* * *

"The next time you drag me off to a gaming hell as miserable as this place, I trust you will have the decency to see to it that I at least have a chance at winning." Julian kept his voice to a low, annoyed growl as he turned to follow Daregate away from the table.

Behind him other players stepped forward with a studied casualness that did little to conceal the feverish excitement in their eyes. Dice clicked softly and a new game of hazard was begun. Fortunes would be won and lost tonight. Estates that had been in families for generations would fall into new hands this evening because of the luck of the toss. Julian could scarcely conceal his disgust. Lands and the privileges and responsibilities that went with them were not to be risked in a stupid dice game. He did not comprehend the mind of a man who could do such a thing.

"Stop complaining," Daregate chided. "I told you it was easier to get information out of a cheerful winner than it is from a disgruntled loser. You got what you wanted, didn't you?"

"Yes, damn it, but it cost me fifteen hundred pounds."

"A pittance compared to what Crandon and Musgrove will lose tonight. The trouble with you, Ravenwood, is that you begrudge any money not spent directly on your estates."

"You know your own attitude toward gaming would alter completely tomorrow if you inherited your uncle's title and the lands that go with it. You're no more a confirmed gamester than I am." Julian signaled for his carriage as they stepped out into the chilly evening. It was nearly midnight.

"Don't be too certain of that. At the moment I am rather devoted to the gaming tables. I fear I am rather dependent on them for my income."

"It's fortunate you have a talent for dice and cards."

"One of the more useful skills I picked up at Eton, " Daregate said negligently. He leapt up into the carriage as it drew to a halt in front of the two men.

Julian followed Daregate and settled on the seat across from his friend. "Very well, it cost me enough. Let us examine precisely what I have got for my fifteen hundred pounds."

"According to Eggers, who I must tell you, is usually quite knowledgeable in matters such as this, there are at least three or four men left who still wear the black rings," Daregate said thoughtfully.

"But we only managed to get two names out of him. Utteridge and Varley." Julian reflected on the man to whom he had just lost his money. The more Eggers had won, the more he had been willing to gossip to Daregate and Julian. "I wonder if one of them was the one who gave the ring to Sophy's friend. Utteridge, I believe, spent time at the Abbey. And so did Varley, I'm almost certain." Julian's hand clenched at his side as he forced himself to recall Elizabeth's seemingly endless list of conquests.

Daregate pretended to ignore the implications and stuck to the subject at hand. "We have a starting point, at least. Either Utteridge or Varley could be the man who gave your wife's friend the ring."

Damn. I do not like this, Daregate. One thing is for certain, Sophy must never again wear that ring. I shall have to see to it that it is destroyed immediately." And that action, he reflected with an inner wince, was going to cause more trouble between himself and Sophy. She was obviously very attached to the black ring.

On that point, I agree wholeheartedly. She must not wear it now that we have ascertained its meaning. But she does not know just what the ring signifies, Ravenwood. To her it is merely a keepsake. Are you going to tell her the truth?"

Julian shook his head grimly. "That the original wearer belonged to a secret club whose members placed bets on who could cuckold the highest ranking members of the ton? Not bloody likely. She already has a sufficiently low opinion of men in general."

"Does she really?" Daregate asked with amusement. "Then you and your lady are well matched, aren't you, Ravenwood? Your opinion of women is not particularly high. Serves you right to be married to a woman who returns the compliment."

"Enough, Daregate. I have more important matters to attend to tonight than sparring with a man whose opinions on women do not differ greatly from my own. In any event, Sophy is different from the common run of females."

Daregate looked at him, smiling slightly in the shadows. "Yes, I know. I was beginning to wonder if you realized that feet, yourself. Guard her well, Ravenwood. There are wolves in our world who would take great delight in savaging her."

"No one knows that better than I." Julian stared out the window of the carriage. "Where do you wish to be set down?"

Daregate shrugged. "Brook's I suppose. I am in the mood for a little civilized drinking after that hell we just left. Where are you going?"

"To find Sophy. She is attending Lady Dallimore's rout tonight."

Daregate grinned. "And no doubt reigning supreme. Your lady is quickly becoming the rage. Walk down Bond Street or into any drawing room these days and you will find that half the young females in the vicinity will be in a charming state of disarray. Ribbons dangling, hats askew, shawls trailing on the floor. It is all quite delightful but no one can carry it off the way Sophy does."

Julian smiled to himself. "That is because she does not have to work at it. The style comes quite naturally to her."

Fifteen minutes later Julian glided through the crush that filled Lady Dallimore's ballroom, searching for Sophy. Daregate was right, he realized with mild amusement. Most of the young women in the room appeared to have something wrong with their attire. Hair ornaments were stuck into curls at precarious angles, ribbons trailed to the floor, and scarves fluttered in a deceptively haphazard manner. He almost crushed underfoot a fan that was dangling from a long string attached to its owner's wrist.

"Hello, Ravenwood, looking for your Countess?"

Julian glanced over his shoulder and recognized a middle-aged Baron with whom he occasionally discussed the war news. "Evening, Tharp. As it happens, I am looking for Lady Ravenwood. Any sign of her?"

"Signs of her all over the place, my boy. Just take a look." The portly Baron waved a hand to indicate the crowded ballroom. "Impossible to make a move without stepping on a ribbon or scarf or some such frippery. Had a chat with your lady, myself, a bit earlier. Gave me a recipe for a cordial she says will relieve my digestive problems. Don't mind tellin' you, you're damn lucky to be married to that one. She'll see to it you live to a ripe old age. Probably give you a dozen sons into the bargain."

Julian's mouth tightened at that last remark. He was not at all certain Sophy would give him those sons willingly. He remembered well that she had not wanted to be rushed into childbed. "Where did you see her last, Tharp?"

"Dancing with Utteridge, I believe." Tharp's good-natured brow creased in an abrupt frown. "Come to think of it, that ain't a particularly good situation, lad. You know what Utteridge is. An out-and-out rake. If I were you, I'd put a stop to that association at once."

Julian felt a cold feeling in the region of his stomach. How in hell had Utteridge arranged to meet Sophy? More importantly, why had he done so? "I will see to the matter at once. Thank you, Tharp."

"Pleasure. The baron's expression brightened. "Thank your Countess again for that cordial recipe, will you? Anxious to give it a try. Lord knows I'm tired of subsisting on potatoes and bread. Want to be able to sink my teeth into a nice joint of beef again."

"I'll tell her." Julian shifted direction, glancing around the room for Utteridge. He did not see the man but he did catch sight of Sophy. She was just leaving to go out into the gardens. Waycott was preparing to follow a short distance behind her.

One day soon, Julian promised himself, he really would have to do something about Waycott.

The gardens were magnificent. Sophy had heard they were Lord Dallimore's pride. Under any other circumstances she would have enjoyed the sight of them by moonlight. It was obvious that much care had been given to the carefully clipped hedges, terraces, and flower beds.

But tonight the elaborately designed greenery was making her pursuit of Lord Utteridge difficult. Every time she rounded a tall hedge, she found herself in another dead end. As she got farther from the house it became increasingly more difficult to peer into the shadows. Twice she stumbled into couples who had obviously left the ballroom seeking privacy.

How far could Utteridge wander, she asked herself in gathering irritation. The gardens were not so vast that he could lose himself in them. Then she began to wonder why he had chosen to take an extended excursion in the first place.

The answer to that occurred to her almost immediately. A man of Utteridge's character would no doubt use the privacy of the gardens for an assignation. Perhaps even now some hapless young woman was listening to his smooth blandishments and thinking herself in love. If he was the man who had seduced Amelia, Sophy told herself resolutely, she would do her best to see to it that he never married Cordelia Biddle or any other innocent heiress.

She plucked up her skirts, preparing to circle a small statue of Pan prancing in the middle of a flower bed.

"It's not wise to wander around out here alone," Waycott said from the shadows. "A woman could become quite lost in these gardens."

Sophy gasped and swung around to find the viscount staring at her from a short distance away. Her initial fright gave way to anger. "Really, my lord, must you sneak up on people?"