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The silence was so complete that she had no trouble hearing Tom's bellow of rage at finding the pictures gone. She wanted to say something, but her throat appeared to be frozen by some force.

She realized it was terror.

It was Ferncliff who spoke, and with resigned dignity. "Lord Middlethorpe, if you intend to shoot me, get it over with, for I am heartily sick of this cat and mouse game."

Francis actually cocked the pistol with an audible click, but then let the lock return to safety. "You're not worth hanging for, Ferncliff."

The choking grasp on Serena's throat eased, "Francis, we—"

"Not another word." He didn't even look at her, and yet the command was absolute. She looked for help to Lucien, but his expression was nearly as cold as Francis's. Why did they hate Ferncliff so much that merely an association with him could put her beyond the pale?

"My lord," said Ferncliff with careful moderation, "I have been wanting an opportunity to speak with you for some time now. As you have apparently thought better of your intention of shooting me, perhaps we can have a rational discussion about myself and Lady Middlethorpe."

"I doubt it," said Francis with deadly calm.

Even moderate Ferncliff began to color with anger. "You will continue to unreasonably block our happiness?"

"Unreasonably?
You have a damned funny notion of reason!"

"And you, sir, have no notion of it at all!"

"Francis," said Serena, "you must listen to him!"

He turned on her and the fury blazing in his eyes almost made her faint. "I would like to listen to him scream in agony. If you don't want to see him dead, be silent."

Her legs gave way, and she sat on a chair with a thump. Again she looked at Lucien, but he stood against the wall, arms folded, as if this were the most common of occurrences.

Bloodthirsty reprobates.

It was the simple truth.

Francis looked back at Ferncliff. "If I thought I could believe a word you'd say, I'd ask for an explanation. I have one question: Just what did I do to deserve this?"

Ferncliff folded his arms. "You talk like a spoiled child."

"Spoiled child! Am I supposed to turn a blind eye to this? Accept a cuckoo in the nest without cavil? And if you wanted ten thousand pounds, why mess the whole thing up with a marriage?"

Before anyone could respond, the door burst open and Tom appeared, eyes red with anger. The anger flared to rage when he saw Serena, who was still clutching the portfolio. "I knew it! I'll have 'em back.
Now."

Lucien pushed off the wall and produced a pistol, cocking it in one smooth motion. The dangerous click alerted Tom to the fact that there were others present, and he looked around in growing uneasiness.

Francis turned and impaled him with a look. Tom blanched and Serena was not surprised. The deadly rage emanating from Francis would terrify anyone.

"You," said Francis in a voice of burning ice, "are a blight. Your whole family is a blight, but I suppose I will have to deal with your sister. You I do not have to deal with at all. Come near me or mine in the future, and I will ruin you so absolutely that you will never dare set foot in decent company again."

Tom tried to bluster, but nothing of sense came out.

"Get out of my sight."

Since Tom seemed stuck, Lucien gripped his arm, propelled him into the corridor, and shut the door on him.

Serena would have cheered if it hadn't been for the words
I suppose I will have to deal with your sister.

Was that the main problem? That she was her brothers' sister and she carried their blood?

And now she had been caught associating with a man Francis considered a deadly enemy, though for the life of her she couldn't see why. He clearly considered it a betrayal.

Francis was in such a rage just now that there seemed no chance of bringing him to reason, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. If this was his idea of correct and reasonable behavior, she doubted she could live with him at all.

Ferncliff was frowning. "What's this about ten thousand pounds, my lord? Is that Lady Middlethorpe's portion?"

Francis was now superficially calm. "If she chooses to go with you, she goes with what she wears and nothing more."

"Really, sir! You cannot do that. Not only is it heartless, it is illegal!"

Francis shrugged. "You may be right. You can have the three thousand and the jewels."

At that familiar amount, Serena frowned. Surely Cordelia's widow's jointure was more than three thousand pounds, whereas Francis had given her exactly that amount. She pulled the pouch of jewelry out. "These jewels?"

"Already have them with you, do you?" Francis asked with a superficial cordiality that was even more wounding than his rage. "I suppose if you failed to get your hands on the whole amount, you were intending to flee into the night with what you had. Or do you just like playing with them?"

Serena stood, clutching the portfolio and the pouch. "I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about, except that you are being totally unfair to poor Mr. Ferncliff. He is an honorable man!"

"Are you going to claim to be an honorable woman?"

She raised her chin. "Yes." At his scathing look, she asked, "What in heaven's name are you accusing me of, Francis? Is being here—"

"Adultery."

The word stopped her cold.
"What?
With whom?"

"Oh come, Serena. And to think I believed you were not capable of acting a part!"

"We are all capable of acting a part, it would appear. You have been acting the civil gentleman for weeks, whereas now I see that Mr. Ferncliff is right. You and all the Rogues are headstrong, foolish, wicked reprobates!"

He snarled at her. "If I were a headstrong, foolish, wicked reprobate, you worthless tart, I'd be beating you. If I hadn't throttled you first!"

Serena hit him.

He hit her back.

Serena gasped with outrage and slammed him on the head with the portfolio. It had wooden end boards and made a most satisfying noise against his thick skull. He staggered.

She looked around at the gaping men, positively growled with rage, and ran out of the room. Down at the entrance to the inn she found her footman patiently waiting. He leapt to his feet. "Is something wrong, milady?"

Heaven knows what she looked like. "No. I wish to return to Hertford Street. Now."

Adultery! How dare he? How
dare
he?

"Yes, milady. Immediately, milady."

* * *

Francis collapsed into a chair and held his reverberating head. "Christ Almighty," he muttered. The blow had somehow knocked away his rage, leaving him empty, miserable, and bereft.

He hadn't actually lost much, he tried to tell himself. Just a lying, unfaithful wife. The pain and dizziness faded, and he looked up. Lucien appeared thoughtful, and Ferncliff—damn him—was sitting in a chair looking stern.

It was Ferncliff who spoke. "Could you possibly be suffering from the misapprehension that your wife has been committing adultery with me, my lord?"

"Yes," snapped Francis. "I think I could have that strange notion in my head, when I find her creeping out of your bedchamber, sir. I know she has been meeting you in my garden, and on one occasion at least returned from the tryst disheveled and muddy. Not to mention the fact that you just admitted it."

"How could I admit such a falsehood?"

"For pity's sake!"

"My beloved is your mother."

Francis stared at the man. "Do you take me for a complete fool?"

"Yes."

Francis just stopped himself from lunging for Ferncliff's throat. "Let us by all means be clear about this. You are claiming to be in love with my mother, Cordelia Lady Middlethorpe. And she with you, no doubt?"

"Precisely. See," said Ferncliff with awful sarcasm, "even a dull mind can comprehend an issue if given time."

"Oh, certainly I can," said Francis with equal sarcasm. "It is completely credible that you have been conducting a passionate affair with my mother in the cold and muddy gardens of my house in Hertford Street."

"You believe such a thing of your wife, my lord."

"But she..." Francis could not bring himself to say the words that came to his lips.

Ferncliff provided them. "Is a worthless tart, I suppose."

Francis instinctively leapt to his feet.

"Your words," said Ferncliff, "not mine."

Good God, had he really said that to her?

"As for your mother and I, my lord, I would that we had been conducting an affair, even in a muddy February garden, but she and I are at outs at this moment."

Francis collected his wits. "Doubtless because you are trying to extort ten thousand pounds from her so you can run away with my wife."

"Plague take you!" shouted Ferncliff. "When I spoke of Lady Middlethorpe earlier, you numbskull, I wasn't talking of that child, I was talking about your mother!"

"Numbskull, am I? At least I'm not a lying thief."

Ferncliff rose, fists clenched. "I am no thief, sir!"

"Not again," muttered Lucien, and stepped forward to stave off a fight.

The door opened. "Why are you shouting in here?" asked Cordelia severely. "The whole inn can probably hear you." She froze, and her eyes widened at the sight of her son, but after a moment she resolutely continued into the room.

Arabella came in behind her. "I detect all the signs of men making complete fools of themselves."

"Cordelia!" exclaimed Ferncliff.

"Mother!" exclaimed Francis.

Cordelia went to Charles Ferncliff and said, "Hold me, please, Charles. I'm very frightened."

His arm went around her without hesitation. "Don't worry, my dove. No one will hurt you."

The mists of anger in Francis's head cleared, and the whole picture—or the essential parts—were revealed to him. "Serena..." he murmured.

He headed for the door, but Lucien gripped his arm. "I know. But you had best discover what is going on here first. You don't want to make yet more mistakes. She'll probably be better with a little time to cool down, anyway. I'll go and make sure she's safe."

Francis could hardly begin to grasp the disaster that he might have made of his marriage. He wanted desperately to dash out and start mending things, but he knew Lucien was right.

As Lucien left, Francis turned back to the couple in the center of the room. He was revolted to see Ferncliff stroking his mother's head and comforting her between kisses.

"Damnation! Stop that!" When his mother turned, looking amazingly young and frightened, the picture began to clear even further, though it was as bizarre as a painting by Fuseli.

Francis took a deep breath. "Why don't you start by explaining the ten thousand pounds, Mother?"

"Don't bully her," said Ferncliff, and led Cordelia gently to a settle, where he sat beside her, patting her hand. "Now, Cordelia, if you really have been foolish, you had best make a clean tale of it. Honesty is the best policy."

Seeing his mother treated like a young, slightly naughty girl both amazed and upset Francis. His world was swinging upside down, and somewhere Serena was crying.

"Ten thousand pounds," he prompted sharply, and saw guilty color flare in his mother's face.

"I shall have to start at the beginning, dearest, so do not heckle me. It started when you agreed to court Lady Anne, you see. That was when I realized that my life would change upon your marriage. Oh, I knew that I would be welcome to live in any of your homes, but it wouldn't be the same. That knowledge changed something in me, so that when I met Charles, I was open to him as I had not been since I was a girl."

Open to him! What the devil did that mean? Francis wondered, but kept the words back.

"At first we just talked of his work—so very interesting—and my concerns. He helped me think about my future, and I helped him with his researches. We have some useful records at the Priory, you know...." She glanced at Francis nervously and broke off. "But I must not be distracted." Her voice sank to a whisper. "The intimate side of it... that caught me unawares...."

Despite all the evidence, Francis couldn't quite believe it. "Do you mean you...?"

She nodded, positively red-faced. "On the chaise in my boudoir!" She looked desperately at her lover and he patted her knee, though he, too, looked acutely uncomfortable.

Francis glanced at Arabella and she made a droll expression. "I've heard it all in the past hour, dear boy. Brace yourself for evidence that foolishness does not end with youth."

Francis turned back to the couple. "If that was the way of it, then why the devil didn't you marry?"

His mother sighed. "I lost my nerve. It seemed such a terrible thing to have done. I have always felt that to remarry would be a betrayal of your father, but to be carried away.... To do what we did...
where
we did... It
was
a betrayal, because what I experienced with Charles was unlike anything I had ever experienced with your father, dear though he was to me." She turned adoring eyes on her lover. "I had not known."