James was a bit taken aback. "Quite a good start, actually."

She must have heard the surprise in his voice because she shot him a long-suffering look. "You will find I am a decent observer, my lord. I’ve had if a great deal of experience."

James nodded, already thinking about phase two of their plan. "By the way, Terrence Smith was standing near the box. Is he privy to your disguise?"

"No. " She paused. "But I found it unnerving to see Terrence at the opera tonight. I don’t think he recognized me as Margaret Stafford, but he was one of the few members of the ton with whom I regularly spoke. Put me off my game a little bit to see him."

The last part sidetracked him. "Not too well treated in the ton, were you? Is that the reason you switched venues?"

She didn’t look at him, but answered, "You should know, my lord. You were one of the worst."

His conscience reared, but he firmly repressed it. "I still question your purpose in being the dowdy Margaret Stafford. If I had known what a gorgeous mistress I could have made of you, be assured I would have swooped in long before Stephen."

Outrage bloomed on her face and angry spots of color appeared. "You have some nerve. I cannot fathom why I continue to waste my time speaking with you. We can conduct this investigation with limited conversation. In fact, I mean to not talk-" Her voice broke off abruptly as he grabbed her right leg and hoisted it on his lap.

" Stop that. Put my leg down."

He ignored her and pulled off her slipper, massaging the sole of her foot, her ankle and calf.

"This is totally improper. Stop." She reached forward, trying to pull her leg down, but he casually pushed her back into her seat. She sputtered. He smiled.

"Relax, Miss Minton."

She crossed her arms and glared at him.

He continued to massage her foot. The rhythm of the carriage was lulling. He felt the change in her body as she eased into the cushion. He picked up her other foot and gave it the same treatment. She closed her eyes and a slight sigh escaped from her lips.

Her blissful sigh caused him to stop his ministrations. The air was feeling a tad warm. It was time to get control of the situation again.

"Calliope-"

The coach hit a bump and because of the precarious way she was positioned she bounced right off the seat. He leaned forward and caught her before she landed on the floor.

She gave a startled laugh and looked up at him.

He looked into her intense eyes and lowered his lips to hers. All thought of gaining control of the situation was gone.

She tasted like mint and smelled like lavender. Lavender and what else? Without breaking the kiss, he pulled her onto his lap and ran his right hand along the nape of her neck, tugging off her wig. He moved his fingers through her hair, releasing the pins and pulling her closer. She shivered but returned the embrace and kiss wholeheartedly.

He deepened the kiss and was lost.

She was lost. All rational thoughts had flown from Calliope’s mind the minute their lips touched. The pleasant feeling that had imbued her during the massage turned into a raging inferno. His hands stroked her scalp until her hair tumbled over her shoulders. His fingers trailed down the tendrils, skimming her bodice.

"My god, you’re beautiful."

A small but sharp voice in her brain sounded an alarm, but she ignored it. Instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. James reclined in the seat and drew her on top of him. Heat radiated from him and she was suffused with it.

Her body screamed for more. She pressed herself against him, pushing him back farther, and felt his body’s hard response. His hands moved to her legs and began a slow ascent, bunching the wispy blue material of her dress as they progressed. The heat, oh, the heat. She thought she might expire from it.

His caress reached her thighs and the coach slowed.

She lifted her head. There was hunger in his eyes. Desire and something more. Her breath released in a whoosh. "Oh, lord." Reality came crashing down on Calliope.

She pushed away from him and awkwardly fell back to her seat, cursing her folly. What had possessed her to act with such abandon? Head low and trying to conceal her mortification and regain a semblance of dignity, she gathered her wig and several hairpins and straightened her gown. Angelford sat motionless, his face inscrutable, as he watched her right herself.

The coach stopped and just as Calliope stuck the last pin in her hair, the door opened.

The footman assisted Calliope from the carriage and she fled toward the townhouse without a backward glance. Only after she was safely inside did she peek out the window. The carriage disappeared down the street.

What must he be thinking? What had she been thinking?

" Cal?"

Calliope let out a small shriek and turned to see Deirdre staring at her.

" Dee! You nearly scared me to death. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that sending a note with a bunch of mishmash doesn’t equal a visit. You said you were coming over, need I remind you?"

Calliope smoothed her mussed skirts.

"Oh, Dee,… I’m sorry. I got caught up in work after making sure you all were safe."

Dee frowned. "That we were all safe?"

Damn him for not letting her tell the family. "I heard there was a sickness going around. I wanted to make sure that none of you had caught it."

"Sickness? So where did you go tonight?"

"Oh, to the opera."

"And where’s Stephen?" Deirdre peeked out the window. Stephen usually came inside after evening events. "Did he explain his absence last night?"

"He sent his apologies for not attending the masquerade and was unable to make it this evening. He sent Angelford to accompany me." Lie upon lie piled upon her already heavy heart.

Deirdre looked her over and a satisfied smile appeared on her face. "Angelford? How interesting. I see you’re having fun with this endeavor. "

Calliope frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Deirdre’s smile increased but she said nothing.

Calliope shrugged and moved toward the stairs, eager to rid herself of the night’s raiment. She could hear Deirdre following behind her. Something about the cat-ate-the-cream smile that adorned her sister’s face spelled trouble. "Stephen was unavailable and I needed an escort. That’s all there is to it."

There was a significant pause before her sister replied, "Yes, and I suppose that explains why your wig is on backwards."

The cheery morning sun sprayed the disaster area with golden light.

Now, where was her hairbrush?

It had been here only a moment ago.

Calliope tossed some of the clothes that littered the floor into the air. No brush. She tried another pile. Still no brush.

Deirdre must have hidden it somewhere before she left.

Grumbling, Calliope got down on her knees and looked under the bed. Empty.

Closet floor? Only clothes.

Well, she might as well dress before he arrived.

Her face felt warm. Of course she should dress before he arrived; that wasn’t what she had meant.

Calliope stepped over a pile of garments and reached for an enticing sapphire morning dress, one of the only ones that had been spared in her frenzy. She touched the delicate material and then snapped her hand back as if scalded. The fine-spun cloth fluttered to the floor with the pillaged masses.

No, she had better wear the dowdy gray dress, the one with the really high neck and demure lines.

Before she could change her mind, she stepped into the staid dress.

Now, where was her brush?

A brisk knock resounded through the house and Grimmond’s voice at the front door announced the arrival of Angelford. Calliope checked the clock. It had just turned noon, and she had whittled the morning away.