Flowers cautiously opened the door. He was carrying a small silver salver that held a folded note. His dour face relaxed somewhat when he saw that the lord and lady of the house had not come to blows.

"Your pardon, madam, m'lord. A message has arrived for Lady Angelstone."

"For me? I wonder who could have sent it." Prudence leaped to her feet and hurried across the room before Flowers could get to her.

Her impulsiveness caused Flowers to heave a long-suffering sigh. He handed over the note and backed out of the library.

Sebastian watched as Prudence tore open the seal. She charmed him, he thought. Or perhaps enthralled was the right word. Everything about her worked on him like a magic spell, driving out the cold. Her animated face, her feminine vitality, her passionate sincerity, all warmed him from the inside out.

"Good heavens, Sebastian." Prudence looked up from the note. Her face was tense with excitement. "It's from Lord Bloomfield."

"Bloomfield? What the devil does he want?" Sebastian put Lucifer aside. He got to his feet and swiftly crossed the room to snap the note out of Prudence's hand. He scanned the spidery handwriting.

My Dear Lady Angelstone,

/ desire to consult with you in your professional capacity. The matter is of an extremely urgent nature. It concerns recent occur­rences involving spectral phenomena. I would call upon you but I suffer from nervous sickness and find it difficult to travel even short distances. Would it therefore be possible for you to call on me tomorrow morning at eleven? I shall be extremely grateful.

Yrs.

C. H. Bloomfield.

"He refers to recent occurrences of spectral phenomena." Pru­dence's eyes narrowed with speculation. "Do you suppose he is refer­ring to the deaths of the other two Princes of Virtue?"

"Bloomfield is said to be extremely odd, perhaps quite mad. It's possible that after learning of the deaths of Ringcross and Oxenham he might have convinced himself that Lillian's ghost has come back."

"He wouldn't be the only one who believes that," Prudence re­minded him. "That is exactly what that poor old man who called him-self Halfwit Higgins believed."

Sebastian studied the note. "Either Bloomfield is as mad as rumor claims he is, or else this is a ruse to lure you to his house."

"A ruse? Why on earth would he want to lure me to his home?"

"I don't know. One thing is for certain: You are not going to go there alone."

"Of course I won't go alone. I shall take my maid."

"No," Sebastian said. "You will take me."

"I am not at all certain I wish to take you with me, my lord. This is my area of expertise, after all."

"God knows you have meddled enough in my end of the investiga­tion." Sebastian refolded Bloomfield's note. "The least you can do is allow me to meddle a bit in your area of expertise. Now you must excuse me, my dear. I am off to my club."

"But we were in the middle of a very interesting conversation before Flowers brought in that note. I wish to continue it."

"Sorry, Prue. Told Sutton I'd meet him." Sebastian kissed her lightly on the mouth and then headed toward the door. "I also want to observe Curling to see if he appears as anxious as Whistlecroft says he is."

"Whistlecroft said he was anxious?" Prudence followed Sebastian‘ out into the hall. "You never told me that."

"I have not had the opportunity. If you will recall, you were busy entertaining my aunt when I returned." Sebastian collected his hat and gloves from Flowers. "Do not wait up for me, madam. I shall be late getting home tonight."

"Angelstone, wait." Prudence cast a quick glance at Flowers, who looked as if he had gone deaf. She took a few quick steps forward and lowered her voice. "My lord, we were in the midst of a rather impor­tant conversation a few minutes ago. I should very much like to con­tinue it."

"Later, perhaps."

"Angelstone, are you trying to avoid me?"

"Of course not, madam. Why would I wish to avoid you?"

For the second time that day, Sebastian escaped through the front dooT of his home. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Flowers close it behind him.

The last thing he wanted to do was finish the conversation he and Prue had been involved in before Bloomfield's note had arrived, he reflected. He was not entirely certain why he was afraid to pursue it. He only knew that he did not want Prudence asking any more pointed questions about why he was continuing the investigation.

He had allowed her to think it amused him to indulge her in the matter, but he knew that was not the whole truth. The reality was that she had become so important to him that she had acquired an incredi­ble amount of power over him. He would do almost anything to please her. That knowledge worried him.

No one had wielded any real emotional power over him since that cold, fog-shrouded dawn in the mountains of Saragstan. He had built a barrier of ice against any possible threat. The cold place he had constructed had protected him until now, but he knew that some­where inside him the thaw had begun. The sunlight Prudence had brought into his life was having an insidious effect

Sebastian craved her warmth, yet he feared it. He knew there was a very real possibility that if the ice inside him was completely de­stroyed he might discover that there was nothing at all left to fill up the empty space.

Yet even as he feared the dark nothingness that might be waiting where the cold was now, he ached to know what Prudence was feeling for him. He needed to know if she was drawn to him by anything deeper than mutual interests and shared passion.

He wondered if she would ever be able to love him.

Shortly before midnight Sebastian walked out of the card room of his club. He had spent the past three hours playing whist with several inebriated members in hopes of learning something useful about Ringcross and Oxenham. There had been gossip aplenty about the deaths, but no one spoke the word murder. No one mentioned The Princes of Virtue, either. All in all, it had been a wasted three hours.

"Ah, there you are, Angelstone." Garrick strolled across the room to join him in front of the hearth. "I was wondering if you were still about. Any luck in there?" He nodded in the direction of the card room.

"A bit." Sebastian shrugged. "I won a thousand pounds off Evans and probably could have won a great deal more, but I was too bored to continue the play. No challenge to the sport. The man was so cup-shot he could barely hold his cards."

It occurred to Sebastian that he had not told Garrick about his latest case. He realized that there were two reasons why he had not confided in his friend. The first was that the investigation involved a Fleetwood and he knew without asking that Prudence would not want him discussing it with outsiders. In truth he had no wish to do so. Like it or not, it was a family matter.

The second reason he had not talked to Garrick about the investi­gation was that he no longer needed a confidant. He had Prudence.

"Speaking of cup-shot," Garrick said quietly, "there comes Curl­ing. He looks like he can barely stand upright."

Sebastian watched Curling walk through the door of the club with the overly careful stride of a very drunk man. "One does not often see him in that condition."

Garrick held out his hands to the fire. "The last time I saw him in such a condition was about three months ago. We both wound up at a card table together after a long night of drinking. I cannot remember much about it, but I seem to recall that he was as drunk as I."

"I believe I remember the evening in question." Sebastian watched Curling lower himself gingerly into a chair. "It was the following morning that you informed me you intended to give up drinking for a while."

Garrick's mouth tightened. "I swear to you, Angelstone, I never again want to get into the condition I was in that night. I don't like the feeling of not being able to recall what I said or did. And I definitely do not want to ever again feel as ill as I did the next day."