"Unlikely," Marcus said. "As it happens, however, I intend to dine at my club this evening. Afterward I shall arrange to play some cards. One can learn a great deal at the card tables. I shall see if there is any hint of gossip concerning Lartmore's finances."

Iphiginia pursed her lips. "I wish I could arrange to play a few hands at some of the gentlemen's clubs. There is no telling what I might learn."

"Do not even think about it," Marcus said. "It's impossible and well you know it. I shall look for you at the Richardsons ball sometime around eleven. I can give you my report."

"You are attempting to dissuade me from attending the Lartmore ball, are you not?"

"Mrs. Bright, so that you are quite clear on this point, allow me to make it plain that I am ordering you not to go to Lartmore's."

"Hmm. My lord, I have a question for you." "Yes?"

"Would you care to tell me precisely why your friend is being blackmailed?"

"No, I would not," Marcus said bluntly. "Surely you do not expect me to divulge a confidence."

"No, of course not. I merely thought that if I knew the nature of your friend's secret, I might be able to compare it to the sort of secret information that is being used against my aunt. I cannot help but wonder if there might be some similarities."

Marcus narrowed his eyes. He looked intrigued in spite of himself. "I don't suppose you would care to tell me the nature of the secret material that you claim is being used to blackmail Lady Guthrie?"

"No." "So I am left to wonder if she really is being blackmailed."

Iphiginia gave him a lofty smile. "You cannot expect me to trust you with my secrets when you have made it clear that you are not prepared to trust me with yours."

Marcus's powerful band clamped more firmly around her arm. "Your lack of faith in me is going to make it somewhat awkward for us to work together."

"It certainly will," Iphiginia agreed. "And your lack of trust in me will have an equally chilling effect on our efforts."

Marcus gave her a disturbing smile. "It is clear that if we are to break down the barriers of distrust between us, we must become more intimately acquainted, Mrs. Bright."

"How do you suggest we go about becoming more closely acquainted, sir?"

"To begin, why don't you tee me what happened to Mr. Bright?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Marcus raised one brow. "I was referring to your late husband."

"Oh, him."

"Obviously you no longer grieve for the departed." "He wouldn't have wanted that." Iphiginia swallowed uneasily. She must learn to think of this man as an adversary, she warned herself. "He believed that one should put unhappy events behind one. After a suitable mourning period, of course."

"Of course. And was there a suitable mourning period after his death?"

"A reasonable one, considering the circumstances. Mr. Bright was considerably older than I," Iphiginia murmured.

"I see."

"He lived a very full and active life."

"I imagine it got considerably more active after he married you."

Iphiginia gave him a repressive look. "I do not wish to pursue this topic of conversation. I'm sure you comprehend, my lord. Much too painful."

"I understand," Marcus said.

"And so you should. I believe you have a rule of your own against discussing the past, do you not?"

"Yes, Mrs. Bright, I do have such a rule." "Personally, I am not overly fond of rules, but I believe that I shall adopt that particular one myself." Iphiginia caught sight of a discreetly painted sign hanging at the corner of a small street off Pall Mall. "Oh, look, there's Dr. Hardstaff's museum. Mr. Hoyt mentioned the establishment the other evening."

"I cannot imagine why."

"He said something about Lord Thornton having recently taken a treatment from Dr. Hardstaff." Iphiginia studied the sign.

DR. HARDSTAFF'S MUSEUM OF THE GODDESSES OF MANLY VIGOR LEARN THE SECRET AND INVIGORATING POWERS OF THE GODDESSES OF ANTIQUITY

Marcus glanced at the sign. "You would have no interest in Dr. Hardstaff's museum, Iphiginia."

"But I am always deeply interested in antiquities." Iphiginia turned her head to look back at the sign as Marcus urged her forward. She frowned. "I do not believe that I know which classical goddesses are particularly associated with manly vigor."

"You astound me, madam. I thought you knew all the answers.

Shortly after ten that evening Marcus left the card room at his favorite club. He was in a dark, unpleasant mood, although he had won, as he so often did when he played whist.

He took no particular satisfaction in the victory. There was no serious challenge to be found in a game when one's opponents were so deep in their cups that they could scarcely hold their cards.

The restlessness that gripped him had nothing to do with the recent game of whist. He had been feeling this way since he had met with Hannah in the park. The sensation had intensified after the conversation with Iphiginia.

Logic told him that he could not trust her, but his growing desire for her was undeterred by reason and common sense.

He wanted her. Marcus glanced at the stately tall clock and saw that it was nearly time to hunt Iphiginia down at the Richardsons ball. He wondered what she had been doing all evening. Had she been innocently pursuing what she termed her inquiries or had she been setting snares for other potential blackmail victims?

One could only pity the late Mr. Bright, Marcus reflected. Any man married to Iphiginia would no doubt find himself growing old before his time.

"I thought I might find you here, Masters." Marcus glanced over his shoulder. It took an act of will to avoid swearing aloud when he saw Hannah's husband, Edward, Lord Sands.

Marcus had often thought that under other circumstances he might have gotten along very well with Sands. There was a solid, substantial feeling about the man. Sands radiated a sense of unflinching integrity. He was the sort of man one would wish at one's side in the heat of battle. A man with whom one could do business.

Marcus knew that there was no chance for genuine friendship between himself and Sands, however, as long as Hannah and her secret stood between them.

"Good evening, Sands." Marcus nodded politely. "What brings you here? You rarely bother to put in an appearance at this particular club."

"I came here to find you." Sands's pleasant, open features were set in such rigid lines that they could have been carved from stone.

Marcus told himself he was not surprised. Nevertheless, he had hoped to avoid this confrontation. "What can I do for you?"

Sands's gloved hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. "You can stay away from Hannah, damn your eyes. I know that you met her in the park this morning. I will not have it."

"Hannah is an old friend," Marcus said gently. "You know that."

"Listen to me, Masters, and listen carefully. Whatever happened between the two of you before I met Hannah is your affair. But she chose me, by God. She is my wife and I will not let you play your games with her, do you comprehend?"

"if you knew anything at AI about me, Sands, you would know that I have an ironclad rule against involving myself with innocents and other men's wives. And I never break my own rules."

"I have beard of your so-called rules," Sands said roughly. "The gossips claim that you have always made it a point to form your connections with the most interesting and attractive widows of the ton. But they also say that Hannah is the one exception."

"You should know better than to listen to gossip," Marcus said.

"If I hear that you have met privately with my wife again, I vow, I shall call you out. I am not bluffing, Masters. I am accounted a good marksman." "I believe you, " Marcus said calmly. "I have heard that you once very nearly killed a man on the field of honor, but that does not frighten me."