Geoff set the seal down on the desk with a distinct click. "Won't she wonder at my sudden appearance in Ireland? The Dublin Season doesn't begin until December."

Wickham handed Geoff a folded piece of paper. "You," he instructed, "are in Ireland to purchase a horse you wish to run in the Epsom. Naturally, you would wish to inspect the animal yourself. All of your instructions are on this piece of paper. Read it and then burn it."

Geoff refrained from commenting that it had never occurred to him to carry out those tasks in the opposite order. Wickham would not be amused.

He was also still speaking. "A packet leaves for Dublin by way of Holyhead tomorrow afternoon."

Geoff resisted the craven desire to run for the packet and disappear into Hibernian obscurity where scheming adventuresses in search of a title would fear to follow. But the special license—the new special license—was already in his pocket, the papers drawn up, and the parson engaged.

With a twist of his lips, he shook his head. "I can't leave tomorrow. I have one small annoyance to deal with before I can leave for Ireland."

Wickham frowned. "See that this small annoyance doesn't detain you too long."

"Oh, it won't," said Geoff blandly, drawing on his gloves. "You can be sure of that."

Wickham lowered the Black Tulip's seal to the desk with a fatalistic thump. "Lord Pinchingdale, the one thing I have learned is that it is best never to be sure of anything."

Given last night's events, Geoff was inclined to agree. Until midnight last night, he had been quite sure that the dawn would see him married to Mary Alsworthy. Instead…instead he found himself making hurried—and unwanted—preparations to marry her scheming sister.

Replacing his hat, Geoff took his leave of Wickham. He had one last, unpleasant errand to undertake before he could seek out his study and a bottle of brandy, not necessarily in that order.

Sleep would have been an impossibility the night before, even if there had been any night left to sleep in. Instead, upon departing the Alsworthys', Geoff had gone straight to his study. Stacking his working papers to one side, he had pulled out a blank piece of paper and dipped his quill in the ink pot. And got no further. The sound of ink dripping from his pen joined the steady tick of the clock on the mantel.

Crumpling up the first sheet, Geoff had tried again. That time, he got so far as "My very dearest Mary" before the ink splotches took over the page. What, after all, could one say? I may be marrying your sister, but I will love you always? That page joined the others on the floor. It would be the worst sort of selfishness to attempt to bind Mary to him with declarations of affection when he had nothing more to offer her. Better by far, resolved Geoff, attacking a fourth page with enough force to crack the nib, for her to go on with her life, and find someone who would be free to offer her the things he could not: a home and a name.

But he couldn't force his pen to shape the words that would free them both.

Geoff stared around the well-worn room, the familiar books on the shelves, the bust of Cicero on its stand in the corner, the decanter on the table by the window. Outside the study door, the empty rooms pressed down upon him, like a vision of his future. No Mary to sweep in sunshine with her, no children waking the echoes with their laughter. Instead, nothing but more sleepless nights in his study, poring over dispatches from France.

And when the war with France was over—as one assumed it must eventually be—what then? A squirrelly half-life of gaming hells and kept women? A place on the fringes of his friends' families? Neither was an attractive prospect.

He supposed he would have to come to some sort of amicable arrangement with his unwanted bride, if only to prevent his cousin Jasper from inheriting. In books, people might die of balked desire, or live celibate lives mourning the loss of their own true love, but Geoff had estates to administer and responsibilities to fulfill, among which was included the production of an heir.

Prior to Mary, he had never expected a love match. He hadn't expected thunder or violins or any of those other overblown sentiments that filled the covers of romantic novels and spilled over into reams of limping verse. He had always thought that someday, in the fullness of time, he would marry a nice, sensible sort of girl, the sort who could be trusted to oversee the house, speak articulately at the dinner table, and bear healthy and reasonably intelligent children. In fact, before Mary had invaded his dreams, his vision of his future wife had been someone not unlike Letty Alsworthy.

Or, he corrected himself darkly, as he climbed the steps of a narrow-fronted house on Brewer Street, what he had supposed Letty Alsworthy to be. His cousin Jasper's lodgings were on the third floor, enough of a climb to discourage Jasper's more faint-hearted creditors, as well as his adoring mother. Geoffrey rapped on the door with the head of his cane.

A brusque "Enter!" sounded from within. Jasper's man of all work was seldom present when there was any work to be done, and Jasper preferred not to lower himself to such menial tasks as opening doors.

Turning the knob with a smart click, Geoff let himself in, removing his hat as he ducked through the low lintel of the door.

Several versions of last night's story, ink smeared from hasty printing, mingled with the other debris on the floor around his cousin's chair, the one on top bearing the legend VARIETY-LOVING VISCOUNT SWITCHES SISTERS! SEE FULL STORY ON PAGE 2.

Jasper indicated the paper with a swipe of the foot. "You can't really mean to go through with this?"

Although it was already evening, Jasper looked as though he had just climbed out of bed. He lounged in an easy chair in his bachelor lodgings, with a dressing gown of heavy brocade negligently tied around his waist, an empty carafe and three stained glasses on a small table next to him bearing testament to last night's activities. A captain in the Horse Guards, Jasper never walked when he could swagger, never smiled when he could leer, and had the art of mentally undressing a lady down to the flick of an eyelash. He and Geoff had cordially hated each other since the time they were old enough to be put in a room together and told to play nicely.

It had seemed oddly appropriate to ask his most reviled—if closest—relative to stand best man to him at a wedding that looked to contain about as much genuine affection as a harlot's kiss.

When Geoff didn't answer immediately, a wide grin spread across Jasper's broad-boned face. He slapped his knee. "You are, aren't you! Devil take it, you're actually going to marry the scheming chit. I say, that is rich. I haven't been so entertained this fortnight."

Geoff paced to the pier glass at the other side of the room, kicking an empty bottle out of the way as he went. "I don't see that I have a choice," he said tersely. He regarded the long trail of dust adhering to his otherwise impeccable Hessians with distaste. "Good God, Jasper, does your man ever clean? Or do you just keep him around to ward off your creditors?"

His cousin ignored the slur on his housekeeping and leaned forward avidly. "I've been hearing the most fascinating stories all afternoon. Do tell, is it true that you were discovered in an inn with the little Alsworthy, both of you lacking certain crucial articles of clothing?"

"No," said Geoff curtly.

After all, they hadn't been in the inn, merely in front of it. And he couldn't vouch for her, but all his clothes had been firmly attached at all times.

"Pity. I knew it was too much to hope that our virtuous Geoffrey had been chivied naked out of bed. But it makes such a delightful on dit, doesn't it? You've quite replaced Prinny in the gossip mills today."

Jasper kicked his slippered feet up on a threadbare footstool. In contrast to the faded furniture, the slippers, like the robe, were of heavy crimson silk embroidered in gold thread. Jasper, as Geoff knew, had a convenient habit of switching tailors whenever his account came due. He changed lodgings with equal alacrity.

"Deuced unlucky, that's what I call it," Jasper drawled. "It's a sad, sad day when a man can't dally with one sister without getting hauled off to the altar with the other."

"I doubt that it's a universal predicament." Geoff paused in his perambulations to fix his cousin with a forbidding stare. "And I wasn't 'dallying' with Mary Alsworthy, as you so eloquently put it. I intended to marry her."

"More fool you. Marry…Mary…Unmarried Mary…" Jasper waved his pipe languidly through the air. "There's a pun in that, if only I had the wit for it. Ah, well. You know what they say. The wine is in and the wit is out."

"More wine than wit from the look of it," commented Geoff dryly, casting a pointed glance at the drained decanter by Jasper's elbow.

"Not all of us can afford genuine, smuggled French brandy," retorted Jasper. "But I miss my manners. Care for a drink, coz?"

"Not with you."

"Off to moon over your dear lost Mary? Don't look so, coz! One sister will do as well as the other in the dark."

"I'll ascribe that statement to the wine, and leave it at that."

"Or you'd what? Call me out?" Jasper blew out a thick ring of smoke, and ran it through with the stem of his pipe. "Think how it would upset your dear mama. But our family paragon wouldn't do anything so foolish, would he? Unless…I have always wondered, how far can our virtuous Geoffrey be pushed before he cracks?"

"Push too far and I'll refuse to pay your bills the next time your creditors get too much for you," amended Geoff calmly. "Think how much that would upset your dear mama."