Letty shook her head sadly. "I find there is very little to excite the attention in a glass of lemonade. It is so uniformly yellow."

Lord Pinchingdale's lips smiled, but his eyes didn't. "If you object to yellow, perhaps we can find you a beverage of a different color."

"And if I don't want a beverage?"

Lord Pinchingdale's grip tightened in a way that convinced Letty that acquiescence was decidedly the better part of valor.

"I find I am suddenly seized with an intense longing for a beverage."

"I had thought you might be," murmured Lord Vaughn. "Enjoy your refreshments, Miss…pardon me, Mrs. Alsdale."

"You look overheated, Mrs. Alsdale," said her husband blandly, steering her forcibly across the room. "Let me escort you toward the window."

"What of my lemonade?" inquired Letty, just to be difficult.

"I'm sure you will find the fresh air far more bracing," replied her husband in a tone even nippier than the climate.

Letty pulled back against the iron grip on her arm, all but digging her heels into the carpet as he dragged her inexorably toward the darkest corner of the room. "The night air is reputed to be very bad for your health."

"That," muttered her husband, yanking her into the relative privacy of the window embrasure, "isn't all that's bad for your health."

"Was that a threat?" demanded Letty.

Geoff smiled charmingly. "Given the company you keep, consider it more of a prediction."

"At the moment, that would be you." Letty bared her teeth right back at him, using the opportunity to deliver a sharp jab in the rib with her elbow. "Would you kindly loosen your grip? I lost all feeling in my arm about five minutes ago."

"We've only been speaking for three."

"Funny, it feels like much longer."

Hidden beneath the crimson swags of Mrs. Lanergan's draperies, the two glowered at each other in untrammeled enmity. Geoff found himself grimly amused. Well, they were agreed in this, at least; neither of them wanted to be anywhere near the other. Which was more than he could say for his shameless wife's tкte-а-tкte with the highly suspect Lord Vaughn. A few inches closer, and the old rouй would have been crawling in her bosom, like the asp to Cleopatra.

Leaning an elbow against the windowsill, Geoff demanded abruptly, "What were you discussing with Vaughn?"

"Certainly nothing of the nature you were discussing with Miss Fairley," Letty shot back.

"That," replied Geoff sharply, "is none of your affair."

"No, it's your affair, isn't it?"

"Coming over the jealous wife, my dear?" enquired Geoff, in a tone that could have corroded the iron railings around the door. "Don't you think that's a bit unconvincing under the circumstances? You're playing it a bit too brown."

"I'm not playing it, as you so eloquently put it, any way at all. Which is more than I can say for you! 'We're some little bit acquainted,'" Letty mimicked in a passable imitation of her husband's urbane drawl.

"While you were being entirely aboveboard, Mrs. Alsdale?"

Letty flushed, and Geoff felt a childish pleasure at having scored a hit.

Taking a corner of her black-dyed sleeve between his fingers, he rubbed the fabric. "What are you in mourning for, Mrs. Alsdale? Your lost freedom? Or were you planning to kill me off, and merely donned the black as an anticipatory measure?"

"For that sort of joyous occasion, I would have worn crimson." Letty jerked her sleeve out of his grasp, inexplicably angered by the intimate gesture. She glared mutinously up at him. "You should be thanking me for traveling under another name. Or you might have some explaining to do to your Miss Fairley. A wife would certainly get in the way of your courtship, now, wouldn't she?"

That wasn't all that a wife was likely to get in the way of. Any residual pleasure he might have derived from baiting Letty abruptly dissipated as the true consequences of her appearance struck him. All it would take was one injudicious word from Letty—to Lord Vaughn, perhaps—and the entire underpinning of the mission would come unmoored. Oh, there were undoubtedly ways around it; Geoff frowned as he tried to think of one. After their display of amorous intentions, it was too late to pass Jane off as a relative. Having her play his mistress would deny her and her chaperone entrйe into the drawing rooms of Dublin, effectively cutting off one of their most reliable sources of information. Miss Gilly Fairley and her aunt could conveniently disappear, to be replaced by some other combination of persons, but it was too late in the game for such a transformation. Her abrupt disappearance would raise questions, and a new persona would take time to develop, time they didn't have.

All of Geoff's frustration crackled through his voice as he rounded on his inconvenient little wife and demanded, "What in the devil possessed you to come out here?"

"I had something to tell you." She looked up at him, lips pressed together into a mask of self-mockery that made her look much older than her nineteen years. "It doesn't matter anymore. None of it does."

Geoff crossed his arms across his chest. "You're with child, aren't you?"

"What!"

Geoff's eyes lingered insultingly on Letty's lush bosom, which needed no help from ruffles to fill out the bodice of her dress. "Why else would you be so eager to seek the protection of my name? You needed a husband in a hurry, and I was there."

The words came out with much less conviction than Geoff had originally intended. It might have had something to do with the way Letty was staring at him, as though he were newly escaped from Bedlam.

"You think I'm with child?"

"That was the theory, yes," said Geoff, beginning to wonder how he had lost control of the conversation. This wasn't at all how he had envisioned her reacting. Tearful denials had been more the thing.

Letty shook her head disjointedly, looking anywhere but at Geoff. "This can't be happening," she muttered. "This just can't be happening. This isn't real life. It's…it's a Drury Lane melodrama!"

"So was your maneuvering me into marriage at the expense of your sister. Which play did you steal that from?"

"I most certainly did not…. May I point out that your coachman was the one who kidnapped me?"

"He couldn't have kidnapped you if you hadn't been there."

"An irrefutable piece of logic if ever there was," scoffed Letty.

"Fine," clipped Geoff. "Then you tell me what you were doing next to my carriage in the middle of the night."

"I was trying to protect my family's good name, which some people were doing their best to sully!"

"Oh, that makes sense. Save your family's good name by loitering about half-clothed in the wee hours of the morning."

It didn't help Letty's temper that the same objection had occurred to her. Several times. But what else was she supposed to have done under the circumstances? Roll over, go back to bed, and let Mary ruin herself? Blast it all, if he hadn't had the hare-brained notion of eloping with her sister, she wouldn't have been in that predicament in the first place.

"I—oh, why am I even bothering? What do I care for the good opinion of a philandering reprobate?"

Geoff itched to refute the charge, but when it came to a choice between the moral high ground and England, self-justification would have to wait. It galled him to be tarred with her brush, philanderer to her schemer, but there was nothing he could bloody well do about it.

That realization did nothing to improve his temper.

"An excellent point," he drawled, experiencing an entirely unjust satisfaction as Letty bristled at the insouciant response.

"Tell me," Letty demanded, "did you ever intend to marry my sister? Or were you going to carry her off and discard her when you tired of her?"

England was all very well and good, but some things were too much to be borne.

Geoff's hands closed into fists at his sides. He took a step closer, so close that the frill that edged her bodice brushed the folds of his cravat, and said, in the sort of implacable tone that preceded thrown gauntlets and swords at dawn, "I loved your sister."

"It didn't take you long to forget her."

"I—" Geoff broke off, hating the look of triumph on Letty's face at the telltale pause.

He hadn't forgotten Mary. He just hadn't thought about her much over the past week. The two were not the same thing. And whose fault was it that Mary had been driven from his mind? Not Miss Gilly Fairley's, certainly. Not even Napoleon Bonaparte's. It was all the fault of a stubborn woman with reddish hair, who persisted in turning up at the most inconvenient times and places and driving him utterly, bloody mad. Fine for her to twit him for forgetting Mary, when she was the one who had torn them apart. Geoff could feel his self-control beginning to fray, like a rope in the hands of a malicious child with a knife.

"At least I didn't steal my sister's betrothed," he snapped.

"You don't have a sister," flung back Letty.

"That," replied Geoff, a muscle beginning to tic dangerously in his cheek, "is not the point. The point is—" Geoff froze, arrested by a sound from outside the window.

"Ha!" retorted Letty triumphantly. "You don't even have a point, do you?"

"Shh!" Geoff flung up one hand to quiet her.

There it was again, a regular rhythmic tapping. With a muffled curse, Geoff whirled toward the window. Sure enough, there, just outside the glow cast onto the street by Mrs. Lanergan's brightly lit windows, a man with close-cropped dark hair was tapping his cane against the cobbles, deep in thought. And he was walking away.