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"Perhaps your disapproval would be enough."

"I'd hope that her own good sense would do the trick. Enough of this. I'm afraid my mother does not wish to remarry. She was truly and deeply devoted to my father."

"I don't doubt that, but time changes things." Serena wanted to stay on the subject of acceptability. "What about rank? Would you object to her marrying a commoner?"

"No, as long as it wasn't the stable boy."

"You're not taking this seriously!"

"No, I'm not, and nor should you. My mother will marry if she wants to, and it's nothing to do with us."

Serena was by now completely baffled. She turned to the subject of her greatest anxiety. "What of my brothers, then? If you left them to cool their heels in the garden their anger will have been roused. They could do anything."

It wasn't until her words caused a change that she realized that for a few moments they had been in a state of amity. Now he had withdrawn behind that chilly barrier. "I told you to leave the matter to me."

"How can I?
Did
you do anything about this afternoon?"

"I want you to put the matter out of your mind and trust me."

Serena heard the words, but her anxiety did not let them register. "It is a sword hanging over my head, Francis! I don't think you understand Tom. He's cunning, but he's also vindictive and stupid in his rages. If he's pushed far enough, he could publish those pictures out of pure spite."

"Could he?"

"What's more, I've been thinking about this. If I were him, I'd give a few of the less damaging ones to a printer. They'd be enough to create a lot of unpleasant talk without really ruining me. That would force your hand."

"That's what you would do, is it?"

"That's what
Tom
might do. How could you handle that?"

"I'd kill him."

Serena practically jumped out of her seat. "You'd shoot him in cold blood?"

"With pleasure, but I suppose I'd have to call him out."

"Oh no, you
mustn't!"

"Why not?" There was a sharp edge of suspicion in his voice.

"I couldn't bear to see you hurt over me."

He stared at her a moment, then rose. "Come with me."

Bemused, Serena followed him. He seemed in the strangest mood. He went to his study and took a gleaming inlaid case out of a locked drawer. He removed a silver-mounted pistol and loaded it with easy familiarity. "Come along."

"Where are we going?" she asked as he led the way into the garden.

"To ease at least one of your fears."

Once out of doors he looked around. "Damnation, there's hardly a straight vista in any direction."

"I think it's a lovely garden. What are you about?"

"It's a charming garden." He went past the first hedge. "Ah. See that early daffodil in bloom beneath the tree."

"Yes." It was a good twenty yards away and only visible through the skeleton branches of a deciduous bush. What's more, the sun was beginning to set and the light was poor.

He raised his hand, sighted, and fired. The yellow bloom fell.

"Oh, how
terrible!
How could you?"

After a moment, he burst out laughing. "You are supposed to be overcome with admiration for my marksmanship and stop worrying about me."

Serena looked again at the fallen bloom. "I suppose it was very clever, but it's a terrible waste of a flower."

"There'll be more. In weeks, the place will be full of them."

"There are always more people, too. Would you kill a person as easily?"

"Of course not."

"Would you kill a person at all?"

He frowned at her intense tone. "If I had to, of course. It would be my duty. But I never have, Serena. Are you worried about your brothers?"

"Are they all right?"

"I certainly haven't hurt them. I'd hardly expect you to fret about them, though."

"I don't," she said, then realized that sounded terrible. "Oh, heavens, I just don't want you to kill them. For one thing, it would cause a terrible scandal."

"I won't kill them, I promise. Let's hope they know my reputation with a pistol and cause no trouble—"

They were interrupted by the young gardener rushing from the back of the garden. "Who fired that shot?" He came to a halt. "Oh, milord. Sorry, milord."

"I'm sorry, Cather. I was just exhibiting something to Lady Middlethorpe. There's a fallen daffodil back there. I think my wife would like it."

With a rolling-eyed look, the young man went off to retrieve the flower.

Serena said pointedly, "I'm glad it won't come to violence. I don't like violence."

"There we are in accord."

"But you won't pay my brothers the money, will you?"

"You don't want me to?" he asked curiously.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am."

He studied his pistol for a moment, then looked up at her. "What if I were to give you the money to give to them?"

She stared at him. "That wouldn't change anything."

"Wouldn't it?"

Serena thought this conversation was going to drive her mad, but by then the gardener was back with the flower. He gave it to her, looking as if he felt a fool to be handing over such a battered bloom.

"Thank you," said Serena, wondering quite what she was supposed to do with a daffodil that had only a few inches of battered stem on it. She shrugged. "I suppose I had better put it in water, and I'm getting chilled out here without a cloak."

Francis smiled. "I'm sorry. I never thought. By all means, go in and warm up."

Serena felt as if they were both speaking in foreign languages and achieving very little indeed, but there was nothing to do but go.

Francis watched his wife return to the house, wondering what the devil was going on.

Then he realized the gardener was still by his side, fidgeting.

"Yes, Cather?"

"Er... begging your pardon, milord, but do you think you could ask milady to shut the gate when she uses it? Otherwise, dogs get in, you see. Unruly-type dogs."

"Of course. I wasn't aware she was in the habit of going out into the mews."

"Went out this morning, she did, in search of her little pup, milord."

"Oh, of course." Francis wasn't paying close heed to the conversation. He was still absorbed in the one with Serena. He simply didn't think his wife was actress enough to pretend such disinterest in getting her hands on the money. No doubt it was as she said, and her brothers were trying to squeeze money out of her any way they could.

He prayed it be so.

The gardener spoke again. "And perhaps word could be given to others, milord. There seems to have been a fair old coming and going through that gate the past week."

Serena's brothers. "It might be better to put a stout lock on it, Cather. The few servants who have business using it could be given keys."

"Aye, I'll do that, milord."

"See to it, then." Francis turned away, but the man's words registered and he turned back. "Who exactly has been using that gate recently?"

"Well, milord, such as I've seen—there was her ladyship this morning, and those two men she spoke to yesterday. Then there's the other man as comes in to speak with Lady Middlethorpe."

"Other man?" Francis felt the chill start at the back of his neck.

"Aye, milord. A hardy sort of fellow. Been here three or four times, he has."

Francis wanted to ask more but didn't dare. "Thank you."

Francis returned to the house feeling as if he had been knocked on the head. He was sure Cather, for good reasons or bad, had intended to impart that information. Perhaps the gardener simply didn't like all this coming and going in his garden, or perhaps he didn't like seeing his employer cuckolded.

But if Cather was to be believed—and it was hardly likely that he'd lie about such a thing—Serena had been meeting Charles Ferncliff in the garden and more than once. What innocent interpretation could he put on that?

Chapter 19

No matter how hard Francis tried, he could find no comfortable explanation for his wife's behavior.

He was very inclined to go to her now and throw her guilt in her face, but he was afraid of doing and saying far more than he should. He'd like to throttle her, the lying jade.

He wished he could lay this all before Nicholas, but he hadn't told his friend about his suspicions and was reluctant to do so now. None of this could affect the fact that he and Serena were married. He had a natural reluctance to let his friends know he'd been such a fool.

What of the child she carried?

Francis went into his study and slumped into the chair behind his desk. He could guard her and make sure she behaved in the future. He could bear it all if he could only be sure the child was his.

He'd been sure once. When he was with Serena, he'd swear in blood that she was incapable of duplicity. Was that reality or a siren's power to turn his wits?

He remembered her neatly laying out what an Allbright would do with those pictures—a plan of action that would not have occurred to him.

She was an Allbright.

Life couldn't go on like this. He was going to have to discover the truth and lay it before Serena. Perhaps they could still find some way to make a life together.

First, however, he must find Ferncliff and put a stop to his games. If he could find out anything about the fathering of Serena's child at the same time, then all well and good.

Next he would move against the Allbrights. He'd sent them a curt note, telling them not to bother coming to the garden today and that he would contact them tomorrow.

If they really were after ten thousand pounds, they would soon realize they wouldn't get it. If they didn't stop their games, he'd ruin them. They already lived on the fringes of Society. If Francis and the other Rogues moved against them, they'd never hunt the Shires again or gamble in a reputable establishment.

And if Tom Allbright made any trouble at all, Francis would call him out and cripple him. It would be an immense pleasure.

What if the Allbrights denied the extortion, however? That would bring him back to Serena trying to get the money for her lover.

Unless Ferncliff was blackmailing her, too, he thought with sudden hope. Now there was a thought.

But what was she trying to hide that was worth ten thousand pounds?

Francis sunk his head in his hands and groaned. He was assuredly going to go mad.

A knock on the door brought his mother. "Is something wrong, my dear?"

Francis pushed himself to his feet. "Nothing in particular, Mother. Did you want something?"

"Merely to confirm that I will leave for Thorpe first thing tomorrow. Do you have any business you want me to attend to?"

"No, I don't think so. Serena and I will doubtless be there in a few weeks time and will stay until after the child is born."

"Of course. It could be the heir, and the heir should be born at the Priory."

"Quite."

The dowager put on a stern look. "Francis, I cannot ignore the fact that you and Serena are experiencing some problems. I want to advise you that honesty is by far the best policy, and deception only leads to greater grief."

Francis could have laughed. "So you have always said, Mother."

She sighed. "I also want to say that I know it is not at all easy to stick to the honest line at all times."

Francis was rather surprised that his mother was willing to bend her standards a little, even in an attempt to reassure him. "No, it isn't easy, and I'm not even sure it is always wise. Are there not some truths that are too painful to confront?"

"Do you think that is so?"

"Almost certainly."

"But what happens to those lies over time? Surely they just grow and fester."