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"It sounds positively conspiratorial. And who is this Nicholas?"

"Hasn't Francis said anything about Nicholas Delaney?" asked Beth with a startled look.

"He mentioned him. He is married, yes? And I think... Is he the one Arabella referred to as King Rogue?"

"Probably. But more importantly," Beth said gently, "Nicholas is Francis's closest friend, and vice versa."

"Oh." Serena could see that Beth was astonished that she could be married to Francis and not know this, and in truth she was hurt. It pointed out clearly the superficiality of their relationship.

"I'm sure you'll meet him soon," said Beth, a little too gaily, "and then you'll understand about Nicholas. He can't be explained. Suffice to say that the families of the Rogues are generally grateful that he saw fit to gather the group together."

"Why?"

"They recognize what a redeeming influence the Rogues exert. Lucien, for example, has only been saved from unbearable arrogance by the group. Without them, he probably would have been surrounded by toadeaters and spoiled beyond redemption."

"It's extraordinary," said Serena, "but I can imagine the appeal."

"Yes," said Beth thoughtfully. "If I'd been as far-sighted as Nicholas, I would have formed such a group at Miss Mallory's. We might not have prevented your marriage to Riverton, but you would never have been abandoned."

Serena shook her head. "I was permitted no letters, no friends."

"I'm sure there were ways. But that is in the past. Now you are a Rogue and we are all dedicated to your happiness."

Serena stared into the fire. "Beth, I'm not sure I know what happiness is."

Beth put down her cup and reached over to take Serena's hand. "I know, but you will. Of all the Rogues, Francis is the kindest and the gentlest. It's clear that he cares for you, and I know he can make you happy."

Serena felt tears brimming. She wished she could confess her terrible sin to Beth, but it was impossible. "He didn't want to marry me," she said. "He wanted to marry Lady Anne Peckworth."

Beth dismissed that with a wave of her hand. "What's done is done, and I doubt Lady Anne would have made a good Rogue."

There was no time for more, for the rest of the party joined them. Beth immediately announced the plan for an attack upon Society. Serena saw Francis flash her a look, but he said nothing, joining in the discussion of appearances at the theater, the opera, and some carefully planned entertainments.

Eventually, however, he came over to sit beside her. "Did Beth bully you into this?"

"Not at all. It was as much my idea as hers."

He frowned slightly. "I don't want you to wear yourself out."

Serena projected tremendous enthusiasm. "A little gadding about Town will be a pleasant change after the quiet life I've led."

"I see. But at the moment you are looking a little tired."

Serena admitted that, for she was feeling weary.

"Perhaps we should leave, then," he said.

"If you wouldn't mind..."

"Not at all. We can return tomorrow to make more of these exciting plans."

In the carriage heading home, Serena wondered if she were imagining the heavy atmosphere. "Is something wrong, Francis? Do you not feel it wise for me to try to be accepted?"

"No, it's a good idea and with any luck will probably work."

She searched for another problem. "I'm sorry about the flirting. I could think of no way to stop it."

He shook his head at that. "That's my problem, not yours. It will just take me a little while to grow accustomed to having a wife. Anyway, I trust the Rogues. I'd trust any of them alone with you in a bed."

Then awareness of his words flushed them both with color. Could
she
be trusted in that situation?

He turned his head to look out of the window. "We didn't order you any fine gowns, and there wouldn't be time for them to be made, anyway. I wonder if Beth has any to lend you."

"Oh, I couldn't!"

"I know you'd prefer your own, but there is no time."

"I don't mean that. I mean, I can't take Beth's gowns. I am some inches shorter. They would be ruined."

"I doubt that will matter to her. She and Luce aren't overly fond of grand occasions, but they have to play their part now and then and so she has the clothes for it. What gowns she has, though, certainly won't be worn this Season and perhaps not the next. The future Duchess of Belcraven cannot wear dresses two years out of date."

Serena could hardly imagine this point of view, but when she considered the magnificence of Belcraven House, she suspected it was plain truth. "If she truly doesn't mind, I would be very grateful."

"And I must arrange for jewels for you. The heirlooms. My mother—"

"Oh, please don't ask her to give them up!"

He turned. "They are yours, Serena. In trust, of course..."

There was something disquieting in his eyes that Serena couldn't fathom. "I won't pawn the family diamonds, Francis," she joked.

"Of course not."

But he sounded so serious. Did he really think she was not to be trusted with his family heirlooms?

When they arrived back at Hertford Street, he escorted her courteously to her room, ensured that she had all she required, and left her there. It was clear he would not join her.

Serena allowed the maid to prepare her for bed and lay there in sleepless misery. If her husband didn't trust her, and didn't desire her, what hope was there for them?

Francis went to his own room, fighting and winning a battle with lust. Lord, but he was turning into a monster. Not only did Serena not really enjoy sex, but she was tired, and yet he still wanted to use her to slake his own needs.

To bolster his willpower, he took out the jewels and spread them on a table, contemplating them. Until he could be sure he would treat Serena with more respect than her first husband, he would not touch her. What was he to do with these things, though?

It was a kind of theft to dispose of them without her consent, but that was what he would like to do. He didn't want to discuss them with her. His instinct, in fact, was to throw them away, as he had thrown her rings into the hedgerow, but that would be folly.

They would have to be sold, but he couldn't take them to a jeweler himself. He would have to find a discreet agent for the business.

With a sigh, he shoved them back into the pouch and put it in an unlocked drawer. If they were stolen, it would in many ways be a relief.

He warmed himself by the fire, nudging a coal farther toward the heart of the blaze, then grimaced at the mark on the glossy surface of his kid slipper. He had little patience for London life. It was all artifice and deception, and it meant wearing glossy shoes that showed every mark.

It would appear Serena had a taste for it, however. He supposed it wasn't surprising when she had been kept in the country all her life. He would indulge her. The plan to take Society head-on was a good one, in fact. He had been pretty well resigned to enduring scandal and waiting a year or two for it to blow over. This plan, if it worked, would be better.

Was it unreasonable, though, to see in it yet more of his wife's adroit planning?

Damn it all. All he wanted was a simple life!

Then he laughed. Francis remembered sitting over breakfast at Lea Park feeling aggrieved because his life was so boring. He was well served.

For a moment he allowed himself to wonder which path he would have chosen if he had been given a choice back then. It was bewildering, but he had to admit that he would likely have chosen the path that led to Serena.

That thought was unwise, however. He was suddenly aware of her lying in the bed so close by, his wife, his by right, all soft curves and secrets, warm and perfumed....

But he couldn't, wouldn't, give in. In time, with patience, he would bring her to desire him as he desired her....

He shook his head. All these years he'd thought himself such a virtuous fellow for resisting the lure of loose women. Now he found that if he'd practiced the manly arts more assiduously, he might be in a better position to cope with his marriage.

He looked for some other focus for his restless mind. That damned Ferncliff. Steve had mentioned this evening that he thought he'd caught a glimpse of Ferncliff one day last week, though not close enough to catch the man. Ferncliff was responsible for this whole bloody mess, and if he was in London, Francis wanted to speak to him. With the help of the Rogues, surely the man could be flushed from the covert and dealt with. He'd see to it first thing in the morning.

Now all he had to do was get through the night. He settled to letting the brandy decanter help him.

* * *

As a consequence of the brandy, Francis woke late and with a sore head. He didn't want breakfast and thought it wise not to see Serena, so he left the house and walked to Marlborough Square to consult with the Rogues about Ferncliff. He found the resident Rogues at the breakfast table supplemented by one—Hal Beaumont. Hal and Beth were in a spirited discussion about Blanche's refusal to enter Belcraven House.

"Dammit, Beth. She says it ain't proper, and there's no way I or Lucien can change her mind. Try if you can."

"It's ridiculous. Francis," said Beth. "Would you faint to see Blanche here?"

Francis sat down and cut into this debate ruthlessly. "I need some help."

Everyone instantly paid attention. "What?"

He explained the bare bones of his problem to those who did not know, then said, "I want to find Charles Ferncliff if he's in London. How do we go about it?"

There was a brief practical discussion in which Beth and Felicity joined, and then ducal servants were sent out. They were each to hire two more people they could trust, then fan out across the city with Francis's description in hand. They would check by name, too, but the man might be using a false one.

All hotels, inns and clubs would be visited, and discreet word—and promise of reward—left at chop-houses. Even if Ferncliff had private lodgings, it was likely he would need to eat out.

When the hunters were dispatched, Lucien looked at Francis. "So, what are you going to do when you catch him? Covering up a murder would stretch even our abilities a trifle."

Francis flushed. He knew his demeanor when talking of Ferncliff probably did predict violence. It wasn't entirely logical, but he blamed the man for turning his life upside down.

"Ask him some questions, that's all."

Lucien raised his brows but said nothing more on the subject. Instead, discussion turned to the planned visit to the theater this evening. It would be the first move in the assault upon Society. Francis raised the subject of clothes and found Beth was delighted to give some over to Serena's use, agreeing that she would likely never wear them again.

Eventually, the group broke up, and Francis knew he must return home, and that he was reluctant. He both longed and feared being with Serena. As he waited for his coat, he faced the fact that he could not trust himself to be with her without losing control of his desire. He could imagine all too easily abusing her on a table or against a wall.

He was waylaid by Beth and drawn off into the magnificent library. Glass-doored shelves held the wisdom of the ages bound in red Moroccan leather. Francis wished that wisdom would leach out into him. He was in water that was far too deep, and he was drowning.

"Francis," said Beth directly, "Serena is in low spirits. She seems to think you'd rather be married to Anne Peckworth."

Oh, God. He knew Beth's intentions were good, but he didn't need this now. "Perhaps I would," he said shortly.

She stared at him. "Then why...?"

"Dammit, Beth, she's with child."

"But why?" she asked simply. "If you'd rather be married to Anne Peckworth?"

"What a clever question. Tell me if you discover the answer." Francis swung on his heel and slammed out of the room. He seized his coat from the waiting footman and escaped into the street.

* * *

Beth stared at the door in amazement. Francis
never
lost his temper, and it was almost impossible to imagine him engaging in a mindless coupling while in love with another woman. But what other explanation was there?

She took the problem to Lucien, discovering him in his small study attending to some correspondence.

"I don't know, Beth," he said. "And he ain't telling. But it was clear in Melton that he cared about Serena. I don't think mindless coupling comes into it. In fact, Francis has always been notably restrained in such matters. He probably thought he wanted to marry Lady Anne until he met Serena." He smiled mischievously at her. "She is enough to distract any man."

Beth poked him in the chest. "Be distracted, my lord marquess, and you'll regret it. Not least because such behavior would upset Serena."

He tugged her down onto his lap. "Mmmm. And what wonderful ways would you find to punish me, ruler of my heart?"

Beth draped her arms around his neck. "I would read Mary Brunton to you all night long."