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The next morning, Serena awoke late and alone. She had spent a good part of the night sleeplessly pondering matters, which had become worse rather than better in her mind.

He loved another.

It was one thing to marry a man who did not love you and whom you did not love. There was still hope in that. It was quite another to marry a man who wished he had wed elsewhere. There was no escape, however. Nowhere to hide. As he had said, there was no point in crying over spilt milk.

She vomited, though, that morning. It was the first time, and Serena rather thought it was her misery, not her pregnancy, that had caused it.

She would have liked to hide in her room but that would achieve nothing, so she rang for a maid and dressed to face the day.

She found Arabella alone in the breakfast parlor, reading a newspaper. There was evidence that Francis had eaten there not long before.

Arabella laid aside her paper. "How are you, child? You're looking peaked. Not doing too much, are you?"

Serena sat and took a piece of cold toast. "No."

"Heavens, gel. Ring for some fresh food!" Before Serena could protest, Arabella did so.

"I'm not hungry, Arabella."

"No matter how small your appetite, it will be improved by warm food and fresh tea." When Dibbert came, she ordered it, then looked at Serena searchingly. "Francis didn't look too perky, either. Have you two had a fight?"

"Why would we fight?"

"Never known young people to need a reason to fight. Is he treating you well? I won't leave if you don't want me to, you know. Thought you'd do better on your own."

"There's no need for you to stay."

"Devil take it," snapped Arabella, "you're as bad as he is!"

Serena looked up at that. "Where is he?"

"Out. Said something about Tatt's." At Serena's questioning look, she added, "Tattersall's Repository, near Hyde Park Corner. They sell horses there, but the men use it as a meeting place. Settle gambling debts and such."

"Oh."

A maid came in with a laden tray and put out fresh toast, eggs, and tea under the supervision of the butler. "Anything else, milady?" he asked.

Serena looked at the daunting challenge before her and sighed. "No, thank you."

Yesterday, she remembered, her appetite had been quite good. That was because Francis had seemed content. Now she had to force down a slice of toast and a little of the eggs.

Misery was eating at her, and she had to deal with it. "Arabella," she said at last, "what do you know of Anne Peckworth?"

"Ah. That's what has you in the dismals, is it? She's the second daughter of the Duke of Arran."

Serena cradled a cup of tea for warmth. "Does Francis love her?"

"How would I know? One thing's for sure: He's not likely to set her up in competition to you, is he, and she's even less likely to succumb. Quiet, properly behaved young lady, she is."

The opposite of me, thought Serena dismally. And even if both Anne and Francis were pattern cards of propriety, the young woman could be competition in his heart.

"I gather he was about to offer for her hand," Serena said.

"Quite possibly. My sister's been pushing for it for a year or so. She and the duchess are close, and Anne's just the sort of quiet gel she'd think would suit Francis."

"She should know."

"Ha! Cordelia don't know much about such things, if you ask me. She never really sees Francis. She sees the woebegone little twelve-year-old who'd lost his beloved father and found himself a viscount."

"You don't think he and Lady Anne would have suited?"

Arabella rose. "I don't know anything about it. I'm off, then. But remember, if you need me, I'm only a few streets away."

There weren't many men in Tattersall's subscription room at this time of year, but Francis found Tom Allbright there, ready to pay. Serena's beefy brother was sitting at a table downing porter from a quart pot. When Francis joined him, he pushed over a package and a sheet of paper.

"I've had the jewels valued, Middlethorpe, and this lot comes to just over the three thousand, as you'll see. Trust you're satisfied."

Francis sensed something in the man, something like malicious amusement. He glanced at the paper, but it was from a reputable jeweler. Where was the trick? It was inconceivable that Allbright descend to outright cheating in a matter like this. He'd end up blackballed.

"Perfectly satisfied." Despite the words, Francis was not satisfied. He'd like to do violence to the burly man. Here was someone charged with the care of Serena, and he'd clearly done a bad job of it. She could be dead under a hedgerow by now and the Allbrights would not give a tinker's damn.

As Francis stood, he anticipated with pleasure Allbright's reaction when he found Francis was married to his sister and that he had indirectly returned her jewels to her. He laid some groundwork. "I'm recently married, Sir Thomas. Perhaps some of these pieces will please my bride."

Allbright raised his jar of ale. "Congratulations, my lord. Perhaps they will."

But Francis did not miss the spark of pure malicious amusement in the man's eyes.

As he left Tattersall's, Francis hefted the package thoughtfully. It weighed the right amount and displayed the jeweler's seal. He had intended to return home and give the package to Serena—it might be some reparation for the way he had treated her last night—but now he hesitated.

He was still appalled at what had happened the night before. Yes, he had been angry with her—angry over Anne and angry that Serena seemed to be playing tricks with him—but he'd intended to show his disapproval by not joining her in bed at all. For some reason, he had changed his mind and gone to her, intending to sleep with her without intimacy, to show her that he could not be manipulated by his needs.

Instead, his body had taken over, and he had used her without any thought for her pleasure or feelings. He had the horrifying fear that if she had resisted, he would have forced her.

He didn't know how he was to face her and had hoped the jewels would help. Now he had his doubts. It might be wiser to inspect the package first.

He headed to White's.

It was a dull, chilly day, and that suited Francis's mood exactly. He wished to hell that Nicholas was nearby. Nicholas was the one person he could perhaps confess his total ignorance to—ignorance of how to put knowledge into practice while caught in this maelstrom of hot need. On his wedding night, he'd thought he would explode holding back, trying to please her. Last night had been worse.

He couldn't help a spurt of irritation, however. If Serena would behave in some way that made sense, it might help.

At the Posts' farm, she had been erotic delight personified—and look where it had landed them. On their wedding night, she had seemed as nervous and unsure as a virgin. Now she was playing the part of an untouched schoolgirl and making him feel a villain for wanting her.

The next stage was probably a vow of eternal chastity!

And then there were the times when she watched him like a terrified child....

Certainly, her first marriage can't have been pleasant, but was that any reason for her to act so with him?

He'd like an unforced smile in bed, like the one they'd shared in the perfumer's, laughing about his lust. Was that too much to ask?

He'd like an unforced touch. Not one of her skillful manipulations, but a tender, uncalculated touch, perhaps a gentle kiss.

She didn't like to be kissed.

What the devil was he to do about a bride who didn't like to be kissed?

Even as he fulminated, he knew that a good part of his irritated state of mind was because he knew the heavens were going to fall in on them at any moment.

He'd sent word to his mother with Kipling, and a letter to Lea Park to inform the Arrans of his marriage. The ducal family would presumably treat the matter with frosty disregard, but his mother wouldn't! She'd either keep silent until they went to the Priory, or post to Town to vent her outrage upon them here.

Because of this, he'd also sent a letter to Melton to inform the Rogues there and to ask for support, for Serena as much as for himself. Beth Arden would be a comfort for her.

Despite temptation, he hadn't sent a message to Nicholas. It was, after all, February, and no time to be traveling with a family, and he knew Nicholas didn't like to leave his wife and child behind. Francis fully intended to go to Somerset anyway, once the first storm had been weathered.

It was as good a bolt-hole as any.

As he entered White's, he was pondering various strategies for getting over the battlefield intact, which was why he didn't spot Uffham in time.

"Middlethorpe, old fellow! How nice to see you."

Francis stared at Anne's brother blankly, wondering what the devil to say. The young man clearly hadn't heard the news.

"Anne's fit as a fiddle, you'll be pleased to know," Uffham went on obliviously. "We'll be seeing you soon, eh?"

Francis took a deep breath, gestured Uffham into one of the small private rooms, and closed the door.

"Something up?" asked Uffham, still unsuspecting.

"Yes," said Francis, carefully placing his package on a table. "The fact is, Uffham, I'm married."

Lord Uffham looked at him, his pleasant face bewildered. "You can't have married Anne out of hand, can you?"

"My wife is called Serena. We were married two days ago."

It still took a moment to register. "Good God! You... you
cur!"

Seeing what was coming, Francis stepped back and raised a hand. "Think a moment, Uffham. Your family won't want a fuss over this."

With visible difficulty, Uffham swallowed the desire to call Francis out. "Does Anne know?" he asked coldly.

"She should. I wrote as soon as the knot was tied."

"Good God, Middlethorpe,
why?
Poor Anne will be brokenhearted, and I thought... I thought you cared."

"I did care, but perhaps not enough. Serena is increasing."

Uffham reddened. "I see. Anne had a fortunate escape, in my opinion."

"Probably true."

Uffham left the room without another word. Francis took a deep breath. That had not been pleasant, but at least he'd managed to forestall a duel. That would be the final bloody straw.

A rap on the door brought him out of his blue-devils. He couldn't imagine why anyone would intrude here—unless Uffham had thought better of it and was sending his seconds.

He strode over and swung the door open sharply.

Lucien de Vaux raised his brows. "Uffham said you were alone in here."

Francis laughed briefly with relief. "As long as you're not his second, come in."

As soon as the door was shut again, Lucien said, "Second? Why the devil would he want to call you out?"

"Because I've as good as jilted his sister."

"Ah. But that sort of affair would hardly help."

"I think I persuaded him of that. It was just that he hadn't heard, so it came as a bit of a shock."

"It came as a bit of a shock to me, too. I sensed that there was something between you and Serena Riverton, but I didn't think you'd marry where you couldn't get an heir."

"She's pregnant," said Francis. "Perhaps I should put it in the papers! Lord Middlethorpe wishes to announce that he has married Serena, formerly Lady Riverton, because she is three damn months pregnant with his child."

Lucien rang a bell. When a discreet servant answered it, he ordered brandy. When it came, he poured two glasses, giving one to Francis. "Is that the only reason you married her?"

Francis knocked back a fair amount of the spirit. "I was as good as promised to Anne Peckworth. I don't suppose I'd have backed off without this gun to my head."

"But do you regret it? If you hadn't been courting Lady Anne, would you have minded the gun?"

"You're beginning to sound like Nicholas," Francis said bitingly. "But you're not nearly as good at it, so don't bother."

"Christ Almighty. Next you'll be calling
me
out, and I'm only trying to help."

Francis pushed fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry. This is not one of the high points of my life, Luce, and I still have an interview with my mother, and possibly with Anne's father, to get through before I see a glimmer of light." He looked at Lucien. "Do I gather Beth's here?"

"After receiving your startling news? We're all here, staying at Belcraven House. Except Hal and Blanche, of course. They're at her place."

"Thank heavens. I'm hoping Beth will support Serena a little. This isn't going to be easy for her, either."

"Of course. In fact, why don't you dine at the Palace tonight." The Rogues had always called the grand ducal mansion the Palace.

"Beth won't mind?"

"She'd have your head for imagining it. In fact, she suggested it. In case it hasn't occurred to you, not only are your Serena and Beth school friends, but they are going to be mothers at about the same time. Now, there's a bond to make a weak man tremble."