Virtue

2

"My dear Bernard, how will I endure two whole months without you?" Agnes Barret sighed and stretched out a bare leg, examining the supple curve of calf, the delicate turn of ankle with a complacent smile. She pinched her thigh several times between finger and thumb; the flesh was as firm as a girl's.

"Your husband's entitled to a honeymoon, my dear." The Earl of Gracemere watched his lady with a knowing smile laced with desire. Agnes's vanity was one of her few weaknesses-her only weakness, in fact, and she was undoubtedly entitled to it. At forty-three she was more beautiful than she'd been at twenty, he thought. Her hair was still as lustrously auburn as ever, her tawny eyes as luminous, her skin as soft and translucent, her figure as lithe and elegant. In truth, there wasn't a woman to touch her, and Bernard Melville had known many women. But always there had been Agnes. She was woven into the fabric of his life as he was woven into hers.

"Oh, Thomas!" Agnes dismissed the inconvenient bridegroom with a languid wave of one white hand. "He's suffering from another attack of gout, would you believe? He can't bear anyone to come within six feet of his left foot, which should rather cut down on the customary activities of a honeymoon." She picked up a glass of wine from the bedside table and sipped, glancing at the earl over the rim.

"Is that a cause for complaint?" Bernard inquired. "I was under the impression that you were dreading the duties of the conjugal bedchamber with an elderly husband."

"Well, so I am, but one must have something to do to while away two months of rustication," Agnes returned, a shade tartly. "I assume you will find solace for your empty bed somewhere in Yorkshire… a village girl, or a milkmaid, or some such."

"Jealous, Agnes?" He smiled and took up his own glass. He walked to the window, looking down at the sluggishly flowing River Thames below. A horse-drawn barge inched along the south bank of the river. One of London's many church bells pealed on the hot June air.

"Hardly. I don't consider country wenches as rivals."

"My dear one, you have no equal anywhere, so you cannot possibly fear a rival." He took a sip of wine and bent over her, holding the wine in his mouth as he brought his lips to hers. Her mouth opened beneath his and the wine slid over his tongue to fill her mouth with a warm sweetness. His hands went to her breasts in a leisurely caress and she fell back on the bed beneath him.

The evening sun had set, turning the river below their window to a dull, gunmetal gray, before they spoke again.

"I don't know how soon I'll be able to ask Thomas for a sum sufficient to quieten your creditors." Agnes shifted and the bedropes creaked. "It's a little awkward to demand a substantial sum from one's bridegroom as one leaves the altar."

"That's why I'm going into Yorkshire," Bernard said, letting his hand rest on her turned flank. "I can escape my creditors for the summer, while you, my love, work upon the gouty but so wealthy Sir Thomas."

Agnes chuckled. "I have my appealing story well prepared… an indigent second cousin, I believe, suffering from rheumatism and living in a drafty garret."

"I trust you won't be required to produce this relative," Bernard remarked with a responding chuckle. "I don't know how good a master of disguise I would prove."

"You are as much a master of deception as I, my dear," Agnes said.

"Which is why we suit each other so remarkably well," Bernard agreed.

"And always have done." Agnes's mouth curved in a smile of reminiscence. "Even as children… how old were we, the first time?"

Bernard turned his head to look at the face beside him on die pillow. "Old enough… although some might say we were a trifle precocious." He moved his hand lazily to palm die delicate curve of her cheek. "We were born to please each other, my love." Hitching himself on one elbow, he brought his mouth to hers, exerting a bruising almost suffocating pressure as his palm tightened around her face and he held her flat and still with his weight. When finally he released her mouth, there was an almost feral glitter of excitement in her tawny eyes. She touched her bruised and swollen lips with a caressing finger.

Bernard laughed and lay down beside her again. "However," he said as if that moment of edging violence had not occurred, "I shall look around me for a fat pigeon to pluck at the beginning of the Season. I don't wish to be totally dependent upon your husband's unwitting charity."

"No, it would be as well not. It's a pity Thomas is no gamester." Agnes sighed. "That was such a perfect game we once played."

"But, as you say, Thomas Barret is no George Dever-eux," Gracemere agreed, reaching indolently for his wineglass. "I wonder what happened to that husband of yours."

"It's to be hoped he's dead," Agnes said, taking the glass from him. "Otherwise I am a bigamist, my dear." She sipped, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Who's to know but you and I?" Her companion laughed with the same amusement. "Alice Devereux, the wife of George Devereux, has been dead and buried these last twenty years as far as the world's concerned… dead of grief at her husband's dishonor." He chuckled richly.

"Not that the world saw anything of her, either before or during her marriage," Agnes put in with remembered bitterness. "Having married his country innocent, George was interested only in keeping her pregnant and secluded in the Yorkshire wilds."

"But with the death of reclusive Alice in a remote convent in the French Alps, the sociable Agnes was born," Gracemere pointed out.

"Yes, a far preferable identity," Agnes agreed with some satisfaction. "I enjoyed making my society debut as the wealthy young widow of an elderly Italian count.

Society is so much more indulgent toward women of independent means, particularly if they have a slightly mysterious past." She smiled lazily. "I wouldn't be an ingenue again for all the youthful beauty in the world. Do you ever miss Alice, Bernard?"

He shook his head. "No, Agnes is so much more exciting, my love. Alice was a young girl, while Agnes was born into womanhood… and women have much more to offer a man of my tastes."

"Sophisticated, and perhaps a little outri," Agnes murmured, again touching her bruised mouth. "But to return to the question of money…"

"I still have George's Yorkshire estate," Bernard said.

"But it yields little now."

"No, it's a sad fact that property needs to be maintained if it's to continue to support one," he agreed, sighing. "And maintenance requires funds… and, sadly, funds I do not have."

"Not for such mundane concerns as estate maintenance," Agnes stated without criticism.

"True enough, there are always more important… or, rather, more enticing ways of spending money." He swung himself off the bed. "On which subject…" He crossed to the dressing table. Agnes sat up, watching him, greedily drinking in his nakedness even though his body was as familiar to her as her own.

"On which subject," he repeated, opening a drawer. "I have a wedding present for you, my love." He came back to the bed and tossed a silk pouch into her lap, laughing as she seized it with eager fingers. "You were always rapacious, my adorable Agnes."

"We're well suited," she returned swiftly, casting him a glinting smile as she drew from the pouch a diamond collar. "Oh, Bernard, it's beautiful."

"Isn't it?" he agreed. "I trust you'll be able to persuade your husband to reimburse me at some point."

Agnes went into a peal of laughter. "You are a complete hand, Bernard. My lover buys me a wedding present that my husband will be required to pay for. I do love you."

"I thought you'd appreciate the finer points of the jest," he said, kneeling on the bed. "Let me fasten it for you. Diamonds and nakedness are a combination I've never been able to resist."

"I don't see your cousin this evening, Charlie." Judith slipped her arm through her escort's as they strolled through the crowded salon. She glanced around, as she had been doing all evening, wondering despite herself why the Marquis of Carrington had chosen not to honor the Bridges' soiree.

"Marcus isn't much of a one for balls and such frippery things," Charlie said. "He's very bookish." His tone made this sound like some fatal ailment. "Military history," he elucidated. "He reads histories in Greek and Latin and writes about old battles. I can't understand why anyone should still be interested in who won some battle way back in classical times, can you?"

Judith smiled. "Perhaps I can. It would be interesting to work out how and why a battle turned out as it did, and to make comparisons with present-day warfare."

"That's exactly what Marcus says!" Charlie exclaimed. "He's forever closeted with Wellington and Bliicher and the like, discussing Napoleon and what he might decide to do on the basis of what he's done in the past. I can't see why that should be as useful as going out and getting on with the fighting, but everyone seems to think it is."

"Battles aren't won without strategy and tactics," Judith pointed out. "And only careful strategy can minimize casualties." She reflected that perhaps nineteen-year-olds on the eve of battle, drunk on dreams of heroism and glory, probably wouldn't take this particular point.

"Well, I can't wait to have a crack at Boney," Charlie declared, looking a trifle disappointed at his goddess's lack of enthusiasm for the blood and guts of warfare.

"I'm certain you'll have your chance soon enough," Judith said. "As I understand it, Wellington's only waiting for Napoleon to make his approach and then he'll attack before he's properly in position."

"But I don't understand why we can't just go out and meet him. He's already left Paris," Charlie complained in an undertone, glancing around to make sure none of his fellow officers in their brilliant regimentals could overhear a possibly disloyal comment. "Why do we have to wait for him to come close?"

"I imagine it would be rather cumbersome to move 214,000 men at this stage in order to intercept him," Judith said. "They're strung out from Mons to Brussels, and Charleroi to Liege, as I understand it."

"You sound just like Marcus," Charlie observed again. "It seems very poor-spirited to me."

Judith laughed and took the opportunity to return the conversation to its original topic, one that interested her rather more. "So your cousin doesn't care for balls and assemblies. It's perhaps fortunate he doesn't have a wife in that case." She said it casually, with another light laugh.

"Oh, Marcus is not overfond of ladies' company in the general run of things." "Why not?" Charlie frowned. "I think it may have something to

do with an old engagement. But I don't fully understand the reasons. He has women… other sorts of women… I mean…" He stammered to a halt, his face fiery in the candlelight.

"I know exactly what you mean," she said, patting his arm. "There's no reason to be embarrassed with me, Charlie."

"But I shouldn't have mentioned such a thing in front of a lady," he said, still blushing. "Only I feel so comfortable with you…"

"Like an older sister," Judith said, smiling.

"Oh, no… no, of course not… how could I…" Again he fell silent and Judith could almost hear the recognition of what she'd said falling into place like the tumblers of a lock. She chuckled to herself. Charlie was well on the way to curing himself of his infatuation without the heavy-handed intervention of an overanxious guardian. Not that she was about to inform the most honorable marquis of that fact… Not that he was around to be informed, anyway.

Marcus put in an appearance as the clock struck midnight. He could see no sign of his ward or Miss Davenport, although the world seemed gathered in the Bridges' salons. After greeting his hostess he strolled into the card room. The faro table was crowded, the atmosphere lively and good humored. Sebastian Davenport was a steady winner. The marquis stood watching the table intently. There was nothing amiss with the way the man was playing. He certainly had luck on his side, but there was something else. Some innate ability to make judgments on the odds. He examined Sebastian's face. It was quite impassive while he was making his bet, then the minute he'd declared, tossing his rouleaux onto the table, he was as relaxed and lighthearted as ever. A true gamester, Marcus thought. It took a combination of brains and nerve, and Sebastian Davenport had both. Marcus didn't think his sister lacked those qualities either, although he hadn't yet observed her play.

Unprincipled adventurers, the pair of them, he decided. But he could see no reason at this point to expose them. Only the greedy and the foolish fell victim to hardened gamesters, and they got what they deserved. He would take steps to protect Charlie himself. "Davenport… a game of piquet?" The suggestion surprised Sebastian. He looked up at the marquis, remembering Judith's encounter the previous evening. But the suggestion was seemingly innocuous and piquet was Sebastian's game. "Why, certainly," he said cheerfully. "A hundred guineas a point?"

Marcus swallowed this without a blink. "Whatever you say."

Sebastian settled with the faro table and rose. The marquis was waiting for him at a small card table in a relatively quiet corner of the room. He indicated a fresh deck of cards on the table as he took his place. "Do you care to break them, Davenport?"

Sebastian shrugged and pushed them across to the marquis. "You do the honors, my lord."

"As you wish." The cards were shuffled and dealt and a silence fell between the two men. Sebastian had a full glass of claret at his elbow but Marcus noticed that although he seemed to raise it to his lips frequently, the level barely went down. A most serious gamester. And an expert card player. Marcus, who was no mean player himself, recognized that he was outclassed after the third hand. He relaxed, resigned to his losses, and began to enjoy playing with a master.

"Well, my lord, this is a pleasant surprise." Judith's dulcet tones came from behind him and she offered him

her most ravishing smile. "I have been sadly disappointed at your absence."

"Stand behind your brother," he snapped, quite impervious to this coquettry.

"I beg your pardon?" She frowned in puzzlement.

"Stand behind your brodier, where I can see you."

Comprehension dawned. She stared at him in dismay, all pretense at flirtation vanishing under the sting of such an unwarranted assumption. "But I wouldn't-"

"Wouldn't you?" he interrupted, without looking up from his cards; it was a damnably difficult discard he had to make. "Nevertheless, I prefer not to take the risk. Now move."

She stepped sideways, struggling for composure, seeking support from her brother. "Sebastian…?"

Sebastian gave a rueful chuckle. "He caught you at it, Ju. I can't call him out for you. Not in the circumstances."

"No, I don't think you can," Marcus agreed, discarding a ten of spades. "Not that you need any help from your sister." He watched with resignation as his opponent picked up the discard. "You'll not even spare me the Rubicon, I fear."

Sebastian totted up the points. "I'm afraid not, Car-rington. I make it ninety-seven."

"What were the stakes?" Judith demanded, this issue taking immediate precedence over hurt feelings.

Marcus began to laugh. "What an incorrigibly unprincipled pair you are."

"Not really," Sebastian said. "Ju, at least, has some very strong principles… it's just that they tend to be eccentric. Her view of ethics doesn't always coincide with the common view."

"I don't find that in the least difficult to believe," Marcus said.

"That's true of you, too, Sebastian," Judith pointed out. "You should understand, my lord, that we obey our own rules." Maybe a different form of flirtation would work with this intransigent marquis. If he preferred challenge to coquettry, she could offer him that.

Disappointingly, Marcus shook his head. "That's provocation for another day, ma'am… I'll settle up with you in the morning, Davenport." He scrawled an IOU on the pad at his elbow and pushed it over. "Fill in the sum. What have you done with my cousin, Miss Davenport?"

"He's gone off with Viscount Chancet and his friends. They had an engagement. And he is feeling very much in charity with me, my lord."

Marcus stood up. "Mmmm. Somehow that doesn't surprise me. However, don't rest on your laurels, my dear." He pinched her cheek. "As I told you yesterday, you haven't yet tasted my mettle."

"He's damned familiar with you," Sebastian observed as the marquis walked off.

"Yes, and I could cut his throat," Judith declared. "I'm trying to flirt with him and he treats me like a tiresome child in the schoolroom. I think he believes that now he knows what we are, he can be as familiar as he pleases."

Sebastian frowned. "That's perhaps understandable. Just so long as he keeps his knowledge to himself."

Judith sighed. "I don't seem to be doing too well with my present strategy to ensure that he does."

"You were confident enough yesterday," her brother reminded her, gathering up the cards. "And you've never failed yet."

"True." Judith nodded resolutely to herself. "There has to be some way to persuade him to take me seriously. I suspect quarreling with him is the answer."

Sebastian laughed. "Well, you're the fire-eater of the family, Ju."

"Yes, and I intend to put it to good use." A tiny smile flickered over her mouth. She was unable to deny the prickle of excitement at the prospect of joining in a battle of wits and wills with the most honorable marquis.