"Did you?"

Hannah gave him a quizzical look. "Come now, Marcus. You and I are old friends. You can confide in me. We both know that you are not the type to become besotted with any female. Did you actually carry Mrs. Bright out of the ballroom in your arms?"

"She fainted." "You have never gotten involved with anyone who made.scenes, Marcus. You are infamous for demanding absolute discretion from your paramours."

"Mrs. Bright is not my paramour," Marcus said coldly. "She is my very good friend. She fainted and I made certain that she got some fresh air so that she could recover. That was all."

Hannah sighed. "You're in a strange mood today." She reached up to tug her veil down over her face. "Forgive my intrusion. Your connection to Mrs. Bright is entirely your affair."

"I must he on my way. I told Sands that I was shopping this morning."

Marcus gentled his tone. "Try not to worry unduly about the blackmailer, Hannah. I shall look into the matter."

"Thank you." She gave him another sad smile. "I am very fortunate to count you as my friend." She flicked the reins and drove off down the graveled path.

Marcus studied the sparkling fountain for a long while and then he turned Zeus's head and rode back toward the western entrance of the park.

"But he's supposed to be dead," Zoe, Lady Guthrie, wailed. "Why isn't he?"

"Hush, Aunt Zoe." Iphiginia cast a quick glance about at the uncrowded showrooms of Hornby and Smith, Upholsterers. Fortunately, no one appeared to have overheard Zoe's lament. "I cannot say, but it's an encouraging development, don't you think?"

"It confuses the issue, if you ask me," Zoe declared. Amelia, dressed in one of the dull bombazine gowns

she favored, nodded in agreement. "Your aunt is quite right. This whole thing is a great tangle. I do not like it."

"Please keep your voices down, both of you. Someone will hear you." Iphiginia glanced anxiously around the showroom again.

The proprietors hovered behind a counter at the rear of the shop. Mr. Smith was a broad, plump man garbed in a shocking pink waistcoat and the latest style of pleated trousers. Hornby, gaunt, stooped, and balding, was wearing a paisley printed waistcoat. It contrasted sharply with his purple coat.

Hornby gazed longingly down the length of the shop at where Iphiginia, Zoe, and Amelia stood together around a pattern book. He was clearly waiting for an opportunity to pounce. He had been rebuffed twice already, but Iphiginia knew that he was on the verge of making another attempt to offer his assistance.

The walls of the long room were lined with drawings and designs that purported to offer suggestions for decorating one's residence in the latest fashion. Samples of the newest styles in chairs and tables were arranged in a row down the center of the room.

Pattern books containing drawings of lavishly decorated interiors for every room in the home were set out on several tables.

Iphiginia, Zoe, and Amelia were making a show of studying a design for a combined library and statuary hall. But the real reason they had all met at Hornby and Smith's this morning was to discuss the latest developments in the crisis.

"Obviously the blackmailer was lying about having murdered Masters," Iphiginia said. "He was attempting to frighten you, Aunt Zoe, so that you would meet his demands."

"He succeeded. To the tune of five thousand pounds," Zoe muttered. "It is really too much. I finally regain control of my own money after all these years of watching Guthrie fritter it away on horses and women, and what happens? Some nasty blackmailer happens along and tries to take it away from me again."

"I understand, Aunt Zoe. We shall identify him and put a stop to this, I promise you," Iphiginia murmured sympathetically.

She was very fond of her aunt and had every intention of doing her best to free Zoe from the blackmailer's clutches.

At forty-five, Zoe was an energetic, vivacious woman with a flair for the dramatic. Her hair, once the same tawny shade as Iphiginia's, was attractively streaked with silver. She had the cleanly etched profile that characterized all the women on the Bright side of the family.

Twenty-five years earlier Zoe had not only been quite striking, she had also been an heiress. The handsome portion her doting parents had settled on their only daughter had attracted the eye of Lord Guthrie. No one had discovered until too late that Guthrie was nearly penniless. By the-n Zoe was married and her husband had gained legal control of her portion.

Having secured the money he had coveted, Guthrie promptly lost interest in his new bride. Fortunately, he had not been a complete idiot. He had managed to avoid squandering all of Zoe's inheritance. He had, however, gone through the income and had started to make serious inroads on the capital before conveniently suffering a stroke.

As Zoe had once said to Iphiginia, it was typical of Guthrie that, even in the act of departing this mortal plane, he had managed to humiliate her. He had died in a brothel.

Zoe let it be known far and wide that the only benefit she had ever received from marriage was her lovely daughter, Maryanne. She was thrilled with Maryanne's recent betrothal to the handsome and, as Zoe had taken care to ascertain, wealthy Sheffield.

During the long years of her unhappy marriage to the obnoxious Guthrie, Zoe had taken comfort in her liaison with Lord Otis. Otis had been devoted to her from the moment they had been introduced. He had never married. The fact that he was Maryanne's real father, however, had been a deep, dark secret until the blackmailer had somehow discovered it.

Maryanne, a charming, warmhearted young lady, was exceedingly fond of Otis. She treated him as though he were a favored uncle. Otis doted on her.

After the death of her husband, Zoe had, in the manner of so many of Society's widows, finally come into her own.

The first thing she had done was gather together what remained of her inheritance. She had invested the whole of it in Iphiginia's first property speculation venture, Morning Rose Square.

When the initial income from that investment had been realized last year, Zoe had promptly settled a handsome portion on Maryanne. She and her daughter had both set about replacing all the drab, unstylish gowns in their wardrobes with new clothes fashioned by elegant modistes who possessed French accents. When all was in readiness, Maryanne was launched on Society. The offer from Sheffield had come shortly after Maryanne's first ball.

Zoe's mouth tightened as she studied the illustration of the combined library and statuary hall. "Otis says there very likely will be more demands, and soon. He claims blackmailers are like leeches. They usually return time and again until they have succeeded in bleeding their victims dry."

Iphiginia shuddered. "Mat a ghastly analogy. From what I have heard, he is right." She frowned over the frustration in the pattern book, her mind on her aunt's problem. "It is unfortunate that Masters thinks the entire matter is merely an amusing jest."

"Are you certain that he did not believe you?" Zoe asked.

"He made it quite clear that he thinks I invented the tale in order to explain my masquerade to him."

Zoe groaned. "What a disastrous affair this is. I still cannot credit that he has actually agreed to allow you to continue posing as his paramour."

"Well, he has agreed to it and we must be grateful. It will allow me to continue searching the studies and libraries of — the suspects."

"I'm beginning to think that it is all a waste of time," Zoe said. "Thus far you have learned nothing."

Iphiginia tapped one gloved finger lightly against the illustration. "I wouldn't say that. I have eliminated both Darrow and Judson from the list of those who might be the blackmailers."