"Do you, sir?"

"You think the longer this discussion goes on, the more likely I am to come to my senses. To look at all this rationally."

"You have always been a rational man."

"Well, it won't work. Not this time. There is no need for me to come to my senses because I have not lost them." His brows drew together. "The facts speak for themselves." He ticked the points off his fingers. "Her manner has been odd of late. She went to the museum without mentioning it to me."

Vincent gasped. "Oh no, sir, not the museum."

"Sarcasm, Vincent, is unbecoming in a servant."

"I beg your forgiveness, my lord."

Adrian ignored the sarcastic note in the other man's voice and continued, "She slipped away to meet someone in Dunwell's library. Soon thereafter, that scoundrel Radington arrived, all too delighted to see my wife, I might add. The man surrept.i.tiously slipped a note into his pocket, obviously to hide it from me, the unsuspecting husband. A note which, no doubt, arranged an a.s.signation. And the stationery ..." He paused for emphasis. "Was cream in color."

Vincent stared in confusion.

"My wife's stationery is cream in color," he said pointedly.

"Ah, well, there you have it then." Vincent shook his head. "Cream isn't at all a common color for a lady's stationery."

"Sarcasm, Vincent."

"My apologies, sir."

"I am simply looking at the evidence as presented and drawing an inescapable conclusion."

"Which might well be wrong."

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, I hope so." Adrian blew a long breath. "Surely you can understand why I have to know for certain?"

Vincent wisely held his tongue.

"Now, what were you thinking?"

"Very well, sir. If you insist." Vincent considered him for a moment. "You said a certain restlessness was to be expected in a man after two years of proper behavior."

Adrian nodded.

"Might the same not be expected of a woman?"

"Exactly." Triumph rang in Adrian's voice. "That's my point."

"However, in your restlessness, you have not turned to women other than your wife."

"Never," Adrian said indignantly.

"Then why do you expect Lady Waterston's behavior to be less honorable than your own?"

"Women are fragile, delicate creatures who do not know their own minds and are easily swayed," Adrian said staunchly.

Vincent snorted. "I would not let your wife hear you say such a thing, sir."

"I'm not an idiot, Vincent."

"Dare I say, sir, that I should like to meet the man who could sway Lady Waterston. Other than yourself, of course," the valet added quickly.

"Admittedly even I cannot often dissuade her from something she is intent upon."

"It has been my observation of Lady Waterston that she is as honorable and loyal as she is lovely."

Adrian shrugged. "I have always thought so."

"Might I suggest then, sir, that it is only your own imagination and your own restlessness that have brought you to this, no doubt, erroneous conclusion."

"I am truly hoping I am wrong, Vincent."

"Might I also say, sir, that should Lady Waterston ever discover the lengths you are going to, to prove or disprove your suspicions, she will be most distressed."

Adrian shuddered. "She'd be b.l.o.o.d.y well furious."

"And could one blame her, sir?"

"She cannot ever find out."

Vincent continued as if Adrian hadn't said a word. "Especially if, as I am confident, there is nothing untoward to discover?"

The man was infuriatingly impertinent and should be discharged at once. Not that that would ever happen. Adrian truly valued Vincent's candid nature. The valet had been in Adrian's employ for more than a dozen years and knew all of Adrian's secrets. If there was one person in the world Adrian trusted without question, it was Isaiah Vincent.

"You are trying to dissuade me, aren't you?"

"It's my duty, sir."

Adrian raised a skeptical brow.

Vincent shrugged. "It's why you pay me as well as you do, sir."

Adrian scoffed. "You are paid far too well."

"And that is why I carry out your orders implicitly." Vincent paused. "Even when I disagree with your reasoning and think you are making a dreadful mistake."

"Then we understand one another."

"Indeed we do, sir."

"What have you found out?"

Vincent heaved a reluctant sigh.

"Go on, out with it."

"Very well." Vincent's brow furrowed in thought. "Lord Radington's valet is discreetly involved with Lady Helmsley's personal maid, who is the second cousin, once removed, of Lord-"

"Blast it all, Vincent." Impatience sharpened his voice. "I do not need an accounting of the dalliances of servants or their familial connections. I am well aware that news, gossip if you will, travels quickly from house to house in this town. And the best way to find out nearly anything is to tap into that knowledgeable labyrinth of servants. Precisely why I asked you to do so. Now, what have you learned?"

Vincent studied him curiously for a moment. "I have never seen you like this, sir."

"Love, Vincent, does dreadful things to a man. It wreaks havoc with even the most rational sensibilities. And a man in love with his wife ..."

"There are worse things, sir."

"None that I can think of at the moment. Now, to the matter at hand."

"Sir, I do think-"

"You cannot change my mind so you needn't continue to put this off. Now ..." Adrian held his breath. "I want to know what you have discovered."

"As you wish." Vincent heaved a reluctant sigh. "Lord Radington has arranged a meeting with a lady at half past four this afternoon at the Langham Hotel." He hesitated. "Room 327."

"With my wife!" Anger rushed through him, mixed with something much more painful.

"That, sir, I was neither able to confirm nor deny," Vincent added quickly.

"I shall have to kill him," Adrian said in a cool, dispa.s.sionate manner. It was most surprising as he felt neither cool nor dispa.s.sionate. Indeed, at this very moment he wanted to rip something apart with his bare hands. Preferably Radington.

"Excellent idea, sir, but might I suggest you confirm your suspicions before resorting to murder."

"Oh, I intend to." He glanced at the clock. It was nearly five. "Have my carriage sent around, Vincent." He started toward the door.

"One moment, my lord."

Adrian turned toward the valet. "You cannot stop me so I suggest you abandon the effort."

"My lord, if you insist on taking this ill-advised step ..." He pulled a nondescript key from his waistcoat pocket. "This is a master key. It will open the door to every room at the Langham."

Adrian took the key and turned it over in his hand. "Where did you get this?"

"The night clerk has a sister who is in service-"

"On second thought, it's best that I don't know." He nodded and pocketed the key. "Thank you."

"Part of the job, sir."

Again Adrian started for the door. "Never mind the carriage, I shall take a cab."

"Sir," Vincent called after him. "Do you really think this is wise?"

"I don't know. Probably not." Adrian ignored the dreadful weight now settled in the pit of his stomach. "I do know the only thing worse than my suspicions would be confirming them."

"I am confident you are wrong, sir. Lady Waterston is not the type of woman to dally with another man," Vincent said firmly. "I would wager a great deal on that."

"I do hope you win that wager as much as I hope I am indeed wrong." Adrian pulled open the door and glanced back at the valet. "Pity, I am rarely, if ever, wrong."

It was a busy afternoon at Fenwick and Sons, Booksellers. Evelyn closed the shop door behind her and savored the warmth for a moment. She was glad to see that patronage had increased. She'd always been fond of the establishment, even though now she preferred to patronize Hatchard's. It had been more than two years since she had crossed the threshold here.

This morning she had sent Celeste to deliver a message for Max. Her friend had returned saying he would have new instructions for her this afternoon in the usual manner. The usual manner meant Fenwick and Sons. It struck her as rather silly. Couldn't he have simply given Celeste the information to pa.s.s on to Evelyn? Although perhaps he wasn't sure what she should do now and was trying to determine her next step.

She glanced around the room. The place looked the same, as it had no doubt looked for the numerous decades of its existence. She suspected the only significant change through the years would be the names and number of Fenwick sons who chose to become part of Fenwick and Sons. Shelves lined every wall, filled to overflowing in a haphazard manner, which made it nearly impossible for a customer to find what she wanted without a.s.sistance from one of the sons. Evelyn had often wondered if that might be deliberate so as to justify the sheer number of sons employed.

She approached the front desk and noticed that there had indeed been a change. The Ladies' Reading Room, a mirror image of the main room albeit somewhat smaller and off to one side, now served refreshments. Apparently afternoon tea was most popular. Evelyn paused for a moment. Very nearly every table was occupied by two to four ladies, all chatting and obviously enjoying themselves. The oddest pang shot through her. She hadn't had tea with friends in years. Indeed, aside from Celeste and Adrian's sisters, she didn't have any friends to speak of.

When she'd worked for the department, she had played the role of Miss Evelyn Turner, which wasn't a role at all but precisely who she was. It was a.s.sumed in society that she was an heiress as well. She'd never had to don a disguise, as Celeste often had, or pretend to be someone she wasn't. No one ever imagined that the life of the orphaned daughter of a viscount was funded by a clandestine government department or that she was engaged in uncovering information and ferreting out secrets. While she would, on occasion, run into someone she'd been to school with, living a double life left no time to cultivate friendships. Nor did it seem especially wise. Now, looking at the friends sharing tea and gossip in the reading room, it seemed a dreadful pity. Perhaps, when this was at an end ...

She approached the counter and smiled at the clerk.

"Good day," he said. "How may I-"

"I shall handle this, James." Thomas Fenwick, one of the younger sons, stepped up beside the clerk. "Miss Turner is an old and valued customer."

"Of course, sir." James smiled at her. "Good day, miss." He nodded and left her in the capable hands of this particular Mr. Fenwick.

"Good day, Miss Turner," Mr. Fenwick said with a smile. "It's been quite some time. We have missed you."

"I can't imagine why." She glanced around the shop. "You appear to be far too busy to notice the absence of one customer."

"Ah, but none can compare with you." A twinkle shone in his eyes. Thomas Fenwick had always been a bit of a flirt.

She laughed. "And you are as charming as ever, Mr. Fenwick."

He leaned over the counter and lowered his voice in a confidential manner. "I read a great deal. It's remarkable what one can learn if one is reading the right, or perhaps the wrong, books."

"Novels then? Romance and adventure?"

"Yes, indeed." He nodded. "I think it's wise to be familiar with what our best customers like to read. Besides, I quite enjoy a good novel full of smashing adventure and a gallant hero who wins the heart of a fair lady."

"As do we all, Mr. Fenwick."

He grinned. "And how may I help you today, Miss Turner?"

"It's Lady Waterston now, Mr. Fenwick," she said with a smile. "I believe a book has been reserved for me. A new edition of The Three Musketeers."

"Excellent choice." He knelt to rummage on the shelves beneath the counter. If anyone at Fenwick's ever wondered why one woman would need so many copies of The Three Musketeers, no one ever let on. Of course, she had only ever dealt with Thomas, who was, no doubt, a.s.sociated with the department in some manner. She had never asked and he had never volunteered the answers. Which was, all things considered, for the best. Mr. Fenwick stood, wrapped package in hand. "Here it is."

She accepted the package, paid for the book, and chatted with Mr. Fenwick for another moment.

"Will we see you again soon, Lady Waterston?"

With any luck at all, her days of purchasing copies of The Three Musketeers would soon be at an end. Regardless. . . she glanced at the reading room and nodded slowly. "Why yes, Mr. Fenwick, I believe you may."