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He sighed and released her. He smoothed the hair off her face and there was too much understanding in his dark eyes. "Perhaps that is true. Very well, then. I will let you escape... this time."

Serena did escape to her own room and rang for her maid, wishing that hint of discord had not marred a wonderful night. His unspoken surmise was correct, however. She loved his burning desire and delighted in pleasing him, but she feared his careful attentions. She was all too sure she was incapable of the response he wanted.

Chapter 16

Serena walked to Belcraven House, but with a little entourage. Dibbert had insisted that she take a footman as well as her maid, and she'd decided to take the puppy with her. That necessitated the presence of the excited kitchen boy. She felt quite queenly.

She pondered the night just past and decided that it was good. A barrier had been broken down, and the road to happiness laid open. There was still a great deal of work to be done, however, not the least being this final establishment of her respectability.

Once at the Palace she plunged into the preparations for a grand soiree, finding it both exciting and educational. She had never taken part in such plans before, for her life at Stokeley Manor had not been remarkable for its entertainments.

Twenty were invited for dinner, and then there would be many more guests for the remainder of the evening. Provisions were being made for both dancing and cards, and for a musical interlude.

As Beth had predicted, the staff appeared happy to have a chance to show their mettle. The gentlemen, however, were notably absent.

"They'll be hiding out at their clubs," said Beth with a grin. "And truth to tell, they would only be in the way."

"What about Felicity?"

"Lacking a club, she's hiding out in her room. I think I'll force her out. She needs to learn some feminine skills."

In the mid afternoon, a stir was heard in the entrance hall. Beth and Serena, along with a reluctant Felicity, were arranging flowers in the reception room.

"I wonder..." said Beth, and hurried out. "
Maman!
How lovely."

Serena followed, to see Beth hug an elegant blond lady. The resemblance to the marquess would have announced the identity of the older lady without introduction, but introduced Serena was, and to the quiet, gray-eyed duke.

The duke eyed Serena with frank interest. "I'm always intrigued by what my son's friends will think of next," he said with dry humor. "You are definitely a promising addition to the circle."

Serena noted the marquess's resemblance to his father, too, not in looks but in manner.

Soon they were all seated around a tea table in the duchess's boudoir. Both the duke and duchess maintained a suite of rooms in the mansion for their sole use, which were always in readiness for them.

"So," said the duchess, looking at Serena frankly, "you are something of a scandal, yes?" Her voice still held a trace of the French that was her native tongue.

Serena was beginning to have steadier nerves. "Thus far I am only a novelty, Your Grace."

"I have dragged myself to Town at this time of year for a mere novelty?" asked the duchess with a twinkle. "Come now. This will never do."

"Your support will be a great help,
maman,"
said Beth. "Soon all we will need is Prinny to pinch Serena's cheek, and she will be untouchable!"

"Could be arranged," said the duke, "even though he is down in Brighton putting Prince Leopold through the hoops. But are you quite sure you want the Regent dancing attention? He's a damn tedious fellow, really."

Serena had no idea what to say to such a scandalous comment.

Beth chuckled. "Perhaps we will do without the royal cipher. With three dukes and duchesses—present company included—coming tonight, we need little extra cachet." At a query, she said, "Arran and Yeovil."

"The Arrans will come?" said the duchess. "Well done, my dear."

"Lady Anne virtually insisted. She is being splendid."

Serena gritted her teeth. Lady Anne was indeed being splendid, and it was mean-spirited to resent it.

"And the Yeovils," said the duchess. "I must find time to talk to them. It was so sad about poor Dare. And they never even had the solace of interring his body. What a charnel house that battlefield must have been. But at least the war is decisively over now. Who else do you have?"

"The Countess of Cawle," announced Beth rather smugly.

"My dear," declared the duke, toasting with a tea cup. "Better than Prinny by far!"

"I think so, but I can't take the credit. Turns out she's bosom bows with Francis's Aunt Arabella."

The duke burst out laughing. "It occurs to me that we should just surrender the management of the country to the Rogues and have done with it."

"Not at all!" cried Beth in mock horror. "Stephen is the only one with any taste for politics. The rest of them would turn it into a Bartholomew Fair. Now, if you want to recruit the Rogue's wives and mistresses..."

After the tea, Serena pleaded tiredness and escaped back to Hertford Street. She knew in her heart that she hoped to find Francis there and be able to tempt him to a little more bed-work. Even that hateful phrase no longer distressed her, though she thought a better term would be bed-play.

Unfortunately, he had left the house not long after she and had not yet returned.

* * *

Francis was with Miles and Lucien at the Red House Club, engaged in a shooting competition. He had put Charles Ferncliff's card firmly out of mind, and though his life was not yet perfect, it was a great deal brighter today than recently. His hand was steady and his aim was always true.

"Damnation," said Miles as he paid over another twenty-guinea bet. "Don't you ever miss?"

"Not today, it would seem," said Francis, reloading his pistol. There were servants present to do the task, but he preferred to handle it himself. "Going to take me on, Luce?"

Lucien drained a glass of punch. "You've relieved me of enough gilt today, thank you. I'll take on Miles."

Francis grinned and went to sit by the punch bowl and watch. At the sound of new arrivals, he looked up and saw Uffham come in with some friends. There was nothing he could do to avoid the meeting, so he just hoped the Arrans' good sense was rubbing off on Anne's brother.

Uffham saw him and stiffened. "Not shooting?" he asked with a sneer.

"Not at the moment, no. Would you care for some punch?"

"I can think of a punch that would suit me very nicely," Uffham muttered under his breath, but perfectly audibly.

Francis pretended not to have heard. He completely sympathized with the man's outraged feelings. He would have felt much the same if anyone had treated one of his sisters so scurvily.

Uffham curled his lip, and he and his friends wandered farther down the shooting gallery to take their sport. Francis was just relaxing when Anne's brother returned.

"Since no one seems to want us to face each other in earnest," Uffham said, "why don't we see who would have died. Just out of curiosity."

"What a morbid form of curiosity."

Uffham's jaw worked. "Afraid to see your fate?"

Francis could see that the man was on the edge of his temper. "By all means let us test our skill, Uffham. We've been playing a stake of twenty guineas...."

"No stakes. Just live or die."

"Just rest in peace or flee the country, you mean. Which would you prefer?"

Uffham just glared.

"Best of ten?" Francis asked, carefully neutral.

"One shot each," Uffham countered, "and at the ace of hearts. Closest to the heart kills." Morbidly symbolic, in Francis's opinion. Why was his life continually plunged into this kind of melodrama these days?

Francis made no objection, however, and both men prepared to shoot. Spectators gathered. Francis suspected that the edge to the competition must be obvious even if people didn't know his recent history.

He checked his pistol. "Do you want us to shoot simultaneously?" he asked. "As if this were a real duel?"

He saw with relief that Uffham's good sense was returning and he was beginning to feel like a fool. "Why don't we toss for it?"

They tossed and Uffham won. He lined up the shot with a rock-steady hand and his ball pierced the red heart. A servant ran out and retrieved it for inspection.

"There," said Uffham with satisfaction. "Dead center on the heart."

"Not quite," Francis pointed out. "It's off to one side."

"But deadly."

"Assuredly."

"Then let me see you do better."

"Do you really wish us both to be carried dead from the field?" Francis queried, but he turned to make his shot at his own card.

He considered carefully. There would be a great deal of satisfaction in defeating Uffham, but nothing to be gained. He sighted on the heart and squeezed the trigger.

"A bull!" someone shouted, and the servant brought the card.

Uffham looked at it. "Devil take it, it's just the same as mine!"

The men crowded around, exclaiming at the coincidence. The two holes could almost be fitted one over the other.

Francis looked at Uffham. "Perhaps we should take it as a sign that this contest is over."

Uffham gritted his teeth, but then grabbed Francis's hand to shake it. "So be it, Middlethorpe. I'll never really understand what happened, but I can't stay at outs with you forever. You're too much of a good fellow."

"Thank you," said Francis, genuinely touched. He drew Uffham away from the others. "Anne will do much better, you know. I realize now that our feelings were not deeply engaged. I would have been good to her, but she deserves better than mere kindness."

Uffham sighed but said, "You're doubtless right. You love your wife, then?"

Francis ducked that one. "Would I be going through all this if I didn't?"

Uffham laughed. "That's a palpable truth, by gad!" He slapped Francis on the back and went off to join his party.

Lucien came over with the two holed cards. "As pretty a piece of shooting as I've ever seen."

"There are times to be grateful for pointless skills."

"Hardly pointless if he'd called you out."

"Completely pointless. If he'd called me out, I'd have had to let him shoot me. I could hardly shoot him when I am in the wrong."

Lucien just shook his head.

* * *

Since Francis was not at home, Serena attended to some household matters and then settled down to play with Brandy.

The puppy had just woken from a long rest and seemed particularly energetic. A glance out the window showed that the late afternoon sun was bright, and so Serena took her into the garden. Soon Brandy was exploring the entrancing world of grass, earth, and bushes. There were even birds, which fortunately had the sense to keep well away from an enthusiastic baby hunter.

Serena, too, enjoyed the pleasure of a warm late winter's day, and after the bustle of Belcraven House and the pressures of mingling with Society, the deserted garden was a haven of peace. The evergreen bushes and hedges gave an illusion of privacy, and she could almost imagine that she was far from the city and the cares it brought. Just a few more days, she thought, and then hopefully they could remove to the country.

When Brandy finally tired and began to look for her bed, Serena carried her as far as the kitchens and gave her into the care of the lad. However, she was not yet ready to return to the house. Even though Francis's mother seemed to have given up the reins without complaint, there was little to do there. The servants were all excellent and the place ran efficiently on its own.

She wandered back into the garden.

There was a stone bench in a sheltered spot warmed by the last of the sun. Serena sat there buffered from the cold stone by her thick, luxurious cloak. All the perfume seemed finally to have left it, just as the horrors of her first marriage had left her mind. The sensual delights of the past night still lingered with her, and she began to think that she could, in time, give Francis the surrender he wanted.