Marcus had been quietly pleased to see that his brother was not the type to he swept off his feet by the superficial entertainments of the ton.

Oxford had done its job. Marcus had not sent Bennet to Oxford for an education. On the contrary, he had seen to his brother's schooling at home with the assistance of an excellent tutor and his own ever-expanding library.

A young man did not go off to either Cambridge or Oxford in order to study. He went there to obtain a social polish and to mingle with the young men with whom he would later do business for the rest of his life. He went there to form friendships with the scions of the best families, families from which he would eventually select a suitable wife.

Marcus had been determined that his brother would not he like him, a naive, rough-edged country squire who knew nothing of the world beyond life on a farm.

Marcus had paid a high price for his own lack of worldliness. He did not want Bennet to suffer the same fate. A man needed to shed his illusions and dreams as quickly as possible if he was to avoid becoming a victim in this life.

Marcus took a large bite of his toast. "Where did you go last night?"

"He and I both went to our club," Bennet said vaguely. "Then Harry suggested that we drop in on a few of the more interesting soirees."

"Which ones?"

"I don't remember precisely. The Broadmore hall, for one, I believe. And I think we stopped briefly at the Fosters' levee.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

Bennet met Marcus's eyes for an instant and then his gaze slid away. He shrugged. "You could say that'»

"Bennet, I've had enough of this evasiveness. If something is wrong, tell me."

"Nothing is wrong." Bennet glowered at him. "At least not with me."

"What the devil is that supposed to mean?"

"Very well, Marcus, I shall be blunt. I understand you made a spectacle of yourself last night."

"A spectacle?"

"Hell and damnation. They say you carried your new paramour out of the Fenwicks' ballroom in your arms, for God's sake. Talk about causing a scene."

"Ah, so that's the problem." Marcus's hand tightened on the handle of his knife. He cut into his sausage with grave precision. "Did I embarrass you?"

"Marcus, are you going to spend the rest of your life titillating Society with your bizarre behavior?"

"I did embarrass you." Marcus forked up a bite of sausage and chewed meditatively. "Try not to take it to heart, Bennet. Society has seen worse."

"That's hardly the point, is it?" Bennet slathered butter on his muffin. "The thing is, a man of your years should behave with some sense of propriety."

Marcus nearly choked on his sausage. "A man of my years?"

"You're thirty-six. You ought to have remarried years ago and settled down to the business of building your nursery.

"Bloody hell. From whence springs this sudden concern with my nursery? You know full well that I do not intend to remarry."

"What about your obligation to the title?"

"I'm quite content to see the title go to you."

"Well, I don't particularly want it, Marcus. It's yours and it should go to your son." Bennet scowled in obvious frustration. "It's only right and proper that you should see to your responsibilities."

"I perceive that my actions last night have, indeed humiliated you," Marcus said dryly.

"You must admit, it's a trifle awkward to have an older brother, a thirty-six-year-old unmarried earl, no less, who has no compunction about becoming the latest on dit.

"This isn't the first time."

"It's the first time that you've caused a scene in the middle of a fashionable ballroom."

Marcus cocked a brow. "How would you know? You've hardly spent any time at all in Society."

"Miss Dorchester told me as much," Bennet retorted, clearly goaded.

Marcus stared. "Juliana Dorchester?"

"I had the great privilege of dancing with her fast night," Bennet muttered.

"I see."

"Whenever you say 'I see' in that particular tone, it generally means you disapprove. Well, you had best not say anything unpleasant about Miss Dorchester to me, Marcus. She is a beautiful young lady with extremely refined sensibilities who would never dream of getting involved in a scandalous scene."

"This is Juliana Dorchester's second Season," Marcus said grimly. "She has to secure a husband this time around because the Dorchesters cannot afford a third Season for her. Do you comprehend me, Bennet?"

"You're trying to warn me off her, aren't you? Well, it won't work. She is an unrivaled paragon of womanhood and I shall he forever grateful that she allowed me into her presence last night."

"She is no doubt thanking her lucky stars right this minute that you took notice of her. She'll be plotting to appear in whatever ballroom you happen to show up in this evening."

"Damnation. She's not the type to plot anything. She's too innocent, too gentle, too sweet-natured to plot."

"She's plotting right this minute. Trust me." "How would you know?"

"She's Dorchester 's daughter and I know Dorchester. He's desperate to marry Juliana into money. And her mother wants a title in the family so badly she can taste it." Marcus pointed a fork at Bennet and narrowed his eyes. "You're a prime catch on the Marriage Mart, Bennet. You're rich and there's every expectation that you'll inherit the title. You must he on your guard."

Bennet flung down his napkin. "That's outrageous. Miss Dorchester is not the type to concern herself with money and titles."

"If you really believe that, then you are infinitely more naive than I thought."

"I am not naive. But neither am I as cold-natured and rigid and set in my ways as you are, Marcus. And I certainly don't hang about with outrageous females such as your Mrs. Bright."

"You will speak of Mrs. Bright with respect or you will not mention her name at all, is that understood?"

"She's your mistress, for God's sake."

"She is my very good friend."

"Everyone knows what that means. You have some nerve criticizing Miss Dorchester. Your Mrs. Bright could take a few lessons in decorum from her, if you ask me."

Marcus slammed his coffee cup down onto the saucer. "No one asked you."

The door of the breakfast room opened. Lovelace loomed. He had A small silver tray in one gloved hand.

"A message for you, m'lord. It just arrived."

Marcus frowned as he took the note from the tray. He read it quickly and silently.


M:

I must see you at once. Very urgent. The park. Ten o'clock. The fountain.

Yrs.

H


Marcus glanced at Lovelace. "Have Zeus saddled and brought around at nine-thirty. I believe that I shall ride in the park this morning."

"Yes, my lord." Lovelace backed out of the breakfast room

Who sent you the note?" Bennet asked. "A friend."

"Mrs. Bright, I expect."

"No, as a matter of fact, it's not from Mrs. Bright." Bennet's mouth tightened. "I've never seen you quite

so touchy about one of your paramours."

"She is my friend." Marcus tossed down his napkin and rose to his feet. "Do not forget that Bennet."


At five minutes before ten, Marcus rode Zeus, his heavily muscled black stallion, into the park. He took the graveled path that led toward the center of the vast wooded swath of green. It was the least traveled of the many paths.

Hannah, Lady Sands, was waiting for him in a small closed curricle. She was dressed in a dark maroon carriage gown' The high fluted collar accentuated the graceful line of her throat. Her lovely face was concealed beneath the veil of her stylish maroon hat.

"Marcus. Thank God you have come." She lifted her veil and gazed at him with stark, anxious eyes. "I have been beside myself for days. This morning, when I learned that you were back in Town, I sent my note at once. I feared you would not be free to see me on such short notice."

"You know that I am always available to you, Hannah." Marcus did not Eke the tense set of her delicate features or the shadows in her gray eyes.

Hannah was twenty-nine, married to the wealthy, likable Lord Sands and recently blessed with an infant son.

She had been widowed seven years ago. Her new marriage, which had taken place three years previously, had appeared to he a happy one. Marcus had been glad for her. He had thought her days of fear were behind her, but this morning he recognized the old haunted expression in her eyes.

"What is it, Hannah?"

"I am being blackmailed," she whispered. Her face crumpled in despair. "Oh, Marcus, someone knows everything."

Marcus did not move. "That's impossible."

"No, it's true." Tears formed in her eyes. "Oh, God, he knows, do you comprehend me? He knows how Spalding died. He knows that I killed him."

"Hannah, get hold of yourself. Are you telling me that someone has demanded money from you?"

"Yes. Five thousand pounds. I have already paid it. I was forced to pawn some earrings."

"Bloody hell."

"I fear there will he more demands."

"Yes." Marcus tapped his riding crop against his boot. "I think we can safely assume that there will be more demands. There always are when one is dealing with a blackmailer."

"Dear heaven, I am so afraid, Marcus."

"Hannah, listen carefully. When did you get the first demand?"

"Six days ago. I would have sent a message to you at once, but I did not know where you had gone. I only knew that you were out of Town for an extended period of time."