Rolling them both sideways, Geoff brushed back the damp hair from her brow and somewhat haphazardly kissed her temple. "Thank you," he said simply, adding, with a crooked grin, "Happy wedding night. Somewhat belated."

"But worth waiting for," decreed Letty, spoiling the effect with a yawn. She cuddled sleepily against Geoff. So they were truly married now, she mused fuzzily. It didn't seem quite real, any more than anything else had since that night in High Holborn, but at the moment she was too deliciously exhausted to fret about it.

"Tired?" Geoff ruined his otherwise ideal pose as pillow by speaking.

Oh, well, a man had to have some faults, Letty concluded generously.

"A bit," she admitted, scooting to the side as Geoff extracted the coverlet from beneath her legs so it could be used for its proper purpose. He draped it over her before scooting down next to her, rearranging her hair so he wouldn't accidentally tug on it during the night.

"Mm-hmm," agreed Geoff, leaning over her to blow out the candles, and dropping an absentminded kiss to her lips in passing. There was something husbandly about the very inattention of it.

Perhaps they might really be married after all.

Letty drifted off into slumber with a smile on her face.

Chapter Twenty-six

Sunlight glistened off the glass sides of the vial, casting faint smudges of red, yellow, and blue along the pale skin of Letty's wrist. Letty gave the glass vial a diagnostic shake and watched sludgy liquid slosh sullenly from one side to the other, coating the glass with a reddish-brown film and smudging her rainbow to shadow.

Letty thrust the vial back at Geoff. "I just don't see the point of it."

Geoff closed her fingers back around the glass, covering them with his own. "It's only as a last recourse."

Even through two pairs of gloves, the pressure of his hand sent a weakening wave of warmth through her, fraught with memory.

Letty made a concerted effort to keep her mind on the matter at hand. "It's not much of a recourse, is it? Even if I manage to get Vaughn to drink something and empty the potion into the glass without his seeing it, I can't imagine it will take effect immediately."

"True." Geoff's fingers tightened momentarily around Letty's before letting go. "But it should at least slow him down. Just take it."

"All right." It seemed easier to accede than argue.

Letty tucked the vial neatly into her reticule, along with a pair of razor-sharp embroidery scissors, a paper of pins, a large paperweight, and a whistle—in case she needed to summon help and found herself unable to muster a suitably loud scream. Letty's demonstration, over the breakfast table, of just how loudly she could scream had resulted in the breakage of several pieces of china and permanent damage to the nerves of more than one housemaid, but had done nothing at all to deter her husband from weighing her down with a motley arsenal of largely useless items.

Even though she really couldn't see what she was going to do with a paper of straight pins—threaten Vaughn with refitting his waistcoats? Perpetrate indignities upon the cut of his coat?—Letty felt a foolish glow as she regarded the jumbled pile in her reticule. A paper of pins and a vial of sleeping potion might not exactly be love poetry, but in their own way they were a far more practical expression of affection. The pen might be mightier than the sword in the poet's parlance, but a sharp point and a loud whistle were far more effective.

Letty fingered the tin whistle fondly before pulling the strings of the reticule tightly shut.

The little bag bulged alarmingly.

"This is all likely unnecessary," said Letty.

"Likely," agreed Geoff, leaning back in his seat and propping one booted ankle on top of the opposite knee.

"If Vaughn is playing a double game, it should be in his interest to maintain his connection with Jane. And he can't maintain his connection with Jane if he attacks me."

"If Jane questions the marquise, Vaughn may be driven to desperate action."

"Vaughn?" Letty made a face. "It's hard to imagine him driven to desperation by anything less dire than dereliction on the part of his tailor."

Geoff grinned, but his amusement was fleeting.

"People thought the same about Percy Blakeney."

"Who was on our side," said Letty.

Geoff crossed his arms and looked down at her. "How does that prove anything at all?"

"It doesn't," said Letty. "But I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

The sheer audacity of it tore a ragged laugh out of Geoff.

"Well, I had to say something. It would be awful for your ego if you got to have the last word all the time."

"Duly chastened," acknowledged Geoff. "But I do get the last word on this. I'm not going to let you go into a potentially dangerous situation unprepared."

With his arms folded and his brows drawn together over the thin bridge of his nose, he exuded determination. The shadow of hair darkening his jaw emphasized the precise planes of his face, lending him a vaguely rakish air, like a Renaissance adventurer or a pirate king, ruthless, accustomed to command.

It was rather nice to have all that determination exerted on her behalf. It made her feel special. Valued. As though he would actually care if something happened to her.

"After all," Geoff finished matter-of-factly, "you are my responsibility."

Letty's warm glow vanished as abruptly as the rainbow refracted through the glass. Responsibility. What a loathsome word. From "responsibility," it was only a short step to "burden," and no one liked a burden. One shouldered burdens; one didn't lavish affection on them. She should know. For a guilty moment, she wondered whether any of her family had ever realized that.

Geoff was looking at her quizzically, clearly waiting for either acquiescence or argument.

If she was a burden, the least she could be was an entertaining one. Letty groped for her earlier bantering tone. "I'm not the one playing with explosives."

"Not yet, at any rate." Reaching into his waistcoat, Geoff drew out a long, thin object. To Letty's startled eyes, it seemed to go on forever. With a flourish, Geoff reversed his grip and presented it to her, handle first.

The handle wasn't unattractive. Chased with silver, the wood had been styled in a graceful curve, polished to the sheen of fine furniture. But no amount of ornament could disguise the deadly purpose of the long steel shaft embedded in the wooden stock, or the curious curved flintlock that arched like a diving mermaid along the top.

Letty made no move to take it. She just stared at it.

"It is a firearm," Geoff said helpfully, pressing the handle into her palm.

"I am aware of that." Letty let the piece dangle between thumb and forefinger as she regarded it dubiously. Despite growing up in the country, she hadn't had much to do with guns. Her father wasn't a hunting man. "It's not…"

"Loaded? No."

Relieved, Letty peered down the little hole in the middle. "Then what am I supposed to do with it? Bash Vaughn over the head with the wooden bit?"

Looking pained, Geoff took Letty's wrist and turned the pistol the other way. Even though he had emptied the bullets out himself, the sight of his wife staring down the barrel did nasty things to Geoff's nerves.

"Rule number one, never point it at yourself. Even when it's unloaded," he added, forestalling Letty's next protest.

"This isn't going to fit into my reticule," she pointed out instead, poking the muzzle of the gun into the bag in illustration. "And I'm certainly not hiding it in my bodice."

"I should hope not. I prefer your bodice the way it is." For all that the sentiment was pleasing, there was nothing at all loverlike about Geoff's tone. Nor should there be, Letty reminded herself. They were preparing for a mission, not a tryst.

"Well?" asked Letty briskly. "What am I to do with it? I assume you didn't bring it along merely for its aesthetic value."

"You're not that far off the mark. Think of it as a theatrical prop. You know it's unloaded, and I know it's unloaded, but Vaughn won't."

"Until I pull the trigger and nothing happens."

Letty realized she was being difficult, but she couldn't seem to help herself. Perhaps it had something to do with lack of sleep. Fatigue and surliness generally went hand in hand, and she had not gotten much sleep last night.

Of course, neither had he.

Letty busied herself examining the workmanship of the flintlock.

"It shouldn't come to that," said Geoff soothingly. "You just have to point it at him with the proper air of authority."

"Is this before or after I stick him with my embroidery scissors?"

"Here." Geoff took her hand and rearranged it around the butt of the gun. "Point it at me."

"You must be very sure about those bullets," muttered Letty, but she did as he said. All she had to do was point and look steely-eyed. How hard could it be?

Held by one hand, the pistol was surprisingly heavy, ten inches of solid steel within its innocuous wooden casing. Letty struggled to keep the pistol level as gravity fought her grasp. Gravity won. Her wrist shook as the muzzle began to droop, centimeter by painful centimeter.

Geoff relieved her of the weapon, although whether it was out of pity or because the pistol happened to be pointing straight at a crucial part of his anatomy, Letty couldn't be sure. Letty surreptitiously shook out her wrist, wondering how one little part of her body could feel so much strain.