The fading sunlight gleamed on Peter's artfully styled blond curls and emphasized his handsome profile. He was, as usual, dressed in the first style of fashion. His elegantly tied cravat and crisply pleated shirt were a perfect complement to his faultlessly cut coat and snug trousers.

"It is you who craves action and excitement, Sheldrake," Harry observed quietly. "You have been bored since you returned to London. You spend too much time on your clothes, you have begun to drink too much, and you gamble too heavily."

"While you bury yourself in your study of a lot of old Greeks and Romans. Come, now, Harry, be honest. Admit you, too, miss the life we lived on the continent."

"Not in the least. I happen to be quite fond of my old Greeks and Romans. In any event, Napoleon is finally out of the way at last and I have duties and responsibilities here in England now."

"Yes, I know. You must see to your estates and titles, honor your responsibilities. You must get married and produce an heir." Peter gulped down a long swallow of his wine.

"I am not the only one who must see to his responsibilities," Harry said meaningfully.

Peter ignored that. "For God's sake, man, you were one of Wellington's key intelligence officers. You controlled dozens of agents such as myself who collected the information you wanted. You developed the ciphers that broke several of the most important secret codes the French had. You risked your neck and mine to get the maps that were needed for some of the most crucial battles in the Peninsula. Do not tell me you don't miss all that excitement."

"I much prefer deciphering Latin and Greek to poring over military dispatches written in sympathetic ink and secret codes. I assure you I find the histories of Tacitus far more stimulating than pondering the workings of the minds of certain French agents."

"But think of the thrill, the danger you lived with on a daily basis for the past several years. Think of the deadly games you played with your opposite number, the one we called Spider. How could you not miss all that?"

Harry shrugged. "My only regret regarding Spider was that we never succeeded in unmasking him and bringing him to justice. As for the excitement, I never sought it out in the first place. The tasks I assumed were more or less thrust upon me."

"But you carried them out brilliantly."

"I discharged my duties to the best of my ability and now the war is over. And none too soon, as far as I'm concerned. You're the one who still seeks out unhealthy thrills, Sheldrake. And I must say, you are finding them in the oddest places. Do you like being a butler?"

Peter grimaced. His blue eyes were bright with wry humor as he turned to face his host. "The role of Scruggs certainly lacks the thrill of seducing a French officer's wife or stealing secret documents, but it has its moments. And it is worth a great deal to see Sally enjoying herself. I fear she will not be with us too much longer, Harry."

"I know. She is indeed a gallant woman. The information she was able to glean from certain parties here in England during the war was invaluable. She took grave risks for her country."

Peter nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "Sally has always loved intrigues. Just as I do. She and I have much in common and it pleases me to guard the portals of her precious club. Pompeia's is the most important thing in her life these days. It gives her much pleasure. You can thank your little hoyden friend for that, you know."

Harry's mouth curved ruefully. "Sally explained that the harebrained notion of a ladies' club modeled after a gentlemen's club was all Augusta Ballinger's idea. Somehow it does not surprise me."

"Hah. It would not surprise anyone who knows Augusta Ballinger. Things have a way of happening around her, if you know what I mean."

"Unfortunately, I believe I do."

"I am convinced Miss Ballinger came up with the idea of the club solely as a way to amuse Sally." Peter hesitated, looking thoughtful. "Miss Ballinger is rather kind. Even to staff. She gave me some medicine for my rheumatism today. Few ladies of the ton would have bothered to think of a servant long enough to worry about his rheumatism."

"I did not know you suffered from rheumatism," Harry said dryly.

"I don't. Scruggs does."

"Just see that you guard Pompeia's well, Sheldrake. I do not want Miss Ballinger to come to social grief because of that ridiculous club."

Peter quirked a brow. "You're concerned about her reputation because of your friendship with her uncle?"

"Not entirely." Harry toyed absently with the quill pen on his desk and then added softly, "I have another reason to want her kept safe from scandal."

"Ah-hah. I knew it." Peter leaped toward the desk and slammed his empty glass down on the polished surface with explosive triumph. "You're going to take Sally's and my advice and add her to your list, aren't you? Admit it. Augusta Ballinger is going on your infamous list of eligible candidates for the role of Countess of Graystone."

"It defeats me why all of London is suddenly concerned with my marital prospects."

"Because of the way you are going about the business of selecting a wife, of course. Everyone's heard about your list. I told you, there are bets all over town on it."

"Yes, you told me." Harry studied his wine. "What, precisely, was the wager in Pompeia's betting book?"

"Ten pounds that you would ask for the Angel's hand by the end of the month."

"As a matter of fact, I intend to ask for Miss Ballinger's hand this very afternoon."

"Damnation, man," Peter was clearly appalled. "Not Claudia. I know you have the impression she would make you a very proper sort of countess, but a lady who wears wings and a halo is not really what you want. You need a different sort of female altogether. And the Angel needs a different sort of man. Do not be a fool, Harry."

Harry raised his brows. "Have you ever known me to play the fool?"

Peter's eyes narrowed. Then he grinned slowly. "No, my lord, I have not. So that's the way of it, eh? Excellent. Excellent. You will not be sorry."

"I am not so certain of that," Harry said ruefully.

"Let me put it this way. At least you will not be bored. You will propose to Augusta this afternoon, then, eh?"

"Good God, no. I do not intend to propose to Augusta at all. This afternoon I am going to ask her uncle for his permission to wed his niece."

Peter looked momentarily blank. "But what about Augusta? Surely you will have to ask her personally first? She is four-and-twenty, Graystone, not a schoolroom miss."

"We both agreed I am not a fool, Sheldrake. I am not about to put an important decision such as this in the hands of the Northumberland side of the Ballinger family."

Peter continued to appear blank for a moment longer and then comprehension set in. He roared with laughter. "I understand completely. Good luck to you, man. Now then, if you will excuse me, I believe I shall make a quick trip to a couple of my own clubs. I wish to place a few wagers in the betting books. Nothing like having a bit of secret intelligence, is there?"

"No," Harry agreed, thinking of how many times his life and the lives of others had depended on such intelligence. Unlike his restless friend, he was very glad those days were behind him.

At three o'clock that afternoon, Harry was shown into the library of Sir Thomas Ballinger.

Sir Thomas was still a vigorous man. A lifetime of devotion to the classics had not softened his sturdy, broad-shouldered frame. His once-blond hair was silvered now and quite thin on top. His well-trimmed whiskers were gray. He had on a pair of spectacles which he removed as he glanced up to see his visitor. He beamed at the sight of Harry coming toward him.

"Graystone. Good to see you. Have a seat. I have been meaning to call on you. I have come across a most intriguing translation of a French work on Caesar which I think you will enjoy."

Harry smiled and took one of the chairs on the other side of the fire. "I am certain I shall find it fascinating. But we shall have to discuss it some other time. I have come upon another sort of errand today, Sir Thomas."

"Is that so?" Sir Thomas eyed him with indulgent attention as he poured two glasses of brandy. "And what would that be, sir?"

Harry took the brandy and sat back in his chair. He studied his host for a long moment. "You and I, sir, are rather old-fashioned in some respects. Or so I have been told."

"There is much to be said for the old ways, if you ask me. Here's to ancient Greeks and amusing Romans." Sir Thomas raised his glass in a toast.

"To ancient Greeks and amusing Romans." Harry obediently took a swallow of the brandy and set the glass down. "I have come to ask for Miss Ballinger's hand in marriage, Sir Thomas."

Sir Thomas's thick brows rose. A thoughtful expression appeared in his eyes. "I see. And does she know you are making this request?"

"No, sir. I have not yet discussed the matter with her. As I said, I am old-fashioned in many respects. I wanted your approval before I proceeded further."

"But of course, my lord. Quite right. Rest assured I am delighted to grant my approval to the match. Claudia is an intelligent, serious-minded young female, if I do say so myself. Very well mannered. Takes after her mother, you know. Even attempting to write a book, just as my wife did. My wife wrote books designed for young ladies in the schoolroom, you know. Quite successful at it, I'm pleased to say."

"I am aware of Lady Ballinger's excellent educational works, Sir Thomas. They are in my own daughter's schoolroom. However—"