"I would say you have consumed too many bottles of port tonight."

Curling nodded. "And you would no doubt be correct." He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the armchair. "I cannot recall how many bottles I have had this evening."

"I'm sure they will all be accounted for on your bill."

Curling's mouth twisted. "No doubt."

There was silence for a moment. Sebastian made no attempt to end it. His instincts told him that Culling would do so soon enough. Unless the baron fell asleep first.

"Did you hear of Oxenham's death, by any chance, Angelstone?" Curling asked after a moment. He did not open his eyes.

"Yes."

"I knew him rather well," Curling said.

"Did you?"

"He and I were friends." Curling opened his eyes.

"I understand."

"Never thought he'd be the type to put a pistol to his head."

Sebastian examined his wine. "Perhaps he had suffered recent fi­nancial reverses. It is a common enough reason for suicide."

"No. I would have known if he had lost a great deal of money."

"Was he a gamester?"

"Only in a small way. He did not lose his fortune in a card game, if that's what you're implying." Curling took another large swallow of port. "Nor was he prone to fits of melancholia. I don't understand it."

"Is it important to you that you find a reason for his suicide?" Sebastian asked carefully.

"I think so." Curling's hand bunched into a fist. "Bloody hell, yes. I have to know what really happened."

"Why?" Sebastian asked gently.

"Because if it can happen to him and Ringcross, it can happen to all of us." Curling finished his port and tried to put the glass down on the table. He missed. Abandoning the effort, he kept the glass in his hand.

"I don't quite take your meaning, Curling. Perhaps you could ex­plain."

But Curling was beyond making coherent explanations, even if he had been so inclined. His head sagged into the corner of the wing chair. "Hard to credit that after all this time…" The words trailed off. He closed his eyes once more. "God help us. Perhaps we deserve it."

Sebastian sat quietly for a few minutes, watching as Curling slid deep into a drunken slumber. He caught the glass just before it fell from the baron's hand.

Sebastian did not get back to his town house until after one o'clock in the morning. There was plenty of time for reflection as his coachman made his way home through the streets. The cold fog had once again slowed the normally brisk late-night traffic to a crawl.

Through the window Sebastian watched the lamps of other vehi­cles appear and disappear in the gray mist like so many lost ghosts trying to find their way to a final resting place.

When his carriage eventually drew to a halt in front of his door, Sebastian got out and went up the steps with an odd sense of forebod­ing. Flowers opened the door promptly.

"A bitter night, m'lord." Flowers held out his hand for Sebastian's hat, coat, and gloves.

"An interesting night. Is her ladyship home yet?"

"Lady Angelstone arrived home over an hour ago."

Prudence would be in bed by now, Sebastian thought. He did not know whether to be relieved or not. At least this way he would be able to avoid having to continue the uncomfortable conversation she had wanted to conclude earlier. On the other hand, if she was sound asleep he would not be able to tell her about Curling's unusual behav­ior.

"Put out the lamps and go to bed, Flowers." Sebastian untied his cravat as he started toward the stairs.

"I beg your pardon, sir." Flowers cleared his throat portentously. "Madam has not yet retired for the evening."

Sebastian paused, one foot on the bottom step. "I thought you said she was home."

"She is, sir. I believe she is waiting up for you in the library."

Sebastian smiled faintly. "I should have known."

Prudence was not the sort of female who would be easily deflected from her course. She had been attempting to lecture him all day. There was no reason to think she would give up simply because it was after one o'clock in the morning.

Sebastian took his boot off the bottom step and walked back across the hall. Flowers opened the library door without a word.

For a moment Sebastian did not see Prudence. The library was dimly lit by a small blaze on the hearth. Much of the room was in shadow.

A soft, welcoming meow greeted him. Sebastian glanced first at his desk and then at the sofa that faced the hearth. Lucifer was curled on the back. Beneath his august perch a pool of lavender silk spilled over the edge of the sofa and fell to the carpet.

Sebastian went forward until he could look down over the back of the sofa. Prudence had kicked off her lavender satin slippers. She lay curled up, sound asleep in front of the fire. Her spectacles were on the end table next to a book she had evidently been reading.

For a long while Sebastian simply stood there gazing down at her. The warm light of the flames turned her honey-colored hair to dark gold and created a tantalizing shadow between her graceful breasts.

She was wearing another of her new ridiculously low-cut gowns. He decided that lavender was no better a shade on her than violet had been. But he could not deny that the deep neckline was an erotic frame for her gently curved breasts.

Sebastian felt himself growing hard as he contemplated the woman he had married. Everything about her was just right, he thought. Her intelligence, her passion, her amusing taste in clothes, even her annoy­ing tendency to lecture him on his responsibilities. All those factors went together to make up Prudence. He would not change a single thing.

He had lived with her such a short time, yet he could not imagine being married to anyone else. He wondered if Prudence ever imag­ined herself being married to another man. Underbrink, for example.

Sebastian's gut twisted at the thought. He knew he need not fear that Prudence would be unfaithful. He was certain she would never betray him. Her bone-deep integrity would make it impossible for her to dishonor him in that way.

But he could not help wondering how deeply she cared for him.

Mutual interests and mutual passion were all very well as far as they went, he thought, but they were no longer enough. He needed more from Prudence. He wanted her to love him.

The extent of his need for her love made him uneasy, but he could no longer deny it.

As he watched, she stirred on the sofa, snuggling into a more comfortable position. The ornately ruffled skirts of her new gown rode higher on her legs, revealing her silk stockings.

Sebastian peeled off his coat and tossed it onto a chair. He re­moved his dangling cravat and threw it aside. As he walked around the sofa he started to unfasten his shirt.

He was unable to take his eyes off Prudence. His body was already taut with desire. When he had finished undoing his shirt, he went down on one knee and slid his hand beneath the skirts of her gown. He closed his fingers around her soft thigh. He leaned forward and kissed her slightly parted lips.

"Sebastian?" Prudence's lashes fluttered and then opened partway. She looked up at him with drowsy welcome. "Good evening, my lord. It's about time you got home."

"I'm glad you waited up for me."

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Later." He covered her mouth again with his own, deliberately deepening the kiss to cut off her sleepy protest. After a second or two, she did not try to argue. Instead she sighed softly and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Sebastian slid his hand up higher under the lavender skirts and found the lush, firm curves of her derriere. With his finger he lightly traced the cleft that separated the two soft mounds.

Prudence trembled at the unexpected caress, but she did not pull away. Sebastian drew his questing finger lower, down between her thighs. When he found her snug feminine passage he gently pene­trated it and discovered that she was already becoming moist for him.

"Sebastian."

There was a sleepy passion in her voice that sent another surge of pulsating desire through Sebastian. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and reached down to unfasten his breeches.

God, how he wanted her, he thought. All he had to do was look at her and his blood began to heat. The craving deep within him seemed insatiable. He had to have her. Tonight and forever.

The embers of the questions that had been burning within him all afternoon flared into fresh flames. Do you love me, Prue? Can you love me in spite of the cold?

He would not ask the questions, he promised himself. The answers did not matter. After all, she wanted him. There was no question of that. He could feel it. She did not even attempt to hide her physical reaction to him.

It was enough. It had to be enough.

Sebastian scooped Prudence lightly off the sofa. He lowered him­self back onto the carpet and tumbled her down on top of him.

Her gossamer gown had not been designed to withstand such ac­tivity. Her graceful breasts sprang free. Sebastian caught them in his palms.

He looked up at Prudence, who was watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. He could feel his manhood throbbing beneath the tanta­lizing weight of her body.

Without a word, he reached down and opened his breeches. Lav­ender silk cascaded over his rigid shaft. He grabbed a fistful of Pru­dence's ruffled skirts and dragged them up to her waist.

"Sebastian?"

"Take me inside you," he said urgently. "Hurry, sweet. I cannot wait."