“I knew that. I hope I convinced you it wasn’t the case.” She’d tried so hard to pretend to her mother that all was well, to make her leave so that she could get back to Justin and Harry.

“Indeed you did, but I was still unsure whether to tell you what I’d found out about Justin. With what happened with Sir Harry afterward, perhaps I should’ve been more direct.”

“What about him?”

Helene shrugged. “It is not important now, is it? Justin is dead, and I would hate to sully his memory.”

Marguerite gripped her hands together. “Maman, you came all this way to see me, you might as well tell me what you want to say. As we’ve already discussed, I am a grown woman.”

“All right.” Helene still hesitated. “You knew Justin came to the pleasure house as a guest of Sir Harry Jones?”

“Justin told me that.”

Helene nodded. “Did he ever share with you what he did there?”

Oh God, her mother knew, had known all along . . . Marguerite swallowed hard. “You forget, Sir Harry came with us on our honeymoon. It became obvious to me that his relationship with Justin was more complicated than perhaps it should’ve been.”

“That is what I thought too, although I never actually saw them doing anything indiscreet. From what I remember, they always slept with women.” Helene paused. “It seemed to me that Sir Harry was in love with Justin. Was that how it felt for you?”

Her mother’s voice was so soft, so understanding. Marguerite wrapped her arms around her waist. Could she share the truth with her mother or was it better to simply agree? Wouldn’t it be better to lay the blame on Justin, who was dead, rather than on Sir Harry, who was still alive and yet unable to defend himself?

“I wasn’t completely surprised when I heard that Sir Harry had challenged Justin to a duel,” Helene continued. “He was probably incredibly jealous of you.”

Marguerite closed her eyes. In truth, Harry had been the perfect gentleman. It was Justin who had proved to be the problem.

“Marguerite?”

She stood up and walked across to the window, presenting her mother with her back. “Maman, what exactly does all this reminiscing have to do with me embarking on a new affair?”

Helene sighed. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t still blaming yourself over what happened. Justin couldn’t stop Sir Harry loving him and neither could you. Sometimes guilt and grief can affect how you choose a new partner.”

Marguerite turned around. “Is this visit because you’ve found out whom I’m seeing?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“And you think I’ve made a bad choice—again?”

“Anthony Sokorvsky is hardly an uncomplicated man.”

“I know that he sleeps with men. He told me.”

“He did?” Helene still didn’t smile. “Well I suppose that is a start. Perhaps he’ll tell you the rest of it before he breaks your heart.”

“I’m not planning on letting him do that. We’ve barely become intimate as it is.” Marguerite glared at her mother. “He has been nothing but kind and honest with me, and I resent you implying otherwise.”

“Really.” Helene got up and pulled on her gloves. “Then please feel free to ignore everything I’ve said to you.”

“He is a good man, Maman.” Marguerite pressed her hand to her heart. “I know it, here.”

“I’ve known Anthony Sokorvsky for years, and I’m sure you’re right.” Helene’s tight smile faltered. “I’ve always wished him well. I just didn’t expect him to take up with one of my children. Promise me that you’ll take care of yourself, Marguerite.”

“What do you think he’ll do to me?” Marguerite tried to laugh. “Beat me?”

“I . . .” Helene shook her head. “I’ll pray for you, my darling.”

“Surely that’s a little melodramatic? I didn’t think you believed in God anyway.”

Helene gave her a quick hug and patted her cheek. “Since Philip reappeared in my life, I’ve realized there has to be a God somewhere. Now, please take care.”

Marguerite sat back down as her mother left and stared at the unused tea cups. So her mother knew something about the intense nature of Justin and Harry’s relationship. Did that mean others did too? And why was Helene so worried about her relationship with Anthony? He’d told her about his sexual peccadilloes, surely that was enough? Her mother seemed to be implying that his needs were far more complex and that Marguerite wasn’t the woman to deal with them.

Goodness, why was her love life always so complicated? Was her mother right that her guilt over Justin made her incapable of choosing a proper mate? Marguerite scowled at her indistinct reflection in the silver tray. She liked Anthony; she trusted him. How much worse could his sexual tastes be?

And now she was at odds with her mother as well. She sighed. Why did it have to come to this? Why couldn’t she find a man who was straightforward and easy to please? It was as if she couldn’t make up her mind about what she wanted; her desire to be conventional was at war with her own sexuality.

A knock on the door made her compose her features into what she hoped was a welcoming smile. Had her mother come back or had Mrs. Jones finally remembered she was supposed to be a chaperone and gotten out of bed?

“My lady, are you receiving visitors?”

Marguerite smiled at her butler. “Who is inquiring?”

“A Lord Minshom, ma’am.”

Now what was she supposed to do? Minshom must have seen her mother leave, so he’d know she was at home. And if he had seen Helene, had he recognized her? She could only pray he hadn’t. After her scandalous conduct with Anthony that morning, could she risk offending an old family friend of the Lockwoods?

“Please tell him to come up, and bring some fresh coffee. And I wish to go out in about quarter of an hour, so have my carriage ready.”

She waited while the butler left with the tea tray and then returned with a smiling Lord Minshom. He looked as if he’d engaged in some sort of physical activity, his pale blue eyes were animated, his cheeks flushed. He swept her an elegant bow.

“Good morning, Lady Justin. Thank you for seeing me.”

“Good morning, Lord Minshom.” She gestured to a seat on the couch opposite her. “Did you ride here? You look quite invigorated.”

“Indeed I did, my lady. And before that, I spent an hour at Angelo’s fencing establishment honing my technique.”

“You enjoy fencing, sir?”

He shrugged. “It depends on my opponent. This morning’s session was exhilarating, although I would probably call the outcome a draw.”

“And I would imagine you prefer to win, sir.”

He met her gaze. “I always do in the end.”

The butler appeared with a tray of drinks, and Lord Minshom accepted a brandy while Marguerite poured herself some coffee.

“Was there something in particular you wished to see me about, Lord Minshom?”

He sat back, one long leg crossed over the other, his arm along the edge of the couch. “You doubt any man would seek you out purely for the sake of your company?”

Marguerite bit her lip. Did he intend to answer every other question with a barbed one of his own? She sipped at her coffee, refusing to gratify his ego with a response.

“Actually, there was something I wished to share with you.” Lord Minshom put down his brandy glass. “It concerns Sir Harry Jones.”

Marguerite stared at him and prayed the tension didn’t show on her face. “What about him?”

“I’ve heard he is back in Town.”

“That seems hard to believe.”

Lord Minshom shrugged, the gesture elegant. “Why? It’s not as if the Lockwood family is going to pursue him. Dueling is illegal. If they implicate Jones, they will also cast suspicion upon their son—and we all know whom they’d prefer to blame for the tragedy, don’t we?”

Marguerite ignored his provocative remark and held his gaze. “But surely the authorities . . .”

“What authorities? From all accounts, the duel was carried out in a perfectly respectable manner. Even if Jones’s peers don’t like what happened, they can hardly condemn him. Of course, the coroner wasn’t told about the duel, but he chose not to argue when Lord Lockwood informed him that there had been an unfortunate accident with a loaded gun.”

Lord Minshom half-smiled. “Trust me; the Lockwoods are powerful enough to stop any further inquiry into Justin’s death. And we both know that there are good reasons for that decision. What they choose to do to Sir Harry in private is another matter. I’ve already offered to ‘speak’ to Jones on their behalf myself.”

“You haven’t actually seen him then?”

“Not yet, but we were once quite . . . close. I suspect he might come to me for help.”

Marguerite contemplated pouring herself more coffee but decided against it in case her hand shook too much and betrayed her agitation. Lord Minshom might appear relaxed, but he watched her with all the attention of a cat about to spring on a fat little mouse.

“If he does turn up, will you keep me informed?”

Minshom stood up and bowed. “Of course, my dear. I would hate for you to worry.” He flicked her a knowing glance. “Although why you might think he would come after you is anyone’s guess. He was the one who killed his best friend, wasn’t he? Not you.”

“And yet society is more likely to accept him back than they are to accept me or a man who fails to honor his gambling debts.” Marguerite stood too and managed a curtsey. “Thank you for coming, my lord. I appreciate it.”

“I always enjoy coming . . . to visit a beautiful woman. Do you have time for a ride in the park this afternoon? I’d be delighted to escort you.”

“Unfortunately no, sir. I have a commission to finish for my mother.”

Lord Minshom paused by the door. “Another of your miniature paintings or something more mundane?”

“Actually, it is a portrait of my mother’s husband.”