Gideon did not enjoy his clubs in the traditional way that most gentlemen did. For him they were not a refuge or a home away from home. Knowing that the moment he walked through the door six-year-old tales of ravished maidens, suicide, and mysterious death were immediately revived did not give him a fondness for club life.

Not that anyone had ever given Gideon the satisfaction of confronting him face-to-face with the accusations. He was considered far too dangerous for such an approach. There were those who well recalled the rapier duel in which he had received the scar that marred his features.

The event had happened over ten years earlier, but the witnesses were still quick to remind one and all that St. Justin had very nearly murdered his opponent, Bryce Morland, at the time.

Morland, those witnesses pointed out, had been St. Justin's friend since childhood and the duel itself had been nothing more than a sporting match between two young bloods. It had not been intended as a genuine challenge.

The devil alone knew what St. Justin might do in a real duel. He would certainly have no hesitation about killing the challenger.

Gideon recalled the events of that rapier duel with Morland all too clearly himself. It was not the blood dripping from the gaping wound on his face or the pain or the presence of witnesses that had stopped Gideon at the last moment when he recovered and managed to disarm Morland. It was Morland's cry for mercy.

He could still hear the words. For God 's sake, man, it was an accident.

In the heat of a sporting event that had turned into a real fencing duel, Gideon had not been at all certain the rapier thrust which had destroyed his face had been an accident. But everyone else was sure of it. After all, why would Morland want to kill St. Justin? There was no motive.

In the end, the damage had been done, Morland had screamed for mercy, and Gideon had known he could not kill a man in cold blood. He had removed the point of the rapier from Morland's throat and everyone had breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Three years later when the tale of Deirdre's ravishment and suicide had swept London, the tale of the duel had been revived and viewed in a dark light. The details of Randal's death were also reviewed. Questions were asked.

But the questions were always asked behind Gideon's back.

Gideon dropped into his clubs when he happened to be in Town for one reason and one reason only. They were an excellent source of information and he had a few questions he wished answered before he called on Harriet.

On his first night back in Town Gideon went up the steps and through the front door of one of the most exclusive clubs on St. James Street. He was not surprised by the ripple of interest and curiosity that went through the main room of the establishment as the members realized who had arrived.

It was always like this.

With a cool nod to a few of the older gentlemen he knew to be personal friends of his father's, Gideon took a seat near the fire. He sent for a bottle of hock and picked up a newspaper. He did not have long to wait before he was approached.

"I say, been a while since we've seen you in here, St. Justin. Rumor going round you've gotten yourself engaged. Any truth to it?"

Gideon glanced up from the paper. He recognized the portly, bald-headed gentleman as Lord Fry, a baron with estates in Hampshire. Fry was one of his father's old acquaintances from the earl's fossil-collecting days.

"Good evening, sir." Gideon kept his tone even but polite. "You may rest assured the rumor concerning my engagement is true. The notices will appear in tomorrow morning's papers."

"I say." Fry scowled belligerently. "So it's true, then?"

Gideon smiled coldly. "I've just said it was true."

"I say. Well, then. So it is. Rather afraid it might be." Fry looked grim. "Miss Pomeroy seemed awfully sure of it, but one never knows, when there's not been an actual announcement, you know. Her family is keeping mum."

"Sit down, Fry. Have a glass of hock."

Fry dropped down into the leather-upholstered chair across from Gideon. He took out a large white handkerchief and wiped his brow. "I say. Rather warm this close to the fire isn't it? Usually don't sit quite so close, myself."

Gideon set aside his newspaper and fixed the stout baron with a deliberate gaze. "I take it you are acquainted with my fiancée?"

"Yes, indeed." Fry looked suddenly hopeM. "If it's Miss Harriet Pomeroy we're discussing, I've indeed had the pleasure. Recently joined the Fossils and Antiquities Society."

"That explains it." Gideon relaxed slightly. "You may rest assured it is the same Harriet Pomeroy."

"I say. Pity." Fry wiped his brow again. "Poor girl," he muttered almost inaudibly.

Gideon narrowed his eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"Eh? Oh, nothing, nothing. I say. Lovely young lady. Very bright. Very bright, indeed. A bit wrong-headed on some matters, of course. Has some rather odd notions about strata and fossils and the general principles of geology, but otherwise quite bright."

"Yes, she is."

Fry gave Gideon a speculative glance. "Her sister is making quite a splash this Season."

"Is she?" Gideon poured a glass of hock for Fry.

"Yes, indeed. Beautiful girl. Respectable portion. World's at her feet, of course." Fry took a large swallow from the glass. "I say. A few of us in the Society had a bit of trouble with the notion that our Miss Harriet Pomeroy was engaged to you, however."

"Why did that disturb you, Fry?" Gideon asked very softly.

"Well, I say. She don't seem the type, if you know what I mean."

"No. I do not know what you mean. Why don't you explain yourself?"

Fry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Such an intelligent young woman."

"You think an intelligent young woman would have had more sense than to get herself engaged to me?" Gideon prompted, softening his voice further still.

"No, no. Meant nothing of the kind." Fry took another deep swallow of the hock. "Just that she's got such a keen interest in fossils and geology and that sort of thing. Would have thought that if she were going to get herself married, she'd have chosen a man who shared her interests. No offense, sir."

"It takes a great deal to offend me, Fry. But you are welcome to try, if you like."

Fry turned red. "Yes, well. She says she's been brought to Town in order to get herself polished for you."

"So I hear."

"I say." Fry gave him a belligerent look. "Far as I'm concerned, Miss Pomeroy don't need no polishing. Perfectly nice just as she is."

"On that we agree, Fry."

Fry looked disconcerted by that. He floundered about for another topic. "Well, then. I say. How's your father?"

"As well as can be expected."

"Good. Good. Glad to hear it." Fry plowed on gamely. "He had quite an interest in fossils at one time. Hardcastle and I had many a discussion on the subject of marine antiquities. They were a particular specialty of his, as I recall. Shells and fossil fish and the like. Does he still collect?"

"No. He lost interest a few years ago." Right after he left Upper Biddleton, Gideon reflected silently. His father had shown no enthusiasm for anything since the events of six years ago. Not even for his own estates. All the earl cared about now was gaining a grandson.

"I say. Pity. Quite a good collector at one time." Fry jerked himself to his feet. "Well, then. Must be off."

Gideon's brows rose. "Are you not going to congratulate me on my engagement, Fry?"

"What?" Fry picked up his glass and downed the last of the hock. "Yes, yes. Congratulations." He glowered at Gideon. "But I still say the lady don't need any polishing, if you ask me."

Gideon watched thoughtfully as Fry took himself off. One of the questions he'd come here with tonight had just been answered. Harriet was making no secret of her engagement.