Dare found himself frowning as he took a long swallow of brandy. Julienne's earlier remark about him being a wastrel had stung, probably because it was so close to the truth. For most of his thirty-three years, he'd been nothing more than a consummate pleasure seeker. Except during his former lamentable obsession with Julienne, he had never cared enough about anything in his life to warrant seriously exerting himself. Not until Caliban had appeared, in any event.

If he was to change the pattern of his decadent life, Dare reflected, Caliban was as good a place to start as any. Better, perhaps, because the stakes were so high.

And he found to his surprise that he wanted to change.

For now, however, he was required to spend the rest of the interminable evening at Madame Fouchet's, lulling Riddingham into a state of loquaciousness.

To that end, he endeavored to get the viscount thoroughly sotted, so that by the time Riddingham stumbled happily into the Wolverton town coach, he was three sheets to the wind.

Dare slurred his own words, pretending to be just as drunk when he asked if the viscount had enjoyed himself.

"By Jove, 'twas bloody splendid!" Riddingham exclaimed. "Mush say, Wolverton, you have excellent taste in fancy pieces. Those ladybirds of Fouchet's left me all wrung out…"

"I'm certain they would be glad for you to return any time. The blonde told me she hadn't had a great buck like you in months."

"Did she now?" Sprawled on the seat, his disheveled clothing reeking of sex and wine, Riddingham flashed a silly grin.

"Saw her admiring your ring," Dare commented. "Wonder if it has some special power over females?"

Riddingham's grin broadened as he held up his hand to peer at the ring. The dragon's ruby eyes winked in the dim light of a passing streetlamp. "P'raps so."

"I really would like to have one of those for myself. You're certain Stephen Ormsby didn't lose it to you?"

Riddingham's brow furrowed. "Doan remember."

"Well, at least your taste in women is better than Stephen's. Heard he was sniffing around that young companion of Lady Castlereagh's a few weeks ago. The girl who wound up floating in the Thames."

"Pity about her."

"Yes, a pity. You and Stephen were both at Castlereagh's rout a few weeks ago, weren't you?"

The viscount gave a woozy nod.

"Did you see him make a play for the girl?"

"Happen I did. But there was another chap… tall, dark-haired fellow…" Riddingham gave a drunken snicker. "She was making sheep's eyes at him and scarcely noticed ole Stephen."

"Indeed? She preferred this other chap? Who was it?"

"Can't recall his name but… think his title was higher than a baronet. Remember because it miffed Stephen when she snubbed him. Fancies himself quite the charmer, Stephen does."

Riddingham gave a snort of laughter before he laid his head back against the squabs and promptly passed out.

Over his snores, Dare forced himself to consider his next steps. He very much doubted that Riddingham had killed the girl or even hired someone to kill her. And the likelihood that he was Caliban now seemed so far-fetched, it was almost laughable.

Dare frowned. It also seemed laughable that he'd ever suspected Julienne of being Caliban's accomplice. She wasn't in league with a cunning killer. Nor was she a traitor.

The thought brought Dare less comfort than it should have, for now he no longer had any legitimate pretext for pursuing her. At least no pretext that would make Julienne take him seriously.

She thought his public courtship a juvenile act of revenge-and perhaps it had begun that way. But he was fooling himself to pretend that his goal hadn't changed.

Desire tormented him like hot coals, yet his need for Julienne had gone beyond the physical. He wanted more than simply to win their wager; he wanted her earnest surrender.

His loins hardened when he remembered claiming his victory kiss after the race. His fear that she could have been thrown from the curricle. Her soft lips parting warm and moist beneath his. Her heart beating wildly as her soft breasts pressed against his chest. The exhilaration that filled him at her willing response…

He could have gone on kissing her forever for the sheer joy of it. Even that simple intimacy touched some part of him he'd kept inviolate for years. For all his sensual expertise, he'd remained emotionally detached from his lovers, holding himself apart even as he sought release from the emptiness that gnawed at him.

He would have to find the strength to hold himself apart from Julienne, Dare knew. She would only savage his heart once more if he allowed her to.

To care for her again was impossible, unthinkable.

Still, he couldn't lose her. Not yet.

And he couldn't prevent himself from contemplating what it would take to truly win their wager.

He found Lucian the following morning, sparring at Gentleman Jackson's Rooms on Bond Street. Dare wanted to catch his friend before he left town for his Devonshire seat and his pregnant wife, Brynn.

Dare winced as he watched the punishing round of fisticuffs, but Lucian appeared to enjoy the physical barbarity, delivering his own share of powerful blows with relish. When the bout was over, Lucian and Dare moved to one corner of the vast room and spoke over the din of another boxing match.

While Lucian toweled himself dry, Dare related what he had learned about Riddingham's alibi for the time in question.

"And you're convinced that Riddingham is not Caliban?" Lucian said at the conclusion.

"I am. We've been looking at the wrong man. Although it's still possible his cohorts were involved."

"Who?" Lucian asked, his interest sharpening.

"Sir Stephen Ormsby and Martin Perrine. Do you know them?"

"Sir Stephen, I do. Perrine only vaguely."

"Sir Stephen is a fashionable fribble, Perrine a dull sort who scarcely says a word in mixed company," Dare said. "They were both at Riddingham's estate in York last month, which is how they wound up as guests at my recent house party. I invited them because Riddingham could have won the ring from either of them. Moreover, Sir Stephen was seen trifling with the companion in recent weeks."

He recounted Riddingham's delight that Sir Stephen had been spurned by the girl in favor of a tall, dark-haired nobleman.

"That could prove to be a significant lead," Lucian declared, visibly pleased by the information. "I'll look into it at once."

"Martin Perrine shouldn't be disregarded entirely, though," Dare remarked. "It's common knowledge that his pockets are terminally to let. As a younger son, his prospects must not be too promising. He could have turned traitor for financial gain."

Lucian's brow creased in contemplation as he donned his shirt. "I will have him investigated, but I doubt Caliban is in the game solely for wealth. He's a brilliant strategist who revels in outwitting his opponents."

"Perrine certainly doesn't strike me as brilliant. And he isn't of noble blood."

"Still, his quiet manner might simply be a cultivated disguise. And it's possible he calls himself Lord Caliban to increase his importance to his victims. I'll see what my agents can find out about him, along with Sir Stephen and this unnamed nobleman."

Dare started to reply, but just then Gentleman Jackson, one of England's former champions and the owner of the boxing salon, came over to commend Lucian on his bout.

When they were alone again, Lucian began tying his cravat as he said to Dare in a low voice, "I'll have to ask you to keep up your hunt, since unmasking Caliban has become even more urgent. This morning I received a communique from France. A few days ago there was a failed attempt to poison Lord Castlereagh."

"And you think it is Caliban's hand at work?"

"Our foreign secretary has enemies here at home, certainly," Lucian admitted. "And since he isn't here to defend his policies, several members of Parliament have become more vocal in denouncing him. Even the Cabinet is seriously divided. But I can think of no one who would resort to murder to be rid of him."

"But how would his death benefit Caliban?" Dare asked.

"It might simply be revenge. If Napoleon abdicates as expected, his successor must be determined. Castlereagh is finally convinced it would be better to have a Bourbon monarch on the throne rather than Boney's young son, and his lordship is leaving Chaumont for Paris soon to settle the issue with our Allies and the French Senate. That could be Caliban's motive: retaliation against Bonaparte's biggest rival. He could be planning to assassinate Castlereagh."

"So we should assume that he is Caliban's next target," Dare said thoughtfully.

"I think we must. And Caliban will doubtless have accomplices. He's a master at developing conspirators- finding their weaknesses and exploiting them. Brynn's brother Grayson is the only person I know to have escaped Caliban's web, and he only managed it by fabricating his own death. Which reminds me… have you come to any conclusion about Miss Laurent's involvement with Caliban?"

Dare grimaced involuntarily. "Yes."

"And?" Lucian prompted.

"And I think she's innocent. I was mistaken about her, I realize now. She was the one who discovered the evidence that exonerates Riddingham. If not for her, I might still be chasing a dead end."

"So I was right after all?" Lucian's question held an edge of amusement.

"Yes, damn you," Dare replied good-naturedly. "I admit I allowed my past with her to influence my judgment, just as you accused me of doing. I've since revised my opinion of her. I believe she would make you a good spy after all."