I shifted uncomfortably. The shrub was scratching my neck. The woman looked up, and I was sure she'd heard me, but it was the maid coming into the room, and after her came Lucius Perry.

As soon as the maid had left with his cloak, Lucius Perry leaned over the woman and kissed her. He drew the pens and brushes out of her hair one by one, and he put his fingers into it and pulled it way outover her shoulders. It was very thick and lush, the woman's hair. You could tell from the way he was holding it that it weighed a lot. He kissed her again, and started to draw her toward the couch by the window.

"That's enough," I said, trying not to sound nervous. "I'm going."

"Shh!" said Marcus. "Do you think we can get closer? I want to hear what they're saying."

"They're not sayinganything, Marcus. JustOoh, ahh, my darling or something like that."

"They're talking," he said. "She's annoyed with him."

"Maybe she's just found out about Glinley's."

"Not that annoyed."

"So what is she saying?"

SHE WAS SAYING,"I'VE GOT TO GET THAT LAYER DONEbefore it dries, Lucius. Really."

"Paint it over." Lucius Perry was untying her smock with one hand, and feeling underneath it for her bodice with the other. "Later. I'll help you."

"Goodness. Such enthusiasm." Pulling herself up on one elbow (and pulling her chemise back over her shoulder), she ran a finger along his lips. She felt his hands loosen, his mouth part a little, and she smiled.

"What have you been up to, to be so inspired?"

"Paying the duke his fee."

"I should have known. You always like that."

He lay back in blissful reflective surrender, and in a flash she'd leapt off the couch and over to her work table.

"Teresa!" Lucius Perry leaned precariously off the edge of the daybed, reaching across the studio to her.

"Don't leave me like this!"

"Go to bed, Lucius," she said, and picked up a brush. "I mean, to real bed. I'll come to you there when I'm done."

"When?" he asked plaintively, lying back and staring at the ceiling.

"What does it matter, when? You'll go right to sleep, I know you. You've been up all night at the one place and half the day at the duke's already." She saw him arranging himself in an attractive position, left arm flung carelessly over his head, right-hand fingers curled against his thigh. He stretched like a cat in the weak winter sun, so that everything he had to offer was clearly defined.

Teresa took a sip of tisane that had gotten good and cold. "Now, listen," she said. "This afternoon Helena Montague is coming to take chocolate. She's one of the few still speaking to me; I cannotdisappoint her. And she's asked me for six matching bowls." She curled her brush around the rim of this one, making an azure border. "I showed her my work last time she came, and very admiring of it she was. Claimed it was quite the prettiest she'd ever seen, and wanted a complete set, if I wasn't too busy."

Teresa smiled dryly. "I assured her I was not. I can't imagine what she'll do with them; give them to her hatmaker or something, I suppose, but she's going to pay me good money, and that's what matters."

"Good money?" Lucius said dreamily. His body had gone slack, as if he were talking in his sleep, which he practically was. "I've got money."

"I'm sure you've got plenty. Buy yourself a new hat."

He closed his eyes at last. His face was suddenly as still and holy as a king's on a tomb. "Marry me."

"Not this year," she said. "Maybe next. Come on, wake up," she said without looking at him, still working on her bowl. "Don't you want to be able to marry a respectable woman? If Helena Montague finds you lolling on my daybed looking like a model for the Oak God's lover, whatever is left of my name will go up in smoke like bonfire wishes."

"Marry..."

"Mmm-hmm. Well, at least they dry quickly. Though I suppose I'll just have to keep giving her more cakes until they do, so she can see. I should have started these last week, but I got a new idea for my first act. I do wish writing paid as reliably as painted china; it's so much more entertaining. But the public is fickle, and the theatre such a quagmire.... I'm sure Sterling is cheating me on the gate. I wish I could do something original. I wish I could do comedy, but I'm just not-Lucius!" She said it so loudly that the two listening in the garden heard her voice bounce off the walls. "Wake up and go to bed. And send Nancy in to do my hair; it's come all undone."

WE WATCHEDLUCIUSPERRY GET UP AND DRAG HIMSELFout of the room. "It's sooo exhausting," Marcus whispered, "working for the duke."

I giggled. "Now what?" I said.

"Back over the wall, Katie, quick! We have to see if he goes out the front."

"If he does, we'll follow him, right? Maybe he's got another girl somewhere else."

"Two girls! And don't forget the pony...."

We barely made it over the wall, and when we had watched the front of the house for long enough (in a not-very-good hiding place next to a house down the street-"Bring knucklebones next time," said Marcus; "we'll need to look like we're playing, like we belong here."), we went back and wrestled the rope out of the tree. No one set any dogs or guards on us, so we must have been quiet and stealthy enough, though we were so charged up with the thrill of our triumph, I was sure we'd be caught.

Flushed and sweaty and grinning, we stowed the rope away. "And so?"

"Gingerbread," said Marcus. "It's traditional."

chapterVII.

THEY TRIED FORCING HER TO EAT, AND THEY TRIEDdenying her food. It made no difference; Artemisia remained obdurate. They tried promising her treats, offering to buy her pets and jewels, even a trip to the races, for which she'd been agitating for months, but to no effect. Her mother considered threatening to cut off her hair-that had worked once-but it would spoil the wedding. Lord Ferris sent flowers, and daily notes inquiring after her health, which, after what she did to the first one they showed her, they kept to themselves.

When her good friend Lydia Godwin came to inquire after her, they very nearly turned her away. But Lydia was glowing with joy at her recent engagement to Armand Lindley, and perhaps, thought Lady Fitz, the girl could talk some sense into her.

When she saw Lydia's sweet face come through the door to her room, Artemisia melted altogether. She flung herself into her friend's arms, and wept there without a word. Strongly moved, Lydia wept, too. It was not until they both stopped to look for handkerchiefs that Lydia asked, "My dearest Mi, whatever is the matter?"

Artemisia seized her friend's hand. "Your father," she said tremulously, "Lord Godwin, he knows the law, does he not? Might you-might you ask him for me whether a girl is compelled to marry if her parents wish it, even if she does not? Even if she has given her word in betrothal-but now, she does not wish to?"

"Of course I will ask him, sweetest one. But surely your parents will not force you against your will?

Even they cannot be so hopelessly old-fashioned."

"They will, I know they will-they are at me every day, and no one understands!"

"Dearest Mi, whatever has happened to you? What has Lord Ferris done, for you to take him so violently in dislike?"

For a moment, Artemisia considered telling her friend everything. But she knew that her dearest Lydia was a very conduit of news about all their friends' doings. And so she knew that, despite their great love, it would be next to impossible for Lydia to keep the sensational news of her ruin to herself. Artemisia wisely contented herself with crying out, "I cannot marry him! I would rather die!"

Lydia did her best to explain that, from her experience, true love and mutual understanding, such as she shared with her gentle Armand, were enough to conquer all impediments. But her words had little effect.

Artemisia pressed her hands to her mouth and would not look at her. Lydia sat and gently stroked her friend's hair. It was worse than she had thought. She'd seen Artemisia in a passion before, especially when she was trying to scare her parents. But never before had she refused to open her heart to her dearest friend-and never before had her eyes been quite so red, her face so taut, her breath so ragged. Lydia thought best how to divert her, that she might regain some comfort and composure.

"Mi," she said, "do you remember when we went to the theatre to seeThe Empress , and you had nightmares after?"

Artemisia shuddered. "That terrible woman, putting all those men to death. Why, is it playing again? I declare I would love to see it now, indeed I would. I understand her perfectly, now."

"It's not playing again, no; but the same splendid actress who was so proud and fierce in the role of the Empress, the actress they call the Black Rose...what will you think when I tell you that her company has commissioned a new play, for her to play the part of Stella!"

"You mean-" Artemisia caught her breath at the thought. "They are going to performThe Swordsman Whose Name Was Not Death -in atheatre ?"

"It's already been played! Lavinia Perry and Jane Hetley both have seen it, for Jane's birthday."

"And?"

"Lavinia says that Henry Sterling as Fabian is a pale and feeble joke, though Jane says she'd marry him in an instant. But Lavinia has hardly a good word to say for the piece; she's vexed that they've left out the entire bit about the hunting cats, though I can hardly see how they'd play that onstage. Jane says it doesn't matter, because Mangrove's repentance at the end is even more affecting than it is in the book.

But Lavinia thinks it is not true to the spirit of the novel."

"I never thought he was truly penitent. It's all a ruse, to confuse Stella to the last."

"That's what Jane says, too. She says you want to kill him yourself, he is so very wicked. Deliciously, she says."

"What about Tyrian? Is he handsome?"

"Oh, as for that, it hardly signifies. They've got a girl playing Tyrian."

"A girl? The same one who played the hero's friend inThe King's Wizard ? I bet it is. My brother Robbie was greatly taken with her. Still, a girl playing Tyrian..."

"They say her swordplay is very dashing."

"Does she kiss Stella, though?"

"They didn't say."

"What, after all that time we all spent practicing kissing with Lavinia, she didn't say? Rubbish."

"Well, we must go, then," Lydia said cheerfully, "and see it together and find out for ourselves." Artemisia drew back. "I cannot."

"You cannot stay locked up in here forever!"

"I won't go out; I can't go out until I am free of this marriage."

"I'll tell you what, then!" Lydie tended to bounce when pleased, and she did so now. "We can sneak you out in secret. You can go masked-"

"No! No! No!" Artemisia's hands were over her ears. Lydie drew back in alarm, but then she chided herself for a false friend. She approached Artemisia cautiously. "Dearest darling, can't you tell me what is wrong?"

"I cannot marry him," Artemisia repeated. "I shall never marry anyone. It is too horrible to contemplate."

"Mi," Lydia said delicately, "has your mama perhaps said something to you about the married state that, perhaps, might frighten you or strike you as distasteful?"

Artemisia looked wonderingly at her. Was this the same Lydia who had helped her hideThe Couch of Eros under her last year's hats? But she only said, "Mama speaks much of gowns and jewels and houses in the country. And," she added meanly, "of how marrying Lord Ferris means I should take precedence over you, no matter who you marry."

Lydia drew back. "Does she?"

"I hate her!" Artemisia exploded. "I hate her, I hate you all!"

To her eternal credit, Lydia Godwin weathered the storm. Indeed, she brought her friend nearly all the handkerchiefs in her box, one by one, saying cheerfully, "I shall have to speak to Dorrie about keeping your box well filled."

"Robbie says I am a watering-pot. I hate him, too."

"Robbie is often hateful. But I hope you know I would never do anything to injure you, my darling."

More tears, then, and vows of eternal friendship. And in that sweet moment, Artemisia thought of something. "Lydia," she said, "do you remember when Stella is in the country and Mangrove's minions are all around her and she doesn't know who to trust? And she needs to get a message to Fabian that would kill him if it goes awry? Well, there is a letter I need you to carry for me-just carry it out of the house, no more, and give it to someone to deliver."

Lydia's eyes opened wide. "Artemisia Fitz-Levi," she said, "do you have alover ?"

"Don't be disgusting, Lydia. What would I do with a lover? No, it's just a friend. But don't you understand? I'm a prisoner here. They guard me from all visitors but you, my darling, and of course they read my mail. I'm running out of things to bribe Dorrie with-I need you to do this!"

"I see...." Lydia twisted the handkerchief in her hands. "Give me the letter."

"Here." Artemisia lifted up one corner of her pink-flowered rug. "The maids only sweep under it once a week, lazy things." It was addressed toKT, Riverside House . Lydia tucked it in her apron pocket, and Artemisia gripped both her hands, staring into her face with a desperate fury not unlike that of the Empress when ordering her favorite to the sword. "Now swear!" she said. "Swear by your precious love for Lindley that you will tell no one. Not your mama, not your papa, not even him who your soul adores. No one. If you will do this for me, Lydia, then someday I will dance at your wedding, though I can never hope myself for such joy as you possess."

SOMETIMES AT BREAKFAST, IF SHE KEPT QUIET ENOUGH,Lydia's parents would forget that she was there. It was one reason she did not often breakfast in her room. She ate her toast very slowly, and listened to her mother telling her father, "Tremontaine is at it again. Dora Nevilleson told me her husband told her his valet saw him at the Rogues' Ball. Of course you know Nevilleson was there himself and just won't own up to it. The number of valets who were there, it must have been a convocation of nothing but gentlemen with clothes brushes, to hear the husbands tell of it."

"Funny." Lydia's father, Michael, Lord Godwin, buttered a piece of toast and sat watching the butter melt into the crispy bread. He was very particular about his toast. "My own valet did not attend. Or if he did, he's not saying."

"Good," said his wife. "Then you know nothing about this putative niece? The girl with the sword, who fought Todd Rippington there?"

"Of course I've heard about the niece, Rosamund, what do you take me for? I'm the Raven Chancellor.

If the Duke Tremontaine has trained up some girl with a sword, and she's a relative, and she's begun to fight duels, it's going to come up before the Council of Honor sooner or later. It's our business to know.

We don't want to look too alarmed when it does."

"Why should that alarm you?"

"The privilege of the sword is one of the rights of the nobility. The privilege only, and not the sword itself.

That, we leave to professionals."

She touched his hand. "I know one noble who did things differently, once."

From the way Godwin returned his lady's look, Lydia was afraid her parents were going to head right upstairs for one of their little talks, leaving breakfast unfinished and her curiosity unsatisfied. But Michael Godwin just said, "That man took up both blade and privilege only once, and for a very worthy prize."

Was this the notorious duel her father had fought over her mother? She held her breath, waiting for details. But even her silence was too loud. Her mother returned to the debate.

"So," Rosamund persisted, "a young noblewoman with a blade who could fight for herself if she chose is very different from that young man?"