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The man wavered.

Lucien took a hand. "Be so good as to tell him that Lord Middlethorpe and the Marquess of Arden wish to speak with him." He dressed the words up with a thick layer of drawling arrogance.

The man's eyes widened. "Yes, milord. Why don't you step in, milords.... I will make enquiries."

Thus Francis and Lucien progressed as far as the narrow hall. The landlord disappeared up the stairs, and they saw him knock at a door to the right of the upstairs landing.

"You do that so well," said Francis with a touch of amusement.

"Damned rank has to have its benefits. He recognized the description, at least."

"I noted that."

In a short while the thin man returned, looking rather nervous. "Ay'm afraid there is no Mr. Ferncliff 'ere, milords."

"Then whom do you have staying here to fit his description?" Francis asked.

"Er... no one, milords. Truly, you are mistaken."

"I think not." Francis brushed past and ran up the stairs, pulling out his pistol. Lucien quickly followed.

"Milord! Milords!"

The man's protests followed them as they reached the door. Francis rapped on it. Somewhat to their surprise it was opened promptly, and a plump, elderly servant ushered them in with only a weary look at Francis's weapon. "Come in, milords."

Francis flashed Lucien a bewildered glance. Then a voice bellowed, "Get in here, you blasted reprobates!"

"Simmons," they both muttered in amazement, immediately transported back to their school days. Dr. Mortimer Simmons had been one of the most ferocious tutors at Harrow.

They glanced at one another and moved somewhat warily into the parlor. Francis slipped his gun into his pocket.

It was nearly eight years since they had seen Dr. Simmons. He had always been a big man, and now he appeared positively dropsical. He certainly made no attempt to move from his huge chair but just sat there, glaring at them like a red-faced, malignant toad.

"Arden and Middlethorpe," he snarled. "I might have known! Where's that damned Delaney, eh? Come to a bad end yet? What're you about, eh, disturbing a man's home? What're you about? I'll have your hides! Damn if I won't!"

Francis almost expected to be birched at any moment. Then he collected his wits. "We are looking for a Mr. Charles Ferncliff."

"So?" demanded the choleric man. "So? Does that give you the right to barge into a man's home? Being sprigs of the aristocracy wipes out no crimes with me, sirs, as I've shown you many a time!"

"I believe he is here," Francis persisted, despite a temptation to cower.

"And if he is, Middlethorpe? If he is? What then, eh? Going to search the place?" He jabbed a swollen finger at Francis. "Over my dead body, sir. Over my dead body! You were rogues as lads, the lot of you, and age hasn't improved you. You still need a sound whipping."

The man was whipping himself up to a frenzy, pounding his swollen fists on the arms of his chair. "What are you about, eh, to be hounding a poor man? What are you about? Think because you have a tide you can bully your way through life? You'll come to a sorry end, the lot of you. Company of Rogues, ha! Never a truer word. Gallows bait." He fixed them with a glare. "I know who put senna in my cordial, sirrahs. I know."

At that true accusation, Francis felt guilty terror merge with insane amusement.

"Get out of here!" Dr. Simmons shouted, pointing at the door. "Get out of here, you scum of the earth, before I treat you as you deserve!"

Francis and Lucien shared a look, then fearing that the man was going to have an apoplexy, they beat a hasty retreat.

In the street again, they burst into laughter. "Gads, I was shaking in my shoes!" Lucien declared. "Simmons! Who would have believed it."

"And the senna!" They fell into laughing again, despite the strange looks they were getting from passersby. After a while the laughter faded and Francis leaned against the railings, feeling limp. "I needed that."

"Laughter?" said Lucien with an understanding look. "Yes, but what about Ferncliff?"

"I'm tempted to say to hell with Ferncliff, but I don't suppose I can. We'll have to keep a watch on the place. He can't cower in there forever. I'll stay here. You go back and arrange things."

"Right." Lucien hesitated a moment before leaving. "I know I'm not Nicholas, but if you want to talk about anything, I'm willing to listen."

Francis smiled. "Thank you. And I'm sorry for snapping at you on Tuesday."

"Don't mention it. You could visit Blanche."

"She's already helped me, as it happens." Francis straightened. "Don't answer this if it's intrusive, but do you and Beth massage one another?"

Lucien's brows rose, but he answered. "Yes. Why?"

"Does it usually end in lovemaking?"

"Generally."

Francis wanted to ask whether receiving a massage normally aroused a woman's interest in lovemaking or sent her to sleep, but he felt he had already asked too much.

Lucien shrugged and left, first to tell the footman to keep to his post, and second to arrange for continuous surveillance of the house. In half an hour, Francis was relieved of duty and able to return home.

He couldn't deny that as soon as he entered his house, he thought of going to make love to his wife. When did he ever think of anything else?

His lascivious intentions had him knocking on Serena's door, but he found her with her maid, dressing for dinner. Her hair was already in an elaborate style, and somehow he couldn't imagine trying to make love to Serena without that marvelous hair loose around them.

He sighed and went off to prepare himself for the next assault upon Society, resolving to at least stay sober in the future.

Serena had seen the look in Francis's eye and interpreted it correctly. She was cross with herself for drifting off to sleep earlier and was determined to put an end to the strange state of affairs. She wasn't accustomed to men who put a woman's feeling and needs first, but she liked it very much. On the other hand, too much consideration would have them living as brother and sister for the rest of their lives. Now that she was sure Francis desired her, she would make certain he knew he was welcome.

She glanced at the clock. Not now, alas. They were due at the Palace to dine.

Chapter 15

The evening passed much like the previous one, though the circus was a more informal entertainment. Serena was nervous that the more mixed audience would contain a disaster for her, but she soon saw that the youthful entertainment would have little appeal to Matthew's cronies. Once she relaxed, she delighted in the juggling, balancing, and equestrian acts.

Over dinner, the Rogues had gained considerable amusement from the account of the invasion of old Simmons's rooms, and they all seemed to have reverted to schoolboyish ways. The circus only seemed to make them worse. Beth had to lecture them firmly before they progressed to Lady Cowper's soiree.

Lucien said, "Yes, ma'am," and kissed her soundly in the street.

Serena and Francis shared a look, then she took her courage in her hands and pulled him to her for an equally sound kiss. His hands tightened at her waist, and for a moment he deepened it. But then control returned.

Serena was a little regretful. She would not mind missing Lady Cowper's soiree.

The event was a great deal more formal than the circus, and in fact only the Ardens, the Middlethorpes, Sir Stephen, and Fanny went on there. Pretty Lady Cowper greeted them warmly.

"Ah, Lady Middlethorpe, London is already humming with your beauty. One of the Sussex Allbrights, I believe." Lady Cowper clearly had no great opinion of the Sussex Allbrights but would not hold that against Serena. Serena wondered what would happen when news of her first marriage broke.

The company was the very highest of Society, some already known to Serena. She knew that it would have been foolish for Francis and her to have rushed home to bed. If this event went well, nothing short of an outright scandal would stop her acceptance.

Then she saw the Duchess of Arran across the room, along with Lady Anne and two men, one older, one young. Probably the duke and one of Lady Anne's brothers.

Did scandal hover? Certainly the younger man glared at them ferociously.

Serena nudged Francis.

"Yes, I know," he said calmly. "It is up to them."

She could see he wasn't as calm as he sounded. She watched him surreptitiously for signs of a broken heart. She didn't detect any, but both he and Anne seemed able to mask their feelings under perfect manners.

What a wonderful couple they would have made. Serena's faith in her attractions was draining away. Perhaps the state of their marriage wasn't because of Francis's care and concern, but because he felt no desire...

No. She had seen his desire.

But perhaps that was just the mindless lust that men seemed prey to, that sent them to streetwalkers, to any woman who would open her legs.

They all sat to enjoy a harp recital, with a gloomy song that echoed Serena's mood completely.

"For, oh, my love he loves not me,

And I am steeped in misery..."

At the end of that ballad the character threw herself into a waterfall.

Serena accompanied Francis into another room for refreshments, thinking that a waterfall was highly attractive. She would be out of her misery and Francis could marry Anne. Only her poor unborn child would be less well off, and even there she could argue that it was spared the sorrows of the world.

As they entered the room, they were suddenly confronted by the Peckworths.

"Good evening," said the duchess with rather strained good humor. "A beautiful performance, was it not?"

"Yes, Duchess," said Francis. "Madame Ducharme is very talented."

"Quite a good company for this time of year," said the duke, a rotund man with a genial face, though his geniality was artificial at the moment.

"Indeed it is," said Francis. "Duke, I don't believe you have met my wife." The introductions were made and acknowledged without incident, and the Peckworths moved on.

"Rode over that rather well," Francis said softly as they moved farther into the room.

Serena could see that he was genuinely relieved, and she squeezed his arm. Having to depend on the kindness of her victims made self-destruction even more attractive, but for Francis's sake she tried to appear lighthearted. And the plan did seem to be working. With all these members of the high aristocracy willing to support them, how could they fail?

Later, however, when Serena had to go to the room set aside for the ladies, she encountered Lady Anne.

Serena greeted the young woman, but warily.

Lady Anne stared at her as if at a conundrum, then said, "Lady Middlethorpe, please can we talk?"

Serena would have liked to refuse, but she owed the younger woman the chance to berate her. Anne led the way to a small anteroom, that irregularity in her step seeming a profound reproach.

Once in the room, Anne turned to Serena with determination. "Lady Middlethorpe, I simply want to say that there need be no restraint between us."

"Need there not?" Serena asked rather blankly.

"No. Clearly you know that Francis... that Lord Middlethorpe had..." Color was burning in Lady Anne's cheeks. "Oh, dear, why can I not say this right?"

Serena took Anne's nervous hands. "He had been courting you," she completed.

"Well, yes." Anne's hands squeezed gratefully. "But nothing had been said. Uffham—he's my brother—he seems to think I've been jilted, but
truly
it is not so. I wanted you to know that."

"Words had not been spoken," said Serena gently, "but I think perhaps expectations had been raised."

Anne removed her hands. "A little, yes." But then she raised her chin with remarkable firmness. "Truly, though, I am not nursing a broken heart. I would not have wanted to be married as a convenience. And that is clearly what I was."

"No—" But Serena had to bite off the denial.

"Oh, yes. I have a handsome dowry, and our families have known each other forever. It was that sort of thing. And I can see why he was drawn by you. You are so very beautiful." This was said with poignant wistfulness.