"No, I suppose not" Prudence felt oddly deflated. She should have known that any jealousy Sebastian felt would be based on pride and possessiveness, not love.

"Jealousy does not amuse me, madam."

"Sebastian, you have got it all wrong."

"Have I?"

"Yes." Prudence sighed. "I did not choose this gown in an attempt to attract the attention of other men."

He slid her a suspiciously bland look of inquiry. "Why, then, did you select it?"

"So that I would no longer invite comment," Prudence muttered, exasperated.

Sebastian did not move, but there was a sudden aura of alertness about him that made Prudence wary.

"Comment from whom?" Sebastian asked in a silky voice.

Prudence belatedly realized she was on treacherous ground. She wondered if she had been lured onto it with all that nonsense about jealousy. Sebastian was nothing if not clever. "Why, from the social world, my lord."

"You mean from my dear aunt, don't you?"

Prudence drummed her fingers on the carriage seat. There were distinct disadvantages to finding oneself married to a shrewd man. "Now, Sebastian, you must not leap to conclusions."

"Bloody hell." Sebastian uncoiled with the lethal grace of a predator pouncing on its prey. He reached out and closed the curtains on the windows over the doors in two swift movements.

"Why are you doing that?" Prudence asked sharply.

Instead of giving her an answer, he caught hold of her upper arms and hauled her up off the cushions. "I knew there was something behind this sudden interest in fashion."

"Really, my lord." Prudence's diaphanous skirts billowed out as he sat her down across his legs. Her shawl fell off her shoulders, once more exposing the upper curves of her breasts. "Just because I have taken an interest in fashion, there is no need to react quite so energet­ically."

"You're trying to forestall insults from that old witch Drucilla, aren't you?" Sebastian's eyes gleamed gold in the lamplight. All traces of icy anger as well as any emotion that might have even remotely resembled jealousy had vanished.

"Sebastian, it really is not proper to go about calling your aunt an old witch."

"Why not? That is exactly what she is. You're hoping that if you turn yourself into a diamond of the first water, she won't have cause to insult you."

Prudence stifled an oath. The familiar unholy amusement was back in Sebastian's eyes now. She was certain that he had tricked her into a confession. "I am merely trying to dress in the sort of style that the polite world considers appropriate for your wife, Angelstone."

"I will decide what is appropriate for my wife."

Prudence was very conscious of the muscled contours of his thighs beneath her soft derriere. The thin skirts of a fashionable ball gown left very little to the imagination. "Your arrogance leaves one breath­less, my lord."

His long-fingered hand tightened around her waist. His gold signet ring gleamed dully in the lamplight. "You think that if you can keep my aunt from insulting you in public, you can prevent me from punish­ing the Fleetwoods, don't you?"

"I am not going to dignify that silly conclusion with an answer."

He smiled faintly. "It was a clever notion, but I've got news for you, my dear: It will never work. Drucilla is looking for excuses to find fault with you. It is useless to try to placate her, because she will never be placated. If your dress gives her no cause for comment, she will find something else to criticize. It is the nature of the beast."

"Your aunt could hardly say anything more insulting about my gown than you have already said." Prudence tried to straighten the lavender plume in her hair.

"My status as your husband does give me some privileges, my dear."

"That is open to debate." She glanced at him uncertainly. "Tell me the truth. Do you really think this gown is cut too low?"

"It is far too low to wear in public." Sebastian studied the gentle curves of her breasts with grave consideration. "However, I can see that the cut of the bodice does have a practical use."

"Practical?"

"It affords easy access to a charming view." He slipped his finger just under the edge of the low neckline.

Prudence felt a tremor of wicked excitement go through her. "Se­bastian, stop that. You mustn't do that sort of thing here in the car­riage."

"Why not? It will take the coachman nearly half an hour to work his way home through the traffic. The fog is getting thicker. That may delay him even longer." Sebastian gently eased the edge of the gown downward, freeing one of Prudence's breasts.

Heat rushed through her. She batted ineffectually at his hand. "Sebastian, this is too bad of you. I cannot allow you to make love to me in a carriage.!‘

"This is what comes of wearing the latest fashions, my sweet." Sebastian started to lower his head to the rosy tip of her breast.

Prudence sank her fingers into his hair, closed her eyes, and tried to concentrate on her main objective. "Now that we have finished discussing my gown, I want to talk to you about your plans to return to that shop in Bond Street tonight."

"I promise to give you a full report when I get home." Sebastian's breath was warm on her skin.

"It is most unfair of you to leave me behind. I'm your partner." Prudence gasped as he grazed his thumb across the firm bud that crowned her breast. Her eyes opened and she saw a scrap of paper that was lying on the seat where she had been sitting. "What is that?"

"A nipple, I believe." He touched it with the tip of his tongue. "Yes, definitely a nipple. And an extraordinarily lovely one, at that."

"No, not that." Prudence peered over his lowered head. "That piece of paper on the seat. I must have sat down on it when I got into the carriage a few minutes ago. It looks like a note."

Sebastian raised his head slightly and glanced at the folded piece of paper. "What the devil?"

He reached out and picked up the note. Then he straightened and held it so that the light from the carriage lamp fell across it. He examined it closely and then he unfolded it. There was a short mes­sage scrawled inside.

"I thought so—a note. Someone left it here in the carriage while we were at the ball." Prudence tugged her bodice back into place and straightened her spectacles. She gazed at the unfamiliar writing as Sebastian read the message aloud.

"The names of The Princes of Virtue are Ringcross, Oxenham, Bloomfield, and Curling. I have provided their addresses at the bottom of this note in hopes that you will not ask for any more information. I assure you I have no more to give. I implore you to leave me in peace."

Sebastian frowned. "There's no signature. It was most likely writ­ten by one of the shopkeepers we interviewed today."

"How can you be sure?"

"It's obviously from someone who does not want us troubling him with further inquiries. The only people we have been questioning are the shopkeepers."

"Lord Curling's name is on the list," Prudence said. "That makes sense, I suppose. We found the button in his wardrobe, after all."

"Ringcross is dead. Curling wants his death investigated. Both be­longed to The Princes of Virtue club." Sebastian tapped the note absently against his thigh, his expression intent. "I think the next step is to talk to Bloomfield and Oxenham."

"Do you know them?"

"I have met Oxenham. He's involved in shipping. Somewhere along the line he managed to marry two heiresses. I heard that both young women died soon after their weddings. One in a carriage acci­dent. One from an overdose of laudanum. That was several years ago."

Prudence shuddered. She reached for her shawl and wrapped it around herself. "That sounds rather ominous."

"Yes, it does, doesn't it?" Sebastian leaned back into the corner of the carriage and eyed Prudence with a thoughtful expression. "I be­lieve I will talk to him first."

"What about Bloomfield?" Prudence asked.

"I don't know much about him. Rumor has it he's a bit mad. He does not frequent the clubs and I have never encountered him in Society."

"And Curling?"

"We must take this investigation one step at a time," Sebastian said. "It is not yet obvious what Curling's role is in all this. Nor do we know the role my cousin is playing."

Prudence mulled that over for a moment. "According to that note, Oxenham lives on Rowland Street."

"Yes." Sebastian paused. "I think I would prefer to visit their homes while they are absent before I talk to them."

"It occurs to me, my lord," Prudence said softly, "that as you no longer need to pay a late-night visit to that establishment in Bond Street, you are quite free for the rest of the evening."

"If one assumes that this list of names is complete, which is a dangerous assumption." Sebastian regarded her with a hooded gaze. "What are you getting at, my dear?"

Prudence smiled expectantly. "We shall pass near Rowland Street on our way home tonight."

"No," Sebastian said immediately. "Don't think for one moment that I am going to take you on a late-night visit to Oxenham's home."

"We could at least drive past his house and see if he is out for the evening," Prudence said persuasively. "Surely there would be no risk in that, Sebastian."

"Absolutely not. I am not going to allow you anywhere near his house."

"We would not need to stop," Prudence argued. "We could simply determine whether or not he is at home this evening. Then, if you wished to return later we would know if it was safe to do so."