"And you look exhausted." Lord Lucius Perry, lounging in her windowseat, gazed longingly at the fragile cinnamon wafers that lay just at the edge of his reach on an equally fragile painted table. "Out dancing your slippers to ribbons again, coz? What gallant has caught your eye this time?"

In strictest confidence she was perishing to tell him about the duke's party last night, but he went on without waiting for an answer, "And where is your reprobate brother? Robert promised me a bout of tennis today; is he out already paying court to his last night's conquests, or still sleeping them off?"

Artemisia smiled patiently at him. He was a cousin, so not worth much more, and a younger son at that.

"Do I look awful, Lucius? Have I got rings under my eyes? I bathed them in cucumber water, but I'm not sure it's done any good-and I particularly don't want Mama to know what I've been doing," she hinted broadly.

Lucius did not even pretend to be interested. "Nothing awful, I hope. You don't want to get yourself talked about, Artemisia, not when your prospects are so good this year."

"Of course nothing awful! What do you take me for? You're a fine one to lecture me, Lucius, indeed you are. I understand you were once up to all sorts of mischief Mama won't even tell me about." "That's just it," he drawled; "I've reformed."

"Well, it's made you uncommon dull."

"Do you think so?" He smiled just a little; his eyelashes fluttered over his cheeks as he extended one languid finger toward the plate-but his cousin was impervious to that particular sort of innuendo.

"Honestly, Lucius, you are the laziest man I ever met! Lean over and take your own biscuit, don't expect me to get up and pass them to you when you're this close to the table!"

Lucius Perry leaned back, instead, bathing his fine-boned face in a slanting patch of sun. All he could see through his eyelids was a rich, comforting red; if his cousin stopped talking for a minute, he might fall asleep.

No, he wouldn't: a knocking on the front door and a flurry of feet below heralded the approach of another visitor. "Artemisia," he said, not bothering to open his eyes, "you want to be careful. You're pretty, the family's good, your father's generous and you've got a nice voice. I wouldn't be surprised if someone offered for you before the year turns. Just don't compete with Robert in daring: city ballrooms are not exactly the same as climbing trees and jumping out of haylofts back home."

She drew herself up proudly. "Thank you for the advice, cousin. As if I don't know how to behave in town! I like it here, a great deal better than in the country. As far as I'm concerned, I'd be happy to call this home for the rest of my life, and I hope I marry a man who thinks so, too: someone with style and a bit of dash like Robert, not a dullard like you, who thinks an exciting day is playing tennis and calling on relatives, and an exciting evening is staying home and reading a book or whatever it is you do with yourself-anyhow, I didn't seeyou at Tremontaine House last night!"

"Tremontaine House?" Lucius Perry abandoned his lassitude. "You don't want anything to do with those people, cousin."

She tossed her head, and her curls bounced. "And why not, pray? I am not the Country Filly you seem to think me, cousin. I know how to handle myself in Society."

"Do you?" He was leaning forward, his blue eyes dark and full on her.

She squelched the humiliating recollection of her host putting her to flight. "Certainly. There's nothing so terrifying at Tremontaine House"-she laughed brightly-"except perhaps for the Mad Duke himself, of course. He's quite rude, isn't he? I don't know what all those people see in him, really."

"No, you wouldn't. That is why he's dangerous." His smile was now consciously charming. "Of course you understand Society, cousin: you are one of its brightest ornaments. But the Duke Tremontaine is outside Society. Even he agrees that that is where he belongs. And he encourages others-not, of course, that you could be so encouraged-but those around him, to, ah, to explore those outposts as well."

"Well, they all seemed perfectly normal to me: the usual sort of Ball and Salon types, just both in one place, that's all. It's hardly-"

Her curls splashed her neck as she turned her head toward the commotion downstairs: a clatter in the marble hall of booted feet, a shrill cry. "Perhaps it's Robert," Lucius drawled, "with a new conquest."

Someone was running upstairs-two someones. The first was the footman, who opened the door to the sitting room just wide enough to announce breathlessly, "A-female, my lady, who will see you, she says, though I did-"

"From the party," a girl's voice insisted shrilly. "Tell her Katherine, Lady Katherine Talbert-only I don't have a card-from Tremontaine House."

Lucius dealt his cousin a jaded look.

The footman threw open the door. "Lady Katherine."

There stood the oddest figure Lady Artemisia had ever seen outside the theatre; worse than the theatre, really, because there the actresses in boys' roles at least made some attempt to trim their hair, hide their figures and adopt a manly bearing. This was so clearly a girl, small and round, her long hair messily escaping from a ribbon in frizzy tendrils. Only her clothes were a perfect copy of a man's, in every detail.

Artemisia Fitz-Levi put a hand over her mouth. She knew it was rude, but she couldn't help it, the laughter just came squeezing out. The girl stared at her. Her face went pale, then red.

"From Tremontaine House," said Lucius smugly. "Well: you see my point."

Katherine Talbert spun on the heel of her ridiculous boots, and ran clattering out the hall and down the stairs.

NO ONE WOULD HAVE LOOKED TWICE AT THE BOY IFhe had not been running frantically through a very sedate section of the Hill, where running generally meant some kind of trouble.

"Hey, there!" A hand shot out, bringing the figure to a skittering stop. Philibert, Lord Davenant, was not an observing sort of man; he saw a boy's face because he expected to see a boy's face, and the estimable Lord Davenant was one who liked the world to be compassed by order and decorum. This boy's long hair, therefore, meant University, and few scholars belonged on the Hill. Furthermore, the boy had been crying and seemed terrified at being apprehended.

"Aha," said Lord Davenant. "What's your hurry? Something in your pockets, maybe?" He thrust a hand into one of them, keeping a grip on the boy's wrist.

"Help!" shrilled the boy. "Let go of me!" He tried to wriggle out of the older man's grasp. "How dare you?"

"Little rat!" Davenant surveyed him, half-amused. "Shall I call the Watch, or just thrash you myself?"

The boy wiped his nose with his free arm. "If you were a gentleman," he said suddenly, "you would escort me back to Tremontaine House."

"Oh." Abruptly Lord Davenant dropped the wrist as if afraid of contagion. "So you're that kind of rat, are you?" "What do you mean?"

"Go on, get off with you." Davenant's views on Tremontaine were well known in Council. The last thing he wanted was to be seen accosting one of the Mad Duke's fancy boys on the open street. "There's your direction, go on."

The boy drew himself up and walked away shakily.

IHAD FORGOTTEN THE WAY AND HAD ONLY A DIM RECOLLECTIONof what Tremontaine House looked like from the street. All the walls of all the great houses looked the same, and all their black and gold-tipped gates. I tried to walk as if I knew where I was going.

"Hello, Lady Katherine."

Standing before me was a boy about my age. He was plainly dressed, with a plain, ordinary face. It took me a moment to recognize the duke's servant, the valuable Marcus, the boy who knew where everything was. He said, "I'm heading back to Tremontaine House, if you'd like to come with me."

I followed him in silence. He had never introduced himself, and he didn't do so now, just talked to me as if we had always known each other.

"It's a nice day, isn't it? Betty thought you'd run away, but I guessed you might just have gone for a walk; you wouldn't want to get her in trouble by disappearing or something. You should try exploring the House gardens," he chatted amicably, "they're very interesting. Paths, and statues and fountains and things, though I think they've turned the fountains off for the season. The gardeners dig up the flowers all the time and put new ones in. They grow them in a big glass house. It's quite a production. You can have flowers put in your room, if you like. Want me to order them for you?"

The front hall of Tremontaine House was cool and white and empty. Gone the bustle and striving of last night; in their place was a spooky sweet serenity.

"Where is the duke?" I asked.

"Gone. Everyone's gone to the Riverside house."

"Everyone? But I-"

"Oh, not you. You're staying here."

"Alone?" Panic sharpened my voice.

"Not really. There's a whole staff lives here. He comes and goes, you see. He likes to have things ready for him always, here. They'll take care of you. Just tell Betty what you need."

"Are-are you staying here?" I hated myself for wanting a particular answer, but at least he was a friendly face.

"No. I go where he goes." "When will you-will he-be back?"

"Whenever he feels like it. The Riverside house is warmer in winter; this one's better in summer. In between, like now..." Marcus shrugged.

"Is it far out in the country?"

"Is what far?"

"Riverside."

The boy laughed, as if I'd told him a joke on purpose. Then he shook his head. "Riverside? It's right here in the city. The other end of the city, the old bit, near the docks. Riverside's an island in the river.

It's nothing special, really. I wouldn't live there. But he likes it."

"Is it a nice house?"

"It's an odd house." Again, the shrug. "He likes it."

"Well," I said, and something struck me. "Then, while he is there, I am the mistress of this house?"

"Why would you be?"

I'd never met such a rude servant. But then, this wasn't a normal household. I explained carefully to him, "Well, most houses have a master and a mistress. If the lord is unmarried, it's a sister, or a daughter, most often, who takes over the duty. So it stands to reason-" Marcus continued to look at me patiently, waiting for me to begin making sense. It put me off. "It stands to reason that, as the duke's niece, I would-In his absence I would be-"

"He left no instructions about that," Marcus told me gravely. "I could ask him, if you like, but..."

He didn't have to complete the thought. I had had quite enough of the Mad Duke's notice already.

"Well, then," I said airily, looking around the huge front hall, "with no duties, I shall be a lady of leisure."

"If you're all right," he said, "I'd better be getting back."

Marcus did not bow as he left me. Only after he was gone did I realize that he had not seemed to notice the strangeness of my clothing, and that, while I was with him, neither had I.

IN MY BEAUTIFUL ROOM OVER THE RIVER,ISAT IN A delicate armchair working out just how miserable I could be. My visit to Artemisia's had been a disappointment. But then, probably she hadn't recognized me without my gown, and that terrible man with her had started being snide before I could explain. I'd just have to watch and wait for another chance. Artemisia had spoken last night of eternal friendship. Surely, once she knew what my uncle had done to me, my friend would help me to find some decent clothes and make sure I met decent people. I could not escape Tremontaine House entirely. I must do what I had to do to please the duke; after all, my family's fortune depended on it. But surely I wasn't meant to be a prisoner here!

I took a deep breath, and comforted myself opening a pretty box that contained beautifully ironedhandkerchiefs. It wasn't going to be so bad, was it? Alone in one of the loveliest houses in the city, with no Mad Duke popping out from behind doors to torment me. No onerous duties, no housework whatsoever, as far as I could tell. Stupid clothes and pointless lessons, of course. But Master Venturus hadn't said anything about my killing people; he seemed to just want me to look nice with a sword. Like dance lessons; I could do that.

I looked in the charming gilded writing desk to see if it contained notepaper. There was none. I would have to tell Betty to get me some so that I could write to Artemisia, and to my mother. No, wait, that was in the bargain, too: no family letters for six months, and no visits, either. My brother Gregory had lodgings somewhere in the city, but he was not permitted anywhere near me. It was probably just as well.

Gregory is very earnest, like our father; although he had been in the city for several months, the Mad Duke had never invited him to visit, and I could see why, now. Gregory believes in rules, so he would probably not try to sneak around and find me, even though my mother probably wished he would. I could write to her, anyway...but the thought of page after page of letters piling up unread over the weeks just made me feel worse.

How was she getting on without me? I worried. She was probably doing everything wrong, even though I'd left her a list-forgetting to air the winter linens, not keeping the tables waxed, letting the kitchen maids fight over the boot boy.... And who was going to comb her hair out so it didn't hurt, and match her embroidery silks, and remind her to take her tonic?

The house was doubtless going to wrack and ruin in my absence, and here I was, a useless creature being asked to take up useless skills I wasn't even any good at and never would be! And all for some mad whim of my mad uncle, who couldn't even be bothered to say good-bye to me when he left me alone in a strange house.

My boots made a satisfying thump as I stomped downstairs to look for a library where there might be paper. Or maybe I could find a genealogy that would tell me all of my stupid uncle's mysterious names, so I could impress him if ever I saw him again. At last I found it, a grand room laced floor to ceiling with more books than I'd ever seen in my life. They looked very dull:On the Causes of Nature, The Tyrant's Dialogue , that sort of thing. Most of the bindings were chased and stamped with gold, making the outsides far more appealing than the insides. Lost in the wealth of volumes, at last I found a lavish book calledGeographical Exotica and settled into a window seat to examine pictures and descriptions of distant places I only half-believed existed. In the margin of a page about the island of Kyros, someone had written,Where the honey comes from! The book said it was an island of thyme, in which the bees sang all day.

chapter V.

IN A WARM AND RICHLY FURNISHED ROOM INRIVERSIDE,the smell of candles and foodand bodies and wine wove a net of security and comfort around a group of men who usually settled for less. They were as happy as they were ever likely to be, with bellies nearly full, and no brakes upon the conversation.

"Pass Soliman the meat," the Duke Tremontaine commanded. "He can't discuss our animal nature until he becomes one with it!"

With his plate well stacked, the philosopher started up again. "All I was saying, with Dorimund's permission, is that training is the antithesis of nature. It must be. If shunning what is called vice were natural, as shunning cold or the pain of a fire is, then we would not need to be counseled against it!"

Taking a drink, an older, bearded man said, "I see you have no children, Sol. You must pull their hands back from the fire a hundred times, or risk losing them to it."

"Experience," another asserted. "Experience is the teacher there. 'The burnt hand shuns the fire' and all that. There is a difference between experience and training."

"Abstract thinking is what we're talking about. The fruits of vice are not immediately apparent, as the pain of fire is."

The duke leaned forward across the table. Like the scholars he was dressed in black, only his was studded with jet and dark embroidery. "The 'fruits of vice,'" he said, "are open to debate. They are not empirical, like a burnt finger. They may be abstract, Dorimund, but-" He stopped when the boy Marcus appeared at his side. "Yes, what?"

"A woman," Marcus murmured, "has come to the West door."

"Bugger the woman," the duke snarled. "Make her wait."

His servant showed him a ring. "She said you gave her this."

The duke's eyes widened slightly. "And so I did. I didn't think she'd show. I had better-" He pulled himself up from the table, bowing to his guests. "Gentlemen. I'll catch the rest of this later, or when Soliman publishes his controversial theories to the disgust of all right-thinking people, an effort I will be delighted to finance. Sol, stop eating, you look all round and rosy and harmless; people will feel silly hissing someone on the street who looks like a cradle doll."

To the laughter of his guests he left the table, ducking between hanging cloths, following Marcus through an arched door and down two small flights of steps, each one a different width, one turning to the left and another to the right.

THE CLOAKED WOMAN STARTED WHEN HE ENTERED.She had not expected a door behind the paneling. The duke shrugged. "It's quicker. I didn't want you to wait. I was afraid you'd lose your nerve."

Her voice was only a little breathy. "It's quite steeled, thank you."

Abruptly he caught her hand in his. "But you're cold." "Chilly. I often am before a performance."

"I'm not a demanding audience."

"I've heard otherwise."

His smile was slow and personal, oddly charming. "And you the celebrated Black Rose. Well, I am honored."

"The honor is mine, my Lord of Tremontaine." She took a strand of his long hair between her fingers, put it to her lips.

The duke closed his eyes for a moment. Then he twined thumb and forefinger about her wrist. "Not just yet," he said. "There is the matter of your intriguing friend, first."

She stood quite still. "He's not all that intriguing."

"I find him so."

"You don't have to sleep with him."