"Poor Charles," she said. "I'm sorry, but my duties as your hostess just overwhelmed me. I promise you two dances at the next ball we attend, all right?"

Trahern quaffed down his glass of champagne, saying, "Le's get married, Juliet!"

The ceremony was duly performed, and then Trahern signed the papers put before him by the duke, his hand guided by the clergyman, for it was shaking as his excesses of the evening began to overtake him. The Duke and Duchess of Farminster along with Lord Shelley and Sir Roger signed the marriage papers as witnesses. The minister was paid most generously, and departed with his bag of coins and two bottles of French champagne. While Aurora distracted Trahern, the duke took the new Lady Trahern aside.

"I had your husband sign two sets of the papers. If he should ever find yours, come to me for the duplicates," Valerian Hawkesworth told Maybelle.

"He ain't going to find 'em," she said firmly. "After he sobers up and sees 'em, I'll give 'em to the goldsmith to keep safe. My witnesses will speak up for me, won't they?"

"They will, your ladyship," the duke said, and he kissed May-belle's hand. To his surprise, she did not giggle or simper.

"Thank you for your friendship, your grace," she said quietly.

The three men loaded Trahern into the duke's coach, the duke giving his coachmen instructions to help her ladyship get her husband into his house, and his bed, before departing. The carriage rumbled off, and the three men reentered the house where Aurora was awaiting them with a celebratory glass of champagne.

"Gentlemen," she said, raising her glass to them, "I thank you for your help in protecting my good name. You will always be welcomed at Hawkes Hill by my husband and me. We are in your debt."

"Actually, madam," Sir Roger said, "it was rather fun," and he grinned mischievously.

"Never liked Trahern anyway," Lord Shelley said. "Man's a damned scoundrel. Actually feel sorry for the wench."

"You need not," the duke promised him. "Lady Maybelle Trahern is quite up to the task of handling her husband."

"Can't wait to brut it about tomorrow at Boodles," chortled Sir Roger. "I imagine if Trahern dares to show his face, he'll have quite a head. Ha! Ha!"

"We'll take our leave, then," Lord Shelley said. "It was a grand party, ma'am." He kissed Aurora's hand.

Sir Roger then kissed her hand and thanked Aurora.

When the door had closed behind the two gentlemen, Aurora and Valerian looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"I can't believe that we actually pulled it off!" she said.

"Shelley was right," Valerian replied. "There really wasn't much sport in it. At least not quite yet."

"You will go to Boodles tomorrow afternoon?" she asked as they walked hand in hand up the staircase.

"My only regret is that you won't be there," he answered her. "I shall report it to you in careful detail."

"I intend going with you," she said.

"Women are not allowed in Boodles."

"I'll dress myself as a boy, and you will pass me off as your cousin, St. John," Aurora told him.

The duke was about to protest, and then he laughed. "All right, my darling," he agreed. "Why not? You deserve to be there at the kill, and if any notice, they will remain silent in agreement. Men like Trahern cannot be allowed to stain any woman's reputation unfairly." Entering the ducal apartments, he drew her into his arms. "Revenge really can be sweet, Aurora, can it not?" His lips brushed hers.

"Ummmmm," she murmured, and ran her tongue along his lips. "Very, very sweet, my lord."

"I like your Roman matron's costume," he said softly in her ear, loosening it so that it fell away from her body.

"And I adore your conquering general," she replied, unfastening his sword and scabbard and sliding her hand beneath his tunic as it clanked to the floor.

He pushed her back against the closed doors of their bedchamber, and sliding his hands beneath her buttocks raised her up, then lowered her upon his rock-hard lance. Aurora put her arms about his neck and kissed him passionately, allowing him to guide their lovemaking to a torrid peak. The walls of her silken passage clutched at him, arousing him to an even hotter lust. Holding her, he walked slowly to the bed, never once breaking their conjunction as they collapsed upon the down comforter. Her legs were wrapped tightly about his torso. Pressing her back into the mattress, he moved himself slowly and with great deliberation, delving deeply into her depths. And when she finally spasmed sweetly, his own desire exploded rapturously.

"You are perfect!" he said several minutes later when he had finally managed to come to himself again.

"As are you, my lord," she told him contentedly. She really did have to tell him soon about their baby. After tomorrow, Aurora thought sleepily, rolling over onto her side with a drowsy sigh.

He drew the coverlet up over her, smiling softly. What a woman she was! Not simply beautiful, but clever and intelligent as well. Neither his father nor hers could have known it when they matched their children all those long years back, but it really was the perfect marriage. They had begun badly, but thank God they were now on a straight path. He smiled to himself. Not so Charles Trahern. Come the morning, when he was sobered up, he was in for quite a shock. And would he come to Boodles tomorrow afternoon? Yes, the duke decided. He would come because he wouldn't believe Maybelle despite her marriage lines. He would think it a jest being played on him in retaliation for his attempt to slander Aurora. So he would come to Boodles and learn that he was indeed married to one of London's finest whores, Merry Maybelle Monypenny. And the Duke of Farminster and his duchess would both be there to witness their revenge.


***

And indeed at four o'clock the next afternoon the duke and his visiting cousin, St. John, were seated in the bow window of Boodles, awaiting the arrival of Lord Charles Trahern, who always arrived promptly at five past four each day, if he hadn't come earlier for luncheon. Lord Shelley and Sir Roger had already spread the news of Trahern's precipitous marital union with Merry Maybelle. Many of the club's members were in proximity to the front door and the bow window.

"He comes," the duke murmured as Trahern stepped briskly down the street. He was attired, as always, in the height of fashion. His breeches were black and fitted above the knee. His stockings had not a wrinkle in them, and his shoes sported square silver buckles. His coat was buff, the patterned waistcoat beneath it a lavender and white. There was lace at his throat and at his wrists. His powdered wig was topped by a tricorn hat with gold braid, and he carried a long walking stick ornamented with an amber knot. He looked a bit under the weather, but the duke knew Trahern would never vary his daily routine.

As Lord Trahern stepped into the club, he was suddenly surrounded by its members all congratulating him upon his marriage.

"Nonsense!" he said. "I've not gotten married. 'Twas only a jest, gentlemen." His eye spotted the duke. "Was it not, Hawkesworth? A fine jest that you played on me."

"A jest?" the duke drawled. "I played no jest upon you, Trahern. You are a married man these-" He paused, and drawing forth a round silver hunter's case from his watch pocket, snapped it open and peered closely at it. "Twelve hours and six minutes. Yes, that is it. Your bride is well, I trust? You have certainly made a most interesting choice in a wife, Trahern."

About them there was a flurry of knowing snickers, and Lord Trahern flushed.

"I am not married to her!" he said emphatically.

"But, my dear fellow," Valerian Hawkesworth said pleasantly, "I am afraid that you are. I witnessed it, as did my wife, and both Sir Roger Andrews and Lord Percival Shelley. Are you calling us liars?"

"I can't be married to her!" Trahern protested.

"Bridegroom's nerves after the fact, Trahern? You were certainly eager enough last night." The duke smiled, and the other club members crowding about the two men laughed aloud.

"It is a trick!" Trahern cried desperately. "You have tricked me into this position, and it is not legal! I shall hire a lawyer to protect me in this matter."

"There was no trick," the duke told him. "No one initiated the marriage but you yourself. You insisted upon marrying the wench because, as you so succinctly put it, your Juliet wouldn't fuck without a wedding ring. The ball was over, and most of our guests had taken their leave, and you demanded we fetch a man of the cloth to marry you to Maybelle Monypenny. You cannot fault us for following your orders, my dear Trahern. You are a married man now, and we have witnesses to that fact."

"I was drunk!" Trahern wailed. His life had suddenly become a nightmare, and if this marriage was indeed legal, he was ruined. While some of his male acquaintances might continue to associate with him here at the club-if indeed the club allowed him to retain his membership-no respectable hostess would invite him, nor would their majesties invite him. Not a man married to a notorious whore!

"You are quite frequently drunk, Trahern," the duke said smoothly. "I have never before known it to impair your judgment."

Charles Trahern's eyes almost bulged from his head. He suddenly had the look of a trapped rat. The duke was adamant in his insistence that he was a married man, and both Andrews and Shelley were in his line of view, and they were grinning at him like smug loons. Maybelle had shown him the marriage lines, and these very respectable men were silently telling Trahern that they would go into court and swear to the validity of his marriage. They would not perjure themselves, he knew, especially not Valerian Hawkesworth, who prided himself on his ethics. "You bastard!" he snarled at the duke. "You did this! I know you did!"