"You look fine to me." She grimaced.

"That's because you haven't been to anything but saloon-hall dramas.

Someday I'll explain how insulting that comment is." He changed the wording a bit.

"You look beautiful, and you'll be fine for what I have in mind." Mary rolled her eyes.

"That's only marginally better."

"Trust me."

"I have to," she said.

"I have no idea what you're up to." What Ryder had in mind did not involve stepping foot in the theater.

Mary sat back in the carriage, propped her feet on the seat opposite her, and sighed dramatically.

"And I did so want to see Miss Marie perform Beatrice," she said. Ryder patted her foot absently as he continued to stare out the carriage window in the direction of the Regent's front entrance. He had a good view of the six double doors that led into the theater. While carriages waited in a very civilized line along the wide avenue to pick up the theater patrons, none blocked the entrance, and therefore, none blocked Ryder's line of vision from across the street.

"I can't imagine what you think you'll see," Mary said, stifling a yawn.

"It will be at least ten minutes before the final curtain."

"People are enamored of the theater to different degrees," he said.

Ryder put Mary's feet on his lap and massaged her ankles.

"Someone may always leave early." She hummed her pleasure as his fingers worked over her ankles and feet and didn't bother to disagree with him. Once the play was ended there would be a well-bred, mannerly rush to the street to exit the entertainment hall, but leaving prior to the first round of applause was simply not done. This last thought was barely a complete sentence in her head when the doorman stepped forward to open the doors on the right side of the entrance. Mary caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, and she sat up straighter, removing her feet from Ryder's lap. She leaned closer to the carriage window and immediately had to clear the condensation of her breath on the glass.

"Washington," she said, low, reminding herself of their location.

"This wouldn't happen in New York." She heard Ryder chuckle under his breath, but she ignored him as two couples exited the theater. Both of the men were wearing Army uniforms. Mary didn't know enough about insignia to identify their ranks.

"Do you know them?" she asked. Ryder didn't answer her. He was frowning, studying the soldiers with a narrowed, incisive gaze.

As Mary watched, the doorman went to the curb and waved for a hack.

A hansom detached itself from the long line of waiting cabs, and the driver smartly guided his horse and hack to the entrance. Her view was blocked by the carriage momentarily, and when the hansom moved on, the doorman was once again a solitary figure outside the Regent Theater.

Mary leaned back again, turning her attention to Ryder. He was no longer looking across the street, but his eyes, though trained in Mary's direction, were not seeing her either.

"Ryder?" she asked.

"What is it?" He didn't answer immediately, and when he did, the reply was cryptic.

"The unexpected," he said. Mary had no patience for that. Her foot connected with his shin. She nodded, satisfied that she now commanded his complete attention.

"You kicked me," he said accusingly.

"I nudged you," she said.

"There's a difference."

"Tell that to my leg." He rubbed it a moment.

"I thought I recognized one of the men, that's all," he said.

"I'm probably mistaken." Mary wasn't convinced that Ryder would make that sort of mistake. For some reason she couldn't divine, he wasn't prepared to tell her more. She decided to share what she knew instead.

"Neither of them were high-ranking officers," she said.

"Nor have they been in Washington very long." Ryder regarded her with interest.

"How do you surmise that?"

"The hansom that was summoned for them is rented, just as ours is. The carriages lining the street on the other side belong to their owners.

If those men were more permanent residents of the city, and if they could afford it, they would have had their own carriage meet them at the entrance. It makes a more proper presentation, and even in Washington, perhaps most especially in Washington, presentation is as important as substance."

"What else?" he asked, intrigued.

"Neither one of them has been an officer long," she said.

"Their uniforms are slightly faded, but the insignia is new. It was much brighter under the theater lights than even their buttons."

"And?"

"And they didn't go to West Point," she said with assurance.

"They would have learned some manners there if they hadn't been taught any at home. They should not have left the theater early. Illness alone might provoke that action, but you could see very well that none of the party was ill." Mary's smile was a trifle smug as she concluded, "And the women they escorted were as rented as the hacks."

Ryder was not surprised she had noticed that.

"It's really not appropriate to hire a ... a .."

"An escort," Ryder supplied.

"I think that's the word you're searching for."

"It's not," she said honestly.

"But it will serve. As I was saying, it's not appropriate for an opening-night performance. Husbands quite properly escort their wives to an event like this. They don't even take their mistresses unless they want to embarrass them or publicly humiliate their wives. It's simply not done. Now, tomorrow evening is an entirely different matter." Ryder's lip curled derisively as he considered the mores and mandates of polite society.

"How does one learn these things?"

he asked with a touch of sarcasm.

"My point exactly," Mary said.

"One learns by living with them. These rules aren't written down anywhere. They're rarely spoken of. Yet they often are accorded more respect than the Ten Commandments, and they are enforced with more exacting punishments than the plagues God visited upon the Egyptians.

Those two men who just exited don't know the rules or they didn't care enough to observe them. Now, if you thought you recognized one of them it only makes sense to me that you met the man in the West." Mary gave Ryder a firm, questioning glance.

"So? Are you going to tell me something more than you have or do I--"