"Blackmail," Julian observed grimly.

"To be sure," Daregate murmured, looking a trifle bored.

"A man does not pay off a blackmailer. To do so only invites further demands."

"I'm certain that's what Glastonbury and Plimpton told each other," Daregate said. "In consequence, they not only find themselves featured in Charlotte's Memoirs, they also find themselves ill-treated in print. Apparently the Grand Featherstone was not overly impressed with their prowess in the boudoir."

Miles groaned. "The Memoirs are that detailed?"

"I fear so," Daregate said dryly. "They are filled with the sort of unimportant details only a woman would bother to remember. Little points of interest such as whether a man neglected to bathe and change into fresh linen before paying a call. What's the matter, Miles? You were never one of Charlotte's protectors, were you?"

"No, but Julian was for a short time." Miles grinned cheekily.

Julian winced. "God help me, that was a long time ago. I am certain Charlotte has long since forgotten me."

"I wouldn't count on it," Daregate said. "Women of that sort have long memories.

"Don't fret, Julian, Miles added helpfully, "with any luck your bride will never even hear of the Memoirs."

Julian grunted and went back to his newspaper. He would make damn sure of that.

"Tell us, Ravenwood," Daregate interrupted blandly, "When are you going to introduce your new Countess to Society? You know everyone is extremely curious about her. You won't be able to hide her forever."

"Between the news of Wellington's maneuvers in Spain and the Featherstone Memoirs, Society has more than enough to occupy its attention at the moment," Julian said quietly.

Thurgood and Daregate both opened their mouths to protest that observation but one look at their friend's cold, forbidding expression changed their minds.

"I believe I could use another bottle of claret," Daregate said politely. "I find I am a little thirsty after a full evening of hazard. Will you two join me?"

"Yes," said Julian, setting aside the newspaper. "I believe I will."

"Going to put in an appearance at Lady Eastwell's rout this evening?" Miles inquired conversationally. "Should be interesting. Gossip has it Lord Eastwell got one of Charlotte's blackmail notes today. Everyone's wondering if Lady Eastwell knows about it yet."

"I have great respect for Eastwell," Julian said. "I saw him under fire on the Continent. So did you, for that matter, Daregate. The man knows how to stand his ground against the enemy. He certainly ought to be able to deal with his wife."

Daregate grinned his humorless smile. "Come now, Ravenwood, we both know that fighting Napoleon is a picnic by the sea compared to doing battle with an enraged woman."

Miles nodded knowledgeably even though they all knew he had never been married or involved in a serious affair. "Very wise to have left your bride behind in the country, Ravenwood. Very wise, indeed. Can't get into trouble there."

Julian had been trying to convince himself of just that for the entire week he had been back in London. But tonight, as every other night since he had returned, he was not so sure he had made the right decision.

The fact was, he missed Sophy. It was regrettable, inexplicable, and damnably uncomfortable. It was also undeniable. He had been a fool to abandon her in the country. There had to have been another way to deal with her.

Unfortunately he had not been thinking clearly enough at the time to come up with an alternative.

Uneasily he considered the matter as he left his club much later that night. He bounded up into his waiting carriage and gazed broodingly out at the dark streets as his coachman snapped the whip.

It was true that his anger still flared high whenever he remembered the trick Sophy had played on him that fateful night when he had determined to claim his husbandly rights. And he reminded himself several times a day that it was crucial he teach her a lesson now, at the beginning of their marriage, while she was still relatively naive and moldable. She must not be allowed to gain the impression that she could manipulate him.

But no matter how hard he worked at reminding himself of her deviousness and the importance of nipping such behavior in the bud, he found himself remembering other things about Sophy. He missed the morning rides, the intelligent conversations about farm management, and the games of chess in the evenings.

He also missed the enticing, womanly scent of her, the way her chin tilted when she was preparing to challenge him, and the subtle, gentle innocence that glowed softly in her turquoise eyes. He also found himself recalling her happy, mischievous laughter and her concern for the health of the servants and tenants.

At various times during the past week he had even caught himself wondering just what part of Sophy's attire was askew at that particular moment. He would close his eyes briefly and envision her riding hat dangling down over her ear or imagine a torn hem on her skirt. Her maid would have her work cut out for her.

Sophy was very unlike his first wife.

Elizabeth had always been flawlessly garbed—every curl in place, every low-cut bodice cleverly arranged to display her charms to best advantage. Even in the bedchamber the first Countess of Ravenwood had maintained an air of elegant perfection. She had been a beautiful goddess of lust in her cunningly styled nightclothes, a creature designed by nature to incite passion in men and lure them to their doom. Julian felt slightly sick whenever he remembered how deeply ensnared he had been in the witch's silken web.

Determinedly he pushed aside the old memories. He had selected Sophy for his wife because of the vast difference between her and Elizabeth and he fully intended to ensure that his new bride stayed different. Whatever the cost, he would not allow his Sophy to follow the same blazing, destructive path Elizabeth had chosen.

But while he was sure of his goal, he was not quite so certain of the measures he should take to achieve that goal. Perhaps leaving Sophy behind in the country had been a mistake. It not only left her without adequate supervision, it also left him at loose ends here in town.

The carriage came to a halt in front of the imposing townhouse Julian maintained. He stared morosely at the front door and thought of the lonely bed awaiting him. If he had any sense, he would order the carriage turned around and headed toward Trevor Square. Marianne Harwood would no doubt be more than willing to receive him, even at this late hour.

But visions of the breezy, voluptuous charms of La Belle Harwood failed to entice him from his self-imposed celibacy. Within forty-eight hours after his return to London,

Julian had realized that the only woman he ached to bed was his wife.

His obsession with her was undoubtedly the direct result of denying himself what was rightfully his, he decided as he alighted from the carriage and went up the steps. He was, however, very certain of one thing: the next time he took Sophy to bed they would both remember the occasion with great clarity.

"Good evening, Guppy, Julian said as the butler opened the door. "You're up late. Thought I told you not to wait up for me."

"Good evening, my lord." Guppy cleared his throat importantly as he stood aside for his master. "Had a bit of a stir this evening. Kept the entire staff up late."

Julian, who was halfway to the library, halted and turned around, with a questioning frown. Guppy was fifty-five years old, exceedingly well trained, and not at all given to dramatics.

"A stir?"

Guppy's expression was suitably bland but his eyes were alight with subdued excitement. "The Countess of Ravenwood has arrived and taken up residence, my lord. Begging your pardon, but the staff would have been able to provide a much more comfortable welcome for Lady Ravenwood if we had been notified of her impending arrival. As it was, I fear we were taken somewhat by surprise. Not that we haven't coped, of course."