He galloped the length of the park again before admitting that something was threatening to dull his excitement. His wife! Had he turned unfaithful to her so soon after his vow to make theirs a marriage in deed? Would he be able to betray her when she performed her part of the marriage so sweetly and so uncomplainingly? Her large eyes always looked into his with a quiet trust. Would he be able to meet those eyes after last night, especially with the knowledge that he was scheming for physical union with the other woman? Would he be able to go to his wife's bed without feeling that he was sullying her unresisting, yet sweetly warm little body?

It was only at that moment that Brampton realized the remarkable similarity between the two women in his life. So alike in body, yet so vastly different in manner!

He noticed that his horse had begun to lather. Brampton felt a pang of guilt; he usually treated his horses with unfailing consideration. He turned its head for the stables at home.

Margaret was sitting alone at the breakfast table when Brampton entered, still in his riding clothes. He looked into her face, but avoided her eyes. He felt strangely embarrassed. But he did notice that she looked paler than usual.

"Good morning, my dear," he said. "Do you still have the headache?"

"Yes, Richard," she replied, thankful that he had turned to the sideboard to fill a plate with food. She found it equally difficult to meet his eyes. "I did not sleep well." At least she was not forced to lie this morning, she thought with wry humor.

"Did you not take the laudanum?" he asked, frowning.

"I am afraid it did not take effect," she replied, avoiding the question. "But I shall be fine presently. Charlotte has promised to walk in the park with me."

"Better still, you will drive there," he said, "and with me."

Margaret looked up from her coffeecup in surprise. She would not have expected such an offer on any morning, but especially not on this particular morning.

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?" she asked, watching his bent head closely. He showed no visible reaction.

"I felt like a wallflower." He glanced up and smiled. "I should have felt more comfortable with you there, my dear."

"I thought you would have met plenty of acquaintances there," Margaret quizzed, reluctant to drop the subject.

"Yes, but you had delegated the position of chaperon to me," he said, still smiling, though she fancied that the smile was rather tight. "I was not at liberty to pursue masked figures and guess identities." And he winced inwardly at his choice of words, which only accentuated his deception.

"My dear, why don't I send a message to Dev to see if he would wish to make up a party of four to drive out of the city? We could have a picnic luncheon made up. Would Charlotte enjoy the treat? And would you?"

"Why, Richard, how lovely that would be," Margaret said in surprise, and Brampton noticed that for once she had color in her cheeks and her eyes glowed. "I must go wake Charlotte."

"Shall we say one hour from now?" Her husband smiled.

A few minutes later Margaret left a sleepily grumbling Charlotte and returned to her own room, where she rang for Kitty and tried to decide what to wear for the day. She decided upon a simple primrose-yellow muslin gown with a bonnet to match. Kitty drew a tan-colored pelisse out of the closet, insisting that the day was not yet warm enough for her mistress to go outside without a cloak.

Margaret refused to let Kitty dress her hair in any other style but the tight braids coiled at the back of her head; she was soon ready and dismissed her maid. She sat in a chair by the window to wait for the hour to pass.

Richard had taken her by surprise this morning. She had expected him to be preoccupied, to almost totally ignore her for the next week. Yet he was showing her unexpected attention. His manner at the breakfast table had seemed genuinely concerned, almost as if he really cared.

For a while after she had returned home the night before, Margaret had sat on the edge of her bed, the wig and the mask beside her, reliving the events of the last few hours. She had recaptured in her imagination every word he had said, every caress he had given. How she loved him and how alive and desirable he had made her feel! She had not known it possible that mere touches and kisses could arouse in her such an aching desire. She had wanted him as much as he had seemed to want her. She would have allowed him to finish undressing her; she had been almost frantic with the need to feel him in her, bringing ease to her throbbing ache of desire. But his words had startled her back to an awareness of reality.

"I have loved you for so long," he had said.

Margaret had longed for six years to hear him say those words, but had not dreamed that she ever would. Richard loved her and he wanted her!

Margaret had shivered on the bed, leapt to her feet, and begun to undress hastily. Was she mad? He might be at home any moment. She did not believe that he would visit her that night, but there was always the chance that he might check to see that she slept peacefully. He must not find any trace of her costume.

When everything had been safely stowed away at the back of a closet, Margaret had quickly brushed and braided her hair and climbed into bed. She had told Kitty not to wait up for her.

She had lain in the darkness, feeling a sudden wave of sadness wash over her. Richard did not love her. He loved a faceless phantom without identity. If he knew that it was Margaret that he hungered for, he would turn from her in disgust. He would realize that there was no such person as his angel; that he had been tricked by his dull, unattractive wife. He would hate her then, wouldn't he? He would never want to touch her again. She would lose even the little of him that she now had.

She had felt rather sick too when she remembered the ease with which she had been able to draw his attention. He would have made love to her, believing her to be a stranger. He had made an assignation to see her the following week. And he had believed that he had a wife at home. She had always realized that he must have mistresses, that he slept with other women as well as with her. But this very real evidence that she was right left a sick feeling of depression in her stomach. It was small consolation that this time he was planning to be unfaithful with his own wife.

Should she meet him the following week? Strangely enough, neither she nor Charlotte had looked this far ahead in their plans. All they had thought of was deceiving Richard and finding out if she still had the power to attract him in the costume of Marie Antoinette and with the voice and the manner that she had used on that other occasion. Somehow, both had seemed to dream that at the end of a romantic reunion, Margaret's mask would be whisked aside, they would declare undying love for each other, and live happily ever after. At least, that had been Charlotte's dream. Margaret had refused to believe that she would make any impact on Richard at all.

She had still been trying to decide what to do the following week when there had been a tap at the bedroom door. Her heart had turned over, though that was not the entrance usually used by her husband. The door had opened quietly and Charlotte had entered, carrying a candle. She had still been wearing the green domino, and her mask had dangled from her free hand.

"Meg, you were wonderful," she had whispered with enthusiasm. "He did not suspect a thing, did he?"

"No, he did not know me," Margaret had confirmed.

"But he was gone such a long while. What happened, Meg?"

Margaret was certainly not going to answer that one truthfully. "He wanted to know who I was," she had replied vaguely. "He remembered me, and wants to see me again."