aMiss Hamilton?a She half-turned her head.

aI am pleased with what I have seen of your work this afternoon,a he said.

She stood still for a moment before leaving the room and closing the door behind her. She drew in deep lungfuls of air before proceeding on her way up to her room.

LORD BROCKLEHURST SENT HIS card up to one of the rooms at the Pulteney Hotel and paced the lobby impatiently.

It was a stroke of raw luck, he knew, despite the fact that the Bow Street Runner had reported the detail to him the day before with puffed chest and important air, as if he had manufactured the whole thing with his superior police skills.

The list of guests for Willoughby Hall had been disappointing. Only two of them he knew even vaguely. There would have been no realistic chance of striking up a close enough friendship with either of them that he could have invited himself along to the house. Besides, all except one couple, with whom he had no acquaintance at all, had left London already.

He would have had to do things the way he did not want to do them. He would have had to go down to Dorsetshire in his capacity as a justice of the peace to arrest Isabella and bring her home for trial. He did not want his hand to be so forced. He did not want all his options to be cut.

Dammit, he did not want to see that lovely neck ringed by a noose.

But only one day after delivering the list and declaring that Lord Thomas Kent was nowhere in Britain, and after having had his bill paid, Snedburg had come bustling back, puffed with importance, to announce that his lordship had that morning set foot on English soil from the deck of an East India Company ship.

aOf course, sir,a he had said, aI know from experience that when the nobility disappear from our shores, it is often to take employment with one of the companies. It was a simple, though time-consuming matter, you will understand, to make inquiries. What could have been more fortunate than to discover not only that his lordship had indeed taken himself to India but also that he was bringing himself back again?a He had coughed with self-satisfaction.

Lord Brocklehurst had paid the man more generously than he ought, he felt. Living in town was deuced expensive.

An employee of the hotel bowed in front of him and informed him that Lord Thomas Kent would receive him in his suite. Lord Brocklehurst turned to the staircase.

Lord Thomas Kent was a few years younger than he. The two men had never been very close friends, merely friendly acquaintances who had frequented the same gaming hells and taverns many years before.

Lord Thomas was in his sitting room, dressed in a long brocade dressing gown, when Lord Brocklehurst was admitted by a servant. He had grown more handsome with the passing of early youth, the latter noticed: bronzed, dark-haired, slim, a man of a little above average height.

aBradshaw,a he said, extending his right hand, his teeth very white against his sun-browned face. aI hardly recognized you from the title on your card. Your father passed on, did he?a aFive years ago,a Lord Brocklehurst said. aYou are looking well, Kent.a aIave never felt better,a the other said. aI thought not a soul knew of my return. I thought I would have to do the rounds of all the clubs today and leave my card at every door in Mayfair. This is a pleasant surprise.a aI heard in passing,a Lord Brocklehurst said. aBeen gone long, have you, Kent?a aFor well over five years,a the other said. aEver since that debacle over the dukedom. I went running with my tail between my legs. Doubtless you heard.a aYes.a Lord Brocklehurst coughed delicately. aA nasty business, Kent. You have my sympathy.a Lord Thomas shrugged. aI am not sure the sedentary life would have suited me after all,a he said. aOr the married life. Too confining by half. Are the ladies as lovely as they used to be, Bradshaw? And as willing? I must say I am starved for an English beauty or twoa"or twenty.a aAnd just as expensive as they ever were,a Lord Brocklehurst said, aif not more so. You are going home?a aTo Willoughby?a The other laughed aloud. aI think that would be the unwisest move of my life, considering some of the things that were said when I left. It canat be a comfortable thing to have someone who once wore your title breathing down your neck, I supposea"and someone who was once betrothed to your wife. Though it might be worth everything just to see the look on Ridgewayas face.a aOld wounds heal fast,a Lord Brocklehurst said, aespecially within families. He would probably be delighted to see you.a aThe prodigalas return and the fatted calf?a Lord Thomas said. aI think not. Iam deuced hungry and hate eating at hotels. Is Whiteas still standing where it used to stand?a aIall be delighted to buy you luncheon there,a Lord Brocklehurst said.

aWill you?a Lord Thomas laughed again. aThe Heron property is good to you, Bradshaw? I can remember the time when neither one of us had a feather to fly with. Luncheon it is, then, and perhaps tonight we can go in search of wine, women, and cards together, though I might be persuaded to dispense with the cards. Let my man pour you a drink while I dress.a Lord Brocklehurst sipped on his drink a few minutes later and stared thoughtfully at the door through which Lord Thomas had disappeared.

SIXTEEN GUESTS ARRIVED TO STAY at Willoughby Hall, all on the same day. The Duke of Ridgeway stood beside his wife in the great hall to receive them and circulated among them during tea in the saloon late in the afternoon.

They were not quite the crowd he would have chosen to consort with, given the choice, he reflected, but Sybil was happy and looking quite glowingly lovely, and he supposed she was entitled to some happiness. Indeed, he was glad to see her enjoying herself. It seemed to have been beyond his power to give her any enjoyment since their marriage.

And he was getting mortally tired of sharing a dining table with her, one at the head, the other at the foot, making labored conversation across its empty length.

aGood hunting do you have here, Ridgeway?a Sir Ambrose Marvell asked him as they sipped on their tea.

aMy gamekeeper tells me that the deer are increasing at an interesting rate,a he replied.

aAnd the fishing?a Mr. Morley Treadwell asked.

It was easy to see already whom Sybil had invited as her cher amia"there would have to be someone, of course, as there always was on such occasions. Sir Philip Shaw, he had heard, scarcely needed to keep a home of his own, spending all his time moving about among the homes of his numerous flirts and mistresses. And the current joke had it that one need not assign a guest bedchamber to Shawa"he would cheerfully share with one of the ladies, usually his hostess.

His indolent, almost effeminate manner and graceful person and permanently sleepy eyes were apparently irresistible to the ladies. And Sybil was already sparkling up at him, one slim white hand on his arm. Where the devil had she met him? But of course she sometimes took herself off on visits without hima"she never asked, and he never resented not being asked. Most recently she had spent two weeks at her sisteras, apparently in company with other select guests.

The duke sighed inwardly. He hoped he was not going to have to go through that ridiculous farce again of playing the icy husband guarding his conjugal rights. It was so very tediousa"and not a little humiliating. And of course it forever enhanced her image of him as humorless tyrant. Perhaps he was just that. He was coming almost to believe it himself.

When could he decently escape? he wondered. And where could he escape to? The lessons abovestairs were doubtless finished for the day. He was glad at least that Miss Hamilton had done her practicing early that morning, when he had been able to listen to her at his leisure. He had opened the door between the library and the music room and sat at his desk and listened. But he had made sure that she saw him. He did not wish to give the impression that he was spying on her.

She really did have talent. Music that he had only ever been able to produce with competence she brought alive and warm and flowing. The hour he had spent listening to her had soothed him far more than the ride he had planned.

He had not entered the room at all, or stood in the doorway to watch her. He would have had to be blind not to have noticed the deep revulsion in her eyes whenever she looked at him. But it did not matter. He was not looking for any sort of relationship with her. He merely hoped she would be good for Pamela. And he liked her music.

aAdam, my dear man.a The voice was low, the perfume seductive. Lady Victoria Underwood, widow, who had decided during the Season the year before that they were close enough friends that they could drop the cumbersome formality of using titles, smiled up at him from beneath artfully darkened eyelashes. aWhat a very splendid home you have. Why have you not invited me here before?a She was leaning slightly toward him. For some reason she had never found his scar repulsive.

aIt makes you quite the most attractive man of my acquaintance,a she said to him the year before on one of the many nights when she had failed to entice him into her bed.

He often wondered why he had never given in. She was not beautiful, but there was a seductive sexuality about her. Coupling with her would have been a somewhat more sensual experience than the one he had had with Fleur Hamilton.

But he wished he had not had that thought. He had been unconsciously trying to divorce in his mind the Miss Hamilton who wanted to teach and care for Pamela and who made of Mozart and Beethoven haunting experiences of the soul from the thin and pale and lusterless prostitute he had taken with such quick lust in a cheap tavern room a month before.

aI thought you did not like to leave London, Lady Underwood,a he said, smiling.

aVictoria,a she said, looking down to his lips. aI believe I would accept an invitation to the Hebrides, my dear Adam, if I knew you were to be there.a aI never would be,a he said. aIt sounds too cold for me.a aBut what a delicious excuse,a she said, ato huddle under a blanket for warmtha"with the right company, of course.a He laughed and used the excuse of a plate of cakes passing at that moment to draw the Mayberrys into the group.

He could stomach the flirtations and the empty chatter when in London. He could even derive some amusement from them, though he preferred evenings of serious and stimulating conversation with his closer friends. But there he could always withdraw to the quiet of his own home when he had had enough. Here he was in his own home.

That was always the trouble with Sybilas confounded parties.

Fortunately the guests did not linger. Almost all of them had had long journeys and welcomed the chance of some time to rest and refresh themselves in the privacy of their own rooms. The duchess, too, flushed and bright-eyed, retired to her own apartments until dinnertime.

The duke wandered out onto the terrace. He wondered if Pamela was visiting her puppy and heard a distant shriek of laughter even as he did so. He turned and strolled in the direction of the stables, wondering idly if Fleur Hamilton would be there too or if Pamela had brought a footman with her as she had the day before. He did not imagine that Nanny would consider a visit to the stables and a puppy consistent with her dignity.

Pamela was sitting on top of the fence around the paddock beside the stables, her legs swinging, while Fleur, inside the paddock, tickled the puppyas stomach with her slippered foot. She was laughing, a look of such carefree beauty on her face that his grace hung back, reluctant to be seen.

A grooma"Ned Driscolla"was also laughing, one foot resting on a lower rung of the fence, his arms draped over the top, his cap pulled low over his eyes.

aI think the puppy likes it,a Fleur said.

aBut then, who wouldnat, miss,a Ned said boldly a moment before spotting his master standing quietly behind him. He straightened up hastily, pulled at the brim of his cap, and scuttled off in the direction of the stables.

Fleur did not look up, and continued to tickle the dog with her toes. But the laughter in her face faded. His grace knew with an inward sigh that his presence had been noted.

aPapa.a Pamela looked at him petulantly, her laughter of moments before forgotten. aMama promised that she would call me down for tea. Nanny got me all dressed up, but Mama did not send, and Miss Hamilton would not let me go down unless she did.a The duke looked at Fleur, who was watching the puppy try to eat the grass.

aShe was not sent for,a she said. aI explained to her that all the guests must be tired and that her grace must have decided to wait for another day. I brought her out here, hoping she would forget her disappointment.a aBut she promised, Papa,a the child said. aAnd Miss Hamilton would not let me go. Nanny would have let me.a aI think not,a he said. aAnd doubtless Miss Hamilton is right. Mama must have decided that some other day will be better, Pamela. I will remind her.a aYou are horrid,a the child shrieked. aYou are both horrid. Mama said I could. I am going to tell Mama.a She jumped from the top of the fence to the outside of the paddock, gathered up her skirt, and raced around the corner of the stable block and out of sight.

aIall catch up to her,a Fleur said.

aLet her go,a he said. aShe will come to no harm, and sometimes it is best to be alone when in the middle of a temper tantrum.a The gate into the paddock was chained shut. Fleur must have entered it over the fence. He saw her flush as she glanced toward the gate. She arranged her skirt carefully as she set a foot on the lower rung of the fence and swung the other leg over. He kept his hands behind him. He knew she would not welcome his help.

But her skirt caught on the rough wood of the rung below and behind her, and she was stuck. He strode toward her, leaned over to release the fabric, took her by the waist, and lifted her to the ground.

He did not remember her sweet fragrance from that first time. But then, of course, she would have had only water with which to wash herself and her hair at that time. The sun made a shining burnished-gold halo of her hair now. And there was soft warm flesh at her small waist.

She shuddered convulsively and pulled blindly away from him. She made a guttural noise in her throat, similar to the one he remembered her making when he had penetrated her body. She lifted a trembling hand across her mouth and kept it there. She closed her eyes.

He could think of nothing to say and could not move.

She opened her eyes and removed the hand. She opened her mouth as if to speak, bit down on her lower lip, and turned her head aside. And she stooped hastily down to scoop up the puppy, which had come scampering through the bottom of the fence.

aI must take her back to her pen,a she said.

aYes.a He stood aside and watched her go, her golden head bent to the puppy, her walk hasty and self-conscious. And he felt a great weight of depression on his spirits.

But why? A governessa"a whore turned governessa"shuddered and almost vomited at his touch. There was a lady guest at the housea"a baronetas widowa"who would welcome his touch and even his presence in her bed, a woman who found his disfigurement arousing and who would perhaps not even blanch if he came to her naked and she saw the other, far worse scars.

What was there to be depressed about? Perhaps he should encourage Lady Underwood. Perhaps she would be a balm to his wounded self-esteem. Perhaps he should make her his mistress for the duration of her stay, have his fill of a woman who wanted him.

Except that by doing so he would be accomplishing exactly what he had come home to prevent Sybil from doing, making of Willoughby a place of debauchery, making himself unworthy of the privilege of being the master of it all.

He was still standing against the fence when Fleur came out of the stables, her arms empty. She glanced his way, turned her head sharply, and hurried off in the direction of the house.

Well.

What the devil had he been thinking of to send her here? It was true that at the time he had not been planning to follow so soon after, but even so, he had known that sooner or later he would be returning to Willoughby. He could never stay away for more than a very few months at a time.

Why had he had her sent here? There were numerous other places he could have sent her. Or he could easily have found her a post with one of his acquaintances. In either case he need not have seen her ever again.

Why had he had Houghton send her here?

Of course, it was not too late, he supposed, to have her sent on somewhere else. Sybil would be delighted; Nanny would be triumphant; Pamela would not be heartbroken; Fleur herself would be relieved beyond measure.

And he?

He turned to walk away from the house toward a grove of trees and the artificial ruins of a tower, which his grandfather had been particularly pleased with. He would think about it some other time. He had been home for only three days. It was no time for hasty decisions.

He rather thought that she would in time prove good for Pamela.

Besides, she needed the pianoforte in the music room. He did not have an instrument to match it on any of his other properties.

The thought consoled him.

The gardeners would need to be reminded, he thought, that there was much deadwood to be cleared out from among these trees.

APART FROM A STROLL IN THE PARK THE DAY after their arrival, the guests did not exert themselves a great deal. All was in preparation for the grand outdoor ball that evening. It seemed certain that the event would take place out-of-doors. The long spell of warm, dry weather continued through the day.

Servants were frantically busy from early morning on, catering to the needs and wishes of sixteen newly arrived guests, preparing a grand banquet for them in the evening, decorating the area about the lake for the festivities, and preparing the refreshments for those who would attend the ball.

Lady Pamela was bouncing with eagerness to watch the proceedings and was convinced that her mama would allow her to see all the ladies in their evening finery. Fleur was less convinced. The duchess did not come to see her daughter all day, and it seemed altogether likely that she would forget her entirely until the following day.

She would do what she could to give the child some pleasure, she decided. After a morning of easy lessons, which did not require too much concentration on her pupilas part, she took her outside, and they made their way to the spot from which they had been going to paint the pavilion a few days before.

From there they could watch the preparations without getting in the way of busy workmen.

aOh, the lanterns!a Lady Pamela exclaimed in some awe, gazing at the hundreds of colored lanterns that were being strung in the trees surrounding the lake and on the island and main paths leading from the house. aThey will look like magic tonight, Miss Hamilton.a The orchestra had arrived and were resting and refreshing themselves somewhere in the house. Their instruments were being taken across to the island by boat. On a flat lawn to the west of the lake, closest to the house, a large wooden floor was being laid for the dancing. Tables were being set with white cloths on the north side, directly below where Fleur stood with Lady Pamela.

All the gentry from the neighborhood and the town of Wollaston would come for the ball, Mrs. Laycock had told Fleur. And all the servants would be allowed to attend, provided they were not on duty.

There had been some hunt balls at Heron House. Fleur had always enjoyed them. There was something marvelously exciting about dressing up and seeing all oneas acquaintances dressed up too, and in seeing a ballroom decorated with flowers and candles and in hearing it filled with music. There was a wonderful exhilaration in dancing.

But she was quite sure that those balls would be nothing to compare in splendor with the ball that was planned for that evening.

She was, of course, only a servant. She had no grand ball gown or jewels to wear. And it was unlikely that anyone would ask her to dance. But of course! She had almost forgotten in the turmoil of the past few days, in her discovery of just who the Duke of Ridgeway was, in her fear that perhaps by some strange chance one of the guests would be someone who knew hera"she had almost forgotten Mr. Chamberlain and his hope that she would dance with him.

She hoped he had not forgotten. Oh, she hoped it with all her heart. She looked forward to seeing him again. And she looked forward to the evening just like a child being offered a rare treat.

aMama will let me come and see the ladies, wonat she?a Lady Pamela said wistfully at her side.

aI donat know, sweetheart,a Fleur said, squeezing the childas hand and fearing that she did know very well. aShall we go and see how Tiny is today? She must be feeling lonely. You have not played with her yet.a aYes,a Lady Pamela said, turning reluctantly away from the view below. aI should have asked Papa when he came to sit in the schoolroom with us this morning. He would have said yes, perhaps.a aI will see what I can do,a Fleur said.

The servants ate early that evening. Fleur was back upstairs before her chargeas bedtime and could see that there was still a light in the nursery. She knocked and went in.

Lady Pamelaas eager expression faded. aOh,a she said, aI thought it was Mama.a aMama is busy, lovey,a Mrs. Clement said. aShe will come and spend a long time with you tomorrow. You know Mama loves you.a aPerhaps,a Fleur said, glancing at the nurse, aif you put on a warm cloak you can come outside with me now to see the lanterns lit. All the ladies and gentlemen are at dinner still.a aOoh. May I? May I, Nanny?a Lady Pamela turned pleading eyes on her nurse.

aI will keep her out of the way of the guests,a Fleur said.

aShe will probably catch cold,a Mrs. Clement said. aAnd her grace will doubtless be angry if she sees her daughter out of the nursery after dinner, Miss Hamilton. But I am reminded that his grace has said that you are in charge here. Do as you wish.a The nurseas tone was hostile, but Fleur smiled at her and at Lady Pamela, who had rushed for her cloak.

She did not really need the cloak, Fleur thought as they stepped outside five minutes later. The air was still warm. And unfortunately it was only early dusk, so the lamps would not look at their best even if they were already lit. But she would do the best she could.

They stayed out longer than she had intended so that Lady Pamela did eventually see the lake and its surroundings in all the magic of the darkness and lantern light. And the orchestra were tuning their instruments inside the pavilion, with its doors thrown open so that the music wafted over the water.

Several of the guests who had not been invited to the banquet began to arrive, and the childas eyes grew round at the splendor of the ladiesa gowns and the gentlemenas evening coats, and at the jewels that glittered in the many colors of the lanterns.

And finally, when they were already on their way back to the house, the banquet guests were coming along the terrace all together in a group. Fleur drew Lady Pamela into the shade of a tree.

aWe will look, sweetheart,a she said. aDonat say anything. Perhaps Mama will be upset to see you outside in the dark.a But she need not have worried. The child seemed quite content to be a silent spectator. She watched in wonder as her mother passed on the arm of a gentleman, laughing and sparkling up at him. The duke was farther back in the group, a lady on his arm.

aOoh,a the child said. aMama is the prettiest lady. Isnat she, Miss Hamilton? She is the prettiest lady of all.a aYes, she is, indeed,a Fleur said. And she felt that she did not lie.

The child was noticeably tired by the time they arrived back at the nursery and was quite content to give herself over to her nurseas fussing.

Fleur hurried to her room to change into her best dressa"a plain blue muslin, which she had thought something of an extravagance when spending the money Mr. Houghton had given her in London. Now it seemed very ordinary indeed in comparison with the gowns she had seen outside.

But it did not matter. She was, after all, only a servant. And nothing could quite quench her excitement this evening. She dressed her hair carefully, the knot at the back of her head a little looser than usual, a few strands of hair allowed to fall over her ears and along her neck.

She felt as nervous as a girl must feel at her come-out ball, she was convinced as she hurried down the stairs and across the hall and outdoors. There were light and music and laughter coming from the direction of the lake. Of course, she had never had a come-out ball.

IF THEY COULD HAVE PLANNED the weather as meticulously as all the other details of the evening had been planned, the Duke of Ridgeway thought, they could hardly have done better. Even as the night wore on, there was still a suggestion of warmth in the air, though the basic coolness was, of course, perfect for those who danced every set. And the breeze was only enough to sway the lanterns in the trees and flutter silks attractively and cool heated cheeks without in any way endangering the elaborate coiffures of the ladies.

He had always enjoyed the more elaborate of the entertainments that Willoughby was famous for. And this was no exception. It was true that he had found the conversation of his guests through much of the day somewhat insipid, but then, tonight all his neighbors were present too. And he had always made a point of being friendly with his neighbors.

He danced the opening set with his wife, who was easily the most lovely of all the ladies present, he thought entirely without bias. She had realized, of course, that a gown of sheer white silk and lace would pick up the colors of the lanterns and would sparkle in the breeze. Sybil always dressed for maximum effect.

He danced with some of his guests and some of his neighbors, and talked with several of the men. He allowed Lady Underwood to persuade him, when he had asked her to dance, to row her across to the island instead and stroll past the pavilion and among the trees, as some of the other guests were doing. He resisted her very open hints that he kiss her among the trees.