing you can do," his commander went on, "the thing you must do, is to put this as well as what happened a year ago, from your mind. Considering the king's negative response to the prime minister's suggestions, we shall be inMadrid only a few more days at any rate. I think you have no choice but to let this go."

"Are you saying I should letWetherly's murder go unpunished, your grace?" Sebastian asked witha son bitterness.

Locking his hands behind his back in a characteristic pose,Wellington walked back across the room.

Surprisingly, he didn't stop at his desk. He approached Sebastian's chair and put his hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"You've lost comrades before, Sin. We all have. This is no different.Simply another sort of battle. A diplomatic one, if you will."

"I was the one who was supposed to die this afternoon, your grace. Not Harry. That ambush was directed at me."

"Then consider thatWetherly , as your friend, gave his life for yours. Honor that sacrifice."

"By letting the man who killed him get away with it?"

"By remembering who we are and why we are here,"Wellington said simply.

He had told them the same thing before the reception. And Harry had even echoed it after the incident in the gardens. Then, perhaps, it had made sense. Now, however...

"I have a letter for you, by the way," the duke said, his tone as different as the change of subject. "It was included with the latest dispatches. I was about to send for you when they told me you were waiting outside to see me."

Sebastian raised his gaze to his commander's face. The piercing eyes seemed full of kindness, their normally stern expression exuding warmth.

Sympathy for Harry?Or was it possible...

"Ian?" he asked,fear tightening his throat. He couldn't bear another loss of this magnitude.

"If the news were bad, I'm sure the earl would have asked that I give it to you personally. Since he hasn't, we must presume Major Sinclair continues to recuperate from his wounds."

Wellington, notoriously unable to dissemble, appeared to be telling the truth, and Sebastian remembered to breathe.

"Maybe this will be good news on that front at least," the duke continued with his quick smile.

Giving Sebastian's shoulder a light squeeze, he strode over to his desk and began sifting through the papers there. After a moment he held up the one he had sought among that confusion and walked back to hand it over.

Dare, with his customary decisiveness, had pressed his signet firmly into the wax, the impression it left both crisp and clean. Seeing the family crest brought a wave of nostalgia, which produced another embarrassing pricking at the back of Sebastian's eyes.

He lowered them to hide theemotion, breaking the seal on his letter and spreading open the single sheet. As he scanned his brother's scrawl, he realized with relief thatWellington had been right.

"Ian has married," he said, trying to determine Dare's opinion of the match by reading between the lines of the sparse information the earl had given him.

"Please add my congratulations to your own when you write," the duke said. "I shall be glad to make a place for your reply within the next diplomatic pouch. And with it, you may include the welcome news that we will be home before next month is out."

Home.

After three years of hard fighting, the idea of returning to the almost idyllic life he had led as the youngest son of a well-to-do and indulgent family seemed nearly fantastical. Sebastian looked up from his letter to find those blue eyes still fastened on his face.

"Don't do anything that might jeopardize a reunion with your brothers, Sebastian,"Wellington warned.

"Not now. Not so near the end."

Not now. Those were the same words he had breathed to Harry. And with the remembrance of them came the knowledge that in spite of what his commander had said, his friend's death was not something he could "let go." No matter what avenging it might cost him.

"I shall write to the viscount's father," the duke went on, thankfully unaware of that realization, "although given the unusual circumstances surrounding his death, I shouldn't imagine he will be fully satisfied by my recital of these events."

"I'm sure you will say all that is proper, your grace," Sebastian managed, refolding Dare's letter.

"Perhaps when you return toEngland , you could visit them. I think Harry's parents would find comfort in knowing that you were with him at the end."

"I shall, your grace," Sebastian said, understanding from both the words and the finality of their tone that this interview was at an end. And after all,Wellington had told him only what he had expected to hear.

"Sebastian." The duke's voice stopped him as he reached the door.

"Your grace?"

"I shouldn't say anything to the others about what you believe happened this afternoon. Harry was well liked. Some of them might not beso wise in their reaction as you have been."

Sebastian didn't turn, hiding the caustic smile the duke's compliment produced.

"Of course, your grace," he said before he opened the door and stepped out into the hall. And, for the first time in three years, out ofWellington 's iron control.

"The question is a simple one. I wish to know who sent the message that was intercepted by Viscount Wetherly ."

The process necessary to arrange this interrogation had been tedious in the extreme. He had questioned Harry's batman first, and, his eyes touched with the same nearly paralyzing grief Sebastian felt, this timeMalford had been cooperative.

The cook, when approached, had been reluctant to reveal the name of the peddler. Having acquired the man's identity through a combination of intimidation and bribery, Sebastian had finally tracked him down this morning to find that the messenger was terrified to talk to him.

"I told his lordship yesterday," the man began, his eyes shifting nervously from Sebastian toMalford .

"Tell me."

"It was the lady, my lord."

"I'm not a lord," Sebastian corrected. "And I need the lady's name."

The man swallowed nervously, the reaction strong enough to be visible."DonaMariadelPilarMendozay Aranjuez .Just as I told the other one."

"And you spoke toSenorita Mendoza yourself?"

"To her maid, my lord.She gave me a message to be delivered to the scar-faced man--" He stopped, his eyes quickly examining Sebastian's features, apparently attempting to judge if the words had offended him.

"Go on," Sebastian urged.

"And then I came here." Again his gaze shifted to the batman's face as if hoping for affirmation.

"Where did you meet her?" Sebastian asked.

"My lord?"

"The maid.Did she come to you?"

His round face lightened in comprehension."No, no, my lord. I call there as I call here, bringing fish for the kitchen."

"AndDonaPilar's maid gave you the message while you were there?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And you know the woman? You're sure it wasDonaPilar's maid."

"I have known her for many years, even before she went to work for the lady."

"Can you take me there?"

The fishmonger shook his head, his brow furrowing in confusion."My lord?"

"Can you take me to whereDonaPilarlives. "

"But of course, my lord," the man said, his face clearing as he finally understood what he was being asked to do. "Anyone inMadrid could direct you to the house of Colonel Delgado."

The hardest part of the past two days, Sebastian acknowledged as he watched the front of Delgado's house, had been those moments when he had found himself thinking he wanted to tell Harry something or to seek his advice,ramshackled as that might be. Then, with a welling of renewed grief, almost as powerful as that he had felt as he'd knelt beside his dying friend, he would realize that he would never again be able to do either of those things.

Harry was gone, and there was only one thing Sebastian could do for him now. And despite whatWellington had advised, it was not to gratefully accept his sacrifice.

The time for the English envoy's departure fromMadrid was, however, growing ever closer. If he were going to succeed in his quest without being forced to become a deserter--something which would bring dishonor not only on his own head, but also to his family--he would have to devise a way to confront Delgado within the next few days. Something he had thus far found impossible to do.

He leaned back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes. Between maintaining some semblance of attendance to his duties, slight though they were now that it was obvious their mission had failed, and trying to discover a way to get past the formidable defenses with which Delgado had surrounded himself, he couldn't remember the last time he had gotten more than two consecutive hours of sleep.Certainly not since the night...

His mind flinched from the memory ofWetherly's expression, solemn as anowl's , as he had attempted to pour the last of that final bottle of wine they had shared into Sebastian's cup. The viscount had missed the rim widely, which had struck him as enormously amusing. The sound of Harry's laughter, the last time Sebastian would ever hear it, echoed still in his heart.

A noise at the front of the colonel's house drew his attention. Eager for something else to think about, he opened his eyes, watching as a large black coach, pulled by a perfectly matched team of four was driven up to the front entrance. As soon as it arrived, a boy carrying a torch emerged from the shadowed portico of the house.

Following in its light, a man swept purposefully down the low steps, his cloak, as black asmidnight, swirling dramatically behind him.In spite of his exhaustion, a thrill of excitement ran like a restorative through Sebastian's veins.

Almost without his conscious volition, his hand fastened around the butt of the pistol he had concealed under his own cloak. Although he knew a shot fired from here would not be within the narrow range of the weapon, he still had to fight not to level the gun at the Spaniard's black heart and shoot him down like the mongrel cur he was.

He had never planned an assassination. He wanted to give Delgado what the Spaniard hadn't given poor Harry. He wanted to beat him in a fair fight. And before he killed him, he wanted to make sure the bastard understood exactly why he was dying.

Sebastian stepped forward, intending to stop Delgado before he could enter the coach. Almost immediately, the courtyard began to fill with horsemen, no doubt the same ones who had been with the colonel that day by the river, obviously part of the juntaWellington had described.

If he revealed himself now, Sebastian realized, he would never be allowed to get close enough to their leader to challenge him. And if he failed in this attempt, Delgado would escape punishment for what he had done. Working to control his disappointment, he retreated into the shadows, pressing close to the wall from where he had been watching.

When the men were assembled, Delgado put his foot onto the first of the carriage steps. Before he climbed in, he turned once more to face the house. It became apparent to Sebastian only then that someone was standing at the top of the steps, almost hidden by the shadows from the overhang.

"Watch her," Delgado ordered, raising his voice to be heard over the noise of the milling horses. "Your own life depends upon it."

The reply, if there was one, was too soft for Sebastian to hear. Turning, the Spaniard raised his hand, giving the signal for departure. As he entered the carriage, half of the troop cantered across the courtyard and out of the gates that guarded the house. The carriage followed, with the remainder of the horsemen bringing up the rear.

Watch her. Your own life depends upon it. Obviously, the order referred to Delgado's ward.

Would he issue such a threat, Sebastian wondered,if he were going to be away for only a few hours?

There was no way to know. Not for sure.

He did know, however, that the time in which he had to accomplish his goal was running out. During the past two days, he had felt the passage of each separate minute as if he were watching the fall of sand in an hourglass. The slow, inevitable drop of each grain had tightened the tension. If he couldn't manage to catch Delgado alone beforeWellington 's party leftMadrid ...

Then, almost as if an answer to prayer, an idea sprang into his head. It went against every precept of honor he had ever been taught, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And having seen Delgado's jealousy, he knew without any doubt there was a way to lure the man away from his fortress and his cadre of devoted followers.

Delgado was both arrogant and possessive enough to make it work, Sebastian thought. He would take the bait. Just as poor Harry had done.

The plan was soperfect, Sebastian wondered why he hadn't considered it before. Of course, he had had no idea that Delgado would leave tonight, taking his "garrison" with him. And if Sebastian didn't find some way to take advantage of the unexpected opportunity he had just been given, he deserved to fail.

The boy with the torch turned and began to remount the steps.The figure that had been in the shadows at the top of them had disappeared, apparently moving back into the interior.

And the girl calledPilar ? Sebastian wondered. Had she kissed her fiance farewell before he left? Had she bid that bastard Godspeed on his journey?

He had spent hours during the past two days wondering about her role in Harry's death. Perhaps she hadn't understood Delgado's intent when he had sent her to that cemetery. Or perhaps she had been an unwilling accomplice, forced to play her part under duress. After all, it had been clear that night in the garden that she feared her guardian.

Her guardian.Soon to be her fiance.

For some reason the knowledge that the girl was living with Delgado had eaten at Sebastian like acid since he'd discovered it. He had supposed Spanish society to be at least as strict in its conventions as his own. Apparently he had been wrong.

It made no difference to him that, according to the fishmonger who had directed him here, the arrangement was sanctioned by the presence of a female relative within the household. The situation was still unsavory, especially since the girl had openly admitted they were soon to be betrothed.

Under duress?If so, just as he had told Harry, when he killed the bastard, he would, at the same time, free the girl.

When the courtyard was again completely deserted, he eased along in the shadows of the garden wall from where he'd been watching. He had spent part of the last forty-eight hours finding out as much as he could about the arrangement of the dwelling in case, as a last resort, he had to break into it in order to bring about the confrontation he sought.

Since it was too dangerous to ask questions of anyone who might have that information, he had been forced to rely upon his own observations. He had learned which rooms belonged toPilar because he had caught a glimpse of her last night.

The floor-to-ceiling window she had been standing in led onto a small patio surrounded by a low wall.

The cloud ofmidnight hair that had been artfully arranged in curls atop her head on the night of the ball had again been allowed to drift loosely around her shoulders. He had even been able to discern the color of the dressing gown she wore, a deep crimson, made richer by the glow of the candlelight from the room behind her.

Moving silently through the darkness, he had now arrived outside that same patio. Tonight the shutters on the window were closed. In the light that filtered through the wooden slats, Sebastian could see that a guard had been posted outside it.

Luckily he didn't seem to be taking his duties seriously. His musket had been propped against the same wall he was leaning against as he smoked. The scent of his cigar wafted into the darkness.

For a second Sebastian hesitated. Don't do anything that might jeopardize a reunion with your brothers,Wellington had advised. In his mind's eye, he could see their faces as clearly as he had seen Harry's, and the temptation to turn away from the dangerous course he had chosen before it was too late was incredibly strong.