"Be off with you," she muttered. "And do not forget the Arlington ball tonight or I shall never forgive you."

Sebastian now smiled faintly at the memory of the morning and poured himself another cup of coffee from the pot he and Garrick were sharing.

As he sipped his coffee, he contemplated the thought of Prudence seated opposite him at breakfast every morning for the rest of their lives and wondered how he had ever gotten along without her there.

Garrick scanned the advertisements in the paper he was reading. "Thought I'd take myself off to Tattersall's after a bit and see what they're offering. I could use a good hunter." He looked up. "What will you be about today?"

"I have some business to attend to."

"Ah, I recognize that tone in your voice." Garrick grinned briefly. "It is the one you use when you are in the process of conducting one of your little investigations. Pray do not tell me that you are so bored with married life already that you must seek out your old amuse­ments."

"I assure you, married life is anything but dull. But I have not given up my hobby."

"I see." Garrick eyed him curiously. "Does your lady know what you do to entertain yourself?"

"She knows."

"And approves?"

"She has no complaints," Sebastian said.

Garrick chuckled. "I congratulate you, Angelstone. I do believe you have married the one woman in all of England who is capable of understanding you."

"I am certain of it."

The only thing that worried Sebastian was that Prudence might not be as well satisfied with married life as he was.

He told himself that the matter was settled. Prudence belonged to him now. He had claimed her under the law and in the privacy of the marriage bed. And she had given herself to him with a willing passion that should have reassured him.

istfulness that made him uneasy. He could not forget her words that ight at Curling Castle. Some might say that love would be a nice addi-on to the list.

For all her intellect and her admirable powers of logic, Prudence ‘as a woman. Sebastian suspected that she had a woman's romantic ttitude toward marriage. She had wanted to marry for love.

He was well aware that he had deliberately coerced Prudence into hasty wedding. He had done so using all the weapons at his com-land. He had justified the ruthless tactics by telling himself that she ‘ould be happy with him.

She was old enough and intelligent enough to realize that what-ver emotion she had felt for Underbrink was fleeting and insubstan-ial. In any event, the pompous ass had betrayed her affections. She ould never trust Underbrink again. Surely she knew that.

it four o'clock that afternoon a portion of Sebastian's brain was till pondering the unexpected dilemmas posed by marriage. But a ood deal of his attention was now focused on a more immediate roblem.

Thus far he had visited nearly half a dozen tobacconists in a fruit-;ss search to find one who could identify the blend of snuff in the mall snuffbox Prudence had discovered in the black chamber.

It had seemed a relatively simple task when he had set out on his lission. But thus far no one recognized the blend.

He went up the steps of one R. H. Goodwright, tobacconist, with-ut much hope. Goodwright was number six on Sebastian's list.

Sebastian glanced at the life-size wooden carving of a Highlander tiat guarded the shop entrance. The statue's dress was painted in the olors of a famous regiment. The popular symbol of the snuff dealer's rade was similar to the five other wooden Highlanders Sebastian had lready seen that afternoon.

If he did not have any luck here, Sebastian decided, he would have a seek out less successful establishments in less fashionable streets, le had been working on the assumption that whoever had lost the nuffbox had been a member of the ton and therefore shopped in the etter establishments. Sebastian could not envision Curling inviting nyone to Curling Castle who did not move in fashionable circles.

Sebastian opened the door and walked into the small shop. The roma of the well-aged tobacco stored in glass cases and in wooden counter. On another counter a selection of small snuffboxes was ar­ranged. Sebastian took a closer look at them but saw none as fine as the one he was investigating.

"How may I serve you, sir?" inquired a raspy voice.

Sebastian looked around and saw a plump, white-haired, heavily whiskered man wearing a green apron and a pair of gold spectacles. The shopkeeper's pudgy fingers were stained yellow from years of handling tobacco.

"I'm trying to discover the name of this particular blend of snuff." Sebastian plucked the snuffbox out of the pocket of his greatcoat and held it out to the shopkeeper. "An acquaintance gave me enough to fill this box, but I shall soon run out and would like to order more. It's quite distinctive. Do you happen to recognize it?"

The shopkeeper examined Sebastian's gleaming boots and ele­gantly tailored clothes as he opened the box. He sniffed cautiously at the snuff, careful not to inhale it. "I certainly do recognize it, my lord. I created this blend myself."

The familiar thrill of discovery flashed through Sebastian. Until Prudence had entered his life, he reflected, he had been forced to rely on these rare moments of fleeting excitement to keep the cold at bay.

Sebastian schooled his features to a mask of polite interest. "It seems I am in luck, then. I suppose it is a popular blend?"

"Might be if I sold it to all and sundry, but the gentleman I make it up for has stipulated that he be the only one who gets it. He makes it worth my while to keep the blend special for him."

"It's not for sale to the general public, then?" Sebastian frowned with what he hoped passed for disappointment. His luck was holding, he thought. He would not have to investigate a long list of snuff pur­chasers. All he needed was the name of the one who had commis­sioned this special mixture for himself.

"Afraid not." The snuff dealer eyed him with a shopkeeper's as­sessing look. He was obviously reluctant to lose the trade. "Mayhap I can blend a speciaj batch for you, m'lord. Something with a bit of Turkish in it, perhaps? Just got a nice shipment of fine tobacco from America. Very mild, it is. I can do you a most distinctive blend that will be the envy of your friends."

"That's very kind of you, but I very much wanted a supply of this particular blend. I am prepared to pay well for it."

The snuff dealer sighed with regret. "I cannot risk offending my

Hitf*nt cir I'm cnrp i/r'tn unH^rctsinrl "

"Your client?" Sebastian prompted carefully.

"Mr. Fleetwood would be only too likely to take his patronage sewhere if I didn't honor my agreement with him."

Sebastian stared at the dealer, hoping his mouth wasn't hanging sen in astonishment. "Fleetwood?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Jeremy Fleetwood." The snuff dealer frowned. "You ust know him, sir, if he gave you a sample of his snuff."

"We met in passing at a boxing match," Sebastian said, thinking riftly. "Afraid I didn't catch his name. You know how the crowd is at mill."

"Right you are, sir. Attended an interesting match just last week, rowd nearly rioted when Iron Jones lost. He was the favorite, you low. Lost a packet on him, m'self."

"I heard the outcome of the match was extremely disappointing," ;bastian said as he walked toward the door. "Thank you for Mr. leetwood's name. I shall look him up at once. Perhaps I can prevail jon him to allow you to make up a supply of this blend for me."

"But, sir, if I might suggest another blend—"

Sebastian closed the shop door and walked the short distance to here his groom waited with the phaeton.

What in the name of hell did Jeremy have to do with any of this? ;bastian wondered as he vaulted up onto the seat and took the reins.