Virtue

23

"I hope you enjoyed your retreat, Judith." Bernard Melville guided his dance partner into a smooth turn.

Judith sighed. "No, it was extremely tedious. The country's so boring, and Carrington was closeted with his man of business the entire time."

"And he insisted you accompany him?" Gracemere shook his head and tutted. "How unkind of him. But then, as we know, Carrington has little interest in the preferences of others." His hand tightened on hers.

Judith controlled her shudder of revulsion and smiled up at him with a flutter of her eyelashes. "How true," she agreed. Her eyes darted swiftly around the crowded ballroom in a guilty check to assure herself that Marcus hadn't decided to abandon his own party and pay a surprise visit to the Sedgewicks' ball. Not that there was anything overtly wrong in dancing with the earl in public. Marcus himself was civil to Gracemere in company.

"My Lady Carrington was sorely missed," he assured her, a smile flickering on the fleshy lips.

"Nonsense, my lord. You know full well that redheads are not fashionable at the moment." Her laughing eyes flirtatiously invited his denial of this caveat.

He provided it without blinking an eye. "Red is not the description I would have chosen," he murmured, flicking at a copper ringlet with one finger. "And part of your charm, my dear Judith, is that you are not at all in the common way."

Judith gave him a coy look and changed the subject. "You're an accomplished card player, I understand."

"Oh, shameless evasion!" he exclaimed. "Is that your only response to my compliment?"

"Indeed, sir, a lady doesn't respond to compliments made her by stray dance partners." Her eyelashes fluttered as she gave him a mischievous smile.

"Stray dance partner! I must protest, ma'am, at such an unkind description."

"I must try to think of you in such terms, however, since I'm forbidden to consider you a friend," she responded archly.

Gracemere's pale eyes glittered. "But, as we're agreed, husbands need occasionally to be put in their places."

Judith's eyes gleamed with a conspiratorial thrill that brought a complacent smile to the earl's mouth-one that made her want to kick him hard in the shins. Fortunately, the waltz ended and he escorted her off the floor. "My brother assures me that you're a most accomplished card player," she reiterated as they went into a small salon adjoining the ballroom.

"Your brother is a fair player himself." Gracemere offered the lie with a bland smile.

"But not as good as I am," Judith declared, closing her fan with a snap. "I challenge you to a game of piquet, my lord." She gestured to a small, unoccupied card table in the corner of the room.

"An enticing prospect," he said, with the same bland smile. "What stakes do you propose?"

Judith tapped her closed fan against her hand. "Ten guineas a point?"

Gracemere smiled at the proposal: the moderate stakes of a relatively confident gamester, who liked to think she played high. He'd seen her at the card tables and knew that Agnes had met her at Amelia Dolby's, so she couldn't be a complete novice. Presumably she played like her brother, with more enthusiasm than skill. "Stakes for a tea party, ma'am," he scoffed. "I propose something a little more enticing."

"What do you suggest, my lord?" Judith had expected him to accept her wager indulgently, and unease stirred beneath her expression of eager curiosity.

He stroked his chin, regarding her. "The honor of your company at a private dinner against… against… now, what could I offer you?" he mused.

Your head on a platter, Judith thought viciously. She had every intention of losing to him but no intention whatsoever of joining him in a tete-a-tete dinner. However, that bridge would have to be crossed when she reached it. "The chance to drive your blacks in Richmond Park," she suggested in dulcet accents. "I've envied you those horses since I first saw them."

"Then let us play, ma'am." He moved to the card table.

Judith had only one purpose behind the game: She wanted to know how he played, what habits he had, what techniques he favored. Then she and Sebastian would compare notes. As Gracemere had destroyed George Devereux playing piquet, so would Gracemere meet his own Waterloo at the hands of George's children.

She took her seat at the table with a fidgety eagerness, watching as he broke the pack. She didn't think he would bother to cheat with her; she'd been careful never to play at his table before, so he wouldn't know how well she played. He would probably assume she was a moderate player at best.

She gave him a middling performance, losing the first hand by a respectably small margin, winning the second by the appearance of a lucky retention, losing the third convincingly, but avoiding the Rubicon.

"You're certainly an accomplished player, Bernard," she said, smiling as he counted the points. "Perhaps one day you'd teach me some of your strategies." What a delicious thought that was… She knew now she was a fair match for Bernard Melville, in honest play or crooked. She continued to smile, savoring the thought.

Bernard chuckled. "With pleasure, my dear. But first, I claim my winnings."

"But of course. However…" She glanced around the room. "We've already dined tonight, and this is hardly a private spot."

He chuckled again. "No, you must allow me to make the necessary arrangements, Judith. I'll inform you of the date, place, and time."

"I think, sir, that you must allow me to pick the date," she said carefully. "I'm not a free woman."

"No." Reaching for her hand, he carried it to his lips. "You are not. But are you a virtuous woman?" He smiled over her hand. "An improper question, forgive me, ma'am… However, I firmly believe that you will find a tale to satisfy Carrington, when the need arises."

She would shoot him-no, that was too quick… a long and lingering death … "I daresay I could." She stood up. "But now I must return to the ballroom before anyone notices such a protracted absence."

Gracemere bowed and remained standing by the table, watching as she wafted back to the ballroom. Whatever tale she invented to put Carrington off the scent, the marquis would be apprised of his wife's intimate, clandestine rendezvous with his old enemy. The prospect of such a wonderfully apposite revenge was a heady one. But now, having played the sister, he would play her brother for rather more material stakes.

He made his way to the card room, where the serious play was taking place. Sebastian sat at the macao table and waved cheerfully at him. "Come and take a hand, Gracemere."

"Thank you." He sat down opposite Sebastian. "I just had a hand or two of piquet with your sister."

"Oh, did you win? Ju's not much of a player," Sebastian said, grinning, laying out his rouleaux.

"Calumny!" Judith's voice came from the doorway.

"But did you win?" her brother challenged, frowning over his cards before making his bet.

"No," she admitted, moving to stand behind the earl. "His lordship was more than my match, I fear."

Gracemere looked up. "The cards fell in my favor," he demurred. "I trust you're going to bring me luck now, Lady Carrington."

"Oh, I trust so," she murmured, smiling around the table. She had absorbed Gracemere's hand in a glance that barely skimmed his cards and now continued to look smilingly around the table, her fan moving lazily in front of her face.

Lord Sedgewick held the bank. His appreciative gaze rested on Lady Carrington. She was a devilishly attractive woman. Catching his eye, she smiled at him, and Sedgewick felt a distinct prickle of arousal. Marcus was a lucky dog, but then again such a woman would take a deal of handling. His lordship wondered slightly uneasily whether he himself would be up to such a task. He thought of his own wife, a matron of even temper with little interest in matters of the bedchamber beyond those necessary to ensure the succession. Lady Carrington, on the other hand, gave the distinct impression of one who might play rather nicely…

Sedgewick forced his attention back to the cards. It was unseemly to think in such fashion of another man's wife. But she was devilishly attractive… and that wicked smile, when just the corners of her mouth lifted…

Sebastian glanced up now and again from his cards, joining in the lively conversation around the table. Judith was not the only woman standing at the table, observing the play; she was, however, the only one employing her fan. But then it was such an ordinary activity, only Sebastian truly took note.

Gracemere lost three hundred guineas to the bank in half an hour. It didn't strike him as remarkable that whenever he thought he had a winning count, Davenport played one better, declaring his hand before the earl was ready to declare his. Sebastian wasn't always the winner at the table, but Gracemere was always the loser. He put it down to ill luck.

Judith drifted out of the card room. She and Sebastian had only been practicing. They hadn't practiced in public since Brussels and both needed to see how they would handle Gracemere. The final act was fast approaching.

"Judith?"

Harriet's soft voice broke pleasantly into her musings.

"Harriet, I didn't see you here before." She drew the girl's arm through hers. "Let's go and sit by the window, it's so hot in here. You arrived late. Sebastian's been looking for you."

"Lady Barret was detained. She couldn't come for me until after eleven," Harriet confided. "And Mama is indisposed." A delicate flush mantled her cheek. "I haven't seen your brother. I thought perhaps he'd already left."

Judith chuckled. "He wouldn't leave if he was expecting to see you. He's in the card room."

Harriet received this information in silence. Her eyes were downcast while her fingers played with the silk fringe on her reticule. Gently, Judith asked if something was troubling her.

Without looking up, Harriet said, "I-I sometimes think that… I sometimes think that your brother plays too much," she finished in a rush.

Judith nibbled her lip. Harriet was a great deal more observant than she'd given her credit for. "He enjoys gaming," she said neutrally. "But I can safely promise you, Harriet, that he will never jeopardize your happiness, and therefore his own, with reckless play."

Harriet sighed with relief and looked up at Judith, her expression radiant, the dear eyes sparkling. "You believe that, Judith? I was so afraid he was a true gamester."

"Oh, yes," Judith said, placing her hand over Harriet's. "Not only do I believe it, Harriet, I know it. That doesn't mean he's not a gamester," she added judiciously. "But if he's away from the tables, he'll not miss them."

"Secrets… do you exchange secrets?" Agnes Barret's falsely cheery voice sounded from behind them.

"Good evening, Lady Barret," Judith said, unable to disguise the chill in her voice. "No, I don't believe Harriet and I share any secrets."

"No, indeed not," Harriet agreed, blushing and transparently flustered.

Lady Barret's gaze rested on her for a minute, a slightly contemptuous smile on her lips, before she turned back to Judith, who met the now cool and calculating scrutiny with one of her own. The animosity between them seemed to crackle and even Harriet was aware of it, her eyes darting between the two women.

"I understand you've recently returned from Berkshire, Lady Carrington." Agnes bowed.

"My husband had some estate business to attend to," Judith said, returning the bow.

Minimal courtesies satisfied, Agnes turned back to Harriet. "Harriet, my dear, should you object to remaining a little longer? I've promised to take up Lord Grace-mere as far as his house when we leave, but he's engaged in the card room." A trilling laugh accompanied the explanation. "I don't think your mama will worry, since she knows you're with me."

Harriet mumbled something, but her eyes flickered toward Judith in a distinct plea.

"I'm about to order my own carriage," Judith suggested immediately. "If Harriet's fatigued, I'd be glad to take her home on my way. I'm sure Lady Moreton will find nothing to object to in such an arrangement."

"Oh, no," Harriet agreed hastily. "And, in truth, Lady Barret, I do find myself a little fatigued." She touched her temples and offered a wan smile. "I fear I'm getting the headache… it's so hot in here."

Judith read naked malevolence in the split-second glare Agnes directed at her. It chilled her, yet she met it with a slightly triumphant lift of her eyebrows. They were

on a battleground… but what battleground and over what issue?

Routed, Agnes bowed, offered Harriet her sympathy, promised to call upon her and Letitia in the morning, and left them.

"Thank you," Harriet whispered.

Judith chuckled. "Don't thank me. Your performance was impeccable. I could almost believe in your headache myself. Let's go and drag Sebastian from the card room, and he will escort us home."

The suggestion found immediate favor with Harriet, and the two went in search of Sebastian. However, when they entered the card room, a strange expression crossed Sebastian's face. He cast in his hand immediately and came over to them.

"You shouldn't be in here," he said to Harriet almost brusquely, leading her back to the ballroom.

"We came to fetch you," Judith said, puzzled. "We thought you might escort us both home."

"With the greatest pleasure." He seemed to recollect himself, but his expression was still a little black. "I'll order your carriage immediately."

"What's the matter?" Judith whispered, as Harriet went off to fetch her cloak.

"I don't want Harriet in the card room," he stated with low-voiced vehemence. "It's no place for her."

"Oh." Judith followed Harriet to the retiring room, considering this. Sebastian wanted no taint of the gaming tables to touch his future wife. Interesting. For Sebastian, such places were associated with all that he intended to put behind him once Gracemere had paid his dues. They carried the taint of unscrupulous play, of desperation, of poverty and anger and injustice. But didn't they also carry the memories of the bond between himself and his sister? Of the years when all they'd had was each other?

The thought that she and Sebastian could be growing apart saddened her.

Marcus had just arrived home when the chaise deposited his wife at her own door. "I was about to come in search of you at the Sedgewicks'," he said as she came into the hall. "Did you have a pleasant evening?" He held open the door to the library.

Flirting with Gracemere and cheating at cards. An evening of deceit. She'd thought she'd be able to carry it off by reminding herself of the vital need for secrecy, of how much rode on maintaining that secrecy, but instead, at the sound of his voice, waves of panic broke over her. She could feel the color flooding her cheeks, sweat trickling beneath her arms, moistening her palms. How could Marcus possibly not sense her guilt? Her instinct was to plead fatigue and run upstairs without further conversation. Instead she forced herself to behave normally.

"Pleasant enough, thank you." She went past him into the library.

Now why the devil wouldn't she look at him properly? He could feel her jangling like an ill-hung bell.

"A glass of port before bed?" Marcus suggested, lifting a decanter from the salver on the pier table.

"I'd prefer Madeira, I think." She shrugged out of her evening cloak, dropping it on the couch, and went over to the window overlooking the square. She drew back the curtains, saying brightly, "It's a frosty night."

"Yes," he agreed, setting her glass of wine on a table, regarding her with puzzled amusement as she continued to stare out of the window. "What's so absorbing in the square at this time of night?"

She shrugged, laughed faintly, and turned back to the room. "Nothing, of course. For some reason I feel resdess."

Marcus decided the insouciance lacked conviction.

"I wonder why you should feel restless." He sipped port, looking at her over the rim of his glass. "What have you been up to, lynx?"

"Up to? Whyever should I be up to anything?"

"You tell me." He continued to scrutinize her until her color deepened.

"It was a tedious crush," she said, taking an overlarge sip of her wine. "I daresay that's why I feel so restless."

"That would of course explain it," he observed gravely.

Judith shot him a suspicious glance. Her husband looked amused but far from satisfied. She yawned. "I'm tired. I think I'll go up to bed."

"But I thought you felt restless," he pointed out unhelpfully.

Judith nibbled a fingernail. "I do and I don't. It's a very peculiar feeling,"

'Perhaps we should take a turn around the square," he suggested. "A little exercise in the night air might help you decide exactly which of the two you feel."

"Oh, stop teasing me, Marcus!" she exclaimed in frustration, wondering desperately how she could deflect the course of this inquiry. He could sense her guilt, although never in a blue moon would he be able to guess at how dire it was. However, that was no particular help.

"My apologies, ma'am." He came over to her and took the glass from her hand. "Let's go upstairs and I'll endeavor to wrest the truth from you by some other means of persuasion."

"There is no truth. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" His eyebrows lifted. "Well, let me explain. I know that either you have been wading hip deep in trouble this evening, or that you're planning to do so."

"How can you know that… I mean, you can't know it because there's nothing to know." Crossly she bit her lip at this inept denial.

Marcus shook his head. "If you'd not been up to mischief, lynx, you'd tell me what was bothering you. Since you're trying very hard to persuade me to drop the subject, I can only assume it's something I won't like."

This was dreadful. "You're talking to me as if I were a child, instead of a grown woman who's just come back from a tedious ball," she said, trying for an assumption of affronted dignity.

Marcus shook his head. "It won't do, Judith. Cut line, and tell me what mischief you've been brewing."

Desperately Judith cast around for something harmless to confess that would satisfy him. "I'm just being silly," she mumbled finally. "I don't want to talk about it." Silly about what? Talk about what? She had no idea, and crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping he would leave it at that. A vain hope.

"You're rather closing out my options," he observed, regarding her consideringly.

There was something about the look that put Judith instantly on her guard. The amusement was still there and there was a deeply sensual glimmer in the background, but these were not as reassuring as they might have been. There was a coiled purpose in the powerful frame, determination in the set of his mouth and the firmness of his jaw.

"You're making a mountain out of a molehill." She tried for a light touch again. "I'm out of sorts because I had a tedious evening and have the beginnings of a headache." It was feeble, and she wasn't much surprised that it didn't work.

"Fustian!"* was Marcus's uncompromising response. "You're up to something, and it's been my invariable experience that when you decide to keep something from me, it develops into the most monumental bone of contention. I am not prepared to join battle with you yet again… either now, or at some point in the future when whatever it is is finally brought unassailably to my attention. So you will oblige me with chapter and verse, if you please."

If she hadn't had such a weight on her conscience, Judith could have responded to this provocation in the manner it deserved. But tonight she was too cowed by the truth to fight back. "Please," she said, pressing her temples. "I am truly too tired to be bullied."

"Bullied!" Marcus was momentarily thrown off balance. "I want to know what's troubling you, and I'm bullying you?"

"You don't want to know what's the matter," she cried, stung by this clear misrepresentation of the conversation so far. "You believe I've been up to something and I'm keeping it from you. That's not the same thing, I'll have you know."

"In my book, where you're concerned, Judith, it is." He shook his head with every appearance of reluctant resignation. "Oh, well, have it your own way. Don't say you weren't warned."

"Marcus!" Judith shrieked, as she found herself lifted onto a low table. His shoulder went into her stomach and the next instant, she was draped over his shoulder, staring at the carpet, her ringlets, falling loose from the ivory and pearl fillet, tumbling over her face.

"Yes, my dear?" he asked, all solicitude as he strode with her to the door.

"Put me down!" She pummeled his back with her fists and sneezed as her hair tickled her nose. The absurdity of her position struck her with full force as they reached the hall. Her gown of emerald taffeta was hardly suited to such rough handling, and the pearl drops in her ears dangled ludicrously against Marcus's back. She kicked her feet violently in their white satin slippers.

"When we get upstairs," he said calmly, placing a steadying hand on her upturned rear, but other than that ignoring her gyrations.

"But the servants." Judith gasped. "You can't possibly carry me through the house in this mortifying fashion."

"Can I not?" Laughter quivered in his voice. "You've had every opportunity to be cooperative, lynx."

Judith subsided with a groan, closed her eyes tightly and prayed that everyone had gone to bed… everyone, that is, except for Millie and Cheveley. She reared up against his shoulder at the thought. "Oh, God. Marcus, you have to let me walk into my room." "Do I?" "Please!"

He stopped, halfway up the stairs. "If you tell me straightway what I want to know, I'll allow you to enter your room on your own two feet."

"Oh, God," Judith muttered again. But inspiration came to her in the same instant. It must have something to do with all that blood rushing to her head. It wouldn't be a lie, either, just half the truth.

When she didn't immediately reply to his ultimatum, Marcus resumed climbing the stairs, carrying his burden seemingly with the greatest of ease.

"Please!" she yelped as they reached the head of the stairs. "Put me down and I'll tell you as soon as we're in my room. I will, I promise."

Marcus made no reply, merely continued down the corridor to Judith's chamber. At the door, however, mercifully, he stopped. "Word of a lynx?"

"Word of a Davenport," she said with a gasp. "I couldn't bear to be carried in there like a sack of potatoes."

Laughing, he lowered her to the floor, holding her waist as her feet touched ground. "I did tell you I had various methods of persuasion to hand."

Judith brushed her hair out of her eyes and tried to smooth her much-abused gown. She glared up at him, her face pink with indignation and the results of her upside-down journey. "How could you?"

"Very easily." He opened the door for her, gesturing she should precede him, offering a gently mocking bow.

"Lawks-a-mercy, my lady!" Millie squawked, jumping up from her chair. "Look at your dress." She stared with some disbelief at Judith's rumpled gown and wildly tumbled ringlets.

"I feel as if I've been dragged through a hedge backward," Judith declared, shooting her husband a fulminating glare.

Marcus grinned. "You may have fifteen minutes to prepare yourself for bed, ma'am. Then you will fulfill your side of the bargain."

"Some bargain," Judith muttered as the connecting door closed on his departure. "Help me undress, Millie. Fifteen minutes is no great time."

"No, my lady. But whatever's happened?"

"It's his lordship's idea of a joke," Judith told her, peering at her image in the cheval glass. "What a mess!"

Millie helped Judith into her nightgown and brushed her hair, returning order to the copper cloud. "If that'll be all, I'll take this for sponging and pressing, m'lady." She picked up the much-abused gown on her way to the door.

"Yes, thank you, Millie. Good night."

Judith blew out all but one candle and hopped swiftly into bed, propping the pillows behind her head, pulling the sheet up to her chin, offering her husband a demure bedtime image when he came in to hear her explanation. Her guilty panic had vanished under the spur of action, and now she knew how to handle the situation, she was as calm as if she were playing for high stakes on Pickering Street.

"Well, madam wife?" Marcus closed the door behind him and trod to the darkened bed. "You may look as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, but I know better. Out with it!" He snapped his fingers.

Judith frowned and sat up straight against the pillows. "I told you it was silly and I was making a mountain out of a molehill, but since you insist, then I'll tell you. It's Agnes Barret." She sat back again, with the air of one who has discharged a difficult but possibly pointless duty.

"Agnes Barret?" Marcus sat on the end of the bed. "Explain."

"I don't know how to," she said, and the ring of truth was in the admission. "She upsets me dreadfully. I feel as if we're fighting some war to the death, but I don't know what the issue is or what the weapon is. Whenever I'm obliged to talk to her, I feel as if an entire regiment is tramping over my grave."

"Good God!" Marcus lifted the candle, holding it high so that her face was thrown into relief. He could read the truth in her eyes. "So what happened tonight?"

She shrugged. "We just had words… or, at least, not even that, but I prevented her from driving Harriet home and she was furious. We exchanged looks, I think you could say. For some reason, she's cultivating Harriet." She plucked at the coverlet. "I believe Agnes and Gracemere are lovers."

Marcus frowned. "It's not inconceivable, I suppose. I

gather they've known each other from childhood. Why should it concern you?"

"It makes things awkward," she said, catching a loose thread on the sheet and twisting it restlessly around her finger. "That's why I didn't want to talk about this. I think Gracemere is trying to court Harriet-only she won't have anything to do with him-and Agnes is constantly trying to throw them together."

"I see." It was a flat statement. Harriet wouldn't be the first heiress to receive Gracemere's attentions, Marcus mused. But if she was holding him at arm's length, she was no Martha. Presumably Sebastian was a more potent counterweight to Gracemere's courting than he had been.

"You're scowling," Judith said. "And I haven't said anything yet to annoy you."

He banished the scowl with the memories and smiled. "Oh, dear, lynx, are you about to?"

"I don't know whether it will or not," she said judiciously, still twisting the thread.

"Out with it!"

"Well, whenever I'm with Harriet and she's with Agnes, Gracemere is usually not too far away." She looked up at him, her dark eyebrows in a quizzical arch. "I didn't want to bring up a potentially contentious subject."

"My dear, Gracemere is not a contentious subject so long as you don't encourage him. You can't help but be in his company on occasion, and I won't shrivel and die at the mention of his name," he commented with a wry smile.

"I didn't want to run any risks," she said with perfect truth.

Marcus leaned over to catch a ringlet, twisting it

around his finger. "So that's what's been bothering you this evening?"

"Yes," she agreed. "But now that you've made me confess it, I feel as if I'm being fanciful about Agnes, so now I feel particularly silly."

Marcus laughed and threw off his brocade dressing gown. "Well, I'd better restore your self-esteem. Move over."

Judith obligingly did so, reflecting that she had pulled the chestnuts out of that particular fire without singeing herself too severely. She wondered how long her luck would hold.